One Night in Bangkok by CSR

Rating: PG-14
Disclaimer: All non-original characters and settings belong to their original owners, and no copyright infringement is intended. Rowena Allister belongs to WaTchers, The Virtual Series.
Distribution: Watchers: http://thewatcherscouncil.net and Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
Eh. I'm not picky.
Feedback: Sure, why not?
Spoilers: None to speak of.
Author's Notes: This story takes place during the first season of WaTchers. Some of it has been Jossed.
Pairing: None

Summary: Kennedy and Rowena head to Bangkok to recruit a slayer. Stuff happens.

One thousand years before the Ceremony of the Middle Moon, seven brothers did battle with that which they could not name, could not touch, could not see.

They did not know what fearsome parent gave life to such a thing, did not know that it was birthed by the Old Ones to be a weapon in their eternal wars – perhaps the final weapon, were it ever used.

The earth shrugged, and the mountain shattered. Pieces of the nameless thing fragmented away. It diminished, became less. Still, its power remained such that even fragments caused wars to be fought and empires to fall. Slivers were shaped into weapons which fell nations; blocks were carved into idols which became gods. Wizards lay waste to cities to gain possession of a whispered echo of its power.

Who found the heart is unknown. Who released the thing remains as nameless as the thing itself. They were so unmade by that which they unleashed that their very Name was erased from the memory of time.

Freed from its black-glass prison, the thing raged and sang the ancient song of destruction. It began unraveling the very threads of the world. Thousands died, then tens of thousands. Reality itself gave voice to pain, and world held its breath.

They fought back. Fought not with weapons, for the weapon that could touch the thing had not yet been forged. They fought with chants and strength of will; with song and spirit and soul.

Seven brothers began the battle. One survived. That one went on to found Wat Koongkharom and to pass on the guardianship of the thing bound in black glass. And the monks of Koongkharom guarded it well for nearly one thousand years.

Kennedy grabbed the baht as they slid out of the ATM machine. She started back towards the station's exit where Rowena Allister was waiting somewhat impatiently. Between the long flight and the train ride into the city, it had been a tiring journey.

She stopped and spun back around as she remembered that she had forgotten to retrieve her credit card. Tucking it and the cash in into her money belt, she continued on her way.

"We're good to go," she said. "Got us some running money. Most places here take plastic or good old American dollars, but having a few baht on hand always comes in handy."

"And makes us a target for thieves and pickpockets. I still say that traveler's checks would be sufficient," Rowena replied as she pushed the door open.

They were greeted by the unrelenting sound of snarled traffic, and a wave of hot, humid air tried its best to push them back inside the air-conditioned building. "This looks to be fun." Ro muttered, jet lag written on a face. Her eyes scanned the crowd and the traffic as if looking for a quick escape. There seemed to be a great deal of competition for the waiting cabs as the departing crowd fought for their attention. She started toward a cab that appeared to be unoccupied, only to stop as a large man leading two small Pekinese dogs threw the door open and squeezed inside.

Rowena winced as the air was split by a shrill whistle. She glanced irritably towards Kennedy who had two fingers in her mouth and her other hand waving frantically in the air. Suddenly, the crowd parted as a three-wheel vehicle bounced onto the sidewalk and hurtled towards them. It came to a stop, its motor put-put-putting.

"You need ride? Hop in; hop in!" The driver's sun-browned face was smiling widely and his eyes were only slightly wild, which was a good thing because Kennedy was busily tossing their carry-on bags into the rear storage compartment, and Rowena was too tired to argue the issue. With no small amount of trepidation, she slid into one of the two passenger seats.

"Where to?" the driver asked in heavily accented English. "You want good food? Maybe nice jewelry? I know where you find finest silk in all Bangkok. Cheap! Or maybe nice massage? I know place with blind masseuse; fingers like silk. Best in all Thailand. Maybe whole world. Cheap!"

Kennedy cut him off with a string of Thai words. He looked puzzled and started to protest only to be cut off again as she repeated the words with a slightly different inflection. They went back and forth a few times until the driver sighed and shrugged his shoulders in resignation. He threw the vehicle into motion and once again the crowd gave way.

There were a few minutes of silence before Rowena spoke. "I suppose it would have been entirely too much to expect that we could wait for a proper taxi. Something with air-conditioning, perhaps?" She asked.

She gripped the back of the driver's seat tightly as the tuk-tuk made a wild turn and darted between two slow moving vehicles; one, a new, dark blue BMW; the other, a ramshackle old truck whose bed was stacked to the sky with caged chickens which clucked and crapped in protest. The smell of chicken shit didn't mix well with diesel fumes.

"Yeah, it would." Kennedy answered. "They've clocked glaciers moving faster than rush hour traffic in Bangkok. Scientific fact. The only way to get any where fast is by tuk-tuk or by hoofin' it."

Rowena sighed in defeat. "Perhaps you're right. We do seem to be making good time. If we survive the journey in one piece, it may be worth a bit of discomfort." She tried for a smile, but didn't quite succeed.

The tuk-tuk spun into a narrow alley, sending half a dozen cats springing out of the way like so many pieces of furry shrapnel.

"What was your conversation with the driver about?" Ro asked once they cleared the alley. "He didn't seem very happy with what you had to say."

"You gotta understand something about tuk-tuk drivers; every one of them is a flim-flam artist at heart. Give 'em half a chance and they'll have you visiting every shady joint in town, because they've got it set up with the owners so that they get a cut of whatever you buy. And don't be surprised if he tries to sell us something before get where we're going. I told him to take us directly to the Pranlee Guest House and no where else."

"Yes, well, are you sure that's where you told him to take us? From the look on his face, it wasn't clear that he understood everything you were saying. Perhaps it would have been best to stick to English."

"Look, I may be a little rusty, but I can speak Thai. My Watcher taught me when I was l was learning Muay Thai."

"Kennedy, knowing the proper names of martial arts moves hardly constitutes knowing a language. It's my understanding that Thai is a difficult language to master, especially for Westerners. How long did you spend in Thailand?"

"Jacobs and I spent the summer here while I was training at the Yel Din Training Camp. I picked up quite a bit of the lingo. I'm not stupid, you know," Kennedy said with a hint of resentment in her tone.

Rowena sighed and wiped sweat from her forehead. The tuk-tuk had managed to get boxed in by slower moving traffic and the lack of a breeze allowed the heat to settle over them. "I'm not saying that! I'm…Look, how long ago were you here? How long has it been since you last spoke the language conversationally?"

"There, you see? It's been about that long since I last had a conversation in Russian. I doubt that I could hold a fluent conversation in that language at this point. All I'm suggesting is that when we come across someone who speaks English, we should stick to it."

Kennedy opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, but she was interrupted by the driver who turned in his seat and presented an open case of watches. "You want to buy watch? Very good deal – genuine Rolex, only twenty dollar, American."

"Thank you. No," Rowena spoke before Kennedy had a chance to. "While I'm sure that they're very high quality timepieces, neither of us is currently in the market for a new watch."

The driver's eyes brightened. "Quality! Yes, very best. Only eighteen American dollars. Bargain!" He thrust the case of watches towards the watcher. "Rolex!" he added.

Rowena tried again, a hint of exasperation entering her voice. "Yes, while I'm sure that Rolex is a name that –"

Rowena shot her a dirty look and continued, "That one can trust, as I've said, we simply have no need for new watches. We appreciate you offering us such a bargain, but right now all we really want is reach our destination as swiftly as possible."

The tuk-tuk driver's smile had widened even more at the word bargain. "Yes! Real bargain! Only fifteen dollar, American! Pretty watches for pretty ladies."

Ro sighed in defeat and slumped back in her seat. Kennedy was also slumped in her seat, arms crossed against her chest. There was a moment of silence as the driver watched them, smile frozen wide as his eyes darted back and forth from one woman to the other as if wondering which of them would be the first to jump at this wonderful opportunity. He gave the case a hopeful little half-shake.

The slayer leaned in towards the driver, who held his breath in anticipation of a sale. She said a few quick, quiet phrases in Thai, and his eyes widened even further.

They were on their way, the tuk-tuk slicing through the stalled traffic with only inches to spare.

They made good time after that, heading into the older section of the city, deftly threading the increasingly narrow streets and alleys. It was as if they had driven back in time; steel and glass and concrete gave way to brick and cut stone, to lacquered wood and porcelain tile work.

Buddha was everywhere, peeking out from the doorways of ornate Wats (the temples for which Bangkok was justly famous); presiding over parks; even smiling broadly from the back of a passing flat-bed truck. Rowena couldn't help but smile back.

Even the air felt cooler. The omnipresent stench of asphalt and diesel fuel had been replaced by exotic, enticing aromas from the street-side food carts. Her stomach reminded her that she had given a pass to what passed for food on the airliner.

The tuk-tuk made another swift turn and passed a vacant lot where a herd of its fellows parked, their drivers busy conversing and smoking. A boom-box blared loudly, doing it's best to prove that the mixing of cultures wasn't always for the best.

Their driver waved greeting to his friends as he turned down a narrow alley and pulled up at the rear of a large brick building. The boom-box was still loud enough to be annoying.

The driver turned in his seat to face Rowena and Kennedy "You here now," he announced. "Now you get out!" His voice didn't sound friendly.

"Maybe we should have bought a watch," Rowena whispered to Kennedy. She slipped out of her seat and grabbed her bag from the rear compartment of the tuk-tuk.

"Two hundred? That's highway robbery! Fifty is more than fair," Kennedy haggled.

"I suspect, from the way he's acting, that he is already insulted. I'm tired, and I don't want to stand here all day. Just. Pay. The. Man." The irritation in her voice was clear. The owner of the boom-box must have cranked it up a few notches because it seemed even louder.

Kennedy paid their driver, and they headed up the walk with their bags. She knocked on the door but there was no answer. She was about to knock again when Rowena cleared her throat.

"I think there's been some kind of mistake," she pointed to a small sign in the window. Underneath the Thai writing, it read: FIRST PENTECOSTAL CHURCH OF THAILAND.

"Crap!" Kennedy exclaimed. They turned around and saw their driver still standing by his vehicle, only he had been joined by his fellows from the vacant lot and their trusty steeds, boom-box included.

It was like a dance; it really was. There was ebb and flow, give and take two bodies moving into sync.

There was even music. The boom-box was belting out the words to an old children's song, adding just the right tone of surrealism to the situation:

Rowena's current dance partner, former driver, and wannabe watch salesman, swung at her head with his pipe and missed as she ducked, bracing herself against a tuk-tuk.

Ro snatched the pipe from the guy's unresisting hand, as the sound of Kennedy's fist smacking into one of the other tuk-tuk guys was followed by the sound of him smashing into some garbage cans.

"Kennedy! Remember that these are humans we're dealing with. We don't want to do them any permanent harm," Ro shouted.

"What? Me?" Kennedy yelled back. "Explain that to the guy who's never gonna father children again! Having lots of sons is a real status symbol over here."

Rowena wasn't paying attention. Her new dance partner was more of a challenge than the last. He was significantly taller than her, giving him proportionately greater reach. And while he wasn't creature-of-the-night strong, he certainly had her beat in that department.

She was managing to block his blows but her hands were going numb from the effort. Time to stop playing his game.

She took a few swift steps backwards and slipped into a fencer's stance: her side facing her opponent, presenting as small a target as possible. Her knees were bent slightly for balance and to allow for rapid shifts in position. One arm extended behind her also aided in balancing herself, while her weapon was extended as far from her center of mass as possible, maximizing her reach.

A piece of metal pipe made for an incredibly awkward foil, but one worked with what was available.

When he rushed her this time, she didn't try blocking him strength for strength. Instead, she guided the blows away, using his own strength to against him. With each blow he slipped more and more off balance. Seeing her opportunity, Rowena thrust forward, her improvised foil catching the guy squarely in the chest.

If it had been a true foil, he would have been dead. As it was, he was left gasping for breath. He was, however, still on his feet and still a threat.

Rowena moved in. She engaged her opponent's weapon with her own, spinning both of them in a circular motion until…There! Right there! She applied an upward motion to the pipe, and the thug's weapon was airborne.

She snatched it out of the air and grinned at him. It was sheer luck, of course. With something as ungainly as a piece of metal pipe, she was lucky to have managed the disarm, let alone flipping the thing into the air so she could catch it. Still, it looked as impressive as hell.

Her opponent was obviously trying to decide what to do when a shrill whistle split the air.

"God, I wish she'd stop doing that," Rowena muttered as she looked over at Kennedy.

Two of Kennedy's opponents were still on their feet, although they were both the worse for wear. And their erstwhile driver had managed to get to his feet, and was making his way, bowleggedly, towards his vehicle.

Seeing that she had everyone's attention, Kennedy slowly bent the iron pipe she was holding into a "U" shape.

Their driver was gingerly easing himself into his seat when Kennedy placed a hand on his shoulder. "Not so fast, buddy, you're kinda forgetting something."

"Hey! Lighten up. And no, I don't want the money back. What I do want is the ride we paid for."

"Are you mad?" Ro exclaimed. "This man and his compatriots just tried to rob us! And now you want to just go on about our merry way as if nothing happened?"

"Little of both, probably. Look, do you really want to walk? And do you really think that he'll try anything now?"

"Well, I was thinkin' more along the lines of after you knocked his nuts into orbit, but, yeah, that too."

Ro sighed. "Very well. I guess it does make sense. See to the driver; there's something I have to attend to first."

The Pranlee Guest House was a relatively new building, by Thailand standards. It had been built during the Fifties when the post-war growth spurt sent Bangkok scrambling to build on any available piece of land. It was a moderately sized brick building, tucked neatly between one of the city's smaller Wats and, incongruously, a 7-11 style convenience store. Mostly Western in architecture, its entrance was nonetheless guarded by two bronze Buddhas; one smiling; one serene.

Only one small sign, hand lettered in a variety of languages, identified it. The Pranlee family didn't advertise; yet in the past fifty years there had rarely been a time when any of the four suites of rooms available to travelers was unoccupied. Most of the time, the vast majority of the time, the occupants were simply travelers, tourists drawn by word of mouth speaking of pleasant surroundings and quiet hospitality. At times, however, those travelers had been more than ordinary tourists; they had been watchers.

As Kennedy followed Rowena up the flagstone walk, she turned and waved at the tuk-tuk driver. "Thanks for the lift," and, "you might want to try putting some ice on it."

Rowena sighed, "Must you further antagonize the man? I can't believe this; we've been in the country for no more than a handful of hours, and have already engaged in combat with some of the less savory members of the populace.

If you were going to, as Andrew would put it, 'Reveal your secret identity,' couldn't you have done so before things turned violent?"

"And miss out on seeing my Watcher kick ass? That disarm – you're gonna have to show me how you did that."

"It's just a little fencing trick I picked up a few years back. It's nothing special, really," Rowena said, modestly; smiling; neglecting to mention the luck aspect of that particular move.

"And the nut-kickage! Okay, I'm sensing a really nasty breakup in your past. No way on earth I'm gonna believe there wasn't some practice behind that move."

"All that aside, I'm not sure that revealing your abilities was the wisest move. We're here on a mission and we need to be circumspect. What if those men were to contact the authorities?"

"And tell them what? That they tried to mug a couple of farang women and got their butts kicked? Hell, they're not even going to tell their buddies. They probably won't even admit it to themselves by tomorrow morning."

"Perhaps. I just hope that we can avoid any more violence during rest of our stay."

"I'd really love to find the time to visit some of the temples and talk to some of the monks," Rowena added wistfully. "Buddhism is such a fascinating religion, a way of life, really. Perhaps, if we locate the Slayer we're looking for, we can make a little time for sight-seeing. And what, exactly, does farang mean? Should I be insulted?"

"It's what they call foreigners. Jacobs said that it comes from the word for French. Way back when, the French tried to put one of their guys in power and wound up getting kicked out on their butts. They closed the borders and didn't let any other foreigners in for over a century. And they still don't like the French too much, even today."

"Was that a joke?" Kennedy asked. "You're cracking jokes now? Cracking jokes and kicking…ass. You're coming right along. I'll make a slayer out of you yet."

The door opened before they had a chance to knock. An older Thai woman smiled at them. It was a Buddha smile: encompassing her whole face; soul deep; merry and wise all at the same time.

Kennedy pressed her palms together in front of her chest and bowed her head. She spoke a few quiet words in Thai and the woman smiled even deeper and answered in the same language. Rowena, observing Kennedy, also performed the wai.

"I am Khun Mae Pranlee. Welcome to the Pranlee Guest House." Her voice held only the barest trace of an accent. "Your luggage has already arrived from the airport and a package was delivered by courier earlier today. You will find everything in your suite.

You must be weary from the trip. I hope that it has been an enjoyable journey so far."

They followed Khun Mae into the hall, removing their shoes before crossing the threshold.

"Thank you," Rowena said. "It's been rather…exciting so far. And tiring, yes. I'm afraid we're a bit jetlagged. I hope you don't find it rude if we retire to our rooms."

"Of course not. You have traveled a great distance. I have taken the liberty of placing some refreshments in your suite."

"Thank you; that's very thoughtful. You mentioned a package? We weren't expecting anything…"

"I was," Kennedy interjected. "It's here? Cool! I've been waiting for this for months. When I found out where we were going to be, I just had them drop ship it."

Rowena didn't ask what it was; that was probably a conversation best left until they were behind closed doors.

They were heading up a stairway made of black lacquered wood, which, like all stairways in Thailand, had an odd number of steps. To their right flew bas-relief swans, trapped in eternal graceful flight.

Rowena, despite her weariness, was absorbing the surroundings; the smooth coolness of the polished wood beneath her bare feet seemed strangely intimate – in her native culture, to be barefoot indoors was to be home.

The sounds of the household held both the familiar and the foreign, universal human commonalities and those divergences born of distances in time and place. From downstairs, a baby's cry was soothed into silence while quiet conversation in a foreign tongue caused her to strain to better hear the words – as if sheer concentration could make clear their meaning. The aroma of a meal being prepared drifted up from the kitchen and again the exotic and the familiar entwined: garlic, chili and curry she easily identified; other aromas were made all the more enticing by their mystery. Incense drifted from under the door of one of the guest suites up ahead and it was mixed with, if the memories of her University days weren't misinforming her, a bit of weed.

They said their good-byes to Khun Mae and entered their suite. It wasn't large, but it was elegantly decorated and spotlessly clean. Directly across from the entrance was a large window with a wonderful view of the Wat. Directly underneath the window was a Victorian style table made of dark walnut. To the right, against the dark paneled wall, there was a plush couch which was upholstered in dark brown fabric.

Above the couch there was a painting of an elephant done in the traditional, highly stylized Thai manner. On the right wall there were two doors that opened into two small bedrooms. Against the left wall there was a writing desk in the same style as the table. To the side of it, there was a door that opened into a bathroom complete with free-standing Victorian claw-footed tub.

In the center of the room, the hardwood floor was adorned with a Turkish rug which inevitably brought to mind memories of Istanbul. For the first time in long time they held as many smiles as tears.

On the table, were the refreshments their hostess had promised. Fresh fruit, spring rolls, two bowls of sticky rice and a type of fish paste in a small metal bowl with a candle placed beneath to keep it warm. Beside of this was a long, rectangular package and a manila envelope. Kennedy made a beeline for that.

Rowena checked their luggage, which was sitting beside of the couch. She opened one of the larger suitcases and pulled out a crossbow.

"Yes," Rowena said. "We're finding that while the leadership of the Old Guard was destroyed in the explosion, much of the Council's infrastructure is still in place. And many of those who were in the lower levels of the organization were overlooked by The First's attacks. I suppose that there are many Council agents on the local levels, in such areas as customs and law enforcement, who don't even realize that there's been a change in management. And there are still many places such as this, which have served as safe houses or bases of operation for watchers in the past and are still available when needed. It makes the extremely daunting task of rebuilding somewhat less so."

She replaced the crossbow and watched as Kennedy removed a metallic case from the Styrofoam packed container. It was silver-gray, about thirty inches long and six wide. There was a handle midway of its length and a numeric keypad right below that. The pad apparently served as a combination lock, because Kennedy punched in a series of numbers and slid the case open.

Inside was a katana nestled in a foam cut out. Beside it was a polished black scabbard. The smooth blade reflected the light like a mirror. Kennedy lifted the blade from the case and held it for a moment, testing heft and balance. Then she swung it in a circle and let her arm drop to her side, hanging loosely, the blade down. The tip of the blade didn't quite touch the floor.

"Niiiiice! Looks like they got this baby right to the specs I gave them. Worth every penny." She swung into a few katas, grinning like a cat.

Her mood was infectious. Ro picked an apple from the basket of fruit on the table and tossed it towards Kennedy. The blade met it, and the apple sliced itself in two. Kennedy caught the two halves in her free hand and tossed one of them to Rowena.

"That's impressively sharp for a new blade. Usually you have to spend some time honing the edge to achieve that smooth of a cut. Did you have it made by one of the masters in Japan? Myshioto, perhaps?" Ro inquired.

"Nah. Millennium Metals Incorporated. They're in San Fran, actually. This baby popped out of the mold like that," Kennedy said as she carefully wiped the blade.

Kennedy passed the blade over to her. As Rowena examined the blade, Kennedy opened the information packet that accompanied it.

"Interesting; there are no fold patterns. You say that this was formed in a mold? Isn't there postproduction work required with molded metals? And the metal…I don't believe I've seen anything quite like it. It's almost like a mirror." Rowena continued her careful examination of the sword.

"It's metallic glass," Kennedy offered. "Normally, as metal cools from a liquid to a solid, its atoms take on a crystal pattern; they're really regularly shaped. This stuff's an alloy of several different metals that have different atomic weights. If I remember right," she glanced down at the papers in her hands then tucked them back in the envelope before Ro could notice. "this has zirconium, beryllium, titanium, copper, iron and nickel. The different sized atoms keep the crystal patterns from forming, so the atomic structure is more glass-like than metal."

"Remarkable," Rowena seemed impressed, but there were still traces of doubt in her voice. "I'm not sure, though, if this is superior to the traditional sword making techniques. I mean, one of the old masters could spend as much as a year forging a weapon, folding the metal literally thousands of times, until it developed a strength and suppleness that remains unequalled by modern metallurgical techniques. There is a certain investment of energy, of spirit, if you will, in a weapon forged that way."

"Yeah," Kennedy responded. "And sometimes they would quench the red hot blade by running it through the body of a prisoner. Times change." She took the katana as Rowena handed it back to her. "This blade was flash frozen; dropping it from a liquid to a solid in less than a thousandth of a second." She began spinning the blade in a circular motion, slowly at first but with increasing speed. "Scientists have been working on this stuff since the Seventies; people with big, Willow-sized brains have poured their lives into it. You gonna tell me there isn't energy there?" The blade was a blur now. "Besides, the real energy in any blade comes from person holding it." Kennedy brought the blade down in a powerful cross body cut, stopping the blade inches from the floor.

"Perhaps you're right," Rowena replied. "Still, things aren't always better just because they're new. Traditions often exist for a reason, even if we're unaware of what that reason may be. You say that the blade has a glasslike structure; isn't glass prone to breaking? If the blade were to shatter at an inopportune moment?"

"I kinda haven't gotten around to updating my will lately." Kennedy smiled a smile that was both sheepish and sad.

Ro changed the subject. "You paid fifteen thousand dollars for single weapon? One that you can't really be sure won't fail when put under stress?"

"No. For the record, I paid fifteen grand for something that's going to save my life one of these days. As for putting it under stress…"

Kennedy took the case that the katana had been packaged in and laid it on the floor. She took the tip of the blade and placed it on the case. Holding the hilt in both hands, she placed one foot on the center of the blade and began applying pressure. Slowly, the blade began to bend.

Ro's eyes widened and she started to say something but then thought better of it.

With obvious effort, the Slayer bent the blade in a deep bow, putting the tip of the blade at nearly a right angle to the hilt. Her arm shook with the strain and when she released the pressure, the blade sprang back into its original shape. She handed the katana to Rowena for closer examination.

"I guess they got the kinks out after all. You're right, one of the downsides to metallic glass is that it has had a bad habit of shattering. I think they called it, 'catastrophic shear failure,' or something like that.

My dad had a set of golf clubs that were made out of a similar type of material and one exploded all over the place when he was trying to slam a line drive. Really pissed him off. That's where I got the idea, from those golf clubs. Instead of denting, they spring back. Gives him just that little extra edge to knock the ball further than the other guy."

"Remarkable," Rowena admitted. "I can't detect any sign of damage. I have to admit that even a sword made by a master swords smith would have bent or broken under that kind of stress." She picked the sheath off of the table and slid the sword into it. "Perhaps the Council should look into having some other weapons forged from the same material. I imagine that a crossbow made out of it could drive a quarrel with considerable force. Of course, it would take someone with Slayer strength load it." She examined the markings on the sheath. "I take it that your father is a bit competitive?"

"Ha! He makes Donald Trump look laid back. That's one of the reasons that I never wanted to learn to play chess."

"You don't like chess because your father does? I'm not sure I'm following your reasoning."

"He doesn't like chess. He plays it all the time, but I overhead him tell my step-mom that he doesn't like it at all. He just likes to be able to casually mention that he plays. I guess it impresses the guys at the country club. And he's damned good at it, so he can use it to intimidate people." She deepened her voice, 'Why don't we discuss the deal over a game of chess.' "Gets 'em every time."

"Well, I can assure you that not everyone who plays chess does so out of intellectual snobbery. But he does sound rather driven."

"He's okay for the most part. I guess I could have done a lot worse as dads go. He's just one of those people who, once he's set his mind to something, he's gonna get it come hell or high water."

"No…Well, a little, perhaps. We're all influenced by our families, by our up upbringing. It can color our entire lives." Ro looked somber; reflective.

Rowena opened her mouth to speak before closing it again. Finally, she said, "Thank you, but, no, not right now. What I'd like right now is some rest. I'm going to try to get a couple of hours of sleep. If you don't mind, call the Council and let them know that we've made it here safely. And see if Willow has had any more luck in pinpointing the slayer's location. I have the feeling that locating one slayer in this city is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack."

Phok was nervous. Very nervous. Right now, he was regretting his latest idea to supplement his income. His wife was always telling him that one day his penchant for trying to make a quick baht was going to be the end of him. He hoped that this wasn't the time that proved her right.

He had been to Wat Koongkharom in the past, selling bits of information but had never been, well, invited wasn't the right word, escorted into its upper chambers before. Hence, the nervousness. Rumor had it that those who entered the depths of the temple often never came out – at least, never came out unchanged.

The Wat had always had a reputation for strangeness, even before the farang from Japan had ousted the monks who were said to have guarded some unnamed thing since before the city grew from the jungle, surrounding the ancient temple with bustling city life. Its reputation became even worse after that.

The brothers who hadn't vanished completely were never again seen during the day. They lived in the night – the morning rituals that were so vitally important to their traditions were replaced with dark chants in the middle hours of the night.

Still, they paid well. Any bits of information about strange happenings, particularly when they involved farang, were rewarded. So Phok clutched the piece of bent pipe as if it were a good luck charm and prayed that it would buy him passage – that it would protect him from both the unnamed something whose presence he either imagined or actually felt and the farang that everyone called Tsumoto-san; never, ever, forgetting the honorific.

The vampire named Tsumoto, and always called Tsumoto-san, wasted no time in ordering action against the gaijin Slayer and her companion.

He had made no serious attempts against the life of Bangkok's native slayer, despite the fact that she and those who aided her had, on occasion, even before she came into her full power, interfered in the operations of the Niiro Misuto, the brotherhood of the Blood Red Mist.

She served to keep the population of mongrels, vampires who held no allegiance to the Niiro Misuto, in check and so, in her own unknowing way, served him.

Tsumoto hated the mongrels even more than he hated Westerners; they were little better than animals, lacking even the pretense of discipline. They made mockery of the gift of undeath. He prided himself on never allowing the demon to take his face, not once since those first few blood drenched days. And he demanded the same discipline of every member of the Thailand branch of the Niiro Misuto. To breach that demand was to be punished – even killed.

So, because she served a purpose, she was allowed to live. It helped that her ways were known; her patterns could be accounted for; could be woven into his own. These gaijin were unknown. It was too close to the Ceremony of the Middle Moon, too close to the summation of a thousand years of destiny, to take the chance that these outsiders would not unweave his plans.

If it even was mere chance that brought them to his door – Tsumoto often wondered if they were all no more than pieces in an ancient, unending game. He often discussed such matters with the former monks of Koongkharom over cups of blood and sake, but their answers were no more satisfying than any of the countless others he had heard over the years.

So, when the iron pipe was laid in his hand, it's mangled shape speaking of arrogant strength, the very embodiment of the West that he held in such contempt, his action was swift and sure:

And not a single person in the room, living or not, doubted that it would be so.

The first assault upon Kennedy and Rowena began shortly thereafter; shortly before Ro awoke and while Kennedy was listening to her iPod and thumbing through an English language version of The Bangkok Post; and shortly before sunset, meaning that it was the still human members of the Niiro Misuto who made the attempt.

Their success would ensure their siring, perhaps by Tsumoto-san himself – the highest of honors. Their failure…Well, it would be cliché to say that failure was not an option but, in this case, it was very true.

Khun Mae Pranlee was the first human to become aware of the assault when the spirit that lived in the threshold of the Pranlee Guest House whispered warning in her ear.

She was holding her youngest grandchild in her arms; so she gently, very gently so as to not disturb the now sleeping girl, strummed the air, her fingers caressing the invisible threads that bound the house to her.

Her oldest grandchild recognized the motion and instantly turned his attention from his studies.

They both knew that they could discount the ones on the roof – the only access from there was the chimney, and the guardian spirit there had not fed in quite some time. They would, however, have to remember to remove the bodies before they began to smell.

"One of the two at the front is a user of magic. They will not attempt to enter until he has penetrated the wardings. That will give us time to act, but he must be dealt with first," Khun Mae told him.

"Sure – kill the wizard – standard operating procedure," he said in English.

Khun Mae sighed loudly. His American friends from the university were having a bad influence on Decha. Always playing that silly game where they rolled dice and moved little painted figures around; usually little painted figures of barely dressed women with impossibly large bosoms. She thought it was beyond silly to live in some fantasy world where you went around slaying dragons with magic swords, and people were tossing fireballs right and left. But he was as headstrong as his father had been at that age, so she let it slide.

She glanced down at the sleeping child in her arms. "No. I just got her to sleep. If I move now, she will start crying again. I wouldn't want her to disturb our guests. Besides, your sister needs practice. Hurry now, we don't have all night."

Kennedy looked up as Rowena walked out of the bedroom, yawning and stretching. She removed her earphones and asked, "Have a good nap? I was just about to wake you up."

"It was refreshing. I must have been awakened by a dream, though. I could have sworn I heard footsteps on the roof."

"Probably squirrels. I thought I heard some squirrels chattering away in the chimney a little bit ago."

"How could you hear anything over that?" Rowena gestured towards the iPod. "You usually have it so loud that…Well, let's just say that it's a good thing that you're a slayer, or you'd be suffering permanent hearing loss by now."

Rowena walked over to the window where the setting sun silhouetted the Wat next door. She spent a moment drinking in the sight before turning back towards Kennedy.

Had she waited a few seconds longer, she would have seen two shadowy figures dragging a third, who was either unconscious or dead. The figures disappeared behind the hedgerow that surrounded the building.

"I guess I'm just being paranoid. I would hate to think that we may draw unwanted attention and perhaps put our hosts in danger," the watcher said.

"Hasn't this place had watchers staying here before? They're probably used to weird stuff happening when the Council's involved. Besides, I don't think that Mrs. Pranlee is as helpless as you might think."

"Calluses," Kennedy said. "Here," she slid a finger down the side of her hand. "And here." She indicated base of her palm. "You don't get those types of calluses from housework. That comes from years of conditioning. I'll bet she could kick your ass." She smiled brightly, "See, I'm not as oblivious to my surroundings as you think."

"I've never said that you were. When you set your mind to it you can be remarkably observant. But even you must admit that you rarely take the time to do so."

"Maybe," Kennedy admitted, then changed the subject. "I did phone home and let them know we made it here okay."

"I only got to talk Andrew," she said, and Ro winced in sympathy. "Everybody else was still asleep. According to him, neither Will nor the Devon Coven has had any luck in tracking her. He said that sometimes they don't even get anything; it's like she's not even a slayer. He said, and this is a quote, 'It's like she's classic Wonder Woman and she's using her golden lasso to change into her secret identity of Diana Prince.' And I'm still wondering why we even let him answer the phone."

Rowena shrugged. "It doesn't seem very likely that she's a slayer one moment and not one the next. A more reasonable explanation is that something is, well, obscuring the signal is what springs to mind. Perhaps the large number of temples in the city is creating some type of mystical smog."

"Moving on then. It seems that we're back to looking for a needle in a haystack. I'd hoped to pick up some leads by studying the journals of watchers who had been stationed here, but I'm afraid it's been a fruitless search so far.

I'd particularly hoped that Mrs. Post's journal would offer some areas to investigate, since she was stationed here less than a decade ago. I guess that given her actions following the death of her Potential it's not really surprising that her Watcher's journal isn't particularly enlightening. Much of what she wrote seems to be deliberately obfuscatory."

"She was that crazy Watcher that tried to steal that Glove of Myna-something-or-other, wasn't she? I heard that story from Willow and Faith."

"Ex-Watcher," Ro corrected. "Gwendolyn Post was expelled from the Council for dabbling in forbidden magics. The official story was that the loss of her Potential affected her judgment, but scuttlebutt at the Academy was that she was already a bit 'round the bend."

"Huh. Is dabbling in black magic a requirement for being a watcher? 'Cause it sure it sure seems to happen a lot."

"It's hardly a requirement, but you might say it's one of the occupational hazards. Watchers are often exposed the dark side of the magical arts; they have access mystical books and artifacts that have great power and that power can be very seductive. Watchers are, after all, human. It's not surprising that some of them succumb to the temptation."

Rowena walked over to her bags and pulled out a folder. "I believe…" she shuffled through the folder and pulled out some papers. "Yes, Suchin drowned in a ferry accident."

Kennedy's face went pale. "Poor kid, getting Gwendolyn Post as a Watcher, then dying like that…"

Rowena looked at her with sympathy. "Oh, I'd forgotten that you had a near drowning accident as a child. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"It's OK, I'm…well, Faith has had me taking lessons. I can make it from point A to point B in the water, but I'm never gonna like it." She sighed. "But whether or not I can swim doesn't get us any closer to finding our missing slayer."

"Of course I am. I've already said that you can be quite astute when you put your mind to it. Surely you've been doing more than listening to music while I've been asleep."

"Yeah, again," she grinned. "Hey, I'm on a roll." She unfolded the newspaper and pointed to an ad.

Decha performed the proper wai of respect to his grandmother, and his sister, Maniwan, followed suit. They were both breathing heavily, and Decha had a long cut down his right arm that had been hastily bandaged.

"We were able to capture two of them," Decha said. "But as soon as they were rendered helpless, they were strangled by these." He tossed a couple of necklaces onto the low table and seated himself on the floor, his legs tucked into lotus position. Maniwan also sat, tucking her legs to one side in the fashion of Thai women.

"There's a dark magic in them," Maniwan observed. The necklaces were made of dark, blood-red beads. They ended in two clasped dragon claws made of the same material.

"The Niiro Misuto then; Tsumoto has sent these men. It is the watcher and slayer who were the object of this attack."

There had been some doubt; Khun Mae was reasonably sure that the woman who had been staying in one of the other guest suites was a well disguised Sidhe. Just as well, she shuddered at the thought of the Wild Hunt suddenly appearing at her door. The cleanup would be horrendous.

"No. Not yet. We are still not sure of the goals of this new Council. Nor are we sure of their mission here. There are those I must consult first."

"Then we shall have to protect them from the Niiro Misuto until we are free to inform them of the danger. Understood?"

Decha sighed. It looked like he was going to have to call the guys and let them know that he wasn't going to be able to make it to the game tonight. It was a shame; their characters were going to be going up against a Balor tonight, and he was really looking forward to the action. He rose and performed the wai, and Maniwan followed suit. They left the room.

Khun Mae rose gracefully. Moving quietly, so as not to awaken the child in her arms, she picked up the phone. Holding the receiver between her neck and shoulder, she dialed a number. After a moment she said, "This is Khun Mae Pranlee. May I speak to Suchin please?"

Tsumoto's second attempt at Rowena and Kennedy sighted in on them as they sat by the window of a small, nameless restaurant across from a shabby little theater that was showing a dubbed release of 'Kill Bill'.

This section of Bangkok didn't cater to tourists; every sign was in Thai. It was the borderland between the glass and steel of twenty-first century Bangkok and Klong Toey, Bangkok's largest slum where nearly eighty thousand lives were ignored by the rest of the city. Yaba ruled in Klong Toey. The little pink pills of methamphetamine had replaced heroin as the drug of choice there; had replaced hope.

Still, the slayer and the watcher had drawn little notice as they entered the restaurant and the slayer had placed their orders.

They had left the Pranlee Guest House dressed as mun, the farang backpackers who were so common in Thailand that they drew little notice regardless of where they traveled. No one paid much attention to mun, the very word itself was a genderless thing, the equivalent to 'it'. Most mun were poor; some were students; others were dropouts from their own cultures; many were part of the thriving drug subculture which existed despite the best efforts of the authorities. Only mongrels would have any interest in mun, seeing them as safe prey.

It was a wise move; the packs allowed them to carry weapons without attracting attention, and Luu Ngoc Tran suspected that the map case attached to the slayer's pack housed a sword.

Tran was something of an anomaly among the Niiro Misuto, and among vampires in general: he liked guns.

Sure, he enjoyed ripping the throat out of a living victim and drinking his fill from their still struggling body as much as any vampire, but there was something equally satisfying in turning a brain into a spray of red from hundreds of yards away. He liked to imagine his victims entering the presence of their ancestors without any idea of how they got there.

"Honored Grandfather," he imagined them asking, baffled, "how is it that I stand before you when I was just sitting down to eat?"

There was something intimate about it, a connection that Tran had never been able to explain to his fellows in the Niiro Misuto, most of whom savored the hot, honeyed warmth of blood on their hands. Some, no doubt, thought him a coward to strike from distant secrecy. They never voiced the thought; to do so would be to question Tsumoto-san himself, to say that he had brought a coward no better than a mongrel into their ranks.

Perhaps only another sniper could understand. The American military advisor who had first trained him so many years ago in his native Vietnam certainly had. He had spoken of his kills in such loving details – as another might speak of the first touch of a lover. "One shot, one kill," became an expression of ardor.

So, as Tran gently caressed the slayer's face with the crosshairs, he felt a connection, an entanglement of destinies that bound them together. He watched her grin in almost feral anticipation as the waitress brought their meal, and he hesitated – just for a moment – savoring feeling of power – holding a slayer's very life in his hands.

As he began to squeeze the trigger, Tran had just an instant to wonder what was wrong. The gentle resistance of cold metal against cool flesh was no longer there. His rifle fell from hands of dust.

Suchin the Vampire Slayer snatched the weapon from the air before it hit the ground. She slid the scope to her eye and sighted in on the watcher.

"What I'm saying, is that fencing is too often underestimated. It became the premier weapon style of the Renaissance for a reason. A true foil is heavier and more sturdily constructed than the practice foils most people are familiar with. With a properly executed lunge-thrust, a fencer could pierce armor and take down nearly any foe.

You're correct, of course, a foil is limited to thrusting as a mode of attack, but a well timed thrust is often all that's needed to get the job done, and…" Rowena trailed off as she noticed the growing smirk on Kennedy's face. "And it seems that there's absolutely no subject that you and Faith can't interpret as sexual in nature. It must be a slayer thing."

"Hey, I wasn't the one going on about how well timed thrusts can get the job done. Not," Kennedy hastened to add with a wide grin, "that there's anything wrong with that. Some of my best friends are…"

Kennedy's grin took on a distinctly predatory aspect. This was gonna be good. Rowena had asked her to order something distinctly Thai so that she could get a taste of the culture.

The waitress placed the food on the table, and Kennedy waited. Rowena cut off a piece and after the initial crunch, chewed thoughtfully. Kennedy's smile faded.

"Yes. From the pinchers, legs and tail, they are pretty obviously fried scorpions. Heterometrus longimanus, judging from the size and coloration. Aren't you hungry?" Rowena gestured towards Kennedy's untouched plate.

"Yes. As I've told you, I enjoy learning about knew cultures and trying regional foods is certainly a part of that." She cut off another of the fried scorpion's legs and crunched it thoughtfully. "Aren't you going to try it? Where's that slayer spirit of adventure?"

No, Kennedy actually hadn't planned to; she had even taken the precaution of asking the waitress to have two orders of Phat Thai waiting in the wings for the moment when Ro proved that she wasn't quite the open-minded student of new cultures that she proclaimed herself to be.

Kennedy broke a leg off one of the scorpions and popped it in her mouth. The shell was crunchy; the insides had the texture of an overripe banana. And the taste…She only wished it tasted like chicken.

"No, I'm actually struggling to keep from barfing all over you. While there would be some satisfaction in that, it would also mean that you've won this little contest. That," Ro smiled pleasantly and dipped a scorpion tail in a small bowl of sweet and sour sauce, "isn't going to happen." She popped it in her mouth. Crunch!

Kennedy glanced out the window towards the little theater across the street. If she were lucky, some of the vampires she had predicted would be gathering, and she would be able to save lives and face at the time.

A small line was queuing up. A group of young men walked up to the line, laughing and chatting. Kennedy glanced down at the small mirror Rowena had set on the table shortly after they had arrived. No vamps.

Then, she noticed a small glint on the roof of the building beside the theater. She glanced in that direction and caught a hint of movement. Maybe. It wasn't there when she looked again.

"I'm not sure. I thought I saw something on the roof over there." Kennedy nodded in that direction. "Nothing there now."

"What do your instincts say? Is this something we should investigate? It may be more productive. I'm beginning to doubt your theory that vampires will flock to this movie. The undead aren't known as patrons of cinema."

"Beginning to? You thought it was a dumb idea from the time you heard it." There was a bit of heat there; a bit of defensiveness.

"Well, if you'd seen it, you'd understand. It's about as close to vamp porn as you can get. Blood gushing everywhere; body parts flying." She paused for a beat. "It's a really cool flick."

"That disturbing bit of information aside, do you think that we should check out the roof or continue our stakeout?"

"Yeah, might be worth checking out." It would also put some distance between her and the fried scorpions. "Tell you what. Why don't I check out the roof, and you keep an eye out for movie-lovin' vamps."

"Look, if I'm gonna be doing the Batman-thing I'm better off on my own. I can move faster that way"

"Skulking around on rooftops. Man, I've gotta keep my distance from Andrew. I think he's contagious. Next thing you know, I'll be crushing on Viggo Mortensen." Kennedy bounced up and grabbed the map case that contained her new sword. "Save me some scorpions. Or better yet, not."

Rowena sighed. "Please limit yourself to recon. We're here to collect a slayer, not add notches to your sword hilt."

Kennedy spidered up the side of the two story brick building as if it were nothing. Free climbing with slayer powers felt almost like cheating. At the top, she hung motionless for a few moments, listening, expanding her senses to catch any hint that someone, something might be there. Hearing nothing, she flipped herself onto the roof, landing in a crouch, ready for trouble.

She scanned the rooftop. The night was clear, but the moon hadn't risen yet. There didn't seem to be anyone around, but there were plenty of lurkable shadows, so she couldn't be sure. The buildings provided plenty of areas for concealment. They were squeezed in on each other – as if holding each other up, and an old, rundown tenement with broken and boarded windows watched over the rooftops with broken-glass eyes. The roof sloped down towards the rear of the building, and someone had built a warren of sheds, coops and hutches for rabbits, chickens and, judging from the smell, a pig or two.

Maybe it was a wild goose chase. Or maybe not. There was something lying in the shadows by the front of the building – the place where Kennedy thought she had seen movement.

Moving cautiously, she headed that way. In the shadow of the low, brick parapet that ran across the front of the building, she found a rifle – its barrel bent 90 degrees. It rested in a pile of dust. She held a pinch of the dust to her nose; the grave-mold scent of dusted vamp was unmistakable.

Weird. Vampires didn't use modern weapons, at least, not that Kennedy had ever heard of. She stood and turned, holding the mangled weapon in her hands. Before she had the chance to process the area in front of her, there was a THUNK!, and a shuriken, a throwing star, appeared in the stock of the rifle.

A voice followed the shuriken out of the darkness; a woman's voice, pitched low and dangerous, a predator warning an intruder out of its territory.

Kennedy scanned the area, holding the rifle in front of her like a shield. She was perhaps a bit more confident than was warranted. Only three nights before, she had managed to snatch her first crossbow bolt out of the air as it whizzed towards her. Granted, it had been a blunted practice quarrel fired in a well lit room when she had known it was coming, but she had caught it.

The coolest thing after her first kiss with Willow, of course…Well, second kiss, actually, because the first kiss had turned Willow into Warren, and that hadn't been cool…And after dusting her first vamp; that had been very cool…Then there was that first instance of knowing that she was a slayer, that the spell had worked, and they just just might live through Buffy's big idea…All, very cool.

So, maybe not the coolest thing ever, but still damned cool. And pointy things and threats hurtling out of the dark? Just pissing her off.

Kennedy exploded into action. Three quick steps forward and she released the rifle, sending it spinning ahead of her, low and parallel to the roof, like skipping a stone across the water.

Rowena had watched as Kennedy skipped across the street and disappeared into the alley by the building in question. She watched as the people in line began to enter the theater. At least it didn't appear that they were going to have to deal with a gang of vampires who held the home field advantage.

A short time later, the roar of unmuffled engines heralded the arrival of half a dozen motorcycles, a couple of them with two riders. They roared up to the theater like they owned it and squealed to a stop.

Ro's eyes widened as she looked in the mirror. The motorcycles appeared to be driving themselves.

Suchin took shelter behind one of sheds and grinned as the rifle thrown by the other slayer missed by a wide margin. She wouldn't have missed her mark, even with as unwieldy a weapon as a mangled rifle; Guru Tedjo had trained her too well for that.

Then, her eyes widened in alarm as the shed she was hiding behind collapsed on top of her. The whirling rifle had taken the supports out from under two of the coops, domino-ing them into the shed which struggled briefly but valiantly against the combined forces of gravity and shoddy construction before toppling.

Suchin didn't waste any time; she pulled her legs in, knees tight against her chest, and then kicked. The boards covering her shotgunned into the air and caught the farang slayer in mid-leap. As her opponent went down, Suchin scrambled to her feet, pulling her hanbo from her belt as she went. She rushed the farang, taking advantage of the other woman's temporary misfortune to press her advantage; but, as Guru Tedjo was fond of pointing out, the fortunes of battle are swift to change. The pig that had inhabited the now demolished shed chose that moment to squeal and dash in front of her.

Suchin stumbled towards a chicken coop, and before she could catch her balance, a solid kick in the ass sent her crashing head first through the side of it. She wound up face to face with an irate fighting cock.

Kennedy hauled the Thai Slayer out of the coop by her belt, sweeping the girl's legs out from under her as she did so. Hopefully, she could put an end to this and get down to business. She enjoyed a good tussle as much as the next slayer, but she didn't want to be here when whoever owned all these barnyard critters came around to investigate.

Best laid plans…As her opponent went down, she flung a pissed off rooster in Kennedy's face.

Pound for pound, there are few creatures more ferocious than a game rooster that's been born and bred for combat. They'll flog and peck and spur right until the bitter end.

That said, chicken versus slayer is pretty much a no-brainer. Chicken loses. End of story. But…No one ever expects a chicken in the face.

And in the couple of seconds that it took Kennedy to process that, one, she had a chicken attacking her face, and two, it was pretty much an ordinary rooster and not some type of a small feathered demon, and three, a slayer's code against killing didn't extend to barnyard animals, the other slayer was back on her feet and ready for action.

Kennedy dropped the bird with a single blow. (A swift knife-hand blow to the chest that pretty much stopped the rooster's heart instantly. PETA wouldn't have been happy, but the chicken felt no pain. Honest.)

She performed a wai and dropped into stance right as the walkie-talkie in her pocket started chirping.

"Mind if I hold off on kickin' your ass until after I get this?" she asked, holding a finger out in a timeout motion. "Since you know what a watcher is, you might know that they think that everything they say is of the utmost importance, and if I don't get this, I'll have to listen to her whine about not following the rules all the way back to the States."

The girl hesitated for a moment, a doubtful look on her face. Then she shrugged and eased out of her stance. Kennedy was surprised to see that it wasn't a Muay Thai stance. It a type of sempok stance, very low center of gravity, right foot crossing in front of the left which was extended behind her. Some form of Pentjak-Silat, perhaps? If they didn't wind up killing each other, she'd ask about it later.

The girl herself was maybe two or three years younger than Kennedy, and she had her hair tied up in a single braid that hung half way down her back. She was dressed in dark, loosely fitting clothes and carried a hanbo, a two and a half foot long fighting stick that had been sharpened to a point on one end. Her feet were bare.

Keeping a close eye on her, Kennedy answered the call. "Okay, okay, don't get your shorts in a wad; I'm here, and I think I've found our girl. But I'm thinking we're gonna have our job cut out for us convincing her to listen to us."

"You have?" Rowena answered. "That's wonderful, but I'm afraid we've got a situation on our hands. The vampires you were predicting have indeed put in an appearance, and judging from the way they're acting, I doubt it'll be popcorn they have with the movie. They seem rather, well, jittery. As if they're high on something."

"I count eight; they're starting to enter the theater now. They haven't spotted me, and I have two crossbows loaded. How soon can you get back? If we coordinate this properly, I may be able to eliminate two of them, and when they turn their attention to me, you can attack them from behind. With two slayers, they shouldn't have much chance.

Kennedy glanced at the other Slayer who had taken the opportunity to pull out a cell phone and was speaking to someone in a low, urgent voice. "Umm…I'm not sure if we can count on two slayers. We didn't exactly get off on the right foot. As a matter of fact, I was just about to teach her some manners when you rang."

Rowena sighed, "What…No, never mind. I'm not sure I want to know what started the brawl. Do you think you can cut the traditional slayer greeting ritual short and attend to the vampires? If they make it into the theater, it will be much more difficult to dust them without putting civilians at risk."

"Hey! It's not like I started it. Hold on a minute. Hey, Kid, can we call a halt to this? My watcher says we've got a vampire problem that needs to be taken care of."

"What? The Niiro Misuto are the vampires that have marked you and the watcher for death. Are these not the ones you speak of?"

"The Niiro Misuto do not stop until they have accompanied their mission. Tsumoto would kill any of them that failed to do so."

"Okay, so we've got these Niiro Misuto guys doggin' us. I'm guessing that explains the rifle and the dust. We have eight more bloodsuckers downstairs getting ready to snack on some movie goers. What do you say we skip the cliché and do something about these guys? Then, if you really don't want to listen to our spiel, we'll be on our way. Hell, if you already know what a watcher is, you probably know what we're here for anyway."

"You wish to force me back into the service of the Watchers' Council." It wasn't a question.

"What? No we don't; that's not what we're about. And what do ya mean, back?" Kennedy asked, puzzled. Then, the light bulb went on. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Okay, that explains things. But aren't you supposed to be dead? On second thought, never mind, 'cause slayers coming back from the dead is getting to be old hat."

"Kennedy! Half of the group has already made it into the theater, and the rest look like they're planning to have the ticket girl for lunch. If we're going to act, we need to do so now" Rowena reported from the walkie-talkie.

"Okay, give me, let's see…from here to the roof of the theatre, to the ground. Give me about ten seconds then take your shot."

Kennedy pulled her sword. "Look, Suchin, I'm going after the bad guys. You're welcome to help, or you can take off, and you have my word that we won't come looking for you. We're not the old Council. We'd like the chance to talk to you and explain what's going on, but we're not gonna force you. And I'd like to know more about this Niiro Misuto bunch and maybe find out why they're after us." She looked the Thai slayer in the eye. "Your call."

With that, Kennedy took off across the roof. Suchin followed closely. When they reached the edge, they leaped for the roof of the theatre…

Kygeri watched as Tsumoto began the first step of the series of rituals that would loosen that which the Koongkharom brothers had bound so long ago. It was called the Trial of the Writhing Serpents, and the name alone was pretty much an indicator of badness to come.

The ritual began as the first light of the moon began to fill the room, illuminating the mosaic floor and casting writhing snake-shadows on the ceramic and gold tiled walls. Suspended from ceiling by silken ropes were seven cobras. Seven very angry cobras. Angry with reason: it had proven impossible to simply tie the snakes to the ropes; they had resorted to pinning them to the ropes with metal hooks. That did not improve the reptiles' dispositions.

Tsumoto stood ready, wearing the black and red ceremonial garb of the Niiro Misuto. He could have been a warrior from Feudal Japan, except for the dark glasses that no one had ever seen him remove.

The reason for the glasses was a matter of some speculation among the brotherhood, though never where Tsumoto might overhear. Kygeri found it amusing to hear creatures devoted to the darkest evils gossiping like the old women of the village where he grew up. Tsumoto, however, was not known for his sense of humor.

The most common supposition was that Tsumoto had no eyes, that behind those lenses were gaping holes through which he, somehow, still saw the world. Kygeri figured that if that were true, it would explain the lack of a sense of humor, but he didn't really believe it. He suspected that the real reason that Tsumoto wore the glasses was more prosaic than hiding empty sockets or, as some speculated, eyes that were more serpent than human.

Kygeri watched as Tsumoto entered the circle of angry snakes. They wasted no time in venting their anger, striking Tsumoto repeatedly. He suffered their venom in silence, not even wincing.

The bites wouldn't kill him; they had tested that on one of the mongrels they had captured. He hadn't died from the venom, but the pain of it had caused him to beg for the death that they had eventually granted him.

Then he struck back; drawing his sword in a swift, fluid motion, he spun in a circle, and then resheathed it. The cobras' heads fell from their bodies.

The now headless snakes whipped about like hoses, spraying blood, drenching Tsumoto. He drew his dagger and sliced open his palm, letting his now envenomed blood mix with that of the serpents. The blood found its way to seven holes in the tiled floor, and from there ran down to the unassuming piece of black, volcanic glass, which housed the nameless thing bound so long ago. There was the faintest of sounds, heard only by those whose senses were heightened by undeath, as cracks formed in the glass.

Kygeri had his doubts. Things that were bound were usually bound for good reason, and he had seen enough of the world to know that events rarely went well for the ones doing the unbinding. Which, he being one of those ones, meant his fate was likely to take a turn for the worse in the near future.

Which is why he was secretly pleased when the messenger brought word that Luu Ngoc Tran had failed in his attempt to eliminate the foreign slayer and her companion. He would deal with the slayer personally. It would be safer; it would remove him from this place. He could feel the nameless thing awakening; he could feel its hunger, rage and power. He would face the slayer, and she would fall.

And if Tsumoto fell as well, Kygeri would stand ready to gather what was left of the Niiro Misuto and make it his own.

Phok was, at last, having a good day. Rather than suffering an untimely death (or worse) at the hands of the Koongkharom monks, he had been handsomely rewarded by the African farang named Kygeri. He had been paid well enough that he could more than afford to celebrate at his favorite bar before returning home to tell his wife of his good fortune. It went a long way toward soothing the injuries to both to his body and his pride.

His good day lasted until the blond farang woman threw herself into the rear seat of his tuk-tuk and ordered him to, "Step on it!"

He turned to tell his untimely passenger that he was off duty, and his eyes widened as he recognized the woman. He would have been hard pressed to forget her, even as drunk as he was; he hadn't stopped hurting until after his fifth drink.

Phok looked, and then gunned the engine. Four men were running towards them. Four men who didn't show up in his rear-view mirror. Phok was drunk, not stupid. (His wife's opinion notwithstanding.) He knew the streets, knew what it meant when a potential ride could not be seen in a mirror. The tuk-tuk shot into the street, leaving the vampires in the dust.

Rowena relaxed somewhat as their pursuers were left behind. She was alternately furious at, and then worried about Kennedy. Her first crossbow bolt had taken its target squarely, turning the vampire into a cloud of dust. Her second struck its target as he turned, but must have missed his heart, because all it did was piss him off. It did get his attention, though, which was the plan.

What wasn't in the plan was for Kennedy and the Thai slayer she had contacted to not appear and attack the vampires from behind. She couldn't imagine that Kennedy would just abandon her to the mercy of angry vampires; something must have happened. It was simply a question of what went wrong, and how she was going to deal with it. All she had to do was survive long enough to figure it all out.

The tuk-tuk just pulling out from in front of a seedy little bar had proven the answer to her unvoiced prayer. It wasn't until the driver turned around to confront her that she recognized him, and by then the vampires were too close to consider alternatives.

She was pulling the walkie-talkie out of her pocket when she heard the motorcycles revving their engines. Glancing around, she saw the vampires gaining.

Kennedy hurt. A lot. She was lying on her back, covered with debris from the collapsed roof. For a moment, she imagined that she couldn't feel her legs and panic set in. Then, the pain hit, and it was actually a relief.

Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She started to say, "Thanks," until she saw the eyes and the fangs. Instead, she let him pull her close and surprised him with a head butt. The vampire staggered back, and Kennedy looked around for a weapon.

The theatre was in chaos – understandable, considering that two slayers had just fallen through the roof and had then been attacked by vampires. Most of the crowd was making for the door, but there were a few who seemed to think it was all part of the show and were pointing and laughing. Suchin was mixing it up with another vampire a few rows down from her.

Kennedy had, unsurprisingly, lost her sword when she landed, so she tried to improvise by grabbing for a jagged piece of wood from the pile of debris. Her opponent slammed into her before she could reach it, throwing both of them into a seat beside of one of the less brilliant patrons, who was still trying to watch the movie while eating noodles from a Styrofoam cup. He looked at them with surprise and let out a string of Thai that Kennedy wouldn't have been able to follow even if she hadn't been distracted.

When the vamp followed her, she rammed the chopsticks home in its chest. They looked at each other, waiting for him to dust.

"Note to self," Kennedy muttered to herself as she somersaulted over the enraged vampire's head, "chopsticks make lousy stakes."

As she landed, she caught sight of her sword lying in the aisle and flipped it into the air with her foot. She caught it right as the vampire rushed her.

Self is suffering. Suffering is caused by desire. To release desire is to release suffering; is to release self. To enter a state of non-self is bliss; is Nirvana. But how does one enter such a state without desiring it greatly?

Sakda pondered this question as he crossed the street. For that matter, he meditated on this very question almost constantly, which is why his fellow monks made sure that he was constantly accompanied by a brother who was more aware of his surroundings.

Sakda's current companion was ideally suit to the task. He was a visiting brother from Tibet; a young, American expatriate whose calm demeanor and quick wit made him seem wise beyond his years. He knew when not to speak – a skill that Sakda found less and less common among the young these days – and this more than made up for his often-unsettling changes in hair color.

So…These two monks were crossing the street when Sakda ventured into enlightenment. He wasn't quite to there; if Nirvana were a city he could just make out its 'Welcome To' sign and was heading for the off-ramp. So close. Almost there after a lifetime of searching…

Suddenly, his companion yanked him violently backwards, pulling him out of the path of the onrushing tuk-tuk, saving his life.

Nirvana vanished. Sakda found himself back in the world, in the very midst of samsara, and he knew that he would likely never be that close to a state of anatman again. Tears filled his eyes as the vampire motorcyclists rushed by.

Phok was in his element: Master of the road, king of the mean streets. Even with a few drinks in him, even against street racing bikes, he was untouchable. What he lacked speed, he made up for with skill and daring. He zipped through openings in traffic like threading a needle. His pursuers didn't have a chance.

He turned in his seat to look at his farang passenger, giving her his most devil-may-care smile. He could tell that she was impressed by his skill, his daring, and his rugged good looks. Her eyes were saucer-wide as she pointed and tried to find words to express her admiration.

Phok grinned even wider until the tuk-tuk plunged over an embankment and into the river.

Kygeri, who had his own motives for volunteering for the job, led the Niiro Misuto's third attempt on the lives of the Americans. Had he the choice, he would have put as much distance between himself and Tsumoto's folly as was vampiricly possible. However, the claws of the Shadow of Dragons made desertion impossible.

He had chosen his two companions for both their skill at combat and their dissatisfaction with the current leadership. Should the opportunity arise, Kygeri could count on them not so much to back him as to not strive too strongly in Tsumoto's favor.

It was the best he could hope for. Overt disloyalty was impossible given the (literal) noose about the neck of each member of the Niiro Misuto, save for Tsumoto and others of like or greater rank. With a word, Tsumoto could stir to life the spirit called The Shadow of Dragons, and it would pull tight the necklace that bound Kygeri's neck. He had seen more than one of the Niiro Misuto throttled to death or dust for their disloyalty and had no desire to feel the Dragon's claws tighten upon his own throat.

Kygeri pulled the watcher (who was gasping for breath and spitting up dirty water) from the river while his companions dealt with the mongrel motorcyclists.

He had the watcher, subdued and trembling, in his power, and she would be the advantage he needed to deal with the slayer. He bound her hands and tossed her in the back of their waiting car, as if she were nothing more than a sack of rice, a future meal.

Decha's friends didn't know him. They thought they did; they thought he was a typical university student, always cutting up and making them laugh at jokes that were funny only in the way he told them.

They would have been amazed to see him trading blows with a genuine vampire. Even more amazed to see him holding his own.

In their weekly D&D game, he played a crazy half-orc barbarian who was always jumping into things without thinking and getting the whole party in over their heads. His character had nearly gotten them all killed more often than they could keep track of. But they loved it, even as they were cursing the name of Zaggord Hammerfist and swearing that, this time for sure, they were going to kick him out of the party for good. They loved it because Zaggord was so damned funny, and Decha had this way of getting into character so well that they could really imagine that there was a seven-foot tall, half-wit, half-orc sitting there instead of a skinny college kid. They hated it when he missed a gaming session, which happened all too frequently.

They would never have imagined that the blade he used to strike down his opponent was truly magic; that it was called Iron Lotus Blossom and had been gifted to him on his sixteenth birthday by his father's ghost.

They didn't know Decha. They thought he was undependable. They thought he was goofing off, or out trying to pick up chicks, or cramming for a test for which he should have already studied.

They didn't know that he, along with the rest of his family, spent a good deal of his time fighting the types of creatures that his friends thought were safely relegated to gaming books and movies.

They didn't know that Decha, his sister Maniwan (a real cutie who had turned them all down for dates on more than one occasion), and all the members of his family had trained from childhood to protect their country and the world from horrors.

They would have been surprised to see him engage Kygeri with obvious skill and grace. While Decha Pranlee lacked the physical attributes of a slayer, he was not lacking in skill. Or determination. He was as much a Champion as any souled vampire who ever unlived.

None of this kept him from dying when Kygeri's blade lifted his head from his shoulders.

"No, I haven't lost Ro. Not exactly. She's just…we've kinda been separated. Temporarily. I'll…What? Oh…Well, you see, it's like this. There were these vampire bikers and they…Well, she wasn't here when we got here and most of their bikes are gone so they've either taken her or she's on the run from them and…"

Suchin watched as the American slayer held a cell phone conversation with someone named Willow, trying to reassure her. They had made it out of the theatre after dispatching the remaining vampire only to find the street virtually deserted and the watcher nowhere in sight. The fact that there was no corpse awaiting them seemed to give the American some small cause for cheer, but Suchin wasn't quite as hopeful.

She knew this gang, and the Red Turtle Biking Club had been bad enough when they were human – prone to getting high on Yaba before their street races, and running down pedestrians. Since being sired, their temperaments hadn't improved. The only worse fate the watcher could have suffered would have been winding up in the hands of the Niiro Misuto themselves.

"No, Willow," Kennedy continued her conversation. "It's not gonna do any good for you to hop a jet and head this way. You're half a world away, and by the time you get here it's gonna be…Rowena will be safe and we'll be on a flight back home. Okay?" She paused for a moment, listening.

"Look, it was an accident. We were on our way to provide backup and kinda fell through a roof." Kennedy's expression softened. "No, I'm fine. slayer healing and all. Yeah, I'm worried too, but it's gonna be okay. I've made contact with the slayer we were looking for, and she knows the area. We will find her. Just give us time. Yeah, you too. I'll give you guys a call soon as I know any more."

Kennedy looked at Suchin, hopefully, and Suchin braced herself to deliver the news that she didn't really have a clue as to where the Red Turtles may have taken the watcher. She was opening her mouth to speak when a scream, felt as much as heard, filled the air.

Kygeri's remaining companion, a tall, gaunt man whose shaven head marked him as one of the Koongkharom monks, was bringing his blade to bear on Maniwan when the scream poured forth and washed him away.

Kygeri himself was slammed against the car, denting the door and shattering the window. The watcher added her scream to Maniwan's as she pulled her arms across her face to protect herself from the shattered glass.

Blood trickled from Kygeri's ears and nose. Caught up in the force of the scream, his body rippled and blurred, began to dissolve. His scream joined the women's.

His demon took his face. With a snarl of pure defiance, he flung his blade at Maniwan.

Slowly, grimly, with deliberate effort, Kygeri got into the battered vehicle and drove off into the night with the captive watcher still struggling against her bonds.

It was comfortable, cozy even, the little hideaway apartment to which Kygeri dragged Rowena. Under other circumstances, she would have felt very much at home among bookshelves stuffed with leather-bound volumes, many of them quite rare. The chair into which she was so roughly shoved was made of polished cedar, and the table her face was slammed against was, if she wasn't mistaken, a genuine Mantré or at least an excellent copy.

She shoved away the fear and pain with esoteric bits of trivia - daggers of facts and shields of knowledge - a Watcher's weapons and armor. She watched. Inventoried the room. Studied her captor. Even observed herself in a curiously objective fashion that she knew would bother her later, when she had more time to parse her behavior and analyze her reactions.

The vampire was tall and solidly built. Both his skin color (a shade darker than Robin's) and his accent (Sub-Saharan) marked him as African, but the dragon-claw amulet around his neck, and the missing finger on his right hand, marked him as a member of the Niiro Misuto. Rowena knew from her reading that the Niiro Misuto was an extremely insular organization, so it was a bit of a puzzle why a non-Asian would have been accepted into their ranks.

He moved slowly as he turned away from her, obviously still feeling the effects from his encounter with Rowena's would-be rescuers. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to move – her captor's momentary distraction may well be her only chance to escape.

"If you try to run, I will be forced to remove that option from your grasp," the vampire said without turning around. "Permanently," he added.

He spoke conversationally, as if commenting on the weather or passing on a bit of friendly advice. It was the calm certainty of it that kept Rowena from bolting from her seat. She went back to observing.

Her captor turned, and with a bit of a flourish he presented two glasses of dark liquid. He sat in the seat across from Rowena and placed one of the glasses in front of her.

"I'm afraid that I am freshly out of Amontillado. I do hope that a fine Armagnac is a worthy substitute." The vampire leaned back and took a sip from his glass, and Rowena's heart skipped a beat at the thought that her captor might be a fan of Poe.

What use such knowledge might, be she had no way of knowing. She certain of one thing only: Knowledge is power.

"Drink," the vampire urged. "When I kill you, it will not be by poisoning your drink."

"When your usefulness to me is done, yes. But until that time, I see no reason to be inhospitable. My name is Kygeri. You are…?" When Rowena hesitated, Kygeri laughed. "Come now, it's only your name I'm asking for. Surely, there is no harm on that. Name, rank and serial number is allowed, is it not?"

"I…I suppose not, although in some cultures it is thought that knowing a person's name gives you power over them. And some supernatural creatures and spirits can indeed be bound by-"

"Stop babbling. You are no spirit, and I am no wizard to bind you with your name," Kygeri interrupted, "There is no reason for you to keep your name to yourself. Would you prefer that I continue to refer to you as 'dinner' in my head?" He smiled warmly, and it chilled Rowena to the bone.

"Rowena Allister," she offered after a moment. It was safer – she had no desire to give him cause to search her for identification. It was, after all, just a name.

She took a deep breath and a drink, and it was a fine Armagnac, indeed. Rowena focused on the flavor, on the slight burn in her throat as she swallowed. It helped calm her fears. After a moment, she asked, "What do you hope to gain by my capture? You have to know that by holding me you're making a target of yourself. Kennedy will find me; she can be quite resourceful."

"She is. And you are injured," Rowena pointed out. "It's unlikely that you would be much challenge."

"Ha! I like you, Rowena. You hide your fear well. It is perhaps unfortunate for us both that I cannot follow your suggestion."

Rowena weighed her next words carefully. She was in a battle of sorts, where the weapons were words and the stakes were high. "Your master wouldn't like that, would he?"

Kygeri's eyes were all that hinted at his anger – but the anger was there. "No. Tsumoto-san," (was there a hint derision in the way he held the "san" just a moment too long before releasing it?) "will not be happy if I fail to remove your slayer from the picture."

Kygeri smiled. "You are a watcher; surely you've figured it all out by now. Perhaps you should tell me what is happening here."

"Of those of us in Bangkok, yes. All of Thailand, actually, but we haven't expanded much beyond the city. Yet."

"Tsumoto-san has no idea what you are doing here, though he suspects you are here to stop him from awakening the spirit bound within Wat Koongkharom. If that should happen…Further expansion of the Niiro Misuto would be the least of your worries." Kygeri grinned as if enjoying a private joke. "But you know nothing about it; do you? It would seem that my most wise master has fallen prey to the Doc Savage Syndrome."

Rowena blinked in surprise - this night had once again taken a turn into the surreal. Somehow, they had wandered into Andrew territory, and she was always lost there. "I'm afraid that I'm not familiar with the literary reference. I do have a colleague who would get the reference; if you have a phone, I could consult with him," she suggested, hopefully.

Kygeri laughed again, and there was genuine humor in it. "That's quite alright. I'm happy to explain. One of the missionaries in the village where I grew up was a fan of the pulps, and he would let me read his collection." Kygeri leaned back in his chair and waxed nostalgic.

"From your perspective, you probably haven't missed much by not reading them," he continued. "They were, at their heart, adolescent power fantasies, and largely formulaic. But to me, to a boy who had never seen a building made of anything other than mud-bricks, it was the most exotic thing imaginable. And the idea behind the stories, the idea that with enough training and discipline a man could accomplish wonders, was very inspiring to a young man who could, at best, only hope to own a handful of half-starved cattle."

"That's very interesting," Rowena interjected into the pause." But I'm afraid that I still don't get the reference."

"I'm getting there," Kygeri said, a bit petulantly. "As I've said, the books were formulaic, and one plot was used quite often. A brilliant mastermind would hit upon the perfect plan to conquer the world. 'But,' he would say to himself, 'if I try to conquer the world, I'm sure to face the opposition of the mighty Man of Bronze.' To prevent Doc from stopping his brilliant plan, he would try to kill Doc, or capture one of Doc's friends. This would, with the inevitable logic of the pulps, lead Doc to discover the plan and put an end to it, and to the mastermind."

"I see," Rowena said. "Tsumoto wants to use this spirit to conquer the world, but he's afraid that we are here to stop his plans. But by sending you to capture me, we've been alerted to something we had no prior knowledge of." She decided to test the waters. "Tsumoto is very foolish for someone in his position." She steeled herself for the blow that would come if she had guessed wrongly.

Kygeri merely looked at her and absently stroked the dragon-claws that hung from his neck. "You can speak things that I cannot."

"Yes," Kygeri said, and turned to retrieve a wooden box from the shelf behind him. "In the meantime, there is no reason we should be bored. He flipped open the box to reveal a chess set made of polished teak. "You do play?" he asked. "It's been ages since I've had a challenging partner."

Kennedy hated magic. It always felt like cheating. There was no way that they could have seen her coming. No way. They had to have resorted to magic.

She had found her way to Wat Koongkharom following the tuk-tuk driver's directions. Suchin had refused to give Kennedy directions to a trap, and had refused to leave her friends, one living (barely), one undeniably dead.

Through tears and rage, Suchin had urged Kennedy to wait. Wait until Maniwan was tended to. Wait until backup arrived in the form of what Kennedy suspected was Suchin's own little Scooby gang. Wait until Khun Mae Pranlee arrived to batter down the walls with Power and righteous wrath.

Kennedy didn't wait. Rowena's life might depend on swift action. And there was something more. A tension in the air. A feeling of…of…destiny or some such crap, which Kennedy didn't like to believe in, but hey, slayer. She didn't have to like destiny to know that when it called, she'd better listen.

So, she had followed the driver's directions part way and that pre-storm tingle the rest. Followed it through Bangkok's back alleys and side streets to the walls of the temple grounds. Moving like a shadow, always taking care to not be seen.

Kygeri was disappointed. He had heard much of the resourcefulness and intelligence of watchers, and Rowena may well have both, but she was proving to be a poor chess player. It was checkmate in four moves if she chose her next move poorly and seven if she chose well.

She was distracted, of course, and had spent much of her attention on learning more about Tsumoto's plans and, no doubt, planning a futile escape. Still, that was hardly an excuse. Kygeri was also distracted – the scent of her fear was incredibly enticing. It was taking all of his discipline to keep from tearing out her throat and drinking his fill.

"You say that this place," Rowena indicated the room around them "is your own private sanctuary? No one knows about it?" She moved her piece absently. Mate in four, then. What a disappointment.

"Yes. My Fortress of Solitude, if you will. Tsumoto-san knows of it, and allows it as a reward for my loyalty and usefulness to the Niiro Misuto."

"You would do well to keep it to yourself." Kygeri hoped he didn't sound petulant. He wasn't; he really didn't mind that she had discovered the "flaw" in his plan. He chalked it up to fear that it had taken her this long to realize that her slayer had no way of knowing where she was, and was, no doubt, already making her assault on Wat Koongkharom. With luck, the slayer and Tsumoto would eliminate one another, to Kygeri's benefit.

Kygeri liked to gloat as much as the next villain, but some things were best left unsaid. He suspected that he was pushing the limits even now. Should his disloyalty to Tsumoto be voiced aloud, the spirit bound in the dragon-claws would force him to action. He preferred to sit this one out. A nice snifter of brandy, a challenging game of chess and a watcher for breakfast, was that too much to ask for?

They played the rest of the game in silence. Kygeri was magnanimous in his victory. "You were distracted," he offered. "It's difficult to concentrate when you're frightened. Perhaps another game?"

"Thank you, but no, I'm through with games. And I was frightened. At first. More recently, my distraction was an effort to remember something."

Rowena smiled, and Kygeri moved to snap her neck, because there wasn't a hint of fright in that smile.

No one had ever accused Kennedy of being a spiritual person, and she would have argued with them if they had. But there were times, very, very, rare times when it all clicked, and she just knew what it was all about. Times when she understood one of the great spiritual dichotomies of Buddhism – the seeming paradox that a religion so deeply rooted in pacifism had given birth to so many of the world's great martial arts disciplines, including the hard, external, even brutal styles such as Muay Thai.

It wasn't something that she knew in any intellectual sense; it was more something that she felt in her gut and knew in her very bones. It was possible that it wasn't even something that could be understood intellectually, because the very act of thinking tended to reinforce that false sense of self that separated the individual from the all.

Which was what it boiled down to: Loss of self; giving up on the illusion of "I" and accepting one's place as part of the whole.

Or something like that. All that was really important was that when the Niiro Misuto ambushed Kennedy at the walls of Wat Koongkharom, she happened to be in one of her rare spiritual phases. It was their misfortune.

Kennedy didn't move; she became motion. She was in the middle of them almost before they knew she was there, turning their numbers against themselves. She blurred among her enemies, both everywhere and nowhere at once, more probability wave than discrete particle, never slowing, never there when their weapons sought her out.

Kennedy didn't act; she became action. Her sword removed two heads and continued its arc, deflecting an arrow that whistled towards her through the dust. Not blocking it – redirecting it into the heart of the vampire leaping at her from the darkness.

Her sword was everywhere at once, drawing down the moon, capturing it in mirrored steel, holding it in razored edge, killing with moonlight made hard.

The Niiro Misuto gave way before her as the Slayer rode destiny into the heart of Wat Koongkharom.

As Kygeri lunged across the table towards Rowena, she whispered a Name – old and bitter to human tongue – and sent an unaimed prayer towards whatever Powers might be listening. The pronunciation had to be exactly right. Her life, and more, depended on it. As the vampire's fingers caressed her neck, she yelled, "Back!"

Her former captor was hurled across the room. "Hold!" she demanded, as his demon took his face. It was almost comical, the way he struggled against the chain that held him in place. Almost. She held her breath as he pulled against the thin chain around his neck. It seemed such a fragile thing to hang her future upon, but it held. Held even as Kygeri strained with all his might, muscles bulging in the effort, splitting the fabric of his shirt.

The chain that held the dragon-claws in place was thin, but the spirit housed within was strong. It struggled against Rowena even as Kygeri struggled against it. She too, held, but it took much of her concentration to do so. She had hoped that she could turn the Shadow of Dragons against her enemies, destroying Tsumoto, and perhaps the entire Niiro Misuto, with a word. No such luck. She was lucky to bend even this one fragment to her will.

As Kygeri calmed, his true face slipped away and he looked human again. But a human would have shown some sign of exertion from his struggles. Kygeri's chest neither rose, nor fell.

There was silence for a moment, then, "Well played," from Kygeri as he acknowledged Rowena's victory. "I should never have brought up names," he smiled ruefully.

"In my defense, I had no way of knowing that anyone other than the Niiro Misuto's upper management knew the spirit's name. That the Watchers' Council has access to that information…"

"The Council's library is…was vast. There were volumes there that predated human history, written in languages that died before humanity learned to talk. I've held in my hands books that the world at large believes lost in the burning of the Library of Alexandria. So many books…Some of them untouched in centuries. No one could know them all, and many were overlooked and forgotten. There was certain a point in my life when I had a particular need to…to lose myself. I would find some obscure or forgotten book that hadn't been touched in years and just - just lose myself between its pages." She paused a moment. "I have no idea why I'm telling you this."

"For the same reason that I felt free to open up to you – you have no intention of leaving me alive when my usefulness is done. There is no more inviolable a confessional than between the living and the dead. And, perhaps, because we are more alike than not, obvious differences aside, of course. I, too, have had cause slip between pages and lose myself among the words therein."

Rowena didn't deny the trueness of his words when she continued. "In one dusty old book, a watcher in the court of the Shogun had written what he suspected was the name of the Shadow of Dragons. It wasn't a human word, and was a real bitch to remember, but the challenge of committing it to memory was just what I needed at the time. I had no idea that it would save my life one day."

"Per expedia, victus," Kygeri said. "And to the victor go the spoils. I'm at your service, Watcher."

"As long as I am of use to you, I keep my head, yes? And get the chance to cross blades with my former master?"

"Then let's go rescue your Slayer, kick Tsumoto's ass, and possibly save the world while we're at it," Kygeri grinned wickedly.

Thunder sounded from the clear, moonlit sky when Tsumoto broke open the penultimate seal holding the Old Ones' unnamed weapon in check. He smiled a mirthless smile.

"The Slayer comes; Kygeri has failed. Stop her, or you will join him in death," Tsumoto ordered his remaining lieutenants as he returned his attention to gaining mastery over the thing, and the world.

Two of them died almost immediately, victims of arrows that whistled up the stairs and into their hearts.

The senior-most among them, a wizened, stoop-shouldered old vampire who had hair white as snow and eyes dark as night, summoned darkness with a word and released it with a gesture. It rolled down the stairs like a chest-deep flood - dark, foul and hungry. Anything in its path would be caught; drained; stripped of strength and will to fight. Their life would become his as surely as if he had drained their blood from their throat. Another gesture sent his three remaining companions following in its wake, rushing down the stairs to finish off the Slayer.

As they entered the room, the Slayer watched them. Hidden and deadly, she held herself flat against the ceiling, bracing herself in place between two beams with outstretched arms and legs. As they passed beneath her, she released her grip and fell, drawing her sword and bringing it down in one lightning-swift movement. One of the Niiro Misuto became dust as she performed a perfect reverse-Caleb, proving that decapitation and staking weren't the only ways to kill vampires with sharp objects. Just as well that he became dust - the mess would have been, well, messy.

The Slayer landed and rolled. One of the remaining vampires leaped out of range of her sword and launched a handful of shuriken, which served as more of distraction than a serious attack. It worked; she dodged right into his partner's field of attack and barely parried a killing blow. This threw her off balance and allowed the first vampire to move in and bind her katana on the tines of his sais.

The sai is primarily a defensive weapon – designed to block attacks, to entangle blades, to break swords. The vampire was obviously an expert in the use of such blade-breakers. He threw his weight and superhuman strength into it, and his partner positioned himself to take advantage of the situation. The blade would break and the Slayer would die. It was as inevitable as the fall of night and Tsumoto-san's ultimate victory.

At a point far past that where an ordinary blade would have shattered, it sprang back, throwing the vampire off balance and into his partner. They struggled to recover before the Slayer struck, but quicksilver-death drew out their blood and turned it to dust before the first drop landed on the white tiled floor.

Kennedy was on a roll, and it was magnificent, better than any runner's high she had ever experienced. She was battered, bruised and bloodied, sporting a dozen minor cuts and a couple of more serious ones that would have disabled an ordinary person. She was still going strong.

As she started up the last flight of stairs, she was wondering if this wasn't the way to go. Solo slaying. No one else to have to worry about, nothing but her and the bad guys. Yeah, there wasn't anyone to watch her back, but did she really need that? She was doing damned fine on her own. Onward and upward!

In an instant, she was pulled back down the stairs and thrown headfirst across the room into a jade Buddha. As the statue shattered, a small part of her wondered if it wasn't bad luck to break a Buddha with your head. Probably at least a decade's worth, if breaking a mirror got you seven. And it was already starting - there was something hard in her mouth, and she tasted blood. It was either broken teeth or pieces of jade from the statue.

There was another yank, and she was pulled across the room, coming to a stop in front of an old, white-haired, snowy bearded man. Vampire, rather, unless her slayer-senses were as addled as the rest of her. Which was a new one on her; she'd never heard of a vampire doing magic, but there was a first time for everything.

She lunged, trying to take his head, but he pulled the sword from her hand with a word, and it's hard to lunge when your feet are suspended a foot off the ground. She hung, suspended and helpless, as he walked up and took stock of her.

Kennedy tried to retort with a really cool and slayerly line, but she had never had the chance to spit out her mouthful of broken Buddha fragments. Before she could, the vampire hissed another word, and her throat began to contract.

God! He was Darth Vadering her to death! At least Andrew wasn't around to comment on that fact, but still…

Gathering all her strength, she gasped a breath past her tortured windpipe and spat.

A jagged piece of jade struck the vampire in an eye with a wet plop! His hand went to his eye, and Kennedy dropped to the floor, free of his power. That brief moment of freedom was enough. Her arm shot out, hand extended, fingers rigid like a knife, stabbing into his throat. A human would have died instantly; the vampire lived, but his larynx was crushed, and he was rendered voiceless.

They stared at one another, the vampire mage mouthing soundless, impotent words, Kennedy smiling.

"Sucks, huh?" she asked. "I dated a witch, so I know that the whole talking thing helps with the spells." She flipped her katana into the air with a foot and caught it with practiced grace. The vampire snarled and brought his hands up, a foul, green-black glow surrounding them. The sword sang and they fell to the ground.

"Yeah, hands too. She was really good with her hands." Kennedy smirked. "With the magicks, I mean. Well, other stuff too, but it's the magic that's applicable here. Kinda hard to do magic without jabbering away in some funny language or waving your hands around like you're conducting some invisible orchestra. You know, I'm not really up on the finer points of magic, but those two I'm pretty certain of. But, hey, there is some good news."

"Yeah, good news. I just saved a bunch of money by switching to Geico," Kennedy said as she swung her sword. The vampire died still wearing a look of utter confusion.

Kennedy sighed. "I'll have to remember to save the quips for vamps who might actually get the cultural reference," she muttered to herself as she headed for the stairs.

Tsumoto was waiting when the Slayer crossed his threshold. He had replaced his bloodied clothes with fresh silk and was the very picture of a proper samurai warrior. Save for the dark glasses on his face, he could have stepped into the Shogun's court in feudal Japan and not have drawn a second glance. He sat the lotus, sword across his knees, his face a mask of concentration as he matched his will against that which was bound.

He bloomed from the lotus, his sword swinging into a defensive position. The Slayer shifted her own sword to match as she took a step into the room. Tsumoto changed his stance and Slayer, again, responded in kind. The battle was joined without a blow having been struck, while the two opponents were still three body-lengths apart. They circled each other while looking for an opening, for a weakness.

Abruptly, Tsumoto stopped circling and asked, "What is your name, Slayer? You have accomplished much to make it this far. It is only fitting that when the story of my glorious victory is told, your accomplishment, ultimately futile though it be, is included."

The Slayer also stopped, but she never dropped her guard even as she blinked in surprise. "Okay, you do know that you're really dipping into the cliché-villain-dialog bucket, don't you? And the whole, 'I wear my sunglasses at night,' thing went out with the Eighties," she replied.

Tsumoto started to respond with a, "Bah," but he realized that really was cliché. "Arrogant whelp!" was out for the same reason. He finally settled on a quiet, cold, "Your name, Slayer."

"The name's Kennedy," she answered. "Just letting you know so that when you get to whatever hell dusted vamps go to, you can tell 'em who gave you your ticket. Now, I'm looking for my watcher, and I've been told that you guys have her. You've probably realized by now that grabbing her was a big mistake. Not only did it piss me off, she can be damned annoying in her own right." She swung her katana in a lazy arc, emphasizing her words. "So, you can tell me where she is, or I start sending you to hell one piece at a time."

Tsumoto shifted his weight slightly and dropped the tip of his blade a fraction. He smiled. "Three minutes until your death, then," he told her. "You would do well to take the time to compose your death poem."

"Three minutes, then," Kennedy agreed and crossed the space between them in one fluid movement. The room was filled ringing steel, which drowned the faint sound of breaking glass as some thing strained against its ancient prison.

Tsumoto's glasses were in two blood-splattered pieces on the floor. His sword lay haphazardly by the entrance to the chamber. Kennedy's sword was raised on high, eager to deliver the killing stroke.

Tsumoto held high her sword, his blue eyes blazing. Baby blues, Kennedy had called them and saved her life. Instead of going for the instant kill when he disarmed her, Tsumoto had been driven to take his time – to force her to savor her death at his hand, with her own sword. In short, it had pissed him off and caused him to gloat.

"Have you," he asked, "any last words, or has the fear of death at last silenced you arrogant tongue?"

Tsumoto laughed. "You cannot even manage a proper haiku to celebrate your death," he said. "You have delayed me long enough. This ends now!"

As the sword started its descent, Kennedy rolled. At the same time, a war cry worthy of Xena filled the room, and the blade of Tsumoto's fallen sword burst through his unbeating heart and out the front of his chest.

Tsumoto growled in pain and rage as his demon stole his face. He spun and took the Watcher by the neck, began pulling her towards himself, would have impaled her on the very sword that she had driven through his chest if Kennedy had not seized the hilt and unsheathed it from his body.

As was Kygeri, who entered the room while brushing the dust of his erstwhile colleagues from his hands. He smiled lopsidedly. "Sorry I'm late, boss," he apologized.

"I wasn't talking to you," Kygeri responded. He nodded towards Rowena, whose face was turning red as Tsumoto's grip tightened. "I've found new…employment."

Rowena tried to speak, but Tsumoto still held her fast by her throat and even drawing a breath was out of the question. She looked at Kennedy with desperation in her eyes and the Slayer made her move.

Tsumoto was faster. With a growl of rage, he flung Rowena into Kennedy hard enough to send them both crashing into the wall. They fell, stunned. Tsumoto crossed the distance in the blink of an eye, and his sword flashed downward.

"It's not that I'm fond of her or anything like that, but if she dies, the dragon takes my head," he explained. "I would prefer that didn't happen. And let's face it, this – you and I facing off – has been coming for a while now."

The room again rang with steel. The two vampires fought with fierce determination, blade ringing on blade, returning blow with unfettered blow.

Kennedy, meanwhile, had recovered from being stunned. She rolled Rowena off of her, and started to grab her stolen sword and rejoin the battle, when she noticed that Rowena was still. Unnaturally still. The battle was completely forgotten as one fact took center stage.

Unnamed, it pushed against the walls of its prison. Unnamable, it clawed at its black-glass shell like some fell raptor, hungry to be born.

Names do more than stand symbol for that to which they are attached. Names describe, encompass; they set boundaries, turn variables into constants. Names set limits. Names bind. What can be Named, can be known. What can be known, can be controlled.

Each Name that entered its presence was devoured; was unwhispered and unscribed; became unremembered by eternity. How can some thing be named when reality refuses to acknowledge its existence?

They trapped it in glass, born when the moon was spun from the Earth, and down through the ages it howled in the darkness.

"Where now is your discipline, Tsumoto?" Kygeri both asked and mocked. "Will you sever a finger and offer it to yourself as penance for letting your demon out to play?"

"A thousand deaths shall you die, traitor," Tsumoto growled and struck with renewed fury. "I shall feed your very spirit to the Shadow of Dragons, and you will scream for a thousand years."

It would have been a more effective threat if Tsumoto hadn't lisped so badly as he spoke. Kygeri knew that it took practice to speak past the fangs, but he didn't have time for repartee. Tsumoto may have been a fool, but he was a dangerous fool.

"Breathe," Kennedy ordered as she pressed on Rowena's chest. Three quick compressions, taking care not press too hard. With slayer strength, it would be all too easy to break something vital.

What if this didn't work? One of the dangers of trauma to the throat was swelling. If the throat swelled shut, the injured person couldn't draw a breath.

She remembered an old TV show that she'd watched late one night when she should have been studying for a test. This guy, some doctor, (was it M.A.S.H.?) had performed an emergency tracheotomy on some other guy, using an ink pen as a breathing tube.

Would she have to do that? Could she do that? Cut Ro's throat? Did she even have a pen?

She put her mouth over Rowena's and breathed out, and gave a silent prayer of thanks as the watcher's chest rose.

Behind her, as she battled for Rowena's life, Wat Koongkharom was filled with the sound of steel singing on steel.

Tsumoto gloried in his rage. His dead blood sang. Perhaps he had been wrong to deny himself this, to hold his demon so tightly reigned. His fury was a storm, and he lost himself in it. Kygeri was driven back by its force – the traitor falling back, step-by-step, barely stopping blow after furious blow.

At last, Kygeri could retreat no further. His back was against one of the open windows, and his strength seemed to be failing. His defense became slower – became desperate.

The Slayer was still bent over her fallen companion, and the moon alone held watch over Tsumoto's victory.

Kygeri dropped his guard. It wasn't much – he dropped his blade just a little too low – but it was enough. Tsumoto's sword, the one he had taken from the Slayer and intended to return to her by sheathing it in her body, flashed. It shown like mirrored glass in the moonlight as it sliced Kygeri's throat. Kygeri pulled back at the last possible moment, but not enough to stop the blow from landing. Blood arced, black in the moonlight, and Kygeri's body fell limply out the window into the darkness.

Rowena awoke with a gasp and pushed Kennedy's mouth away from hers. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Bringing you back to life," Kennedy replied with a bit of a smirk. Then, after a beat, "Guess that's what I do." She retrieved Tsumoto's sword and then demanded, "What the hell did you think you were doing? You could have gotten yourself killed!"

"I was saving your life. Not that I expected any real show of gratitude from you for that, but you could at least acknowledge the fact that I saved your life before you saved mine."

"Did not! I had him right where I wanted him. I was about to employ the…umm…the Wounded Viper Strike on him if you hadn't interfered."

"Did too," Rowena muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes. She tried to struggle to her feet as Kennedy continued.

"And it was a pretty piss-poor save, if you ask me. How many times do I have to tell you that a katana is a cutting weapon, not a thrusting one? You don't…you just don't…don't…poke things with a katana," Kennedy said in an outraged tone. It was as if Rowena had committed some sacrilege against the weapon.

Rowena struggled unsteadily to her feet. Her neck hurt, and she was pretty well pissed. It had not been a good night. She was about to retort angrily when the words froze in her throat. Her eyes grew wide, and she struggled to cry warning as Tsumoto swept towards an unsuspecting Kennedy, his face a mask of demonic rage.

Kennedy, her back towards the vampire, continued her tirade. "Why the hell did they even bother to teach fencing at the academy? Unless you're using a wooden foil, it's not gonna do you a damned bit of good against a vampire! And you don't use a katana like a foil." She waved her blade for emphasis. "This…"

Tsumoto rushed her, and at the last moment, she moved. Sliding to one side, left leg bending at the knee, right leg extended, Kennedy moved from the enraged vampire's path. Simultaneously, she brought the blade of the katana up, parallel to the floor. Neck-high for Tsumoto, who decapitated himself on his grandfather's sword.

Rowena coughed as she was enveloped in the cloud of dust. She blinked and wiped it from her face. "You," she accused, "did that intentionally!"

Beneath the tiled floor, the remaining fragments of its obsidian prison fell away.

Half a world away, Willow Rosenberg's eyes flashed dark. The cup she was holding dropped from her hands, and hot mocha spilled across the floor as she exclaimed, "Goddess!" to a baffled Andrew.

In London, Ethan Rayne broke off his attempted seduction of a young newlywed, and abruptly told the young man to go home to his wife. He left the pub in a daze, wondering what catastrophe loomed that could cause Chaos itself to fear.

Nearer to the source, Khun Mae Pranlee's mourning of her fallen grandson was cut short, as the whisperings of the spirits bound to the Pranlee Guesthouse became a roar. She pulled tight the threads of power that bound the House to her and prepared for the worst.

There was silence in the Deeper Well as dead Old Ones held their breaths, and D'Hoffryn, in Arash Ma'har, awoke trembling from a dreamless sleep.

In Paris, Buffy Summers sat at a small café, sipping over-strong, over-priced coffee, blissfully unaware of the apocalypse at hand.

Kennedy dropped Tsumoto's sword and bent to retrieve her own. "You okay?" She asked Rowena. "We should probably get you to a hospital to be checked out."

Rowena shook her head. "Not yet. I'll be okay. Kygeri said that the vampires here were attempting to free some type of demon or spirit. We should investigate in case they were successful. Hopefully, we arrived in time to prevent them from completing the ritual, but we can't take the chance that we didn't. Kygeri was convinced that it was quite dangerous."

"Kygeri, huh? First name basis with the local vamps? How'd you get him on your side, anyway? You're not going all Buffy and seducing them, are you?" Kennedy asked with a grin.

"Hardly. I…well, that's a long story and not something my throat is up to telling at the moment. As for seducing vampires…' her voice trailed off as she raised one eyebrow.

Kennedy was quick to change the subject. "Yeah, we'd better check out the demon thingy, hadn't we? Any idea where we should start?"

In a time before the moon was spun, when life was new and death was young, the Old Ones in their folly called.

How to describe the indescribable? It breathed the false vacuum, as easily as humans breathe air, and its blood boiled hot from the Casimir effect. Its body was made of particles, strange, whose existence, if known, would drive Physics insane.

The Old Ones in their wisdom bound it fast within molten glass, forged from moon-stuff, and down through the ages it raged and slept.

In those rare, quiet times when it did not rage, it spent its time factoring prime numbers. (Even things such as it self - not that there actually were any things even remotely like it self - need a hobby.)

One day, one thousand years ago, seven brothers returned it to its prison, in the hopes that one day a weapon would be forged that could end its existence.

As Kennedy moved to sheath her sword, a sword made of metallic glass, the blade passed through some thing. It severed something within some thing, which released enough energy to shatter the blade.

Metallic glass has one big drawback: it's subject to catastrophic shear failure. It shatters like glass, and the energy bound within its unique molecular structure is released. The metal itself can catch fire from the heat.

Thousands of molten shards of metallic glass were driven deep into the impossibilities that passed for vital organs within the thing's body.

"I did warn you that it wasn't wise to bring an untested weapon into battle," Rowena interrupted. "I seem to recall mentioning that the blade might be subject to shattering." She said this with only a hint of smugness.

"Yeah," Kennedy sighed. "Guess I'll see how good their money back guarantee is. Let's search this place and hit the road. I don't know about you, but I've worked up an appetite."

"What's the word?" Kennedy asked as Rowena closed the cell phone and stowed it away.

"After consulting with the Coven, Willow is of the opinion that it was the mystical equivalent of a false alarm. Sensitives around the world reported feeling something – some sense of impending danger – but nothing has come of it."

"Yeah, that pretty much jibes with what Khun Mae had to say. It's been three days now, and there's still no sign that there's any magical catastrophe or nasty creepy-crawlies. Whatever those Nero guys were up to must have been a bust," Kennedy replied.

She looked around the market and spotted Suchin a few stalls down. Putting two fingers in her mouth, she whistled shrilly, causing Rowena to aim a glare (which was ignored) in her direction.

"I have not changed my mind," she said as she sat down. "I have no desire to become the Council's tool. I will continue to protect Bangkok, but I will do so because it is my desire, not because I follow the orders of a watcher."

"She…" Suchin hesitated for a moment before continuing. "No. Not as such, no. She treated me well enough."

Suchin looked at Kennedy. "You keep your weapons well, do you not?" she asked, and continued without waiting for a response. "I was my watcher's weapon.

In truth, it was better than I had hoped for when she took me from my parents. I had thought I was bound for one of the brothels that cater to Western tourists." Off Kennedy and Rowena's looks of shock, Suchin continued, "It is less common now, but such things do still exist, and it is the fear of many of the younger children that their parents may decide that they have to sacrifice one child to have the resources to feed the rest.

My Watcher, Mrs. Post, she kept me from that fate. The money she paid them served my family well through hard times, and I have an older brother who has been to the University. Such a thing would not have been possible if not for her."

"Yes. In time, I wanted more than to be a weapon. I had made friends in the city, and when my watcher found out, she was very angry. She said that a true slayer had no friend save duty. My teacher in Pentjak-Silat, the Guru Tedjo, is a wise man. He came to see that she was one to whom power meant much, and he feared what she would do if she had the power of a slayer at her command.

One day, while riding the ferry back to the house where we lived, I let myself fall into the water and swam to a boat where my friends were waiting. Khun Mae had made for me a charm which kept me from being found by magic, and I stayed hidden until the searching stopped and my watcher left the city."

She touched the jade bracelet that encircled her left wrist. "If you have found me, it means that the charm has lost its strength, or is perhaps simply no longer needed. I am a child no longer, and I have the power to say where I shall or shall not go."

Rowena and Kennedy exchanged glances, and Rowena cleared her throat before speaking, "Suchin, you must understand, there has been a sea change among the Council. The order of things is not as it once was. We didn't come here to drag you back into the Council against your will. We do hope that you will decide to join us, because we have much that we can offer –"

Rowena rolled her eyes and continued, "Training, knowledge, information on your heritage as a slayer, and, yes, material assistance, including," she nodded her head towards Kennedy in acknowledgment of the slayer's contribution, "medical assistance. We have doctors who are specializing in the treatment of slayers. You don't have to be alone in this."

"I am not," Suchin replied. "I have my friends; I have Guru Tedjo and Khun Mae Pranlee. They are all there to help me. And what of my city? What will happen to Bangkok if I go away with you to America?"

"She's right," Kennedy said. "Even with the ninja vamps out of the picture, there's still the biker guys out there."

Suchin agreed, "Yes. The Niiro Misuto were bad, but they served to keep the other vampires in check. Even now, their numbers grow."

"Not only should Suchin stay here in Bangkok, we should send Lisa here," the Slayer announced.

"What?" Rowena asked. "Kennedy, we came here to recruit a slayer, not to give one away!"

"Hear me out. Lisa is good. Damned good. Hell, she's a natural – almost as good as me, but what she needs is some intense individual training, and we don't have the resources to give her that.

I've seen Suchin fight. If her Guru is as good as I suspect he is, that's just the type of training that Lisa needs. And Pentjak-Silat is a good style for her." She leaned back in her chair and waited for the inevitable argument.

Which never came. Rowena looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded her head. "Yes," she said.

"Yes?" Kennedy asked. "You're agreeing with me?" She seemed both puzzled and a little disappointed that Rowena wasn't going to argue.

"Yes," Rowena repeated. "It's a good idea. It allows us the opportunity to aid Suchin here in Bangkok, and gives us access to some of her resources in turn. We can both teach and learn at the same time."

"Well, I'll be damned," Kennedy replied with a bemused smile. After a moment, she asked, "Are you sure you don't want to argue just a little bit, 'cause this is entirely too easy…"

He had swallowed enough river water when his tuk-tuk had plunged into river, that he had spent much of the past few days sitting on the toilet. Now, he was working late, after sunset, just to earn enough money to pay for the repairs to the abused vehicle. He tried to be philosophical about it – perhaps the karma he was incurring now would assure him a better station in his next life.

Phok grabbed his box of watches, and looked in the mirror to size up the passenger. His blood ran cold, because there was no reflection there. He turned around with a slowly growing dread and saw the dark-skinned vampire who he had first encountered in the depths of Wat Koongkharom.

Kygeri mused on fate as he rode to the docks. It had been close. He pulled the claws of the Shadow of Dragons out of his pocket and stared again at the severed chain.

Tsumoto had been faster than he had imagined. Had Kygeri not been even swifter – and more cunning – his plan would have cost him his life. A few more inches, and he would have been dust.

As it was, his head had been nearly severed. It had taken all his strength and discipline to drag himself to the safely of the sewers. He had lived on rats until healed, and stayed hidden until he was sure he was no longer sought.

But not out if danger. If the Niiro Misuto discovered that he still lived, they would stop at nothing until they ended his existence. Kygeri needed a weapon to use against them. Kygeri needed a Name…

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One Night in Bangkok

by CSR

Copyright © 2006

sratliff@adelphia.net