TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 5/?
AUTHOR: Pythia
E-MAIL: pythia@tiscali.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the UPN Television Network. The story is written for the pleasure of the author and readers, and has no lucrative purpose whatsoever. Please do not reproduce this story anywhere without the author's consent.

POSTING NOTES: *.* is for emphasis. {.} denotes thought and [.] implies translation from another language.

The night was in its darkest hour, indifferent stars glimmered above the rooftops, looking down on seemingly deserted streets and equally deserted car-parks. Asha Lilithu, mother to eternal hungers, daughter of darkness and queen of the endless night, slunk through the darkened streets, making her way back to her chosen lair with a smugly satisfied look on her face. Her hunting had been better than she'd expected, much better. She felt as if the gods were truly working in her favour for once. The old gods. The ones that really mattered.

Ahead of her, the sulphurous shimmer of the street lamps was busy throwing sickly pools of light around the entrance to the Zoo. Silhouettes of animals stalked along the fence and cast stark shadows on the ground; lions and tigers and bears and antelope with spiralled horns, curling pythons and vultures with hooked beaks and outspread wings, a menagerie in black and sodium light etched out across the painted paving stones. She lifted an imperious hand as she approached the gates, smiling as they swung open to admit her. Her magic was strong in this place, drawing on the subtle pulse that reverberated through the stones, through the buildings, and through the very air itself. The city concealed a nexus point, a doorway to the realms beyond. Power whispered through it, the power of the gods, of dark promises and darker desires. That power had helped to awaken her. When she had regained all that was her due, she would do more than just use it. She would command it. Use it to restore her to her true glory.

And after that, the gods would bow down to *her* …

The caged creatures reacted to her presence as she made her way through the maze of pathways that lay behind the fence. Some cringed away in the dark. Some whined and whimpered as she passed - and some greeted her with agitated challenge. She turned and stared at the boldest of those, making the beast cower down and slink back into the safety of its cage. The rest she ignored, continuing on past garish shuttered concession stands, shadowed signposts and helpful maps until she arrived at the entrance to the hyena house. Here she paused for a moment, glancing up at the stars; then smiled and stalked into her chosen lair. She'd been drawn to this place by the scents of her native land by the rich spoor of indolent lions, by the stinks of wallowing warthogs and by the rancid reek of carrion eaters. The building had enticed her even further, whispering of evil deeds, of agonised death and hungry murder. She felt at home here - and had made it her own, securing her daytime vulnerability behind a stockade of teeth and loyal claws.

The hyenas welcomed her with eager muzzles, nuzzling into her hands as she offered them the titbits she had brought. The derelict had been old and rancid and not fit for *her* palette - but her faithful hounds squabbled over the strips of his flesh and licked his blood from her fingers with relish. She caressed each one with appreciation before pushing them away with a laugh. Her tongue slid over her lips, seeking to savour her recent meal; she smiled again at the memory of it, at the man's valiant and useless struggle. He'd been an unexpected feast, given the bitter, insipid prey she'd found since her awakening; had the Slayer not turned when she had, she might well have forgotten her intentions, and drunk every last drop.

Her hand reached to curl around the amulet that nestled between her breasts, and she smiled into the darkness. The Slayer *had* turned - and she'd remembered just in time. Remembered her plan and the magic she had wrought to further it. The plan was more important than a moment's pleasure. *Much* more important.

The amulet was warm against her skin, echoing the essence of the spirit she had anchored there. Her hunger hadn't betrayed her; the man lived - and because he lived, she finally had a chance to achieve her greatest desire. To be free. To reclaim her true power and, with it, take her rightful place as ruler of the night. That the agent of her restoration would be the faithful ally of the Slayer was a sweet and delicious irony. Her last encounter with the breed had demonstrated only too well how suitable one of his kind would be. This one was stronger than the last, marked by experience, and painted with the wisdom of pain. She'd have done well to have removed him from the game even without her need - but now he would serve her, and that was a perfect way to exact her revenge.

Her smile grew wider as she made her way to the back of her lair and the darkened pens which concealed her hiding place. The keeper had been easy to sway to her will. He no longer saw her in the dark - nor any of her children, either. There were two of them waiting among the shadows, and they greeted her with low growls and subservient grunts of welcome. That was the way she liked it; not for her these wilful upstarts, cloaked in the semblance of the men they aped. *Her* offspring were dark and dangerous beasts, wild and savage, stripped to basic desires and endless appetites.

Although … she paused to caress the amulet again, feeling the spirit within it flutter and struggle to be free. A queen needed courtiers as well as slaves; voices to praise and advise her. This one had promise - a strength she could use. Perhaps - when his task was completed - she might reward him with a place at her side. There would be a fresh savour to his life the second time around; seasoned with hate and the wretchedness of his despair.

She laughed out loud at the thought of it; at the torment she intended and the prize it would win. Without this man's fearless wisdom, the Slayer would be no more than a blind child, helpless to unravel the riddle she now faced. A few thoughtful distractions would be enough to keep her occupied while the plan progressed. And if the spell failed, or the man proved unworthy of the task … well, they would send another soon enough. She could always try again …

She dismissed the need for that with an impatient shake of her head. This one was worthy. She could feel it. He had the strength to endure the ritual to its end. If only she could act *now* - but her magic needed time to take shape, to be moulded to her will. Two nights. Maybe three.

But what was *that*, when compared to thousands of years in chains?

Lilithu slunk into her hiding place, nodding with satisfaction as she saw that her earlier preparations still lay undisturbed. The dead man was where she had left him, sprawled into the straw with a look of surprise on his face. His death had been quick - a sudden struggle for breath and a descent into darkness untouched by tooth or claw. She'd needed the body to be whole - a clean and empty vessel, ready to receive her wreaking and serve her will. He wasn't much to look at, but he'd do. She hadn't dared risk taking anyone that might have drawn attention to her this early in the game.

Other than the Watcher, of course …

She laughed a second time, giddy with delight and anticipation. She'd made mistakes that last time round; spent too long enjoying her freedom, and given her enemies time to prepare. Not *this* time. This time she'd kept to the shadows, spawning her slaves from among those that would not be so quickly missed. She'd attacked the Slayer where it would hurt the most, and by the time the girl had figured it out, she'd be too late to do anything - except learn the true meaning of fear.

"Time to begin," she murmured softly, reaching to turn the corpse over and lay it out the way she needed. Her slaves had been busy while she'd been away, collecting everything she'd asked for. She lit one of the candles with a click of her fingers and went to work with determination. The dead snake provided the blood to mark out her circle and to daub across the dead man's skin; hot wax sealed the eyes, the lips and the ears, making the body a prison; and she painted the symbols of the spell in a mixture of blood and dung and rich red earth. Once everything was ready, she carefully lifted the amulet from around her neck and placed it ceremoniously around that of the corpse, whispering the necessary incantations, one after another.

[Here lies the silent Heart; an empty vessel waiting to be filled.
Here is the Snake entwined about the spirit and the core of the mind.
Draw him hither in thy coils
Draw him hither, let this vessel be filled.
Behold He and thee are one.
Bound. Chained, body to spirit, spirit to body.
I have sucked out the blood with my lips; I have drained the body of its
sustenance; I have abased him before me; I have mastered him; I have
possessed
him, and his life is within me.
Put on the cloak of that life and rise to my will.
I await the awaking ]

She released the amulet; sat back with a smile - and prepared to enjoy what came next.

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"Buffy, hey Buffy " Willow practically flew across the hall towards her, her eyes alight with excitement and eagerness. Buffy - who was trudging down the corridor with dispirited steps - looked up and greeted her with a wan smile.

"Hey, Will. What's up?"

"Oh - you'll never guess Good news stuff. As in 'my parents are going to love this,' and 'my boyfriend is over the moon …' Well," she added for accuracy, "with Oz, 'over the moon' is a phrase we don't use much, but he's happy about it. *I'm* pretty happy about it too."

Buffy frowned. "You are? I mean - about what?" She couldn't think of *any* reason to be happy that morning. There was a new - or rather very old - vampire in town; she'd messed up her first meeting with it - and Giles had nearly been killed as a result. The fact that he hadn't wasn't cheering her the way it ought to, and Angel's suggestion that his attacker had *intended* him to survive was not helping her deal with the whole guilt thing. It should never have got that far in the first place.

"Oh - " Willow fell into step beside her, trying to look nonchalant. "You remember those essays we all wrote - you know, the ones about 'my city, my school, my life?' And I wrote that thing about learning to teach and being able to hand on what I'd learned, remember?"

"I remember." School essays had little meaning at the best of times. This wasn't the best of times, and the essays Willow was talking about had been a pretty lame idea in the first place. "I wrote - something. I don't remember what exactly …"

Willow wasn't paying that much attention to what she said; she was too busy being pleased about her news. "Mr Greenham submitted mine. To the State competition? And I've been picked." Her smile was both proud and desperately trying to be modest all at once. Pride was winning, but only just. "Published. I'm going to be an author. In a book. A 'for sale and in libraries' book." Her smile grew even wider. "Giles is gonna have a card for me. Stamp me out. Issue me."

"Yay, Willow," Buffy said - without much enthusiasm and with the hint of a shiver running down her spine. Willow babbled on, so caught up in her news that she hadn't yet noticed her friend's glum expression or the slump in her shoulders.

"I shall tell him. I'll go right up to him and say 'Giles, issue me.' And he'll look all bemused and Giles like and say - 'I beg your pardon?' And then I'll tell him, and he'll be all 'Well done, Willow,' and 'Congratulations,' and 'We must get a copy of that for the library …'" She trailed off, finally registering the look on Buffy's face. Each glib phrase, each affectionate imitation had cut through the Slayer like a knife. Giles was so much a part of their lives; a comfortable, always there, occasionally unpredictable but otherwise totally dependable part. To have lost him would have been like losing a piece of herself.

"Buffy?" Willow was giving her an anxious look. "You okay? Did - did something happen?" She glanced round to make sure they were safe to talk. Students were bustling past them, intent on other things, paying the two of them no attention whatsoever. "Did Angel - ?"

"It's Giles," Buffy interrupted bleakly. "He's in the hospital. He's going to be okay," she hastened to add, seeing Willow's eyes go wide in alarm. "They just wanted - they wanted to keep him in for a couple of days."

If she kept saying that, if she kept repeating it, it would be true. She'd said it to her mother that morning, using it to dismiss concern, trying to lighten the impact of what had occurred. Her mother hadn't been fooled. Nor had she been able to keep all of the fear from her eyes once she knew what had happened. Buffy knew that one of the ways her mother coped with her being the Slayer was to have confidence in the people that aided and supported her. Giles was an important part of that confidence, the level-headed, responsible adult who guarded and guided her daughter, who cared for her - about her - almost as much as she did.

And the fact that the two of them had once had wild unthinkable sex had absolutely *nothing* to do with the anxious concern with which her mother had greeted the news.

She hoped.

"What's happening guys?" Xander's arrival was bright and breezy, sweeping them further down the corridor as he gathered them up, one under each arm and gave them a happy hug. Willow looked at Buffy; Buffy looked back with equal distress. Xander's warm smile slowly faded into a suspicious frown. "Have I missed something? Did someone die?"

"Giles," Willow blurted out, having finally recovered from the initial shock of the news. "Er - no - erm - he- he's not … He's in hospital. Right, Buffy?"

"Right," she affirmed with a sigh. She jerked her head towards the doors of the library. "I have to tell Wesley …" She took a deep breath to steady herself. This was going to be easier if she only had to go over it *once*.

"Do we *have* to?" Xander grimaced. He had no liking for her newly assigned Watcher, who'd turned out to be even more pompous and stuffy than Giles had ever been. But she had to work with him - and on him, since he had to get the point about who and what she was and how she worked. She wasn't the Council's little puppet. She was the *Slayer* - and that meant she got to be in charge.

Most of the time, anyway.

In her heart - which was the important measure where she was concerned - she'd long since labelled Wesley Wyndam-Pryce as *Faith's* Watcher rather than hers. She *had* a Watcher; it didn't matter to her that the Council had fired him. She'd known Giles long enough to understand that being her Watcher was a matter of destiny, not pay checks and official memos. He'd been chosen every much as she had been - and she appreciated his continued dedication to her support. Right now though, she needed Wesley - because, even if he wasn't her Watcher, he was still *a* Watcher, and there was a very dangerous vampire on the loose.

She was going to need all the help she could get.

"Yes," she announced and led them through the library doors.

She knew something was wrong as soon as she stepped into the room. Cordelia was hovering near the counter with a perplexed expression on her face - and Wesley was on the phone. Looking decidedly grim. He glanced up as he heard them enter and waved them in, nodding - somewhat pointlessly - over whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying. "Yes, yes, I understand. Of course. We'll be right over. No, no - she's here now. Yes. Yes, I will. Thank you."

He lowered the handset slowly, placing it back on the cradle with abstracted care. His eyes were flashing with a flare of anger - and more than a hint of fear. "Miss Summers," he pronounced, glaring at her with indignant fury. "So *nice* of you to join us."

"Well," Buffy blinked at him with bemusement, "I just got here …"

"I have been waiting for you for an *hour*," he pointed out, and she winced.

"Ah - yeah, well, ah - I - ah - I lost time talking to Mom, and then I had to go to the office and …"

"And *when*," he interrupted icily, "were you intending to tell me about last night, may I ask? *Buffy*," he remonstrated, slamming his hands flat on the counter. "*I* am your Watcher now. You should have called me as soon you could. Let me know what was happening. How dare you leave me in the dark like this "

"How - how *dare* I?" Something inside Buffy snapped. All the fear and the guilt and the frustration of the past few hours bubbled up with angry force. So, he knew. So what? She hadn't called him, because there'd have been no point. He had no right to talk to her like that. "What gives *you* the right to order my life around? I don't care what the Council says. You're *not* my Watcher. You never will be. I didn't ask you to come here, and I don't want you to be here. *Giles* is my Watcher. And he nearly *died* last night. Because of me. Because I wasn't paying attention. Because I got cocky. What do you want of me, Wesley? You want me to call you out and make you a target too? She knew who I was, what he was. She attacked him to get at me - and she left him bleeding to death in my arms, just so that *I* would know how vulnerable the people I'm supposed to protect really are. There was nothing you could have done last night. Maybe I should have called." The anger was ebbing away, leaving a bleak and empty feeling in her heart. "Maybe I should have called everyone. Hey guys, Buffy here. I just let a vamp tear out Giles' throat. You wanna be next?"

Xander was staring at her. So was Cordelia. "Oh, Buffy," Willow murmured, her voice filled with quiet horror. "Was it - bad?"

Buffy shuddered. The anger - which had mostly been for herself, and not for Wesley at all - was dying as quickly as it had flared. But the guilt just wouldn't go away. "Bad. Badder. Baddest. If it hadn't been for Angel …"

"Angelus was there?" Wesley questioned thoughtfully - and her fury surged back, this time *absolutely* directed at him.

"No," she snapped. "*Angel* was there. He stopped the bleeding. Saved his life." She stared at the Englishman with sudden suspicion. "How did you know, anyway? All I told the office was that - he wouldn't be in today."

Wesley's expression had lost its grim lines, folding down into wary concern. "That was - your mother on the phone," he said. "She's at the hospital now. Apparently - apparently Mr Giles had some sort of seizure, sometime very early this morning. He's in Intensive Care."

"Oh my God." Buffy went cold, all the way to her soul. "No … No. He was fine when I left. A little tired, a little confused maybe, but - the - the Doctor said he was going to be okay. He was going to be *okay*," she insisted, turning to Xander, who just gave her a helpless look.

"He will," Willow stated with a confidence she clearly didn't feel. "He's - *Giles* - you know? He's tough. He's all - Ripper 'n stuff inside his tweed and - oh God, what if - what if he dies? Will - will he - I mean, will you have to …" She made a vague stabbing gesture and then let it go in horror; Buffy grabbed her hand and held it, trying to still the shaking in her own.

"Oh *God*," Cordelia reacted, having just realised what Willow meant. "You think he might - ?"

"Go all vampy and snarly on us?" Xander capped with a wince. "He might."

"I wouldn't let that happen," Wesley announced firmly. "There are ways - decapitation's usually an effective method …"

"*Stop* it," Buffy demanded sharply. "If it - if it comes to that, I will deal with it. But it's not going to. He's *not* going to die. But she is. Wesley, I - I need you to research this vamp - find out everything you can about her. I got a good look at her last night. There were some very distinctive markings - and she can't have been in town long. We'd have heard about her if she had."

"You're right," he agreed. "That's the only logical course of action." He walked around the counter with brisk intent. "Willow? Can you check out the recent news? See if there's been any unusual activity we need to be aware of? Xander, Cordelia - will you help her with that?"

"Sure," Xander nodded. "What are you going to be doing?"

"Driving Buffy to the hospital." He waved her towards the door, directing her to lead the way. "You can tell me all about her on the way - and - " He tried to look optimistic. "With luck - Mr Giles will be able to tell us a little more."

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