There are two ways of spreading light:
to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
Edith Wharton
"They're coming now."
The words fell softly on the ears of the plump calico cat dozing before the fire; he opened one eye, saw his mistress get up and cross to the door.
She opened it before the man on the threshhold had time to knock. "Come in, Rupert."
For an instant he was startled, then he smiled at her warmly. "Bronwen. You're looking well."
Despite her more than eighty years, the compliment was justified; but she shrugged it off impatiently. "I can't say the same for you, dear heart."
She moved aside; and called casually over her shoulder, "Place the girl on the sofa, young man."
The dark-haired boy obeyed her without question, carefully depositing his burden and then settling onto the floor beside her.
Last to enter was a slender redhead, staggering under a load of luggage.
Bronwen noticed that neither of the men moved to help her...all their attention was focused on the blonde on the sofa.
Under their collective gaze she stirred, opened large eyes that stared incuriously at Bronwen, then closed again.
Bronwen caught her breath. No, she wanted to protest, I can't, I'm too old, I CAN'T...
She caught the eye of the man dearer to her than any other; and smiled at him. ,p. "Don't worry, Rupert," she said aloud, reassuring herself as well as him. "We will heal our Slayer. That is a promise."
Bronwen led the way up the stairs. Her own room was on the floor below, but up here under the eaves were two guest bedrooms with a connecting bath.
"You and Buffy will have the one overlooking the sea," Bronwen informed Willow.
The room was a soft shade of French blue, with touches of white and gold. Willow felt a rush of delight as she looked about their quarters.
"Isn't this great, Buffy?" she asked excitedly, then bit her lip as her friend's eyes flicked indifferently over their surroundings. Buffy sat down wearily on the nearest bed.
Bronwen studied the blonde. Once she'd obviously been beautiful; but now...she was far too thin, just delicate bird bones. Her long hair was limp and bedraggled, her skin gray, her eyes lifeless.
Bronwen's lips tightened as she straightened her spine. One day, she vowed, this girl would again be vital and sparkling. Bronwen was willing to bet her life on that.
In the hall Bronwen encountered the dark-haired boy, Xander.
"Are you sure...you'll help her?" he asked desperately.
Bronwen said simply, "Yes."
His shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you...she's been like this so long. It's over a week now..."
For an instant Bronwen was tempted to ask him what had happened; but she checked. It would be far better to talk with Rupert first.
They sat before her fire, each with a glass of her finest scotch; and the peace and silence of the little house settled around them.
"I should have come before," he said abruptly. "Carmel isn't far from Sunnydale, but I..."
"You were doing your duty, staying bside your Slayer," she interrupted him. "No regrets, Rupert. I am always here when you need me, dear heart."
He shook his head in anguish. "I can't help her, Bronwen!"
She leaned forward and patted his arm. "Don't worry, Rupert. I can."
"You have to!" It was a cry of despair; but she did not falter.
"I will," she repeated firmly. "Now...tell me as much as you know."
Giles drew a deep breath. "When she was sixteen, Buffy fell in love with a vampire..."
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"Where is she?" Angelus raged, kicking a small table over with a resounding crash. "It's been ten days! Ten!"
His black queen smiled. "She'll be back. Spike is sure of it."
"Spike!" Angelus' wrath found a new target. "Mr. Know-it-all...never should have listened to him. He persuaded me that, if we let Buffy go after that first night, she'd return of her own free will, and join us! The fool!"
"She may, yet," his consort consoled him. "And if not, we'll see to it that she returns, willing or not! After all, we have such big plans for Buffy!"
Angelus began to smile. "Yes," he all but purred, "we'll have to arrange a suitable punishment for running away, won't we?"
The thought bloomed like a poisonous flower...the torture, the humiliation he could inflict...better than before.
Angelus, his good humor restored, beamed at his dark lady.
"What wonderful ideas you have....Cordelia."
"Where is she?"
In the back room of the bar, the blond vampire clutched Willy by the throat menacingly.
"I...I don't know, Spike," Willy wheezed. "Honest, I ..."
"Why don't I believe you, Willy?" Spike tightened his grip.
"Hey, Spike, I wouldn't lie! The Watcher took her away....her and those two friends of hers."
"Xander and Willow." Spike's mouth was a tight line. "I want them found."
"Yeah Spike, I know. So does Angel."
"Worry about ME, Willy!" Spike shook the bartender roughly. "Forget Angel. Tell me something I want to hear."
"Maybe..maybe I did hear a whisper..."
"That's more like it, Willy. Now what is this whisper, before I tear your bloody tongue out?"
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For the first three days, Buffy never left her room.
"It was the same at home," Giles told Bronwen. "She locked herself in her room and stayed in bed for a full week. She didn't tell anyone what had happened...not even Willow. But it had to be a confrontation with Angel. Nothing else could have caused this...trauma."
"Yes," Bronwen said thoughtfully, "I think it's time."
She climbed the stairs slowly, gathering her powers like a miser hoarding gold.
The girl stood by the window, gazing sightlessly out to sea.
"Why don't we go down on the beach?" Bronwen suggested.
"No!" The girl's arms came up; she hugged herself defensively.
"Buffy, look at both sides of the beach. What do you see?" Bronwen asked quietly.
"Um, you mean those big rock piles at each end?"
"Jetties," Bronwen nodded. "They're to close off the beach. I have wards all around this property; powerful wards that no vampire can break. You're safe here."
Buffy was trembling violently. Slowly, with infinite care, Bronwen reached for her hand and led her to the stairs. The girl seemed docile, but jumped nervously when Abernethy rubbed against her legs.
"He likes you," Bronwen said.
The girl almost gave a shadow of a smile; and the trembling stopped. Distracted by the cat, Buffy moved automatically out the door and down onto the sand.
"Are...are you a witch?" she asked Bronwen.
"No," the old woman replied, "But I have a friend who is."
"Then...what are you?" Buffy persisted.
"I am a scryer," Bronwen answered.
"You mean, you can see visions in water?"
"In water, or glass. In my case, I use a special mirror that has been in my family for generations."
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall..." quoted Buffy softly.
Xander watched them from the front window.
"Do you think she'll be able to help Buffy?" he asked Willow.
"Yes, I do," Willow tried to sound confident.
He turned his dark, shadowed eyes on his oldest friend. "If she can't, then...we're all finished. You know that, don't you, Will? Angel and...and Cordelia will hunt us down, one by one."
"That won't happen." Willow had grown pale, but her voice was steady.
Xander groaned aloud. "I hope not."
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It wasn't a very large mirror; a square about 7 inches per side,rimmed with an ornate bronze frame.
"What do I have to do?" Buffy asked, fascinated.
Out in the living room Giles, Xander and Willow were playing pinochle, but in Bronwen's room she and Buffy sat quietly, the mirror on a small table in front of them.
"Look into the mirror, and tell me what you see," the scryer instructed the Slayer.
Buffy stared at the tiny blonde girl bouncing happily across campus. "It's me."
"Yes. And where are you going?"
"Um, to patrol...."
Buffy grinned when she reached the small crypt in the older part of the cemetery.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she caroled.
"Bloody hell, Slayer!" the blonde vampire in the leather coat emerged angrily. "Is that any way to call me? Can't you just...knock?"
"I would, but you don't have a door," she retorted. "Why don't you rent a decent apartment?"
"Got to save up first," he muttered. "Anything's better than living with Giles; unless it's living with Xander!"
"Ingrate," she said lightly.
"What do you expect? I'm evil!"
She laughed aloud. "I don't think so." The images faded. Glancing at the girl, Bronwen could see that her eyes were closed while tears streamed down her face.
Silently Bronwen removed the mirror.
The Slayer opened enormous sea-green eyes and stared at her.
"He was right," Buffy whispered. "He was evil."
Angelus lay back in his leather chair and listened to the sounds of one of his unlucky minions getting flogged. He usually enjoyed that; but tonight it failed to soothe his burning anger. He raised his voice to be heard above the screams.
"Cordelia, I'm getting tired of waiting. Any ideas?"
His consort swept in, clad in a pewter velvet dress that glimmered in the firelight. Casually, she tossed aside the whip.
"I'm so looking forward to doing that to Xander," she purred, dark eyes glittering.
At his impatient growl, she said hastily, "Actually, I did remember something. Someone who might know something."
"Who?" Angelus barked.
Cordelia smiled complacently. "Anya. Xander 's little ex-demon girl. They dated for quite a long time, and I don't believe she's gotten over him. She might know where he is."
"Then, find her!" Angelus surged to his feet. "Tear apart this whole town, but find her. "
"Won't be necessary." Spike strode in from the direction of the garden. "She's certain to show up at the Bronze sooner or later."
"It better be sooner!" Angelus glared at him. "And don't think I've forgotten whose fault it is that the Slayer got away in the first place."
Cordelia walked up to Angelus and wrapped both arms around his waist. "Angel, just think what fun it would have been, if she'd come back by herself!"
"Next time she will," Spike promised.
"There won't BE a next time," Angelus vowed. "She'll stay chained to my bed until I choose to release her, if ever! I don't make the same mistake twice."
He strode angrily from the room, and they heard an unfortunate fledgling shriek in agony.
Spike lit a cigarette.
Cordelia eyed him speculatively. "Angel will need to work off some of that temper," she said seductively. "He won't be back until dawn. We should ...take advantage of that?"
He shrugged and turned away. "I've got to go out. There'll be time enough for all that once we've got the Slayer back."
Cordelia laughed. "Did you really think Buffy would come back on her own- after everything that happened?"
She tok a long look at his momentarily unguarded eyes, and laughed again. "You did! That's funny!"
He hunched his shoulder and headed for the door.
Cordelia said maliciously, "Sorry, Spike, looks like you over-estimated your charm."
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Bronwen knocked lightly, and Willow opened the bedroom door. "I brought something for Buffy," she said. "A tisane, to bring sleep, and an intment to heal the other injuries." "Thanks," Buffy whispered. "It's been a while; I'm almost healed." Bronwen nodded a soft good night, and went her way. Buffy undressed slowly, atring into the mirror. It was true that much of the physical damage was already gone; only the faintest traces of bruising remained from the mass that had coverd her entire body. That night...
She shook her head hard, and began rubbing in the ointment. It had a curiously refreshing quality; she picked up the tisane and sipped cautiously. Much to her surprise it was delicious, with a faint tang of oranges.
She was asleep almost immediately; and Willow covered her gently and tried to make no noise as she slipped into her own bed. For days now, the redhaired witch had been torn between Buffy's pain and Xander's despair. Yet she felt a glimmer of hope that one day things would again be well with them all.
Because Xander and Buffy were her life...
Spike floored the accelerator; and the black car went roaring through the night on the way to Carmel.
Willy's voice in his ear, that cringing whine that was so grating: "A beach cottage in Carmel. I swear, Spike, that's all I know!"
It would have to be enough.
Spike had no delusions; he had a day's grace, maybe two, before Angel started looking in earnest.
Spike had to find her first.
Anya sat at the end of the bar, drinking beer and watching the crowd. Once in a while she spotted a tall, dark-haired young man; and each time, she twisted around hopefully, until a closer look proved he wasn't Xander. Anya reminded herself that it would make no difference anyway; Xander had left her, left her even before he had left Sunnydale.
Maybe it was time to move on.
"Can I buy you another beer?" asked the young man sliding onto the stool beside her.
She smiled at him flirtatiously. "Why not?"