Then the Buffy patrol returned; Anya, Xander, Willow, and Dawn, and Giles swallowed down his Jaffa Cake as she asked, “Did you find Buffy?”
“No,” Xander told him, frustrated.
“But you did that spell with the little lights,” Andrew pointed out. “The locator.”
“It crapped out on us,” Anya said.
“No, it didn’t . . . exactly,” Dawn reported.
“It just took us to an empty house,” Willow explained to Giles, sad and worried. “She must have moved on already.”
Giles took that in. Then he said, “Well, I’m afraid there’s rather worse news here.”
He glanced toward the Potentials, then led the core group off to the side for more privacy. Andrew was there.
“Faith hasn’t returned with the other girls,” Giles informed them. “Something’s gone wrong.”
Andrew nodded soberly. “I’ve been keeping morale up, because that’s important.”
“We have to go to her,” Willow said.
Xander nodded. “Guess so.”
“Yes,” Andrew said firmly. Then, “I’ll stay here, keep working on that morale thing.”
* * *
In the sewer, as the second Ubervamp attacked Kennedy, she instinctively flipped him over her shoulder as she screamed bloody murder.
A third crashed the party and scrambled up a tilted metal beam atop the pile; it crouched atop the beam like a huge bird of prey, eyeing the Potentials, hissing at them.
The girls backed away as Caridad shouted, “Weapons! Over there!”
The three Turok-han poured over the debris, lunging as one upon the tight cluster of girls. The Potentials ran for their lives; Amanda raced ahead, then turned back.
The three monsters converged on one of the newer girls, grabbed her, began ripping her apart with animalistic brutality and speed; horrified, Amanda couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop . . .
Caridad grabbed hold of her and pulled her along.
Kennedy grabbed up one of the Bringers’ weapons on the mucky floor of the sewer and held it up, protecting the others, poised to meet the enemy. The Ubervamps, their mouths dripping gore, rushed the girls, backing them up against the wall.
The first Turok-han ripped her blade from Kennedy’s hand, slapped a long-fingered hand around her throat, and lifted her off the ground as if she were weightless.
Oh, God, Willow. Willow, I love you, Kennedy thought wildly, preparing herself for death. She was beginning to suffocate, and she hoped to God she went out that way.
Then a loud crash of cement, mortar and dust startled the creature as a metal grate behind Kennedy collapsed. Light streamed in from the hole above.
It was Buffy, surrounded by light, and holding her scythe.
The Turok-han dropped Kennedy and lunged for Buffy. Buffy, holding the scythe by its handle, punched it in the throat with the scythe’s blade; the blade sliced right through its neck in one solid motion.
Decapitated, the supervampire dusted.
The second and third Ubervamps rushed Buffy from behind; Buffy spun and staked the second Ubervamp with the handle of the scythe, pushing through his stone-hard breastbone and into his heart.
With a roar of fury, that vampire dusted too.
The third grabbed her and hurled her hard onto the metal grate, then jumped her. Buffy rolled backward, out of its reach, then flipped the scythe into position as she got to its feet. Facing the Turok-han, she was in perfect position to cut off its head with the scythe, swinging it like an axe.
It, too, dusted instantly.
Battle over, Buffy looked below her from the pile of rubble to see the Potentials staring up and her with awe and reverence. Cathedral-like streams of light backlit her, adding an aura of holiness to her heroic stance.
“Get the wounded,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
Kennedy ventured, “Are there more?”
“There’s always more,” Buffy retorted. “Let’s move.”
* * *
The wounded were transported back to Revello Drive; everyone else got back on their own steam. Dawn bandaged injuries while three unconscious girl lay on make-shift pallets. Buffy bent over a girl with a terrible wound; the Slayer was trying to staunch the wound with her bare hand.
“Willow,’ c’mere,’ she said. “This girl’s losing blood.”
Willow brought a cloth and pressed it hard over the wound. “Got it,” she said.
Buffy rose, surveying the scene, then wiped her bloody hands on a blanket on the floor. Then she hefted up her scythe.
The front door opened, and Giles and Xander brought Faith in. She was unconscious; and Buffy stepped over to join the two men who were carrying her fallen comrade.
“The room upstairs is ready for her,” Buffy said.
Giles nodded. “Good.”
Xander said, “Hope we’re in time.”
Kennedy and Amanda trailed in after the cortege, faces pinched with weariness and exhaustion; their bodies were covered with injuries. Kennedy’s neck had been bandaged in the field.
“Is she okay?” Amanda asked. “Is she going to be okay?”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Kennedy soothed. “Right?” she asked Buffy, as Giles and Xander carried Faith upstairs.
Buffy stopped in the entryway with the girls, saying to Xander, “I’ll be up in a second.”
“Careful,” Xander’s voice trailed downstairs.
“Watch her head,” Giles continued.
Buffy looked up after them, watching, worrying, trying to tamp it down while she dealt with what—or who—was in front of her—wounded, frightened, worried warriors, home from battle.
“You guys heal fast, right?” Kennedy asked. “You Slayers?”
“Yeah,” she said absently.
“So, she’ll be okay?” Kennedy pressed.
“I don’t know,” Buffy told her honestly. Now was not the time to lie about things. Morale or no, they had to know what was going on.
Caridad gestured to Buffy’s weapon and said, “What’s with the scythe?”
“I took it from Caleb,” Buffy said, unable to stop looking up the stairs. “Might be important.”
“Let’s hope,” Vi murmured.
Amanda blurted, “I think we got punished.”
That got Buffy’s attention. She looked at Amanda and said, “What?”
Kennedy dipped her head. “We . . . we followed her, and it was . . .”
“It didn’t work out,” Vi finished lamely.
Buffy shook her head. “That wasn’t her fault. It was a trap. I could have fallen for it as easily as her.”
Caridad took that in. “So . . . are you . . . are you, like, back?”
Buffy realized she hadn’t thought that far. She said, “I don’t know. I guess I’m . . . not leaving.”
Kennedy clearly liked that answer as she nodded, satisfied. Then she pushed on like the Amazon she was and said, “So . . . we got a plan now or anything?”
Buffy headed upstairs, calling back, “Yeah, there’s a plan. Get ready. Time’s up.”
As she continued up, she heard Amanda murmuring, “I still think we got punished.”
She went into her old room, to see Xander and Giles tending to Faith. Three more Potentials stood watching, moving out of Buffy’s way as she came into the room.
“Is she breathing okay?” Xander asked.
Giles nodded. “Still not conscious, though.”
Emotion welled up inside Buffy . . . Oh, my God, she might die, she might be dying right now . . . Faith . . . but she steeled herself and said, “We’ve still got work to do.”
She caught Giles’s eye; he rose and followed her into Willow’s room. A Potential got Willow and brought her in, leaving the three of them alone to examine the scythe.
“I think it’s . . . maybe some kind of scythe?” Buffy said, every inch the general as Willow and Giles examined it. “Only thing I know for sure is, it made Caleb back off in a hu
rry.”
“So it’s true. Scythe matters,” Willow quipped.
Giles tried very hard to ignore that, and continued examining the weapon.
“It’s really quite ingenious,” he said.
“Kills strong bodies three way,” Buffy agreed.
“And you say you sense something when you hold it?” Willow asked.
“Not much,” Buffy replied, gazing first at it, and then at the Wicca. “Just . . . it’s strong. And I knew it belonged to me. I mean, I just knew it.”
Giles considered that. “So in addition to being ancient, it’s clearly mystical.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said with a tinge of irony. “I figured that when I King-Arthur’ed it out of that stone.”
“Sounds like maybe some kind of traditional Slayer weapon?” Willow suggested.
That clearly struck Giles as odd; he frowned and said, “It’s hard to imagine something like that could exist without my having heard of it.”
“Yeah, well, the good guys aren’t traditionally known for their communication skills.” Buffy made of avoiding eye contact with Giles, and he sucked it up.
They moved on.
“Right,” he said. “Is there any chance it’s something besides a tool to kill things?”
Buffy shrugged. “The First’s guys were clearly trying to get it out of that stone,” she said. “It’s not just some tool. It’s important. Find out whatever you can: who made it, why. And when. Does it have a name? And, I dunno, a credit report? Find out fast.”
“We’ll start immediately,” he promised her.
“Don’t worry, Buff,” Willow soothed her, smiling gently. “We’ll find out everything there is to know.”
“Thanks,” Buffy told her genuinely. She looked at the strange scythe, and her heart pounded in her chest as she felt, again, the odd connection between herself and it. “Because right now, this thing’s all we’ve got going for us.”
* * *
Downstairs, Anya and Andrew were nursing the wounded, Andrew tying a bandage around a girls shoul