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The Problem With Fate	By : jennengle Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > General Views: 1180 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Problem With Fate
- 2-It Must be Tuesday
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Disclaimer: You know, and I know: I don’t own a single thing. I claim nothing.
The Problem With Fate

2. It must be Tuesday

Buffy pressed her attack with another roundhouse, swinging one leg high and fast, with the other braced as an anchor. The slime slickened-sidewalk shifted below her foot and she found herself in the midst of a very graceful fall, if not an effective attack offensive.

She hit the ground with a splat, her head bouncing where it came in contact with the asphalt. Head ringing and dazed, she struggled to pull herself back to her feet, thin ropes and tendrils of slime dangling from her. She grimaced, and as she felt a thick wad of the stuff begin to slide down her face, she quickly forced her lips into a tight line.

Bad enough to land in some demon’s excess mucus, but it just had to be cold. And clammy. The thought really didn’t bear thinking about. The world spun as she climbed to her feet.

The Chaos Daemon shifted its stance and launched itself at the struggling girl, overwhelming her small stature with its mass. Buffy’s breath was squeezed out of her as she was pinned between the daemon and the grimy walls of the alleyway. A sharp pain dug into her back, and as the daemon pulled back its fist and Buffy realized that she was braced against some business’s backdoor. The creature’s fist crashed against her hasty block, and was deflected by angle and copious amounts of slime.

Buffy felt the door shudder as the fist made contact, and then she was falling again.

She scrambled through the wreckage of the door, her hand automatically grabbing a large wooden shard of the door’s remains. The daemon, emboldened by the slayer’s lack of offence so far, lunged through the doorway after her.

The Chaos daemon paused in mid-lunge and stared stupidly at the small girl before him, and then at the piece of wood that connected her hand to its heart. The daemon opened it’s mouth to speak, then fell to its knees, dead.

Buffy drew a shuddering breath, and dropped the weapon to wipe some more of the slime off of her face. She wanted to say something witty -knew that it was expected of her- but honestly, it had been such a long night that she was having trouble even summoning the effort and energy to remain standing.

With a sigh, she turned to survey her surroundings. She was in a dark narrow hallway, her only source of light filtered in from the alleyway, not giving her much to go by. She looked back at the corpse at her feet, her forehead wrinkling in confusion; while a Chaos Daemon may smell like many things, they very rarely give off the rich and coppery smell of human blood.

With a dark feeling in her heart, Buffy turned back to that unlit hallway. There was no mistaking it; and her battle-heightened senses confirmed it: There was blood -and lots of it- at the end of that hallway. The rich smell of offal was almost overpowering, a thick and musky smell that made Buffy feel as if she were coated in a thin layer of guts and other squishy internal bits. Well, and that and daemon slime of course.

With a quick motion she scooped her makeshift stake from the corpse and forced her tired body to move towards the end of the hallway. The hall turned and opened into a largish room that was divided into a front and a back by strategically placed bookshelves. Faint streetlight came through the blinds that covered the large window at the front of the building. She ran her hand lightly along the walls, but was not rewarded with any light switches.

Eyes wide and searching, Buffy crept across the back room. She was three steps into the room when sil silent steps became marked with a slight sucking sounds. It reminded her of the time Dawn had spilt Kool-Aid in the kitchen and didn’t mop afterwards; the sticky sound was the same as the sucking sound she heard now.

She looked down, but the difficult lighting hid the floor in gloom.

What the hell, she already had daemon snot all over her, how bad could it be?

Buffy slowly reached down to feel along the floor near her shoe, and touched a tacky liquid, not quite dry. She gingerly sniffed at her hand, and swallowed a grimace. The tangy smell of blood was still fresh, even half dried as it was.

She remained crouched for a long moment, straining her ears for the slightest sound, for the slightest movement. She stretched out her senses, mundane and arcane, but there was nothing…

-The flicker of sensation, as something brushed her neck, was so sudden and unexpected that it sent her scrambling backwards with a startled yelp.

She crashed into a display of perfumed candles, and sent them rolling in all directions. The sweet sticky smell of blood and offal mixed with the musky smell of the candles, and Buffy knew she’d never feel the same way about patchouli ever again.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for whatever it was that had touched her, but there was no movement other than her own, and no sound other than her own heart beating in her ears. The skin on her neck was still overly sensitive from that slight brush, and tingled with a raw energy, sending uncontrollable shivers down her back.

She clamped her weaponless hand over the spot, and felt an unexplainable relief as she felt her own hand upon her neck, almost as if she were warding something off, or shielding herself from something. Under her fingers, the hair on her neck and scalp bristled.

She wasn’t aware for how long she crouched there, waiting for that intrusive touch again, when she suddenly slapped her hand to her pocket and drew a matchbook. She fumbled around for a candle, and set the wick alight.

The shadows danced and swayed as the macabre scene unfolded before her. In the middle of the back room, five corpses lay sprawled among candles, books, and crystals. Their blood had soaked into the wood floor, but Buffy could still make out the faint symbols that spiralled and looped around the five figures.

She stared uneasily at the gutted figures, and knew without a doubt, that her evening had just taken a turn for the worst.
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The Problem With Fate