July 2000

Writer: Alison

Buffy

A match flared in the shadowed room and the flame was touched to the wick of a white candle. Marta Rozanski blew out the match and rested her hands on her knees, breathing the spicy incense deep into her lungs. Apart from the candle, the room was dark, the heavy, velvet curtains drawn. The heat was sweltering and the sound of traffic filtered through the open window, but she was hardly aware of it, concentrating on the slowing of her heartbeat…

"…Marta…" The distant, disembodied voice was barely audible but it shattered her concentration. She swore inwardly and refused to open her eyes. She wasn’t going to look. "Marta!" Now it was reproachful. Her grandmother’s voice, which was technically impossible since Elzbieta Pietrowski was currently in Warsaw, irritating the hell out of Marta’s older brother and his wife. "Are you ignoring me?" she demanded in Polish.

"What do you want?" Marta asked, through gritted teeth.

"Oh, it’s like that, is it?" Elzbieta said, switching to heavily accented English. "Twenty years in America and suddenly you’re too good for your family."

"Come on," Marta said, trying to look angry. Instead she just felt guilty, and she reached up to finger the crucifix that her mother had given her. She wore it around her neck, close to her heart, just as her mother had ordered.

"You don’t even look at me when I visit. Your mother would turn in her grave. If she had one."

Marta groaned in guilty frustration and opened her eyes. Her grandmother’s spirit was standing by the sofa, her arms folded. Although standing might not be the right word since the old woman’s feet were hovering several inches above the wooden floorboards. Behind her, Ceefer, Marta’s cat yawned, apparently unconcerned by the visiting ghost. Except Elzbieta was not a ghost. "Why can’t you just use a phone?" she asked, wearily.

"And pay the long-distance charges?" The old woman shook her head. "Besides, what I have to do cannot be done over the telephone…" She trailed off and Marta glanced up, her eyes narrowing. This, she did not like the sound of. "I’m sorry," Elzbieta said, and now she looked shifty, her eyes darting guiltily off to the side. Marta’s annoyance gave way to worry.

"What?" she said, warily.

"If I thought I had any other choice," Elzbieta said, her voice sorrowful. "You need to understand, child. And you will, in time. They sent me-" A light was starting to gather around the old woman’s head, shot through with streaks of vivid colour, like an aura. But this was no aura. Elzbieta might still be living and breathing, but to all intents and purposes, she was a walking corpse. She had no life, no soul to call her own. She was the tool of another, and this was the source of the gathering light.

"Wait." Marta held up her hand. "Please…"

"There is no choice," Elzbieta said, and now her voice was no longer her own. The stubborn, exasperating woman that Marta remembered was all but gone, and her face was as blank and emotionless as a mask. "There never was." Elzbieta stretched out her hand, pointing at the seated witch. "See."

The vision hit Marta with the force of a speeding train and she doubled up, her fists clenched so tightly, her nails were digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. A series of images flashed past her eyes, too quickly for her to make any real sense of it all. She saw a building – a Church, she thought – exploded into flames, and it was so vivid, she could feel her skin blistering from the heat. A blonde teenage girl picked through rubble, searching. A balding man held up a cross, shouting something which Marta cannot hear. A snake uncoiled, tongue flickering out as it tested the air. "Do you see?" a voice asked, speaking in Marta’s mind. "Now look again." And then she was standing in an alleyway, watching a dog was pull on its chain, teeth bared. It couldn’t reach her but Marta could see how powerful the dog was, and the metal was thin and rusted. It snarled as it lunged towards her. The taut chain snapped and around her, the world burst into flames.

Since the dawn of man, the vampires have walked among us, killing, feeding.
The only one with the strength and skill to stop their heinous evil is the Slayer, she who bares the birthmark, the mark of the coven.
Trained by the Watcher, one Slayer dies and the next is chosen.

Buffy: Year One

Pilot Episode:
"Visionary"

"So I’m like, ‘Dad, do you want me to go to the dance in an outfit I’ve already worn? Why do you hate me?’" The four girls walked down the steps of Hemery High, the bells ringing behind them.

"Is Tyler taking you?" Jennifer asked.

"Where were you when I got over Tyler? He’s of the past. Tyler would have to crawl on his hands and knees to get me to go to the dance with him." Buffy paused, considering this. "Which, actually, he’s supposed to do after practice so I’m gonna wait."

"Okay," Jennifer said, grinning. "See you later."

As her friends left, Buffy climbed back up a few steps, and sat down. She took off her jacket and laid it across her legs, leaning back as she looked around. Only a few minutes had passed and already the place felt deserted, empty. Buffy shivered. She was beginning to regret waiting for Tyler. It wasn’t as if she actually wanted to see him. Maybe she should…

"Buffy Summers?" A shadow fell over her, blocking her sun and she glanced up, squinting.

"Yeah? Hi!" The man was about fifty or so, with grey receding hair and a moustache. Despite the heat, he was wearing an ill fitting but obviously expensive black suit and he seemed edgy and uncomfortable. "What?"

"I need to speak with you," he said, urgently.

"You’re not from Bullock’s, are you?" she said, nervously. "’Cause I-I meant to pay for that lipstick…"

"There isn’t much time," he interrupted. "You must come with me. Your destiny awaits."

Buffy shook her head, now completely confused and more than a little wigged. "I don’t have a destiny," she told him, quickly. "I’m destiny-free, really."

"Yes, you have," he said, impatiently. She glanced up at him, and he seemed serious. "You are the Chosen One," he explained, looking at her as if suddenly, it would all click into place and she would understand. "You alone can stop them."

"Who?"

"The vampires."

"Huh?"

"They’re gathering again. I can’t say why. It could have something to do with the solstice, but there’s no way of knowing. You must understand, Miss Summers-" He looked at her, ignoring her look of utter bafflement. "Something is happening. I found you just in time…"

She stood up and took a step backwards. "Yeah, well, I have to go..."

"Wait!" He came towards her, reaching out. "Miss Summers, you must listen to me. Have you been having the dreams?" That made her pause and she glanced back. Seeing he had her attention, he continued. "You are the Slayer. I realise this may come as a shock. God knows, it was enough of a surprise to me when I learnt of my destiny, and at least then I had some inkling of what the world had in store…" He trailed off, realising he was getting sidetracked. "It has taken several decades of my life to find you," he said, softly. "Won’t you at least give me the chance to explain why I’ve been searching?"

Buffy hesitated. "Who are you?"

"My name is Merrick. I-" He broke off, staring over her shoulder. She glanced around, following his gaze. Tyler was coming down the steps towards them, his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Buffy! Hey. We need to talk about the dance. I’m thinking you, me…" He slung his arm around her then cast a look towards Merrick. "What’s up, dude?"

"I must speak to Miss Summers alone…"

"Just leave me alone," she told him, uncomfortably. The look of desperation in his eyes made her feel inexplicably guilty, and she let Tyler lead her towards his car, knowing that Merrick was watching her walk away.

Outside, the sun was starting to set. Marta was standing at the window of her tiny apartment, watching the pink clouds that streaked across the darkening sky. Behind her, two women were sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee and helping themselves to sweets.

"So," Susie was saying, her mouth full of toffee, "this dream…"

"It wasn’t a dream," Marta said, shaking her head. "I wasn’t even asleep. It was…" She hesitated, wondering how she could explain it to them. How much would they be willing to accept? Candle magic and feng shui were one thing but the ritual she was about to suggest was something else entirely. She wasn’t sure if she was quite ready for it herself, and that was why she needed them here. This would mean tapping into raw magic and if something went wrong… Well, she would need someone here to mop up the flow of blood, for one thing. "It was sent to me."

Amber frowned, sipping her coffee. "It seems a bit odd. Snakes and dogs…"

"It’s creepy," Susie muttered, scratching Ceefer behind the ears. He shifted his head to allow her better access, before pushing himself up, stretching his back. Then he paused, watching them with thoughtful yellow eyes.

"Do you know what it means?"

"I don’t know," Marta admitted, lacing her fingers underneath her chin. "But I do intend to find out."

The three witches sat cross-legged within the chalk circle, the paraphernalia of the ritual spread around them. In the centre, there was a small ceramic bowl filled with brackish sludge. Casting a glance at the other two women, Marta sprinkled some powdered sulphur into it. There was a crackling sound, like muffled gunfire, and then a cloud of foul-smelling black smoke streamed upwards and hit the ceiling. Amber coughed and Susie turned her face away but Marta seemed unaffected, focussing on the mixture with a look of concentration. When the smoke cleared, the liquid in the bowl had mostly evaporated, leaving behind a rusty coloured sludge.

Marta muttered a few words under her breath then she dipped her finger into the bowl, drawing a streak across her forehead. On her pale skin, it looked like dried blood. "We call the Zorya," she said, her eyes closing. "Goddesses of fate and sisters of the Aurora, we request your aid. As I am your servant, your child, reveal to me what I wish to know." She fell silent. Amber, who had been expecting the continuation of the spell, frowned. Marta’s eyelids were beginning to twitch, flickering as if she had suddenly slipped into R.E.M. sleep.

"Is this supposed to happen?" Susie whispered. Amber couldn’t tell her, and as Marta began to chant in Polish, she had the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. A cold, white light gathered around Marta and her shoulders tensed as she began to chant in Polish. The light was almost too bright to look at and just as Amber looked away, Marta’s eyes flicked open.

"Who has called me?" she demanded, her voice nasal and high pitched.

"Uh…" Amber’s relief was short-lived. One look at Marta was enough to tell her that this was not the woman she knew. "I guess we did."

Marta regarded them icily for a few moments, her eyes glittering with contempt. "No," she said, and pulled her lips back to reveal two rows of very small, very sharp teeth. "Not you."

"Marta," Susie said. "Marta Rozanski."

"Ah…" The woman’s eye’s closed and her smile widened. "Yes, of course. The last of the line. Naturally, it would be her. Who else could channel one such as I and yet survive? So still she lingers, stringing out her life. How much longer can these lie last? Not that it matters. She is mine now, as are you."

Amber reached for the ceremonial dagger. "I think we should-"

"Stay your hand," Marta snapped and Amber froze, unable to do anything other than obey. "First you must hear what I have to say, for I have been called, and I cannot be sent back until I have fulfilled my duties. The doomsday hound awakens. Already it hungers and should it break free, the universe will be forfeit. Know that this will come and know too-" She broke off and sniggered unpleasantly. "Know too that there is a price on this knowledge."

"What-" Amber’s mouth was dry. She licked her lips and tried again. "What’s the price?"

Marta bared her teeth. "Your lives," she said, and then her eyes closed, and her shoulders sagged.

Susie swore then stood up, turning away. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" Marta struggled to her feet. Susie and Amber stared at her as she swayed unsteadily, hands to her head. "I-I don’t think the spell worked," she said, feebly and then she fainted.

Buffy opened her eyes. She was standing on a busy sidewalk, cars roaring past behind her. People, who looked Chinese, jostled past her, talking in a language she couldn’t understand. Above her, neon lights glowed red and yellow and green, and she was walking, assaulted by the smells and sounds of frying food, the stalls huddling under tarpaulins. Rain soaked her hair and face, but Buffy, who had no umbrella, kept walking.

Where the hell am I? Not L.A. She was sure of that.

And what was with her clothes? Since when did she wear cheap army surplus gear? And the creased leather jacket she’d pulled tight around her shoulders reeked strongly of dust and mothballs. It was beyond ancient. She glanced down and grimaced. Her baggy camouflage pants were tucked into a pair of knee-high laced up boots. She wouldn’t be seen dead in this outfit but she couldn’t stop walking. Her body didn’t want to obey her, but she caught a glimpse of herself in a shop window, and she felt confused, numb. That wasn’t her. The girl in the window, she looked oriental, her straight black hair slicked back into a short, stubby ponytail. Swallowing, Buffy reached up and touched her own hair, pulling a lock of it forward to check. It was blonde, which was right. The reflection had to be some kind of… of mirage, or a trick of the light or something. This couldn’t be happening…

She blinked, distracted from her doubts as she suddenly turned down an alleyway for no apparent reason. Okay, what now, she wondered, as the noise of the traffic began to fade. There were no streetlights here, and Buffy’s entire nature rebelled at the obvious stupidity of it. What, did this girl have a death wish or something? Her feet pounded hollowly on the cracked paving stones. Only something was wrong. They were being echoed, and very softly, as if someone was following her and trying to keep it quiet. She glanced over her shoulder but could see no one in the alleyway behind her. She winced as a cramp stabbed at her abdomen. And now, to top it all, she had P.M.T.

Ahead of her, an ancient, withered man was sitting in a shop doorway, smoking a cigarette. He watched her as she drew nearer, and then called out. She couldn’t understand him but she replied anyway, and the words made no sense. He pointed over her shoulder and she rolled her eyes, looking back. Two men were there, hunching forward as they strode towards her. The old man stood up then backed up into the house, closing the door.

Gee, thanks a lot mister, Buffy thought, and then she started to run. There was the sound of muffled laughter as the men took chase. She turned the corner and ducked into a doorway, flattening herself against the wall. Not what Buffy would have done, but okay. Still if she was going hide, she would have chosen somewhere better. There was no way the men would fail to see her here. They turned the corner and slowed down, realising that she was nowhere in sight. Warily they advanced, and suddenly Buffy came hurtling out of the doorway, and slammed her fist into the face of the man nearest to her. He was skin and bones; an open shirt revealed his chest and his ribs were clearly delineated. He pulled away, hissing, and as the other guy grabbed her from behind, Buffy saw his face. It was… hideous. Deformed. His forehead was ridged and above his bat-like pug nose, his sunken eyes glowed with an infernal yellow light. His lips drew back like those of a snarling wolf and she saw his teeth: his fangs.

What the hell was he?

But she already knew. She’d been told hadn’t she by that creepy guy who’d come to her school and given her a total wiggins? Vampires. But that couldn’t be possible because vampires didn’t exist. They were… myths, like Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster. She yelled something out defiantly, but again it was in that language, so now not only was she being attacked by a couple of vampires, she was also speaking in tongues. The skinny guy darted forward and she kicked him in the gut, driving her elbow back into the other’s nose at the same time. As he released her, she spun around, her foot connecting with the side of his face. As he stumbled backwards, her hand reached to her belt and came up with a weapon, which she held menacingly. Buffy did a double take. It looked like a foot long piece of sharpened wood – a stake.

Jeez, she wondered. What was so wrong with pepper spray?

She took a step forward but the vampires were backing off, grinning maliciously. It didn’t make her feel much better and she glanced at them, suspiciously, before realising what the source of their sudden retreat was.

A beautiful dark-haired woman was walking down the street towards them, taking her time. She stopped a few metres away from Buffy and folded her arms, smiling sadly.

"We meet again, Slayer," she said. She had a pleasant English accent, but her voice itself was soft and deadly.

"Ransom," Buffy said, and wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean. "I’ll kill you this time. You’ll die like your master."

The woman laughed. "Not this time. And, er, for your information, he isn’t dead."

"You lie."

The woman’s head tilted, her lips twisted wryly. "Do I? You’re not sure, are you? You left him in that fire but you never saw his ashes, and you wonder, don’t you, Slayer? We helped him, Amilyn and I. We dragged his weakened corpse from that cursed building and now, he rests, safe once more from you and your kind-"

"Then I’ll find him," Buffy said. "And I’ll kill him. But not before I kill you." She took a step forwards then hesitated.

"Be in my eyes," the woman said. "Look at me, child." Her eyes were green as emeralds, and she could see herself reflected in their depths. That face which wasn’t hers stared back at her. Behind her the two male vampires hissed triumphantly, but Buffy didn’t hear them. She couldn’t take her gaze away from the woman, who seemed so beautiful, so perfect, and so strong. She took a step forward, and the stake clattered to the ground as the woman reached out for her, smiling sadly. "Come to me," she whispered. Buffy was close enough to smell her perfume, sweet and slightly musky, and she stared up into the woman’s commanding eyes, her resolve all but gone. The woman stroked her hair. "So it has come to this," she said, and she almost sounded regretful. "I must succeed where Lothos and his cohorts failed. Those fools…" She sighed and changed, her face warping until it was like those of the two men, and then she grinned, brightly. "Oh well." Buffy started, shocked out of the trance, but it was too late. With sudden speed, the woman reached down and snapped her neck.

She woke up screaming, her hands thrashing out at attackers who weren’t there.

"Buffy!" Hands grasped her shoulders and she twisted around automatically, her fist flying out before she realised that it was her mother. "Oh… Oh God. Mom." She sat up, as Joyce Summers sat back, gripping her nose. "I… I’m sorry. Are you okay?"

"Well, I think you broke my nose." Joyce removed her hand, dabbing at it gingerly. It wasn’t broken but it was bleeding, and it looked painful. "Bad dream?"

"Yeah," Buffy said, uneasily. Okay, so that freak at school had creeped her out, and so she’d dreamed about it. That was all it had been, right? There was no way it could have been for real. Vampires didn’t exist. It was just… It had seemed so real. "Just a dream," she said, and smiled weakly. "Right."

Her mother didn’t hear the doubt in her voice. "Go back to sleep, Buffy," she said, and then she stood up, leaving the room.

Buffy still felt sore. Her neck… She swallowed and pressed a hand against her throat, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh God," she muttered. She settled back down, resting her head against the pillow. Around her, the shadows loomed menacingly and she found herself taking a cautious glance at her closet, like a frightened five year old. At least she managed to resist the urge to look under her bed. Her eyes didn’t want to close. Right now, she didn’t feel like going back to sleep.

"So there I am, waiting in the lobby of that damn cinema for like, half an hour." Kimberly broke off to pull the gum out of her mouth and stick it underneath the seat. They were changing after cheerleading practise. Buffy listened to her friends talking. Ordinarily, she would have joined in, but right now she couldn’t think of anything to say. Her mind kept returning to the dream she’d had last night. The details were fading but she could remember the woman’s eyes as clearly as she could see her hand in front of her.

"And Jason didn’t show?" Jennifer asked as she pulled open her locker.

"No. I had to catch a taxi home, and he still hasn’t called me, so if you guys see him, you don’t know where I am, okay? I am so not talking to him. I mean, what is his damage?"

"Yeah," Nicole said, pulling a brush through her dark curls. "He is like, so below your social spectrum."

"Exactly," Kimberly said, with a short laugh. "He’s not even in the football team. What was I thinking?"

Buffy frowned. "Jason wasn’t in class today."

"So?" Kimberly said.

"Maybe he’s sick."

"Oh yeah, sick." Kimberly snorted, tugged her jacket onto her shoulders. "Like that’s an excuse."

"Well, it kind of is," Jennifer said, hesitating.

"Hello? Ever heard of a phone? So, what, he’s too sick to even crawl out of bed and call me? I was waiting for hours, okay? I could have been murdered. Or worse."

"What’s worse than murder?" Nicole wondered aloud. Buffy thought she knew the answer. That dream and that woman; the vampires. She shuddered and suddenly, involuntarily, she slammed her fist into the locker. There was no pain; only the force of the impact and the dent she left in the metal door was considerable. She dropped her hand to her side, gaping at the damage. When she looked around, she realised her friends were staring at her.

"God, what’s with you today?" Kimberly said.

"Are you okay, Buffy?" Jennifer asked. Buffy looked at them, on the verge of telling them everything. They were her friends; she should be able to do that, but she know what would happen if she did. Hello, social ostracism.

"I’m fine," she said. "I just, uh, had an argument with my mom. Kinda." She cleared her throat and changed the subject. "So, uh, Jason. Are you gonna call him?"

"Yeah, when hell freezes over," Kimberly said. She paused, about to leave. "Are you coming?"

"Damn it…" Buffy said, rifling through her locker. "I think I left my bag in the gym. You guys go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’re shopping, right?"

"Right. Anyway, Jason had better have a damn good reason for his not being there last night, and even if he does, I don’t care. I am so done with him."

Nicole nodded. "You could do so much better," she said as they left.

Buffy sighed and went back towards the gymnasium. The warm air hit her as she jogged down the steps, feeling as if someone was watching her. It was already starting to get dark and she wondered whether, if she turned back right now, she would still be able to catch Kimberly and get a ride with her.

Something flew out of the darkness at her. She whipped around and caught it, snatching it right out of the air. She stared at the object, confused. It was a knife, the hilt ornately decorated with jewels and gold. At first sight, she might have assumed it was purely for show but the blade was wickedly sharp. Her eyes widened and she stared in the direction the knife had come from.

"Ha!" Merrick stepped out of the shadows, looking pleased with himself. "Well done."

She stared at him, hardly comprehending. "You threw a knife at my head."

"I know," he said. "And you caught it. Perhaps now, you’ll understand."

"You threw a knife at my head!"

"Yes, I did."

"What-" She broke off, angry. "What the hell are you doing? Where do you get off throwing a knife at my head?"

"I told you, Miss Summers," he said, wearily. "You are the Chosen One. The Slayer-"

"Wait." She held up her hand. "Back up. I’m the what?"

"You are the Vampire Slayer. The only one with the strength to stop their evil-" He stopped, frowning at her. "Is something wrong?"

"That’s what they called me," she said, confused. "The Slayer."

"Are you talking about a dream?" he asked, and she glanced at him. He nodded. "Well, let’s see shall we? This dream of yours, did it by any chance involve a young Chinese girl?"

"Yeah," she said, warily. "How did you know?"

"I met her once. Her name was Julie Chen. She was found three days ago in Shanghai. They broke her neck."

"She was the Slayer?"

He shook his head. "Not any more."

Amber Whitlow broke off from tapping away at the computer keyboard to glance at her watch and yawn, wearily. It was well into the night, very nearly the next day, and she really should be in bed. The only problem was that whenever she closed her eyes she saw Marta’s face, and that left her feeling numb. Something had happened last night and she didn’t like to as helpless as this. After they’d managed to bring Marta round, she had listened to their description of the… channelling with an impassive expression and when they’d finished, she had simply apologised and asked them to leave. When they had tried to protest… Well, Amber wasn’t entirely certain what had happened. Marta had simply looked at them and they had stopped arguing and had turned and left the house. It worried Amber, not least because Marta had been walking about like something out of Night of the Living Dead. Her eyes were… empty. There was no other word for it, as if she’d closed herself off from the world.

"Get a grip," Amber told herself. She sighed and tried to turn her attention back to the computer screen. The words there made no sense any more and she found her vision blurring as her headache intensified. Much more of this and she would have one tomorrow, which, on the plus side was a Saturday. She yawned again and shut the computer down. She stood up and went to draw the curtains. The window shattered inward. She was thrown across the room and collided with some bookshelves, which came crashing down on top of her. Dazed and only half-conscious, she was unaware of the creature, which entered through the broken window. It paused and sat on its haunches, sniffing the air as it surveyed the room with squinting eyes.

She stirred, groaning softly, and the creature’s gaze darted in her direction. This was what it had come fore. There was a debt, which had to be repaid. It gave a little grunt of triumph and scratched its snout with one hooked claw, before loping over towards her as she came around. Her eyes widened as she saw it. "No," she whispered, trying to scramble backwards away from it. "Please…" The creature tilted its head, staring at her impassively.

As Amber opened her mouth, preparing to scream, the creature lunged forward, its sharp, rodent teeth closing on her throat. One down, two to go.

Marta was woken by the sound of someone hammering on the door. She snuggled deeper under the covers but the knocking kept on and on and eventually she gave up, levering herself into a standing position. She tugged a dressing gown on and padded barefoot to the door, ready to fall asleep. She peered through the viewer and saw Susie raising her hand to start knocking again. "Okay," Marta called out and opened the door. She woke up when she saw how pale the other woman was. "What’s up?"

"Amber’s dead," Susie said, shortly. "I…" She licked her lips, swallowing. "I had a dream and when I phoned her house there was no reply, so I-I went there. She’s dead."

"Oh God…" Marta stepped aside, letting Susie in. She closed the door. "Do you know what… what happened?"

"We should never have done that spell," Susie said, slumping at the table. Marta, who still wasn’t entirely certain what had actually happened, sat opposite her. "It told us," Susie continued, weakly. "’There is a price on this knowledge.’ That’s what it said…"

"It’ll come after us too," Marta said. "Whatever the hell it is. We have to stop it..."

"You mean another ritual."

Marta nodded. "I think I know how to get rid of it," she said. "But you don’t have to get involved. This was my fault…"

"I think I’m already involved," Susie said, with a shrug.

With the circle hastily marked out on the floor and the candles all set up, the protection ritual was ready to begin. Marta was on edge. She could barely think straight, let alone summon the concentration that would be necessary to complete the spell correctly. She jumped as Ceefer padded across the room behind her and jumped onto the arm of the sofa. There he started to lick his leg, unconcerned. Licking her lips, she picked up the athame – the ritual knife – and held the flat of the blade to her forehead

"Is this going to work?" Susie whispered. Distracted by the interruption, Marta glanced at her.

"Shh." She swallowed and raised the athame. "I… uh… call on the Zorya, the guardians of the world. I ask that they be present and lend us their protection. Deliver us from-" She broke off as Ceefer growled. Her cat was staring at the window, his ears flattened, his tail fluffed up. This is not good, she thought as Ceefer hissed. Then he turned tail and fled. She exchanged a look with Susie, who was now even paler than she had been before.

"It… could be a ghost," Susie said, sounding hopeful. "He’s done that before right? Freaked out for no reason. Or another cat."

"Could be." But the thing that had killed Amber hadn’t been a ghost. Or a cat, for that matter. Caught between the conflicting desires of completing the spell, drawing back the curtains or running like hell, Marta wavered. When nothing happened, she stood up and boldly strode towards the window. She took a deep breath and tugged back the curtains. Outside there was nothing. Only the passing traffic in the street below and the dull glow of the streetlight. "See?" she said, glancing back at Susie. "There’s nothing there." She turned back just in time to see the dark shape swinging towards her. She caught a glimpse of two round red little eyes and the suggestion of a wide mouth filled with glittering, needle-sharp teeth, and then it hit the window.

Marta threw herself backwards, shielding her eyes as the fragments of glass shattered inwards, landing all around her. Susie screamed, and Marta pushed herself up to see the thing that had killed Amber advancing on Susie. It looked like a rat, or at least a rat that had grown to the size of a man, developing human arms and opposable thumbs, to go with the long, pink hairless tail and the mangy, matted fur.

"I command you to stop," she yelled, struggling to her feet.

The rat’s attention switched to her. "Silly girl," it hissed, and she blinked. Not only could it speak, it had a French accent. "You cannot order me. Only one who serves the three may control me."

Marta hesitated. "I… My grandmother…"

The rat sniggered and swung its tail, scattering the tools of the ritual. "She can not help you now, little witch. You have brought this on yourself. My master requires payment."

"Your mast-" She broke off as Susie darted towards the door. The rat leapt after her, squealing happily. "Oh Christ."

"I’m afraid he can’t help you either." Elzbieta materialised in the centre of the scuffed circle. She glanced down, grimaced and stepped aside. "When will you get rid of all this useless junk, Marta? You don’t need it, you know."

"Nana," Marta said, urgently, snatching up the ceremonial dagger and wielding it like a weapon, even though it was about as sharp as a letter opener. She ran after the rat, which had pinned Susie against the wall. Marta plunged the knife into the rat’s shoulder. Or she tried to. The blade scraped through the fur and then snapped. Black ichor welled up from the wound, which was really little more than a scratch. The rat snarled and batted her away, snapping its teeth at her.

"You should not interfere, Marta," Elzbieta said, watching Marta pick up a chair. "The Oracle must have his payment. That is the way of things…" She winced as Marta brought the chair down over the rat’s head. Susie ran for the door but she never made it. The rat reached out a paw, claws outstretched and she ran straight into it, ripping open her stomach. She made a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream and sank to her knees. The rat screeched and turned on Marta, snapping its jaws at her. She stumbled backwards, stepped on an overturned candle and fell on her back, knocking her head against the corner of the coffee table. Elzbieta turned her head, closing her eyes as the rat closed in on the dying Susie. It might be necessary but she didn’t have to look at it. When the rat had finished, it gave her a cursory glance and then turned its full attention to Marta who was starting to come round.

"That’s enough!" Elzbieta strode forward, looking furious. "She is not for you!"

The rat bared its teeth at her. "She’s not one of yours either, old woman."

"She’s marked," Elzbieta said, unable to believe this. How dare this… rodent assume to take one of the chosen?

"Ah…" The rat sat on its haunches, steepling its slender fingers. "But the Zorya have not yet claimed her. Perhaps they never will."

"That is a technicality and you know it," Elzbieta retorted.

"Nevertheless." The rat shrugged. Marta groaned, sitting up. She gripped her head, wincing. When she saw the two of them, her eyes widened.

"Marta," Elzbieta said. "Leave the building. Run."

"But-" She broke off, deciding it was probably best not to argue with a woman who was currently facing down a giant, mutant rat. Instead she turned and stepped over Susie’s remains, trying to hold down the vomit.

When she was gone, Elzbieta turned back to the rat, her eyes narrowing. "Now, where were we?"

Marta kept running until she reached the edge of the graveyard, several blocks from her apartment building. She slowed down, glancing over her shoulder. She doubted that this would be far enough; there was no amount of distance she could put between her and the rat, which would make her feel safe. She could cut through the cemetery and spend the night in the bookshop she worked in. She glanced through the railings at the tombstones and shivered. At least the dead couldn’t hurt her.

"I can’t believe I’m doing this."

"Shh." Merrick glared at the girl who was supposed to be his Slayer. Why couldn’t she just accept this? Why did she have to be so difficult about everything?

"I can’t believe I’m sitting on some dead guy’s grave, waiting for some other dead guy to come crawling out of the ground and I can’t believe that all I’ve got to protect myself is a pointy stick and a cross."

"It’s all you’ll need," Merrick told her, massaging his forehead He was already starting to get a headache. He heard the familiar snapping of wood. "Ah," he said, brightening up. At last. He glanced at the girl. She had stood up, looking startled, but at least she’d stopped whinging. The silence was blessed but it couldn’t last forever. Fingers thrust up through the soil and the vampire crawled free.

"Eww." Buffy paled and Merrick didn’t blame her. The first arising always came as something of a shock. She started to back away as it looked at her, snarling. "Some help would be good," she called out, as it started to advance.

"You can fight it, Buffy," Merrick told her, outwardly calm, but he reached into his bag, bringing out his crossbow. Just in case. First, he had to see how she dealt with this. She screamed as the vampire lunged at her, and Merrick winced as she fell to the ground, dropping the stake. The vampire knelt over her but she shoved it off and rolled over onto her hands and knees, scrambling to retrieve her stake.

"Oh God…" She stood up, not knowing what to do. Merrick cursed himself and his indecision, wondering if he should help her. The vampire leapt at her and panicking, Merrick fumbled with the bolt, trying to load the crossbow. He needn’t have bothered. With purely instinctive grace, Buffy sidestepped the vampire and flipped him to the ground. He didn’t think she’d even known she was going to do it until she had and she was taken aback for a few moments, before she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. She raised the stake and stabbed it into the vampire’s stomach. Merrick groaned inwardly.

"Oh," she said, cringing at her mistake. "Not the heart."

She plunged the stake down again, and this time she hit the heart dead on. The vampire burst into ashes and Buffy screamed in shock, falling backwards. Merrick put the crossbow away and walked over to her.

"You see?" he said, softly. "You see your power?" She didn’t answer him. She only stared at the pile of dust on the grass, her eyes wide and frightened. Merrick sighed and helped her to her feet. "Buffy-" Nearby, someone screamed. They exchanged a look and ran towards the sound.

A woman was surrounded by three vampires, her back to a tombstone. Buffy glanced up at Merrick. "Any suggestions?"

"I had hoped to avoid this," he admitted. "However, needs must when the devil calls, yes?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Do you have another pointy stick?"

"A stake," he corrected, handing her one. "Don’t get too close. Distract them." He reached into his bag and pulled out a crossbow, slotting a bolt into place as Buffy walked forward.

"Hey!" she yelled. The vampires glanced around at her then grinned at each other.

"One each," one of them said, and grabbed the woman. She screamed again, fighting against him, trying to kick his shin.

The smallest vampire lunged at Buffy. She pulled back out of reach and held up the stake, trying to look menacing. "C’mon, sweetheart, " the vampire said. "Wanna suck neck?"

"No thanks," Buffy said. "It’s a rule of mine never to make out with anyone shorter than I am."

The vampire sniggered. "That wasn’t the kind of sucking I was talk-" He broke off, his eyes widening. Merrick’s crossbow bolt was buried in his chest. This time Buffy looked away as the vampire burst into dust.

The thing holding Marta dragged her backwards, whispering threats and profanities into her ear. At first, when they’d ambushed her, she’d assumed it was the rat returning to kill her, but apparently not. These guys were something else. She blinked as the short one turned to dust, and she groaned inwardly.

Vampires?

But that was impossible because vampires didn’t exist. On the other hand, neither did seven-foot long ratty people, so maybe it all made sense. Maybe she’d just gone crazy. Ignoring her doubts, she reached for the silver crucifix around her neck. Gritting her teeth, she thrust it over her shoulder into the guy’s face, expecting him to just get very angry and maybe punch her in the kidneys. Instead there was a sizzling, burning noise and the stink of burning flesh. He shoved her away from him, screaming in agony. Marta stared at him as he gripped his face and when he lowered his hands, there was a small cross-shaped burn mark on his cheek. He did look angry though. "You stupid-" There was a thwunk and he looked down at the bolt embedded in his chest. A hand gripped her shoulder as the vampire shattered into dust. She cried out.

"It’s all right," a man told her, and she stared at him.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, scowling. He looked slightly taken aback by her question.

Behind him, the teenage girl was fighting with the final vampire, and she was winning. As he lunged at her, she delivered one uppercut to his jaw then slammed the stake into his heart and stepped back, looking pleased with herself. "Ha," she said, proudly. "Well done, Buffy," the man said, distantly before turning his attention to Marta. "Just go home. And I would recommend that you don’t walk through the cemeteries at night."

"No kidding," Marta muttered, frowning as he turned to go. This just wasn’t her day.

In the basement of her bookshop, Marta was rifling through the pages of a heavy book of lore by the dim light of a desk lamp. At this time of night, the shop was closed, but Marta had her own key. This was just as well, since she had no intention of going home tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when it was daylight…

The book she was reading was a reference book about vampires, one she had never taken the time to read, and it consisted of many unconnected handwritten passages, comments, anecdotes and doodles. Someone had started to write out an index for it, but it was unfinished and it took Marta several hours to find what she was looking for.

Three quarters of the way through the book, under a hastily scribbled shopping list, there was a paragraph about a girl who fought vampires. It was just a few lines, and Marta sat back, frowning, unaware that she was being watched.

"We must be wary." The vampire known as Amilyn hissed and his yellow eyes narrowed as he watched the image in the bowl of blood. The witch was reading again. "She knows far more than she thinks." He stirred the liquid and behind him, the waiting vampires shifted uneasily.

"Do we kill her?" one of them demanded and Amilyn shot him a look.

"No," he said. "Not yet." He licked the blood off each of his fingers. "We can not afford to draw attention to ourselves so soon." He turned and walked to the stone sarcophagus in the centre of the room. It was raised on a dais, surrounded by a hundred candles. "We watch her and we wait," he said, distantly. Within the coffin, Lothos slept. His body was little more than a desiccated corpse, leather stretched over ancient bones, yet still he lived. And soon, Amilyn knew, his master would arise.

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