CHAPTER 49

 

The color drained from Dawn’s face. “Ward the house?”

 

If there hadn’t been so much at stake, Willow would have felt sorry for her. Despite Dawn’s inclusion in the Scooby lifestyle, they’d been careful to shield her from as much of that reality as possible. Right now, though, they didn’t have time for sympathy. “Alex wasn’t mauled by a human, Dawn. We both know that. And, thanks to the Sunnydale trip, you and I are the only witches here right now.”

 

“Right. Sorry.” Straightening, Dawn nodded resolutely. “What do you need me to do?”

 

That was a very good question. There hadn’t been much planning in regard to an attack on the ranch. “We’ll tap into Mama’s shields.” Willow ignored the fact that doing so would weaken the wards around the exterior of the property. “Between the two of us and the power boost from the shields, I think we can protect the house.”

 

The house… “Oh, Goddess. The girls are in the Training Barn.” Willow took off for the living room. “Giles!” she called as she exploded into the room. “Giles!”

 

Her enthusiastic entry gained her a raised eyebrow and a dry, “I am right here, Willow, and I have not yet lost my hearing,” from Giles.

 

“We have to get the Potentials back inside. If the First has vamps or Bringers in the woods…” Willow sucked in a deep breath to halt the incipient babble. “Dawn and I can’t stretch a ward all the way to the Barn.”

 

“I’m on it, Will. You and Dawnie start with the mojo,” Xander ordered. “Cordy and I will get the girls.”

 

Cordelia looked less than thrilled with Xander’s idea as she shoved the book in her lap to the floor. “Great. I swear, the next time we have a Scooby reunion, I’m making the guest list.” Mumbling under her breath, she followed Xander out of the room.

 

“How are you going to create the warding?” Fred had lost her shy demeanor. Frowning and still clutching a large book, she stared at Willow. “Given that the house is forty-two hundred square feet, not including the basement, I don’t see how you can even think about covering the entire structure.”

 

Now Willow understood the dazed and irritated looks she’d gotten from her friends for years. Without thinking about it, she answered forcefully with one of Buffy’s favorite slogans, “I’ve got it under control.”

 

Fred’s eyes widened behind her glasses, and she seemed to shrink into herself. “Oh. OK. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t drain yourself.”

 

It was almost a relief when a window shattered in another part of the house.

 

“I don’t think we have to worry about that warding, Fred.” Looking around the room, Willow cursed the lack of weapons. Giles was already yanking the second axe from the wall, and there were no other displays or storage chests.

 

The lack of weapons became more than an academic concern.

 

The patio doors exploded inward in a shower of glass and broken wood, and a robed figure stepped inside. More Bringers pressed in behind the first one; in a solid line, they advanced.

 

Giles took up a forward position, cutting off their access to Willow and the other researchers. “If you have a plan, Willow,” he called, “now would be the time to implement it.”

 

Book firmly grasped in two hands as a bludgeon, Fred crowded closer to Willow. Dawn took up a similar stance.

 

Wishing she did have a plan, Willow let instinct take over. Energy tingled and tickled under her skin as she opened the access panel to her magic. She’d fused gravel. Taking out a handful of blind, knife-wielding Bringers shouldn’t be any more difficult.

 

Blocking out Giles’ grunts and curses as he fought, she reached deep into the shimmering pool of power deep inside. The memory of the inferno in the courtyard firmly in mind, Willow scooped out a handful of the magic and maintained the walls of her barrier.

 

Footsteps and shouts drifted into the room from the hallway.

 

Afraid there were more of the First’s forces on the way, Willow hurriedly shaped the energy into a tight ball and hurled it across the room.

 

The Bringer slipping past Giles’ swinging axe erupted into blue flames. Screaming, he staggered forward – and went down with a grunt as Fred finished him off with a wild swing of her text. He lay smoldering on the floor as his fellow Bringers continued to advance.

 

One down. Willow was afraid to count the number remaining.

 

***

 

Her Slayer senses continued to be a problem as the horde of vampires descended. Buffy tried shutting down the feelings as she blocked a sword thrust from one vampire and kicked another in the stomach.

 

The ploy didn’t work. The warning cramps made just standing straight difficult.

 

Growling internally at the stupidity of that particular aspect of her Calling, Buffy grabbed the badly dressed vamp in front of her and hurled him several feet across the cemetery. She heard him grunt and the headstone that intercepted his flight crack.

 

None of her other attackers even slowed at the loss of their companion. They surged closer, and Buffy couldn’t duck all the blows. Her head slammed into the mausoleum at her back and she blinked to clear her suddenly doubled vision.

 

The short sword proved to be a bad choice. Swinging with everything she had, Buffy hacked and slashed at the vampires. A few went down, injured but not completely out of the fight. Form and style disappeared as desperation and a primal need to survive took over.

 

During one such frantic parry and thrust, Buffy overextended. Stretched out and poorly balanced, she was an easy target.

 

With a howl of triumph, the vampire to her left stepped inside her guard. Buffy could see the lengths of the chain in his hand catch the moonlight as they swept in her direction.

 

Buffy’s options were limited. Drop to the ground, making her an ideal target for the horde, or try to block the chain with her left hand, risking a broken arm.

 

The Slayer made the decision for her.

 

Reversing the usual process, the Slayer reached for Buffy, bridging the gap between the human host and the primal life force.

 

Buffy felt the change immediately. Her vision sharpened. Tombstones, the vampires, even the blades of grass stood in vivid contrast. In one fluid movement, she twisted and dropped her left shoulder down so her back was parallel to the ground and she stared at the stars.

 

The chain whistled over her chest and face, missing by a hairsbreadth.

 

Muscles responding on memory alone, Buffy grasped the chain in her left hand and wrapped it around her forearm.

 

The action pulled her attacker off balance. He took a staggering step toward her.

 

A growl burst from Buffy’s throat. Using her right foot for leverage, Buffy swung her sword hand in a hard arc. The hilt slammed into the vampire’s nose with a satisfying crunch.

 

He released his end of the chain with a howl. Hands pressed to his bleeding and broken nose, he faded back into the throng.

 

Now armed with a new weapon, Buffy regained her position against the mausoleum. Working both arms in tandem, she beat back or beheaded the vampires. Unbelievably, the numbers began thinning.

 

She might make it.

 

Letting that thought spur her tired and trembling body on, Buffy blocked a tree branch as it descended toward her head with her left hand and stabbed the holder of the club with her sword.

 

One more down – if not out.

 

“Buffy!” Angel’s voice penetrated the grunts and curses of the vampires and Buffy’s harsh breaths.

 

With a fierce smile, Buffy lopped off another head. “What took you so long? I mean, there was only that one vamp. You stuck me with all his teammates.”

 

She saw his head above the last line of attackers. In full-fanged glory, Angel helped clean up the final few vampires. “I miscounted,” Angel told her. He held Buffy upright as she fought for breath. “It wasn’t one. It was more like fifteen.”

 

“Sure. I believe you.” Buffy slowly straightened. And then she frowned.

 

Angel saw her expression. “I don’t feel any more. Do you?” Keeping one hand on her arm, he scanned the cemetery intently.

 

“No. No more vampires.” Buffy looked around, too. “During the fight, the Slayer came out to play. She hasn’t left.” In fact, as she pushed at the primal presence, she got a very clear, “Just wait,” in return.

 

The hand on her arm disappeared in a hurry, and Angel took a step away. “I’ll just…wait over here while you argue with yourself.”

 

Buffy didn’t waste time explaining what was really happening inside her head. Instead, she listened to the subliminal directions from her Slayer.

 

Leaving Angel behind, Buffy wandered slowly through Restfield. One area, on the far side of the mausoleum, pulled at her. It wasn’t a voice, or even a sound that drew her.

 

Something glowed under the sod and flowers decorating the front of the Adamson crypt.

 

She headed straight for that light. With each step, it grew brighter, and the pull strengthened until Buffy nearly vibrated from the not quite audible sensation.

 

When she reached the origin of the glow, Buffy dropped to her knees and began to dig through the grass with her bare hands.

 

***

 

The closer they got to the old high school, the more Faith felt the demons and vampires inside. “Looks like they got a party waiting for us,” she announced softly.

 

“Can you tell how many?” Trust Gunn to get right to the point.

 

Faith strained to determine the numbers as they continued to run through the shadows cast by a nearby house. Her senses twisted and recoiled at the gathered evil ahead. “Fuck.” She yanked away from the feeling. “No. Just trying to get a head count made me want to puke, though. Gotta be a lot.”

 

“Wrong,” Kirstan told her.

 

Flushing at the implied rebuke, Faith reached out again. She had to push past the crawling under her skin. It was like swimming in Jello. Faith could almost make out the different forms and figures in the basement. Then she lost her grasp on her senses, and it all slipped away. Hating the need to ask, Faith snapped defensively, “I know I ain’t got your years on the job, Old Timer. Stop pointing that out and give us the info so we don’t get our asses kicked.”

 

She felt Kirstan’s glare as the older woman replied, “There are twenty five, maybe thirty, vamps.”

 

Faith felt the anvil on her chest shrink in size. “That’s doable. Thirty versus seven. I’ll leave a few for the rest of you,” she promised with a smirk.

 

“Don’t get cocky, little girl.” Kirstan sounded grim as she warned, “The vamps aren’t the problem – whatever’s causing the fireworks on the radar is.”

 

CHAPTER 50

 

“You got more info than just ‘watch out for the fireworks?’” Gunn didn’t sound impressed with Kirstan’s warning. “’Cause it’s hard to choose between a classic stake through the heart or a quick beheading with that.”

 

Drew hastily smothered a giggle when Kirsten scowled at his comment.

 

No one else laughed. In fact, the mood as they approached the school was grim. Making the upcoming battle even bleaker, Kirsten finally responded to Gunn. “If you want a diagram with a big red ‘X’ over the target, you’re out of luck. Go with beheading; the odds are better.” She paused for a minute as the group ducked through some bushes. “Whatever’s in that basement, though… I doubt even chopping off its head will work. I’ve never felt anything that strong.”

 

“Are we even sure it has a head?” Faith regretted the words the second she said them. A quick glance at Drew showed her laughter had disappeared. Her eyes were wide and dark, and the moonlight turned her skin a freakish pearly grey. Faith’s first impulse was to apologize. She had meant to be funny. Obviously, her comedic timing was lacking.

 

The group chose that moment to emerge from the underbrush. The darkened bulk of the original Sunnydale High School loomed ahead.

 

All thoughts of apologizing slipped away in a flood of uncomfortable memories.

 

            Desks hemmed her in and Faith stared at Buffy, trying to hide her fear with bravado. “So, you gonna rat me out? Is that it?”

 

            “Faith, we have to tell.” Buffy held out a hand, and her eyes seemed to suck Faith in. “I can’t pretend to investigate this. I can’t pretend I don’t know.”

 

            That hurt. Faith jerked back from the hand she’d been on the verge of taking. Breathing in harsh pants and clenching her fists, she verbally lashed out at Buffy. “You can’t pretend? Since when? Remember all that bullshit about Angel being dead? Guess what, Princess, he may not be breathing, but he sure as hell ain’t in Hell. What about that big whopper?” She shoved one of the desks to the side, and it screeched across the polished tiles. “It’s OK to lie about Angel. But me? Just fucking toss me to the Keystone Kops…”

 

The trip down memory lane came to an abrupt halt.

 

“It doesn’t look quite as I remember it,” Wesley said wryly, snapping Faith back to the here and now. “It was more…whole the last time I was here.”

 

Shaking hands stuffed deep in her pockets, Faith looked at him. Wes’ face was set in hard lines beneath his scruffy beard, and she realized she wasn’t the only one fighting off images of the past. Her voice only a little tight, Faith quipped, “Don’t let the missing windows and doors fool you, Wes. Inside, it’s still the hellhole we knew and hated.”

 

Wes laughed softly, and some of the grimness left his face. “Indeed. Thank you for pointing that out. It was just what I needed to hear.”

 

Slowly throwing off the vestiges of the flashback, Faith gave her trademark smirk. “Always knew you were just a stuffed shirt, Wes. Guess my new job as General Faith means I gotta keep you up with the rest of us. We ain’t got no room for a short bus right now.”

 

Kirsten coughed, and Faith heard feet shuffle in the grass.

 

She couldn’t stall anymore. It was time to go inside. “OK, Wes, we’re here. Now what?” Faith bounced nervously. The screaming in her senses was constant, and while she wasn’t afraid of a good fight, Faith wasn’t sure that the small group huddled next to the school would equal a fight – good or not.

 

“Well,” Wes moved up to a broken window and peered inside. “This is the science hallway. If we go in here…” Lifting a leg and stepping carefully over the jagged edges of glass, he dropped into a classroom. “The basement entrance is down this hallway on the other side of the main office.” His voice seemed to float out of nowhere.

 

Gunn didn’t wait for orders. He simply jumped in behind Wesley.

 

Hanging back, Faith watched and helped the rest of her tiny army follow suit. When she was the last person on the outside, she scanned the area one final time.

 

Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

 

The only things Faith heard were the soft breaths of the people gathered in the classroom, waiting for her. Ignoring the uneasy goose pimpling her skin, Faith finally stepped over the glass herself and jumped the short distance into the cluttered science lab.

 

***

 

Willow realized immediately that flaming Bringers was a bad thing. The shrieking flame-engulfed body on the floor had started a line of slowly growing embers on the rug. Unfortunately for her parents’ home, Willow didn’t have the time to find a reversal for her magic. Two more Bringers slipped past Giles as he battled wildly with another.

 

Dawn leapt at the first of the attackers. Her book made an unwieldy weapon, and the Bringer easily sidestepped her slow and awkward strike.

 

The blade of a knife slashing at her side distracted Willow. She jerked backward just in time. There wasn’t time to think. Magic disappeared as survival instincts kicked in. Swinging her own book, Willow whacked the Bringer’s knife arm.

 

He looked shocked and lost his grip on the weapon. It clattered to the floor and Willow dove after it. She was barely fast enough. The Bringer recovered from his surprise and slashed at her semi-prone form with his other blade.

 

Wrenching sideways, Willow parried awkwardly. Their knives slid against each other with a hair-raising shriek of metal on metal. Her right arm rapidly numbing from the impact, Willow frantically bolstered her grip on the knife with her left hand.

 

It was barely enough to keep her from losing the blade. Not even with two hand on the hilt, though, was Willow strong enough to keep the Bringer from slowly shoving both blades closer and closer to Willow’s throat. She bowed back, trying to create a gap between them.

 

Unfortunately, the knives followed her movement with increasing speed as her new position weakened her leverage against the Bringer.

 

As Willow watched in terror, the knives descended farther. They were less than an inch from her neck. With an internal rumble, her magic flared to life deep inside. This wasn’t the powerful and controlled energy she’d hurled earlier. This was the wild and terrible power she’d wielded during her first days at the ranch.

 

Panicking, Willow knew she couldn’t fight on two fronts. The knife was the more imminent threat. However, if she failed to hold it back, she would be the only victim. If the magic gained the upper hand, everyone in the room would be its victim.

 

She closed her eyes on the shining steel pressing inexorably nearer and reached into the churning blue pool of magic inside her reservoir. At first, she tried to calm the rising waves. Her efforts failed. The magic pounded against the barrier walls with deafening crashes.

 

It was another lost cause, Willow admitted to herself. She wasn’t strong enough. Not against the Bringer and not against her own magic…

 

“Hey, are you praying or what?” The mocking voice snapped Willow out of her trance-like state.

 

The images of inevitable destruction faded.

 

A pair of impatient brown eyes watched her intently, and Willow blinked at Kennedy in confusion. “What?”

 

Kennedy waved a bloodstained hand. “You’re crazy, you know that? We’re in the middle of a war and you’re zoning out in the middle of the room. I thought all you Original Scoobies were good under pressure.”

 

Willow ignored the cutting comment and performed another internal wellness check. The wild magic was still pushing for release, but it wasn’t close to breaking free. Not now. With the end of the threat to her life, she’d regained a modicum of control.

 

Pivoting on her heels, Willow began to take stock of the battle’s aftermath.

 

The group from the Training Barn had obviously made it back to the house. They hadn’t done so unscathed, though. Two of the Potentials huddled on the couches with Watchers in attendance.

 

That was bad. Willow felt her skin grow cold and sweat bead her hairline. Had they lost anyone in the fight? “Kennedy…” she started to ask just as her eyes fell on a group near the doorway.

 

Four familiar figures stood in a semi-circle and stared at the floor. Willow followed the same visual path to the pair of jeans-clad legs and tennis shoes of the body sprawled in front of the group.

 

***

 

Buffy tore through the wet grass and dirt. With each handful, the light grew brighter. Squinting against the painful glow, she concentrated on reaching the cause of that light. It called to her. It dragged at her senses until everything else around her faded.

 

Finally, arms aching and hands cut and bleeding in a dozen places, Buffy realized she could actually see the scythe. It wasn’t the majestic weapon she’d seen in her dream. In fact, it looked like it might crumble if she touched it.

 

Dirt encrusted the leather-wrapped snaith, and even in the moonlight Buffy saw the rust caking the blade.

 

Dropping her hands limply to her side, Buffy stared into the hole she’d made. That was it? That was the weapon the PtB had wanted her to find? It had to be a joke. Maybe there was another weapon farther down.

 

Before she could dig anymore, though, Angel’s voice cut through the quiet cemetery. “Buffy! Grab the scythe and let’s go. We’ve got trouble on the way.”

 

Buffy looked up and saw Angel peering intently into the darkness. The scythe’s power had faded along with the light, and she searched in the direction of Angel’s vigil. “Shit!” That wasn’t trouble. That was an army. Bending quickly, she grasped the scythe with one hand and pulled it from its resting place.

 

CHAPTER 51

 

The second her hand touched the weapon, Buffy gasped and staggered back. Her hand…her arm burned, and the raw power of the Scythe surged through her. Struggling to keep her footing and her hold on the snaith, Buffy barely noticed the first wave of vampires rush toward her and Angel.

 

On autopilot, she put her right hand on the haft and swung in a chest-high, level arc. The scythe whistled and picked up speed. It weighed next to nothing, and Buffy watched in amazement as it cut through four vampires in succession.

 

Dust scattered in a thick cloud.

 

Where it landed on the scythe, the blade glowed. Unlike when she was digging for it, the light was blood red and pulsed sullenly. She didn’t have time to watch, though. With a sharp wrench, she brought the axe in a return arc.

 

One of the new line of vampires had a sword. It clanged against the scythe, stopping Buffy’s swing. She snarled in response and shoved the scythe forward. The spike at the top of the haft pierced the vampire’s eye. Screaming, he dropped his blade and staggered away.

 

Buffy chanced a quick look around as she ducked a wild swing from another vampire. The cemetery was teeming with more, and she couldn’t see Angel in the swarm. Heart pounding, Buffy bit back a cry of fear. There was no way she could win this fight alone.

 

She reached for Willow. For an instant, warmth tickled the edges of their link…and then faded as Buffy blocked a sword thrust with the hilt of the axe. It took too much concentration to maintain her connection with Willow.

 

If Angel was down, she was truly alone.

 

Gripping the scythe, Buffy ignored the shaking in her arms and the sudden drop in her strength. She didn’t have time for fear.

 

She let the Slayer out to play and raised her weapon with a scream of defiance. She’d died before. If she had to, she could do it again. On the way, though, she’d make damned sure most of her opponents went with her.

 

The darkness in the cemetery brightened as the Slayer stretched out. Yessss, the Slayer howled. YES! The scythe blazed brightly at the inner sound, and the Slayer seized on the added power radiating from the weapon.

 

This was a weapon like no other. Hands curling around the polished wood of the hilt, the Slayer swung the blade back and forth. She didn’t pause or slow when the contact wasn’t fatal. Instead, she waded into the mass of demons.

 

A few vampires managed to land lucky blows.

 

Barely aware of the cuts, bruises, and broken bones, the Slayer fought. This was what she had been bred for. This is what she lived to do. Their host hadn’t understood before. Now…Now the Slayer demonstrated what they should have been all along.

 

There was no sense of time. There was only swing, duck, parry, kick, and kill.

 

Finally, the Slayer realized her prey were fewer in number. Disappointed, she pursued those that ran for safety. They could not get away.

 

***

From inside the school, the screaming of her senses managed to somehow grow louder. It was nearly a physical presence, and Faith clenched her teeth and pulled her shields in tight. It helped with the debilitating cramping and the adrenaline swirling along her nerves.

 

It was like moving with cotton wrapped around her brain.

 

Gritting her teeth, Faith ignored the sudden vacuum. “Let’s get this done,” she said tightly. “When we hit the stairs, we’re gonna have a bulls eye right on our heads. Don’t slow down – for anything,” she stressed, looking slowly around the dark classroom, meeting every pair of eyes in turn.  In case one of the new Scoobies missed the significance of that statement, Faith repeated it. “Not for anything.”

 

No one moved.

 

“T,” Faith directed, “you and the other Power Puff Girls stay in the middle. You’re the only hope we got of keeping the Hellmouth from puking demons all over us.”

 

Nodding resolutely, Tara took Drew’s hand and pulled her over to where Jennifer stood. The older witch, Faith noted, was the only one of the three who seemed to take the coming battle in stride.

 

Drew was so pale her freckles glowed, and Tara’s lips had disappeared into a tight line of tension.

 

A sour taste filled Faith’s mouth as she considered the fact that either or both of them might not even reach the stairs. Shoving that thought away as if it burned, Faith quickly wove her way through the warren of desks still sitting in the abandoned room. “Hurry the fuck up, Old Timer. I’m gonna have as many grey as you soon.”

 

Kirstan didn’t respond to the verbal jab. Face expressionless, she simply gripped her sword in her right hand and slowly opened the classroom door.

 

Watching tensely, Faith wished she dared extend her senses.

 

She let out a quiet breath when Kirstan waved her left hand to indicate it was safe to enter the hallway. Sticking close together, the group inched down the hall. Lockers listed drunkenly against the walls and debris littered the floor. The sword hilt slipped in the sweat slicking Faith’s palm, and she shifted it to her left hand long enough to rub her right dry on her pants.

 

It was too quiet. Too empty. There had to be something waiting for them. If not in one of the lockers then lurking in one of the other rooms or hiding around a corner.

 

They reached the stairs to the basement without incident, though. Staring at the thin wooden door, Faith knew their luck had run out. The First - and anything he’d managed to bring through the Hellmouth – waited for them. She reached out and gingerly turned the knob.

 

The hairs on the back of her neck sprang to attention at the loud metallic grating that echoed through the hallway.

 

Faith gave up on salvaging any element of surprise. With a violent tug, she wrenched the door open and leaped inside.

 

Two Bringers blocked her path, and four daggers drove at her body.

 

She parried one pair. Kirstan, standing at her shoulder, caught the others. The small landing was a very bad place for fighting. Pressed against Kirstan and hemmed in by the bodies stacked behind her, Faith struggled to keep her thrusts focused on the enemy.

 

A sharp edge sliced through her shirt – and arm.

 

Hissing at the pain, Faith got angry. “Fuck this!” she shouted. Raising a booted foot, she slammed it into the Bringer in front of her and watched in satisfaction as he tumbled down the stairs.

 

His companion half-turned at the sounds of the dull thuds and grunts of pain as the first Bringer completed his trip. That distraction cost him. Two blades thrust into him, one right after the other.

 

Faith swallowed back nausea at the blood streaking her sword. Human or not, the Bringers were evil. That reminder helped – a little. “Stay close,” she mumbled shakily and then started quickly down the stairs.

 

More Bringers waited at the bottom.

 

Slowing down wouldn’t help. Faith reached out a mental hand and unlocked the Slayer’s cage. The primal spirit burst out with a howl that tore from Faith’s throat, too. Lips pulled back in a feral grin, she vaulted over the railing and landed right in the middle of the group of Bringers. “Hope you ate your Wheaties, boys. The Slayer’s in the house now.”

 

***

 

Willow stared at the white sneakers. No. This wasn’t happening. She was dreaming, or having another vision.

 

Latching onto that thought, Willow drew her eyes away from the body on the floor and the silent group standing vigil over it. As she scanned the living room, Willow relaxed and smiled slightly. Yes, this was a dream. There were none of the normal signs of a fight. The bookshelves still stood upright with their books neatly aligned. No scorch marks marred the walls and there were no piles of vamp dust on the carpet.

 

Her smile began to fade, though.

 

The first look was a lie. Blinking dazedly, Willow examined the room more closely. The bookshelves were upright, yes. On one side of the room. On the other… Books covered the floor in untidy piles with the broken remains of several bookshelves and tables mixed in.

 

Bad; not the worst that Willow had seen, though…until she got to the first body.

 

The Bringer sprawled across the floor with the hilts of his daggers peeking out from beneath the pool of his bloodstained robes. The cause of the blood appeared to be the axe embedded in his back.

 

Clasping her hand over her mouth, Willow continued her perusal.

 

The scorch marks weren’t missing. They simply weren’t on the walls. They were on the next Bringer. The Bringer Willow had killed. The Bringer she’d set on fire when she lost control of her magic.

 

She felt her gorge rise. Swallowing convulsively, Willow numbly backed away. No. Nononononono. The word echoed in her head. No! She hadn’t done that. She hadn’t meant to do that.

 

“Willow?” A hand touched her shoulder, and Willow turned horror-filled eyes on Kennedy. “Maybe you should sit down. You look a little pale.”

 

Legs stiff and shaky, Willow pulled away and staggered across the room.

 

Those tennis shoes didn’t belong to a Bringer. With each step, Willow attempted to take an inventory of the people in the room. Step…Giles…step…Xander…

 

She couldn’t remember the names of the Potentials and the new Watchers. Head pounding, Willow struggled to put names and faces together with limited success. Why couldn’t she remember? She should remember. These were Scoobies now, too.

 

Reaching the group surrounding the body, Willow touched Giles’ arm and peered around him. “Anya!” The room wavered and Willow swayed.

 

Blood leaked sluggishly from a deep cut on Anya’s stomach; however, it hadn’t always been such a slow flow. The floor was stained with a dark red puddle.

 

“Why is everyone staring at me?” Anya’s voice lacked its customary sharpness. The irritation, though, was very evident. “I need bandages and stitches, Xander, not an audience.”

 

“Right. Bandages. I’ll be right back, An. Don’t…don’t go anywhere.” Xander’s voice broke on the words, and he sprinted through the gathered crowd.

 

Sinking to her knees next to Anya, Willow reached out a hand and gently stroked her hair. She reached out mentally, too, screaming one name, Buffy!

 

 

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