Disclaimers:  I own nothing.  Gary, the Cat, the Paper, etc. all belong to CBS and TriStar.  Buffy, the Slayerettes, the vampires, etc. all belong to Joss Whedon (grr, arg).  No infringement is intended, and I promise not to hurt anybody much (more than necessary <g>).  The idea is mine, however, and it would be appreciated (and lawful) if you ask before doing anything with this story.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Papers, Predictions, and Prophecies
by Jayne Leitch
Installment 3
Copyright 1998
 

 There was the sound of a cat's meow, and she was awake.

 Buffy sat straight up in bed, her heart beating wildly and her skin drenched with sweat.  She held her hands up before her eyes, thinking insanely that she could still see the blood on them--then she breathed in deeply, closed her eyes, and tried to sort out her nightmare.

 When she opened them again, the blood was gone, and it was daytime.

* * * * *

 Gary had set the alarm for six o'clock, intending to do some jogging before dealing with whatever the Paper sent his way, and so was out of his room by quarter past the hour.  He wasn't quite familiar with the streets of Sunnydale yet, but decided that, as long as he didn't ask directions from vampires, he'd be able to find his way nicely.

 *It's been far too long since the last time I went for a morning run,* he told himself as he pounded down the empty sidewalks, his lungs burning slightly with the exertion.  He backed off the beat a little, slowing down and looking up so he could enjoy the sights.  *Not that there's much to enjoy, unless you like suburbia.*

 Gary found himself running through a residential section, and started looking carefully at houses to take his mind off the growing need for air.  Some of the buildings even had mailboxes positioned carefully at the end of the driveways, and soon he was reading names between puffs of oxygen.

 "Mulcahey...Holland...Meyer...Sum--Summers?"  Gary paused in front of the last house, a two-storey, reddish-brown brick building with a low, sloping roof and covered porch.  A large, droopy evergreen dominated the front lawn.

 It didn't look like a place for a vampire-slaying supergirl to live.

 Breathing heavily, Gary wiped sweat from his brow and debated ringing the doorbell.  Showing up at the highschool to check on the Slayer's injuries wasn't an option, because he didn't know when he would be able to get ahold of her, and since he'd managed to find her house...  He glanced down at his watch--six forty-eight.  It was Monday morning, and for all intents and purposes Buffy was an average seventeen year-old girl, so chances are she would be awake by now and getting dressed.  *But what about her mother...?*

 His dilemma was solved when the front door was flung open, and Buffy raced out of the house, still wearing her pyjamas.  She ran up to him, her expression one of fearful anxiety.  "Gary!" she gasped, looking up at him from her tiny, barefoot height, "Are you okay?  You're not hurt--you didn't see Drusilla or Angel again, did you--?"

 "Buffy, I'm--I'm fine."  Gary watched as the girl closed her eyes and sighed, obviously relieved.  "What happened?  Why are you out here in your--your--"  He paused, then tried again.  "What happened?"

 Buffy looked down, seeming to notice for the first time that she wasn't dressed.  "I--um, I just woke up.  I had the most horrible nightmare--" she broke off, took a deep breath, and looked up at him again.  "I had a dream that I killed you," she stated simply.

 Gary blinked, then frowned.  The way she'd said it, as if she were pronouncing a death sentence, unnerved him.  "But that was just a dream," he told her carefully.  "Just--I don't know, just some leftover emotions from last night--"

 "No, you don't understand."  Buffy folded her arms across her midsection as if she was suddenly cold.  "I have dreams.  Nightmares, about slaying.  And...they're predictions."  She looked away, swallowing thickly.  "They come true, some of the time.  Like once, I dreamed about the Master rising, and opening the hellmouth, and he did.  And, right before Angel turned back--" again, she stopped speaking, but continued after a heartbeat, "Before he turned back, I dreamt that Drusilla killed him.  And, in a way, she did--by bringing that demon, and attacking, and..." she trailed off, shivering.

 Gary looked down at her, shocked.  "They come true?"  He cut off her answer, instead reaching out and putting his hands on her arms.  "Hey, you're shaking.  You should be inside--"

 "I'm fine, I'm just--"  Buffy shrugged him off, stepping back a few paces.  "I'm just worried."

 "You're scared.  And it--it's cold out here, go inside, would you please?"  Reaching out again, Gary took her by the arm and started walking towards the door.  When he got to the step, though, he paused.  Buffy looked at him, and he said, "Your mom--"

 "Left at five-thirty for an art-buying convention, or something."  Buffy gave him a ghost of a smile, then pulled him after her into the house.  "Don't make a mess I can't clean up, and she'll never know."

 "Well...all right."  Gary looked around as Buffy closed the door, then took off his running shoes and followed her into the kitchen.

 She turned to face him, her expression much more calm than it had been when she'd first met him on the lawn.  "Sorry I ambushed you.  I was kinda freaked by that nightmare."

 "That's okay.  But you should've at least put on a housecoat, or something..."

 "I saw you out my window, and wanted to make sure you were okay."  Buffy blinked, then frowned.  "What are you doing in my neighborhood?"

 "Ah--jogging."  Indicating his sweat-soaked hair and clothes, Gary attempted a smile.  "I need to make more of a habit of staying in shape."

 "I know what that's about."  She smiled back, the last vestiges of fear leaving her face.  "Look, I don't want to ruin your vacation or anything," she began, "But I take dreams like the one I had last night seriously.  And so does Giles."  Leaning on the counter, she offered, "Why don't you wait while I get dressed, and we can go to the library and talk to him about it.  I mean, by now he might've got something new from the Foresight Papers that could tell us whether or not to be worried."

 Gary began to nod.  "That sounds--"  He broke off, his eyes widening as he remembered, "The Paper!"  He checked his watch.  "It's seven o'clock, and I don't have the--"

 His speech was cut off by the sound of a newspaper slapping the door, followed closely by a loud, plaintive "Meow!"  Gary and Buffy exchanged looks, then hurried to open the door.  Sure enough, there was the Cat, sitting daintily atop a neatly folded Sunnydale Press.

 Gary reached down to pick it up, finishing ruefully, "Never mind."

 Buffy let the Cat into the house, then shut the door.  "I'll get ready while you...read that, or whatever," she said, smiling at Gary.  Then she gave the Cat a stern look, instructing, "Make sure that doesn't spread hair or anything.  Mom's allergic."  Tossing one last smile over her shoulder, the Slayer turned and ran up the stairs.

 Gary watched her go, then settled himself at the kitchen table, spreading the Paper open in front of him.  "Please, please don't have anything after dark," he muttered, remembering the awful deformity of the vampires Buffy had killed the night before.  "Nothing after dark."

 By the time Buffy had showered, got dressed, and come back downstairs, Gary had been through the entire Paper three times.  He looked up at her as she came down the stairs, eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.  "There's nothing in here."

 "Well, that's good, isn't it?"  Buffy leaned over his shoulder, reading snatches of articles.  "I mean, the fewer crimes you have to stop, the more time you have to relax, right?"

 "In theory."  Folding the Press and sticking it under his arm, Gary stood up and gestured to the door.  "Shouldn't we be going right about now?"

 "Sure."  Grabbing her keys off the counter and slinging a backpack over her shoulder, Buffy ushered Gary out of the house.  "Hopefully Giles knows something by now."
* * * * *
 "So let me ask you this: if you were given a choice between the Heathers of Sunnydale High and a group of friends that kills vampires and other creepy-crawlies every other night of the week, which would you choose to hang out with?"

 "Oh, the Heathers.  Like, sure they all died in the movie and everything, but they all dressed <way> better than Winona Ryder.  And besides, that's like saying that she was like the Slayer or something, and Christian Slater was you.  Or maybe Giles."  Cordeila turned to face Xander outside the doors to the library.  "And we all know how real-life <that> is."

 Xander gave his girlfriend a look of mock horror.  "Are you suggesting that I'm not as studly as Mister Rehab-Centre Slater?"  He turned his "shocked" face to Willow, who sighed in heard-it-all-before friendly contempt.  "How dare you slight me in such a manner!"

 Cordelia exhaled sharply, folding her arms.  "Heathers was <before> anybody found out about the drug stuff, dorkhead.  Back then, he was honey material."

 "Well, you know what they say about honey."  Xander countered as he pushed open the doors to the library and headed inside.  "They say--what the...?"

 The library was a mess.  Shelves were broken and spread all over the floor, as were the books they had held.  The chairs that usually sat around the table were thrown around the room, and the big swivel chair that Giles kept in his office was on its side in front of the checkout counter, a large gash in the back cushion.  The computer that Miss Calendar had set up as a database was smashed beside it, electronics ripped out of the hard drive and broken in two.  The floor in front of Giles' office was strewn with broken teacups and saucers, the shards coated with tea leaves from an upturned container.  Finally, most of the drawers in the card catalogue were pulled out, their contents scattered liberally among the wreakage.

 Giles stood by the table, his glasses being thoroughly polished on his shirttail.  He looked up as the three students entered, a pained and angry look on his face.  "Close the door, quickly," he told them sharply.  "I do not want Principal Snyder to learn of this."

 Willow obeyed, quickly pushing the doors closed and tying the handles together with a looped elastic.  "What happened?" she asked, her eyes wide and alarmed.

 "Vampires broke in last night."  Giles replaced his glasses on his nose, then looked around at the destruction.  "Mister Hobson read of the vandalism yesterday in that Paper of his, and warned me in sufficient time to...ask Buffy to patrol the grounds."  The Watcher paused, then looked back up at the kids.  "She...has not reported in."

 "So I'm a little late."  Buffy emerged from the back of the library, a somewhat disturbed-looking Gary in tow.  "Only one of them managed to get in.  I didn't think he could do so much damage."

 "Buffy!"  Willow rushed over to her friend, relief written on her face.  "You're okay!  What happened?"

 "Yes, what exactly went on during your patrol?"  Giles chimed in, also sounding relieved.  "I would have been there, however, teacher duties..."

 "Yeah.  It's okay, I won."  Buffy reached into her backpack, pulling out a book.  "The only thing he took was Melois' Watcher Diary.  I got it back."  She then half-turned towards the back.  "Before I start, you might want to lock the back door.  If you don't want anyone to find out about this."

 "Yes--yes, of course."  Giles pulled out a ring of keys and hurried back into the stacks.

 Cordelia stared at Gary, noticing him for the first time.  "Hey, what are you doing here?"

 Buffy stepped in.  "He's helping.  Leave him alone."

 Shrugging, Cordelia righted a chair and sat down.  "Whatever..."

 "Yes, now that the doors are taken care of...?"  Giles bustled back into the main room, eyeing its occupants expectantly.  "I suggest we all clean up while Buffy tells us what happened," he instructed.

 Willow immediately knelt down and began picking up books, while Xander headed off to the back of the stacks to get a broom and dustpan.  Gary looked around, then bent down to gather together pieces of shelving.  Buffy walked around slowly, picking up chairs and index cards while telling the group about the raid.

 "...So I had to stake it again," she finished a few minutes later, tossing a half-hearted smile at Gary, who looked down at the wood he was picking up.  "We found the diary, and Gary took me back to his hotel to fix me up."

 "Fix you up?"  Giles looked up sharply from where he was sweeping broken glass into a garbage can.  "You were hurt?"

 "Not much.  The cuts are gone today, see?"  Angling her head so her Watcher could examine her throat, she continued, "It's actually a good thing I went to the hotel, though--Drusilla showed up at his door."

 "I think she might've been following us from the school," Gary added, stacking the wood just inside Giles' office.  "But she must've seen me before, somewhere."  When he received questioning looks, he explained, "She knew about the Cat.  When she came to the door, it was like she knew <someone> had it, and she had to make sure it was me."

 "Isn't Drusilla kind of psychic?"  Xander asked from behind the card catalogue.  "She knew about Angel, right?  And besides, doesn't she do all that weird Tarot stuff?"

 "It...has been written in other Watcher's diaries that she is well-versed in the psychic arts, yes," Giles responded reluctantly.  "I suppose it is possible that she...divined your presence, Gary, possibly due to whatever mystical power your Paper has."

 Gary fought back an involuntary shudder.  Psychic vampires were even more frightening than normal ones.  "Yeah, but Drusilla's not all.  Buffy..."  he looked over at the Slayer, unwilling to tell what he didn't quite understand.

 Buffy looked back, her uneasiness returning.  "I...had a dream this morning."

 "What kind of dream?"  Giles asked, now paying careful attention.

 "A nightmare.  What other kind?"  Setting a stack of books on the table, Buffy sat down and folded her hands in front of her.  "I dreamed about...Angel.  Killing Angel...only it wasn't him."  She fidgeted with her fingernails, then finished, "It was Gary.  I staked Gary."

 "Good Lord."  Giles spoke quietly, stealing a glance at the obviously ill-at-ease Gary Hobson.  Taking a deep breath, he abandoned his clean-up job and sat heavily in a chair.  "I thought it might turn out to be someone else..."

 "What?"  Willow paused as she emptied a dustpan full of tea into the garbage can.  "What do you know?"

 The Watcher looked up, carefully avoiding the faces of Gary and the students.  "I--ah--was able to--to translate some more of the Foresight Papers last night after the meeting," he admitted, tapping his fingers lightly on the table.

 Gary watched the British man warily as he explained.  *This doesn't sound good...*

 "The prophesy mentioning the Slayer, in fact is set to come to pass very soon."  Giles glanced around the room, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone.  "The book did not say specifically when, but if I were to guess, I would say...sometime within the week.

 "As I mentioned earlier, a 'fallen one' was spoken of quite a bit," he continued, looking down at the table top.  "This person is, and I quote, 'a stranger that finds the Slayer and the Slain at both their unworthiest'.  Apparently, he--or she--" he added, glancing up at Gary for a moment, "Is instrumental in some kind of ritual that proves the worth of the Slayer and her opponent--most likely, a vampire of some description."

 "What about the part where he--or she--actually <becomes> the 'fallen one'?"  Willow asked timidly.  "Did you find out anything about that?"

 "Um--no."  Giles looked up at Buffy sheepishly.  "Unfortunately, while I...'got lucky' with the first bit of translation, the rest of the prophesy remains a mystery."

 "Is there anything we can to do un-mystify it?"  Buffy queried, her tone tense and business-like.  "Don't you have some kind of universal translation book, or something?"

 Giles smiled wryly.  "Unfortunately, I don't."

 Gary had followed the conversation carefully, and now he joined in.  "Um--I hate to interrupt, but...if I'm this 'fallen' person, what does that mean?  How do I fit into all of this?"

 "Perhaps your Paper..."  Trailing off, the Watcher gazed thoughtfully at the folded newsprint Gary carried in his hand, then continued, "If only the rest of the prediction was a little clearer.  As it was last night, I had to take the meaning through two languages--the original Gaelic and Melois' French--before getting it to make sense in English.  Needless to say, it somewhat...muddled my efforts."

 "Hey.  Jumping tracks, here."  Xander spoke up, leaning forward onto the table.  "A vampire broke in here and tried to take the only translation aid we have.  Shouldn't we be worried about this?"

 "You're quite right."  Giles turned his gaze to the Diary, his expression troubled.  "It is not impossible that Spike and Drusilla...and Angel, have come across a copy of the Foresight Papers."  He sighed, running a hand through his hair.  "I only hope they have had as little success as we have in deciphering it."
* * * * *
 "That's it!"  Angelus slammed the heavy book closed on the table and stood up quickly.  "I've got the translations," he crowed through the building, "And they're ripe for coming true."

 There was no response; the abandoned factory where the vampires stayed during the day was empty, echoing his triumphant yell back to him.  The vampire scowled.  "My big discovery, and no one to share it with," he muttered.

 Suddenly, he heard the soft "Meow" of a cat, the sound filtering down from somewhere near the ceiling.  Angel immediately perked up.  "A-ha," he mused, looking up and straining his eyes for the shape in the darkness, "Something to listen to me, <and> an appetizer."  He searched the shadows for the animal, but found nothing--then jumped as the beast appeared from nowhere on a stack of crates beside him.  "There you are.  Come on down; I won't bite.  Hard."

 The cat stayed serenely atop the boxes, looking down at him.  Eventually, it lifted a paw and began washing itself.

 Angel frowned.  "What, you're not even gonna hiss?"  The cat stopped licking and focussed on him again.  "Fine then.  I'll skip the snack, but you still have to listen."  Ignoring the fact that his audience was an orange,  hairy beast possessed of incredibly inferior brainpower, Angel picked up his book and held it up for it to see.  "This," he began, as if confiding an exciting secret, "Is called the Foresight Papers.  And guess what--I've found something in it that talks about me!"  Encouraged by the way the cat continued to stare at him, he continued, "Apparently, there's supposed to be this huge ritual sometime around now, where I--" he turned his head modestly, "--Go up against a girl called the Slayer.  Now, I'm <really> hoping this happens soon, 'cause I've been wanting to get at her again for <weeks>.  Anyway," he hurried on, "The whole point of this thing is to figure out whether or not we're worthy to be who we are.  The big question that's going to be answered is, Does Buffy--that would be the Slayer--have what it takes to <be> the Slayer?"  He raised an eyebrow, seeming to ponder the question.  "Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't.  But that's not the only question that's going to be answered.  See, there's something in the works--cosmically, or something--that has the potential to <really> go my way."  Angel grinned up at the cat, and it blinked at him.  "Now, the book doesn't tell me what that is, but this whole ritual thing is going to find out if I have what it takes to be a part of it."  The cat lashed its tail and he held up his hands.  "Okay, okay, the prophesy mentions some kind of big demon or something, but that's all it'll tell me about this something."  He waved his hands.  "Anyway, that's not even the best part.  The <best> part is, there's someone else involved in this whole thing.  Some kind of new guy, or something.  And--I know who!  See, there's a guy I met the other night, he seemed to know stuff about the Foresight Papers--I guess it's a good thing I didn't kill him when I had the chance, 'cause it looks like," he paused, nodding sagely, "It looks like this guy's the deciding factor in this ritual.  Lucky him, he somehow gets to decide if Buffy and I are worthy.  Isn't that great?"  Angel sighed, then furrowed his brow.  "My only problem is, I don't know how to find this guy again.  I need to do something about him to start the ball rolling on this make-the-prophesy-come-true bit, but..."

 The cat suddenly meowed again, and the vampire looked up at it.  The animal was now standing, lashing its tail and pacing from one corner of the crate it was on to the other.  "What is it, Kitty?  Did Timmy fall down the well?"  He chuckled, then, slowly, realized what he'd just said.  "Kitty..."  He looked up again, this time narrowing his eyes and watching the cat closely.  "'He's brought a kitty.'" Angel repeated Drusilla's words slowly, and the animal paused and looked down at him.  "'A kitty, all for him...'"

 "Talking to yourself now, are you."  Angel spun around, crouched and ready to fight, only to find that Spike and Drusilla had returned from wherever they had gone.  Spike looked up at him arrogantly from his wheelchair, while Dru stood quietly behind him, playing with her hair and watching Angel curiously.

 "Not to myself, Sprocket.  I was talking to--"  Angel turned around, indicating the cat--but it was gone.  "There was a cat," he explained, trying to calm his temper when Spike just looked up at him, eyebrows raised insolently.

 "Talking to a cat!"  The seated vampire let out a short bark of laughter, then coughed genteelly as if trying to cover it up.  "And did the cat talk back, mate?  Or did it just grin?"

 Angel sneered back, deciding that he wouldn't let his 'son' get to him this time.  *After all, why should now be different from any other time I've spoken to the ingrate?*  "Well, when you've got really <good> news, you just have to tell <someone>.  Know what I mean, Buggy-Boy?"

 "<I> know what you mean, Angel."  Drusilla stepped daintily around Spike's chair, and Angel forced back a smirk at the other man's expression.  "You figured out the stories from Miss Edith's book, didn't you!"

 "I did."  Deciding to add insult to injury, Angel stepped close to Dru and trailed his finger over her face and down her neck, ignoring Spike entirely.  *Don't like me messing with your girl, Spike?  Stand up and stop me!*  "And you'll never <guess> what I found out!"

 "Why bother guessing?"  Spike said loudly, the anger evident in his voice.  "Why don't we call Alice's Cheshire Cat back from Wonderland, and make it tell us?"

 "Oh, Spike."  Sliding his arm around Dru's waist and pulling her close, Angel turned to look down--<way> down--at Spike.  "We don't want to hurt the cat.  I have a feeling," he shifted his gaze to Drusilla, who giggled and bounced happily in his arms, "That cat is going to be <very> useful to us."
* * * * *
 Gary walked away from Sunnydale High, oblivious to the noise the students behind him made as they talked and laughed with each other and played spur-of-the-moment games of touch football.  His mind was still in the library he'd left only five minutes ago.

 The six of them had cleaned up the mess as best they could, and by that time it was two-thirds of the way through the kids' first period.  The four of them had begged pass notes from the librarian, who had handed them out as if it was an everyday occurance--which, Gary realized in hindsight, it probably was.  *Just how many crises do these people have to deal with in an average week?* he wondered as he stepped off the school property and onto the sidewalk.  *How many classes does Buffy miss because she has to keep some kind of apocalypse from happening?  No wonder she has trouble with her mom about schoolwork!*

 As he walked, Gary replayed Giles' explanation of the prophesy, and his potential role in it.  He hadn't been able to learn much, and what he did know wasn't very promising.  *A ritual?  Something between Buffy and a vampire?  <Worthiness>?*  He sighed, taking the Paper from under his arm and unfolding it out of habit.  *This is too much for a vacation.  Give me tomorrow's news any day...*

 Glancing over the stories again, Gary almost missed an article that had appeared on the lower right-hand side of the second page.  The headline read:
 "Cat Attacks Pedestrian
  --Animal Control called in to take beast away."

 Gary stopped walking, blinked, then read the whole article.

 "Late last night, Nancy Wilks was attacked by a cat while out for an evening jog.  The animal apparently leapt out at Wilks while she passed a tree on the corner of Coulter and Haldare, landing on her shoulder and biting viciously at her throat and face.  'It came out of nowhere,' a distressed Wilks reported to Animal Control officials.  'It caught me completely by surprise; I could hardly get it off me.'
 Andrew Harvell, Animal Control specialist and veterinarian, says that the cat, which was apprehended by another pedestrian not far from the scene of the attack, 'Is going to undergo a thorough examination for rabies or dystemper', and asks that all pet owners watch their animals for symptoms of either of these diseases."

 Gary looked up from the Paper, his eyes wide.  "A cat," he muttered, looking back down to see if he had read the article wrong.  "A cat."  He sighed, then folded the newsprint closed and shoved it in his back pocket.  "Has everyone gone insane?"

 Completely forgetting about prophesies and vampires, Gary headed for the hotel, determined to find the Cat and lock it up until morning.
* * * * *
 "All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel..."  Drusilla danced slowly to her song, stepping gracefully in circles around the factory while Spike watched from his chair.  "...That's the way the fairytale goes--"  Now she stopped dead, opening her eyes wide as she finished, "POP!  Goes the weasel!"

 "That's not how the song goes, pet," Spike reminded her dully.  He longed for the time when he could have danced with her, feeling her move against him as she sang, feeling the simple pleasure of having his own legs under control.  *Damned Slayer...*  The one that danced with Dru now managed to be smarmy about it.  Despite the fun the trio had had in the past, happily massacring whole villages, Spike was simply annoyed by Angelus now.  "Doesn't it go, 'That's the way the <money> goes.'"

 "Oh, no."  Dru slunk over to him, her eyes wide with laughter.  "Tonight, it goes like a fairytale."

 "And here comes your Prince Charming!"  Angel crowed as he entered the room.  Spike immediately turned his chair around.  "Ready to go, Dru?"

 "Oh, yes."  The pale lady's mouth twisted into a smile, and she rushed over to Angel's side, taking hold of his arm.  "But we can't go without the kitty."

 On cue, the three vampires heard a loud "Meow!", and the orange cat darted out of a corner, pausing in the middle of the floor.  "Speak of the devil," Spike muttered.

 "Here he is!"  Drusilla bounced lightly on her toes, clapping her hands excitedly.  "I can hear him in my head!  Taking us to the Slayer's friend!"

 "We have to follow the cat?"  Angel arched his eyebrows, then shrugged.  "Whatever I have to do to get this ritual started."  He turned to go, then paused and looked back exaggeratedly at Spike.  "Wish you could come, Spike, and I know you'd go like a chariot of hellfire, but--the cat's got a tail, and I'd hate to scare it off 'cause you'd rolled over it."  He grinned at Spike's scowl, then turned back to Drusilla.  "Shall we go?"

 "Oh, let's shall!"

 The cat, who had been watching this exchange carefully, now sped out of the room, headed for the loading door that led to an alley off Coulter street.

 Angel and Drusilla followed, leaving a sullen Spike behind.
* * * * *
 "That damn Cat!"  Gary ran down Haldare street, looking around frantically for the animal that had raced past a bellboy's legs when he had mistakenly come to Gary's room with a dinner tray.  "You just had to choose nighttime to turn bad on me, didn't you!"

 He raced around a corner, then skidded to a stop when he noticed a pair of street signs pronouncing that corner to be the junction of Haldare and Coulter.  He looked around for a tree, and sure enough, a stout oak stood a little ways to the right.  "Okay, I'm here."  Panting a little, Gary walked up to the tree and peered up into the branches.  "I don't want to be, but I'm here.  So would you come out so I can take you back to the hotel, please?"

 There was no answering meow; not even a rustling of the branches to indicate the presence of the Cat.  Gary sighed, glancing around nervously at the dusky street.  The sun had just sunk below the horizon and shadows were thick, even though there were few buildings close to the street in this part of town.  The closest structure appeared to be an abandoned factory, but it was across the road on Coulter, so Gary paid it little mind.

 He waited for a few more minutes--then he heard them.  Footsteps, thudding rhythmically against the pavement in the stillness of the twilight around him.  Turning until he faced back the way he'd come, Gary saw a woman running towards him, her arms pumping energetically, her head bobbing in time to whatever music was on her walkman.  *Nancy Wilks, I presume?*  He watched as she got closer, ignoring him in favour of concentrating on keeping her breathing steady--then she was past him, her pace never letting up.

 Still no Cat.

 Gary frowned as he watched Nancy Wilks grow smaller and smaller as she went further away, then pulled out the Paper.  "I--I don't understand--"

 "You don't have to."

 Gary froze with the Paper half unfolded in his hands.  The voice had come from behind him, and he recognized it as the same smooth, calculating tones he'd heard just a few nights ago.  Slowly, he turned around, dreading what he would see--and sure enough came face to face with an arrogantly smiling Angel.

 Without waiting to see what the vampire would do, Gary turned to run, only to find Drusilla standing behind him, her hands clasped under her chin.  She looked into his eyes, giving him a sly smile, then told him, "No need to go running off yet, precious.  We need you."

 Suddenly, there was an explosion of pain in Gary's head, and he could feel himself falling as the slim girl laughed, delighted.  "We'll have so much fun together!" he heard her say happily--before he hit the ground and knew only blackness.

 The Cat watched calmly from a tree branch as the vampires carried their burden back to the factory.  It lifted a paw to its tongue, intending to give itself another bath--then changed its mind and jumped down.  Turning its back on the receeding trio, the Cat trotted off into the night...
* * * * *
 "Oh boy, lunchtime.  The day's welcome respite from the horrors of classes and structure."  Xander announced as he plopped himself down on the edge of the fountain beside Buffy.  "And what finer place to consume the delicacies of pre-packaged food-alternatives than the sunny courtyard?"

 Buffy gave her friend a look, then turned to whisper loudly to Willow, "I <know> he didn't pass the chemistry test.  Do you know where he was last period?"

 Willow loudly whispered back, "Four words.  Xander.  Cordelia.  Broom closet."

 "Oohhhh..."  Buffy's mock-serious expression turned into a wide smile, and she angled her head, watching Xander gobble his food.  "What, does making out burn up a lot of energy with you two, or did you not eat breakfast?"

 The lone male looked up from his half-devoured sandwich, raising his eyebrows suggestively.  "Why couldn't I have not had breakfast <because> we were making out?"

 "Okay, stop.  I don't want to hear about your love life."  Buffy grimaced, then laughed a little.  The sun was bright, Giles hadn't wanted to talk to her about anything that morning, and her mom was still out of town.  The day was shaping up nicely...

 Suddenly, she shivered.  Something had changed.  She sat up straight, examining her sudden discomfort.  Frowning, she realized, *Someone's watching me.*  Raising her eyes from her own paper-bag lunch, Buffy searched through the crowds for the eyes she could feel boring into her head.  *I know you're out there...Show me where you are...*  It was the strangest feeling; she knew how it felt to be looked at, but this was different.  *It's as if I'm being looked <through>.*

 Another sweep of the crowd produced no results, and she turned her gaze out a little, past the courtyard and onto the lawn.  *Come on...show me--*  Her eyes settled on her target, and the Slayer blinked.  *Oh, no...*

 "Hey."  Breaking into the middle of Xander and Willow's conversation, Buffy gestured a little at a small orange animal sitting idly at the edge of the sidewalk.  "Isn't that Gary's cat?"

 "What?"  Xander furrowed his brow, looking out to where Buffy indicated.  "What cat?"

 "The cat that comes with the...Paper..."  Buffy trailed off, then stood up.  "Something's wrong."  Without waiting for her friends to answer, she jogged across the lawn, stopping in front of the animal.

 It looked up at her, green eyes wide and intelligent.

 "Buffy?"  Willow came up beside her, her eyes moving between the Slayer and the Cat.

 "I think something's wrong."  Still meeting the Cat's eyes, Buffy instructed her friend, "Go tell Giles I'm going to Gary's hotel.  See if he can think up something to keep Principal Snyder from sniffing around."  She shivered, then looked away from the animal.  "This prophesy thing could be happening <now>, and if it is, Gary's in trouble.  If I'm not back by fourth, worry."  With that, she hurried off the schoolgrounds, the Cat following behind.

 "Okay."  Willow watched them go, then turned and ran for the library.
* * * * *
 Gary woke up in complete darkness.

 As consciousness began to take hold, he remembered the aborted Cat attack, and moaned.  His head throbbed hideously, and he couldn't see his hand in front of his face.  "Well, I'm not tied up," he told himself, his voice rough and raspy.  "I guess that's an upside."

 Suddenly, the room was flooded with light, and Gary winced against the brightness that caused his head to hurt even more.  He heard light footsteps, and then felt a cool cloth being pressed against his forehead.  Encouraged, he opened his eyes--only to stare directly into Drusilla's pale face.

 She made comforting noises as he tried to push himself away, then placed the cloth on his cheek.  "There, now.  Mummy's going to make you feel all better," she told him softly, her large, dark eyes locked with his.

 "Wh--what do you want?" he managed to ask.  He wasn't tied up, but he couldn't move, even though he was straining with all his might even to twitch his fingers.  All he could do was stare into the vampire's eyes.

 "I want you," she replied matter-of-factly.  She blinked, then smiled seductively.  "You're going to be a help in my Angel's ritual.  That's why you're <here>.  But," now she dropped the cloth and ran her fingers over his face, "<I> want <you>.  You can be my new birdie."  She curved her fingers slightly, and Gary could feel razor-sharp nails glide over his skin.  "I keep birdies, you see,"  she explained, as if the statement had everything to do with his present situation.  "I keep them all nice and safe in a cage.  But they never sing."  She frowned, and Gary had the sudden impression of dead songbirds, lying stiffly on the bottom of a gilded cage.  "I <do> want them to sing pretty songs, but they never do."  She smiled again, and leaned in close enough for him to feel her cool breath on his face.  "Will you sing me pretty songs?"  Her hands now smoothed over his throat and down onto his chest.  "Will you stay in my cage and look pretty for me?  I <do> want you to."  She leaned even closer and added in a whispered purr, "You can make me <so> happy."

 Gary gasped for breath as the vampire continued staring directly into his eyes.  Her own eyes were his entire universe; large, liquid pools of inky blackness, with a hint of a mad sparkle in them.  They held his attention so completely that he surprised himself when he answered breathlessly, "I don't want to be in a cage."

 Drusilla's hands froze just as they ran over his shoulders, and her eyes turned cool.  Suddenly, Gary could breathe again, and he sucked in lungfuls of air as she pulled away from him.  "You don't want to be my birdie?"  she asked, her tone completely devoid of the rich promise it had held only seconds before.  "You won't sing for me?"

 Still gasping raggedly, Gary shook his head.  "N--no."

 "Oh."  The vampire stood up, and looked down at him seriously.  "I'll let Angel have you, then," she decided after a moment.  She turned and headed for a door across the room, then paused and turned back, a ghost of her former smile dancing over her lips.  "But you can still look pretty for me in my cage."

 She was out the door before he could answer.

**********

Continued in Installment 4

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Email the author:  Jayne Leitch
 
 

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