69 Chapter Four June 9, 1998 Boca Del Infierno (Sunnydale) “No, we haven’t found anything yet, Joyce. The moment we do I assure you we’ll ring you up and let you know.” Giles paused. “No, no, it was very helpful. Closing one avenue of pursuit in something like this is just as fruitful as opening another, I assure you. Really.” Giles nodded as Joyce said good-bye. “You too. Take care, and please don’t hesitate to call if anything comes up. We won’t.” He hung up the phone and moved back to where Willow sat typing away on the computer. “Was that Buffy’s mom?” Willow asked. Giles frowned. “How did you know?” Willow replied, “You don’t know that many Joyces.” She noticed his disapproving gaze and added, “That I know of. You might know a lot of Joyces. You might have a sister named Joyce, or your mom might be named Joyce too, or...” Giles’ face wore that unmistakable expression that said, ‘Oh, do stop talking.’ She recognized it, because he often leveled that look at Xander. “I’ll just keep typing,” Willow said, and Giles shook his head. “I’m sorry, Willow, it’s just that I rather thought we’d be a little farther along after two hours of checking on this.” He put a hand to his forehead and said, “But you’re right, that was Mrs. Summers. And no, Buffy didn’t have the good manners to contact anyone and leave us a clue. She just apparently vanished.” “Not by airplane,” Willow confirmed. “I know it was a long shot, but I figured I’d try it anyway. You said Buffy was likely to do the unexpected, and then you said you didn’t expect her to take a plane.” Giles raised an eyebrow. “That’s extraordinary thinking, Willow.” She beamed. “Thank you.” But then she frowned. “Unfortunately, not extraordinary enough to find us any leads.” Giles patted her on the shoulder. “You keep thinking like that and we’ll have some. Tea?” he asked, and Willow nodded yes. Thinking like that? Willow smiled as she mused over his words. That was nice of him to say. Giles moved into his office and started the electric range he kept for the sole purpose ofheating up tea. In a few minutes, the beverage would be ready; he picked two cups and dropped tea bags into them. Willow, he recalled, liked some kind of herbal blend that came in a frightfully bright box. He stuck with his Earl Grey; not his favorite, but he’d been shuffling the box to the back of the shelf for too long and he felt vaguely guilty for not drinking it. And for notsteeping real tea. his entire document copyright [email protected]
This document is posted to help you gain knowledge. Please leave a comment to let me know what you think about it! Share it to your friends and learn new things together.
“No, we haven’t found anything yet, Joyce. The moment we do I assure you we’ll ring
you up and let you know.”
Giles paused.
“No, no, it was very helpful. Closing one avenue of pursuit in something like this is just
as fruitful as opening another, I assure you. Really.”
Giles nodded as Joyce said good-bye.
“You too. Take care, and please don’t hesitate to call if anything comes up. We won’t.”
He hung up the phone and moved back to where Willow sat typing away on thecomputer.
“Was that Buffy’s mom?” Willow asked.
Giles frowned. “How did you know?”
Willow replied, “You don’t know that many Joyces.” She noticed his disapproving gaze
and added, “That I know of. You might know a lot of Joyces. You might have a sister named
Joyce, or your mom might be named Joyce too, or...”
Giles’ face wore that unmistakable expression that said, ‘Oh, do stop talking.’ She
recognized it, because he often leveled that look at Xander.
“I’ll just keep typing,” Willow said, and Giles shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Willow, it’s just that I rather thought we’d be a little farther along after two
hours of checking on this.” He put a hand to his forehead and said, “But you’re right, that wasMrs. Summers. And no, Buffy didn’t have the good manners to contact anyone and leave us a
clue. She just apparently vanished.”
“Not by airplane,” Willow confirmed. “I know it was a long shot, but I figured I’d try it
anyway. You said Buffy was likely to do the unexpected, and then you said you didn’t expect her
to take a plane.”
Giles raised an eyebrow. “That’s extraordinary thinking, Willow.”
She beamed. “Thank you.” But then she frowned. “Unfortunately, not extraordinary
enough to find us any leads.”
Giles patted her on the shoulder. “You keep thinking like that and we’ll have some.
Tea?” he asked, and Willow nodded yes. Thinking like that? Willow smiled as she mused over
his words. That was nice of him to say. Giles moved into his office and started the electric range he kept for the sole purpose of
heating up tea. In a few minutes, the beverage would be ready; he picked two cups and dropped
tea bags into them. Willow, he recalled, liked some kind of herbal blend that came in a
frightfully bright box. He stuck with his Earl Grey; not his favorite, but he’d been shuffling the
box to the back of the shelf for too long and he felt vaguely guilty for not drinking it. And for not
Xander took a bite from the sundae. “Survey says, ehhhnnnt. This time, Cordy, your
impeccable logic is wrong.” He stabbed the spoon in the ice cream again. “This time, it’s Giles.”
“Giles?” Cordelia echoed.
“You know, you would think I’d get a pat on the back,” Xander said. “A little, ‘way to
go, Xander,’ or ‘atta boy, Xander,’ but no. Buffy kicks ass all over the county and he practically
throws her a party. I do a little of the same and it’s ‘Billy, Don’t be a Hero.”Cordelia furrowed her brows. “And this surprises you?”
Xander looked up sharply. “Huh?”
“Xander, listen to me. He’s constantly harping on Buffy. You may not see it through that
rosy haze that surrounds her in your eyes, but believe me, he would have said the same thing to
her if she did what you did.”
Xander looked skeptical.
“Trust me, Xander, I’m an expert at seeing pain in people’s eyes. I see it a lot. I know
what it looks like.” She took a bite from her cone. “I’ve seen it in Buffy’s eyes too. Just because
she’s Supergirl doesn’t mean Giles doesn’t hurt her.” Cordelia shook her head. “You guys all
think of him like he’s your dad.”
Xander frowned. “I do not!”Cordelia nodded. “Yes you do. And Willow, and Buffy.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“I have news for you, Xander; he’s a teacher, as in ‘those who can’t, teach.’” Cordelia leaned
forward. “How many times has he killed a vampire?”
“So, what are you saying, Cordy? That he’s jealous?”
Cordelia seemed to consider this. “Well, he would be out of a job if you took over as the
vampire killer, no?” She took another bite from her cone. “But that’s not what’s going on.”
Xander scooped out another piece of banana. “Enlighten me, oh psych major,” he said.
“It’s really simple,” Cordelia said. “Giles is having major guilt issues over the fact that
Buffy blew town and he’s taking it out on you. He’s a little wiggy at the idea of being without a
slayer, and he’s uptight about anyone else getting hurt.” She finished off the ice cream and
wrapped the cone in a napkin. “Why do you think he wants to come along tonight?”Xander shook his head. “You don’t think it’s because he wants to help?”
Cordelia held up her hand and pinched her index finger and thumb together. “Just a
smidge, maybe,” Cordelia assented. “I think it’s more because of his guilt and because he has
that whole father groove going as well. He doesn’t want to lose another one of his kids.”
Xander put down his spoon and stared at Cordelia. “Sometimes you make so much sense
it scares me,” he said.
Cordelia smiled. “I know,” she said.
Their eyes met, and they stared at one another for a long moment that seemed to stretch
out slowly.
“Besides,” Cordelia said softly. “I’m proud of you, even if he isn’t.” She pouted slightly.
“But I would have thought my ‘atta boy, Xander,’ last night would have meant more to you.”Xander had a flashback to Cordelia’s lips on his chest. “Trust me, you made an impact,”
he said, his voice dropping in volume and pitch.
Cordelia frowned. “Don’t do that,” she said.
“What?” he asked, bewildered.
“That thing with your voice. Don’t do that.”
“You mean this?” Xander said, his voice a little deeper and huskier than normal.
Cordelia felt a jolt run up her spine. “Yes, that! Don’t do it!”
Xander raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” he growled out.
“Rrrrrrrrr,” Cordelia snarled. “I said, ‘Don’t!’”
“I’ll stop on one condition,” he told her, his voice still husky.
“What?” she breathed. Oh God... tingles...
“We go straight to the car,” he said. “No more shopping.”
“Deal,” she managed to get out, grabbing several packages. “Come on.”
*
“Nothing on Amtrak either,” Willow announced. “I ran anything even close to Buffy
Summers, and nothing at all.” Willow pouted. “I even ran our names, just in case. You know,
that ‘you’d never think of it’ thing?”
Giles appeared not to hear her. As the afternoon had worn on, his mood had darkened.
They had no trace of where Buffy went to, and as Willow’s leads had evaporated, so had his
patience. He had settled for standing by the window, staring out at some young children playing,
but seeing things only he could see.“Is there anything you haven’t tried?” Giles asked her without turning around. She could
hear the strain in his voice as he tried to remain civil.
“Well, there’s Greyhound,” she said. Willow glanced down at the screen. Who would
have thought Trailways would have such deep security on their mainframe? she wondered. That
took the better part of two hours. I’m just glad Giles went out for lunch in the middle of it.
“Didn’t you try them?” Giles asked.
“Nope,” Willow said, typing in the address for their web site. “Somebody had to be last,”
she added.
“Very well,” Giles said curtly. He continued his gazing out the window.
Willow let her mind drift back to her date with Oz at the coffeehouse the night before. He
had been charming, the perfect gentleman, as she had aptly described him, and he had made herlaugh. Oz seemed to have many hidden talents, but he often revealed his humor. He had even
taken it in good graces that he had failed his senior year and would be repeating it at Sunnydale
next year. “Look at it on the bright side,” he told her. “Nine more months of seeing you every
day. Well, not every day, because I don’t come to school every day. Or even every week. But--
at least I’ll be around.”
Greyhound’s page came up, cutting short Willow’s musing. She typed quickly, sending
commands to the server to allow her access. She waited, biting her lip, and a programmer’s page
came up.
“Okay,” she said, and tapped in a few more commands.
‘RESTRICTED ACCESS,’ the page told her as she tried to open the record banks.
“Any luck?” Giles asked, his tone indicating that he expected none.“Maybe,” Willow replied. That drew him from the window to come around behind her.
She sent a few more commands to the programmer’s page.
“I don’t see it,” Giles said.
“You’re not supposed to,” Willow said. “They have passenger records well protected.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “But don’t worry, I’ll get in.”
“Good Lord,” Giles said, “do you mean to tell me you’re, you’re accessing these records
“And she knew we would track her,” Giles agreed. “Willow, I think you’re on to
something.” He frowned. “So how do we find her? She could be using any sort of alias, and we
would never know what it was.”
Willow tapped on the keyboard. “Well, first we have to narrow our field,” she said,
pulling up a search page. “Let’s see... search for all buses leaving San Diego... not passing
through Sunnydale... from Friday at 6:30 until now.”“That’s five days,” Giles remarked.
“I know,” Willow said. “And San Diego is a big city. With a really nice zoo. They have
these cute pandas...” she shook her head. “Never mind.”
“So?”
“So,” Willow echoed, “We narrow the search again.” She tapped away. “Number of
tickets... one.”
A new screen popped up, filled with names.
“That’s still a lot of people,” Giles said.
“Female,” Willow said, typing it in, and the list shrank.
“That’s much better,” he said, peering at the names.
“Wait,” Willow said, grinning. “It gets better.” She typed in ONE WAY. The list truncated itself further. “Seven names?” Giles asked. “That’s still too many to
track down, and we still don’t know which one is Buffy.” He peered at the screen. “Although it
is better than two-hundred-seventy two.”
“We don’t have to know which one was Buffy,” Willow said, her voice rising. “They all
went to L.A.”
“Buffy is in Los Angeles,” Giles said.
“Or on her way there now, if she’s traveling as Marquetta Reese.”
They looked at one another. “Probably not,” Willow said.
“Still,” Giles said, patting her gently on the shoulder, “that’s excellent, Willow. Amazing.
Even if it is illegal.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said, and Giles slapped his forehead.“Hmm?” Willow asked.
“Speaking of telling, I’d better phone Joyce!” He ran to the phone.
Giles dialed her number, and Willow looked at the names again, trying to scrye from
them which one was Buffy. But nothing came to her, nothing she knew. None of the names rang
any bells at all.
She could hear Giles reach Joyce and tell her the news; from his reaction, Joyce took it
very well indeed. Willow caught his eye and waved him over. Giles cradled the phone between
his chin and shoulder and made his way over his eyebrows raised.
“Ask her if she recognizes any of these names!” she asked him in a stage whisper.
“Joyce, I wonder if I might trouble you with one thing,” he asked.
“Yes, well, she traveled under an assumed name, and I was hoping maybe you could helpus identify which one was hers.”
Naturally, Joyce agreed, and Giles began to read the names.
“I see,” Giles said. He pointed at HUTCHINS on the screen. Willow started punching up
information.
“I understand,” Giles said into the phone. “No, that’s all we have.”
“Well, alright, what time will you be home? I’ll phone then.”
Giles nodded when Joyce named a time. “Excellent. Best of luck with the exhibit.”
He said good-bye after she did and hung up.Willow asked, “Well?”
Giles took off his glasses. “Apparently, Hutchins is Joyce’s maiden name. Anne is
Buffy’s middle name.”
“I didn’t know that,” Willow said.
“I rather think she was counting on us not knowing either fact,” he said, replacing his
glasses.
“She arrived in L.A. on Sunday night,” Willow said. “She must have spent the weekend
in San Diego thinking about what to do.” She turned to Giles. “Poor Buffy, all alone in Los
Angeles.”
“Yes, well,” Giles said. “Not for long.”
*
Joyce’s mind reeled at how quickly they had found her daughter. Faster than the police,
she told herself, but then the more logical part of her mind took over. They know she headed to
Los Angeles, she argued with herself. That’s a long way from locating her. And who knows if
she’s still there?
Joyce sighed as she let the car roll to a stop. No, it makes sense she’d go there. She lived
in L.A. most of her life. It figures she’d go back there when things got crazy for her. She has all
these other things to work out; I’m not surprised she didn’t want to add learning a new city to all that.
Joyce shook her head. “When did my little girl get so resourceful?”
Must have had something to do with all that time killing vampires, she told herself.
Joyce checked the rearview mirror as the light changed. “First things first,” she said to
herself. “Get her back, then have the talk with her about this Slayer business.” Joyce shook her
head as she accelerated through the intersection. How do you have a talk with your teenage
daughter about not killing vampires? There’s one that life just doesn’t prepare you for.
She turned down the long winding avenue to the gallery. When Joyce had first visited the
Sunnydale downtown district two years ago, she had fallen in love with the little outdoor space
that housed the gallery, as well as several shops, a bakery, and an excellent coffeehouse. The
open area formed a natural place to sit and relax and bask in the good weather that blessed theentire region. Ample parking helped, and the shops and coffeehouses in the vicinity of the
gallery attracted a steady supply of foot traffic-- which translated into a steady stream of buyers
at the gallery. Joyce didn’t make millions, but she did well enough to provide for herself and
Buffy without any major worries-- at least, any financial worries.
She pulled up just as the sun dipped below the horizon-- eight thirty on the dot-- and the
streetlights blinked to life as she got out of her car. The gallery had been allotted only five spaces
in the communal parking lot that the adjacent stores shared, but they all stood empty. Joyce had
told the owners of the coffee shop that she didn’t mind if their patrons used her spaces on the
nights she closed early. I guess business is slow tonight, she mused as she got out and glanced at
the front of the gallery. “Nobody there,” she said, and glanced at her watch. 8:32.
Joyce headed over into the Electric Expresso and got herself a cup of coffee. She tried to
remain focused on her ensuing meeting, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Buffy,
wondering if her baby was all right. Seventeen years old is hardly a baby, Joyce told herself. But she’ll always be my baby, even if she is the chosen one sent to wipe vampires off the Earth.
Joyce paid for her coffee and walked back outside into the warm evening. She pulled up a chair
at one of the small tables outside the coffee shop and watched the few shoppers present amble
by, strolling along in the encroaching twilight. She glanced at the ivy-covered wall of the gallery
and watched the dark orange sunlight slowly climb upward, until the entire wall fell in shadow.
Crickets began chirping, and Joyce sipped on her coffee. This would be a perfect evening to
share with Buffy, she mused as a long black sedan pulled up into one of the gallery’s spaces.
A tall, handsome man stepped out of the car. Joyce would have noticed him even if he
had not parked in one of the gallery spots. Lean, well built, with brown hair just a little longer
than she liked on a man, he wore a designer suit-- she had to admit she didn’t know which
designer -- that fit him perfectly. For all I know it might be special order. He closed the door andlooked around, his eyes darting from person to person. He glanced at the gallery, looked at his
watch, and then he looked up straight at Joyce. He started right for her.
Joyce stood up, wondering if this was her eight-thirty client. He fit the general
description, though more attractively than she had imagined.
“Mr. Stark?” she asked as he closed in.
A smile came over his face, and it was if the entire area suddenly lit up. Brown eyes
gazed at her warmly, and he shook her hand. “You must be Joyce,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to
meet you.”
“Likewise,” Joyce managed.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” he said, smiling. “I do apologize for being a
little late, but it was such a glorious sunset, I had to stop and watch.”Joyce smiled. “It’s not a problem,” Joyce said, taking another sip from her coffee. She
held it up. “Can I get you one?”
He shook his head, smiling. “No thanks. I just ate.”
Joyce nodded. “So, would you like to see the gallery?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that how this sort of thing is done?”
Joyce tilted her head. “You’ve never sold off any pieces before?”
“Never,” he said. “These have been in my family for many years. My father treasured
them, but I find as I get older, I’m growing less attached to them.”
Joyce leaned forward and said, “You mentioned over the phone that some of these pieces
are antiques?”
“Oh, they’re far older than antiques, Joyce,” he said, smiling. “Most of them are hundredsof years old. But they’re all in excellent shape.”
Joyce frowned a little. “I know this is going to sound a little strange, but why me? Why
my gallery? I’m no expert on anything older than the mid-nineteenth century, and most of what I
sell is contemporary. Don’t get me wrong-- I’d love to display your pieces-- but for something so
old, and so valuable, you might want to try Los Angeles. They might have dealers who could
“Yeah,” Oz said. “No, it’s just that tomorrow is full moon, and all.”
“Oh?” Willow asked, and then remembered. “Oh, right.” The hazards of dating the cutest
werewolf in town. Hopefully the only werewolf.
“Lunch it is, then. Noon?”
“Noon,” Willow said, and both of them smiled.
“So, what else you have to show me on this thing?” Oz asked her, tapping the screenlightly.
*
“It’s almost ten o’ clock, Giles,” Xander said. “I’m gonna take a stand and say the
vampires aren’t out tonight.”
Giles checked his watch, then glanced across the street where Cordelia stood getting them
all coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. I can’t abide coffee, Giles thought, but it was nice of Cordelia to
offer to buy some for us.
“You may be right,” Giles admitted. “Though Buffy and I usually patrolled untilmidnight.”
Midnight? Xander thought. Good night, Cordelia. “Well, as you seemed so fond of
pointing out this afternoon, I’m not Buffy.”
Giles looked over at the young man, who sat at the other end of the park bench. “Xander,
I hope you didn’t take what I said too harshly. I’m concerned about you. I very much appreciate
your enthusiasm, but I don’t want you getting hurt. Lack of training can do that.”
“Is that all?” he asked.
“‘Is that all’ what?” Giles responded.
“I mean, is that all you’ve got on your mind? My safety?”
Giles adjusted his glasses. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
Xander shrugged. “Cordy seemed to think you were taking out your own bad karma forlosing Buffy on me.” He saw Giles start to respond and cut him off. “Now I know what you’re
gonna say-- that Cordelia isn’t exactly Miss Sensitive, and that she doesn’t have a psych degree.
I know all that. But you know what, Giles? I happen to think she’s got a point.”
“There may be some truth to what Cordelia says,” Giles spoke slowly. “But in all
honesty, Xander, I don’t want anyone getting hurt. I meant what I said about the three of you not
thinking you’re Buffy. That will only get you killed. We are none of us the slayer, nor can we
indulge the delusion that we are. Or that we can take her place.”
“No one can take Buffy’s place,” Xander said, and Giles glanced at him; but the boy’s
eyes were far away.
I’ll bet that goes over well with Cordelia, Giles mused as the girl exited the doughnut
shop and headed their way.“No one will have to,” Giles said. “Willow and I have located her.”
“What?” Xander exploded.
Cordelia came up to them. “Coffee?” she asked. Giles smiled slightly and took one.
Xander nodded and took one as well.
“Giles, do me a favor and repeat what you said in front of Cordy so I have a witness and I
know I’m not hallucinating. Because the words sounded like, ‘Willow and I found Buffy.’”
Cordelia grabbed him and pulled him to her. “Points for timing,” she murmured in hisear.
“And for honesty, I hope.”
She kissed him, and Giles cleared his throat.
“Oh, right,” Cordelia said, her arms still around Xander. “Are we done for the night?
Giles pursed his lips. “Under the circumstances, I’d say yes.”
“Great,” Cordelia said. “I’ll drive you home.”
“That would be appreciated,” he replied.
Cordelia left to go get the car. Xander sidled up to Giles and said, “So if I’m staying here
to train, you’re staying here to train me, and Cordy is staying here to be Cordy, then who’s gonna
go keep an eye on Buffy?”
Giles raised an eyebrow. “I have it covered, Xander. You’re going to have to trust me.”Just then Cordelia pulled up. “For now,” Xander said. “But you’ve gotta tell me in the
morning.”
“I do not,” Giles replied.
“You know, this whole sensei-student thing we’ve got goin’ here is really starting off on
the wrong foot. Come on, Giles, just tell me. It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it, or
anyone I’m gonna tell, and it’ll just save both you and me the trouble of me nagging you every
single minute of our time together until you do tell me.”
Giles pondered this as Cordelia drove up.
“It’s Sam Zabuto.”
Xander did a double take. “In English?”
Giles raised an eyebrow. “Kendra’s watcher.”Xander shook his head. “So this guy’s gonna fly in from... from... some really far away
place in either Africa or the Middle East or Persia or something, all the way to L.A., just to keep
an eye on Buffy?”
Giles nodded. “That’s the gist of it, yes,” he said, moving toward the car.
“Tell me the part again where it makes sense that some watcher guy halfway around the
world spends a fortune to fly here when we can take the Cordymobile and be there by the
morning?”
“Simple,” Giles said as he opened the door. “Mr. Zabuto is coming to Sunnydale to
oversee Kendra’s funeral. He’ll be in town anyway. He’s experienced, careful, and Buffy won’t
recognize him.” Giles gave Xander a firm look. “Any more questions?”
“Um, no, not really,” Xander replied meekly.“You’d better get in,” Giles said as he slid down into the low back seat. “You have a long
day ahead of you tomorrow.”
Cordelia turned around and looked at Giles. “He’s got a long night ahead of him tonight,”
she said.
Giles raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Xander took his seat and Cordelia raced off
Giles flipped the page; he could barely read the text quickly enough. The writing engaged
his interest, as much or more than last night’s, and the predicament seemed just as dire. Well,
infiltrating that SS hideout in Italy was pretty rough stuff, he thought. But this...He read on:
We’ve stopped for lunch. Zular refuses to take me any
further. He says the tomb is cursed and that no one who enters it
comes out alive. I have offered him the rest of my money-- 47
dollars, not a king’s ransom, but in his village he will live like a
prince. But he refused. Better he should remain a pauper than risk
that sort of curse, he says. He will not go.
I know deep down where I live that I should stop here too.
Ignoring that sort of gut reaction was what got Mel killed, and I’ll
always regret that as long as I live. But I have to know-- I have tosee it. If this is really the tomb of the first Vampire King-- the very
first lord of his kind-- than what secrets might we learn from it?
Who knows what he may have buried there? What books, or
scrolls, or weapons of some sort. In the tomb of the demon who
calls himself Ares we found an ancient chakram. What might be in
this chamber? Maybe another weapon like the chakram.
I’ll add this for now and continue later. I have arranged for
everything at my father’s house to be sent to Ian if anything
happens to me, except the scrolls, which will go to Jack. It’s only
fair; Jack was there when the three of us found them, so he
deserves that. But all of the rest, the books, the vampire lore, thecrosses and all of it-- will go to Ian. Maybe some Slayer can use
all of it someday. I don’t know.
I sure wish I had one of Ian’s “chosen ones” with me here
now.
J.C.
Giles flipped the page and saw he’d reached the last leaf in the book; he stared at the
inside back cover. “Of all the damned inconvenient times to change journals,” he said, frowning.
He reread the last section again, jotting down notes on a small pad he kept on the table.
“Ian must be Ian Merrick,” he said aloud, his brow furrowing in thought. “I wonder if his family
has the next journal.” Giles glanced at the clock-- quarter to one, which made it quarter to nine inEngland. No one calls before ten a.m. No one decent, anyway. I’d best wait.
He knew that Ian’s son Donald had been Buffy’s first watcher, and that the vampire king
Lothos had killed him two years ago. Giles had made it a point to learn everything about Buffy
that he could before he had come to Sunnydale; he knew her history by rote. That means either
the Merrick family has the next journal, or Merrick himself had it
He’d never asked Buffy what had happened to Merrick’s library. They had never talked
about her former watcher; it wasn’t proper and he wouldn’t have felt right doing it. And he
knew, even now, that that decision had been correct. But this is important, his conscience told
him. Janice Covington found the tomb of the First One. And here I thought it was just a myth--
we all did! Giles stood. She had only a small inkling of what that would mean. We could learn
so much about them, find new ways to fight them...I have to locate that journal.
He knew for a fact he didn’t have it; he and Willow had finished cataloging all of the
new arrivals that afternoon. He thought perhaps Covington’s family might have possession of it,but her journal spoke of nothing regarding any siblings or children. He’d found a few oblique
references to her father Harry, and a long section in the middle about her friend Melinda, until
she’d had the terrible misfortune to die on a raid on a vampire’s lair led by Ian. There’s a reason
they emphasize that we should never assume the role of the Slayer, Giles told himself. And that is
it. Vampires are dangerous creatures, and most are more than capable of killing a human easily.
He shook his head. “Anyway, there apparently is no Covington family,” he said to
himself. “I can ask Sam if he knows anything when he shows up on Friday. That would leave the
Merricks, who I’ll call in the morning. And Donald Merrick’s library.”
He took off his glasses and put them on the table; he went to the window and stared out at
the full moon. How ironic is it that I preached to Xander the importance of not going after Buffy,
and now that’s the one thing I might need to do to get to the bottom of this?
*
Cordelia ran a comb through her hair one last time and put it down on the night stand.
She smiled briefly as she considered her long, dark, glossy hair, and then she flicked off the light
and slid under the sheets. The comforter had proven too warm, even in the air conditioning, and
she had taken it off earlier. She closed her eyes and listened to the central air hum as she settled
into bed.
His girlfriend? she thought. Is that what you want?
And look at the way you had to drag it out of him! He should get down on his knees and thank God you like him! That you’ll even be seen with him, that you condescend to--
“That’s enough,” Cordelia whispered to herself as she turned over. I have no idea why,
brain, but I like him. Sue me. When I put you in charge all I got were dumb jocks and idiot
preppies. None of them gave a damn about me, just about being seen with me.
No car, her brain responded. No money, no nice clothes. He probably won’t get into
college, and even if he does, it’ll be a community college where the only requirement is that you
can fill out the entrance form and pay up front.
Xander cares about me, Cordelia argued back. He likes me, the inside me. You’re the one
that drives him crazy. If you’d just shut up some more, I could really start to like him.
What happened to the ‘ewwww?’ What happened to the ‘shut up?’
Cordelia grimaced. Okay, okay, so I’m just sort of getting used to the idea. There aretimes that the thought that I could feel something for Xander scares me. I admit it. But at least I
can consider it. With the guys you picked out, I couldn’t like them in a million years.
So you’re resigned to working for a living? her brain asked. A waitress, maybe? Store
clerk? Supporting your husband?
Cordelia rolled over. I’m not gonna marry Xander. I’m just gonna date him. I’ll take it
Cordelia smiled as that familiar -- and very pleasant-- tingle ran up her spine.
Across town, Xander stared at his phone and said, “Now what was that all about?”
Careful, his brain warned him. She’s starting to like you.
“You know what, brain? I’ve done pretty good so far in life without your help,” Xandersaid. “Just go back to sleep.”
No problem...
*
Three-twenty in the morning is a horrible time to be awake; too early to get up, and too
late to really get any sleep. Only insomniacs and third shift workers are up at that hour during the
week.
And vampires.
This one strode slowly across the grass, his long dark hair fluttering in the night breeze ashe sniffed the air. He neared the graveyard; his objective lay just beyond. The Slayer had come
to the Hellmouth recently, and the last thing he wanted at the moment was to clash with her. He
still bore a scar from the last time he had fought one; the witch had used a knife doused in holy
water. His wound had festered and boiled and given him so much pain that he’d wanted to die.
He had nearly crept out in the sunlight the next day, almost preferring to roast than to lay in the
cave and rot to death. But gradually the wound had begun to hurt less, and then it only stung for
a long while, until, emaciated and half starved, he had finally been able to walk again.
Fortunately there had been a village nearby. He had left it deserted. So long ago, he mused as he
flashed a pair of long fangs in the moonlight.
He felt honored that he should be given this mission. He ranked among the oldest and
most trusted in his king’s court; he had served the king for several hundred years. His Sire hadbeen surprised that he had even been interested in a simple scouting mission. “There are others,
younger and less experienced, who I would rather send out with a Slayer lurking about the
vicinity.” But he had argued with his Sire, convinced him that only a vampire of status and
importance should be sent to open negotiations with the one who called himself the Master. His
Sire had relented and let him go.
He moved behind the nearest tree and glanced around; yellow eyes peered into the
darkness. He always wore his hunting face when he above ground; he saw no reason to conceal
his true nature from the living. Strong, agile, and cunning, he could kill any human he faced,
except maybe the Slayer. Most vampires preferred secrecy and skulking about; it seemed to work
well. But he preferred to use terror and brute force when hunting. Fear worked far better for him
than craft. For many centuries now, that has been true. You can catch more humans with terrorthan you can by being sneaky.
“You may partake of any feeding that you wish while you are out,” his Sire had said, “so
long as you accomplish the task I have given you. And I know you shall not fail. We are very
close now. I know you will see to it that this final part of the plan will develop unhindered.”
His Sire understood terror; he understood threats; this vampire admired that in his Sire.
Though he also espoused guile and subterfuge when necessary, he knew when the time had come
to throw away the masks and feed on the humans like the lambs they were. He had often
wondered if his Sire was interested in taking a queen, like some of the kings did. More likely he
did not care to share himself with anyone, no matter how alluring she might be. He discounted
the rumors about his Sire taking a recent interest in a young vampire; he’s not Herzog, or
Bretwell, or one of those European brutes. He is an old King, an ancient one. He is... discerning.
With a quick motion he hopped the hedge that ran along the border of the cemetery and
stopped near a high tombstone. The full moon illuminated the area completely, bathing it in agreyish glow. He raised his head and sniffed again. No one here.
He scowled. Often youths would come to cemeteries and get drunk on mild nights like
this, and he would have an easy time of it. But the teenagers either knew better in Sunnydale, or
they all stopped their revelry earlier than this.
He hopped nimbly over the tombstone and moved three rows over, stopping to admire an
obelisk. He listened some more, and sniffed again; he could still sense no one near. He stepped
away from the obelisk and approached the mausoleum, his yellow eyes widening as he took in
the aged structure.
Even from outside he could sense its power, its evil, its darkness, radiating outward like
an infernal beacon. He inhaled deeply-- he could almost smell the force contained inside. Won’t
he be surprised? he thought. That his sire has come to unchain him. That he shall at last walk free. He smiled, showing his long fangs, and entered the mausoleum.
He saw that the entryway to the cavern below had been broken open, which felt unusual.
It had not been used recently, either, judging from the dust and dirt that had piled up. Could I
possibly be in the wrong location? Could I have made a mistake? Could he have been in error?
Maybe the Master has already loosed himself on the world.
He shook his head; that wasn’t possible. His king never made mistakes. And had the
Master broken his bonds, they would have heard of it. He supposed his Sire might even have felt
it.
He slipped past the open gate and descended into the caves below.
He noticed at once that the humming resonance of force that he had detected outside had
not risen in strength, and he’d anticipated. Either the Master had grown weak, or he really hadescaped his prison on his own. The vampire shook his head, moving toward the main audience
cavern and watching his step in the messy rubble, when the disgusting stench hit him like a
wave.
The Slayer, he thought. The Slayer has been here. He passed his hand over his nose and
moved into the main chamber. What a revolting stench. I may be ill.
The Master had gone. The cavern had lain deserted for many months, almost a year, he
supposed. No one dared live down here any more. The place lay empty, entirely. Not a single
vampire remained.
The stink rising from the pool assaulted his senses. He recoiled, but recovered and bent
low to the water and sniffed; his eyes began to water and he backed away quickly. It’s blessed.
Someone blessed the water. You foul bastards, defiling his place! Tainting his realm!He moved back toward the entryway, taking one last look around.
My Sire will be very angry about this, he mulled. But he must know that the ally he
sought is gone. The fact that the vampires do not own Sunnydale is proof enough that the Master
must be dead.
A cold shiver overtook him. This Slayer killed the Master. She killed one of the Inner