Barb C’s Journal

The ride to the airport was uncomfortable, though Addie was the only one who seemed to notice. In the front seat, Buffy and Spike blithely squabbled over the best route - more, Addie thought, because they enjoyed arguing than because there was really any huge advantage in taking Lincoln to the highway, or turning down Manzanita and taking the surface streets. Their amiable sniping was the only thing warming the frosty atmosphere in the back seat. Vicki sat bundled like a royal mummy, arms folded, chin high, very pointedly ignoring her. Addie tried an overture once or twice, but each time the conversation seemed likely to rise from the dead, Vicki staked it with a monosyllabic reply.

So Addie sat and stared out the window, chin resting on her folded arm, wondering how many of the cars on the road with them came equipped with vampires in ski suits. In a way she almost wished that the Summers-Pratts had been more villainous. If they’d locked her up in the basement for awhile, fed her on watery gruel instead of excellent pancakes, maybe she would have gotten weak and confused, and been forced to confess all.

It wasn’t like she was racked with doubts or anything. Still, she was starting to think that maybe telling someone the whole story would be, well, reassuring. Not that Ms. Thackeray was nobody. But she hadn’t really taken any of Addie’s oblique questions seriously. Or yeah, she had, but only to give her a pep talk about discipline and fortitude and how with the Council’s guidance, a Slayer could use her power for good instead of evil and everything would be fine, just fine.

Addie sighed, her breath misting the window-glass. Ms. Thackeray meant well. There was probably a course at the Watcher’s Academy about how to give your Slayer The Talk about the birds and the demons, and she was pretty sure Ms. Thackeray had gotten an A. But she wasn’t worried about using her power for good - that had never been in question. The problem was, even if she did, would it make any difference?

“Here we are,” Buffy said as they pulled into the covered parking, brisk and cheerful. “Your Watcher’s plane should be in first, Addie.”

“Great,” Addie said without enthusiasm. Her daring and noble adventure was ending in a big fat zero.

Vicki hopped out of the car and immediately began peeling out of her ski-suit, which she tossed back into the trunk before dashing after her parents. The terminal wasn’t as crowded as Addie had expected, but she’d almost forgotten that it was Christmas. Most people would have traveled the day before or the day after, she guessed. Once inside, Buffy headed for the nearest touchscreen to check on arrival times, and Spike staked out a spot near the security checkpoint, where he could see down the corridor leading to the gates. That left Addie and Vicki to stare at the shelves of over-priced t-shirts and scented candles in the gift shop.

“You can message me,” Vicki said abruptly, without looking up from the flashy teardrop earrings she was examining. Shedding her sun-proof skin and fluffing her hair in the viewscreen of her webphone seemed to have put her in a better mood. “If you want.”

Addie inscribed cabalistic patterns in the rust-brown carpet with one toe. “Sure. I guess.”

“Don’t strain yourself.” Still refusing to meet her eyes, Vicki shoved a crumpled and slightly sweaty pink Post-it into Addie’s hand. Her webphone address was scribbled on one side.

Addie flattened it carefully, folded it in half, and tucked it into her jeans pocket. “Thanks,” she muttered. Vicki made an indistinct noise that might have been “Whatever,” but her cheeks were mantled with that delicate pink again, almost the color of the Post-It. Addie shoved her hands into her pockets and poked through rows of souvenir shotglasses emblazoned with state mottoes, wondering why she felt so uneasy. She was as good as home, so why was her stomach tying itself in knots?

“Girls!” Buffy called, and Vicki spun around and headed for the concourse. Addie sighed and followed her towards the door, trying to figure out if she were relived or annoyed at the interruption. Well, it didn’t matter. In another couple of hours, she’d be back at the creche, at square one again. Or more likely, square negative twelve thousand.

CLANGALANGALANGALANG!

Vicki froze on the store’s threshold, her eyes saucering in panic, and clapped her hands to her ears. To a vampire, Addie realized, the noise must be actively painful. Half a dozen security guards popped out from behind racks and from underneath counters, surrounding the two of them in wall of gold braid and khaki. Spike materialized out of nowhere, like a conjuring trick - one second he was halfway across the concourse, the next he was in the biggest guard’s face, his expression halfway between a snarl and a wince. The alarm shut off, and the snarl won out. “What’s the fuck’s going on here?”

“What’s the matter, um, officer?” Buffy asked, a trifle more diplomatically. Addie had actually seen her move, but she hadn’t wasted any time getting there either.

“Are you her parents?” the guard with the greatest number of faux-military patches glued to each sleeve asked, jerking a thumb at Vicki. Addie frowned. He looked strangely familiar. Had she seen him around town in the last week? At Buffy’s wary nod, he appropriated Vicki’s clutch and flipped it open, pulling out a small sparkling object - the earrings she’d been looking at earlier. “I’m afraid your daughter’s been shoplifting.”

Buffy’s face fell - Addie thought she’d never seen anyone look so woeful in her life. “Oh, honey! Not again!”

Vicki cringed. “But Mom - ”

“Bloody hell, princess,” Spike growled, “How many times have I told you? We don’t nick shite ‘nless it’s an emergency! Or it’s a dead cert you won’t get - ow!” He rubbed the spot on his ribs, where Buffy’s elbow had very likely left a bruise. “Yeh. Stealing. Wrong. Like I said.”

“But I didn’t!” Vicki protested. “I just looked at them! Why would I steal something that crappy anyway?”

The head guard’s yeah, right expression didn’t waver. “From what I’ve heard, your kind just can’t help yourselves, can you?”

Vicki’s eyes crackled gold. “That’s not true!”

The guard nodded solemnly at Buffy, as if this proved his point. “If you’ll all come with me,” he said, “we can settle this somewhere in private.”

The march down the service corridor made the drive over seem like a picnic in the park. Spike stalked ahead, glowering - obviously this was all just an irritating inconvenience to him. Vicki was both angry and embarrassed; but it was Buffy, Addie thought, who had to feel guilty for all of them. Vicki and her mother lagged behind, engaged in whispered and impassioned argument. “…want to believe you, but - ”

“I know! But I didn’t do it!” Vicki insisted, practically in tears. “Not this time! Addie was right there, she saw me put them back! Tell her, Addie!”

Addie swallowed. She hadn’t. She hadn’t seen Vicki stuff them into her clutch, either, but Vicki was a vampire, after all, with super-speed, and apparently she already had a criminal record. “Um… Would Vicki be dumb enough to steal something with a mag alarm?”

Buffy stopped dead, embarrassment flash-firing to purposeful fury. “Those earrings didn’t have a mag - Vicki! Get back!”

The multiple soft snik-snik of hammers cocking filled the narrow hallway as Buffy swept her daughter and Addie back against the wall. Spike closed ranks in one panther-smooth leap - wheeling to Buffy’s left, Addie noted, so that both of them would have their dominant hand free when the fight broke out - interposing himself between Vicki and Addie and the drawn guns of the guards. The two of them shared a microsecond glance, and Addie could practically see the calculations spinning in both pairs of eyes - the caliber of the pistols, the positions of the guards, the chances of a ricochet hitting her or Vicki…

Addie hesitated for a second, then shouldered forward. Buffy shot her a look, then a minuscule nod, acknowledgment for a fellow-Slayer in the ranks. Something blossom within her at the approval, eager and yearning, and for the first time, Addie knew exactly why the Council really warned them away from Sunnydale. Buffy Summers’s well-earned respect was a way more dangerous lure than the dubious pleasures of going rogue for the heck of it.

Tense silence ruled the hall, broken by the crunch of bone as Spike dropped into game face. “Six of you, three of us,” he said, baring razor-sharp fangs in a lazy grin. “Question is, which three of you want to die while the others take us down?”

The door at the end of the hallway swung open. “I don’t think anything quite so melodramatic will be necessary,” a crisp voice interrupted. The ramrod-straight figure in the doorway stepped forward to reveal a woman perhaps ten years Buffy’s senior, her silver hair pulled up in a severe bun above her flawlessly-cut suit of heather tweed. She gestured to the guards, who lowered their weapons and stepped aside. “Mr. and Mrs. Summers-Pratt? Lydia Chalmers. I believe introductions would be superfluous.”

“What the flipping heck is this?” Buffy said through gritted teeth. “I called Ms. Thackeray to tell her about Addie in good faith!”

“Quite so,” Lydia replied. “Unfortunately, events dictate that - ”

The current head of the Watcher’s Council was interrupted by the unceremonious arrival of Honoria Thackeray, who popped out of the door behind Lydia, blinking behind the big round lenses of her retro-chic glasses. “Addie!” Honoria cried, and dashed down the hall in a flurry of bandana skirts and jingling bracelets. She plunged between the startled guards and grabbed Addie’s shoulders, giving her a distracted little shake. “Adele McElroy, you - you infuriating girl! What were you thinking?” Before Addie could answer she turned to Buffy in anxious apology. “I’m really very sorry,” she said, fluttering one hand in Lydia’s direction. “I’d planned to do everything just as we’d arranged. But Ms. Chalmers insisted on the, um, escort.”

Ms. Chalmers, now flanked by matched pairs of Slayers - Addie recognized Zeidel and Lauren, two of the older girls she didn’t know very well, and Gertruda, who was only a year ahead of her - made an impatient noise. “We’re wasting time.”

The fourth Slayer was slim and high-cheekboned, and if the hair that curled over her shoulders was a shade or two blonder than Vicki’s, her eyes were just as blue. “Alicia?” Addie squeaked. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to rescue you, you dope.” Alicia sashayed past the guards - of course, Addie realized, that was where she’d seen the man before; he was a Council field op who occasionally rotated through the San Diego creche. Alicia gave Addie a playful thwack on the arm. “When Chalmers said she needed muscle, of course I volunteered.”

Addie rubbed her arm. That thwack had hurt. Her mouth felt awfully dry all of a sudden. “Does this mean - ”

Alicia’s lips (upper narrow, lower full, just like - ) thinned. “A week ago,” she said. “Right after you disappeared.” She gave a bitter little chuckle. “I’m a full-fledged Slayer now. Just like you.”

So it had all been for nothing anyway. Addie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Her eyes stung, but she wasn’t going to cry, not here, not in front of everyone. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I tried. I really tried.” Just not hard enough. She turned to Buffy. “Um. This is my friend Alicia. We’re in the same year at the creche. We trained together, but I got my powers first, and…” And there really wasn’t much else to say, except and I wanted to save her from hell, and I totally screwed it up.

Buffy looked from Alicia to Vicki, the sharp little line between her brows deepening. “Hello, Alicia. I’m Buffy.” Spike said nothing, watching Alicia with the ravenous, all-consuming attention he must once (still?) have lavished on his victims. He breathed deep, as if memorizing her scent.

Alicia’s lip curled, dispensing adolescent disdain enough for both of them. “I know. Come, on Addie. We’re here to take you home.”

“In that case,” Buffy eyed the nearest guard up and down, “we’ll be going. My son’s plane is due in half an hour.”

Alicia grinned, and raised a compact mini-crossbow, already cocked, the quarrel aimed straight at Buffy’s chest. Lydia Chalmers smiled in turn - the expression might have been charming, in another context. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Summers-Pratt, we have some matters to discuss first.”

TBC…