Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Prophecies - The Lost Slayer - Part 01

106 Pages·2016·0.42 MB·English

by  Buffy the Vampire Slayer

“The future cannot be prevented now,” The Prophet told
Buffy.
“Already the clockwork grinds on. But I can show you my
vision, so you may see what is coming and perhaps better
prepare for it.”
Reeling, Buffy glanced at Willow and Oz, then at Xander and Anya. They all
seemed as stricken by the specter’s words as she was. Prediction, Buffy told
herself quickly. It isn’t fact yet. We don’t know it’s true.
But it felt true. The words of The Prophet were heavy with finality. With doom.
Buffy swallowed, then looked at the oily silhouette again. “Show me.”
“I must only touch you, and you may see.”
“Do it,” Buffy instructed her.
The Prophet’s slick, shimmering form slithered forward. The tear in the fabric of
the world extended toward her, fingers like tendrils reached for her.
“Buffy,” Willow said cautiously, a tiny bit of fear tinging her voice. “Maybe this
isn’t such a good —”
The Prophet touched her.
Invaded her.
Buffy screamed.
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This serial story takes place at the beginning of Buffy's fourth season.
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PROPHECIES
CHAPTER 1
All dressed up and no one to slay.
A chill wind blew off the Pacific Ocean. Buffy Summers zipped her navy blue
sweatshirt up to her throat and shivered, just a little. All right, it was November,
but still, Southern California in November was not usually quite so brisk. She
was tempted to pull her hood up but there was something just a little too
gangbanger about that look for Buffy’s tastes.
As Buffy walked along the waterfront, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of
her sweatshirt and grumbled softly to herself. Her gaze darted around the wharf
and the canneries and the large shipping vessels out on the water. Sunnydale had
its share of gorgeous California beaches, but this wasn’t one. This was
Docktown, the part of town the Chamber of Commerce desperately tried to
divert tourists from. In a way it was surprising these streets were still on the
map.
Patrol had been completely uneventful thus far, and it was growing late.
Midnight had come and gone and by all rights Buffy should have long since
returned to her dorm. She had class at ten minutes to nine the next morning and
she was determined not to oversleep. Now that college had started, she was
turning over a new leaf. The Watchers Council held as conventional wisdom that
a Slayer could not carry on a personal life and be effective in the war against the
forces of darkness.
Come hell or high water, Buffy intended to prove them wrong. She would be the
most efficient, most effective Slayer who ever lived. But she would also
immerse herself in the college experience, both socially and academically. In
high school, she’d failed to balance the two, had really made a mess of things a
few times. But college was going to be different. Maybe she’d never be normal,
but with the enhanced physical capacity that came with being the Slayer, she
but with the enhanced physical capacity that came with being the Slayer, she
believed she could juggle it all.
If she managed to get to class in time in the morning.
What the hell am I doing all the way out here? she thought.
The answer came back quickly, and what a simple one it was: the job.
She was doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing. Buffy was the Slayer,
the Chosen One, the one girl in all the world with the power to combat the forces
of darkness.
Tonight, though, things had been quiet. Patrolling Sunnydale was a vital part of
her work as the Slayer. But when patrol was slow, that was when a bit of doubt
might creep in; doubt that she would actually be able to pull off the balancing act
she was attempting with school, her mom, her friends, and slaying.
What she needed now were action, adrenaline, and a nice, juicy monster or two.
See Buffy. See monster. See Buffy kick monster’s ass. It was what she needed to
keep her focus.
A scream rent the night air with the blunt brutality of a gunshot. A quick and
violent instant that caused Buffy to flinch even as its echo died above the waves.
Despite the ominous quality of that scream and what it might mean, she could
not hold back the ghost of a smile that flickered across her face. Heart pounding
in her chest, Buffy sprinted along the wharf. Her legs pumped as she ran past the
harbormaster’s quarters on one side and a long, ugly concrete building that
housed several shipping companies’ offices. She waited for another scream but
none came. At Dock Street she instinctively turned toward town and ran
alongside a liquor store and half a dozen run-down multifamily homes mostly
utilized as boardinghouses, renting rooms to fishermen and merchant sailors.
Halfway along the next short block she saw the cracked and flickering neon sign
that hung in front of The Fish Tank. Experience told her that was her destination.
There was no activity out front so Buffy stopped short at the entrance to the
stinking alley beside the bar, a place so sleazy calling it a dive would be an insult
to dives everywhere.
No scuffle in the alley.