“You’re all about the Power,” said Buffy to the First.  “I get that.  And Willow is still learning how to control her power.  So if she taps into it, you’ll be able to get your foot in the door, to take her over, like you did Principal Wood.”

      The First smiled happily.  Tara’s smile.  “You two are just so clever,” it cooed.  “If I were your mommy, I’d be proud of you.  You figured it all out.  Of course, you’ve also let yourself be drugged and you’re lying chained to some nice heavy office furniture and a pillar that reaches down into the hellmouth itself.”

      “I’ve escaped from worse than this,” said Buffy.

      “But you weren’t all full of tranquilizers then.  I admit I misjudged the amount I’d need to keep you unconscious, but I’ve no doubt we’ve impaired your fighting strength enough for our purposes.”

      “Tranquilizers?” asked Buffy.  “Not really your style, is that?  Where are the blind guys with knives?”

      “Perhaps I didn’t want their numbers reduced any more.  That does seem to be the result whenever they encounter you.”  The radiant smile returned.  “But not after tonight.”  The not-Tara looked over at Principal Wood and seemed to realize that he had been standing stock-still for some time.  It frowned.  “But why am I standing here chatting when there are things to do?”

      “There’s actually a good reason for that,” said Buffy in her most authoritative tone.

      “Really?”  The First seemed intrigued.  “And what is that?”

      The door slammed open.  Spike stormed into the room, took in Buffy and Willow’s situation at a glance, and immediately vamped out in anger.  His golden eyes flicked over Tara’s form and dismissed it as the figment it was.

      The Principal snatched up one of the ritual knives he had laid on the desk, but before he could raise it in defense or attack, Spike grabbed him by the throat and tossed him against the wall.  Wood crumpled to the floor.

      “Like I said,” remarked Buffy to the First.  “A good reason.”

      “We were stalling,” said Willow.  A note of triumph colored her voice. “I risked just enough magic to send one tightly focused message when you had Wood grab me.  I felt Dawn receive it, and I knew she’d bring help.”

      “You can go now,” said the Slayer.

      It was an order, but Buffy was still surprised by the alacrity with which the First obeyed.  She turned to catch Willow’s expression as Tara’s beloved form dissolved into a band of light and disappear.  Her friend’s look of bereavement did more than arouse her sympathy; remembering Willow’s previous reaction to the loss of Tara, Buffy felt a momentary stab of fear.

Xander opened his apartment door and grimaced at the figure standing there.  “Andrew, why aren’t you at Buffy’s house?  And what happened to your face?”

      “Well, everyone else left,” said Andrew.  “I didn’t want to stay alone, and I didn’t want to go with Spike and Dawn, not after Spike hit me.”  He rubbed his jaw for a moment, then held up some DVDs.  “Want to have a Batman movie marathon?”

      “Wait a minute—”  Xander pushed the DVDs aside.  “Spike hit you?  And went off somewhere?  With Dawn?”

      “Uh huh,” said Andrew.  “Who do you like better? Michael Keaton or Val Kilmer—”

      “Andrew, if Spike’s willing to risk setting off the chip to hit someone, Dawn could be in danger from him!”

     “Oh, no, Dawn took the chip out.  That’s why Spike hit me.  And Dawn’s not in danger, Buffy is.  Oh, and Willow, I think.  At the high school.  My favorite is the one with George Clooney and Chris O’Donnell, but we can watch them all, if you’d like.  I don’t mind spending the night.”

“Get me out of these!”  Willow’s head jerked up at Buffy’s words.  The Slayer was struggling to escape now as she had not done while being taunted by the First. Willow followed Buffy’s gaze and saw Spike kneeling next to Wood’s body.  But he wasn’t searching for the key to the shackles.  He was staring at the unconscious man.

 “I forgot,” he muttered.  “Been so long, since I fought one while halfway in my right mind.  I forgot.  How fragile they are.”

         Willow had not seen Dawn enter the room, but now the teenager was at Spike’s side.  She ran a hand over the Principal’s chest. “His heart’s beating,” she said.  She grabbed Spike’s arm and shook it.  “You didn’t kill him.  Do you hear me?  You didn’t kill him.”

         Buffy was still struggling against the shackles.  “Dawn, get me out of these,” she said again.

         Dawn dropped Spike’s arm and fumbled through Wood’s pockets until she found a set of keys.  She quickly released Buffy, who went to check on the Principal for herself. 

         The Slayer gave a sigh of relief.  “No, not dead.”  She looked over her shoulder to Dawn, who was unlocking the cuffs that held Willow.  “Call 911.  Now.”

 Buffy turned back to Spike.  He was still sitting, staring down at the body on the floor.  She touched his cheek gently, and turned him to face her instead.  “You didn’t mean it,” she said.

 “Does it matter?” he asked.  “If someone else is still paying the price?”

 Buffy winced.  Willow tossed the shackles aside and tried to rise, but her legs gave way beneath her, and she had to bend over to massage her legs and ankles.  She heard Dawn’s voice speaking urgently into the telephone.

 “Willow, can you walk?” asked Buffy.

 Willow pulled herself upright by holding on to the edge of a desk and nodded.

 “I need you to take Spike and get out of here before the ambulance comes.”  Buffy looked unhappy with this decision, but she shook her head, as if resigning herself to the inevitable.  “Dawn and I are the only ones who have a good reason to be here.  If anyone catches sight of Spike in this condition, they’ll know something’s up.”

 That, at least, was obvious.  Spike’s eyes were blank and grief-stricken, and he looked as disassociated from reality as he had when he was lurking in the school basement months before.

 “What about you?” asked Willow.  “Those tranquilizers?”

 “I’m okay,” said Buffy.  “The bad guys always underestimate what it takes to knock out a Slayer.”

 “Yes,” said Dawn trying for a brave tone.  “No matter what they do, you keep coming back.”

         The Irishman returned.

         He was changed.  Instead of a noisy lout, the creature who reappeared in the room was a broody, frightened man, who huddled in a corner and muttered of memories too horrible to bear.  He forcibly rejected the advances of the blonde woman.  He could not bear to look at the Mad Girl, who found his return so upsetting that she clung to William and cried for what seemed like an eternity.

         At first William felt sorry for the Irishman, but as time passed, he became merely irritated by the constant whining, until he heartily wished the other man would disappear again.  To his considerable astonishment, his wish was granted shortly afterwards.  And then the blonde woman disappeared as well.  Once the Mad Girl’s initial distress over these events had faded, William could not help but be glad.  That is, he was pleased until the blonde woman returned, in much the same state as that of the Irishman after his reappearance.  But she didn’t stay very long.  At least, she did not stay very long as William had come to perceive time.  She was called to the reception desk, and this time there was no discussion.  She was led tearfully through one of the doors and seen no more.  William could not imagine what could have changed those two to such an extent.

 Dawn watched out the window as Willow and Spike left the school yard.  “They’re gone,” she said.  “They both look pretty trashed.  It was a good idea to send them away before the ambulance shows up.”  She glanced at the man slumped on the floor.  “I hope it gets here soon.”

         Buffy was staring at the Principal’s desk. “Those mirrors are broken,” she said.

         Dawn looked at the patterns in the shattered glass and gulped.  The fissures formed three identical line drawings of the seal that covered the hellmouth.  The bright surface glittered menacingly as Buffy picked up one mirror and stared into it.  Her distorted reflection was trapped in the glittering image of the goat’s head.

         “We need to clean this place up fast.”  The Slayer picked up a wastebasket and swept the mirrors into it.  Under her ruthless treatment, the copies of the seal disintegrated into glass shards.  She shoved the wastebasket into her sister’s hands and gestured at the knives and vial of blood.  “Put the rest of that stuff in there and get it out of here.  In my experience, the less Sunnydale’s finest see of blood and ritual sacrifices, the happier they are.  Maybe we can sneak these things out later for Giles to analyze.  He might be able to figure what the First was trying to do.”

         “Are you sure that Principal Wood didn’t have time to finish the ritual?” asked Dawn as she complied with the order.

         “I don’t know,” said Buffy slowly.  “I don’t know lots of stuff.  Like how you and Spike got here.  And how Spike was able to do this.”  She stooped down to check on Wood.

         Dawn wiped up the chalk drawing that covered the desk and added the tissue she had used the rest of the trash.  “Willow sent out one of her psychic news bulletins.  I heard it.  I—I’m not sure why, but I was pretty sure no one else had.  No, I was positive no one else had.”  Dawn frowned in puzzlement a moment, then shook her head, dismissing that thought.  “I had to get help.  And I knew Spike couldn’t fight the Principal with that chip in his head.  So I got that orb Willow made and used it.”  She stepped outside the office for a moment to stash the wastebasket under a desk, hoping that it would escape the notice of the police and ambulance crew.

         “He let you do that?”  Her face stern and intent, Buffy leaned over to check Wood’s pulse again.

         Dawn hesitated in the doorway.  “I didn’t ask him,” she said in a quiet voice.

         Buffy looked up at her.  “You didn’t ask?  You just did it?”

         “Yeah.  He was—kind of upset.” Dawn was abashed now and less proud of her accomplishment.  She fought for bravado.  “I had to do it, Buffy.  I had to rescue you and Willow.  You’re always saying, ‘Use whatever tool you have.  Look around you, and if something will help you, use it.’”

         “So you used Spike.”  The Slayer’s voice was very flat.

         “I kind of meant the orb, but, yeah, I guess I used him.  So?  It’s not like you never do that.”  Dawn stopped, seeing Buffy’s anguished expression. 

         “We have to talk,” said her sister seriously.

         “Thank heaven they’re gone for the moment,” said Giles as the horde of teenage girls clomped down the stairs to the basement in search of weapons to use on patrol.  “Now, perhaps, we can have a reasonable discussion about this.” 

         “Yes, for a bunch of potential superheroes, they get awfully whiny when someone mentions their impending destruction,” said Anya. 

         Giles was looking around the dining room anxiously.  “Dawn doesn’t seem to have left a note to say where she’s gone.  Or Spike.  Although Andrew left one saying he was going to Xander’s.”

 “I’m sure Dawn’s fine.  Buffy probably came back and took her and Spike patrolling with her.  Besides, I like it better when we’re alone.  To discuss the First’s plans, I mean.”

         "Two Slayers and a vampire with a soul,” said Giles, drawn from his worry about Dawn by the memory of Anya’s discovery.  “No wonder no one paid much attention to that Codex.  Getting those three together must have seemed impossible.  Impossible enough that the shamans felt justified channeling the demon power into the first Slayer.”

         “Of course,” said Anya.  “It’s not like there’s some deep, mystical reason for those ingredients.  The shamans were scared shitless of what they were doing.  They would have peed in their pants, if they wore pants.  Probably did pee in their loincloths.  But they were even more afraid of the demons destroying their village, so they channeled demon Power into a living human.”

 “But they only channeled the Power to one girl at a time, and they didn’t give even her all of it,” said Giles slowly.   

 Anya sat down at the table and paged through the sheets she had printed off in the library.  “Damn right they didn’t.  The source of Slayer Power is immense—seems like our Buffy’s been tapping into the basis for all demon energy.  If I were still a vengeance demon, I’d be way jealous.  When that Power comes roaring out of the hellmouth, the Krakatoa eruption should be nothing to it—and I say that as the girl who caused Krakatoa to erupt.”

         “No wonder the shamans were afraid of their own creation,” said Giles. 

         “Those guys were almost as afraid of their Slayer as they were of the vampires that were destroying them.  So, in their annoying shamanistic way, they built a little fence around their new toy.   With a gate, keeping the Slayer from tapping too much of her Power, of releasing her full potential.  Because they feared her as much as they needed her.  But you can’t put up a gate unless there’s a way to open it.  That’s one of the immutable laws of magic.”

         “Yes,” said Giles.  He leaned over her, his hand on her shoulder as he scanned the words of the Codex.  “You’re right, Anya.  The trick to unlocking the gate was very simple, but, they thought, impossible to manage. You need to perform the final ritual in the presence of three people.  Two Slayers and a vampire.”

 Her hand crept up to touch his briefly.  “Shamans do love gimmicks. I can just about hear them giggling to themselves, “Who’s going to be able to find two Slayers in one place?  And there’s no such thing as a vampire with a soul, right?”  They must have just been high-fiving each other with delight over their own cleverness.”

 “But what happens when the gate is unlocked?” mused Giles.

 “I'm not entirely sure.  But I have a theory about that too,” said Anya proudly.

 But, before she could explain, the world exploded around her.

Chapter Nine