Note from author:

I began work on this story before the untimely passing of Tara Maclay, hence her presence in my stories. My fan fics are all set around the time of "Tabula Rasa" - Tara and Willow are back together, and Giles is in England.

Sensing a sudden presence in the otherwise empty house, Buffy Summers tightened her grip on the knife in her hand.

She hadn’t heard the new arrival over the radio and running water of the kitchen sink, but she knew she was no longer alone.

Closing her eyes she focused her years of training to get a feel for the intruder. She waited a few moments, waiting for the right one. And then, she whirled…

…And stopped an inch from impaling a dear friend with her paring knife.

“Giles!” she exclaimed.

The man looked down at the knifepoint, which was hovering at his midsection, then back up at Buffy. “I see your reflexes are still sharp,” he remarked, a barely discernible tremor slipping through his polished British accent.

Quickly setting the knife down on the counter and turning off the water, she stammered an apology. “Giles, I am so sorry. I thought…”

Sinking gratefully into a chair at the table, Rupert Giles waved her apology away with a hand. “Quite all right. My heart needed a jumpstart this evening.”

After lowering the volume of the radio, Buffy sat down opposite the man who, over the years, had been her mentor, trainer, a surrogate father of sorts, and, most importantly, a dear friend. She studied his face for a bit, and then asked, “How bad?”

Her question seemed to startle him, because he jumped a bit and blinked a couple times before answering. “Rather.” He removed his glasses to polish them on his shirt. “Where’s Dawn?”

“She went to the movies with Tara and Willow.”

Slipping his glasses back on, Giles inquired, “And Xander and Anya?”

Buffy shrugged, feeling a little uneasy about the fact that he’d shown up unannounced with apparently important news or information, but so far had said nothing about what had brought him to Sunnydale, California, from London, England.

“At home, I assume. Why?”

Removing his glasses again, Giles replied, “You should call them. Ask them to come as soon as possible.”

Buffy grimaced. “It’s that bad?”

“Worse.”

She dutifully got up and placed the calls. She caught Willow just as they got back to Tara’s, and left a message on Xander’s machine.

Before she sat back down she offered, “Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?”

He smiled fleetingly. “I don’t suppose you’d have any Scotch?” When Buffy shook her head he said, “Water will be fine, thank you.”

As she got the glasses down she questioned, “Ice?”

“Please.”

She filled the glasses and brought them to the table. “Willow said she, Tara and Dawn will be here in a few minutes. Hopefully Xander will check his messages and come right over.”

“Yes, that would be best.”

Buffy sighed. She knew Giles well enough to know he wouldn’t tell her anything about why he was here until the rest of the gang arrived. She could understand him not wanting to repeat himself, but it was rather annoying to be so curious and not get relief.

So, she attempted small talk while they waited.

“How’s England?”

Giles again gave a fleeting smile. “I wish I could say it’s very exciting. But truthfully, my days are spent mostly sitting around my flat feeling sorry for myself.” He replaced his glasses, drank a little water, and then added, “I’d forgotten how boring life away from the Hellmouth could be.”

That was an opening large enough to drive a semi through blindfolded, but Buffy didn’t take it. She knew pushing Giles would only succeed in aggravating him. And it had been so long since she’d seen him that she really didn’t want to anger him.

“So you’re saying retirement doesn’t agree with you?”

He chuckled. “Actually, it was agreeing with me a bit too much. Not having anything better to do with my time than sit around…” He glanced sidelong at her as he trailed off. “So, I decided one morning to resume a workout schedule, which I’ve adhered to rather well.”

Buffy couldn’t help but ask, “What about the Council?”

At this his smile vanished. He removed his glasses yet again, and was about to answer when there was a knock on the front door. They heard it open, and a voice called, “Buffy?”

“In the kitchen, Will,” she answered.

Willow Rosenberg, Buffy’s best friend, came into the kitchen, trailed by her girlfriend Tara Maclay, and Buffy’s kid sister Dawn.

“So, Buff, what’s the … Giles!”

He had turned in the chair to look at the door behind him when the three had arrived, and didn’t have a chance to turn back before Willow embraced him.

“Giles, I’ve missed you!” she gushed.

“Choking,” he gasped, since Will had wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and one forearm was pressed against his throat.

“Oh! Sorry!” She let go of him, and let him stand before hugging him again.

Tara, who had stood quietly when they came in, moved now to give Giles a hug as well, something she used to be too shy to do.

“Hey, don’t hog the Watcher,” Dawn joked, joining the embrace.

Buffy shrugged and became part of the group hug, too.

“This is kinda nice,” she said.

“Yes, unless you’re the old man in the middle, being crushed by four over-enthusiastic girls,” Giles pointed out. “One of whom has supernatural strength.”

“You’re right,” Buffy admitted, letting go and stepping back. “It’s not fair to gang up on you.” But as soon as the others backed off she moved back in. “So, we’ll just hug you to death one at a time.”

At that moment the last of the gang, Alexander Harris and his fiancée Anyanka, arrived. Seeing the embrace from behind, Xander quickly jumped to the wrong conclusion.

He saw Willow, Tara and Dawn standing mute, seemingly dazed, and an unknown man with his arms enveloping Buffy.

“Anya, gimme a stake!” he ordered, holding his hand out for the weapon. “I’ll teach that vamp to hypnotize my friends and snack on the Slayer!” He started to charge forward, but Anya’s words brought him up short.

“It’s just Giles,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“He’s not ‘just Giles’,” Willow disagreed, frowning at Anya. “He’s…he’s…” She frowned harder, unable to come up with an appropriate attribute.

“Thank you for that glowing praise,” Giles teased, letting go of Buffy and turning to face Xander and Anya. He sighed. “I suppose you two will be wanting to hug me as well?”

“Oh, yuck,” Anya commented, wrinkling her nose.

Xander, who was striving to recover from his embarrassment, gave her a quick frown. “An, be nice,” he requested. He turned back to Giles, and put out a hand for shaking. But as soon as Giles took it, Xander pulled him into a tight bear hug.

Giles made a choked sound, kind of an “ooh,” and asked, “Still working construction?”

Xander dropped his arms and stepped away. “Sorry.”

Everyone looked expectantly at Anya, who glanced from one to another. “What?” she demanded. “I’m a one-man ex-demon,” she protested. She caught the look Xander gave her, and shrugged. “Oh, all right.” She walked over to Giles, then slugged him on the side of the shoulder. “Good to have you back, old chap!” she said cheerfully.

“Thank you,” Giles replied, wincing. He gingerly rubbed his shoulder, and added, “Old, indeed,” under his breath.

“Yes, it is,” Buffy agreed, “but it’d be nicer to know why.”

“Aw, c’mon Buff. Isn’t it possible that Giles just missed us so much he decided to pop in unexpectedly?” Xander questioned. No sooner did he say that than he shook his head. “Nah.”

“I wish this were a social call,” Giles admitted, slipping his glasses back on. “Perhaps we’d all be more comfortable in the living room?”

They regrouped in the living room; Tara, Dawn and Willow on the couch, Xander and Anya sharing a recliner, and Buffy perched on the ottoman. Giles stood, and began pacing as he spoke.

“I’d gotten a job in a rare book store – the hours were lousy but the pay was good. About a week ago a man came in with a box full of books; they’d been in the family for decades, but he had no use for them. I was more than happy to take them off his hands, for as I looked at the first few in the box I saw that he had some especially rare tomes.” He paused, considering what to say next. “One, in particular, caught my attention as I went through the box after he left. There was nothing unique about it, no gilt lettering or anything. It was small, and bound in leather, which was discolored, dried and cracked. The pages were yellowed and brittle, so I sat down at a table to go through it.” Again he paused, to see if everyone was still with him. “As I scanned the pages I noticed that it was written in ancient Gaelic. I was a bit rusty, but the few words I recognized made me realize just how valuable a book this was.” He stopped pacing right in front of Buffy, and looked down on her as he said, “It was a Watcher’s diary.”



He was in pain. No, not pain. Agony. Pure, unadulterated agony. Every cell in his body felt as if it were on fire. He wished that he could numb his mind to the hurt, but he couldn’t. There was not an inch of his body that wasn’t aching. If he could have found even an eyelash free of hurt that he could concentrate on, he could get his mind off the damaged areas, and thus start to heal.

Not for the first time he cursed himself for being a fool. If he’d used his brain for thinking he wouldn’t have fallen for such an obvious ruse. But something more primal had taken control, and this was the consequence.

Opening his eyes, he saw that the puddle of blood under his feet had started to dry. Which meant that he’d been unconscious longer this time than he thought. Judging by the tightness of the skin on his feet the wounds on his legs had ceased bleeding, and that blood was coagulating as well.

Hanging from the wall as he was made it difficult to ascertain the damage done to his body. But going by how he felt he wasn’t about to win any beauty contests.

His legs had been lashed so many times that what skin remained was raw; his pants had long ago been torn to shreds.

His wrists were chaffed from the iron manacles binding him to the wall, and in some places he could feel that the skin had been rubbed away to the bone.

His left side, from just under his arm to just above his hip, was one gigantic ache – he probably had cracked, if not broken, ribs.

Oddly enough, his face, and indeed the rest of his head, had been spared. It wasn’t a blow to the skull that had rendered him unconscious, but the overwhelming grip of the torture his body was enduring.

And it was all her fault. The woman who had lured him to this castle, who had loved him fiercely despite his many shortcomings. The one person with whom he’d at last found true happiness, and then had hurt mercilessly because of that happiness. The one person who could save him from this agony now, by bringing a final death to him – Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer.



“An Irish Slayer?” Xander interrupted.

Giles sighed with exasperation. “For the hundredth time, yes. An Irish bloody Slayer,” he snapped. “I’ve told you before, Slayers are not limited strictly to the States – wherever there is demon activity there is need of the Slayer. But that is hardly the point now.”

But before he could get back to what the point was Willow piped up. “Yeah! You remember, Xander. When we channeled the first Slayer so Buffy could kill Adam. She was like, Aboriginal or something.”

“That’s right!” Xander agreed. “And what about Kendra, Miss ‘I am the Slayer’?” Here he tried to mock her accent. “What was she, Jamaican or something?”

“Ooh! And didn’t Spike kill a Slayer in China?” Dawn put in, giving her sister a quick glance.

Buffy bristled at the name of the vampire that’d been one big headache for her since he’d come to town. She shot her younger sister an “I’ll get you later” glare.

“Guys! Quit interrupting Giles!” Tara demanded. When all startled eyes turned to her, surprised by her outburst, she didn’t lower her eyes meekly as she once would have done. “He’s got something very important to say, and he can’t say it if you all won’t shut up and let him finish. I haven’t known him as long as all of you, but I can tell this isn’t good. We should all just sit and listen to what he has to tell us.”

Giles blinked a couple times. “Why, yes. Quite right. Thank you, Tara.” He cleared his throat. “Now, as I was saying, it was a Watcher’s diary I’d found. It took me some time to translate it, and I’ll admit I’ve probably made quite a few mistakes, but it’s very clear on one thing – the Slayer this Watcher was writing about…she….” He stumbled to a halt, not quite able to say what he had to. “Um…well, she…” He reached up to remove his glasses, which brought Buffy to her feet.

“Damn it, Giles! She what? We all know Slayers die. Most of them don’t live much past age 20. That’s not what brought you back to wonderful Sunnydale. That’s not worth four glasses polishings. Now, out with it. The Irish Slayer what?”

Dropping his gaze, Giles answered softly, “She went over.”



It was night. Again. Even though the one small window high up in the wall was out of his line of sight he knew it was once more evening by the sounds coming through the opening. And the fact that he’d been visited again.

Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have minded his visitors. But these circumstances were far from normal. And he'd encountered these three before. The first time they’d appeared to him now he’d known precisely where he was, but not yet why he was there. Although he had a feeling things were not going to end well for him.

They were captivating. Tall and slender. Really quite beautiful. They taunted him with their eyes, with their very movements.

They would reach between the bars of the cage he was imprisoned in, caressing his body in ways that made him moan with longing. It was worse when all three toyed with him at the same time. He wanted so desperately to be with them, to lie with them and give in to their temptations, but he knew better. It was at moments like that, when he thought he would go mad from the tension of unreleased urges, that he actually was grateful for the cage. His prison saved him from certain death.

He thought back to the last time that he’d been in this castle. Then, unlike now, he’d been with someone else. Then, like now, he’d come hunting, hunting an unholy creature.

Then, he’d come with a friend, to destroy the evil and save his love. Now, he’d come alone, to destroy the evil that had once been his love.

His love. Yes, he realized, he still thought of her that way. Even now when he was married. They’d been through so much, and their deep love for each other had many times sustained them.

But their love had soured. He had left her, breaking both their hearts. And now?

And now… now, he was back. Had returned when he’d heard the reports, unbelievable at first, but then he’d seen for himself. The woman he’d loved, had fought against evil side by side with, had herself become evil. She’d lured him back to this horrid castle, and given him over to the care of those three lustful creatures.

If he were permitted to die, he vowed to himself that his last breath would be used to curse the name of Buffy Summers.



After much discussion, and some arguing, it was agreed that Giles would stay the night at Buffy’s. He tried to protest, claiming he could get himself a hotel room, but Buffy settled the matter.

“I wouldn’t make a member of my family sleep in a hotel,” she said pointedly.

Giles drew breath to say something, paused, thought about it, looked around the room at the group, and smiled. “Thank you, Buffy,” he said warmly.

Xander suggested they turn it into a slumber party, which Dawn readily agreed to. But that idea was quashed when Willow reminded him what happened the last time they’d all slept in the same room.

“I’ve finally gotten that weird cheese guy out of my head. I don’t especially want him back in.”

So Xander and Anya, and Tara and Willow all went home. They were going to meet the next morning The Magic Box, the store Anya had inherited from Giles.

Dawn whispered to her sister as they walked upstairs to Buffy’s room. “I like having a man in the house.”

When Buffy turned to frown at her, Dawn smiled enigmatically, and hurried upstairs. She didn’t explain herself, not even when Buffy began The Dreaded Tickle Torture.

When Giles, wearing only his bathrobe, came to investigate the squealing from Buffy’s room, Dawn winked at her sister and arched an eyebrow.

“Sorry, Giles,” Buffy apologized, whapping Dawn with a pillow. “She’s being an obnoxious teenage girl.”

Giles just smiled, bade them a goodnight, and headed back to Dawn’s room; she’d graciously given up her bed for the night, saying she and Buffy could share Buffy’s bed. Buffy was beginning to have second thoughts as to the wisdom of that decision.



The next morning Buffy and Dawn were cleaning up after breakfast when a blurry-eyed Giles finally made an appearance.

“Morning sleepyhead!” Buffy said cheerfully.

Giles frowned sleepily at her and sank into a chair at the table. “What time is it?”

“9:30,” Dawn answered, straightening from removing something from the oven. Bringing it over to the table, she set it down in front of him. “We kept a plate warm.”

Giles glanced down at the food – fried potatoes, two sausages, and a couple pieces of toast. Shaking his head, he stated, “I’m really not hungry. I’ll just have a cup of tea. Or coffee. Hot cocoa, even.”

Buffy slid in opposite him. “Nonsense. We’re going to be spending the day doing research. Hot cocoa isn’t brain food. And there might be slaying later. You’ll need your strength.”

Giles seemed ready to protest again, until Dawn said, “Buffy made it special for you. Normally all she feeds me is dry cereal.”

“I do not!” Buffy retorted, giving her sister a mock scowl.

Giles sighed and picked up the fork. “Actually, I am a bit peckish.”



Xander sighed heavily, and, if possible, sarcastically. He leaned back in his chair and made a show of rubbing his eyes. He rolled his head, trying to get the kinks out of his neck. The head rolling lead to shoulder shifting and then arm stretching. Just as he twisted his wrist to view his watch Buffy met his gaze over the top of her book.

“Want to go on a snack run?” she asked pointedly.

“Oh, yes, please!” he answered eagerly.

“Go.”

Xand practically scrambled out of his chair, and left the store just short of a run.

As he hurried by, Willow glanced up from the pile of pillows on the floor she and Tara were sharing, then looked over at Buffy with a mini frown.

“Research Boy met his match,” Buffy explained.

It was understandable. They’d been poring over all the books that Giles felt might pertain to the Irish Slayer since the three of them had arrived at the store at 11:00.

To Anya’s gleeful pointing out of their late arrival (The night before they’d agreed to meet at nine in the morning.) Buffy had said, “Cut the English guy some slack, An. Time zones and Daylight Savings have a way of screwing a person up.”

“Yes,” Anya had agreed. “As does age.”

The only one who missed Rupert’s glare at that remark was the one it was aimed at.

Now it was five in the afternoon, and everyone was getting tired of reading. Dawn was the only one so far who had found anything of interest, but that had just been a brief mention of an Irish witch who had become a vampire.

“Now there’s a scary combination,” Xander had remarked, glancing from Willow, who was a recovering witch, to Buffy, who killed vampires for a living.

“Double whammy,” Will had agreed, having caught and read the look. She knew what Xander had thought – if she’d not backed off on her spell casting, and then had somehow been vamped, Buffy would have been forced to kill her. And Will knew how hard it was for her friend to kill those she loved.



He supposed he could admit he loved her. But not in the romantic sense. He loved her power, her self-assuredness, and her no-nonsense demeanor. He just couldn’t love her as a lover would. There was someone else he reserved those feelings for.

Siobhan was resting now, regaining her strength after her last spell. He watched her sleeping, and felt a fierce pride swell up within. She’d been a very powerful witch in her day, and her power had grown over the years.

Of course when Siobhan had gotten her calling she’d had to limit how often she used her dark skills; it wouldn’t do for one of her stature to use magic. But the lure of that power was too strong for her to withstand, and she at last had given in. Which had gotten her shunned by those of the order.

Not that she cared. Free at last to use her magic however and whenever she wanted, she also felt a pull to the dark. And so, just shy of her 18th birthday, Siobhan Conner became the only Slayer in history to willing give her life over to vampirism.

He smiled as she stretched and started to come awake. He knew her entire life history, even though they’d only been together the past two years: in her one hundred years as a vampire she’d made quite a name for herself. She was nearly as famous as he was. Nearly. Not quite. He seriously doubted the name Conner would strike as much terror into the hearts of mortals as did Dracula. But, he could hope.



“Oh, dear,” Giles murmured. Using his finger to keep his place in the diary, which he’d slowly been translating, he carried it to the table Dawn, Anya and Buffy were sitting at. “Uh, Dawn. D-do you recall w-which book had the reference to the, uh, Irish witch?” He winced inwardly at the amount of stuttering he’d just done.

“Sure,” she replied, setting the book she’d been scanning aside and shifting through the pile in the middle of the table. She found the one she wanted, opened it near the middle, leafed backwards and then forward until she relocated the brief article. “Here,” she said, pointing at the text.

Giles reached over her shoulder and picked up the volume. He’d gotten a chilled sensation deep inside when he’d glimpsed the title of the tome, and after he’d carried it back to the counter and began to peruse the information the chill turned arctic, and then sub-arctic.

“What’s up?” Buffy queried, trailing after him.

“Well, I believe,” he began, rapidly glancing from the diary to the text in the book, and back. “Oh dear.”

Anya and Dawn left the table, and Willow and Tara joined them as they gathered at the counter. They’d all heard the note in his voice, and waited patiently for the bad news they knew he was about to deliver.

“Oh, my,” Rupert breathed, using one index finger to keep track in the diary, and the other to follow along in the book Dawn had given him. He pulled off his glasses, and muttered, “Oh, dear.”

“So you’ve said,” Buffy pointed out. “Why?”

He managed to pull his attention away from the words long enough to look up and meet her gaze. But he couldn’t face her for very long, and quickly dropped his eyes. Everyone was waiting, however, and he knew he couldn’t keep it from them.

Running his fingers through his hair, hoping they didn’t notice the tremble in his hand, he finally said guardedly, “There is some small chance that I-I’ve translated this incorrectly,” and here he tapped the diary with one long finger. “But, if I haven’t, and if the reference in this book is to be trusted, which by all means it should be, as the facts contained in this particular volume are heavily researched before being put down on paper…” He trailed off, realizing that he was rambling. “Well. At any rate, there is every indication that…”

Xander bursting through the door interrupted him. “Dracula’s back!” the young man exclaimed, jumping the short step of the landing down to the main floor. His eyes were wild and his face pale.

Of course everyone turned at his entrance, and then all eyes returned to Giles, who gave a small weak smile.

“Yes, well. I was just getting to that.” His chuckle was as weak as the smile had been.

Buffy, however, had her not-amused face on, and she glared at her Watcher as she demanded, “What is it with that guy? I mean, how many times do I have to kill him before he takes ‘no’ as an answer?”

Handing Buffy a piece of paper, Xand said, “Well, apparently, this time it’s personal.”

Buffy’s glare turned to a frown at Xander’s remark, then her face transformed again as she read the note. From frown it went to shock, and then rapidly to pure rage.

Crumpling the note in a fist, she grabbed Giles by the arm and began to haul him from the store.

“Come on,” she demanded.

Quite startled, having barely enough time to grab his glasses, he managed to question, “W-where are we going?”

“To kick some vampire ass.”

“Oh, at the risk of repeating myself, dear.”

As Slayer quite literally dragged Watcher from the shop, ex-vengeance demon slapped human on the shoulder.

“Xander!” she scolded.

“Ow?”

“What did you do?” she questioned of her fiancé.

“I’m sure it’s not his fault,” Will objected, defending her childhood sweetheart.

Fighting the urge to rub his bruised shoulder, Xand nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not. I was just minding my business, heading to the store for some snacks, when this … vampirette jumped from the shadows. I didn’t have any weapons, and I’m too much of a gentleman to hit a woman, even an undead one…”

“You mean too much of a wuss,” An said icily.

“Anya! That’s not nice,” Dawn stated.

“That’s right. Xander’s not a wuss,” Willow agreed. “He’s … well, he’s cautious. Very non-wussie.”

“Thanks, Will. Any way, this vamp chick hands me the note, saying ‘The Master remembers you. Pray you do not fail him again.’ Then she did that mist thing Drac pulled on us in the graveyard.”

“That’s all she said?” Willow asked.

“That was enough – I got the message. Both of them. And I took the safest course of action and came right back.”

“Hightailed it like a wuss,” Anya corrected.

“Anya, that’s enough,” Willow complained. “After what Xander went through last time the Count was in town I don’t blame him for not sticking around.”

“Thanks again,” he said warmly. “Spiders and flies and other creepy things are not my favorite menu.”

“So what did the letter say?” Tara asked quietly.

Willow was surprised that her girlfriend assumed he’d read the letter, but she also knew him well enough to know he did.

“Dracula’s holding Angel and Riley hostage,” he answered simply.

Before any of them could express amazement at the fact that Buffy’s former vampire lover and former Initiative solider boyfriend were both back in town the door slammed open for the second time that night.

This arrival was a man of medium height, dressed bleached-blond head to combat boots in black, with a long black trench coat. He had the sunken-cheeks sculptured look many models starved themselves for, and a tightly muscled body.

“Hey Nibblet,” he said to Dawn, who was closest. “Where’s Big Sis? I’ve got news for her.” His English accent wasn’t as refined as Rupert’s was, nor was his choice of language as gentlemanly.

“You just missed her, Spike,” Dawn answered. She, alone, was happy to see him, in part because she had a secret crush on him.

“Buggers!” he exclaimed. He looked around at the group, and sighed. “I suppose I can tell you all. Dracula’s come back.” When no one reacted, he frowned for a moment, then said, “But, you already knew that.” And then what Dawn had told him came to him, and he blinked. “Don’t tell me Ms. Save the World went off to Drac’s castle alone?”

“No,” Anya retorted. “She took Giles with her.”

Spike scoffed. “That’s the same as going along.”

Willow’s eyes flashed with anger. “That’s not true! Giles is perfectly capable of helping Buffy. Or of going it alone, if need be. He’s the Watcher, for crying out loud! He taught Buffy everything she knows.”

“Not everything,” Tara said softly.

“Easy, Red,” Spike coaxed. “I was just pokin’ fun. I respect Rupert’s skills.” He cocked his head to one side. “I just wonder why the Slayer went off to fight him again? She’s got to know she can’t win,” he pondered out loud.

“Because Dracula has Angel and Ri…” Dawn started. But Tara and Willow, who were standing on either side of her, both clapped a hand over her mouth.

Spike arched an eyebrow. “Ah! Now it makes sense. Thanks, Nibblet.” Then he turned on his heel and slipped back outside.

“God! I wish Buffy had staked him when she had the chance!” Xander griped.

“So what do we do now?” Tara wanted to know.

“Wait for Buffy, I guess,” Willow answered with a shrug.

“Mmmph,” Dawn put in.

Tara and Willow removed their hands from her mouth, and she repeated herself. “Bull. She’s going to need our help.”

“I don’t think so, Dawnie,” Tara disagreed, shaking her head. “She has Mr. Giles with her, and Spike is probably going to….oh.” She stopped as something occurred to her. “Oh, dear.” She walked around the counter and started reading from the book. “Oh. Oh, dear,” she murmured.

“She’s got Gilesitis,” Xander cracked. Willow shot him a quick look, which effectively shut him up, and she moved to Tara’s side.

Will only had to read a brief passage that Tara pointed out to her before her face fell. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Not good.”



“Buffy,” Rupert called, striving to keep up as she ran down the street. “Buffy, please!”

She slowed down enough for him to draw even. “Giles, I don’t have time for a lecture, and you can’t talk me out of this. Angel was my first love. And I still care about Riley. You know I’m going to do this, with or…”

He held up a hand. “I was just going to suggest,” he paused and drew a deep breath. “That we use my car.”

“Oh. Right. Lead on, McDuff.”

Giles frowned at her choice of quote, but nevertheless turned and headed back for his rental. He pushed himself to maintain a brisk jog, but he knew his muscles would be protesting all of the next day. Provided, of course, that they survived their encounter with the infamous Count. He hadn’t told Buffy the truth earlier, and it didn’t appear that she’d figured it out. Or, if she had, she was keeping it to herself.

“So, you still care for Riley?” he questioned as they got within sight of his car.

Buffy, easily keeping stride with him, nodded. Her Slayer training enabled her to keep this pace for a good hour without breaking a sweat or needing to stop for a breather. If she noticed how it was taxing her friend, however, she didn’t let on.

“Yeah. I don’t love him any more. Especially now that he’s married. But I…”

Giles drew to a stop alongside his car. Looking at her over the roof he asked, “Riley’s married?”

“Uh-huh. To a solider chick. Cute couple – they kick demon butt together.”

Giles shook his head and muttered something about only being gone a few months and delusions of grandeur before opening his door and getting in. Buffy joined him and he started the engine.

“Drac’s home, Giles. And don’t spare the horsepower,” she cracked.

“Right. Buckle up.” And he stomped the gas, leaving rubber for three feet on the blacktop.



Back in The Magic Box, while Tara and Willow read over the information in the book, and a frustrated Dawn stood off to one side with her arms folded, Anya leaned over Xander’s shoulder and asked, “So, Xander, honey, what did this female vampire look like?”

Xander, who had been resting his arms on the counter and watching Tara and Willow, straightened. “Well, like your garden variety vamp – bumpy forehead, wrinkled nose. Yellow eyes and fangs.”

“But was she ugly?” Anya pressed.

Suddenly Xander understood. She was jealous. Fortunately for him she no longer had her demon powers. Twisting so he could look her in the eyes, he answered truthfully, “An, honey. She’s a vampire. All vampires are ugly. Goes with the territory.”

“Spike’s not,” Dawn said quietly.

Anya looked deep into his eyes, searching for a trace of deception.

He laughed, a little nervously. “Sweetie, come on. You know I don’t look at other demons. I love only you.”

She considered this, then shrugged. “Ok. I should’ve known better, any way. We are, after all, going to be married.”

“Yeah. Yes, we are.”

“Uh, guys?” Willow began. “We’re in a pile of trouble.”

Picking up on the strain in her voice, Anya stopped toying with Xander’s hair. “Why?” she asked.

“Well, according to this, combining witch power with vampire power…well, it’s not good. Way not good.”

“Depending on how powerful the witch was before she went over,” Tara took over, “she might be able to counteract some of the vampire weaknesses.”

“You mean like fear of garlic and crosses?” Xand asked uneasily.

Will nodded. “Yeah. And the whole bursting into flame in sunlight thing.”

“Oh, dear,” he lamented.



Buffy and Giles sat in the car, parked in the shadow of a large tree, and studied the imposing castle.

“Any plans for getting in?” Giles wanted to know.

“I don’t suppose if we just sauntered up and knocked he’d welcome us in with open arms.”

“No, I don’t think he would.”

She thought for a moment, then suggested, “We could always use the Cordelia Chase Battering Ram technique.”

Giles arched an eyebrow and turned to look at her. “Buffy, this is a rental,” he reminded.

“Good point.” She sighed. “Well, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Me, too,” her Watcher admitted sadly.

After a few moments of silence, she slapped her hands on her thighs and declared, “Well, sitting here won’t accomplish anything. I say we just head up there. Maybe we’ll think of something by the time we reach the door.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Giles reluctantly agreed. He got out, closed his door and opened the back door to get his weapons bag.

Buffy also got out, and as she turned to her door she shouted a warning. “Giles! Duck!”

Unfortunately, she was a just a second too late, because the club the vampire was holding crashed into the back of Rupert’s head just as she said his name.

And before she could react, a pair of hands grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her back. The last thing she saw was the body of her unconscious friend slung over the shoulder of a vampire who no doubt had been a linebacker when he was alive, and then she was literally swarmed by vampires. Giles would have been proud that she went down fighting, but at the same time disappointed that she went down.



There was a cool breeze tickling the skin of his bare chest. But that wasn’t what brought him up out of the depths of unconsciousness. It was his finely honed sense of danger that brought him back to the world of the living. Or, as he was about to find out, the living dead.

Rupert Giles cracked one eyelid partially open, ready to close it immediately if the light proved too harsh, or if the harm his internal alarm system had detected was near by. Neither proved to be the case, so he opened both eyes fully.

He was lying flat on something hard and cold, most likely stone. As he came more fully back into himself and the rest of his senses became once again completely functional he realized he was shirtless and without shoes, and tied quite firmly to whatever surface he was upon.

Experimentally he slowly turned his head to the left. The movement sent dull pains down his neck, and offered nothing of interest to see except a stone wall.

He returned his head to a neutral position, which provided a lovely view of the vaulted ceiling, and then he cautiously turned to the right.

This time there was no dull ache, but searing, wrenching waves of pain that brought darkness to the edge of his vision, and a clammy feeling of needing to be forcefully purged to his stomach.

With a moan, he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting off the queasiness. After a few tense breaths he opened his eyes again, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He now knew the source of the imminent threat to his well being.

“Ah, bloody hell,” he griped hoarsely. “Not again.”

And then he mercifully passed out once more.



Xander was dividing his attention between Tara and Willow, who had moved back to the table and were now in full research mode, and Anya, who had closed up shop and was counting the till with Dawn’s help.

Not surprisingly the young woman was sulking. Once again she was left out of the gang’s plans to help her older sister save the world, or at least their little corner of it. He could understand her frustration, but he also knew that until she learned to control her impulses and prove herself reliable she would continue to be left out. Which, in turn, would only make her withdraw more, and lash out at improper moments. He’d been there and done that, and knew it wouldn’t be easy.

“Hey, An? Maybe Dawn can go home with you?” When she frowned he quickly added, “I’ll stay here and help Tara and Willow.”

Anya thought about this a moment, but still didn’t get his reasoning. “Why can’t we all go…wherever? Or why do you have to go? Why does anyone? Can’t Buffy and Giles handle it?”

Xander sighed, walked over to his fiancée and set a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, you’re human now. You can’t battle a witch.”

“And you can, Mr. Construction Worker?” she retorted.

“No, I can’t. But the two most powerful witches I know can, and they’ll need someone to protect them when they’re casting spells. You and Dawn… you can play board games. Play Life.”

Anya cheered a little at this suggestion. “I like that game!” she said happily.

“That’s because you always win,” Dawn said sourly. She was getting mad at Xander – he was acting like a grownup trying to keep her out of the way.

“Don’t get me wrong, Dawn. I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Xander tried to assure her. “I’m trying to live up to the promise I made Buffy, to watch out for you.”

Dawn folded her arms again and scoffed. She fixed a nasty glower on her face and directed it at him. “That is the lamest thing I’ve heard you say, and you’ve said a lot of lame things.”

“Hey! Don’t insult my fiancé!” Anya protested. “That’s my job.”

Dawn ignored her entirely. She was on a roll right now. “You all have been pushing me out of the way since I was created,” she accused. “There’s never been room for me in your tight little group, because I’m different. I can’t help what I am! But I have feelings, too. Even if I’m not completely human. Or didn’t start out human. I love Buffy; I want to help her.”

“Dawnie, you have helped,” Tara pointed out.

“Oh, yeah. I looked at books. Big whoop.”

“No, I mean you’re the one who found the passage about Siobhan Conner.”

Dawn’s anger faltered slightly. “Who?”

“The Irish Slayer slash witch slash vampire,” Willow clarified. Suddenly her face brightened. “Hey. Hey! Hey!”

“Nice Fat Albert impression, Will,” Xander teased.

Will waved her hand as if to clear his words from the air. “Dawn and Anya can both help us,” she claimed.

“I can?” Dawn asked.

“We can?” Anya doubted.

“They can?” Xander and Tara chimed.

Will nodded. “Uh-huh. I’m pretty sure I found a couple spells that should work, but there are some things we need to get. Supplies.”

Now Dawn was skeptical. “This isn’t just a ‘give the little girl an easy task to get rid of her’ trick, is it?”

Willow beamed. “Trust me, Dawnie. You two are going to help. Big time. You might even get to save Buffy’s life this time.”

Dawn broke into a gigantic grin. “Cool!”



Spike had a headache. And for once that blasted behavior modification chip those bloody fools at the Initiative had implanted in his skull in a sad attempt to “tame” him didn’t induce it. This headache was caused by a much different, but no more pleasant, invasion.

He closed his eyes, and mentally cursed the cause of this pain. He put as much vehemence into it, and laced together as many expletives, as he had the strength for.

It had the desired effect. She backed away rapidly, shaking from the pure rage emanating from him.

“William!” she gasped.

“Stay out of my mind,” he growled.

“But why? It’s such fascinating territory.” She smiled beguilingly. “All those deliciously naughty thoughts you’ve had…” She moved closer to him and languidly trailed a fingernail along the scar on his chest. “Do you really think the Slayer would let you do any of that?”

Spike tried to pull away, but the ropes tying him to the post didn’t give him much leeway. “What do you know about the Slayer, Conner?” he questioned brusquely.

The vampire witch backed away again. Folding her legs, she settled into a cross-legged position in front of him, slowly rising off the floor until she floating at eye-level.

“A lot, dear William. I know a lot. Much of what I know came from your lovely mind – that you killed two of our kind, that you love this new Slayer, that she ridiculed you when you expressed that love.”

Spike flinched at those words, and closed his eyes. But she’d seen his reaction, and attacked.

“That hurt you, didn’t it? When Summers rebuffed you, that hurt. More than your pride was injured, wasn’t it, poor William? She hurt your heart with her words, telling you she could never love you. That you were below her.”

Anger flared as Spike’s face transformed – his brow drew together and lowered over the bridge of his nose, his eyes turned baleful yellow and his canines became fangs. In the half-blink of the eye he went from model handsome to something from a nightmare.

“Ooh, did I hit a nerve, William darling?”

“The name,” he corrected in a low grumble, “is Spike. And you’d do well to remember that, you bloody twit.”



Buffy was seriously, no doubt about it, royally ticked off. The object of her crankiness was standing not more than ten feet from her, a distance she could normally cover in two quick back flips, but she couldn’t get close.

She raised her head and glared once more at her protagonist. “Not to disparage your interior decorator,” she said sarcastically, “but aren’t wall mounts generally dead?”

The tall, sallow man smiled sardonically. “You may soon be, Slayer.” He advanced on her, black cloak rippling with the movement. “I have a proposal for you,” he went on.

Buffy tilted her head to one side. “Aw. Too bad you’re not my type.” She hadn’t misunderstood his statement, of course, but she was angry and sore and tended to talk smart when in a tough spot.

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” her tormentor sneered, drawing closer still. He didn’t fear that she’d attack, for he felt she was safely tied to the post. “I heard that you’re drawn to the older, undead type.”

“You heard wrong,” she informed him.

“Oh? Then you mean to tell me that the four men that I have in various rooms of my castle mean nothing to you?”

Four? Buffy thought furiously. She knew he had Angel and Riley – the note Xander had delivered said as much. The third was most likely Giles, since she’d seen no sign of her Watcher when she’d come to an hour ago. But she couldn’t figure who the fourth would be. Could Xander have been foolish enough to follow her? She wouldn’t put it past him; he did get a hero complex from time to time.

Then again, the vampire could be lying to her. It could have something to do with whatever nefarious plan he’d come up with to lure her here.

“No, they mean something to me,” she replied. “They are all special to me, for other reasons. I love each of them, but not in the way you think.”

And she did. She would always love Angel, but now as someone she shared a past with, not as a lover. And the same was true of Riley. Giles had a special place in her heart, as well, but that as a more complicated relationship. As for Xander, she loved him as a brother she’d always wanted, and as a dear friend.

She assumed it was Xander, because she really couldn’t think of who else it could be.

The Count paused, mimicking her head tilt. “Hmm. That isn’t good. I was hoping you had stronger feelings for them.” He tilted his head the other way and grinned. “But maybe you’ll at least hear me out. Maybe you’ll decide my offer is one, to borrow a phrase, you can’t refuse.”

His grin rapidly faded when Buffy reached and grabbed him by the neck. One thing he hadn’t counted on was the Slayer having a small dagger in a cleverly crafted holster tucked inside her shirtsleeve. After she’d come to, a flick of her wrist had exposed the blade, and she’d been able to saw through her bonds before he’d returned.

Cutting through thick rope wrapped around your wrists while your arms are tied behind a post behind your back was difficult at best, and Buffy had nicked herself several times before she’d finally been able to free herself. She noticed with disgust the way the vampire’s eyes widened at the sight of the blood trickling from her wrist, and tightened her grip.

She knew she couldn’t cut off his air, since vampires didn’t breathe, but she could cause excruciating pain by crushing his windpipe.

“Are my friends still alive?” she demanded.

Dracula could only nod, since her fingers were wrapped too tightly to allow his voice box to function properly.

“If I let you go, will you set them free?”

He nodded, then shook his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean, maybe?”

A nod.

Buffy’s frustration level was building. She could just stake him and get it over with, but he had an annoying habit of rematerializing. He was the only vampire she’d ever encountered who had that ability, and it ticked her off. She liked it when they just went “poof” in a cloud of dust – over and done with. But Dracula was different.

Although she was disinclined to, she released his throat, but quickly dropped her hand a couple inches and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“Talk,” she ordered tersely.

He cleared his throat and raised a hand to rub it. A stern look from his captor changed his mind, and he lowered his hand.

“As I said, Slayer…”

“Buffy,” she corrected, twisting her fist in his shirt. “Call me Buffy, or Ms. Summers.”

Dracula grinned fleetingly. “As I said, Ms. Summers, in four rooms of my castle are four men you care deeply about. I propose a deal. You find them and free them before sunup, and I let you all live.”

“And if I fail?”

“You give me what I wanted last time: You join me. Freely.”

“Why do you want me? You already have a Slayer.”

“Ah, you’ve heard of Siobhan. Yes, she is special. Such power for one so young. But you, you are different. You are a challenge. I so love challenges.”

“Lucky me.” She considered a while, then suggested, “Let’s make this interesting. I free my friends before sunup. You and I have a fair fight. Just you and me, no mist, no tricks.”

“Sounds intriguing. But, as they say, what’s in it for me?”

“It’s a fight to the death,” Buffy clarified. “Or, undeath.”

Dracula grinned broadly, flashing his infamous fangs. “You have yourself a deal.”



Even when he closed his eyes he could still see the images. A tiny part of his mind knew that was because they weren’t real, but that part of his mind didn’t have enough strength to get that point across.

They were painful images. He was alone; no one that he cared for was around. They didn’t need him any more, and so he spent his time, endless time, sitting alone, growing older and more out of shape as the days, then weeks and finally years passed. Until one day he just couldn’t take the loneliness any more, and finally decided to end it.

His head whipped left and right as he fought to stop the thoughts. He didn’t want to give in; he was trying so hard. But he could feel himself getting weaker, and the urge to resist faltered.

“Yes,” the ever-present voice coaxed. “Give in. It has to be this way. You must do it. It’s the only way to end your misery. Do it. Do it. Do it.”

He strained every muscle in his body. “No. I-I won’t.” He forced his eyes open, not wanting to see those horrible images any longer. He turned his head to face her. Sweat exploded from him as he fought to regain control of his will. “No,” he stated firmly. “This is all a lie. One of your kind tricked me like this once. I won’t let it happen again.”

But even as he said those words he felt himself losing ground again. If only he hadn’t been such a fool. If he’d only acted sooner, or maybe had acted on his own. If he’d just been a bit faster when…

The door to the room suddenly crashed in, and he was heartened to see the cause. “Buffy! Thank God!” Giles exclaimed.

“Every morning I wake up,” his young friend replied. She had obviously just kicked the door down, and stood now in the opening, glaring at her opponent. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she began, striding up to Siobhan. “I forgot to knock.” With a shrug, Buffy punched the vampire.

The blow sent Siobhan flying clear across the room. Dazed, the former Slayer got unsteadily to her feet, but instead of attacking, she hissed angrily and vanished in a cloud of mist.

Without further wisecracks Buffy set about freeing Giles. “Are you all right?” she asked with concern, cutting through the ropes that tied him to the stone bench.

“A nasty headache, but otherwise fine,” he answered. He was referring both to the blow he’d taken earlier, and the unclean feeling of having Siobhan in his mind, but he didn’t think Buffy knew of that last. He figured she assumed she’d interrupted before the vampire could do anything.

So her next statement startled him. “Now you know how a Vulcan mind-meld feels,” she joked, helping him to sit up.

Rather embarrassed to be half-naked in front of her, he looked around for something to put on. It didn’t appear as if the room was used for living in, however, and he turned his attention back to her.

“How…how did you know?”

“Just got lucky. This is the first room I tried.”

“Oh. No, I meant…” He raised a hand and tapped his forehead.

“Oh, that. Xander had told me about Drusilla.” She gave him a hand getting to his feet, and continued. “Since you haven’t been sliced and diced, I figured she was messing with your mind.”

Her statement reminded him that he was without shirt, and he wrapped his arms around himself, looking about again for some article of clothing. He couldn’t figure why his shirt had been taken, nor imagine what they had done with it. Pity, too, as it was one of his favorites.

“Yes, well, good reasoning on your part,” he praised. “I dare say that your timing was … was quite good. Why are you staring?”

Buffy blinked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was.” She shook her head once and frowned slightly. “Can you walk?”

“I’m old. I’m not decrepit,” Giles grumped. He swayed a little and his head pounded, but when he took a couple short experimental steps he found he was still mobile. “I seem able to function like a regular human,” he stated. “Buffy, you’re staring again.” He shuffled forward a little and wondered aloud, “Where’s my bloody damn shirt?”

“Huh?” Buffy’s frown deepened. “Uh, I didn’t see it…” She looked around the room, as if the item in question would suddenly materialize. “Uh, Giles. I don’t mean to be rude,” she started. “But…um…”

He turned to her, waiting expectantly. When she didn’t continue he prodded her gently, knowing she’d feel better getting it out. “What, Buffy?”

She blushed slightly, God bless her. “All those grey hairs… they aren’t my fault, are they? Not all of them?”

He laughed. That hadn’t been what he’d been expecting, and the laugh was more at himself for assuming than at her question. Seeing her startled look, he quickly apologized.

“I’m sorry Buffy. I was… I thought you were going to say something else.” He ran his fingers through his hair, which was showing more grey since the last time they’d been together. “No, they’re not all your fault. That happens when you get older.”

“Oh. Good. I mean, good that I didn’t cause them, not good that you’re getting older. Not that you look older. You look distinguished. But then you’ve always looked distinguished. And I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

With a large smile he replied, “Like a brook.”

Buffy returned the smile. “Sorry. You know how I get sometimes.” She looked around the room, which appeared to have been at one time an indoor garden, as there were empty pots hanging from the walls and the withered remains of a large potted tree in one corner. “What say we get out of this cheery place? I only have a few hours to find the others.”

“Others?” Giles questioned. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, realizing for the first time that his glasses were missing as well. “Oh, right. Angel and Riley,” he remembered.

“And Xander,” Buffy added, leading the way out of the dead garden.

“Xander?”

“Yeah. Drac said he had four men I cared deeply about hostage in this House of Morbid, and he gave me until sunup to find and free them.”

They moved into the hallway, Buffy carefully checking both ways before stepping out, and Giles gradually able to move faster.

“What happens after you free them?”

“Then the Count and I have a little mano a mano, no tricks allowed. I kill him, he stays dead. We all go home and party ‘til the sun goes down.”

“And if… if by some chance, you can’t free them?”

Buffy stopped and turned to face him with a serious look. “Then I give myself to Dracula.”

Giles reeled. Not from the statement so much as from the expressionless way in which she said it. He recognized it as her resigned tone: She’d battle the monster, and if she lost she was ready for death. And that wasn’t right, damn it. She was still too young, still had so much going for her. She had a sister, and dear friends who were so close they were practically an extended, if not eccentric, family.

She shouldn’t be so…eager to give all that up. She should want to fight to live, to save those she loved, to save the world. Again.

He knew that sometimes the world seemed too big, the harshness of it more horrifying than a dozen demons, for one young girl to face. But she didn’t have to face it alone. She had a rare group of friends to help her, and each other, through. If anyone had to die tonight, he resolved…

“It should be me.” Giles blinked; surprised that he’d said those words out loud.

“What should be you?”

Before he had a chance to double think, Giles plunged on. “It should be me sacrificing himself to Dracula. A Watcher’s blood is almost as special as a Slayer’s. So what if I’m a washed-up has-been of a Watcher? You’re still young. You’ve got Dawn and the rest to live for. What have I got? A dim little flat in miserable England, no family, no friends. No one depends on me to save them from the next demon that wants to destroy Earth. No one needs me to do research, or locate a key ingredient. If Dracula will take me, I’ll go willing to save you and the others.”

Giles was frightening her – she’d never heard him talk that way, put himself down so much. It was almost like the time Spike had convinced her friends that she didn’t need their help, that she was better…

Buffy reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders. Looking him square in the eyes, she said slowly and forcefully, “Rupert Giles, I love you. I will always need you.”

He blinked slowly, seeming to come out of a haze. He met her steady gaze, and began to smile. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight.

“Thank you, Buffy. I really needed to hear you say that.”

Returning the hug, she tried to brush off the praise. “No problem. That’s why I’m here. Just think of me as Wheaties for the ego.”

They let go of each other, and she added, “Now, let’s go get the guys and slay some vamps.”

“Yes. But I need a shirt first.”

Borrowing one of his favorite expressions, Buffy replied, “Indeed.” However, she saw a shadow flicker across his face, and quickly added, “Castles don’t have central heating. Wouldn’t want you turning into a Giles-icle.”



Giles was moving down the hall as stealthily as he could. He and Buffy had split up after they’d found his weapons bag, shirt and shoes in an adjacent room. He chuckled softly, recalling how Buffy had used the old tap-the-opposite-shoulder trick to distract and then slay the vampire guarding his possessions.

Now as he progressed he kept repeating a silent mantra of “Buffy loves me. Buffy needs me.” He’d never doubted that his pupil cared for him, but other than the time she’d been experiencing a sense of remoteness from those closest to her, she’d never expressed her feelings. And this time it wasn’t as awkward for either of them.

From out of the shadows of a recessed door just ahead slipped the lithe form of a female vampire. He was still without his glasses, but when he squinted a bit he recognized her.

“Ah, not again,” he bemoaned. She was one of the three vampires, known as The Sisters, of Dracula lore. But Giles had experienced them first hand when Buffy first had met up with the famous Count, and he could personally attest to their reality.

She seemed to recognize him as well, for as he drew nearer she watched him warily. It was in her nature, however, to seduce all men she came in contact with, and her almost animal lust won out over caution. She stepped out further; smiling a beguiling smile, moving in such a way as to awaken her intended victim’s sexual drive and thus lure him to death.

Giles kept walking, watching her the whole while. She didn’t realize anything was wrong until a second after the tip of the stake pierced her chest, just above her voluptuous bosom, and she turned to dust. The look on her face was almost comical.

Repeating his mantra more fiercely, and now just under his breath, Rupert continued. He’d almost wanted to give in to the deadly allure, but it was the memory of those five words of Buffy’s assertion that he mattered to her, that had given him strength. He daren’t fail her now.



He had failed. Failed the most important person in his life. He had made her a promise that had seemed so simple at the time. Now that promise, along with two precious lives, was broken.

Spike, known once long ago as William the Bloody, had been unable to save the lives of Buffy and Dawn Summers. Their shattered bodies lay at his feet, torn and bloody. And he was doomed for all eternity to carry that image in his mind. If there were a God in Heaven He had turned His head away in shame. There was a devil in Hell, because Spike could hear his laughter.



Giles heard nasty laughter coming from further down the hall, and quickened his pace. He wasn’t sure what he’d find when he got to the source, but he had to investigate, on the off-hand chance it might help him find the others.

He was on edge, and on an amazing adrenaline rush. So many lives were at stake, no pun intended, that he was on the verge of an out-of-body experience from the combined danger and thrill of the hunt.

As he got closer to the sound, another of The Sisters stepped forth. This one was blonde, shorter than the first, and not quite as svelte. He barely slowed as he drove the stake home in her chest and continued on his way.

The laughter rang out again, and he was suddenly put in mind of the insane asylum run by Doctor John Seward, in Bram Stoker’s version of the legend of Dracula.

“That’s just what I need,” Giles muttered to himself. “A drooling lunatic vampire. Ugh.” He shuddered with the thought, but kept going.

And then he wondered why. Of the three men Dracula claimed to be holding, only Xander Harris meant anything to Giles. He’d never approved of Buffy’s relationship with Angel, especially when they learned of the band of gypsies who had cursed him with the restoration of his soul, which was undone when he had one moment of true happiness.

The bad side of Angel, Angelus, had strove to hurt everyone Buffy cared about. That was when Giles had first experienced mind invasion – Drusilla, sire of Spike, had used her uncanny ability to trick Rupert into thinking she was his dead love, Jenny Calendar, and giving up important information for resurrecting a demon.

Riley Finn had turned out to have a dark side, as well. He wasn’t a simple farm boy from Iowa, nor merely a teacher’s assistant to one of the coldest professors Giles had ever met, but a highly trained, and chemically altered, agent in a botched government plot to control demons. He, too, had loved and hurt Buffy. And apparently had returned to Sunnydale some time ago with a wife.

Only Xander was exactly what he seemed – a loyal friend, eager to help his personal superhero save the day. He alone hadn’t sprung any nasty surprises on the group. Other than falling in love with and later deciding to marry a former vengeance demon, that is.

But no matter who he found on the other side of the door he was now standing in front of, Giles resolved to do his best to rescue him. His personal feelings didn’t matter right now. He had to help Buffy find the other three, so she could finally slay Dracula.

Steeling himself for whatever lay beyond, Giles tried the handle of the door, and charged through when he found it unlocked.

What he saw when he crossed the threshold sickened him. The last of The Sisters, a tall, dark-haired woman with curves that could make a monk give up his vows, and another vampire were methodically applying glowing hot metal rods to the body of their prisoner.

From where Giles stood he couldn’t see who was being tortured, but he could smell the unmistakable scent of burning flesh, and he felt his stomach lurch. He didn’t hear anything from the victim, and assumed whoever it was had passed out from the pain.

The two were so engaged in what they were doing that they didn’t hear him enter the room. Moving fast, he pulled back the string on his loaded crossbow, and let fly a wooden bolt into the nearest vamp. The stake found its mark, and the vampire turned to dust with a half-finished gasp of surprise.

The remaining Sister turned with a snarl, prepared to attack him. But her entire demeanor changed as recognition dawned, and she decided instead to attempt to weaken his resolve the same way the other two had.

“I really don’t have time for this,” Giles informed her, slipping, barely, out of her reach. “You should know by now that you can’t have me.”

He tried a direct approach to the man tied to the wooden pole, but she stepped in front of him, preventing him from getting closer.

He feinted to the right, then dodged to the left as she moved to block where she thought he was going. As he slipped past he once more employed his stake.

“Then again,” he mused, “intelligence does not seem to be your strong point.”

As the dust of the last vampire Sister settled, Giles reached the tortured man. He inhaled sharply both at the sight of the wounds, and he when he realized who it was.

Regardless of his feelings, Giles used a small dagger to cut the ropes binding the vampire to the post, and staggered a bit as the unconscious body slumped into his arms.

“Oh, Buffy. Him?” he questioned softly, shifting his load he could carry his share of the weapons and the blond vampire. He didn’t know where exactly to go, but he had to get Spike out of the castle.



Buffy, meanwhile, had found one of the last two hostages. He wasn’t guarded, thankfully, and she walked right into the room.

“Hey solider boy, come here often?” she joked, approaching the cage Riley Finn was trapped in.

At her voice his eyes flew open, and a look of panic tinged with anger crossed his face.

“Get away from me, you monster,” he ordered, straining to pull away.

Buffy looked behind her, and then around the room with a frown.

“Riley, there’s nobody here. It’s just me.” She reached for the lock, and he threw himself back so hard the cage swung away. “Riley? What’s wrong?” she asked, confused.

“Stay away,” he ordered again. His eyes were glazed, and his face pale and sheathed in sweat. “Stay away. You tricked me. You tricked me, and you let those other vampires have their way with me. You bitch. You vampire bitch.”

Buffy’s heart sank to her stomach, which didn’t feel all that good itself. “No, Riley. No. It wasn’t me. You have to know it wasn’t me. I’m not a vampire. I never want to be a vampire. This is a trick, yes, but I had nothing to do with it. I…”

“Liar!” he screamed, throwing himself backwards again. There wasn’t much room inside the cage, and he banged his head roughly each time he lurched.

Buffy felt despair creeping in. Siobhan had obviously used a spell to lure Riley back to Sunnydale, and then tricked him into thinking that she, Buffy, was a vampire. She couldn’t think of any way to prove otherwise, and she was running out of time. She still had to find Angel, see if Giles had located Xander, and then battle Dracula.

At a loss for what else to do, she just started talking. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I’m not a vampire. I’m still the Slayer. You’ve been fooled by a witch, Riley. She cast some kind of spell to make you think she was me, and she lured you here. She’s working with Dracula. He never got over losing me last time, and he cooked up a sick plot to torture my friends, to get me to give in to him. Please, just think. After all we’ve been through do you really think I’d become a vamp?” She was crying, but they were tears of frustration. It hurt to think that someone could so easily turn her friends against her. Ever since Spike had tried to divide the gang so she wouldn’t have their help to defeat Doctor Walsh’s genetic creation Adam, Buffy had strove to let everyone know how important they were to her. But judging by the way Giles had acted, and now by how Riley was treating her, she was failing miserably. She buried her face in her hands and wept.



Dawn was carrying the last of the supplies up from Anya’s car when she happened to glance towards the castle and saw someone exiting. Within a couple of steps she realized who it was, and she dropped her bundle and broke from the group at a run.

Xander saw her reaction, and turned to see what had caught her attention. When he saw who was coming out he ran to help as well.

He and Dawn arrived at the same time, and he took the semi-coherent vampire from the Watcher’s weary arms. Dawn wanted to help support Giles, but she wasn’t strong enough to do it on her own. Fortunately Anya and Willow came up the slight rise, and the three of them did their best to relieve his tired body.

The group staggered to where Tara had opened her first aid kit, and Xander gently laid Spike down. Giles slumped to the ground alongside him, and Willow began administrating to Spike’s wounds.

“My god,” she exclaimed, looking at the angry blisters marring his flesh. “What did they do to him?”

“Glowing hot metal rods,” Giles gasped, weary to the bone.

Willow busted the cells in an icepack, and laid it on Spike’s forehead. She dug through the kit and found a tube of analgesic cream. Dawn crouched at her side, and helped her salve the worst of the burns.

Giles got his breath back after a few moments, and quickly filled them in on what was going on in the castle, concluding by surmising, “Siobhan is more powerful than we have assumed. Spike kept muttering something about not saving Buffy; I believe Siobhan planted that fear in his mind. The torture must have been some form of trigger.”

Tara nodded. “A thought loop. Kind of like when you get hypnotized to lose weight or give up smoking. The hypnotist plants a suggestion in your subconscious, with some kind of external trigger.”

“In this case Siobhan must have made Spike think something had happened to Buffy, something he couldn’t prevent,” Willow guessed. “Every time they burned him it restarted the loop.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” Xander admitted, “but the poor guy.”

“I have to agree. As loathsome as he can be at times, not even Spike deserves to be treated this way.” Giles looked at Willow and Tara. “Do you girls think you can break the spell? The battle ahead of us is going to be a fierce one, and we could use all the help we can get.”

Tara glanced over at Willow, seeming to read her thoughts. Looking around the group she said truthfully, “We could. But it would drain a lot of our power. It’d be especially hard on Will, since she’s been away from magic for so long.”

“I could do it, like that time I brought Buffy out of her catatonic state,” Willow claimed. “But Tara’s right – to undo something this powerful would really drain us. If we’re going to be any good at fighting Siobhan we have to be at full strength.”

“Can’t you do anything?” Dawn questioned, fear edging into her voice. “You can’t just leave him like this.”

Willow looked down at the comatose vampire, then over at Dawn. “There is one spell I could try. It won’t bring him back completely, but it’ll kind of open a door for another suggestion.” She paused, and looked at each one in turn. “But someone has to go in that door, to plant the seed, as it were.”

“Meaning?” Anya asked.

“Meaning someone has to stay out here, with Spike, and keep telling him how good he is.”

Everyone exchanged looks, but Dawn volunteered.

“I’ll do it. Just tell me what needs to be done.”

“It’s pretty tricky, Dawnie. And there’s no guarantee it’ll work. If Siobhan’s power is that strong, he might never come out.” Willow set a hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “But it’s good of you to want to try. Buffy would be proud.” She smiled at her best friend’s sister, then turned to her bag of supplies and withdrew the needed ingredients for the opening spell. As she set them out she explained to Dawn what she had to do.



“Buffy?”

Hearing her name, she lifted her head, drying her eyes on the heel of her right hand. Riley was reaching through the bars of his cage toward her.

“Riley?” She sniffled, and took a couple steps forward. “You don’t hate me?”

“Why should I hate you?” He looked around, and, gripping a bar, asked, “Where am I?” He seemed genuinely perplexed, and his frown deepened when she didn’t answer right away.

“You…you don’t remember?”

“No. Last thing I can recall was a report of a trail of vampire victims leading into Sunnydale. Since I was familiar with the area I volunteered to scout it out. Then I found myself here, hearing you cry. What happened?”

“So you don’t remember calling me a monster vampire bitch?” she questioned, examining the lock. Turning her battle-ax around, she slammed the haft into the lock, shattering the lock. She swung the door open and held out a hand to help Riley exit.

“Why would I call you that?” He took her hand, but immediately recoiled. “I…”

“What’s the matter?”

“N…nothing.” He climbed out of the cage and drew a deep breath. “So.”

“Nutshell? Drac’s back in town, with a former Slayer vampire witch, kidnapping my guys and generally causing headaches.” She turned to go, adding, “So far I’ve freed you and Giles. That just leaves Angel. Provided Giles found Xander. And sunup’s just two hours away.”

“I’m still not sure what’s going on,” Riley admitted. “But I’m game. Lead on.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Buffy stated with a large smile. She handed him the ax. “I know it’s probably more primitive than you’re used to, but you are in Sunnydale.”

He grinned at her gentle barb, and accepted the ax. “I’m sure it removes heads as effectively as our more high-tech weapons.”

She playfully swatted his shoulder as they headed down the hall, and was surprised when he cringed. “Sorry. Did that hurt?”

“No. It’s… I’m fine. Sorry. Everything’s just so… strange.”

“My bad. I keep forgetting you’re not Initiative Guy anymore.”

“No sweat. I’ll be fine,” he asserted.

Buffy didn’t buy it, but she kept her doubt to herself, and determined to keep a close eye on him.

As they moved down the hall, breaking in doors and slaying vampires as they searched for Angel, they fell into the rhythm they’d had back when they were dating. But Buffy noticed that Riley always managed to keep from physically touching her, and she began to have an idea what Siobhan had done to him. Hopefully Giles could confirm her theory once they met up with him, and maybe he’d even know how to help Riley. If they found Angel, and if Giles had rescued Xander and was waiting outside for her as they’d agreed, of course.



Spike could hear a voice talking to him, but he couldn’t make out any words. Just before he started hearing the voice, the tone and inflection of which he sort of recognized, he knew he had seen the Watcher. And then he’d had the sensation of moving, but as if he were suspended in the air. He’d felt a gentle caress, but within his mind. And then the voice. Insistent, but kind. Trying to get him to do…something.

He turned his head left, then right. He felt something cold pressing against his forehead and the voice kept prodding at him. It was steadily becoming louder and more recognizable. He didn’t think it was possible, but he knew that voice.

Finally he opened his eyes. He had to blink a couple times to get them to focus, but when he looked up the owner of the voice was kneeling at his side, watching his face anxiously.

“Little Bit?” he asked, not trusting his eyes.

Dawn Summers practically glowed she was smiling so hard. “Spike! You’re back!”

He struggled to sit up, and she scurried around behind him to prop him up. She was very careful of the burns on his back, for which he was grateful.

“You’re not dead.” It was more a perplexed statement than a question, and yet she answered him.

“Nope. Hale and hearty.” She frowned. “Or is that whole and hardy?” She shrugged. “Whatever. I’m it.”

He grinned; her befuddlement was one of her endearing qualities. “Indeed you are. Where’s Sis this time?”

Dawn leaned over his shoulder a little so she could see his reaction when she answered. “Storming the castle,” she cracked.

His reaction was perfect – arching an eyebrow he half turned his head so he could see her from the corner of his eye. “Oh, she is, is she?” he asked dryly. “I’ll just bet.”

Dawn came around in front of him, and helped him to his feet. “Well, from what Giles told us, Dracula was holding a bunch of you hostage so he could get Buffy. She’s in there looking for Angel, then I guess she’s gonna fight Dracula. To the death.”

“Hers, I reckon,” Spike commented.

“Uh-uh. She made Dracula promise he’d fight fair.”

“Oh, really? This I gotta see!” He took a couple steps, turned and looked at her with a frown. “Wait. You said Rupert brought me out?”

“Uh-huh.”

“By himself?”

“Yep. Until I saw him, and Xander and I went to help.”

“Ah, bloody perfect. He saved my life.”

“Yep!” Dawn agreed happily.

Spike opened his mouth, thought about what he wanted to say and how she’d likely react, and closed it again without a word. There had to be more to the story. Buffy must have found him, and asked Giles to take him out of the castle so she could get Angel. That had to be it. Because he absolutely could not believe that the Watcher would voluntarily save him from anything. Spike decided to cling tenaciously to that hope, unless or until he was proven wrong.



She was back. He’d come to the conclusion that she was getting her revenge on him. Mercifully this time she wasn’t using the whip. Instead she had a torch that she employed in various ways.

She’d bring it close enough to his body to cause sweat to spring to his bare skin, and keep the flame close long enough to actually warm his flesh, and then she’d pull it away.

Or, she’d sweep the torch past him so close as to singe his skin, but not long enough to burn.

But now she was holding it almost an inch from his side, slowly cooking the area. The sweat had been baked dry a while ago, and the warm pain had steadily increased to literal searing agony.

Then, to his immense relief, something astounding happened. The door to the room flew off its hinges, landing with a resounding crash five feet away. His tormentor whirled to face the intruder, and her rapid movement caused the torch to gutter and then go out.

Her hiss of outrage blended with his gasp of astonishment, which overlapped the glib remark of the door destroyer.

“Hi honey, I’m home.”

Angel blinked. Maybe it was the intense agony he was in, or the stinging tears in his eyes, but he could swear Buffy had just kicked the door in. How she could be in two places, burning him with the torch and outside the room, at the same time baffled his pain-clouded mind. So he passed out. If only he’d held on to awareness a couple minutes longer he would have had his answer.

“Ya know,” Buffy started, ducking a flying fist and stepping in to land a blow of her own. “I’m a dyed-in-the-wool original.” She did a backflip to avoid a bolt of lightning. “And you’re a cheap knockoff.”

Siobhan hissed again, and morphed back to her true form. She’d been a true beauty in her time; creamy white skin with a scattering of pale freckles across her nose, eyes the green of spring leaves and thick strawberry blonde hair. But her beauty was marred by what Buffy referred to as the vampire game face.

She spoke for the first time, and it was only to hurl an insult. “That’s fine. I was getting tired of lookin’ like you, any way. Who does your hair, a blind man?”

Buffy kept her cool, and did a sweep kick, knocking Siobhan’s legs out from under her. “You waste your time. I’ve been insulted by the experts.”

While the two battled each other, Riley made his way to Angel’s side. With great reluctance he kept his promise to Buffy and freed the vampire. But he found he was unable to carry him out on his own, and called to her.

“Buffy! I need a hand here.”

Grabbing Siobhan’s wrists, Buffy spun her across the room and into a wall, where she slumped unconscious. Buffy hurried to Riley’s side, and helped him to gingerly lift Angel’s battered body and carry him out. She blinked rapidly a few times, trying to get the blinding tears out of her eyes so she could see where she was going.

“Dracula is so dead,” she vowed angrily. “NO one messes with my guys.”

She was happily surprised to meet up with her friends as she and Riley carried Angel down the hall towards the main entrance.

“Giles, glad to see you got Xander out all right.”

“Got me out of where all right?” Xander asked, baffled.

“It…it wasn’t Xander Dracula had,” Giles protested.

Buffy stopped and stared at him. “What do you mean, it wasn’t Xander? It had to be Xander. I don’t care about any…”

“It was me, luv,” a voice reported from behind the group.

“Oh, please no,” Buffy griped, closing her eyes. She opened them, and was disappointed to find the English vamp coming up to the back of the gathering. And even more unhappy to see her sister with him. “Spike.” But she didn’t have time to say more, because Siobhan and Dracula materialized twenty feet ahead of them, effectively blocking their exit.

“Where are you taking my toys?” Siobhan wanted to know.

“They are not your toys,” Buffy informed her. “They’re human beings…well, two of them are. But the fact remains that, vampire or human, they have feelings and are not something for you to play with.” She looked over at Dracula. “Are you going to let my friends leave?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that was part of our original deal, was it? I said you had to get them out before sunup. As in, out of the castle.”

Buffy, who was carrying Angel’s feet, eased them to the ground, never taking her eyes off Dracula. Riley knelt to lower Angel into a lying position, trying to make him comfortable, and waited with the rest of the bunch.

“No. You said I had to free them before sunup, not that they had to be out of the castle,” Buffy corrected.

Instinctively her group of friends broke into silent action. Giles and Xander helped Riley to lift Angel once more and move him to the far side of the great entrance hall. Spike took Dawn off to one side, and Anya helped Tara and Willow set up their supplies.

“A technicality,” the Count protested, smiling a cold smile.

“Technicality schmecnicality,” Buffy shot back. “A deal’s a deal. Now, are you going to pout, or are you going to fight?” Before he could answer she hastened to add, “And keep your witch out of this. This is between you and me.”

Siobhan snarled in anger and tried to throw a fireball at Buffy, but a sudden green energy shield snapped into being around her, effectively absorbing the fire.

Buffy grinned. “Two against one. I’m likin’ those odds.”

Xander watched the ensuing battles from the safety of the makeshift shield he and Giles had made by tipping a large wooden table on its side and shoving it in front of their corner.

After a few moments he pondered, “I wonder if I could have sold tickets? I mean, this is the fight of the century.”

Giles favored him with a withering glance, then turned his attention back to the fighters. Tara and Willow seemed to be holding their own against Siobhan, but he worried that the girls might tax themselves too much. He could clearly remember the terrible headaches and nosebleeds Willow used to get when she was still learning to cast spells. Then he noticed that they were taking turns, letting one catch her breath and recover a bit from the last spell. From where he was he couldn’t see just what Anya was doing, but she seemed to be helping them in some way.

He turned his attention to Buffy and Dracula, in time to see her take a powerful punch on her shoulder. The blow had been aimed at her chest, but she avoided it at the last moment.

Giles could tell she was tiring, or she would have missed the punch entirely. Judging by how she kept her left arm down at her side it had been stunned and was most likely tingly if not entirely numb.

Dracula seemed to notice this as well, and tried to use it to his advantage by aiming his attacks for her left side. But Giles was very proud to see that all his years of training with her, even if they’d been met with resistance at the time, were paying off: Buffy compensated for not being able to use her left arm by blocking blows with her right.

And then, the unthinkable happened. Buffy misread her opponent, and stepped in when she should have ducked out. Realizing her mistake at the last split second, she dodged to the outside, and the potentially crushing blow aimed at her head only grazed her. But she was weary and off-balance enough that she stumbled and went down.

Dracula wasted no time in turning to mist and reappearing near the big doors, where a suit of armor stood. He withdrew the sword from its scabbard with all the flare of a ham actor, and sauntered back towards Buffy, cloak billowing and sardonic grin in place.

Shouting her name, Giles lunged to his feet, with every intention of sacrificing himself on the end of that sword if it would buy her a few moments to gather herself.

Through the ringing in her ears and over the pounding rush of blood through her veins, Buffy heard Giles bellow her name. Struggling to sit half upright, she watched in astonishment as he jumped to his feet, and realized in an instant what he had in mind. “Giles, no!” she cried.

Spike had been having a devil of a time keeping Dawn from charging headlong into the melee. She kept nattering about something important she had to do, but wouldn’t tell him what it was.

Then he heard the Watcher shout, and Buffy cry out, and looked up to see Rupert on his feet and tearing after the Count, who at some point in the mess had acquired a sword and was approaching Buffy menacingly.

“Bloody hell!” Spike spat, popping to his feet.

Xander had felt like he was at a very exciting tennis match, switching his attention between the warring witches, and the stalwart Slayer and vengeful vampire. But then things changed. Buffy went down, and Dracula ended up with a sword. Giles shouted and went after Dracula. Buffy tried to get up, but her bell had been rung rather soundly. Spike jumped to his feet and started forward.

And then Xander blinked, and everything went weird. Giles stumbled to a halt as if he’d hit a wall. He seemed to age twenty years in a heartbeat, even though physically he looked the same. His actions were that of an elderly man, and Xander could see the pain and frustration on his face as he tried to get his body to respond.

At the same moment Spike skittered to a halt, and collapsed in a heap, sobbing as if his heart had just been broken.

It only took Xander a couple moments to realize what had just happened, and he felt the fury course through him. With an unintelligible roar he leapt to his feet, and was prepared to charge into the middle of the flying spells, if that would help his friends. But he didn’t have to.

Anya, who up until this point had stayed out of the way of Tara and Willow’s spell casting, took the opportunity of Siobhan’s distraction to sneak around behind her.

Willow chanted something in Latin, and at just the right moment Anya plunged a stake that had been soaked in Holy Water into Siobhan’s back. The vampire witch shrieked once, long and high, then simultaneously burst into flame and dust. And then a breeze came from nowhere and scattered the dust.

“I did it!” Anya enthused. She looked around at the room, excited to have slain such a powerful opponent. But then she realized it wasn’t over yet.

With the destruction of the witch came the end of her spells. Both Giles and Spike took a moment to comprehend that they were free, and then they continued their charge towards Dracula.

Dawn blinked. It was all happening so fast. One minute Dracula was threatening Buffy with a sword, and then Spike and Giles were running to save her. And then they seemed to forget what they were doing, which she realized was because Siobhan had cast a spell on them. And she only figured that out when Xander got to his feet and then Anya staked Siobhan. Dawn’s head reeled from absorbing it all so fast, but then she too went to help her sister.

Buffy flipped to her feet, coming up with a stake in her right hand. At the same moment Dracula reached her and raised the sword high to run her through Spike grabbed that arm and wrenched it from its socket.

The sword fell from Dracula’s hand, but Giles was there an instant later to grab it before it landed and swing it around to lop off Dracula’s head.

Buffy’s stake found its mark just as Dawn reached them and threw a vial of Holy Water on Dracula. They all hit him at exactly the same time, within a space of seconds.

“Damn!” Xander remarked. “Three-way death. Do you think he’ll stay dead this time?”

“He’d better,” Buffy stated.

The battered, bruised, bloodied and bedraggled group gathered around, waiting expectantly. They propped each other up as they watched Dracula’s ashes, expecting him to return to solid form. Much to their relief the same mysterious breeze that had blown away Siobhan’s dust scattered Dracula’s as well.

“It’s over,” Willow declared wearily. The normally perky redhead looked like she was on her last leg. She was pale, her nose was bleeding profusely, and her eyes had still not lost the eerie blackness that came over them when she cast powerful spells.

“Are you quite certain?” Giles questioned, wrapping an arm around her petite waist as she began to slump.

“Yes,” Tara answered. “We’ve made sure of it.” She, too, looked exhausted, but she had enough strength left to give a small smile of reassurance.



Back in the Summers’ residence, showers had been taken, clothes had been changed, and the gang of old was once more gathered in the living room, treating wounds, sipping hot chocolate, and listening to each other recount their part in the latest adventure.

Riley’s wife had shown up an hour ago; she said she’d had some trouble with her tracking equipment, but didn’t explain just what she meant. Buffy had taken her aside and briefly told her about what had happened, adding that she wouldn’t be surprised if Riley had closeness issues for a while.

Angel had also left; after they’d brought him around and treated the worst of his wounds he and Buffy had had a private conversation. He told her he’d be more comfortable if he could be alone for a while, because he had to sort out his feelings. But he did give her a quick kiss before ducking out the kitchen door and disappearing into the fading night.

Now Giles, who somehow made a shapeless white sweater and tan corduroys look dashing, was talking about the spell Siobhan had cast on him.

Removing his pair of spare glasses, he dangled them from his hand, and stared at the steam rising from his mug. “It was quite unsettling, actually. She played on one of my biggest fears, made me see visions of it. It felt… most real.” He paused to drink some cocoa, savoring the warm feeling that spread through him as he swallowed. “She showed me visions of myself, as an old man. Abandoned. Alone. Unneeded. And then, when the…despair was at its highest…she…I…the vision she made me see was of my becoming a vampire. But the worst of it…was that Buffy….” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I know it wasn’t real,” he said softly.

Buffy was stunned. Giles had to know she loved him, that she would do anything for him. If, God forbid, he ever did become a vampire, she certainly wouldn’t slay him. She had loved Angel before she knew the truth. She could still love Giles, no matter what happened to him. She knew from personal experience that vampirism didn’t make a person evil…

“And just what the hell were you doing there?” she suddenly demanded, whirling on Spike, who was face down on the couch while Dawn and Willow treated some of the burns on his back.

Spike groaned, and raised his head to look at her. “What do you think I was doing, Slayer? Playing house with Drac? I went there to keep you from getting killed.”

Buffy scoffed. Spike had indeed helped her, but she was trying to cover her raw emotions by attacking him. She knew it was wrong, but right now she didn’t care. “Yeah, great job. Instead of saving three people I ended up having to save four.” And then she realized that Dracula had taken the four men she cared most about, and she’d known all along that Xander was not one of them. She did care for him, but her feelings for Spike…

“Wrong, luv,” Spike disagreed. “Old Rupert here pulled me from that witch’s evil clutches.”

Giles raised an eyebrow at the “old” comment, but let it slide. Instead he requested, “Yes, well, see that you don’t give me cause to regret that decision.”

Before an argument could erupt, Dawn brought up something that had been bugging her. “How come you thought I was dead?” she asked of Spike. “Was that what Siobhan made you think?”

Spike felt the fight go out of him at those words. Turning over, he sat up and propped his elbows on his knees. Twining his fingers, he studied his knuckles before answering. In a quiet voice he told them, “She showed me a vision of you and Buffy, brutally murdered. And made me think it was my fault, that I could have saved you both from what had killed you.” He raised his eyes without lifting his head, meeting Buffy’s gaze. “I couldn’t save you, either of you, and that killed me inside.”

The room fell silent. Spike had just declared that he cared enough about Buffy and Dawn that the prospect of anything happening to either of them was torture to him. But that really didn’t surprise any of them; despite all his bluster and claims of being the Big Bad he still had the heart of the poet he’d been when human. And sometimes, no matter how hard he tried to prevent it, that heart ruled.

After a few moments, Giles inquired, “Tara, you earlier said something about making sure Dracula stayed dead. I assume you found some sort of spell or curse to ensure that?”

“Well, not exactly. After you and Buffy left, Willow and I kept researching Siobhan.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Will cut in, “but I translated more of the diary.”

Giles shook his head. “No. No, that’s fine.” He was very happy that she’d taken the initiative to work on the translating. And at the same time, saddened.

“Oh, good!” Will smiled that special smile of hers that lit up her whole face. “Because that’s what gave us the idea.” She turned to Tara. “But you were telling the story,” she added, moving to sit next to her.

Tara squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile. “That’s all right, sweetie. You can tell them.”

“Are you sure?” When Tara nodded, Will gave her a quick kiss. “Thanks.” She turned her attention to the group and quickly told them what they’d been able to learn from their research. “Well, basically we found out that, even though Siobhan was able to cast very powerful spells, she wasn’t adept enough. She had to take time to recover whenever she used a lot of her power.”

“I noticed you two giving each other breathers,” Giles put in.

“Right. That way she couldn’t let her guard down, because one of us was always attacking. We wore her down.” Will glanced over at Spike, and then at Giles, looking almost guilty. “She’d been torturing you two so much that she was already weak. And then when you both tried to help Buffy, well, that was just the opening we needed.”

“She used up the last of her energy on us,” Spike surmised. He grinned wryly at Giles. “Looks like we saved the day again, Rupert old chap.”

Giles straightened away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “I really wish you’d stop calling me that,” he requested, a little sourly. One side of his mouth quirked into a lopsided grin as he added, “After all, you are twice my age.”

This time Xander waylaid the verbal sparring. “So, Dracula’s staying dead why?”

“Ooh! That’s right. Sorry.” Willow grinned sheepishly. “Dracula was training Siobhan. He was hoping that she’d take his place, kind of let him retire.”

“A retired vampire?” Xand mused. He started hamming it up, imitating a toothless old man. “Why, in my day I must have bit a thousand pretty young necks,” he croaked, reaching for Dawn with crooked fingers.

She giggled and swatted at his hands.

Willow ignored them both magnificently, and continued with her information.

“It’s all rather confusing,” she apologized. “But from what we were able to understand from the texts Dracula’s powers are finite. Every hundred years or so, he needs to drink special blood to renew them, or he won’t be able to do all his neat tricks like turn into a bat,” she shuddered, “or a wolf, or control minds.”

“What kind of special blood?” Anya asked for the group.

But it was Buffy who answered. “Slayer blood. That’s why he was so hot to get me last time.”

Willow nodded. “Right. While he didn’t sire Siobhan, they did drink of each other’s blood, which transferred some of her power to him. Only there was a catch.”

“Kill the Slayer, and the effects of her blood die with her,” Giles guessed.

Again Willow nodded.

Giles continued. “Without her blood, which I assume he had to drink of regularly, his powers would fade. Like you said, he wouldn’t be able to turn to mist or change form. I assume he’d also lose the ability to rejuvenate.” When once more she nodded, he arched an eyebrow. “Astounding. I wonder if the Council knew of this?”

“Oh, who cares what those British stuffed shirts knew?” Buffy carped grumpily. “When have they ever volunteered information?”

Giles opened his mouth, paused, cocked his head to the side, and then agreed. “You’re right. They do tend to keep what they know to themselves.” He finished his cocoa, and added, “And make you pay dearly for what they do tell you.”

“Well,” Buffy started, getting up to put some more water on, “I’m sure not going to tell them.”

“Nor shall I,” Giles vowed.



They stayed up talking the rest of the night, moving off the subject of the Dark Prince and on to happier topics. As the first pale glow of morning broke on the distant horizon, Rupert Giles finally came around to the painful news he had to give.

“I’m afraid I have to return to England this afternoon,” he stated. He hadn’t been able to come up with an easier way to break it to them, and decided it was best to just come out and say it. They were, after all, all adults.

Anya summed up their feelings perfectly. “Not fair!” she pouted, slamming her empty mug to the table.

Dawn added her sentiments by wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and laying her head against his chest. “I don’t want you to go,” she said truthfully, barely keeping the tears away.

Before anyone knew it, they were all involved in another group hug. All save Spike, who hovered on the edges of the emotional bunch, looking on.

“Why?” Buffy finally asked, using one hand to try drying her eyes.

“I…I need to set my affairs in order,” Giles answered, blinking back her own tears.

“You’re dying?” Willow wailed.

Giles managed a smile. Patting her shoulder reassuringly he said, “No, sweetie. I meant I need to straighten out my finances. Before I left I put in a bid on the bookstore. I’m rather hoping I’ll be able to buy it.”

“Don’t you want to stay here?” Tara questioned.

His smile grew larger. “I’d like nothing better, dear. Unfortunately I can’t afford to.”

“You could work for me,” Anya offered.

“Yeah!” Dawn agreed. “You could be back with all the magic stuff and your books and things.”

“And then if we needed you, we could just go to the shop,” Xander put in. “And there you’d be, just like always.”

“You make him sound like he was a fixture or something,” Buffy griped.

Breaking, reluctantly, from all the embracing arms, Giles said, “I truly appreciate the offer, Anya. And believe me, I’d really rather stay here with all of you. Over the years you’ve become a family to me. But unfortunately I have…things I must tend to in England.” He sighed; this was much harder than he’d thought it would be. He went over and sank onto the couch.

“It’s not like he’s dropping off the face of the planet,” Spike pointed out. For some unsettling reason he found himself caring whether or not Rupert left. “They have these wonderful contraptions called telephones.” The sarcasm was a defense mechanism. He didn’t mean to be so harsh with the lot of them during such an emotional time.

Giving him a nasty glare, Xand shot back, “And a wonderful thing known as the phone bill. Which would be out of sight for a transatlantic call. Not to mention time zones and…”

“Enough!” Tara demanded. “There is another way we can all stay in touch. Email.”

Giles smiled. “She’s right. Even though I still hate those bloody machines, I’ll make every effort to email you all regularly. And every month or so I’ll call. I promise.”

“We could set up a time table,” Anya suggested gleefully. “Some time we can all be together, or most of us. I can get a conference phone for the shop, and you can call us there.”

Now tears accompanied his smile. “That is a wonderful idea, Anya,” he praised. The tears started flowing harder, and then he was crying freely. “I’m going to miss all of you so much.”

Buffy went into the kitchen to get him a glass of water. As she came back in, Dawn was just turning on the radio. The song that started was by James Taylor:

“When you’re down, and troubled/ And you need a helping hand/ And nothing, whoa nothing is going right…”

“Giles!” Buffy sobbed, nearly dropping the glass as she tried to set it on the table.

He immediately got to his feet, and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close and trying to soothe her.

“Shh. It’s all right.”

“I don’t… I don’t want you to…to go,” she managed. “You just came back.”

“I know, Buffy.” He rubbed a hand up and down her back. “It’ll be all right.”

None of the other friends said anything. They all silently drifted out of the room and headed for bed. Xander and Anya said their good-byes at the door, and went home with heavy hearts. Tara, Dawn and Willow went up to the room Tara and Willow shared. Only Spike remained in the living room, on the periphery, watching two dear friends consoling each other.

Later, as the pale grey light of dawn spread across more of the sky, and the first birds began to wake, Rupert lay awake on Dawn’s bed. He’d been trying to get to sleep, but he just couldn’t seem to. He sighed, and then noticed a dark presence in the room.

“Something?” he asked tiredly.

“Yeah,” came the quiet reply. “I just…I wanted…” The visitor cleared his throat. “I want to thank you, Rupert.”

With a weary smile, Giles answered, “You’re welcome. William.”