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Knight in Shining armour

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Summary: Cordelia's cousin comes for a visit a certain Halloween night...

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Cartoons > Other Cartoons
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(Current Donor)vidiconFR159125,8311914121,80126 Jan 1317 Aug 14No

Knight in shining armour

Author’s Note:

Thanks very much to my Beta’s on this, Cordyfan and Letomo.

The following ways of notation may be found in this story. This is excluding whatever I need to represent chatting, texting and stuff like that.

Speech: “Who’s on first.”

Thought: *What’s on second.*

Vision: #I-don’t-know’s on third.#

Disclaimer in the end note.

Knight in Shining Armour

Los Angeles, Friday, October 27th 1997

The car that passed in front of Sunnydale High was silvery-grey and purred like a kitten. The gleaming hood ornament of the winged Spirit of Ecstasy drew a few looks, as did the classic lines of the car itself.

“Wow, cool car,” Xander noted as the Rolls Royce moved into a parking space with a smooth, practiced maneuver.   

Buffy whistled. “Very nice. Wonder whose it is? And what they want here?”

The man that emerged from it looked to be in his middle or late twenties and wore a light grey suit of conservative cut and a light blue tie. He had a haughty face, with a strong chin and an aquiline nose and his lips were set in a firm line.

Cordelia Chase, who'd been talking with her friends, looked up in surprise and then hurried out of the shadow of the school and towards the man, who greeted her with a crooked smile. “Cordelia.”

Cordelia reached up and kissed his cheek, then kissed him. “Eric! What are you doing here?”

“Your father wants to talk to me. No doubt another of his marvelous investment opportunities,” Eric replied, sourly.

Cordelia sighed. “He does quite well, you know.”

Eric merely opened the car door and grinned. “I prefer making my own opportunities. But look on the bright side, you get to enjoy my sparkling company.”

Cordelia snorted. “Your sarcasm is hardly sparkling, Eric,” then her face brightened. “Are you going to LA later?”

Eric gave her a look. “Yes…”

“Oh, good. You can drive me and the girls and we can buy some decent Halloween costumes instead of the crap they sell here,” Cordelia smirked as she drew the door shut behind her.

Eric sighed and walked to the driver's side.

“Hasn't changed at all,” he muttered.

Willow groaned. “Great! It’s Cousin Eric the Magnificent.”

Buffy turned towards her friend. “Who the what now?”

“Cordelia’s cousin. Eric Chase. He’s rich and wonderful and the personification of everything Chase,” Willow batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated imitation of Cordelia at her most seductive.

Then she wrinkled her nose. “Last time he was here he told me I was wasting my potential and Xander that he was a good-for-nothing slacker who would never amount to anything!”

Buffy winked slightly at Willow, out of Xander’s sight, which was easy as he was looking avidly at the car, and in her best ditz voice asked in a puzzled tone, “But isn’t that true? I mean, Xander was a good-for-nothing slacker who would never amount to anything.”

“I say ‘hey!’ Xander objected, good naturedly.

“And it was ten years ago,” Willow noted. “We may have to ask Giles if Eric is a Seer or something, the way he predicted Xander’s progress.”

“I say ‘Hey!' Again!” Xander scowled.

Willow grinned and gave Xander a quick one armed hug. “Heh, gotcha!” She looked at were Eric was letting Cordelia into the car, his face still cold and distant. “But Eric’s a Chase to the core anyway. Even if he was right about Xander.”

Xander rolled his eyes. “Stop that, but I agree with you Will, Eric was a pain in the ass ten years ago and I doubt age has made him any better.”

Buffy smiled. “He’s pretty hot though. And he’s got a cool car.” 

Xander nodded. “I agree on the car. But I wonder why Cordy didn’t brag about the fact that he was coming by. She never let a chance pass before to talk about her ‘super-rich cousin Eric’.”


Los Angeles, Friday, October 27th1997

Eric Chase had deposited his cousin in a mall and had agreed on a time and place to pick up her and her friends. Then he'd gone off into LA to see what there might be to do in the City of Angels.

He seldom bothered with galleries and boutiques, considering them overpriced, but when he saw a notice of an auction of African tribal art he went in. There seemed to be a lull in the bidding and he picked up a catalogue and found a seat.

There was a stylishly dressed woman sitting beside him. She looked to be about ten years older than he was and had an air of competence as she bid upon several lots once the auction resumed.

An air, and no more, Eric decided. She had bid on a fertility idol that was part of a set of three. And paid more than any dealer should for a single one of the set.

He chuckled as she smiled when she won her bid. “Something amusing, sir?”

“You just seem rather pleased. Are you new to African art dealing? I'm Eric, by the way. Eric Chase.”

“Joyce, Joyce Summers.” Joyce shook her head.

“No. And I think I know why you are so amused. That,” she pointed at the statue that was being carried out, “is part of a set. You assume it is a set of three, you are wrong. It is a set of six, three male, three female. That is the last one I need to complete the male set. I'm going to buy the female set later,” she turned slightly smug look at him and Eric inclined his head.

 “Touché. Ummm, what would be the price for the full set?”

Joyce smirked. “Considerably more than the price of one, or three, or two times three.”

Then her face fell. “But I have to go and get the set if I want to get the discount I need...”

Eric nodded slowly. “Do you trust me?”

“What?” Joyce sounded surprised.

“Trust me. If you do, give me the name of the place that sells them,” Eric smiled.

Joyce hesitated. Then she sighed and reached into her purse. “If you make me regret this...”

Eric smiled and took the business card she handed him. He kept his seat and Joyce, after a moment's hesitation, started bidding again.

During the break Eric took out his mobile and noted the address. “Wouldn't have gotten home any time soon would you? We're in luck, I know someone who lives nearby.” 

“Boston isn't exactly close by, I know, but the time and cost would be worth it,” Joyce assured him. “Even if I’d have to leave my daughter alone for Halloween.”

Eric grinned. “Diana? This is Eric. Look, I need you to go to a shop for me. I want you to buy me a set of fertility idols. I have just acquired the services of a set of triplets and feel an urgent need to bolster my manhood.”

There was something that sounded like an indignant, spluttering squawk. Eric laughed. “Hah! Got you, it’s an investment. Timpson, Bryce, Fortescue, Art Dealers. Got that? Okay. Three Female Yoruba fertility idols. Joyce will give you the specifics.”

Joyce took the phone and started to describe the idols. Eric grinned when she hung up. “Well, you'll soon be the owner of three idols at a cut-rate price, Diana is an excellent haggler.”

Joyce smiled. “Is she one of your dealers?”

“Nope, an old friend. She teaches at Harvard,” Eric coughed. “She also collects African art. How much for the complete set? All six?”

Joyce froze. “What?”

“I want to buy the set,” Eric repeated. “Diana has a birthday coming up.”

“Ah. She'd better be a really good friend. The last set was sold nine years ago for sixteen thousand dollars. This one is in much better condition and I estimate it to be sixteenth century. I was going to put it up for auction in the next Christie's auction with a reserve price of twenty-five thousand, and expect to make it at least forty.” Joyce smiled. “A good bit less than what your friend is paying, no?”

Eric drew his checkbook. “Yes, I thought that might be the range. Shall we say forty-five thousand?”

Joyce blinked. “Errr... Fifty!”

“Agreed. I'll write a check, we’ll go cash it together. Where are the other two male idols?”

“My Gallery. Sunnydale. It's about-” Joyce began.

Eric nodded. “I know it, I just came from there. I've got to take my little cousin back there after she's done with her Halloween shopping with her friends,” he rolled his eyes.

Joyce smiled. “Well, that has to be the quickest turn around ever. So this Diana is a special friend?”

Eric shrugged. “We met at school. We went through a lot together. I know she’s wanted a set like this for a long time, but even at this cheap price she couldn’t afford it.”

“C-cheap?” Joyce stammered.

Eric lifted an eyebrow. “I happen to know a set sold in New York for sixty-five thousand six months ago. Sorry.”

Joyce shook her head. “That's not what I meant. It's just that I’m still surprised that anyone considers fifty-thousand cheap.

Eric handed her the check. “Well, I have a lot of money. I like to spend it on my friends. And for a set of six, in good condition, of this age, this is cheap.”

Joyce smiled and tucked the check in her purse. “To me, this is a lot of money. If I'd had to wait for the auction, well, sometimes a quick turnaround is preferable to the highest possible profit.”

Eric nodded his agreement. “Was there anything else you were planning to bid on?”

Joyce took out her catalogue. “A few pieces, yes.”

“Do they have any Asante cult items?” Eric asked.

“A ritual spear and mace set just went unsold. I think I know who put it in, if you want me to contact them...” Joyce offered.

Eric grinned. “Anything else?”

“A chieftain’s chair and a pair of slippers from the eighteenth century,” Joyce replied after a moment of thought, pointing it out in his catalogue. “Not really easy to sell, so not something I’d bid on.”

“Interesting. Thank you. So do you deal in anything besides African Tribal art?” Eric asked.

“Contemporary Art, mostly, including Native American,” Joyce handed him her own business card.

Eric looked at it and then tucked it away. “Thank you, I look forward to seeing what you've got there.”

Joyce grinned. “I hope you like it, too.”

Eric snorted. “Well, at least you'll get home early, now that you don’t need to go to the East Coast.”

Joyce nodded. “I’ll go later, for a longer buying trip, but for now, I may get a costume after all.”  

“Going to buy that here?” Eric asked, wincing as he thought about the vast number of packages and bags Cordelia would by now be carrying. He was very glad to have avoided mule duty.

Joyce shook her head. “I try to encourage local business when I can. And if I go in late, I've got a good chance of a nice deal.”

Eric chuckled, then perked up. “Ah, the slippers.”

Joyce looked at the heavily brocaded and embroidered footwear, sparkling with gold thread.

“Oh, them golden slippers,” she quipped.

Eric snorted and started to bid.


Sunnydale, Tuesday 0ctober 31st 1997

Eric was putting his bag in his car when Cordelia came out of the house. “Going already?”

Eric shrugged. “Your father's proposal was about what I expected.”

“Still not good enough for you?” Cordelia shook her head. “How much profit do you want on a deal?”

“Enough,” Eric smirked as she slammed the trunk. “Do you need another ride, oh cousin mine?”

Cordelia lifted an eyebrow. “Well, there's a party at Crestwood tonight... Theta Kappa Delta House. There will be lots of pretty Coeds there...”

“Lots of little gold-diggers, you mean?” Eric snorted. “Have your eye on somebody?”

Cordelia huffed. “Well, what if I do? I can hardly marry my cousin now, can I?” she asked pointedly.

Eric sniggered. “Wouldn’t be the first time in our family, but no, not interested.”

He sobered. “You're a bit young to be dating a college student, Cordy.”

Cordelia sniffed. “Well, that's your opinion. I'm sure one of them will be delighted to give me a ride.”

Eric's brows rose. “I'm sure. Well, I don't have that many cousins, so kindly be careful, okay?”

Cordelia groaned and stomped up the stairs, then back down, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and waited. Eric got into the car, waved, got a wave in return and drove off.

He reached the sign that declared he was passing out of Sunnydale and stopped. He looked at his hands, sighed and turned the car around, rubbing his forehead.

*Stupid Hellmouth. All this dark energy is giving me a headache.*

There was a costume store somewhere, he'd seen it. He needed a costume that would cover him sufficiently that Cordelia would not recognize him. Even if he was going to follow her for her own good, if she found out she would be furious. She’d been bad enough as a ten year old kicking his shins. He really didn’t want to find out first hand about her current abilities.

He stopped the car in front of the store, it was called Ethan’s, seeing a redhead, a blonde and a brunet boy leave, talking animatedly.

His eyes narrowed. *Rosenberg, Harris and friend? Whatever happened to that other boy, McNamara? No MacNally. No matter. I need a costume.*

Ethan smiled as the next customer entered, the man looked around then came upto the counter. “Good afternoon. I need a costume that will disguise me completely for a Ball Masqué. Do you have anything like that?”

“I think I can accommodate your request,” Ethan spoke in an upper class British accent.

He looked Eric up and down, pursed his lips, then took out a tape measure and with a questioning glance, got permission and measured Eric's shoulders and hips.

“I think I've got something that would suit you, sir.” He gestured at a mannequin which was wearing a full face helmet, breast and backplate and stood in front of a box that held the other pieces. “A knight in shining armour.”

Eric looked at the armour and scratched his head. “Huh. Do you have something, umm, less...”

“Expensive?” the shopkeeper asked.

“I was going to say restricting. That looks like it would be hot and tight,” Eric eyed the armour critically.

“Well I fear that everything that covers your face will be hot. Full face masks have the same problem, though the rest of the costume might be less restrictive,” Ethan explained as he gestured at where a young man was trying on a Godzilla suit.

Eric rubbed the back of his neck. “What's it made off?”

The man grinned. “Steel. I bought this cheaply at a Ren Fair auction, so it's actually fairly authentic. The man it had been made for had died in an accident and his wife didn't want it around. It was part of a lot with lots of dresses and tights, which are useful, but I can let you have this for five hundred. Seventy-five to rent.”

Eric looked at the armour again, then shrugged. “I'll try it on. If it doesn't fit it will have to be a mask.”

The shopkeeper smiled and placed the helmet and armour in with the rest, then wheeled the box towards some curtained off spaces. “Fitting room over here. Give me a call when you need help with the straps.”

Eric went into the dressing room, put his brief case against the wall started taking off his tie, shoes and suit. That was when he heard the conversation.

“I'm looking for a nice costume, but not too elaborate. I'm keeping my Gallery open tonight and want to receive customers and children in style, but I don't want to spend too much time on it.”

“Hmmm, what sort of costume? Traditional Halloween? Ghost? Princess?” his voice dropped suggestively. “Naughty Witch?”

Joyce, for it was her, laughed. “Not naughty witch, my daughter would freak out.”

“A pity the young are so straitlaced. It would look excellent on you. An Egyptian princess?”

Eric had seen that costume. He grinned. If she wore that, he was definitely going by the Gallery again tonight, just to tease her. He had the three male figures, bought the same day he had met her at the auction, lying in his trunk, Diana had gotten the three female ones. Eric’s grin broadened. Joyce was very firmly telling Ethan that, no, she wasn’t interested in wearing a nurse’s uniform either. That was not the sort of customer she wanted to attract.

Eric smirked. He’d already gotten Diana’s gift and some other items from the gallery, so visiting again this soon might be considered odd. But it would be rather an excellent bonus to see her dressed in any of the costumes so far suggested. Apparently Ethan thought the same thing.

“Indian princess, perhaps?” Ethan pointed at a sixteen-year old boy’s wet dream costume of a harem girl.

“No,” Joyce replied, decidedly. “Again, not the audience I want to draw.”

“How about... this?”

“A Flapper? Hmmm, interesting. But I fear that my figure is a little too full,” Joyce added regretfully. “Do you have anything else?”

“I disagree, I think it would look stunning,” the shopkeeper told Joyce.

Eric closed his eyes, imagining Joyce in the dress he’d seen, the fringe and the sparkling sequins and the boa and the little hat with a veil that could be draped on top. It would look interesting, but he’d seen something better.

He cleared his throat. “I think it would look very well on you as well, Ms. Summers.”

“Mr. Chase?” Joyce called out, surprised.

Eric stuck his head through the curtain. “Indeed, it is me. And I think you’d look marvelous as a brunette in that Egyptian get up… Though the Indian Princess has to be my favourite,” he teased.

Joyce blushed lightly and glared at him. “Not quite the image I want to project to my customers and guests and especially not my teenage daughter, Mr. Chase.”

“I thought we’d settled on Eric and Joyce?” Eric grinned, his eyes flicking from the mannequin to the woman, than nodded at another in the corner. “I suppose you’re right. But how about that one?”    

Ethan pursed his lips and looked at Joyce, then the dress on the mannequin. “Yes… that would work quite well. Quite well indeed.”

Joyce looked at the dress as well and smiled. “Yes, I think that might work quite well.”


1630 Revello Drive, Summers House

Joyce Summers had just finished doing Buffy’s hair. Buffy was pouting. “But Mom, Willow needs to be more-”

Joyce frowned into the mirror and Buffy’s mouth clicked shut. “Willow is not going out there wearing that. She’s completely uncomfortable with it. Come as you aren’t doesn’t mean abandon your true self, Buffy Anne!”

Buffy nodded. “Okay, as long as she doesn’t go as a ghost. I mean, how is she gonna draw Xander’s attention like that?”

Joyce lifted an eyebrow at where Willow was sitting wrapped in Joyce’s robe. “What kind of attention did you want for her, dressed like that?”

Willow went beet red. Buffy had the grace to blush.

“And who exactly are you trying to impress dressed like this?” Joyce gave her daughter a hard glare.

Buffy opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Angel,” she whispered.

Joyce snorted. “Well, we’ll talk about that later. Willow, There’s a trunk of old Halloween costumes in the attic. Why don’t you and Buffy get it down while I help Dawn?”

Willow looked down at her Boo sheet, then at Buffy, then at Joyce’s face. It was implacable.

*Well, at least I won’t look like this,* the redhead smiled apologetically at Buffy, who shrugged. 

When Buffy had lifted the trunk, and it was an actual steamer trunk and Willow loved it on sight, Joyce was half-way through Dawn’s make-up. She was wearing a blonde wig it was in two braids on the side of her head and a velvet dress with a squared of neckline and a small circlet on top of the wig and Dawn was scowling.

“It itches!” Dawn complained and tried to reach under the wig.

“Well you were the one who wanted to dress as close to the original as possible, Pumpkin,” Joyce half-soothed, half scolded as she intercepted her daughter’s move. “And Lucy Pevensie is blonde in the books.”

“You just should’ve dressed as a Pumpkin Princess, would’ve suited you,” Buffy teased. “You look good as a blonde, Dawnie.”

Dawn tried to scratch under the wig but Joyce stopped her hand again. “I just got that settled, young lady. Now get up so’s I can settle your belt.”

Dawn rose and Joyce put a worked leather belt around her daughter’s slim hips, looping it around three times and then knotting it. She hung a small glass bottle with a yellowish liquid and a plastic dagger on it. “There. Perfect.”

Dawn looked at herself in the mirror and beamed. Then she hugged her mother. “Thanks Mom!”

Joyce laughed. “Well, go down and wait for Janice and her mother, okay.”

“But Mom, I wanna watch and see what Willow picks!” Dawn whined.

“What Willow picks is her choice, Dawnie,” Joyce told her youngest sternly.

“I-I don’t mind. Ms. Summers,” Willow smiled at her friend’s little sister. “You know, if you give Buffy a bow, she could be Queen Susan, with the wig she’s wearing!”

“There’s one in the trunk!” Dawn squealed and jumped at it, yanking at the leather straps and started to rummage.

“Dawn! Don’t do that. Everything’s folded and put away just so,” Joyce took her daughter’s place and started to lift things out of the trunk.

“Let’s see… We really should go through this, a lot of this is far too small for you…” she started hopefully.

“Nuh-uh!” Dawn and Buffy crossed their arms at the same time and assumed identical expression of stubbornness. “Not getting rid of the Princess dresses!”

Joyce sighed and rolled her eyes while Willow giggled.

Joyce placed several carefully plastic-wrapped and tagged costumes on her bed, digging ever deeper into the trunk. At the bottom, settled in compartmented boxes, there lay an assortment of props and accessories. From among these Joyce took a short, plastic bow with golden sequins stuck to them.

Buffy bit her lip. “I can't carry that!”

Joyce rose, the bow in her hand, holding it out. “I think it would suit perfectly.”

Dawn made huge puppy eyes and Joyce lifted an eyebrow. Buffy sighed. “Okay, okay, I'll carry the stupid bow. Sheesh.”

Joyce smiled. “Thank you. Now, Willow, there's plenty in here. Why don't we go through it real quick, okay?”

Willow nodded and sat on the bed, starting to sort through the packages. Each was clearly marked with its content and the size of the costume.

“Ooooh, what's this?” she held up a package that showed a shimmering green through the milky plastic wrap.

“Hmmm? I think that's... Yes, that's a leotard. It’s for dancing, I suppose,” Joyce looked rather sadly at Buffy.

Buffy looked away. “Oh, I know, we can dress you up as Maid Marion! It'll look great on you, Will! Come on!”

Buffy grabbed Willow's hand and dragged her off to her own room.

Dawn bounced up and down on her mother's bed. “So, Mom, what're you gonna dress up as?”

Joyce smiled and gestured at the dress that hung from her closet door. “That.”

Dawn's eyes narrowed. “That looks a lot like mine. So a medieval lady?”

Joyce shook her head. “Not quite.”

She rummaged in her jewelry box and came up with a pendant in the shape of a running horse'. A search through the boxes in the trunk brought forth a simple leather belt, on which white felt horses and silver trees had been glued. Then she took out a plastic sword in an equally plasticky sheath and drew it.

“Behold, Éowyn of the Riddermark, Wraith-Slayer!”

Dawn started to giggle as the sword bent at the hilt and hit her mother on the head. “Ow.”

Joyce mock-glared at her daughter, “Be careful, Queen Lucy! Or I shall challenge you to a duel.” The sword flopped in her hand.

Dawn fell over laughing.


Willow shuffled into the room, looking uncertain. She was wearing the leotard, and a brown faux-leather corset and a cap with a feather in it, with a pair of elf-boots that Buffy had once worn as part of a holiday job in Santa's cavern.

She carried her own bow in her hand and had a tiny quiver on her back, obviously taken from some child’s costume. The corset pushed up her green-clad breasts, suggesting many things without revealing so much as a square inch of skin and the leotard hugged her legs like a second skin. Her red hair was in two braids, curled on either side of her head.  She looked uncertainly at her own appearance in the mirror.

Joyce nodded approvingly. “Very good. Not a thing showing that you shouldn’t.”

Buffy looked at her mother, whose hair was braided as well and who was dressed in a slightly off-white dress with a pale blue tabard over it. “Looking good, Mom.”

Dawn giggled. “Ask her to draw her sword, Buff.”

Joyce rolled her eyes and shook a finger at Dawn. “Careful there, dear.”

Buffy looked at the sword and stared to giggle as well. “Oooh, you’ve got the bendy one. Sure to strike fear into your enemies, Mom!”

“Be silent, wench!” Joyce smiled.

The doorbell rang and Buffy turned and called over her shoulder. “That’s Xander, I’ll get it!”

Dawn squealed excitedly. “Xander? No! I’ll get it!”

She stampeded past her sister and Buffy stood, momentarily stunned. Then her lips thinned and she ran after Dawn.

Joyce rolled her eyes. “I’ll just go sort those two out. Please excuse me, Willow.”

Downstairs, Willow heard the voice of Xander. “Wow! Two beautiful princesses! Buffy, Princess of Buffonia and Dawn, Princess of Dawnia, I greet you and your splendid beauty!”

Buffy dropped into a slight curtsy  let out a laughing growl. “I don’t know if I should feel complimented you called me beautiful or insulted you called me buffoon.”

Willow almost could hear the embarrassment in Xander, even without seeing him. Then Joyce interfered. “Buffy, just accept the compliment. Good evening Xander, Willow will be right down, too, and then you can go and pick up your groups at Sunnydale Elementary.”

Willow gulped. She looked down at herself, ran to Buffy’s room, grabbed the ghost sheet and covered herself, then went down the stairs.

“And here she is!” Buffy exclaimed.

Willow felt her heart sink at the disappointed expressions on the faces of Buffy and Joyce. It sank even more at the momentary elation, quickly hidden, on Dawn’s.

*I’m not gonna be jealous of a ten year old!* Willow told herself fiercely, even as Dawn put a proprietary hand on Xander’s arm. Xander smiled down at the girl, oblivious of the reason why.

Buffy sighed, trying to hide her disappointment. “Okay then, let’s go out and guide some munchkins.”


The Lair of Spike and Dru, Dru’s room

“I hate fuckin’ Halloween! Nothing ever happens!”

“Queens will walk the streets tonight, who were not Princesses born, and the White Lady will walk among them, but the Slayer will not walk the streets tonight, will she Miss Edith?” Dru danced around with her doll and Spike turned to look at her.

“The Slayer won’t walk the streets tonight? Well, since the demons won’t either, she probably has a point,” he noted.

“The stars tell me Slayer will be far away and the Gentle Maiden will take her place, whose voice is soft and who loves embroidery. Would you like an embroidered dress, Miss Edith? Should we ask the Gentle Queen to make you one?” Dru nuzzled the doll.

Spike rubbed his chin. “So… The Slayer won’t be the Slayer?”

Dru whirled, her long dress whirling around her ankles. “Chaos will sweep her away and the Gentle Queen shall sing her songs while she does her needlework! Such beautiful songs, hmmm, Miss Edith?”

Spike grinned and left the room. Drusilla was a little to deep in her other world to realize he too, was gone until it was too late for her to stop him.


Lucy Pevensie, or Queen Lucy the Gentle, awoke to screams. Her hand immediately went to her dagger and she looked about to locate the source of the fracas. Groups of people were being attacked by strange creatures that might best be described as little devils.

The last she remembered she was in the High Hall of Cair Paravel, talking to Mr. Tumnus about the spring planting under the North Mountains. Not that Lucy knew very much about the spring planting, or agriculture at all, but she was determined to learn and the Faun was the best to teach her.

She pursed her lips and looked around for her sister and brothers. She saw no-one she recognized, but there was a soldier of some sort, by his clothes a modern one. That meant that unless something very odd had happened, this was not Narnia.

There was a screech and then red-headed girl wearing tight green clothes and a leather corset of some sort ran up to her. “Xander! Dawnie! Thank God I've found you! Have you seen Buffy?”

“Buffy? Who is this Buffy?” Lucy wrinkled her forehead. “And who and what are you?  Are you a dryad or a nymph of some sort?”

Willow blinked. “I'm Willow, Willow Rosenberg. Errr... Xander?”

The soldier was eying the redhead with some suspicion. “Do I know you, Ma'am?”

Willow deflated. “I'm your best friend. We've known each other since we were five.”

Xander shook his head. “I think I would remember that, Ma'am.”

There was a sudden rush and some of the little demons charged them. Lucy held up her dagger, not as a weapon, but as a cross. “BACK! IN ASLAN'S NAME!”

The demons hissed and reared back, not so much, Lucy thought, due to her show of faith, as the hail of bullets that roared over their heads.

“XANDER! Don’t hurt them! They're just children!” Willow called out, almost panicking. “Look, don't shoot anybody, Okay? Just... Come with me and help me find Buffy, and I’ll explain everything. She's just the next street over.”

The soldier looked doubtful. But Willow started a rapid fire explanation, talking so fast even while she was walking that Lucy could barely understand her. Apparently they had all been enchanted and they were not in their own bodies. Lucy frowned. That sounded like the blackest sorcery to her, and whoever did it, deserved the fate of the White Witch.   

There was a scream and then a group of five ruffians ran past, one with an arrow stuck in his behind. Then a clear voice rang out and a raven-haired beauty stepped out into the road, her eyes blazing. “And let that be a lesson to you never to try and lay hands on a lady against her wishes again, Queen of Narnia or no!”

Lucy saw her sister, her big, wise sister. She ran towards her and was hugging her before Susan even had time to lower her bow.


Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, Princess of Ithilien, wife to Faramir, Steward of Gondor, stood blinking in the bright light of strange lamp that hung above her. A low-ceilinged hall, set about with great windows and with strange harshly colorful in angular and round patterns upon canvases on the walls. Uncouth carvings such as those once made by the men of Harad and Rhûn, yet without the underlying anger and fear of Sauron that marked those, stood upon pedestals and under cases of fine, clear glass such as only the best glassmakers in Gondor could create. She knew that only seven master craftsmen knew the secrets of creating the great plates of glass such as were used in Merethrond and these were even bigger, of a size that could not now be created by the arts of Men or Dwarves. It was these things that first penetrated Éowyn's consciousness.

The second was that around her people were screaming as odd beings reminiscent of Orcs and other fell creatures growled and screeched, ready to kill them. She remembered telling Elboron to get to bed, that it was late and no longer time for reading. He had complained, as always, but at ten years old he should no better than to protest. Éowyn never relented. Children needed their sleep. And Elboron was cranky when he was tired, much like his father.

She thoughtfully moved back to stand against the wall, looking around to see what her situation was. She felt the familiar weight of a sword on her hip. There were people in the room and they were frightened of the beings. The orcs themselves seemed confused.

Éowyn was an intelligent woman. She looked down. To her mind, her breasts seemed a touch larger. She nodded to herself. She knew from the books in the Library that the elves of old could communicate with each other through nothing but the strength of their minds, and Queen Arwen had confirmed that it was true. And also that there were many great powers of the mind that few among even the Eldar or the wizards had mastered.

Something or someone had transplanted her mind into this body. And it had placed people she needed to protect nearby, and she could not deal with the threat to them by summarily killing them. She drew her sword and slapped one of the beasts on its rump. With a yelp it fled, and Éowyn set about clearing the strange hall of its invaders, but being careful not to hurt them. They might be just as innocent as those she was protecting.


Susan was hugging her little sister to her side and eyeing the redheaded nymph dressed like a titillating vaudeville act skeptically. “So we have been transplanted into the bodies of your friends due to some strange and arcane magic? Changing into the costumes we -they- wore for All Hallow's Eve? And we are good friends, this body and you, and this soldier here? And this Buffy could deal with this problem without 'raising a sweat’?”

Willow sighed. “Yes. Now can we please hurry? I think the place where you, that is Buffy and Dawn live, is probably the safest place for you to be.”

“I see. And can you clarify what you are dressed as?” Susan asked, eying the very tight trousers and the up thrust chest of the other girl once more.

Willow whimpered. “I was supposed to be Maid Marian, but I panicked and went as a ghost.  Can we please go now?”

“Does not our mother stay at this house? Or our father?” Susan was moving now, bow in hand, but she was still skeptical, questioning still.

*She was never this inquisitive in the books, was she?* Willow though. *Or maybe it just never showed.*

“Errr... Your father is elsewhere, not in town at any rate, and your mother is at her Gallery by now I think.”

Susan froze. So did Lucy.

“So our mother might be in danger?” Susan asked.

“Yes, well, no, I think that she can probably handle anything she meets tonight,” Willow explained. “She went as a great warrior, you see, so she'll be protecting people herself.”

Susan nodded and started to move again. “Very well. I will believe you. But if you lie...” Her hand went threateningly to her quiver.

Willow gulped. “Already a ghost, remember?”

Xander loosed another flurry of fire over the heads of some height-challenged demons, who were probably trick-or-treaters.

Susan eyed him critically. “If you were using a bow, your form would be off.”

Xander smiled pleasantly. “Bigger kick on one of these than your bow, Ma’am.”

Susan nodded. “Quite true. I never managed any accuracy with Father’s hunting rifle.”

Lucy turned and walked backwards, glaring at Susan. “Hey! You told mother you hadn’t taken it!”

Susan smirked. “I didn’t, Peter did, and Ed got the ammunition. We all shot, though.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. Susan shrugged. “Mum knew anyway. Crusts and water for a week, remember?”

Lucy grinned. “Can’t fool Mum.”

Willow grinned back. “Can’t fool all the moms all the time, but we can fool some of the moms some of the time, at any rate. This is your home.”

There was a scream, long and terrified. Xander looked up, his weapon at the ready. “I’ve got to go and see if anyone needs help!”

He ran off, in a military trot, to the corner where the screams were coming from.

Susan lifted an eyebrow at Willow. “Well, I suppose we don't quite rate as damsels in distress.”

Willow sighed. “I suppose we don’t. Can you stay here while I go and talk to Giles? He knows a lot of stuff about magic and might know what is going on. I’ll just wait for Xander to come back.”

“He’s a magician?” Susan frowned. “I hope he’s a White one.”

Willow nodded. “I’m sure he is, don’t worry.”

Xander had arrived at the scene of the scream. A girl ran up to him, dressed in an expensive looking body suit with cat ears and spots. She was followed by a growling two legged dog-thing that fled as soon as Xander fired a couple rounds over its head.

“Harris? Who the hell gave you a gun?” Cordelia asked, stunned. “Wait, never mind.

“Oh, great. Cordelia. Well, at least she's dressed like something appropriate.” Willow muttered.

“You do not like this Cordelia?” Susan asked while Xander soldier surreptitiously ogled the significant décolletage of the brunette, his eyes occasionally skipping towards her back.

“No, not really,” Willow answered truthfully. “Okay, your name is Cordelia you're not a cat, you're in high school, and we’re your friends. Well, sort of.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “That's nice, Willow. And you went mental when?”

Willow blinked, “Wait, you know who I am?”

“Yeah, Lucky me,” Cordelia snarked. “What’s with the name game?”

Willow looked around the room at her friends. “A lot's going on.”

“No-o kidding. I was just attacked by Jo-Jo the Dogfaced boy. Look at my costume! I got this in LA, at Adele’s of Hollywood! I'm never gonna get my deposit back!” Cordelia held up her torn sleeve for inspection.

Susan coughed. “Err, I'd worry more about cuts in other places.”

Willow sniggered at Cordelia's expression as she realized that most of the lower back of her costume was missing or torn, showing off a shapely midriff and the top of her lacy panties. “Yeah Cordelia, your goods are on display.”

Xander took off his shirt and draped it over Cordelia's shoulders. “Here.”

“Thanks. And who are you to talk to me like that, Rosentwerp? What are you dressed as, Santa’s favourite hooker?” Cordelia sniffed deprecatingly as she looked at Willow’s tight-clad lower half, pulling Xander's shirt around her shoulders.  

Willow flushed, then shook her head. “We don't have time for this. Look, I'm going out to get help. You guys stay here; if something tries to come in, just fight it off, okay?”

Susan smiled and plucked her bowstring. “I think we can do that, yes. A pity Peter and Edmund aren't here,” she winked at her younger sister.

Lucy smirked as she gently tested the edge of her dagger. “Yeah, no brave males to protect us poor, defenseless women.”

Cordelia sidled over to Willow., “Okay, what's the matter with Summers and her sister?”

Willow bit her lip. “It's like amnesia. They don't know who they are. They're all what they dressed up as. Errr.. There's some weapons in a chest in Buffy's room, maybe you can use them. Now just sit tight.” She headed for the door.

Cordelia turned to the others. “Okay, who died and made her boss?”

Willow stepped through the wall. Cordelia gaped.

Susan smiled and walked towards the stairs. “Xander was it? Would you mind standing guard while Lucy and I check upstairs and see if we can locate those weapons?”

Xander saluted. “Yes, ma'am!”

Cordelia watched the two girls go upstairs. She looked at her empty hands. “Hold up! Wait for me!” And hurried after them.


Sunnydale Gallery

Éowyn was quite sure that the people she had taken upon herself to protect were safe. Tables had been overturned to form barricades and clubs fashioned from such items as were laying around. She could hear the sounds of combat from outside, or at least of mayhem.

Then there was a pounding upon the door.

“Open, in the name of King Arthur! I have children and wounded, women and yeoman who seek succour within!” A resonant voice called out.

Éowyn stepped up to the table that blockaded the door and looked over it, through the thick, clear glass. There was a man outside, clad from head to toe in shining metal, a large helmet with a plume upon his head and a gleaming, golden shield upon his arm. It bore the symbol of a white griffin upon a black shield. His visor was up and his face beyond showed the familiar aquiline profile of a Gondorian noble, though this man’s eyes were brown instead of grey. Behind him was huddled a group of about twenty people.

“Who art thou, My Lord, that thou comest before my gate and desires entry in these dark times?” Éowyn asked.

“I am Sir Kay, Knight of the Round Table, and I serve Arthur, King of the Britons and the lands beyond the sea,” the man answered in a clear voice.

Éowyn bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at the two dozen people who were inside with her. They looked stunned and afraid. If this man was a capable warrior, she could make use of him. The fops she had with her were rather useless.

“Then lead in your people, Sir Kay, and be welcome,” Éowyn gestured and two of the men rather hesitantly removed the table from in front of the door.

 Once the glass doors were open the people started to file in, with Sir Kay waiting behind them, guarding them from attacks. He followed the group, and saluted Éowyn. “My Lady, I thank you for taking in these people. And yet I fear I must refuse your hospitality for myself. There are people in this burgh who need to be saved from these creatures.”

Éowyn gritted her teeth. *Typical man. Leave the women behind to guard the homes, and go out and perform heroic deeds beyond the borders of the keep.*

“I fear I leave you with a great charge, My Lady. But there are many children beyond these walls, frightened and in need of aid,” Kay added apologetically.

“With your gracious permission I will lead them here, that you might guard them. For I perceive thou art a lady both wise and valiant and used to the defence of the home and hearth. And without these walls, were fell darts and keen blades are unleashed, my armour will keep me safer than thine admittedly gorgeous raiment,” Kay's eyes wandered admiringly over Éowyn's now rather more curvaceous form. 

Éowyn rolled her eyes. “If my Lord husband were here, he would have words with thee, Sir Kay.”

Kay grinned, a surprisingly boyish grin. “My Lady Éowyn, if my Lady wife were here, I would be clasping my manhood. But even so there are many in need of aid, and if you permit me but a drink of wine or water I can go forth once more refreshed and well able to deal with the dangers that beset them.”

Éowyn led him to a table that held clear glasses of wine, both red and white and many bottles of strange drinks, as well as rather small sweetmeats and tidbits. Kay's eyes gleamed and he quickly drank down two glasses of red wine. Then he made a courtly bow and exited the hall, leaving Éowyn to look after the wounded and the frightened.


Summers Home

Susan, Lucy and Cordelia were going through the trunk that they had found in the cupboard of one of the rooms. Susan and Lucy had been astonished at the number and the quality of the clothes. Cordelia had been rather dismissive of them, calling them ‘so 1993’.

“Okay, Lucy, are you sure that short sword is light enough for you?” Susan asked as she adjusted the girt of the belt around her middle, checking that her sword hung properly balanced. On the bed in front of her was a light truncheon.

Lucy nodded as she swung the sword. “Quite. I should be able to wield it with sufficient ease, even with the scabbard still on.”

Cordelia was looking at the stake in her hand and the hatchet in the other.  “Okay. I'm hereby declaring that Buffy Summers is officially weird. I mean, no normal girl has a trunk full of lethal cutting and bludgeoning weapons in her bedroom, right?”

“If I am this Buffy Summers, I take the utmost exception to that remark, we will speak of it anon,” Susan told the brunette in a light voice that nevertheless promised plenty of violence.

Cordelia gulped. “Errr... You might be a member of the Society of Creative Anachronism? That would be errr, pretty dorky, ok, but still fairly normal.”

Susan's glare was not really comforting and Cordelia protectively hoisted the stake and hatchet in front of her. “Look, you two may be warrior queens, but I'm not really comfortable with this stuff, guys.”

Susan sighed. “Look, Cordelia, we can't fight these people with arrows or daggers. If Willow is correct, and from the pictures on the dresser she seems to be, most of those outside are innocents caught up in whatever is happening. Arrows tend to hit places that may do serious harm, and daggers are far too up close for comfort. So blunted or blunt weapons are what we need.”

Cordelia sighed, put down the hatchet and picked out her own truncheon. “Yeah, okay, point.”   

Susan looked out the window and then moved out of the room, one truncheon for herself and a heavier one for the Soldier in the other. “I don’t think that they’re going to try and enter through the upstairs windows. Come on, Lu.”

Lucy nodded and, seeing that Cordelia was still looking at her weapons with distaste, prodded her lightly on the butt with her sheathed sword.

“Hey! Quit it, squirt!” Cordelia batted the sword away.

Lucy smirked, put the sword on her shoulder and marched out. Cordelia followed, muttering darkly about Summerses being mad, no matter who was in charge of their bodies.

Xander was eying the truncheon Susan held out to him with distaste. “I’m not proficient with that weapon, ma’am,” he offered.

“It’s a club. You hit people with it. Just not too hard,” Susan told him dryly.

With a sigh the man took it and hung it from his belt. Susan nodded approvingly. “You guard the front door. Lu, you and Cordelia stay here, it’s central to the house and you can come to the aid of whoever needs it. I’ll take the kitchen. Leave all the doors open so we’ve got clear lines of sight.”

Lucy sighed and sat on the couch. “Oh, very well.”

Cordelia opened her mouth to protest but Susan’s glare shut her up. “With luck we won’t be bothered. Of all of us, you’ve got the least experience at combat. You’re support, understood?”

Cordelia nodded, wide eyed and sat by Dawn as Susan stalked into the kitchen. The door opened and she swore, falling into the combat stance that she’d been trying to take, eying the tall, dark haired man who came in.

“Buffy? Good, you’re alright. How are the others? Are they here? It’s chaos out there!”

“Who are you? Do you live here?” Susan asked.

Angel gave her a confused look. “What?”


Sunnydale High Library

Giles had been re-cataloguing some of the geography and geology section. He had been disturbed by the noises from outside, many types of sirens, yelling and screams. He’d thoughtfully placed a taser and a police truncheon on the lending desk. Halloween was not a night when the supernatural was active. It was probably some sort of riot, or party that had gotten out of hand. It made sense that the one night that humans could actually safely walk their own town, they would run amok in sheer relief.

He was by the catalogue, eying the computers with considerable distaste. He let out a most unmanly yelp when the ghostly figure appeared, flinging the cards in all directions with an involuntary movement.

“Hi Giles!” Willow said perkily.

Giles shuddered and regained control. “Heavens, Willow! How did you do that?”

Willow spread her hands. “I’m a ghost.”

Giles sat down with a thud. “Oh, dear Lord.”


Summers House

“Great. So you don’t know who I am?” Angel asked.

Susan shook her head. “I fear not. Willow might know you, but she left to go talk to someone called ‘Giles’.”

Angel sighed. “Ah. Well, maybe together they can find out what is going on. Is there anyone else here?”

“My sister, Lucy, who Willow claims is called Dawn, a gentleman who answers to the name of Chief, but is called Xander by Willow. And a girl called Cordelia.”

Angel shook his head. “Okay. Buffy, let's go into the sitting room to talk about this.”

Susan gave him a doubtful look. “Shouldn't someone guard the back door?”

Angel sighed. “Everybody’s too busy fighting each other in the streets to bother breaking into the houses. Trust me.”

Susan tapped the truncheon against her leg. “Very well. But my name is Susan, not Buffy.”

“Yeah, okay,” Angel waved a hand and Susan preceded him into the sitting room.

Cordelia perked up immediately. “Well hello! Fancy meeting you here,” she purred.

“Hello. So, Willow left to speak with Giles. Where's your mother? She went on a buying trip, right?” Angel asked.

Susan shook her head. “No, if Willow is correct, she is at her Gallery.”

Angel groaned. “Oh wonderful! There's a pitched battle going on out there!”

“Battle? And our mum is out there?” Lucy asked in a high, suddenly frightened voice.

Angel looked rather abashed at having scared her. “Errr, yeah.”

“We have to go help her!” Lucy waved her sword, the sheathed point almost hitting Angel's nose.

“We can't. It's madness out there,” Angel told her gently. “But I'll go out and look if she's alright, okay?”

Lucy bit her lip and looked at Susan, whose hand was gripping the hilt of her sword. “Sue?”

“He's right Lu. We'd be overrun in seconds,” Susan admitted. “There’s just too many of them.”


Spike was grinning as he walked towards the Slayer's house. A moderately intelligent vampire, with a couple of minions, could find the home of any Slayer who was not constantly moving within a week or two of observation. The so-called Anointed One had been quite smart, even if he'd spouted all sorts of mystic drivel, and the Master had had minions to burn. And had done so on occasion. So the home of the Slayer had been located within mere days of her arrival on the Hellmouth. Both The Three and Darla had followed her there and Darla had even managed to get inside.

As he'd walked through the streets of Sunnydale that more resembled a scene of war than the usual orderly California town he'd regrettably become accustomed to, he'd gathered up a goodly number of false demons and monsters to bolster his vampire minions’ numbers. If the Slayer was still the Slayer, using those as shock troops would put her off, as she would, like all Slayers, hope that she could spare or save the innocent bystanders.

Spike could relate to that. He liked to save the innocent bystanders for that annoying hour between noon and one o'clock when he got up a bit peckish. There was a lovely tang to real innocents.

He looked at his normal forces, twelve vampires, two Fyarl demons and a Polgara who had been skewered through the head and was now so stupid he was barely able to grunt. He was useful in a fight, Spike admitted.

He hadn't seen the Slayer anywhere, nor her little friends, but that was not going to prevent him from having fun, gathering some supplies under the cover of the looting, pillaging and rampaging that was going on and proving to the general vampiric population just who was the Master of Sunnydale.

If the Slayer wasn't home, he'd visit the Gallery her mum owned, see if she was there and maybe have a little word with the woman about fire axes and interfering in his business. She was quite hot too, in a mature way, and had a mothering nature to her. Maybe he'd turn her, let her loose on the Slayer. Or if her mothering instincts survived, he could use a little help with Dru on occasion. It was more the sort of thing that Angelus would do, at least before the Great Poof went all soulful, but killing the family was a classic for a reason. And the Slayer had a little sister too. Dru liked children.

There seemed to be people at home at the Slayer's house. Spike grinned. “Looks like we'll be 'avin' a bit of a fight after all, boys,” he told his followers.

He gestured at a guy who'd dressed as a vampire and the boy stepped forward. “Go round the back and get inside. Make some noise. See if you can draw off some attention.”

The vampire nodded and moved off. Spike lit a cigarette. “And behind door number one...”


The noise of something falling came from the kitchen. Susan sent a glare at Angel and hurried back. The kitchen door was swinging open.

“I closed that,” Angel noted from behind her.

Susan threw another glare at him, this time over her shoulder. “Are you actually useful for something, or do you just insist on being patronizing and stating the obvious?”

She looked around, and then moved towards the other door. Suddenly it flew open and a caped vampire in a frilly white shirt jumped out, pushing Susan to the floor and smashing into Angel with a hiss and a roar.

Its claw-like hands were tearing at Angel's throat and it was leaning in, apparently to sink its fangs into the older vamp's throat.

“Stake!” Angel managed to cough out. “Throw me a stake, Buffy!”

Susan swung her truncheon, but the vampire dodged and instead of hitting it square on the temple she hit its forearm. The long crooked fingernails penetrated the skin of Angel's neck. Angel roared and vamped out, slamming his head into the vampire's face, hard. The vamp staggered back, Angel brought his knees up and struck with his legs, kicking the vamp into a set of kitchen cabinets. It slumped down and didn't get up again.

“Stake, please Buffy?” Angel repeated.

Susan's lips thinned and she had her sword out. “First, again, my name isn’t Buffy. Second, you tell me what the hell you are.”


Spike waved forward some of his larger new troops and positioned the smaller ones behind them. The bigger ones had gathered up a number of garden gnomes and stood ready to throw them through the windows. It allowed them to access the room without gaining cuts and it would probably destroy the gnomes, which was excellent. Some things were just too evil even for Spike.

He threw down his cigarette when he heard the sounds of combat beginning in the kitchen. The gesture unleashed the attack.

There was a crash against the front door and Dawn and Cordelia sprang to their feet as the wood shuddered. The Soldier grasped his rifle and stood ready to loose a volley of fire at any intruder. With a crash the window burst and a stream of demons, big and small, streamed inside. Lucy swung her sword and it connected with the chin of one of the small demons, knocking it back, but there were too many and she had to fall back to the couch, where Cordy had climbed up and was swinging her truncheon two handed.

“Get off me, you little green creeps!” Cordelia called out.

Three large demons swarmed the soldier, who was using the butt of his rifle. A big demon roared, ran towards the couch, grabbed Lucy’s truncheon, ripped it from her hands and threw her over his shoulder, then was out of the window in three bounds.

Spike whistled on his fingers and the invading forces that remained retreated from the house. Or the ones who heard and obeyed him, anyway, a lot of them were far too inexperienced to realize what they were doing. Spike didn't care much either way. He ran off, leading the demon who was carrying the kicking and screaming little girl. They soon reached a less salubrious area of Sunnydale and Spike led the way into a warehouse he used on occasion.

Spike smirked and reached out, grabbing the girl's chin. Instead of fear he saw defiance.

“IN ASLAN'S NAME!” she called out and swung a gleaming dagger. Spike jumped back just in time to avoid the blade.

“Get that off of her,” he ordered curtly.

One of his real minions, looking rather hesitant, moved in. He approached the girl carefully, but not carefully enough. Lucy lashed out, the dagger slicing into the vampire’s undead flesh. Smoke rose and a smell of burning filled the air. The vampire whimpered then screamed as the slash widened, as white fire ran over his arm and torso, consuming him.

Spike in the meantime had grabbed Lucy’s wrist as she made the cut, and with a careless twist, broke it. With a cry she dropped the dagger.

“Interesting little toy you ‘ave there, nibblet. Where did ya get it?” Spike asked casually as he lit another cigarette, nudging the dagger away with his booted foot.

Lucy glared and tried to stifle her tears. Spike reached out and pulled at her hand. Lucy wailed in pain.

“Well? Where did you get it?” Spike asked again.

“Better tell me, girlie. I’m not known for my patience,” he moved his hand and Lucy let out a sob.

“Fat-Father Christmas gave it to me,” she confessed.

“Father Christmas? Ri-ight,” Spike twisted her hand around and Lucy screamed.


Spike sighed and then blinked. “What’s your name, kid?”

“L-Lucy Pevensie,” Lucy sobbed.

Spike looked at the dagger, then at the girl, then started to laugh. “Cor, a Daughter of Eve!”

He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke into Lucy’s face. “So, kid. You’ve got a sister. Is she here?”

Lucy was coughing from the smoke and biting her lip trying to be brave, but there were a lot of big, nasty demons and vampires, her wrist was broken and she no longer had her dagger. Spike twisted her hand again and she could feel the bones move. Lucy fainted.

Spike dragged in another lungful of smoke. “Well, bugger. Okay. Everybody get ready, the Slayer’s bound to show up soon to save the kid. Put ‘er on the crates over there. Use some tie-wrap and make sure she doesn’t get out. Oh, and Healey? No playin’ with her. Dru doesn’t like people playin’ with ‘er food.”


Sunnydale Gallery

Éowyn wasn’t sure if she should be amused or annoyed. The metal-clad knight had been back twice with small groups of frightened people who had sought shelter in her hall. He was a shameless flirt, though also brave and kind to the children.

And here he was back again, this time leading a couple of horses. They were big ones, obviously in good health and looked rather shocked to her experienced eyes. Two small children, no older than five or six, were on the backs of the dappled gelding.

“Ah, My Lady. Two more charges for you, I fear,” Sir Kay made a bow and then swiftly lifted one child off the horse and then the other.

He smiled at them. “Go in, children, there are refreshments inside and people who will care for you.”

The children nodded numbly and hurried inside. The knight immediately turned serious. “My Lady? You bear a sword, and you look like you can handle it.”

“I can. I thought it was quite obvious, Sir Kay,” Éowyn told him frostily.

Sir Kay smirked. “Ay, but My Lady, I was afeared that any remarks about you handling a sword well would land me in trouble with your husband once more.”

Éowyn raised one eyebrow and her hand gripped the hilt of her sword more strongly. “I do not need my husband to deal with one feeble knight whose own skill with the sword is no doubt as diminutive as his blade.”  

Sir Kay actually laughed. She had expected him to get pompous and even more offensive. It was quite surprising.

Then he sobered. “My Lady, when I came here, I saw a group of monsters carrying a girl, dressed in costly clothes, obviously a young noblewoman, or since she bore a coronet, possibly even a princess or queen. There are too many of them for me to handle them alone. Will you fight with me, lady?”

Éowyn gave him a look. “I will fight with you, Sir Kay, and ride with you,” she swung herself into the saddle of the smaller of the two horses, noting that the undergarments her body wore were quite good at containing and supporting her breasts, even while she was active.

*If I remember this, I need to find out if such garments can be replicated in Gondor,* she thought idly as she kicked her horse into action.

Behind her Sir Kay laughed and jumped onto his horse.


Summers House

Susan was raging. It was quite impressive. She hadn’t yelled, or screamed, or anything like that when she realised that Lucy, or Dawn, was gone. She’d merely grabbed one of the invading demons and kicked it quite hard in the nuts. Then she’d laid about her with her truncheon while Angel and the Soldier fought their own battles, Cordelia bashing whatever came into sight until the demons fled or lay whimpering.

Now she had one of them lying on the coffee table with a sword at its throat. “Where did they take her? And why?” She demanded. 

The demon growled. It was obviously not very intelligent, or unable to speak English.

“This isn’t working,” Angel murmured.

Susan whirled, her sword still in hand. “And you’ve got a better idea?”

“I recognized that whistle, that was Spike. Another vampire. I might be able to track them, if Spike’s with her, which seems likely,” Angel said.

Susan stepped closer.

“And you could not have told me that five minutes ago?” she told him, very coldly.

Angel took an involuntary step back. “I, errr, didn’t realise I might be able to do it on the Hellmouth. Look, we need to get after them.”

Susan’s fingers were tightening around the hilt of her sword. “Yes. And after we get Lu back, you and I are going to have a conversation about tactics, strategy and the sharing of essential information. If my brothers were here, you would be in serious trouble.”

Angel nodded. “Errr.. Sure.”

Susan gripped her sword. “Well then. Let’s move off.”


Sunnydale High Library

Giles was reading in a huge tome while Willow was gazing longingly at some others. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. Plus I can’t turn the pages.”

Giles looked up from his book and cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Well, alright, let’s, let’s review. So everybody became whatever, uh, they were masquerading as.  

Willow nodded. “Right. Xander is a soldier of some sort. Buffy and Dawn are Susan and Lucy Pevensie.”

Giles gave her a confused look. “A-and, uh, your costume?”

Willow waved her hand through the table. “I’m a ghost!”

Giles cleared his throat again and looked away. “Yes. Um, uh, uh, ghost of what exactly?”

Willow looked down, noting the almost corset like leather garment that pushed up breasts, and her leotard covered legs.

She flushed. “Maid Marion.”

Giles coughed. “Indeed. I-I fear that it’s quite wrong for the period.”

Willow tried to pull the corset down, awkwardly, to cover more of her bottom, while trying to hold on to her top to prevent her boobs from looking more prominent.

“Well, this is nothing! You should see what Cordelia was wearing. A-a, a unitard with cat ears, like ears and stuff! And cleavage to here!” she pointed at her navel in a gesture that Giles took, and hoped, to be exaggeration.

“Good heavens. Uh, s-she became an actual feline?”

Willow shook her head. “No! She was the same old Cordelia. Just in a skanky cat costume. Xander kept checking her out,” she finished sulkily.   

Giles nodded thoughtfully. “So she didn’t change.”

“No she didn’t,” Willow replied equally thoughtfully. “And I saw people who weren’t affected while I came here too.”

“Where did Cordelia get her costume?” Giles took out his fountain pen and started a new note sheet.

“She got it in LA, at Adele’s of Hollywood,” Willow said witheringly.  

Giles nodded. “And everyone who changed? They acquired their costumes where?”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “We bought ours at a new place, Ethan’s. Well, the ghost sheet anyway,” she growled. “He was way too eager to sell us stuff! I knew something was off with him!” 


Willow was hurrying to Revello drive when she saw the group moving further into town. Angel was looking oddly subdued, Buffy, or Susan, was walking with a jaw set like granite and her bow at the ready. Xander was scanning the surrounding area for dangers and Cordelia was complaining. That at least, was nothing new. But the group being here, and without Dawn, meant that Buffy’s little sister was probably out there somewhere, almost certainly in trouble.

“Guys! Over here!” she called out.

Susan looked up. “Willow. Have you seen Lucy?”

*Yup, theory confirmed,* Willow thought.

“Not since I left you guys. Giles thinks he knows who’s responsible, the guy who sold us our costumes. He’s gone there now, to deal with it. What happened to Da- Lucy?”

“Spike took her,” Angel told her curtly. “Look, we need to move.”

Willow eyed Susan and nodded. “Yeah, that might be wise. I’ll go and explore a bit. I don’t think they can do anything to hurt me.”

Susan looked relieved. “Please. And thank you.”

Willow nodded and took off, running. *One advantage of being dead is that I don’t get out of breath.* 


Willow could hear the sounds of hoof beats before she saw the riders. There were two of them, one a fully armoured knight, the other one… “Ms. Summers? YO! LADY ON THE HORSE!” she called out.

The horsewoman dug her heels into the horse’s belly and it turned a bit, into a circle that brought her face to face with Willow.

“Who are you and why do you address me so?” Éowyn asked, hand on the hilt of her sword.

Willow gulped. “I-I’m Willow! I’m a friend of your daughter’s! A-and there’s a couple of monsters who’ve kidnapped your other daughter!”

“What?” Éowyn hissed. “Do you know where she is?”

Willow shook her head. “No. B-but Buffy, that is Susan… errr. This is confusing, anyway, your eldest daughter is coming along… Look, there she is!”

Éowyn looked where the redheaded girl was pointing and saw a girl approaching, bow in her hand, the other hand on the hilt of a sword slung on a belt around her hips.

She nodded approvingly. “Yes, I can see that she is my daughter. Sir Kay? We ride with these people to save my daughter,” she smiled at the knight.

The man who was addressed as Sir Kay bowed in the saddle. “As you wish, My Lady Éowyn.”

Éowyn looked at the group of newcomers who were eying her warily. “I am Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien, though in this world I am apparently your mother. Your sister, my daughter, is in danger. I will not stand for that. Now, we need to discover the whereabouts of your sibling and the disposition of the enemy forces.”

Willow smiled. “If I now where they’ve got her, I can find out how they’re guarding her.”

Angel cleared his throat. “I think they’re in that direction,” he pointed. Éowyn nodded and set off at a quick trot.


Spike‘s temporary hideout

Spike was smoking and looking at the whimpering girl who was lying hogtied on the crates.

“Your sister will be ‘ere soon, pet. Then I’ll kill ‘er and Dru can play with you. You like playing with dollies? You’ll like Dru then. You can play tea party. You can be the tea,” he smirked.

There was a noise outside as of galloping horses. That wasn’t all that common for a modern Californian town, at least not in this day and age. He was quite sure that things were wrong when there was a scream from one of the guards on the roof. A notion that was only strengthened by the crash when the doors burst open under the assault of two people on horses. One was a woman in a flowing gown and with a long sword in her hand, the other was a fully armoured knight, wielding a sword and yelling about Arthur and Britain.

There was the gargled scream that ran from the Fyarl who was guarding the door. Spike looked out from between the stacked crates, seeing that the woman had cut off its head with great efficiency and that the knight had cut the arm off one of his vampires.

Spike jumped back into the shelter of the crates, swearing under his breath. He wasn't sure what the Slayer's Mum had dressed up as, but it wasn't some soft bint, that was for sure. And she was frightening enough without mystical enhancement, thank you very much. He hesitated for a second and then grabbed the Slayer's little sister, throwing her over his shoulder and then started to climb the crates. He made his way to the top and started to walk over to the back doors, on the first level.

Éowyn was slapping the small monsters with the flat of her blade, still on her now very wild and skittish horse. It did not like the smell of blood and ash in the air. It might have been the size of a large percheron, it had the training of a cart horse.

Sir Kay, better armoured and apparently less capable on a horse, had dismounted and was harrying the enemy on foot. She could hear the fight above, where her elder daughter was using her bow to great effect. Her two male companions were apparently giving good account of themselves as well, which pleased her. Any man interested in her daughter had better be willing to fight, for and with her. The girl Willow was flitting through walls and crates and reporting on the location of demons. She had an uncanny knack of recognizing real demons from false ones.

Susan was furious. She was an excellent bowman, but she much preferred to use it to hunt the occasional stag or rabbit, or to shoot targets with her brothers. That she was forced to fight in battle once more, and to retrieve her kidnapped sister, no less, angered her beyond belief. She was oddly soothed by the presence of the woman Willow the Nymph said was her mother. The Lady Éowyn was both capable and courageous and obviously fiercely protective of both her and Lucy.

Above her the vampire called Angel was fighting something he had called a Polgara. He had sworn he could handle it and Susan had left him to it. The Soldier and Cordelia were on the ground floor, offering support to the Lady Éowyn and Sir Kay. The soldier was quite effective in hand to hand combat using his weapon and the occasional bursts of gunfire were unsettling to the demons.

That was when she spotted the vampire who was walking over the tops of the staked goods and containers, a small, trembling shape over his shoulder.

“Halt, foul demon!” She called out. “Unhand my sister and prepare to die!”

There was a short laugh from the direction of the vampire, apparently called Spike and then he called back. “I think not. See, it looks to me that I've got the upper hand 'ere. I've got your little sis and I can kill 'er in seconds. I can 'old 'er in front of me so any arrows go through 'er first. So that means that we make a deal, Slayer. You put down your pretty little bow and sword, and I come over and drain you dry. And then I let the little bit go, how's that sound to you?”

Susan growled. “I think not, vampire. I do not trust your ilk!”

“Well, boohoo. Seems to me then that your lil' sis is gonna be mighty dead. And then I'll go after your mum. She needs to sleep, don't she? And go out and shop, and any number of things... Even if she goes and moves...” Spike chuckled.

Susan gritted her teeth. “If you let Lucy go, I will grant you free conduct, but that is as far as I m willing to go, vampire.”

There was a thud and then Angel dropped down next to Spike, but the blond vampire didn't even flinch. The Polgara landed right beside him and slugged him heavily in the head, grabbed him and then the two fell off the pile of crates onto the concrete floor.

Spike laughed again. “Really? I hope that wasn't your master plan. You hoping that Angel-ass was gonna creep up on me and get me? Utterly pathetic.”

Susan bit her lip. “You promise you will let her go?”

Spike nodded. “I promise Slayer. Cross my heart and hope to die again.”

Susan put down her bow. Then she walked to the edge of the floating floor and stood waiting. Spike jumped the gap between the floor and the crates and landed easily. He mustered the defiant girl, then put Lucy on her feet. “Run off to your mum, little queen. Your sister and I've got things to discuss.”

Lucy looked at Susan wide-eyed. Susan gave her a pleading look. “Please go, Luce. Please?”

Lucy ran to the stairs and down as Spike approached Susan. He could hear her heartbeat and the unevenness of her breathing even as she tried to control her fear.

“You don't have to worry about your mum, Slayer. She'll be fine,” he trailed his fingers down her cheek, then her neck, fondling her hair. “I prefer you as a blonde, I think.”

Lucy was running down the stairs, then between the crates. She came to the central area and looked around wild eyed. There was a man in armour who had just taken the head off a vampire and a woman on a large, fractious looking horse who had skewered her sword through the eye of the big, green demon with the bony spear coming from its forearm. The dark-haired man who'd dropped down next to her and her kidnapper was on its back strangling it.

“Please! You've got to help! Su-Susan...” Lucy sobbed. “Susan bartered herself for me!”

The woman on the horse let out an oath that Lucy didn't recognize and withdrew her sword with a grating noise, then dropped from her horse and raced towards Lucy. 'Where is she, child?”

“Up there!” Lucy wailed. “PLEASE! Hurry!”

The woman nodded and ran her white dress and blue tunic flapping. Lucy saw the soldier fire a salvo into a vampire and it staggered back, falling, becoming easy prey to the dark haired girl who closed her eyes and slammed a stake into its heart.

Then Cordelia moved toward Lucy, a gleaming dagger in her hand. “Okay, pipsqueak, stand still and I'll get you loose.”

Lucy nodded. “Please be careful, my wrist is broken.”

Cordelia glared at where the soldier was firing bullet after bullet into the head of a vampire until its spinal cord snapped and it dissolved.

“Assholes,” Cordelia muttered as the dagger cut through the tie-wraps easily and then looked at the limply hanging hand.

Lucy took a deep breath and took the vial of cordial of her belt, then looked at Cordelia. “This needs to be set before I drink the cordial, or it will mend crooked. Can you do that?”

Cordelia's eyes widened. “Me? Set a bone? Hell no!”


Sir Kay was in his element. Inside the warehouse the situation seemed to be fairly well in hand and he’d headed out, to deal with two of the fore-headed ridged monsters and the odd one with the horns curled like a ram’s. He thought he knew them from somewhere, but he wasn’t sure. They might be the undead that Gawain got so angry about, who had killed a maiden the other knight had loved and fought beside. At any rate, they threatened the populace and therefore ought to be destroyed. So when he had seen that his allies had the matter inside well in hand, he’d followed some of the monsters who’d fled the battle. He had three of the ones who looked human until they grew big fangs and foreheads cornered in a dead-end alley. In anyplace but Camelot, the dung and faeces would be heaped ankle high in his experience. This town, strange as it was, housed more people than he had ever seen in one place and was the cleanest he had ever beheld. He’d need to have a word with Arthur when he got home. He pushed the horned demon back with his shield, then stabbed at it with his sword, cutting its side. It bellowed in distress and Kay stabbed up, his sword’s point burrowing into the thing’s brain.    


Giles was approaching the location of the shop Willow had described. His car wasn't much to write home about, but it had brought him here more quickly than Willow or he could walk or float. As he got out he could feel a very slight tingle of familiar power. He tried the door and found it open, then entered the dark store. Apparently the owner had done good business, there was hardly anything left on the shelves.

His eyes caught the slight fluttering of a partially closed curtain to the back of the shop and he went towards it. He was quite pleased he'd sent Willow to check on the others, both to keep her and them out of trouble and to make sure she didn't see what he was about to do. He was quite sure who was responsible. He had done similar magic, albeit on a much smaller and less damaging and destructive scale, himself. Mostly with the man he was sure was hiding behind that curtain.

He stepped beyond the curtain and saw a statue of Janus, eyes glowing green.

“Janus. Inventive. God of doors, borders, division of self,” he mused to himself. “Male and female, light and dark.”

“Chunky and creamy,” A rich voice came out of the darkness, followed by the form of Ethan, dark eyes sardonic. “Or is that peanut butter? I forget. Hello Ripper, fancy meeting you here.”   

“Hello Ethan. Why am I not surprised? This whole thing stinks of Ethan Rayne,” Giles replied scornfully.

Ethan beamed. “Yes, it does, doesn't it? Not to blow my own trumpet, but it is a work of sheer genius. The very embodiment of 'be careful what you wish for'.”

Giles took off his glassed and put them in his inner jacket pocket. “Its sick, brutal, and it harms the innocent.”

Ethan chuckled. “And we all know that you are the champion of the innocents and all things pure and good, Rupert. It's quite a little act you've got going there, old man.”

Giles shook his head. “It's no act. It's who I am now.”

Ethan sneered. “Who you are? I think not. The Watcher, snivelling, tweed- clad guardian of the Slayer and her kin? Hardly. “I know who you are, Rupert, and I know what you're capable of.”

He paused thoughtfully and then his face cleared. “But they don't do they? So, what are you waiting for, for them to drop their guard so you can plunder their innocence?” he leered.

Giles gave him a cold look. “Break the spell, Ethan. Then leave this place and never come back.”

Ethan laughed. “Why should I? This is a marvellous place. Enormous fun! I don't think there's anything you can offer me that would make me leave.”

Giles smiled mirthlessly. “You'd get to live.”

Ethan laughed mockingly. “Oh, really Rupert, you're scaring me.”

Giles punch him hard in the stomach and Ethan doubled over, gasping for breath, right until Giles slammed his knee into his chin.


Sir Kay raised his sword. The Soldier aimed his rifle at the lone remaining vamp. Cordelia pulled on Lucy's wrist, aligning the bones under the younger girl's pained but precise instructions while Lucy held the vial of cordial ready.


Ethan was gasping, bruised and battered, one finger pointing in entirely the wrong direction. “And you said Ripper was long gone,” he mocked.

“Tell me how to stop the spell,” Giles said coldly, standing next to the other man, pulling his foot back as if to kick.

Ethan grinned, blood coating his teeth. “Say 'pretty please'.”

Giles kicked Ethan hard in the kidney. Ethan howled in pain.


Éowyn arrived at the top of the stairs and saw the vampire bending towards the girl who was her daughter. “Stop that, dwimmerlaik!”

Spike looked up. “Ah. And who are you that I should?” he smirked, his teeth grazing the pale, beautiful neck. Susan shivered.

“I am Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien! Wraithslayer and heroine of the Pelennor Fields!” she snapped. “And that girl is under my protection!”

“Woman is a sodding nutter in every way, form and shape,” Spike muttered into Susan's neck.

He looked up. “You know what, I think I can kill her and be out of here before you can kill me. So, sorry, no stopping.”

His hand tightened on Susan's neck, ready to break it.


Éowyn glared at the vampire. It was right. She couldn’t get to her daughter in time. The girl was unarmed and no match for it. She would be dead before she could close the distance and it was prepared to face her, might even be proficient with the sword that lay on the ground. If it was as strong as the ones that had served it, it was stronger than an orc and would be well able to overpower her. She took a deep breath and then the risk. She threw the sword.


Sir Kay smiled as he saw the only the three ridged faced opponents remained. One of the monsters cowered before him and Kay raised his sword.


Éowyn threw her sword. She saw Susan dodge slightly and the vampire’s eye widened in shock.


Angel head butted the Fyarl, ignoring the pain it caused himself. He would heal, and he needed to get upstairs. He grasped the stunned Fyarl’s head and twisted.


The soldier was ready to kill the final opponent; the small creatures that people assured him were children cowering in corners and behind crates. He was more inclined to accept that there was some truth to those statements since seeing enemies fall to dust and bleed green and purple. And the fact that he didn’t look like himself and that he was far too young to hold the rank he knew was his. His finger tightened on the trigger.


“The Statue,” Ethan gasped. B-break the statue.”

Giles smiled and picked up the statue, lofting it high and smashing it to pieces on the floor. A flash of green magic flowed out form it, dissipating in rays not unlike the Aurora Borealis.


Eric’s suddenly blunt sword hit the vampire with insufficient force to sever its neck from its body. It grinned. “Well… Looks like it’s time to open some canned food.”


Xander blinked as he looked down the black and red plastic barrel of his toy gun where moments ago he held in his hands the reassuring weight and heft of an M16A2. The vampire he was aiming at blinked, then grinned and started moving towards Xander. Xander looked over his shoulder, seeing the frightened looking Cordelia and Dawn, and held his position.


Joyce gasped as she saw the man who had threatened Buffy at the PTA meeting holding her by the neck.

Spike blinked as the plastic sword hit him in the eye. “Ow! Sod!”

Buffy grinned. “Well. Guess what. I’m back!”

Joyce looked on in wonder as Buffy grabbed the man’s hand, almost folded it double onto his arm, and flipped him over her shoulder at the same time. He howled with pain. Buffy held onto his arm but he swept her feet form under her, ignoring the fact that his shoulder was dislocated, kicked her in the stomach as she lay on the ground, got to his feet, jumped to the open skylight and pulled himself up one armed.

Joyce gaped at the scene. “B-Buffy? H-how did I get here? What’s going on? How did you do that?!”     

Buffy looked at the skylight, then at her mother and shifted awkwardly. “Errr…”

There was a scream. Joyce’s feet were moving before she knew what she was doing. “That was Dawn!”

Buffy passed her on the way downstairs, moving impossibly fast.


Willow remembered that things had been going pretty badly above and pretty well down below. Buffy was being held by the blond vampire called Spike, but Dawnie was safe and Angel and Xander had the matter in hand. Sir Kay, whoever he might, be in real life, apparently agreed and had gone outside to hunt down a few escaping vamps and demons. And Mrs. Summers was going upstairs to deal with Spike, as she’d done before on PTA night. Buffy had told Willow about that with awe in her voice. Mrs. Summers had been scary that night. Mrs. Summers as Éowyn was scary beyond measure.

She also remembered a feeling of being drawn, very fast, through a very narrow tube and gasping awake on the doorstep of old Mrs. Henry. With a groan she sat up, glaring at the inside of her ghost sheet that had slipped when she fell. She rose, tore the sheet off, and marched down the street towards the Summers’ house. She was sure that people would be gathering there pretty soon. And there would be shouting. Willow winced, but marched on bravely, oblivious to the admiring stares she drew from a young bass player sitting in his van.


Eric shook his head to clear it, then moved back to stand with his back to the wall. “I really don’t want to fight you, you know. I’m sure you don’t want to fight me.”

“I’m sure we do,” the vampire smirked. “And eat you too.”

Eric grasped his shield firmly, then swung it up as the vampire lunged. The upper edge caught the vamp in the chin. Ordinarily a shield’s edge would not have made much of an impression. But the shield seemed to glow with white light and cut through the front of the vampire’s skull. The vampire’s scream was cut off and then Eric swung the shield again, the point of the shield cutting through the demon’s neck.

The second vampire backed away. “Holy fucking shit, man! That wasn’t cool! You cut off Derrick’s face man!”

“Oh, but it was. Cool and collected,” Eric reached into his belt pouch and took out a glass bottle, hefting it in his hand.

The vampire squealed like a girl and tried to run past Eric, who threw the bottle at its back. Smoke rose, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The vampire staggered and Eric followed it, seeing it fall to its knees and try to reach where the holy water was eating its way to and through its spinal cord. He sighed as he put his sword away.

“I knew I should have taken a sharp one. But no, I wanted to set a good example for the kiddies. Don’t play with sharp objects,” he tore a piece of wood out of a nearby trash bin and nodded approvingly as he walked to the fallen vampire.

He knelt and the vampire whimpered, trying to crawl away. “This will hurt you more than me, and I can’t say I regret that.”

Eric stabbed, watching the vampire fall to dust, then rose quickly and made his way towards his hotel and his car. With a bit of luck he’d be in LA by the time Cordelia would think to call him or look for him.


Angel leaped at the vampire just before it reached Xander, who was standing protectively in front of Dawn and Cordelia. Dawn was buried in Cordelia’s arms.

Buffy and Joyce were just in time to see Angel dust his opponent, in full vamp face.

Buffy looked around, seeing that no opponents remained, and let out a breath of relief. “Okay. Let’s gather up the munchkins and get out of here.”

Xander nodded, moving to herd the kids that were still there out of the door. After a moment of hesitation Cordelia went to help him.

Dawn ran to Joyce and was drawn into a desperate hug. Joyce stood looking at Buffy, her eyes wide, muttering to herself as she held Dawn and rubbed her shoulders and hair.

Dawn bit her lip, looking up carefully. She could hear the words ‘All true. It was all true.’

Dawn felt her mother’s arms tighten around her every time she saw Buffy check on a fallen demon, or comfort a child. She just hoped she’d be awake to listen in on the conversation her sister and mother would have later.

End Note:

I do not own Susan and Lucy Pevensie, they are property of the estate of C.S. Lewis. Éowyn is the property of the Tolkien Estate. Sir Kay is part of Arthurian legend. I have as much right to him as anyone alive, the same goes for Willow’s Maid Marion get up.

And I don’t own Eric or the Dungeons and Dragons Cartoon series either.

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