The Prophet
by Rainne
Part Eight
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"You're definitely dead," Buffy said, and I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. I think I was more just confirmed. After all, had I not been dead, surely I'd at least look my age. But no, I still looked sixteen. Thank goodness for vamps with high-tech fraud equipment.
"Well, that's... something, anyway," I said. I looked over at Mercedes. "I think we kinda knew that anyway."
"Well yeah. Body heat not being an issue." She nodded. "But, hey, at least you can do something different with your hair now that you know you can see it."
I glared at her. "What's wrong with my hair?"
"Nothing!" she exclaimed hastily. "It's just... the same. All the time."
"Yeah," Dawn chimed in. "You could, like, curl it or something."
I transferred my glare to Dawn. "Um, hello, dyke with a curling iron. Scary! So, probably not much with the curls."
"Well, we could teach you!" Dawn tried again.
"Or I could just drain you dry and leave you dead in a gutter," I responded. "I think I like my idea better."
"That was a charming picture you just painted, Dakota, thank you so much for that," Giles commented dryly.
I just grinned at him. "Sorry. Gallows humor."
"Yes. Quite." He was holding a book in his hand. "I'm trying to research what kind of demon might be inhabiting you. You certainly look like a vampire with your full... er, what did you call it?"
I thought for a moment. "Oh. Gameface?"
"Yes. That. So, I'm examining possibilities of possessions that might somehow supersede the vampire, defeating its weaknesses while still maintaining its basic physical characteristics."
I thought about this for a moment. "So, what you're saying is you're looking for something that would beat the vampire but still look like it, but leave me able to do all the yummy things I do, like bask on Malibu beach?"
"Basically, yes."
"Well, okay then. Can I help at all?"
He looked at me, then at his book, then back at me. "Actually, I rather think I'll be all right with just Willow to help. She's accustomed to my filing systems."
I grinned. "Afraid I'll hurt your books? Relax, Watcher. I like books." I shrugged. "But, I won't force myself on you." I turned to the girls. "Who wants to go to L.A. and buy furniture with me?"
Dawn and Mercedes both squealed. "L.A.?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Only the good stuff. None of this namby-pamby Sunnydale Furniture Store. I want fashion." I paused for a moment. "Well, that and I haven't been in a decent mall since... well... since I was alive."
Buffy's head popped around the corner of the kitchen door where she'd disappeared. "Somebody say mall?"
I nodded, grinning. "Train to L.A. leaves in ten minutes. You aboard?"
"I am so aboard."
---*---
"I've found it."
"You have?" Willow looked up at Giles.
Giles nodded. "Here it is. The Lignatior is a higher-planar entity that inhabits the recently dead, especially dead possession victims. It requires blood to survive on account of inhabiting a corpse. It has been known to coexist in one body with a vampire demon, but usually subsumes the vampire demon, retaining the soul of the human. It lives symbiotically with the human soul, content simply to exist within its host. The human itself maintains every other impulse except that of feeding on blood."
Xander looked at Anya, then back at Giles. "So it's a good demon?" he asked.
Giles shook his head. "It's not a demon at all. It's a higher-planar entity."
"Meaning what? An angel?" Willow inquired.
Again, Giles shook his head. "Angels are very specific beings in the service of a deity. The Lignatior is simply a higher-planar entity. On the positive side, the entities that exist on the higher planes generally do not bear any malice towards humans. In fact, whereas demons are considered to be evil, the higher-planar beings are ordinarily considered good."
"Uh-huh. And the part that enjoyed killing those people in Las Vegas?" Xander shuddered, ignoring Willow's glare. "I don't think I'll forget that little speech she gave anytime soon. I had a nightmare the other night about her coming for me because I'd been bad."
Giles shook his head. "It could have been part of the vampire which hasn't been subsumed yet, or it could simply be part of Dakota's own personality."
"So, she could just be homicidal?" Anya asked.
Xander went green; Willow if possible glared even more fiercely.
Giles sighed. "Yes, thank you, Anya. Unfortunately, you're correct: Dakota could simply be slightly unhinged. Unhinged enough to find some pleasure in the killing she must do to survive." He glanced at Willow. "And stop glowering like that. You know as well as the rest of us that she's a killer. She's admitted it."
Willow sighed. "I know that. But you don't have to talk about her like that."
Giles laid a hand on Willow's shoulder. "Willow, we understand that you love her still. But you can't love her blindly. She's not a regular human."
Willow laid her head in her hands. "I know. I know."
---*---
Over mochas at Starbuck's, Dakota confessed to me that she was bored. "I don't have anything to do, Buffy," she complained. "In Vegas there were days and days of hunting, taking in shows, gambling, messing with street preachers... oh there was all kinds of different entertainment. In Sunnydale there's nothing to do."
"So get a job or something," I suggested. "You have all the money you need. Take a job doing something you enjoy. Or take classes at the University."
She cocked her head. "That sounds interesting. Actually, I was thinking of becoming a preacher."
Dawn hooted with laughter. "You?"
Dakota grinned evilly and I could smell something fishy in the air. Figuratively speaking, of course. "Sure," Dakota told Dawn. "Why not?"
Dawn didn't even realize where she was being led. "What church could you preach at?" she asked incredulously.
"The First Reformed Foot-Washing Tabernacle of the Resurrection," Dakota replied promptly, straight-faced, and it was all I could do not to fall out of my chair when she continued, "Sing and pray 'til midnight, fight and fuck 'til daylight, you must be present to win." Then her grin came out and both the girls roared with laughter. She continued in a Southern-Baptist-preacher voice: "Now-uh, if-uh y'all will-uh please-uh turn-uh to Hymn-uh Numbah Four Hundred-uh and-uh Ninety-uh Three-uh." She cleared her throat loudly and began to sing, drawing the amused attention of our surrounding tables. "Mrs. O'Malley / down in the valley / suffered from ulcers we understand. / She ate a bar of / Grandma's lye soap / now she's got the cleanest ulcers in the land!"
I put my head in my hands, groaning. "That was terrible!"
She grinned at me. "Yeah, but it was fun!"