Also, so Justine was a potential who came into her powers through Willow's spell. . . cool.

Too bad that Dru couldn't have done the same.

Too bad that Dru couldn't have done the same.

Oooh....

Bad bunnies!

Maybe Wesley....glasses....but it feels Calebish to me.

Hmmm.

Too bad that Dru couldn't have done the same.

My gut suspicion is that any potential that was already dead and vamped din't get activated. But still.... Hmmm....

It's funny, everyone's speculating about one thing, when I can see at least two other equally pressing questions to be asking. Hmmm. Maybe I need to expand in some areas...

I think it's the mayor.

bounces

Is it? Is it? But I hope Faith isn't really Bad Girl all over again, because I enjoyed her character arc in the show and making her bad again...well, we'll see. I trust Victor. Yes.

Fay!

t tracking Fay through the threads is fun!

Maybe Wesley

This was my first thought.

Hey, Fay, how *you* doin'.

Part Fifteen: Dreams of cities

Justine stirred for a moment, and pulled her lover close to her. He seemed so fragile laying there, his brow furrowed, as though dreaming. She kissed him lightly, pulled him close, and then, she too fell asleep.

In her dream, she was in the shadows of the city again, the night bathing everything as time stood still for her, her senses extending outward for her prey, stirring in the darkness below. She swooped downward when she saw it move, it’s monstrous form buckling under the weight of her attack. When time snapped back into place, she could see the monster’s slight frame, and without mercy, she slit its throat. Somewhere, in the distance, she heard a baby cry, but she couldn’t see from where.

Oz slept fitfully, the beast digging its way through his skin, placated briefly by the touch of the woman beside him. In her arms, he dreamed of dense woods in winter, of running for miles after the scent of blood drifting on the breeze. The moon cast a dim blue light across the forest. He felt the power of his muscles unrestrained in the wild. The blood smelled familiar.

In her dream, Amy was in the center of an alien city that seemed to stretch for infinity in all directions, as lifeless as pebbles. There was no breeze against her skin, and what light there was seemed to come from nowhere in particular. No orb shined in the sky. No stars.

“Choose a side,” said a voice, in almost polite whispers. She’d heard that voice before, and like she’d done before, she ran until her body forced her to stop.

And Ethan didn’t sleep. Instead, he stared at the leaves at the bottom of his teacup. The soldiers above permitted him no weapons, but then, he didn’t need them. He blew out the candle on his night stand, closed his eyes and folded his legs, his fingers resting on his knees. He watched time bend and stretch, like putty. He watched the beast emerge from frail flesh. He heard the voice of evil whisper on the wind, and then his eyes snapped open, and at last he understood.

“For these things only die in flesh,” he said, in a voice that was not his own, and no reckoning by man shall bind them to the shadow realms”

“And what was sundered by the swords of heroes,” said another voice, across the darkness from him, “must be bound by unclean hands.”

Ethan skittered away from the voice, desperately seeking to reach the lamp.

A thin, dark man emerged from the shadows. Ethan didn’t recognize him.

“Hello, Ethan,” said the man, his voice low and lilting. “It’s time we two spoke.”

Ahhhhh!

Thin, dark, unknown to Ethan--Wesley?

Thin, dark, unknown to Ethan--Wesley?

Not saying.