Dancing in the Courtyard:




Never having experienced magic luggage before, Buffy did not know how hers rated in comparison with others, but standing in front of the floor length mirror in the most beautiful red satin dress she'd ever seen, she figured her magical suitcase had to be in the top ten. The empire cut gown accentuated her best features and made her look like a tall, slender femme fatal, which the petite Vampire Slayer always counted as a plus. Then again, maybe the four inch strappy stilettos were really behind making her look taller and not the dress. Smiling at her very pretty reflection, Buffy was almost able to forget that she was standing beside a Cordelia clone in some twilight zone hotel run by robots out in the middle of the desert.




Almost.




Buffy sighed. She would have to ignore how busty this dress made her look and get back down to business ... after the dancing in the courtyard. As soon as she was finished letting other people see how pretty she looked, she would meet this problem head on. Once she'd had a simple relaxing evening, then demons and ne'er do wells beware. But until then, she had taken this crazy trip to clear her head and damn it, she was going to have a few drinks, dance with a few strangers, and let lots and lots of people stare at her in her beautiful red dress. She deserved that much. Demons could wait until morning ... couldn't they?




“It's perfect,” the overly nice version of Cordelia was saying. “Red is such a lovely color on you.”




Buffy smiled again at the woman in the mirror. “Not too bad, is it?” Turning so she could marvel at the gorgeous gown from all angles, Buffy said, “Sometimes a girl should indulge in the finer things, don't you think?”




Cordelia moved to stand behind Buffy, peering over the Slayer's shoulder into the mirror with a blank expression on her face. “Her mind is Tiffany twisted,” she said, her voice taking on a weird monotone. She paused, her dark eyes far away. “Lots of pretty ... pretty boys,” her gaze snapped to Buffy's. “Pretty pretty boys, that she calls friends.” Another pause, Cordelia's whole face seemed to ... blink? All at once the strange lack of emotion that had taken over disappeared, replaced by Cordelia's million dollar smile. “Let me show you to the courtyard, Miss Summers.”




Gaping uncomprehending at the woman who had slipped in and out of normalcy in a matter of seconds, Buffy was beginning to rethink letting the demons in this hotel wait until morning. Slaying had interrupted her social life hundreds of times before, maybe this should not be any different. Spending the evening dancing in the courtyard while this strange evil was on the loose was incredibly selfish and not very Slayer-like at all. She could almost picture Giles taking off his glasses and sighing at her, full of all sorts of British disapproval.




“Miss Summers?” Cordelia was standing in the doorway, motioning for Buffy to follow.




But, Giles wasn't here was he? Giles was on a plane to England. Giles had left her. He told her that she needed to grow up, tackle problems on her own and stop relying on him.




Well, then, she would do just that. She would tackle this party ... problem on her own.




Buffy's feet followed Cordelia, pulling the conflicted Slayer along with them. Maybe she could do some research at this party. Research was good. Giles was always stressing the importance of proper research. If he were still here to guide her, he would tell her to find out as much as she could about this evil. He always hated it when she rushed blindly into a fight. She imagined that many of the hotel guests and staff would be in attendance tonight. What better opportunity to try to piece this puzzle together? She could ask all manner of questions and it would be perfectly acceptable social banter. Getting to know each other stuff. And, if she happened to step out of line she could just blame the booze. At least, she hoped there would be booze at this dance ... she could really go for a drink. One drink, just to take the edge off, not too many drinks. No more cave Buffy. Cave Buffy could never get out of this strange place, and Cave Buffy always felt horrible the next morning.




“So, Cordelia,” Buffy started as they walked down the corridor, “What's the occasion?”




“Occasion?” the woman replied, uncomprehending.




“Yeah. What are we celebrating?”




“Celebrating?”




Buffy rolled her eyes. Some things about this Cordelia were no different than her bitchier real-life counterpart. They were both completely clueless. “Yes, Cordelia. Why are we dancing in the courtyard?”




Cordelia smiled and shrugged as she came to a stop in front of the French doors that led to the courtyard in question. Pulling one open and gesturing for Buffy to enter, she said, “There's dancing in the courtyard every night.”




Having no idea how to respond to this latest bit of information, Buffy wordlessly stepped out onto the patio and into a scene stranger than any she could have imagined. In the center of the courtyard a three-tiered fountain, that seemed to glow from within, sprayed water into the night air. To the left of the fountain, an orchestra played some old big band song and couples danced. On the other side of the fountain, stood a bar, with mirrored glass shelves and chrome stools surrounded by a smattering of tiny tables with candle centerpieces.




The setting itself was not really anything out of the ordinary. The courtyard was absolutely beautiful, the people in it, however, seemed to have been snatched out of wildly different times and places. At the bar, a woman with short cropped hair wearing a feathered head band and a flapper costume chatted up a man in a white toga. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, a man with a powdered wig, knee stockings, and a bright red jacket was holding hands with a woman who looked like Cleopatra. On the dance floor a couple who looked to have been snatched out of Victorian England danced alongside of a couple who could have been Danny Zuko and Sandy Olsson.




Buffy could not manage to make her legs work or her mouth close. She squeezed her eyes shut, counted to five and reopened them, hoping that the scene would some how become more commonplace if she just willed it so. Nothing changed. Looking at her own glamorous red dress, Buffy shook her head. The Vampire Slayer was not used to being the most ordinary person in a room.




“Miss Summers,” the deskman, Mr. Walsh sat perched on one of the shiny stools beside the bar. “Allow me to get you a drink?”




Nodding, Buffy forced herself to smile and walk across the patio as though this were the most ordinary situation in the world. “Great party,” she said, accepting the champagne flute full of a pink, bubbly liquid.




“Living it up at the Hotel California,” Walsh replied, gesturing absently to their surroundings. “Oh, at last” he went on. “Our guests of honor have arrived.




Guests of honor. Ah ha! So there was a special occasion, or rather a special someone, they were gathered to celebrate. Spinning around on her stool, Buffy's eyes sought the entrance to the courtyard to see just who those special someones were. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped, forming the totally shocked expression that was starting to feel absolutely normal.




Standing at the top of the stone steps leading down to the patio was an elegant woman, chin thrust high in the air. Her chocolate brown hair was piled high atop her head in an elaborate configuration of curls and ribbons and she was wearing a Victorian styled gown in a light purple hue that perfectly accentuated her eyes. She was a picture of beauty, but not jaw dropping beauty. Jaw dropping was the man holding her arm. He was scanning the crowd with clear, blue eyes that could probably be seen from the moon. His white blond hair, usually held firmly away from his face by gallons of gel, hung loosely over his forehead, and Buffy noticed for the first time that it was curly. Dressed in an elegant gray suit and vest that matched his companion's dress, Spike had never looked more handsome.




“She's not real,” a female voice interrupted Buffy's thoughts. “Her beauty all aflight.”




Turning her attention to the oddly familiar voice, Buffy was almost not surprised to find herself seated beside Drusilla. Normally, she would have been instantly on her guard. Stake in hand, she'd be ready for any sort of evil that this lady vampire had up her sleeve.




Normally.




This, however, could not be further from normal. Strange though it sounded, Drusilla with her long dark ringlets and antique princess wardrobe did not seem at all out of place in Buffy's current situation. “Who's not real?” Buffy asked, deciding to skip over the what-are-you-doing-here conversation. She had learned that the secret to dealing with the insane vampiress was to stay on topic. Drusilla was confused enough without anyone changing the subject.




“She's one of a kind,” Drusilla went on, her English accented voice taking on a sort of sing song cadence. “Like a rainbow.”




One eyebrow raised, Buffy simply stared at the babbling vampire. “What are you talking about?” she tried, knowing she probably wouldn't understand the answer.




Drusilla's dark, crazed eyes snapped back to Buffy, startling the Slayer, though she attempted to hide it. “That woman with my Spike,” she said, shaking her head dizzily from side to side. “Not real. Not even one tiny little bit real.” She stopped moving and smiled, a maniacal smile. “Not real like him, and you, and me.”




“Right,” Buffy answered. “She's a robot, right?”




The vampire cocked her head to one side and appeared to give Buffy's sarcastic question much thought. “Don't try to understand,” she said finally, her eyes sparkling. “All your friends are strangers, and your love's in danger.”

Almost without realizing, Buffy's eyes drifted to Spike. She did not love him. She didn't, but the second Drusilla said her love was in danger, his face came unbidden to the forefront of her mind. Scowling, Buffy watched as Spike and the woman he was with descended the stairs and met the deskman. The woman offered her hand to the deskman and seemed to be instantly engaged in some polite smalltalk. Spike, on the other hand, was oddly detached. His piercing blue eyes were scanning the patio, and he appeared to be completely ignoring the deskman.




“Not real. Not real,” Drusilla was whispering. “Not real. Not real.”




Buffy forced herself to concentrate. No one in the courtyard seemed at all put off by the strangeness of this party. No one except herself and … Spike. But, how could that be possible? How could everyone here be fooled except the vampire and the Slayer? “What do you mean not real?” Buffy asked turning back to Drusilla.




Except, the lady vampire was no longer there. Buffy's mouth fell open, “Oh,” she said, momentarily losing all ability to think or speak.




The man seated across from her smiled. “Hello, lover.”