THE RAVEN & THE DOVE
A BUFFY NOVEL
BY
RONNIE BRADLEY
All Buffy characters are owned by Joss Whedon. All original characters and concepts are owned by myself.
PROLOGUE
Joseph Merrick drove home early that Friday afternoon. It had been a rarity after so much hard work over the preceding months. The acquisition of rare books and manuscripts from around the world and in other dimensions had required him to work unsociable hours and he resented it.
He had been a member of the Watcher's Council, as it had existed originally, as had his father and several generations before him. Joseph had always hoped that he would graduate from the Academy and be a Watcher with a "Potential" or even the Slayer herself, as his father had. But he had shown more ability in book learning and chronicling than combat skills and as such he had been sent to work in the Council's vast library. There, amongst its shelves, lay the vast volumes of knowledge that were the individual diaries of the various Watchers, both past and present, and the unrivalled collection of books on demonology, magic, dimensions and other topics of arcane lore. And at the centre of it all, he controlled which book went where and kept a meticulous record. Like a fastidious librarian, he was as ruthless in chasing up borrowed books as any demon on a quest for some unholy trophy. He re-designed the catalogues and made everything easier for him to find, even if it caused the other Watchers to lose themselves amongst the maze and rows of shelves. For the first time, the library worked well, and whilst Joseph could be annoyingly meticulous at times, the Council were grateful to have such a man in charge of their most important weapon besides the Slayer herself – knowledge!
And so it was, one afternoon when he had taken time out to enjoy a restful week with his wife Michelle and son David, that he was called by a friend and former Watcher Gabriel Caine, and learned of the First's attack on the Council's offices and the deaths of all those inside. Joseph had felt relief and guilt over his absence and for a few weeks, enjoyed the respite of spending more time with his family and pondering what to do with his life.
It had been six months later that he was visited by Rupert Giles and Roger Wyndham-Price and asked to resume his duties as Head of the Council's library, and that he would be in charge of not only running the library, but ensuring the acquisition of replacement volumes. Over the next few years, he succeeded in restoring most of the volumes and all of the diaries lost by the bomb blast. He felt respected and he rose to the challenge well, impressing even himself. He was happy, but it had meant that he had lost time with his family. And so on this bright, sunny Friday afternoon, he had decided to take the weekend off. He had imagined a picnic on the beach near Brighton where he lived, and a chance for him to catch up with his wife's work and to see his son, something he did all too rarely.
He turned into the long country lane that led to his mansion. The Merrick fortune over the generations had allowed him the luxury of living as a member of the Upper Class, something he admitted to relishing. He had found the drive relaxing, especially as he had avoided the rush of traffic that happens out of London from 4.00pm onwards.
He was excited and found he couldn't contain the smile on his lips. Up ahead he saw the oak trees that marked the start of his final mile, and above them, black smoke. Joseph's smile turned into a gasp. His house was the only building on this stretch of road and he pressed down on the accelerator of his car as his mind rushed with panicked scenarios. As he arrived through the gates he saw, to his horror, his home.
The first floor seemed to have completely disappeared, leaving behind a smouldering mass of glass, brick and wood. The ground floor was in flames, which seemed to be lapping and pushing at every window, as if it were trying to escape from it's own birthplace. In the driveway, he could see some of the servants sprawled out. They were blackened by smoke and some were vomiting uncontrollably. Some lay with their eyes closed, a vision of terror etched on their faces. Joseph stopped the car at the side of the driveway and rushed towards them. As he did so he noticed Whittaker, the old man who had been his butler and confidante for many years, struggling out with Simon, the young son of the local Grocer, who did deliveries and got a handsome tip from Michelle.
"Whittaker. What's happened here?" Joseph's face was awash with fear. "Where are Michelle and David?"
"Still inside Sir, I think. They were upstairs but I couldn't get to them Sir." Whittaker answered, a hint of shame in his voice.
"Damn it!" Joseph went back to the car, and removed the back portion of the rear seats. He took out of the compartment his broadsword and automatic pistol, and started for the house. As he approached the front door, he could feel his skin begin to itch under the heat. Still he went on, his mind fixed only on finding his loved ones.
Joseph ran through the front door and felt the heat attacking him as if he were an intruder. "Michelle! David! Where are you?" He could hear footsteps at the rear of the house and smiled. They are alive at least, he thought and he headed towards the footsteps.
He turned the corner that led into the corridor that housed the study and private library and saw two men, dressed in evening suits and carrying sabres, flanking a third figure. This figure was clearly human, clearly female, and Joseph recognised her instantly. She was dressed in business clothes although she covered these with a large cloak, as if she had decided that the cloak was a necessary fashion accessory. She was roughly 5 foot 8, slim and slender with pale skin and flowing brown hair that matched her chestnut eyes.
"Margaret! How dare you! Why are you here?" As he asked she turned and for the briefest of seconds he saw in her grasp papers he recognised as coming from his private collection, his own family history. "You can't take those! Have you no idea the damage you could do with that information?"
The woman smiled at him. "Of course I do, Joseph. And so does she. It is time. We both know it and it is time to settle this once and for all." As the last of her words left her mouth, she gestured to the two men, who drew their sabres, and leapt at him.
Joseph parried the first blow and ducked underneath the second sword as it swung. He was glad that he had learned some fighting skills at the Watcher's Academy, but he knew that he was outmatched, both in number and skill, by the two men he now faced. He did his best to duck and weave, trying to find an opening in the defences of his attackers, but they were moving with an almost ungodly speed and he could feel himself losing the battle, taking small nicks and cuts and scrapes with every blow they ushered.
From behind him, somewhere above, he heard the unmistakeable voice of Michelle. She was speaking Latin at a furious pace and as he translated the words in his head, he ducked as she finished her spell. A fireball blazed from the first floor and found its target. One of the swordsmen screamed, engulfed by the flames, as if the flames themselves were a swarm of insects, flying and surrounding and biting at him. He dropped his sword and Joseph could not help but be shocked by the violent nature of his opponent's demise. He turned to look up at his wife, and saw her standing there, hugging David tightly, blood dripping from her head and round her eyes as if she were crying. But she was smiling. David too was bleeding but he seemed less wounded than his mother. Joseph was glad of this. David was only 14 and still had his life ahead of him. It was a life Joseph was determined to keep for him, no matter what the personal cost.
The sword blade came down at Joseph's head and he blocked it almost without effort. He swung back, aiming a low blow to the man's abdomen and succeeded in at least wounding him partially. The man went into a rage, fixing Joseph with a steely gaze, and attacked. The swings were fast and direct and Joseph found himself nearing the front of his house again. For the first time since hearing the footsteps, Joseph could feel the heat of the flames. He fought continuously, determined that this man would not be his undoing. He could hear Michelle muttering once more in Latin. He smiled, knowing that with his wife at his side, there was no danger he could not face, no opponent he could not overcome.
Joseph barely heard the first shot, but saw the muzzle flash from the corner of his eye. He could hear his wife now, her voice weaker, the breathing heavier, more marked. The second shot was clearer, and it thundered out of the gun. Joseph dared to look up, to see his wife, his inner voice praying that all was well. But he saw that Michelle was wounded, both in the upper arm and in her chest, life slipping from her with every gasp of breath. She held out her hands as if reaching for him, as though her very action would protect her somehow from the bullets ripping through her. Joseph now heard a third shot, one that he saw enter her skull and exit with a ferocity that threw his wife's body backwards onto the upper balcony. Tears welled in his eyes in that moment, and his heart sank. But then another sound caught his attention, the sound of a young child crying. David!
He turned his attention once more to the swordsman, who seemed to have paused, as if allowing Joseph the moment to grieve, or to revel in his pain. Either way, the swordsman now began his attack again in earnest, the thrusts and slashes all the more ferocious. Joseph knew his strength was waning, knew he had little time left, but he was determined to fight on, determined to use every ounce of life still left to him to reach his son and get him to safety.
"You didn't think you were going to stop us did you Joseph? Or her?" The woman had a haughty tone to her voice, as if she considered him a mere insect for the swatting. "Now unless you want your son to share your wife's fate, you will tell me where the journal is."
Joseph smiled at her. "You will not get it. You will not have it. She will not bring the chaos of dark magic to the fore. The Raven will not succeed." He laughed at them both. He had to buy time. Time enough to reach his son, or for David to escape or for help to arrive. Then, as if on cue, he heard in the distance the sound of the approaching sirens of the emergency services. Fire engine, ambulance and police sirens melting together to create one wave of joyous noise.
He barely had time to re-focus as the blade from the swordsman came back down on him, threatening to split him in two. He raised his own sword towards the oncoming blade, only realising too late that the downward swing had been a feint. Joseph saw the swordsman, in one fluid move, change the direction of the sword, pirouetting and slicing clear across his belly. He could feel the blood, and feel his stomach and intestines trying to spill out. Joseph could feel his life draining from him, and he looked upon Margaret with disdain and at his murderer with fear. At that moment, all he could think of was David.
The intruders saw the approaching convoy of help and calmly began to move to the back of the house. "As long as that book remains out of our possession, none of your family or friends will be safe." And then they were gone, in the blinking of an eye.
David ran downstairs, tears streaming his cheeks. "Dad! You're going to be all right, Dad. The ambulance is here and they will take you away and you'll be right as rain in no time. Don't die too, Dad! Please don't die!"
"David, there is something you must do for me." Joseph coughed up his words along with the blood that was filling his lungs. "You must find Rupert Giles. Tell him he must secure the journal. Tell him that I have left a clue to its whereabouts in my safe. He's smart; he'll figure it out. Tell him he must ensure the Raven does not succeed; she must not bring down the balance. He must find… cough the… cough cough entwined. The… cough cough cough …one… cough cough ….without…"
David Merrick wept at his Father's dead body. It took two men and Whittaker to pry him away. David Merrick was an orphan.