Why the hell am I doing this? Why the hell am I here? “Oh, go to Russia,” he said. “I think you’ll like it,” he said with his cup of tea in his hands and a small smile on his face, “Beautiful scenery, get in touch with nature, lovely people, and god knows you could use some peace and quiet.” Well, I guess Giles was right on that last one: I could use a break. Being the oldest and most experienced slayer isn’t an easy gig: there’s a million things I have to do, a million people I have to run after and, god, can you believe that I have to be the responsible slayer? So yeah, a break is nice. But this, this is not a break. A break is chilling on the beach or letting loose in a club somewhere. This is dredging through the snow and sleeping in the snow and eating in the snow and even fucking pissing in the fucking snow. And don’t even get me started on trying to take care of the horses in the fucking snow. Why the hell can’t there for once be a group of mystical seers who live in a luxury apartment in New York and who aren’t hermits in the middle of goddam nowhere?

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m a Boston girl: I can stand a little snow, ya know? But Buffy? Miss California? I don’t think she’s even heard the word ‘winter.’ She sure as hell ain’t going to be out here in freeze-your-ass-off-land. But it’s the closest damn thing to a lead we’ve got, and she has to be somewhere. People don’t just vanish this completely. Even Red and her team of witches are stumped. And so here we are: chasing idea after idea that come to nothing, and then Giles comes up with a lead on this bunch in deep, northern Russia.  The Order of the Unseen Night. Sounds to me like your typical demon cult, but that contact of Giles’ said he had heard a rumour of a sighting of a young blond woman with super-strength being involved in business with this Order, so here I am. In the snow. In the middle of January. Well, fuck me. You see, Andrew gets to take a team of slayers to hunt down that lead in Morocco. But me? I get Russia. I get.

“Are you okay Faith?” I almost jump out of my saddle as my silent ranting gets interrupted. “Huh? No. Um, yes,” I stammer back. “Five by five,” I sigh. Fyodor, my Russian dwarf guide, is looking back at me with a concerned look on his face. I guess I must’ve been muttering a bit. “You must care for her very much,” he says, his eyes softening from concern to sympathy as he slows down to let me catch up to him. “Hmm? Yeah, I guess,” I shrug, “Me and B, we go way back.” Yeah, way back. Back when we were trying to kill each other, and she put in coma, then I slept with her boyfriend. But I’ve reformed, we made up, and sure, we may not be the best of buds, but we get along. We were even starting to bond, slayer-to-slayer, when she disappeared. “Well, don’t worry,” Fyodor replies with a smile, “We’re almost there! We should be reaching their village tomorrow morning.” And then he adds with a deep laugh, “And if we’re lucky, we’ll get there just in time for lunch!”

*******

(The next morning)

Well, he wasn’t wrong. We’re here. “What did I tell you?” The dwarf exclaims, a smile on his face as he slaps my back, “And look at the time!” He shouts out another laugh, and then speeds down towards the small village.

I can’t help but give a small smile at that, even if it’s mostly out of relief that we’re finally here. Although, there’s not much here to look at. A few farms covered in snow, a couple fishing shacks and what looks like a stone dormitory. There can’t be much more than 40-50 people living here. And then I frown as I see the big stone building in the middle of the village. It looks like a church, but something’s off. I can’t quite place it when a blast of cold salty hair hits me in the face. “Well fuck.” I swear out loud, as I pull my fur hat and scarf tighter round my head, and begin steering my horse down the hill to where Fyodor is waiting for me.

Once we get inside the dormitory, where it’s thankfully a bit warmer, the dwarf starts right into a conversation with the Order member who came to greet us. I think they must be friends. Now, I might have spent a few days with that Russian slayer we’ve got back in Scotland trying to pick up a few words, but my Russian sucks, and I can’t understand a damn thing they’re saying. I just want this stupid trip to be over, so I can find B and drag her back home.

I guess I must have sighed out loud again, because the dwarf turns to me and good-naturedly says “Don’t worry Faith! It’s all sorted out. You can go see the Provider of Sight after lunch. He’ll be able to give you the information you need.” And not a moment too soon, I grump to myself.

*******

(That afternoon)

Well lunch was forgettable – some fish and some weird mushy vegetables that I’m not entirely what they were. I can’t wait for this to be over so I can get some real food for the first time in a couple weeks. But here I am, walking into that not-church building, ready to see the Provider of Sight. I figure he must be their leader or something like that. He better just be able to tell me what I need to know.

And there he is, his back turned to me, his face turned towards the fireplace. “Hello?” I call out in my shaky Russian. “Faith.” He replies in a deep low voice and turns towards me, “You’ve come for me.” Okay, well, I’m not sure what I thought he’d look like, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. He looks completely normal. Like any random 40-year old pulled off the street. Except of course, for his lack of eyes. Whoever named him the “Provider of Sight” sure had a sense of humour. “How the hell do you speak English?” I shoot back, slightly in shock of hearing my language here. “I can be heard in many languages,” he says back calmly, “The night is neither yours alone to fight or to defend. Nor is your gift yours to keep forever.”

“Okay, look,” I answer back with a frustrated glare, “Cut the mystic crap and just tell me what I need to know.” His dry lips part in a triumphant smirk at that, and as he takes a step towards me, and I’ve got to say, I don’t like this guy. Hell, I don’t like any of this. I’ve got a bad feeling: there’s something definitely wrong here. “One of your kind passed through here recently,” he tells me, “She was looking for our protection. You can find her in the old farm at a quarter of a day’s walk from here. Go tonight."

“Great,” I reply, feeling slightly relieved, but also kinda wary that this might be a trap, “Thank you.” But before I can turn to leave, he whispers something else. “What you find at the farm might not be what you expect. And be warned: when you find the girl you are looking for, she will see you as you are. She knows the darkness. You are the only one that can make her fall."