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Buffy came awake abruptly Friday morning, drawing a sharp breath as she opened her eyes to stare at her cracked alarm clock.

As she slid out of bed, the air seemed thick, choking with the ominous fact that this was her last day before her father’s testing. And despite Spike’s lessons to teach her to hide her Slayer powers, she was drowning.

He’d given her some very good advice, a list of rules to help keep the truth from her father.

“Never lie to him directly, pet. He’s got a nose for it. And if at all possible, use magick instead of Slayer strength. It’ll throw him off.”

But there were things she needed to know, things Spike wasn’t telling her. Buffy had heard of the Watcher’s Council, but when she’d questioned Spike on them last night, he’d murmured something about them being ‘do-gooder pricks’ and had changed the subject. Any questions she posed about the nature of her origins gained similar response.

Just because he’d killed a couple of Slayers didn’t qualify him as total expert man. She needed answers of the deeper, more mystical variety, and it was time to consult higher powers than Spike.

She jumped into the shower, using the water as a focus to cleanse mind as well as body. She finally got out, sliding back the magickally mended shower curtain, and stood naked in front of her mirrors. Slowly, she concentrated her energy into drying herself off, watching the water evaporate from her skin, her hair slowly going from dripping to soft, dry waves around her face.

Naked, she walked back into her room, and with a wave of her hand brought candles flying from the shelves to create a circle in the middle of her floor. There were twelve fat pillar candles of assorted colors, sides dripped with wax trails from use.

Crossing to her closet, she drew out a black robe used in formal ceremonies with her father, a kimono-like garment she was quite fond of. She let the silky material slide over her skin and wrapped the tie snuggly around her waist to close the front.

Buffy blinked, trying to get her blurring eyes to refocus on her spell.

The candles rose around her, slowly clockwise, then gaining speed began to go faster and faster. Their lights meshed together, until they reached a final, continuous blur.

It was if she was separated from her body, watching from outside of herself. She could feel what was happening, but in a distant, disconnected way. She looked down at her arms, her splayed hands coming out from the robe’s elegant sleeves and pressed down into thick beige carpet.

Then it stopped, the light froze in a ring that extended from around her body and out to fill the room; she gasped as she felt herself reconnect with flesh.
The voice was an angry hiss crackling in her ears; an acidic scent filled the air.

“Who callsss me from darknesssss… Who daresss, bring me to thissss light?”

“The Chosen One calls you, Menik, Guardian of the Gates of Many Worlds. I seek your advice.” She held her breath awaiting his response.

“Blassssphemy! Chosssen One, Sssummersss…” The creature whipped around her head, tail hitting through the silk of garment at her shoulder with a slight sting. Buffy swallowed and tried to keep the tremors out of her voice.

“I do not call upon you lightly, oh Great One. I call you from your darkness so that you may lift mine.”

He darted about the room, eyeing her briefly before moving again.

“You sssspeak pretty wordsssss, Chossssssen One. What do you wissssh of me, daughter of the Wicked One?”

Buffy hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Justice,” she said finally. “Answers to what’s supposed to be happening to me.”

“That which blocked you from yourssself hasss been lifted by the power of blood. None can deny sssuch a power.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“The truthsss you ssseek will come ssshortly.”

“I don’t have time to wait, oh Great One, I need-“

“I know what you need, Chosssssen One. But not to worry, pretty one. All will be well.”

Buffy felt her heart lift slightly at the demon’s words, and bowed her head towards him.

“My thanks, Great Lord Menik.”

The demon swirled around her room, alternating from his almost invisible state to a silver flash that gave a strong resemblance to a dragon.

“If you need me again, daughter of the Wicked One, He Who Isss Concealed, I will attempt to help you. You are… pleasssing to the eye.”

Pleasing was drawn out in an extra long hiss, and accompanied by a forked tongue that flicked out like a red ribbon from his mouth.
Buffy kept her face blank and nodded.

“Again, my thanks, Menik, Lord of Things Unknown. I will remember your generous offer.” What might have been a smile crossed his reptilian face.

“You are welcome, pretty one.” And then he was gone with a flash of silver tail and smoke.

The walls that had block her room from the outside world fell as he departed and the spell broke, the candles drifting slowly back down to carpet. Buffy sat and stared into nothingness, wondering what to do next.


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Giles took a burning gulp of the scotch that seemed to be his sole companion since he’d become aware of Buffy’s existence. The Watcher’s Council had an office in LA, but he had stopped there only briefly to officiate his presence before slinking back to his room.

Memories of Joyce were haunting him, from the fragile fairytale romance they had shared to the darkness he’d sunken into after she’d left.

They had sunken into that “Let’s just be friends,” category at Joyce’s insistence, but he’d been so in love with her that he’d actually bothered to stay her friend.

The night she’d first brought up him, he’d thought she was playing a trick.

“Hank Summers? You must be joking!” He had laughed.

“It’s not a joke, Rupert. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

“No, I’d rather say not,” he’d said, trying hard still not to laugh.

“He asked me to move to LA with him, to be his wife.”

He’d stopped laughing.

The days after she’d left him had been filled with liquor and violent thoughts. He’d easily come under the influence of Ethan Rayne and his cohorts, craving the power and danger he’d thought must have attracted her to Summers. In all the years since, his most important actions were still taken with consideration for what she would have wanted.

Almost seventeen years later, he followed her daughter as she left in her Nissan, struggling to keep up with her erratic driving. Finally she pulled into the entrance of a shopping mall, zipping her car into one of few empty spaces. He passed by her slowly, watching as she slid gracefully from the car.

He took another sip from his flask and drove off to brood.


*



Her encounter with Menik had left her confused, drained and even more frustrated. Despite the mild assurance he’d given her, the rest of his words mingled with all the warnings Spike had given her, twisting and repeating inside her head until she felt like screaming. Or going to seek the comfort of Spike’s arms.
She decided to go shopping instead.

Buffy grabbed her purse and got out of the car, using her free hand to lock it and perform a small protection charm. She felt the sizzle of magic go through her as she performed the spell, and wondered at how it could feel so natural so quickly.

As she walked, a strange shiver crawled down her spine, a shiver that contrasted with the almost suffocating heat. It was a shiver that carried a warning, that eyes were following her. She gave a swift glance around her, trying to remain casual.

Years of hunting had created in her a hyperawareness of other hunters, and she knew now that someone was watching her, stalking her. She felt rage pour through her, and her suspicions jumped towards her father.

Muttering a long stream of Latin under her breath, she cast a blinding spell to set whoever it was off track. Then she sauntered into the mall, the rage mellowing down to pleasure at the thought of her follower’s confusion.

Fifteen slides of plastic later, Buffy found herself frustrated with a black slip of a dress she’d seen in the front window of Express. She’d thought of Spike when she’d seen it, and against her better judgement had decided to try it on.

She was just sliding up the zipper when she felt it catch and rip. Lifting her hand to repair it, she remembered the presence she’d felt in the parking lot and deciding against the spell. Sighing, she slid the dress off and went to the front to purchase it.

The cashier at the counter listened to her explanations, then refused to let her buy the dress.

“Ms. Summers, we would never ask you to buy faulty clothing,” the lady said, taking the dress from her hands.

“I don’t think you under-“

“Really, it’s no problem, Ms. Summers.”

Buffy just smiled, and let the woman have her way ringing up the rest of her clothes. She took her bag and headed home from the mall, her shopping mood soured.
Despite the bags dripping off her arms, she couldn’t pull back from the shadow hanging over her head. Tomorrow she would test wits with her father, and her secrets would be exposed or not.

She reached her room and was suddenly overcome with exhaustion, a punch in the gut that had her dropping her bags to the floor. She slid into her bed, clothes still on, leaving the bags where she’d dropped them.

But just as she started to lose consciousness, thoughts of Spike filled her brain; she could almost hear him whisper in her ear, slide his hand down her cheek, melting away the shadows with his touch. Even the fantasy touch was cool, but it warmed her.

For the first time in weeks, she fell into a peaceful sleep.

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