“So you vampires are new and improved, huh? Congrats.”

Buffy Summers punctuates her sentence by puncturing the heart of a vampire, morphed into a wolf.

“See how much good that does you when we go old school!” She yells louder as her family, now bolstered by Faith and Kennedy, race into battle at her side, reunited and stronger for it. Xander and Andrew are throwing Molotov cocktails at the vampires, whilst Giles has noticed their key differences to their usual foes. He yells at his allies over the screaming.

“They’re still vulnerable to stakes and fire! Their bodies just seem a bit sturdier. Extra effort is called for.”

Xander looks at the young boy, mad grin on his face and he yells to his friends. “Yeah. Zits and squeaky voice aside, that’s some vintage Giles exposition.”

Kennedy fires her pistol at one vampire and it takes his head clean off. “Silver bullets work. Or maybe it’s the decapitation.” Willow, brandishing fire from her hands, looks over at her ex. “You’re good at this.” Kennedy, in a rather boisterous fashion, shouts over to her. “Rich, too.”

Even before she sees Willow’s face, Kennedy is angry with herself. “Sorry. That was petty. Glad you got your magic back.” Willow smiles gently. “I’m glad you’re doing well, Kennedy.”

“Look at us all mature.” Kennedy says, reloading her pistol with more silver bullets. “Now, can we get back to the Slaying? Because this is freaking me out.” Willow conjures another bolt of flame from thin air. “Goddess, yes.”

Dawn screams at the storefront as a vampire jumps towards her – and transforms into a swarm of bees. She yelps in surprise. “Since when can vampires turn into bees?” Spike doesn’t answer her question, grabs a bottle of vodka from the shelf and starts downing it. “Let them come.”

Dawn looks at him in horror. “Spike, I know this looks bad, but this is no time to crawl inside a bottle!” But then he spits it out, his lighter positioned perfectly, and sets the alcohol ablaze, the bees burning instantly. Dawn raises her head from where she had taken cover.

“Retracted,” she quickly states.

Vicki, enraged that the battle has flipped in Buffy’s favour, to get the combatants’ attention, slams a car in between the warring Scooby Gang and her pack. “Enough!” she yells, loud enough for everyone to gaze at her. Inside the store front, rolling her eyes, Faith turns to Spike. “She’s strong. Can you do that?”

Spike tuts and looks away. “I find such naked pleas for attention vulgar.” Faith can’t resist winding the vampire up. “So, no.”

Buffy bounds onto the top of the overturned car that Vicki has thrown, points at her enemy and shouts. “Hey, Vicki the Vampire! You don’t get to start a rumble, then run away when it goes our way.”

Andrew, trying to close his ripped shirt to cover his chest, whispers to her from behind. “Uh, alternate suggestion? Let her run.”

But Vicki surprises Buffy by stopping, turning around and facing her. They both stand their ground.

“News flash,” “It’s never going your way again. You’re the past. We’re the future. Lucky for you, we’re still figuring out exactly what that means. You and your nostalgia act had your chance. I think we know how that went.”

Her clothes suddenly seem to burn under a layer of light, which shimmers, as Vicki transforms, once again into a large bat. The other vampires also morph, into various other cats and wolves. “What little I remember about biology class, you either adapt or die. And I only see one of us changing.”

With her words left hanging in the air, with all they imply, Buffy simply stares at Vicki as she takes to the sky and her lackeys trail after her. She continues to stare for a while.

“Did she just call me old?”

No one answers Buffy’s question, but Andrew looks at her sheepishly. Dawn has bounded towards the teenage Giles, and has squeezed him in a tight hug. Xander ruffles the young boy’s head with a large grin on his face. “And quite an adorable whippersnapper.”

Giles turns to him, mid hug, in irritation. “It’s wonderful to see you. Now stop tousling my hair or I shall turn you into a toad.”

Willow floats gently to her mentor’s side and takes in the sight. “I can’t believe Angel pulled it off. There’s always so much that ca go wrong with a resurrection.”

Giles nods, but sighs slightly. “It was hardly without complications, but yes… I’m back.”

He turns to the approaching Buffy, as the Scoobies surround him, happily. “And if you’ll have me… back to stay.”

Buffy laughs at him. “Say ‘if’ again and I’ll take you over my knee.” Giles looks at her, rolls his eyes and then looks back at Xander, who has once again begun ruffling his head. “You’re all going to have endless fun with this, aren’t you?”

Xander smiles and increases his tussling. “Oh, Hell yes!”

Buffy walks over to Faith and breathes out. It’s been a long time. She thanks her former rival, unsure how the conversation will go. She asks Faith if she’s staying, and doesn’t admit she’s slightly relieved by her response.

“Nah. Unlike Freaky Friday over there, some of us have to grow up. Kennedy has an opening in her new security firm. Pays fat stacks. I get to sell out and kick ass. Who could turn that down?”

Buffy looks away briefly, swallowing what she was going to say. “Who indeed. Well anytime you wanna slum it, we’d love to see you.”

As Faith nods in affirmation, Giles approaches her. Faith automatically crouches down to his height. “Faith. You’ve done so much for me. And I feel…” To ease his uncomfortableness and her own which she keeps hidden, Faith shrugs off his sentence and gets back up. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right? Don’t sweat it.”

Giles turns to her, concern in his eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want? After all that happened in London, you deserve a bit of happiness. Is this truly the path you think will take you there?”

Faith smiles at him, genuinely this time. “Who knows, right? If it ain’t, I’ll find something else. That’s the life lesson from all the craziness across the pond. No one can make you happy but you. It’s all good, G. Take care of yourself.”

And with those final words, Faith Lehane is gone.

Spike, still hiding in the shadows, spots a figure coming closer in the sunlit haze. “Koh! Could have used you in the scrap! Where have you been?”

The warrior stares at Spike, his deadpan tone sounding slightly confused. “Fighting undead. They changed shape, like were-beasts. In my day they did not have such power. But it appears you slew your foes without help.”

Spike checks around himself, nervously. “Uh, you don’t see any, do you?”

“No. I see that the battle has ended and the warriors are departing. So I, too, will take my leave.”

Before he can go, Giles approaches him, eyes wide, curiosity on his features. He’s staring at Koh. “A Nitobe demon? Fascinating. I’ve never met one in person. Their code of honour is among the most elaborate and strict of any sentient being.”

Buffy explains how she met Koh, looking at the warrior with respect. “His name’s Eldre Koh. We’ve butted heads a few times, but if not for him, we’d all have died in the Deeper Well.”

She turns to the warrior and tells him that any debt he now owes her, according to his code, is square and has been for a long time now. She asks if she can do anything else, but he turns and says that his only wish is the identity of the person who betrayed him and had him falsely accused of murdering his family.

Buffy looks down, sadly, guilt in her stomach instantly. “Right. And Illyria had that. And I got her killed… I don’t suppose you’d accept a brownie basket?”

Koh has already turned to walk away, preparing to find his next mission. But he leaves Buffy a warning as he leaves. “Killed? You know little of the Old Ones. Fare you well, Slayer.”

As they watch the Nitobe leave, Andrew turns to the group now, with something clearly on his mind. “Heart wrenching, tearful goodbyes all around. Now, can we please talk about the fact that we just saw dozens of vampires do things they’re not supposed to be able to?”

Billy, Anaheed and Devon come across the car lot, running. “Is that what they were? Vampires?” Anaheed mentions that they saw a flock of something in the sky.

Andrew, upon seeing Billy, overexcitedly, points at Billy and raises his voice. “Okay, wait. Sudden inspiration. Earth has new magic, right? Maybe that means new rules? The Nosferati aren’t the only ones doing stuff they shouldn’t. Billy had a spirit vision of the First Slayer, right about the time they kick-started the new Seed.”

Giles has taken his glasses off to clean them, but chides Andrew for his theory. “That’s ridiculous, Andrew. Only Slayers may commune with the Primitive. And only females can be Slayers.”

Devon, sticking up for Billy against the strange kid, bites back. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m his Watcher, and I say Billy broke the mold. Who are you, kid?”

Giles replaces his glasses and stares at the newcomers. “I am Rupert Giles, young man. The last of the Watcher’s Council. And you, sir, are no Watcher.”

Devon goes quiet, looks down, fiddling with his hands. He blushes redder than a beetroot. “Giles? THE Giles? I didn’t mean… When I said I was a Watcher, I just meant, you know, I like to watch Billy. Slay.” He goes quiet, wishing the world would swallow him – right now please. “I’m a really big fan. I thought you’d be older.”

Buffy introduces Giles formally to Billy, Anaheed and Devon, and explains that somehow, during a battle, Billy had a vision of Sineya. Giles tuts. “Yes, well, that was clearly a delusion. Wishful thinking.”

Billy looks at Giles now, straight into his eyes. “Except I’d never heard of the First Slayer when she came to me.” Giles looks at him in shock and confusion. He turns to Buffy, issues her an order, which sounds funny coming out of a twelve year old boy, she thinks.

“Buffy, the book I left you. Vampyr? I trust you still have it. I’d like to see if there’s a precedent for this.”

Buffy stops for a moment, worried about his reaction. “Uh, that’s kind of a funny story.” She enters the van and comes back almost instantly, with the fabled volume in her hands. “When we got back from the Deeper Well, I figured maybe it was time I actually read the thing. All the pages were blank.”

Giles takes the book, flicks through it and looks at her. “All. Are you certain?”

Buffy nods. “I triple checked. Every single page.”

“How odd,” Giles says, not looking at her, but down into the book. He opens it wide, so Buffy can see the open pages. “Because some no longer remain so.”

At Santa Rosita’s airport, on the outskirts of the town, Billy and Devon are joined by Anaheed, sitting on their car in the usual spot, watching planes go by, this one carrying Buffy and her team back to San Francisco. Anaheed whistles as the private jet raises into the air, impressed. “That’s Kennedy’s loaner? I might have to check her job board.”

Billy looks at her. He smiles. They’ve accomplished and seen a lot together this summer, and he’s become rather attached. “You don’t have to stay, Anaheed. We can handle the clean-up.”

Devon looks at his boyfriend. “Then what?” Billy grins. “‘Then’? The way the world is now, I’d say… we do whatever the Hell we want.”

On the jet, as the Scooby Gang play some cards, Buffy and Giles are sitting away from the group. Giles has the book in his hands now, flicking through the pages, now covered in hand written notes. He barely glances at Buffy opposite him as he speaks, engrossed in what he’s seeing. Buffy finds it comforting. “Only a handful of pages have writing. Some chronicle the same history of the Slayers the book once did… with new additions.”

He looks back to the book, adjusts his glasses, and reads aloud, quoting the text. “”No longer is but One Chosen, the power itself becomes the Chosen One… and the one who chooses.””

Buffy smiles, her tone dripping with sarcastic delight. “I’m so glad this new edition kept that fortune cookie writing style. You don’t mess with the classics.”

Giles looks at her, that old, but new and younger look of irritation in his eyes. Buffy’s heart jumps when she recognises it. “The implication is that the combined spiritual force of all past Slayers, most often embodied in visions by the Primitive, has more agency than it once did. Men still cannot become Slayers outright: Billy does not share your strength or speed. But the essence of the Slayers has clearly accepted him as an ally.”

“So if we wait, the new rules will just fill themselves in. See? If I’d read the book when you wanted me to, it would’ve been a huge waste of time. Score one for procrastination!” Buffy shrugs. No problem then, right?

“I only wish it were that simple.” Giles looks at her now, lays the book on the table in front of him, mumbling about the peanuts all over the surface.

“When the world was formed, magic evolved over millennia, the natural laws gradually establishing themselves. This book was the very first – and most complete – attempt to record those laws. However, from what you’ve told me, the new Seed was rushed to maturity by a vast influx of energy.”

Willow, standing with the others, who have stopped their game, yells loudly, a moment of clarity hitting her. “Duh! That’s why I’m having such a hard time with this magic! It’s not done cooking yet!”

Dawn looks at Giles, sure he has the answer. “The new rules are still being written?”

Giles nods at her. “Precisely. The question is, by whom? If it’s a natural phenomenon, why such a drastic change to the nature of vampires, especially in a way that so greatly benefits them?”

Spike looks at him now, bottle in hand. He asks Giles if he’s saying the game is rigged?

“What I’m saying is that if anyone has the means to influence the rules of Earth’s new magic then they are the most powerful beings in the world. We need to know who they are. And we need to stop them – while it remains possible to do so.”

The rest of the flight, as they descend into San Francisco, is made in silence, Giles’s warning echoing in their ears as they land.

Their first stop, clearly, is home, specifically the apartment of Buffy Summers. They all enter, all talking, all asking questions over each other.

“How do we find the Big Bad? Should I shake somebody down?”

“Why can’t I walk in the sun? All this ‘new subscribers only’ crap is bloody unfair.”

“If you help me wrangle the magic, I can cast a spell, trace whoever’s manipulating the energy?”

“I had a question about hauntings. For a friend.”

Giles walks in the middle of them, his shoulders hunched and his face annoyed. Finally, he can take no more and turns, yells loudly and screams in fury at them. “STOP IT!”

They instantly stop and look at him in silence. He looks at them, embarrassed now by his shouting. “Please,” he says, regarding them with emotional eyes. “I realise that I have somewhat stepped back into my former role as mentor and father figure. In many ways, I find it as comforting as you. But I was wrong to do so. You no longer need that. More practically… I cannot be that.”

Buffy remains unconvinced. “But you’re the guy who knows stuff.”

Andrew has what he thinks is a better analogy. “The Charlie to our Angels.”

Xander elbows Andrew playfully in the arm. “I’d go with Gandalf. Wizard, resurrection… but wait, does that make us hobbits?”

Giles, once again losing his temper, waves a hand at them as he once again raises his voice. “No! Hobbits are adults, and you still act like children! You have no idea what it’s like to be asked to make every single, bloody decision, because you’ve never made your own!”

Again, the room goes quiet. The tantrums will take some getting used to, clearly. “Ah, that is to say… As I have just demonstrated all too clearly, the changes in me go beyond cosmetic. I’m sorry. But I am simply not what I was.”

Xander makes a comment about being a hormonal nightmare at twelve. Buffy mentions she was an ADD mess who was moody and unfocused. She then tells them all to stop looking at her: they all have quirks. But she understands the point the young Giles has made. They need to grow up and decide what to do themselves.

Willow mentions she could do the tracing spell, but she’d need one of the new vampires to use it. Spike mentions Detective Robert Dowling, their source in the San Francisco Police Department. The head of the Supernatural Division.

Buffy agrees, remembering that he got hurt in their last battle. But then she gasps in horror as she realises she hasn’t seen him since disappearing on him in the middle of a so-called date. “I don’t even know if he’s still in the hospital,” she admits, angry with herself. She turns to the rest of the group, starting with Xander.

“Okay, I need to look up Dowling, for multiple reasons. But there’s no guarantee he can help. So we should run down other leads. Andrew is right: there’s definitely a Dracula aspect to these new powers.” Andrew smiles at the acknowledgement, but Xander looks at her, knows where the conversation is going.

“Since he’s the only vampire on record who broke the rules before, maybe he can tell us how it’s done. Xander, is it weird for you to go and talk to him?”

“Weird? Me? Why? Not at all,” he says, goofy grin hiding his nerves. “We parted with a new understanding as equals.” Then he looks down, quietly and asks if someone could go with him?

Buffy wastes no time in pushing Dawn in his direction, desperate for the two to resolve whatever issues they seem to have found. “You guys haven’t had a quiet minute together since we saved her. You can make it a working vacation! I hear Transylvania is lovely this time of year!”

Both Xander and Dawn look at each other, both nervous, both too afraid to say anything. Clearly uncomfortable, Dawn asks Xander if it’s okay, and he nods. “Of course,” he says. “Perfect.”

Giles beams at them, delighted. “There. See? Sound logical choices. Arrived at entirely on your own.” He walks away to the kitchen area, but mutters under his breath, slightly disappointed. “You didn’t need me after all.”

Outside the home of Detective Dowling, Buffy thanks Spike for coming with her. Spike says that the cop is a decent bloke, so paying him a visit seems to be the decent thing to do. Buffy unthanks him for his sarcasm.

“Look, Slayer,” he says, changing his tone. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not as if you’re his wife. I wasn’t gone that long. How serious could you have become?” He then stops a minute, realising that it’s none of his business. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not serious at all,” Buffy says, turning to face him outside Dowling’s front door. “About ten minutes after we agreed to call our patrol a date, I disappeared and he almost got torn to pieces. But that’s not the point. He’s a friend. A comrade in arms. A fellow human being. He almost died, fighting at my side, and I forgot.”

She hangs her head slightly. “He’s got every right to hate me…”

Before she and Spike can say anything more, the front door opens unexpectedly, to reveal Dowling. He’s smiling, wearing a shirt with his department logo on it. He still has bandages where his neck wounds have been treated. He’s surprised to see them, but thrilled, putting his hands on both their shoulders as he welcomes them in.

Inside, as he ferries through his fridge for drinks, he starts talking about random beers, but Buffy interrupts him.

“I just wanted to say sorry.”

The detective turns to her, slightly confused. “Sorry for what?” he asks, bringing a bottle of beer from his fridge. Buffy declines, says that they’re fine when he offers her one, but Spike looks on, annoyed. He would have liked a microbrew, he grumbles to himself.

“Only everthing,” Buffy insists. “Pushing you to attack a nest of zompires. Almost getting you killed on our first date.”

Dowling shakes his head, opens his bottle and walks closer to her. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he smiles. “Buffy, I chose to do that. No plan survives contact with the enemy. Things happen.”

She insists she could have at least called, but he dismisses her. “Billy told me your sister was sick. Then I heard about Santa Rosita. You were busy: it’s the job. You have nothing to apologise for.”

She looks at him sweetly, and then turns to Spike, asking for a minute alone with Dowling. Dowling throws a beer bottle in Spike’s direction, which he deftly catches. “Thanks mate. Glad you’re not dead. I’ll be outside.”

Alone now, Dowling turns to Buffy, who’s started to pace back and forth in the living room. “I had a boyfriend in college. Military, special forces, but more than capable of handling extraordinary threats. Except in my life,” she says, looking the police officer in the eyes, “extraordinary is just the jumping-off point.”

“He was – is – the greatest guy. Being with me not only almost got him killed, it came close to destroying everything that was great about him.” She walks up to Dowling, fiddling with her hands. “I have a pattern. Normal people, even tough ones who know the world I move in, tend to get crushed by my life. And I cannot protect them. No matter how much I want to. That’s why I don’t think we should take things any further.” She looks at him again, trying to gauge his reaction. “I’m sorry,” she finishes.

She’s surprised as he smiles at her and simply says “Okay.” She repeats his words, stunned by his reaction. “I appreciate you telling me, before we got, you know, attached.”

He pulls her close into a hug, kisses her gently on her forehead. He tells her that the department he runs is ramping up, so they’ll be working together a lot more, he thinks. It’s better this way, he agrees. “You’re a terrific person, Buffy. I’m glad to have you as a friend.”

A few minutes later, Buffy emerges from the house alone, a pained look on her face. Spike turns and asks her if it went that badly.

They walk a few blocks away in silence, but Buffy is simply waiting to be out of sight from Dowling’s place. She throws her hands up in exasperation. “I told him we shouldn’t see each other. He agreed.”

Spike looks at her, supportively. “That bastard,” he exclaims. Buffy complains he was so okay, that he started talking shop afterward. Spike can see she’s upset, so turns to her thoughtfully, looking straight at her.

“I doubt that’s a reflection on you. Dowling’s a clever bloke. He probably just saw you were right. This life can be tough on regular folks,” he reminds her.

“So what does that mean for me?” Buffy asks him, looking down at her hands. “Are my only relationship choices being alone, hurting the people I care about, or massive train wrecks of dysfunction?”

She sees Spike’s face as she finishes her comment and immediately regrets it. “I didn’t mean it like that. We were both in horrible places… you didn’t have a soul and you can’t call what we had a relationship.”

“No argument,” Spike says, but it’s clear to her that she’s upset him slightly. “This microbrew’s getting lonely,” he says, starting to walk away. “I’ll stop round the pub.”

As he leaves, Buffy tries to call after him, but he turns and waves. “Bloody Hell woman. It ain’t all about you. Sometimes a vampire wants a pint. See you later.”

As he walks away, Buffy puts her head in her hands and mutters despondently to herself. “Brilliant. Face it Summers. The closest you’ll ever get to a healthy relationship is visiting Xander and Dawn.”

At that exact moment, on the jet once more, heading for Transylvania, Xander is trying to fill the silence by looking at the perks of their flight. When the conversation doesn’t so much as start, he excuses himself and goes to the bathroom.

He puts his head against the mirror, staring nose to nose at himself. “She’s going to break up with me.” He goes on, finding evidence for his words, like his mood swings and fits of rage. Maybe she’s annoyed because he betrayed her sister. Either way, he is convinced: Dawn is totally going to break up with him.

His voice is joined by a shrill, familiar and downright sarcastic tone and he turns to see Anya, sitting on the toilet cistern, legs crossed. “Gee, that must be horrible, the person you love deciding they don’t want to be with you anymore. And could there be a worse time and place to tell someone than this…” The ghost pauses for dramatic effect. “Wait. Yes…”

Before she can say anything about their wedding, Xander interrupts the spirit. “Okay. I get it! There’s some karmic-scale-balancing going on. I guess you haunting me and reminding me of my sins every two seconds wasn’t in your face enough.”

Anya now screams at him, angry. “I honestly don’t know why I’m haunting you. It’s not fun for me either, and I would like it to stop! So, if you figure it out – possibly something to do with the new rules of magic – and end it, it’d be the least you can do.” Another pause. “Y’know, after making me renounce my immortality, ditching me at the altar and getting me killed.”

Xander slumps down until he’s sitting against the door, knees pulled tight to his chest. He thanks her for the recap.

Anya then stops shouting and turns to him. “Xander… I’m sorry.” She looks at him, compassion on her face. “I’m not mad at you. I’m stuck here, but I know it’s not your fault. Maybe I’m working sins off too. What if I’m here to help you? To get you to do what we never seemed to be able to.”

She reaches down and motions for his shoulder. The ghost of Anya looks Xander in the eye. “Talk to her,” she says.

In Transylvania, in the dead of night, lightening streaks across the sky with a huge flash, illuminating the ancient castle in the sudden glare. Outside the castle entrance, Dawn finishes knocking the large oak door and asks Xander if the castle is anything like the novel. She’s babbling, mainly because she’s nervous.

Xander turns to her for a moment, stops her rant and pulls her close. “Dawn, that plane trip was just the excruciatingly uncomfortable icing on top of the Bundt cake of awkwardness we’ve been feasting on since I got back from the Deeper Well.”

She smiles at him and agrees. Although she’s not sure he knows what a Bundt cake is. He nods at her. “They’re actually kinda delicious,” he reasons, “so the metaphor’s flawed. The point is, I love you, Dawn, and I don’t want us to be like this.”

He drifts his hand to hers and holds it tightly. He tells her that she can talk to him about anything, even if it’s something that’s hard to discuss. She nods.

“I do. And I’m sorry. I was trying to figure it out myself, but it’s not fair for me to…”

The front door, sounding as heavy as it is, creaks open in a creepy fashion that sends shivers up Dawn’s spine. She looks at Xander and they both turn to the regal figure who has answered them.

“Hello, peasant,” Dracula says with that deep, liquid-like voice. Dawn repeats the word back at Xander, who doesn’t wait to be invited into the fortress.

“Not to your liking?” Dracula has started walking through to his living quarters, beckoning Xander and Dawn to follow. “Blame your companion. I found ‘manservant’ perfectly adequate, but he took rather loud exception to it.”

Xander strides up to Dracula, raising his voice. “Now hold on, one damn minute!”

“Listen up, Prince of Darkness! Things are different now! No more Mr Nice Xander! The loveable class clown you talked down to and pushed around is long gone.”

Dracula turns to him, his face unchanged, emotionless and paler in the dim light of the ancient castle. Xander points at him, his voice louder and louder, echoing off the stone walls.

“I’m a boiling cauldron of PTSD! I’m the cop on the edge! Damp dynamite! The loose cannon you don’t want to mess with! The worm has turned!”

Dracula looks at him, that same impassive look stretched across his face. His mouth curls into a thin smile.

Xander looks at Dawn and then clenches his fist, angry at himself, but looks back at Dracula. He speaks only one more word, his face scrunched in anger, unable to resist.

“Master.”