Ooh, excellent.

Oh man. I got the shivers.

Oh man. I got the shivers.

Heh. Thanks, all. Closing in on the end--definitely in the second half somewhere. But still weirdness to go.

And where's Anne W? It was her that called Doc, right?

Yes! 'Twas I! Can I feel all gloaty? Is that allowed?

Yes! 'Twas I! Can I feel all gloaty? Is that allowed?

Gloat away! Of course, it'll get even weirder, if I ever get five minutes again to write...

Part Nineteen: Bring On the Bad Guys

There’s some sort of rule that says these things have to happen at midnight. Ethan could explain it, if he was inclined, but he was otherwise engaged. His face was stony as he finger-painted symbols onto his bare chest. The night fell around him like rain. He could feel the way the wind shifted direction for no reason.

Amy awoke from a dream of cities, her skin clammy and drenched in sweat. Her throat was chalk. Speech was beyond her. She could feel the energies converging. It was familiar to her. It was …

“Oh my God,” she said, pulling the blanket to her chest as she sat upright. “I understand.”

Samantha Finn sat in Rupert Giles’ office, neither drunk from last night’s whiskey nor tired. She and Giles had watched the sunrise, two soldiers reduced to the role of fretting from the sidelines, although he had finally succumbed to dozing off. She, on the other hand, was far too tired to sleep. She was startled to hear the ring on her Blackberry. Rapidly, she pulled the machine from its belt holster and read the e-mail—the first she’d received at this address in weeks.

“Rupert,” she said, shaking the man awake. “We need to go. We need to get Buffy, and we need to go.”

And Connor ran. The streets seemed labyrinthine and unfamiliar, towering above him like mountains in the shadows. Like gods in the shadows. And when that thought hit him it struck like a thunderclap, stopping him in his tracks.

“Jasmine,” he said, the force of the name causing his teeth to quiver. “But it…”

A fist connected with his jaw, knocking him a full ten feet into the side of a building.

“Hey kid,” said Faith, sliding calmly toward him, like a cat. “First rule of running away? Don’t stop.”

“You,” said Connor, rising shakily to his feet. “I know you.”

“Aw, I don’t think so,” said Faith. “I’d remember a cutie like you.” She pounced, an ornate knife appearing in her hand, as if by magic. Connor had never seen anyone move that fast. Not even his father. He barely moved out of her way, but she was barely even disoriented. He rolled to the side, but she landed next to him, spinning to face him as she hit the ground. Moving faster than he could think, he spun and kicked, his foot connecting with her head and knocking her into the wall.

It wouldn’t stop her long. He turned and ran again, unsure exactly where to go. Oz’s team was in Hawthorne, too far to run. He’d never make it. He decided to worry about it later. Survive first. Run. A wall of flames ignited in front of him, bursting from the ground. He could feel his heart racing faster as he watched a silhouette step through the flames—a lithe woman in black, her skin so pale her veins showed through, her hair and eyes obsidian.

“I … I know you,” said Connor. “You’re Angel’s friend. Willow.”

“Ah,” said Willow. “I need to tip my publicist good this Christmas. Word of mouth is getting around.”

With a wave of her hand, Connor was propelled backward, landing at Faith’s feet.

“Gee, Morticia,” said Faith, smiling and rubbing the flat of her blade against her cheek. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Faith kicked Connor in the chin. Blood was beginning to cloud his vision. He was pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing.

“Now ladies,” said a voice. “Leave a piece of him for me.”

Connor looked up to see Xander Harris standing above him. At least, He thought it was Xander. He seemed younger, and the eye patch was missing. There was something different about the way he held himself. Those sudden moments of intensity he’d earlier displayed seemed to have manifested completely. There was something different in his aura. Something savage.

Connor clenched his hands into fists, and prepared himself to go down fighting. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light, and all of them turned to see its source.

Amy Madison stood at the end of the alleyway. Her hair unkempt, wearing hastily thrown on sweats—she looked as if she’d been dragged from bed. Flanking her on either side were Oz and Justine, who also looked (continued...)

( continues...) like they’d been awoken hastily.

A nexus of energy swirled around Amy’s hand.

“Step away from the kid,” she said. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Humina humina humina ... this just keeps humming right along.

Nice work, Victor. Can't wait to read more.

Can't wait to read more.

Thanks. More coming soon.

It's really exciting.