Chapter One

Buffy’s still rubbing sleep from her eyes when she lets herself into the war room connected to Giles’s office. About five minutes have passed since the emergency signal went on in her room, the blinking green light and quietly buzzing intercom beside her bedroom door easily rousing her. Green was the ‘Scoobies Only’ frequency, so she knew, at least, that they weren’t under siege. Still, the signal was rarely used, and Buffy wasted no time, slipping sneakers on her bare feet and jogging across the castle. 

No hint of sunrise peeks through the office windows, but far from being pajama clad and half asleep as she’s expecting, Willow and Dawn are fully dressed and looking suspiciously bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“What’s going on?” Xander asks, practically plowing in to her as he comes through the door she’s just closed behind her.

Buffy shrugs, happy to see that Xander, at least, is wearing sleep attire. So she isn’t the only one caught unawares here.

“A very good question,” Willow says cheerfully, motioning them toward the couch. She catches sight of Buffy’s scowl and tempers her enthusiasm. “Which we will be answering now, since we’re all assembled.”

Shuffling toward the couch, Buffy shoots an inquisitive look at Giles. He looks as tired as she feels, but not quite as in suspense. Already crabby from being woken up, Buffy sits down and crosses her arms.

Once Xander’s seated beside her, he complains, “Nothing’s on fire. No limbs are missing. Do we need to discuss the rules for when we use the bat signal again?”

Buffy points at Xander, nodding in support of his question.

Ignoring them completely, Willow beams at Dawn and motions for her to speak.

“We found her!” Dawn says, the words spilling out as if she’s barely been holding them in all this time. “We found the other slayer.”

Xander glances at Buffy, confirms that she also looks unimpressed, and says, “You woke us up to tell us you found another slayer? No offense, guys, I know it’s exciting, but this couldn’t have waited until morning?”

“Not a slayer,” Willow corrects. “The slayer.” Her gaze turns to Buffy. “We found the other original slayer. From before we activated the potentials.”

Now she gets it. Buffy’s mouth falls open in a distinctly unflattering way. Beside her, Xander mirrors her expression, disbelief clear in his eye.

Across from them, Giles pulls off his glasses and runs a hand down his exhausted face.

“How is it possible that she’s really out there?” Buffy asks, surprise giving way to confusion. “After all this time?”

“We don’t know,” Giles admits. “The Council never found her. We searched ourselves, after you…” He pauses, swallowing hard, then continues, “died fighting Glory. We never found any hint that she existed.”

“Until last night,” Willow says, her voice distinctly more excited than Giles’s. She pushes the rolling white board aside, already pointing a remote at the large touch screen stowed behind it. It lights up, displaying her laptop’s screen large enough for all of them to see. “We’re not identifying the new slayers fast enough,” she says, dropping the remote to the table and moving to the screen. “We’ve been experimenting with using magic signatures to locate them.” She clicks an icon, waiting for the program to boot up.

Dawn joins her at the screen, excitement clear on her face in spite of the fact that it’s barely five in the morning. “Every living thing has a specific magic signature,” Dawn says. “Think of it like DNA—the building blocks are all the same, but how it’s expressed is different for all of us.”

Now wide-awake, Buffy nods. She sat through enough of sophomore year biology to know that much.

“Okay, so we hypothesized that magic could be quantified the same way,” Dawn says, turning to the now active program on the screen. She clicks and an image of her own smiling face pops up. “We have the signature for everyone in the castle, and what we found is exactly what we were hoping to find.” She touches the screen again and a graph comes up, mostly shaded in deep blue. “This is my signature.”

Willow taps another section of the screen, bringing up a picture of Xander wincing.

“Is that really the best picture of me you could find?” Xander asks, making an almost identical face to the one on screen.

“You were in a hurry to get to breakfast,” Willow answers, her voice dry. She touches the screen again. “Here’s your signature.”

Buffy looks at the two graphs intently. “They look exactly the same.”

“Pretty much,” Dawn confirms. “There are some small differences if we really drill down—probably residual magic from being the Key—but this is what most humans look like.”

Willow pulls up another graph, this one containing spikes and bluish green in color.

“Who’s that one?” Xander asks.

“This is Giles,” Willow answers. “Giles has magical abilities beyond most average humans. You can see the color has changed, and there’s flares here,” she points, “here, and here.”

Dawn minimizes herself and Xander and pulls up Willow’s profile. Now the color on screen is light green with a yellowish cast to it. 

“Most witches we’ve been able to assess fall within the green section of the spectrum,” Willow says, dragging her signature upward and opening another. Now the graphs stretch across the screen, every shade of green imaginable. Dawn clicks to the right and the graph shrinks, now joined by a large section of blue tiles.

“The slayers have been collecting data when they’re out on patrol,” Dawn says, pride clear in her voice. “So we know where a lot of demons fall.” She clicks and light orange joins the spectrum. “These are vamps.”

She clicks again and a large swatch of tiles take up residence on the board.

“Ethros demons,” she says, pointing. “Haklars, Ghoras, Ragnas, Bakemonos.” The tiles move through deeper orange to light red.

“This,” Willow says, clicking once more and bringing up a blood red tile, “is Illyria.”

Buffy’s sharp eyes swing to Giles. “Why do we have Illyria?”

His gaze back is steady. “When the girls went to Los Angeles to get Dana, we asked them to observe Illyria if possible.”

Annoyed at being left out of the loop, Buffy turns back to Willow. “Where are the slayers?”

A few more clicks, and then a blue violet section appears next to the humans. “Humans with the strength of demons,” Willow says, clearly pleased with their model.

“I don’t get it,” Xander says, looking around confused. “How does this help identify the slayers?”

Willow drags a hand across the screen, revealing a map. “Now that we know what the slayer signature looks like, we’ve started searching for that signature, rather than relying on word of mouth and reports of young girls with weird powers.” She zooms in on the map, revealing a violet dot somewhere in North Africa. “See what I mean?”

Buffy and Xander both nod their understanding.

“Wherever we have a witch stationed, we have her searching for this signature. We can identify the slayers faster now. Lose less of them,” Willow says, her gaze turning serious.

It’s something that’s plagued them ever since the Battle ended—how to find all these girls before something else does. Buffy nods her head in appreciation. This is a great idea. “No wonder you wanted to be a watcher,” she says to her sister. “This is amazing.”

“And we’re not even done,” Dawn says, beaming with pride. “Last night, we caught this signature, just for a few seconds.” She pulls up a time-stamped glimpse of the map. In the sea of color, a bright flare of violet appears, more vibrant than the slayer signals they’ve displayed before. This color is warmer, more tinged with red. It remains for a few seconds and then disappears.

“What does that mean?” Buffy asks, confused. “That signature doesn’t look like a slayer.”

Willow and Dawn exchange glances, and then Willow begins opening another profile over the map.

“There’s one slayer we didn’t show you,” Dawn admits.

Willow clicks and the screen lights up red violet, almost magenta. “This is your signature, Buffy.”

Dumbfounded, Buffy stares at it for a few seconds. “But why don’t I look like the other slayers?”

“We’re not exactly sure,” Willow admits, looking to Giles.

His eyebrows go up as they usually do when he’s encountered a particularly intriguing puzzle. “There could be something different about slayers from the original line. The essence of the slayer line changed when Willow activated all the potentials. Where there used to be one, there are now thousands.” He glances at the screen, wheels turning in his head. “Or it could be a function of how long you’ve been the slayer. We’ve seen your powers mature over time. Most slayers don’t live as long as you have. Either way…”

“We’ve found the other original,” Buffy says, understanding.

“Why did her signature disappear like that?” Xander asks hesitantly. “Is that what happens when someone dies?”

The thought makes Buffy’s chest squeeze painfully. She looks to Willow for a response.

Willow rewinds to the point where the time capture started. “Notice how the signature appears there. We’ve never seen it before and we’ve been watching this area for a while.”

“We think someone’s cloaking her signature,” Dawn adds, excited. “Somehow, the cloak fell last night, just for a few minutes.”

“Why?” Buffy asks. “Why would someone be doing that?”

“We don’t know,” Giles answers, “but it explains why the Council never found her, and why we couldn’t either.”

They sit in silence for a moment, all looking at the twin signatures displayed on opposite sides of the screen.

“Wow,” Xander says, running a hand through his hair tiredly. “What do we do now?”

“We get some sleep,” Buffy says, getting to her feet. “Then I go get her.”

XXXXX

Buffy double-checks the small GPS device before tucking it in her pocket and pushing it to the bottom. She’d flown Aberdeen to London, to Boston, to Chicago. Sixteen hours later, she’s freshly showered, trying to work a persistent crick out of her neck, and standing in front of an open doorway with music piping through it. Pulling her phone out, she types a quick text, I’m here, check in soon, xoxo. Back at the hotel, Dawn will track her via the GPS, only stepping in if Buffy doesn’t check in at the agreed upon times. Kennedy had argued to go with her, half, Buffy thinks, out of actual concern, and half just to be a giant pain in her ass. Buffy had put the kibosh on that. It isn’t that she thinks she’s too good to need backup, but this is a recon mission and having a junior slayer tagging along at her heels isn’t exactly inconspicuous.

Be safe, comes the return text. Buffy nods affirmatively and slides the phone back in her pocket. Stepping to the doorway, she shows her ID to the leather-vest clad female bouncer, smiling innocently when the un-amused eyes drift to her face. She’s waved through and Buffy immediately identifies the bar, striding toward it purposefully. The place is packed, people two and three deep all around the bar. Cursing her shortness, Buffy tries to peer over the heads of the women directly ahead of her. A few feet away, she notices the crowd is parting to allow a tall, angular woman up to the bar. Buffy darts after her, fingers closing gently on the back of the woman’s loose tank top as she follows her through the throng of people.

Reaching the bar, Buffy releases her shirt just as the woman turns around, puzzled.

She’s got a solid six inches on Buffy, sharp blue eyes peering down at her. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Buffy answers, feeling her cheeks color a bit. “Sorry, I saw the opportunity to actually reach the bar and got a little excited.”

The woman leans one toned arm against the bar, revealing a bit of her tanned mid section through the open side of her shirt. “Fair enough.” She looks at Buffy for another beat. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“How can you tell?” Buffy mutters, as someone bumps into her from behind.

“What’s that?” The woman asks, leaning in closer, a bit of her styled pompadour threatening to fall out of place.

“I said, it’s my first time!” Buffy says a little louder. “I’m visiting from out of town.”

The woman nods, straightening back up. She faces front, leaning in to say something to the bartender. Then she smiles at Buffy again. “Enjoy your trip,” she says, tapping the surface with her hand and then disappearing back into the crowd.

Buffy watches her go for a moment, then turns to the bartender. “Jack and Diet,” she requests, digging in her pocket for some American money she’d hastily acquired on her way here. Accepting her drink, Buffy makes her way to an inconspicuous corner of the room. She jumps onto a stool, back to the wall, and sets about surveying the crowd.

It’s not her first time in a lesbian bar. A surprising number of the newbie slayers are dating each other—plus there’s Willow and Kennedy.  She’s gone out with them quite a few times. It’s a little different being by herself, but she sips her drink slowly and pretends not to notice the few women giving her appreciative looks. Her identity these days is definitely somewhere more toward the center of the Kinsey scale, but tonight’s about business, not pleasure.

She’s been there almost an hour, politely declining invitations to dance and firmly rebuffing a drunk woman who’d tried to slobber all over her after exchanging their names, when she feels the telltale tingle in the back of her neck. She can sense all the slayers, that much has been clear since Willow’s spell. This is different. She hasn’t felt this since… Kendra, she thinks, with a little ache in her heart. Buffy tilts her face downward, pretending to study her drink, and lets her eyes close.

Concentrating on the feeling, letting it wash over her, Buffy lets her mind reach out across the room for the source of it. It’s powerful—the connection between them. Buffy has to be careful not to push too hard and tip off the person on the other end. She narrows her senses to just the sensation until she only hears one heartbeat drowning out the others in the room.

She raises her head and opens her eyes. The woman wears dark jeans tucked into loosely laced boots, a white tank top displaying the tattoos decorating her bicep. A silver chain disappears into her cleavage. Dark, wavy hair frames a heart-shaped face. Bright red lipstick shining like a poison apple. Big brown eyes narrowed in concentration. Just setting eyes on her makes Buffy’s pulse pound a little harder.

Quickly releasing her hold on the connection between them, Buffy takes a few deep breaths to center herself. She rests her back against the wall, condensing glass sweating on her fingers as she draws her straw through the last watery dredges of her drink.  She keeps her gaze loose, just another patron checking out the scene, but keeps the woman in the corner of her vision.

Buffy nurses her way slowly through another drink before she makes her move. The woman is heading toward the bar alone at the moment, having moved away from the table of people she was just talking with. Buffy downs the last sip in her glass and then gets up, thanking her slayer constitution for allowing her to burn off alcohol almost as fast as she takes it in. She beelines for the other slayer, coming to a stop right beside her before frowning a little. “This place is impossible!” She says in the slayer’s general direction, keeping her voice low enough that a normal person wouldn’t be able to discern her words.

The woman turns, warm brown eyes lighting up when she sees Buffy. “You just gotta know someone,” she says, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “What are you drinking?”

“Jack and Diet,” Buffy answers, smiling hopefully.

“One minute,” the woman says, then steps into the throng, putting her hands on the shoulders ahead of her and exchanging greetings and smiles with those she passes. A few moments later, she’s back at Buffy’s side, handing her a fresh glass. She holds up her own glass, half full with amber liquid. “Cheers?”

They clink glasses. Buffy raises hers, taking a quick sip, only to be met with a burning sensation as she swallows. She manages to curb the urge to cough, looking at her companion with watering eyes. “That’s strong.”

Another dimpled grin. “You look like a girl who can hold her liquor.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Faith.”

Faith the Vampire Slayer, Buffy thinks, taking her hand. Where have you been all this time? “Buffy,” she responds, squeezing Faith’s fingers softly. “How much do I owe you?”

Faith squeezes her hand one more time and lets go. “This one’s on me.”

“This one?” Buffy says, wincing as she takes a sip of her drink. “Feeling pretty confident there’s going to be a next one?”

Faith flashes perfect teeth behind red lips. “Got a good feeling about you.”

Buffy’s cheeks feel warm, whether from the apparent double whiskey Faith’s ordered for her or from something else, she isn’t sure. “Why do I feel like you’ve used this line before?”

A table beside the dance floor opens up and Faith motions her toward it, her fingertips finding the small of Buffy’s back as they walk. As they climb onto the open stools, Faith says, “I never use lines. Don’t need ‘em.” Her eyes are sparkling mischievously.

Cocky, Buffy thinks, but it’s warranted. There’s no doubt that Faith is drop dead gorgeous. The way she’s filling out that tank top alone… Catching her eyes wandering in that direction, Buffy brings her gaze back to Faith’s face and asks, “Okay, then why do you have a good feeling about me?”

Faith swirls her glass for a moment before taking a small sip. She shrugs, the hint of a smile on her face. “Saw you watching me from across the room.”

So much for going incognito. Buffy buys herself a moment by lifting the pick full of cherries to her mouth and nipping the last one free. She glances around them pointedly. “I wasn’t the only one.” That’s more than true. Even though she’s sitting with Buffy, Faith’s still getting appreciative glances.

“You’re the only one I was watching back,” Faith states in a quiet voice. She smirks when Buffy drops her eyes to her glass. “Where’re you from?”

“Obvious I’m an out-of-towner, huh?” Buffy asks. “California, LA area.” Actually Scotland, by way of smoking crater in the ground, but that’s neither here nor there. She sees Faith give a nod of acknowledgement to someone behind her and looks over her shoulder. It’s the tall woman from the bar, and she approaches their table, smiling.

“I should have figured that as soon as we got a new face in here, you’d find her,” the woman teases Faith, shoving her lightly with her elbow.

Faith rolls her eyes, then looks at Buffy. “Buffy, meet Wendy. Bar owner and professional pain in my ass.”

Wendy holds out her hand to shake. “Which is her way of saying I’m also her boss.”

Shaking her hand, Buffy laughs. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wendy says. “Enjoy your visit and watch out for this one.” It’s said with obvious affection.

“Funny,” Faith says, as Wendy departs.  She shakes her head, looking back at Buffy. “So, Cali? That’s cool. Always wanted to go out west. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“Looking up an old friend,” Buffy says. It’s almost true, in a manner of speaking.

“Girlfriend?” Faith teases, arching a perfect eyebrow at her.

Buffy laughs. “Nothing like that.”

“Oh, good,” Faith says, feigning relief. “I was prepared to fight for you, but I just had my nails done, you know how it is.” She displays short, neat, unpolished nails.

Buffy doesn’t need to fake the smile on her face. “My knight in shining armor.”

Faith raises her glass in salute, dipping her head. She glances over her shoulder at the dance floor. “Does my chivalry buy me a dance?” She asks, innocently sipping her drink when Buffy’s eyebrows rise.

This isn’t going quite how she’d imagined her recon mission would go, but contrary to her old watcher’s advice that the key to good slaying is preparation, preparation, preparation, Buffy’s always been more of a ‘roll with the punches’ kind of girl. She grins, brings her glass to her lips, and swallows the last burning sip. “Let’s go.”

Downing her drink and sliding off her stool, Faith holds out her hand.

Buffy slips her warm palm in Faith’s and follows her to the center of the floor, deftly navigating her way through the bumping and grinding masses.

Faith’s got maybe an inch of height on her, but the shit kicking boots she’s wearing give her an added lift. She turns back to face Buffy, her hands sliding onto her hips casually. Buffy’s t-shirt is snug, riding up a bit under Faith’s hand, leaving her fingertips on the bare skin of her hip. 

The time in Scotland has been good for Buffy—less stress, more relaxation—and she’s gained back some of the weight she’d lost over the last few years. She looks good, and she knows it, but if there was any doubt about it, the way Faith’s looking at her would dispel it.

Buffy lets her hands rest on Faith’s arms as they begin to move together to the music. She moves to the beat on autopilot, concentrating on the woman in front of her. There’s a tiny scar along Faith’s hairline. She feels another on the back of her arm when Buffy’s fingers slide slowly down her skin. No stranger to fighting then.

There’s a commotion behind them, and someone smashes into Buffy, propelling her off balance.

Faith’s strong arms instantly close around her, pulling Buffy to the side and keeping her on her feet. “Drunk assholes,” she says, glaring in their direction. “You okay?” She asks, loosening her arms to give Buffy a little breathing room.

“Yeah.” Buffy takes a half step back, still closer than before.

“Good,” Faith says huskily. Her hands depart Buffy’s hips, moving to her waist.

Buffy’s heart can’t help but beat a little faster when Faith’s hands continue up her sides. Her thumbs bump the band of Buffy’s bra, tucking in and barely skimming the edges of her breasts before her hands hook under Buffy’s arms, tugging them upward.

Arms now wrapped around Faith’s neck, Buffy stares at her dumbly for a moment before recovering her faculties. “You have good reflexes,” she says. Does her voice sound a little breathless? She swallows hard.

“I work out,” Faith jokes, unconsciously arching her back when Buffy’s thumb runs down the column of her neck.

I bet you do, Buffy thinks.

Faith’s soft touch tentatively travels Buffy’s spine, settling for a moment at the small of her back, before gliding back up just as softly. The song changes, and they adjust their rhythm, swaying a little slower, moving a little closer.

Nervousness flutters through Buffy’s stomach. She came here with a specific mission—identify the slayer, collect info—and nowhere in that plan did it say get cozy with the target. Faith’s hands squeeze her in closer. Their hips press together, moving in perfect synchronicity although Buffy doesn’t think she’s ever heard this song before. And yes, okay, she’s danced with other women before, but not usually so close. And they don’t usually smell so good.

Faith’s breath is warm on her earlobe as she asks, “You okay?”

Faith’s hair smells incredible. “What?” Buffy asks. “Oh. Yeah, I’m good.” She looks up, trying to focus on the world behind Faith for a moment, and something immediately catches her eye. A woman in a short dress, steady on her feet, leading a clearly drunk woman toward a back hallway. Buffy’s spidey senses start to tingle.

“Actually,” Buffy says, stepping back to put some more distance between them. “I think I need some water.”

“Sure,” Faith says, looking at her in concern. She slips an arm around Buffy’s waist and leads her off the dance floor. “C’mere, sit down a sec. I’ll get you some water.”

Buffy allows herself to be led to and gently pushed into a chair. She watches Faith disappear into the group crowding the bar, before getting to her feet and quickly heading toward the doorway she’d watched the pair leave through.  There’s a door at the end of the dark hallway, and she darts toward it, heading into the alley behind the building. Gulping in cool night air, Buffy quickly scans the space. A muffled cry comes from a few yards away behind a large dumpster. She runs toward it, grabbing the vampire from behind.

Grasping its shoulder, Buffy tears the vamp away, sending it skittering backward on tall heels, and looks at the terrified woman pressed to the wall. “You’re okay,” she says authoritatively. “Go back inside.”

Without waiting for a response, Buffy stalks after the vampire. She’s fleeing up the alley toward the street, heels clacking loudly on the crumbling concrete. Buffy stops to tug a stake free from her boot and then gives chase, tackling the vamp right before it reaches the street.

Raising her stake and plunging it down through the struggling vampire’s back, Buffy stands up as it turns to dust. She tucks the stake back in her boot and begins to brush off her legs when she’s interrupted by a voice from behind her.

“Who are you?” Faith demands.

She turns to see Faith several feet away, half empty plastic cup of water clutched in her hand. Her chest heaves beneath her shirt, having run through the bar and up the alley after Buffy.

“It’s okay,” Buffy says, taking a step toward her.

Faith backs up quickly, water splashing free as she drops the cup. “Who the hell are you?”

“It’s okay,” Buffy tries to reassure her, holding her hands up in a non-threatening way. “I’m a slayer.”

Faith’s eyes widen in sudden comprehension. Buffy expects her to be relieved, or maybe angry at being misled, but what she doesn’t expect is the look of fear that quickly clouds Faith’s face. Before she can say anything else, Faith turns on her heel and takes off in a dead run down the alley.

“Wait!” Buffy calls, but Faith keeps running.

Glancing quickly around her, Buffy spots a fire escape leading up to the building’s roof. She jumps for it, grabbing the bottom rung with her hands and swinging herself upward. Scaling the fire escape, Buffy leaps onto the roof and runs in the direction Faith went. When the building ends, she leaps without worry onto the next one.

This building butts up to the next block, and Buffy scans the street for Faith’s fleeing form. She spots her on the sidewalk just as Faith slows down with feigned nonchalance. She glances behind her, appearing to calm down when she sees she isn’t being pursued.

Ahead of her, another figure approaches.

“Faith!” The woman calls, hurrying to meet up with her. Buffy strains to hear their conversation from two stories up. “Where’ve you been? Deke was asking for you.”

Faith shrugs and the newcomer falls into step beside her, taking in Faith’s disheveled look. “Rough night?”

“It’s nothing,” Faith says defensively, sparing another glance behind her to the still empty street. “Some drunk spilled a drink on me.”

“Yeah, well he wants to see you first thing in the morning.”

Buffy creeps across the roof, trying to stay in hearing range as the pair walks.

“I told him I’d make sure you were there.”

“Fine, okay,” Faith says impatiently. “I’ll be there, Cassandra, okay? Is that it?” She stops, waiting for agreement from her companion.

The woman shakes her head, stick straight brown hair moving along with her motion. “He’s worried you’re not taking your meds.” Cassandra reaches into the small purse dangling beside one round hip and pulls out a small case. She opens it and holds it out to Faith.

With a huff, Faith plucks a pill free and pops it in her mouth.

“Don’t give me shit,” Cassandra says, reaching out and touching Faith’s shoulder gently. “I’m just looking out for you.” She closes the case and tucks it back in her purse.

Faith sighs, drapes an arm around the shorter woman, and starts walking. “I know. I know.”

While Buffy watches, they turn the corner and cross the street before Faith opens the door to what appears to be an apartment building, and they both go inside.

Stepping back from the roofline, Buffy pulls her phone out of her pocket. Got some intel, she types quickly. On my way back.