The Sadie Hawkins Dance

The Dance Committee has decorated the gym in blue and white streamers, glittery stars, silver moons, and glow-in-the-dark comets. The theme is "Stardust Memories." And, although someone painted Jupiter's rings like a concentric rainbow, the whole thing looked okay (i.e., not too scary) in the afternoon sunlight on Friday. At school, pubescent sexual tensions ran higher than usual. Last-minute date questions were asked and answered. Several hearts were broken, and several more potential romances sparked across Bio labs and history classrooms.

The big night finally arrives. After many agonizing hours of trying on clothes, dance lessons (agonizing for Joshua's toes, that is) and other assorted preparations and primping, the now-familiar rumble of a V-6 engine pulls up outside the Killian family dwelling. The doorbell rings.

Drew's mother answers the door. She's a short, somewhat severe looking woman in her early forties, but when she sees who is on her doorstep, she smiles warmly, "Oh, Sam, hello. Do come in. Drew won't be a minute. Drew, honey, she's here! Don't you look lovely tonight."

"Hello, Mrs. Killian. Thank you." Sam blushes and allows Mrs. Killian to take her coat. Underneath, blue satin and black lace rustles as Sam extracts her shoulder-wrap from the sleeves of her coat and tries to get it situated correctly again. Just as Tori showed her, "the edges of the lace shawl should just skim the tips of your shoulders, and then you tie it, not too tight, or too loose, but so the knot hangs just - so - We want you to look sexy, not dowdy." As Tori put it. "Then, if you don't want to take it off when you dance, you can angle it around your waist, like - so - and viola! Arms free to hold Drew close... or whatever floats your boat." Sam's hair is highlighted honey-blonde, trimmed and moussed so it is... fluffy. With just a touch of mascara and dark pink lip gloss, Sam looks almost completely... unlike Sam.

Drew appears almost instantly from upstairs, rescuing Sam from having to make conversation. He's wearing a dark suit that looks like it would fit in either at a funeral or on an NSA agent. The only splash of color is an inexpertly tied blue and red Spiderman necktie. He stops when he sees Sam, his eyes sort of bugging out. "Wow." Realizing that's inadequate, he tries again, "I mean...wow! I mean, don't get me wrong. The fancy dress and styled hair... so not my thing. You never look hotter than when you're doing a spinning jump kick to some..." he suddenly remembers they have an audience, "...guy's face in martial arts class... Did I mention, 'wow'?"

Sam's face achieves shades of fuchsia that have never been seen before, even by a fuchsia. She laughs. "Oh, stop it... but, thanks." She smiles shyly. "Hi. Nice tie." She gently reaches out and adjusts it straighter, provoking a blush from Drew. She has to bend her knees slightly to reach him.

Drew's mother isn't finished with them yet, though. She turns toward the back of the house and shouts, "Stephen! Bring the camera!"

Sam turns an even brighter shade of pink. "Do we have to?" She murmurs out of the corner of her mouth. "Maybe we should run for it."

Drew rolls his eyes but, before he can say anything, his father, a balding professorial type in an old cardigan and khakis, appears with a camera that is nearly as large as your average toaster, and more complicated to operate than a VCR.

"Oh, good," Drew's mother says. "Now, maybe if you two could stand over there by the door where there's more light. Don't worry, dear, we'll make sure your father gets copies."

Drew allows himself to be led over to the door, but he does make an effort at protest. "Mom, you know these are just the sorts of things that are hideously embarrassing when your friends find them in twenty years. Kind of like those yearbook photos of you and Dad."

His mother just smiles. "Exactly. And what kind of parents would we be if we didn't prepare traumatic experiences for you years in advance?"

Sam grins. "That's almost exactly what my Dad said. He was so disappointed when I told him I was coming to pick Drew up, because he wouldn't be able to have the shotgun out, cleaning it, when Drew arrived. I think it's a tradition." Sam winks at Drew. "Be sure to act properly scared, next time."

"I think I can manage that."

Mr. Killian lines up the camera's view-finder and adjusts the shutter speed for the light. "There, that's perfect. You two make a lovely couple. Hmm... Maybe we could try one without the heels?"

"Or, maybe Drew could stand a step up, on the stairs? That would work, I think." Sam smiles to try and take the sting out of the comment, but now it's Drew's turn to turn fuchsia.

His mother says, "Yes, sorry about that. I'm afraid he gets his height from me."

"That's okay, Mrs. Killian. I really... don't mind." Sam murmurs.

There are a few pictures - "Just one more. - Say Parcheesi!" Mr. Killian turns the camera sideways and snaps another few shots and then Sam and Drew manage to escape.

He breathes a sigh of relief once they get outside. "Sorry about that. My parents can be kind of...overwhelming."

"No problem. I think they were really sweet."

"Thanks. We just could have done with less of the photography. It's Dad's hobby, though. He never misses an opportunity to get that thing out and snap photos of anything. He took six rolls of film at my cousin's first birthday party last month... and that was mostly of my cousin smearing chocolate cake all over herself."

Drew has on his usual maroon ski jacket, which unfortunately is a couple inches shorter than his suit jacket. Sam's Army/Navy surplus coat pretty much envelops her, as usual. But, she's very glad to get back in the Jeep, with the heater on.

"Brrr. That's really cold out there." She leans down to rub her legs.

"Yeah, they should know better than to have these things in January. Or, at least, the theme should be flannel or something."

"I could deal with that." Sam put the Jeep into gear, and they're off to the dance!

Drew is uncharacteristically quiet on the drive over. After a few blocks, he realizes that he should probably say something and tries, "So, think there's any chance we'll make it through the evening without some demon trying to trash the school?"

Sam shrugs. "I don't know... That might be an improvement on the usual Solomon dance." She turns a corner. "From what I hear, anyway. I didn't go to any of them last year."

"Yeah, I've never been to one, either. I guess that was kinda obvious from my parents going nutty with the photography."

There's uncomfortable silence for a block or two, and then Sam pulls into the school parking lot.

"We're heeere." She looks at Drew out of the corner of her eye. "Last chance we can make a run for it. Change clothes at the Grounds and go look for some vampires to slay... Unless Britta's gotten them all already."

Drew smiles, "Sounds like fun. Except I just know my parents are going to want dance details. Besides, everyone in there is going to drop dead when they see you." Sam winces. "OK, bad choice of words. But, still... You can't deprive us of watching their reactions. Plus, I think there's going to be cake."

"Cake is good." Sam nods. "Okay, let's go in. Drop our coats in our lockers, and... make an entrance." She takes a deep breath. "I guess I'm ready for that. I've never "made an entrance" before... I think I'm supposed to stand on your left."

Drew sort of gulps. 'Making an entrance' hadn't been part of his mental picture of the evening. "Uh, yeah, that sounds right."

Sam and Drew make a dash from the truck to the school building. Light and heat welcome them at the door. There's a table set up nearby draped with shiny blue and gold paper. Behind it sits Callie Marshall, one of the "pretty people" who hangs with Tori and Marcy Lee. She was popular enough to be included on the dance decorating committee, but not quite so high on the popularity totem pole, since she got stuck with door duty. Behind the table also stands Mr. Jamison, one of the most severe-looking and strict-testing history teachers, glaring over his little half-glasses at the students as they arrive.

Callie looks up at Drew and Sam, and searches for name recognition. Coming up blank, she asks, "Are you students here?"

"Yeah." Sam flushes. "Samantha Kessler and Drew Killian. Sophomores."

"Oh!" Callie blushes pink (which clashes horribly with her green eyeshadow). "Sure. Right. Um. You need stamps." She holds up a rubber stamp of a seal balancing a ball on its nose, and waits patiently while Sam and Drew present their hands to be stamped. "Okay. Thanks. Have a good time." She gives a perky smile and immediately turns to the next couple.

As they turn away, Drew mutters under his breath, "Yeah, Callie, we've only been in the same class since first grade. Nice to see you, too." He rolls his eyes and says more loudly, to Sam, "OK, so that wasn't quite the ideal reaction. I don't look that different in a suit, do I?"

"It's the hair. You look nice. Don't worry about it. She's always been a ditz. Meet you back here?"

"Oddly, I'm not getting the premonitions of death that usually follow your saying that. Sure. No changing your mind and fleeing, though." He smiles, "At least, not without me."

"Deal."

Drew's locker is closer and he gets back first to wait for Sam near the bulletin board next to the Gym entrance, looking nervous. When Sam returns, his eyes light up and he seems a little relieved to see that she hasn't fled, after all. "So, um, now we get to find out if this is the alternate universe where nobody knows who we are, or if Callie's just an idiot. Not that those are mutually exclusive. You ready?"

"I vote idiot. Look at Stephie Newberry over there. Is that Tom Lassiter she's with?"

The couple in question is standing over near the gym entrance, about to go inside when they spot Sam and Drew. Stephie's magenta-painted mouth has opened in a little "o" and her eyes are enormous. Tom is a senior, point guard on the basketball team. He does a double-take, and then gives a low whistle. Stephie notices, and drags his arm towards the gym. Tom goes, reluctantly, but keeps looking back toward Sam.

Sam freezes on the spot. "Oh, no! This is a bad idea..."

Drew grins, "Did I not mention 'wow' earlier?" Sam glances at him, deer-in-headlights. "What, you thought I was just being polite? One good thing, anyway. Nobody's gonna be looking at me..." Sam's glare makes clear even to Drew that this was the wrong thing to say. "Sorry, wait. OK, supportive... Um...wait, I can do this. OK... A - you look amazing. And, contrary to popular belief, that's actually a good thing. B - um...the lighting's probably much worse in there, so we won't stand out as much. And, C - cake."

"Right. Cake. This is going to be cake compared with... some things we've dealt with." Sam grins and gets a hold of herself. She hitches her wrap up higher on one shoulder and arranges a fold across her body. "I'm the one who should be feeling sorry for Stephie. She's with 'Love-'em-and-leave-'em' Lassiter, while I'm with you. In that contest, I win!" Drew looks completely blown away by that, but Sam is on a roll now and goes on without noticing. "Let's go in there before I lose my nerve again."

Sam holds out her arm for Drew, and then remembers that Drew is supposed to hold his arm out for her. They eventually get their arms arranged properly and walk into the gym together.

The decorations that seemed rather innocuous and even a bit tacky by light of day are transformed by mood lighting and sweeping spots from a glitterball into a starry nighttime sky filled with planets. The DJ is spinning Roxette's "You've got the Look" and the dance floor is filled with gyrating teenagers. Around the edge of the floor, three other teachers act as chaperones. One is Drew's English teacher, one is the phys. ed. teacher/ football coach, and the other teaches Spanish.

A few other wallflowers spot Sam and Drew as they step to one side of the doorway for their eyes to adjust and to see where the refreshments table is. There's some whispering, which isn't audible over the music. Sam straightens her spine, which puts her about head-and-shoulders over everyone else, and they head toward the cake and punch.

Drew is blushing furiously when he catches the looks but, fortunately, the mood lighting makes it hard to see that. Or, at least, he hopes the mood lighting makes it hard to see.

He gets them a couple plates of cake, which rather fails to live up to the hype by being school cafeteria cake, sort of pale yellowish and a bit stale with overly sugary vanilla frosting. He even manages to dip them a couple cups of punch -- the description "red" serves for both color and flavor -- without spilling any.

Sam accepts the cake and punch with a smile, and leads the way to one of the little round tables covered in white cloths that have been put up at one end of the gym. People get out of their way, and they sit down.

The lighting is better over here. Other tables have couples or foursomes, chatting, eating cake, drinking punch. A few tables over, Tori is sitting with Jonathan Winslow. He's dressed in a blue suit over a pale blue open-collar shirt and looks rather bored. Tori is trying to engage him in conversation, but doesn't seem to be getting anything more than monosyllabic answers. After Roxette's song is over, the DJ switches to another one-hit-wonder in "Funky Cold Medina."

Drew seems a bit calmer now and has actually stopped blushing. Mostly, anyway. "See, that wasn't so bad. No great crowds of people laughing and pointing. We have music, we have punch, we have cake." He takes a bite. "OK, actually, we have Tone Loc, we have red stuff, and we have... this," he waves his fork at the rather underwhelming cake. "But there isn't the laughing and the pointing."

While Drew is talking, Sam smiles and takes a bite of her own cake and washes it down with "red stuff". "Bug juice. That's what the girls in my Scout troop call this." She lifts the cup. "Red bug juice is better than blue bug juice in my book any day... And there's got to be a better song after this one. Got to be."

"Bug juice." Drew grins, "Don't say that around Tori. I think she's way more of an expert on bug juice than she ever wanted to be. Although that was more yellow."

The DJ continues his streak of one hit wonders with Alannah Myles's "Black Velvet." Drew perks up a bit when it comes on. "There, this one's not so bad."

Sam nods. "Yeah. I like it, too." She downs the rest of her bug juice and crams the remainder of the cake and its napkin into her cup. "Well... You want to dance?"

Drew blushes again and tries unconvincingly not to sound too eager. "I guess that is kinda what we're here for." He gets up and follows her out onto the dance floor.

Despite Joshua's best efforts, it's still clear that Drew has never danced in his life before this week. But Joshua has managed to keep him from looking spastic and he has a certain natural feel for the rhythm of the music. Contrary to all preconceptions, he at least fails to embarrass himself once he gets over being afraid of Sam. Also contrary to what one might expect, that doesn't take very long. By the time "Black Velvet" ends, he's gone from stark terror to actually starting to enjoy himself.

Sam, also, has more natural grace than training when it comes to dancing. And she throws in a few arm-moves that Drew could swear look a lot like judo throws performed on some unfortunate invisible opponent. But when she does so, she smiles at Drew. It's like they're sharing a private joke out there together. He grins at that and tries a couple of his own, just to show that he gets the joke. It doesn't really work for him, though. He doesn't have either the judo skill or the dancing talent to pull it off. Sam appreciates the effort, anyway, but is just as glad that he gives it up fairly quickly.

After "Black Velvet" the DJ switches to Belinda Carlyle - "Heaven is a Place on Earth" and it's like a chemical reaction occurs - suddenly, all the single dancers snap together into pairs. The few that are left alone head toward the edge of the floor, and other couples from the outskirts move into the center. There's a moment of hesitation like changing gears before Sam puts her arms around Drew's shoulders, but then they're holding each other at a natural arm-length, and swaying back and forth to the music. Drew smiles shyly up at Sam as she puts her arms around him. Again, he stiffens up a little at first but relaxes fairly quickly. Thanks to Joshua, he even manages not to step on her toes.

(Camera pans back, and fade to commercial break)

Sam and Drew are leaving the dance. They pile into the Jeep. Drew's gone from being unable to stop blushing to being unable to stop grinning ear-to-ear.

"I can't believe it. We actually made it through the evening without having to fight something. I mean, in the comics, whenever the... heroes try to go on a date or do some normal life type thing, some supervillain chooses that exact time and place to try to take over the world. I was sure that was going to happen to us. Kept waiting for the horde of demons to come crashing through the door."

Sam smiles. "No demons, this time. We'll just have to be extra-careful next time."

Sam puts the Jeep into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. As they drive away, the camera pans away to a dark corner of the parking lot where the red-headed Satanic Kitten is leaning against one of the walls of the school watching the students straggle out of the building.

They arrive back at Drew's house and Sam walks him up to the front door. He summons up the courage to ask her, "So, um, you wanna do this again sometime? I mean, not the Sadie Hawkins dance, cause that's not till next year and, anyway, I can't ask you to that. But, you know, another date-like thing. I mean, I know, technically, I'm not supposed to do this now. You're supposed to lie awake all night wondering if I'll call and I'm supposed to lie awake all night wondering if you'll say yes. But, I figure, with the vampires and the demons and the giant bugs and stuff, we already have enough stress in our lives and..." it suddenly dawns on him that he's sounding like an idiot. "I'll stop babbling now and let you talk."

Sam smiles. "I'd like that. Another date-like thing. Um, I'd suggest the classic going out to the movies, but we know how well that turned out last time." Grin. "And we're around coffee all the time anyway, so going out for coffee is kind of... ordinary. But how about ice cream? It's never too cold for ice cream."

Drew grins. "That would be way cool. We can work out the details at training." He knows they can't stand out on the doorstep all night, but he isn't sure quite how to disentangle himself from the conversation. "You're gonna freeze out here. So... um... thanks for inviting me."

"Um, aren't you forgetting something?" Sam and coyness is a strange combination, but somehow, it's more cute than otherwise.

At Drew's panicked reaction, Sam gently puts her hands back on his shoulders. "I had a really good time tonight. Thank you for coming with me."

She leans down and kisses him. Well, bumps noses first, and then kisses him. It's immediately obvious that kissing is a subtle art, not enhanced by either inexperience or Slayer-strength.

"Sorry about that." (Wiping her chin) "Um... maybe we need more practice."

Drew looks a bit dazed. "More practice. Definitely. Lots more practice."

"That'd be nice, too." Sam kisses Drew once more, much more gently this time, and then releases him. "Good night Drew. Sleep well." She turns and heads back to her Jeep.

"'Night." Drew turns in a daze and lets himself in the house.

Sam watches to make sure he gets inside okay, then puts the Jeep in gear and drives off towards her own home. It's eleven o'clock on Friday night.

A couple of blocks from the Killian home, Sam turns and circles back towards the school. "Drew was right. It was too quiet." She pulls the truck over behind someone's garage and reaches into the back seat for her backpack. Checking her mirrors and out the windows, she quickly changes her clothes, folding away the blue dress and lace shawl and shoes for another special evening. Blessed warmth on her legs again and the comforting tightness of her special gloves along her arms, she stuffs the backpack back in the backseat. She checks the landscape once more, locks the doors, and heads back to the school on foot.

From this angle, she spots red-headed Satanic Kitten before the vampire spots her.

"Gwen?" Sam calls. Not loudly, but the vampire comes alert and turns, a hand going to the sword at her belt. "That was your name, right? Gwen?"

When she recognizes Sam, the vampire drops her hand away from the sword and leans a shoulder back against the wall. She's making an effort to appear relaxed, but Sam's Slayer instincts catch the tension in her muscles. She smiles slightly, "I see you've been doing your homework."

Sam shrugs, calm but alert. "When your boss introduced herself, I made it a point to find out about the posse, too. You working alone tonight?"

"Thorough. That's good. Thorough will keep you alive. The others are around. I figured the dance -- all those teenagers wandering round in pairs late at night trying to escape adult supervision -- might be a draw for the local vamps." She waves a hand at the parking lot, which is now mostly empty. "Looks like I was wrong."

"Yeah. Good thing, too." Sam looks around, keeping one eye on the shadows, but never turns her back to Gwen. "When you see her, tell Britta - Sorry about the arrow, the other night. But Finn wasn't a vamp and I wanted to find out what he was doing here, before Britta could kill him. Nothing personal."

"No offense taken, I'm sure." Gwen straightens and steps away from the wall. "Look, I was gonna hang around till the dance committee left, just to make sure, but I'm thinking you were planning on some alone time to decompress. You got this?"

"No problem. Here they come now." The four teachers who'd served as proctors for the dance, and the five committee members who'd either volunteered or drawn short straws for clean-up duty come out the door, the teachers herding the students in front. Mr. Jamison locks the door behind them, and everyone says "good night" and scatters to their cars. Within minutes, the parking lot is deserted.

"Well, that's that." Sam brushes off her hands. "I was actually planning to make a quick loop around Greenfields," she nods in the direction of the graveyard across the street, "and then call it a night. Wanna come with?"

"Sure. Be nice if I could find something to stake tonight." Gwen heads across the street with Sam.

Greenfields is a more modern cemetery than High Acre and is surrounded by a wrought iron fence, although it doesn't pose much of a hindrance to either of the Slayers. Gwen lands first and waits a moment for Sam to catch up before turning and heading into the cemetery, seemingly at random.

She looks back over her shoulder and grins at Sam, "He's cute."

Sam nods, hoping the darkness covers her blush. "Yeah. Good with a crossbow, too."

Sam takes a deep breath and extends her senses, letting her gaze travel over the shadowy tombstones in search of something out of place... unnatural. But with Gwen standing right beside her, it's like looking for a firefly in the face of a campfire. She gives up as Gwen moves off into the graveyard, cutting across the rows of tombs and between markers, evidently unconcerned at whose remains she might be stepping on. Sam goes around the graves, occasionally taking note of the names engraved on them - Thompson, O'Mara, Marshall... could be one of Callie's grandparents. Sarah Marshall, born 1902, died 1984. Condolences... The graveyard is empty. Only the wind blows through, making sighing sounds against the carved stone...

Until they reach the far southwest corner. Gwen spots them first, and stops, still in the shadow of a mausoleum. "Paydirt," she murmurs, easing her sword from its sheath without a sound.

Hunched over a recently-dug grave are two gaunt shapes dressed in long, dark coats. The tattered moonlight etches dark shadows across their faces and touches the jagged teeth protruding from their mouths.

Sam stops a few paces back. "I'll take the one on the left."

Gwen gives a curt nod and leaps forward toward the vampire on the right. She fights with an easy grace and a confidence born of decades of winning fights like this one. One-on-one, the fight is clearly a mismatch, but it goes on for a couple minutes nonetheless. Gwen isn't exactly toying with her vampire, but she seems in no hurry to bring the fight to a conclusion, either. She fights with her human face on and the only clear sign of her vampiric abilities comes when she moves in for the kill, capping the last flurry of blows with a decapitating stroke that most humans wouldn't have had the strength to manage.

Sam's fight, in contrast, is quick and brutal. She moves in on the vampire on the left, dodges a couple of punches it throws, catches an arm, and throws it over her hip, crashing down on the top of the gravestone. It grunts. "You're the Slayer? Then, who's she?"

"That's right." Sam clicks the stake that Drew gave her for Christmas into place, and drives it into the vamp's chest. It poofs to dust. "She's... winning." Sam turns to watch the show, taking note of Gwen's speed and timing.

While Gwen is still harrying her vampire, the ground in front of the grave shifts, and a pale hand bursts up, catching Sam by the ankle. Sam catches her balance and reaches down, grabs the arm and pulls the new vampire up out of the ground. Before its feet are even clear of the earth, she stakes it, too. That gives Gwen time for a nice, long sparring bout. Sam watches her final flurry/decapitation act and gives a small round of applause when she's finished.

Gwen laughs as she resheathes her sword. "Now, that's what I came out here for."

"Nice technique." Sam clicks her stake back into its arm-sheath.

Gwen is still grinning. She looks more animated than Sam has ever seen her. "Thanks. You're pretty good yourself. Especially for someone who's only been doing this a couple months."

"Thanks. I've had some martial arts training... not as good as Watcher training, though."

Gwen rolls her eyes at that. "Don't hold your breath. They only know anything 'cause they read about it in a book somewhere. What you pick up out here is way more valuable."

"Maybe..." Sam shrugs. "Maybe not. You said it -- 'Thoroughness will keep you alive.' And the Watchers are all about thorough... sure, they're kinda geezerly, but what do you expect for a millennia-old organization? ...But what do I know? I've only done this for six months. You've been part of Britta's "We hate the Watchers" club for - what - fifty years now?"

"Fifty-three. But that's hardly what we are. Hating the Watchers is just a hobby. This -- what you saw tonight -- that's what we are. We're Slayers. Not The Slayer. Slayers. We are what they pretend to be. A community of warriors against the darkness. We don't cower in the shadows with our half-rimmed glasses whispering platitudes in your ear. We fight, together. All of us. Tonight, with those vamps? Have you ever had a fight like that before? Have you ever been able to just concentrate on the one you were fighting, knowing a Slayer had your back?"

Sam nods, while they walk back towards the gates together. "Interesting point... So, that's why you guys are hanging around this two-bit burg, instead of going to face down the deeper dark I'm sure they have in New York, or Boston, or L.A... Is this the final sales pitch, or am I going to hear different offers from Britta and Vivian and the "Satanic Kitten" until you find one that I like, and I join you guys and we go after the next Slayer, whoever she is, and try to get her to join up as well?" Sam looks at Gwen closely. "Or do I get a choice in the matter at all?"

Gwen holds up her hands defensively. "Hey, you invited me on this little shindig, not the other way 'round. And no one here is in any hurry for there to be a 'next Slayer'. You can still go out in the light... fight the demons that walk by day... stay up and watch the sunrise with your boyfriend. That gives you a power none of the rest of us have. We have no wish to hasten the day those things are taken from you. If you're worried about prolonging your mortal life, it's the Watcher you should be concerned with, not us."

"I asked, because I wanted a chance to talk with one of you. The last few times we've run into each other, we were too busy kicking each other in the face to have a conversation... What you say is good to know. Because, you know, I was planning to go to the beach and get a tan this summer. Be a shame to scrap those plans now." Sam grins. "Don't worry about my Watcher. He's my concern, and he's pretty good with a crossbow, too."

This time, Gwen doesn't smile. "Yes, he is your concern. But I don't think you fully appreciate what that means. Whether he's a spineless coward like Britta's Watcher was or whether he knows which end of a crossbow to point at the bad guys... that doesn't matter. He will betray you. It's part of the oath they take."

This takes Sam a little aback. "What oath?"

Gwen waves a hand dismissively, "There's this oath they make them take when they sign up. The Watcher Oath or the Council Oath or something like that. They're into all that secret society bull. Anyway, they have to swear to keep the Rules and uphold the Traditions and all that sort of bother, on penalty of losing their jobs, or having their families cursed for all eternity, or having to drink the bad port at the next Council meeting or some godawful fate."

"Problem is, some of those 'hallowed Traditions' are directly opposed to the continued survival of the Slayer. And I'm not talking the whole 'give your life to stave off the Apocalypse' thing we all signed up for. I'm talking pointless, sadistic murder."

Sam listens to all this very carefully. "How'd you find out about this?"

"We've made it our business to find out how they treat Slayers. If we don't look out for our own, it's pretty clear no one else will."

Sam nods. "Right. No gory details to scare the new girl?"

"Something like that." Gwen stops and catches Sam by the arm. She doesn't even flinch when Sam tenses in response to her touch. The anger drains from her voice like it was never there, when she speaks again it is with a quiet intensity. "Sam, I know you don't trust me. I know you're not sold on the whole sisterhood of Slayers thing. And I know you won't accept anything that you don't find for yourself. But, if you believe nothing else I ever tell you, believe this... They are dangerous. And there are things they do not want anyone -- especially the Slayer -- to know. When you go digging into this stuff, be really, really careful. You could be putting yourself in a lot of danger."

Sam nods. "I understand that. Danger comes with the territory, right? But I get you that there's danger, like back there..." Thumbs towards the graveyard, "And then there's danger that hits you when you're not expecting it, from a direction you wouldn't have thought of... Thanks for the info. I will be careful... Redundantly careful. Just... do you mind?" She glances down at Gwen's hand on her arm. When Gwen lets her go, Sam breathes a sigh of relief. "Whoosh. That got pretty serious there for a minute."

Gwen takes a step back and smiles, but this time it doesn't reach her eyes.

They reach the front gates together. Sam jumps up to catch the upper iron bar, flip over the ornamental spikes, and land lightly on the other side. This time, she waits for Gwen to catch up.

"Okay, so my mistake. If you're not here to recruit me, and you're not here to take my Watcher out of the picture, because, you know, that wouldn't be good for anybody... why are you guys still here? The apocalypse was supposed to be last November, and having five Slayers in a town the size of Solomon is kinda, you know, overkill."

"We're here for the same reason you are. And," she grins, "Overkill is never a bad thing."

By this time, they're back in the school parking lot. "Well, it's been good talking - and slaying - with you. I guess, if the undead know where we are and come looking, we'll all have plenty of slaying to do. But, seriously, if you guys are ever up for a road trip to clean up some other town, let me know."

Gwen grins at that. "Sounds like a serious party. If the forces of evil cooperate, we'll have to see what we can set up." She pulls her sword and gives Sam a salute with it. "Catch ya later," She resheathes the sword and jogs off into the night.

"Likewise." Sam waves a little half-salute, circles around the parking lot, and then heads back to the graveyard, hops the fence in a different place, and goes to see if there is any vampire-dust left around the grave to collect. She fills three small bottles, marks them, and scoots back to her truck to head home for real this time.

Sam gets there about midnight, finds her Dad waiting up for her in the living room. The TV is on the Weather Channel, and he's dozing in his armchair. Sam kisses him on the cheek, and he wakes up.

"How ya doin', Dad?"

"Oh, not too bad."

"No strange people show up on the doorstep?"

"Not that I was aware of."

"Well, I was thinking. Tomorrow and Sunday, how'd you like to go out camping? I could use a breath of fresh air, and I think it could do you some good, too."

"Well, why not? It's been rather unseasonably warm lately. I think these old bones could still keep up, just so long as we don't camp around that swamp at Hangman's Creek... I don't see what you see in the place."

"Well, it's quiet, for one thing. But I wasn't thinking of going there anyway. How about Tucker's Orchard? We haven't been there in years. Of course, it's not so nice in the winter with all the trees bare... but it's not too far away, but far enough away to get away, if you know what I mean."

Samuel agrees, and they go up to their respective rooms. The next morning, after packing and a quick breakfast, Sam gives Drew a call. "I just wanted to let you know, not that I was worried about you calling, or not calling, or anything like that... but I'm not going to be home today and tomorrow. I'm taking my Dad out camping, but I'll be back in plenty of time for school on Monday. Unfortunately."

"Oh. OK." Drew is clearly putting some effort into trying not to sound disappointed. He's not very good at it, but he's trying. "We'll work out the ice cream thing next week, then. Have a good time. And... thanks... I had a really good time yesterday."

"Oh." Sam pauses. "You were thinking ice cream today... 'Cause I was actually thinking of ice cream some time this week... You know, something else to look forward to after school..." Sam sounds embarrassed, and a little apologetic.

Drew sounds a little embarrassed, too. "No. I mean, yeah. I wasn't... I just thought there'd be training. I mean, I didn't think we'd... but I thought I'd see you, you know?"

"I had a really good time too. I just... my dad was waiting up for me, and it was kinda late, and we haven't had any real time to talk, you know, since this... after-school club got started..." There's the sound of a voice, and Sam half-covers the mouthpiece to answer.

"Yeah, Dad. It's Drew." More unintelligible talk. "No, Dad. That's okay." (Wah-wah-wa-wah re: Charlie Brown) Sam uncovers the mouthpiece and addresses Drew again. "He wants to talk to you. Just to say hello."

The next voice Drew hears is Sam's father. "Drew Killian, is it? How's your mother? Just tell her I said hello. We went to school together, back in the day, you know."

"Um, sure, of course."

There's the sound of an intake of breath. "I just want to know one thing, my boy... You treat my Sammy like the lady that she is, right?"

If anything, Drew actually sounds less embarrassed now than before. This is the first thing anybody's said to him this morning that hasn't thrown him for a loop. "Mr. Kessler, I can assure you that I have..."

"Oh, Dad!" There's a scuffle. "Give me the phone. No! I won't have you embarrassing him, or me, like that. Drew is a perfect gentleman!"

There's a thunk of a telephone bouncing off of linoleum, and Sam's back.

"Sorry about that. I guess all parents get a little crazy..."

"It's OK. Like you were saying last night about the whole cleaning the shotgun thing."

"Exactly... Anyway. I just wanted you to know where I was going, you know, just in case... anything happens with that extra credit project we were working on, with, uh, Matthew." (Sam's father is still in the room, apparently) "Anyway, I'll see you soon."

"Um, yeah, I'll tell everyone where you went. Have fun."

"Thanks. Bye."

Sam hangs up the phone and hefts her rucksack to her shoulder. "We're good to go." She glances at the phone and shakes her head. She's never had anyone besides her Dad to care where she went or what she did. This is going to take some getting used to.

Samuel likewise picks up a hiker's backpack. "Good. Good. Now, tell me about this boy. I haven't seen him recently. Has he stopped playing pranks on everyone in town?"

"Yes, Dad. Drew's grown up a lot since the fourth grade. But then, so've I."

"Definitely true."

They lock up the house, get into the Jeep and pull out, heading out of town into the rolling hills that surround Solomon. After about half an hour of country driving, they start passing even rows of apple trees, bare branches truncated by pruning. A little while later, Sam turns into a dirt track driveway that winds about a hundred yards into the orchard. At the end, there's a wider space for parking, a farmhouse, and a barn that holds an old-fashioned cider press. Sam hops out and goes up to the house and rings the bell.

A middle-aged woman in jeans and a Nordic sweater comes to the door.

"Hi, Maysie. It's me, Sam."

"Samantha Kessler! Oh, my goodness, it's good to see you. And your father, too. Come in, come in. What can I do for you? Something for a new Girl Scout project?"

"Thanks. Not this time." Sam and her dad follow Maysie Tucker into the big, French-country style sitting room. "We'd just like to check in with you, see if it's okay for us to do some winter camping down in the south meadow."

"Well, now. We let that meadow go fallow last season. It's all over-grown. Probably not so nice to pitch a tent there now. But we could put you up in the East Clearing, if you like. It's been so warm around here lately, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it certainly has. That would be lovely, in the East Clearing." Sam exchanges a glance with her father, and they nod together.

"Can I offer you two something to drink? Some hot cider maybe? Tell me what you've been up to. It's been years since your troop used to come for hayrides..."

Sam and Samuel accept the hot cider (best in the county) and Sam and Maysie get caught up on Girl Scout activities. Once Sam bridged up to Cadettes, the Scouts thought hayrides were too "little girl", and had instead started organizing Halloween haunted houses to raise money for the troop, but she promises to come by again around Cookie Time. Sam and Samuel finish their cider and go back out to the truck to fetch their equipment.

The hike from the farmhouse up to the East Clearing in the woods adjacent to the apple orchard takes about fifteen minutes. An hour later, Sam and Samuel have pitched their tents on either side of a circle of rocks that someone else had used for a campfire some time ago. Sam clears out the ring all the way down to the dirt, and then goes looking for fallen branches.

Samuel arranges their cooking equipment for dinner and brings out the sandwiches that they'd made for lunch. They spend the afternoon hiking up Round Hill, which shoulders up through the woods about a mile from their camp. Sam and her Dad play a game he'd taught her as a child, where they take turns identifying trees around them. Although it is much harder in the winter without the leaves to guide them, the bark and shape of the trunks, as well as fallen leaves and occasional acorns or chestnuts overlooked by squirrels and chipmunks gave the plants away. They get out his old binoculars to watch the few birds, mostly crows, which fly over the farm.

As early evening falls, they return to their campsite and build a fire to cook a one-pot stew for dinner and toast marshmallows. As the fire burns lower, its light mellowing from gold to russet, Sam lays back against a log and looks up into the stars.

"This is nice." Samuel murmurs. There is a quiet thunk as he brings out his old canteen from his pack and twists off the top.

"Yes, it is." From across the fire, Sam smells the brandy as her father takes a hefty swig. "But did you have to bring that?"

"What, this?" Samuel holds up the canteen. "Just a little after-dinner nip. Nothing wrong with that. Would you like a sip?"

"No, thanks." Sam feels an itch between her shoulderblades, and slides up the log to scratch it. The itch moves higher, becoming a prickle across her scalp.

"Why, I remember..." Samuel begins.

"Hush for a moment, Dad." Sam listens. Something rustles in the underbrush, and a crow takes wing from a tree. Sam rolls onto her belly and looks out into the dark woods. That prickle is becoming a full-fledged shiver. "Sorry... I think nature is calling." She rolls to her feet and goes to the side of her tent where she'd stacked the extra tent-stakes that she'd brought. Among them is the longer, polished oak-wood stake that Drew had given her for Christmas. She takes that in her hand and shoots a glance at her father. "I'll be right back. Put another branch on the fire." Sam glides out into the woods, alert for anything that might be out there.

Where they came from, she doesn't know, but there are three of them. One slashes at her out of the dark with a dirty woodcarving knife, and takes off running into the woods. Sam ducks under the attack, takes two steps after it, but then turns at a sound behind her. The other two have grabbed her father by the arms, and are dragging him away from the firelight.

"Sammy!" Her father yells, twisting fiercely in their grip, but they are too strong for him. Sam runs back, scoops up one of the smoldering branches that extended from their campfire, and leaps over the flames. She brandishes the torch at one of the vampires, and then lunges sideways to catch the other one with the stake in the chest. It crumbles to dust, letting Samuel's left side fall.

The other vampire drops Samuel's other arm, and runs off into the woods as well.

"Sammy, what - what were those things?"

Sam stands there, torch in one hand, stake in the other. She looks into her father's eyes. They are wide with fear and bewilderment. She shakes her head and throws the branch back into the fire. Sparks crackle up into the night.

"Help me get packed up again." She scoops up her father's canteen where it has fallen, a dark puddle of Christian Brothers soaking into the earth. She caps what's left, and kicks more dirt over the wet spot to absorb and disperse the vapors. What they don't need right now is for the campfire to spread into the surrounding underbrush and trees.

"Sammy. Answer me. What were those... things? They weren't... people?"

"No, Dad. They weren't." Sam puts their mess kits back in their carrying bags, and returns them to her rucksack.

"Well, then, they weren't the Loch Ness Monster either. What were they?"

There is no way to put it off or get around it. "They were vampires, Dad." Sam keeps her eyes on her father, watching his expression go from surprise to disbelief.

"Vampires." Samuel Kessler snorts through his nose, and then laughs. "Vampires. You had me going there for a second, girl."

Sam shakes her head. "I'm not joking. Look." She turns her specialized stake around so her father can see the gritty, gray ash residue left on it. "Human beings don't go 'poof' when you stab them through the heart."

Samuel tested the ash with his fingers. "That's... nothing. Just some ashes from the fire."

"Fine." Sam stuffs the bag of marshmallows into her rucksack next. "You can believe what you want. I didn't come here to talk about my problems anyway." Sam pauses in her putting away. "I came here to talk about yours."

That takes Samuel by surprise again. "What problem?"

"What problem do you think? Alcohol. Okay?" Sam brandishes the Air Force canteen with "S. Kessler" indelibly stamped on the cover at him. "I wanted to get us both out of town, to clear the air and get you away from the booze for just one weekend. All right?" She throws the container into her own pack and closes the lacings fiercely on it.

"What's the matter? Samantha? Talk to me."

Tears threaten. "I just... I had to tell you... how tired I am... of being a laughingstock at school... having to come pick you up from O'Toole's at closing time... and how... I'm scared, Dad. You had a black-out last weekend. I didn't want that to happen again... I don't know what would happen to me, if you were to black out, and maybe get hit by a car, or just fall into the river, or..." Sam has to stop and catch her breath. "If you just went out one night and never came back." It is the closest she can come to explaining her fear -- if the vampires who were coming for her came for her father instead, one night when he was out of the house, drunk, and vulnerable. "I don't want to lose you."

Or what if they turned her father into one of them? She didn't know if she could kill him.

Understanding and pain sweep over Samuel's face. "I never knew you felt that way, Sammy. I'm so sorry my girl... My little girl." He holds out his arms, and they hug.

"Not so little anymore." Sam sniffs.

"True enough." Samuel wipes her eyes. "Are you sure you want to go home now?"

"Positive." Sam collapses her tent, and helps her father to collapse his. They pack up every trace of their site and then douse the fire with the water from Sam's canteen and their washing-bowl.

At that moment, the vampires attack again. In the confusion of smoke billowing up from the dead fire, one of them swings a heavy branch at Sam's head. She hears the whistle through the air and ducks back just enough to take the blow on the shoulder, rather than the back of the head. "Ow!" That hurts. She doesn't think anything is broken, but the flash of pain is like a firecracker in her head. The other vampire dashes in, sweeps Samuel Kessler off his feet, and runs with him slung over his shoulder.

Sam staggers up from her knees, shifts the stake to her left hand and shakes her head to clear the stars that are dancing in front of her eyes. The vampires are not making any attempt at stealth, but running full-out deeper into the woods. Sam loses no more time. She is not going to let them have her father.

"So touching!" The vampire who carried Samuel hisses between his teeth. "So poignant. Wasn't that poignant? A father and daughter... connecting like that."

"Yeah, I think I'm going to puke." The other rumbles.

"Please don't, or we'll have to get another one."

"Shut up and keep running. She's right behind us!"

"I told you to hit her on the head!"

"She ducked!"

"Moron. You should duck." The first vampire shifts his burden enough so he can smack his partner upside the head.

"Ow!" They keep running.

Sam knows she can't out-run them, but she puts on all the speed she has, and it's just enough to catch up with them. She makes a flying tackle at the one carrying her father, and all three of them go down in a heap.

Samuel yells. The second vampire grabs him by the armpits, but by this time, Samuel had had quite enough of being grabbed and dragged around. He make two stiff fingers and pokes the vampire in the eyes. It howls, and lets him go. Sam gets a hold of the first vampire, and stakes it. Then she brings the second one down with a scissor-kick, and stakes it, too. The ash settles, and Sam and her father get their breaths back, lying in the chilly leaf-mould under a sycamore tree.

"You all right, Dad?"

"I think so."

Sam gets to her feet and offers her left hand to help her father up. He climbs to his feet and blinks at the two piles of dust at their feet. He kneels down and fingers them, sifting the powder, even sniffing it.

"More campfire ashes." Samuel pronounces. "Whoever those hooligans were, you scared them off mite good, my girl. Where in blazes did you learn to do all that? They didn't teach you that in karate class, did they?"

"Not exactly... But I've been practicing on my own, too." Sam shakes her head. He was right there and saw everything. How could her father not realize what was going on?

They drive the Jeep back to the Tucker's parking lot. Sam keeps the engine running while she gives her father a quick synopsis of the events that have transpired in her life since November. "They weren't hooligans, Dad. They were vampires. And I'm the Vampire Slayer." When she is finished, Samuel Kessler sits back and frowns.

"Sammy, my sweet, you have a wonderful imagination. No, I understand, really I do. I remember what it was like to be your age. Everything seems like a life-or-death struggle. Like the thing at the Winter Festival. Your friend Tori, nice girl she is, went up against the Lee dynasty for Snow Queen. Did you know Marcy and Emma's mother was Snow Queen too? Back in '68-'69. Yes, indeed. Well, that was quite a thing, going up against that kind of family tradition of beauty, but Tori got out there and was sweeter and nicer and prettier than all the Lees combined, and she won that contest fair and square... And I know you like bugs, the good Lord knows too, you've collected them since you were old enough to know which end of a butterfly net to hold, but there's no need to go making up giant flying demon-insects to go with all the rest. Life is hard enough just dealing with the Lees out there, don't you think?"

Sam is dumbfounded. She's just poured out the most amazing, confusing, exciting thing that has ever happened to her, and her father does not believe a word of it. "Stay here, Dad. I'm going to tell Maysie... something." Sam gets out of the truck and goes back to the house.

"Hi, Maysie, it's me again."

"Hi, Samantha. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Perhaps. My Dad and I just heard on the radio... there's been an escape from McClaren." Maysie's lips go white. "Yeah. So, we decided that maybe it's not such a good idea to spend the night outdoors."

"My word!" Maysie hugs herself and shakes her head. "I hadn't heard anything about that. But we'll be on the look-out. Certainly. Hasn't been an escape from that place in... oh, ten years or more."

"Well, they're not sure how many inmates got out yet. So, please, stay inside and lock the doors. Don't invite any strangers in... and if you do see anyone... strange... lurking around, would you give me a call? I want to make sure you and Olsen are okay."

"That's very sweet of you, dear. We'll be okay, I'm sure."

"We'll be in touch anyway. Take care, Maysie."

"We will, dear. You, too." The door closes between them, and Sam hears Maysie shout to her husband, "Olsen, get out the shotgun!"

Sam returns to the Jeep and she and her father head home again.

"Well, that's got to be the shortest camping trip on record."

"And the last one."

"Dad?"

"I mean it, Sammy. I've been thinking, and I don't want you going out by yourself any more. What you said before, goes double for me. If you didn't come home one night, it would probably kill me."

Sam doesn't bother to agree. It's just too painful to think, but if something did kill her, it probably would kill her dad, too.

Samuel Kessler takes a deep breath. "Maybe it's time to put some of my own demons to rest. I'll call my friend Davey in the morning."

"Who?"

"Davey Robertson. President and founder of the Schenectady chapter of AA. Don't want to go to meetings around here, where everybody knows everybody and nosey biddies get their jollies talking about other people's personal lives." Samuel snorts through his nose. "Anonymous my pretty blue eyes. I'll go over there. And then, we'll see what happens."

"Thanks, Dad." Sam hugs him. Tears threaten again. Maybe he didn't believe her about the vampires, but he did believe her about the alcohol. And right now, that's the more important battle to win.