Accursed: meaning under a curse; doomed; ill-fated.

Disclaimer going forward: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1

For Ethan Rayne, Sunnydale is the land of opportunity. It's been in this quietly teeming little 'burg that his most truly spectacular attempts to bring the chaos out from the ether have occurred. But none have ever been this promising.

The hardest part is over, the summoning and severing. All that's left is the clean-up.

It sits on the top of a hill in a clearing. A coven of witches surround it. It is a boulder-sized severed head. Dried gore splatters across the bottom of the severed neck stump, and a hundred plucked out eye sockets hollowly rest on the surface of the head. Each eye has been replaced with a peacock feather.

The giant's name was Lochan and he's the most beautiful thing Ethan's ever seen.

Even with the head decapitated, the peacock feathers shift around in imitation of eyes crazily taking in the scene. Lochan's mouth, gnashed teeth and lolling tongue, fall open and snap shut. So, decapitated but not dead.

"Light 'im up, ladies," Ethan says cheerily. The circle of witches shift, revealing hands tattooed with the slanting H, the Hagalaz mark. It's one of Ethan's personal favorites. It denotes crisis and radical change. Change, constant flux, the ever-loved chaos, is Ethan's aim tonight. Clasping hands, the witches murmur indiscernibly at first, then louder and louder until the blood stops flowing and the fires grow. A horrible low groaning screech erupts from Lochan, the newly decapitated creature's mouth, as he's set aflame.

Suddenly, one witch gasps and breaks the circle of hands to clutch her chest. Her hood falls back revealing a slim grandmotherly woman. Her eyes are full black, still surrendered to the dark magic from the earlier summoning. One after another, each coven member breaks from the destruction spell and falls to their knees.

Ethan's blood soaked fingers tighten on the grimoire in his hands as he surveys his downed coven. In their midst, Lochan's head smolders, streaked black with ash, but still intact. The delicate fronds of the peacock feathers are also still intact. And, too, those damning all-seeing eyes marked on each feather, bright blue and unblinking. By all means, those certainly should have perished in the fire.

"Well, up and finish it, then." The words have barely left his mouth when every one of the hundred green and blue peacock feathers begin to tremble violently. Suddenly, all of the feathers detach themselves and fly about in a frenzy, then shoot off in different directions, dispersing beyond where the eye can see.

"What in all seven hells just happened?" a younger coven member chokes out around her own ragged breaths.

Ethan stares with mouth agape at the dark horizon where the last of the feathers had vanished.

"Ooooh," Ethan said with eyes strangely fearful. "Bad luck." But his grin could rival a hyena's.

Buffy kicks at the fallen leaves in her path as she starts out her nightly patrol. Alone. Which was honestly how she preferred it. Nobody to get in her way…or ummm…to split the focus of the team. Be a burden. Not that her friends were! At all! In any way, shape, or form! Because without her friends she would've so been crispy fried Buffy forever ago. But for the most part, Willow, Xander, Giles, they had a part they played in each conflict and they were able to support her without her feeling even half the angst she felt over…ah shoot…

Riley. Uh oh. Where were all the monsters waiting to get their faces beat in to distract her from her post-heart surgery, kinda ex-boyfriend?

"No worries Slayer, I cleared out this section. You can sleep safe in your beddie bye tonight."

Ah. We have a winner.

"Spike. You've just ensured that I take my time with this graveyard. Like I trust you to do my job."

"That's not what you said when I coached you through poker night last Thursday."

Buffy points her nose up in the air to somehow look down at him from her shorter vantage point.

"Doesn't count. Poker is icky, and smells like beer, and the players lie. You're good at all those things," Spike snorts his laughter, "but you aren't winning any patrol awards."

He rolls his bright blue eyes. "When are you going to let that go? Christ Slayer."

"Tch. When are you gonna stop letting demons go when you 'patrol'?"

"Easy. When they've paid up their debt to me. I've got needs to see to you know."

Buffy makes an admittedly immature barfing noise in her mouth, then spins around and marches off to check for disturbed gravesites. Annoyingly, she feels Spike follow just back and to her left. In her blind spot, which he knows intimately well. Being mortal enemies and all.

Spike is humming some upbeat rock tune, bopping out loud, using his stake to drum the beat on passing gravestones.

Buffy spins to face him, hands on her hips. "Hey, disrespectful much?"

Spike pauses, confused until he follows her disparaging eye to his makeshift drumstick. He scoffs at her like he's been saving up every ounce of disbelief he's ever felt in a hundred plus years for a moment like this. Drama vamp. "Oh puh-lease. You were painting your sodding nails on the late Mr. Hedgesmith's gravestone just a few nights ago."

Ohhhh yeah. Mortal enemies here. That's the hellmouth for you. And oops. She forgot about that little turquoise sparkle incident. Cheeks pink and mouth set in a more resolute line than before, Buffy sets out again. Spike resumes humming.

"Go away," Buffy grouches over her shoulder, like she's done so often over the past weeks since Adams' fall.

"Nope!" And always the same response. Spike was the annoying stray, fed once, who never left them alone. It baffled them all at first that he was always around, even helping out occasionally for no other apparent reason then, "why the hell not." It was Anya who put a finger to it at last.

"Living like a human after living like a demon for so long is boring and lonely. He probably just wants something to do and someone to talk to. Maybe there is a butcher shop he could offer his services to. Test the blood or something."

Buffy doubted that if boredom and loneliness were Spike's issue, then that would be the solution. But the very idea traitorously took root in the back of her mind, tempering lots of even the most trying interactions with Spike. Lonely. Spike?

Wait, where the hell was he?

A snap and a death gurgle sounds behind Buffy. Gritting her teeth, she slowly turns to glare at Spike who is cheerfully brushing his hands together over the horned corpse of whatever demon he just killed. He looks satisfied with himself. Not lonely or needing the company of others in the slightest. What need, when he had himself? Buffy huffs at the thought. Hearing her, Spike looks over with a smug closed mouth grin that lifts his cheeks. His soulless killer eyes are both pleased and somehow slyly expectant. Waiting for her reaction. Which, Buffy supposes, he wouldn't get from a night out alone. Lonely. Hmm.

"Next one is mine," she says.

"You were almost that ones," Spike sneers, placing an unlit cigarette between his lips. "What clouds are your valley girl brains in tonight?"

Oh, just on whether or not Spike was lonely and if she felt empathetic enough to give a shit.

"Riley," Buffy tries to graciously deflect. Spike stops at the cemetery gate with her to look at her with curious brows. Wait, what did she just say now? "REALLY," she covers, badly. "Really, none of your business."

Spike guffaws, incredulous. "Uh huh. Right." He pauses, and Buffy waits for the almost inevitable verbal smack down. "Well, I'm off if you've got things handled here." Oh, thank god.

"I'm handling. All handle here." Spike is snickering now. "Shut it. Also, Xander says you have to bring chips to the next game night since you ate all of his last time."

"Fuck that! What am I, Mother Theresa?" Spike saunters off still amused. But Buffy is pretty sure he will bring some kind of snacky item to the weekly game nights Xander began last spring after the first slayer dream share. The games Spike somehow insinuated himself into, the pest. And she's pretty sure he can be bullied into sharing said snacky item as long as it wasn't vampirey or gross, like the jalapeños he ate straight out of the jar the Texas Hold 'Em night. She's pretty sure because she, Dawn and Tara have managed it before. Well, Tara didn't bully him that first time. Or any time. Cuz that's just how the Wiccan rolled. Spike just gave Tara some of his hot wings vamp pro bono or something.

Something whips by Buffy's face, whistling as it sails off across the street and around the corner. A bird? It would have to be, like, a supersonic bird, but still. It almost looked like a feather.

She stares after it a moment then shrugs. "Huh."

And she's thinking about Riley again. Riley who is familiar with supersonic birds of the take-him-away-to-regular-demon-fighting-soldier-outpost-with-all-the-speed-of-a-fighter-jet variety. Or whatever those planes were. She'd never been real good with the military lingo, even after all those months with Riley. Despite the ending they can both clearly see coming for the remains of their relationship, she feels more relieved than anything. Which makes her feel guilty. Which makes her feel mad. Which is why she is on patrol duty right now, to vent her anger.

Buffy looks around at the deserted and relatively quiet night, sighs, and heads back for her dorm with Willow. Freaking Spike, killing all her freaking fun…

The next morning, Xander and Anya stroll arm in arm to the Magic Box, armed with plenty of coffee and donuts. The sun has just begun lightening the sky. This used to be the time of day Xander didn't even know existed. In high school, very early mornings were to be avoided and slept through at all costs. Since he'd become a bona fide carpenter, pre-dawn mornings were just a day in the life. He found they were actually very refreshing. New day, new possibilities. Xander keeps his eye on the prize these days. No more gloomy basement-dwelling, or jobless, hopelessness for him. His work as a contract carpenter led to an apprenticeship to become a journeyman carpenter, something that will rapidly advance his skills and paygrade over the next 3 years. As weird as it seems, the Xan-man has become the man with a plan.

It's a damn good feeling.

Anya is chattering about the new fall inventory that will be coming in after the weekend. Xander listens to the tones of her voice, feels the familiar warmth of her at his side. Being with Anya is a damn good feeling too.

"…and I'm thinking that we could market to the ignorant human demographic and put up cheesy, tasteless Halloween décor. Humans go for that kind of things, right? I am a little worried that it will drive away our classier customers, but surely they'd understand that we have to make money."

"I think that's assumed, Ahn. What does Giles think?"

"Why?"

Xander chuckles. "Remember, Giles? The owner of the Magic Box? Probably likes to be in on the decisions once in awhile."

"Oh. I guess he could state his opinion and then we'll do it my way. It's a waste of time, though. He almost always defers to my business sense." Anya lets go of him and shifts the coffee to one arm so she can unlock the shop.

"Riiiight. Well, as long as you defer to his customer service sense, it should all work-"

They halt in the open doorway of the Magic Box.

Crouched on the ground by the register counter, is Ethan Rayne. Startled, he stands abruptly.

He's wearing a rumpled suit that is soaked across the front with brackish blood. His eyes are wild. He's clutching a peacock feather in his hand.

"Hey!"

Xander drops the donuts and goes after him at a dead run. Ethan is faster, crashing past a table of stacked merchandise and hurtling out the side service door. He's halfway down the street before Xander makes it out the door behind him. Xander gives chase down the street, but when he rounds the corner after Rayne, there's no sight of him.

Panting, Xander bends to rest his hands on his knees. "Damn it!" This wasn't good. What the hell was Ethan Rayne doing in Giles' magic shop? Better check for booby traps…oh shit! Anya!

Way too much running later, Xander bursts into the shop. "Anya!" She looks up at him, puzzled.

"What? Did you catch that guy?"

"No, he got away. Are you ok?" Anya nods and looks at him like he's crazy.

"Anya. That was Ethan Rayne. Of the cursed Halloween costumes and band candy Ethan Rayne?"

Her mouth forms an 'o' of understanding. "Oh, that warlock frienenemy of Giles'. Thank you for elaborating. I dislike when you people assume I'm caught up on all of your drama."

Xander moves to the phone. Scooby meeting before the sun is fully up on a Saturday? Buffy is gonna love this…