By Sabrina and E. Marshall

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer is not me. Or I mean, I don't own her or any of her friends or enemies, those all belong to Joss Whedon, that monster guy, and 20th Century Fox. I'm just borrowing them for a little entertainment. Jeff Tweedy and the other Wilco band members also do not belong to me. I assume, hope anyway, that they belong to themselves and would enjoy a romp in the Buffy-verse. Again, I'm just playing a bit to entertain myself and hopefully anyone else who enjoys Buffy.

Archive/Distribution: Please just link to my site.

Timeline: Fits in probably sometime early second season. Angel's still got his soul, everyone is still in high school, yada yada yada.

Act 1

I dreamed about killing you last night

And it felt alright to me...

-‘Via Chicago’

Saturday night at the Bronze.

The club had already begun to fill with teenagers and the band's plethora of instruments, including a row of guitars lined up like dominoes, an organ, a keyboard, drums, and enough amps to blow the roof off a skyscraper, were onstage, ready to begin performance. The floor was swarming with the typical high school and undergraduate crowd. Those who weren’t out on the dance floor or scanning the crowd for a significant other, were sitting at tall tables with huge foam-topped mugs of cappuccino.

Back stage, the slated band was lounging on an over-stuffed couch covered with a floral velour fabric that looked as if it might have been left over from the seventies. Unfortunately, thought Jeff Tweedy, frontman of the band Wilco, it also smells as if might be left over from the seventies.

He was feeling ridiculously sensitive to smells this evening, and the smell of the seventies was enough to make his stomach, which was full of Diet Coke and part of John’s peanut butter and honey sandwich, seriously consider rejecting its half-digested contents at any given moment. He found himself sort of just breathing through his mouth in a last-ditch effort to disarm his overly sensitive smeller. He was attempting to calm his nerves by strumming his favorite old acoustic guitar. Relax. Relax. Something felt very wrong tonight.

He was strumming the same A minor chord, over and over. The smell of the seventies continued to linger in his nostrils. His hands shook, and his stomach began to threaten him in a most dangerous manner. He closed his eyes.

Something felt very wrong tonight.

Suddenly, the A-minor chord, which had been droning on for the last 15 minutes, reached a twangy climax, as his guitar landed on the floor with an offended clatter. He frantically grabbed Jay Bennett’s ratty old denim jacket, which was draped over the back of the couch, and plunged his nose into it, loudly inhaling the unique aroma of well… Jay Bennett’s dirty denim. Anything was better than the stale, oily, dusty, sleazy smell of the seventies.

Jay Bennett, multi-instrumentalist extraordinaire, adjusted his black-rimmed glasses, which always seemed to be slanting to the left, and placed a comforting hand on Jeff’s shoulder. He rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long night. Jay half-heartedly rubbed the back of Jeff’s neck with one hand, and raggedly ran his other hand through his own frazzled dirty-blonde dreadlocks.

‘Hey Ken!’ Jay said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Ken! Hey, Ken!’

Ken Coomer was sitting on the floor, smiling like he was five years old and making mud pies in his back yard, despite the fact that he was a hefty-sized guy, sporting a scraggly goatee and a pink button-up shirt. He twirled a drumstick in each hand and was singing to himself.

‘Life as a drummer…’ Jay muttered, ‘It must be so easy.’

Jeff doubled over and covered his head with Jay’s jacket.

‘Hey! Ken!’ Jay screamed, his glasses falling off his nose for emphasis, ‘Get off your lazy stool-sitting dumb drummer’s ass and bring me the trashcan!!’

Ken looked up, smiled some more, and sauntered over to the trashcan like it was a hot Puerto Rican girl and he was Mick Jagger.

‘Ken! Hurry up!’ Jay said as he removed the jacket from Jeff’s head and helped him sit up.

‘Oh… oh… it’s alright guys…’ Jeff mumbled, looking pale, with his short black hair sticking up and out in every possible direction, ‘I’ll just throw up in my shirt…’

Jay sighed heavily as Ken finally handed him the little black trash can. ‘Oh no, you don’t. Come on, Jeff,’ he put the trash can on Jeff’s lap. ‘Just get it over with. If you don’t puke your guts out in this trash can right now, I’ll throw up on you myself.’

Jay took a swig of Corona. Approximately three week ago, Jeff had thrown up on a pair of Jay’s favorite filthy old jeans, and Jay was never going to forgive him for it.

‘Jeff,’ he muttered bitterly, ‘I’d gone two years without washing those jeans… two years… and then you had to ruin every thing. Now they’re just not the same. So watch the jacket, man. I haven’t had to wash that baby, hell, in like five years.’

‘Hey guys. We’re on in ten,’ said John Stirratt, the fourth and final member of Wilco, who was already wearing his bass as he stood near the side of the stage, just out of view of the audience. He studied the excited young audience and grinned. ‘Wow,’ he said, tapping his bass happily, ‘it’s going to be crazy tonight.’

John walked quickly over to the couch. ‘Jeff, you’ll never believe this, but there are some crazy girls in the front row. I swear they’re salivating like it was the eighties and we were Def Leppard.’

John brushed his wavy blond hair out of his face, and shook his head at the unfortunate mental image of the band trading their denim and t-shirts for spandex, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Jeff, don’t smile. Don’t even look at them, unless you want them to jump the stage—”

“Ah, come on!” Ken threw his drumstick in the air and caught it, “If you don’t smile at them, Jeff, I will! I’m really feeling up for some crowd surfing tonight; I don’t know about you guys.”

That did it. Jeff hunched over, and retched long and hard. Within seconds, his stomach’s former contents resided in the bottom of the trash can, along with cigarette butts, two of Jay’s empty beer bottles, and some old concert fliers. Jeff placed the unfortunate trash can on the floor, leaned back into the old couch, and closed his eyes. The right side of his upper lip curled just a little bit—his familiar hint of a self-deprecating smile had returned. Once again, the show would go on.

“Well...” Jeff said, “Maybe I should get some leather pants... and a perm...”

'No, I totally know the band. Like, the drummer and I go way back. We grew up in high school together.'

A woman's voice floated back stage followed by the low protesting of the bouncer. 'I'm sorry, miss, but nobody is allowed back stage before performances.'

'Strict much! I won't be but a minute. I'll be back before you can say 'Sunnydale Hellmouth!'

While the bouncer was busy thinking ‘What the hell is Sunnydale Hellmouth?' the girl slipped past him and was soon leaning casually on the back of the smelly couch. Ken was the first to notice her, as Jeff was now humming to himself in between sips of a Diet Coke, Jay was pacing in the back over by the stage door, and John was looking out at the audience again, chuckling.

“Hey!” Ken said to her, with a toothy smile and a friendly twirl of his drumstick, “We were just talking about leather!”

Indeed, Cordelia Chase was certainly wearing leather—leather pants that fit tighter than a second skin, along with a billowy, bosomy low-cut orange shirt. She tossed her silky dark hair over her shoulder and grinned at the band. 'Awesome, I am so delighted to see all of you! I’ve been counting the days until all of you were here because I've listened to your CD like THREE times all the way through. And it's just so completely cool that you're here. In person!'

She flopped down on the sofa beside Jeff. 'Is that a real guitar?'

Jeff, having been reminded that his favorite acoustic was lying unceremoniously on the floor, grabbed it and hunched over it protectively, spilling his Diet Coke in the process.

'Wait, don't tell me,' she continued, 'It's just so much better if you keep an aura of mysteriousness, don't you think? I'm Cordelia, by the way. Cordelia Chase of Chase, Murphy, and McGonnall law firm. That's my Dad's business. I don't actually work there myself.'

'Well,’ Ken attempted, plopping down next to her and causing the old couch springs to ‘SPROING!’ loudly, ‘It’s great that you came out to see us. It looks like it’s going to be a lot of fun tonight. We’ve never played here before, and—’

Cordelia cut him off with another toss of her hair. 'I know, isn't it so fabulous of me to come out here? It's not as if there was anything else to do tonight. Sunnydale, small town, yada yada. I really just dream of LA. I'm sure all of you have played there, right?'

'LA, yeah, that's a really fun place,' John said as he ambled over to the couch, having noticed that there was suddenly one extra member of Wilco. And that extra member was wearing leather.

'Oh, I can imagine,’ said Cordelia with a sigh, ‘I mean, just a few moments away from all those designer dresses and shoes... Shoes are my thing.'

'Shoes! Yeah, me too,' John said, wiggling his faded, red converse sneaker, and noticing the white sock poking through the toe.

'What about you?' Cordelia turned to Jeff, who was calmly staring off into oblivion. 'Don't you just love LA?'

Jeff’s face was blank. He shifted on the cushions, hoping to detour a broken spring that was poking his butt.

'This couch bothers you too?” Cordelia continued, her hand resting casually on his leg, “It really does just stink. I kind of wonder if this cushion I'm sitting on isn't going to put some sort of grease stain on my leather. Your cushion looks cleaner actually,' and she scooted over right against him, practically in his lap. 'Honestly, you would think, as much money as we pay to get into this place that they could manage to replace the couch in the band's waiting room. You should sue.' She nodded with all seriousness.

'I need a Diet Coke.' Jeff stood up suddenly, putting his acoustic guitar in the now vacant spot next to Cordelia’s tight leather ass. 'How long before we go on?'

John stood gazing at the scene with amusement. He glanced at the plastic watch he’d picked up at Taco Bell for $1.99. 'About five minutes.’

Jeff began to turn, with the intention of casually shuffling off toward Jay, who was still pacing in the back, when Cordelia grabbed his arm.

'Oh, well here's a Diet!' she said, pulling one off of the six-pack that was sitting on the floor by the couch. She popped the tab and handed it to him.

'Ah. Uh. Thanks.' Jeff took it and stood there, with her hand still on his arm.

'I am totally a Diet girl myself. I mean, honestly, why would you want to put all that sugar in your body? Did you know that sugar totally slows down your metabolism-"

‘Sugar is good for you!’ said Ken, giggling like a girl, “It’s all that damn Diet Coke that’s giving you those headaches, Jeff. My boy, if you just got a little old fashioned sugar into your blood stream---like me!’

Jeff couldn’t look. Ken was now standing up, and bouncing on the couch.

‘Hey Ken!’ Jay bellowed from the back, ‘Why do you always have to act so stupid at the sight of leather pants?’

Jeff could hear the wood frame of the couch creaking. It would collapse any minute.

‘Nutrasweet...’ John began, slapping an imaginary bass line.

‘...causes cancer!’ Ken finished, taking a karate-style leap off the couch. ‘You want to die an early death?’

Ken retrieved his drumsticks, which had rolled under the couch, and took Cordelia by the hand. ‘Cordelia, it’s been a pleasure!’

He then began to casually lead her back to the door so that she could take her place on the front row with all the other hair tossing, leather-wearing flirts. ‘We’re going onstage in a minute, so...’

Cordelia broke away from his friendly grip, giggling and bouncing up and down. 'Oh, I would love to watch the concert from back here. That is so sweet of you guys to offer. I just knew that this was going to be the best concert!'

Jeff stood gazing at his can of Diet Coke, which he was swirling in a circular motion, causing a steady fizzing sound, when Cordelia flounced over to him and gave him a quick hug. Suddenly, she was on stage, her face beaming.

‘Is this alright? Is this an OK place for me to stand and watch? I would love to cheer you guys on!’ she yelled back to the band. ‘Oh this will be so much fun!’

She had assumed a prime position, right behind Jeff’s Marshall amp. She was leaning over the innocent amp so that her arms and cleavage rested right on top of it. She waved to the audience.

Jeff’s breathing was becoming laboured and the fizzing of the swirling Diet Coke had increased to a dull roar. 'I need air.'

Jeff stumbled toward the stage door, and grabbed his winter coat from the coat rack, even though he was in California and it couldn’t have been much less than 60 degrees outside. He threw himself into his coat. 'I'll be back...'

'Ok. Don't be long.' Jay said, looking back at Jeff, and adjusting his glasses. He had stopped pacing and was heading towards the stage. 'We're on in three.'

Jeff heaved his full body weight against the heavy stage door, which scraped loudly across the concrete as it opened up into the alleyway. He stepped onto the moonlit street and leaned against the brick wall, the stage door slowly grinding its way shut.

Something felt very wrong tonight. Relax. Relax. He stopped swirling his Diet Coke and took a long reassuring swig. He savored the familiar aspartame aftertaste, feeling the comfortable tingle of carbonation flow all the way down his esophagus.

He’d only been on tour for one month and nineteen days, exactly, but he looked and felt like someone who had been locked up for a few years in the tiny nasty bathroom in the back of the tour bus and left to die. The whole Summerteeth Tour, so far, had been really weird, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. He’d felt really strange, the whole tour, like something was going to happen, and he didn’t know what. He’d been having panic attacks right before he went onstage almost every night, and nothing helped. It felt like the whole tour was just building up to something.

Building up to tonight? Tonight... what was tonight? He remembered the glimpses he’d had of the crowd. Something was wrong with crowd. Something was wrong with those girls on the front row. They seemed so young. He found an irrational thought running through his mind, over and over, ‘What if they never grow old? What if they can never grow old?’

He shivered and fiddled with the zipper on his coat. It was like he was in Neverland or something. Except, somehow, he didn’t think that Wendy had dressed in black leather and 4 inch platforms, at least not in the Disney version. He had only seen them for a second, but he couldn’t stop visualizing their shiny Pantene hair, just calling to be mussed by the ravenous hands of a randy rock star, and their curvy, lusting lips, dripping with pink lip gloss. He lit up an American Spirit Herbal and shook his head, taking a long drag.

He just didn’t get it. Wilco didn’t usually have that many groupies, and the few that they had had usually ended up being more interested in talking about music than having sex. Occasionally, they would want their boobs autographed, or something, but that was about it. Besides, John and Ken always took care of them. Jeff had other things to do. But the girls tonight were different. They were looking at him—he knew it, and it wasn’t because they were interested in talking about some old Big Star songs. He flicked his cigarette across the alley, and his eyes followed it listlessly—bringing his gaze across the parking lot and up into the dark sky: right into the full moon. It looked kind of like the ‘Summerteeth’ album cover. He took another sip of Diet Coke. He was thirty years old. He was too old for Neverland.

‘Somebody’s mother might be worried tonight,” a silky voice spoke out of the darkness. For a moment Jeff imagined that the moon was talking. He also imagined that the moon was smoking a cigarette. Then he noticed there was a shadowy figure in the alleyway. The apparition stepped into the moonlight, materializing into the unmistakable form of one of the half-dressed high schoolers from the front row. He attempted to take a casual sip of Diet Coke, but found he couldn’t move. In fact, he found himself looking right in to the girl’s icy-freezing blue eyes. She was definitely one of them, one of those strange girls.

Something was very wrong tonight.

She glided forward as he began to stumble over his words, ‘Um, I have to go inside uh- now. Uh- y’know, the, the concert and all—’

It took just a moment: she was right in front of him and he was staring at her boobs, which were nearly bursting from her black and hot pink satin corset. He could barely lift his feet, but he took one heavy step back towards the stage door. The sound of his shoe on the pavement seemed to echo all the way down the alley. ‘I’ve gotta go in, but, if you want an autograph or something, that’s ok, if it just takes a second.’

She was now directly in front of him, her poppy red lips sliding into a half smile. 'We definitely want your signature on something. Something... uniquely yours.'

What the heck was she talking about? 'We?' he edged closer to the door. 'Actually, I just have time for one. I mean- um- I don't do group things. Because it's not… my thing. And I only have a second anyway. I think the band is going on without me...'

Even through his bulky winter coat, he could feel the curves of her body as she pressed herself against him.

'What I have in mind,' she said, her cool fingernails running down his jaw line, 'might take more than a few seconds...'

Jeff felt dizzy. He was shaking. He was suddenly paranoid that all his hair was going to fall out, or that all his teeth were going to get loose, or, worse, that he was going to throw up. He was paranoid that the moon was smiling at him, maybe even laughing at him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t say anything. Everything felt so strange. Maybe he was just dreaming. Or maybe he was in Neverland.

Was her that her tongue slowly exploring his face? He couldn’t breathe. Then, he could taste her lip-gloss. She was kissing him now, kissing him really hard, and he was kissing her back, as hard as he could. No wonder he couldn’t breathe. Pretty soon he was kissing her all over. She was moving down now... her lips were wet and cold on his neck. She was taller than he was, but as she moved down, he could barely see the moon over the top of her pale diamond-blonde hair. The moon winked at him. And the moon was definitely smoking—smoking something.

His hand slipped behind her neck, and the whole world became a big swirl, sort of like tie dye with a bunch of stars mixed in—and a strobe light. He might have been crying; he really wasn’t sure. What was going on? What was he doing? He was still visualizing the whole front row. All those girls.

He felt so weak. He was vaguely aware that he was sliding down the girl’s body and collapsing onto the wet, cold pavement. His head was spinning and his sight was blurred by a crazy confetti blizzard with flashes of lightning, but he could see them All of them. All those freaky girls—on him, beside him, all around him.

He must be dreaming. The tour must be taking more of a toll on him than he thought. Maybe Ken was right... maybe it was all that Nutrasweet. And maybe he really was crying. Hell, maybe he really was dying.

Oh well.

And Mr. Moon... he thought, as everything went completely dark, you can laugh all you want...’

Buffy hesitated a second before entering the Bronze; she ran her hand over her hair and straightened her skirt. After all, if Angel was in the building, there was no sense in looking more ruffled than she probably already did. Cemeteries and vampire dust did nothing for the complexion.

Buffy pushed open the door and stepped into the club. The Bronze was hopping tonight. She looked around the room, seeing several people she knew from her classes at Sunnydale High. Cordelia and her Cordettes passed by Buffy without giving her a second glance. Cordelia was motioning with her hands, filling the Cordettes in on, no doubt, some highly important topic such as the lipstick she’d bought at Robinson Mays last week. Buffy turned away to scan the crowd once more. There was a bit of an anticipatory buzz to the atmosphere in the Bronze tonight. The band hadn’t come on yet, but several couples were already dancing around to the music being piped over the speakers.

Another sweep revealed Willow sitting at a table on the far side of the room. Buffy weaved through the crowd, and Willow looked up as she approached the table.

‘Buffy!’ Her eyes brightened. ‘I didn’t think you were going to be able to come tonight,’ her voice lowered. ‘I thought you had to patrol.’

‘I did,’ Buffy admitted, sliding into the seat next to Willow. ‘But, the place was dead.’

‘Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be?’

‘Right, but I mean really dead, as opposed to dead with a tinge of ‘un’.’

‘Oh,’ Willow said. ‘I’ve got you. No vampire activity.’

‘Right,’ Buffy nodded. ‘Totally vampire-less. Which,’ she admitted. ‘I’m kind of hoping to change: in a dark, mysterious, good vampire sort of way. Angel said he might make an appearance tonight.’

Willow’s look registered understanding.

‘Apparently he’s got a thing for this band that’s playing tonight.’

‘Angel likes rock and roll?’ Willow seemed surprised.

‘I don’t think it’s rock really. Actually,’ Buffy scrunched up her nose. ‘I don’t really know what it is. And he didn’t actually say that he was totally into them, just that he thought they’d be interesting. You know Angel; he doesn’t always show his feelings. It’s kind of hard to know what, or who, he does really like.’

Willow nodded.

‘Hey, guys,’ Xander came up to the table.

‘Hey, Xander.’

‘Xander, I thought you were getting something to drink,’ Willow looked at his empty hands.

‘I was, but I kinda got sidetracked overhearing Cordelia’s conversation.’

Willow and Buffy exchanged looks.

‘You mean, you were actually listening to what she had to say?’ Buffy gave Xander her best ‘I don’t believe you’ look.

‘Yes, I mean, no.’ Xander seemed flustered. ‘Listen, it was more interesting than her typical ‘I’m so great, I’m so wonderful, everyone worship me’ gig. Apparently the band was supposed to be on fifteen minutes ago; but they can’t go on because one of the members is missing.’

‘And Cordelia knows this how?’ Buffy interjected.

‘I think she got backstage somehow,’ Xander said. ‘See that was in the part of the conversation I wasn’t listening to.’

‘Well have they checked---’

‘The last place he was seen was the alley. He stepped outside for a smoke, apparently. The band went out to call him back in and he was just gone. They’ve walked around the buildings a couple of times too.’

‘Vampire?’ Willow’s eyes were wide.

Buffy groaned. ‘And just as I was going to have a nice, normal ‘meet my boyfriend at the Bronze and dance all evening’ Saturday night.’

‘Right, cause everything is so nice and normal when your boyfriend marks undead as his race on the census count.’ Xander commented.

‘Well, you did make the fatal error of saying you wanted to see some vampires,’ Willow gave Buffy an empathetic look.

‘Yeah, but I totally qualified it,’ Buffy said. ‘Dark, mysterious, good vampire! Not the typical, killing, feeding kind.’ She sighed and stood up. ‘I’m going to look out back. You two stay right here. If I see anything suspicious, we’ll have to see if there’s a trail to follow.’ She began to walk away and then turned back around, her voice in command tone. ‘If Angel shows up, tell him I’m here and I’ll be right back.’

‘Okay,’ Willow said.

‘Angel this, Angel that. You’d think the two of them were dating or something,’ Xander watched Buffy walk away.

‘Xander, they are,’ Willow looked at him. ‘Kind of. I’m not sure exactly how much meeting each other in the cemetery counts as dating.’

‘Aw, come on Will, you know I always take the girl of my dreams to the cemetery for quality time.’

Willow raised her eyebrows at him.

‘Okay, so I occasionally hang out with Buffy at the cemetery.’

Willow’s look didn’t change.

‘Forget I said anything!’ Xander exclaimed.

Buffy exited through the side door and headed around the building, towards the back alley. The moon was full, and with the electric lights around the Bronze, the alley was actually fairly well lit.

‘Hello?’ She stepped into the alley. ‘Is anyone there?’

The door to the backstage area was cracked open a fraction, but there was no one in sight. Buffy sighed and glanced around. A bus was parked at the end of the alley, and Buffy assumed that it was probably the tour bus the band traveled in. Looking at the ground, she found nothing particularly unusual. There was a lot of the usual litter and cigarette butts, and, beside the back door, a spilled can of Diet Coke.

Nothing interesting. As she turned to go, something about the soda can caught her eye. She bent down, noticing how part of the red C looked almost liquid. She picked up the can and as she did so, red smeared all over her fingers.

Blood. Fresh blood.

‘Great,’ she murmured. ‘Just what every rock star needs: ‘I Ate the Band: Memoirs of a Vampire Groupie’.’

She entered the Bronze through the front door and weaved back towards where her friends were sitting.

‘What’s the verdict?’ Xander asked.

‘Somebody’s got a fanged fan, and I think they want more than your typical autograph.’

‘Is he still alive?’ Willow looked concerned.

‘I didn’t see a body, which leads me to think, probably yes. Whatever they want him for—they either want him to rise again—which gives a whole new perspective on timeless music—or they just want to enjoy their meal at leisure somewhere far away from the noise and confusion of the Bronze. Obviously, I don’t know, but I think if this was a simple feeding, he’d be dead already.’

‘What if they’re taking him for some sort of ritual sacrifice, like you know, when they were going to take Jesse and me to the Master?’ Willow’s eyes widened.

‘That’s right,’ Xander said, ‘they didn’t eat you here because they wanted to give you to him. What if it is something like that? They need him for some sort of ritual?’

‘But the Master’s dead,’ Buffy pointed out.

‘Right, but Giles only has how many volumes of ‘Theme Parties for the Undead at Heart’?’ Xander rapidly tapped his fingers on the table. ‘How unlikely is it that there isn’t another ritual or two that someone in town could scheme up?’

‘But who?’ Asked Willow. ‘With the Master gone, it doesn’t really seem like there’s anyone who has that kind of… well… charisma?’

Buffy looked around the room and sighed. ‘Angel still didn’t show.’

‘Buffy, focus. Missing band member, possible ritualistic slaughter, verging on end of the world, I really don’t think we should be bemoaning the lack of undead bicentennial guy at our party.’

‘Xander!’ Willow exclaimed.

‘No, it’s okay Will,’ Buffy looked back at her friends. ‘Xander’s right. We should focus on figuring out if this band member is still alive. Maybe it isn’t a ritual, maybe it’s something as simple as…’ she stopped, a distant look coming into her eyes.

‘Buffy, what is it?’

‘Yeah,’ Xander waved his hand in front of her eyes. ‘Do you need us to wind you up again?’

‘I think I know where they’re taking him.’

‘Where?’ Xander and Willow both said at once.

‘Where is the undead suburban? Where all the little undead vampires set up their cozy homes?’

‘The cemetery, of course, but why?’

‘Why didn’t I connect it sooner?’ Buffy grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair and started towards the door, Willow and Xander following directly behind her. ‘The light I saw in the cemetery, the burning light. It seemed odd to me at the time, but now it seems downright spooky. I’ll bet there is a ritual, and I’ll bet that’s where they’re taking him.’

‘But we don’t know what the ritual is.’ Willow said. ‘Wouldn’t it help if we knew what they were going to do with him?’

‘We don’t have time,’ Buffy stopped. ‘You two go back to the library, and see if you can find Giles. He might have an idea. But I have to go to the cemetery. If he’s still alive, I have to stop the vampires.’

‘But, Buffy, you don’t know what you’re walking into!’ Willow exclaimed.

‘Sure she does, death and destruction! Isn’t that what she’s always walking into? Personally, I think I’m on the ‘go get Giles’ side of this hero gang,’ Xander said.

‘There could be lots of vampires, more than you’re used to.’

‘Will,’ Buffy turned to her friend. ‘I’ve faced the Master. I’ve faced Spike. I know there may be lots of vampires, but you forget this is my job. It’s what I do. Go save innocents from lots of creepy fanged guys. Go get Giles. If there’s something I need to know, find me at the cemetery.’

Buffy turned and took off running in the direction of the cemetery.

‘I don’t like this,’ Willow frowned.

‘Me either, but I like it better than facing fang gang.’

‘Xander! Don’t you even care that Buffy’s going off alone to fight against who knows how many vampires?’

‘Of course I care Will, but we can’t help there, and Giles needs to know what’s going on, so if there’s something else important, we can get that information to Buffy. Hopefully, in time. Come on,’ he touched her shoulder. ‘Let’s go get Giles and figure out if we need to save the world again.’

Willow starred a moment after Buffy’s back and then nodded. ‘Fine, I just don’t like it.’

Buffy continued running down the sidewalk, hoping that she was right about the light in the cemetery. She realized, suddenly, that she didn’t even know which band member she was looking for. Something, that frankly, made very little difference in the long run, but it might be nice to not have to ask for introductions when she was done saving his life.

In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help still wondering where Angel was. He’d as good as said that he was going to be at the Bronze tonight. What had changed his mind? Or had he been there and just not wanted to see her?

She scaled the gate to the cemetery, since it was padlocked after nightfall. As if a lock kept the things that wanted out in, or the things that needed to be in, out. Inside, she stopped for a moment and looked around, seeing nothing out of place. She silently took off for the center of the cemetery, the older part, where she’d seen the light. If she was right about her hunch, that’s where they’d be taking him.

Sure enough, as she approached the center of the graveyard, she began to hear noises. She stopped, and for a moment she only heard the light sound of her own breathing. Then she heard the noises again—definitely the sound of female voices. She ran towards the voices, and after only a few moments she could also hear the sound of feet. And now she could tell that the voices were definitely arguing. A couple of them were screeching, one was whining, and one was yelling as loud as she could. Buffy sighed as she ran. Just what she needed to complete her evening, a showdown with a bunch of undead bitches.

Buffy turned the corner around a huge mausoleum and was deposited in the middle of a clearing filled with vampires. And just as she had suspected, they were all gathered around that little flame.

Forward to Act 2

Back to Prologue

Back to Fan Fiction Main

Last Update: 9 December 2002