Chapter 20 - Callings

The next morning when Buffy woke up, she thought of Spike. But she resolved not to think about Spike. Especially not Spike doing things she’d rather not think about.

She stumbled into the bathroom, some part of her mind noticing that something wasn’t right. The bruise on her cheek was gone, and her neck was already mostly yellow, with patches of normal looking skin showing through. Buffy frowned but shrugged.

It wasn’t until after breakfast, when she lay across the exercise machine and pulled down the bars that she realized something was wrong. Frowning at the lack of resistance, she checked the pin and moved it down, repeating the process with no difficulty. On impulse, Buffy set the pin at the very bottom of the weight stack and pulled.

While one half of her brain was telling her that something was wrong with the machine, the other half was telling her something entirely different. She was doing almost one hundred pounds one handed.

Buffy let the weights drop, and sat there staring at them for a moment.

“Uh-oh.”

“Honey, is something wrong?”

Buffy whipped around to find her mother pausing in the hallway. “Uh, no. I just had the thingy set wrong.” She pulled out the pin and smiled.

Joyce continued on her way, and Buffy’s face quickly fell.

-----

Wesley picked up his phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

A pause. “Wesley?”

“Yes?”

“I am so sorry to call you at home, but there was no answer at the office, and well, not like I thought you’d be in on a Sunday, but I had to try first. But you were listed—actually Fred was listed—in the phonebook, and I thought, and I don’t really know who else who would—”

“Buffy, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing the rambling voice.

“I think I’m a Slayer.”

Wesley paused. “Why?”

“Well, I’m super strong, and that bruise? It’s almost completely gone.”

“How do you know what a Slayer is?”

“Um, you know that vampire that I said Spike saved me from? He called me Slayer. But the whole strength thing like just happened.”

“I see,” he finally said. “What did Spike say about Slayers?”

“That it’s a girl with powers who fights vampires.”

“I see.” Another pause. “Shall I meet you at the office in half an hour?”

“God, yes! Thank you!”

Wesley hung up the phone.

He paused, hesitated, and then dialed Spike’s number.

It rang more than several times before he answered. “This. Had better. Be good.”

“Buffy thinks she’s the Slayer,” Wesley said flatly.

“Always somethin’, innit?” He sounded drunk.

“She said a vampire was after her.”

“Not anymore, if she is.” He laughed. “Safe as any Slayer is.”

“Do you know something about this?”

“Was gonna give you a heads up last night,” Spike slurred, “but I got distracted. Doesn’t matter now, I s’pose.”

“Got intoxicated, you mean.”

“Knew some vamps were after the Slayer to be,” he continued. “Know they’re probably not now. Seems the real thing’s too dangerous for ’em.”

Wesley frowned to himself. “They go after potentials?”

“No, they go after the next Slayer. You wanna know more? Go spend your own dosh.”

The line went dead.

Sighing and leaving a note for Fred, Wesley gathered up a few books and left the apartment.

-----

When Buffy arrived at the office, there was a circle of sand on the floor, and Wesley was drawing symbols in chalk around it.

“Okaaay,” she said. “Why do I feel like a ritual sacrifice is coming up next?”

“Nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you. Just a precaution.”

“Precaution?”

“To make sure you are the Slayer.” He stood up.

“Did I mention the whole super strength thing?” she asked.

“Yes, well. There are quite a number of things that can cause that. Possession, demonic infection—if you’ll just stand right here.”

“Taking a leap of faith here. This is the kind of thing you hear about on Dateline—cults, initiations, rituals?”

“Vampires?”

“Okay, so maybe not.” Buffy stepped into the circle.

She stood uncertainly as Wesley walked around her, herbs in one hand, a crystal in the other, and a book balanced on his arm. He threw the leaves over her as he circled, said some words, and then threw the rest into the circle.

The result must have been favorable, because after a moment, he said, “You are the Slayer.”

Buffy moved out of the circle and sank down into a chair. “So, now what?”

He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. “I’ve never done this before. Initiate a Slayer, I mean. Frankly, I’m not sure I should, being that I’m no longer a member of the Council.”

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” Buffy said. “If you’ve got to call these Council people, fine. But I know you, sort of. Someone needs to tell me something.”

“I brought some books,” he said, gesturing to the table and sitting down. “The Handbook, Slaying Techniques, A History of the Slayers, Selected Watcher Diaries—”

“Whoa. Can’t you just give me the Cliffs Notes?” At Wesley’s blank look, she amended, “No, you probably read all the books in school, didn’t you? I mean give me the short version. What exactly does a Slayer do?”

“A Slayer kills vampires, as well as other demons and anything that happens to come along—but you are a Vampire Slayer. The Chosen One, who is granted the power to fight the forces of darkness. There is only one Slayer at a time, and Slayers are called when the previous Slayer dies. The Slayer is always a girl and is called in her teens—” He paused, studying her. “You’re quite old, actually; most Slayers are called when they’re much younger. I should look into that.”

Buffy frowned. “How much younger?”

“Fifteen or sixteen.”

“Fifteen-year-old girls fighting vampires? That’s insane.”

“Yes, well. I don’t make the rules.”

“Who does?”

“The Council supervises Slayer activity, though as for how the Slayer came to be, such records have been lost. The Council has no control over how the Slayer line itself functions, but they watch and direct it. Every Slayer is given a Watcher, who guides and trains her and keeps in contact with the Council and its resources.”

“You were a Watcher,” Buffy said. “That’s what Spike called you.”

Wesley shifted. “Yes.”

“That means you had a Slayer?”

“Not all Watchers have had Slayers, but yes, I did.”

Buffy abruptly realized that since she was the Slayer, the other girl must be dead. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. I was fired from the Council for failing to control her. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Aren’t you sad she’s gone?”

“I don’t know why I should be,” he said evenly. “She nearly killed me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened.

“If it hadn’t been for the timely intervention of a colleague—but that’s not particularly relevant at this point. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent Slayer.”

He said that like he actually expected her to do this. “Is there a Slayer school? Where am I supposed to kill vampires? Do I like go on missions and stuff?”

“Watchers train Slayers. And while the Council sometimes directs Slayers where to go, there is enough to do in Los Angeles for any Slayer.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Buffy said in a small voice.

“I know it’s a lot to take in—”

“No, you don’t know! Can’t you just Slayerize someone else? I mean, fight evil? Kill vampires? It’s too much.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple. You are the Slayer until you die, Buffy. There is no one else. It’s your sacred duty. You were chosen to do this.”

“And what if I choose not to do it?”

“Then you’ll be unprepared when confronted with something that knows what you are, and it will most likely kill you,” he said slowly.

Buffy sank back against the chair, forcing herself to remain calm. “Look, I need some time to process all this.” She glanced uncertainly at the books on the table. “I guess I could at least skim.”

Wesley looked like he was deciding not to push it. “All right. I’ve got some things I can work on. Why don’t you skim, I’ll call in some lunch, and we can talk more later.”

“Okay.” She looked at the books and sighed, randomly picking one up. Here we go.