Visitors

Monday, November 15th, 1993, an hour after sunset:

Samantha Kessler examined the hole in the wall carefully. She had the Kessler Sword in one hand and a flashlight in the other. The warehouse was cordoned off by police-tape and plastic sheeting, but she'd cut slits in the plastic and she, Erik, and Pandora now approached the lair.

"Are you sure this is, um, wise?" Erik shook his long hair out of his eyes.

"I've beaten him before." Sam murmured. "Just stay close behind me, but not on my boot-heels."

"Sorry." Erik stepped back.

Sam shone her flashlight down the tunnel. There was firelight ahead. At the mouth of the tunnel, she stopped.

"You!" A deep voice growled.

"That's right, me." Sam stepped into the room. Erik followed. Pandora started chanting.

*****

Yesterday, 11:30 PM:

"It's too dangerous." Drew tried to reason with his girlfriend.

Sam rolled her eyes. "It's safe. The dimension is as boring as white toast."

They were patrolling Greenfields Cemetery. They hadn't been there in several weeks and there were a couple of fresh graves that Sam wanted to keep an eye on.

"You could get stuck there permanently."

"That is a very remote possibility we're working to make as close to nil as possible."

"We who?" Drew demanded. "Because it's not we-us." He pointed between the two of them.

"Pandora is helping me. And Ada. You know, my Watcher? The one who always complains that we don't tell her anything or let her do anything? Well, researching dimensional portals suits both of them fine. So, I asked them to help me. The price for Pandora's help was that I take her with me when I go over. And when I come back."

"There's not enough to be gained to justify the risk."

"What about my peace of mind? If I don't do this, I'll always wish I had. She was me, Drew, except that didn't get Called to become Slayer. And her life, frankly, sucked. When her father died, she lost the last of her family. She had no friends to speak of. And then she got sucked into an extremely hostile alternate dimension, murdered, vamped, and had to be put down like a rabid dog."

"I get that. I was there. We let her die. We let her get vamped and then we fought her and we killed her."

Sam eased up, slightly. "No, you didn't let her die, Drew. You weren't there. Even alternate-Erik, who was nearest, couldn't have done anything to prevent what happened." Her voice hardened again. "From the moment she stepped into our world, it was almost certain she was going to die. The only question was whether they vamped her or not."

"Excuse me, Slayer?" Sam felt a tap on her shoulder. "Are you and your boyfriend gonna fight all night, or is someone else gonna get a chance?" The vampire was fresh from the grave, still in his funeral suit covered with soft dirt.

Without breaking her train of thought, Sam whirled on her heel, drew her sword, and cut the vampire's head off. "Not all slain Slayers get vamped, but that does seem to be the trend, lately."

Drew didn't let the interruption break his momentum, either. "You're right. Absolutely right. Erik gets a grand tour of our universe and a story to make the alternate-me jealous. She gets carried around in a to-go cup. You think that doesn't bother the rest us?"

"I know it does. But you're not me. I want to do something for her. Something that will make sure she is remembered fondly by someone, even if she never knew them and they never really knew her. I have to do this. I just have to."

"I'm not saying that this isn't important. That we can't do something for her. I'm just saying that you can't be the one to go. Send Tori, if you have to. Send me..."

"The week before Thanksgiving? What if you ran into your alternate self? Or would you go looking for yourself? I don't think that would be a very good idea." Sam tried to shift the topic of conversation.

"Ewww. No, I wouldn't go looking for myself. I might make the universe implode myself if I tried that. So I'll stay well clear of anyplace I'm likely to be. And that isn't the point anyway." Drew would not be distracted. "I understand the impulse – the need – to do something for her. It just can't be you who does it."

"This isn't just an impulse, it's a requirement. It's like she's family. I can't send a stranger to do what family should do for her."

"I'm not asking you to send a stranger."

"You know what I mean. I would ask you to come with me, you know I would, except for the fact that there's another you in that Solomon, and I'm not into menage a trois." Sam attempted a laugh that didn't quite make it.

"What about Pandora?" Drew blushed. "I don't mean is Pandora into menage a trois. I mean, St. Germain's could still be some kind of elite boarding school that attracts students from all over the world."

"Could be, but the odds are substantially less. If there is no Slayer, then there are no Watchers. Ralph Jenkins is probably a Don at Oxford, or a curator at the British Museum or something like that. Pandora could just as easily be at school in Switzerland, or Scotland, as Solomon."

Drew returned to his main concern. "What I'm saying is, – God, now I sound like a Watcher – you owe it to Faith, to all her descendants, and all the people that they are going to save. If you get killed over there, then there might not be another Slayer here ever. Being the Slayer comes with responsibilities."

"So does being human. The future isn't written. The world could end tomorrow. I'll do my damnedest to stop it, of course, but in the end, we have to do what is right, with the situation we find in front of us."

Drew saw that they'd reached an impasse. He'd said his concerns, and Sam had heard them, but she was not going to be dissuaded from her course of action. They waited in silence for the second grave to yield up its lumpy inhabitant. Sam didn't wait for it to get all the way out of the ground before she decapitated it. As the dust settled, Sam turned on her heel.

"I'm going home. I guess I should think about this some more."

It was a concession to Drew's feelings, but it didn't mean she'd changed her mind.

*****

The day before that:

Sam asked Sylvia, "Can you teach me a way to get back to that reality where I was? And a way to get back home?"

"But it's such a desperately dull place. Of all the many-splendored stars in the universe, that is the most backwater of all backwater dimensions. Why ever would you want to go back there?"

"Because there are things I need to do. That world's version of me got sucked up into our world, and got killed. So I feel a responsibility to return her ashes, clean up, put her affairs in order."

"Terribly noble of you, darling. That's the thing about Slayers, either they're terribly, terribly noble, or they're the wickedest little things alive. I suppose we're lucky you're the noble type, aren't we?" Sam rolled her eyes and Sylvia went on. "Well, the stars don't stop for thee or me, you know. I must return to Italy tonight. But there are other ways, besides the main paths. Sometimes, the obvious leads one astray, while the subtle brings you right to the front door. Or back door, as the case might be." Her smile was enigmatic. "I can't do this for you, Samantha."

"Not even a little help? A few pointers? An incantation?"

"You have to find your own path. You know the way there, and you can find your way home. You just need the right starting place."

Since Sylvia wasn't being very helpful, Sam went to the Sacred Grounds to ask Ada about dimensional travel. There was a great deal of literature, but very little practical how-to. They spent the afternoon reading and debating the efficiency of one method versus another. It was actually the most time Sam had ever spent with Ada at one go.

That other Solomon was an unexciting world, but it was still Solomon, located in the same place on the map. It had the same buildings, the same schools, even the same people, to some extent. The meeting of rivers. The confluence of ley-lines? If the other Solomon had ley-lines, and they worked in the same way as they did here... that was a lot of 'ifs' but it was a lead. Kevin had mapped the ley-lines around Solomon, a couple years ago. Where did he put that map?

Sam went to the Vastarley house, but Mr. and Mrs. Vastarley were on vacation. They'd left a sign on the front door: "If you are a burglar, we suggest you move on. If you're a friend, we'll have tea and chat when we return. Please don't touch the geraniums. Ta! – Roger and Cynthia."

One of their cats sat in the window above the box of red flowers. Sam took an unconscious step away from the Geraniums of Protection. "Wow. They weren't kidding!" She waved at the cat. "Tell them I stopped by to say 'hi.'" The cat closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Well, if Kevin's map wasn't available, there had to be others. She went to Martense's library to look up local maps in the Special section.

After a several hours of poring over dusty old books the size of coffee tables, Sam yawned and looked up to see Pandora come in with a backpack so big she looked like Quasimodo in profile.

"Hello." Sam waved and stretched.

"Hmpf." Pandora slung her backpack into a chair at the far side of the reading-room.

"What's the matter?" Pandora pretended she didn't hear. Sam got up and came around the end of the table. "What's the matter, Pandora?"

The girl crossed her arms and glared up at Sam. "You've been researching dimensional portals. Ada told me. Only my favorite topic in the whole world, and you didn't even think to ask me!"

Sam was taken aback. "I didn't know dimensional portals were your favorite topic in the whole world. I thought that was Sanskrit runes."

Pandora sighed. "That was last week."

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you." Sam held up her hands. "Forgive me?"

"Maybe." Pandora scowled. "I'll think about it."

"Well, while you're thinking, maybe you could teach me what you know about dimensional portals and ley-lines. Since you probably know a lot more than I do."

"I thought you'd never ask." Pandora flipped open her backpack, then looked quizzically at Sam. "Ley-lines? What do they have to do with portals? And why are you looking at old maps?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure, but since I want to go from Solomon to Solomon, just with a few key differences, I thought I could maybe use the ley-lines as a kind of guide. Like a road map." Sam ducked her head. "I know it's probably a silly idea, and it's based on a lot of assumptions and what-ifs..."

Pandora cut her off. "That's not silly, it's brilliant! Wait right here."

Pandora came back with a very large book, a treatise on esoteric cartography by three generations of Martense alumni. It was filled with topographical maps of Solomon with ley-lines highlighted in purple, yellow, and green, showing their migration over a hundred and fifty years.

"I knew this would come in handy some day. I found it six months ago, filed under local geography. In the regular stacks!" Pandora was furious. "You'd think they'd keep better track of the truly useful texts, but nooooo."

Several hours later...

"...So you see, the periodic change in the flux-state of localized magic is directly proportional to the rate of shift in the ley-line silhouette!" Pandora finished her speech triumphantly.

"So, the more magic flows through a ley-line, the more it moves from side to side."

Pandora rolled her eyes. "That's what I just said."

Sam grinned. "So, we're looking for a ley-line that hasn't moved for a long time. That is most likely to have a low, but steady, stream of magic running through it."

"And most likely to be in exactly the same place in both worlds."

They both scrutinized the map and Pandora brought out a wand with a crystal on its tip to measure the lines they wanted to test.

"There." Pandora pointed. "That one connects two lines, each of which have been steady for," She consulted one of her many tables, "Fifty-six, and eighty-four years, respectively."

"But it's ten miles out of town, and not near any major roads. If I arrive there, it'll be at least a three-hour hike just to get into Solomon. How about here?" Sam pointed.

"You just like that place, don't you?" The line bisected High Acre Cemetery at the point of the bluff above the river. "Only problem is, a major magic-event occurred exactly there only three years ago. Remember?" Pandora touched that spot with her wand. "It's shifted from its original course by oh-point-three degrees south, and oh-point-two degrees east. That's enough to cause a significant plane-shift deviation. You could wind up in Oz, or in some Hell-dimension."

They continued checking and re-checking lines and dates, cross-referencing every book Pandora had with her. Finally Sam sat back. "It's getting late. Aren't you hungry?"

"Hmmm... Maybe." Pandora licked the tip of her crystal and placed it carefully on a very faint yellow line. "I think we have a winner." She smiled.

Sam looked at the place she was pointing. "You've got to be kidding!"

"You've got to admit, there's only been one shop at that location for the past fifty years. A completely mundane shop, that has never had a lick of magic performed within its walls."

"It's been visited by ghosts. And gremlins. And a Djinn." In response to Pandora's questioning look, "Sophomore year, we were trying to find a hiding place for the Djinn's bottle. We thought of putting it in a car chassis, but Joshua thought it would turn into Christine."

Pandora laughed. "Minor, transient manifestations wouldn't affect the magical ambience of the location. I'm telling you, that line has not moved in one hundred and fifty-five years. Before that, we don't have accurate records. So, when do we leave?"

"What 'we' kemosabe?"

"No way! I just spent six, no, seven hours helping you get your bearings and find the starting point for a cross-dimensional portal. You are taking me with you. If not, I won't help you perform the ritual. And you don't know Sanskrit."

"Sanskrit?"

"Indian cosmology makes great use of other worlds and layers of being. Probably how Vikram got there in the first place."

"Vikram was in a demonic version of Witness Protection. I wonder which high-powered demon he narc-ed on." Sam said. "He had Wolfram and Hart send him to Alternate Solomon."

Pandora shrugged. "Whatever. I'm still coming with you."

"No way to talk you out of it?" Pandora's jaw was set in a way that brooked no argument. "I guess we're partners, then. Let's go get a pizza."

*****

Today, Nov. 15th, at sunrise:

Sam prepared carefully for her trip. She dressed for cold-weather hiking and packed her frame-pack and tent with sharpened tent-pegs, her hunting bow and knives, enough food and water for a couple of days, ID, keys, and a metal box she'd welded to hold the ashes of her doppelganger. She rolled the Kessler Sword up in her drop cloth. Pandora dressed the same way and brought stakes, a hand-crossbow, and her grimoire, just in case. She'd faked a fainting spell and fever at school, so got permission to be out of class for a couple of days. Sam explained to her father what she planned to do, and assured him that it would be as safe as possible.

Ada stood to one side, notebook in hand, ready to document the ritual. She had reservations, of course. She was a Watcher by training, which meant there were rules and protocol to follow. But she'd spent the last year watching this Slayer, getting to know her as well as Sam would let her. Which wasn't as much as Ada would like, but she knew well enough that Sam was stubborn and independent. She would try this, whether the Watchers approved or not. Whether anyone assisted her or not. And it would be infinitely more dangerous for Sam to go on her own. So, Ada saw her duty to make this crossing as safe as possible and bring the Slayer home safely.

Drew was there, too, sitting cross-legged in a corner and looking on disapprovingly, ready for the unlikely eventuality that Pandora's double did switch over. He was armed with a sealed letter from Pandora to herself that she thought would probably convince her alternate self to listen to his explanation of what was going on. She'd also given Drew a graphic description of what she'd do to him if he read the letter.

They were standing in the back yard of Kessler's Garage, the most magically neutral spot in all of Solomon. (Who knew?) Sam stepped into the circle beside Pandora. Sanskrit runes in henna, ochre, and charcoal surrounded them in serpentine loops. Pandora lit the candles with a long match. They read the incantation that Ada had written, and Sam sprinkled a pinch of her alternate self's ashes into the flame of the largest candle. The fire burned dark red.

"To the town we know, yet set apart
deliver back this wandering heart
with ashes, flame and will to find
a path for body, soul and mind
where Sam has been, Pandora would see –
the Solomon where magic sleeps."

Sam and Pandora clasped hands, and were gone.

*****

They arrived at the same spot they'd left, but now the sky was overcast and a light drizzle dampened their hair and clothes. Sam scuffed her boots in the mud to look like she'd walked a long way. Pandora turned and stared all around them. Rusty heaps of metal everywhere. No doghouse for Yukon Jack. No light or sign of life from inside the garage.

"You think this is the right dimension?" Pandora's nose wrinkled. "It's really grimy."

"Wait 'til you see the inside." Sam cautiously opened the back door. Dirt, dust, grime, and grease. Dad would have hated seeing his garage this way. She hated seeing it this way. There had obviously been no work done for the last six months. The wall-safe and cash register were both empty, but there was no sign of a break-in or any other disturbance.

"Pretty grim." Pandora put her hands deliberately behind her as she looked over the shelves of dusty tools and random car-parts.

"Yeah." Sam replaced the files. "Nothing happened here after Samuel got sick." Pandora looked at her. "In this world, my dad has been dead for six months. Liver cancer and kidney failure, brought on by chronic alcoholism." Sam locked the doors behind them. For a moment, she looked up at the old, worn sign. Then she located a chain with a towing hook. "Stand back." She measured the distance, swung the hook in a widening circle, and let it go. It sailed up and hooked over the top of the "Kessler and Sons" sign. With one pull, Sam brought it crashing down. Pandora jumped.

"Always hated that sign." Sam muttered. "Glad my dad learned to face reality better."

Three blocks away was her house, dilapidated as she'd seen it before. But now, something was different. The flowerbed was tended and the lawn had been mowed.

Who would possibly have done that for her?

They'd just reached the front porch when Sam heard a loud clank from the backyard. "Stay here. Keep low." Sam jumped the porch-rail and snuck around back. Pandora crouched by the plastic tool-chest and pulled out her grimoire. Sam peeked around the corner of the house. A clump of wet leaves narrowly missed her head.

Erik was perched on a tall ladder, cleaning out the gutters.

Sam hissed, "Erik, what are you doing here?"

Erik startled and turned too quickly. His balance wobbled. The ladder swung backwards. Sam grabbed it at the base, holding it steady. "Will you come down before you break your neck?"

Erik slid down the rails until he was just above Sam's head, then jumped down and scooped her up in a big hug.

"Sam! I'm so glad to see you! I thought you were..." He faltered, pulled back and looked into her eyes. Understanding dawned. "Oh. You're not her. I mean, you're the other one. They told me about..."

Sam offered her hand to shake. "Nice to meet you. I'm Samantha Kessler, the Vampire Slayer."

*****

"Pandora – It's me, and Erik. Don't hit us with anything, okay?"

"All right." On the porch, Pandora quickly rubbed out a chalk-rune she'd drawn on the toolbox.

"Make sure you get all of that. Pandora, Erik – Erik, Pandora. That's if you haven't met already." Sam checked the mail and retrieved three newspapers from behind the shrubs.

"No, we haven't. So, you two are from the same place?" Erik hoped that didn't sound stupid, but forged on. "I hope you don't mind that I've kind of been looking after the house. I didn't go inside. I don't have keys. But I have the rest of your mail in my truck..."

"You collected the mail for me? I mean – for her." Sam shook her head. "Maybe it'd be simpler if we called me Samantha, and her Sam, to keep us apart." Samantha smiled. "That was really sweet of you. I appreciate it."

"Uh, okay. So, how did you get back here, Samantha?" Erik asked.

"Dimensional portal."

His eyes went wide. "For real? Does it work both ways? How long does it last?"

"No, it's a one-shot spell. We have to cast another one to go back again."

"Yeah, it was really cool, although not as sparkly as I expected." Pandora pouted. "A serious lack of atmospheric disturbance, too."

Erik seemed disappointed. He'd wanted to see the portal for himself. "How long are you going to be here, then?"

Samantha answered. "Long enough to put her affairs in order and check on a few things."

"So, she really is..."

"Yes, she's dead." Samantha fished the steel cube out of her pack and showed it to Erik. "Drew told me about the fight in the Witch Tunnels. How are your wounds healing?"

"They're better." Erik touched a scarf he wore around his neck, then thought better of it. "Um, how about you? Were you hurt at all in the, uh, crossing?" This was so weird, to be talking to Sam, except she wasn't Sam. She looked him in the eye and talked to him like he was a regular person. No, like they were friends. She had a great smile. And a boyfriend. Drew had made that very clear. Sam and Drew? He was like a foot shorter than her. Erik tried to stop his train of thought, but couldn't before the image of them kissing swam before his eyes.

"No, I'm fine. A couple of cuts is all. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn't cure." Samantha opened the front door and stepped into the hallway.

"Oh, gross!" Pandora covered her nose and mouth.

"That's got to go." Samantha dropped her hiking gear in the living room and got to work in the kitchen. "You sure you want to stay? You don't have to." But Erik followed her, opening windows and the screen door to air out the house.

Pandora looked nauseated and distinctly disappointed. So far, this dimension was proving even less interesting than Samantha had warned her it would be. "I'll start in here, okay?" She picked up a greasy pizza box from under the sofa and used it to carry trash from the living room. Samantha tossed everything organic, washed the countertops and table, stacked the dishwasher for its first load, and set it to run. Erik cleared out the broken wallboard and lumber where it looked like Sam had begun a big renovation project that would never get finished. He took two big bags of garbage out to the trashcans.

"Thanks for your help. But next, I have to face the upstairs." Sam rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I think I'd better do that part alone."

"What's up there?" Erik asked. "Is it dangerous?"

"Only memories. I think. Though, you know, the more I look around this place, the less it looks like my house. The furniture is different colors, and its arranged differently, although the walls and carpeting are the same." Samantha looked around. "It's not just that Sam didn't become the Slayer like I did. There was never any need for a Slayer in the first place. Our worlds are different. Parallel, but not identical."

"Okay, well, I've got to run some errands for my mom anyway."

"Before you go, would you be interested in attending a very small, two or three person memorial service for Sam this evening?"

"Um, sure." Erik shrugged. "I guess that would be appropriate."

"Then meet us at the gates of High Acre Cemetery at sunset."

Parallel world or not, Sam's room was painful for her to see. The walls were completely bare. Where was her insect collection? The answer lay in tiny, silvery shards around the baseboards. Sam picked up the iridescent shell of a Japanese beetle and knew as surely as if she'd borrowed Drew's psychometry. Her counterpart had smashed it. Probably the first night after Samuel died. Because her father had helped her collect those insects. They'd spent many afternoons out in the woods with butterfly nets and mayonnaise jars. He was so proud of her, and that A on her report card was the icing on the cupcake. She knew that the other version of herself would not be able to sleep in a room with that reminder. So, she'd destroyed it. Sam cleared out the closet and vacuumed the room, cleaning up every last shard.

The attic, on the other hand, held no memories at all. There were only two boxes of broken toys that Samantha could not remember ever playing with, a crate of scratched LP's, and her mother's trunk, which when she opened it, was empty. She turned it over, and even tapped for hidden compartments. Nothing. No frou-frou fifties dresses, no seventies bell-bottoms, no shoes two sizes too small. No jewelry. Probably sold to pay Samuel's medical bills, Samantha realized. She dragged everything from the attic downstairs and went through each box thoroughly. There was nothing remotely valuable or memorable here. She carried it all out to the trash.

She did her father's room last. It looked like it always did, neat and tidy, with all the clothing hanging up and all the shoes lined up in rows. But now, everything was covered in dust. She got out his kit and polished the shoes, then went through all his pockets. She found a couple of receipts and a small handful of lint. Then all her and her father's clothing went into his duffel bag, including the military uniforms.

Pandora found her while she was polishing. "What are you doing?"

"My dad always kept his shoes perfect. Military spit-shine." Sam held up one of the wingtips and rubbed off a smudge. "Would you do something for me? Take that box," Sam nodded, "and empty everything in his dresser drawers into it."

"Sure, Sam." Pandora found men's underwear and socks, all neatly folded and stacked. Shorts, T-shirts. In the bottom drawer was a velvet box of insignia and medals from two generations of Kessler Air Force pilots. "Wow, he got all these?" Pandora lifted out the Silver Star.

"Nope. That was my grandfather's."

"Really? What happened?"

"In our world, he was shot down in the Pacific in World War Two. Managed to shoot down the plane that shot him, then eject. Somehow, he survived in the water for two days before a scout ship found him and pulled him out. He was treated for minor wounds and dehydration and sent home. One of the Purple Hearts is his, too." Samantha finished polishing "I think those are the only memorabilia that Sam couldn't bear to part with. Everything from my mother is gone."

"They should be in a museum." Pandora said. "With plaques telling the stories behind them."

"Good idea." Samantha made some phone calls. The VFW Auxiliary, the United Way, Father Davidson at St. Catherine's. And then they went out.

Samantha's Jeep was parked on the street, with a ticket under the wiper-blades. Martense security had moved it, and now wanted to charge her for the privilege. Well, she wouldn't contest it. She drove to town and dropped off the clothing at the dry cleaners. Mrs. Ting seemed surprised to see her. When she saw what Sam had brought in, her black eyes teared up.

"I so sorry, hear about your father dying." She sniffled into a crumpled tissue she took from her sleeve. "He was nice man. My husband saw him every Sunday at Moose Lodge dinner, poker game. Said he always speak nicely to him."

"Thank you. That's kind of you to say." Sam answered. "Will these be ready by tomorrow?"

"Oh, yes. Five o'clock."

"Please, would it be too much trouble if I could pick them up by noon? I'm going to donate them to the VFW and someone's coming to get them. I can pay in advance."

"Oh, no trouble. No trouble. For you, eleven o'clock. Pay when you pick up." Mrs. Ting shouted toward the back of the store, "Vi! We have customer! Bring your sister and help me sort!"

Sam froze with her hand on the door. The reflection in the window showed two pretty, black-haired girls taking the bag from their mother. Sam turned around.

"Vi – Vivian?" She nearly choked, but turned it into a cough.

"That's Vivian?" Pandora echoed in a whisper.

"Yes." Sam swallowed and made introductions. "Vivian, this is Pandora Jenkins, an exchange student from England. Pandora, Vivian Ting. We went to high school together." She smiled uncertainly. "Right?"

The older girl looked puzzled. "Of course we did." She stepped around the counter and hugged Sam. "Although I haven't seen you since graduation. How are you?" Her expression changed. "Is something wrong?"

This was Vivian, as she would have been if Britta Kessler had actually died in 1923. If she'd never been turned into a vampire, and they'd never fought to the death. Sam controlled her thoughts and remembered who she was supposed to be.

"Well, I've been better, actually. My dad died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Vivian's concern was genuine. "That's terrible!"

"Thanks. It was, well, not unexpected. He was, uh, sick, for a long time."

"But you can't spend Thanksgiving alone." Vivian turned and exchanged a questioning look with her mother. "You have to come to our house. Both of you. It'll be great! We can catch up..."

Sam interrupted. "Thanks a lot. That's really nice of you. But I'm not going to be in town for Thanksgiving."

"But why not?" Vivian was puzzled. "It's only next week."

"I know." Sam thought quickly. "But I'm going on an extended vacation. I just need to, you know, clear my head. I'm thinking of going cross-country. Hike the Appalachian Trail. Maybe join a Buddhist monastery."

"Oh, Sam! You're so funny!" Vivian covered her mouth. "You were never this funny in school."

Sam just shook her head. This was the weirdest conversation. "Well, thanks. I'll be back to pick up those things, tomorrow. Bye, now." She escaped out the door, catching a last glimpse of Vivian through the glass before she returned to work.

Pandora glanced back and whispered. "You killed her, right?"

"The vampire version of her. I never got to meet the real Vivian." Sam glanced back over her shoulder. "She was nice." She smiled wistfully. "We might've even been friends, in this world or some other."

"So, where to next?"

"Somewhere safe and boring. The bank. No vampires at Solomon Savings and Loan."

But that was where Drew's mother worked. Fortunately, Mrs. Killian was busy with another customer, so they could avoid talking to her. Pandora waited patiently while Samantha checked out the state of her finances.

Her checking account balance was depressingly low. There was still a small-business account for the garage, tapped out. Likewise, her father's account had been emptied, but not closed. She spoke to a bank manager and simply closed all three, taking the cash. She also pulled everything out of their safe deposit box. The mortgage papers for the properties, her father's will and life-insurance papers. There were also titles for her Jeep and a 1971 Dodge Charger registered to her father. She knew that car would be faded blue, with an indestructible engine. With six months of love and some new parts, it would roar down a straightaway and corner like a cheetah. She wished she could take it back with her, but she already had that same car at home, tricked out and painted with an Erik Sorensen special.

Walking down Main Street, they passed by the Sacred Grounds. Samantha stopped, and then she and Pandora went in. The bell over the door jingled and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee washed over them. The sign on the window was done in green and gold Celtic lettering, and the walls were painted mossy green with dark brown wainscoting. There were fewer tables, and no stage, but lots more bookshelves, through which several older people were browsing.

"Wow. This place is really different." Pandora said. "It doesn't look like Ada at all."

"It looks like Hartsdale." Samantha smiled. "But if I'm not mistaken, that's Sally Lewis behind the till. She owned the Sacred Grounds before the Watchers bought it."

"Huh. Maybe they could buy it anyway?"

"Start a cross-dimensional branch of the Council?" Samantha thought about it. "Whoever they assigned here would probably be bored out of their mind." They bought hot chocolate and browsed the shelves, then went next door for dinner at a place called Olivia's, which didn't exist in their Solomon but turned out to have excellent food. Olivia was a buxom young woman with a jolly laugh. Samantha couldn't help staring at her over the low wall of the open kitchen.

"Do you know her?" Pandora asked.

"Nope. I slew a former Martense student who looked just like her once, though."

*****

Just before sunset, Samantha and Pandora walked up the cobblestone street to High Acre. The gates were locked, but Samantha knew where the fence met a low hill, so it was easy to get over. Erik met them and she showed him how to get inside.

The graveyard was familiar, but different. It had the same big mausoleums, but the graves were farther apart. "Lower death-rate." Samantha murmured. "This seems almost spacious, compared to the High Acre in our world."

"So, you spend a lot of time in graveyards?" Erik asked.

"Yes. I patrol every night, a different graveyard. There are thirteen of them in our world. Only half that many here." She stopped. "We're here."

Erik looked around. "We're where?" The murmur of the river came up to them, but they were far enough from the edge they could hear it but not see it.

"The equivalent place in our world where almost three years ago, I was Called to become the Slayer." Samantha answered. "It was here, because I liked coming up here, to think and be alone. If your Sam was anything like I was then, she probably liked this place, too." She took out the steel cube and slid the top open. She cleared her throat.

"We come here tonight, to remember Samantha Kessler of Solomon, Massachusetts. This town was her home. She lived hard, endured much, and died young. May her soul finally know peace in that Place that passes all understanding. Now we return her mortal remains to the earth and water, in the world where she lived, so the cycles continue, now and forever, Amen."

Samantha stepped to the edge of the cliff and tipped the cube upside-down. A faint line of dust trailed out, falling down to the ruffled surface of the Green River below. When it was all gone, she closed the box and put it back in her pocket.

Erik hadn't known Sam that well, and Pandora hadn't known her at all, but they each thought their own thoughts in silence. Pandora had attended several funerals for her father's friends when their duties as Watchers took them too close to danger.

While Samantha meditated on a life so close, yet so different from, her own, a familiar sound disturbed her. She turned, gazing across the rolling terrain until she saw them.

Three fresh graves, all in a row. The turned earth of one was trembling.

"Stay here. I'm going to go check on something." She moved quickly.

"Wait!" Pandora ran after her and Erik followed.

Samantha reached the grave just as a balding head broke the surface. It was a vampire, wearing the dress-uniform of a police sergeant. "Damn!" She swore.

He pushed himself out of the ground and snarled at her. Sam hit him with an uppercut that sent him flying. Beside her, the second grave broke open and another vampire-policeman jumped at her. She met him with a side-kick that reversed his trajectory. The third grave was already open, and a man in a dirty beige trench coat tried to sweep her legs out from under her. Sam jumped and came down with an elbow to the back of his head, which forced him to his knees.

"Sam!" Pandora shouted and threw her a stake.

Samantha caught it and dusted the plainclothes detective. The two cops circled, snarling, but she kicked, punched, and dusted both of them in quick succession.

She wiped off her hands and pocketed the stake. "Thanks." She grinned at Pandora. "You don't listen to orders, do you?"

"We're not in the Army. Are there any more?"

Samantha surveyed the grounds again. "I don't know. These are the only fresh graves nearby." She frowned. "The question is: how did they get here? There aren't supposed to be any vampires in this world."

"Not native ones, but there was Vikram."

"Who is dust. I carved him up into little bitty..." She stopped. "Starfish."

"What?" Erik was having trouble following the conversation. That fight was... wow! He'd never seen anyone fight like that, not even in the movies.

"When I fought Vikram, I cut his arm off so he couldn't use his sword any more." Samantha explained. "It grew back. That is, it started to. It was a long fight. He was ambidextrous. And by the time I dusted him, his arm had grown back to the elbow. I thought when the head went, the rest of him would too. But what if that arm I severed before grew back like a starfish? There would be a new Vikram running around. And if he's started making progeny..."

"We're in trouble." Pandora finished.

"Not yet, but it's a good thing that we came back. Let's go get the rest of our stuff."

"Wait. What can I do to help?" Erik caught up with them.

"Don't worry, we can handle one vampire. And besides, you're injured."

Erik unwound his scarf. "Actually, I'm not. I've been pretending that I got a hickey. It made Jennifer mad, but look." His neck was scarred, but the skin was whole. "I don't know what kind of mojo they put in that transfusion, but I've never healed that quickly in my life." He looked from Samantha to Pandora. "Take me with you. You'll need someone to watch your backs."

"Can you get us into Morris Hall?"

"Sure. Why?"

"We need more weapons."

*****

Samantha retrieved Erik's father's long sword and the Indian Tulwar she'd taken from Vikram and hidden in a locker before she and "her Erik" had switched back to their own world.

"So that's where it's been! My dad's been looking all over for this."

"Can you use it?"

"Sure. I'm in the SCA, you know."

"I know." Samantha smiled. "And you've been double-teamed and lived to tell the tale. You've earned your spurs."

Erik's grin went goofy, but Samantha didn't show that she'd noticed.

Pandora swung the Tulwar two-handed. "This is just a bit heavy for me."

"That's okay. I'll need it for something else. Morale." Samantha took it from her. "Remember, shields and deflection. I'm counting on you to keep those energy-snakes off of us."

*****

"You!" Vikram growled. It was a leaner, muscular version of him, but with the same face. There was another vampire, an Indian woman wearing a length of silk wrapped around and secured at the navel with a policewoman's badge. She stopped dancing and hissed at them.

"That's right, me. You didn't think you'd regenerate and get away with it?" Samantha clicked off her flashlight and brandished the Tulwar in her left hand. "Remember this? I took it from you once." She threw it to the ground at Vikram's feet. But the female moved first; at the same time Pandora finished her spell.

The light was bright enough to blind, but it came from behind Samantha and Erik. Samantha followed up on the advantage, cutting the female vampire deep across the belly, her blade scraping on scales, and then decapitating her on the back swing.

"You killed my companion!" Vikram roared and snatched up his sword.

"You're next." She advanced on him. Erik moved to her left. Pandora stayed back, chanting a shield-spell.

Vikram pointed. A length of black smoke extended from his finger and coiled toward Erik.

Samantha intercepted it. "By St. George, who slew the Dragon." She wound the smoke up on her sword like a spindle, and hurled it back at Vikram, who nonchalantly held up a palm, and the smoke dispersed.

"How tedious. I see I'll just have to wear you down first." Vikram clapped his hands. From the next room came low, hollow moans.

"Zombies!" Samantha warned.

Pandora threw a handful of powder and a shimmering aura surrounded Erik. He turned to face what came out of Vikram's trophy room.

To call them zombies would imply more bodily coherence than they actually had. Heads and hands were directly attached to torsos at odd angles; legs were bound in twos or threes, with random numbers of fingers and toes.

Erik gasped. "They're like a Hieronymus Bosch painting!" He ducked under a flailing arm, and cut deep into something's thigh.

While Samantha and Vikram fought, Pandora pulled out one of Dr. Gersham's tanglefoot bags and tossed it into the middle of the zombie-mass. "Don't cut them, knock them down!"

Erik could do that. He used his sword to trip and batter the zombies until they were all stuck to the floor and couldn't move.

Samantha's fight happened almost as it did before, except this time instead of severing limbs, she only sliced muscles to disable Vikram before she cut his head off. The pile of dust was smaller, and to top it off, she pulled out a flask and un-corked it. Holy water sizzled in the dust and the whole mass vaporized.

"Now, what do we do with those?" Erik waved at the quivering mass of zombie-parts. Samantha inspected the other room. Vikram had used all his trophies to make the zombies, and there was no other exit.

"Well, I'm not Tori, but..." Sam pulled out a box of strike-anywhere matches and passed them around. "Start in the back. That goo especially is inflammable. Once it goes up, we'd better get out of here and call the fire department."

They did so, getting well away before the authorities showed up. The entire warehouse went up in flames, but Solomon's Finest were able to keep it from spreading any farther. That was the end of the "Vampire Murders".

Samantha drove Erik home so he wouldn't get in trouble with his parents, and then she and Pandora went patrolling. Between Samantha's vampire-sense and Pandora's dowsing wand, they quartered this Solomon and covered every block of downtown. Pandora made notes and a sketch-map of the ley lines, which were fewer and farther between. But there was one congruity she was glad to find. They went back to Sam's house and camped out in her tent in the backyard.

The next day, while Pandora did more magical surveys, Samantha took care of the disposition of the clothes, uniforms, and medals to the appropriate charities. Then she called the insurance and mortgage companies to follow up on the papers she'd found at the bank and in her father's desk. Once that was done, she had two final errands to run. One, to see Mrs. Vastarley to witness Samantha Kessler's last will and testament in this world. The other to St. Catherine's, to see Father Davidson. She was leaving everything to the church, excepting only her Jeep and the equipment that she and Pandora had brought with them.

They'd determined to the best of their abilities that there were no other vampires in this Solomon at this time. The site of the Brewpub where Koryzoon slept in the basement was a quaint little inn that had a wine cellar to be proud of, but no doors to subterranean caverns. Martense was a well-known and respected college, but there was no Weird and Unusual Studies department. Likewise, St. Germain's was a snooty, competitive boarding school, but they had never had a Dean Bathory. There were tunnels under the downtown area, but here they were just extensions of basements where former Revolutionaries hid tea and gun cotton from the British, and later were used as a terminal stop in the Underground Railroad.

Sam and Pandora said good-bye to Erik and left Solomon that evening, an hour before sunset. Sam drove her plain, dark blue Jeep ten miles out of town, stopped for gas, and made sure people saw her. She talked about going on a long vacation, far away. She sounded happy. Then, when they were alone on the road, Sam sped, swerved, and slamed on the brakes to put down skid-marks at the edge of a steep embankment. She could have seen a deer or a drunk-driver in the other lane. No one would ever know why. She and Pandora got out, and then she pushed the Jeep over the edge. At the bottom, it crashed and burned. No bodies, but no signs of survival, either. St. Catherine's would get the house and garage, which would be sold and the money used to finance the church, especially to buy new robes and hand bells for the choir. Sam had always liked hand bells, and this set would have a small plaque, "Donated by Samantha and Samuel Kessler" so that they would be remembered, by someone, in the future.

She and Pandora hiked through the woods, following the dowsing wand and maps. When they got to a small clearing, Pandora said, "This is the place." She shivered. "Can you feel it?"

"Yeah. I can." Sam looked around them. "I can almost see them." The air seemed to shimmer with more than sunset-gold.

At this end, they couldn't use candles or anything that might be recognizably "occult," So they used what materials came to hand. Sam drew the circle in the dirt with her sword. Pandora braided twigs into circles and spirals. They laid down the symbols and spoke the words together.

From here to home, the path we know,
for bodies, minds, immortal souls,
Where magic walks, the Slayer guards,
Monsters threaten, mages ward.
To Solomon we return again
where we belong and are certain.

They clasped hands, and disappeared.