Melinda stood across the street from the large apartment complex where Andrew had said Siron was living, a dubious frown on her face. It still seemed like a rather ritzy sort of place for a demon’s lair. As she watched for any sign of Siron or his men, she saw several average, normal-looking humans going in and out, as casual and ordinary as anything -- but no demons.

Finally, although she wasn’t quite certain about this whole thing yet, she headed toward the door. She was dressed like any other ordinary girl, and was certain that she would not be easily recognized as the Slayer, at least not by the ordinary humans she had seen coming and going. She was sure that she could easily pass for a visitor to one of the human residents she had observed, long enough to get into the building and get some idea of what it was she was dealing with here.

After all she had seen, all she had been through, it was really rather simple for Melinda.

If she got caught, she would fight.

If she fought -- she would win…or lose.

At this point, the result didn’t matter that much to her anymore. The fight was all she knew.

When she entered the lobby, everything still appeared normal. Marble floors and rich red tones gave the enormous room an air that was both intimidating and welcoming, awakening childhood dreams in Melinda that she had long since given up as no more than fantasy -- dreams of having more than she had ever had, of having a better life…

“Can I help you?”

She turned from taking in the expansive view of the lobby to face a reception clerk with a friendly, warm smile, standing behind the check-in desk.

“Uh…yeah,” Melinda replied, leaning her crossed arms on the front of the desk and meeting the clerk’s eyes. She had long since learned the skill of lying convincingly, and had no trouble keeping eye contact. “I’m here to visit a friend of mine. He -- lives in the penthouse suite?”

She avoided the use of an actual name, aware that whatever name the lease was under, it was probably not a single-word name only that sounded like the hero or villain of a fantasy novel.

The clerk’s smile did not falter, and Melinda repressed a smirk at the slightly phony quality of it as the girl replied without hesitation, “The penthouse suite has been unoccupied for two months”

“Oh, really?” Melinda feigned surprise. “He moved out that fast, then? I was kind of hoping to catch him -- well, I guess it doesn’t matter. He told me he was moving out, and I just wanted to check the place out. I’m actually…actually interested in looking into renting it myself…”

As Melinda spun her spur-of-the-moment tale, she could only hope that this woman was really as oblivious to the real goings on in this building as she seemed to be -- and also that whoever the fictitious former resident of the penthouse had been was a male.

Yeah, it was a long shot, she knew.

*Shouldn’t have wasted time asking,* she berated herself with irritation. *Should’ve just gone to the elevator.*

But she was sure that this was not the sort of place where the reception staff let just anyone get up to invade the privacy of their penthouse suite residents -- human or otherwise. Stopping at the front desk first, lending herself as much of an air of belonging there as possible, had seemed like the wisest course of action.

*Yeah -- like they’d ever believe I belong here…*

“The penthouse suite is under renovations at the moment,” the smiling clerk informed Melinda calmly. “There won’t be any tours until it’s finished.”

“And when will that be?” Melinda asked dryly, hoping to catch some idea of the timeframe for Wolfram and Hart’s rebuilding.

“Until further notice, there will be no tours,” the desk clerk repeated her words, rephrasing them slightly, her wide, false smile betraying no irritation, no impatience -- really, no emotion at all.

Melinda frowned slightly, as a vague awareness began in the back of her mind.

As normal as this woman appeared -- perhaps *too* normal? -- something was clearly off about her. Her eyes narrowing with her suspicion, she moved slowly backward toward the elevator, not taking her eyes off the woman, who strangely ceased eye contact with her as she moved away, her blank gaze remaining focused on the spot where Melinda had stood moments earlier.

Melinda pressed the “up” button on the elevator, expecting the woman to say something, to try to stop her -- but the woman no longer seemed aware of her. In fact -- the woman no longer seemed…*real*, at all. She was standing perfectly still, smiling mindlessly into the space where Melinda had stood.

As Melinda waited for the elevator to come down, she watched as another ordinary looking human walked in the door, heading toward the elevator with a newspaper in hand. The front desk lady did not look up, did not acknowledge him or move at all, still frozen in the exact same position she had been in when Melinda had moved out of her line of vision.

“What is she, a robot or something?” she muttered to herself as the elevator doors opened behind her. “A computer? Or -- or magic…?” she murmured, her eyes widening as she considered the possibility -- one that a few weeks earlier she would not have considered, but that Andrew had taught her was definitely something to think of in these sorts of situations.

At that thought, she frowned pensively as she got into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. What was it that he had called the sort of spell used for deceptions -- to make things appear differently than they actually were….?

“A glamour!” she said aloud, watching the lighted numbers above the doors moving slowly higher as the elevator glided upward toward the penthouse level, her eyes lighting up with remembrance. “That’s what it is -- it’s a glamour, to make everybody think this place is totally normal, when really…” She gasped softly, as further understanding came to her, with a sinking feeling of apprehension.

*What if that’s what they’ve got going at the old Wolfram and Hart site?*

With that line of thinking came a more frightening idea, as she realized that this place likely did not house any actual humans at all. If the front desk clerk, the human residents coming and going, were all part of a monumental magical cloak to hide the real inner workings of this building -- then what lay just below the disguise?

What had *really* been in the lobby of this apartment building, where she had seen shiny marble and satin and a pretty, smiling human clerk?

A chill went through her at that thought, and a sick feeling rose up in her throat, as she suddenly thought that it had been very foolish to trust what she saw -- very foolish to come waltzing in here alone on the basis of having seen a few “normal humans” do the same.

Did those “normal humans” even exist?

As the elevator doors started to open, Melinda suddenly felt a sensation of panic, and pressed the “Door Close” button almost desperately, deciding all at once to go back down, to leave, and come back once she knew more about what she was getting into. Clearly, there was more to this situation than Mr. Giles and the Council’s seers were aware of, or they would not have sent her in here unprepared. She would go back to the house, talk to Andrew, tell him what she had seen and the conclusions she had reached…

The relief she felt as the doors started to close again was a physical sensation -- but also a short-lived one.

Just before the doors slid shut all the way, a gleaming silver blade slipped between them, and they automatically opened again.

At the sight of the sharp weapon, Melinda’s eyes went wide with fear and surprise, and she drew a small but lethal battle dagger from her back pocket. She thought it was pretty safe to say that she was not going to be dealing with a vampire when the doors were fully open, so she opted to leave her stake where it was in the other pocket.

No, not a vampire -- it was much worse.

Standing in front of the open elevator doors were a half dozen demons of Siron’s breed, mostly human looking with strange, dark eyes that were terrifying if you looked directly at them. Melinda did *not* look at them, springing immediately into action with her dagger and cutting the throats of two of them before they could move toward her.

Unfortunately -- there were more than two of them.

Once one of them managed to knock her dagger from her hand with the flat side of the sword he held, she really didn’t have a chance. They were nearly as strong as she was, and better armed -- not to mention the fact that she was badly outnumbered.

Still -- she didn’t stop fighting.

Against her best efforts, she was forced to her knees and held there by two of her opponents, while the others tightly shackled her ankles together, and her wrists behind her back. Once she knew that she would not be able to get away from them on her own, Melinda still continued to twist and writhe in their grasp, trying to escape anyway, while screaming at the top of her lungs for help.

A sharp, powerful backhand from one of them silenced her scream, dazing her and stilling her struggles for the moment. The demon who had delivered the blow laughed harshly, gripping her hair and yanking her head up, forcing her to face him as he smirked at her.

“You know, I would say, ‘Scream all you like, no one can hear you’…because there’s no one human here *to* hear you…but I’d really rather you didn’t, because it’s just annoying…”

Feeling a defiant rage building up in her, Melinda jerked away from his hand, opening her mouth to speak again.

“…of course, I could always gag you,” the demon pointed out with a casual shrug. “You might find it in your best interest to pick your battles, little girl.”

Melinda jerked once more against those that held her -- before suddenly stilling, as she had to reluctantly admit the wisdom of his words. Of course, she was sure that they were not intending to give her the chance to fight at all -- but perhaps if she conserved her strength, her energy, for a time when she might have an actual chance at victory, she might actually survive this long enough to get back to Andrew and the other Slayers.

She went limp, allowing them to drag her down a short hallway to the entrance to the penthouse suite itself, and through the door with was promptly triple-locked behind them. Within moments, they had brought her into a large, ornate looking library of sorts. The walls were lined with bookshelves, all full, though the floor of the room mostly empty; where there were furnishings, however, they were lavish and rich and spoke of wealth and power.

Seated in a large, ornate chair toward the back and center of the room, was another demon like the ones who had captured her -- and Melinda knew from the pictures she had seen who he was.

Their leader.

Siron.

He was relaxed, casual in an imperious way that said he knew his own power, and was not the least bit afraid of losing it. He smiled as they dragged her into the room and forced her to her knees once more, and she got the impression that he was not particularly surprised to see her.

*Security cameras,* she thought ruefully, with a feeling of disgust for her own carelessness. *They had to have known the moment I walked in the door.*

Once she was on her knees, Melinda noticed something she had not noticed before -- something that made her heart skip a beat in shock and horrified dismay, and drew her thoughts immediately away from her own foolish mistakes that had led to her capture.

Kneeling at Siron’s feet, beside his huge, throne-like chair, was a young man, nearly naked, with shocking white blond hair and pale white skin. She could not see his eyes at first, as his head was bowed in submission, but she could see the slight trembling of his shoulders, the reflexive swallow in his collared throat that revealed his fear.

Her first impression was that he was human -- but a moment after she looked at him, her Slayer senses registered that he was a vampire. Still, he did not appear able to present much of a threat to anyone, and she felt more sorry for him than hostile toward him. He appeared to be as much of a victim in all this as she was, more even. Judging by his condition -- bruised and battered and covered in various injuries -- and the fearful, submissive posture he was taking, he had been enslaved by Siron for some time now.

And no one, human or otherwise, deserved that.

“So this is a Slayer,” Siron mused, a mocking smirk on his face. “I‘m surprised. Such a remarkable *lack* of skill -- preparation -- wisdom...”

The slave looked up suddenly at Melinda, his eyes wide and startled -- and she was struck by the brilliant blue of that fearful, vulnerable gaze. Siron looked at him sharply, a frown of displeasure on his face, one hand shooting out smoothly to grasp the vampire’s hair and jerk his head back, and he flinched, his eyes closed immediately in a reaction of terror.

“Got a problem, Spike?” Siron asked coolly, his tone frighteningly calm as his dark eyes studied his slave’s taut, fearful expression.

“N-no, Master,” the vampire whispered, his voice trembling as he shook his head as much as he could with the cruel fist tangled in his hair. “I’m sorry, Master, please…”

Siron released Spike’s hair with a harsh slap to the side of his head, and the vampire immediately bowed his head, falling forward onto his face on the floor, his entire body shaking violently. Melinda stared at his pale, scarred back, in which every bone was visible, horrified at the extent of abuse and starvation that the poor creature had apparently been forced to endure.

“As I said,” Siron continued, his attention immediately focused back on Melinda, “I am less than impressed.”

Although his dark eyes were fathomless, terrifying pools of opaque evil, Melinda forced herself to hold his gaze, her eyes narrowing in contempt as she shot back, “So am I.”

The demons surrounding her gasped, looking anxiously to their leader, certain as she was that she would swiftly be punished for her insolence -- but Siron just laughed, looking at his men and shaking his head in amusement at her nerve.

“She’s a cocky one!” he smirked, chuckling softly.

Once they saw his reaction, his men began to laugh as well, until his expression gradually became serious again, and he focused his dark gaze back on Melinda, and they began to silence their own sounds of mirth as well, respectfully waiting for him to go on.

“I love breaking the cocky ones,” Siron informed her in a grim, dark tone of anticipation.

Once again, Melinda felt a chill at the quiet threat in his words.

Glancing down dismissively at the kneeling slave at his side -- whose shaking had stopped at some point during the exchange, Melinda suddenly noticed -- Siron sneered quietly, “Looks like you’re about to have a bit of a reprieve, Spike.” He shrugged almost apologetically as he smiled at Melinda and explained, “Once they’re broken I’m afraid they become -- well, simply boring…”

His smile disappeared in an instant as he addressed his men, still looking at Melinda, “Take her to my quarters. I’ll deal with her later tonight.”

Melinda’s eyes widened as she realized what it was that he intended for her, and she found that she could not take her eyes off the kneeling, terrified slave at Siron’s feet, hardly able to fathom the idea that that was what Siron intended for her to become. Despair came over her at the very thought that she could be so broken, and though she determined in her heart not to let him do it to her, something inside her that was small and afraid was very sure that eventually, he would succeed.

Perhaps if the demons holding her had not dragged her to her feet again at that moment and turned her toward the door, she might have seen something that would have added a sense of hope to soften her despair.

But her back was to Siron, and she did not see, as the slave at Siron’s side rose slowly to his feet -- and brilliant, vulnerable eyes of blue shifted and filled with golden rage.