- Fic: Whispers of A Dream… Screams of A Nightmare 1/10.
- Whispers of A Dream Chapter One.
- Whispers of A Dream Chapter Two
- Whisper of A Dream Chapter Three
- Whispers of A Dream. Chapter Four
- Whispers of A Dream. Chapter Five.
- Whispers of A Dream. Chapter Six
- Whispers of A Dream, Chapter Seven
- Whispers of A Dream Chapter Eight
- Whispers of A Dream. Epilogue
And onto the first of many characters from familiar fairytales that will make an appearance in this fic
Instantly alert, Spike scanned the dark woods and frowned. He was definitely not in Kansas anymore; then again, he’d never been there so how would he know what it looked like? He bet his last smoke that it sure as hell didn’t resemble the twisted nightmare he was currently standing in, though. He frowned into the darkness, vamping out so he could see a bit more. Somehow he had expected the Platelet’s dreams to be all fluffy bunnies and whatnot – something was not right
All around him were dark gnarled trees, their branches twisted and reaching in all directions. Thick roots distorted the forest floor, waiting to trip an unsuspecting traveller. Spike bared his fangs and sniffed the air; it was laden with rich woodsy scents and a faint tinge of blood. His amber eyes widened, he knew that scent. With his mouth watering as his fangs started to ache, he started forward and promptly tripped over a tree root and fell face first into softness…
“Did it work?” Anya peeked over her spell book and yelped and stared at the supine form of the teenager they were all intent on saving. “Where did Spike and Buffy go? Oh no! We sent them to the world without shrimp!” she wailed and began to flip through the pages, muttering under her breath about shoddy translations and how she worked better with the original texts.
Xander placed a gentle hand on the open book and stopped her from flicking thought any further. “Chill Ahn, I think it worked. When you and Wills were doing the magic thing, Buffy and Spike kinda faded out and then disappeared with a pop. Maybe they are in Dawn’s dream prison thingie?” He scrubbed tiredly at his eyes. Being exposed to the small amount of sleep dust had sent him into a deep enchanted sleep and he had only been woken when the others had started setting up the spell.
“Indeed.” Giles straightened and blew out the candle he’d lit earlier as a focus.
“So now what?” Willow peered over at Dawn and tried not to look too worried. She wished Tara was there to ground her, but she was stuck in San Francisco working on her art history project.
“Now we wait.” Giles reached down and helped the slender redhead to her feet.
“But we can sleep right? No getting a makeover from hell and never getting up again, right?” Anya reached over and tried again to wipe off the incriminating red dust from Dawn’s face. “I still don’t understand why she could break through and attack the children so cruelly.”
“I believe that we are safe. From what I can discern so far, only teenagers have been targeted,” Giles explained. “It appears that their hormone levels are tied into whatever the Sandman is being forced to do to them–by whatever magical sorceress she is.”
“So it’s like a poltergeist being attracted to the hormones and teen angst, except this time it’s the Sandman’s controller?” Willow frowned, confused beyond all reckoning.
Giles nodded at the analogy. “Excellent supposition, but we do need to locate this Maleficent individual and try and discover why she is doing this. It seems too precise, focusing on the teens and no one else.”
“Research?” Willow grinned lopsidedly.
“Yes, indeed,” Giles smiled back at her. “Xander, if you’re feeling up to it, could you possibly have a nose around Willy’s and see if there is anything being said, a location…description or some such?”
“And me? What can I do?” Anya’s brown eyes were filled with a perky hopefulness that was hard to deny.
“Maybe watch Dawn and also keep an eye on that?” He pointed at the large silver chalice filled with water.
Okay, but I don’t understand – nothing is showing in it yet.” Anya frowned into the enchanted chalice. “You know, a more efficient way would be to set a charm on it to alert us when they need to talk and vice versa.”
Giles stared over his specs at the girl, and nodded slowly. “Excellent idea, Anya. That is truly inspired.”
“Really?” she blushed slightly over the compliment, unused to them. “You know, Xander said I was inspired when I suggested we got a cucumber for him to tr…”
Comfy, was all he could think as he snuggled closer and inhaled her scent.
“Ow, Spike, can you get off me?” Buffy groaned and wriggled out from under the snuffling vampire currently using her belly as a pillow. “And also—” She smacked him on the back of the head. Spike stood abruptly and reached down to give Buffy a hand up, his fingers soothing the spot where she’d slapped him. “God, personal space much?” she grumbled and dusted down the seat of her pants. The two of them bickered on, unaware of the gleaming red eyes that were watching them from the shelter of the dark forest that skirted the sides of the path that they’d landed on. The crimson orbs stared at the two newcomers unblinkingly.
“Did the packs survive the spell?” Buffy reached up and sighed in relief as her fingers found the nylon straps holding her backpack to her. Spike kicked the ground, searching for his and then growled. “What? Did you lose yours?”
“No, got it.” Spike looped it over one shoulder and glanced around, his hackles rising. He didn’t like this place; the scents, sounds and sights were all off and something was out there—his demon could sense it. It was alien and starting to overwhelm the scent of Slayer blood he’d first picked up on.
“Owie.” Buffy winced and twisted her left hand slightly to check it. “Ack.” She shook her hand and wriggled her fingers, grimacing at the deep cut that ran down the edge of her hand and curved around to cut across her inner wrist.
Spike’s mouth watered as he watched a thick viscous drop of the blood run down her little finger and cling to the tip for a breathless moment before it dripped off. The tear-shaped drop fell in slow motion through the air to splash on the soil in a distorted star shape. He licked his lips as his feet took an unconscious step towards her intoxicating lifesblood. “Spike, have you got the first aid kit in your rucksack?” Her voice broke the hypnotic tension that had him in its embrace and he refocused his stormy blue eyes on her face.
“Think you’ve got it. Turn around and I’ll dig it out.” As he moved towards her he swore he heard a faint growl, a whisper thin noise that barely registered even with his vampiric hearing. It was forgotten as he turned his attention to the Slayer and began to check the small side pockets for the kit Red had packed for them.
“Got it, give me you hand, Slayer.” He moved around in front of her, the fingers of his free hand closely clasping her elbow and trailing down to her injured hand. The unconscious sensuality of his touch went unnoticed by him but not by the diminutive blonde. Buffy inhaled as her skin tightened with goose bumps. She shivered and then bit her lower lip to distract herself. It was Spike and she was getting shivery?
“I can do it.” She reached hurriedly for the bandage.
“I can manage.” Spike deftly avoided her slapping hand and gently pulled her down to sit with him. Buffy grumbled under her breath, before she surrendered her hand to his surprisingly tender ministrations. The two of them were utterly oblivious to their predatory watcher settling down to observe his prey.
“There, all done.” Spike tied off the ends in a bow and gave Buffy a slight smile, then ducked his head, busying himself with repacking the box and stowing it away in his pack.
Buffy flexed her bound hand gingerly and nodded her thanks; she reached over and laid a gentle touch on the side of his face. “Thank you.”
Her heartfelt gratitude was untinged by the usual anger or scorn he inspired. Spike bit back the comment on the tip of his tongue and instead allowed the tentative bonds of friendship to form between them. “No problem, luv.”
“Good. Come on, we need to get moving.” Buffy stood and hefted her pack, took a step forward and then stopped. “Which way do we go?”
“No idea. The Watcher said he’d contact us when he got more info, said to head in the direction of the castle, wherever the hell that is. Hang about, I’ll be right back.” Spike handed her his pack and then jumped upwards. Buffy watched as he climbed through the canopy overhead, the occasional rustle of leaves and soft cursing her only companions.
Spike clambered lithely up the tree. Memories of his childhood slammed into him as his fingers gripped the branch above his head and he hoisted himself up above the tree line. He wrapped his left arm around the sturdy trunk and scanned the horizon, searching for the castle. His shoulders slumped. It was far in the distance, shrouded in darkness and was at least a good seven days walk to it. With a heartfelt growl, he leapt down and landed next to the quiet slayer.
“Spotted it. Need to head that way; it’s going to take a good few days to get there.” Spike thrust his hands in his duster pockets and waited for her to start moaning. He was greeted with silence. “What?” He looked at the still girl warily.
Buffy grimaced and then shook her head. She’d been positive something was watching her while Spike was doing a monkey impersonation. Her predatory senses had kicked in for a few moments, the hairs on the back of her neck had prickled and stood up, but she couldn’t see anything. “Thought I heard something – but it’s gone, might’ve been the wind?”
Spike nodded then turned his attention up the track, “that way.” Spike pointed up the twisting path and headed off.
“You know, I think I got it.” Xander ambled back into the Magic Box holding a DVD. The others looked up from their research, exhaustion apparent in every line of their bodies.
“Did Willy have some information?” Giles stretched and cracked his spine as the other male Scooby sauntered over with an easy grin on his face.
“Not much, but then I was walking past Blockbusters and I had a ‘duh’ moment. Here, look.” He thrust the DVD at Giles.
“It’s a cartoon.” The older man stared at it in askance.
“Oh, Xander. Not more with the comic books and cartoons.” Willow shook her head at him and as she turned back to Atrous’s ‘Book of the Fae’ and began to read the next entry.
“Look at it. For once Xander’s pop culture knowledge has saved the day—err, night.” He grabbed the box and waved it under Willow’s nose.
She snatched it then examined it. “The Sleeping Beauty cartoon. Xander, I thought you’d grown out of Disney?” she teased and then shook her head at her oldest friend.
“Ahh, stop with the poking of the fun at the Xan-man and look.” He flipped over the box and pointed at one of the fairy godmothers. “This one is the bad one, and knock me over if she isn’t called Maleficent! I remembered her from when we were kids.” He slapped it down triumphantly on the circular table and folded his arms. “I’m waiting patiently for the praise, score one for the Zeppo!” He preened, as he gave a flabbergasted Willow a lopsided smile. He also waited for the teasing from Willow, she was the only one who knew about the pant wetting incident when they had watched the video of Sleeping Beauty. Willow winked at him and refrained from humiliating him, this time.
“Oh I say.” Giles looked at the DVD then back at Xander then over at Willow. “Do you mean a cartoon has taken control of Ole and is sucking power out of all the poor souls in the hospital? But why not Dawn? Why isn’t she suffering in the same way? It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, not a cartoon, you silly man.” Anya leant in the doorway. Fairytales are based in reality, Disney just likes to steal ideas and storylines – lord forbid they have an original idea. Oh! I have heard of this one, but the people in it live in a dreamlike dimension that explains all of this.” She was keeping an eye on Dawn as she promised but had been intrigued by her boyfriend’s antics. “The little I can remember is that the Wicked Fairy was envious of beauty and power…”
“So somehow she has broken through to our dimension and is using that which is familiar to her,” Giles interrupted with an apologetic smile.
“Yes, I imagine she knows how to manipulate dreams and has plugged into the fear of the young adults and is channelling it to make herself everything that she desires.” Anya turned with a nod and headed back to stand and stare at Dawn sleep. “Maybe whatever she is getting from Dawn is stronger so she doesn’t have to scare her witless with dreams of bunnies. I mean, she is the sister of a Slayer and all.”
Giles and Willow stood and joined her in the other room and to stared down at the still form of the youngest Summers.
“It maybe a possibility. We would need to cast some sort of power attraction spell, and see if it lights up around Dawnie.” Willow’s sharp mind raced ahead as she began to compose the chant.
“Someone should tell Buffy and Spike what I worked out.” Xander ambled in and headed for the chalice. “How does this thing work anyway?” He tapped the side and stared into the clear water with a hopeful look on his face.
His lips curled back over his fangs and exposed his gums as he growled at his juicy unsuspecting prey. It had been too long since he’d fed and she looked luscious; her soft pink skin beckoned to him. The brief scent of her blood on the forest floor had made his mouth water and now he watched and waited for the right moment. He was patient, he could wait.
He moved silently and lithely through the trees, stalking his blonde haired victim-to-be with a burning anticipation.
“Crap,” Buffy muttered under her breath as she stumbled over another tree root which had broken through the compacted dirt track that she and Spike had been walking along for the last few hours. She’d been surprised as to how easy it was to be with Spike, when he wasn’t running off his mouth and tearing her down. Something had shifted between them; he was actually being gentlemanly. Her mouth quirked at the corners at the thought of the peroxide vampire’s reaction to that thought. He was a good companion, and somehow she instinctively knew he’d be there to the bitter end for her and Dawn.
Spike stepped over the same root as he glanced over his shoulder checking behind them he was positive he sensed something. But the firm pressure of the Slayer’s hand brought his attention back to her. He looked down at her tanned fingers, a contrast in elegance against the black leather of his coat. She steadied herself and then glared down at the root that had tripped her.
“So much for slayer balance,” she muttered grumpily and then froze. The sensation of being watched was back; she tightened her fingers on his sleeve and tugged at it to get his attention.
Spike glanced down at her upturned face and nodded. “I know. I keep sensing something but then – nothing. It’s weird, bit like the lack of birds and animals.” Buffy shivered slightly and looked around the silent forest, the mute testimony of its magical creation surrounding them both.
“Never thought the Platelet’s dreams would be so quiet. Was half expecting crap boy bands and half naked underdeveloped teen boy pinups.” He jerked his thumb at the dark trees. “Not this.”
Buffy straightened, her fingers leaving the cool slick leather of his duster with reluctance as she reached for her canteen and took a long drink. Licking her lips, the petite slayer unconsciously handed it over to her companion and blotted the sweat from the edges of her hairline. “It’s weird, but when I was Dawn’s age I was dreaming of Christian Slater and clothes, not something like this.” She gestured around her with a frown.
Spike turned and looked around again at the surrounding trees. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as his eyes glinted amber. “Half a mo. This is starting to really nark me off.” He shot off the path and leapt up the bank that flanked it vanishing into the silent forest with a flutter of black leather. Buffy huffed out a breath of annoyance at the display of testosterone. She sank down gracefully onto the bank and stretched out her legs with a sigh of relief. Her calf muscles were tense from all the tramping around the woods for so long. She reached down and began to rub the tension out of them. Her wounded hand was cradled against her stomach as she waited for Spike to finish his lame Big Bad Hunter impersonation.
The words, “Buffy, can you hear me? Is this thing working?” issued from her cleavage, startling the blonde out of her quiet musings.
Buffy stared down at her shirt. “What the hell? Oh, the mirror!” she exclaimed and tugged a long chain out from under her shirt to peer into the small mirror hanging from the end. “Xander, hey, it worked. This is so wild.” She grinned at the small image of her friend. His face filled the tiny mirror and his voice sounded tinny and echoed slightly. Her eyes widened as he began to talk fast, his words tumbling over themselves in his excitement.
Spike let his demon take over as he scented the air. His head cocked to one side as he extended his vampiric senses to their limit, trying to find the source of his disquiet. He could smell something, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. His target was flitting from one place to another, never stopping.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he whispered as he sniffed the air and snarled. There it was, the elusive scent of wet dog if he wasn’t mistaken. He bounced on the balls of his feet and then shot off into the dimness. His passage was muted by the blanket of moss and leaves. He moved lithely through the bushes and around the gnarled and twisted tree trunks. As the vampire hunted deeper and deeper in the woods, he began to pick up the minute traces of animal sounds.
“So not that all quiet on the Western Front then?” he muttered as he clamped his hand on a branch and swung over a small brook, which wove its silvery way through the heavy undergrowth.
“Now where the sodding hell are you?” he sighed as his quarry eluded him. He ducked under a tree branch and knelt down staring into the dimness, his vampiric sight puncturing further than he’d expected. Sniffing the air, he turned in the direction he’d just come from and began to swear. “Bloody bastard conned me!” he growled.
Buffy flicked her hair over her shoulder and fiddled with the hem of her shirt—she was bored. Spike had only been gone for a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Xander’s news was good, but she had no clue what help it would be for her and Spike in the freaky forest of silence. She sighed, checking her watch for the hundredth time. “Come on, Spike. Really not getting anything done with you stalking the undergrowth.” She twisted slightly on the bank, resting on her hands, taking a deep breath to call out for him. Before she could, a dark furred shape barrelled out of the forest and launched itself at her back.
The blonde girl flew forward, falling onto the hard dirt path with a grunt as all the air was knocked out of her lungs. Her face was plastered against the ground as the heavy weight of the wolf bore down on her. His fangs snapping at the vulnerable nape of her neck, and Buffy shuddered at the sensation of his fetid breath on her neck as he sniffed at her exposed flesh. skin. Bracing her hands on the ground, she dug her fingernails into dirt and began to push upwards. Even with her slayer strength it was hard work. The heavy weight was pushing the air out of her lungs and spots of light were beginning to bloom in front of her eyes.
A snarl filled the air as her attacker bent his head and sniffed her wounded hand. It was the blood that he had tracked; he was hungry and this was the best meal he’d seen in weeks. She was weak, wounded and he was the dominant male – or so he thought. Her struggles had reopened the wound. The wolf’s mouth opened slightly as he licked his yellow fangs; a drop of saliva fell onto the back of her hand. Buffy flinched and heaved her body, trying to dislodge the salvering animal t from her back.
“God, Spiiiiiike!” she screamed at the top of her practically empty lungs and slumped as her captor bore down on her flailing form. She felt like such a fricking girl, but the wolf was heavy and combined with her backpack it was all too much. She was slowly blacking out as her lungs seized up under the combined pressure. As consciousness faded, Buffy dimly heard a roar and then she slumped laxly as darkness impinged on her.
He’d seen red as he crested the bank and looked down on the biggest and hairiest wolf he’d ever clapped eyes on in his entire unlife. The slayer looked tiny under its gargantuan shaggy paws; she looked like a delicate butterfly pinned down on a collectors pad. But it was her voice filled with a gasping desperation and calling for him that made him pause. The Slayer was screaming for him to help her; it filled him with a sense of purpose and resolve.
“Get the hell off her, you flea-bitten mangy son of a bitch,” he screamed as he let loose a berserker roar and threw himself off the bank, slamming into the side of the hairy bastard with a growl that rivalled the wolf’s.
Spike figured he could get in one good hit before the chip kicked in– but anything to buy the slayer time to recover was worth it. To his satisfaction and immense surprise, there was no blinding pain firing through his synapses and destroying his higher motor functions. .
“Oh yeah,” he howled as he leapt to his feet and bounced onto the back of the grey wolf with a happy growl. “No pain for me means a shitload for you.”
The two fighters descended into a whirl of blows and throaty growls as the wolf twisted and rolled, taking the limpet-like vampire with him. There was a flurry of limbs and the snapping of fangs as the two of them fought for the unconscious girl. Spike smirked at the sight of the furrows of blood his incisors had opened on the wolf’s flank. As good as it looked, he had the taste of wolf fur in his gob now and it was disgusting. He spat on the ground and turned his head, reaching for the wolf’s throat.
Spike jerked his head back and whimpered as his brow was split open by a glancing blow of a fang. Blood pouring into his eye as he curled back his lips in a maniacal grin and head- butted the snout of the wolf. The shaggy-haired wolf snarled and leapt away from the vampire, backing up the bank trying to get to higher ground. Spike crouched and swiped at the wound on his forehead; it was his old scar, a trophy from the Chinese Slayer. It was reopened and blood dripped down his faced. He licked his lips and savoured the taste. The memory of the first wound flashed through his mind’s eye as he prowled after the wolf straight out of a fairytale. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on the vampire, he had gone from killing a slayer to fighting for the life of one— but this was no ordinary slayer.
This was Buffy.
As the two combatants battled it out fangs and claws for the prize, another figure appeared at a dead run from around the corner of the path. An axe in hand, the long haired man ran towards the scene of battle. He froze mid step, recognising that the vampire was holding his own against the wolf he’d been tracking; the Huntsman turned his attention to the slender blonde girl.
“Miss, are you well?” He hunkered down next to Buffy and gently turned the pallid girl onto her back and eased her up into his arms. His sharp eyes missing nothing he noted her unusual outfit and the heavy backpack, both of which were alien to him. However the pallor in her cheeks was not. He gently patted her face, hoping to return the slim girl to consciousness. “You need to wake now, your companion is battling well but he is distracted with concern over your welfare.”
Buffy fought against the cotton wool sensation of unconsciousness as she struggled to open her eyes. Her ribs and back were aching from the heavy weight of her attacker. Dimly she could hear the formal tones of the stranger who was cradling her, and she wanted Spike. But he was busy from the sound of it. Instead, Buffy fixed on the voice of the huge man who was holding her. Slowly her eyes fluttered open and she focused on a thick busy beard flecked with grey.
“Ah, you have awoken little one. All is well then.” The Huntsman’s voice was deep and rumbling and caught Spike’s attention. The fighting vampire spared a brief glance at the slayer; her eyes were focused on the newcomer that was holding her gently in his massive arms. Relief filled him as she sighed and looked over at him. Their gazes caught for a timeless moment as they exchanged a wordless communication that spoke fathoms.
“Right, no more dicking around.” He twisted the wolf’s struggling body in his arms and half rose. With a decisive crack, Spike brought the beast’s back down across his knee and broke it with one swift blow. “Reckon you owe me this,” he snarled. With that, Spike lunged at the exposed throat of the now whimpering animal and sank his fangs in with a mumbled growl of contentment. Warm living blood flowed into his mouth and down his throat for the first time since he had been chipped.
“Spike…” Her voice was weak, breathy and filled with shock at his actions, she’d finally registered that he was fighting a living animal and the chip hadn’t fired, things were going squirrelly in dreamscape world.
Spike drained the last of the blood from his former adversary and then looked up into her confused eyes. His game face slid away as he licked the last of the blood from his lips.
“How?” she whispered. Buffy was stunned. Not only had he fought it, but he had now drained the wolf dry. She watched as his wounds began to heal rapidly and wondered if it was the place they were in. Somehow here in Dawn’s dreams, Spike’s chip was invalid as nothing was real–but it had felt real when the wolf had squished all the air out of her lungs. She cradled her aching side with her wounded hand and tried to stand without swaying from side to side.
“Tis a magical place, all is not what it seems here, little one.” The Huntsman helped her to her feet and nodded at the silent vampire. “Well fought, my friend.” He handed Buffy over to Spike and watched the two of them as they stared at each other. “Come, we are not far from my cabin. You are both welcome to rest and avail yourselves of some food.” He bent and shouldered the dead wolf easily and began to walk off in the direction he had come from. “Follow me.”
The two blondes exchanged another look and then slowly began to trail after the tall man.
“What!” Maleficent sank to her knees as the death of one of her most ardent followers filled her consciousness. Her robes fluttered around her as she braced herself with one hand on the cool flagstone floor of her castle. She felt the wolf’s death as keenly as if it were her own; it was if some of her power had diminished with his passing away. Staggering to her feet, Maleficent wracked her brains as to how or why this had occurred. She whirled to face the tattered and shabby form of Ole, her beautiful face a mask of hatred and anger. “How did that happen? What have you done?”
The small figure of the Sandman curled into a tight ball as she lashed him with bolts of magical energy, her lips twisted in a mockery of a beautiful smile as she enjoyed the torture she put him through.
He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I have done nothing!” he exclaimed as his battered and bruised body was flung backwards into a cage that had appeared with a flick of her perfectly manicured fingers. The door slammed shut with a resounding thud and he shuffled backwards, his arms thrown over his head protectively, into the far corner, trying to avoid her wrathful magicks. His small frame wracked with shudders, perverse agony he was unable to suppress.
“Lies, I can sense something has changed.” She twisted around and stalked over to her crystal ball and peered into it. Her beautiful face contorted with angry lines as she watched the huntsman and the two blondes walking through the woods. Turning back to face the incarcerated Sandman, she raised a hand and sent a long bolt of lightening arcing towards him. “How did those two get into my realm?”
“No…nothing I did, M’lady,” Ole lied through his teeth, determined that he would not let her win. He was banking on the Slayer and the vampire to save them all. The evil fairy would not corrupt his magicks anymore than she already had, even if it meant his death.
“Liar, this will not do at all.” The willowy form of the corrupt fairy was filled with an unrepressed fury. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Maleficent knew that if she went back into her realm then the beauty, power and youth that she had now would dissipate in seconds and she would become the hated crone that she had once been.
Ole huddled into the shadows, a small satisfied smile curling at the corners of his thin lips.
“What are you smiling at, little man? Do you not think I will be able to win? Defeat those two mortals?” she ground out as her mind raced to find a solution. Then a chilling enigmatic look came over her beautiful visage and she rubbed her hands together. Ole stared at her in dismay; she had found a way round his solution. They were all doomed.
“Well if I can’t go in there to destroy them, then maybe some of my other followers can do the job. I mean, look at those two little blondes. What sort of challenge can they be?” She began to mutter under her breath, calling on her acquaintances and contacts for help. She knew that realm like the back of her hand and was confident that she could manipulate the situation to suit her desires.
She waved a hand over the crystal ball and peered at Dawn’s sleeping form. “I think I need to put you somewhere safer.” She snapped her fingers and with that Dawn vanished from the Magic Box. “I can’t have my power source in danger now, can I?” She turned to face the chaise lounge that had appeared with the gangly form of the teenager she had just abducted from under the nose of the foolish mortals in the shop, laying on it.
“I wonder if those two interlopers will fare any better against this?” She snapped her fingers and the room filled with a bright light.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/108806.html