Warnings: Major character death and violence.

Immunda Crux Crucis

Lima, Ohio
Present Day

Brittany Pierce huffed and kicked at a rock as she dragged her feet. She was lost. Not exactly a new occurrence, nor one that the blonde particularly minded, it was just that her tummy was rumbling and she wasn't sure when she'd get a chance to eat considering she didn't know where she was.

It was dark. Only around six-thirty, but the moon was bright and high in the gray clouds. At the sound of a soft squeaking in the distance, Brittany's head rose and smiled at the sight of the playground before her. She beamed happily as she ran towards it and skipped over to where the concrete turned to wood chips.

"Hello!" Brittany smiled happily as she took the spare swing beside the little boy. He had been slowly pushing his feet off the ground, just making the swing sway as he waited miserably.

"Hi," he mumbled back shyly. He knew very well that he wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. But he also knew that his mother was late to pick him up. So what if he went against her rules; she had probably forgotten that his soccer practice ended early.

"I love swinging, don't you just love swinging?" Brittany asked enthusiastically as she shoved hard off the ground to propel herself forward. The rush of wind through her hair made her cheer loudly, getting the little boy to smile.

"Yeah. I love swinging, too," he boldly proclaimed with a smile.

"Duh, because it's the best," Brittany stated as she pumped her legs back and forth. The little boy loosened up. This grownup didn't seem to be so scary, like they were in those videos they showed at school.

Brittany slowed her swinging when she saw the puzzled expression on the boy's face. "What's wrong?" Now Brittany was pouting. She didn't like when people didn't smile.

"Nothing," he mumbled softly.

"Well you should smile when you're swinging, 'cause it's a lot of fun. So there must be stuff that's making you sad or else you'd be smiling while you're doing something awesome like swinging."

The little boy flushed as he glanced down at the dirt. His toes were just barely skimming the wood chips. "My mom forgot to pick me up." When his mom failed to be there after soccer practice, he ran off to the playground so his coach wouldn't know that his mom forgot him again.

Brittany continued frowning as she gripped the chains of the swing. "That majorly sucks."

The boy smiled widely as he looked over at her. "Sucks is a bad word." Brittany thought about that for a moment before she shrugged.

"I like it."

The boy shrugged as well, glad that he had made the new friend, and began swinging softly again. "I think she forgot because she's fighting with my dad."

"That's so rude," Brittany stated, pumping her legs harder now. "My parents used to fight a lot too."

"Yeah," the little boy said before his lips quirked at the corners, "it sucks!"

"Yeah, it sucks," Brittany nodded to her conspirator with a smile.

"So…did your parents get a divorce? My parents say they're getting a divorce."

Brittany heard the bitter tone the boy used and furrowed her eyebrows. "They told you they're getting a divorce?"

"Nah," the boy said, head bowed as he dug his toe into the dirt, "but I hear them shouting it."

"Major suckage," Brittany said as her pace slowed.

The silence was filled with creaking chains and soft howling winds throughout the trees. It was a chilly night, but not cold. The wind that swept through their hair and clothes was almost biting.

"So…did theyget a divorce?" the boy asked again.

Brittany was quiet for a moment. "No," she stated clearly, pumping her legs harder until she was floating higher and higher.

The little boy looked up in awe at the girl; she was swinging quite high, but he was more interested in how her dueling parents remained together…he wanted to know the secret so maybe his parents wouldn't get a divorce.

"Why not? You said they fought all the time."

Brittany ignored him as she pumped her legs harder. The wind underneath her reminded her of a song her mommy had sung to her. She started out by humming it, but as the memories rolled over her, and her hair continued to whip around her face, it felt right to softly sing the words: "He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease, that daring young man on the flying trapeze. His movements were graceful, all girls he could please. And my love he purloined away." Brittany had no idea what purloined meant. But she was pretty sure it meant something awesome.

Below her, the little boy scrunched up his nose as she sang, finding his new friend kind of weird but cool. She obviously didn't care what people thought. And that made her fun. Just when he thought that maybe he'd run away with his new friend to punish his parents for yelling all the time, a stiff breeze made the hairs on his arms stand up as his brown locks ruffled and fluttered down into his eyes.

He quickly brushed them away, unsure as to why he suddenly got so cold and frightened. It wasn't until he saw the shadow by the large oak tree that he knew. The man standing there was smiling; he looked like the type of person Stranger Danger would warn you about. And as the man softly chuckled, the boy's fear only got worse.

"Hey ya, Blondie," the man hissed as he pushed off the tree. He was large, very large. The little boy thought that he was taller than his daddy. And way fatter, too. His face was all scruffy, and his long dark hair hung in an oily ponytail down passed his neck. He looked like a motorcycle guy. The boy shot the unconcerned blonde a quick look before gulping back at the man.

"Hello," Brittany answered easily before she went back to pumping hard on the swing and singing softly. The man was only a few feet away and the boy stopped swinging altogether in fear. The little boy didn't like how the man was smiling at his new friend. The man didn't even glance over at him, too busy watching the girl's movements.

"What'cha doing, Blondie?" the man asked, leering obviously as he leaned a little closer to Brittany.

"Swinging, duh," Brittany declared. But she was getting hungrier as the minutes ticked on. She was going to have to eat soon. She felt her tummy rumble and frowned. "I'm hungry," Brittany pouted, removing one hand from the chain to rub her stomach, her swinging slowing.

"I know just the thing you can fill your mouth with," the man smirked. The boy's face contorted into disgust. He didn't really understand what the man was suggesting; he just knew that it made him very uncomfortable.

Brittany, on the other hand, knew what the man meant. When she was younger, things like that would pass right over her head, believing only the best in people. As she got older, however, she learned quite a few things.

"Why don't you go on home, squirt? Me and Blondie have some things to talk about," the man said, not removing his stare from Brittany.

"No, my friend wants to stay. Don't you?" Brittany directed to the little boy. He wasn't sure what to do. He was very far away from home, and he didn't want to leave the girl. He didn't like the man.

"No," the boy answered firmly, "I'm staying." He gripped the chains of the swing harder, the cold metal digging into his hands, and didn't move a muscle.

"See, he's staying with me," Brittany said calmly. The little boy felt braver now; he knew that his friend would protect him from the man.

Chuckling softly, the man shook his big head as his hand dropped to his belt. "Suit yourself."

Brittany heard the words, but the subtle shift in the wind brought a wave of something familiar, and she was instantly smiling. "Yay!" Brittany cheered softly, clapping her hands as her face lit up.

The man smirked, not quite certain why the girl was suddenly so excited. But as he undid his belt, he didn't care. All he knew was that she was young, hot, and defenseless. A combination he quite liked. "What's got you so excited, Blondie? You ready for what I got for ya?"

"Where the hell have you been?!"

The man whipped around quickly at the new voice, his eyes slightly widening. Where the hell did she come from?

The little boy blanched as well, perhaps too fixated on the scary man to hear or see the new girl coming.

"Britts, I've been looking all over for you!" Santana said to Brittany, crossing her arms over her large chest and completely ignoring the man beside her and the boy on the swing.

"I got lost, San. I'm hungry," Brittany pouted. But then her face lit up. "San! San, look what I can do!" Santana couldn't help but smile as she watched Brittany pump her legs hard back and forth on the swing before she was sailing through the air, almost weightless, and carefully coming down on her feet with cat-like agility.

Santana's grin widened as she clapped. "That was great, B!" The little boy was frowning; he had no idea what was going on.

As for the man, he didn't care. His penis hardened considerably; now there were two young girls to fuck. "What's your name, feisty?" he asked as he lowered the zipper of his pants. The new girl may have caught him by surprise—he was a little drunk—but now that she was there things were only looking up.

Santana frowned as she rolled her eyes, not really in the mood to deal with this now. She had woken up later than she would have liked to find the bed beside her empty, and immediately set out to find her love. She too was hungry. "Come on, Britts, it's time to go home. I got us takeout."

Brittany smiled and clapped before frolicking over to her lover. "You did?" she asked, slinging her arms around Santana's neck.

Santana smiled back and pecked her girlfriend's lips. "Yeah, baby. It's time to go."

"Oh, Jesus," the man moaned beside them. His penis was throbbing at the sight or Brittany and Santana kissing. "You two ain't going nowhere," he answered with a hoarse choke.

The two girls ignored him as they continued to kiss. The little boy felt a little uncomfortable again and glanced away, knowing that you weren't supposed to look at people when they kissed like that. Santana pulled away slowly and stared at Brittany. "Why don't you go take care of your little friend, and I'll deal with fat ass over there?"

"Okay," Brittany said with a delighted smile, pecking Santana's lips once more before quickly spinning around to go back to the swing set.

"Yeah, baby, why don't you come over here and take care of me," the man smirked, massaging his hard-on. Again, Santana rolled her eyes and then turned to him.

"Bye," Brittany said, as she moved closer to the little boy. "I'm sorry your mommy was late."

The boy hung his head, sad that his new friend was leaving him. "Do you think maybe I could go home with you guys?" he asked softly, feeling rather foolish at how sad and scared he was.

Brittany thought about that for a second. "Your parents fight a lot, huh?"

The boy nodded dejectedly. "Yeah."

Again, Brittany was thoughtful. "Well…I guess you could always do what I did," she said with a shrug. The little boy looked up. Brittany was right in front of him so she was blocking the man and the new girl that stood just behind her.

"What did you do?" the boy asked in a small voice.

Brittany twirled her long blonde hair around her finger. "Well, they were making me really sad because they fought all the time. And they made my little sister cry, too. So, like, when my new mommy made me like her, I just killed them."

The words were barely out of her mouth when the little boy's body broke out into violent shivers. The loud crack that had pierced the air only moments before sickened him. The proceeding thump that echoed made his body break out into a cold sweat.

"Come on, Britts, I wants to get my eat on," Santana said lazily. The little boy craned his neck and stared with wide eyes at the vision of the man lying unmoving on the playground wood chips. His neck looked funny, like it was at a weird angle. And the other girl looked bored as she waited for Brittany, inspecting her nails as though nothing had just transpired as she leaned against the tree.

"Do you want to sing with me first?" Brittany asked softly, enthusiasm unrestrained in her voice. The boy looked up at her with raw terror in his wide eyes. His mouth was opened, but only uneven gasps rattled out. Brittany frowned at his unresponsive behavior. "San," Brittany whined, "he won't sing with me!"

"I'll sing with you later, baby," Santana promised, not looking up from her nails. "Just do this so we can get home. I got Mexican waiting for us."

Brittany shrugged, pleased with the answer, before turning back at the boy. She gripped the chain to the swings with both hands, no longer bothered by the horrified look on the little boy's face, and softly started to move the swing back and forth. "He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease, that daring young man on the flying trapeze. His movements were graceful, all girls he could please. And my love he purloined away."

Santana huffed as she shifted her weight to the other foot, yawning loudly as the little boy's raucous screams filled the air. As Brittany danced back over to her, Santana smiled and held out her hand for Brittany to take. "You have blood all over your face, baby," Santana cooed, swinging their joined hands. She leaned over and licked a droplet of blood off her girlfriend's chin and giggled when they stumbled through their kisses.

"I'm still hungry, San," Brittany complained, her long teeth retracting as her face morphed back into one of young innocence and beauty. Santana took Brittany's wrist and licked at the running blood coming from her arm where two small holes were punctured; where the little boy had fed off of Brittany after she had sucked his blood.

"I know, baby. But we got a Mexican family at home waiting for us."

Brittany beamed, lightly jumping off the corner that separated the wood chips from the cement. "I like the swings, San."

Santana wrapped both of her arms around her lover, holding Brittany's back to her front as they walked. "I know you do, baby."

As the two girls drifted off into the darkness, the teeth marks on the little boy's neck slowly started to heal themselves. It would take time, but soon, the little boy would come to. He would shake his head and slowly rise from the wood chips. Hungry.

Lares, Puerto Rico
1868

Santana Cassandra López kept her eyes glued to her work as the yelling outside her window grew insurmountably. All the villagers knew it was coming. The growing fear and anger over the course of the Spanish's rule had gotten worse. Their people were being enslaved. Exiled. Imprisoned. The Spanish militia grew bored in their residency and took what they pleased. Whatever they pleased.

But Santana blocked it all out and focused on the man before her. Bleeding. Pleading with her to Ayuda! Help. She quickly brushed away a stray tear and reminded herself of what she needed to do. She couldn't think of her father right now. She couldn't think of what the militia had done to him. What his "treason" could mean and result in.

Cesilio López was one of the head conspirators involved in the revolt against Spain. But she couldn't think about that right now. Or what was happening to her mama. Or her sister. All she could do was save the young, inexperienced solider bleeding out before her. Santana had found him stumbling around outside her house, and quickly, with all the strength she could muster, dragged him inside her family's home in an effort to save his life.

She carefully dabbed at the long, thick slice over the man's chest. It wasn't making sense to Santana. How the blood kept soaking through the gauze. How much of it kept pouring out. Her hands shook as she wiped, smearing the blood everywhere, flecks painting her dusty living room floor.

The solider looked up at her, his face grey and pasty. He couldn't focus on her face. "El Grito de Lares," he breathed, his lips barely moving. Santana's answering smile was pained. Her racing heart and sweat-soaked body trembled severely. And when the man went limp, Santana's muted smile remained.

"El Grito De Lares," she repeated in a whisper, still trying to stem the blood loss despite the fact that it was inconsequential now.

The sounds of screaming made Santana flinch. It wasn't supposed to be this bad. The Spanish were never supposed to find out about the revolt. Backup was on its way. Wasn't it? There were loud banging sounds that coincided with Santana's pulse. She could only look down with bleary eyes as she tried to mop away the blood that had pooled on the soldier's unmoving chest.

The banging wouldn't stop. And each time it sounded, Santana would recoil harshly. It made her body shudder and her tears heavier. Until a pair of hands was dragging her away from the lifeless solider. She could see the men standing over her. She knew they were laughing and talking to one another. But all she could hear was the screaming.

The banging had stopped. Where did it go? Had it been the men trying to get in? And where was her family? There was no word on her brother yet. Maybe they all got away. Maybe they were fine and looking for her. Her mother could've survived...

But as she was being dragged to her backyard, through the dirt and muck outside her house, Santana remembered. She remembered what she saw while she hid a week earlier. The sight of her mother, unmoving, as three of the militia laughed over the woman's body. How Santana had been paralyzed, unable to remove her terrified gaze from the sight of them taking turns gyrating on top of her mama. She remembered trying to move, fighting off the arms wrapped tightly around her as she tried to save her. She was sobbing. Her sister lay dead a foot from where Santana was hiding. Trying to break free of the strong arms of the soldier holding her to keep from being discovered, trying to protect her. One hand over her gasping mouth. Backup was coming, wasn't it?

Santana felt weary. The laughing around her made her stomach churn with a sick sense of déjà vu. But there was no solider from Lares around to save her this time. To help her. To keep her from attacking her mother's tormentors. But the message wouldn't connect with her brain. She couldn't move. Everything felt heavy. Were her hands tied? Her legs? Was something stuffed in her mouth?

They were talking to her now, but she couldn't understand them, too disoriented to listen. Not that she didn't understand their actions. She knew what was coming. It was the same thing that had happened to her mama, in life andin death. The same thing that had happened to her sister. Her little sister. So scared and helpless. Barely nine.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to be victorious. It wasn't supposed to end in Lares. They were going to take the fight elsewhere. Not in their backyards. Not in their homes.

"Hello!" The soldiers stopped laughing and glanced over at the new arrival curiously. Santana didn't even hear the voice. She just continued to lay there in the mud, arms and feet bound, legs slightly spread, white dress grey from filth riding up, gaze unseeing at the militias' boots.

Long ago, the screams had stopped registering for Santana. She heard them day and night. Screams were meant to be ignored now. And when the men—her would-be-executioners—started to scream, a sick, nauseating sound that mixed with cracks and thuds like an anvil repeatedly smacking against raw meat, Santana only stared dimly.

How could she have forgotten that her brother had been shot right before her eyes? Or that her father had been drawn and quartered in the square along with the ten other conspirators? Was that a dream or did it really happen? A repulsive nightmare that would wake Santana up whenever she managed to get sleep? Drowning in sweat and grime, only to awake to more screams.

Had it only been a month since this all began? A plan a year in the making to end with her all alone?

Santana flinched harshly away from the hand cupping her face. She would fight. She wouldn't cry and plead like her father had done or her brother or mama or sister. She would sneer and spit and shove and kick and fight!

"I am not going to hurt you," the voice said with a smile, "I only wanted to see your cuts."

She couldn't understand the language, but suddenly she felt blood and the stinging sensation of different cuts on her face. Santana couldn't remember receiving cuts. Or bruises and swollen lips, until the unknown voice stroked her cheek softly. The voice was still talking. But Santana didn't know English.

"You are very beautiful."

Nothing was making sense. The hand raking through her hair was making her eyelids feel heavy. Her neck drooped forward with the weight of the last month. "It is okay," the voice whispered softly. Santana felt the world give-way as though she was floating. Two strong arms were holding her again. If she opened her eyes, would she see the lifeless bodies of her mama and sister? Or were these different arms protecting her?

"I am going to take you home and you can be with me forever. Okay? I want someone for just me. Because three is an odd number. But four is not. So if there is four, we can be even together."

Santana was suddenly aware that everythinghurt. She could feel the bruises all over her body as she was carried. The screams were still all around her, but screams were meant to be ignored. The voice kept floating in and out of Santana's consciousness. Cooing softly in her ear as they walked through noise and bright flames.

"I did not mean to stare. But you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I could smell you because of all your cuts. And when I saw those men—I guess I will not get in trouble. We only came here because wars are fun to watch. But I did not think it was fun what those men were doing to you; hurting you the way they were. And I think they would have done worse if I did not do what I did. So I will not get in trouble for interfering."

Santana mumbled back and the voice giggled. "I have no idea what you are saying. But I will learn, okay? I will learn really hard and this time I know I will not drink too much. Because, when I look at you, my heart hurts a lot, and it has never felt like this before. Like it is hurting and growing all at once. And that means I love you. And I am going to keep loving you. Forever."

"El Grito de Lares," Santana mumbled, the darkness growing heavier. Again, the voice giggled.

"I do not know who Lares is, but you do not have to worry about him anymore. I'm Brittany, and I am going to do whatever it takes to make you love me forever and ever!"

Lima, Ohio
Present Day

Rachel Berry was slowly walking along the roof of a warehouse. One foot in front of the other like it was a tightrope. She hadn't seen the events in the park, but she could hear giggling coming from below. She softly hummed the song Brittany was still singing, the one from the park, and slowly extended her arms at her sides. Not that she needed it for balance. Rachel Berry had perfect balance. Since the day she was born.

When Santana and Brittany stopped at a deserted street corner to kiss, Rachel spun rigidly on her heel to stare down at them, sucking her teeth in disapproval. She was all alone in the world. She came to Lima on a long shot. She thought the town held the keys to her happy ending, but she was probably wrong.

It was filled with vampires, demons, werewolves, witches, and a whole lot of drunken losers. Which was just a really redundant way of saying Rachel Berry was rolling her eyes. With well-practiced agility, Rachel flicked her long, dark hair over her shoulder before using an arm to brace her descent down onto the roof's ledge, legs swinging out in the air. She continued to watch as the two vampires below kissed, giggled, and hurried on their way. She could sense them. The first shiver of acknowledgement came as the pair was just leaving the park. The sense that the vampires were near was not easily ignored. Curious, Rachel followed along, building to building, watching them. They were not a welcomed sight.

Five minutes later, Rachel Berry was saddled up to a bar stool. As she waited for the squirrelly bartender to get around to her, she took a knife from her pocket and picked at her nails. She had let them get too long. But when you're alone, with no travel companions and no point in living, why should you worry about a silly thing like that?

"What can I get'cha tonight? We have a lot of specials and—" Rachel's hand rose, cutting the man off. He had a reputation. He knew things. That's why Rachel was there. And plus, she really wanted something to off-set her deep frustration and depression.

"Jack, neat, and I need some info. I heard you were the man to see?" Willy's mouth twisted back and forth as he tried to ascertain as fast as possible if the petite girl was someone he could trifle with. Rachel's brow quirked, her blank eyes nearly black, and Willy quickly assessed that screwing over this girl would be a very stupid thing to do indeed. And he had a lot of experience with stupid.

"Sure; you came to the right guy," he answered eagerly and flattened his short, greasy hair with his hand to keep it slicked back. "For a small fee, I can set you up with—"

Rachel licked her smiling lips and rolled her eyes, her whole body relaxing as she realized that Willy was far dumber than he appeared. At her change in demeanor, however, Willy quickly caught on. "Or, you know, I could just tell you what you want, and you can be on your way."

Rachel's smile was tight. "Perfect. Tell me, you have any slayers in this town?"

Willy's hand froze as he dried the inside of a dusty glass. She watched as his dark, beady eyes roamed the bar before moving closer to her. "Yeah. We got one," he told her as he filled the tumbler up with liquor and set it before her. "Sort of new to the training, though."

"Just perfect," Rachel breathed out as she rubbed her tired face before downing the shot. A newbie vampire slayer wasn't exactly going to get the job done. "Second question," Rachel said, scooting closer to the bartender, "I'm looking for a witch. He or she will be of Korean descent."

Willy shrugged, quickly shaking his head. "Hey, we got a lot of witches in this town. When Cleveland went kablewie like that town in California, every supernatural being scattered. A lot ended up in Lima."

"Like you?" Rachel asked in a bored tone.

Willy nodded sharply. "Like me."

"But you're human," she smiled without mirth.

Willy shrugged and filled her glass with another shot. "Man's got to make a living."

With a tilt of Rachel's head, she silently gave him that, even if it seemed most unusual. But she really didn't care. All over the world, slayers ran free. Thousands of them now. Doing their duty to kill the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness. Rachel couldn't be bothered with any of it. She didn't want to fight anymore. She didn't want to be on a side and defend or destroy. The only things in her life that ever mattered were gone.

Hell, Rachel should be dead. Like most things she did, she had planned her suicide down to each minute detail. Planned for months. It was by complete accident that she learned what she had. If this lead didn't pan out, she would go right back to the plan to kill herself. She had promised herself that on her way to Lima.

"Was that it? Cause I got a lot of thirsty, paying customers," Willy asked, looking anxious to get away.

Rachel was still thinking of her plan. Of what she had lost. It took a moment to register Willy's words. "No, that's not it. I need you to do something."

Willy looked nervous again, his eye twitching slightly. Self-preservation was kicking in. "Oh, yeah? What did ya need me for?"

Rachel swallowed the second shot and savored the burn this time before speaking. "Two vampires just arrived in town. Old. Very old. And extremely dangerous. One blonde and one brunette. See that the slayer gets that information. If she can handle it," Rachel muttered to herself. She wasn't exactly sure that a newbie slayer could kill two verydangerous vampires all by herself.

Willy relaxed slightly. This was something he could do. And plus, it would keep the slayer and her watcher off his back if he could give them some good information. He learned throughout his life that having a slayer in his corner, even a newbie, was in his best interest. But he was curious. "Why don't youjust take care of them? It's not like you don't have the mojo."

Rachel twirled the tumbler around the bar as she inspected it before setting it down and shrugging her way back into her leather jacket. She wasn't originally planning on paying the dirtbag for her drinks, but suddenly it didn't seem important to have money. She would only be in Lima long enough to find out if her lead was legit or not. Then she would only be alive long enough for her plan to make her dead if it turned out the lead was not legit.

"Their names are Brittany and Santana. See the slayer gets the memo," Rachel mumbled as she tossed down a few bills, ignoring Willy's question.

"Yeah, sure. No problem," Willy assured. "And can I tell them who I got the info from? I'm sure they'd like to return the favor."

Rachel stopped her progress towards the door and looked over her shoulder to eye the man. Her stare was blank, as it had been for nearly a year; empty. "I'm retired. I don't need any favors." And then she was gone. Willy looked around the dimly lit bar, swarming with all the wrong elements; mostly vampires and demons.

He picked up the tumbler Rachel had used and tossed it into the sink. "Freaky chick," he mumbled, shuddering softly, before he turned to his next patron. He never stopped thinking about the leather-clad girl, however. Or her warning about the two mysterious vampires.

San Sebastian, Puerto Rico
1868

Santana was mindful of the voices. One voice was menacing and hissed with a lilt that made her quiver softly. The second voice wasn't as cutting, almost musical; comforting if it wasn't so hostile. But the third voice made her relax; it was soothing. Even if she didn't understand English. As her dark eyes fluttered open, she was aware that she was no longer in her house. In fact, as Santana sat up on her elbows, she was fairly certain she was a far long way from home.

Wherever she was, it was well-to-do. The bed she was on was huge, and the room looked like it was decorated for comfort and wealth. Ornate paintings and statues littered the perimeter as though money was no object. Santana swallowed her terror as she glanced down to inspect herself. The dirt was gone from her fingernails and her face felt free of cuts and bruises. She was wearing a short, beautifully patterned sleeping gown, most certainly not her own, and her long, dark mane was soft and reflected against the twinkling candlelight in the room.

With a soft whimper, the conversation taking place a room over ceased. There was a long pause, a hiss of words, a clipped warning, and a soft click of a door. Sensing company, Santana slammed her eyes shut and slid down in the bed, fixing the heavy blanket over her and up to her chin as her heart thundered in her ears.

"Are you awake?" a soft voice asked. Santana recognized it immediately, but didn't move. True, the voice had saved her. But she didn't know where she was or how long she'd been there. She couldn't just trust this...this...girl? "If you are asleep, I will not wake you even if I really, really want to. I will just stare some more. Okay?"

Santana pinched her teeth down on her lower lip, very aware of the presence on the other side of the bed staring at her back. Who was this girl? And why was she taking care of Santana? She wished she knew English. The tone of voice was soft and caring, but what if that was just a show?

"You have really pretty hair," the girl said as she slipped under the covers and moved closer to Santana's back. "Your cuts and bruises are gone. All of them. I took extra, extra care of them. I change the bandages each day like I was told. I made sure you got plenty of water. I even changed your bedpan. All by myself. I do not think mommy thought I would take such good care of you like I promised. But I did. And now she will have to let me keep you."

Santana was shaking. But she was also of two minds. On the one hand, the situation she was in should be horrifying her. On the other hand, the voice made her feel safe. Something she hadn't felt in what seemed like forever.

Even before the revolt in Lares, Santana's life hadn't been her own. Every day she had to fight for something. For food. For her freedom. For her safety. She had loved her parents deeply. But they wanted her taken care of. She was eighteen. At eighteen, a young lady should be searching for a man to take care of her. Santana pleaded with them. She shook the advances of every man in town. In the end, her papa put his foot down. She was to be wed before her nineteenth birthday. Then the revolt happened. She was unsure of where her fiancé was, but Santana hoped he had met the same fate as the rest of her family. He had been old. As well-off as anyone in Lares can be. But a soldier. Perhaps one good thing had come from the revolt: her freedom.

"You are awake," the voice said, moving even closer to the shaking girl. "And you are crying," the voice pouted. Santana began to whimper. Tears were streaming down behind her closed eyes as she felt the girl grow nearer, the memory of her dead family raw in her mind and the terror of her unknown situation close.

But then, suddenly, the girl was out of the bed. Santana blew out a breath, unsure of why the idea of the voice touching her scared her so much. "Open your eyes."

Out of instinct, Santana's eyes flew open, aware that the voice was right in front of her, stooped down at her bedside. "Ah!" Santana exhaled, looking at the woman before her for the first time. "Incredible!" Santana whispered in awe. Brittany blushed, smiling in pleasure, and bit her lower lip.

"That is a good thing, right?" Brittany looked bashful as her eyes locked on Santana. "I have been taking lessons."

Santana could only stare. She had never seen anyone with such light hair and eyes before. The crystal blue reflected back at Santana, making her feel safe and cared for. The girl's smile was friendly and honest. And Santana never knew that she could feel so many things all at once.

"Bonita," Santana whispered, her eyes racing to absorb the pale, soft face. Brittany beamed, smiling shyly back.

"I know what that means! That was the first word I wanted to learn," Brittany told Santana. She liked that Santana had the blanket up to her chin. That her dark eyes were feasting on Brittany. That she looked so overcome. Brittany's face scrunched up in thought, trying to remember her lessons. "Eres mas...um...hermosa que...un dia de...um...summer," Brittany finished, still confused. "Sorry...I forgot the word for summer. But that is what you are; more beautiful than a summer's day," she finished, smiling softly.

Santana reeled slightly, able to shift through Brittany's messy Spanish to understand the girl. She was slightly puzzled. Why was this girl looking at her like that? Why was she saying those words? At Brittany's dopey grin, however, Santana chuckled a little awkwardly, more enamored than anything, but still deeply confused. Who was she?

The most pressing matter, however, was her dry throat. Sensing that Brittany didn't know Spanish to the extent of Santana's inquiries, she only mimed her request. Brittany's face brightened, understanding instantly, and hopped up from her place on the floor.

"Agua!" Brittany cheered, knowing that one. Santana chuckled and nodded, repeating the word back in approval.

The blonde was at her side a moment later, brandishing the jug of water and a glass. Brittany's face lit up as she poured and handed the glass over to Santana who sat up carefully. They watched each other as Santana drank thirstily, never looking away. Brittany seemed hungry to soak in Santana, and Santana had to admit, she quite liked the look even if it confused her.

"I sleep with you every night," Brittany whispered in awe, accepting Santana's empty glass and setting it aside. "I hold you, and you let me. You have been really out of it over the last few days, but I kept you safe and brought you here. I do not know how long we are staying, but they have a lot of neat stuff here to check out. When you feel like it, I can show you around." Brittany frowned slightly. "But I probably should not show you the basement until we get rid of the bodies of the people who used to live here. You may not like them yet."

Brittany beamed, excited that Santana was now awake, and was eager to show the girl the huge house they had moved into temporarily. She didn't know when they'd be leaving again. Apparently the war in Lares had been boring—not the killing spree they had all hoped for—so they were moving onward and upward. When they would do so again, Brittany had no idea and didn't care. Before, she would have just been happy to follow her companions. Now, she had Santana. And happiness would be wherever Santana was.

"I dreamed of you," Brittany whispered, moving her chin to rest on the bed to look up at Santana. Santana could only blink back, clueless as to what the girl had said. "I can do that, you know. See things before they happen. And I saw you," Brittany breathed out. "You are even more bonita than in my dreams. And in my dreams, you were really bonita!"

Santana narrowed her eyes. The girl kept calling her beautiful...but why? She could only smile hesitantly in response. Wherever she was, it was better than Lares; safer. This blonde-haired, blue-eyed goddess was taking care of her. She had nothing left for her back at home. And here, there was no screaming. This girl had saved her, taken care of her. Santana felt warm whenever she looked at this girl and hoped that, just maybe, she could make a friend. A friend that she could maybe eventually be close with, talk to, confide in.

As Brittany leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Santana's cheek, Santana truly believed she had found her savior. She had been so alone for so long. Constantly afraid. Maybe this girl could help her start anew. With a friend at her side. Santana smiled down at Brittany who was still beaming. Santana had always wanted a friend.

Lima, Ohio
Present Day

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck, Brittany! Fuck, fuck yeah. Make me come, Britt Britt, make me come, baby!" Santana purred. She was on her back, naked, legs bent and pushed up to her chest, as Brittany thrust between her thighs, three fingers deep in Santana.

"San!" Brittany screamed, her forehead arching on Santana's shoulder. Santana laughed loudly as her girlfriend started moaning strings of Spanish, expressing quite loudly all the ways she loved Santana, the positions she liked her in, how much she enjoyed doing these things to her.

Santana rarely spoke Spanish these days. But Brittany was quite fluent now and loved speaking it to Santana mid-sex. As she bounced against her girlfriend, their breasts rubbing together as their sweat and come mingled, Brittany kept reeling off dirty Spanish before burying her teeth down into Santana's dark skin.

"God!" Santana shrieked, enjoying the feel of Brittany's sharp fangs sinking into her. "Fuck, Britt Britt, suck me baby. Suck me dry!" At the command, Brittany happily sank her teeth further into her lover's skin and fixed her lips to the dark-red blood that was pouring out.

Santana began to spasm around Brittany's fingers and felt the euphoria of being sucked as her orgasm hit. They had been fucking for hours; first, before they ate—Brittany always loved to fuck after a kill and/or turning a human—as a scared, small Mexican family of four huddled together in terror, watching on. And a lotmore took place after killing their "takeout."

The pair had been in Lima for only twelve hours. It was Brittany's idea to come to the small town. She had gotten a vision in Prague that it was important for them to be there. Santana never did get the full story as to why, she just followed her lover's lead when Brittany explained that it was all happening in Lima, Ohio.

Santana would follow Brittany anywhere. Absolutely anywhere. She followed her through all of Europe, most of South Africa, a tortuous decade in Antarctica, all over North America, a glorious thirty years in South America, a period of time that Santana can only recall as being the best fucking killing/sex-spree in her life in Australia, and an amusing decade in Asia before heading back to Europe. In almost one-hundred and fifty years, Santana could not remember a day she hadn't spent with Brittany. Neither would have it any other way.

She never really asked about the vision her lover had had about little Lima, Ohio. All she knew was that she awoke in St. Vitus Cathedral in Prague after a heavy slaughter covered with the Czech Crown Jewels to find Brittany hurriedly packing—beyond excited. Brittany said Lima, Santana said okay.

Santana was used to Brittany's visions by now. They were never wrong. They had brought them together, after all. Her lover would see a war, they would take off towards the fun. Brittany saw a wild party, they would hurry towards the mayhem. Over a century of following Brittany, and Santana would still get excited.

True, Lima was hardly the tearing down of the Berlin Wall, the fun of the start of World War I, or the hilarity that was World War II, but Santana trusted Brittany. They were in Lima for a reason. She would just wait until Brittany told her why.

Santana chuckled in a relaxed, post-orgasmic state and buried herself into Brittany's sweaty side. Only twelve hours in Lima and they had already killed six people and shared over a dozen orgasms. So far, Lima wasn't so bad.

"San," Brittany whispered, running her fingers through her lover's hair that was splayed across her pale stomach, "do you ever miss our family?"

Santana frowned. She knew what Brittany was referring to. The question came up at least once a week. She always knew what Brittany was thinking, but she was always caught off-guard by the question regardless.

The true answer: yes, she missed the family they had created terribly. It was a constant ache for Santana. But she felt betrayed. She was hurt by the abandonment. So she bit out a gruff, No, but she knew Brittany knew she was lying. It was her standard answer. And like always, Brittany just held Santana closer.

"Yeah," Brittany whispered, placing a soft kiss to Santana's head, "me too."

They grew quiet, just thinking. Remembering all the years that they had once shared with their family. Their broken home. "We have to find a witch," Brittany eventually said.

Santana stirred at her side, tangling their legs and turning closer to Brittany. "Oh? Why?"

Brittany hummed sleepily and curled nearer to Santana. "To make things right again, San. It's why we came to Lima. To make things right."

Santana's eyebrows furrowed, her ear on Brittany's chest where she couldn't hear the steady beat of her lover's heart. She loved the sound of Brittany's silence. "We could find a witch anywhere, B, why Lima? Why Ohio? Shit, why the fucking Colonies?"

Brittany only hummed again, her eyes fluttering shut softly. "Because, San," she mumbled, "Lima is where the line ends."

This made no sense to Santana. "What line, B?"

"The blood line," Brittany mumbled. And then she was asleep. Santana was no closer to understanding this than before. But she just shrugged. She trusted Brittany irrevocably. She was the one who found her; who saved Santana. She took care of her, nursed her back to health, and made her feel safe. She gave Santana new life and taught her about loving the world through new eyes. Santana fiercely loved Brittany. If her baby wanted a witch, her baby was getting a witch.

Santana slid from the soft sheets and got out of the bed. She was quickly in her jeans and stuffing her arms into her leather coat as she removed her cigarettes from the pocket, placing one in between her lips, and carefully stepping over the dead bodies of the family she and Brittany had slaughtered.

Even though it was well past ten o'clock at night, Santana glided a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. With one quick, fond look at Brittany, Santana was out the door in search of a witch for her baby. Brittany got what Brittany wanted.

Kingdom of Holland
1807

Brittany was exhausted. She was drenched in sweat and blood and she blew out a tired breath as she rotated her aching shoulders. She tried to drown out the sounds of her parents' irrational shouts coming from their small cottage, and instead heaved the log connected to several pales of water over her reddened shoulders and marched on.

From her slightly ducked position, she could see her sister balled up sleeping under a tree in their spacious backyard. First, she would clean herself off—so as not to scare her sister—then she would go comfort her. It had been such a long day of fighting. But if the French thought Brittany S. Pierce was just going to lie down and take it...they had another thing coming. Fucking Napoleon had another thing coming.

Brittany grunted as she carefully sat down the buckets of water. There were six in all: three strung up and tied around the log on each side. Perhaps she could squeak out only two for her bath and the rest could be for cleaning and cooking; she reallydidn't want to take another trip down to the pump.

Nightfall was approaching. There was more work yet to be done. During the day, Brittany fought off the French Empire who found it amusing to destroy store-fronts and claim what they wanted. Brittany's jaw clenched at the thought. She carefully peeled off the long gray coat she was wearing to mask the swell of her breasts—women weren't allowed to fight in the war—and slid down her wool pants. With practiced ease, Brittany slowly unwrapped the binds around her chest and breathed easier. In only her white long underwear, Brittany began dousing her body with the freezing cold water from the first bucket. She slid her hat off her head and her blonde hair flowed freely around her wet shoulders.

She would only have a little time to be with her sister before she would have to go back out and fight. First she'd troll the town square, looking for looters or soldiers who were drunk off ale and looking for a fight. But then she'd have to get to her real job. She would love to stay and fight for Holland, but, when the sun set, her Calling came first: Slaying.

Vampires loved a good war. They flocked to it, or so she figured out quickly. It amused them to watch humans fight and kill one another. They enjoyed feeding off the weak and dying. Just last evening, Brittany had slayed five vampires. They had attacked a widow and her children. The youngest child was killed, but Brittany was able to save the rest of the family after dusting the nest of vampires.

Shaking from the cold, Brittany quickly slipped into her only other pair of pants; another pair of gray wool. They were slightly stained from blood—not her own—but they'd do for that night's patrol. She messily tied back her hair and wrapped herself in her chest-bind before finishing off her look with a long dark wool shirt. She would find her sister and comfort her.

Their parents were scared, that was all. Their providence was in shambles. The Dutch Golden Age of trade was gone. France had set-up shop, scaring everyone, and Brittany couldn't keep everything together by herself. She couldn't help the towns' people, slay vampires, help her father's floundering sawmill, prevent her parents' fighting, and comfort her sister. She just couldn't, try as she might.

It was an awful lot to pile onto anyone's shoulders, never mind a sixteen year old girl. Not that she didn't have help, because she did. Her watcher trained her, taught her, comforted Brittany when it all seemed to be too much. Holly held Brittany when she couldn't save a little girl and her family from a group of demons, swept her tears away when the French invaded, made her smile after her father slapped Brittany for the first time, and guided her through her teachings.

Holly was the best watcher in Brittany's opinion. More like a mother than anything. Especially because Brittany's own mother was of little consequence. Before Brittany met Holly, she was content to listen to her mother spit venom at her, calling her stupid and useless, as Brittany scrubbed the house from top to bottom. She put up with her father demanding she was lazy and worthless, working in his broken-down sawmill until her fingers bled. But all that changed just after Brittany turned fifteen, and Holly Holiday approached her in her father's mill. She learned so much through the woman. Brittany knew she was a blessing.

Brittany was smiling as she made her way through the field to her family's backyard in search of her sister. Thinking of Holly always made Brittany smile. So much to the point that it couldn't be wiped clean even after she realized her sister was no longer under the tree where she last saw her. Brittany's head tilted in thought. She wished Holly was with her at that moment; Holly would know where her sister had gone—Brittany wasn't the best thinker.

With a shrug, Brittany headed back to her family's cottage, sure she'd find her sister there. The light breeze that swept the strands of hair on her face tickled, but Brittany didn't smile. With the breeze came a warning, a stone weighing in the pit of Brittany's stomach. And all at once, she was doubled over in anguish.

Images of her little sister crying out in pain swept through Brittany's mind. The agony of the vision crashed down upon her, but still the images came. Images of her sister bleeding, crying out in vain for Brittany. Her small body turning ashen as the light left her eyes. Of a vampire huddled over the little girl, licking her lips clean of her sister's blood.

Before the vision even ended, Brittany was up and running, still clutching her hand to her pounding head. Holly lived over a mile away from the Pierce cottage, but Brittany didn't slow from her sprint to get there: there wasn't much time.

She knew something was wrong before she even entered the small house of her watcher. Holly never left the front door open. Still, Brittany walked through the entryway, cautiously, and bit down on her lip to prevent from calling out to her watcher.

The cottage was only made up of three rooms. After a quick, thorough inspection of the first two—just in case Holly was hiding—Brittany rounded the corner to come face to face with her watcher.

"Holly," Brittany whimpered, the grief crashing down on her as though she were carrying a forest of logs on her back. She slowly moved closer to where Holly was strung up in her tiny kitchen, arms and legs extended and nailed to the wall, head lolling forward, eyes lifeless and open, and her naked torso gutted and parted, showing Holly's mangled insides.

Brittany's knees hit the ground painfully, but she didn't feel it. She could only feel the pain of her loss. Her watcher, her friend, her mother-like figure was gone. Butchered. Without wanting it to happen, the intense thundering of a vision roared through Brittany, doubling her over and replaying Holly's last moments.

Brittany cried out as she watched the vampire—the same vampire she envisioned not long before, killing her sister—rip Holly open while she laughed.

Even though Brittany wanted to remove Holly from where she was nailed to the wall, wanted to cover up her mangled body and take care of her, she didn't have time: there was still her sister to consider. Getting to her feet and ignoring the aching in her knees, Brittany wiped her tears away as she began running again, trying to discern the place she had seen in her vision where the vampire had her sister.

As she ran, flashes of Holly's death and what could happen to her sister assaulted her mind. The vampire didn't look familiar. Brittany was sure that the stranger had come here because of the war going on. But it was too much of a coincidence: Holly and her sister? The vamp had to know that Brittany was the Slayer. Was targeting those Brittany loved to draw her out for a confrontation.

Holly had warned Brittany about this in the beginning. It was why Brittany couldn't tell anyone that she was the Slayer, not even her family. That she alone was to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness.

Didn't Holly always joke that Brittany's visions were a blessing? That it made her special and would protect Brittany and her family? Now they seemed like a nightmare. As she raced back to her family's cottage, Brittany was treated to a running reel of Holly's death over and over again that would only be interrupted by future visions of what would become of her little sister if she was too late.

Brittany ignored her family's cottage and continued to sprint down the opened field of her home, passed where it was clear that the door was ripped from its hinges, passed where she was sure only more death was begging her to come greet it, and raced to her father's sawmill that flashed in her visions where her sister was being kept. There, sitting quite unharmed, was her little sister, sitting on the ground in the middle of the mill looking frightened but whole. Brittany quickly went to approach her sister, but a voice cut her off.

"Ah ah ahhh." Brittany froze. "It took you long enough to get here," a rich voice said from the shadows. "I regret not feeding off your watcher and parents now; I am starving! This little one keeps whimpering and it is making me hungry!"

Brittany knew and understood the words. In the back of her mind, she was somewhat surprised that the strange vampire could speak her language, assuming by her appearance that she was from distant shores. The only thing, however, that Brittany could really grasp was that her watcher was dead, maybe her parents, and her little sister was in harm's way.

"Oh, do not worry; your parents are still alive. I left them tied in your home. I figured that you would want to be the one to kill them." The words, again, couldn't really register in Brittany's thoughts. She could only stare down at her crying sister. She was shaking so hard Brittany could hear her teeth chatter.

"If it is of any comfort, I do not need to kill your sister. I merely want you. See, I have been watching you for days," the vampire said, slowly exiting from the shadows to show off her hungry grin. "So noble you are. So strong and brave. You deserve more than this life," the vampire said, holding out her arms to indicate the mill. "And your parents are terrible, terrible people. And that is coming from me!" the vampire laughed.

"I think I am only going to slowly torture your sister," the vampire said slowly and matter-of-factly with great consideration. "I need to really, really persuade you to do as I say, and I feel that making you watch what I do to little sis here is the best way to go about it," the vampire nodded firmly, hands on her slim hips.

"Brittany," the little girl whined, terrified by the vampire's words. Brittany looked down at her sister and tried her best to smile bravely. To comfort her even in some small way.

"Even now, so brave," the vampire mocked.

"What do you want?" Brittany said, her voice stronger than she felt as she looked over at the vampire.

The vampire only smiled, ignoring Brittany's question. "I find it fascinating that you get visions. I came here for a good war and to, perhaps, find and kill you. But that sounds boring now." Brittany swallowed thickly as she steeled herself not to look down at her crying sister. "Like I said, I have been watching you closely. Your training with your watcher, how you get the visions. I was, I admit, a little nervous that you would see my plan before it unfolded; guess not, though," the vampire chuckled throatily.

"What do you want?!" Brittany asked again, firmer this time, trying to be heard over her sister's crying.

The vampire shrugged as she walked around the mill, fingering different equipment that Brittany and her father used. "Is it contrite to say world peace?" the vampire asked playfully, shooting Brittany a grin. "Honestly? It is somewhat fun to be in the presence of the Slayer; I have heard all about your kind. I thought," the vampire said slowly, pausing with her brow wrinkled, "that slayers only got visions of other girl's in their blood-line; that they had dreams of past slayers. But you, you get visions of everything, correct?"

Brittany didn't answer. She stood stock-still as her sister cried harder. "Answer me!" the vampire suddenly screamed, quickly removing a steel saw from the table by her and flinging it at Brittany's sister's neck.

It was like it was moving in slow motion for Brittany. She was jumping and in midair before the saw even left the vamp's hand. She had no problem batting it away before she was covering her sister, who whimpered and sobbed as Brittany cradled her.

The vampire only laughed, looking skyward as she did so. "Oh, this is going to be fun!"

Suddenly, the vampire was springing through the air, body coiled, fangs bared. She slashed at Brittany as she came down, but Brittany's arms were crossed and warding off the attack. The vampire retreated back, grinning, and was on Brittany again before she could even get to her feet.

The sounds of her sister's screams were drowned out by the ringing in her ears. The hits she was taking from the vampire were causing her neck to snap back and forth painfully. An uppercut to the chin caused Brittany to fly backward and roll over her sister's body. She used the momentum to her advantage, however, and braced her arms on the floor before arching her body to jump off the ground. She needed to get in between the vampire and her sister.

Brittany's loud battle cry made her sister hiccup and fall silent. She watched Brittany leap over her and attack the vampire, landing punch after punch to the vampire's face and body. But all the while, the vampire merely laughed.

Brittany hadn't even seen the vampire raise her arm until, unexpectedly, she found herself pinned to the sawmill's wall, gasping for a breath that wouldn't come. "Aw, do not be sore because you lost the fight, little one: I have had decades to learn and a thirst much greater than yours." The vampire then tilted her head in thought. "It does not hurt that I have been watching you fight these last few days and know your moves." The vampire then shrugged, unconcerned, as Brittany's body flailed, trying desperately to get away. "Also, and lets just keep this between us, but I think the fact that you are a little on the tired side made it easier to beat you. If anyone asks, though, it is because I am a much, much better fighter."

The vampire was smiling as she watched Brittany try to speak. She released her hold on the Slayer marginally. "What was that? Did you care to contribute to the conversation, Slayer?"

Brittany wheezed and coughed, trying to suck in as much air as she could. "What do you want?!" Brittany asked angrily. She couldn't recall ever talking so much to a vampire before. Usually, she slayed and moved on; not one for chitchat when there was work to be done. She had never been bested in a fight. Holly had thought it was because Brittany could shut out the world and just do; not think about things, just act.

On the floor where she had been since the vampire had snatched her from under the tree, Brittany's sister was sobbing and whimpering. The vampire glanced over at her, frowning heavily. "Will you shut her up, please?" the vampire asked, throwing Brittany down towards the crying girl.

Brittany gasped for air as she scurried over to her sister to hold her. She held her sister closer as the vampire hopped up on the wooden work bench nearby, the bench Brittany had spent hours hovering over. The vamp shrugged. "What do I want, you ask? To make you like me, of course. I have checked, and there does not seem to be a vampire in history who has ever turned a slayer." The vampire shrugged again. "I want to see what happens. And with those visions of yours..." the vampire closed her eyes as her body shivered, seemingly pleased by the idea alone.

"I would rather die," Brittany spit out as her sister clung closer to her.

Again, the vampire only shrugged. "So be it. I am not alone in town, and I am pretty sure there are other vampires who would love to know what you are. We will kill your parents, eat your sister, and torture you for days and weeks on end until we have had our fill and finally kill you—but not necessarily in that order. It is your choice." The vampire jumped off the bench and went towards the doors. Brittany felt like she could actually take a breath, but then the thundering in her ears started once again.

The visions of her future sailed through her mind's eye, showing what would happen if she let the vampire leave: vampires, many of them, torturing her family, torturing her. Weeks on end. Being kept alive, only just, to allow more torment to plague her. Then, the visions stopped.

Brittany wanted to cry. Memories, this time, assaulted her. Memories of Holly's mutilated body. She wanted to give in, huddle in a corner and cry for Holly, for the situation she had put her little sister in, for the situation she herself was in. But instead, like always, Brittany gathered her strength and courage.

"You just want me?" she asked, panting.

The vampire cocked her head as she smiled. "Just you."

"And you will leave my sister and parents alone?"

"Sure."

Brittany squeezed her sister close to her. "Then I will do whatever you want."

The vampire grinned sadistically as she turned fully around and approached Brittany leisurely. "Oh, I owe you so big! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a vampire a birthday present? Practically impossible: you are going to be the perfect gift."

As the vampire laughed, Brittany mumbled feebly down to her sobbing sister, holding her close to her chest to try and calm her despite how terrible everything was.

The vampire led them up to the Pierce cottage and made a sweeping gesture with her arm to show Brittany and her sister into their own home. There, as promised, were Brittany's parents, bound in the sitting area, looking frightened and badly beaten.

"You really should have told your parents not to invite anyone they were unfamiliar with into their home. However, I feel that this is not a mistake they will likely make again, considering, so you are welcome for teaching them the lesson."

Brittany's sister raced over to her parents, wrapping her arms around their bloody and bruised necks as she wept. Brittany could only stand there and watch as the vampire moved to stand next to her. "Would you prefer to be changed here, with them, or to do it elsewhere?"

Brittany willed the tears away as she stood tall, her eyes on the scene before her. "Elsewhere."

The vampire nodded and cocked her head. "I prefer to do my killing outdoors, for ambiance's sake, so that works for me."

When Brittany had her fill of staring at her family for the last time, she turned to leave with the vampire as her father spoke. "You did this! You brought this evil filth into our home!" Brittany was surprised by her father's voice, barely recognizing it. Not only was it rough and coarse, perhaps from the vampire's brutality, but it was filled with so much hate.

Visions that had nothing to do with Brittany's gift started to form in her mind. Of her sister left alone with her parents. Of growing up in a house of hate. Working her fingers until they bled while the French took apart their town.

Beside her, the vampire slowly smiled, almost as though she could read the Slayer's mind. "I was so hoping I would get to eat the little one too."

The vampire never did get her wish to kill outside. She was sinking her teeth in Brittany's neck as the Slayer's family watched on. As the Slayer's little sister cried out in fear.

Brittany had crashed down to her knees yet again as she felt the blood drain from her neck and body. Visions assaulted her mind, of far-away places and exciting new worlds she would come to see, all while mixing with a girl Brittany had never seen before who was being called as the next Slayer, far away on another continent, and another girl with long dark hair, piercing black eyes, and a smile for only Brittany.

The vampire hiked up her long dress to expose her bare thigh. She had used her nail to slice open the skin until droplets of blood were rushing down her leg, and her hand fisted Brittany's long blonde hair forward. Brittany's mouth hungrily sucked at the vampire's thigh. The blood was slurped passed her pursed lips until she felt her teeth extend and sink through the skin to feast further.

The vampire ripped Brittany's head away as her moans and pleasured cries bounced around the small cottage, beyond euphoric that the Slayer's blood coursed through her veins. The vampire was deeply out of breath as she whispered, "You off them and we share the little girl?"

Brittany failed to answer, however. Already leaping through the air, her vampire face on, and falling on top of her screaming father. She tore at his throat before moving onto her mother. When it was the little girl's turn, however, Brittany was much gentler, almost as though the bond they shared overrode her new state. The little girl shook, almost catatonic with fear, as both Brittany and the vampire fed off of her.

The vampire laughed joyously as she pulled away from the little girl's neck and stroked Brittany's blonde hair. "Do not take too much," the vampire chided and pulled Brittany away from her sister. The little girl's eyes were closed. The vampire gave Brittany a sly smile before leaning forward and kissing Brittany's lips, licking away the blood still there. "Now it is her turn." The vampire guided the little girl's mouth to her sister's neck where the open wound the vampire caused was already healed. Soon, the little girl was sucking at her sister's blood.

When both Pierce sisters had recovered, the vampire took each of their hands and led them out of the cottage. "I just cannot wait to wrap you both up as presents!" the vampire said as they walked down the valley passed the cottage. She swung both sisters' arms as she smiled. "She is going to love her gift!"

Lima, Ohio
Present Day

Across town, Rachel was dragging a stick along the metal fencing as she walked down Main Street. The square was mostly deserted because of the late evening, but there were a few stragglers. The cool wind whipped Rachel's long, straight hair as her near-black eyes read the sign over the somewhat run-down building. The Magic Box's lights were in the process of being turned off, but Rachel didn't quicken her pace to get there; the store would stay open for her, she had no doubt.

"We're closed," the soft, high voice said as Rachel walked in, bell chiming as she did so. The voice was prim, much like the woman herself, Rachel observed. The redhead didn't glance up from the slips of paper that lay on top of the counter by the register. She just kept adding up the receipt totals, unconcerned by her knew arrival.

"But, golly," Rachel said in a bored tone as she perused the store, uncaring, "can't you just stay open for one more minute?"

At the voice, Emma Pillsbury's head jerked up. She smiled, unsurely. "I'm sorry...but we're closed," Emma repeated, hesitant of this rude girl.

Rachel smirked. She picked up the glass orb from the shelf and hefted it from hand to hand. "I'm sure you can remain open for just a minute longer," Rachel glanced over her shoulder at the woman and smiled, "please," she grinned with fake innocence, a flutter of eyelashes, and a pout.

Emma swallowed thickly before nodding just once. She didn't know what to make of the short brunette. Her wide eyes followed Rachel as she scrutinized the small magic store. There were crystal balls and candles, Ouija boards and incense, tarot cards and rabbits' feet. All the staples. But, Rachel noticed, that amongst the cheesy tourist traps, there were jars of Henbane and Hemlock, Mugwort and Mandrake, Nettle and Norfolk Pine—and much more. Rachel strolled her way up to the counter, suddenly curious to know if the townspeople of Lima knew exactlywhat kind of store the Magic Box was. How dangerous it actually was. How real.

"I need some things," Rachel said as she withdrew a list from the pocket of her leather jacket. She spread the paper out onto the counter on top of the many receipts. Emma moved closer to peer at the list, careful to keep a safe distance. The girl was not familiar. In a town like Lima, that was enough to make anyone suspicious. But it was the girl's blank eyes that really troubled Emma. She seemed as though she was lost. That there was nothing she really cared about.

Emma's gaze dropped to the list. "We have everything here," she said slowly, "but I'll have to order an Orb of Pyoulah." Rachel frowned and she stared down at the item on her list before looking back up at Emma.

"Orb of Pyoulah? Is that like an Orb of Thesulah?"

Emma shook her head as she smiled; the confusion in the girl's voice made her seem very young. "It's a common mistake. The Orb of Thesulah recalls one's soul from the ether. The Pyoulah is more like an orb that channels dark magicks. Almost like a vacuum, and stores the magicks within the orb."

Rachel nodded, feeling a little relieved. The idea of calling forth a soul—no thanks; that was dark power she didn't want to be messing with. "It's an old Asian magick. Very old, as I recall. It won't be easy to come by."

"I'll pay whatever," Rachel mumbled distractedly, still staring down at her meager list. All at once, the hopelessness settled on her. This was her last chance, her long shot. It was funny how five items could make up her existence. If she succeed, she would have everything she ever wanted once again. If not...well, Rachel had had a good life. All her dreams had come true at some point. Death would be a welcomed relief after the horrific year she'd had.

"It will still take time to acquire it, though."

"How much time?" Rachel growled, her dark eyes glancing up at Emma.

The redhead licked her lips nervously as she mentally calculated her chances of locating the rare orb. "At least a week," Emma stammered. "I really couldn't say—they're so unusual."

Rachel grinded her jaw as she rolled her shoulders, commanding herself to calm down. She had waited this long, what's one more week in the grand scheme of things? "Fine," she bit out with a sneer, "just see that it's done. I'll give you half now and the other half when you have it. This is the number I can be reached at."

Emma nodded and quickly went to work collecting all the things Rachel required. Once everything was in a plastic bag proclaiming: The Magic Box; your one stop shop for all your magic needs, Emma breathed a little easier; she was almost out of the woods. "Will that be all?"

Rachel flicked her hair over her shoulder and lazily observed the woman through her heavily black-lined eyes. "For now," she smiled and left, the bell on the door ringing softly behind her.

Emma slowly let out a breath. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there had been something so very off about the girl.

"If you're still open, ginger, I'd love some help too." Again, Emma's head jerked up. In the shadows, in the back of the store, stood Santana, smirking like Rachel had, but with something far more menacing in her eyes.

Shivers and fear crashed down on Emma's shoulders, her body trembling as she slowly backed up against the shelves until the vials of potions rattled.

Santana slowly approached the woman, her smirk turning feral. "My girl B wants a witch. I need you to give me the names of your most frequent customers. The real ones. Not the lonely housewives picking up crystal balls or the little girls trying their hands at love potions. The real ones, understand?" she said mockingly, taking her time to weave in out of the different display shelves and tables in the store.

Emma nodded slowly. She recognized Santana almost instantly. And, even if she hadn't, the evil poured off of Santana in waves, almost as though she wore the smell of blood like a perfume. Emma couldn't reveal her clientele. She could put them in danger. The real ones. The ones who came in for actual magicks. "I-I'm not sure I could be much help," Emma stammered, buying for time. "I'm new here and—"

Santana held up her hand as she felt her patience wane. "I'm so over caring," she said severely, placing her hands on top of the counter. Emma retreated faintly. "The last thing I wanted was to come to this town. It's a complete waste of my time. I should be in Venice or Cape Town or Uluru or Petra or somewhere that's anywhere besides this hellhole! I should be with my Britt Britt right now, in bed, fucking her for hours on end in between sucking the marrow from the spinal stems of little children," Santana said calmly, her voice so low and her eyes so dark that Emma visibly started to tremble. "But I'm here. So you will shut up and do as I say, because what my Britts wants, my Britts gets. And my Britts wants a witch," Santana hissed, her face morphing briefly into her vampiric face, making all the hairs stand up on Emma's arms and neck.

Face back to normal, Santana reached over the counter and slid a finger from Emma's quivering chin, down her long neck, and in between her cleavage, leaving her finger there, feeling the woman's heart pound beneath her touch. With a sarcastic grin she eyed the woman and flicked her finger so a button popped, showing the top of Emma's bra. Emma whimpered, getting Santana to chuckle, until she leaned back.

Santana picked up the list Rachel had left on the counter, and a pen that lay beside it. She held them out to Emma with a raised brow. As she wrote the list, Emma could only hope that the people she was mentioning would so obviously not be who Santana was looking for that the vampire would leave her patrons alone. Vampires could practically smell power. Odds were, Santana would sniff the fakes out and move on. Probably back to Emma, but she would worry about that later.

Her unsteady hand jotted down the list, purposefully omitting a few names in particular. Emma shakily handed over her list. "Thanks, ginger," Santana winked. She lifted the paper to her nose and took in its scent with a smile. "I missed that smell," she said darkly, eyeing Emma. She meant fear, Emma thought, and swallowed thickly. "Be seein' you soon," the vampire promised, turning smoothly.

As soon as Santana would leave the shop, Emma would be on the phone to Will, telling him all about the encounter and what it could mean. But first, she needed to know.

"Are-are you alone?" Emma asked softly. Santana, already at the back of the store, the way she had come in, ready to leave, turned slowly and studied Emma. It was a brave question to ask on many levels. Santana somewhat respected the woman for asking at all.

Gradually, a smile spread on Santana's face, almost joyous in its intent, and she turned to face the terrified woman fully. "We came alone, me and Britts," she answered with a smirk. "But we're not alone anymore," she sing-songed. Emma licked her dry lips and nodded, thoughtful: in truth, she had no idea what that cryptic message meant. "See to it that the right people find that out," Santana continued. "The only reason you're still alive is because I want to keep you that way." Santana waved the paper in her hand. "If these names aren't bogus, I'll make sure that no one has to adjust that pesky population number on the sign that's on the border of your town. But," Santana drawled out lowly, "if they are bogus..."

All Emma could do was nod, bobbing her head up and down. She watched as Santana smiled broader before disappearing into the shadows towards the backdoor. She waited a full five minutes until picking up the phone, careful to hit each digit so as not to mess up. Just hearing Will's voice calmed her a little, but silent tears still fell down her pale cheeks. "Will? I-I did something bad. I-Will...we're in trouble. No—you can't come over; it isn't safe to leave right now."

On the other line, Will was telling Emma to calm down and talk slower. Emma willed herself to breath, to not panic. She was okay for the moment. They'd come up with a plan. They'd think of something.

"Will, please...just...stay where you are; we'll meet tomorrow at school—it's just not safe now. I'm so afraid. And I did something bad. I had to. She would have killed me! I just—have you...Will...have you ever heard of the Unholy Trinity?"