Author's Notes: Thank you to all cross-over writers and to Anne Rice.
“Buffy, you need to concentrate on your slaying,” said Giles. I wasn’t listening, not really.
“You know, Giles,” I said absently, “you’re not really my Watcher anymore.”
“You’re right, Buffy, I’m not. No one is. But that doesn’t mean you can slack off. The lack of training will get to you.” I sighed, and continued staring out the window. I hadn’t even looked at him. It was dark outside, and lights were shining inside, but I could still see the courtyard. Nothing was moving. “Buffy,” asked Giles, “what ever is the matter?” I finally turned around from my perch to look at him.
“Nothing, Giles.”
“Something is most definitely wrong, and you will tell me.” My shoulders slumped.
“I feel off, Giles. Not evil-induced off, just like I’m losing it. You know?”
“Of course, Buffy,” he said kindly, “we all feel that way sometimes.”
“I’ve got this … feeling like there’s something around … something in the air – all around. I can’t find it. There haven’t been vampires in a really long time – a whole week.”
“Buffy, that is no cause to feel any strife. You’re at a turning point, understand, and you’re nervous.”
I sighed. Do I tell him? Why not, go for it. “Giles, that not the whole of it.”
He looked up. “It’s not?”
I was fidgeting, cleaning the non-existent dirt from under my fingernails. I bit my lip. “Giles, I’ve been hearing stuff.”
My ex-Watcher looked really startled. “You mean like the time-”
“No, I don’t think it’s weird like that. It’s like someone – one person – is talking to me. He’s using some personal voice to talk to me, and just me.”
Giles rubbed his chin. “I can’t imagine what would do that.”
“He talks to me. He says things like, ‘I’m coming.’” I shook my head. “It’s really weird. I-I can’t shake it, either.”
“And this happens all the time?”
I thought. “No! Only … only at night. Why at night? Do you think it’s a vamp-”
“No, Buffy, I seriously do not think it’s a vampire. They don’t have telepathic powers. Did Angel ever speak to you that way? Did Spike? Did the Master? No.”
I sighed. “I guess not. But it would make me feel a lot better if you could look up night walking telepathic … thingies?”
He nodded. “Of course. Now perhaps you should go home and go to sleep.” I nodded, and, picking up my bag, I left.
Walking home, I got really spooked. I turned a corner somewhere near Willow’s house, and as soon as I did, I heard this noise. It was like … a big swoosh noise, and the clomp of boots on the pavement. Thinking of vampires, I turned back. Just a tall guy standing there, looking sorta dazed. Now, I thought, how to do this with some … tact. “Uh, mister, are you okay?”
He looked at me, and nodded. “Why yes, of course.” He sounded foreign, but just a little.
“I just heard this weird noise – say, were you walking behind me a long time?” He shook his head.
“No, cherie. Could you tell me where we are?”
“Yeah, this is Sunnydale, California.”
“Thank you, cherie, I am just where I want to be.” He smiled. It was a nice smile.
After he left, I thought about what he looked like. Double-breasted blue suit, long black jacket, shiny shoes, unkempt blonde hair, dark sunglasses. Wait a second – sunglasses? At eleven-thirty at night? That was really weird. I hadn’t even noticed when I was talking to him.
Being spooked by the guy’s sudden appearance, and not to mention hearing voices (wouldn’t that spook you out, too, even if you were the Slayer?), I decided to pay a visit to Willow. I climbed up her trellis – which is hard to do wearing the kind of boots I was wearing – and puled myself onto her balcony. She was reading on her bed. I tapped on the glass. She jumped, looked up, sighed, and quickly shoved her book under her pillow before opening the glass door.
“Buffy, jeez, you scared me.”
“Sorry, Will, mind if I come in?”
“Sure,” she said, nodding her head so that her red hair flipped around.
I dug my hand under her pillow and pulled out the book she had been reading. She was typing on her laptop, and didn’t notice. “‘Queen of the Damned,’ Will? Don’t you know better than reading kid stuff?”
Willow looked up. “Huh?” She snatched the book away from me. “I-I thought it might give a perspective on vampire history.”
I rolled my eyes. “Will, all that stuff, it’s all made up. It’s like children’s stories.”
“No, it’s not,” she protested. “This Anne Rice lady, I think she’s onto something. I mean, a lot of the stuff – they can’t be staked, all that stuff doesn’t work on them – is silly, I know, but she’s really onto something, Buff.” She looked at me. “I mean, I think she knows something about demons and ghosts, you know?”
“Like what, Will?”
“Well, OK, this demon named Amel -”
“Amel?”
“Amel. Anyway, this demon takes such a strong possession of the Queen of Egypt that he makes a new breed of demon – a kind that drinks blood. Akasha makes her husband one too, by drinking the blood from his wounds, and then giving him her blood. And poof, the vampire race is started.”
“Poof? Just like that? Don’t you think it sounds kinda … lacking?”
“Buff, it’s fiction, yeah, but maybe there is a grain of truth in every lie. I mean, how else would you explain it?”
“I don’t know, Will. I don’t care. There here, I fight them, I kill them, because they’re evil. Vampire history doesn’t matter to me, and it shouldn’t matter to you.”
When I got home the next morning (after I had quieted my mom’s fears) she told me there was a message from Giles on the phone. I played it.
“Buffy, I’m calling to tell you that I’ve found you something about your dilemma. If you could come quickly, I’ve called Willow as well, and she will be here soon. I’m not sure, Buffy, that this is anything to be count on, but it is rather alarming.” Click. I jumped up from my stool, and grabbed my purse again.
“Don’t you want breakfast?” my mom asked as I shut the door.
