Meret daintily cleaned the last drops of blood out of Spike’s mug while the vampire himself sat in his easy chair, twirling the feather between his fingers. It looked like one of Meret’s, but it was much too big and, of course, the color was different: emerald green with bluish tips.

Strange dreams were perfectly acceptable.

Strange dreams that left calling cards the next morning? Not so much.

He had asked Meret about it, and her only response had been rapid-fire images from the dream itself and the scent of juniper for some reason. The images convinced him that not only had Meret shared the odd visions, but that she really had been the strange girl in red. When he asked her for some insight, he had received the mental equivalent of rolled eyes and a firm picture of Buffy, wrapped in ragged gauze and smeared in wet clay. He had finally thrown up his hands, literally and figuratively, before retreating to his chair to think. Meret “spoke” when and if she pleased, and it was shaping up to be a non-verbal kind of day.

It wasn’t that hard to determine the source of the feather. He remembered similar ones braided into the strange old man’s hair. The one who had called the vampire his child. The one who had called Buffy his niece, or something like that.

And it had been Buffy. He was convinced of that. Just like he knew that he had really spoken to Joyce. The dark skinned ghost who had been waiting for him in his crypt was still an enigma; he just didn’t know what to think about her.

The possibilities made his head spin. He wanted to run to the Magic Box immediately, but he knew it would do him little good. Buffy was attending her first day of classes back at UC Sunnydale, and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon, at the very earliest. Giles would undoubtedly do the research, but it was the slayer he wanted to talk to, whose thoughts he wanted to hear.

The wait was maddening, but he managed to waste a few hours watching Dawson’s Creek with Meret and whittling the broken ends of his staff down into six stakes. They were still rough, and needed a good sanding, but they were thin and their tips true. The three with the wider handles would stay with him, but the other three, the slender ones that would better fit a smaller hand, those had another fate.

*****

Spike nodded a greeting to Anya after he and Meret slipped into the back door of the Magic Box. The former demon was typing away on her computer, and she acknowledged his greeting with a sour hello. Nothing put Anya in a good mood like tallying profit margins, so she had to be doing some other, onerous task. Spike gave her a wide berth.

As the vampire neared the door, he picked up a voice coming from the front of the store. It was Buffy, that much was obvious, and the vampire could hear her words without much of a problem, seeing how she was almost shouting with agitation. Making sure to shush Meret, he stopped short at the door out of the practice room when the slayer’s words became too interesting to interrupt. Anya snorted loudly, but when Spike turned around to glare at her, she was already facing the computer again, fingers typing away. He leaned closer to the door and focused on the conversation happening on the other side.

“Something was different last night, Giles. The dream started normal enough, what with the cryptic mumbo jumbo, bad vibes, and ominously low lighting, but then it changed. It felt more real, like I was really there, talking to them. I’ve never had a slayer dream that felt like that before.”

Slayer dream?

Spike had heard of such things, prophetic dreams sent to the chosen one when the Powers decided she needed a little extra help. He had even heard the specifics of some of Buffy’s dreams from time to time, but he had never expected to see one first hand. He stood next to the door, waiting to learn more about her experience this time.

“Are you sure?” Giles voice was smooth, an obvious attempt to calm his slayer. “I understand that this particular dream seems… anomalous, but it might be perfectly normal in the scope of all slayer dreams.”

“Then how do you explain this?” Buffy asked, slamming something down on the research table. “And why do I have a vampire spying on me from the practice room?” she yelled.

Damn! Caught!

Spike opened the door with a shamefaced grin and stepped through to face the slayer’s wrath. She was dressed to kill, as usual, but it was her boots that caught his attention. They were the same ones she had been wearing in the dream, and they were tapping with irritation.

“Old habits die hard?” she snapped.

“Like cosmic orders,” he replied, eyes trained on her face, waiting to catch any hint of a response.

The slayer’s response verified everything he had suspected. She sank into a chair, pale and wide-eyed. “You were really there?” she asked uncertainly. He responded in the best way he could. The green feather in his hand earned a gasp from the watcher, but it was the object Buffy retrieved from amongst the piles of books and do-dads on the table, the same object she had apparently placed there so forcefully just moments before, that held the vampire’s attention. It was a crimson match to the feather in his own hand.

“Guess so,” he replied, voice devoid of emotion. He wanted to see how she reacted, and it was taking all of his effort to keep a tight rein on his emotions. If she had really been there with him last night, well, the phrase “dream come true” started to take on interesting new interpretations. But if she hadn’t, if her actions had been guided or influenced by the dream, that was another matter altogether. He waited for her verdict with his hands clenched, barely registering the feather-light flicker of the crimson serpent’s tongue against his cheek.

Buffy looked a little shell shocked, and as the seconds ticked by a dusky pink spread across her features. The vampire figured that she had to be remembering some of the highlights of their dance. Who would have known that the slayer would let him put his hands there? He forced the memory from his mind, unwilling to give Buffy the upper hand.

“If I might interject,” Giles’ voice was soft and courteous, but pitched to draw the vampire and slayer’s attention. “I understand that this whole situation might be awkward, but I would also like to point out that this gives us an unprecedented opportunity to gather more information than usual from one of these prophetic dreams.” Spike nodded reluctantly, and the slayer soon followed suit. “Buffy, could you start from the beginning again?”

The tension temporarily broken, Spike walked over to the research table and sat down. When he leaned on the table, Meret took the opportunity to slither down his arm and onto the table. The little serpent looked at him with glittering, red eyes before poking her nose into a box of multi-colored crystals. She was calmer than the vampire, and Spike wondered if she knew something he didn’t.

Pro’bly.

Meret puffed a chuckle in accord, but chose not to enlighten him.

The slayer shook herself out of her distraction and launched into her version of the dream, one that was quite different from the vampire’s own. “I was in the old library, back in high school, but it was looking pretty burnt,” she started. “It was decorated up with these red streamers, but they were all torn up, like someone had thrown a big party and hadn’t cleaned up afterwards. There were, I don’t know, cups and confetti and stuff all over the floor and the skylight was boarded up, but some sunlight was coming through.”

She looked at Spike for a second before continuing. “Angel was there and he said something like ‘You favor fire.’” On cue, Spike winced. The last thing he needed was another look into the angst-fest that had been Buffy and Angelus. He managed to school his features when he noticed what might have been an apologetic look on the slayer’s face, even as she continued with her side of the tale. “He stuck his hand in the sunlight. It started smoking, but he just kept talking like it was no big. Something about roosters burning and deviants and breaking rules and stuff. I couldn’t catch it all because I was too busy yelling at him to get out of the sunlight. He finally backed away and said ‘You must unlearn what you have learned,’ made with the bumpies, and jumped at me. I don’t know what he was trying to do, because the next second I was in this weird hallway.”

Buffy started describing a corridor full of framed shards of mirrors, torn fabric, and silver knives, but Spike was concentrating on what she had just said. Angel’s behavior reminded him of their first meeting, so many decades ago.

Hell of a first impression.

Despite the unpleasant memories, his grandsire’s words stuck in his mind, strangely linked with the smell of popcorn and blood, but the connection escaped him.

The slayer’s words drew him back into the conversation. “…And there were stinky twigs and bones and stuff all over the walls. Oh, and she was all dead and rotting. Can I just say, gross? The whole situation was way too Crypt Keeper for me.” She scrunched up her nose at the memory, and Spike chuckled at her understatement. Buffy continued after favoring him with an arch look, “She tried to get me to drink some smelly tea, but that was when Spike, some weird girl who disappeared, and the green old guy came in. She got all mad and then turned into a skeleton. Then the old guy took Spike and me to the Bronze and told us to dance so that some kind of new order could be fixed, or something. He wasn’t making much sense, and his red twin showed up after that. They talked. We danced. I woke up with a feather on my pillow. End of story.”

Spike smiled to himself in bemusement. No wonder her world saving seemed to come down to the wire, if that was the level of detail she gave her watcher. In visions, even the most insignificant detail could have some importance, a lesson he had learned from Drusilla. Not that he wasn’t going to indulge in some careful editing himself.

Giles was writing furiously on a notepad, brows furrowed in thought. “Spike, do you have anything to add?”

“Um, yeah. See, other than the end, my dream was completely different, Rupes.” The watcher nodded absently and gestured for him to continue. “I was in the slayer’s backyard, only it was full of weapons and such. When I made it to the porch,” he paused for a moment, wondering how this news would affect the slayer, “I found Joyce sittin’ there.” Well that got Buffy and Giles’ attention. He winced, but doggedly continued. “We shared some drinks, the backyard turned into the ocean. She went on about how the Powers that Bugger have their eye on me now, kept callin’ me ‘Chosen.’ Said a storm was comin’.”

At the slight wavering of Buffy’s lower lip, his resolve broke. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. Meret! The little serpent looked at him, questioningly. Let her know I’ll tell her more later. Spike started talking again, but he kept an eye on the slayer. In moments, her eyes widened and he looked at him again with something that looked heartbreakingly like hope and gratitude in her eyes.

“I went inside, but it turned into my crypt. There were white rags everywhere, and some weird chit, wrapped in bandages, was there waitin’. Dark skin, hair, moved like a two-legged cat. She was smeared in mud and had a stake, but after givin’ me the once over, she disappeared.”

“Dear Lord,” the watcher interrupted.

The vampire had been paying so much attention to Buffy, that he hadn’t been watching the other Brit. Giles and his charge shared meaningful looks, which set Spike’s teeth on edge. He hated being kept in the dark. “What?” he grated.

Giles spoke while scribbling madly on his papers. “From your description, it sounds like you met the first slayer. She has been known to enter the slayer’s dreams from time to time. The oldest records say her name was…“

“Sineya,” Spike interrupted. At the others’ surprised looks, he explained. “The green bloke said somethin’ about someone named Sineya lettin’ me into the dream.”

“This is unprecedented.” The watcher stopped writing long enough to pin the vampire with eyes that were equal parts awed and calculating. “You didn’t just share a dream with Buffy. It sounds like you have been allowed entrance into the slayer dreams themselves. We had a similar experience after defeating Adam, but the first slayer made it perfectly clear that we were unwelcome,” he mused. “To my knowledge, none of us have had a similar dream since. I had thought that she was angry that we linked our minds with Buffy’s, but if she is actually the guardian of the slayer’s dreams, I suppose it makes the events a little more understandable. She wasn’t trying to kill us. She was simply evicting us from her territory.” Realizing that he had been rambling, the watcher waved for the vampire to continue.

“So yeah, first slayer,” Spike wasn’t sure how to take that. He had no idea why the First Slayer would approve of the Slayer of Slayers, so he opted for file the issue away for later. “Anyway, she disappeared and Meret here showed up.” The coatl squirmed in the box of crystals, sending colorful pieces everywhere. She seemed almost amused with her part in the whole matter. Buffy poked the little serpent and waggled a finger at her before scooping the crystals back up and depositing them around a suitably chastened coatl. Amused with the slayer’s ability to get Meret to behave, Spike continued. “Only she was a bird. All red, no eyelids, and she still spoke in my head. She took me to the room with Buffy and disappeared.”

“By bird you mean…?” Giles asked.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Girl. Said it was how I thought of her or some such rot. Anyway, she disappeared, the woman started yellin’ that she doesn’t like milk in her tea or flesh, whatever that means, and turned into a carbon copy of the skeleton we found in the mansion. Then the green guy showed up, said a bunch of cryptic mumbo jumbo, called the dead bint Elaine, and took us to the Bronze. He kept callin’ me his child, or ‘Child of Death,’ like it was my name or something. Same for the slayer,” he nodded towards Buffy, “only she was either ‘child of my brother,’ or ‘Child of Life.’ Told her to go dance with the rest of the Scoobies and sent me after her. That was when his red twin showed up. They spoke a bit about the first slayer, said something about reordering the universe and destiny. Then, as Goldilocks here said, we danced, I woke up with a feather, the end.”

Giles kept writing for a few moments, mumbling under his breath. “This is all fascinating. Could I bother you for a description of the man in green?” he asked the vampire.

Spike searched his memories for more details. “He was old, but he didn’t move like it. Green eyes, as in solid green, no pupils or whites. No lids either. Um, pale skin, iron grey hair. He was wearing some green robes with a geometric design on the hem and had green feathers braided into his hair. The other bloke looked exactly the same, but replace everything green with red.”

The watcher kept nodding during the vampire’s litany, as if he expected everything that was said. “I think that this might be connected to the incident last month. Your description certainly seems to match some of the images of Mictlantechutli, the god of death, and Quetzalcoatl, the god of life. You remember them?” Spike and Buffy shared dark looks before nodding in unison. “I’m only puzzled because the prophesy that involved them seems to have been fulfilled.”

“Rupes,” Spike spoke up. “The green one, Mictle-whatever, he said something about the dead needin’ a defender, same as the livin’. Don’t know if that’s important or not.”

The watcher nodded and made another note. It was a testament to how much Meret’s influence had changed the vampire’s relationship with the Scoobies. Giles’ willingness to listen to the vampire’s opinions, and Spike’s own openness with the watcher were relatively new developments, forged in near-martyrdom and the bond they all shared through the coatl.

In fact the only more surprising change had to be…

“Fangless!” Xander’s arrival was announced by tinkling bells from the Magic Box’s front door.

“Whelp!” Spike returned, but like the boy’s, his voice lacked any real venom.

“There’s a pool table with our name on it at the Bronze. Hey Buffster, G-man! You guys ready to come watch me kick Evil Dead’s ass at pool tonight?”

The watcher put his notes down on the table sighed. “Stop calling me that,” he glared half-heartedly at Xander, but the boy just grinned. “I’m afraid I might have to back out of our social arrangements for the evening. Buffy and Spike have presented me with an interesting problem that requires research.”

“Well, call if you want munchies. Buff?”

“I’ll come root for you. America loves an underdog,” she managed to keep a straight face, but Spike grinned ferally. The vampire had won every single game since their weekly rounds of pool started.

“You owe me fifty already, you really want to add to that?” Spike asked casually, his eyes glinting.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll have blood-poisoning tonight or something,” he shrugged good-naturedly. “Oh, and I dropped Dawn off. She’s working on some big history project and Janice’s mother is going to drive them to school tomorrow. Ahn’s in the back?” At Buffy’s nod, he scurried off to fetch his fiancé.

“I guess this is our stop, Rupes. You have fun with the codices.” Spike grinned wickedly when the watcher groaned.

The vampire reached for the green feather, but Giles’ voice stopped him. “I would like to look at those. They might be important.” Spike looked at the feather in his hand and shook off the nagging feeling that he was supposed to hold onto the plume. Reluctantly, he handed it over to the watcher. After all, if he needed it, Giles would have it safe and sound in the Magic Box anyway. Buffy gave up her feather with similar reluctance. “Thank you. I will tell you if I found anything of interest tomorrow. You two are patrolling the warehouse district and the docks tonight?”

Buffy nodded. Word on the demon underground held that a new vampire was making a power play in Sunnydale, bringing together fledglings and calling for the death of the slayer. Nothing new or particularly creative, but certainly important enough to merit attention.

While Buffy discussed the specifics of their post-Bronze plans with her watcher, Spike picked up Meret. The little serpent was still coiled up in the box of crystals, and he didn’t want to listen to Anya complain about merchandise abuse. She looked up at him and the vampire could feel an edge of hunger underlying her thoughts. He fished a piece of beef jerky out of a bag in his pocket and handed over a few bites of the tough stuff. She was growing like a weed, and had taken to hunting on her own. Not that anyone would know it from the way she begged, but Spike really didn’t mind. He sent her a mental image of the Bronze with a promise of leftover blooming onion.

Appeased, the little serpent took wing and started circling the room, more than ready to leave. She had found a vent in the roof of the club that led to the rafters. The loud music and bright lights had upset her at first, but after a while, she seemed to start enjoying the atmosphere. She kept an eye out for amusing or demonic scenes in the Bronze while Spike played pool, drank, and snuck her food from the bar. There had been a few incidents, especially after Meret had decided to take matters into her own fangs when she had seen a girl steal someone else’s purse, but in the end the only repercussions were the thief’s eviction and a few amusing rumors about bats living in the roof. The coatl could be discreet if she wanted to be.

Anya, with Xander in tow, came storming though the practice room door. “I require beer,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Sorting the scales, fangs, oozes, and various other saleable demonic parts into sections according to their uses and phyla was stressful. I still don’t know where to put the unicorn bacula, and Xander tells me that I cannot resort to sex for relaxation, because we already promised to go to the Bronze. Can we leave now?”

Xander was stuttering and Giles had turned a horrified shade of purple. Buffy shared a look with the bemused vampire, but Spike only shrugged. “Not the best delivery, but I can’t fault the sentiment. Who’s up for gettin’ pissed?”