Prague

"They failed? All of them?"

Thomas grimaced and nodded at his leader’s questions. They were in the Order’s HQ, a dark, Spartan chamber three levels beneath the busy city, hidden from the metropolis’ oblivious population. "All of them sir."

"Damn it!" Thomas was rocked by the fear in the eyes and voice of his normally stonily impassive leader. The Order’s head took a long breath. "Double the price on all three."

Thomas’ mouth dropped open. "Sir, that’s thirty million dollars!"

"I’m well aware of the maths. Sell some more Microsoft and Yahoo stock," the leader shrugged. "It doesn’t matter."

"But sir," he protested. "There isn’t any prof-."

"Profit?" The Order chief shook his head again. "This isn’t about profit. It’s about survival." The leader’s eyes shadowed. "When our new clients are finished there’ll be a new order. Our living depends on us serving him well."

* * *

Duhsam took a swig of his drink, a heady combination of child’s brains and virgin blood. Hearing a sound at the door of his penthouse apartment, he called out to his bodyguards. "Swenson! Platz! What’s that?" Getting no response from his sentries, he sighed before placing his wine glass on his ornate coffee table, rising and striding towards the door.

And crashed to the floor when the door flew open with sudden violence, hitting him in the face. Duhsam blinked when a powerfully-built vampire dressed in black strode in. "You know," the vampire smiled. "You seem to be under the illusion that you’re somebody." The invader shook his head. "Big mistake."

Duhsam snarled and leapt to his feet. Snatching up a ceremonial, bejewelled sword off the wall, he charged towards the towering demon, executing a backhanded slash towards his opponent’s throat.

His hand was grabbed in an implacable grip that try as he might he couldn’t escape. He moaned as the vampire punched him in his heart under his right arm and doubled up when the demon drove his knee into his groin. He felt the vampire yank his sword out of his hand. He grunted as the vampire kicked him behind his knees, knocking him onto all fours. A white-hot pain lanced through his right hand as his opponent thrust his sword through it, impaling it to the ground. "That has got to hurt." He screamed when the vampire twisted the weapon. "Now, some information. Who ordered the hit on us?"

"I don’t know! I just work as a middle-man for The Order of Teraka!" he screamed.

"Thanks." The last thing he saw was the coming up towards his head.

* * *

"The Order." Angel stepped away from the decapitated corpse of the Murdell Warlord, its yellow-green blood pouring out of its neck. "Didn’t they learn the last time?"

"What are we going to do father?"

"I’m leaning towards finding who ordered the hit and ripping their intestines out," Angel replied.

"Any idea how we’re going to do that?" Gwen put in.

Angel nodded. "We’ll wait for Lorne." Connor groaned. "What?"

"Tell me you’re not going to sing?" Connor pleaded.

"Does Angel not have a champion’s voice?" Groo queried.

"You have no idea," his son responded.

"Shut up Connor."

* * *

An airplane over the Atlantic Ocean.

"Adele! Rachel! Martina!" Wood shouted as Faith bolted upright in the bed of the specially charted plane, her eyes wide from terror as she awoke from her coma. "Help me!"

The three Slayers leapt to their feet and hurried over. Before they got half-way there, Faith laid back down, her breath slowing, and her eyes regaining their focus. His ex’s eyes snapped to him. "The assassins?"

He smiled reassuringly. "You killed them."

Faith took a rattling breath, some colour returning to her cheeks. "Where are we?" the Bostonian looked around. "In a plane? How long was I out?"

"Two days." Wood squeezed the Slayer’s hand. "We’re heading back to the Council. The moment Giles heard there was contract out on you, he ordered you back home for safety."

"Cool." Faith’s lithe frame suddenly arched off the bed and her face contorted in pain. "Shit! Those bastards fucked me up bad!"

"But you’re getting better now," he soothed. He thought it best not to mention that if the blade had been an inch further to the right, Faith’s spinal cord would have been severed.

* * *

A military airfield, South of England.

"Hello, Major Finn!" Riley blinked when a short country man of his saluted him and his companions as they disembarked from their cargo plane. "A pleasure to meet you sir! Andrew Wells, Mr. Giles’ Personal Assistant at your service!"

Riley raised an eyebrow. Obviously Giles had started a scheme whereby the Council employed the mentally challenged. "And you have proof?"

"Of course!" The boy reached into his jacket.

"Not so fast."

The high-pitched youth’s eyes widened when Graham levelled his automatic at him. "Sure." After gulping the youth took precisely thirty seconds to pull out a wallet and pass it over to him. The youth tittered nervously. "Of course you understand that after facing the terror of Evil-Willow and hordes of uber-vampires, a gun holds little fear."

Riley almost laughed. "That’s good to know." After checking the boy’s ID., he passed it back to his fellow country-man. "Lead the way."

* * *

Willow stopped as she climbed out of their taxi, filling with familiar awe as she stared at the looming, six-storey medieval keep, the age and magnificence of the building hitting her as always. Giles had bought the building for a cool thirty-five million dollars. But although the Head Watcher had torn the inside of the building apart, installing a gymnasium, small hospital, armoury, briefing rooms, canteen, dormitories, library, and a security system, on the outside it remained a daunting reminder of Britain’s imperial past. "Let’s get in."

Suddenly the keep’s double-doors flew open and a gleeful looking Giles bounded down the steps. "Willow! Kennedy! Guard security phoned ahead! It’s wonderful to see you!"

Willow winced at Giles’ yell, her head ringing. "Please, Giles," Kennedy reproved. "Willow’s head isn’t good."

"Good lord." Giles’ face dropped, the joy of their reunion replaced by concern. "What’s wrong?" The Englishman gently took her by her elbow and led her inside.

"Nothing much," Willow replied as they entered the vast hallway. "Visions of continent destroying earthquakes, tidal waves, waves of fire, and hordes of demons."

"Oh nothing much then," Giles hesitated. "Willow, the Coven -."

"I know," Willow winced. "I felt it. And there’s more -."

* * *

A private airfield, South of England.

"We’re here." Rona shot Vi a worried look at Xander’s answering grunt. Ever since his outburst upon his awakening, he hadn’t said a word to them.

It wasn’t fair. Rona scowled at the man’s broad back as they followed him out of the plane. They’d done it because they cared. Like he did. They could have had a Watcher with little or no experience who treated them as little more than weapons.

Instead they’d got a friend, someone who treated them with respect that they could have fun with. Even without Willow’s influence they’d have done anything to protect him.

If only he’d understand that.

* * *

Giles smiled as he received the call that Xander had landed. Willow had already arrived, Faith was on her way. There was just one person left. Buffy.

Giles’ face fell. He’d tried her earlier, but no reply. He only hoped it was because she was busy, not that she was dea-. Quelling such pessimistic thoughts he re-dialled the senior Slayer’s phone number.

* * *

Buffy stared up at the plush apartments. "This Don Franco, he runs all the crime in Italy?"

"Nothing happens without his say-so," the Immortal confirmed.

"In that case he’s the one we see."

"What is the plan?" Michelle asked.

Buffy chuckled humourlessly. "I’m the plan." Her mobile rang. Grunting in frustration, she pulled it out. Eyes widening in recognition of the Caller Id., she quickly turned it on. "Yes Giles, we’re sort of -." Her voice trailed off at her Watcher’s terse interruption. "We’ll be straight back." She turned to the others. "Change of plans. We’re going to England."

* * *

Lorne’s mouth dropped open as Angel sang ‘Copacabana’. However evil Angelus might have been, he doubted that the vampire’s crimes compared to the ensoulled demon’s atrocities against cabaret. "Enough, enough," he waved the vampire to silence.

"I can’t read auras, but even I know the pop charts are not in your future," said Oz, a rare stunned look on his friend’s face. "And I thought Brittney was bad."

Angel ignored Oz’s comment to stare at him. "Well?"

"I see you’ve still got that patience problem," Lorne commented. He coughed at his former employer’s glower. "We need to go to England. To the Watchers’ Council."

"Xander!"

Willow’s spirits briefly rose at Xander’s arrival in the Watchers’ Keep only to plummet like a stone at the look in his eye. "Was it worth it?"

She took a nervous step back at the raw fury in Xander’s eye. "Was what worth it?"

"Was treating me like I need to have my hand held worth Amy’s life?"

Willow’s eyes watered. "Xan-."

"You’re so out of line!"

Xander’s gaze snapped towards Kennedy. "Back off. This is family and you’re not." His glare snapped back to her, making her shrivel inside. "Was going behind my back to guilt a promise out of Amy worth it?" Without waiting for an answer, her best friend turned on his heel and strode off.

"Xander!" Sobbing wildly, she collapsed into Kennedy’s waiting arms.

* * *

Giles grimaced as he concluded his phone call. "Very well Angel," he sighed, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. "I’ll have a jet at your location as soon as possible."

Just as he hung up the phone, the door to his inner office swung open. His scowl turned to a beaming smile as he recognised the entering duo. "Faith! Robin! Please," he gestured towards the easy chairs at the other side of the desk, "sit down." He watched with concern as Faith gingerly eased herself into one of the offered chairs, unable to prevent a pained grunt from escaping her rosebud lips. "And how are you my dear?"

Faith’s eyes widened at his concern before reverting to their customary nonchalance. "Getting better G," the young woman replied. "Be good to go in a couple of days. Slaying healing kicks ass."

"Excellent," he smiled at the Bostonian beauty before returning to business. "You’re both to be commended for your efforts over the past two years."

Faith smirked at the praise. "Why the call back G?"

"Ah," he scowled. "It appears that we’re under attack."

"The Council?" Wood queried.

"No," he shook his head. "The world itself."

* * *

Giles glanced around the briefing room, the portraits of legendary Council heads lining the walls, weighing down on him with their silent expectations. Forcing his trepidation down, he nodded towards Willow. "Willow, why don’t you begin?"

The Wicca took a breath. "Sure Giles." After a second the red-head’s chair scraped backwards against the wood panelled floor. The world’s most powerful magic-user stood, her face pale whether from nerves or the after-effects of her visions he couldn’t tell. "Two days ago I had a series of visions – natural disasters on an unseen scale, hordes of demons rampaging over the world-."

"Our own seers haven’t reported any such visions Miss Rosenberg, why have you had them?"

Giles hid a groan at Roger’s scoffing tone. Whyndham-Pryce Senior had been the most experienced Watcher to survive the original Council’s massacre and as such he’d been forced by the traditionalists to take Wesley’s father on as his second-in-command. He wasn’t overly concerned with the situation, Whyndham-Pryce was a vigorous man, but he was also over seventy. Roger and the other old guard would die out, to be replaced by the new breed – Willow, Xander, Robin, and their ilk. It was a cold blooded but necessary view. And a lot less cold-blooded than the way the Council had treated Slayers in the past. "Willow, please tell them."

The Wicca looked at him, her eyes shocked. He nodded encouragingly. After a second the witch started to speak. "Slayers don’t get their powers from demons. They get them from Mother Nature."

"But what about the Shadow-Men?" Buffy asked, her face confused.

"No," Willow shook her head. "What you should be thinking about is the woman who gave you the Scythe. They knew the idea of imbuing a girl with the spirit of a demon was a bad idea, would turn her into something little better than the spirit-."

"You want to see Buffy around the 12^th of the month," Dawn commented.

Buffy glared at Dawn. "Or Dawn at any time."

Shaking her head, Willow continued. "But they also knew that the men wouldn’t listen -."

"No surprise there then," Faith put in.

"Oh wonderful," Giles rolled his eyes. In a moment they’d all be burning their bras. "Please god no," he muttered. At his time of life, his heart couldn’t take the excitement.

"Instead they appealed to Mother Nature for help. She agreed and when the Shadow-Men cast the spell, they hijacked it and placed Mother Nature’s power in the girl. Since then, Mother Nature has transferred her power from girl to girl. When I did the summonsing spell, I became as one with the earth and when the troubles started," Willow swallowed, her eyes shadowing, "I found out first hand."

There was a long silence. Then his second-in-command predictably exploded. "Why weren’t we informed!"

"Because of your reaction perhaps?" he dryly replied. Seeing the older man’s mouth open, he shook his head. "Now is not the time Roger," he warned. Turning his attention back to the room in general. "Xander’s team-."

Xander snorted. "That’s a joke."

Wondering at his son’s attitude, Giles continued. "Xander’s team brought The Tomes of Talik," Willow, Robin, and Roger all paled, the others looked puzzled, "back from Africa. Coupled with Willow’s visions, and some information Riley brought with him, I believe we are the end of days. Drazus’ return."

"And for those who don’t have a clue what the hell you’re talking about?" Faith asked.

Giles smiled at the Bostonian Slayer, relieved to see that even in the two short days since her arrival she’d completely recovered from her injuries. "Hell’s hierarchy is complex. At the bottom are The Snarling Brethren, tens of millions of demons. Then there are the Nightbreed Legions, hell’s elite troops. Next come the Doom Dukes, the Legions’ leaders. Next come the Old Ones, and finally Drazus, Satan’s first lieutenant and the leader of his forces. They will conquer the world for him."

"Doesn’t the Well holding the Old Ones have a guardian?"

Giles nodded at Wood’s question even as he wondered at Angel’s vaguely uncomfortable expression. "Yes. Drogyn has been contacted. But strangely has not replied."

"He’s dead."

Giles blinked at Angel’s flat declaration. "Oh really? And how can you be sure?"

"The Circle of Black Thorn," Giles was shocked by the demon’s rare nervous expression. "I killed him to prove I was evil so they’d accept me. He was doomed anyway-."

"You blithering idiot!" Giles roared, unable to believe the vampire’s utter stupidity. "Angelus on his worst day couldn’t match that! Why not just give the Old Ones the keys to the bloody place!"

"Giles," Willow broke in, her eyes pleading. "The plan?"

"Yes," Giles shot Angel a last angry look before nodding. "It appears our enemy has made their first moves," Giles grimaced. "Not only have the Order targeted Buffy, Faith, and Angel, but it appears they’ve also been attacking the world’s major magical powers."

"You mean the Devon Coven?"

He nodded at Dawn’s interjection. "Yes. But not only them. The Romany Witch women," he flinched inwardly as he remembered Jenny’s soulful eyes and knowing smile, "were butchered. The Darkening Twilight in Haiti, the world’s most powerful Voodoo practioners massacred. The Unbroken Circle of Hoodoo practioners in the Congo annihilated. The Grand Covent of highland druids have all been killed as have the Shamen of the Native American tribes. Close to three hundred of the world’s most powerful mages and witches, all dead."

After a second allowing the news to sink in, he continued. "As a consequence I alerted all Slayers three days ago and ordered them back to their respective home bases. At this point, here has sixty-one Slayers, Cleveland fifty-five, Rio fifty, Tokyo forty-six, and Cairo thirty-eight."

Andrew looked up, his eyes flooding with alarm. "That’s only 250 Slayers, what about," the young man looked through his notes, "the other ninety-six?"

Giles hid a wince at the youth’s question, the mantle of leadership pushing down on him. "Some of them are on their way in, but others haven’t responded to the call.." Seeing Willow’s mouth open, he discreetly shook his head, deciding the others didn’t need to know about the Slayer massacres just yet.

A long silence followed his pronouncement. "Screw this reacting bs," Faith put in. "How about we start taking names and kicking some ass?"

Giles smiled wryly at the Bostonian’s enthusiasm. Ah to be that young again. "Yes, quite. It appears the prophecy works somewhat like a jigsaw puzzle. If one part of it fails to come true, the whole thing collapses."

"Which are we fixing to stop G-Man?"

Giles looked towards Xander. "The Tome of Talik details The Three Tridents Of Tariq-."

"Shit, that’s a bagful of Ts."

He waited for the titters that followed Faith’s comment to die down before continuing. "Quite. The prophecy details that at the end of days, the rising of the Old Ones could be prevented by the placing of the Tridents in the Cauldron of Prometheus, re-sealing their tomb forever."

A long pause followed his words. "So where are these tridents Giles?" Buffy asked.

"I know the locations of all three books containing the information leading to the Tridents. I’ll give the information to all three team leaders before I send them – you, Faith, and Angel." He paused to look around the room, heart tightening with fear that it would be the same time he would see them all alive. Regaining his poise, he continued. "Buffy, you’ll take the Immortal, Michelle, and Sophia. Angel, your team will consist of Connor," fascinating boy, "the Groosalug and Gwen." The same could also be said about the demon’s other companions. He turned towards the east coast beauty. "Faith, your party will consist of Kennedy, Vi, and Rona."

"And what will the rest of us be doing?" Robin demanded.

"Don’t worry," he dryly replied. "We’ll all be busy. Thanks to Angel and Faith we have proof that the Order is behind the attempt on their and Buffy’s lives. I also suspect them of complicity in the murder of the magical groups. The Council has never dared to directly confront the Order, but then the Council has never had the power it does now." He ignored his second in command’s fuming. "I intend to send a group under the joint command of Xander and Robin, and consisting of Oz and a dozen Slayers to snuff them out."

"And the rest of us, oh mighty leader?"

He rolled his eyes at Andrew’s pretentious enquiry. "I’m putting Riley, Sam, and Graham in charge of security and training the Slayers and Operations troops. Roger," he nodded towards the older Watcher, "will be put in charge of the Keep’s day to day running. Willow will research magic, while myself, Andrew, and Dawn will handle planning and -."

"I want to -."

"Please Dawn," he stared at the pouting teen. How beautiful she’d become over the past two years. "Do me the great favour of pretending you’re not related to Buffy and just agree."

"Hey!" Both sisters shouted in unison.

Giles looked around his plush office and allowed himself a contented smirk. It was obvious that there was something very wrong with Xander, but at least all of his four children were safe. However momentary that safety might be.

He glanced out of the window behind him and down onto the keep’s carefully tended grounds. It was a beautiful spring day, the sort that England always seemed to tease before inevitably descending into a drizzly, dour summer. Still, after years of monotonously sunny California weather, it was a welcome change. And his office was rather more spacious than his confined Sunnydale quarters.

The office door crashed open. Giles turned to face from the interloper, his good mood fading as he recognised the older Watcher. "It’s obscene!" Roger began.

"Calm down and take a seat," Giles ordered, his tone mild.

"A vampire, a werewolf, and a demon!" His older country-man continued unabated, striding back and forth across his hand-weaven carpet. "After centuries fighting the forces of evil, you invite them in the front bloody door!"

Giles slammed his fists into the desk between them and half-rose out of his leather upholstered chair. "I said sit the bugger down!" Once the older Watcher had grumpily acquiesced, he followed suit, his eyes fixed on the other man.

He realised now that the man had so intimidated him thirty years ago, when he’d restarted his training after the Egyhon incident, was a little man. For all his power and influence Roger Whyndham-Pryce was a resounding failure. None of the four potentials he’d mentored as a younger man had been called, Giles wondered idly if the Powers That Be picked the Watchers as well as the Slayer. His son was a great disappointment to Roger, although from what he understood Wesley had accomplished many great things during his time with Angel. Pryce had even failed in his attempts to become Council Head, first Travers, and then himself thwarting him in that.

These failures had combined to define Pryce, making him a twisted, bitter bully of a man. After another second Giles deigned to reply to the older Watcher’s outburst. "I have little love for the vampire, but one would have to be blind or stupid to ignore this efforts over the past few years. The werewolf is a fine young man who fought at our side for two years. And the demon," Giles shrugged. "There appears little harm in him."

"Centuries of tradition-."

"Tradition be damned!" he interrupted the older man’s protestations. "Buffy was the least traditional Slayer in memory," except perhaps Faith, but her early exploits made a less than ideal example. "Buffy wasn’t brought up in seclusion. She had family. She had friends. Things the Council decreed as detrimental to a Slayer. And yet she slayed two of the three oldest vampires in existence, defeated any number of minor demons, an Ascended, a hell-goddess, and the First."

"Yes," by now Roger’s face had reddened and his eyes hardened. "We’re all aware of your emotional attachment to the Summers girl."

Giles felt his temper bubble at the way Roger had managed to make his fatherly affection for Buffy sound somehow dirty. "Yes, I feel a certain amount of parental pride," he replied, his tone even and his face set. "Speaking of which," he reached into his desk drawer and placed five journals on the desk. "I think you might want to read these. They’re rather enlightening."

His titular second in command glared suspiciously at the neatly stacked books. "What are they?"

"They’re the diaries of a remarkable young man, detailing how he escaped the grasp of his tyrannical father and grew from a weak-willed coward to a hero." He savoured the confused look on his fellow Watcher’s face for a second before continuing. "Angel brought them with him for the Council library."

Understanding dawned in his country-man’s eyes. Roger rose, a scowl on his face and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. "That would be a no then?" Giles called out after his counterpart before sitting back and chuckling. "There’s no talking to some people."

* * *

"Were you even going to talk to me?"

Angel paused in his packing to look up at the tiny blonde stood in the doorway of the guest he’d been assigned. Pushing away the fist clenching at his chest, he replied. "I wasn’t planning to."

He turned back to his packing only to be grabbed by the arm and spun around to face his ex’s angry face. "Two years Angel! You can’t just ignore me! And," his girl-friend’s eyes flickered angrily, "why didn’t you tell me about Spike?"

Oh, that was it. Forcing down the wave of jealousy that threatened to swamp him, he shrugged. "Why? Would you have come running? For him?"

Buffy’s eyes widened. "You’re jealous?" the blonde finger-jabbed him in the chest. "You lost all rights to be jealous when you walked out on me!"

"I’m not jealous," he replied through gritted teeth. "I left because I couldn’t give you what you deserved. A normal relationship. So what do you do?" now he was unable to prevent the bitterness he felt from entering his voice. "Take up with a farmboy with a Captain America complex, a soulless vampire, and an immortal Italian gangster! Great record there, Buffy!"

"I wanted you!" Buffy’s eyes filled with pain.

"Sometimes," he remembered the day he’d sacrificed his second chance at humanity to ensure he’d still be able to protect her. "It isn’t about what what you want. It’s about what’s right. I’d have thought you’d have learnt that by now." Buffy stared open-mouthed at him for a few seconds before turning on her heel and storming out, slamming the door behind her. "I love you," he wistfully muttered after the young woman.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. His sense of smell told him who it was without looking up. "Come in Lorne."

"Well thanks Angelcakes," the demon entered.

Angel smiled unwillingly at his friend. "I’ve missed being called a selection of pastries. Tell anyone that and I kill you."

The Host giggled. "Okay cupcake." There was a pause. Angel turned to face a suddenly serious Lorne. "You and the blonde pocket dynamo?"

"Never ever let Buffy hear you call her that. Otherwise your mom will be down one disgraced son," Angel chuckled before sobering. "I love her, but we’re bad for each other."

"She’s no Cordelia, but hey, no one will ever replace my princess for me," Lorne shrugged before brightening. "Hey, you and Connor, you’re a regular Mr. Cunningham and Ritchie aren’t you?"

"Things are tough," Angel smiled. "But we’re working at it." He turned serious. "Lindsey?"

"Dead and dead, boss." Lorne sighed. "I didn’t like doing it, but he couldn’t be trusted."

"Yeah, he’d turn bad again if someone offered him enough power or looked at him wrong," Angel shook his head. He preferred his enemies like Lillah, sneaky, underhanded sure, but at least you knew where you stood with her. Lindsey had too much knowledge and power to be given countless chances. Unlike Faith who’d made a mistake, sought and stuck to redemption, Lindsey kept returning to the dark side even after the chances he’d been given. He’d never learn.

* * *

"Hi Will, how are you?"

The red-headed Wicca looked up from her studies and smiled at the former Key. "Hi Dawn."

Dawn’s face screwed up in concern. "What’s wrong? Have you had another vision?"

"What?" Red sounded bemused. "No."

"Well you’ve been crying," Dawn accused. The Witch’s mouth opened. "Don’t deny it. I can see the dried tears. And don’t try to wriggle out of talking."

Willow chuckled. "Giles was right. You are just like Buffy." The Witch fell silent for a few seconds. "You heard about Amy?" Dawn nodded. "I used her guilt about Sunnydale to make sure she’d look after Xander no matter what. Her protecting Xander got him killed. And," Willow looked down at the floor. "Xander found out., And you know how he hates it when we try to protect him. Now he won’t even speak to me."

"Oh Willow," Dawn took the sobbing witch in her arms.

Faith glared as she watched from the shadows. This wasn’t right. And part of being a Slayer was righting wrongs. Coming to a decision, she glided out of the library, a set look on her face.

* * *

Faith watched through the crack in the doorway as an oblivious Xander packed. She had to admit she was impressed. Gone was the awkward teenager she’d once boned or even the fat young man she remembered from her second run through Sunnydale. In their place stood a tanned, muscled man with an air of competency and danger. "Not bad at all," she muttered.

Quelling her baser urges, like they’d ever done anything except kept her in trouble, she shoved the door open. "You’re a real asshole Harris!"

The one-eyed man looked up from his packing to glare at me. "Excuse me?" Harris glanced at the doorway she’d just barged through. "And thanks for knocking." Harris’ lips curled up in an unxanderlike sneer. "Seems you really learnt some better manners in the joint."

Faith raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the comment. "Sure I have," she retorted. "You’ve still got both your arms haven’t ya?" she smiled winningly for a second before turning serious. "Red’s really hurting because of y-."

"And this concerns you how?" Xander interrupted coldly.

"It bugs me when my buds are-."

Her host interrupted her with a laugh. "Then you should be five by five," he mocked, his one eye hardening. "Because we’ve never been buds. After all it’s just skin."

Faith hid a wince at the less than subtle reminder of her inglorious past but ploughed on. "Whatever X," she shook her head. "But you and Red are the real thing. And you can’t wreck it over some little fight."

"Little fight?" Xander’s remaining eye filled with disdain that hit her like a punch in the guts. "Someone died because of me. To a killer like you," this time she couldn’t stop from flinching, "that might not be a big deal, but it is to me. Now unless you’ve got something else to say, get out!"

Defeated, Faith could only stare dumbfounded at the man before nodding. "Sure X," she whispered. "Good luck with your mission and be safe. See ya." For want of anything else to say, she left.

Xander looked at his street map of Prague and shook his head in despair. "I can’t make sense of this!" he exclaimed. "It might as well be in Swahili!" He paused for a second. "Except I can actually read that!"

"You can?"

He turned to Oz stood beside him on the busy street corner. "And three other tribal languages. I kinda got sick of being the village idiot."

"And they say thing never change."

He glared at Oz. "Enough with the wit," he retorted. "We’d best get back to the others." The werewolf sighed. "What’s up?"

"Twelve women."

"Yeah," Xander nodded in understanding. "Funny how the reality never matched our dreams of being out-numbered by gorgeous women."

"I never dreamt that."

Xander looked warily at Oz. "Gorgeous men?"

Oz smiled slightly. "Winning a Grammy."

* * *

Angel realised that Connor was talking. Shaking himself out of his deep reverie, he turned to his son sat beside him on the Council executive jet. "Sorry?"

Connor chuckled. "For a master vampire, your hearing sure sucks." His son’s grin widened. "Sucks! Get it?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "I got it. You’ve not been talking to Xander Harris." He smiled slightly at his son’s bemusement. "What did you say?"

"Yeah," Connor looked embarrassed. "That Buffy’s kinda small isn’t she?"

"What do you mean?"

"The way you and Wes used to talk about her, I sorta expected some muscle-bound amazon. But her?" Connor shook his head. "She beat both Angelus and Faith?"

Angel chuckled, amused rather than offended by his son’s doubt. "Some think you’re just a scrawny kid."

Connor smirked. "But they only think that ‘til I kick their ass." His son’s face sobered. "How did it feel, seeing her again?"

Angel leaned back in his seat, his lips pursed in thought. That was the million dollar question. He’d been so disappointed in her lowering herself to Spike and then there was his love for Cordelia. But seeing her again had been like a stake through the heart. Finally he replied. "I don’t know son. I don’t know."

Connor sighed. "I’m disappointed."

Angel’s brow furrowed. "Disappointed?"

"Two and a half centuries and you still don’t have the answers."

Angel shook his head. "Son, Methuselah never understood women. Don’t expect me to."

* * *

"How did it feel bella?"

Buffy glanced at the Immortal, considering his question even as she examined him. He was a tall man – although not as tall as Angel. Handsome too, although not as good looking as Angel. "How did what feel?" she replied.

The Italian chuckled before rubbing the bridge of his Roman nose. "Seeing him again?"

Buffy stared at her boyfriend, remembering the less than happy reunion. "Difficult," she finally replied. Yes, that was definitely the word.

* * *

"I heard you got caught up in the middle of a Scooby brawl?"

Faith tore her eyes from the breath-taking view of night-time Rio and to her fellow brunette Slayer. Man, back in the day she’d never have dreamed to get out of Boston’s south side, much less get to Rio. "You got bunny ears Ken?"

"Oh, I hear everything," Kennedy strode over to stand beside her on the balcony.

"Must be nice," Faith hated herself for the unavoidable bitterness she heard in her own voice. "Being on the inside like that."

Kennedy chuckled. "I’m not on the inside, just dating someone who is."

"Doesn’t it bother you?" Faith asked, suddenly curious. "X and B being closer to Red than you?"

"Xander?" her companion shook her head. "No, he saved my life and always treated me with respect. But Buffy," her fellow Slayer’s eyes flickered, "the way that bitch sneers at us all."

Faith chuckled, remembering her first time in Sunnydale. "She’s wicked good at sneering. Olympic sport – gold all the way."

"And I think she was Willow’s first lesbian crush."

"Oh yeah?" Faith smirked. "Given me an interesting image there Ken."

Kennedy bumped her with her hip. "Shut up. How come you care so much?"

Faith glanced down at the carnival city, taking a second to soak in the flashing lights and the sound of the beating drums. How did she explain never having a friendship like Red and X’s? How she’d never had anyone want her for her, someone she could trust from the day she could walk like Red and Xan trusted one another. Finally she shrugged. "Friendship’s important."

Kennedy shot her an all-knowing look, kinda like those Fang had used when she’d tried to bullshit him during a prison visit. "And Xander didn’t react too well did he?"

Faith chuckled humourlessly. "Guy doesn’t like me much," she replied.

"And that bothers you?"

Faith shrugged, as usual unwilling to share her feelings. Truth was when she’d returned to Sunnydale, she’d have been wicked scared at what the Scoobies would think. Well not B, as far as she was concerned the arrogant bitch wasn’t the sort of person she wanted to be friends with. But the others were good people. G had accepted her back and so had Red, she guessed it guessed it was the shared evil pasts. But X on the other hand….

Even before Fang, Xand had been the first guy to try and be a friend for no other reason than she’d needed one. Of course, suspicious bitch that she was she hadn’t taken him up on the offer. The night he’d come to comfort her about Finch, she’d figured he was trying to work an angle to try and blackmail her into bed and after years of abuse she’d decided she wasn’t going to be used anymore. Next thing she knew she was strangling him. Ironic thing was she’d intended to let the poor bastard go once she’d scared the piss out of him. But then Fang had rushed to the rescue. And then the Council had got involved and things had spiralled out of control.

When she’d gone back to Sunnyd, she’d meant to apologise to Harris she really had. But having no experience in saying sorry, her nerve had failed her. She’d gone to see him half a dozen times in the month following the Last Battle of Sunnydale, but one look at his glazed, grief-stricken face and she’d back off, telling herself next time.

And the thing of it was, the kind of a guy X was he would have willingly accepted her apology, but now he thought she didn’t give a shit. "I ain’t known many good guys." She sneered. "Most are louses like Spike, can’t get their eyes off my tits for long enough to look me in the eye. When a good one like Xan doesn’t like me, it pisses me off."

"Uh, uh." Again Kennedy shot her that knowing look, which was starting to piss her off a little. "How about we go down to the beach, give me a chance to leer at some bikinied beauties?"

"Sounds like a plan." Faith grinned at her shorter companion, her good mood returning. "Oh Ken, I’m hurt," she slowly ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "I thought I was enough woman for ya. I’ve even got this wicked black g-string I could model for ya!"

Kennedy laughed. "Thanks for the offer, but I know you’re straight. It sort of ruins the fantasy when you know that and you’re trying to imagine yourself with a girl."

"You know I’m straight?" Faith arched an eyebrow. "First time I was in Sunnyd, half the male population thought I had a zen for B. Sick bastards."

"Yeah right," Kennedy snorted. "You’d have to be not only gay but a masochist too."

"Truth." Faith grinned at her fellow Slayer. Kennedy shared her dislike of B? Definite basis for a friendship. "Should we get Vi and Rona?" she suggested.

"And spend all night talking shop?" Kennedy shook her head. "Don’t think so. And that bikini you mentioned." Her fellow Slayer grinned. "I wouldn’t mind a look."

"Knew you couldn’t resist!" Faith laughed. She had thought Kennedy was just another spoilt bitch playing at hero, but she seemed pretty cool. "Give me a minute."

* * *

Hearing a knock on his office door, Giles looked up from his work. "Enter!"

After a second the door swung open and Riley and his group entered. "Mr. Giles," Riley greeted.

"Please Riley," he waved a hand. "Back in Sunnydale it was Giles. Despite our relative promotions we’re still the same people, Giles is more than adequate."

The Iowan farmboy smiled. "Thank you, Giles."

He smiled back at the youth. The soldier was a good man, loyal, dependable, and brave, only an American soldier true, but nobody was perfect. He’d never met Riley’s wife, but given the reports he’d read he judged her to be a very talented demon hunter. As was Mr. Miller, although Graham’s continuing disdain for Slayers was a worry. "Please take a seat." Once the three soldiers had obeyed, he continued. "I suppose you’re wondering why I requested you be sent here?"

"No," it was Graham who replied, his tone flat. "We just follow orders."

Giles chose to ignore the lack of warmth in the younger man’s voice. "For five thousand years there has been a Council of some sort. China, Assyria, Egypt, Greece, Rome, and Britain, the Council had always been based in the era’s great civilisation," which explains why they’ve always avoided America. "But always before there was several hundred Watchers to one Slayer. But now there are hundreds of Slayers," well there was until a few days ago. Pushing that distressing thought aside, he continued on. "And rather less Watchers than before. Now, instead of one Watcher to a Slayer, we have one Watcher running teams of 3 – 5 Slayers."

"I’m sorry Giles, but we’re more than happy with our current posts."

"No, no," he shook his head at Riley’s comment. "You misunderstand me. Much as you would all," he directed his gaze towards Mr. Miller, assuring the young man that this included him, "be welcome I can only applaud your loyalty. I merely illustrated my organisation’s history to give you an understanding of the recent and radical changes the Council has undergone."

"It must have been hard Giles?" Riley queried. "Modernising the Council?"

"Yes," Giles agreed. It had been terribly difficult. First there’d been the laborious process of sorting out the Council’s finances, finding a new base, recruiting former and new Watchers to his cause, and finding the new Slayers. Next had come the re-organisation, stripping away the old ways that had treated Slayers as weapons rather than people. Without Buffy, Willow, and Faith’s back-up, the hard-liners would have won the day. As it was, he’d been forced to exhibit Ripper’s ruthlessness, make a few examples. "At times it makes me yearn for simpler," he smiled wryly, "although more adrenalin filled days."

"And what do you need us for sir?"

Giles noticed how Graham had discarded his request to call him ‘Giles’. Ignoring that, he continued. "Did you notice the strange shape of the estate’s outer wall?" Seeing the others’ confused expressions, he explained further. "The original owner and builder of this estate was Earl Thomas Greene. In addition to being an exemplary warrior and accomplished politician, the Earl was also an occultist and alchemist of some considerable note. To that end he designed this place in the shape of a white arts pentagram. Should any evil demon enter these grounds they’ll be overcome with a debilitating feeling of dread. The really clever thing is that the more powerful the demon, the greater the effect. Of course this magic only works to a demon of certain level. It wouldn’t hold against something the strength of an Old One."

"You want us to fight the Old Ones for you?"

"Good lord no," he shook his head at Mrs. Finn’s question. "The only one of us who could possibly withstand an Old One is Willow and then only in an one and one confrontation. If the Old Ones escape from the Deeper Well, we’ve lost."

A long silence followed his proclamation. "Then what do you want us to do Giles?" Riley demanded.

"Given the co-ordinated attacks on Buffy, Faith, and," he was unable to prevent a sneer, "Angel, there will inevitably be a full-on assault here. My girls have experience at fighting all manner of demons -."

"But not organised humans?" Sam interjected. "But why didn’t Earl Greene make the pentagram include humans?"

"With evil demons there is no grey area, only black. With humans," he shrugged. "Who amongst us hasn’t done evil?" he shrugged. "Lied, cheated, said something just to hurt someone? People can have dark pasts and yet be good, Willow, Faith, and I are proof of that."

After a second Riley nodded. "Okay, let’s talk defences and strategies."

* * *

Whyndham-Pryce fumed as he stalked his apartment. "Abomination!" he scowled. Once the Council had stood for something – honour and discipline.

And then that bastard Rupert Giles had been allowed to return to the Council after his disgraceful desertion. If not for the influence of Giles’ grand-mother and father, his ‘Ripper’ phase would have ended his Watcher career before it began. And then Travers, who really should have known better, had been sufficiently impressed by the whippersnapper’s apparent diligence, to send him to be Miss Summers’ second Watcher.

That was the point where things had really begun to go wrong. First the stupid pillock had ignored age-old traditions to allow Summers to have friends who not only knew about her Calling, but also aided her in Slaying. Worse still was her disgusting relationship with the vampire Angel. If not for the forged reports Mr. Giles had filed at the time, the blonde would have been taken care of by the Council wetworks team during the Angelus fiasco.

And then the nefarious bastard’s influence had spread to Roger’s own son, his heart tightened with shame, causing the boy’s inevitable downfall with that Lehane slapper. Even worse was the boy’s subsequent servitude to the damn vampire, heaping yet more disgrace on his once esteemed family name. Eleven generations of Watchers, stretching back three hundred years, ruined by Giles.

When the original Council had been destroyed he’d expected to be installed as the new Council head. After all he had over a decade more experience over the nearest candidate. Instead the modernists had championed Rupert to the position of Head Watcher.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. The ruination of the Council and his own family was solely down to one man. Roger smiled bitterly. But soon the bastard would pay.

* * *

Willow looked around the hushed, shadowy library, the greatest known collection of occult tomes stacked on the vast room’s shelves. In one corner Dawn and her team worked, the former key’s uncanny language skills aiding her in translating the books of long-dead civilisations. In another Andrew worked with a couple of demon-language experts translating extensive selection of demonic texts. She herself was leading a trio of Wiccas fortunate enough to be working with the Council rather than the Devon Coven in reading the magic books, looking for any edge.

"Oh no."

Heart clenching at Dawn’s rattling whisper, she looked to see the teen staring back at her, her friend’s face an ashen-grey. "What’s up Dawnie?"

Her eyes wide, Dawn swallowed before speaking. "I know why the Order are after my sister, Angel, and Faith."

Willow stared at the former key, confused. "But we already know that," she said finally. "To stop them from getting their Tridents."

"No," Dawn shook her head. "Anyone can get the tridents, but only the three chosen champions can use them."

It took a second for what Dawn was saying to sink in. "So even if we have the Tridents-."

"Without all three champions we’re screwed," Andrew put in, the youngster’s face a matching grey.

Angel looked around, noting the flickering neon lights, gleaming buildings, and flash sedans. "Moscow’s changed since I was last here."

"When was that?"

Angel glanced at his son shivering in his fur coat beside him. "1880," he replied. As Angelus. He, Darla, and Drusilla had cut a bloody swathe through the snow-swept capital. The demon inside him roared at the memory, he forced it back down.

"Was it cold then?" he nodded. His son snorted. "Not that much change then."

Angel chuckled as he continued to look around, noting the falling snow, draping the city in a white blanket. He was grateful that he didn’t feel the cold but wished he could breathe in the crisp air. "Where do we go from here?"

That sounded suspiciously like a line from a really bad song. He glanced behind to the Groosalug. "Oleg Petrov is a businessman owning an auction house, a museum, and an art gallery. His less reputable businesses include a pole-dancing club that he hangs out at every night. He is also Russia’s premiere occultist, so we’re going to go see him." Which was why he’d left the vociferously complaining Gwen at home, he didn’t need her jumping on a table to show off.

"At his club?" he nodded. Connor beamed. "Have I told you how much I love the fact you’re my father?" Angel shook his head. It appeared the apple hadn’t fallen too far from the tree.

* * *

"Xander, can I have a word?"

Xander looked up from his inspection of his newly-purchased Prague street map and towards his room door. "Sure Wood." After a second the door swung open and the muscular African-American strode in. "I’ve been going through the plans," Xander babbled, nervousness at being put in charge of this mission instead of Wood filling him. "I figure we have Oz change in downtown Prague, create a disturbance there, draw the cops away from us. Meanwhile we’ll have broken into this laundry that cleans uniforms for the hotel -."

"That’s great Xander," the former principal interrupted. "But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Xander’s stomach hollowed. "What’s happened? Has Buff-."

"No, no," Wood shook his head. "It’s not about her." Xander relaxed, tension leaving his shoulders. "It’s about Faith."

"Oh yeah," Xander stared at his fellow Watcher. "The Order get her?"

"No," the black man took a breath. "I heard about your argument with Faith. You were out of line."

His nervousness replaced by a familiar, slow-burning anger, Xander clenched his jaw. "Sticking up for your girl-friend is all very noble, but this is none of your business."

"She’s not my girl-friend, we’re just friends."

Xander laughed. "First off, Faith doesn’t have friends, just people he screws. And if you’re trying to impress your way back into her bed, there’s easier ways. Buying her a brewski will do it."

Wood stiffened. "She’s changed. She cares about you, about all of you."

Again Xander laughed. "Whatever. Let me make myself clear. A girl died because of this conspiracy to protect the weak one," the bitterness in his throat was almost choking. "Well that’s it, I’m out. I’m sick of being treated as useless. This is the last mission and I’m only doing this for the innocents. Once this is over, I’m taking the money Anya left me and disappearing."

Wood gaped at him. "Harris, you’re making a big mistake."

Xander turned back to the map, as far as he was concerned the conversation was over. "Do you want to see where I am with the plan?"

* * *

"Ya ready Ken?"

"Ready?" the shorter Slayer exited her hotel room wearing a black sarong over a g-string and matching black bikini top that matched her outfit. "Where are we going?"

Faith grinned at her new friend. "Stop drooling." She chuckled at her fellow warrior’s playful glare. "I figure we go down to the beach. That way you can check out the honeys and I can check out the studs."

"Works for me," Kennedy chuckled. "Check out the studs huh? You don’t know what you’re missing."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "I’ll take that chance."

* * *

"They’ve gone."

Her companion looked at her. "Are we going to let them get away with this?"

She laughed at her best friend’s comment. It was so like her. "No we’re not."

Her friend grinned. "Good answer."

* * *

"Yo! Nice pecs big guy!" Faith hollered at a coffee-skinned hunk of a man. Man, the Copacabana had to be the best place in the whole goddamn world. Weather warm enough to allow you to wear nothing but swimwear at night, wicked carnival music, and, Faith’s smirk widened, a shit-load of speedo-wearing studs.

"You think you could do that?" Kennedy nodded to their right.

Faith looked over to see a bearded, pot-bellied man was juggling dangerously sharp meat-cleavers. "Five?" she snorted. "I could do seven."

"Oh yeah," Kennedy grinned. "I could do eight."

"Is that right?" Faith laughed. This was kinda like the competitive friendship she’d hoped for when she’d discovered there was another Slayer. "That sounds like a challenge to me." Faith glanced at her companion. "You wanna?" Kennedy’s widening smirk was all the answer she needed.

Still chuckling, Faith swaggered towards the beach entertainer intending to charm his blades off him. "Shit!" Her eyes widened when the juggler suddenly began flinging knives at her and Ken. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kennedy dive away from the cleaver flung at her.

Faith chose to take a more direct approach. Snatching the cleaver flung at her out of the air, she threw it back at her assailant. "You lose something?"

The knife imbedded itself in their attacker’s throat. His eyes widening in shock, the knife thrower reached up to pull out the dagger even as blood pumped out of the wound. As his hands grabbed hold of the blade’s hilt, he fell to his knees, his eyes now dimming with impending death. A half-second later, he fell face-first into the sand, his blood staining the beach.

"What was that about?"

Faith glanced at her shaken companion. "Order assassins," Faith guessed. She glanced around, noting the gathering crowd and the approaching sounds of sirens. "We best get out of -. What the fuck!" She grunted as she hit the ground, spitting out the white sand that had got into her mouth, twisting her head to glare at her fellow brunette led on her. "Jesus, Ken, I’m know I’m easy, but not even a dinner or a movie first?"

Kennedy opened her mouth but before her fellow Slayer had chance to comment, the starlit night was filled with the sound of gunfire and the surrounding beach-goers began convulsing wildly, blood vomiting from their bodies as they fell to the ground. Faith tore her eyes from the dying innocents to see a trio of motor-cycling thugs heading towards them, their uzis spitting death. "Oh crap."

* * *

Toyko, Japan.

Buffy stared around the sprawling metropolis around her, taking in the towering buildings, the flashing neon signs, the continual screech of traffic, and the teeming crowds, she couldn’t believe there was so many people in such a small space. "This is amazing," she breathed. LA, London, and Rome, all paled into insignificance next to Toyko. "What are we going to do first? I bet the clubs-."

"We have to get to the Council base," the Immortal reminded her.

Buffy nodded, deflated, being a Slayer was no fun. "Let’s get on with it."

* * *

Angel led his companions past the trio of bouncers at the club’s entrance and down the stairs inside, his vampire hearing allowing him to hear and wince at the cover band haphazardly performing Beatles songs inside the club; this was going to be murder on his ears. He was half-way down the club’s spiral stairwell when a wave of stifling heat hit him with an almost physical force. All at once he was pleased he didn’t have to breathe, contradicting his earlier thought, the combination of sweat and smoke choking most of the oxygen out of the underground club.

The clientele was predictably made up of a majority of over-weight and middle-aged businessmen, their faces glistening with sweat and expressions leering as they ogled girls young enough to be their daughters and, in some cases, grand-daughters. The bar was stocked with a variety of cheap but excessively priced liquor, stuff that appeared just as likely to blind the drinker as get him drunk. But then it wasn’t the booze that got the customers flocking in. That was the dancers.

There was something for every taste – short, tall, buxom, lithe, white, black, yellow, red-head, blonde, and brunette. All were in various states of undress of the usual male fantasy costumes.

And then there was the band. Angel couldn’t help but growl. In the time it had taken them to enter the club, the Beatle-suited band had segued into ‘Help’. He’d heard the Fab Four play in ’64 & 65, and this group weren’t even close. He was tempted to jump onto the stage and do the musical world a favour and jump on the stage, and kill them. He was reasonably sure that given their bass player it wouldn’t be counted as a sin.

Forcing such thoughts aside, he looked around for a quieter table. Seeing an unused table in a shadowy corner, he nodded towards it. "We’ll sit over there," he decided.

"I want to sit over there."

Angel looked in the direction his son was drooling, towards a busty brunette stood on top of a table stripping out of a nurse’s uniform. "Business not pleasure remember," he reproved while at the same time marvelling at the girl who looked like a heavenly cross between Cordelia and Faith.

"All work and no play makes Connor a dull Connor," his son replied.

"It is like the Pylean Pleasure Pits," Groo disapproved.

"Great." Angel rolled his eyes. "I’m stuck here with a monk and a hormone-driven teen. I hate my unlife." Grabbing hold of a passing waitress’ wrist, he flashed her Liam’s winning smile. "Excuse me," he said haltingly, his Russian more than a little rusty. "But I could speak to Mr. Petrov?" He passed the waitress three one hundred dollar bills.

The waitress’s eyes widened at the money. "Da," she nodded before snatching the money and rushing off.

After a few minutes a fat man with corpulent lips and a comb-over that failed to disguise his thinning hair, the suit that struggled to contain his hefty frame expensive but perhaps five years out of date. "Let me do the talking," Angel instructed.

Connor rolled his eyes. "Why? ‘Cause it’s not like Russian’s my second language."

* * *

"Are you alright?"

"Mr. Harris," Katrina hid a smile as she glanced over her shoulder to see an uncomfortable expression on the one-eyed man’s face. But what else did one call a living legend?

Two years ago she’d been just another one of Prague’s street kids, living hand to mouth and on her wits. And the Choosing had occurred and she’d been strong, far stronger than full-grown men, with skills she’d never known before. After two months an Englishman by the name of Robson had arrived with a blonde American called Lockley and taken her to England.

Some of the Slayers hated and resented the Calling but Katrina loved it, loved the escape it gave her from her old life, and the new purpose it gave her. As a result she’d learnt everything there was to know about the Scoobies. Her hero was Faith Lehane, a woman with a similar background to her, but to be teamed with the man who’d split the Slayer line and stopped Willow was a dream come true. It didn’t hurt he was easy on the eye either.

Taking a breath, Katrina nimbly climbed up the side of the three storey building they were breaking into, the combination of her enhanced strength and agility making a normally onerous task easy. Once she reached the top, she leaned over and signally to the man waiting in the shadows. "I’ll just be a couple of minutes," she hissed.

* * *

"Great," Xander muttered at the Slayer’s shout. The lithe blonde with enchanting blue eyes was a great girl, but he worried about her strange eagerness to impress him. It was admirable but it could get her or others hurt.

Unfortunately, Katrina was the only one of the three Czech Slayers who knew Prague and the only one who had breaking and entry experience, making her the best qualified for the job. His musings were interrupted by the back door being eased open to reveal the tall silhouette of the blonde gesturing him inside.

Xander hurried inside the commercial building. "You get yours and the other girls’ uniforms," he whispered. He stopped when a worrying thought hit him. "You know all their sizes right?"

"You mean you don’t?" Katrina’s ocean blue eyes filled with amusement. "I’m devastated. A woman expects a man to know these things."

Xander’s single eye rolled. "I learnt long ago that buying women’s clothes is something no man should do." He wondered how she could joke when all he could think about was what if all those films about East European prisons were true. Maybe he was getting old.

"What will you be doing while I’m stealing uniforms?" the blonde Czech queried as she led him through the shadowy corridors.

"Stealing furs."

Katrina glanced over her shoulder, her expression incredulous. "While I’m getting us the uniforms to end an ancient evil organisation you’re going into fur smuggling?"

Xander felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache. Slayers! Maybe this was why G-Man had always walked around Sunnydale High with a constipated expression. Although perhaps that had more to do with the English than Buffy. "It’s a cover," he patiently explained. "Make the police believe it was a robbery for luxury clothing and those hotel uniforms were just taken by mistake."

"Oh," Katrina purred. "Brains as well as looks."

"Oh great," he muttered. "Horny Slayers. Like I haven’t played that riff before."

* * *

Rio, Brazil

What are we going to do?" Kennedy demanded, shouting over the sound of screaming and roaring gunfire.

"My guess?" Faith hollered back, her eyes fixed on the advancing trio of bikers. "Die horribly and leave two hideous corpses."

"You’re a born optimist you know?"

"I know you’re still led on me!" Faith replied.

* * *

Rona yawned. Tailing the renowned hellraiser Faith Lehane through Rio’s streets was disappointingly boring. No wild brawls, kinky sex, or deadly demons. Perhaps her rep was over-blown. "Or perhaps not," her eyes widened when a knife juggler threw his tools at Faith and Kennedy.

"You saw that right?" Vi queried from beside her.

"I saw it," Rona confirmed, wincing as the knife thrower fell to the beach, his own knife in his throat. "Guy had to be nuts to take two Slayers on with just knives."

"No!" Vi shook her head. "Not that. That!"

Rona looked around, opening her mouth to ask what she was missing. And then gunfire erupted, ripping through the crowd surrounding their fellow Slayer. "Oh that!" Pulling her pistol crossbow out of her bag, she charged towards the enfolding situation, sighting it as she ran. Finally satisfied she was in range, she fired at the nearest biker.

The bolt flew true, slamming into the side of the biker’s neck, just below his helmet, sending blood spurting and the biker crashing to the ground, one of his companions following suit, Vi’s bolt likewise jutting out of his neck. Even as she reached for another arrow, the surviving biker turned his gun towards them.

And toppled backwards off his bike when Kennedy rose and threw a knife into his chest. A grin on her face, Rona hurried up to a rising Faith. "Aren’t you glad we followed you?"

"Yeah," Faith agreed as she brushed the sand off her bikinied body. "I’m dancing for joy." The older Slayer grimaced as she glanced around the bloodbath. "Let’s bail kiddies."

"Who were they?" Rona asked as she hurried after the Bostonian beauty.

"Who do ya think?" Faith growled. "The Order. The stupid bastards sent those amateurs after us. I’m insulted."

* * *

Tokyo

"I am sorry," Masahiro Muto bowed politely at the immaculately-attired man dressed in the latest fashions, the tiny blonde, and two European model types who’d just turned up on his organisation’s doorsteps. They were human, that much he was sure of, but he was far from sure of their motivations and in these troubled times it didn’t do to take unnecessary risks. "But this isn’t a hotel; it’s just a finishing school for girls-."

"My apologies esteemed sir," the foreign man interrupted in flawless, accentless Japanese. "But I’m Franco Rossi." Muto’s eyes widened at the legendary four centuries old Watcher who upon his Slayer’s death had been cursed by a dark arts mage to live forever knowing his failure. "This is Michelle and Sophia," the foreigner indicated the two taller girls, "two of Europe’s Slayers. And this is," the Immortal gestured towards the tiny blonde, "Buffy Summers."

His eyes widened at being confronted by the most contradictory legend in Council history. On the one hand she was the Slayer who’d killed the Master and Lothos, two of the most powerful vampires in history, and defeated a hell-goddess and the First. On the other, she’d betrayed her Calling by fornicating with Angelus and William the Bloody. Quite the enigma.

After checking their veracity with the empath hidden by the side of the door, he nodded. "Please, come in," he smiled. "And how may we help you."

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