Chosen

  As if she were reciting from a book, Rona replied, “Block his attack, keep him off balance, gain the advantage . . .” She trailed off.

  “No, they didn’t.” Buffy looked at her, waiting for the truth.

  “They told me to run,” Rona confessed.

  “Don’t fight on his terms. Your gut’s telling you to run, run. Okay? Regain the higher ground. Make the fight your own. Spike, what did your instincts tell you to do just then?”

  “Hunt,” he said without hesitation. “Kill.”

  Buffy took center stage and said to Spike, “Come at me full speed.” To the girls, she said, “He needs to kill to live. That’s all you need to know.”

  Spike vamped, growled, and charged at Buffy. Feinting, she stepped away as if she were going to run, then dropped to the earth. Spike sailed over her, head-first into a tombstone. Buffy straddled him and raised the stake directly over his heart.

  “Instinct,” she told the Potentials. “Understand him, but trust yours. You were Chosen for a reason.”

  Spike groaned, and Buffy murmured, “Are you okay?”

  He gave her a pained smile. “I’m . . . fine. Couple of ribs ain’t quite set right since . . .”

  Since he had been tortured by The First. She began to lift his shirt to inspect his ribs. He took her hand, holding it to stop her.

  “I’m gonna be okay,” he told her.

  It was a moment, one of tenderness and sweetness and something acknowledged that wasn’t going to go away.

  Vi called to her, “Careful, Buffy. Just when you think it’s part of the lesson, he’ll hurt your arm.”

  Buffy stood, offering her hand to Spike who rose. “Molly, Kennedy, let’s go.”

  She faced the girls. “Next lesson.”

  * * *

  The Potentials were doing a half-assed job of training, taking some time, and Dawn sat on the basement steps and watched them wistfully. Not too long ago, she was the only girl Buffy was training. Now she didn’t merit any training at all.

  Buffy had had it with the goofing off—Dawn knew that look in her eye—and Buffy hurled her battle axe at a bull’s-eye target on the wall. It landed perfectly in the center, of course.

  Startled, the Potentials stopped talking and looked at her.

  “You’re all gonna die,” she announced. “But you knew that already. ’Cause that’s the cool reward for being human. Big dessert at the end of the meal. Don’t kid yourselves, you guys. This whole thing is all about death.”

  She stopped walking. “You think you’re different ’cause you might be the next Slayer? Death is what a Slayer breathes, what a Slayer dreams about when she sleeps. Death is what a Slayer lives. My death could make you the next Slayer.”

  She walked to the target to get her axe. “Oh, good. Rapt attention. I love that so much.” She yanked the axe free, set it down, and came back to the front of the group.

  “If we go with what Anya’s resources are telling us, The First is in remission for a while. As best we can tell, he—or precisely, ‘it’—was putting a lot of stock in the Ubervamp thing, the Chaka Khan.”

  “Turok-han,” Dawn corrected her.

  Buffy went on, ignoring her, pacing as she spoke. She reminded Dawn of a prowling lioness. “So when I kicked its ass, the whole Firsty circus decided to back off for a while. Good news? Means we probably don’t have to worry about it pulling Spike’s strings for a while.”

  She faced the girls. “Here’s the half-empty. Time away means time to regroup. And part of that regrouping is coming stronger than ever.

  “The odds are against us. Time is against us. And some of us will die in this battle. Decide now that it’s not going to be you.”

  She walked toward them, and, as if to take the sting from her brutally honest words, her voice shifted and became warmer. “I know you’re all tired, far away from home, anxious. But you’re all special. Most people in this world have no idea why they’re here or what they want to do. You do. You have a mission, a reason for being here. You’re not here by chance. You’re here because you are the Chosen Ones.”

  She turned from them and came upstairs, tossing off to her little sister, “Dawn, you better hurry up and eat something so you’re not late for school.”

  * * *

  School. Another world, and yet . . . not so much.

  Buffy was on the phone with Xander, who had called to complain about the girls spying on him while he took a shower; she asked about Giles, who was picking up a Potential named Chao-Ahn from Shanghai. And then . . . there was Amanda, the girl who liked to beat on the insecure boys who picked on her.

  Amanda was back for more advice. “One of the boys who picks on me, I kind of . . . see, if a guy picks on you, is it weird to think he’s cute? My mom says when a guy teases you, it means he likes you. Is it weird? We’re mean to each other, and we like each other?”

  “Well, it depends,” Buffy ventured. “Sometimes that’s how people relate. Being mean to each other. Even mortal enemies . . .” She nodded, getting with the program. “Then with the . . . and that leads to no good, absolutely no good. And with much confusion. A-And then it’s over, absolutely seriously definitely over. And that’s confusing, too. The over part. Which it is. Over.”

  Whoops.

  Amanda was staring at her in utter bewilderment.

  “So, maybe,” Buffy said firmly.

  * * *

  The house was a disaster, furniture was now firewood, and there was much dysfunction in the air as Xander, Vi and Rona were shouting and Andrew was practically weeping about the shouting; it was very family, depressingly so.

  Buffy was not in a mood to deal with it . . . and she didn’t have to, because Willow had news.

  “Althenea said the seers located another Potential Slayer here in Sunnydale. Someone that already lives here.”

  Grouped around the dining room table, the others of the . . . dining room—Xander, Anya, Willow, Dawn, and purely by default, Andrew—cabinet reacted.

  Anya groused, “All these girls flocking to town, and this one’s already here and under our noses?”

  “Wait,” Xander put in, “the seers couldn’t find out her name or, like, her address or anything? Am I getting the definition of seer wrong?”

  Buffy was torn. “I was going to take the girls out tonight, a little show and tell, but maybe now I shouldn’t.”

  “They were so excited,” Andrew murmured. “You’re going to break their little hearts.”

  “This town is lousy with Bringers,” Buffy went on. “I don’t want to risk that they find this new girl first.”

  “No, you should go,” Willow assured her. “I can do a spell to find her tonight. I just have to get together a few ingredients. But you . . . you shouldn’t skip your training. It’s too important.”

  Buffy looked cautiously at Willow. “Do you think you can handle it?”

  “No problemo,” Xander assured her.

  From the doorway, Dawn reminded her sister, “You guys have more important things to do.”

  Buffy didn’t even acknowledge her as she said, “Okay, I’ll take ’em.”

  * * *

  The Potentials were all excited about their field trip, choosing weapons, stylin’ for the deathdealing, while Dawn put away the leftovers and tried to be a good sport about having to stay home with Andrew.

  Kennedy sauntered in and said, “Hey, we gearing up already?”

  Dawn was scraping the casserole into the garbage. “Oh, right,” she said. “Your little group patrol.”

  “More than that,” Vi said, puffing up like an important puffer fish. “It’s an outing.”

  Kennedy looked excited. “I’m thinking tonight? We might actually get to kill things.”

  Dawn said shyly, “I’ve killed stuff sometimes . . .”

  But any discussion about that was lost as the Slayer entered in patrol clothing, with Andrew on her heels.

  “I am not begging,” Andrew begged.

  Buffy was ir
ritated. “You’re like a small dog dancing for Snausages.”

  He pouted. “You don’t want me coming along ’cause you think I’m evil.”

  “He doesn’t seem evil. Exactly,” Vi pointed out.

  “He’s not evil,” Buffy said, crossing her arms. “But when he gets close to it, he picks up its flavor like a mushroom or something.”

  “But I’m reformed,” Andrew insisted. “I’m like Vegeta on Dragonball Z. I used to be a pure Sayan, and now I fight for the side of Goku.” When she shook her head, he whined. “It’s not fair. Spike killed people, and he gets to go.”

  “Spike didn’t have free will, and you did.”

  He sighed. “I hate my free will.”

  Then Spike strode in, all strength and purpose, and said, “This is where you’re all hiding. You ready to go, or what?”

  And they trooped out, reminding Dawn of gladiators. Amazons . . .

  “You wanna play Dragonball Z?” Andrew asked her.

  * * *

  Later, in the living room, Willow, Dawn, Xander, and Andrew got ready to do Willow’s spell to find the Potential.

  “Okay, I got my tumbleweed, my eggs, got my chrysalises . . . chrysali? My butterfly transformer pods.”

  Andrew picked up her snakeskin, making it wriggle as he said, “At you sssservice, Miss Rosenberg, ssssir.”

  Dawn wondered aloud if she knew the Potential. “Could be the glamazon in gym class. Or my lab partner, Margot, the freak. Boy, I hope not, because she totally fainted right in the middle of our fetal pig dissection.”

  “Killing pigs is just so wrong,” Andrew said feelingly. “And also hard,” he added.

  “Well, we’ll know soon enough who the next Potential is. Somebody’s life is about to change,” Willow said. “The spell will conjure up this brilliant light, and the light will find the Potential and it’ll illuminate her with a glowing aura. I’ve enchanted this map so we can track her basic location. We’ll have to hotfoot it, but I’m betting we find her tonight.”

  Anya and Xander joined them for the actual ritual. Willow starting throwing the ingredients into the fireplace, reciting her incantation:

  “To light the aura of the new,

  skin of snake and chrysalis too.

  To indicate the fresh reborn,

  tumbleweed and rosebush thorn.

  An egg that means the life to come.

  Take this, oh spirit, and my spell is done.”

  Immediately the room bloomed with unbelievably stinky glowy orange smell. Everyone started coughing.

  “Oh, good God, what is that smell?” Xander cried.

  Covering her mouth and nose, Willow said, “The smell will lead us to the Potential.”

  “Or some poor soul who ate too many chimichangas.”

  The orange smoke had concentrated into a blob about six feet in diameter that hung and quivered in the middle of the living room. And it hung there. And hung there.

  It wasn’t working.

  “I suck,” Willow said, dismayed. “I’m sorry, you guys. Maybe we can figure out something on the computer.”

  “Good call,” Dawn said. “I’ll open the door and let this place air out.”

  Dawn headed toward the front door, unaware that the blob had contracted into a glow and was shooting toward her and vshoosh! it hit her hard in the gut like a medicine ball, pinning her to the door. The orange smoke surrounded her, radiating around her like an aura.

  “I think it worked,” Willow said, stunned.

  Oh, my God, Dawn realized. I am the Potential.

  It took everyone a moment to process the revelation.

  Anya said, “One second you’re just a klutzy teenager with fake memories and history of kleptomania and now suddenly you’re a hero.” She realized what that also meant. “A hero with a much abbreviated life span!”

  “It makes sense,” Willow argued. “I guess. Remember that thing about they share the same blood or whatever?”

  “She has to die,” Dawn realized, sinking into a chair. “I mean, if I was ever the Slayer, it would mean she died.”

  Anya said brightly, “Well, it’s a lot like being the Pope in that way, except you don’t have to be some old Catholic.”

  Willow said, “I’ve got to call Buffy. She’s going to be so excited.”

  “No, we can’t,” Xander reminded her. “She didn’t bring a cell phone.”

  Dawn nodded. “Well, sure, ’cause all the important people are with her.”

  Xander shook his head and pointed at her. “You are important now.”

  Dawn was freaking out. “Wh-What happens now? I need to know what happens to my life.”

  “Well, I guess Buffy trains you,” Willow told her.

  “Right. I train with the Potentials . . . the other Potentials.”

  “We also have to protect you from the eyeless guys, the ones with the sharp, sharp knives,” Anya put in helpfully.

  “Bringers,” Dawn said anxiously. “What if they saw the spell?”

  “Saw the spell?” Xander echoed. “Dawn, they can’t see flashcards. Big ones.”

  “We did a big orange powerful spell. What if they sensed it? What if they’re on their way?”

  Andrew strolled in, saying, “Are we gonna replace the microwave? ’Cause I was thinking some Orville Redenbacher with fresh butter flavor . . .” He saw the agitation and said, “What’s going on?”

  “Dawn’s going to be a Slayer,” Anya announced.

  “Holy crap!” Andrew cried. Then he grimaced as Xander yelled at her and said, “Excuse me.” He went back into rapture mode. “Pluck from an ordinary life, handed a destiny . . .”

  Xander looked sternly at Andrew and pointed an equally stern finger at him. “Say Skywalker, and I smack ya.”

  “Well, we’ll tell Buffy as soon as she gets back,” Willow decided.

  “Let’s not . . . just not right away,” Dawn pleaded. “Guys, when Mom appeared to me, she said . . . something about Buffy and I’m just not sure Buffy will be happy for me.”

  “Of course she will,” Willow asserted, like a proud aunt.

  “Will she? I mean, I’m not even sure I’m happy for me. Everything is different for me now.”

  “That’s because you’re part of something larger,” Anya counseled her. “Like being swallowed. By something larger.”

  Shaky, Dawn rose. “This is too much for my head.” She ran upstairs. “I . . . can’t. I need to be . . .”

  After Dawn fled to her room, Xander said to Anya, “Nice job with the ‘getting swallowed’ analogy.”

  Anya said emphatically, “Well, it is a mixed bag, you know. If she gets to be the Slayer, than her life is short and brutal. And if she doesn’t, then it smells of unfulfilled Potential.”

  “It’s not like that,” Willow argued. “She’s part of this huge power. I know what that feels like. It feels wonderful.”

  Andrew raised his chin, bringing it all home. “It’s like, well, it’s almost like this metaphor for womanhood, isn’t it? The sort of flowering that happens when a girl realizes that she’s a part of a fertile heritage stretching back to Eve, and—”

  Xander covered his face with his hands, then lowered them and pleaded disgustedly with Andrew, “I’ll pay you to talk about Star Wars again.”

  Anya stayed on target. “This isn’t about womany power. This about the fact that Dawn just might have bought herself an early death.”

  Willow argued, “We don’t know that.”

  “Right,” Xander asserted. “All we know is that everything just changed.”

  * * *

  In her room, Dawn stared in her mirror and said, “I’m Chosen.”

  Why hadn’t she felt it before? It was obvious. She could see it in her clear eyes, the way she carried herself . . . the way she climbed out of the window, so freaked out she couldn’t think straight.

  * * *

  The First stop on the Potentials’ field trip was a demon bar.

  They were astonished. Vi cr
ied, “Like a gay bar only with demons!”

  One of the clientele sauntered over to Spike and said, “Spike, long time. Nice of you to bring snacks.”

  “Touch ’em and lose your privates,” Spike warned him.

  “Do they card?” Vi asked.

  “Nope. Go ahead,” Buffy said grandly. “Down all the yak urine shots and pig’s blood spritzers you want.”

  “Gross,” Vi managed.

  “Got that right,” Spike big off. “Prices they charge, you should get human blood straight from the body.” He gave the frightened Vi a look and said, “Vampire?”

  To the girls, Buffy said, “Look, if I come in here, it’s ’cause I have to wring some information out of something large, scary drunk, and with a roomful of friends who don’t care much for the Slayer. Remember that. Not a being in here wouldn’t be glad to rip your throat out.”

  Then saggy-baggy Clem rushed up and cried happily, “Buffy! Girl! How ya been?”

  They hugged. “You look great!” she enthused. “So toned!”

  Kennedy muttered under her breath, “He’s ripping out her throat right now.”

  They yakked about the History Channel; the girls wondered if Buffy had also dated Clem, and then he came up to the girls and said, “So you girls are gonna deal with demons, huh?”

  Then he went all Beetlejuice on them, all his wingly dangly ooky flangies sproining from his face. Got the right point across, as Vi gasped, “I could use a shot of that yak urine about now.”

  * * *

  Oh, my God, I’m Chosen, Dawn thought as she walked down the street. Deep inside me, I’ve got the power. Me, Dawn Summers.

  Then farther up ahead, she saw that weird Amanda chick from school, the one who was in Buffy’s office now and then for beating up guys. She had a gash on her forehead, and when Dawn asked her about it, Amanda got nervous about it and said, “Um, I don’t think you’d exactly believe me.”

  Dawn was concerned. Also excited. Here was someone who needed help.

  And I can help. I’ve got the power.

  “Try me,” Dawn urged her.

  “I was at school late because of, you know, Swing Choir, and I tore my sweater, you know, the striped ones we wear, and I went by Home Science to sew it up.”