Title: Wishes and Prophecies (5/?)
Author: Lisse
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Joss owns everyone but Sorcha.
Summary: An expansion of "The Wish"
Catagory: R/B/A, C/D, some others
Feedback: Anything but flames.
Distribution: Ask and you shall receive.

* * *

"Wesley. It's called speeding. Learn it."

Faith's gripe met with murmurs of agreement from the
other teenagers. Apparently, Wesley decided, the fact
that they were going eighty miles an hour wasn't good
enough.

He supposed that he should expect tempers to start
flaring at some point. The little group was crowded
into a little van alongside weapons and gallon-sized
jugs of holy water. Faith had somehow managed to
outmanuever the others for the front seat - a fact
that Wesley deeply regretted - and had contorted
herself in such a way that both feet rested on 
the dashboard. Kendra and Nicole kept giving each 
other "why me" looks and Buffy and Pike - the former 
sitting on the latter's lap, no less - were arguing 
about ambush tactics and, for some unfathomable 
reason, Scooby Doo.

Wesley decided that next time, Kate would have 
to drive them. She could handle teenagers better - 
if only because she could have them arrested if 
they failed to fall into line.

He glanced up at a sign along the road. It announced
that Sunnydale, California was twenty more miles 
up the road. Or it would have, if someone hadn't 
crossed out "dale" and replaced it with "hell". After 
another half an hour with these children, he rather 
suspected he would agree with the sign.

He just hoped the person they were supposed to 
find was doing better.

* * *

Amy suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she 
answered in a voice that might, with a little bit of
imagination, have been called respectful. "The vamps
were talking about a factory. That's what I said the
last sixteen times you asked me, and that's what I'm
going to say if you asked me again."

Maggie Walsh pursed her lips. "I don't understand what
possible use hostiles would have for an abandoned
factory. Are you sure you heard right?"

Amy ignored her and went back to bandaging the 
vampire. The little trip from the Bronze into the
sewers hadn't done him any good; she was rather
surprised that he was even half-concious. 
Amazingly, he was just coherent enough to keep mumbling one 
word over and over again.

"I don't get it," Riley said behind her, glaring 
down at the vampire. "Who's this Buffy?"

Amy shrugged. "I don't know. Another prisoner, 
maybe." She looked up at the only two rescuees still on 
their feet. "Do you guys know a Buffy?"

Janna shook her head. "No. It's possible we just 
never met her." Jesse nodded his agreement.

"She's probably dead by now, then." Amy sighed and 
stood up, pointedly ignoring Walsh as she addressed
the others. "Riley, we probably need to find this
factory. I'm guessing the Master's up to something
big."

"Forrest and Graham are out doing recon," Riley said.
"They should be back any - " He glanced up as three
more people squeezed into the already crowded mansion.
"They're back," he finished.

Forrest shoved the trench-coated man away from him and
looked over at Riley and Walsh. "We've got a big
problem. It looks like the Master's setting up some
sort of blood-gathering thing in the factory."

"See?" Amy said sweetly.

Graham gave her a quick grin before adding on to
Forrest's report. "It's something big. It looks like
they're gathering people right and left. Whatever he's
planning, it's big."

"And you'll all be in over your bloody heads," the
trench-coated man added.

Riley glared at him. "If we want your advice, Spike,
we'll ask. We'll get your girlfriend once we figure
this out." He returned his attention to Forrest and
Graham. "That would explain why the cages at the
Bronze were so empty. There were just five in 
there."

"Like I told you, you're all in over your heads. The
Master'll be expectin' White Hats like you to -"
Spike stopped as his eye swept past Jesse and Janna to
finally land on the prone figure. "What the bloody
hell? How'd he get here?"

Amy looked down at the man. "You know him?"

"Well, yeah," Spike muttered sarcastically. "And 
let me tell you somethin'. If Rosenberg and Harris 
caught /him/, you wankers don't stand a chance."

* * *

Giles' apartment proved to be small, crammed with
books, and smelling vaguely of old tea leaves. The
little group filed in and settled on various sofas.

Doyle felt sorry for them. Well, mostly he felt sorry
for Cordelia, but the other teenagers didn't look all
that great, either. From what Larry had told them on
the way to Giles' apartment, they had been fighting
the Master for almost two years. They had lost more
friends than Doyle had ever had and they had pretty
much given up any chance they had at leading even a
semi-normal life.

Poor kids.

He sat down across from them while Giles and Cordelia
hunted for spare clothing. They all gave him the sort
of glazed looks that belonged in trenches surrounded
by machine guns. It was a wonder they were still
functioning.

"Did your vision tell you why you were supposed to
save Cordelia?" Larry asked after an awkward moment of
silence.

Doyle shrugged. "No. It just told me I had teh beh
'ere. That's how they work."

"That's how Giles' prophecies work, too," Nancy said
with an annoyed frown. "When we can translate them, we
can still only guess about half of their meaning." She
gave the distinct impression that she thought
prophecies ought to be cross-referenced. Doyle found
himself wondering if she was an academic type in
Cordelia's world.

Which also begged the question: who - or what - was he
in Cordelia's world?

She didn't know him, which could either be a good
thing or a bad thing. For all he knew, he had never
met Harry in her world. Maybe he was just a
good-for-nothing half-demon drunk. Or maybe he was the
happy father of a pair of golden-haired little
children and he lived in a house with a white 
picket fence.

Somehow, both options sounded better than the life he
was living right now.

* * *

First that humiliating attempt to kill Cordelia, then
the failed attempt to destroy the White Hats, and now
this. It had /not/ been a good day for Xander Harris.

The little red-head running across the school parking
lot had looked like an easy meal - right up until the
moment when she had staked one of his henchmen. It had
taken three vampires to subdue her, which was strange.
She certainly wasn't strong enough to be a Slayer.

Two vampires hauled her up. A pair of laser-green eyes
glared angrily at Xander. She was even younger than he
had thought originally - fifteen or sixteen, maybe.
She was also, as certain turncoats would have put it,
bloody furious.

"What the hell is this? I didn't do anything to you!
We had an agreement!"

Xander's gaze fell on the ornate tattoo on the girl's
wrist: a green flower surrounded by Celtic designs.

One of the Order of the First One. This was just what
he needed.

"Your order stays out of Sunnydale," he growled back.
"That's the rule."

The girl just glared back at him. "The rules are
broken, asshole. Once the savior's here, this isn't
your turf anymore."

Xander stared blankly at her. What the hell was she...?

And then it hit him. The Master's prophecy.

This day just kept getting worse.

* * *