It was well after midnight when William suggested he, Buffy, and Spike went home. They said their goodnights, and Willow stood to walk them to the door.


As Spike was crossing the threshold he whispered to her, “Front gate. One hour.”




Chapter 12


Willow nodded, secretly hoping an hour was enough to locate Kennedy.


Telling her housemates she needed to meditate, she retreated to her room. She hadn’t found it odd that nobody had asked where her girlfriend was; Kennedy rarely shared her evenings with the rest of the house. She instead preferred to be on her own, or alone with Willow. On days she didn’t have to practice with Giles, like today for instance, she would often visit the younger Slayers and offer her sparring skills. The girls generally avoided her, but there was always someone cocky enough—perhaps harboring a grudge from a previous defeat—to take her on. Willow doubted that was the case tonight, but calling the Mansion to confirm might give rise to rumors.


She hated herself for not having worried over her girlfriend’s disappearance sooner; that was what she found odd, that she hadn’t even noticed she hadn’t seen her in more than seventeen hours. Seventeen hours. How long had she stopped caring? How long had she been out of love? How long had she been pretending to be part of a relationship that offered her nothing more than a bed partner?


The room itself laid testament that it had been too long. It didn’t feel empty without the brunette, didn’t feel cold. She could still remember how it had felt when she’d lost Tara, or Oz, and it had felt like a punch to the gut. A punch with something sharp wrapped around the knuckles that took her breath away and left her bleeding. She felt like a horrible, horrible person for not feeling like that after the fight with Kennedy. Her shame deepened at the fleeting thought that, if something had happened to the young Slayer, Willow wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath of their relationship. She shouldn’t be able to feel that way.


Praying to the Goddess that nothing had happened to her—ex, she decided—girlfriend, Willow brought out a map of the city and a crystal and began scrying. She’d find Kennedy; it wasn’t like she could have gone very far. The problem was that she had a nagging feeling that she would be too late. She just couldn’t say what she would be too late for.



Twelve hours earlier~~~~~~~~~



The mark from the needle worried her the most.


Kennedy had heard the stories about the toy soldiers experimenting on demons and the Initiative was the first thing that popped to her mind when she noticed the little red dot on her skin. She was there as a guinea pig.


No, she reasoned with herself, that couldn’t be it. In the stories, prisoners to be dissected and analyzed were kept in sanitized box-like glass cells, not ultra-luxurious bedrooms. Rising to her feet, she scanned the room once more, then did the only thing she could think of. She yelled for help.


She didn’t really expect anyone to respond, but she soon heard the sound of heels clicking ever closer to her door. She moved stealthily so that her back was against the wall where the door opening would hide her from her captors. She would slam the door into whoever was coming—she guessed it would be Sofia—and run.


Sofia’s voice drifted to her from behind the closed door. “I know you’re scared and confused, but attacking me the moment I come in is not a good idea.”


Kennedy made no sound, she didn’t even breathe, waiting until the door opened.


“I mean it. We do not wish to harm you, and if you let me come in I will explain everything,” the melodious voice went on. “If you attack me, even if you manage to incapacitate me, security won’t let you go far. If you are civil and hear me out you will be free in twenty-four hours.”


Kennedy considered her options. There really weren’t all that many in her current state.


“Come in,” she said. “I’ll play nice.”


The door opened carefully, and Kennedy moved to face the other woman. “You better make some sense,” she warned, knowing her implied threat was idle while she didn’t have her strength.


“Oh, I will. Sit down? This will take a while.”


By the time the woman was done with her story, Kennedy’s head was swimming. She wasn’t a prisoner of the Initiative, she was a guest… of the Immortal.


If Sofia was telling the truth, and the Slayer had no reason to believe she wasn’t on that matter, the champagne had been spiked with a sedative so that Adalberto could inject her with the same drug used for the Cruciamentum; a little cocktail that only sapped her strength for about thirty-something hours if not taken regularly. Apparently the Immortal wanted to have a chat with her and was afraid she wouldn’t listen—would maybe kill him—unless she was stripped of her Slayer powers.


“He wants to chat?” She was incredulous. The entire talk, hell, the entire situation was surreal. “He’s a demon. I kill demons. What do we have to—”


Sofia looked fleetingly somewhere behind Kennedy, before cutting her off. “He’s not a demon. Not exactly. But you should be very careful not to displease him.”


Kennedy crossed her arms defiantly.


“Please, hear him out,” the other woman insisted. “I can take you to him now, if you are willing to just listen.”


They should know better. Since they knew all about her, they should know that she never just listened. “Take me to him,” she said, standing up as regally as she could.


Sofia led her to the door. The moment they were crossing the threshold, she whispered, “Be very careful what you agree to, as well.”


She was then led through heavily decorated corridors to the living room where she’d last seen Berto, or Adalberto, as Sofia had said his full name was.


The man was lounging on a couch, his posture relaxed with both his arms draped over the couch’s back. He was wearing a royal blue robe over silk, navy blue, pajama bottoms. No pajama top, as she could see his naked sternum through the open V of the robe.


The moment they entered the room, Sofia took a step to the side, allowing her to near the man who was giving her a friendly smile.


“Please, sit, cara.” He indicated an armchair.


The Slayer hesitated for only a moment before doing as he asked. She couldn’t fight him and hope to survive, so her only option was to play along until she could. She sat on the edge of the chair, holding his gaze. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”


“I admire your spirit, cara.”


The way he called her cara grated on her nerves, but other than that there was nothing threatening about him. Maybe that was his most dangerous quality. She clenched her jaw and remained silent.


“I want to do you a favor, cara.” This time he said the word slowly, deliberately, as if challenging her to react. She didn’t take the bait.


“I’m listening.”


“I’ll try and not bore you with idle chit chat.” He smiled then turned serious so suddenly it was hard to believe the smile had ever been there. “The Slayer ideal, what the Chosen Ones have always stood for, has been compromised by your current leader, and I’m here to help you correct that.”


She tried to hide her surprise. She had tried to guess what he could possibly want of her, but this certainly caught her unawares. “Why would you do that? Isn’t it to your benefit if the killers of your kind lose power?”


His eyes went yellow, the iris widening until it covered the white. It wasn’t the color vampire-eyes had, no golden tinge. This was pure yellow, and it somehow seemed natural on his face. “You have never met my kind before, bambina, and you should feel fortunate for that. Not all are as… civil as me,” he said in a booming voice that somehow came from all around her.


Refusing to give him the satisfaction of even flinching, Kennedy asked, “What are you, then, and why would you want to help us?”


He blinked and his eyes were their normal color again. “What you need to know is that I’m not a demon. Nor am I a killer.”


She scoffed and he repeated flatly. “I am not a killer. Unlike those creatures your leader beds.”


She’d let the leader thing slide the first time, but wouldn’t again. “I don’t have a leader.”


He nodded knowingly. “You don’t, but there are those who need a leading figure, and the current one has lost sight of what you all stand for. She sleeps with two vampires. How long do you think it’ll take before that starts affecting her decisions? Putting lives at risk?”


“Not saying I believe your altruistic routine, especially since you still haven’t told me why you want to help, but what exactly are you suggesting as a solution?”


“You.”


Her fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. “I’m listening.”



~~~~~*~~~~~



Buffy didn’t know whether to feel happy or worried. Spike couldn’t leave yet, and her friends had been more than willing to help—which definitely boosted the happy part—but none of them had noticed the claim, and she worried about what would happen when they found out.


She supposed they hadn’t noticed because she’d ended up wearing a turtle neck to the meeting.

She felt like she should have told them, but this was the first time in her life she felt like her choices were respected, and she was afraid telling them she’d been bonded to a vampire for the rest of her life would destroy that. William hadn’t pressured her to say a thing, but she could sense an abstract feeling of disappointment emanating from his side of the claim.


And then there was Spike.


In his place, she’d be relieved to know that the choice was out of their hands, but he seemed determined to find a way to leave. And he was being all mysterious. Just when they’d reached her apartment door, he’d kissed William and her passionately on the lips, asked her if she loved him, and when she’d replied of course I do, had said he needed some time to himself and that they shouldn’t worry, before turning on his heel and disappearing down the stairs. She’d made to run after him, but William had held her back.


“Let him,” he’d said, and she had.


Now Spike had been gone for two hours, and Buffy itched to go out and find him. She wouldn’t, though, she needed to understand more about the claim with William—there was no way she was asking Giles about it just yet—and spend some time with him. Because of the whole thing with Spike she had neglected her mate, and wanted to make up for it, even though he hadn’t complained.


“You know, kitten, thinking about everything at once doesn’t really help the test.” William nibbled on her earlobe.


“Well, maybe we should do something that would keep my mind focused.” She thought the test was silly anyway. When she’d come out of the shower earlier, William had suggested they tried reading each other’s thoughts without either consciously sending something out. They both knew that they could sense strong feelings, but he wanted to see how far their telepathy went. She’d agreed mostly to humor him, failing to see the point, really; when she needed to think something at him, she could. The rest of the time she liked her thoughts being hers and hers alone. Now she sent him a very vivid picture of her naked and beckoning.


“I think I could do something about that.” He smirked and climbed over her legs to the foot of the bed. Grabbing both her ankles, he pulled her until she lay flat on her back, spread her legs and smacked his lips.



~~~~~*~~~~~



True to character, Willow was so jittery about Spike wanting to meet her that she was at the front gate a few minutes early.


She hadn’t been able to locate Kennedy and it was driving her crazy. The crystal kept twirling over the map, covering the entire city, but wouldn’t stop at one specific place. It was like Kennedy was moving around with the speed of light, which simply wasn’t possible. The good thing was that she wasn’t dead, and from the color of the aura around the crystal she wasn’t even in distress. The bad thing was that there had to be some concealment spell at work.


She startled and squeaked when a heavy hand dropped on her shoulder.


Spike chuckled. “I’ll never tire of that.”


“Spike,” the redhead gasped, “it’s you.”


“No, it’s the Easter bunny. Want to see my ears?” He waggled his eyebrows and chuckled again at the blush he saw creeping up Willow’s face. Being a vampire certainly had its benefits.


“No, I—I don’t. Why would–” The Wicca was flustered. “I’ll tell Buffy,” she huffed finally.


He turned serious. “You can tell her that, but I need a favor that you can tell no one about.”


Willow tilted her head questioningly. “What—what do you need?” She was determined to do anything to help him.


“Have you been practicing your teleportin’ lately?”








Tbc.