The ropes that bound Lara Croft bit into her flesh. Numbness came and went in her fingers.  Her head was throbbing from the sledgehammer blow - a nasty sneak attack from behind - and her left eye was swollen shut thanks to a vicious backhand.  In fact, the whole left side of her face was an ugly shade of purple. 

In the next few minutes, if her enemies succeeded - The odds are definitely in their favor, she mused bitterly - she would witness the resurrection of an ancient evil, which would not only destroy the city, but perhaps herald Armageddon.  Then she would die a slow, gruesome death.

Lara smiled. She had been through worse, so much worse; she had been the only one who survived that plane crash in the Himalayas. Wounded, frostbitten, malnourished, fatigued beyond belief, in shock, and lacking any of the survival skills the next few days inspired her to learn. Her parents and her fiancée had also been aboard. It occurred to her that she never mourned them until weeks later, when she reached civilization.

Not even the seemingly endless Croft fortune, much less all the money in the world, could have saved her from the two weeks of hell she endured in the Himalayas. It proved one thing to her: All she could rely on her was her wits and determination.  She not only survived that ordeal, she thrived, becoming a renowned adventurer, a legend in her own right.

I didn’t give up then, and I won’t give up now! she thought defiantly, rallying herself. Lara wriggled and flexed her fingers, attempting to restore circulation.  She shuffled her feet, which were bound at the ankles, trying to work them out of the ropes. 

There was some give; she continued to fight. 

Lara was grateful that her captors didn’t remove her hiking boots and then bind her ankles; there wouldn’t have been any way to break free.  She thought of slipping out of her boots, but she laced them up so tightly, her feet wouldn’t budge. 

As her ankles continued to fight against the ropes, Lara’s mind flashed to the past day when she was hired to retrieve the Elixir of Life.

After her usual 7 a.m. workout, Lara showered, washing away the grime and sweat that coated her body like a second skin.  The warm spray of water sluiced away the tightness in her wayward muscles.  There was a stubborn spot in her neck, just above the crook in her right shoulder.  She gently twisted her neck this way and that, then stretched it in slow circles clockwise, and then counter-clockwise.  Her fingers reached skyward, interlacing, as she tried to work out the kink in her neck. 

Lara frowned, wishing she had time for a massage, but her client had moved their meeting up an hour. Besides, it was probably for the best; the last masseuse placed his hands where he shouldn’t and she ended up breaking his wrist. Lara increased the water pressure of her showerhead and repeated her stretching exercises. The steaming water cascaded over the knotted muscles of her neck. It hit the right spot as she turned again.  The stress balls popped and a moan of ecstasy escaped her full, rose petal lips. She indulged herself an extra five minutes before she turned the shower off and put on the Armani business suit one of her butlers, Sebastian Catherwood, had laid out on her bed in the VIP suite of the New York Ritz.

Good old Catherwood.  His timing was impeccable.  If there was a category above perfect, he certainly was there all by himself.

A half-hour later, Lara found herself in the office of Raymond J. Manning IV, one -third of Struthers, Manning, and Klein, one of Manhattan’s most prestigious - not to mention expensive - law firms.

“Thank you for accommodating me, Ms. Croft,” said Manning.  He was a tall man in his early fifties, an ex-football player in his undergrad days at Northwestern.  Now, most of his muscle had turned into flab, settling in his stomach, something even the pinstriped Christian Dior suit couldn’t hide.

“I assure you, it is urgent.  My client, Thomas Covington, was an anthropology professor at Columbia.  He had something in his possession called the Elixir of Life.”  He paused, partly for Lara to process all this information, mostly for dramatic effect.

Lara said, “I’m listening.”  She spoke in a confident British lilt, looking good in her navy blue two-piece business suit with matching hose and heels. Lara crossed her legs and Manning found himself staring. His face began to flush in embarrassment when he noticed she knew he was staring. He quickly averted his eyes, and harrumphed before he found his voice.

“At first, I thought the Elixir of Life sounded like something out of an Indiana Jones movie,” Manning commented, and then continued when he saw that Lara wasn’t amused.  “Thomas said that his family guarded this ‘Elixir of Life’” - and he made quotation marks with his fingers - “for four generations. It’s supposed to heal wounds miraculously and bring people back from the dead, or so he told me.  I was skeptical at first, but the great lengths he went to protect it proved to me that he was serious.  I didn’t know how serious.”

“What do you mean?” Lara raised her eyebrows, wondering if there was anything her but dramatic effect.

“Thomas gave new definition to the phrase, ‘hiding in plain sight.’  He had hidden it in his liquor cabinet among bottles of expensive alcohol instead of putting it in an obvious place like a safe deposit box. That would be the first place to look, he’d always say. Anyway, two days ago, his house was broken into; it looked like a tank went through it.  His liquor cabinet was destroyed and autopsy reports stated that he had almost every bone in his body broken. His wife, too.”

Manning handed Lara files from the coroner’s office and the police department.  “Take a look. Fair warning, it’s not for the squeamish.” Lara opened the file and looked at the crime scene photos and then scanned the coroner’s report. The whole time, she had on an expression of professional detachment. 

“Who did this?” she asked.

“The police have no suspects.  The coroner believes a man did it.  A very strong man.  Someone who could mop the floor with Ali and Louis combined.”

“I see,” Lara replied, keeping everything to herself.  “And this involves me how?”

He cleared his throat and then continued. “Thomas left me specific instructions that if anything should every happen to him to contact you immediately. I never imagined this could…” his voice trailed off, but quickly comported himself. “In his instructions, Thomas stated that your reputation precedes you in…” he searched for the right words and spread his hands, “…matters like this. He left a significant amount of money.” A pause.  “I’ve deposited the retainer you’ve mentioned in your Cayman Islands bank account.”

“Do the police have any leads?”

“None.”

“Where do I start?  Can I see his notes?”

“By all means,” Manning answered, relief flooding through his voice. He was grateful Lara Croft was taking his case. Whatever business his client had been involved in, he felt safer now that a professional was in charge.

In the next two and a half hours, Lara and Manning thoroughly researched Thomas’ journals, which were contained in two leather-bound volumes of manuscript. 

“That’s strange,” Manning removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“What?” Lara looked up.

“Why would Thomas have suggested you start looking there?”

“Looking where?”

“Some small town.  Here, see for yourself.”  Manning handed the document to Lara, who scanned it quickly. 

Oh my God!  Her eyes went wide and her brows knitted together. It made a disturbing kind of sense. Lara knew this place. With all the strange happenings that occurred there, of course this magical potion would be in high demand there. Damn! Damn! Damn!  God only knows what this Elixir is being used for!

Manning noticed her concern.  “Ms. Croft?  What is it?”

“Can I use your phone?”

That wasn’t the answer the lawyer was expecting; he was very curious about her reaction. 

Lara raised her voice.  “I need to use your damned phone! Enough time’s been wasted already!”

“Sure.”  He answered, somewhat confused by her passion.

“Hello, Catherwood?  It’s me.” A pause.  “Catherwood, I need you to have my private jet fueled within the next two hours.”

“To where, Ms. Croft?” the butler asked.

“Sunnydale, California.”

*  *  *

“Are you sure this is wise, Ms. Croft?” Catherwood inquired as he drove a black van on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Lines creased his already deeply lined, angular face.  

Lara geared up in the back of van.  She had to forego her usual garb of a tight mid-riff blue tank-top and her hiking shorts which hugged every curve of her long, sculpted upper legs and hindquarters. The young lady was instead dressed in black Matrix-style commando togs. There was a flash of gold around her neck that caught Catherwood’s eye as he looked in the rearview mirror. It was a cross.

“I’m afraid so,” she replied.  Lara checked her twin Berettas and holstered them on either thigh.  She had a survival knife strapped to her left boot, while a stake was strapped onto the back of her forearm in a specially-designed holster. A pressure gun, loaded with holy water, fit snugly in a shoulder holster. She adjusted the straps on her backpack. 

“Can’t you at least ask for help?  I understand that Sunnydale has its own…” Catherwood harrumphed slightly, then went on, “…people to deal with these problems.”

Lara stopped what she was doing and looked at her faithful manservant. At first, she wondered how he’d know about what really went on in Sunnydale. But then, Catherwood helped her thoroughly research a lot of her little jaunts. He must’ve checked it out when she ordered him to fuel the private jet.

He would have made an excellent journalist, Lara thought. Catherwood had great instincts, always following his hunches. He would’ve made an excellent anything, but he dedicated his life to service the Crofts, especially since Lara’s father, Lord Henshingly Croft, had saved him from poverty so many years ago. Catherwood was always grateful for Lord Croft’s selfless act; it brought him back from the edge of despair after his pregnant wife died in a car accident on the heels of losing his business. Unlike some butlers who tried to steal from the Croft fortune, Sebastian Catherwood was cut from a different cloth. He was unswervingly loyal to the Crofts.

Now that her parents were gone, Catherwood extended his service to Lara - the daughter he never had - trying to be both mother and father to her. Even though he sometimes disagreed with her decisions, his service to her never wavered.  Not once.  Catherwood was always behind her, no matter what path she chose.

And God bless him for it.  I’d be so lost without him. 

“Yes, Sunnydale has its own people,” she confirmed as she secured her long, brown tresses in a thick ponytail that reached down to the base of her spine.  She styled her hair carefully back from her face, with the exception of a stray lock or two that always dangled over her forehead.  “But my sources told me they’re indisposed.” 

“Oh, my.”  The butler absently stroked his well-groomed mustache, the tips of which were waxed and pointing upward. 

“They also told me where to go for information. Some seedy bar.” Lara made eye contact with him. “Absolute radio silence, Catherwood.” Her tone was firm. “If you don’t hear from me in 24 hours, there’s a magic shop in Sunnydale. The owner is an old family friend. Go there. His name is Giles.” She handed him a sheet of paper with all the necessary information. “Stay at your hotel. Don’t let anyone in your suite, even room service. You never know…”

“But…”

Lara cut him off.  “No buts, Catherwood.  I mean it.  Absolute radio silence.”  A pause.  “I can take care of myself.”

The butler conceded, nodding in reluctant agreement.  “That you can, madam.  Please see to it that you do.”

 

She gave him a look, her piercing dark brown eyes gazing over her trademark sunglasses.  A smile curved her lips and softened her determined expression.  “Don’t wait up.” 

Sebastian Catherwood has known Lara Croft ever since she was born.  The tragedy in the Himalayas had given her a confidence and a strength he never knew she had.  Ever since, she had kept herself in top condition, both physically and mentally, never feeling more alive than when she’s endangered.  She could be labeled an adrenaline junkie, but he knew better. Adrenaline junkies were reckless. And although Lara Croft was a lot of things, recklessness was certainly not one of her traits. She bad been in tight spots before and she has always made it out alive.  Make no mistake, he had every confidence in her abilities.

But this was Sunnydale.

He would definitely be waiting up.

                                                                                     

                                                                             *  *  *

The information Lara beat out of the snitch was right on.  As she advanced on the devastated landscape that was once Sunnydale High School, she drew her guns, feeling a small measure of reassurance.  Even though she knew her guns wouldn’t kill the type of foe she would soon be facing, she still knew how to use them.  She felt naked going into battle without them.  As an extra precaution, she had loaded her weapons with silver-jacketed bullets.

Lara’s jet black uniform camouflaged her flawlessly against the inky blackness of night. She was a shadow, quietly approaching what remained of the school. The uneven terrain was treacherous, pock-marked with holes and littered with debris. There were very few walls left standing, rough jagged points of varying sizes that stabbed at night sky.  There was a network of cracks spider-webbing the walls in different directions. What didn’t have cracks or holes was blackened with scorch marks, leaving no trace of the original white paint that had covered the sterile environs of the school.

Lara paused in mid-stride. She heard some noise - muffled voices - just beyond the dilapidated walls.  She couldn’t make anything out, she was so far away.  The Tomb Raider - as she was affectionately called by the media - made her way towards the voices, swiftly, silently, taking care to watch her step. That’s all she needed was to twist her ankle in some hole, much less fall in one, or - even better - step on something that would alert her enemies to her presence, thus blowing the element of surprise.

The young woman leaned against the wall, pressed up against it so tight, she would merge with it if it were it possible. She took a deep yoga breath - in through her nose - forcing the air as far down as it could go and then slowly letting it out through her mouth. Doing this calmed her; she needed to hear everything that was going on, and it couldn’t be drowned out by the thundering of her pulse. Standing stock still, Lara strained her ears to the utmost, wanting to decipher everything from the incoherent babble of conversation.

“Are you sure this’ll do the trick, Aubrey?” Lara heard a voice ask.

The one addressed as Aubrey responded. His voice was a deep and rich falsetto, reminding her of the actor James Earl Jones. “It should. If anything can bring the mayor back, it’s this,”

What did he say? The mayor?!?  Lara’s stomach tightened. God help us all!

If what this Aubrey said was true, resurrecting Mayor Richard Wilkins III would signal the beginning of the end.  Despite their credibility - or lack thereof - the tabloids reported last year that the mayor of Sunnydale transformed into a giant snake during his commencement speech. Many people were slaughtered in the ensuing battle. The Slayer had had to blow up the school in order to stop him.

To the general public, it seemed like good fiction. Something to read while killing time in the check-out line at the grocery store. But Lara Croft knew better. She had seen a lot in her day. From the bottom of the ocean where she discovered the mythical city of Atlantis to the heart of the Canadian wilderness where she battled a Yeti to butting heads with bandits all over the globe in search of the Medusa Mask and the Nightmare Stone, the Tomb Raider had seen many things. 

What occurred here over a year ago wasn’t fiction. That was fact.

A few months after the destruction of Sunnydale High, Lara was hired by an ancient order headquartered on Great Russell Street in London; they confirmed that the tabloid stories - as well as her information from her network of sources - was true.  After hearing more about it, Lara was glad she wasn’t there for the final battle, despite her love of adventure.

Now, Lara Croft found herself as the first line of defense if the mayor’s henchmen resurrected him. If she played her hand right, she could stop this before it started. To do so, she needed to see what was going on.  She lay down flat and, inch by inch, the Tomb Raider belly-crawled underneath the gaping hole in the wall. Her commando uniform protected her from the sharp pieces of glass and jagged metal, and rocks that turned the ground into a bed of nails. She was certainly grateful she chose not to wear her trademark tank-top and shorts.

Smells like barbecued flesh, she thought. Lara couldn’t help but notice there was a stench that lingered in the air, catching at the back of her throat. It stank of death. The ground underneath her groaned softly in protest as she arose in a crouch.

Lara peered downward into the hole, which was dimly illuminated by torchlight.  The explosion devastated that particular section of the ground floor and her quarry were situated in the basement, which was covered in debris and dried intestines, the remains of the giant snake the mayor became  -  or “ascended to”  - she believed was the correct term.

There had to be a dozen vampires and one grotesque-looking monster with curved horns and hooved feet gathered around a single vampire, whose voice Lara recognized as Aubrey’s, the one she deduced was running the show. Seeing how the others were hanging on his every word confirmed it. 

Aubrey was black, his shaved pate gleamed in the darkness. This vampire had a hard-bodied, compact build with a muscular chest. His bulging biceps stretched the dragon tattoo on his left arm to almost unrecognizable proportions. In his hand, he held an immaculately crafted multi-faceted crystal carafe, which sparkled in the firelight, containing the fabled Elixir of Life. 

This is bad. This defines bad, Lara mused.

Lara accessed the predicament she was in. The way she saw it she had two choices. She could go and find help but the mayor could very well be resurrected by that time. Not only that, Sunnydale’s Guardian Slayer was otherwise occupied for the moment. She would have to go with her second choice and face impossible odds.

Long odds are better than no odds, she decided. By the same token, battling a nest of vampires alone was foolish. And the Tomb Raider was no fool. The real mission was making sure the Elixir of Life was no longer in the wrong hands, even if it meant no one else could have it. 

Lara had only one shot; she had to make it count. The timing and the aim had to be perfect. She planted herself firmly on the ground, drew one of her guns, raised her glasses onto her head so nothing would obscure her sight, and took careful aim. Her weapon tracked the carafe.

Before she could fire, the ground underneath her gave way. The tremors that were indigenous to California weakened an already-damaged foundation.

“What the f -” Lara’s leg sunk into a hole up to her knee and her gun flew from her hand and clattered to an abrupt halt one story down.  Her glasses whipped off her head as both hands dug into the soft soil, stopping her fall.

Aubrey’s head shot up and in one fluid motion, the demon within contorting his chiseled face into its true, hideous countenance. Shadows played over his face and his inhuman yellow eyes blazed in the torchlight.  “Get her!”

“Shit!” Lara cursed as she rolled herself backward and onto her feet.  So much fo surprise. Battle-ready senses flared as the Tomb Raider’s tense muscles screamed for battle.

“Slayer! You’re mine!” a vampire announced as he charged her from around the corner.

My adoring public, Lara grimaced. “I’m not the Slayer! I’m better!”

Lara met his charge, jabbing the barrel of her second gun at a 45-degree angle into the tender skin just above his larynx. She fired four times, the bullets expanding and leaving gaping exit wounds, blowing his head off. Instead of blood and gore spattering all over the place, the blood-sucker’s form lost all of its substance, turning into a cloud of ash.

Who says guns can’t kill vampires?

As soon as she killed him, two more vampires rushed to take his place. She blasted the closer one in the head, right between the eyes. It didn’t kill him, but dropped him like a stone. Aubrey would have to destroy this one because even a vampire’s advanced recuperative abilities would never fully recover from having its gray matter devastated by a silver bullet.

Lara sprinted up a pile of debris and propelled herself through the air, attacking the second one with a flying leg kick. “Heeiiii-yaaahh!” she shouted as her boot heel connected with his jaw.

The vampire’s mandible sounded like a Coke bottle shattering. The force of the blow snapped his head so far back that it somersaulted him, and when he completed his 360 degree rotation, he landed on his chest with an ugly crack.

Lara landed on her feet and she was flanked by four vampires, two on either side, as two more blocked her way. She heard heavy footfall, followed by a vicious snarl behind her. It could only be that behemoth with the down-turned, curving horns, leathery yellow skin, hooves, and the sharp ridges adorning its chest and back. 

Trapped.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lara saw the monster’s nostrils flare wide.  It made a loud and disgusting sniffling sound and jets of mucus sprayed forth. At the last possible instant, Lara hit the dirt, narrowly evading the onslaught. If she hadn’t been so concerned about her survival, she would have been horrified. As it was, she risked a quick look at the vampires, who were covered with the slimy, oozing substance, frozen in their tracks. 

Turning her attention on the monster, she quickly got up, balanced on the balls of her feet. Lara taunted the beast, gesturing for it to charge her.

The Fyarl demon growled, and like a bull, its right hoof scraped the ground, clearing away the glass and metal. Sounding like a mini-earthquake, it charged the Tomb Raider headfirst, the pointed tips of its horns in the lead. Lara leapt over it, clear out of its path, as the beast crashed into its unintended victims, knocking them around like gooey bowling pins.

Aubrey’s voice cut through the din. “You idiots!  She’s not even the Slayer and we’re still getting our asses greased!”

The remaining vampires charged Lara.

A female vampire cut her off and took a swing at her. Lara whirled inside the arc of her punch and pistol-whipped her, cracking her hard across the bridge of her ridged nose. It was a sickening sound. Before Lara could finish her off, she yelped as another vampire yanked her back by her ponytail.

“Got her!” he announced in triumph.

“Good for you!” Lara’s elbow fired backward, striking him in the gut. The vampire released her and doubled over.

That was all the time the Fyarl demon needed to smash her in the back of the head with a punch that could pulverize concrete. It was a brutal, merciless attack, which the remaining vampires felt as much as heard. Pain stabbed her temples and her eyes lost their focus, filling her vision with white stars. If she hadn’t instinctively rolled forward with the blow, her neck would’ve been broken. As it was, she wondered in that agonized moment if the attack cracked some vertebrae.

No! her survival instincts screamed at her, trying to stave off the blackness that creept into the corners of her vision, making its way across her consciousness like an inkblot. No! It can’t end like this! It can’t! No! Lara’s knees buckled as she fought to stay conscious. Nausea washed over her in waves.

A savage backhand landed across her face and whatever slim hope she had of staying awake was snuffed out as the blackness yawned underneath her, swallowing her whole.

                                                                                 

                                                                            *  *  *

It was a good 40 minutes before Lara regained consciousness.  Her head was pounding like a thunderstorm and her neck felt as if someone had jammed a rod through it, making it making impossible for her to turn her head. If that monster would have hit her any harder, it would have knocked her head clean off.

Couldn’t be much worse than this. Lara cautiously rotated her neck - or tried to - and for her efforts, it felt like thousands of hot needles stabbed at her. She bit back a yelp.  It was then she noticed her tongue felt thick in her parched mouth, swollen. Her whole body did, as a matter of fact.

I’m one giant bruise, she discovered.  No doubt I’ve got a concussion.

Lara’s left eye was swollen shut, surrounded by a crusty layer of pus. The left side of her face was an ugly drooping canvass of purple, blue, red, and pink. It was then she noticed she was tethered to a pole, arms, wrists, and ankles. This just keeps getting better and better.

For a moment, her mind flickered back to the terrible days after the plane crash. Somehow that memory gave her strength.

I didn’t give up then, and I won’t give up now! Lara thought.

Someone got a fistful of Lara’s hair and jerked her head back violently. The abrupt movement made her queasy and with an effort, she fought down the urge to vomit. He held her chin upward, forcing her to look directly into Aubrey’s eyes.

If he was any closer, I swear I’d puke all over him.

“Who are you?” Aubrey demanded, hands draped behind his back.

Lara wanted to reply, “Guess, idiot,” but decided against it; the last thing she needed right now was to get hit in the face again. “Croft. Lara Croft.”

“The world-famous Tomb Raider.”

“So they say.”

“I’ve heard of you, Croft. Even read some of your books. You came for this, didn’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question as he held up the Elixir of Life for emphasis.

“I came to Sunnydale for the climate, but I’ll settle for the elixir.”

Aubrey snorted contemptuously, not impressed, never mind the fact she had given his minions a run for their money. That didn’t seem to matter now since she was at his mercy. “I was really hoping for the Slayer, but you’ll do after all the trouble you caused tonight.”

“Gee, I’m honored.”

“The mayor will swallow you whole when he ascends.”

“Let me guess: ‘In his belly, I’ll find pain and suffering as I’m slowly digested over a thousand years,’” she quoted Return of the Jedi.

A V-shaped smile split the vampire’s bestial face, making him look all the more wicked. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

There was a soft whistle that sliced through the air, ending in an abrupt thunk.  The vampire who had a firm grip of Lara’s hair felt a sharp pain in his back. An instant later, he was a pile of dust.

“No!” Aubrey bellowed. “Slayer!”

“Yes!” came a female voice from overhead, matching his tone. It was authoritative and confident. “Vampire!” she couldn’t resist mocking him. 

Moving with the grace and skill even the most accomplished acrobat would envy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer leapt into the fray. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for the vampires as the Chosen One struck a fat, hairy vamp in the chest with both feet, knocking him flat on his back.

Using him as a springboard, Buffy took to the air again. The sharp tip of a stake flashed in her hand and on her way up, she slashed the ropes binding Lara’s wrists and arms in a swift, fluid motion. The action was precise; the stake never touched Lara’s flesh.

In a dazzling array of flips and twists, Buffy staked one vampire, followed by another, then kicked Aubrey in the head. It was a heavy-caliber shot and the force of the impact raised him off the ground and flung him back ten feet. The vampire landed with a loud crunch and involuntarily released his hold on the carafe, which rolled on its side, well out of reach.

So that’s the Slayer, Lara watched in awe as Buffy battled the vampires, taking all of them on at once. And I thought I was good. She massaged her wrists, attempting to restore circulation.

Once she accomplished that feat, Lara slowly reached down - so she wouldn’t vomit all over herself - took hold of a sharp piece of shrapnel next to her feet and began to saw the ropes around her ankles.  As she hacked and sliced through the ropes, the glass but into the flesh of her palms, penetrating the finger-less, black hiking gloves she wore. Blood dripped onto the dust-covered debris.

Lara looked at the battle.  The Slayer was grappling with at least half a dozen vampires and the monster who had given her the mother of all migraines. Aubrey got slowly to his knees, blotted the blood on his face with his arm, and joined the fight.

“I’m gonna eat your heart, Slayer!” the vampire declared.

Lara had to help, but she was more of a liability than an asset in the shape she was in.  Not only that, she had been stripped of all her weapons. The best thing she could do was cut her losses, find some cover, and sit this one out.

Yeah, right. 

That wasn’t her style. Further, she just couldn’t desert her rescuer, even if Buffy seemed more than capable of taking care of herself. Her eyes scanned for her weapons. Out of the periphery of her vision, she saw sparkles glittering and glistening in the torchlight. It was the decanter, about 20 feet away.

Inspiration hit.  Perfect.

Lara took a trembling step. Pain jangled through her neck. There was something terribly wrong with her spine. Her face was sickly white; she guessed she was probably bleeding internally. Her legs felt rubbery, unsteady, like someone removed the muscles from them.  She felt her knees buckle, but leaned on the pole for support. After a moment’s respite, she hurried as best as she could over to the carafe, limping all the way.

Her head swam in a sea of vertigo and the bile crawled up the back of her throat.  She couldn’t fight it this time and, on her hands and knees, Lara emptied the contents of her stomach. When finished, she sucked in a gulp of the stale air. More pain in her neck. She paused a moment, getting her second wind, then took the Elixir of Life in her hands.

Lara twisted the top, which stubbornly refused to cooperate. She tried again, this time putting her last iota of strength behind it. Her face flushed and her lips peeled back in a grimace. Cords and veins strained at her throat, the group of muscles at the side of her neck tearing in the process. The top finally gave with a loud popping sound, followed by a hiss of bottled air. Blackness yawned again, but she fought it down.

Lara drank greedily, not caring if the Elixir of Life dribbled down her chin and onto her clothes. A chill jangled up and down her spine as she swallowed; it tasted like the purest spring water and tingled as it went down. She felt nothing. There wasn’t any difference. In fact, she felt another bout of vomit churning in the pit of her stomach.

Not again.

Then, it happened. The nausea stopped instantly. Her stomach was settled; it felt joyful, even. The splitting pain in her head subsided, leaving no trace of a concussion.  She could open her left eye again as she stroked her face; it felt smooth instead of a mass of contusions. The coloring flooded back to her features, restoring her model good looks.  The bones in her spinal column that were cracked and chipped were smoothed back into place. The wounds on her hands closed.

Lara felt refreshed as if she awakened from a deep sleep. The muscles in her neck were healed. She could move it freely. In fact, all of her muscles felt invigorated, electric, even, filled with a renewed strength and energy.

She saw her weapons and gear in a pile not too far away. In a swift movement, she sprinted over to them where, moments before, it required all of her concentration just to stand. 

The vampires were smarter than she gave them credit for. Her cross was missing, as was her stake. The squirt gun was crushed to bits, lying in a puddle of holy water. Her Beretta was empty and she had no time to rifle through her bag to get her spare ammo in the hidden pockets only she could find. At least, her knife was still there.

Time to improvise.

She carefully brushed the broken pieces of her squirt pistol away and immersed the knife in the thin puddle. In a fit of inspiration, she put it aside and wet her palms, soaking up all the holy water she could. This way her right hook would pack more of a punch.

Next, Lara opened a pocket on her boot, removed a clip, grateful that they overlooked it, and loaded it into her gun.  It made a click-clack noise and she slipped the safety off.  Just in time, too, as the vampire Buffy had used as a trampoline recovered and came running at her. Lara stood up, blasted him in the chest, rocking him back on his heels. The vampire shrieked as crimson gore spilled freely from his wound. With a quick stroke of her knife, Lara sliced through bone and meat, lobbing his head off. Both the head - before it even hit the ground - and the body crumbled into dust.

Stuffing the Elixir of Life in her knapsack, the Tomb Raider ran off to help the Slayer. Lara was confident by joining forces with Buffy, they would snatch a victory from the jaws of defeat. Even though they were outnumbered, the vampires were outclassed. They lost and they didn’t even know it yet. And suddenly, a small part of her felt very sorry for them.

                                                                                     *  *  *

Buffy dusted two of the vampires with ease. As soon as she did that, the Fyarl demon threw an arching round-house right. The Chosen One backpedaled, narrowly escaping the bone-crushing fist, dropping her stake in the process.

Since the Fyarl demon’s punch didn’t make contact with Buffy’s nose, it pitched forward, stumbling off-balance. It was perfect timing for Buffy to use its momentum against itself and add to it as she executed a perfect floor sweep. It hit the ground hard, caving it in, and tumbled headlong until it crashed into a wall. At first, small pieces of brick and dust trickled on the Fyarl demon. Then the wall rained down on it in a hail of desk-size debris, burying it alive. There was a thick cloud of dust that emanated from the pile of bricks.

One of two remaining male vampires fired off an uppercut to Buffy’s face. The Chosen One shrugged it off, but not in time to stop both of them from pinning her arms in a savage hammerlock, setting the female vampire up to launch a volley of cheap shots to her face and stomach.

“They’re gonna call me Sherina, the vampire who slayed the Vampire Slayer,” Sherina bragged as her fists bludgeoned the Chosen One. Buffy sank to the ground after the eleventh or so punch. The vampires let their guard down, the two males relaxing their grips somewhat, Sherina ceasing to pummel her. “This Slayer is overrated!” She made a sound of disgust.

“Wanna bet?” came Buffy’s response as she pulled her knees back to her chest and kicked out, striking the female vampire in the gut with both feet. She soared through the air in a perfect parabola and landed in a crumpled heap.

Buffy broke the vampires’ grip and slid her arms out from under the two awe-stricken vampires, flipped into a backwards handstand, kicking them both in the face before landing on her feet.

“You were playing possum!” the first one spat.

“You’re quick, genius,” she deadpanned as she whipped her right arm straight out and a stake slid into her waiting hand.  “I’m used to playing in the big leagues with the Master! You’re not the Master! You’re just extras from a low-budget horror movie!” She dusted them both, one right after the other. 

Buffy quickly scanned the battlefield.  There were piles of dust scattered here and there.  The Fyarl demon was still buried. The strange, black-clad woman she rescued was holding her own against Sherina, “the vampire who slayed the Vampire Slayer.”

Oh, Please.

Sherina - a raven-haired punk-rocker sired during the eighties - ignored the pain the Slayer inflicted. More angry than hurt, she watched as Aubrey heaved himself to his feet and headed for Buffy. A part of her hoped Aubrey wouldn’t kill the Slayer as he snuck up from behind, so she could get another crack at her. She saw Lara Croft running towards them and snarled. She owed this human one. Then, the Slayer would get hers.

Blocking her way once again, Sherina fired off a punch at the Tomb Raider, which, this time, connected with her jaw. Lara dropped her gun, went down on one knee, but quickly recovered, light on her feet.  Knees bent, the two circled each other, each looking for an opening, feeling for a weakness.

Sherina swung, driving another hard punch to Lara’s face. The Tomb Raider caught her fist and the vampire screamed as her enemy’s holy water-drenched hand seared her flesh. With her free hand, Lara’s fingers wrapped around the other’s throat, choking her, cutting off her voice, as well as burning her. Sherina squirmed and thrashed, but was unable to break Lara’s hold, despite the fight she put up. Lara had her completely at her mercy. Swinging her around by the wrist and throat, Lara impaled her through the heart on a piece of wood protruding from the ground. Agonized yowls terminated into a death rattle as Sherina exploded into a fireworks display of dust and ash. 

After observing Lara for a beat, Buffy mugged a satisfied impression.  Hey, she’s pretty good.  Then her mind went back to business.  Wasn’t there another -

Aubrey wrapped his arms around Buffy in a vicious full nelson, forcing her neck downward in an attempt to snap it. The big man lifted her off her feet, which kicked out desperately, scrambling for leverage, finding none.

Shit! There’s gotta be a machine to crank these vampires out! 

Buffy speared a thumb in his eye. Animal screams of pain filled her ear and Aubrey let her go. Landing on her feet, Buffy spun around and nailed him hard in the groin, then followed up with a haymaker that sent him reeling. His fall was broken by an oak desk, which collapsed under his weight and the ferocity of the Slayer’s onslaught.

Aubrey tried to get up, but felt a burning ache in his hip. He would heal and quickly, that was one of the traits of being a vampire. But it wouldn’t be quick enough, considering the Slayer was moving in for the kill. 

Then, he saw it.  It was only a foot away. Croft’s gun. The one she dropped when she was eavesdropping on them. And the Slayer didn’t see it. Neither did Croft.

He crawled over to it. 

“It’s over! There’s no place to run!” Aubrey heard the Chosen One declare, all smug and self-assured and self-righteous. 

Once again, the world began to move in slow motion as Aubrey took hold of the gun, turned around, and fired. It struck Buffy in the chest at point blank range. The gun kicked in his hand, but he held it firmly and fired again. 

“Die!” he yelled as he leaned against a wall and propped himself up, firing off a third shot. “DIE!!”

The second bullet tore through sinew and then ricocheted off a rib, shattering it in the process. Blood filled the Slayer’s lungs and mouth. The third bullet made a tiny hole in her stomach as it entered and then made a larger hole as it exited through her back.

“Noooo!”  Lara shouted, refusing to believe the grisly scene enfolding before her eyes. She swept up her gun from the ground, wishing she had a clear shot of his undead heart and not his side profile. “You scum!” Lara fired until she emptied her weapon into Aubrey’s lower leg and kneecap, crippling the vampire. A keening wail split the night as Aubrey fell to the ground, let go of the gun, and held tightly to his wounded appendage.  He rolled back and forth as if it would lessen the agony that wracked his body.

Buffy was still standing, eyes bulged impossibly wide. Blood saturated her shirt and fountained rapidly out of her wound, making wet, sucking sounds. She teetered this way and that and fell backwards. Lara was there in an instant, catching her as she fell, settling her laden head in her lap. Buffy’s chalky pale skin felt cold and was enveloped in a clammy film of sweat, a clear indication of shock. A harsh gurgling sound escaped Buffy’s mouth, which had blood bubbles pooling at the corners.

“Hold on!” Lara reassured her. “You’re gonna be fine! I promise!” That was standard medical procedure for one to tell a victim who was fatally injured, they’d be all right, even if that wasn’t the case. However, Lara meant every word. Her index and middle fingers found Buffy’s pulse, which was fading fast, and knew she had seconds to act.

She tore off her knapsack, opened it, and pulled out the Elixir of Life. She generously poured it all over Buffy’s torso and then into her mouth. “C’mon! C’mon, dammit!” Lara willed Buffy to stay among the living. She closed her eyes, feeling unshed hot tears burning the inside of her eyelids. When she opened her eyes, Lara witnessed a miracle. 

The gunshot wounds that punctured Buffy’s torso stitched and closed instantly, completely healed. There wasn’t even any scarring, nor could anyone ever tell she was shot. The fragments of her broken rib were reconstructed and slid back into place. There wasn’t any blood in her mouth, which overflowed in it not a moment ago. Further, there was no metallic aftertaste of copper. Instead, blood pumped rapidly in her veins until her flesh felt warm to the touch. Her skin, no longer ashen, had a healthy sheen to it, which seemed to glow in the torchlight. Buffy’s muscles felt rejuvenated, and they crackled with electricity. 

“Whoa,” was the only word she could find and Buffy smiled as she bolted upright out of Lara’s lap. Lara returned Buffy’s smile, relief washing over her. “Thank you.” 

“Are you okay?”

“I feel great, ready to kick some more vampire ass,” Buffy said. “Thank you.  Again.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

“I’m Buffy.”  She held out her hand.

The Tomb Raider took the proffered hand and pumped it. “Lara.  Pleased to meet you.”

“Not as pleased as I am to meet you.”

“We’re even, Buffy. If it wasn’t for you, I would have never made it out of her alive.”

“What is that stuff?”

“The Elixir of Life. It can heal and resurrect any living being.  They were planning on bringing back the mayor.”

“I heard about the bringing back the mayor part.  I just didn’t know how they were gonna do it. Looks like I just made it.”

“Yeah…” Lara’s voice trailed off as they surveyed the mess.

They stood in an awkward silence for the next few minutes, numbed by the prospect of having one of the greatest evils return. Lara walked over and retrieved her gun. Aubrey, lying in his own blood, was still holding his knee as if letting go of it would make it fall off, tears flowing down his face in rivulets. His keening wails had ravaged his vocal chords and he now whimpered hoarsely.

“What about him?” Lara asked as took two clips out of her knapsack and reloaded her weapons.

“I’ll take care of-”

Both women turned on their heel as the Fyarl demon roared.  Scrapes and gashes decorated its leathery hide. Half of its left horn was broken off.  Its unfettered anger gave birth to newfound strength, adrenaline surging through it, all the pain momentarily forgotten. It was like shooting a bear with a revolver; the Slayer didn’t stop the Fyarl demon; all she did was piss it off.

“Lara! Are your guns loaded with silver bullets?!?” Buffy yelled. She knew silver was the bane of Fyarl demons. It was just months ago that she almost killed one with a silver letter opener until, at the penultimate moment, she realized it was Giles. Her mentor had been transformed into a Fyarl demon, courtesy of his old enemy, Ethan Rayne.

“Catch!”  Lara tossed her one of her weapons.

The Tomb Raider - positioned in a professional shooter’s crouch - and the Slayer, standing straight and tall, fired the Berettas, aiming at the heart and head, respectively.  They fired well past the point of being out of ammo. The Fyarl demon didn’t know what hit it as the ground rushed up towards it. The dull-witted beast bounced once before stopping completely, dark blood pooling underneath it.

“And now for you -!”  Buffy turned her attention to Aubrey.

“Don’t move!” the vampire shouted, his voice a mixture of pain and determination. His knee dangled grotesquely, flopping around like a fish, held on by a few strands of ligaments and tendons. In his hand, Aubrey held the Elixir of Life, its decanter slick with blood. He held it over the entrails of Mayor Richard Wilkins III. 

“Drop it, jerkweed!” Buffy spouted.

“It’s over!” Lara added.

Aubrey then burst into a cloud of ashes, which scattered in every direction. Buffy and Lara looked at each other in confusion, wondering what the other did. Lara’s confused expression mirrored Buffy’s.

The gore-smeared crystal decanter containing the Elixir of Life fell, but was swept up before it could shatter on the hard, unrelenting floor. “I’ll take that if you don’t mind, mate!” 

Buffy recognized that voice. “Oh, great! What the hell are you doing here, Spike?”

“Some lil’ snitch told me I’d find a drink here. I could use a drink. ” Spike’s Manchester brogue was loud and it echoed in the cavernous depths of what was once Sunnydale High School. He eyed Buffy and then her ally. She was the last person Spike expected to see here. “Croft?  I don’t believe this!”

“Spike!” Lara hissed, lip curling back in a sneer of repulsion.

“You two teamed up?!? Bloody hell! What’s next? Angel gonna team up with Batman?” Spike snapped his fingers in mock enlightenment. “Wait! I got an idea!  Maybe I’ll join forces with the Joker!  I can just picture it now: The Big Bad and the Clown Prince of Crime! What a team we’d make! While I’m at it, we’ll bring the Smoker and the Midnight Toker in for good measure!”

Buffy wagged her finger between the two, her gaze darting to Spike and then to Lara. “You two know each other?”

“Please tell that you two didn’t know you were both good guys and started beatin’ each other’s brains out,” Spike said. “I’d like that.”

Lara ignored him. “We met last year.”

Spike added, “This lil’ bint was on my tail when I was looking for the Gem of Amara.”

Buffy remembered that affair all too well. The Gem of Amara was a ring that made vampires nigh invincible. Sunlight, crosses, holy water, a stake to the heart - all the banes of all vampires - would not hurt the gem’s wearer. Spike possessed it for all of five minutes before Buffy pried it from his finger. 

“Since you no longer work for the Council of Watchers, they hired me to go after Spike. I ran into him in Europe,” Lara picked up, relaying her side of the story with icy calmness. “He sicced a few assassins from the Order of Taraka on me. They slowed me down somewhat.”

“That’s twice those wankers failed to do the job right. They need to get a money-back guarantee policy. They really suck.”

Lara went on, not paying Spike any attention. “By the time I got to LA, I heard the Gem of Amara was in the hands of a vampire you’re well-acquainted with - Angel.”

“Word on the street is that bloody moron Angel destroyed the gem,” Spike always had to get in the last word.

“Don’t tell me you want to resurrect the mayor, Spike,” Lara prodded.

Spike gave her a look. “Hell, no! That jackass put a contract out on me! I’m in this for myself! Heard this miracle drug heals people. I got me a chip in my head that won’t let me bite anyone.”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Lara, who had a totally innocent expression on her face.

Spike shot her a nasty look, wishing that was enough to kill her, given his present state. “Well, enough chitchat.” Without taking his eyes off them, he poured the Elixir of Life on his head. “Stay back!” he pointed warningly. Buffy and Lara didn’t move a muscle. He then took a long pull of the Elixir. It tasted sweeter than the blood of his first kill. Spike then belched, mostly for dramatic effect, loud and rude. He threw the decanter down and it shattered against the hard floor, fragments of crystal and the liquid contents splattering all over the place.

“That really hits the spot!” A pause. “This time around I ain’t gonna be tricked with no penny!”

It was just days before Spike kidnapped a doctor and forced him to remove the behavior modifying chip from his head. As soon as that was done, he and Buffy went at it, only to find out - much to his chagrin - the doctor didn’t remove it, but instead passed a penny off as the chip. 

“Oh yeah! The Big Bad is back! Badder than ever!”  Spike felt the Elixir of Life flow through his veins, energizing him. He pumped his arms in triumph. “We’re gonna have that confrontation I promised, Summers!” His face transformed and he charged Buffy and Lara. “Let’s get ready to rumble ‘cuz here comes Spike, the biggest, baddest mother f-” 

Spike’s expletive turned into an agonized moan. Talons of pain dug into his brain.  Spike’s hand instantly shot to his head as if that action would alleviate the wildfire that consumed the inside of his skull. White needles of pain stabbed the back of his eyes, blinding him. 

When he could see again, his eyes coming in and out of focus, Spike was on the ground in a fetal position. He realized using that line about being the “biggest, baddest…” was just plain bad luck; the last time he used it his hair caught on fire. Like I was Michael bloody Jackson.

Spike noticed a cheerleading statue, covered in soot and dented all over, not too far away, in a pile of rabble. If he knew any better, he could have sworn it was staring at him.

The Big Bad looked up at Lara and Buffy, who were beside themselves with mirth. Lara was laughing so hard, she was holding her stomach. Buffy’s face was red, and she dabbed a tear with her index finger. 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered quietly, releasing a groan of defeat.

“What is this some kind of joke?” Lara asked, in between peals of laughter.

“No, that’s what happens when Spike attacks human beings. He’s harmless.”

Spike winced at that remark, grinding his teeth. He looked up at the two darkly, fire in his eyes. 

“When you get done with the ha-ha-has at my expense, would you mind tellin’ me what the bloody hell just happened?” Spike slowly got to one knee.

“It’s called the Elixir of Life, not the Elixir of the Undead, dumb ass.  It won’t work on you, Spike,” Lara theorized. “If you drink anymore, it’ll turn you in a living being - with a soul - and do something about the chip in the process.” To Buffy, “Maybe if we stake him and then try it…”

“Do it!” Spike dared them, glad that he didn’t drink too much of it. He spread his arms wide and stuck his chest out, inviting Buffy to stake him. Death - the final death - was better than being tormented by the Slayer.

“I’ll be more than happy to accommodate you, Spike,” Buffy retorted, picking up her stake. 

Lara grabbed Buffy’s wrist. “Wait, Buffy. Don’t do it. He wants you to do it, don’t you see? This is worse than death. Don’t give him the pleasure.”