Title: Southie

Author: Celtic Pride

Homepage: None

Rating: NC 17 for violence, femme-slash, sex, drug use, language

Summary: The events directly leading up to Faith's decision to go to Sunnydale

Canon Characters: Faith, Roger Wyndham-Price, Mr. Trick, Kakistos

Author's Notes: I decided to start writing this several months ago but real life got in the way. I felt strongly that Faith's character deserved a back-story and also wanted to explain some of Faith's more prevalent character traits (ie: Why she says 5x5 all the time, why she was so afraid of Kakistos, why there was this extreme sexual tension between her and Buffy, why she seemed to react so adversely to betrayal etc

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss and Fox and a bunch of peeps with way more lawyers then me. Lyrics belong to the Foo Fighters, The Pixies, Elektra Records and Roswell Records

Feedback: Of course :P

So here it is. Welcome to Southie

Southie

Part 1
The Originals

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us-if at all-not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men

T.S.Elliot – The Hollow Men

1

Boston, Massachusetts 1998 Duncan's POV

Have I ever mentioned that I have a thing for closets? Not a sex thing, like nailing some liquored-up chick at a frat party, but more of a Zen thing. I mean, I can look at a closet and imagine a person's entire past; triumphs, sorrows, and of course, the dirty little secrets that everyone has. One time when I was waiting for a bus, there were these two girls about fifteen years old standing across the street and sharing a smoke in front of Whitman's
Convenience. They were at that age when even though you know it's wrong, you can't help but notice that they are no longer kids. One turned a little too quickly, and the movement caused her skirt to lift at the back, just enough for me to see the ruffled panties beneath. I imagined hiding in her closet later that day, hidden amongst her old childhood clothes with the friggin' Care Bears on them, watching her losing her virginity to some greasy teenage guy. The forced eagerness of teenage sex, the too rapid ejaculation, the way she'd pretend it had been good, even though the pain in her body would be much more memorable then the act itself. It would be like being inside her, knowing her in a way that only she knew herself. Like I said, I have a thing for closets.

Paco is scratching around in his shitty little closet, looking for something that wasn't crusty to put on his feet. I'm sitting on the bare mattress in the living room of his horrible bachelor apartment, examining the angry red ring around my chewed fingernails through the haze of stale cigarette smoke. I hope it's not infected. "Just wear your fucking sandals."

"I can't find my fuckin' sandals. I think that bitch Meghan swiped em. Biggest fuckin' feet on a chick I ever saw. Just chill." Paco tells me, his voice slightly muffled from his head being in the closet. I sigh irritably and continue the examination of my fingers. We're gonna be late. I fucking know it and it's pissing me off. I hate being late.

We couldn't score any coke last night so I got drunk instead and woke up on the floor next to a bunch of burrito wrappers. I swear that shit is like crack when I drink. The guy at 7/11 must think I'm a human garbage can. All I ever buy there are too-expensive smokes and shitty food when I'm drunk. How bad is it when you feel like the 7/11 guy is having superior thoughts about you? Paco says that we didn't get high after we got back, but the dull ache in my lungs is a lot more than cigarettes can account for. I always feel like shit when I smoke up after getting drunk, and yet it's the only time I ever like pot. How's that for ironic Alanis? Rain on your wedding day my ass.

"Zebra get you that job at Tri-Can?" Paco asks me, sniffing a pair of green socks and shrugging indifferently. He looks back at me while he struggles to get them on his feet without widening any of the holes. Zebra is the guy to talk to if you want a good job. He's got a few of us on the assembly line. Labeling cans. It's rotten work, but at least it pays good. Plus its got a drug plan. Anyone can fake a disorder after three months and go see Dr. Watt, the prescription king. That guy would prescribe to anyone. I mean, otherwise he might have to solve your problems right? The blue pill is better. Less angst.

"He said he'd talk to the foreman," I say, just to put him off from asking anymore questions. I never even bothered showing up. Zebra coulda got me a job maybe, but I hate owing people. Zebra's the type of guy who'll do you a favor, then never let you forget about it. I hate shit like that. Then if you fuck up and get fired, he acts like you pissed in his coffee or something. I mean, if you don't want a bad rep with your boss, quit asking him to hire junkies. How hard is that to figure out? Bottom line; Zeb's an asshole.

"Cool," Paco gets his shoes on and looks at me questioningly. I toss him the stubby pack of cigarettes and he takes out the bomber that he'd rolled earlier. He sits down on the mattress next to me and searches through the rubbish for a lighter. He finally gets the joint lit and takes a big hit. He closes his eyes and coughs a little as he blows out the big cloud of smoke. He moves to pass it to me, but I shake my head. I want to be straight when they do it. Paco's just part of the deal. This is a big day. No more dirty little secrets. Becoming a vampire is something that you only get to do once.

2

"Faith?" Brenda pounds on the door for what feels like the hundredth time that morning. She'd had the girl released to her custody the night before, after what felt like hours of grilling by a very pissed off homicide detective. They'd found her naked in the street with dozens of eyewitnesses who'd watched her "kill" several would-be terrorists who'd attacked a school bus full of Catholic school kids. The big problem was that there were no bodies. Finally, they had to release her due to lack of evidence. Faith had taken it all as a joke, smart mouthing the cops that had arrested her and Brenda had pulled quite a few strings to get her out of the mess. Even the Council had limits to what it could accomplish when there were over 30 witnesses. "Faith, get up!"

The door finally opens and the dark-haired girl comes out, yawning hugely and heading straight for the fridge. She pulls out a carton of milk and sniffs it cautiously before taking a long pull on it. "You makin' eggs Bren?" she asks hopefully.

The Watcher sighs and shakes her head. "Faith, what the hell were you thinking?" Brenda sits at the kitchen table and sighs wearily. "There were at least seven vampires out there and you don't have nearly the experience to take on those kinds of odds."

Faith shrugs and takes the other chair, "Chill Bren. I got it done. No fair, no foul right?"

"What about those?" Brenda inquires, indicating the large bruises on the girl's arms and cheek and a long cut that curves along her abdomen.

"Vamp got lucky. Next time I'll duck." Faith yawns again and sniffs her armpits, causing her nose to wrinkle in disgust. "Okay, I'm needin' a shower. The next vampll smell me coming from three blocks away." The brunette stands and leans down to give Brenda a
kiss. "You comin'?"

"Rain check, okay?" Brenda smiles at her sourly. The twenty-two year old gestures at her notes on the table. "I have some damage control to do, thanks to you."

"Your loss," Faith shrugs and grabs a towel on her way to the bathroom. "Try not to miss me too much." She disappears as the bathroom door closes and Brenda can hear the rumble of the building's old pipes as the shower starts. She grins to herself, and then picks up the phone.

3

Duncan's POV

I try to drown out the two old women yapping about Bingo Night as the bus pulls away from the curb. Paco looks around anxiously. What an asshole. Where the fuck would I find a guy to spot me a key of coke? It just goes to show, that junkies will believe anything
when they're desperate. Paco's just the initiation fee. It's Faith that they want.

We all thought we were so fucking original. We even called ourselves that. The Originals. Like no one had ever done the shit that we were all doing in those early years of the 90's. I'd lived next to Faith for six years. She was always a pain in the ass as a kid, cuz she'd always want to hang-out with us. I mean, she was cool and all. Crazy bitch would do anything on a dare. One time, I got her to steal her mom's purse and we spent the day in the Common,
drinking Cokes and fucking around. That was a good day. I felt like a big brother that day. Yeah, she wasn't my sister and I only went cuz she'd scored us $40, but it was nice. Here's this 11 year old kid, her mom's a drunk and fuck knows what happened to her dad, but she's looking at me like I'm the king shit of butt-fuck hill cuz I shared a smoke with her and told my buddies that she was 13. Later on, when her mom beat the shit out of her for stealing the money, she didn't rat on me or nothin'. Five by five. Like I said, she was a pretty cool kid.

Paco keeps talking in my ear and all I want to do is smash him in the mouth, screaming at him, "There's no coke asshole! You're a fucking Fig Newton, a Hershey bar! We're not gonna be rich! We're gonna be dead!" Oh well. Fuckin' kid is so dumb he'd probably be
dead in a year anyway.

Have I mentioned that Faith got hot? I mean no-shit hot. I told a bunch of the guys that she blew me a cuppla times, but the truth is that I'd be afraid to fuck her. It's not that she wouldn't. She let me finger her once when we were shit-faced, drinkin' her mom's gin. I coulda fucked her then, but she had this look in her eyes. Wild animal. I don't mean horny wild either. It was like she'd rip me to shreds if I tried anything. How lame is that? There I was, a nineteen year old guy who'd beat some dude almost to death with a pipe wrench for twelve bucks and his Nikes, and I was afraid of a fourteen year old chick. I think it was the tattoo.

We were sitting on the steps one night down in Southie and everyone was talkin' shit about the stuff that they did. There was a fat kid we all called Spanky, and he was yappin' about this tat that his brother had done on some guy the other night. Apparently he'd learned how in jail and did some for the guys in the neighborhood for coke and booze. We were all talking like we were dying to get inked, but in reality, there was no way I'd let that coked-out fuck put a needle within twenty feet of me. Faith had looked up and asked, "Can he do one for me?"

We all laughed and someone made a comment about how Spank's brother would probably do it for head. Faith had just shrugged and said, "Fine." We started buggin' on her, but she just kept saying how she'd do it, so we went upstairs and rousted out Spank's brother. He'd gotten out his kit and Faith pointed at the "96" tattoo in the book he had pulled out, saying, "That one."

The room got real quiet. I mean, this was just a big fuckin' joke. No one actually expected her to go through with it. Spanky was fidgeting, and his brother just shrugged and said sure, but how was she going to pay? At this point we all started laughing again and making blow-job jokes, but Faith hadn't joked or smiled. She'd just looked steadily at him and tapped the "96" with her finger. "You ink, I blow."

Spanky's brother had eyed her up and down. It was fuckin' sick. This guy was thirty and bartering for a blow job with a fourteen year old. Finally he grinned and I almost threw up. The dude's teeth were the color of molasses. "Just so long as you swallow sweetie."

"Tell ya what," Faith had said in a low voice, causing me to look at her sharply as she spoke. "You do the tat and I'll suck your cock. You cum in my mouth and I'll bite the fuckin' thing off."

Everyone started to laugh. Everyone but me and Spank's brother. The wild animal look was back. Spanky's brother saw it too. Faith got her tat and never sucked a cock that night. Two weeks later they found Spanky's brother, dead in a closet, the needle still in his arm. Hot-shot they call it. Turns out he'd got his cock bitten off in jail anyhow. Fuckin' closets.

We're getting close. This guy Trick wants Faith's ass bad. If I deliver I get to be immortal. Tough break for Faith. Like I said, he's pretty cool. Not like Paco. Fuckin' Hershey bar.

This part of Boston is the shits. I've lived in Southie all my life, but this is the lowest of the low. Warehouses and walk-ups. Seven people died here last summer during the heat wave. How the fuck do you die in a heat wave? When it got really hot, me and Faith had slept down in the basement a cuppla nights. We played cards and brought a cuppla sleeping bags down there. It was okay. Then that Brenda bitch showed up. Faith thinks the sun rises and sets on her. Personally, I think she's got a cucumber in her ass. Fuckin' Limey too. She took Faith away from her mom, but I don't even think the drunk bitch noticed. Last I saw of her mom, she was turning tricks for gin money. Faith still visits the neighborhood though. That's the key to the whole thing. I gotta bring her down here.

This is our stop. I smack Paco in the arm to shut him up, and just as a fuck you, I smack the purse out of the old lady's hand beside me as we get up. She squawks a bit but I don't care. It smells like piss and burnt garbage down here. I gag a little, but rationalize that I won't be
breathing much longer anyway. Paco's nervous. He can't shut up when he's nervous, but its okay now. I don't really care anymore.

4

"I'm gonna head over to Southie later," Faith tells Brenda quietly as they sit finishing their lunch at a sidewalk café. "Wanna come?" she asks, knowing the answer as she traces her fork through the little puddle of gravy on her plate. Brenda had watched Faith eat her fries with mild disgust, and now she set down her fork with a disapproving look.

"Faith," she shakes her head. The girl always had a knack for the worst possible timing. "We're heading for Sunnydale in three days, and you haven't packed a thing or lifted a finger to get ready. Now you want to head down to the slums and play house with those low-lives you used to hang around with." The Watcher puts down her fork. She'd been mostly ignoring her salad anyway. "It's stupid and dangerous, and I forbid you to go."

"Have I ever told you how cute you are when your being bossy?" Faith reaches over and tweaks the Watcher's nose. "I'm going. Period. Those "low-lives" were all the family I had for ten years. I have to say good-bye."

"But that's the point." Brenda sighs heavily. "You know that's what Kakistos is waiting for. He's gunning for you Faith. He wants what you have. He'll turn you if he can."

"It's vampire 'Slayer', Bren. He comes knocking and I'll handle him."

"Not this vampire Faith." Brenda looks at her charge earnestly. "This vampire is well over a thousand years old. He's survived, when over two-hundred Slayers have perished. He's forgotten more dirty tricks then you will ever know. Don't test him."

"I won't," Faith says slowly, taking the blonde's hand in her own. "I know we're supposed to go see this Buffy chick, but I can't just blow these guys off. I love you Bren, but these guys are my amigos. My posse. If I learned one thing in Southie, it's that you don't bail on your pals. Ever."

"They are not your "pals" Faith," the Watcher says sternly. "They are druggies and petty criminals, and if you had stayed around them any longer, you'd be dead by now or well on your way. What is it that one idiot Duncan says? Five by Five? Well that's about the
size of the prison cell he'll be in within the next two years. Believe me."

"Dunc's good people Bren. You just don't know him. I'll be fine, I promise. You get the last of our travel plans figured and I'll be back before midnight." The brunette rises, and the sick knot in Brenda's stomach drops a little as she watches the lithe form in the tight leather pants wend its way through the tables at the little sidewalk café they'd lunched at. She looks down at her barely touched salad, then reaches into her purse and finds a twenty, which
she drops on the table. She glances at her watch and departs for the apartment. That feeling of dread is only getting worse.

5

Duncan's POV

T-Boy is the only guy I ever knew who decided' to be come a junkie. I mean, I know what all the social services assholes say about bad environments and the disease of depression, but that shit never held water with T-Boy. It was 1995 and Kurt Cobain was just getting nicely moldy. We all knew about smack and AIDS, so most of us stuck with coke or weed. They were bad enough. But not T-Boy. That dude was all hands to the pumps when it came to the H-train.

It was sick really. The dude was blonde and blue with an angel's face. I mean, I'm not gay, but he was beautiful. No shit. When I was a kid, and my dad still bothered to dress us up once in a while to take us to St. Matthew's on Sundays, they had all these pictures of angels that looked like babies, with curly blonde hair and vacant blue eyes, and that was T-Boy to a letter. It's no wonder that Faith fell head over heels for him.

We used to go to a swimming hole by an old quarry just off Milk Street. The old dairy was still there, and it would brood in the distance while we jumped into the water and splashed around. It was a good place in the summer. No adults to tell you to not jump off the high rocks and lots of good spots to smoke and fuck around. T-Boy showed up the one day while Faith, me and Paco were lying in the sun, talking about bands and beer and all the other useless, great shit that's so important to you when you're a teenager. He was wearing an old army fatigue shirt of his dad's and a pair of those retarded Adidas shorts with the big honkin' stripes down the side. We all shut up when he came over the gravel hill. Me and Paco were wearing our boxers, and Faith was wearing a t-shirt that was tied at the bottom, with a pair of blue panties as bikini bottoms. Me and Paco kept trying to see if we could spot pubes around her crotch but no luck that day. Faith had looked up at him and right then I'd known. She fell hard.

After that she'd followed him everywhere. Poor Faith. She woulda done anything for that guy. Problem was, T-Boy was chronically fucked up. One night we were all sitting around on the stoop and he just started carving shit in his arm. He took out a pocketknife and
right then and there, just started cutting into himself. At first we thought it was a trick, because he just really dug in the knife and started sawing away. His lips were pulled back in an intense sneer of concentration and beads of sweat quivered on his forehead. "What the fuck?" Paco finally yelled, and smacked the knife from T-Boy's hand so it skittered away across the sidewalk. Blood was streaming down T-Boy's arm and he had held it up,
turning it this way and that, admiring the glistening bloody sleeve on his skin in the streetlights. Faith had walked out then and started screaming and crying. T-Boy held her and left a bloody arm print across the back of her shirt that looked like a wide black stripe in the semi-darkness. I found out later, that he took her cherry that night. I imagined being in the closet and watching them dress afterward, his sticky red arm matching the sticky red of her thighs. Just through the crack in the door I'd have watched. I bet
T-Boy had crazy shit in his closet.

Noticed that huh? Yeah I said had. T-Boy didn't make it out of '97. Faith was fifteen and he was nineteen. The two of them were always going out and always breaking up. I blame both of them. T-Boy was fuckin' crazy. Everyone knew it. Even Faith. Didn't matter to her though. When he stole the car with Murray and Mike, he took all the heat and even fought the cops barehanded so the two Sullivan brothers could get over a couple of fences and scram. That was pretty cool. The stupid thing was that he kept fighting even when they were long gone. He needed over 200 stitches and three weeks in traction. Fuckin' nut case. Then came the smack habit.

T-Boy loved heroin. Sure, a couple of people I knew tried it and had a good time, but for T-Boy it became almost a religion. Within months, all of his shit was gone, and the beautiful, blonde-haired cherub was gone too, leaving a rake-thin ghost in his place. Faith
found him in an alley, sucking some fat guy's cock for $30. When she freaked on him all he did was giggle and pull up his old Pixies concert shirt, slapping his visible ribcage with his palms. T-Boy got AIDS and died of an overdose three months later. The autopsy revealed three different people's semen in his stomach. Faith cried for a week. I went with her to the clinic so she could get tested. I don't ever want to see a place like that again.

I loved her a little I think. Maybe if this Trick guy isn't too bad, I can get him to make her a vampire too. Then we could be together forever. Just us Originals. The vampires from Southie.

Paco passed out about an hour ago. I just kept feeding him dope and eventually he quit asking when our connection was going to show up. It's almost dark out now. By morning I'll be immortal. Fuckin' A.

6

"Hey Faith," Murray raises a hand without getting up. At seventeen years old he was already 6' 2" and weighed nearly 300 lbs. His brother was the opposite. Mike was barely Faith's height and probably weighed less. He only had one lung, because when he was 7 he'd been kicked in the chest by a horse at his uncle's farm, and whenever he spoke
now it was barely above a whisper. The Sullivan's were holding court on the stoop with Chops and Lelaina. The two girls were pretending to be disgusted by the brothers' innuendo, and the brothers were pretending to be joking. All part of the elaborate ritual of stoop culture.

"Where's Dunc and Paco?" Faith asks, taking her customary seat on the middle step. Murray shifts an ass cheek roughly the size of a Christmas turkey to accommodate her. Chops holds out her cigarette pack and Faith takes out a Salem, inhaling sharply as she cups the proffered light. Brenda didn't approve of her smoking, but Faith rationalizes that what Brenda didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"Fucked if I know," Mike says softly. He's the only one that doesn't smoke and moves back from the cloud that surrounds the youths. "They went to a cooker off Clark St. last night and I haven't seen either of them since."

"Probably got too fucked up and crashed at Paco's." Lelaina offers. She doesn't really like Faith. Lelaina is Southie royalty. Her dad owned three buildings in the area and their house has plants that don't die. It baffles her that she has to compete for male attention with the brunette tom-boy with the drunkard-whore of a mother. She sneers at the thought of Paco's bachelor rat- hole. "Paco was talkin' like they had a big meeting today. I guess they went there."

"What big meeting?" Faith asks, ignoring the obvious disdain from the blonde. She knows that Lelaina's a stuck-up twat and being bitchy about it won't help. Plus her dad was big noise around here. He owned Dunc's building and Faith didn't want to cause any waves.

"You know Dunc and Paco. Probably found a college chick who wants to experiment'," Murray grins. He finishes his egg cream in two mighty gulps, and then belches into his hand gently.

"But no one's seen em?" Faith asks with some concern. Dunc's been strange lately and this news doesn't sit well with her.

"Jealous?" Chops asks coyly, and everyone snickers. The running joke about Faith and Dunc is so old now that no one even knows who started it. It's as much a part of their world as the sidewalks or the "Go Sox!" poster in the window at Whitman's.

"Ha," Faith elbows Chops and grins at her friend. The girl has horrible acne. She was born with the unfortunate name Mary Lamb. It was sad really, and Faith had nicknamed her "Lamb Chops" years ago. Now she was just Chops. So much so, that there were probably
people who'd known her for years without knowing her by any other name. When the girls were 10 and Faith had got caught smoking by Mrs. Dimarco in the laundry room, it was Chops who'd taken the heat by saying that the smokes were hers. She'd been grounded for weeks, but the girl had known that Faith's mother would probably have beaten her daughter nearly to death over it. An odd woman, Faith's mother. In her mind, a woman could drink herself comatose nightly and fuck every guy that had two legs and a dick, but a woman who
smoked was a disgrace.

"You gonna hang out?" Mike whispers to Faith. Like every guy in the neighborhood, he had the hots for the brunette, and she'd been the subject of many locked hours in the bathroom for the thin boy. Faith had kissed him once, after he'd caught her cat when it had run out of the apartment. He relived that kiss at least twice a day.

"And let you assholes have all the fun if I leave? Fat chance." The Slayer stubs out her smoke and looks at the buildings affectionately. Brenda's instructions had been 100 clear on one thing. No one was to know of their departure on the weekend. She feels bad about not being able to say goodbye, and even worse because Dunc's not there, but it's good to be here. They talk for hours, guardians of the neighborhood, telling stories and swapping
cigarettes back and forth. They're friend stories, the kind you can't explain to an outsider, and all the better because of it. For the next few hours the entire world exists for them in only these few city blocks. In Southie.

"K' guys, I gotta catch the last bus," Faith rises at 11:25 and dusts the seat of her pants. Upstairs, Mrs. Dimarco is blaring Sinatra tunes out her open window, and Mr. Alan's Chevy is rusting cozily in its accustomed spot. No one says good-bye beyond a few
raised hands and Faith wonders if she'll ever come back here again.

7

Duncan's POV

It's amazing really. There's hardly any pain, beyond the initial ripping sensation of the teeth on my throat. Paco's sightless eyes are locked on mine in some sort of obscene staring contest as I feel the life ebbing out of me. Trick bites down harder, and I feel warm
piss run down my leg as the strength in my muscles falls away. The world is swimming in a black vortex and roaring fills my ears. Just before I'm sure I can't hang on another second, the mouth moves away from my neck and a gashed wrist is swimming in front of my
face. "Drink," I barely hear the words and then the salty-copper taste of blood fills my mouth. I suck greedily and start to choke, but I force myself to drink slower and the coal fire warmth burns through me. This is the night I died. This is the night I left the human race. But in the morning I'll be reborn. Tomorrow I feed.

Part 2

Morphidium

8

Brenda hears the door open stealthily and stiffens, grasping the stake beside her bed. She glances at the clock and sees that it's one-thirty AM. The sound of traffic is muted outside of the loft apartment and Brenda holds her breath, trying to determine the source of the noise. The bedroom door opens slowly and she relaxes, seeing Faith's form silhouetted in the dim light. "Bren?"

"Yeah," the Watcher sighs, putting the stake down on the night-table. She sits up a little, the sheet slipping down to reveal the Bruins jersey that she wears as a night shirt. She reaches for the bedside lamp and clicks it on, the sudden light causing her to squint.

Faith smiles sheepishly and sits on the edge of the bed, bending to pull off her socks and then stretching out beside her petite Watcher. "Sorry B. I sorta lost track of time."

"Uh huh," Brenda responds dully, trying to sound annoyed but secretly pleased by the younger girl's obvious guilt for waking her. It had started much as all such relationships do, where both would-be lovers know how inappropriate their feelings are, but are unable to disregard them. Brenda had tried very hard to keep her own desires from surfacing, but Faith's overt sexuality had made it nearly impossible. Faith herself had been surprised by her own willingness to take the older female as her lover, but ultimately it had been the teenage Slayer who had forced the issue one night, shortly after she had been Chosen.

The night itself had been interesting enough. Word had come through that a group of vampires were using the local rehab clinic as a personal buffet. The premise had been simple really, focus on desperate young people trying to cope with an addiction, earn their
trust, and then lure them to a time and place where their slaughter could be conducted in relative peace. The local cops were indifferent, junkies being junkies after all, and usually wrote off the deaths as drug or gang related. Faith's own experience with junkies and friends desperately in need of rehab had made her infiltration of the scene incredibly easy. The two had slain five vampires that night and for a reason that at that time had been
unknown to Brenda, her Slayer had broken down completely after the fight. Only later would she learn about T-Boy and the story behind Faith's deep loathing of drugs.

At first it had been just a matter on consoling, the blonde Watcher comforting her nearly hysterical charge, somewhat taken aback by the force of Faith's emotional outburst. The feeling of the lovely teen's body pressed against her own, and her hot breath on Brenda's
neck had caused the Watcher's arousal to peak, despite her best intentions, and when the younger girl had turned her trembling lips upward to Brenda's, the Watcher had returned her kiss, knowing even then that she was making a horrible mistake. The two women had
slowly undressed each other, at first hesitantly, but soon growing to a frenzy of passion as their lips had crushed together, tongues flickering in combat, causing Faith to moan against the English girl's mouth. Faith's hand on Brenda's nipple had been the last straw, the Slayer brushing it lightly with her fingertips, causing Brenda's lust to boil over.

And so it had gone, first with Brenda as the aggressor, plundering the younger girl hungrily with her fingers and tongue, making her tremble at first, then causing her to cry out and thrash in ecstasy. Then it had been Faith who had taken over, exploring the blonde's secrets tenderly at first, then more urgently as Brenda had whispered her encouragement. Soon the blonde Watcher felt her own orgasm crash through her body and had been forced to bite on her own hand to stifle her cries of pleasure.

Faith is very quiet as she lies beside the older woman, causing Brenda to frown and sit up more fully. She reaches over and draws the younger girl's head onto her lap, stroking the long brown tresses tenderly. "Hey," she says softly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," the Slayer says in a tired voice. She closes her eyes momentarily, allowing herself to take kittenish pleasure in Brenda's soft caresses. She opens them again and sighs heavily. "It's just that I missed Dunc. It was nice, I mean, just sitting there with the old gang, but he's the one I was hoping to see."

"I see," Brenda stops her caress and shifts somewhat moodily on the bed. Faith senses the hard edge in her voice and looks at Brenda questioningly. "That boy is trouble Faith. I know that you think he's your friend, but I've seen the way he looks at you, how he acts. The boy is a junkie Faith. His only care is when and how he can get his next fix. He's a user and will use you if you give him the chance."

"Is that a fact," the anger in Faith's voice is sharp and sudden. She sits up quickly and shifts to look the blonde fully in the eye. "And what the fuck would you know about that Bren? My whole life Dunc has been there for me. When T-Boy died it was Dunc who went with me to the clinic. When my mom would have her "guests" over it was Dunc who would camp out in the basement with me. Now you show up with your books and your rules and I'm just supposed to shitcan close to 10 years of friendship because you took an addictions course in some fucking school where the walls look like they shit ivy?"

"Dammit Faith, that's not what I meant and you know it. I'm not saying that he hasn't been your friend or that he never cared about you. What I am saying, is that sometimes people change and people with addictions especially. They prey on the goodwill of the people
around them and take and take until there is nothing left to give. The boy needs help, and pretending otherwise is not what you should be doing if you really care about him." Brenda kicks off the covers, swinging her bare legs off of the edge of the bed and standing. "I am your Watcher as well as your girlfriend, so don't get all pissy about me taking my responsibilities to you seriously."

"Fine," Faith grumbles, shrugging angrily. "But that doesn't change the fact that I want to see him before we leave. I owe him that. I owe me that."

Brenda turns away from the bed and stands in front of the mirror. She gazes at the reflection there and takes several deep breathes to calm herself. She shifts slightly, kinking her neck to the side to loosen the muscles and lets out a long breath. "All right Faith.
All right. He's your friend. I understand that, but please," she turns and sees the younger girl watching her, frustration apparent on her face. "Remember what I told you. If you do insist on seeing him do NOT tell him about Sunnydale. Kakistos will be searching for
you, and he will use the people that are closest to you to try and find out whatever he can. You can trust no one."

"Even you?" Faith asks coyly, a lopsided grin forming on her face. The brunette rises and peels off the red spaghetti strap top she is wearing. She moves toward the blonde and takes her small waist in her hands, her palms moving to cup her buttocks, pulling her close.
She nuzzles Brenda's slender neck hungrily, her warm lips teasing the blonde's pale skin, causing the Watcher's breath to catch in her throat. Faith slides her hands lower and then brings them up again below the jersey, roughly cupping the firm flesh beneath. Brenda
closes her eyes and bites her lower lip softly, her breath hissing out as Faith's fingers begin kneading her sensitive flesh.

"The lights," she manages to whimper as Faith tugs her toward the bed.

Faith releases her and shrugs off her bra, exposing her own hard breasts. She arches her back lewdly, offering her nipples to Brenda's gaze. "Don't you want to see me?"

"Well, maybe one light won't hurt."

9

Duncan's POV

Things are … different. I don't know how else to describe it. I'm still me. Sorta. I know who I am, what I was. It's just … different. A whole new world of sensation has opened up to me.
Everything is just sharper. Clearer. Everything that used to bug me now seems so fucking small and stupid. I can feel things without seeing them, touch, smell, hearing, everything. It's like every hair on my body is electrified, each puff of wind or rustling newspaper is a whole universe unto itself, charged in a way that I never knew existed. I can feel the beating of thousands of hearts around me and it's almost as if each beat feeds a new rush of
sensation. I've never felt this powerful. It's almost like what it feels like when you get that 'just right' bump of coke. So much of the world just meshes now, and all I want to do is have a long, dirty wallow in it. To shred and tear it to pieces and roll around in its essence. It's like my insides have bloated, and the only way to release the essential me, the real and vibrant me, is to destroy everything around me. And the hunger … Oh My God. The beating and thumping is kicking at me. Making me hurt like a throbbing tooth or a swollen blister. The pulse of life is all around me. To feel it, to feel each thump push a geyser of warm life into my mouth, and to take that life, to seize it as my own. Trick brought me a gift and I nearly ripped her head off trying to suck all of the nectar from her. Now I wish that I had been less greedy; taken the chance to torture it, to savor it.

Trick is looking at me and grinning. I guess it must be funny for him to watch the new stud get it on for the first time. I can see his point. I remember when we got Mikey that whore for his 18th birthday, and the look on his face after he'd blown 18 years of frustration out into that stupid slut's face. She'd called him every name in the book, and then we all beat the shit out of her and took our money back. Good times.

"I see that you are feeling a teensy bit better," Trick says to me in a mocking sort of tone. He's a bit of an asshole really, but right now I'm too jazzed to give a flying fuck one way or the other.

"Not so bad," I reply nonchalantly. Can't let this coon think he's getting under my skin. I know his type, and the worst thing you can do is play his game and let him rabbit-ear ya. "Just wonderin' when this train to Funville is pulling out?"

Trick gives me a look that is halfway between amusement and disgust. Well fuck him. I'm rock hard and ready to fuck. Somewhere, I know that I lost myself today, and that the real me is lagging somewhere in the shitter when it comes to the horse race of eternity. But you wanna know something? I always hated horses. He raises an eyebrow and grins, Cheshire style. "Oh we're already en route Sunshine." His eyes are sparkling in the dimness and I can see tiny bits of Paco's flesh still hanging from his fangs. Somehow this excites me, and I loll my tongue across my lips in eagerness. Trick's grin widens and I can see a limp blob of Paco's blood nuzzling his lapel. "Tomorrow night we find the Slayer and you and I are going to have a party."

I nod slowly, never looking away from that wobbling, Jell-O like blot of Paco's life, dancing chubbily on his lapel. Tomorrow I get to see Faith. I'm gonna turn her, I swear to God. This Trick dude seems to want her for something, but I don't give a fuck. Now we can be together for ever. Me and Faith. The Originals.

10

Trick walks into the office of the abandoned building, his suit meticulously tailored and his shoes gleaming mellowly in the overhead fluorescents. He takes out a handkerchief and dusts the chair with a hint of disdain before taking a seat. Across the desk from him, Kakistos turns in the high swivel-backed chair and looks at him, most of his bulk hidden behind the high top of the cheap metal desk. He lays one of the cloven hooves that used to be his hands on the table and grunts with mild annoyance. "The brat of a boy? Is he ready?"

Trick licks his thumb and worries the tiny red blot that mars his lapel with it. Giving up, he sighs and nods at his boss. "Yeah, he's about set I'd say. One thing that worries me though."

Kakistos raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at the dark-skinned vampire. "And that would be?"

"He's still very fresh, still clinging to what was his life. He's infatuated with the bitch."

Kakistos waves his hoof dismissively. "They're all like that when they're young. As I recall, you tried to turn that simpering little slave girl that you liked so much in Louisiana when I made you."

"Cassiopeia," Trick nods in confirmation. "But you should have heard her sing Boss. Voice like an angel."

"And that's what I need right now? A minstrel?" Kakistos snorts and shakes his massive head. "I think not. What I need is Slayer blood. I can't be restored without it." He looks at his hooves with disgust. "The change is hastening and I have no desire to look like a fucking goat. After he brings me the Slayer, kill him."

"Can't say I blame ya boss." Trick puts a hand to his mouth to hide his grin. Kakistos was rapidly approaching the time of Morphidium, the stage where after a vampire has lived long enough, the original demon that seized the body upon death begins to take over the form of the host as well. It was an extremely rare condition, occurring only in vampires well over a thousand years of age. Within a few months his entire appearance would be that of a Satyr, one of the ancient demons that walked the Earth millennia ago. Kakistos however, had no desire to lose his ability to blend into the human world. He had an empire of wealth and influence, scarcely fathomable to any mortal, accumulated over the centuries, but his ability to mix with humans was essential to its survival. Unfortunately, his condition's only known cure was the life blood of a Slayer.

"What do we know of this Slayer?" Kakistos asks idly.

"Not much to be honest. She's only been active a short time, but her sense of loyalty to this rancid slum is astonishing," Trick informs him. "She has a Watcher but the girl is barely older than the Slayer herself. Nothing to worry about."

"Good," Kakistos says, smiling for the first time since Trick walked in. The massive vampire rises and starts to pace behind the desk, a clip-clop sound accompanying his movements. "Then we'll do it tomorrow. Maybe I should turn her?" The ancient vampire's smile becomes a hideous grin as he turns to Trick. "What do you think Trick? Should I keep her as a pet?"

Trick shrugs uncomfortably and takes out a cigar, lighting it before responding. He takes a few puffs, the rich smell of the hand-rolled Cohiba filling the room before he replies. "Can't say I like it chief. A turned Slayer can be downright ornery. Maybe a parrot instead? I hear they're all the rage in Miami."

"We'll see," the larger vampire gives his subordinate a strange look. "But I will have her blood tomorrow. That is certain, yes?"

"Certain as death," Trick says grinning. "I was never big on taxes."

11

Faith awakens with a start, sweat soaking the tank top she'd slipped on before falling asleep. She rises silently, careful not to wake the sleeping blonde beside her, and pads barefoot out to the kitchen. She takes a glass from the open shelves and opens the old Amana fridge, taking out the milk carton and then sitting at the tiny breakfast table by the bay window that Brenda loved so much. She looks out at the sleeping city and a shiver runs through her as
she tries to shake the nagging jitters that the dreams always gave her.

From the time she was a child, Faith had always had very vivid dreams. Sometimes they were about her and other times they seemed to feature other girls; girls from ago. These dreams were always the same in that whomever the girl was, Faith always felt every
sensation that the girl was experiencing, almost as though she was the one there. Unfortunately, the most common sensation was intense fear. This was somewhat understandable in that she always seemed to be fighting for her life. She had told her mother about it once at breakfast when she had been about 9 or 10. They had been in the
kitchen and a tinny sounding Billy Ocean was singing about the Color of Love on the cheap clock radio on the counter. Her mother had been trying to make eggs for them, but her DT's had been really bad that morning and she kept dropping them off of the spatula when she tried to serve them. Faith had been very quiet that morning, but suddenly the need to just tell had been overwhelming.

"Mom?" she had said very quietly.

"What honey … shit!" Theresa Lehane cursed loudly as the egg fell to the floor. She bent to scoop it up, the air in her knee joints cracking painfully as she stooped. Theresa grimaced and looked at the egg critically, then dropped it on the chipped melmac plate. She took two pieces of semi-burnt toast and set them on the plate beside the egg and set it before her daughter, trying on a smile. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Faith had muttered almost robotically. Her mother was trying very hard to clean up her life lately and Faith didn't want her relapsing again. She took a tiny piece of the rubbery egg on her fork and tried to hide the grimace as she chewed it. She gave her mother a convincing smile as she swallowed, fighting the urge to spit it back up. After a few seconds her gullet decided to accept the tiny morsel and she quickly took a sip from her watery orange juice before it changed its mind. "I've been having some bad dreams."

"Really?" Theresa sat down and gave her daughter a concerned smile, reaching out shakily to take the sugar bowl and add a couple of spoonfuls to her coffee. The spoon had made a clacking noise that seemed painfully loud to the young girl as her mother stirred it in her cup.

"Yeah," Faith nodded, the bags under her eyes belonging on a woman 30 years older then her, proclaiming it to be true. "I keep having dreams about people trying to hurt me."

"I see," Theresa said absently. Suddenly the noise of the spoon in the cup had become too much for her frayed nerves and she slammed it down on the table. She took a shaky hand and pushed the long brown tresses away from the strained features that should have been the pretty face of a vibrant thirty year-old woman, and looks up at her daughter vacantly. "Who are they?"

Faith could see the pain in her mother's eyes as she tried to quell the needs of her own demons and decided to cut the conversation off. "I guess I don't know them. I'm sorry mom. I just didn't sleep too good I guess. Want me to get you some toast?"

Shaking off the memory, Faith thinks about Brenda instead. The Watcher had explained that Slayers sometimes had dreams of the ones who had come before them and of what the future might hold. At the time, Faith had blown it all off, but lately she had started to
think about it more. Especially when she sat alone in the kitchen at 4 AM.

The dream tonight had been different. This one had shaken her very badly. Dunc was in trouble. Bad trouble. Every fiber of her being knew it to be true. In her dream he had been calling out to her, surrounded by corpses. Every time Faith tried to get to him, one of the corpses would grab her and wouldn't let go. His voice kept getting weaker and weaker until it had changed to a hideous scream that forced the teenage Slayer to cover her ears. Slowly, he had risen from the seemingly endless field of corpses, his face a ghastly white and his eyes burning with rage and fear. His mouth had opened wider and wider, revealing huge white fangs. His face seemed to elongate and swell in her vision, the fangs reaching out to seize her. That was when she had awoken. Glancing out the window she sees the first fingers of orange appearing on the horizon and checks the clock. 5 AM. Drinking the last of her milk, the brunette rises and sneaks back into bed. Brenda's soft breathing comforts her a bit as she slips back underneath the sheets. Hopefully when they get to Sunnydale, some of this will sort itself out. She closes her eyes and soon slips back into a thin sleep.

12

Duncan's POV

After T-boy died, Faith sorta got crazed for a while. I mean, I can understand it to a degree seeing as how the guy was like the love of her life, but it got a little ludicrous for a while. Here's Faith, this super hot girl, not even 16 yet, and she's acting like she's some 25 year old street walker. I don't mean she was a whore. Faith liked sex and was no prude by any stretch, but she grew this whole sex-kitten persona that was about 75 show and it drove the guys nuts. She never pulled that stuff with me, mostly cuz she knew I'd call her on it; but with almost everyone else there was this whole slut-bomb persona that seemed to permeate every part of her interactions with people. She started dating this guy that must
have been 10 years older than her and he bought her all this stuff; leather pants, hooker boots, even a schoolgirl's outfit; and get this … a bullwhip. Theresa was so whacked out on booze at that point she hardly even noticed the shit that her daughter was doing. Personally I sorta quit noticing too cuz the guy always had coke to share out. Mostly, I think he was afraid that one of us would rat him out to the cops for keeping a teen mistress, so he'd lube the gears of free enterprise and keep some blow handy to keep us all docile about it. It was right about then that super-bitch Brenda showed up.

During the big heat wave of the summer of '97, Faith had sorta gotten past the whole T-Boy thing, but was still playing the man-market in a big way. I guess you could say I was a little jealous, but mostly I was sick and tired of Southie and was thinking of a way to get out of town. I'd talked to Faith a couple of times about her sugar daddy and found out that the guy was a broker uptown at Meryl Lynch. Even then I'd started thinking about how I could milk this guy for a few grand to stake me. Maybe get a couple of compromising pictures of him and Faith together and threaten to send them to his wife or something. Then one day in August after the worst of the heat had blown by, this hot-ass English chick showed up looking for Faith. She said her name was Brenda and she took Faith out for lunch to talk to her about some stuff. At first I thought that maybe this was bullwhip boy's wife or something, and that she'd tumbled to her hubby's little pedophile habit, but when Faith came back later I could tell that it was much bigger than that. Faith had this look on her face that I can only describe as "what the fuck?" I tried to pump her a little to see what the score was, but she was mute on the subject. All she would say was that this Brenda chick was from some special government agency or something like that and that it was nothing to worry about. She met with her a cuppla more times and then they went to visit Faith's mom together. By that weekend, Faith had packed up her shit and moved uptown to Brenda's place. Apparently Theresa had signed something giving the blonde bitch custody of Faith as her legal guardian. Fucked up stuff.

That Friday, Faith came by to see me and to tell me what she was doing. I was sitting out back of Whitman's eating an Eskimo Pie and waiting to see if Paco could score some coke when she found me.

"Hey Dunc," she had said somewhat tentatively, before turning a milk crate upside down and taking a seat next to me.

"Hey," I had replied a bit absently, though not distracted enough by my thoughts to fail to appreciate the way her legs crossed like a warm handshake under the denim-mini that she was wearing. I held the Eskimo pie out toward her. "Want some?"

She grinned, though the smile never really touched her eyes, and took the ice cream from me, taking a small bite before handing it back. I took a bite of my own and winced at the sharp pain in my teeth from the cold dessert. "What's the good word?"

"I'm moving," she said quietly, looking away to avoid my sharp glance as her words seemed to drive a ball of icy lead into the pit of my stomach. She brushed her hair from her eyes in a nervous gesture, tiny beads of sweat visible in her eyebrows from the plus 90 heat of the afternoon. "I'm moving uptown with Brenda."

"I see," I said slowly, the sweet taste of the chocolate and ice cream seeming to turn to a sickeningly slimy coat on the inside of my mouth. I pitched the Eskimo Pie to the side and took out my Pall Malls, shaking out two and handing one over to Faith before lighting my own and taking a sharp drag on it. "And why the fuck are you doing that?"

"Look Dunc," Faith had said in a quietly pleading tone. "Don't make this hard okay? It's just that," she hesitated, obviously wanting to say more but then she looked away again, trying to avoid my gaze. "It's complicated."

"Right," I said slowly, suddenly feeling very angry. Angry with Faith for wanting to leave, angry that Paco wasn't back with the coke yet, but mostly just pissed the fuck off. "So what's the deal then? You some genius or something? Is she taking you away to learn how to do that fucking math that has letters instead of numbers or to learn to play the piano with your toes or something?"

"Dunc, it's not like that okay? It's just," again I could see that she was holding something back from me and this infuriated me even more. "There's just some stuff going on that I need to take care of and this Brenda woman wants to help."

"What stuff?" I nearly shouted at her. I rose to my feet and took a deep breath, my nerves jangling with withdrawal symptoms and my heart racing a mile a minute. "Why can't you just fucking tell me?" God I wanted some coke sooo bad right then. In the distance I could
hear someone playing Everlong by the Foo Fighters on their car stereo.

hello
I've waited here for you
everlong
tonight I throw myself into
and out of the red
out of her head she sang

come down
and waste away with me
down with me
slow how
you wanted it to be
I'm over my head
out of her head she sang

"Dunc, I just can't get into that shit right now okay?" Faith gave me a pleading look and then stood hurriedly, brushing down the front of her skirt with her sweaty palms. "It's not like I'm moving to LA or something. It's only a twenty-five minute bus ride."

"Yeah sure," I said, trying to be cool. "Five by five." I pitched away the cigarette and looked forlornly at the melted goo that had once been my Eskimo Pie. "Do I at least get a good-bye hug?" She had practically flown into my arms, resting her head on my chest, the scent of her shampoo mingling with the smell of sweat. God I had wanted some coke right then.

Time to make a call. I pick up the phone, already feeling the pangs start. The thirst is a bit like coke withdrawal. It starts off with a bit of an antsy sensation, like when you've been sitting for too long and need to get up and stretch a bit. After a while it starts to gnaw at you, and minute by minute, more and more of your thoughts are held up by it; the need for it. I dial the number from memory, making a note to feed as soon as I get off the call.

13

Spanky wakes up, the scaly feeling of dried semen coating his prodigious belly. The strident ringing of the phone echoes in his head like shards of glass. The TV glows white with static and he shoves aside the stacks of porno tapes to find the phone that is
hidden on the cheap coffee table behind them. Lifting it, he hits the talk button, "Yeah?" he asks, his voice raspy and thick with the residue of the mushroom hangover that is threatening to make him throw up at any second.

"Spank," he hears Duncan's voice say in an obscenely cheery tone through the earpiece. "How's life in the fast lane?"

"Dunc?" Spanky looks at the red glow of the digital clock on the end table and he sits up a bit, the sweaty folds of his girlish breasts sticking to the stained wife-beater covering his torso. "It's 8:30 in the morning. What the fuck do you want?"

"Now, now Spank, you still kiss your whore of a mama with that mouth?" Duncan's voice is still cheery but there is a steely undertone in it; one that makes Spanky run his tongue over his thin lips in sudden nervousness. "I have a little something cookin' here and time is very short my fat little friend. This is the big leagues Spankster. I got a new connection that could set us up for life. All I need is a little help from my friends. Remember that song Spank?"

"What-" Spanky sits up more fully and picks up a plastic bottle of warm Sprite from the end-table next to him. He takes a long gulp and grimaces at the taste of the lukewarm flat soda. "What the hell is with you Dunc? You fucked up or sumthin'?" Suddenly Spanky's voice becomes warmer and more accommodating. "Hey Dunc, look. If you got some primo shit to lay out, what say you throw me a skeeter bag? You know, just so I can tell the folks what the shit's all about. Just like a nickel or a dime, whadda ya say Dunc?"

"Shhh, quit begging Spank and listen closely," Duncan replies wistfully. "Tonight things will be happening and I need you to do me a favor. I need you to get a handle on Faith today and keep her busy. Can you do that Spank or do I need to come over there and carve 30 or 40 pounds of fat off your ass to get you motivated?"

"What?" Spanky upsets the bottle of Sprite and the warm sticky fluid runs down all over his leg. He curses quietly and stands up, picking the seat of his shorts out of his huge ass. "Yeah, sure Dunc," he says nervously. "I can do that. No prob."

"Atta boy," Duncan says in that same maniacal cheery tone. "All I need is for you to keep her busy for the late afternoon and early evening. Just get her away from that Brenda bitch for a few hours. Can you do that cupcake?"

"Yeah, yeah," Spanky replies. "Sure Dunc. Uh, Dunc, about that stuff you said you got … does that mean I'm going to get some?"

"Of course my man," Duncan replies silkily. "You are going to looooove this new shit I got. It's to die for. Just make sure that you have Faith over by Whitman's at 9 pm tonight. You got that tubby?"

"9 pm," Spanky repeats dutifully. "Got it."

Part 3

Friends, Lovers and Fiends

14

Just after 8 am, Brenda creeps out of bed, careful not to wake her Slayer, and begins the business of getting organized for the day. She lights a match to start the burner on the tiny gas range on her oven and puts the kettle on over a low flame before heading into the
bathroom to get washed up. She brushes her teeth carefully in the mirror, managing to avoid making eye contact in the mirror during the process. Next, she brushed out her long blonde hair, pushing back the sides and securing them with two plastic combs with bright
yellow daisies on them. Satisfied, she finally looks at herself fully in the mirror, her china-blue eyes surveying themselves as she dwells on the events of the past several months.

When she had first been assigned to Faith the previous summer, she had regarded it as an important step up in her career. To be an active Watcher to a Potential Slayer was regarded as an important honor for one as young as herself. The other Slayer's Watcher, Rupert Giles, had been in his early 40's when he'd been entrusted with his Slayer, though to be fair to Mr. Giles, being the Watcher of an active Slayer was a far graver responsibility then being Watcher to a Potential. After all, with the great many number of Potentials out there, the odds had been stacked very high against her charge ever becoming "the Chosen One." No, realistically, Brenda had regarded her assignment to Faith as a temporary, though valuable, experience. Fate however, was not without its own sense of whimsy. Earlier that spring the report had come down from the Watcher's Council that the Slayer Kendra had died in the line of duty while in Sunnydale and that apparently the Powers That Be had tapped Faith as the next in line.

Brenda leaves the bathroom, heading out to the kitchen where the kettle was singing atop the burner. Brenda turned off the flame and poured the steaming water into her teapot, leaving it to steep while she toasted a bagel and then spread liberal amounts of margarine and orange marmalade over the two halves. She then took her bagel and her tea over to the table underneath the large bay window to have her breakfast. She takes a small sip of her tea and then a bite of her bagel, her mind pondering the past and her first encounter with
her girlfriend.

When Brenda had arrived in Boston, she had found her charge to be different then what she had been led to expect. The preliminary reports on Faith from the Watcher's Council had described her Potential as "of low class and urban origins, needing a firm hand to guide her." Brenda had assumed that this would mean that she would be playing Higgins to Faith's Eliza Doolittle; molding her lump of unshaped clay into a woman of duty and distinction. Faith however, had other plans.

Brenda had found herself in the neighborhood of Boston referred to as "Southie" by its residents; mostly a dilapidated area of urban sprawl where brick and concrete seemed to be the natural flora. As she had walked the sidewalk to Faith's building, she had tried to
ignore the admiring leers and lewd comments of the teenage males that seemed to inhabit all of the stoops in the area, their nasal accents making the words sound almost alien to the Watcher's Cambridge educated ears. Arriving in front of Faith's building, the young blonde had taken a deep breath to screw up her courage before going inside to visit her new Potential for the first time. The stairway and hallway leading to Faith's apartment had borne the sour smell of soiled laundry and neglect and the sound of Brenda's heels
clicking along efficiently over the cheap tile flooring had seemed almost like an alarm to the inhabitants of the building, warning them of an outsider who didn't belong. Upon arriving at the proper apartment door, Brenda had felt the acid knot that had been building
in her stomach tighten with sudden fear. What if her Potential refused to listen to her? What if she told the Watcher to get lost? Well, there was only one way to find out. Brenda rapped her knuckles briskly on the cheap press-wood door and waited. From inside she heard a muffled curse and the sound of bare feet padding toward the entrance. "I thought I told you friggin' Jo-Ho's to go find a soap-box somewhere's else and …" the door swung open to
reveal a skinny woman in her mid thirties, her dark hair hanging lank and lifeless around her pale face and strained features. Brenda wondered briefly about the vacant look in the woman's eyes until she spoke again, the tight slur telling the Watcher all that she needed to know. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Uhm, yes, right," Brenda had stammered, the vulgarity of the greeting catching her off guard. "Ms. Lehane?" The woman had nodded fractionally, her eyes instantly guarded and suspicious as she took in the Watcher's British accent and prim attire. "My name is Brenda Knowles. I was hoping to find your daughter Faith."

"What's that?" Theresa's eyes narrowed marginally, a frown deepening the creases around her thin mouth. "Faith? What did she do this time?" Suddenly Theresa seemed to remember the basic rituals of common courtesy and opened the door wider, motioning for the Watcher to enter. "Look, if she's done something wrong I'm sure that there's-"

Brenda had held up a hand and shook her head to reassure the older woman. "Not at all Ms. Lehane. Actually I've come to tell her about an extraordinary opportunity."

"Huh? Oh god, don't tell me you're from Amway?" Obviously this had not been what the
other woman had been expecting and Theresa hurried out to the kitchen before returning with a gin and tonic. She took a long sip and looked at the younger woman thoughtfully. "Opportunity? For what?"

"Well perhaps I'd be best to tell both of you about it at the same time," Brenda had said soothingly, though inwardly shuddering as she had surveyed the squalor of the apartment. The tiny sitting room was cluttered with old newspapers and dirty clothes, seemingly cast
aside and left to lie where they fell. The stale smell of cheap gin hung in the air like an oily film, coloring the room with an aura of depression and despair. Brenda swallowed to fight her rising gorge and asked politely, "Is your daughter here Ms. Lehane?"

"Faith?" Theresa's snort echoed in the tiny room. She moved to a threadbare chair beneath a dust-grimed window in a cheap metal frame and swept the clothes from the seat cushion before plopping down on it. The dirt-filtered light from the window above it splashed
across the woman's features giving Brenda a glimpse of the lovely woman she had once been. A deep sadness sat on the woman's expression and Brenda gets a flashcard look at some of the probable history behind it. A lovely young woman, abandoned to the rigors of
single-motherhood, hiding from her harsh reality over the years under a blanket of liquor and denial. "Faith don't come 'round here less she's hungry or broke and even then it's hit and miss." She gives the Watcher a sorrowful gaze. "I'm afraid I'm not exactly on my daughter's must-see list these days."

"I see," Brenda says quietly. She pauses, uncertain of what to say next. "I'm sorry to hear that Ms. Lehane."

"Not your fault," Theresa shrugs before taking another long pull at her drink. "Miss Knowles is it?" Brenda just nods and Theresa manages a smile. "Well Miss Knowles, if you want to find my daughter, I suggest checking around the stoops. She's usually infesting one of them with her hooligan pals."

"I see," Brenda says awkwardly and then gives her host a phony-feeling smile. "Well thank-you for your help ma'am. I'm sure we'll speak again soon." Brenda had left then, a panicky feeling in her chest and throat as the older woman had walked her out. This was not going to be as simple as she thought. Just as Theresa had gone to close the door behind her, Brenda had turned sharply and looked at the other woman tentatively. "I think I can help Ms. Lehane," she had blurted, regretting the lameness of the remark even as it passed
her lips. Theresa had taken it well enough however.

"Well you haven't hurt none yet Miss Knowles, and that's a rare thing hereabouts. Good luck." And with that the woman had closed the door, leaving Brenda to head back out into the August noon-day heat.

Brenda looks up sharply, startled out of her thoughts by the strident ringing of the phone. She rises and moves to the wall to answer it, brushing her hands on her long Bruins jersey as she reaches it. "Hello?"

"Brenda?" The voice is of Roger Wyndham-Price, one of the senior members of the Watcher's Council. Brenda doesn't like the man much seeing as how he had been opposed to her appointment as Faith's Watcher. This was somewhat understandable as his son Wesley had also been considered for the post, but Mr. Travers had thought it best that Wesley season a bit further before taking a field assignment. However, Roger was a seasoned pro and he wasn't about to ignore his duties over a personal bias.

"Mr. Wyndham-Price, hello," Brenda replies, cradling the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she reaches for a pen and paper. "Thank you for returning my call so quickly."

"We are nothing if not efficient here Miss Knowles," the elder Watcher tells her in a cheery tone that belies the deadly serious man that she knows him to be. "I have that information that you requested about Kakistos."

"Wonderful," Brenda says hopefully, desperate to hear something reassuring from the other Watcher. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

"I'm afraid it's bad news Brenda. It would appear that Kakistos has been afflicted with the Morphidium, which as you know occurs only in extremely ancient vampires. He is rapidly approaching the point where it becomes irreversible. Now normally that's not all that big
a problem for us, other than the fact that the vampire becomes wild as the demon within him takes over completely. It's only another demon after all. The problem is that Kakistos has discovered its one known cure. The life-blood of a Slayer."

"Really? I just thought it was regular vampire vendettas. Slaying-the-Slayer bragging rights so to speak. I had thought that at worst he would want to turn her. We all know what happens when a Slayer is turned. But this … This means that he won't stop until one of them is dead and he only has a limited time frame too …" Brenda trails off, her mind working overtime. "Shit – I mean, that's … " Brenda tapers off again, acutely aware that she has just used a profanity while speaking to the man that most of the Council considered to be the heir-apparent to Quinton Travers as Head of the Watcher's Council.

"Shit indeed," Roger says in full agreement with the junior Watcher. "May I ask what you have planned for this?"

"Not really sir," Brenda says honestly, then cringes slightly to hear the words leave her mouth. "We had thought that perhaps we would go to Sunnydale and enlist the help of the other Slayer. Strength in numbers right?"

"Perhaps," Roger ruminates over this on the phone. "I have a better idea. The Watcher's retreat is scheduled for next month. Why don't you two come early and we can talk to Mr. Travers and see what he thinks should be done. I'm sure that he'd like to meet your charge
as well. Can't let the bloody colonials hog all the Slayers can we? Her name is Faith, isn't it?"

"Yes sir," Brenda says, the relief almost leaping out of her voice and through the phone. Though bright and determined, Brenda was acutely aware of her lack of experience and the thought of Travers' and Roger's advice in this was just too good to pass up. "I can have us out of Logan International and on our way to Heathrow before the day is over."

"Unfortunately that's impossible," Roger tells her with a sigh. "I'm afraid that we are in the middle of a massive storm here. All traffic into Heathrow is being diverted to Paris or Ireland for now. I'm afraid that you'll have to stay put for another day at least."

"I see," Brenda says hollowly, that acidic knot in her stomach back in full force. "Well what do you suggest Mr. Wyndham-Price?"

"Stay put for now Brenda. You should be safe enough. He can only come after you at night and he can't come in uninvited to your residence. I think the safe bet would be to take the night off and stay indoors. Odds are that Kakistos doesn't want to overplay his hand too quickly, despite his condition, and will wait for a more opportune time to try his move. If you deny him that opportunity tonight, I'd say the odds are excellent that he'll wait it out and you can be on a plane tomorrow morning."

Brenda's spirits lift a little at this bit of good advice. "Thank you Roger. We'll see you tomorrow then." She hangs up after a moment and then goes back to the table by the window. She can hear Faith beginning to stir in the bedroom. The thought of herself and
her sex-crazed girlfriend spending the night in is no hardship is it? She grins and pours herself another cup of tea.

15

Faith had been busy the day that Brenda had come to see her for the first time. It was the summer of 1997 and though not yet 17 years old, the brunette had pretty much raised herself for the past few years. Theresa had slowly degenerated back to her old ways as Faith had grown to become a teenager. Gin and men were pretty much Theresa's priorities, and in that order, from about 1995 on. As Faith had become more and more conscious of her mother's short-comings, she had started to blame her more and more for the life that they led. Collection agents and repo-men were almost as frequent callers at their tiny two bedroom apartment as the stream of "uncles" that Faith had grown used to over the years. And now that the girl was becoming a woman, some of those "uncles" had grown friendlier. Brenda of course had known none of this.

The brunette noticed the blonde right away as she maneuvered along the sidewalk. Faith and the Sullivan brothers were on the stoop a few doors down from Faith's building and just the whole cut of the petite blonde coming toward them had screamed, "fish-out-of –water."
Also the fact that she had come out of Faith's own building caught her interest. The blonde seemed to consult a sheet of paper as she came down the steps of the walk-up, then glanced this way and that before locking her gaze on the brunette and the Sullivans fifty yards down the street. Her pace was efficient and businesslike until she approached them when she seemed to grow uncertain and tentative. Faith had just snorted and eyed the blonde as she'd
approached with the air of someone who had just caught scent of an unpleasant odor. The Sullivans noticed her too, but mostly they noticed that she was very pretty. Murray let out a low appreciative whistle as she grew neared, seeming to confound the blonde briefly, but Faith noticed that her gaze was fixed squarely on her.

"Miss Lehane?" the clipped British accent seemed as out of place in this neighborhood as a rabbit in a dog-pound, but Faith had just taken a long drag of her cigarette and nodded at the woman curtly. She sized up the blonde in her sensible heels with the tweed skirt and cream colored blouse and spat copiously on the sidewalk before answering.

"Sorry lady, but I don't talk to cops or lawyers." Murray snickered and gave Faith an affectionate nudge of approval. Faith just grinned insolently at the Watcher and tossed away her cigarette. "Now if you'll excuse us, we were having a private chat."

Brenda looked down at the large loogey that Faith had spat at her feet and her nose wrinkled prettily in mild disgust. "I'm neither a police officer nor an attorney Miss Lehane. My name is Brenda Knowles and I was hoping to take you to lunch."

"That a fact?" Faith had turned away from the blonde in a gesture of dismissal, but looked back at her with a lopsided grin. "Well I'm not all that big on lunch either. Buy me a six pack of beer though and maybe I'll listen for a few," she jerked her head at Whitman's
Convenience across the street and raised an eyebrow. Flustered, but not knowing what else to do, Brenda had just nodded and minutes later had found her in the cheery disarray of the store, paying for six cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon and wondering exactly what the hell she
was doing. Mission accomplished, she had tossed the cans into the surprised brunette's lap and then gestured to a bench a dozen yards away. Faith had nodded, taken a can from the plastic holder before handing over the rest to a suddenly happy Murray, and then joined the blonde on the bench, cracking the beer and taking a long sip. "So what's the deal? You going to make me a better citizen or something?"

Brenda smiled ruefully, "Well I don't know about that, but I do have an offer that you might be interested in." Over the next several minutes, Brenda had explained to Faith quietly that she was a member of an international foundation that sought out girls with certain "abilities". Faith had cracked wise at that, citing several pornographic ventures and drug cartels as possibilities, but Brenda had just kept insisting that it was a legitimate endeavor and that all she wanted was a few days to get to know Faith and tell her about a few things. After about 15 minutes, Faith had acquiesced to lunch, and that evening, Faith had killed her first vampire. A small voice in her head had told her that this was important, so she
had went. That small voice had served her well in the past.

When Faith was 14, one of her mother's off-again, on-again companions named Marty had begun to take a quiet interest in his paramour's child, often bringing her presents and coming into her bedroom to talk to her quietly after her mother had passed out in a gin-soaked stupor in the living room. This had been fine with Faith at first, but soon that had changed after the poker game he had brought her to one night when Theresa had to work late at the bakery.

Marty had brought her along, telling Theresa that it would be good for Faith to spend some time with him alone. Theresa had nodded sullen approval, not taking note of the strange half-smile Marty had given her while asking. Marty had come by to pick the girl up just
after seven and twenty minutes later, Faith had found herself in a smoke-filled room in the back of a pub near East Broadway and L Street. Marty and his friends were soon busy drinking themselves into a rhythm of bragging and bullshit. Faith had watched all of this in a bit of awed wonder. For her, this world of men was very strange and a bit scary, but since Marty allowed her to have a few beers and smoke all she wanted, she was soon feeling placid and began paying more attention to the game. The men's language didn't bother her, the word "fuck" being a staple of her own vocabulary after all, but as she watched the game, something began to bother her. One of Marty's friends, a sallow looking guy named Jake, seemed to be dealing a bit strangely. Often she would see his hand pass along the bottom of
the deck as he dealt the cards. The other men were too drunk or caught up in their conversations about the Sox or local politics to notice, but as the game wore on, the stack of chips in front of Jake grew higher and higher. After a while, Marty had gotten up with the
casual announcement that he had to "drain the snake", and Faith had gotten up and followed his bulky and unsteady form to the men's room.

"Marty?" her voice was low and tentative and he turned to see her standing a few steps behind him. A lewd leer had brushed over his alcohol-reddened features as he looked at her slender teenage form.

"What's up sweets? Wanna hold it for me? You'll need both hands." He'd given her a wink that was probably meant to be friendly but came across as slightly depraved.

"What?" Faith had looked at him in shock and then blushed to the roots of her hair as she caught the meaning of his remark. "Uh, no … no, I just wanted to tell you something …" She trailed off seeing the question in his dark eyes and suddenly she wanted very badly to
be somewhere else. "Your friend Jake … he's dealing the cards wrong."

A shadow seemed to cross Marty's face as he took in this bit of information. He took a few steps toward the girl, his imposing bulk cowing the young girl even more. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched as he lowered his voice and eyed her suspiciously. "What do you mean, 'dealing wrong'?"

"His hands," Faith cleared her throat, her legs feeling weak and rubbery, but the look on Marty's face demanded that she continued. "His hands go to the bottom of the deck sometimes when he's dealing. He's dealing wrong." She tried to keep her voice steady but the look of unadulterated rage that had emerged on Marty's face during her simple statement had forced her to take a step back in near terror.

"That mother fucker," Marty's voice came out in a low burbling hiss as his fury rose. He looked Faith squarely in the face, his lips drawn back over his stained teeth in fury. "Are you sure?"

Faith had just nodded, not sure that her voice would work properly. What had scared her most was the sudden change in Marty's facial expressions. It was like someone had thrown a switch. His eyes and brow had gone from an almost animal rage to sudden serenity. Not peaceful serenity however. More like the cold and empty look of a snake that had finally made up its mind to bite. Marty had looked at her for a moment longer and then nodded sagely before going into the bathroom to urinate. He was back in a moment and had taken Faith roughly by the arm and then hustled her back to the room. As they walked he said in a low and deadly voice, "Okay princess, you just go back to your chair and don't say nothin'. Let me handle this." Faith nodded dumbly and as they re-entered the back room. Jake had given them a Cheshire grin, rippling the cards as he shuffled.

"Welcome back Marty. We'd thought that maybe you'd taken the girl along so people would think that you can still get it up."

The group at the table roared with laughter and Marty gave Jake a grin that didn't touch his eyes as he resumed his seat. "That's a problem I'm sure you're familiar with Jake, what with the cows you go out with. What was the name of that one you picked up last week? Bossy or Fido?"

"Is that any way to talk about your mother?" Jake replied innocently, and started dealing out the cards. The men had been playing 5 card draw, where each player gets two cards face down and a third face up. Then the players all bet, after which, two more cards were dealt to all the players with more betting between them. As Jake dealt, Marty had engaged in some of the banter at the table as they all placed their wagers, but Faith noticed that his eyes never left the cards in Jake's hand. Just as Jake was about to deal himself his final card, Marty had suddenly snapped out his hand and grabbed the other man's wrist in an iron grip. "Holy fuck Marty!" Jake had shouted in sudden fright. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Oh, I think that the question should be, what the fuck are you doing Jake?" Marty said in a low, murderous tone.

"Marty, what the hell?" one of the other men had asked in confusion. "What's this all about?"

"Fucker's dealing off the bottom Terry," Marty said quietly, his eyes locked on Jake's. Jake's face was a sea of panic and disbelief as he tried futilely to pull back his hand from Marty's grip but the larger man held him easily.

"Marty, I think you've had too much man," Jake had said in a desperate voice. "I ain't doing nothin' like that." On the table, Jake's face-up cards were a king and a jack. Marty suddenly reached with his other hand and flipped up Jake's hole cards revealing two more
kings. "What man," Jake nearly shouted as the rest of the players took in this information in stony silence. "Three Kings. Big deal. I mean," Marty suddenly wrenched the hand holding Jake's over violently revealing another Jack on the bottom of the deck. An angry murmur amongst the players suddenly turned to shouts, and the man on the other side of Jake suddenly grabbed the cheat's hair and slammed his head violently into the table-top.

Faith cringed as the men seemed to rise as one unit and began pummeling the dealer, the sounds of their blows like meaty thuds as they rained them down on his struggling form. The distinctive crunch of breaking bones reached her ears as they crashed their blue-collar fists into him again and again. Marty stood and seized the now barely conscious Jake by the back of the collar and half-dragged him to the rear door, tossing him out into the alley behind and then following him out into the night air. The rest of the men followed
and against her own will, Faith found herself moving toward the still open door and then peeping out into the alley to see a second assault on the caught cheat ensue. Jake's body seemed hideously still in the cold light of the alley, the kicks not causing him to cringe or cry out anymore as they pummeled his unconscious form mercilessly. Blood spread under him like an oily halo as they continued to beat him, stopping only after Marty had lifted a booted-foot high into the air and then brought it crashing down into the prone man's face like a pile-driver. Blood exploded from the man's ruined features like a fountain and Marty had jumped back in semi-disgust as it pattered down all over his Kodiaks. Faith rushed back to her chair as the men all came back in, breathing heavily from their exertions and then sitting back down to play more cards. Jake's chips were divided amongst them wordlessly and even though the man was no gone and presumably looking at several months of hospital time, his presence still seemed to permeate the room.

At first the talk had been spirited, about the "righteous" beating that had been handed out, but soon it grew sullen and ugly as the men began drinking more heavily. Marty's increasingly drunken and pointed gaze had kept straying over to his teenage charge who did her best to keep quiet, terrified by what she had witnessed. After another hour they were all extremely drunk and it was at that point that Marty had risen to his feet and announced that he was leaving. Several half-hearted cried of derision greeted his announcement, but Faith thought that she could sense relief in the faces of the men at
the table. Marty had become increasingly silent as the night had worn on and that murderous look in his eyes had only deepened. Marty shook his head and slurred a few good-byes before looking at Faith again and then jerking his head toward the rear door of the room to indicate that they were leaving. Bile filled Faith's throat at the thought of going out that way, terrified that they would find Jake dead when they went out to the alley, his eyes staring sightlessly upward and his ruined face mottled with blood and bruises. Marty
strode over and pulled her to her feet, nearly hurling her toward the door. Faith sucked in her breath as he pushed her through the doorway and she almost fainted at what she saw.

Jake was alive. He was propped against the back wall across from the door, one side of his face horribly lopsided and sunken, as if the bones that held up the skin had collapsed like a cheap tent. His breath came out in ragged whoops, causing a torn piece of his upper lip to flutter like a small meaty flag. Several of his teeth were broken and edges of jagged whiteness gleamed in the black fluid that seemed to fill his mouth. Marty had just looked at him with drunken pleasure for a moment. "Hospiddle," the broken piece of man-shaped meat in front of them had wheezed. "Pleesh, call amblansh Marddy, for gawd's sake, pleesh …" The figure tried to raise an arm but let out a hoarse burbling noise of animal pain from the attempt. His voice had a thick liquid quality, almost like it was coming through a curtain of fluid.

Marty had looked down on the figure, a look of intense satisfaction on his face. Wordlessly, the large man had unbuttoned his fly and then began pissing on the helpless form. Jake had squirmed, trying to get away from the harsh stream of urine and Faith gagged with nausea and fled down the alley, the ragged pleas of the injured man echoing down the brick-lined corridor of the alley behind her, chasing her toward the street. She reached the corner of the alley and threw up messily on the cracked cement, half-digested chicken wings mixing messily with foamy beer at her feet. Her hair hung across her lips, lank and damp as she fought the urge to pass out and after a moment she heard heavy footsteps come up the alley
behind her. After a few seconds she could hear Marty's drunken breathing behind her. "Come on."

Marty took her by the arm again and started shoving her towards his beaten up Chevy parked just down the street. He clumsily took out his keys and unlocked it, pushing her into the passenger side and then going around and climbing in behind the steering wheel. He sat
there for a moment, the streetlights giving his dark eyes an unnatural glimmer, and then he had turned his drunken leer toward her. "It's sort of funny," he slurred at the teenage girl. "How after a good scrap I always get hungry and horny." She stiffened at that and her hand moved toward the handle of the door but Marty had caught it in his beefy paw. "Come on sweets. You liked what you saw. Admit it." He took her hand and jerked it toward his lap,
pushing it down on his jeans so that she could feel his semi-stiff penis through the rough fabric of his jeans. "It's not so bad sweetie. I bet you'll like it."

Faith tried to run then. She jerked her hand back hard and almost broke free, the sweat on her wrist making it slippery. She got a hand on the handle when Marty's hand had found its way into her long brown hair and he jerked her head forward hard into the padded dashboard, sending stars across Faith's tear-blurred vision. "Fuckin' bitch," he panted, his breath sour and rancid in the small confines of the car. "You do what Uncle Marty tells you right?" He yanked hard again on her hair, pulling her head back painfully and seeming to take pleasure in her scared and tear-stained face. "You're gonna take what Uncle Marty gives you."

She wanted to scream but knew that if she did that she would probably be second on the list of "righteous beatings" that evening. Instead a small voice spoke in her head. It was Duncan's voice, cold and blunt, telling her what she had to do. She nodded slightly and tentatively moved her hand back to the large man's groin, seeking out his semi-flaccid penis through the fabric and rolling her palm across it while looking at him fearfully. Marty grinned in sour victory and took his large hand away from hers, grabbing at her young breasts clumsily and shifting slightly to allow her better access to his genitals. Dutifully, Faith slid over slightly, giving her a better angle and she undid the front of his
pants slowly before sliding her palm inside of his open fly. Bare contact with his stiffening penis almost made her yank her hand back, but that cold mocking voice of Duncan's in her head made her continue. She pulled on his cock briefly, and then slid her hand down farther,
taking his heavy balls in her palm and cupping them like small eggs, eliciting a small gasp of pleasure from the drunken man. "That's right you little slut," Marty whispered gleefully. "Squeeze them balls a little."

"You say so," Faith whispered and then took his testicles fully into her hands before squeezing them as hard as she could. The tendons in her forearm quivered as she crushed on them with all the force she could muster, then quickly jerked her hand away as though she'd had it in boiling oil.

For a man, possibly the worst part of something like this happening is the fact that it takes a couple of seconds for the pain to kick in. There's this tiny lag between the event itself and the actual pain that is almost worse than the pain itself; the understanding that something completely irrevocable has just taken place and now all you can do is wait for the agony of it. The look on Marty's face would have been hilarious if Faith hadn't been so terrified. His
eyes bulged out comically and his mouth worked briefly as his gaze locked with hers in utter shock as his nervous system began to catch up with the facts of what had just happened. A thin shriek that soon became a shrill scream echoed in the tiny car as Faith fumbled with the door handle to get out of the car. She banged it open with her shoulder and scrambled to get out when Marty's hand locked around her lower leg briefly, causing her too fall forward and bite down on her tongue heavily as she spilled out to the sidewalk. She kicked back at him and felt his hand fall away as the big man cupped his crushed testicles and screamed in full blown agony. "MY BALLS!" He screamed needlessly, "MY FUCKING BALLS! OH GOD YOU LITTLE BITCH!"

He slumped forward as Faith scrambled to her feet, his mouth opening and snapping shut in horrible pain, beads of sweat erupting from his skin like tiny volcanoes. His voice became wordless and hollow as he began to bellow again and the brunette took the opportunity to
scramble back a few steps as he lost all interest in her and turned his full attention to the rippling agony in his genitals. Even through her fear and loathing, that cold little voice in the back of Faith's mind gibbered away gleefully as she took in the agony that she had wrought in the beefy man in front of her. She actually took a step back toward the car and spat on him before turning to flee into the South Boston night, alternately giggling and sobbing as she ran.

Later that night, as she sat in the bath at Duncan's place, she had played over the scene again and again in her mind. Knowing that the first place Marty would look for her if he felt a drunken vengeance was her mother's, Faith had buzzed Duncan's apartment, panicking
severely now at the thought of what she had done. Luckily Duncan had answered. She tried to explain to him what had happened but the older boy seemed to know without words that the telling of it was probably too painful for the brunette, so instead he had given her a
robe and a towel and sent her to take a bath. She had done as he suggested and after running the water as hot as she could stand it, had sunk into the faded blue tub full or steaming water, shivering despite the scalding heat of it. She thought about Duncan and how it had been his voice in her head, and how he had been there for her when she needed it the most. She owed him. She needed to talk to him, to tell him, but at the same time didn't want him to worry about her. She just had no idea what to say to him. It wasn't just the fact that she'd seen some guy get the living shit beaten out of him or the episode in the car. It was more like her own head had been cracked open like the top of a soft boiled egg and everything
that she wants to say was spilling down the sides like runny yolk.

Of course she knew what he'd say. Something like, "Primitive rage Faith; Cro-Magnon man rears its ugly head." Or, "Survival of the fittest babe, just keep your head down till all the idiots finish killing each other off." She just didn't think she could handle that kind of truth right now.

Her thighs quivered in the water, her fists balled up clammily against her chest. Her mind churned through endless scenarios; her mother calling her a whore and a tease for ruining her shot with Marty. Cops showing up and blaming her for what had happened to Jake. Marty showing up and killing her in her sleep. She tried to tell herself that it's all going to be okay, but that voice was back again, this time older and wilier. "The truth is that there's no guarantee Faith. It doesn't even matter which side that you are on. Even rock-stars and millionaires die. You can die in a plane crash. You can be hit by a car just as easily as a fist. Your apartment building could burn down." Faith wanted to shut it all out but the thoughts just keep butting into line in her head. All she wanted was for someone to tell her it would be okay. To brush her hair and touch her shoulders and let her know that it would all be okay so long as she believed in it. It was Brenda who had finally done that for her.

That first lunch between Potential Slayer and Watcher had been an education for both of them. Brenda had refused to divulge the exact nature of Faith's so-called "talent" unless the brunette met her that evening in Lincoln Square. The brunette had kept pumping her, knowing that there was a LOT more to this then the blonde was telling her, but finally agreed to meet her at 7 PM. Faith had shown up, not so much because she had promised to, but because the blonde had agreed to buy her more beer. What happened next had changed everything.

The blonde had walked with her down through the park, mostly ignoring the winos and pockets of teens smoking dope or practicing ollies and grinds on their skateboards along the rails of the walkways. After a while they had found themselves close to Emerson St. with large pockets of shadows stretching along the pathway. As they walked they saw two figures in an embrace of sorts and Faith had moved to go around but Brenda had pressed a sharp wooden stake into her hand and then started dragging her toward them. "Whoa," Faith hissed, jerking away. "What the fuck is this all about?" She gave the blonde a hard look. "Listen, I don't know what weird-ass kinky shit you were planning on, but you're on your own sunshine."

"Just come with me," Brenda hissed gently. Her face seemed to be alternating between terror and exhilaration. "Just come a little closer and you'll see exactly what's happening." She pulled on the brunette's wrist and Faith reluctantly followed her toward the two figures. As they approached, Faith could see that there was something terribly wrong with the profile of the male figure. Initially they had looked like the shadowy forms of a man and a
woman locked in a passionate embrace. As they grew nearer, the features of the male seemed to have some sort of terrible deformation and the profile of the female was slack and lifeless, her head angled back in a strange pose. Suddenly the male form spotted them and he dropped the female who fell to the earth like a wet rag doll, then he moved in toward them. Faith took a step back as a shaft of light from a distant streetlight crossed the males face revealing large fangs and yellow killer's eyes. She tried to run but Brenda seized her wrist and held her in place. Suddenly all of the old horror movies she had watched as a kid on WHDH late at night came back to her and the meaning of the sharpened stake in her hand took on an enormously shocking purpose. This was a vampire.

The shadowy figure seemed to accelerate inhumanly and rushed toward them in almost a blur. Brenda had jerked up her hand toward the advancing monster and it veered off suddenly with an angry hiss. Faith could see the clear outline of the cross in Brenda's tiny hand when suddenly the vampire veered back toward them, knocking her on her back savagely with the force of its lunge. She found herself struggling beneath its crushing strength, desperately trying to stab at it with the sharpened stake still in her hand. The vampire seized her wrist instantly, halting her jab, and squirmed fully atop of her in sort of an obscene sexual position. Faith shot her free hand down and instinctively grasped her attacker's genitals, making the squeeze she had given Marty look like a friendly handshake. The monster screamed in agony and rolled away, but something primal in the young brunette surged forth and instead of taking the opportunity to roll away and flee, she rolled toward the struggling form and in a flash of sudden instinct, brought the staked down hard
into the vampire's exposed chest. It exploded into dust and Faith had risen a tad shakily, coughing and massaging her wrist to meet Brenda's expectant gaze. Faith cleared her throat a few times and then spat before speaking. "So I suppose you have something to tell me?"

16

Duncan's POV

This dude is soooo fucked up. Trick brought me down to meet "The Boss" and I gotta tell ya … this freak show ain't Springsteen. I keep trying not to stare at his hooves … hands … whatever the fuck they are. There used to be a guy that worked with my dad down at the plant on Emerson that was missing three fingers on his left hand. He and my pop had been radio operators together in 'Nam. When I was about 11 my dad had taken me down there with him and the guy had shook my hand. At first I hadn't noticed his deformity until my fingers had seemed to crush through thin air and I was left with this mangled paw in my hand. I had screamed and tried to jerk away, but my old man had just smacked me and told me not to be a faggot. His friend had just grinned and made an obscene gesture with that hideous claw, poking the last two fingers into a hole he made with his other hand and saying, "It's okay Duncan, two fingers is all you need for pussy." The two of them had laughed uproariously at that point but I'd had nightmares about if for weeks after. I'd dream that I was with my dad and his friend in Vietnam playing with some wires when something exploded in front of me and I would look down and see that my fingers were all missing, all that was left was this ragged stump and my dad and his friend would just laugh and laugh, telling me not to be a wimp. I'd wake up still hearing them like echoes in my room, "Don't be a faggot kid. Two fingers is all you need for pussy. It's five by five."

"Hello Duncan," Kakistos says with a wide smile, rising from behind his desk. "Mr. Trick here has informed me that you are ready to assist us in capturing the Slayer."

"Something like that," I reply with a curt nod. The dude is HUGE. Why the fuck does he need me? I hesitate briefly but decide to ask him straight out. "But why do you need me? She's just a kid."

"Yes," Kakistos replies with a sage nod. "She is just a kid, but she is also the Slayer. Has Mr. Trick not told you about Slayers?"

"Not so much," I look over a Trick who is off to the side in his light tan suit, brushing absently at some lint. Fuckin' pretty boy. "Something about her being strong or whatever."

"Oh she's much more than that my young friend," Kakistos comes around the desk and I try not to flinch as he lays one of those fucking hooves on my shoulder. "She is the Slayer, the one human in all the world that can interfere with our plans … and the one human in all the world that can help me with my own little problem." He takes his hoof from my shoulder and looks at it in mild disgust. Well at least the guy knows how fucked up that thing looks. "Mr. Trick says that you two have already begun making arrangements."

"Sure are boss," Trick says from the corner of the office. He takes a step forward and nods toward me. "Duncan here has made some arrangements to separate the girl from her Watcher. Once that is done then we will proceed as planned."

"Excellent," Kakistos grins beatifically and pats my shoulder again. "Wonderful news. So we will have the girl tonight?"

I nod and try to ignore the hoof on my shoulder. Trick glances at the clock on the wall and my gaze follows his. 11 AM. Just a few more hours. Kakistos makes a contended noise and moves back to his desk. I take my leave and once out of the office I lean heavily against the wall and shudder briefly. Well soon it won't matter. This guy thinks that I'm going to hand over Faith to him and I will. We just won't be staying long.

17

"England?" Faith frowns as she towels her still damp hair. She drops the towel in a heap on the floor and crosses the room naked to the closet.

Brenda can feel her stomach give a tiny jump at the sight of the smooth naked skin of her Slayer. She tries to sound casual and up-beat. "Yes Faith. There is a Watcher's retreat scheduled in about a month and Mr. Travers and the Council would like a chance to meet
you beforehand."

"So what about Sunnydale?" Faith asks, her voice muffled a bit as she roots through the closet. She bends slightly and the sight of her arched and naked buttocks cause Brenda to feel a bit light-headed. "Is that a wash?"

"For now," Brenda replies tightly, trying to think about anything other than the naked girl a few feet away. The fabric of her underwear suddenly seems very tight and textured against her groin. "Maybe after we get back."

"Whatever," Faith tosses a couple of things over her shoulder and then turns to look at her Watcher. A damp tress of her brown hair hangs down lightly across her features and as she speaks it flutters lightly from her breath. "So when do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," Brenda has trouble keeping her voice steady as she takes in the full frontal that Faith is giving her; the young breasts high and hard on her chest, still pink and fresh from the heat of the shower, the curve of her stomach leading down to the tiny strip of
dark hair above her vagina. She clears her throat and looks away, heat racing through her cheeks. "We leave tomorrow."

"That soon?" Faith's voice is a bit surprised and she gives her Watcher a hard look. Suddenly a grin spreads over her face. "Well I gotta head down to Southie at some point today and say some good-byes then."

"Absolutely not," Brenda shakes her pretty blonde head firmly. "Today we are going to stay in and pack. I have to go out briefly and make some arrangements for our flight, but you are to stay here. It's far too dangerous. If Kakistos was to find out that you were leaving he would attack us at once. It's too risky."

"And having an elicit lesbian affair with your Slayer isn't?" Faith grins more fully and steps closer to the blonde before stopping about 6 feet away. She takes her full lower lip gently between her teeth, and then releases it lewdly, before sliding her hand up to cup her breast. She tugs the nipple lightly with her fingers, never taking her eyes off her Watcher. Brenda fidgets a bit as Faith continues her slow exploration of her own naked body, now sliding
her palm down over her stomach and pausing to cup her pussy, sliding her middle finger down between the lips and then bringing it back up, leaving a slick trail across her lower stomach with her own juices. She brings the hand up and lets her tongue out to trace
over the moistened finger and Brenda lets out an involuntary grunt as she watches. The blonde can feel her own hand move down to her thigh, almost against her will and Faith takes a couple of steps back so that she can sit on the edge of the bed and still face her
girlfriend. She spreads her thighs and leans back, resting her weight on one hand as she slides the other one back down over her stomach, towards her exposed sex. She lightly runs the tips of her fingers up and down between her lips and then moves them in a tiny circle over her clit, moistening it with her juices, before sliding her fingers back down to her lips again. Brenda takes an unsteady step forward and halts as Faith shakes her head at her with an impish smile.

"Not yet," the Slayer tells her before sliding a finger up into herself, giving a tiny gasp as she starts to work it in and out. She keeps her dark eyes locked on the blonde's as she begins to slowly increase the pace, her finger moving in and out and her thumb creeping up to worry the hard button of her clit. She groans briefly and closes her eyes and Brenda takes the opportunity to lift off her own nightshirt, leaving her in nothing but the lacy-white
underwear that she had slipped on that morning when she had gotten out of bed. Faith opens her eyes and lets her gaze linger appreciatively over Brenda's body as she continues to fuck herself with her finger. Slowly she takes out the finger and moves it up to her mouth, suckling it while keeping her eyes locked on the Watcher the whole time.

Finally it is too much and Brenda flings herself toward the bed, pushing down on the brunette's shoulders and straddling her waist before crushing her mouth down on top of Faith's. Faith eagerly returns the kiss, the taste of her juices still fresh in her mouth as the two females' tongues battle each other. Faith slides her hands down to cup Brenda's hard buttocks, kneading them with her fingers as the Watcher pushes her own hand down between their bodies and starts to caress her girlfriend's wetness with her fingers. "Fuck me," Faith gasps against the Watcher's lips and Brenda grunts with excitement as she roughly works two fingers up into her Slayer. She starts to thrust them in and out, her own
horniness leaving no time for gentleness as the Slayer's fingers dig into her ass hard with pleasure as she bucks her hips up hard against Brenda's thrusts. "Fuck me B," Faith whispers fiercely as Brenda buries her mouth against her Slayer's neck as she pistons her
fingers in and out of the brunette's sex. "Please baby, fuck me good."

Brenda can feel her own panties being tugged aside and she gives a gasp of her own as Faith's nails tickle her soaked pussy. The Watcher closes her eyes and gives over to the hot ripples of pleasure as she feels Faith's orgasm clench tightly on her still thrusting fingers. Her Slayer bites down hard on her shoulder as she comes, pushing her own fingers hard up into Brenda as she does so. The blonde arches her back as Faith's fingers violate her from
behind. She gasps in surprise as the Slayer pushes the ball of her thumb down hard on her anus as she continues to finger fuck her older lover. With preternatural speed, the Slayer suddenly flips the blonde over, exchanging positions and then sliding her hard breasts down across the Watcher's stomach before bringing her face down to the level of the blonde's engorged sex. Spreading the lips gently with her fingers the Slayer starts tracing her tongue in slow circular strokes along her girlfriend's inner lips causing the British girl to thrash on the bed in barely coherent ecstasy. She then wets the ball of her thumb and starts pushing it down hard on the blonde's clit before moving her tongue back down to trace the length of her lips with her tongue, right down to the tight ring of her anus. Brenda shrieks as the force of her orgasm rips through her body like a fiery saw, nearly throwing her girlfriend off of her as her hips spasm violently. The Watcher starts sucking in ragged
whoops of air as every inch of her flesh quivers from the intensity of her orgasm. Each pore and follicle of her skin is tingling like an exposed nerve and Brenda pushes Faith away roughly as the contact of the other girl's skin is almost painful on her still pulsating flesh.

Faith slides up next to her, propping herself up on an elbow and brushes a sweaty strand of hair from her Watcher's face. "Just an hour Bren," she whispers. "Just an hour to say goodbye."

"Fine," Brenda concedes, barely able to articulate the word. The brunette leans down and kisses her lingeringly on the lips and then snuggles down beside her. Just as Brenda feels herself drifting into a contended doze, a tiny voice speaks worriedly to her subconscious. Brenda brushes it aside as she begins to drift off. Nothing can go wrong at this point, can it?

18

Duncan's POV

I check the clock, watching the slow movement as the minute hand approaches the hour hand. Only a few hours until dark. It's almost 3 PM and its time to get this show on the road. Trick is here with me, sitting languidly in a chair by the door as I reach for the phone. Trick nods fractionally as he catches my glance and I lift the receiver and punch in the number. The phone earpiece trills shrilly as it rings and after 20 seconds or so I hear the bitch's accented voice answer. "Hello?"

"Brenda?" I say in my best Eddie Haskell voice. I can almost hear the bitch stiffen as she hears my voice.

"Yes?" she replies coldly.

I grin despite myself. God I hope they let me rip this cunt to shreds personally. "Yeah, Brenda, it's Duncan. I was hoping that I could talk to you for a minute."

"Me?" I can hear the confusion in her voice. She can't stand me and the feeling is more than mutual. The few times that I've called for Faith it was like pulling teeth to get the bitch to put her on the phone. "What do you want?"

I try to sound embarrassed. "Look Brenda, I know that you and I have had a rocky start but seriously, I have a small situation and I have to clear out of town for a bit. I wanted to give Faith something before I left but …" God, I'm a fucking artist. I hesitate a little like someone about to confess to their priest that they boned the organ player's wife at the last church picnic. "I just think that maybe it would be better for both Faith and I if I didn't see her before I left. She's been my best friend and I think maybe it's better if I just sort of slide out and let her get on with her life." I let my voice crack a little and Trick gives me a huge grin and a thumbs up as my free hand twirls the phone card as I go on. "I've fucked a lot of stuff up in my life Brenda. I don't want to fuck up what I have with Faith. I just think that maybe the best thing I could do for both of us is to clear out and get a fresh start. My uncle in Des Moines said he could get me a job at the Ford plant there for union wages and unless I get out of Boston soon I'm going to end up in jail or dead. I just wanted to give her a letter explaining stuff before I left."

The sound from the earpiece muffles a bit and I can hear a murmur in the background. Faith? Must be. After a moment the bitch is back on and I can hear a door close in the background. She must have gone somewhere private. "Duncan?" Her voice is low but a lot friendlier. "I'm glad to hear that you've found something a bit more productive to do. I think that getting a new start is a great idea for you right now."

"Thanks Brenda," I make a jerking off gesture to Trick as I roll my eyes and he nearly doubles over laughing, trying to remain quiet. "I'm glad that you think so. Anyhow I was thinking that maybe you could meet me at the parking lot at the Hyatt a few blocks from your place in an hour? It's close to the bus depot and I could give you the letter there. It'll only take a few minutes."

"The parking lot?" Her voice sounds a bit suspicious but I know exactly how to handle it.

"Yeah," I say, trying to sound sheepish. "Part of the deal with my uncle is that I stay away from booze and drugs so I figure that I should start ASAP. Meeting in a bar might be a bit too much temptation and if I came by your building Faith might spot me and ask questions before I'm gone."

"Ahh," I can almost hear the gears in the bitch's head turning as she weighs the benefits of kissing my ass good-bye permanently from Faith's life. "Okay Duncan. I can do that. An hour you said?"

"You bet," I give Trick a thumbs up before giving her the piece de la resistance. "Brenda?"

"Yes Duncan?"

"What you did for Faith," I hesitate a minute, relishing every second of it as I play her like a violin. "You did a good thing Brenda. Maybe I am a shitty friend for Faith but I've never wanted anything but the best for her. You gave her something that I never could; a real future. I owe you for that."

"Thank you Duncan," the bitch sounds positively mellow. God I can't wait to see the look on her face once she figures this out. "I'll see you soon."

"Thanks," I hang up the phone gently and then look at trick, feeling my face split into a huge grin. "What a fucking milk bucket."

Trick tips me a mock salute before rising and grinning back. "Artistry my young friend; pure and simple artistry. You have a real knack for this." He checks the clock. "The boss will be very pleased. I'll let him know." The black vampire hurries out and leaves me at the desk. I close my eyes, still smiling and remember the time that I had first really run foul with Brenda.

I knew that prissy cooze was a dyke from the first time I'd laid eyes on her. From her "sensible shoes" right down to the way her eyes crawled jealously over me the first time Faith introduced us. Waste of womanhood if you ask me, though I'd have paid real money to be in a closet watching her and Faith get it on. Brenda's closet probably has her fucking sweaters alphabetized by designer. Boring shit.

Faith went through a lot of guys for a while after Brenda first showed up and you can guess how much that tightwad little limey liked that. First there was Ronnie from the neighborhood. The guy had a kick ass Trans-am but lived with his mother. Now that's okay when you're 18 but at 28 it was a bit much. After Ronnie came Steve who tried to rob the convenience store down the block without a mask. I mean, the guy had lived here his whole life and then tries to rob Whitman's? What the fuck is that all about? Then came Kenny who claimed to be a drummer. He was in a band that practiced once a week in the old warehouse on Chester St. but never did play any gigs.

After Kenny I had thought about taking a shot at Faith myself. After all, she was hot and 16 now but it got a bit twisted. She'd come by my apartment to say hi after about 3 weeks of being MIA but she'd been a bit … off. I had figured, in my coke and tequila induced logic, that she was finally following up on the night that we'd fooled around in the basement of our old apartment building, but it turned out that she had other ideas. She'd shown up late that night, shivering from the still cold May evening and I'd let her in, not really worrying about her reasons since I'd had about 3 grams and a quart of Mexican ambition in me; that is until she'd sat gingerly on the corner of a footstool looking at me pointedly.

"What's up?" I'd asked, taking the opportunity to pour another shot from the nearly empty bottle. I'd looked at her questioningly to see if she wanted one but she'd just shook her head no.

"I …" Faith had seemed really nervous and I put it down to the fact that she maybe wanted to act on some sort of crush that she'd been having and grinned as I gunned down my own shot and then gestured for her to continue. "I have something I need to say to you."

"What's that?" I asked, leaning back into the sofa and restarting my Super Mario game, barely looking at her but feeling my cock stirring underneath my jeans.

"Something happened last week," she said with a gravelly voice. Her tone caused me to look up and see the guarded look in her eyes. "I sort of inherited something."

"What's that?" I had asked suddenly interested. Usually inheritances involved bank and I wanted to know right away.

"A legacy," she had said quietly before looking up at me with those dark eyes of hers. "A … gift if you want to call it that."

I snorted, picking up my controller again and starting Mario back along the pipes of level 6. The last "gift" she had received had ended up with me taking her to a free clinic and getting her tested for VD. "Sounds good," I had replied dully, my head still rattling a bit from the last rail I'd done.

"Maybe," she'd said quietly. I looked up. The next hour was spent with me yammering in disbelief as she had recited this whole "legacy" bullshit that I couldn't quite stomach. She'd solved that by going downstairs, boosting a tire iron from the trunk of a car in the street and then bending it like a pretzel.

"So vampires are real?" I'd wanted to know.

"Fuck yeah," she'd then gone on to tell me about this nest that they'd taken out a couple of nights before at a methadone clinic and started crying before telling me about her and Brenda fucking.

"Heavy," was all that I'd had to say on the subject.

"You don't," Faith had looked up at me with puffy cheeks. "You don't think that I'm crazy?"

I had considered this as she spoke, but despite all of Faith's quirks, a good liar she wasn't. She believed what she was saying and the twisted piece of cast iron peering up at me from the shitty carpeted floor was certainly no liar. "Yeah Faith, I believe it. I mean, I believe you."

Her shoulders had drooped almost comically in relief and I looked forlornly at the now empty bottle of Jose Cuervo on the coffee table. Sighing, I fiddled absently with the Nintendo controller, not looking Faith in the eye. "So what now? You get a cape and a cool superhero lair or something?"

She looked up a little at the sharp edge in my voice. Her brows knitted slightly and she gave me a hesitant smile. "Not so much with the super crib I don't think. But …" she tapered off, looking down at her own hands. "I think that there must have been some sort of mistake." She gazed back up at me with reddening eyes. "I mean, who the fuck am I Duncan? When Brenda came to see me that day and told me all this crazy shit I just thought, hey what the hell, I'll see what it's all about, have a place to crash where assholes don't try and cop a feel every time my mom passes out in the bathroom …" she looked away again, her voice slightly gravelly. "But now its all real and I can't stop thinking that someone fucked up large. Who the fuck would pick me to save the world?"

I considered this briefly. She had a point after all. She was just some fuck up from Southie, with a drunk and a whore for a mom, but … I remembered that look in her eyes the time Spank's brother had been bartering for a blow-job with her. "Well," I said slowly, trying to conjoin thoughts in my coke and tequila numbed brain. "Maybe you don't have to."

"Huh?" Faith looked up at me startled, the tiniest of frowns tugging at the corners of her lips. God she looked hot. "What do you mean?"

"Well I mean, they can't take it away from you can they? Like, if you just said, 'Hey asshole, find someone else to save the world, I'm going to Six Flags to ride the Scream Machine,' they couldn't take this legacy or whatcha-ma-callit away from you could they?" Images had been forming in my mind, pushing aside the coke buzz and drunkenness; images of armored cars and check-cashing places being cleaned out by a girl who could flip a pick-up truck over on its side with her bare hands … with her trusty partner waiting in the getaway car of course.

She gave me a strange look and shook her head. "No, I don't think it works like that. Once you're Chosen you sorta stay that way until you kick-off."

"Well there you go then," I said nonchalantly while my own heart raced in my chest. "Faith you're 16. Who are these assholes to lay this shit on your head? They expect you to go out and fight the forces of evil or darkness or telemarketers or whatever while they do what exactly? Watch?"

"Uh, yeah that's sorta the way it is … but," Faith knitted her brows, thinking about this briefly and then shook her head. "But it's not just like that Dunc. Brenda … she fought with me, risked her own neck to help take out those vamps at the clinic. They are trying to do what's right."

I snorted loudly and leaned back into the couch. "What's right? My ass. Think about it Faith. Is it right that these snot-nosed ivy lovers in Cambridge just a few years older than you have 100 g's of daddy's money to go to school and learn how to fuck over the rest of us with mergers and leveraged buy-outs and all that crap while a few miles away there's people living on the Common eating out of dumpsters? Are they fighting that?"

"Well no," she started but I cut her off.

"That's what I'm saying Faith." I got up and started pacing the small living room, anger suddenly pushing up into my chest like a hot balloon. "None of these fuckers have ever lived off Kraft Dinner and stale bread or had their lives turned upside down because some asshole in an office building downtown decided that it was okay to ship 8000 jobs to Mexico and put a whole neighborhood out of work." I paused, realizing that maybe I'd gone a bit too far. I took a breath and softened my voice. "Look. I'm sorry. I don't mean to shit all over your new friends and stuff, but you can't blame me for wanting to protect you." I gave her a half-grin. "After all, we're the Originals right?"

Faith gave me a quick smile and nodded. She rose quickly and checked her watch. "Okay Dunc but I'd better motor before Bren thinks that I got run over by a cement truck or something." She moved in quickly and gave me a quick hug. "Thanks for having my back Dunc."

"Anytime," I said, my breath stirring her hair gently. "You and me against the world right?"

"Right," Faith said quietly before disengaging. She moved to the door and turned to wave briefly before going out. I sat back on the shitty brown couch and looked at the paused game on the TV absently, a world of new thoughts swirling in my head. I went to bed several hours later and woke up to the strident ringing of the phone early that morning.

"Hello?"

"Duncan?" A clipped British accent.

"Who's this?" I asked, thinking that it was a bill collector. Fucking rent-to-own places.

"Duncan this is Brenda Knowles. Faith and I had a very interesting discussion today and I believe that I have you to thank for it." The voice is like an iceberg, cold and impenetrable.

I struggle up a bit straighter, glancing at the clock. 9:17am. "And what's it to you?" I say trying to sound like I don't have an ice-pick hangover from all the coke and booze from the night before.

"Stay away from her Duncan," she said matter-of-factly in that same frozen tone. "The girl has a duty that your feeble brain can't begin to fathom. This is me warning you."

"Is that so?" I grin a little despite the sharp pain in my head. "Well why don't you ask Faith whether I should stay away or not? Go fuck yourself bitch." I hung up and gazed at the phone for a while, waiting for the cunt to call back. She didn't. After a while I got up and headed for the shower. This was even better than I'd hoped for.

19

Brenda had slipped out while Faith had been taking a nap. She shivered a little in the shadows as she walked down the sidewalk. The air was agreeably warm but in the blue toned shadows of the buildings of the hotel district near her apartment the wind was brisk and she hadn't bothered with a jacket. She checked her watch and saw that it was already shortly after 4. She was late to meet Duncan. She quickened her steps and brushed past the light Saturday afternoon pedestrian traffic on Hayward Place heading east to Harrison. She pauses at the corner, waiting for the light to change and glances around nervously. The tall buildings have occluded the late afternoon sun and suddenly she feels slightly nauseous. She had been so worried about keeping Faith in that she had forgotten that she may be a target as well. Keep it together Brenda, she tells herself. You'll be home in a half hour and Faith can try and explain baseball to you on the television and tomorrow we'll be safe and sound in London.

She takes a deep breath as the streetlight changes, oblivious of the white van turning onto Avenue De Lafayette ahead of her. Her short heels clicked quickly down the sidewalk as she approached the entrance to the parking garage. A uniformed guard gave her a brief nod as she swept past the booth and moved down the ramp toward the depths of the cavernous garage. Brenda gagged briefly from the harsh smell of exhaust fumes and felt that cold prickle at her again as she moved from one pool of suspended light to the next, looking right and left for Duncan's lanky form. She sees a figure move out from behind a pillar at the far end of the lot, still partially obscured by shadows and she moves forward more cautiously. The figure raises a hand and waves to her. Feeling slightly silly at her fright she picks up her pace again and approaches as Duncan's features become clear. She stops several feet away from him and he remains rooted, not moving toward her.

"Hey," he says quietly, a patently false smile on his face. Brenda knows that he loathes her but after what he had said on the phone earlier she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. She gives him the tiniest of smiles in return and waits patiently for him to continue. An engine turns over, causing her to jump slightly and a blue Accord slips out of a space several spots up from them. The headlights swoop across Duncan's figure briefly and Brenda feels a moment of mild revulsion. He's dirty. It's even more obvious because of the pasty-white look of his skin. It looks clammy and slick and some of his hair sticks up in greasy tufts. His dark eyes are vacant and Brenda feels that hot and loose sensation in her stomach again. He's wired, she thinks. All that song and dance earlier on the phone about cleaning up and the bloody git is wired. I'll just take his letter and go, she tells herself. "Thanks for coming Brenda." His smile widens to a toothy grin.

" Uh, yes, you're welcome Duncan," Brenda says in a tight voice that seems to come from her sinuses. She takes a breath and shakes off the revulsion slightly. "You have something for me to give Faith then?"

"Yeah sure," he looks down and suddenly Brenda feels a mild pang for him. Despite all the things that she detests about the man in front of her, he's giving up the person that means the most to him for both of their own good. That takes guts. He looks back up at her, still smiling a bit. "Can we talk for a minute first?"

Brenda checks her watch and immediately regrets it. The least she can do for Faith is to give this boy a couple of minutes. "Yes, of course Duncan but I do have to be going soon."

"Sure, sure," he says absently. He kicks at a cigarette butt on the ground. "I had a younger sister once."

"You did?" Brenda tries to look interested but suddenly all she wants to do is leave. This is turning into some sort of confessional and she doesn't want to comfort this man. She just wants to do her duty for Faith and leave.

"Yeah," Duncan says quietly. He grins again, almost to himself. "Her name was Jessie. She was my twin."

"Your twin?" Brenda is confused. Faith had never mentioned this. "What happened?"

"It was before I met Faith," he says absently and pushes the cigarette butt around again with the toe of his shoe. "She was my best friend too. I know that sounds super lame but its true. When we were kids, not even teenagers, we did tons of stuff together. Dad was a bit of a fuck-up and mom, well, lets just say that she was happiest when dad was gone for a few days at a time. Anyhow," he regards the Watcher with those dark eyes again and gives a tiny shrug. "Me and Jessie always had lots of time to spend together. She'd let me do … well … girly things with her. Not gay or anything like that but when yer a male kid in a place like Southie you have to keep anything even remotely feminine locked up nice and tight. Closeted," he grins more broadly at the word. "Anyhow, Jessie and me, we'd see sappy movies together and listen to music on this crappy Disney record player that we salvaged from a dumpster one day. Tears for Fears, Madonna, Cyndi Lauper." His voice was now so low that Brenda had to inch forward a bit to hear him properly. "Dancing. That's what I remember best. Dancing in her room and singing into a hair-brush. We played at being superstars, people from a better place, a better life. When we were in her room we always had a bright future.

"I used to sleep in her room a lot. We lived in a real tiny 3 bedroom apartment and there was barely room but we slept there anyhow. The only thing that was even half decent about it was the closet. The closet was big and when we were kids it was like we had our own place in there. Like a clubhouse." His dark eyes have a very far away look now and his tone is almost musical in its nostalgia. "She made me sleep on the floor but I got over that really fast. It was okay, just me and her." He looks at Brenda thoughtfully. "You get that at all?"

"Yes," Brenda says, her own voice quiet now. "You belonged there."

"Exactly right," Duncan gave her a grin again though this one seemed real and his eyes seemed to be there with her for the first time. Suddenly Brenda wonders if her initial thought was correct. Those were not the eyes of someone on narcotics but there was still something empty in them. "Sometimes I'd just lay there in the dark and listen to her breathing. It was like a broom sweeping across the floor real slow. Anyhow Jessie and me were great pals until Paco showed up. We were about 13 and Paco moved in down the hall with his family. Jessie really fell for him. Me and Paco got along okay too but I could tell that he liked my sister. Jessie got boobs in like the seventh grade and they didn't stop growing. Anyhow, one day a few months after Paco showed up I was feeling sorta shitty and skipped out of school for the afternoon. I went home and the place was empty and my head was buzzing with a headache. I tried to lay down on the couch but the noise from the street outside was making my head hurt worse. That's when I thought of the closet in Jessie's room. The thought of that quiet dark place was like the answer to a prayer. I got up and sure enough, the floor still had all the blankets from when me and Jessie had our club-house in there." He gave Brenda a little shrug. "I layed down and was asleep in no time."

Brenda was listening raptly now. She didn't want to, but she was getting caught up in this story. So much so that the sound of a sliding door from the white van behind her opening didn't even register with her. She nodded for Duncan to continue. "So anyhow I woke up a cuppla hours later to the sound of voices in Jessie's room just a few feet away. The closet had these long sliding doors and my head was just at the crack so that I could see a little into the room. Paco was there with Jessie. They were talking and she was showing him her stuffed animals. She had shitloads of them. Like a tiny audience when we would do our rock-star bits. Anyhow, after a minute they sit down on the bed and start to kiss." The timbre of Duncan's voice changes slightly and Brenda suddenly doesn't want to hear anymore. It's like peeking in someone's diary and she can suddenly imagine herself laying in a dark closet, dust-mites tickling her nose, watching something very secret and very, very wrong about to happen. She suddenly turns and sees a nattily dressed black man right behind her. She hadn't heard him breathe even. Suddenly the alarm bells jangle too late in her mind. She hadn't even heard him breathe! Duncan's voice is right behind her now and she turns again to see that he is only inches from her. "Don't you want to hear my story?"

She reaches quickly for her purse, her mind gibbering madly at her for her foolishness, trying to get to her crucifix. Duncan's cold hand grabs her wrist in an iron grip. "I watched them Brenda. Watched him fuck my sister. I even jerked off while they did it. Three weeks later Jessie got hit by a truck and died. I never told Faith about Jessie Brenda." His face shifts and Brenda tries to scream but the black man behind her grabs her roughly, smothering her cries with his hand. She tries to bite but her knees are weak with terror and Duncan grabs her roughly by the throat. "I fucking hate closets Brenda. I hate the dirty little secrets." His demon features mock her terror as his yellow killer's eyes lock with hers. "So now you now all my secrets except one." His voice lowers again and he moves his mouth to her neck and she feels hot urine spill down her leg, waiting for the bite. What comes next is even worse. She feels his breathless voice next to her ear. A bright light seems to be growing behind her lidded eyes as he cuts off her breath with his grip, sending her consciousness spiraling away. "I'm going to keep you alive just long enough to watch Faith die."

Part 4

Betrayal

20

Faith enters the dream more fully. Noises and smells assault her senses as she tries to make sense of where she is. It's a month ago. Her mind tells her that she's dreaming, remembering, but her senses shunt the thoughts aside, taking in the sensations fully. The club is smoky and thunderously loud. Iggy Pop blares from the massive bank of speakers near the stage at the Underground. Duncan had asked her to meet her here. People come by and say hello to her at her table every now and then. She doesn't bother to reply. Everyone is having a ball. Mikey is trying to look down the back of Lelaina's sleek black dress. Murray and Paco are wired on bennies. They actually seem to be vibrating as they bounce in their seats. Paco is crooning to Murray like a one-man audience, going on about how "fucking great speed is." The room is a shade darker then she remembered it, the UV lights making her friends take on a sinister glow. Paco is wearing a skeleton shirt that is fucking with her head. Her eyeballs seem to be spinning greasily in their sockets.

Someone touches her arm with a hand that is hot and clammy. Duncan's features loom like a 3D poster in the UV lit gloom. His hand is hot and clammy on her arm. Behind him, the dancers are pounding up and down on the floor, making her queasy. She licks her lips and in her dream she can taste salty sweat on them. The floor boards are bouncing under the impact and a separate part of her mind sees and image of them caving in, dancers falling and screaming in the parting rubble. She looks up at Duncan questioningly, the speed making her words taste like bile in her throat. "What the fuck man?"

"Come on," he says and drags her through the gyrating mass on the floor. Bodies squirm around them like worms on a hook. She tries to wipe the sweat from her forehead and finds that her hands feel prickly and limp on her blazing hot brow. The night had started at Paco's shithole bachelor pad, empty tins of Spaghettio's rusting gently in the filthy sink. Faith had skipped out on Brenda with the pretense of patrolling and had quickly made her way to Southie. Now she wishes that she had just done a quick sweep of the Common and gone home. Duncan is looking at her seriously, his pupils huge and inky in the purple light. "I want to talk to you."

"Sure," Faith says sullenly, wanting to get water. Gallons of water. Suddenly every pore on her skin seems like a stretch of desert and the words are raspy and dry in her mouth. "Can we get a drink?"

"Sure," Duncan leads her to the bar and motions for water. Service is quick. The two fade toward the dance floor again and Faith sips at her water eagerly. "I want to talk to you about what you told me at my house last month."

"Aw Dunc, not now k?" Faiths hips feel brittle as people brush past her. She can feel tenseness in every tendon of her hips and her labia is hot and huge against the tight denim of her jeans. Suddenly she wants Brenda very badly. "Can't it wait?"

"No it can't wait!" Duncan's voice is high and raspy and she takes in how strung out he looks. His normally full cheeks are drawn and lank on the bones, his lips like paint on the stretched skin. "We need to talk now," he takes a breath and his face seems to loosen a little, the gaunt skeletal look receding a bit. "Come on," he leads her to the back door and they push out into the alley. Duncan takes an old sneaker from the pavement and jams it in the crack to keep it open. Faith relishes the cooler air on her flesh, suddenly feeling much better as the pounding bass from the club's PA system quits biting at her bones. Duncan hands her a cigarette and lights it before shaking one out for himself. The two of them observe each other in the alley silently for a moment.

"I need a favor," Duncan says quickly, trying to keep the desperate note out of his voice that Faith had noticed earlier. Faith opens her mouth to say something but Duncan just shakes his head at her before continuing. "I got some bad trouble Faith. I owe some people and they aren't willing to wait. You know how Zebra was supposed to get me a job down at Tri-Can right?" Faith nods . "Yeah well that fell through. Now I need to come up with some quick cash."

"Dunc," Faith says with a bit of concern. "You know I'd loan you some scratch but dude, I'm soooo tapped right now. I barely have enough to get a bus home later."

Duncan brushes this aside and in Faith's dream she can actually feel the slight disturbance in the air as he waves it off. "No Faith, I don't want to borrow money. I think me and you can both get well but I need your help." He sees the look on her face and continues. "No dealing Faith. Straight up, you and me get well okay?"

Faith nods for him to continue. "Well," Duncan says, this time sounding more like a car salesman then himself. "I know how you feel about smack and stuff and I figure maybe you and me could make ourselves a little sumthin sumthin and help the neighborhood out at the same time. There's this guy, Andre, and he's been dealing down by Lincoln Square. Mostly coke and weed but a lot of smack too. Anyhow, what with you being all super-girl now I figured that you and me could-"

"No," Faith shook her head and took a step away from Duncan frowning. "Duncan, I'm a vampire Slayer, not a mugger."

"Will you just shut-up and listen?" Duncan said in his raspy voice again. For a second Faith heard an echo of Marty's voice from years before; Come on sweets. You liked what you saw. Admit it.

"I said no," she backs up a step and tossed away her cigarette. "Look Duncan, we really should be getting back in."

"It's that fucking English cunt isn't it?" Duncan says, his voice low and furious. "Fine Faith, fine. You have all this high flown shit to deal with now. Fuck all your old pals right? I mean, some peace of shit dealer selling smack in the park, how can that be a bad thing right? How can taking this asshole down and helping your old pal Dunc be a good thing to do? I mean, you slay vampires now right? Fuck everyone and everything else? Thanks Faith. Five by five. I get it." Duncan shrugs theatrically and takes a step closer. "Your too good for me now right?"

"What? Fuck Dunc, I didn't say that." Faith takes a step back in confused defensiveness. She wants to go to him and tell him no but then that little voice is back but this time it's Brenda in her mind, echoing Duncan's words from years before. "Survival of the fittest babe, just keep your head down till all the idiots finish killing each other off."

"Sure, whatever." Duncan pitches his own cigarette and looks back at Faith. Maybe you don't get this Faith but I am asshole deep in the shit and pretty soon its gonna swallow me whole. I need you to help me. I'm not asking." He changes his tack slightly and gives her a rueful grin. "I'd do it for you."

The speed is still biting at Faith's nerves and she feels hot anger rippling in her joints like shattered fragments of glass. "Don't even go there Duncan," her tone strident and brittle. "What your asking … it's not a favor. Its," she searches for a word. "Its blackmail. Its like your telling me that if I don't go do this I don't care about you. That's fucking bullshit and you know it." Dimly through the door of the club, the Pixies are wafting into the alley.

Evil hearted you.

You kept kidding me along,

With your phoney smile,

And with your siren song

Smiling, beguiling,

You lead me on until all hope is gone,

Persuading, degrading,

On my knees I try to please

"You say so," Duncan's voice is dejected and shallow, like he's talking to a telemarketer or something. "That's how you see it then." He starts down the alley, not looking back … and what the fuck is that ringing noise, a voice in her mind asks in the dream. Ignoring it, Faith takes a step forward, feeling her will crumbling at the sight of his slumped shoulders and back as he walks away.

"Dunc wait," he stops and she can see his lithe figure silhouetted against the streetlights at the end of the alley. "Can't we just talk about this later?" Her voice is pleading.

The strident sound of a telephone jolts her back to wakefullness. She jerks up off the bed and looks at the clock. It's after six. Why isn't Brenda answering the phone? She gets up from the bed and shakes off the cobwebs from the dream, opening the bedroom door. She takes the phone of the hook and answers it, her voice slightly slurred from sleep, "Hello?"

"Faith?" It's Spanky's voice.

"Spank, hey. How are you?"

"Not good. Faith can you meet me out front of Whitman's around 9?"

Faith frowns and looks around the apartment. Panic begins to set in her chest. Brenda is missing and she had been adament that neither of them should leave the apartment until their flight the following day. "I … fuck Spank, I don't know. What is it?"

"Dunc's missing," the reply is short and gets her immediate attention. Spanky's voice is low and scared. "He owed some big cash Faith and no one has seen him in days. I really need you to come."

"Sure," Faith replies immediately. She sees that Brenda's purse is gone and then sees a note on the fridge. "Had to nip out while there's sunlight. Be back in no time. B." The note settles a grim anger in Faith's chest. Brenda had sworn up and down that they had to stay in. Now she'd decided to go out and leave Faith to sweat it out in the apartment by herself. Not fucking likely. Feeling a thrill of defiance she grins sourly at the phone. "Yeah sure Spank. See you in a few hours?"

"Great. Thanks." The phone clicks off and Faith heads for the shower. If Brenda didn't like it then she could eat shit. She could do this one little thing couldn't she?

21

Brenda had tried very hard not to cry during the trip to the south end of Boston. She had awoken in the back of the white van, her captors silent silent around her; the dapper black vampire named Trick in the passenger seat and a small female vampire with spikey orange hair driving while Duncan observed her with that malicious half-smile from the bench seat directly in front of her. Her elbows were firmly bound with electrical wire behind her back, the angle of her shoulders causing her small breasts to push out against the silk of her maroon blouse. Her shoulder joints ache cruelly from their position and no matter which way she shifts, the rippling pain of it was starting to make her hysterical with panic. Her light coloured slacks are stained from the urine that had evacuated her bladder in her blind panic earlier, and this more than anything else was chewing at her brain. She didn't like giving this sick fuck the satisfaction of knowing her fear. She blinked a few times, wishing dully that she could bush the sweat-sticky strand of hair that had attached itself to her cheek away from her skin. Trick was smoking silently in the confines of the van, making her want to gag with the sour smell of it.

"Don't like smoke Brenda?" Duncan asks her in an amused tone, still wearing his killer's face.

Brenda ignores the remark and notices that the van had slowed, the sound of gravel crunching under the tires. A sqwuak of rusted metal announces a heavy steel door rolling up on its track. The van pulls forward and bumps over a small curb, now the sound of its engine echoing loudly inside the concerete walls. The female shuts off the ignition and turns to look at Brenda with a lewd grin. Trick nudges her impatiently and opens his door to indicate that they should all get out. Duncan grabs the handle and slides the can's side door open revealing that they are inside a large dim warehouse. He reaches back and drags Brenda roughly forward by the collar causing her blouse to pull out of the waistband of her pants and revealing a milk white strip of her belly. Brenda jerks her shoulder from his grasp and shimmies forward on her own to swing her legs out to the cememt floor. Duncan grins again and sweeps his arm in a mock welcoming gesture as she struggles to her feet, her arms still bound firmly behind her back. Trick is surveying her disinterestedly with smoke trickling from his nostrils and pitches the cigarette to the side. "Let's get her to the boss," he says almost casually but Brenda thinks she hears a hint of distaste in his voice. She doesn't think that he cares much for Duncan. She can sympathize.

Brenda knows who they are going to see long before they lead her down a shabby hallway to an office in the rear of the building. Kakistos had been tracking them for weeks now. Brenda is feeling immensely torn at the moment. The rational side of her is hoping that Faith won't be foolish enough to attempt a rescue right away. However there is another voice in her mind; a terrified and selfish voice that wants her Slayer/girlfriend to come charging in like the cavalry in one of those terrible american westerns that she remembered watching in her childhood and save her from the savages. Brenda tries to hide from this voice as they walk into the presence of the most terrible vampire she has ever seen.

His bulk is immense and every shift of his form is like a force of nature. His hair is closely cropped against his massive skull and she can clearly see two enormous hooves protruding from the sleeves of his jacket as he observes her stoicly. Her throat is still very sore from where Duncan had throttled her to uncoinciousness earlier and she can feel the cold wetness of the urine stain on the front of her slacks, making the wool slimey and matted against her thigh. A battered clock hangs on the wall behind Kakistos and she can see that it's quarter after 7. Faith should be awake and panicking by now. Shit.

"Welcome Ms. Knowles," Kakistos says in a voice that seems better suited for heavy industrial equipment then a larnyx. He gestures with one of the massive hooves to a cheap wooden chair in front of the desk that he is standing behind. Brenda decides to sit rather than be defiant and Kakistos nods at her sagely, smiling a little but his eyes remain cold and fixed on her as she takes the seat. He paces around the desk and settles his bulk against it, still looking down on her with that half smile. "It would seem that you are in quite the predicament young lady." Brenda sits silently, trying very hard to keep her face smooth and her hands from trembling. "You and your charge have led us on quite the merry chase these past few weeks. That would seem to have ended." His smile broadens and he gestures for Trick and Duncan to leave the room. The two head out wordlessly, leaving Brenda alone with the massive vampire. Kakistos looks down at his hooves and clucks his tongue in mild distaste.

"Miss Knowles, as you can see, I have a small problem that only your Slayer can help me with. These," he holds up the hooves, "are just the beginning. All the experts that I have consulted assure me that in about 6 months time, there will be a tail and horns to match. Now you," he gestures at her with one of the hooves, "can help me with this problem. Your Slayer doesn't need to die tonight. All I need is a little of her blood. About a pint's worth. If she gives it willingly the both of you can take your little trip to the west coast without any fear of me. I've survived the tenure of well over 700 Slayers in my life and one more is hardly cause for any concern for me." He leans forward and the smell of his hideous hide makes Brenda bite back bile as it rises in her throat. "After I get what I want the two of you can get back to the business of protecting the world."

Brenda shifts slightly on her chair as though considering this. She knows that all of this is lies and that the second Kakistos had Faith at his mercy that her "tenure" as Kakistos had called it would be over before the sun rose the next morning. However, she certainly can't let Kakistos know that. She clears her throat slightly. "So you'd let us go?"

Kakistos smiles again. "But of course. You must understand Miss Knowles that I wish no ill will to either of you. One of the reasons that I've lived this long is that I know how to pick my friends and pick my enemies. Do you really think I'd jeopardize everything I've worked millenia for over some fued with a Slayer?" He snorts as though the thought is too ludicrous to give any attention to. "Believe me when I tell you Miss Knowles, that I have known far too many Slayers and had too many near misses with them to want one having a 'hate on', as the young people call it, for me. Your friend Mr. Travers would tell you the same thing." Kakistos leans in closer, almost conspiratorily. "You'd be amazed at some of the deals I've cut with your council over the centuries. Plus," his smile is now gone and his eyes rage with maniacal delight, "wouldn't you much rather be sitting on a sofa somewhere tomorrow with the Sunday paper and a hot cup of tea then having Mr. Trick out there feed you your own skin a square inch at a time as he pulls it off of you?"

Brenda manages to not recoil in horror and merely blinks as though considering his offer more thoroughly. All she can do is play along for now. "Mr. Kakistos, I do see your point and yes, I think that perhaps we could arrange a trade of sorts."

"Excellent," Kakistos rises and paces back behind his desk. He takes a seat in the huge swivel chair and gives her a smile that Brenda assumes is meant to be benign but instead looks forced. "Then we will wait for Faith shall we? Our friend Duncan has seen to it that she should be arriving in a few hours. Oh," his grin broadens and now there is nothing forced about it and his eyes are dancing with that maniacal glee again. "And please Miss Knowles, I am well aware that you are sitting there desperately trying to think of a way to buy yourself some time and think of a way out of this. I assure you, I will kill both of you without a second's hesitation in ways more gruesome than you can possibly imagine. Don't do anything foolish." He pushes a button on the intercom on the desk and Trick and Duncan come back in. "Duncan, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Knowles here to a place where we can wait for the arrival of her Slayer? We have managed to come to a peaceful agreement." Duncan nods and gestures for Brenda to rise. After the two of them have left, Trick raises an eyebrow at his employer.

"We keeping her in one piece until the Slayer arrives?" he wants to know.

"Of course Trick," Kakistos waves a hoof dismissively. "We have to at least maintain the appearance of the deal until we get the brat where we want her."

"Sure boss, sure," Trick says soothingly. "What do you want to do with her after?"

Kakistos shrugs, "Let the boys have her. In the meantime can you have something sent up? I'm feeling a little peckish. Perhaps something in a choir boy or girl guide? Nothing heavy. I wouldn't want to be full when I dine on the Slayer."

22

Smoke is a funny thing. Faith looks down at the cigarette burning between her fingers as she sits on the bench across from Whitman's Convenience. She's sure that Brenda could give her some scientific explaination of the way it billows and spirals but to Faith it was almost like the echo of the material that had just been burnt up. It's spirit or soul for want of a better word. As her cigarette burned down it was almost like the shadow of the life energy that was in the original tobacco plant is escaping, spiraling away like a ghost of it's former vitality. When she had been very young she remembered going to mass at St. Mike's and thinking that the smoke from the burning inscence in the holders was the spirit of Jesus, wafting around the room and watching the children there to make sure that they were listening to the lessons from the pulpit. Her own hands were always sticky with sweat while in church. It was a place that she both dreaded and revered as a child. The large beautiful stained glass windows had always seemed to glow with some inner light as the sun struck them on those long Sunday mornings and the nun's habits in Sunday school had always seemed to carry that faint scent of inscence, like the memory of the smoke she would watch spiral up in tendrils toward the huge domed ceiling of the cathedral.

She takes a last drag of the smoke and checks her watch as she pitches the butt. 8:48. Spank should be here soon. She hadn't relished coming back down here tonight but Spanky had seemed genuinely concerned and upset about Duncan being missing and Faith desperately wanted to see him before they left. She thinks about the last time she had seen him the previous week. It had been after the debacle at the Underground. Faith had slid down to Southie despite Brenda's annoyed protests and met up with the Sullivans and Chops sitting on a bench near Lincoln square.

"Faith," Mikey had held up a hand in greeting, genuine pleasure in his whispering voice. Murray had looked up from the joint he'd been rolling with his hugely fat fingers and grinned as well.

"Hey keed, what brings you down to this neck of the woods?" He elbowed his brother playfully over the obvious pleasure that he'd taken upon seeing Faith approach. Chops had just smiled and shook her head, a fresh crop of her horrible acne sprayed across her chin and nose.

"Looking for Dunc," Faith had said grinning. "What else?"

"Would you two just fuck and get it over with already?" Murray said gravely and then returned his attention to spit-sealing the huge joint he'd just finished rolling. Chops rolled her eyes at this comment from Murray and stood up to give the other girl a quick hug. Faith leaned against a garbage can beside the bench and wrinkled her nose slightly at the acrid smell of the shake weed as Murray lit up. He offered it to her but she just shook her head.

"Oh, c'mon Mur, you know I'm saving this sweet ass for a big chunk of man like yourself," Faith ribbed him.

"Damn straight," Murray said, exhaling a huge cloud of smoke and then coughing into his forearm as he passed the joint to Chops. "I got sex appeal that can't be defined. You ain't had shit till you've had blubber and grind."

Chops started laughing so hard that she almost dropped the joint. "Fuck Mur, you looking to be the white free-style king of Beantown?"

"Been that for years already sweets," Murray said gravely before breaking into a grin of his own. "I've even got a pimped out street name. Grand Master Bator."

They all laughed pretty hard at this, even Mike who usually tried to avoid anything that might strain his already very limited lung capacity. Murray and Chops passed the joint back and forth, trading barbs and insults while Faith scanned the common, looking for Duncan's tall form. After a few moments she recognized his slow gait as a figure walked toward their location from the west side of Emmerson Street. Faith had given Chops an arch look and started walking to meet him as he approached. Duncan's face was guant and pale and slick with sweat in the August evening heat as Faith approached him. His eyes were dark and hollow looking in their sockets and Faith could tell that he was on coke without being told. Duncan stopped without really looking at her, his teeth showing like tiny yellowed dominoes between the part of his lips. "It's bad isn't it?" Faith asked, not wanting to know the answer but asking anyhow.

"Yep," his voice was scratchy and thin, like it's coming from a cheap speaker in a clock radio.

"C'mon," Faith waved him along and the two of them start walking.

"I'll tell you why," Duncan said in a low voice several hours later, The tiny restaurant buzzed with grease and an electric twinge. They were both drunk and alone after their conversation about Duncan's rising debts earlier. The red vinyl booth was quiet and the instant mashed potatoes are cold little lumps of plaster on their plates. The coffee was lukewarm acid at that point. It was 2 a.m. Time had lost meaning hours ago, when they were finally thrown out of the Underground. Faith picked a hole in her ketchup with a dingy fork. "I'll tell you why," Duncan repeated again in the same low voice.

"Why what already?"

"Why people bother. With the whole job-marriage-kids-divorce then death thing." His eyebrows looked arch.

"Well then I'm just dying to know," Faith replies sarcastically.

"It's simple."

Faiths eyes are heavy with drinking and she has a new blister on her heel roughly the size and shape of a walnut. "Shoot."

"Why do people pretend to be in love? Why do they get married, place this insane amount of faith in each other? Stick with the shit family and the shit job and then eat in shitholes like this and pretend that it's all okay? That it's exactly what they wanted and expected from life?" Duncan leaned over, getting very into the conversation. "I get it. I really do. I was thinking about it all the past week."

"Get what Duncan?"

"That they're all so fucking scared. They want to have all the normal shit, so maybe they won't have to grow old and die alone. Retirement and fat grandkids ringing the deathbed is supposed to be their eternal reward for coloring inside the lines and paying their taxes on time. They don't want to know that their lives are going to be sucked up by all this useless shit. They're wrong though. Don't you get it?" He blinked and frowned. Faith could see the wheels in his head churning at about the same speed as her stomach. "It's not exactly an original idea though. Only some of us think that maybe we have a new way to come at the problem. That death is inevitable and that we'll all die alone regardless."

"Dunc, you're getting a little too philisophical for me right now dude. It's 2 in the morning."

"Just think about it. Love, friendship, war, hate, commercials that tell you to reach out and touch someone before it's too late? It's all about covering up the facts. Of trying to plaster over death with billboards and slogans. It's about creating a false victory over death, to hide from the truth. It's the happily-ever-after syndrome, except we all know that's all just bullshit and there's no such thing as a happy ending."

"Got any proof? What about Cinderella?"

"Just fucking listen, okay Faith? None of this is original or new. It's just how we go about it that can change."

"Duncan, would you fucking speak english please?"

"Fine," he gave her an intense look from under his bushy brows. "This is the system that we live in Faith. Think about what's on the street these days. You think vampires are a problem?" He snorted derisively. "What about the acid that's laced with PCP? What about the pure H that's floating around school yards and clubs? Remember T-Boy?" Faith bristled at the mention of the name but Duncan just kept going, his voice rising and several other patrons were now turning to see why he was shouting. "It's the belly of the machine Faith and we're all just little fucking cogs making it spin. The rest of it is the illusion. Just a way to pretend that it isn't going to happen to Joe and Susanne Whitebread with the cottage on the cape and the Lincoln in the driveway, so everyone keeps grabbing for that brass ring and hoping like hell that they somehow get missed when the shitstorm hits them."

"Duncan what is this about?" Faith set her fork down and glared at the older boy with frustration and irritation. "Where is this coming from?"

"It doesn't have to go down like that Faith." Duncan lowers his voice and grins at her. "What if you could avoid the shitstorm by becoming the shitstorm?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean let's break the fucking mould sunshine. You and me. What I said to you outside the club a cuppla weeks ago? That still all holds true and my ass is so far in the hole right now that I don't think a crane and a winning lottery ticket could save me. So why bother right? Why not become the nightmare? Why sit around and take it when we can be the ones dishing it? I'm not saying that evil is the way of the future but fuck me if it ain't got the legs to run a good long race."

"Evil? Duncan are you fucking crazy? Actually, let me rephrase that. When did you go crazy?"

"I'm not crazy Faith. All my mental gears are five by five. All I'm saying is that this Brenda skank has got all this shit about good and evil thrown into your melon now and what I'm telling you is that it's all a load of shit. There isn't good and evil. There's just survival and getting run over by the steam-roller of life. I met a guy the other night. He wants to meet you."

"You told him about me?" Faith was appalled at this. "What I can do?"

"No Faith, he told it to me. He says his name is Trick and he and his boss are looking for you."

"Boss?"

"Some guy named Doritos or something like that. Look Faith," Duncan leaned in closer. "This guy needs a favor and he's willing to shell out some mad sheckels to make it happen. He can set us both up with everything we always wanted. We can get out. Out of Southie. Out of Boston. He can give us eternal life."

"He's a vampire?" Faith's eyes bulged and she stood up hurriedly, the drunkeness gone now as dry panic seized her throat. "A VAMPIRE?"

"Shut up!" Duncan seized her wrist and pulled her back down into the booth. "Just hear what I have to say okay?"

"No Dunc, I've heard enough. I'm getting out of here before you say something that makes me have to kick the shit out of you." Faith's voice was strained and her long brown hair hung across her cheeks in damp strands from the heat of the night.

Duncan looked genuinely puzzled and he tried to stand up and explain but Faith had dropped a crumpled bill on the table and left. By the time she got to the cheap wooden door she was running. By the time she hit the sidewalk she was sprinting. Her breath was coming out in ragged whoops as she flashed down the sidewalk, knocking over a newspaper box and almost sprawling headlong into the street.

"Faith?" Spanky had arrived shaking Faith out of the memory of her last meeting with Duncan.

"Spank. Hey." Faith rises to her feet and dusts some cigarette ash off her jeans. "We ready?"

"Yeah," Spanky looks grim and flustered, like he can't quite decide what to say next. "I heard from some folks that they have Duncan down in the warehouse district. These guys Faith, they're pretty rough. I mean I don't think that you and I can handle them alone. We need back-up." Duncan had told him to say exactly this to goad Faith's ego. Spanky couldn't figure out why she'd want to go down there alone but apparently Duncan was right. Faith just gave Spanky a cold smile.

"I can handle them."

Spanky just shrugged, already metally computing how much drugs he'd be asking Duncan for if this source was as good as he claimed. "Then let's go."

23

She wasn't sure how long she had been locked in the furnace room in the basement. Duncan had taken her watch when he had locked Brenda downstairs and though it had felt like days had passed, she knew it was probably only a couple of hours. The furnace squatted cold and silent in the dusty room behind her, and she had spent quite a while staring at the soot-stained window in the small iron door, the dark glass eye looking almost like a dead television screen as it stared back blankly at her. Brenda's emotions were torn between terror, misery and hope. Terror at the thought of what Kakistos and co. must have in store for her and her Slayer, misery at the thought of what her own stupidity had brought her Slayer and herself to, and hope that Faith would somehow be able to rescue her despite all of Kakistos' plotting. She was a Slayer after all, and had proven herself resourceful and a survivor long before she had ever been Chosen. There was one other feeling however that was impossible to ignore. It was a cold killing fury that she didn't think possible. Duncan. It was that piece of shit that had done this. She wanted to believe that they had taken him by force, knowing that by vamping him that they could use him as a lure to draw Faith out. But she knew somehow that this was a lie. Duncan had done this of his own free will. He had manipulated every one around him, Faith especially, for years. This was just the endgame. What was that song by that awful heavy metal group that Faith liked so much?

"Oh poor twisted me,

I feast on sympathy, I chew on suffering,

I chew on agony, and swallow whole the pain,

Oh it's too good to be, all this misery"

That was Duncan to a tee. Everything he touched turned to pain and anguish. Her Cambridge education told her that it was an inevitable aspect of addiction; the all consuming need that drowns out all other morality. But the locked-in-a-furnace-room- held-hostage-by-vampires part of her wasn't feeling all that socially adjusted right now. She had spent the first hour or so of her captivity searching frantically for a way out but the door was made of metal with a drawn deadbolt on the outside and Brenda figured that even Faith would have a chore battering that down. The only other option was to try and get the better of one of her captors when they opened the door to come for her or feed her but Brenda wasn't deluding herself on her chances of pulling that off. Her Watcher training made her acutely aware of how much quicker and more powerful a vampire was then a normal human and she was a small girl, just a shade under 5'5" and maybe 110 lbs. She'd had some hand-to-hand training at the Watcher Academy but nothing that was going to get her out of this. She'd found a discarded crate in one of the corners of the room and had managed to fashion a makeshift stake from it. Her one hope was that she would get to surprise Duncan with it if the bastard showed his face.

Her fury was all that was keeping her going right now. Even her hopes that Faith would somehow find a way to rescue her were the merest daydreams of a trapped and desperate girl. Brenda Knowles curled up by the furnace and tried to use her fury to keep her spirit up but instead hot tears of despair began bubbling from her. So there she sat. Cold, terrified and alone in the dark, waiting to possibly kill her girlfriend's best friend before she herself perished.

24

Duncan's POV

I check the time. It's almost 9:30. Faith and the fat retard should be here shortly. Fuckin' Spanky. I shake my head. It's almost a favor to end that dipshit's existence. Even if I let him live the fucktard would probably be dead of an OD in a couple of years just like his dickless ex-con brother. My understanding is that Kakistos needs Faith's blood so he doesn't turn into some sort of demon Mr. Ed. What I want is for him to get his fill and then toss her away. Then I can make her mine. If not then I might just have to make it so that good old cloven foot has to do without and do it myself. I asked Kim, the punker looking vamp, what happens when a Slayer is turned and she just shook her head. I pressed a little, playing the newbie card and she gave me a few details. Yuki Makimura is the name that stuck with me. Apparently she was turned by some Master guy in Japan and what she did afterward was so appalling that these Watcher guys who control the Slayers burned all records of her. Kim said that because of the already enhanced abilities a Slayer has, that it allows a much stronger demon to take them over when they get turned. Sounds fun.

Anyhow, Kim didn't seem to think so. She said that she'd met some truly evil vampires over the years; Kakistos of course, some mick named Angelus and his brood of psychos who were laying waste to some town in Romania and a freaky looking fucker called the Master who managed to trap himself in some temple underground while fucking around with the mouth of hell itself; but that this Yuki chick was by far the worst she'd ever met. She told me a story of how when this Yuki broad had been cornered by a clan of samurai in Japan after she'd massacred an entire temple full of people, that she'd slaughtered all but two of them in short order and made the survivors swallow their own swords, an inch at a time. She just kept feeding them a little more and a little more, all the while these poor bastards are screaming and spewing gouts of blood out until they were just on the verge of dying. Then this ray of sunshine turned them both, cut out their fangs and eyes, chopped off their arms, and set them to wander the coastline blind and useless until the sun came up and smoked them. Now that's a girl with attitude. Fuck it though. Faith and me will rip this town to pieces. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. We were meant to be forever. Just us. The Originals. The vampires from Southie.

I hear footsteps in the hall and toss my cigarette. That prissy fuck Trick is heading down this way, probably to make sure that the new guy didn't eat the bait. He is smoking a cigar and flicks a little ash from his lapel as he approaches. He jerks a thumb at the metal door to the furnace room. "How is she?"

"Alive I'd imagine, unless she hung herself with her shoelaces or something." I shrug offhand. "What's the point? Aren't we gonna just off the silly little dyke anyway?"

"Insurance my man," Trick says grinning. "We can't afford to fuck this up. It may be necessary to produce a live hostage as a persuasion tool later if the Slayer doesn't want to play nice." I just shrug again and his grin broadens. "You really don't like the girl do you?"

"Not so much," I tell him as offhand as I can manage but I can feel cold fury bubbling under the surface. This fuckin' coon is trying to bait me. "She's just a pain in the ass is all."

"And let me guess," Trick says in a mockingly thoughtful manner, tapping a finger on his chin as he considers me. "You want to return the favor? Be a big, cold pain in her ass maybe? Give her a little Beantown sodomy for fucking with your mojo with her Slayer?" Trick taps some ash from his cigar and stretches. "All in good time my man. The Boss can give graduate courses in torture for torture's sake. Don't forget whose in charge Jr." The grin is gone now and a sudden chill of fear touches my spine as his eyes harden and stare at me coldly. "You got what you wanted. The Boss let me make you one of us and you can live the high life for eternity so long as you don't go pissing in other people's cornflakes. Maybe," he takes a step closer to me and I can smell the acrid smoke from his hand-rolled Cohiba and see the 400 plus thread count of his Hugo Boss suit. "Maybe you are having thoughts of making your friend Faith into a playmate. Still clinging onto your hood-roots." He grins again and this time his face shifts, the eyes narrowing to yellow killer's slits beneath the ridged forehead. "Thoughts are fine. Thoughts are healthy even. Just remember that if you fuck with this at all, you're about as important to the Boss and me as a rain-coat is to an Arab. Don't do anything stupid."

"Back off," I snarl, pushing away from him. It's like the cocksucker is reading my mind. "I'm not an idiot. I know what side I play for."

"Keep it that way," Trick suggests and then shifts his face back to its human form. "Anyhow, the Boss wants you upstairs. When the Slayer arrives it's important that you look all helpless and heartbeat equipped. Once we have her contained, we can get down to the ritual. It takes a couple of hours to prepare. Once it's done, and so long as you play nice, maybe I can convince the Boss to let you test drive the dyke." Trick winks lewdly. "Maybe you can take a ride in the Chunnel after all."

"Sounds good," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Trick gives me a hearty slap on the shoulder and we head down the hall to the stairs. This might be a little tougher than I'd originally thought.

25

Spanky and Faith get off the bus several blocks from the warehouse where Spanky says that the gang that is probably holding Duncan operate out of. The warehouse district is eerily quiet and empty at this time on a Saturday night. The sun is down and the streetlights cast a leprous arch of yellow light across the cracked sidewalks and battered streets. Faith goes first, drawing a wooden stake from her bag and keeps to the shadows as they move forward. Spanky had asked her in a panicky whisper why she had a wooden knife but Faith just ignored him. They flit from building to building, Faith becoming increasingly aware of Spanky's piggish panting as they draw closer to the target. Finally, they are only a couple of buildings away and Faith surveys the warehouse closely, noting the absolute absence of activity suspiciously.

"Are you sure that's the place?" She asks Spanky in a barely audible whisper.

"Yeah that's it," Spanky tells her, his voice squeaky with fear. Faith looks back at him and sees that he's sweating profusely and breathing very hard.

"You okay?" she asks him, pulling back around the corner and out of the sightline of the target building. He looks absolutely terrified.

"Fine, yeah fine," he wipes a pudgy arm across his forehead, making his bangs stand up in sweaty spikes. He tries to grin at her. "Sorry, but when you're fat you sweat a lot."

"Maybe you should stay here," Faith suggests, trying to sound thoughtful. "It's probably a good idea for one of us to hang back and get help if things go in the shitter."

"Fuck that," Spanky says, the sudden forcefulness in his voice surprising her. He takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to look determined. "Dunc is my friend too and I've seen what happens to the lookout in way too many movies. Some fucker always sneaks up behind him and snuffs him. I'm going too."

Faith ponders this for a second, on one hand a little impressed with Spanky's obvious determination to help, and on the other, not wanting to have to pull his fat ass out of the fire if things went to hell. She'd never really liked Spanky very much but … "Okay Spank. Here are the rules. Do what I tell you and take this," she reaches into her bag and hands him a large wooden crucifix. He gives her a puzzled look but she shakes her head to indicate that she's not fielding questions right now. "Don't try and fight. If anyone comes after you run. If they corner you stick that," she gestures at the crucifix in his sweaty hand, "right in their face. If we get split up, just get out and head for the hills. If you find Duncan, get him out too. Don't come looking for me. I can take care of the rest."

Spanky gives her another look but Faith just shakes her head again. "Just do what I said Spank. This isn't a fucking joke. If these guys are what I think they are, then your life is as about important to them as a used tampon. Got it?"

Spanky hesitates for a second but then nods his agreement. "Okay, let's go." Faith leads the way and they approach the warehouse as carefully and quietly as possible. Faith is shocked to discover that there are seemingly no sentries at all. These vamps were very confident, very stupid, or she and Spanky were on the wildest goose-chase ever. Well, only one way to find out. They move along the west wall of the building, away from the street and below a row of darkened swing-up windows. Faith begins trying them one by one, moving along silently as Spanky keeps throwing nervous glances over his shoulder. About halfway down, Faith finds what she wants. One of the windows is unlatched and swings upward at her touch. The hinges groan rustily as she raises it and she freezes, silently cursing and waiting for bedlam to break out inside. She waits a full minute for some indication that they had been heard but nothing happens.

"Guess they're all sleeping," Spanky says, trying to sound offhand but his voice is brittle and choppy with fear. Faith glares at him for speaking and he shrugs nervously. She pushes the window up farther and hooks an elbow up over the sill. She swings her legs up and hooks a foot on the sill as well before pulling herself up and then in. She lowers her feet to the floor silently and crouches low, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The room seems to be a dispatch office. Several old whiteboards hang on the walls with dates and times on them and there are the remains of what looks like an old CB radio on the cheap desk near the door. Papers are strewn across the floor and Faith listens hard to see if she can pick up any sounds of movement or activity from the other side of the doorway. All she hears is Spanky's heavy panting from outside the window.

Grimacing, she rises to look out the window and sees Spanky's face shining like a pale, sweaty balloon below her. She presses a finger to her lips and Spanky nods vigorously. She leans over the sill and stretches out a hand to Spanky to help him up. Spanky shake his head and again his voice is a strained whisper. "Faith you can't lift me up there. I'm pushing 240 and," his voice cuts off in a squeak of alarm as Faith seizes his wrist and pulls him up effortlessly to the sill. Spanky's ponderous belly nearly swallows the ledge as Faith yanks him over it and she catches him as he half falls, half rolls to the floor of the office. His sweat is rank and greasy on his skin, and Faith grunts in mild disgust as she makes sure that he has his balance before letting go. "Faith, how did you …" She cuts him off with a furious gesture and he nods, his breathing still loud and piggish. Faith is desperately wishing now that she'd left him behind.

She gestures to the door and makes a listening gesture by cupping a hand to her ear. They move forward quietly and stop at the door. Faith presses her ear against it, gripping her stake tightly in her right hand as she moves her left to the doorknob. Wouldn't it be funny if it was locked and she had to kick it down? Not exactly ninja-stealth material. Fortunately it turns easily when she tries it and her Slayer hearing can detect nothing from beyond it. She opens it, sticking her head out to look left and right in the darkness. Nothing but empty corridor. To her right is a dead end that seems to lead to washrooms. To her left the corridor seems to open onto a much larger room, the entrance made up of heavy double doors with wire-insert windows at the end of the hall. She can make out a glowing exit sign through the small windows on a wall that seems to be 20 or so yards beyond the doors. She turns to Spanky and gestures left and the two of them slink into the hallway. All of Faith's senses are on hyper alert as they move forward and there is a growing feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach as they move closer. This whole thing feels too scripted; too easy. These are the dumbest vamps ever, Spanky had the address wrong, or they are walking into a trap.

Suddenly she jerks upright. She had heard a small whimper from beyond the doors. Deciding that caution is her enemy if this is a trap and that maybe a rapid appearance might be her best bet, she springs forward, hitting the doors low with her shoulder and barreling into the room like a cannon ball. A terrified shriek meets her ears as she gets to her feet, and in the dimness she can make out a figure slumped in a chair in the middle of the room. Eyes twinkle at her in the darkness and Faith spins around, knowing that she's just sprung the trap. The lights came on in a blaze of fluorescent white, blinding her briefly and a low chuckle like an earthquake echoes in the large room. A monstrous form is standing against the wall by the doors. To her left are two other people, both of them vampires from the ridged foreheads and glistening fangs. In the middle of the room is Duncan, tied securely to a chair with a dapper black vampire standing behind him. Duncan's eyes are bright with fear.

"Faith, run for it! It's a trap!"

Faith ignores this hugely unnecessary warning and springs into action. Several other vampires are running toward her from the far end of the room and she decides instinctively to deal with the two on her left first. She'd have to be quick. She goes in low, tumbling like a gymnast over the cold cement floor. She hears a terrified shriek that had to be Spanky, but she doesn't have time to see what is happening by the doors. She rolls and brings the stake over her shoulder overhand as she finishes her roll, sending it hurtling through the air like a timber torpedo and it shoots straight through the heart of a female with spiky hair. The vampire crumbles to ash as Faith springs directly at the second vamp, aiming a roundhouse kick directly at its head. The vampire ducks and tries to sweep her leg but Faith vaults over it as it sweeps beneath her and then she shoots out a brutal low kick that catches the vampire low and off balance, connecting solidly with its lower back. The vampire is flung forward on its face, its head making hard contact with the cement of the floor with a sickening thud. Faith spins to meet the other three vampires charging her when a harsh laugh freezes her in her tracks.

The massive vampire has Spanky wriggling in his grasp and with a thrill of horror she realizes that it doesn't have hands. It has hooves; Hooves! Kakistos, the vampire that had been stalking her. With a leer at the Slayer, Kakistos snaps Spanky's neck like a twig and the fat boy falls to the ground like a wet sack of suet, his eyes bulging sightlessly as his head lies 180 degrees from its normal position on his body. Faith tries to scream but her voice doesn't seem to want to work. She makes a move to approach the large vampire but he just shakes his massive head almost gleefully.

"That's quite enough Miss Lehane. My associate Mr. Trick would be more than happy to perform the same task on your friend Duncan there if you feel the need to be argumentative." Faith shoots a look to where Duncan is tied to his chair and sees that the black vampire has gripped Duncan's head and jaw tightly, ready to snap his neck in an instant. Faith feels the fight start to leave her like a balloon deflating. Her eyes sting with futile tears of fury as she surveys the situation. There is nothing she can do.

"Please Faith," Duncan's voice is a terrified whisper. She can see the pleading look in his eyes. "Please don't let them kill me for God's sake!"

Faith shivers, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. After a moment her shoulders seem to slump forward slightly and she looks up at Kakistos resignedly. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want?" Kakistos gives her a terrible grin. "Your help my dear. You give it and nothing happens to you or your friend here. If you don't …" he shrugs casually. "Then he doesn't live to see tomorrow." He takes a step forward and tosses something at Faith's feet. Faith looks down puzzled and then her eyes seem to want to come completely out of her sockets. It was a handbag. Brenda's handbag. Kakistos' next words barely make it through the roaring in her ears. "And your girlfriend dies in front of you next. I have hostages to spare." A thudding sensation hits Faith hard in the neck. More curious then injured, she reaches up to her neck and feels a tiny dart jutting from it. The world seems to be tilting now and just the act of raising her hand seems to have taken half of her energy. Her legs feel full of water and she falls to her knees. Kakistos's next words seem to reach her ears through a curtain of fog. "You will restore me," she hears the words but is having difficulty in comprehending the speech itself. Everything seems to be losing its cohesion and focus. "Your blood will make me whole again. Your life will go to help fulfill a destiny far greater than yours could ever be. And I," the voice seems to disintegrate into another low chuckle, "I will be reborn. Again."

26

The life of a Slayer is, by definition, extremely violent and usually ends extremely suddenly. Power, especially sudden power, being the two-ended instrument that it is, tends to be a harsh task master, causing its beneficiaries all kinds of ego adjustments; the initial burst of ego that comes with acquiring it, and the harsh jolt that comes when its recipient is forced to suddenly understand its limits. That harsh jolt can often be fatal. Unfortunately for Faith, this was not the end result in her case. It was worse.

Faith awakens feeling as though she'd just been used as a test subject for the world's most potent malt liquor. Her joints ache in a way that she didn't even know was possible and the dull throb in her head promises to turn into a monster headache when she opens her eyes. What happened? Her last coherent memory was of seeing Duncan tied to a chair and suddenly the reality of what must have happened collides with her thoughts like a freight train. She sits up suddenly, the movement making her nauseous and causing her to turn on her side on the cold cement floor and retch. Nothing comes out except for spit and her eyes sting with coarse tears as she dry-heaves several more times, the convulsions of her stomach making her throat hot and acidic tasting.

Faith reaches up, wiping her cheeks with her palm and feeling for the first time the cold iron on her wrists and neck. She opens her eyes again and looks around blearily. She was lying on a cement floor, manacled hand and foot with a length of sturdy looking chain running from the bonds on her wrists and connecting to the shackles on her ankles. A heavy iron collar was around her throat with a length of chain attached securely to a large anchoring u-bolt driven deep into the cement floor. Letting out several deep breaths, Faith fights to get her senses refocused. Regaining a little of her equilibrium, she attempts to rise to her feet, wobbling briefly as another wave of nausea grips her. She closes her eyes again, working hard to fight down the bile that is threatening to creep into her throat, and manages to steady herself after a moment. She reopens her eyes and looks down at the heavy anchor that is bolted to the floor, attached to her collar. She takes the chain firmly in her hands and starts to pull mightily against it, only to drop it and scream as an electric jolt seizes her collar and sends her to the floor again.

A speaker clicks on near the ceiling and a low chuckle causes her to roll on her side and look up. A small window is seated in the wall near the ceiling by the door and she can see the black vampire that had been near Duncan in the warehouse looking down at her, his eyes glinting with barely suppressed mirth. "I wouldn't try that again sweetie," his voice says from the speaker in a low and friendly tone. He gestures down at the anchor on the floor. "That little beauty is wired with a pressure sensor. For every pound per square inch tensile pressure applied to it, an exponentially increasing electric charge is released down the length of the chain to your collar. Pull too hard and your brain will cook like a bag of microwave popcorn." He shakes his head. "Not pretty."

"What do you want from me?" Faith's voice is thick and slurred and she again closes her eyes and takes a few more deep breaths to try and clear the cobwebs from her brain.

"Personally, I don't want jack-shit from you sunshine, but the Boss has plans for you. He needs some of that Slayer blood of yours to stop from turning into some sort of demonic Mr. Ed." Trick touches his moustache briefly and grins again. "Fortunately for you, you have to be alive when he takes it, and they need time to prepare the little ritual that goes along with it. So that means we get to have this little conversation instead of you being squeezed for your blood like an orange while you were having your little nap. How'd you like that little mixture anyhow?" Trick's grin broadens. "Little bit of elephant tranquilizer mixed with electrolytes to lube up the dosage. A shot like that would have stopped the heart of a normal human in under 20 seconds. Good thing you aren't normal isn't it?"

"Yeah, just fuckin' grand," Faith mutters, still feeling like she'd just come off a two week tequila bender. Trick grins again and gestures to a plastic bottle on the floor, just within reach of the arc of her bonds. Faith staggers slightly as she goes to retrieve it. She picks it up, weighing it briefly in her palm. It's an Evian bottle, the liquid inside clear and cool. She considers whether or not it might be drugged or poisoned and Trick laughs from his perch in the observation room, seeming to read her thoughts. "Oh, come now Faith. If we wanted to drug or poison you, don't you think we'd have just done it while you were having your little siesta? The boss wants you hydrated for your little event later so drink up."

Faith considers this, on one side loathe to seem to be carrying out her captor's wishes but at the same time desperately wanting a drink to wash away the cottony feeling of her mouth and the bile taste in her throat. She opens the bottle, sniffs it briefly and after detecting no odor, she tips it up, taking some in her mouth and swishing it around. It was water, cool and heavenly. She tips the bottle up and drains half of it immediately, the cool rush of it down her throat helping to clear the last cobwebs in her brain and soothing her aching throat. Next she carefully pours some into her palm, taking pains to avoid dripping any on the collar and rubs some of it over her face, the cool wetness of it wonderful on the puffy skin around her eyes.

"That's the ticket," the black vampire tells her from the speaker. She ignores him and takes in her surroundings. The floor of the room is bare cement with nothing on it except for where her collar connects with the u-bolt. The walls are bare cinderblock except for the metal door on the farthest wall and the window just to the left and slightly above it where the vampire is leering down at her. Overhead the ceiling is tile, about 12 feet high and lit with cheap fluorescents.

"Where are Brenda and Duncan?" she asks finally, not sure if she'll get an answer.

"Oh they're safe as sleep for now," the voice is still low and courteous but there's a hint of amusement back in it now. "My name is Trick by the way. I suppose we could make a theme of it and just call you 'Treat' now couldn't we?"

"If you bastards do anything to hurt them-" Faith's warning is cut off by a low chuckle.

"You'll do what exactly?" Trick shakes his head. "Write a nasty letter? Call your lawyer? Dear, you are in no position to make threats. The Boss thought this one out pretty carefully and believe me when I say that he has more than ample experience in this kind of stuff," Trick's mouth twitches slightly. "The bonus side of that for you is that he knows that double-dealing is rarely useful. You just do your part and he'll do his. You co-operate and your friend and your Watcher get to live long healthy lives."

"So I'm just supposed to serve myself up like the buffet at Olive Garden and once I'm out of the picture your boss will just let them walk?" Faith snorts derisively. "Oh come on, how fucking stupid do you think I am?"

"Well stupid enough to get that fat boy killed and to get you, your friend and your Watcher caught by vampires at any rate," Trick's grin is wider this time, but his eyes flash with brief anger. "Either way, the Boss will get what he wants. One way it's quick and easy, the other way you get to watch him pull the innards out of your pals an inch at a time while they scream and beg," Trick gives her a magnanimous shrug from behind the glass. "It's your call pretty much."

Faith is silent after this comment. The bastard was holding all the cards and knew it. Her mind races to try and figure a way out, but a growing panicky voice inside her own head was telling her more and more loudly that she was fucked good and proper. "How long?" is all she can end up asking, her voice low and defeated. She sits down on the floor and puts her head in her hands, the long dark tresses of her hair obscuring her face.

"Cuppla hours maybe," Trick says jauntily and then stands up stretching. "Long enough to make peace with whatever god you worship I guess." His mouth twitches again as he looks down on Faith's slumped shoulders and resigned posture. "Oh don't be so glum sweets. Didn't your Watcher tell you this is how most Slayers go out?" he pauses as he takes out a cigar and clips the end of it neatly with a small silver tool from his suit coat pocket. He lights it and blows out a cloud of luxuriant smoke before keying the microphone one last time, "Not with a bang, but a whimper."

Part 5

End Game

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom?
Walking alone

T.S. Elliot – The Hollow Men

27

They'd gone to the funeral together after all. The call had come only a few weeks after Faith had been Chosen. Brenda answered the phone as Faith was prowling through the kitchen looking for something to eat. She'd gotten home just after sunrise, much to Brenda's chagrin. Faith had given her a lame sounding excuse about patrolling, but Brenda could smell the sour remnants of whiskey on the girl's breath and was convinced that she'd been out with her delinquent friend's from that horrid slum in Southie. Faith just shrugged off Brenda's complaints and had totally disarmed the Watcher by immediately stripping off all of her clothes, dropping them on the floor in a trail, as she headed for the shower. She and Faith had not been lovers yet and the sight of the smooth naked form of her Slayer had unhinged her completely. She was barely more than a child after all. But she's not a child, an unwelcome voice in Brenda's mind had informed her as the naked brunette disappeared behind the closing bathroom door. Brenda shook off the voice and went about filing her progress report for the Watcher's Council. Faith had come out 20 minutes later, wearing only a towel, her hair hanging wet and lank on her shoulders. The Slayer had gone immediately to the fridge.

"Hello," she remembers answering, still irritated with Faith and her own reaction to the girl's nudity.

"Hello," an authoritative male voice with a Boston twanged accent had greeted her. "Is there a Faith Lehane there please?"

"May I ask whose calling?" Brenda had been immediately on her guard. Even after only a few months acquaintance with her charge, Brenda knew that an authoritative voice on the phone asking for Faith could only mean trouble.

"My name is Detective Colin McNulty ma'am," the voice said politely. Brenda's heart sank, fearing the worst.

"And what is this call regarding Detective? I'm Miss Lehane's guardian Brenda Knowles." Faith looked up from the fridge upon hearing her name, a questioning look on her face and a carton of milk in her hand.

"Her guardian?" the detective's voice sounds confused. "Well ma'am, I'm calling with regard to Miss Lehane's mother. Is your ward available?"

Brenda hesitated, suddenly fearing something much worse than a possible call about vandalism or petty theft. "Uh, yes detective," Faith stiffened upon hearing the word 'detective' but Brenda just shook her head. She held out the phone to Faith, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. "Faith, it's a police officer. He's calling about your mother."

Faith's brow clouded briefly and she snorted in mild disgust. She strode forward, the towel slipping a little to reveal more of her cleavage, much to Brenda's discomfort. "Stupid bitch probably got tossed in the drunk-tank and needs someone to come collect her ass. Probably none of her sleazy boyfriends would come bail her out." Faith took the phone, the milk carton still in her free hand and she tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear to get it out of the way. "Hi. This is Faith."

Brenda moved away from her Slayer, sighing as she went to go close the refrigerator door that Faith always ended up leaving open. A wet thud and the sound of Faith gasping spun her around. A pool of milk was spreading beneath Faith's bare feet, the white liquid pooling around her toes from the dropped milk carton. What really grabbed Brenda's immediate attention was her Slayer's facial expression. Faith's face was almost as white as the milk spreading over the tiled floor and her eyes were wide and frightened. Suddenly she seemed to slump a bit, all the tension that had been sitting in her features a second before draining away and leaving her face sunken and grief-stricken. "When?" the Slayer said quietly. She nodded upon hearing the reply and said, "I'll be there soon."

"Faith?" Brenda had asked quietly, suddenly very frightened. "Faith, what's wrong?"

"It's my mother," Faith said woodenly, not looking at her Watcher. The brunette looked down at the milk spilled across her feet and on the floor, her eyes vacant. She absently lifted one foot and rubbed the damp instep on the calf of her other leg. "She's dead."

Brenda's mouth dropped open in shock. She took a hesitant step closer to her Slayer, wanting to comfort her but at the same time, not sure how the girl would feel if she touched her when she was practically nude. She compromised. She took the girl by the hand and tugged her toward a chair at the kitchen table. Faith moved to sit down and then looked over at the spilt milk on the floor. Wordlessly she pulled off her towel, only her panties still covering her damp form, and threw it on top of the spill. Brenda rushed off to get a robe and came back into the kitchen hesitantly. Faith was looking out the window at the early morning downtown traffic. Her wet hair was stuck to her neck and cheek and the morning light from the bay window was bathing her nearly nude form in soft yellow light. Brenda almost choked at the sight of her, the tragic look on her face and soft glisten of her still moist flesh making her look more angel than human. The Watcher caught herself and swore lightly under her breath as she hurried forward to drape the robe over Faith's shoulders. "Faith, what happened to her?"

"Choked to death on her own puke," Faith said in a matter-of-fact tone, her eyes still distant and lost looking. "She'd overdone it again and fell asleep on her back on the couch. Died in her sleep. They wouldn't even have found her if the neighbors hadn't bitched about the smell. They figure she's been dead almost a week."

"My God," Brenda said in utter shock. She tried to say something else but the words wouldn't come out.

"She used to call me Firecracker," Faith said absently, pulling the robe around her shoulders a little tighter and shivering a little despite the fact that it was late May and quite warm in the morning sunshine filtering through the big bay window of the kitchen. "It was like her pet name for me, ya know?" Faith shuddered again and looked over at Brenda, her eyes bright with tears. "She's at the morgue. They want me to come and sign some stuff."

The next few days were a bit of a blur. They had gone to the morgue and Faith had signed the death certificate for the coroner's office and then there was the lamentable task of going through Theresa's sparse belongings in the dingy apartment. Several of Theresa's neighbors had come by to help and between them and Brenda they had packed most of her useful belongings into a few cardboard boxes. The neighbors had taken what usable furniture there was and left the rest for Goodwill to pick up the following day. After they had left, Brenda found Faith sitting on the radiator, staring out the dusty window blankly. She approached the Slayer cautiously. "You can't blame yourself Faith," Brenda had said soothingly. A male voice interrupted her from the doorway leading out to the hallway behind them.

"She's not," Duncan said mildly. Brenda turned, a look of intense dislike on her face. She didn't know Duncan very well at that point but could sense that he was trouble. Duncan was about Brenda's own age, 22 and had greasy black hair and dark eyes. He grinned at her. "Faith knows it was only a matter of time before something like this happened."

"I hardly think that's an appropriate thing to say considering the circumstances," Brenda had nearly snarled at him. "Her mother just died for God's sake! Show a little common decency!"

"It's okay B.," Faith said quietly. Brenda turned to look at her and the Slayer was grinning at Duncan. Her eyes were still red from the tears she'd shed earlier, but she also looked happy to see him. "Dunc's right. My mom was a fuck-up from way back. If it hadn't been this it would have been her passing out with a lit cigarette or some low-life boyfriend who strangled her over $20."

"Faith I hardly think-" Brenda has started to say, appalled by what her charge had just said but Faith just cut her off.

"It's okay B. Why don't you just grab this stuff and roll. I'm gonna talk with Dunc for a bit."

"What?" Brenda was utterly bewildered. "How will you get home? Faith I really think you should come with me now. You can see," she cleared her throat slightly to make sure that the venom that she felt for Duncan at that instant wouldn't come out in her voice when she said his name, "Duncan later. Tomorrow, at the funeral."

"I don't think so," Faith said patiently, now getting up and wiping the seat of her trousers. The radiator was very dusty. "Just head back B. I'll catch up in an hour or two."

Several hours later Faith had come back to the apartment. She had offered no reason for her chat with Duncan. Brenda, feeling real anger now, refused to ask. Duncan hadn't been at the funeral, nor had any of Faith's other friends. Other than Faith and Brenda there were only a couple of Theresa's co-workers from the bakery and Mrs. DiMarco from Faith's old building. The elderly woman had come by and shook Faith's hand before leaving.

"Theresa's in a better place dear," the old woman had said gravely. "The young need to get on with the business of living. That's what your mother would have wanted for you."

"Thanks Mrs. D," Faith had replied quietly. The elderly woman just nodded and gave Brenda a curious look. "Theresa told me about you. Some sort of teacher aren't'cha?"

"Something like that ma'am," Brenda replied courteously.

"Well take care of her then," the woman said simply. She walked slowly over to a rusted old Studebaker and got in, the engine groaning in protest as she started it and pulled away.

Take care of her …

Take care of her then …

Well take care of her …

Brenda awakens with a start, cold sweat on her back and the small piece of wood cradled in her lap in the darkness. The rusted sound of a bolt being drawn back on the heavy metal door focuses her and she tucks the piece of wood under her blouse. The door opens and Duncan grins in at her, his head cocked to the side. "Rise and shine Brenda. It's time for you to play your part."

"Fuck you," Brenda says coldly, a little annoyed that her voice sounds so rough from just waking up and thirst.

"Oh we'll take care of that, don't you worry. Just as soon as you're done with your little part in this play, I'll make sure I fuck you good and proper. I already know which place on your body I'm planning to do it." Duncan's grin widens. "Now be a good little dyke and get to your feet."

Brenda rises slowly, careful to hide the bulge under her blouse with her forearm. Duncan winks at her and then beckons her forward, holding the door wide with one arm as he gestures out into the hall with the other. Brenda moves slowly and deliberately, moving her palm down her ribs until it cups the base of her make-shift stake, still keeping her forearm over the length of it to obscure it from Duncan's view. The second the son of a bitch took his eyes off of her she plans to plant it into his black and twisted heart. Fuck the consequences.

His eyes stay on her the whole way as she walks past him into the hallway. As soon as she is past him, she sees that they are alone in the hall. She breathes a quick sigh of relief and draws the stake from under her blouse as her back is facing him. He was too young; too confident in his strength and her fear. She hears him move to close the door and suddenly spins around, bringing the stake up and ready to plunge it into his chest with all her strength … except he isn't there. She feels a tap on her shoulder and whirls to see his yellow demon's eyes and glistening fangs inches from her own face.

"Boo!" he snarls and Brenda screams in fear, dropping the stake and nearly falling over. Duncan reaches down and picks it up, bouncing it lightly on his palm as he surveys the blonde Watcher. "Brenda, Brenda, Brenda. Do you really think that I'm as stupid as that?" He rolls his eyes and clucks his tongue, his fangs glittering in the overhead lights as he grins at her. "Trick has this whole placed wired with cameras. We saw you make your little stake there hours ago." Duncan pockets the piece of wood, still speaking as he turns back to his prisoner. "And what do you think you were going to accomp-" his lecture is cut short as Brenda lashes out at him, raking her nails deep into the side of his face and tearing the flesh. Duncan snarls in pain and rage, and then hits her hard on the cheek with an open hand and Brenda is flung backward against the wall, her head connecting with the concrete, causing her to bite her tongue hard and hit the floor with a jarring pain to her tailbone. She blinks away tears, tasting blood in her mouth, hot and coppery. Suddenly she's jerked to her feet and then she's struggling in the air, Duncan's hand is like a vice around her neck, her heels at least two feet off the floor as he lifts her by the throat.

"You'll pay for that you stupid fucking carpet muncher! I'm going to-"

"Let her go," another voice says from down the hall. Duncan's head turns and Brenda can hear his snarl of protest as the sound of footsteps approach. Her ears are roaring as she desperately tries to draw breath and she turns her head fractionally to see the dapper black vampire from before drawing nearer. "Put her down," Trick repeats quietly.

"I'm going to tear off her fingers and feed them to her!" Duncan roars in fury. "The stupid bitch scratched me!"

"Actually, unless I'm mistaken, you were being an arrogant little fuck and the lady here took the opportunity to teach you a small lesson," Trick tells Duncan evenly but his eyes flash dangerously. "What you are now throttling my man, is the only piece of living leverage that the boss has over your girlfriend. Now do you really want to be the guy that fucked that up for him?"

For the briefest of seconds, Duncan's grip on Brenda's throat tightened, nearly crushing her windpipe, and then she was on the floor, gasping and retching in a heap, her eyes blurred with tears and her throat aching madly. "Good decision," Trick's voice says. Brenda looks up and sees the blurry image of the black vampire leaning down to help her up. "Now why don't you run along and let the Boss know we're almost ready in the warehouse. I'll escort the lady here to her new accommodations."

Brenda's vision clears slightly and she feels a tiny fierce burst of triumph in her chest as she takes in the look on Duncan's face. His eyes are burning in their sockets and there are livid gashes on his cheek from where her nails had raked it. His mouth works in silent fury and then he turns on his heel and stalks away. Trick clucks his tongue a little at Duncan's form as the other vampire rounds a corner and disappears from view. "Not the sharpest knife in the drawer is he?" He looks back at the blonde Watcher and smiles. "But I wouldn't be trying a little stunt like that on me Miss Knowles. I said the boss needs you alive. I never said just how alive he needs you. Now if you would be so kind?" He gestures down the hall toward a stairway at the end. Brenda moves toward it, massaging her still very sore throat and Trick talks merrily behind her as they move along to head upstairs. "The boy was useful, I'm the first to admit it, but I think he's a bit of a loose cannon. The Boss is right. We should probably just finish him off when the ritual is done." They pass the corner where Duncan had turned to go find Kakistos. "You probably won't shed any tears for him, will you Miss Knowles."

"Not bloody likely," Brenda says under her breath as they reach the stairs. They head up, Trick still chatting and commenting as Duncan slinks back out from around the corner. His hand moves up to touch the cuts on his cheek and he looks down at the blood on his fingers. "I'm more than a loose cannon my nigger friend. I'm a fucking Hiroshima waiting to happen." Duncan glances at his watch and makes his decision. It's time to get Faith and go. Hiroshima may be an understatement. From his understanding of what happens to Slayers that are turned, it'll make the A-bomb look like a firecracker.

28

The room is lit with several torches on holders lining the cement walls. Kakistos is swathed in an enormous crimson robe, his massive head framed by the fur collar surrounding the neck of it. He paces back and forth impatiently as two other vampires work inside of a massive black pentagram painted on the floor. They are bent over a small fire in a bronze brazier, casting in herbs and chanting lowly, almost under their breath. The flicker of the flames of both the torches and the brazier cause the huge vampire's shadow to dance crazily across the cold surface of the cement walls as he strides back and forth, tense anticipation seeming to dominate every inch of his massive frame. In the east wall of the room is a heavy iron door that sits open and leads out to a long echoing hallway. In the north-west corner is a steel cage, its heavy bars extending vertically to about six feet in height and horizontally about eight feet, and a large open padlock dangling on the latch of the cage's door. Several heavy chains are wrapped around the top of the cage like cold serpents and lead to a strange looking pulley device in the ceiling directly above the enclosure. From there they lead down to an old and rust peppered winch that is attached to the wall next to the cage. From the long hallway come the sounds of multiple footsteps approaching the chamber. Kakistos pauses briefly in his pacing as the footsteps Doppler to reveal a very subdued Brenda, who enters the room with Trick sharp on her heels. The black vampire is keeping up a stream of light conversation with the terrified Watcher as he enters.

"So you grew up in London huh? I was in London back, oh I guess 50 or so years ago when the Boss had some business to take care of. We made a fortune in hijacking blood supplies during the war, mostly stuff headed for mobile hospitals in France and Italy. The Boss needed to wrap up some loose ends with the Brit's War Department -" Trick looked up to see his employer's fierce expression, "Oh hey Boss," Trick gives Kakistos a toothy salesman's grin and a brief nod in response to the larger vampire's glowering stare. "Miss Knowles and I were just having a little chat about England. Remember when we stowed away on the troop carrier and ate the whole damn platoon before-"

Kakistos cuts him off with a snarl and Trick just shrugs and grins again. "Where's the brat?" Kakistos asks sharply.

"Wired like a Christmas tree and biding her time downstairs," Trick replies offhand. He grimaces and picks at some invisible lint on the crease of his pants. "She's not going anywhere."

"Fine," Kakistos growls, his voice still surly and impatient. "Lock her up," he indicates Brenda with the merest of nods in her direction and Trick nods quickly and gives Brenda shove toward the cage. Brenda, not knowing what to do or how to resist, complies and finds herself in the cage with Trick, looking up apprehensively at the chains above her. Trick reaches up and pulls them down and now Brenda can see that it is actually one heavy chain with four much shorter ones linked to it. On the end of each of the shorter chains is a heavy iron manacle.

"Now hold still dear," Trick says lightly and before Brenda can react he has closed two of the manacles, one over each of her wrists. Brenda tries to struggle but Trick seizes her hair and smashes her head off the bars of the cage, stunning her and causing the Watcher's vision to blur with tears of pain. She can feel a little blood running from her scalp and across her temple and cheek as the vampire snaps the other two manacles into place over her ankles. This accomplished, he steps out of the cage and closes the door, snapping the heavy padlock into place. There is a squawk of rusted metal and suddenly, Brenda feels her feet jerk out from beneath her and she falls backward, only to be brought to a joint-wrenching halt as the manacles on her arms prevent her from falling all the way to the floor. Trick is winding the winch next to the cage quickly and in seconds she finds herself spread-eagled, face up in the cage, her body a good three feet above the ground as the manacles on her wrists and ankles bite cruelly into her flesh, suspending her in mid air. Fiery pain seizes her joints as the strain of her weight is brought to bear on her wrists and ankles. She lets out a low shriek and Trick chuckles from the edge of the cage next to her.

"Well we can't have you getting away on us can we?" he asks her rhetorically. Brenda bites her lip to keep from crying out again. She hears a low hissing noise approaching from the side of the cage that she can't see and a few seconds later a figure appears atop her cage, setting what looks like a large wooden basin directly above her. The hissing is more pronounced now and she can tell it's coming from the bowl. A fit of terror seizes her as she imagines a wriggling mass of deadly snakes within it. Trick seems to understand her fear and makes soothing noises from his vantage point next to the cage. "Now, now Miss Knowles, don't fret too much. There's more than enough pointy teeth in the room without us bringing in snakes. That bowl contains a highly corrosive sulfuric acid. It ought to take about an hour or so to completely eat away the bottom of the bowl before it gushes down all over you. Of course," she can hear the shrug in his voice, "there will probably be a few drips and drabs that will eat their way through before the bottom completely gives out, so there might be some intense burning agony from that, but nothing fatal."

Kakistos snorts derisively as Brenda's screams of protest echo in the chamber. He nods to the other two vampires who are touching the five points of the pentagram, anointing each spur with smoldering contents from the brazier as the flames die down. "Trick," he beckons the black vampire forward. "Get the bitch from her cell. It's time."

29

Duncan's POV

I race across the hallway, still expecting to be out of breath, even though I don't need it. I can feel a surge in my limbs and yet no real sensation of exertion occupies my body as I make my way to Faith's cell. I slow as I approach the corridor to her cell. The hallway outside is occupied by two guards smoking and looking very bored as I round the corner. The closest one is balding and short and the other one is taller and has a shock of unruly dark hair. In my mind I decide to call them George and Kramer. Both of them look toward me as I approach, trying to look just as bored as they are. I jerk a thumb at the locked iron door. "It's time. Kakistos wants her."

Neither of them look to sure of what to do next. George gives a little nod at the door and picks up the tranquilizer gun that is leaning against the wall. "Trick said not to let her go anywhere until he came for her." His voice is nasal and cold. Obviously Trick has left very specific instructions for them.

I keep my face expressionless and nod, thinking furiously. "Said the same thing to me. He'll be along in a minute. He just wants her tranqed before he gets here." I give them a lopsided grin. "Can't be too careful with a Slayer right?" Kramer is still looking at me suspiciously but George seems to be undecided. "Look, I know I'm the new kid but even I know that when the Boss says jump it's a 'how high?' sort of situation. Trick needed to grab a few things on the way and sent me to let you know he's on his way." I roll my eyes theatrically. "The English bitch spat on him and the prissy bastard went to change his shirt." Both of them relax a little and the taller one chuckles.

"Fuckin' guy's worse than chick. Hang on," he reaches into his pocket and takes out a heavy iron ring with a few keys on it. "I think it's the middle one." As he turns toward the door with the key ring I suddenly grab the barrel of the dart gun and shove it up under Shorty's chin. He reacts automatically, his finger tightening on the trigger and sends a dart up into the fleshy jowl under his chin. He gasps and staggers back into Kramer as I move quickly, whipping out the stake I'd taken from Brenda and planting it deep into Kramer's chest. He gasps and looks down before crumbling to ash. Shorty slides down the wall, the dart protruding from his neck and his eyes rolling back. His huge ass hits the floor and he slumps sideways, stirring up the ashes on the floor that are all that are left of his partner. I lean down and stake him too; can't be too careful after all. I pick up the fallen key ring and open the door.

Faith is huddled on the floor, a massive iron collar on her neck and her hands and wrists shackled as well, with a short length of chain running between the manacles holding her wrists and the ones on her ankles. The collar is attached to a large U-bolt driven into the floor. She looks up when she hears me come in and the look on her face would have been funny if I wasn't in such a big fucking hurry. Her eyes are wide with disbelief and her mouth is open wide enough to drive a truck through. "Duncan?" Her voice sounds just as shocked. "What the fuck? What happened to your face? How …"

I make a cutting gesture with my thumb across my throat and shake my head to shut her up. I hurry over to her, "No time to explain," I whisper as I crouch next to her. "I managed to surprise the guard they sent to come get me." I give her a crooked smile. "I guess they were so worried about looking after your Chosen ass that they forgot even us regular Joe prisoners can fight back too. I still managed to get clawed by the female one though," I touch my face ruefully, thinking it's a shame I won't get to pay that Brenda cunt back personally.

"Dunc, listen, you gotta make a run for it," Faith is still wide eyed, but now its fear and not surprise. "They got me hogtied with some electric gizmo and if you try and get me loose it'll just cook us both. You have to …" I cut her off with a grin and dangle the keys in front of her face. She gives me a stunned look, "How?"

"Again with the not a lot of time Faith," I tell her trying to sound firm and mysterious all at the same time. "I'll write you a fuckin' book about it after we get out of here but the guy who came to get me was making noise like they were coming to get you next so let's just focus on the getting away part right now."

Thankfully Faith swallows and nods, holding out her wrists. I try the keys and find the one that unlocks them. I get her loose and she gets up slowly, massaging the bruises on her wrists from the heavy iron manacles. "Remind me to not tip when we check out," she mutters and then looks around. We hurry to the doorway and look out the hallway. Faith picks up the fallen dart gun and gives me an odd look.

"Where'd this come from?"

"Took it off my guard after I staked him," I reply, making a show of looking up and down the hallway so I don't have to look her in the eyes. I hand over the stake and take the gun from her. "Probably better if you carry the wood. I'm thinking you've got the better hand-to-hand mojo. I'm better off at a distance."

Faith just nods thankfully and doesn't push. I start to head down the hallway when she grabs my wrist however. "We have to get Brenda."

I look back at her and give her my best puppy dog look. "Faith, I …I think she's dead. The guard that took me out of my cell liked to talk and he said that they'd already done her in. I think that …"

Now it's Faith who's cutting me off. "No way Dunc. Kakistos wants me to go along with his little ritual and he knows that there's no way I'll play nice unless I can see that you and B are safe. She's alive. We just have to," she stops and gives me a weird look and I'm suddenly aware that her hand is still closed over my wrist. I jerk it out of her grip and do my best to look confused.

"Are you nuts Faith? That's exactly what he would want you to do! Don't you get it? If you stay here, he wins. Brenda would want you to run. Let's just get the fuck out of here okay?"

Faith is still looking at me but her expression is now hard and thoughtful. "Scared are you?"

"What? Fuck Faith, I'm terrified." I try and look furious. "Faith, unless you missed the fucking update, we are in an abandoned warehouse full of fucking vampires! How am I supposed to feel? Giddy?"

Suddenly Faith is on me. She grabs my shirtfront and slams me into the wall with bone rattling force. "Have you lost your mind?" I nearly scream at her.

"If you're so fucking scared, why isn't your pulse racing?" She reaches into her back pocket and suddenly a horrible burning sensation presses into my forearm. I jerk back, the flesh smoking as Faith holds the tiny silver cross, a look of mixed loathing and horror on her face. "It was you," her voice is barely a whisper and her shoulders are shaking. She drops the tiny cross on the floor and her eyes are dark and fathomless as she looks at me. "You did this. All of it."

"Faith," I try and keep my voice steady as I take a careful step away from her. Well, she was bound to find out eventually. I swallow hard and then look her directly in the eyes. "Yeah, it was me."

"You bastard," her voice is louder now, but the hurt in it is somehow frailer sounding then the whisper was. "You fucking bastard." Suddenly her body shakes violently, "Those scratches on your face … Brenda did those didn't she?"

"Faith, listen to me." I ignore her question about the English twat and keep my tone level and reasonable. "I didn't want to. I fought them but they made me into this." I hold out my forearm, the burnt flesh still smoldering in the shape of a cross. "I didn't know what to do. I figured that the only way that I could keep us safe was to play along. At least this way I'd know what they were doing and that I could make my … I mean that we could make our move when the time was right."

"Spanky," her voice is low and still drenched with that broken sounding tone of despair. "And Paco too Duncan?"

"Paco and Spanky were idiots," I snarl, the fury getting the better of me for a moment. "I mean, they woulda probably both been dead in a year or two anyhow. Deal gone bad, hot shot, whatever. At least this way they could go out helping me save you." I try and take a tiny step toward her. "But Faith, this way we can both have power. I can help you. I can help you get even with all the motherfuckers that hurt you. We can get Kakistos Faith." Her eyes glitter momentarily and I push on, trying to keep my voice low and earnest. "You can be the Slayer or whatever … or better yet, I can make you like me." She still doesn't say anything, but now tears are streaming down her cheeks. "Think about it Faith. You and me, together forever. We never get old, never get grey hair or dentures or varicose veins. Just us … The Originals. The Immortals from Southie."

Faith still remains silent. She's shaking harder now, everything about her beaten and vulnerable. This is it. This is the time. I step closer to her and brush the hair from her neck. Her silky white skin is like an invitation and I lean in, my face shifting and my fangs bared. "It only hurts for a minute Firecracker."

"Yeah," Faith whispers. "It does." Suddenly a piercing agony is in my chest. I look down and see the end of the stake protruding from my chest like some sort of weird lapel pin.

"Faith?" I nearly scream as I feel the world swim away and my body start to crumble.

"Bye Dunc."

30

Trick is whistling as he rounds the corner to the hallway where Faith's cell is. He stops mid-tune and freezes in his tracks, surveying the hallway ahead of him. Crouched in the middle of the floor in front of the heavy iron door is a female aiming a dart gun directly at him. His mouth is suddenly very dry. He swallows once, acutely aware that he is now alone with a very pissed off Vampire Slayer who happens to have the drop on him. He tries to smile and holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Careful sweetie, this suit costs more than most cars. Let's not go putting any unnecessary holes in it, okay?"

"Where is she?" Faith's voice is low, cold and lethal.

"If by 'she' you mean your pretty blonde Watcher, she's quite safe and sound at the moment." Trick's heightened vampire senses catch the sharp intake of breath and momentary shudder that this news causes in the Slayer. Not good. The last thing he wants is for her to feel in control. "But you should probably note that I said 'for the moment'," He sees her stiffen at his words. Better. "My dear, you need to understand this very, very clearly." The black vampire is thinking very quickly now. "I can surmise that you got free with a little help from your friend Duncan. You do understand the position he was in here don't you?"

"Of course," Faith almost snarls, suddenly anger coming off her in waves that Trick can almost see. She pushes a few long tresses away from her eyes, giving the vampire the full benefit of their dark and loathing stare. "You bastards found one of my friends, got him jammed up with drugs and debts to get information and to use him as bait, then made him a piece of shit monster, just like you."

"Mostly right, but oh so wrong on the important details," Trick tries another grin. His best hope is to keep her off balance; keep her from thinking clearly. Slayer strength or not, she's just a kid after all. "Your friend was the one that came to us."

Faith jerks at this. Her eyes widen in shock that is quickly replaced by a killing rage. "Shut your fucking mouth. You lying sack of shit, just you shut your fucking mouth."

"Faith," Trick sighs dramatically, his hands still raised, and shakes his head. "Think about it. You know I'm not lying."

Faith's mind races. She remembers the conversation in the diner like it was yesterday. Some guy named Doritos or something like that.

"No," she finally whispers.

Trick steps forward, now only a few paces from the Slayer. "Of course it's true. What purpose does me lying about this serve?" The vampire gives her a sympathetic smile. "This is how the world works Faith. No games here. Think about this. I know all about you from my conversations with your dusty friend. Isn't disappointment pretty much the theme of your whole life? Drunken whore of a mom, always broke, perverted men, drugs and overdoses … T-Boy," Trick had chosen this name for effect and got what he wanted. The Slayer looked like she'd been kicked in the chest, her knuckles white and straining around the stock on the rifle. "Betrayal is life Faith. It's as natural as breathing or chewing your food before you swallow."

"No," Faith's voice shakes badly as she speaks. Her throat feels tiny and constricted, like she's drawing air through a passage the size of a pinhole. She takes a couple of steps away from the vampire. "That's not true. Brenda," she grasps the image of Brenda from her mind like a mental life jacket. "Brenda wouldn't do that to me." She takes a couple of deep breaths and swallows hard. "Maybe Duncan did what you said and maybe he didn't. But it doesn't matter anymore. He's gone and Brenda would never do something like that to me, so quit fucking with my head."

"Ah yes, the Watcher." Trick gives her a sad shake of his head. "She pleaded with me Faith. Begged me to spare her and kill you instead. Screamed it in fact."

"Shut up!" Faith screams at him. The vampire blinks and takes a small step away from her, watching her closely. "Where is she you son of a bitch? Take me to her right the fuck now or you'll be living in an ashtray."

"Of course," Trick says courteously. "It is why I came down here after all," the vampire turns nonchalantly and hears the loud metallic rasp of the rifle bolt being drawn back. He pauses and shakes his head again. "Miss Lehane, unless you expect me to walk backward the whole way, I have to face this direction."

"Oh, right." He can hear confusion and uncertainty in her voice. Perfect. "Okay, just no sudden moves."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Trick says wryly. He sets off down the hallway, acutely aware of the sound of the Slayer's feet behind him, the pace somewhat uncertain. The two move down the hallway towards the turn to the stairs that head to the level that Brenda and the ritual room are located. "You do realize that my boss will never trade your friend for me right?" Trick tells her in a low and reasonable tone as they round the corner. "Not much in the way of employee loyalty in the evil taskmaster business I'm afraid."

"Shut up," Faith tells him, a little too harshly in Trick's opinion. She's obviously out of her depth and making her plans as she goes. "Just lead me there and let me worry about the rest."

"Whatever you say sweetie," Trick says, grinning as he rounds the corner to the main hallway, his back out of the Slayer's sights for the briefest of seconds. The hallway is full of doorways and corridors leading off of it and before Faith can round the corner he puts on a preternatural burst of speed and makes an immediate left, then right and burrows deep in a shadowy corner, his demon eyes perfectly comfortable in the near blackness of the hallway. He hears the girl curse loudly as she finds him missing and grins despite the situation. Normally, trapped in a maze of corridors with a desperate and angry Slayer isn't exactly what a vampire hopes for. However, this Slayer isn't hunting him, she's on a rescue mission and needs him in one piece. "Faith," he whispers, the faintest echo of it seeming to hug the cold cement walls.

Faith freezes, the faintest rumor of Trick's voice reaching her ears. The echoes make it impossible to know from which direction it came from. "Bastard," she says in a voice that was meant to sound threatening but instead sounds desperate and defeated. "If you don't-"

"Don't what?" Trick whispers again as he darts from his shadowy corner toward a small doorway that leads to the plumbing and vent access spaces. Silently he swings himself inside and nimbly scales an electrical PVC tube to get into the rafters of the drop ceiling. He straddles the tops of the acoustical tiles set between the studs of the ceiling, stepping lightly from rafter to rafter before pausing above a cold air return and hissing down into the hallway below. "Still feel in control Faith?"

He's moving before the frustrated scream below him reaches his ears and he can hear her footfalls rushing blindly below him, trying to locate the source of his voice. He slides a few rafters to the left and finds himself above another register leading down to an empty office below. He grins even wider and bellows down into the room below, "I'm right here Faith! Right here with your friend! Come get me if you can!" With acrobatic grace he springs several rafters over and tight-walks along a narrow strip of rafter as the crash of a shattered door reaches his ears from the empty room he'd just shouted down into. The girl's sobs of fear and anger are like music in his ears. Her breathing is ragged now and Trick takes the opportunity to swing a few extra rafters over to give himself some extra distance from her.

Faith is looking around frantically, her hands flexing on the dart gun and a panicked voice raging in her head. Where the fuck is he? Where is Brenda? Her hair is matted with sweat and part of her is screaming to just run and get away. A clank and a giggle from the hallway behind her causes her to whirl in fear and anger and she nearly trips on the small threshold of the door as she hurries back out into the corridor. Which way had she come in dammit? Her sense of direction seems to have completely left her and she hears Trick's snickers and whispered taunts seemingly all around her. "Stop it," her words come out in nearly a sob, her chest heaving in panic and despair. "Please," the last word is almost a whimper.

"It doesn't have to be like this Faith," Trick's voice is barely above a whisper and seems to come from several places at once, low and almost soothing. "We both want the same things."

"FUCK YOU!" Faith sprints a few more yards and whirls to her right to expose another empty hallway. There are tears streaming down her cheeks now and the wooden stalk of the rifle cracks in her hand as she squeezes it hard. "You're not – You can't tell me what to do you bastard." Suddenly the memory of Duncan's voice is back in her ears, It only hurts for a minute Firecracker.

"Faith," Trick's voice is like a caress now, seeming to fill her ears even though it's barely above a whisper. "You knew it would come to this. You've always known. T-Boy knew. You're mother knew. Duncan knew." She's sobbing now, the rifle clattering to the floor and she crouches, her hands over her face as her body shakes with sobs. An acoustical tile above her slides back and Trick drops like a cat to the floor beside her. Faith barely seems to notice, her whole body wracked with sobs, His cold brown hair touches her neck almost like a lover's. "It's okay Faith, it'll be all over soon." The brunette Slayer doesn't flinch from his touch and after a minute she takes a few breaths and gazes up at him with tear streaked cheeks, a look of defeat in her dark eyes. Wordlessly she stands and allows Trick to bind her hands with his belt. He pats her shoulder almost affectionately and she follows him like an obedient pet as he heads down the hallway towards Brenda and Kakistos.

31

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

She repeats the words over and over in a whisper but they bring no comfort to the blonde Watcher. The smoke in the wooden bowl above her cage is growing thicker and her pleas and threats seem to have no effect at all over her captors. Kakistos is pacing, his hooves clicking across the cold cement of the floor. Her joints are fiery with the pain of her weight and the manacles on her wrists and ankles are cutting cruelly into her flesh. Suddenly the heavy iron door opens and her heart skips for a moment to see Faith following the black vampire called Trick. It sinks just as suddenly however when she realizes that Faith's hands are tightly bound by a heavy leather strap and that she is obviously there as the brought and not the bringer. "Faith," her voice is barely a croak.

The Slayer's eyes widen in confusion and fear as they take in Brenda's position in the room, hanging from the manacles in the cage. Her arms jerk instinctively up but the vampire guards in the room are upon her far too quickly, seizing her arms and forcing her toward another set of manacles on the wall. In seconds her Slayer has both her wrists securely fastened in chains to the wall. Kakistos gives Mr. Trick a strange look. "You brought her here following you with just a wrist binding?"

Trick grins, "Don't sweat it Boss. Miss Lehane is here of her own free will."

"Faith, don't do it!" Brenda screams at her girl friend. "Whatever they do to me, nothing is more important that you not letting them finish this!"

Faith stiffens at this and gives a triumphant grin. "Told you asshole," but the black vampire just grins and walks over the Brenda's cage and kicks it. Tiny droplets of acid flick over the side of the massive wooden bowl and fall on Brenda's torso, smoking horribly as they eat through her clothing and start burrowing into her flesh. The blonde screams in pain and Faith screams with her, lunging futilely against her bonds. "Stop it you bastards! I agreed to do what you want you motherfuckers!"

Brenda's screams are dying to whimpers now and Kakistos chuckles softly, giving Trick a nod of approval. "You've done well my friend." He gives Faith a sneering nod as well. "And you seem to understand you're plight." He moves closer to the chained Slayer and suddenly seizes her jaw in his hooven hand. "The three rules of true power my dear. Want," he pushes her jaw upward, his cold blue eyes burning directly into her dark ones, "take," he withdraws a knife from his belt and cuts her shallowly across the cheek, "and have," his massive rough tongue snakes its way over the small swell of blood on her face and he grunts with pleasure. He replaces the knife in his belt and releases her chin, pointing a cloven hand at the other hooded vampires in the room hovering by the brazier. "Let's get this started." The hooded vampires all hurry toward the brazier, only to be halted by Faith's voice, cool and clear in the hard cement confines of the room.

"Not so fast," she tells them, long lanks of her brown hair hanging across her face. "First you get that shit off of Brenda's cage."

"Oh yes," Kakistos gives her a lopsided smile and nods at Trick. The black vampire walks casually to the cage and before Faith can even cry out, reaches up between the bars and topples the acid filled bowl down on the Watcher below.

Brenda's eyes fly open, even as the vampire moves to touch the bowl. The contents seem to splash down over the edges in freeze frame. Suddenly everything she's ever been taught flies out the window as self preservation and terror kick in. "NO!" she screams, even as the searing pain of the liquid slashes over her midsection, fusing the cloth of her clothes with the horribly dissolving flesh of her abdomen. Even as her mind detaches to protect itself from the horror of it all, she can hear her own voice screaming in terror, "NO! Take her! I'm not the one you want! Kill her, not me!" The horrible stretching and burning sensation however is all that is occupying her thoughts now as flesh, muscle and bone turn into a viscous substance beneath her and she feels her body sag toward the floor, suddenly in pieces as the acid separates her torso from her legs, cauterizing the veins and arteries and preventing her from dying too quickly.

Faith's mind seems to teeter as she watches the splash of acid fall over Brenda like some sort of obscene bikini ad. The smell of scorched flesh assaults her nostrils and smoke billows off the screaming and struggline Watcher. A sickeningly meaty thud reaches her ears as the Watcher's body separates and the ragged scorched meat of her torso collides with the floor. "NO!" Faith shrieks, just after her mind registers Brenda' last scream. "Take her! I'm not the one you want! Kill her, not me!" She crashes forward, the manacles at her wrists snapping her back as cement flakes from the wall fly from the strain of keeping their heavy iron anchors in place. "I'll kill you all!

"Oh don't be so judgmental," Trick says smiling, ignoring Brenda's screams and writhing half body still flopping frantically in the cage behind him. He takes out a small knife and cuts himself high on the forearm, taking the time to show Faith the ooze of his blood. He then turns and moves to the cage, dangling his bleeding forearm over the frenzied torso of Brenda.

"You can't!" Faith is part screaming and part sobbing, blood streaming freely from her forearms as she fights like a demented woman against her bonds. "Brenda!"

For Brenda there is a small part of her that seems to be watching this from a sky box with commentary. In this version of her perspective there is a cold denial. She can't actually be in half, can she? That would be ridiculous, someone has made a mistake. Yet there's the cold reality of the enormous chewing pain that is controlling every aspect of her consciousness, and the unreality of feeling the ragged edges of her charred flesh brushing over cement as her severed torso swings gently from her manacled position. It's okay Brenda, part of her mind keeps trying to tell her. You can live like a muppet for the rest of your live. Who needs legs or ovaries or hips anyhow? You'll save a fortune on shoes… and jeans … and belts … and MY FUCKING BOTTOM HALF IS GONE! The blood drips over her face from Trick's cut wrist and she licks at the moisture almost instinctively. In seconds her insides are seized by some sort of cold fire and while she considers this, all that was human in Brenda Knowles dies.

Faith screams again and yanks harder against the iron manacles on her wrists. Brenda … or what's left of her, is jerking cruelly against the floor, ragged edges of crispy flesh sucking against the smoldering concrete below. Her legs are dangling and twisting from the ankle cuffs, charred pieces of fabric falling away to reveal blackened hints of the creamy thighs that Faith remembered from only last night. As Trick's blood enters her girlfriend's mouth, Faith can see her Watcher shudder and become still. Kakistos is roaring with laughter and motions for his hooded vampire mystics to continue. Faith feels a coldness grip her like never before. Again its Duncan's voice in her ears. "I can help you get even with all the motherfuckers that hurt you. We can get Kakistos Faith."

Again and again, she batters her wrists against the chains in the walls. One of the vampires next to the brazier mutters and casts handful of herbs into the fire. Kakistos bellows in triumph and looks at Faith directly. "It's time Slayer."

The Originals, Spank, T-Boy, Duncan, Brenda; Faith's brain is a jumble of faces. Suddenly she looses a primeval scream and jerks her right arm forward with all of her might. There's a groan of concrete and metal as the deep, barbed iron anchor pulls free from the wall with a screech of rending stone. She whirls it over her head and crashes the 20 pound chuck of concrete and iron into one of the advancing vampire's head at about 75 miles an hour. His head explodes against the wall like a ripe melon and the rest of the body immediately turns to ash. Mr. Trick's grin immediately fades to a look of fear. Faith takes the opportunity to flip her other manacle's chain over her shoulder and gives an earth moving heave against it. Her skin peels back from her wrist where the manacle digs into it like a banana, but the sheer force of her pull yanks the anchor and a fair bit of cement free from the wall. Faith jerks her arms backward, taking most of the slack from her chains into her hands, and then starts a double figure eight pattern, whirling the cement and iron fragments from her manacle's anchors in lethal arcs, one connecting with another of the hooded vampires and crushing his head like a walnut. Trick leaps toward the door, barely avoiding a deadly swing from the Slayer that sprays fragments of cement across the room and leaves a massive dent in the heavy iron door. Kakistos, however, is less afraid and ducks a swing from Faith's makeshift mace and smashes a hoof into her chest with crushing force. Faith flies back across the room, her chains flying with her and one of the cement and iron ends smashing down in a pool of the spilled acid in Brenda's cage, hissing violently.

"Stupid bitch!" The ancient vampire roars, kicking the brazier to the floor, sparks flying. "I will have what I want!' He steps forward and moves to stomp the brunette's head to smithereens

In a panic, Faith rolls, flailing her right arm across her face to protect it as she does. The heavy chain on her wrist is jerked forward and the smoldering acid-soaked iron anchor from her manacle smashes into one of the bars of Brenda's cage and ricochets into Kakistos's face, puncturing his right eye like a balloon and burning a horrible groove into the flesh above and below.

The ancient vampire screams in agony and staggers away. Trick appears from the doorway and seizes his master, the two of them staggering away down the hall with Kakistos bellowing vengeance and hatred that fades as they move farther away.

Faith gets unsteadily to her feet and simply stands on weak knees as she tries to gather herself. Finally able to open her eyes, the Slayer surveys the room. One of the hooded vampires is crawling for the door, his head horribly lop-sided underneath the hood. Faith takes up one of her heavy chains and starts pounding on its head, the sick sound of crunching bone and cement only seeming to increase her rage. After a few minutes all that is left of her quarry is a mess of blood soaked dust. Not wanting to see what is in the cage, she finally turns to see Brenda's eyes fixed on her.

"Faith," the swinging torso of her Watcher croaks. Faith feels waves of revulsion in her stomach looking at her Watcher's remnants, both Trick's and Brenda's words echoing in her head.

"She pleaded with me Faith. Begged me to spare her and kill you instead. Screamed it in fact."

"Take her! I'm not the one you want! Kill her, not me!"

"Brenda?"

"Oh god Faith," the Watcher is sobbing now, her voice thick with pain and death. "Please help me."

"Brenda," Faith's voice is like a rasp now, cold and vicious. "Brenda you drank from him."

"I didn't want to Faith!" Brenda's voice is full of despair and self-loathing. "I swear it's not what I wanted! Please, baby, you have to believe me!"

Faith squats next to her Watcher, her dark eyes fixed on Brenda's blue ones. Slowly she pulls the small cross from her pocket. Brenda eyes it fearfully, knowing what is about to happen. "No, Faith listen. Listen please. Dammit, listen to me!" Her voice trails off into a scream as Faith pushes the cross into the blonde Watcher's forehead and smoke erupts from her flesh. "It doesn't mean anything Faith," Brenda pleads, even as she feels the demon now inside her scream in pain. "We can fix it. I know how; they taught me how and, NO YOU CAN'T!" Faith casually flicks a lighter and sets the ragged bottom of Brenda's shirt on fire. The flames catch at her flesh and she can start to feel the licks of fire working on her skin. "Please baby! Please!"

The blonde torso writhes in the cage as the flames start to consume her and the last thing that Brenda sees is the empty and cold look of her ex-girlfriend as she gets to her feet. "Sorry lady, but I told you before, I don't talk to cops, lawyers … or traitors." Faith watches silently as the severed torso becomes a screaming and wriggling mass of flames. Soon the body explodes into a cloud of sparks and ash, the last of the screams ringing in echoes down the cement hallway behind her. Wiping her eyes with her blood soaked hand, Faith sinks to the stone floor, curling up and covering her face with her hands as sobs wrack her body.

Epilogue

Carson had caught the train out of Portland Maine. It was September now and the thought of a New England winter had him heading south, despite how good the tourist pickings were on Labor Day. Three years of homelessness had taught him that he who stays longest, stays coldest. Better to eat a little less for a few weeks but sleep warm until all the rich Canadians made their way to Florida for the winter to panhandle from. When the side door of his train car had rattled open at a stop just outside of Salem Massachusetts, he'd instantly flown to his feet and was ready to dive for cover when a slip female form had slipped in quietly, pulling the door shut behind her. Pale lights from the train station settle briefly over the girl's features and Carson's breath catches in his throat. Whoever his compartment companion is, she is obscenely hot. After a moment the train starts moving and Carson decides to clear his throat and let her know he is there. The result is electric. In less then a second he finds himself pinned to the filthy floor of the train, an iron grip on his throat and dark eyes peering into his terrified eyes from a tangle mass of brown hair. "Hey" he manages to squeak despite the pressure on his throat from her grip. The hand on his neck loosens just enough for him to sip a breath.

"Who are you?"

"Carson," he replies in barely a squeak. "Just riding for free."

The cold brows eyes survey him briefly and then the hand on his throat is gone and he's sucking down ragged whoops of air. "Faith." There's no offer to shake hands.

"Hell of a grip you got there," Carson pushes himself up to a sitting position, one hand moving to his bruised throat. "Where you going?"

The brunette shrugs and moves a few feet away, settling against one of the sides of the rattling car. "Wherever."

"Gotcha," Carson isn't sure of what to do next. He's terrified and yet at 6'3" and 220 lbs he's very unused to playing mouse to any fellow stowaway's cat. "Well this train goes to Mississippi and then to Florida. Good weather there. That's where I'm headed."

The brunette's dark eyes survey him stoically and a cold chill erupts down Carson's back. Suddenly his palms are very damp. Finally she speaks again. "Mississippi? That's on the way to California, right?"

"Sure," suddenly he feels a lot better. Just some stupid bitch, wanting to go to Hollywood and fuck a movie star. "But Florida is nice at this time of year too." Hell, if he's nice to her, she'll probably pity fuck him and who knows? No hot girls ever starve to death in America and if he plays his cards right, maybe this one can be his meal ticket. Neither of them speak for a while as visions of pimp clothes and Cadillacs race through Carson's mind. Finally the brunette breaks the silence with a question.

"You know what train to get on in Mississippi to get to California?"

"Sure," Carson grins at her, trying to look sage and helpful. "But this is a pay as you go world hon. What's in it for me?"

Carson re-evaluates this question only moments later as the gravel next to the train track whizzes by his face at a space of a mere inch or so as the girl hangs him out the side of the moving box-car by an ankle. Deciding that survival is more important that image, he tells her everything he knows about the train system. Eventually she pulls him inside and Carson figures that a spot in the farthest corner away from her is probably the best place to be. He watches her silently for quite some time wondering if that rage will surface again, but despite his fear he finally manages to drift off to sleep. In a few hours he awakes to find her huddled against him, sobbing hard. "Hey," he says in a mixture of fear and surprise. "What the fuck?"

The brunette springs back from him and seems to gather herself briefly. "Nothing. Sorry." She takes a few steps and settles herself against the side of the boxcar, her eyes now very vacant and partially hooded.

Carson sits up a little straighter, wondering just how loony this girl is; but something in her posture, the way she's holding herself, stirs a moment of pity and curiosity in him. That look is one of utter defeat. He's seen it a million times. Finally, he gets up and walks to her. She doesn't move and finally he puts a hand on her shoulder. "Hey kid, you okay?" She looks up at him and for the briefest of seconds he almost falls away from her, the look in her eyes one of the purest malice and hatred that he's ever seen. Suddenly however, it's gone and all that is left is that inscrutable shine of her dark eyes in the dimness. She gives him the tiniest of smiles that doesn't touch her gaze.

"Five by Five."

The End