“A sword never kills anybody; it is a tool in the killer's hand.”                  

                                          Lucius Annaeus Seneca (54 BC-39 AD)

                                                 Roman Rhetorician and Writer

.

He hides in the alley behind the gym, watching the Slayer and her trainer load the unconscious girl into the car. He should be happy. He should feel the satisfaction of a job well done. The woman at the other end of the phone call stole those feelings away with her cold, callous words.

“I don’t understand this,” the man growls into his cell phone, his accent clipped and clean as only a true Englishman could manage. “My contract with you was to release the spirit on the occupants of that building to occupy the Slayer, not to specifically target the Slayer.”

“Yet you obviously understood our target. We see no reason to honor your payment if you refuse to honor your agreement. We do not pay for substandard work.”

“I have your bloody signature on this document! Tell me what invisible fine print exists here that tells me I owe you anything further!”

“Look behind you. And up. Way up.”

The man turns and glances upwards at the rooftop across the street – into the sights of the rifle aimed at him.

“Do you require further clarification on the scope of your job?”

He closes his eyes. Sighs. “No, I do not.”

“We are being very reasonable with you. We did not require you to confront the Slayer, merely to distract her while we made arrangements for her removal. We do expect, however, that you’ll actually keep her distracted. Is that clear?”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“Good. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Of course, Ms. Morgan. Of course.”

He flips the phone closed, and walks slowly from the alleyway, off to retrieve his urn. The sniper tracks his every step.

.

I always dreaded the day I’d have to explain what I am to Mark and Sara. Even with the surprise demonstration in the gym, it’s every bit as awkward as I thought it would be. Actually worse, since I’ll have to do the whole spiel again once Sara’s back to normal.

Mark’s doing a decent job digesting everything as he drives us to his priest friend. I keep Sara company in the back seat. You know, just in case.

“So, you fight vampires for a living.”

“Ya huh.” Affirmation one hundred ninety-six.

“I don’t really know what to say about that.”

“Don’t gotta say nothin.’” I give him the best ‘shut-up’ glare I can manage. “It’s just what I do. If you need more convincin,’ I’ll take you with me a couple nights. Some close encounters’ll get you up to speed.”

“Right.” Mark’s head bobs around, like he doesn’t know if he should be nodding or shaking it. “So, Sara…”

“…Is out cold. I’m sorry I had to hit her so hard. There could be damage, but I’m hopin’ not. Where’s your priest?”

“His name is George Matsoukas. He runs a small Greek church near my area.”

“Thank fuck its daytime. Guy should be there – office hours, right? Faster we get there, the faster Sara gets back to normal. Step on it.”

.

“Come on, then,” the Warlock whispers as he slices his hand. “Let’s keep things interesting, shall we?” As the blood drips onto the urn the symbols around its base glow an angry crimson…

.

My demon radar pings hard, and I look down at Sara. Just a second ago, she was peacefully unconscious. Now it looks like she’s got her finger stuck in a wall socket.

“Out … out … out…”

“Dammit, she’s awake already?” I grab hold of her, and hope to God the tape holds.

“That’s not good,” Mark says, looking back at me. “The church is a good twenty minutes away.”

Sara’s wide awake now. She writhes like a snake, twisting around in weird shapes trying to buck me off. I much as I hate to say it: It’s working.

“Fuck! I can’t hold her!”

“OUT! NEED – OUT!”

She gets an arm free, and slams it into my face – damn, those are some pretty stars. I bring my knees up and thrust my feet into her to keep her pinned against the door. My head’s stuck on the window of my door, so I get to watch all the nice tall buildings as they go past.

Whoa.

Holy fuck, déjà vu. These buildings … I’ve seen them before… in a dream…

Death. Rushing at me from above.

I jerk away from the window and roll – too late.

The window shatters.

OW – RED – OW – FUCK – PAIN!

Something rips right through my shoulder – I scream as agony sears through my body. I finish rolling off the seat and wedge myself in against the car floor.

I glance down at the wound – big, round, bloody. I’ve been shot. Right through the shoulder blade and out through the tit. Right in line with my heart, too.

If I’d have moved a millisecond later, I’d be dead.

“FUCKIN’ FLOOR IT, MARK! GET US OUTTA HERE!”

Mark answers with squealing tires. Another shot plows in through the roof – hits my seat dead center.

Fuck.

Sara’s nearly free of the duct tape now, but I can’t do shit about that anymore. Mark’s speeding like a maniac, I’m on my ass blubbering and bleeding all over the place, and all we can do is watch Sara bust through the car window and vanish down the street.

.

Buffy’s shoulder spasms in pain. Her pen drops from her numb fingers, her head awash in alien sensations.

Pain. Fear. Love. Anger. A name on her lips.

“Faith…?”

She glances around at her classmates; up at her professor. No one notices her distress. She’s invisible. She remains invisible, even as she quietly packs her books and ducks out of the classroom.

.

Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. It hurts to breathe. I can’t stop the sobs as they tear from my throat. Nothing’s ever hurt this bad. Not even Buffy stabbing me. My arm’s useless.

I always knew I’d be shot one of these days. Never figured it to be a fucking sniper, though. Did I piss off the mob or something? Let’s hope that the Slayer healing’s as improved as everything else, or I’m right fucked. Never had anything damaged before that wasn’t squishy. My shoulder blade is probably in pieces, I’m not sure if my lung was hit or not, and if my arm so much as twitches I feel like dying. I’ve never seen my healing handle something like this, but if I can’t ‘Wolverine’ a little bit, I’m going to need surgery.

Better not fucking scar, neither. I take good care of my tits, dammit.

“Faith? Are you alright?”

“Fuck, no!” I growl through the tears. “I got hit by a fuckin’ sniper, chowderhead!”

Chowderhead. I must be delirious. I haven’t used that since I was, like, twelve. Can’t take the Boston out of the girl, I guess.

“Right! Right… I’ll call an ambu-”

“NO! Haven’t you seen enough shit today? No ambulances. It went right through. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

I hope.

“What? How…? Faith, that’s a serious injury. You’ll go into—”

“Mark. Please. I’m hurting, I can’t deal with your bullshit right now. Shut up for a sec. Listen to me. I. Will. Be. Fine.”

Mark swallows. Nods. He looks kind of shaky, but it’s got to be enough for now.

“We’re going back to my place. Got a spell over it – No one should be able to get near it. It’ll do us until this heals over a bit. I’m no good in a fight with one arm.”

I’m lying – my spell sucks shit, and while Sara might not be able to find my place while she’s possessed or whatever, the witch or demon that did this to her might just be able to. I also have no clue what the sniper is and what they can do. Still, can’t help that now.

It’s a long, painful car ride. Not so much for the wound – that’s itching like hell and starting to close up, making me kind of hopeful. Rather, it’s Mark prattling on nervously about shit I can’t even focus on. His voice just drones in and out, drowned out by my throbbing, aching shoulder. Got to get him on track.

“The priest, Mark. The priest. Get him on the phone. Once I’m healed up some, we’re grabbin’ him and findin’ Sara.”

“What about your sniper?”

Fuck. “Yeah. Him.” I keep my eyes on the road. “Chances are, he’ll find us. Gonna have to deal with him when that happens.”

Without anyone dying, though? I don’t know about that.

.

On the rooftop of a downtown building, the sorcerer and gunman stand, watching the Slayer’s car disappear into the afternoon traffic.

“She’s still alive,” the Warlock states. “I can feel her.”

“She won’t be for long.”

“No,” the sorcerer sighs. “You won’t be. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. Who you’re dealing with. Neither do our employers.”

The gunman raises an eyebrow at him. “I’ve done better than you.”

“As you wish.”

The sorcerer walks away, dialing his favorite travel agency on his cell. Time to skip town, lest the vengeful claws of the Slayer find him.

.

A thirty-something Englishman stands smartly dressed in Cleveland Hopkins International Airport, patiently waiting for the baggage claim to start up. The girl beside him, a tall, lanky teenaged ginger in jeans and a t-shirt, fidgets endlessly.

“What if she don’t like me?” she asks, her southern drawl quite noticeable.

“I’m certain she will. She had no issues with you the last time we were through.”

“Yeah, well… Las’ time I wa’n’t stickin’ ‘round.”

“Slower, Violet. Speak more slowly. Not everyone will understand you when you mash your words together like that.”

“Yes, dad,” she moans, with a roll of her eyes.

“When we get to Faith’s, I’m sure you’ll both compare accents and mangle the Queen’s English beyond all recognition. Until then, some of us don’t understand half-words slurred together.”

“Y’all have a class ‘specially for insultin’ Americans in Oxford?”

“Cambridge, actually.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t say that around other graduates.”

They share a smile. Their conversation pauses a moment as Vi gathers her luggage from the now moving conveyor.

“I’m sure they’ll be right over to beat me up.”

“Indeed. Well, let’s find ourselves a rental car, shall we?”

“Sure.”

Vi falls into step behind him as he makes his way towards the exit. She first notices the stranger approaching them from the main entrance – middle-aged, straight-backed, and very Watcher-like. She assumes he’s an associate.

“Dennis! Dennis Rosser, I must say this comes as a wonderful surprise!”

Dennis’ back stiffens as he looks over, and his hand reaches down to the concealed knife he carries underneath his jacket. Only then does Vi realize this is not an associate.

“Rayne!”

And she isn’t armed.

“Come now, Dennis. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

She can feel Dennis channeling energy for a spell, and the stranger doing the same.

She isn’t armed.

“Friend?! You’ve got a lot of nerve!”

Panic eats at the edges of her senses; she just failed a big test.

“Now, now. I’m merely on my way to England. Time to visit the family, I think.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re just passing through.”

“Indeed. Goodbye, old friend.”

“Yes, old friend. Goodbye.”

Violet stares after the man as he walks away. Slowly, the magic in the air dies back down to nothing.

“Who was that?”

“Trouble. We have to talk to Faith.”

.

I open my eyes to the red skies of a Cleveland sunset. First thing I check is my shoulder – I can move my arm now – painfully – and the bandages didn’t bleed through, so I guess I’ll do alright for now. I got lucky. I didn’t cough up blood, so the shot must have missed my lung, and I don’t feel any bone chips floating around. My back looks pretty symmetrical in the mirror, though the hole’s pretty fucking ugly. My tit’s kind of ragged, but it’s still in one piece. Looks like everything’s closed up – just a little bit of seeping through the clots now. Well, chalk up another one for Slayer healing. Time to work myself into some clean clothes.

Mark’s pacing like a caged animal when I step into the living room, but the second he sees me he’s beside me, concerned as all hell.

“You okay?”

“Better. We should get movin,’”

“You sure you’re ready to go out?”

“It’s stopped bleedin,’ and I can move it around. That’s as good as we can hope for. C’mon – let’s get that priest. Sara’ll show up on my radar, so findin’ her ain’t hard – fixin’ her, well that’s up to your pal.”

As Mark gets his shoes on, I carefully prepare my herb pouch for my stealth spell. I’m banking on the shooter looking for me specifically. The spell is meant to be done by the person being protected, and I ain’t Willow – I have no idea how to switch it around so I can do it for Mark, and I highly doubt he’d get it right on his first ever attempt at magic, if he’d even give it a try.

Damn it, just this morning I was in heaven ‘cause Joyce said she’d visit. Now I’m playing dice with my friends’ lives. I really don’t like this.

The first roll is boxcars, ‘cause there’s no issue getting to the church or finding the priest. He’s exactly what you’d expect in a Greek Orthodox type – black getup, bushy beard, heavy bling for a cross. Then he throws me a curve ball:

His eyes go wide and he crosses himself when he sees me. “You are Slayer!” he shouts. «Τη Υπερμάχω!»

“Uh, what d’you just call me?”

“Tee EE-per-MA-ho,” he repeats slowly, sounding it out for me. “Means Champion. Mighty Warrior. Is part of hymn to Virgin Mary. I think prayer is more for Slayer, though.”

“’Kay, sure.” Don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.

“Prayer goes like this in English: O Champion General, we your faithful inscribe to you the prize of victory as gratitude for being rescued from calamity, O Theotokos. But since you have invincible power, free us from all kinds of perils so that we may cry out to you: Rejoice, O Bride unwedded.”

Alright, I get it. It gets a laugh out of me, anyways.

“Yeah, likin’ the whole ‘Champion General’ an’ ‘invincible power’ thing, and I ain’t married, but I so ain’t no virgin girl.”

“No, no. It is suited now to Church service, but I think – we replace Theotokos, which is Virgin Mary, and ‘Bride Unwedded’ is what make me think of Slayer – no male to go with female. Female only.” He nods to himself. “I think Byzantine Empire knew who their savior was.”

“Good enough. Makes things easier that you know, anyhow. I’m Faith.”

“Father George Matsoukas.”

“Pops it is.” He chuckles at me. “Mark told you about Sara?” He nods. “Good. So: I find her, I hold her down, and you do your thing?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

The next roll ain’t exactly boxcars, but it’s still pretty good. After all, it could have been somewhere public, like a mall. Instead, I follow my nose further into suburbia, getting warmer and warmer only a few blocks away from the church.

“She’s there,” I say, pointing to a very familiar condo block.

“Our place,” Mark whispers. “Of course she’d go home.”

I reach over to turn his face to me. “Hey. We’re gonna get her back. The good guys win on this shit. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Pops?”

“I am ready.”

“A’ight. Let’s go.”

Mark lets us into the building, and we carefully make our way up to their suite. I don’t make it two steps into their place when I’m tackled to the ground. Sara doesn’t even bother straddling me, just wails on me as hard as she can.

“OUT! OUT! GET OUT!”

It’s fucking hard to fight when I have to protect my shoulder. She’s hella strong right now – at least vamp strong. If she gets a shot in there, I’m pretty much done. After eating a half-dozen haymakers, I finally get enough distance to slam a foot home, sending her across the room.

Behind us, near the door, Mark hovers near Matsoukas, while Pops starts his praying.

“O Eternal God, Who has redeemed the race of men from the captivity of the devil, deliver Thy handmaid from all the workings of unclean spirits…”

The effect is immediate. Sara jerks around, and switches up targets, flying straight for the priest. I get myself in the way, falling into Tae Kwon Do to fight her. Kicks mean less chance of a shoulder shot. I’m a little off-balance, so it’s harder to make an opening, but Sara doesn’t have my speed or my experience, and I eventually land a front thrust straight into her solar plexus. She drops to her knees, gagging.

“…We make this great, divine, holy and awesome invocation and plea, O devil, for thine expulsion, as well as this rebuke for your utter annihilation, O apostate!”

The exorcism’s starting to have some sort of effect. Sara’s shivering, and she can’t really fight anymore. I wrap her up in a full nelson. It’s not the most effective hold since she’s a living rubber band right now and my shoulder is fucked, but whatever keeps her on me and off the priest is good enough for me.

“…Shudder, tremble, be afraid, depart, be utterly destroyed, be banished!”

All the fight’s gone out of her now. She’s just a quivering wreck in my arms, and not as bendy as she used to be. Pops comes closer, bringing a huge gold crucifix up to Sara’s face.

“…now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.”

A faint gold light pulses from the cross; Sara’s eyes widen, then she faints dead away and I lower her to the floor.

Mark comes over, carefully running his hands across her face. “Is it over? Is she…”

“You should take her to hospital,” Matsoukas says, his accent heavier than ever. “Make sure she is okay.”

“Yeah.” I heft Sara up over my good shoulder and wave Mark over. “Let’s get outta here.”

I fish for my wallet. I got a few hundred bucks on me. “Yo, Pops! How much?”

“No charge for this. Never charge.”

“You sure?”

“Is my job. Also, I help my friend. And Slayer. More than enough.”

I shrug. “Your call.”

“Mark…?” Sara calls weakly. “Are you … oh my God. What – what happened to me?”

Mark shoots me a panicked look before trying to comfort Sara. I just blow out a huge sigh. Time for another long, awkward car ride.

This time I roll snake-eyes. We get Pops to his church and we’re halfway to the hospital with an exhausted and borderline hysterical Sara. I was hoping that the last thing of note tonight was my ‘I’m a Slayer’ song and dance, and maybe helping Mark with some moral support. But I know the second I take in the buildings ahead of me –from that fucking dream – that we’re fucked.

Of course we’re fucked. We’re driving out of suburbia on the one major street heading towards either the hospital or my place – same fucking route out of here. Of course he’s waiting. It’s called being set up. I should be used to it by now.

“Drive like a maniac, Mark!” I shout. “He’s around here somewhere!”

He tries – doesn’t hesitate even for a second.

But we’re too late.

The driver’s window shatters. Mark falls across the seat, screaming. Sparks fly up as the bullet plows through Mark and then through the console between the seats, hitting something that didn’t like it.

I lunge for the wheel, but we’re already bouncing along a line of parked cars and the street lamp’s too close. The front of the car sandwiches around the pole, and we’re thrown all over the place. Desperate to move, I kick my door open so hard it rips half off the hinges and haul Mark out between the seats, pulling him behind the first parked car. Sara crawls along the same path, joining me.

Just in time. Another shot punches through the car where she was sitting.

Shouldn’t this fucker be aiming at me? Hmm. Maybe he is. Maybe the stealth spell works a little bit.

Through the car, I get a glance at the gunman – a shadow on the rooftop of an office building across the street. No normal person would see him.

“Come on!” I shout, duck-walking towards a delivery truck near the end of the line of parked cars, dragging a moaning Mark behind me. “Get over to behind the truck! Hurry!”

Sara crawls quickly, her eyes never leaving Mark. The parked cars are shitty cover, but I’m banking on him not being able to aim at me properly due to my spell. As long as Sara and Mark stay close to me and we keep moving or stay in heavy cover, we should be fine.

Yeah, I’m talking out my ass, here. I really hope I’m right.

I sit Mark up against the truck’s dual tires once we’re in cover, and take a look at the gun shot, trying to slow the bleeding as Sara crowds around me, her own blood dripping from a gash on her head. Wish I still had some of that duct tape. It’s messy – in near the rib cage and out near the opposite hip.

That had to have hit the liver, along with most of his guts.

Dammit, he’s going to die. Fuck this stupid shit, my best friend in this whole goddamn city is going to die, and it’s my fucking fault.

Game face. Keep your game face on, Lehane. Cry later. Focus now.

Sara’s trying to keep Mark awake. Good girl. “Mark? Mark, honey, can you hear me? Mark, you’re going to be okay. Please, please be okay….”

Now we’re in serious trouble. Mark’s got his hands on his sides trying to hold his blood and guts in, getting paler by the second, and Sara’s close to bawling her head off. I need to get across to that other building, but how the fuck can I get the gunman’s attention off me?

What’s behind me? A jewelry store.

Got it.

A crazy idea forms in my head, and I start pulling off my jacket and pants, taking time to pull a short sword from the back of the jacket.

“Sara? Sara!” I reach over and shake the now sobbing woman, trying to get her to look at me.

“Put this on,” I throw her my clothes. “From this distance, we look alike. Your hair’s dark enough. He’ll be looking for my clothing. See that door behind us? It’s a store. Just crawl over to the car in front of the door, then run like hell and get inside the store an’ stay away from the windows. I’ll use that distraction to—”

“Wha—No!” she screams. “I can’t leave Mark! He’s dying, Faith!”

“Listen to me: If we stay here, we’re all gonna die! Mark is gonna bleed out if we can’t get help soon. Do you get that?”

“I – I…”

“Do. You. Get. That?”

She nods, finally.

“Then fuckin’ get dressed an’ get movin!’ Go, so I can kill this fucker and we can get help!”

Alright, risk time: Blood is an ingredient in my little stealth pouch. Just a drop, I guess to key it to me. Time to mess around blindly. I take a finger of the blood on Sara’s forehead and smear it on the inside of the pouch, then loop it over her head as she finishes puling my shit on and give her a shove as I struggle into her jeans. Sara bolts.

Now, I pray: Please don’t die; please don’t die; please don’t die. Plan B sucks so much worse than Plan A. If he shoots you, he’ll have to come over to confirm the kill, but he’ll take his time, and then you’ll both die.

So please, don’t die.

Crack!

Chips of brick fly everywhere as the sniper misses Sara by maybe a foot and the wall suffers. Good – the spell’s not completely ineffective, and Sara’s kind of safe. Wish I’d had it on when I met Mark this morning. I wish I’d thought of this blood thing at my apartment.

I wish a lot of things.

I also file away how close the shot was. That’s what, a 200 yard shot? More? I’m shit at math. Still, on a long shot from a rooftop to street level with a partially obstructed view and a stealth spell at whatever level of effectiveness, he almost shot Sara dead.

Hmm. A foot. Maybe two. So he really was aiming at me. He hit Mark ‘cause his aim was fucked by the spell and shooting at a moving vehicle. Still only a little off target.

Damn it, I have to take him now. This is terrifying shit. No stealth spell will help me if he gets a clean line on me. It’s just a small distraction to keep people from noticing I’m armed; I can’t make myself invisible.

I carefully, quietly slip off the other way towards the street corner, keeping low behind the cars. Once I’m around the corner of a building, I hightail it to the first sewer opening I see. I’m sure I’m quite the sight – sword-wielding chick runs out into the street, hauls a manhole cover off like it’s nothing and jumps in. Yeah, that’ll bring the cops, and if anyone snapped a photo I just might be in trouble.

Not before I pay this motherfucker back, though. Shoot me? Shoot my friends? You’re dead, pal.

All right, it’s time for the second part of the gamble: That the sniper stays put for a bit in the hopes that I go back to my friends, so I can actually get up to him before he moves.

It’s a short, stinky trek over to the next manhole, then a long, painful climb up the side of the office building. I can feel the bullet wound opening up again. There’s no sugar coating it – it feels like someone’s trying to rape the hole. I’ve got no real choice, though; I can’t use the inside, there’s a bunch of people in there I can’t explain myself to. I ain’t a sneak thief, either. I open locked doors the noisy way, which would tip off the gunman. So pain it is. That’s okay. Just makes me angrier. Stronger. Faster.

I ease myself up onto the roof and—

Score! He’s still here!

It’s all I can do to not rush. If he sees me at this point, it’s fifty-fifty if I can get to him before he shoots me, and that’s no good. But every second that ticks by, Mark’s bleeding to death, and if he gets a bead on Sara…

He’s maybe fifty paces away now. Almost there. Could throw the sword – no, not aerodynamic, no guarantee of a hit. Wish I’d have fished a stake out of my jacket before giving it to Sara. Then this would all be over. I’m screwing myself over and over by being a panicked little bitch. Got to get better than this.

I hear the sirens of an ambulance and several cop cruisers.

Fuck. Stay inside, Sara.

He lifts the rifle.

Fuck! Please just be scoping around.

He adjusts the sight.

Almost fucking there…

He settles the gun against his shoulder – shit! He must see her!

I bolt.

Be fast enough.

He turns. His eyes widen.

Be fast enough.

He brings the rife to bear.

Be fast enough.

He squeezes the trigger.

I reach for the gun; my sword swings across.

The shot echoes across the rooftops.

I’m there.

I glance at the gun – my bad arm’s up against the barrel, holding it away from me. The hilt of my sword is all the way across, resting against the butt of the rifle.

I didn’t get shot.

His head drops to the rooftop with a wet thud. His body follows after it. Blood splashes everywhere.

I catch the gun as it falls. I’m tempted to tie it into a pretzel, but… you know what? Fuck that. I just scored a sniper rifle, and one, two … three spare clips of ammo, once I wipe the blood off.

I’ll take it. I help myself to the contents of his pockets, too. What’s this? A hotel room card? And the address is printed on the side? Why, thank you. You shouldn’t have. I snap a picture with my cell phone for Travers later. Maybe he’ll have something on this guy.

I just want to sit down and weep with relief; this guy scared the living shit out of me. I’m going to have nightmares about walking down the fucking street now. Can’t rest now, though; the show’s not over. I rush back down the building and over to Mark and Sara, stashing the gun and sword in the open manhole. I find Sara near the ambulance, crying openly as they load Mark – he’s white as a sheet, but I can just make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Damn, man. God be with you, for all it’s worth. I’ll miss you so fucking much if you bite it.

“It’s done,” I whisper as I take my jacket and stealth spell back from Sara. She just nods silently, her tears flowing non-stop.

I want to stay with her, but my job’s not done. I take off top speed, grab the weapons, and head for my place.

Jogging home takes a good fifteen minutes even at Slayer speed. It’s a painful run, but I need wheels. My aching shoulder thanks me for taking the Mustang to the hotel. When I get to the hotel room I find a lot of shit, but the best thing is a contract outlining a hit on me, using some Warlock to cause issues. Best of all, they name the employer:

Wolfram & Hart.

I definitely feel like I rolled high again. Now I know who I have to pay back. Naturally, my cell chooses now to ring.

“Lehane.”

“Faith? It’s Dennis. Violet and I are in town, and … I have something to tell you.”

.

I’m ready to drop dead by the time I make it to the hospital. Adrenalin’s long gone, and coffee just isn’t enough. Three info desks later, I find Sara staring at the doors of the operating room where they’re working on Mark. She’s got the thousand yard stare going, permanent tear tracks down her face.

“Hey.” Sara turns at the sound of my voice, blinking at me. “How’s he doin?’”

“Bad,” she says, sniffling. “They’re still operating. They don’t know if he’ll make it. Even if he does, he’ll need surgery to repair his bowels, and – and he’ll need a colostomy bag for at least a few months, maybe forever. It’s – oh, Faith, why? Why did this happen?”

“The guy who put that thing in you? He and the shooter were lookin’ to off me. They only got you guys ‘cause you were there.”

“You? But what did you do to them?”

“My job. I think Mark started to tell you, but … I kill evil shit all night long. That’s what I do, y’know? That’s why I train so hard. There’s things that go bump in the night for real, Sar. These two, they were workin’ for the kinda monsters I kill. Long stories later, huh? Just look after Mark. We have lotsa time to talk when he’s outta the woods.”

Sara just nods at me, her gaze moving again towards the doors of the operating room. A great wave of fear and sadness creeps over me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Faith? Are you …?” Sara reaches up and wipes a tear off my face. “Don’t cry, Faith. I’m doing more than enough of that. If you start, I’ll start again for sure.”

I swallow, trying to make the words form. “I’m terrified, Sar – that this’ll scare you off, or that you’ll be too pissed at me to stay friends. I – I don’t want to lose the two of you.”

“Oh, Faith,” she whispers, pulling me into a hug. “I promise we’ll be there for you. You didn’t do this, he did – and he’s dead.” She pulls back for a second. “They’re both gone, right? The other guy – that’s where you went, isn’t it?”

“He’s gone,” I say as confidently as I can. ‘Cause fuck if I know where Rayne went. Until Travers finds him, anyways.

“Good. Then it’s over. We’ll be okay, Faith. I’ll be okay.”

I nod and hug her nice and tight, praying that she’s right.

Three long hours later, Mark's still alive, lying comatose in bed. Sara’s sleeping fitfully on another bed in the room. Wasn’t hard to convince the hospital to take my money and give them a private room.

He survived the first round. So many more to go, though.

So weak. So small. Hooked up to a million different machines. Just like me in Sunnydale.

But this isn’t an illusion. This is my friend.

Cue more tears and sniffling.

“Hang in there, Mark,” I whisper. “Sara needs you. She loves you.”

I take a deep, shuddering breath.

“I love you.”

Out.

“So you can’t die, Mark. Okay? You and Sar are family to me. I can’t lose you.”

I’m answered only by the heart monitor beeping steadily away.

Alright, enough. I need food and sleep. Time to call Dennis, and pick up Vi.

.

I feel like a month has passed by the time I get home. Vi walks in timidly behind me, taking in my digs. I nudge her over to the hallway off the living room.

“You can use this room. S’not got nothin’ in it, just a bed and shit, but you need anythin,’ just let me know. We’ll make it your room, a’ight?”

“Okay.”

Vi looks a little lost. I want to help her, but I’m so fucking tired. It’ll have to wait for morning. Or afternoon - I'll probably sleep that long.

“Look, Vi. Today was hard as fuck for me, so I ain’t gonna be much company for a bit.  Hard is a Slayer’s life. If I die, there’s every chance it’ll be yours. We’re gonna go heavy on the trainin,’ you an' me. I want you to live, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Give me an’ hour to get my head on straight, an’ we’ll see about a late dinner.”

“Alright.” Vi steps into her room, then comes back out. “Faith?”

“Yo.”

“Thank you. For havin’ me, I mean. I…”

“Welcome.” I pat her on the shoulder. “Now go put your shit away an’ call Dennis, while I make my own calls. Got a phone?” She shakes her head, so I throw her my cell. “Use that. Talk to you in a bit.”

I find my cordless, and there’s a couple messages on it.

“Faith? It’s Buffy. Please call me back.”

Next one.

“Faith, it’s Buffy again. I felt something. I’m worried. Maybe I’ll try your cell.”

I go back to Vi and check my cell. One missed call from B, but no message.

I pick up my home phone and dial B; best to get this one over with.

“Hello?”

“B? It’s—”

“FAITH! Oh my God, I was so worried! I – I felt something! My whole shoulder went numb, and – and… Are you okay?”

“No, B. I’m not okay. You got time? ‘Cause I’ve got a helluva story for you.”

“Definitely. I’m all ears.”

“A’ight, let’s start with this mornin.’ I took off to Mark’s, high as a kite ‘cause your Mom just agreed to visit me.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. No solid plans, but soon.”

“Oh. That’s, um, nice. I – maybe I could…”

And cue knee-jerk jealousy. Seriously, can you picture B as a five year old? ‘What about me? Me, too!’ Priceless shit. B and Cordy, princesses the both of them.

“B, consider this your standin’ invitation. You never need to call ahead; just drop in whenever. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thanks. I’d really like to see you.”

“Go right ahead. If you tell me in advance, I’ll cover airfare. No sense wastin’ your cash when I have fuckin’ bottomless pockets over here.”

“You don’t have to do that, Faith.”

“You’re worth it.”

There’s this awkward little pause, and I can just imagine B blushing.

“Well… thanks.”

“Welcome. So, where was I?”

“Mark’s.”

“Right. So I get there ready to do my work out an’ shit, and here’s Mark fightin’ for his life against Sara of all people. An’ she was fucked up, B! Possessed by some demon, bendin’ all over the place like she had no bones. Scary shit.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. So I take her down and tie her up. Get Mark to drive us towards a priest he knows – ‘cause fuck if I can do exorcisms. You’re lucky you have Red an’ G, B. I’m kinda missin’ the friendly neighborhood witch over here.”

“Yeah, Willow’s great. Which reminds me, you two have to be nice to each other.”

“Bosom buddies, B. Cross my heart.”

“Okay. So, exorcism?”

“Not yet. Turns out the whole possession shit was a diversion put together by G’s old pal, Ethan Rayne.”

“No way!”

“Ya huh. Didn’t find out his name ‘till later, but yeah, it was him. Mr. Band Candy.”

“So what was the diversion for?”

“To make me an easy target for an assassin.”

“WHAT?”

“A sniper took a shot at me. I had maybe a second’s warnin’ thanks to a Slayer dream a while ago, but I couldn’t move fast enough. He got me in the shoulder.”

“That’s what I felt.”

“You felt that?”

Ouch.

“I felt – in the middle of class, my shoulder started to hurt and my arm went numb. And I knew – just knew it was you. I had – I don’t know, Faithy feelings.”

“Faithy feelin’s? Aww, B—”

“Shut up.”

“—I have feelin’s for you, too.”

“Shut up!”

“Serious as all fuck here, B. I can always feel you, even here in Cleveland. Even right now. If anythin’ big happened to you, I’d know.”

“I … really?”

“Yeah. Always. No one else goes that distance, just you. You an’ me, B, we’re connected.”

“I know. But … wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, leaving that for later … so … you were shot?”

“Right. It’s healin’ nicely, but it fucked me up good. Sara woke up an’ got away. I couldn’t do shit ‘bout it.”

“Well, yeah. So what happened then?”

“Got Mark to take me home and slept a bit. Let my shoulder heal some.”

“I tried calling you…”

“Saw that. Didn’t think to check the phone, sorry. Mark prolly didn’t want to pick up. Or maybe we’d already left.”

“You left? But you were shot.”

“Yeah, but who was gonna save Sara? S’anyways, we picked up the priest, tracked her down and did the exorcism. That was the easy part.”

“What was the hard part?”

“Sniper knew where we’d be, and ambushed us. Shot Mark in the gut so we crashed the car. Might have been aimin’ for me, but I had my stealth spell on, an’ I think it fucked with his aim a bit.”

“So you didn’t have it on in the morning?”

“Nah. Never do in the daytime, B. Makes socializin’ a bit hard.”

“Yeah, I guess. So, what happened then?”

“Dragged Mark out behind some parked cars. Got Sara to dress up as me to distract the sniper. Took my spell, too, so that he couldn’t shoot her.” I didn’t know it would work, but B doesn’t need that tidbit. “Then I snuck around to his buildin’ and killed the fucker ‘fore he could shoot me.”

“You … killed him?”

Here we go…

“Chopped his fuckin’ head off. What would you do, B? Say the fucker just shot you in the shoulder, shot Xander in the gut and was tryin’ to aim a shot at Willow? Sayin’ nothin’ ‘bout the fact that he was aimin’ a fuckin’ huge rifle at me as I was runnin’ at him.”

“I … don’t know, Faith. You couldn’t have knocked him out?”

“Dunno. What if he got another shot at me?”

“But then he could … I don’t know, maybe the police could get some information from him?”

“Already a step ahead o’ you, B. Took his hotel card, ransacked his room. Stole his rifle, too. Gun caused me so much pain, now it’s part of my collection.”

“Okay… Did you find anything?”

“Fuck yeah. Guy works for Wolfram & Hart, some fuckin’ demon law firm in L.A. Guess they're pissed off that I slayed there last week. Musta offed some of their boys.”

“Wow. So they sent an assassin after you?”

“Yeah, an’ Rayne. The papers mentioned a Warlock to keep me occupied.”

“Wow. Maybe you should steer clear of L.A. for a while.”

“Maybe I should go there an’ kill every fuckin’ paper pusher in the buildin.’”

“Faith, no! No killing! Promise me!”

“B…”

“I’m serious. I – I want to be friends with you, Faith. I really do, but you have to meet me halfway here. An – an assassin is one thing. I understand why you had to kill him. I don’t like it, but I can deal. But we don’t know anything about this law firm. They – they could be innocent people!”

“They deal with demons, B.”

“They might not know that. We don’t know enough.”

“Dammit, Buffy…”

“Please, Faith. Call Angel. Get help. Don’t just shoot them. Even if you have a nifty new sniper rifle. Please.”

What can I say? Who says no to B?

“Fine. No killin.’”

“Thank you.”

“Yet.”

“Faith…”

“Serious, B. If these guys are bad news, I ain’t gonna let ‘em step all over us. If they go after you, or Angel, I go head huntin.’ But I’m willin’ to wait so we can learn more.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell Giles.”

“Appreciated. I’ll give Cordy a call.”

“Okay. So, what about Mark? Is he okay?”

Mark. Fuck.

“No, B. He ain’t. He’s human. Shot went in through the ribs and out the opposite hip. If he lives, he’ll never be the same.”

“That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“Can’t do nothin’ ‘bout it now, B. Maybe see if Red can cook up somethin’ to help him heal. Anythin’s better than nothin.’”

“Absolutely. I’ll get her to call you.”

“Wicked. Gotta go, B. Gotta call Travers and fax him shit.”

“Okay. Please be careful, Faith.”

“You, too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

.

In a carved stone room hundreds of feet under the city, a massive door stands sealed as it has for centuries. Twenty feet tall, carved from the purest obsidian, etched with elaborate runes and markings, no lock or handle can be seen.

The gloom lessens slightly as a small ‘XIII’ on each door flickers to life in a ghostly blue iridescence. The door shudders slightly, then falls still.

Across town, in a house near a small Greek church, Father George Matsoukas shudders in his sleep.