Archive of Our Own

Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

– “Hollow Men” T. S. Eliot

San Francisco, 1951

“It should be that house on the corner,” Bernard said. Most of the homes in Hunter’s Point were modest, yet well-maintained, though the recent drought had left all the yards crackling brown wastes. This small cottage with its beautifully carved front door stood out. Not surprising given the girl’s father was a carpenter.

Mr. Hamilton looped the Studebaker around the block and parked on the opposite corner. The Potential he’d been training for ten years had just turned twenty-five. The oldest Slayer on record was twenty-two. The Council was reassigning him to a more likely girl.

Bernard waited for a cue from his motionless mentor. This was to be Bernard’s first encounter with breaking the news to a Potential, and he wanted to impress. But Hamilton continued to silently stare at the house.

Removing his fedora and using it to fan the heat away from his face, Bernard asked hesitantly, “Aren’t we going in?”

“Didn’t you see the mass of children as we drove here?”

He’d had his nose buried in Miss Green’s file and hadn’t noticed. “Yes.”

“School just let out. She’ll be here shortly.”

“But she’s seventeen. Don’t young ladies go out with their friends for malts or some such after school?”

“She won’t.”

“How do–”

“Good God, man, did you read the dossier?”

Bernard felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he opened her file again. Dorothy Green, seventeen. Father worked as a carpenter. Mother a baker. Brother Steven, six… “Because she’s bringing her little brother home.”

“There may be hope for you yet, boy.”

After a few sweltering minutes, a teenage girl with dark brown skin, hair slicked back in a short ponytail, with smiling eyes and frowning lips walked past their car. She held the hand of a little boy, his smile blazing as he laughed at a joke he’d told.

“Wait,” Hamilton said firmly as Bernard reached for the door handle.

Dorothy and Steven disappeared into the house. A few minutes later, they reemerged on the stoop, the boy snacking on an apple while the girl whittled.

Mr. Hamilton started the car again.

“Aren’t we going to talk to her?” Bernard asked.

“No.”

“Why–”

“Because she’s not one of ours. She’s nothing.”

This surprised Bernard. The girl looked alert and strong, already comfortable with a knife. These were plusses not every Potential started with. “How can you say that?”

Hamilton sneered at him. “How long have you been with the Council? A year? I have four decades under my belt. I’ve trained three Potentials, one of whom became a Slayer, God rest her soul. Before I began training Miss McCain, I was part of the group that sought out and identified Potentials. I know in my gut when a girl is worth our time. We will report back that this Dorothy Green, dim and hot-headed, was not interested in us.”

Dim and hot-headed? “She’s been vetted. All the signs say–”

“I will not waste my time on a Negro!” Hamilton’s eyes blazed.

“Your bigotry isn’t more important than this mission! The Chosen are the Chosen. If you won’t train her, I’ll do it myself!”

The older man regarded him with a cold stare. “If you hope to ever be placed as a real Watcher, you will do as a say.”

Bernard bit his tongue. It wasn’t right for Hamilton to ostracize this girl, but she was only one girl. How many could he help as a Watcher? Still, her chances gnawed at him. “But what if Dorothy is the next girl called to be the Slayer? She’ll die without training!”

Hamilton turned the key and the engine sputtered to life. “Then she’ll die, and someone more worthy will be called, Mr. Crowley.”

Astrid tapped her pen against the journal as she watched California’s scrubby desert shrubs flick past the window. Not very heroic scenery, she thought.

But then what part of her hero’s journey had followed the plot? When Ms. Gallo, a middle aged Italian woman with a constant pucker as if she were sucking lemons, had approached her a year ago about being a potential Slayer, Astrid couldn’t believe it. She never saw herself in the heroes in her comic books. She wasn’t Wonder Woman or Robin. She wasn’t even Jimmy Olsen, who had to get close to danger to get good pictures of the action.

No, Astrid was happy consuming adventure while sitting in her room, surrounded by soft pillows and movie posters, her friends a click away on her computer. Aside from wanting to visit Euro Disney, she didn’t even want to leave Norway.

Slayer training just confirmed what Astrid already knew – she wasn’t a hero. Her punches were weak and predictable. Her stamina disappointing. She still couldn’t land a throwing knife.

The only area Ms. Gallo praised her in was lore research. Because I’m the nerdy sidekick, not the hero.

Astrid looked down at the X-Men fan fiction she’d been writing for most of the trip. It had helped her block out what was coming, but as Sunnydale drew closer, not even the prospect of Logan and Scott’s first kiss could distract her.

Ms. Gallo had said it was some sort of training boot camp with the real Slayer, who was supposed to protect her from certain death at the hands of The First Evil.

The First Evil. What a low-effort villain name.

But the rest of it? This Buffy Summers sounded like she had the hero business cornered. She’d held down a Hellmouth for seven years! Astrid imagined her as tall, with long raven hair and thick muscles. Basically Wonder Woman, complete with stylish boots.

Astrid couldn’t wait to meet Buffy, yet was convinced the hero would see the same waste of time her Watcher saw.

Her Watcher had insisted on repacking Astrid’s suitcase and had given her directions over and over as if she was a simpleton. “Traveling to Sunnydale alone at night is ill-advised,” Ms. Gallo had intoned as she looked over the flight and bus schedules.

But Astrid had decided to take the bus anyway. It was better than sleeping in the airport, and the bus had arrived only a few minutes after sunset.

She spied a payphone in the bus station lobby and started flipping through the phone book for Buffy Summers. Astrid may have been impatient to get to Sunnydale, but she wasn’t about to walk through town.

But she didn’t need to worry. “Astrid?” asked a short, pretty blonde.

“Buffy Summers?”

“That’s me,” Buffy replied in Norwegian.

“Wow! You speak Norwegian!”

“Just a little. Only the one bag?”

Astrid nodded.

Buffy flashed a big grin. “Great! Let’s go.”

Jada sat on the top stair of her building sipping tea, with Marmalade purring in her lap. She wanted to go for a walk, but her aunt and vampires made that impossible. She wanted to see the stars, but some demonic force would pounce on her if she left the safety of the symbols painted on her doors and windows. Her freedom encompassed one stair and a half-empty cup of camomile tea.

Tomorrow, D’Hoffryn would come to collect his cookie tribute. He’d mentioned frosting, so she had made sugar cookies. She hoped the Halloween-themed cut outs would please the demon. Did he want the same cookies every week? Did he expect more than a dozen? What happened if her offering displeased him?

She sipped her tea.

From the baby monitor beside her, Dottie moaned, “Jim, you bastard,” then fell silent. Holding the monitor up to her ear, Jada waited for another cry or the sound of feet hitting the floor. Dottie had been extra agitated the last few days. Withdrawn, crying. Once, Jada had found her on the fire escape shouting to no one about how she’d given them the best years of her life.

Dottie’s nightmares were the whole reason Jada was up past midnight, hoping the tea would help her sleep.

Maybe wine would be better? Sam would certainly have something strong enough to knock her out.

But she didn’t want to knock on Sam’s door. He’d probably spent the entire weekend at Buffy’s handling whatever this big crisis was which involved teenage girls, other dimensions, and a vampire-controlling super being. She wasn’t sure. She’d needed a break from that too.

Researching “Vessel of Michael” had turned up nothing. She knew the names Lucifer and Michael from Bible stories, and research yielded nothing more reassuring. Not even a pair of ironically named cats. Never one for Sunday School, the deeper Jada dug into the story of fallen angels, broken brotherhood, God, the Devil, and the armies in between, the more her knees quivered.

But where did Sam fit in?

The door at the bottom of the stairs quickly opened and closed. Dean and Buffy tumbled inside, their fingers in each other’s hair, oblivious to her presence. Dean pressed Buffy against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, his lips on her neck.

“Hello,” Jada said, feeling a rush of heat to her face as they pawed at each other.

They looked up, surprised but not embarrassed.

“Hey, Jada. Where’s Sam?” Dean asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“I don’t know.” She tried to say it like it didn’t matter, like she didn’t feel all torn up inside about Sam Winchester. “Just enjoying some late night tea, with Marmalade.”

The baby monitor crackled again. “Jim! Jim!”

“I’m going to check on Sam,” Dean said to Buffy before taking the stairs in twos, muttering to himself, “Shouldn’t have let him come back alone.”

Buffy, rosy cheeked after her wintery makeout session, took off her coat and sat beside Jada. A stake poked out of her pocket.

When they’d first met, Jada thought Buffy was a big-hearted girl, though maybe a little young for Dean. Dean the hunter. Dean the vampire slayer. Which had made Buffy, the tiny blonde in tow, a thrill-seeker.

Only she wasn’t that at all. She was leading the charge. Buffy Summers was the mythic Slayer – humanity’s best hope.

Jada did not feel hopeful.

“How are you?” Buffy asked.

“Oh, you know,” Jada said brightly before taking another sip of tea.

“You’re thinking about D’Hoffryn, aren’t you?”

Jada held her mug tight, hoping it would warm her hands. “Wouldn’t you? Maybe you wouldn’t with all those superpowers of yours.”

“Sam told you?” Buffy didn’t look surprised. Maybe she wasn’t the secret identity type of hero.

“Figured it out.”

Buffy scratched Marmalade’s neck. The cat thanked her with a loud purr. “D’Hoffryn won’t hurt you. If he was that sort of demon, I’d have killed him forever ago.”

“There’s a badness scale? I just can’t imagine the horns and claws being put to a non-violent purpose.”

“He may look scary,” Marmalade pawed at Buffy’s leg, demanding more scratches, “but as long as you have cookies ready, he’ll be pretty nice to you – for a demon. He even likes Willow. Just don’t make any wishes.”

“Sam gave me the cliff notes,” Jada said with a sigh.

“Is that all he’s telling you? Living in a Hellmouth is kinda pass/fail.” Buffy frowned.

“That’s all I’ve asked for.” Jada set her cup on the floor and scooped her cat into her arms. “I’m not like you, Buffy. I don’t have a destiny. You all can go save the world without involving me.”

Buffy drew back, surprised. “Look, if you want to be in Sunnydale, around the Winchesters, you need more than cliff notes–”

“I don’t–”

“–Or you’re going to do something more stupid than make cookies for a demon.”

Now Jada was surprised. “Excuse me?”

“You didn’t have to make that deal. I could–”

“He’s sound asleep,” said Dean, emerging from his apartment. He eyed both of them, reading the tension on their faces. “Maybe I should take you home, Girly?”

“Sam hasn’t told her anything,” Buffy said, barely masking the anger in her voice.

Uncomfortable, Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Jada knows about the vampire stuff.”

“Obviously not enough to keep her safe!”

Dean flexed his jaw, holding his argument in.

“You should come over to my place tomorrow.” Buffy said it sweetly, like friends planning a girls’ night. “Believe me, I don’t think everyone needs to take up swords and pitchforks to fight the monsters, but you’re too close to really hide from this. You should at least have the whole story before making with the big decisions.”

Jada held her cat close. She didn’t want to know more. Didn’t want to be sucked in. But Buffy was right: relying on Sam hadn’t kept her safe. “All right.”

“Five-ish?” Buffy suggested, slipping back into her coat.

“Here’s an ice breaker for you,” Dean said, pulling a folded up paper from his jacket pocket. “You got plans tomorrow morning, Jada?”

Just grappling with reality. Jada shook her head.

He handed her the paper. It was a fax of a teenage girl with blonde curls and sad eyes. Her face was simultaneously pretty and plain. She looked uncomfortable locked in the camera’s gaze.

“Name’s Astrid Bjørgen. She’s Norwegian; her English isn’t great. Anyway, she’s going to be on the 8:30 bus. I was the only person available to pick her up, but my boss called me in a fit about some place he wants to show tomorrow. I was going to blow him off, but if you’re up for a milk run…”

Jada held the picture as she thought of a thousand questions she was afraid to ask. One question tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it. “Where should I take her?”

Astrid woke up to a pounding headache. Her thoughts coming thick and slow. Where am I?

The room was empty. It had thick, plush carpet dented with furniture marks. Silvery moonlight spilled through the lacy curtains and onto Buffy standing patiently against a wall.

She remembered walking down the street with Buffy, giddily chatting about Hugh Jackman, when someone put a hand over her mouth. She tried to fight, but couldn’t even get turned around before something put her to sleep.

Buffy hadn’t helped.

“Sorry about the rough treatment,” Buffy said, nodding to man by the door who handed Astrid a bottle of water. “I’d hoped we could have a little chat.”

“Okay,” Astrid said, fishing around in her backpack. “Didn’t realize there was going to be an initiation.”

“Less initiation than invitation.”

Closing her fist around a small object, Astrid tossed it to the man. He caught it and squealed, dropping the small cross to the floor as his skin sizzled. Astrid’s blood ran cold. If he was a vampire, then this wasn’t Buffy.

Not-Buffy smirked. “I knew you were smart.”

Astrid took a deep breath and pressed her back against the wall. One vampire by the door. Who knew how many beyond him. And if Buffy was really this Potential-murdering First… “Why am I still alive?” she asked, fearing the answer.

“Why would I kill you?” Not-Buffy’s voice was warm and comforting. She waved the vampire away.

“Th-that’s what Mr. Giles told Ms. Gallo. He said you’re killing Potentials.”

Not-Buffy sat beside her. Cross-legged, comfortable, and frighteningly within reach. “I existed before the earth. I contain more power than you could imagine. Why would I need to kill teenage girls?”

Astrid didn’t have an answer for this. Killing a Slayer like Buffy maybe, but her? She couldn’t even throw an axe.

“But you’ve been doing it, or my Watcher told me you’ve been sending creatures to do it.”

“I won’t deny that some of my followers have behaved a little too…zealously in the past, but that’s in check. Did they you that you had to leave your family in order to be safe from me? Because that’s not the real reason.”

“What’s the real reason?”

Not-Buffy smiled. “Giles wants to protect his Buffy, and he’ll use whatever army he can muster.”

She stood and looked out the window; then nodded for Astrid to join her. The house across the way shone brightly on a mostly-dark street. Inside, some teenage girls were dancing. Others jumped on the furniture. There had to have been dozens of them.

Not-Buffy lifted her hand, and at least twenty vampires stepped out of the shadows around the house while the girls danced on. “You see, I could kill them all at any moment, but that’s not why I’m here.”

She lowered her hand gently, and the vampires retreated to the shadows.

“But if you’re not killing us, why does Buffy need protecting?”

“Don’t get me wrong, while I’ve told my followers to stop killing Potentials, Buffy is very much in my sights.” Not-Buffy cocked her head to the side, sending her blonde hair cascading in the moonlight. “Do you know who I am?”

“The First Evil?”

“Not Evil. Angel. It’s a bad translation.”

Astrid held her breath and tried to recall any stories about angels her God-crazy grandmother had told her. “Michael?”

The angel smiled, though something sparked in her eyes. “Yes, Michael. God’s favorite angel.”

“If you’re an angel, why are you working with vampires?” Astrid whispered.

“Limited resources. I am here to destroy Buffy, and that’s a cause vampires can believe in.”

“Killing her will just make a new Slayer.” Even as she said it, Astrid knew if the other Potentials were anything like her, they wouldn’t stand a chance as the Slayer.

Almost as if It could read her mind, The First asked, “Do you know what makes you a Potential? It’s nothing special really, a random occurrence in some girls that creates a little space inside of them, a pocket other people don’t have. The Slayer is just a girl whose emptiness has been filled. The rest of you are just…wasted potential.

“But Buffy wastes the Slayer. The legends paint her large, but she’d be dead if it wasn’t for her friends. In fact, there’s another Slayer, but in a fit of jealousy, Buffy had her framed for murder and thrown in jail.”

Astrid gasped. How had Ms. Gallo failed to mention this?

“Her judgement’s so poor, she’s even fornicated with two vampires.”

The girl felt sick. Sex with a vampire was fan fiction material, not something a hero actually did.

Michael continued. “Buffy is very aware that I’m on her heels, but do you know where she is now? Not protecting her charges. No, she snuck off to have sex with her boyfriend, yet another older man distracting her from her duty.

“You asked me why she needs protecting. Because God has found her lacking. God wants a real hero, and that’s not Buffy Summers.”

Astrid had never met Buffy. Neither had Ms. Gallo; though she trusted Mr. Giles. How could one side see her as a savior if things were really so dire? “Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t have to.” Not-Buffy shrugged. “You can hear testimony of Buffy’s failures from the mouths of those she’s failed.”

Suddenly, the room filled with dozens of ghosts, their translucent bodies casting a smokey haze over the room. In front of Astrid stood a tall boy with a long nose, narrow chin, and a bite mark on his neck. Beside him, a doe-eyed young woman with long hair and a bullet wound in her chest. A woman with short dark hair, her head wrenched at a sickening angle, came forward.

“My name is Jenny Calendar. Buffy Summers’ arrogance lead to my murder.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see this girl?” Jada asked, holding up the crinkled fax to make sure the freckled man at the bus counter looked this time.

“Lady, I just sell tickets. I can’t keep track of everyone who comes and goes. Speaking of, will you move?” He pointed to the line behind her.

It was almost nine. Jada and her aunt (she’d been unable to secure someone to watch Dottie so early in the morning) had been at the bus station for nearly an hour, and she wasn’t about to leave without Astrid.

“Sir,” she said with a beaming grin, “I understand that you have a job to do, but a young girl has been entrusted to my care. Obviously, you understand how serious this is. Now, I will gladly get out of your way, if you would, please, introduce me to the driver of the 8:30. Perhaps he saw her.”

The clerk looked back at the line forming behind her and sighed. “Lou’s gassing up for his next trip, but I’ll page him, okay?”

After ten minutes, a rail-thin man with over-large glasses came from the back. He inspected the picture, but said his nearly empty bus hadn’t contained anyone that young.

Jada was mulling over what to do next when she felt a tug on her sleeve.

“Sweets Girl, I’m tired. Can we go?”

“Auntie, it’s not even ten. I need to find this girl.”

“I’m too old to be out at all hours like this!” Dottie said, stomping her foot.

Looking up to pray for patience, Jada spied something interesting. She waved at the ticket clerk as she rushed to his window.

“Lady! Come on, you can’t cut the line.”

She felt horrible, but between a missing girl and a moody aunt, Jada couldn’t spare the time. “So sorry! Just a quick question. Who would I speak to about your security camera footage?”

“Today, no one,” he grumbled as he handed a man four tickets. “Some sort of crazy electric glitch fried everything last night.”

Jada didn’t know what these girls were into with Buffy, but she didn’t take that as a good sign. “And when was that?”

“Just after sunset.”

The high school was on the other side of town from the bus station. Rush hour had died down, but Jada was still stuck in construction traffic. She squeezed the steering wheel as she ran through the details again. Her bubbling panic that something was wrong and her aunt’s non-stop muttering in the passenger seat weren’t helping her focus.

Looking at her side mirror, she caught a glimpse of Dottie crying. Jada listened to what her aunt had been muttering since she got in the car.

“…Why’d he say that? Why? I love him…”

“Auntie?” Gently, Jada laid a hand on Dottie’s shoulder.

The old woman shook with surprise and quickly wiped her face. “Where are we?”

“We’re…not anywhere yet. What’s wrong?”

Dottie’s lip quivered. “Jim.”

Jada grasped her aunt’s calloused hand. Every few days, Dottie realized fresh that her husband had passed away; sometimes it was a recalled memory, others a fresh trauma. She’d never met her uncle, but platitudes seemed to help. “He was a good man. He loved you very much.”

“Then why’d he say that?” Dottie sniffled.

Jada stiffened. Her aunt’s delusions of her husband had always been about searching for him, never conversations. Scared of the answer, she asked, “Auntie, have you spoken to Uncle Jim recently.”

Avoiding eye contact, Dottie said, “He’d been talking to me a lot lately.”

“Where? What does he say?”

“At the library. At church. On the fire escape. He’d mostly been saying how much he missed me. Asked about you.”

“That’s very sweet of him,” said Jada as a chill ran down her spine. “When did you talk to him last?”

“A couple days ago. Only something was wrong with him, like he wasn’t my Jim at all.”

HOOONK!

Jada jumped in her seat. The truck driver behind her waved his middle finger at her and the open road ahead of her. She held her aunt’s hand as they puttered through the construction.

“What did he say, Auntie?”

Dottie fished around in her purse for a handkerchief and blew her nose. “He said he didn’t need me anymore. Wanted someone younger.”

A missing girl. Uncle Jim’s ghost. Sam’s warnings to steer clear of Buffy’s house. Jada wasn’t sure how it all fit together, but it felt dangerous.

The secretary at Sunnydale High was so old, for a fleeting moment, Jada wondered if mummies were also real. She repeated herself, loud and clear, hoping the old woman’s hearing aid would pick her up, “I need to see Sam Winchester or Buffy Summers.”

“I’m afraid they’re with students, miss,” said the secretary.

“I understand,” she replied sweetly, “I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t so timely. So do you think–?”

“Jada?” A few paces behind her, peeking over a cubicle wall, stood Buffy and two teenage girls.

Not knowing the girls, Jada put on her best smile. “Good morning, Buffy. When you’re free, I was hoping we could discuss Astrid.”

A changed washed over Buffy. A hardened determination in her jaw. Flint in her eyes. She waved Jada and Dottie over. “What happened?”

Jada looked again at the two girls sitting across from Buffy’s desk. One – pale, with long brown hair in pigtails – wore a neon mini skirt and a t-shirt held together at the shoulders with safety pins. The other – dark, with bright eyes and her braids coiled in a bun – wore a shift dress in a green ankara print. In their own ways, they were doing their best to look grown up, but they looked fifteen at the oldest.

These are the girls, Jada realized with dread. Girls. Children. Babies. And she still didn’t know what role they played with The Slayer.

“Is the new girl in trouble?” asked the girl with braids in a thick Nigerian accent.

“At least her body ‘asn’t been dumped on the bloody porch,” grumbled the other girl with a Cockney accent.

“She wasn’t there,” Jada whispered, keeping her eyes on the girls. “And something happened last night at the bus station. An electrical surge knocked out their cameras around sunset.”

Buffy closed her eyes. “Please be at the mall. Please be at the mall.”

“What’re you looking at?” Dottie growled at the girls.

Jada leaned into Buffy and whispered, “This thing you’ve been fighting. Not the vampires. The big thing. Can it look like dead people?”

The pitying look on Buffy’s face told her everything she needed to know.

“I think It’s been appearing to my aunt as her dead husband.”

“I’ll look into it,” Buffy whispered. “But first, I’m going to call Dean, Spike, and Anya, see if they can search Sunnydale. Maybe Willow can track Astrid down with…god, I should pay more attention when she geeks over spells.”

“Udoka, Molly,” she said to the girls, “will you please take Jada and Dottie to Sam?”

Shoulders slumped, Molly trudged toward the door with all the excitement of a child asked to make their bed.

Udoka locked arms will Dottie. “You know Sam Winchester?” the girl asked.

“He’s her boyfriend. Nice boy!”

Udoka grinned at Molly as they walked past. “Sam’s girlfriend.”

Sam was down the hall and two right turns. Jada was almost surprised to find him helping a student locate research materials in the library. She’d half convinced herself he spent all day in a hideout sharpening weapons and fighting bad guys.

“Jada! What a nice surprise!” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Unsmiling, she crossed the room and pulled him close enough to whisper, “What is talking to Auntie?”

Horror flashed in Sam’s eyes before he quickly recomposed himself. He gently steered her back by the door where the girls waited with Dottie. “Is someone talking to you, Mrs. Johnson?”

“You are, handsome.”

“Uncle Jim,” Jada said.

“That’s…not good.” Sam rubbed his jaw. “And it’s not just a dementia thing?”

Dottie smacked his arm. “I know when I’ve been talking to my husband, thank you! And handsome as he was, that was not my Jim.”

“We need Buffy.”

“Just left ‘er.” Molly fished some gum out of her pocket and added it to the wad she was chewing. “She’s calling ‘round ‘bout the missing girl.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Astrid?”

Jada nodded.

“Plan A is still Buffy.” Sam lead them back into the hall.

When they turned the corner, Jada stopped in her tracks, throwing her arms wide across everyone else. About twenty feet away stood a familiar girl with blonde curls and sad eyes, her makeup smudged, and her skin glowing a faint blue.

“Hi-ya, Sammy,” she said before blasting a bolt of lightning from her fingertips, hitting Molly, who collapsed with a scream. The sick smell of burned skin filled the air.

“Run!” Sam shouted as he scooped Molly into his arms.

They ran, taking every turn, bolts of lightning singeing the walls, blowing the lights.

“Over here!” Sam backed through a set of double doors, trying to not hurt Molly further.

A flash of lightning sizzled by Jada’s head as she pushed Dottie through the doors to the gymnasium. Sam nodded toward a door on the other side of the darkened room. Hand in hand, Jada guided her aunt. Despite whispered encouragement, Dottie started to slow.

The doors blasted off their hinges. “Ladies and gent, will no one compliment my new suit? I got it from your closet,” said what-had-been-Astrid. Jagged veins of blue light streaked across her skin.

The throwing star landed in not-Astrid’s neck with a wet suck. She plucked out the blade, and the neon blue blood streamed out in rivulets. “Really?” she asked, disappointed, before waving her hand and slamming Udoka, arm raised with another star, into a wall.

Jada’s legs turned to jello as she backed towards the door. But where could she go? She didn’t even know what she was running away from. All she knew was that it made vampires seem cuddly.

Not-Astrid grinned at Dottie. “You could have had this honor, you know. I do admire your grit, but a woman your age is just useless. Maybe I should just put you out of your misery?”

With a few flips of her fingers, the creature forced Dottie to her knees. The old woman gritted her teeth. Her eyes daggers.

With a sadistic smile, Not-Astrid raised an arm.

“No!” Jada screamed, jumping between her aunt and the monster. At first, she felt hot, like she was standing by a fire. Sweat beaded on Jada’s body. Suddenly, the heat turned up as if she’d jumped into the flames. She fell to her knees and tried to scream, but something was squeezing her throat, robbing her of air, of voice.

And then D’Hoffryn appeared.

“Jada, where are my–” The demon turned to Not-Astrid and said with disgust, “Get lost, Lucifer.” With the snap of his fingers, Not-Astrid exploded.

Equally quick, Jada felt normal again. Scrambling on her hands and knees, she threw her arms around D’Hoffryn’s legs and cried. “You saved us!”

“All of you?” D’Hoffryn surveyed the blood splattered room and sighed. “Ew. People. Look, don’t get sentimental; I’m just here to collect my due.”

The gymnasium door banged open. Buffy, bearing a fire-axe, surveyed the situation from the doorway. She rushed toward Udoka and –

With a snap, Jada and D’Hoffryn were outside of her apartment. He shooed her toward her door.

Feeling like she was watching herself from afar, she slowly headed upstairs to retrieve the promised treats. Hands clamped tight on the stuffed tin, she noticed a splatter of blood on her arm. Astrid is dead rattled loosely in her brain, like news footage of disaster victims in a far away country. She felt nothing.

D’Hoffryn accepted the tin with a toothy grin. He peeked inside. “Jack-o-lanterns?”

“Icing.”

“True.” He snapped his fingers again, returning them to the bloody gym.

Dottie dashed to her side. Jada embraced her trembling aunt.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. He was still holding the injured girl, passed out with an angry burn on her leg.

Jada didn’t look at Sam, her gaze blurrily focused on the girl’s – on Molly’s – angry burns. Of course, she wasn’t okay. Jada wasn’t hurt, but she was hardly whole. She turned away. “Mr. D’Hoffryn? Lucifer. You killed him? This is over?”

“Killed him?” The demon licked some icing off a claw. “You flatter me, Jada. No, I just popped the seams on those too tight jeans. You saw the big, blue muffin top, right?”

“Her name was Astrid.” Sam said through clenched teeth.

D’Hoffryn snapped the tin shut. “And you kept her so very safe with your heroics. Jada, same time next week. I’ll find you wherever you land.” And then he was gone.

At the hospital, the doctors, concerned about Dottie’s elevated heart rate and signs of dehydration, had insisted on checking her in. Nothing she wouldn’t be able to recover from, they assured Jada. The overnight stay was just a precaution.

Jada watched the old woman sleeping, listened to the regular, reassuring beep of heart monitors. An IV bag scattered the light from the window, giving the room a bright look. Hopeful.

Jada did not feel hopeful.

She raised her hand to her tender throat. Would Lucifer have choked her? Burned her? Peeled off her skin? The Devil would have a lot of tricks.

The Devil. The Devil was chasing Sam.

Her stomach lurched, and Jada doubled over, face in her hands, hoping the room would stop spinning.

“Coffee?” asked a voice from the doorway.

“Buffy?” Relieved it wasn’t Sam, Jada took the styrofoam cup and motioned for Buffy to grab a chair.

“Hungry?” Buffy asked. She had a tray from the hospital cafeteria.

“No,” Jada replied. Her stomach growled.

“Chicken tenders it is.” Buffy handed her a greasy box, a small supply of sugar packets and a few creamers. “So what happened?”

Jada added four sugars and three creamers to her coffee while she thought about her answer. “Sam didn’t tell you everything?”

“Gave me a play-by-play, but I want all the squishy feelings that go with it.” Buffy had a kind smile and sad eyes beyond her years. Her steady voice was earnest and soft. How many people had she talked through…events?

“Sauce?” More stalling. What was there to say about Sam and Satan?

Dottie pushed her blanket down and let out a loud snore.

Jada peeled the lid off the barbecue sauce. She half-expected food to taste different now, ashy and grey. She expected birds to stop singing and everything to smell like sewer. Satan was roaming the planet. But her chicken tender tasted just like chicken dipped in barbecue. The warm food comforted her.

Dottie stirred, balling the blanket in her fists. “Jim, no!” Then sleep took her over again.

“Who are the girls?” Jada whispered. “Who was Astrid?”

“They’re Potential Slayers,” Buffy said matter-of-factly.

“So you’re training them, then they go out and fight vampires?”

Buffy laughed, a small, sad huff. “Not really how it works. I train them. I die. One of them will be chosen at random to fight vampires in the future. Hopefully a far away, flying-car future.”

Jada turned her attention back to Buffy. Small, cute Buffy. Thoughtful Buffy who had invited Jada and her aunt over for Thanksgiving. Who possessed the kind heart to bring her some much needed food.

Maybe a person could navigate this world of blood and violence and still retain kindness.

“I’m sorry,” Jada said, unsure any words could suffice.

“Part of the package.” Buffy waved the apology away. “You’d mentioned back at the school that the Big Bad was appearing to your aunt.”

“Lucifer had been appearing to Auntie for a while. Not sure how long. She thought he was Uncle Jim – and, Buffy, that made her so happy.” Jada bit her lip. “But he told her she was too old for what he needed. Old and closed. Then he went to Astrid.”

Buffy glanced at Dottie, looking fragile and child-like under her pink blanket. “Potentials…” She paused. “If they aren’t chosen, they sort of grow out of it.”

“You think my aunt was a Potential vampire hunter?”

“That would explain her instincts. She knew Spike was a vampire.”

“What?!”

Jada barely had time to convey her shock before Sam was at the door.

“Could we, uh, talk?” He looked innocent. Soft in the lips; sad puppy eyes. How could he be tied up in this?

“My cue,” Buffy said before scooping up her own coffee and ducking out of the room.

Jada straightened her back when she saw him. Jaw held high. Maybe she was handling this? Maybe it didn’t break her?

But she hadn’t looked at him in the car. Granted, he’d been busy attending to Molly, crying in the back seat from the burns on her legs.

Maybe he’d missed it.

Maybe.

After Buffy left, Sam assumed her seat by Jada. “How’s your aunt?”

“She’ll live.” Jada’s words were ice cold. She turned from him and resumed eating while she looked over her sleeping aunt.

“That’s good. Good. Udoka will be fine. They didn’t even admit her. Molly, well, it will take some time. The doctors are doing some skin grafts, but she’ll be able to walk again.”

“Good.”

Black bruises stood out on Jada’s neck. At the gym, she’d screamed like she’d been on fire, though Sam couldn’t see what Lucifer what doing to her. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t help.

“Did Buffy tell you about the coven?” he asked.

Jada sighed, a deep sigh like she was expelling all joy. “I just – Coven? Today has overflowed with weird, and I can’t. I just can’t.”

“No, no! It’s not – Look, someone we know can hopefully get you to a coven in England. You can hide there with Dottie for a while. The coven will keep you safe!”

“From Lucifer?” She said it softly, but it sounded like gunfire.

He said nothing.

“Running from the Devil is a far cry from killing vampires,” she said.

“It is.”

“How did you get here?” she asked, looking in his eyes for the first time.

“Not by choice.”

She sighed again. “You should have told me.”

“You didn’t want to know,” he reminded her.

Jada turned back to her aunt, sleeping soundly. “I’ll go to this coven or what have you for a few weeks; then I’m moving my aunt back to San Francisco with me.”

Sam’s heart fell to his stomach. He couldn’t blame her for running – he’d tried himself – but he couldn’t help but feel she wasn’t running from the danger, but rather from him. “Maybe when this all blows over, I could visit you?”

Jada shook her head. A simple motion, a stab in the heart.

“Lucif – this is new. Most of the time, my life isn’t this crazy.”

“But it is, Sam,” she said with quiet resolve. “Your whole life is saving people. Hunting things. It’s what all of your family and friends do. You don’t know another life.”

“What’s wrong with saving people?” He sounded more defensive than he’d meant to.

“Nothing’s wrong with it. Doctors save people. So do firefighters and social workers, but not everyone has the constitution for those jobs.”

Jada’s eyes welled up with tears, but her voice remained steady. “I want a husband. Children. Summer vacations and soccer practice. Crock pot meals and batches of cookies. I don’t want late nights waiting up afraid or to be trapped in my house for protection.”

He tried to keep the pain out of his voice. “I understand.”

Sam thought his heart would shatter, but the scars from Jessica, from Madison, even from Ruby held it together. Bleeding and slow but whole. Alone was best.

To his surprise, she reached out for his hand. As always, she was warm and soft. A small smile played on the edges of her lips. “Take my car while I’m England. Seems like you monster-fighters walk everywhere. When I come back…I’ll call you, okay?

“I am happy I met you, Sam Winchester. Terrified as I am, I’m even happy you showed me the monsters. This life is not for me, but I wish you could be. I wish we could be more than fates ricocheting off each other. I wish –”

He leaned in to kiss her, gently, with bittersweetness lingering on their lips. “I wish it could be different too.”

Her eyes traced the planes of his face. She wanted to remember him.

“I’ll send some cookies. I’ll be baking for D’Hoffryn anyway, and you need a little sweetness in your life.”

He traced her in return. Her large, innocent eyes. Her blazing smile. The fall of her hair against her neck. “I had some.”