"Careful the things you say,
Children will listen.
Careful the things you do,
Children will see.
And learn."

--The Witch,'Into the Woods'

* * * * *

Buffy sighed, pulling off the skimpy little thing that her boss at "BJ's" called a uniform. She did not enjoy the leers that she got while on the job in that thing, and always came back to her room feeling dirty, and disgusted. But she really needed that job, so there wasn't much she could do.

Several motels ago, Buffy had found out that one really didn't want to use the showers in cheap rooms--if there even was a shower. You never could be quite sure what was growing on the walls, or what the previous occupant had done in it. So a long shower was out of the question, no matter how much she wished she could wash away the feeling of filth.

Besides, the sun had already set, so there was patrol to get ready for. Cleaning herself off as well as she could without use of the shower, she pulled on her comfortable "hunt me: I won't be missed" clothes. She filled in the pockets and sleeves with holy water and stakes, then quickly checked her appearance in the room's dingy mirror.

Brown-rooted hair that hadn't been dyed in weeks hung limply around a face that had grown long and sad since her days in Sunnydale. The smudges under her eyes looked more like bruises than bags, a reminder that she really did need to catch up on her sleep. Her too-thin arms protruded from a similarly stick-like body, giving her a frail appearance making her appear frail and breakable.

Looking quickly away from the image, Buffy fumbled through her small pack for the last item she'd need: the silver cross Angel had given her. She wore it both for its useful, vampire-Slaying properties and to remember him. Her Angel, not the one who had killed Ms. Calendar. They were two completely different entities, in her mind.

She slipped out the door, hands in the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt, eyes downcast. It always felt good to get out the day's troubles on a few of the local bloodsuckers.

There was another case waiting for Nick when he returned to the prescient. A suicide, it was quickly deemed, and it was closed before the night was half through. So, back to inactivity.

Allowing his mind to wander as he finished some forms he'd been meaning to complete for quite some time--"You must be truly bored," Nat had commented, "I've never seen you do paperwork so willingly!"--Nicholas realized that he hadn't been to the Raven for quite some time. A vampire-run bar in the less-than-respectable part of the city, the Raven served discrete glasses of blood laced with wine, leads on cases, the companionship of his own kind, and interesting little tidbits to keep his life from being boring.

Mind made up, he rose from his desk and strolled purposefully towards the door. Nick nodded at Tracy as he walked by, silently telling her that he'd be out on his own for a bit. The other detective nodded a response and returned to her papers, trusting that he would have told her if he was off doing something work-related.

The vampire donned his long trench-coat and was gone

The Raven was quiet that night. Despite the limited patronage, sultry, pounding music still poured from hidden speakers, as bright patterns of random light flashed on and off around the darkened dance floor. Nick approached the bar, frowning when he failed to notice any of the "regulars" around. As he settled on a stool, the bartender silently handed him a wineglass filled with crimson liquid and left him to his own devices. Turning around and leaning against the bar, he watched the unusually small number of gyrating bodies on the dance floor.

"The hunter stalks the hunter. Who is the prey?" The whispery, cryptic voice belonged to a blond-haired vampire, whom had silently appeared at Nicholas' side moments after he sat down.

Far from surprised by his sire's sudden arrival, Nick turned to him and smiled. "Informative as usual, LaCroix."

The other vampire returned the smile with a sly one of his own. "You're here early, Nicholas. Could it be your... 'work' is slowing down?" There was a distinct emphasis on *work* that suggested LaCroix felt that there were much better things for him to be doing than serving with and for useless humans.

Nick discretely chose to say nothing, and merely sipped his drink.

For a moment, there was silence between them. The pounding music seemed a counterpoint to their creeping, slow heartbeats, adding a mortality to the moment that made it quickly break. LaCroix spoke on, "there's something going on."

It was an unusually candid remark for the elder vampire. Nick's interest was sparked, though he wasn't about to let his devious sire know that. "Isn't there always?"

"Yes. But this is... unexpected." The conversation was getting more and more intriguing. Long teachings and a rest-fulfilled mind kept his face schooled as LaCroix went on. "We are disappearing."

*That* got past his emotional shields. There was no question who the 'we' referred to; their kind often viewed themselves as something of a large family. A bloodthirsty, backstabbing and disloyal family, but a family nonetheless. "Someone is hunting us?"

There was no response for a long moment. Then, quietly: "Perhaps."

Nick put down his cup. "How many gone?"

"It is hard to tell," he sat back, with the usual air of seeming unconcern. "You know as well as I do, Nicholas, that we do not keep in touch very closely." There was a pause. "And it is not just the young ones."

Nick digested this information, staring off at the dance floor. "What are you going to do?" He glanced to his left, waiting for an answer. But none ever came.

LaCoix was gone.

He returned to the station while the night was still relatively young. His movements were absentminded, mechanical, as he hung his jacket and returned to his desk. There he sat, alone with his thoughts.

"Hello," came a female voice from above him, startling him out of his reverie. Nick looked up to see Natalie's bright smiling face looking down on him. "Something wrong?"

Before he could respond, a previously unfelt sensation washed over him. His hunter's instincts chirped, strongly hinting that there was something--someone--he needed to be aware of. Right Now. Over there.

Ignoring his friend's question, Nick turned in the direction he was being pulled. He saw nothing out of the ordinary; an officer was discussing a file folder with a plain-clothes, the Captain was speaking on the phone, coffee cup in hand--

Then the door swung open. The room quieted for a moment as two very harried-looking Uniforms walked through it, carefully restraining a cuffed suspect between them. Of the three of them, the alleged perp looked to have gotten out of the arrest process in the best condition. Both cops were bent, battered, and bleeding, and the one on the left one was limping slightly. The glaring captive, by contrast, didn't have a scratch on her.

No, that was wrong. Upon closer inspection, Nick discovered that she was showing signs of dangerous wear and tear herself. However, her dirty, unkempt appearance and soul-torn eyes were consistent with more long-term injuries, not fresh ones.

All this was summed up in a moment, and then, promptly, flew right out of his mind. She was staring at him. The instant the perpetrator had gone through the door, she had zeroed in on Nicholas, and him alone. Her eyes had narrowed, she tensed, and began to struggle in her captors' grasp.

Natalie, following his gaze, was silently examining the girl on her own. The young woman passed by them on her forced march to a detention cell, still glaring death at Nick from under a curtain of blond-bottomed hair. She spoke for the first time, muttering something as she drew near that only the two of them could hear.

"Vampire."

More, Soon.

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