"He wasn't happy." Quisling flicked a speck of lint from the cuff of his suit jacket.
"I didn't expect him to be," Trick replied, his concentration centered on the golf ball before him. He brought the putter back smoothly and tapped the ball. It bumped and rolled along the carpet and came to rest on the lip of the green plastic ball return against the far wall. Trick grimaced. "Damn, I miss golf," he sighed.
"Really?" Quisling asked.
"Hell, no," Trick said. "A brother like golf?" He shrugged. "Loved the clothes, though." Quisling frowned and Trick cracked up. "Too easy. You fell for the Negro-loves-loud-clothes bit, didn't you?"
Quisling looked sheepish. "I'm afraid so."
"It's fool-proof." Trick's smile vanished like water on a hot skillet. "The Mayor isn't our problem, Quisling. He drew up the contract, he signed it. We fulfilled it. That's the limit of our liability." He shook his head. "And then we'll be out of this shithole town forever."
"You sound eager," Quisling observed.
"Hell, yes, I'm eager," Trick snapped, although in a smooth way. "Let's just say this one goes in the 'learning experience' file. Quicker I get away from this place with its Slayers and that inbred hillbilly across town the better." He shook his head. "See, that's the downside to this gig, Quisling. Why vampires gotta be so territorial and shit? If we work together, everybody can have their piece of the pie. Humans have NASCAR and ice skating. It's not one or the other. But not vampires. Everybody's gotta be a stiff-necked motherfucker about every damn thing." He stopped and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to getting out of Sunnydale."
The Mayor exercised great care in placing his glass back on the desk blotter. This was very important, because his every impulse was to hurl it against the wall and watch it explode in thousands of glittering shards. He wiped his mouth with his hand, a gesture that morphed into gnawing at his knuckles.
The door opened and Florestan stepped into the room. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes." The Mayor indicated one of the visitors' chairs. "Please have a seat."
Florestan sat down, then leaned forward and tweaked the crease on a trouser leg. He sat back and waited. The Mayor spread his hands on his desk, his mouth working. Florestan waited patiently, right leg crossed over left. The Mayor took a deep breath.
"The bastard double-crossed me," he said, his voice a harsh rasp.
Florestan's eyebrows drew together. "Explain." Mayor related the latest news from Quisling. When His Honor finished, Florestan sat back and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling.
"Well?" The strain in the Mayor's voice was showing. "Are you just going to sit there? Do you realize what this means? We're in a world of hurt. If the Seal--" He controlled his rising voice with visible effort. "If the Seal," he continued in a more normal tone, "if the Seal can be destroyed, then it's of no use to us. We are in a very compromised situation here."
Florestan lowered his eyes. "Then now is not the time to panic." He pushed himself up from the chair and turned toward the door. "Trick will not leave. He will remain in Sunnydale and we will decipher this rite."
"How can you be so sure?" the Mayor demanded.
Florestan turned, his hand on the doorknob. "I can't tell you that. Plausible deniability is the first lesson of politics." One corner of his mouth twitched as he went out.
"Earth to Giles. Hellooooo, Earth to Giles." Buffy rapped on the table. The librarian twitched and blinked.
"Sorry. Um, I seem to be a bit distracted."
"No, you're not." Buffy crossed her arms. "A bit distracted I can handle because, well, because that's you. This is a lot distracted. What gives?"
"Well, I really... Events have been set in motion..." Giles grimaced as his voice trailed away. "I have a great deal on my mind."
"And the rest of us don't? Full of yourself, much?" Buffy frowned at her Watcher. "You have to shape up. Do you know how wrong it is for me to have to say that to you?"
The librarian felt his face grow hot. Something rose inside him; he wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and shake her hard, shout in her face that she could never understand what was happening. He wanted to scream, to run, to lie down and sleep forever.
He took a deep breath. "Sorry. What were you saying?"
Coyne tilted his head to one side and stared at the stranger. The guy just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking calm and a little bored. Coyne decided the guy was either clueless or crazy. Either way, he had made a biiiiiiig mistake.
"So," the guy said. "Where is he?"
A big, lopsided grin spread over Coyne's mug. "Who do you think you are to come in here and start talking about seeing people?" he said, sidling up to the stranger and puffing out a belligerent chest.
The stranger leaned forward, hands still in pockets, until he was almost nose to nose with Coyne. "I'm someone who is going to see him right now." He locked gazes with Coyne, who swallowed and took a step back.
"Let me see," said the vampire. "Let me see where he is."
Matti Hollis slipped through the library doors. "Mr. Giles?"
The librarian appeared at the door of his office. "Yes?" They stared at one another for an uncomfortable span of time before Matti gestured with one hand.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
"What? Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me." Giles stepped back. "I'm not quite myself this afternoon."
"I can imagine." Ms. Hollis squeezed into the small space. Giles was uncomfortably aware of how close she seemed and how small the room had become. Matti leaned against the wall. She wore a sky-blue T-shirt with a gray Nike swoosh on it, navy blue track pants with a gray stripe up the side and complicated running shoes of nylon mesh and nubuck. She looked down at the floor then up at Giles. "I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Giles. I mean, not just that I have to tell you this, but the news itself. I'm just... really, really sorry."
Giles felt his stomach drop away. He clasped his hands on the desk to keep them from trembling. "I understand. What do you know?"
Matti ran a hand through her hair. "Gerard Roland's whereabouts are still unknown. We have confirmed that at least seventeen Watchers are dead. Another fourteen are missing."
"How certain are you of these facts?" Giles asked, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice.
"Extremely. We've obtained multiple sources, multiple confirmations. The data is accurate."
"My God," Giles breathed.
"What we suspected is now fact. The Watchers Council is engaged in some sort of internecine struggle that has turned deadly. The new de facto leader of the Council seems to be a man named Desmond Kirkland." Giles uttered an audible groan. Matti's eyes narrowed. "Did I hit a nerve there?"
"I'm afraid so," Giles said. "I barely remember him... he was behind me in training." Giles took a deep, heavy breath. "I received a package from Gerard. It--"
"What? You got a what?" Hollis pushed away from the wall.
The Watcher held up his hand. "Please. I received a package from Gerard. When he visited some months ago, he shared a suspicion with me. This package contained documents that confirmed that supposition. I have examined them, albeit in a cursory fashion."
"Mr. Giles, get to the point. What did they say?"
"Ms. Hollis." Giles closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his palms. "You will have to forgive me my convoluted ramblings, but this is the only way in which I can approach this subject. To do otherwise is simply too painful." He dropped his hands and blinked twice. "The documents prove that Desmond Kirkland manipulated the ritus adlego."
Matti Hollis crouched beside the desk, bringing her face level with the librarian's. "Mr. Giles, I'm not trying to be a smartass here, but I don't get it."
"The ritus adlego is the rite of selection, whereby a Watcher is chosen. Whenever a Slayer is called, a Watcher must be assigned to her. The purpose of the ritus adlego is to correctly match the two."
"And to screw with it is...?"
"I can think of no worse act. It... it strikes at the very heart of what it means to be a Watcher. It undermines everything we stand for."
Matti stood and touched a thumb to her lower lip. "But why would he even want to do that?"
Giles shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm now certain that Lindsay Maeda was not Faith's intended Watcher. She was too young, too inexperienced."
Matti glanced out into the library. "What's your schedule look like this afternoon?"
"I'm supposed to meet with Buffy and the others. Why?"
"Tell you what, I'm going to be around. You may not see me, but I'll have your back."
Giles stood up as Matti walked out the door. "You think that's necessary?"
She turned back to face him. "I may be wrong, but I'm starting to get an ugly feeling about this whole thing. I'm wondering if this isn't all about trying to get rid of you."
"I didn't expect him to be," Trick replied, his concentration centered on the golf ball before him. He brought the putter back smoothly and tapped the ball. It bumped and rolled along the carpet and came to rest on the lip of the green plastic ball return against the far wall. Trick grimaced. "Damn, I miss golf," he sighed.
"Really?" Quisling asked.
"Hell, no," Trick said. "A brother like golf?" He shrugged. "Loved the clothes, though." Quisling frowned and Trick cracked up. "Too easy. You fell for the Negro-loves-loud-clothes bit, didn't you?"
Quisling looked sheepish. "I'm afraid so."
"It's fool-proof." Trick's smile vanished like water on a hot skillet. "The Mayor isn't our problem, Quisling. He drew up the contract, he signed it. We fulfilled it. That's the limit of our liability." He shook his head. "And then we'll be out of this shithole town forever."
"You sound eager," Quisling observed.
"Hell, yes, I'm eager," Trick snapped, although in a smooth way. "Let's just say this one goes in the 'learning experience' file. Quicker I get away from this place with its Slayers and that inbred hillbilly across town the better." He shook his head. "See, that's the downside to this gig, Quisling. Why vampires gotta be so territorial and shit? If we work together, everybody can have their piece of the pie. Humans have NASCAR and ice skating. It's not one or the other. But not vampires. Everybody's gotta be a stiff-necked motherfucker about every damn thing." He stopped and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to getting out of Sunnydale."
The Mayor exercised great care in placing his glass back on the desk blotter. This was very important, because his every impulse was to hurl it against the wall and watch it explode in thousands of glittering shards. He wiped his mouth with his hand, a gesture that morphed into gnawing at his knuckles.
The door opened and Florestan stepped into the room. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes." The Mayor indicated one of the visitors' chairs. "Please have a seat."
Florestan sat down, then leaned forward and tweaked the crease on a trouser leg. He sat back and waited. The Mayor spread his hands on his desk, his mouth working. Florestan waited patiently, right leg crossed over left. The Mayor took a deep breath.
"The bastard double-crossed me," he said, his voice a harsh rasp.
Florestan's eyebrows drew together. "Explain." Mayor related the latest news from Quisling. When His Honor finished, Florestan sat back and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling.
"Well?" The strain in the Mayor's voice was showing. "Are you just going to sit there? Do you realize what this means? We're in a world of hurt. If the Seal--" He controlled his rising voice with visible effort. "If the Seal," he continued in a more normal tone, "if the Seal can be destroyed, then it's of no use to us. We are in a very compromised situation here."
Florestan lowered his eyes. "Then now is not the time to panic." He pushed himself up from the chair and turned toward the door. "Trick will not leave. He will remain in Sunnydale and we will decipher this rite."
"How can you be so sure?" the Mayor demanded.
Florestan turned, his hand on the doorknob. "I can't tell you that. Plausible deniability is the first lesson of politics." One corner of his mouth twitched as he went out.
"Earth to Giles. Hellooooo, Earth to Giles." Buffy rapped on the table. The librarian twitched and blinked.
"Sorry. Um, I seem to be a bit distracted."
"No, you're not." Buffy crossed her arms. "A bit distracted I can handle because, well, because that's you. This is a lot distracted. What gives?"
"Well, I really... Events have been set in motion..." Giles grimaced as his voice trailed away. "I have a great deal on my mind."
"And the rest of us don't? Full of yourself, much?" Buffy frowned at her Watcher. "You have to shape up. Do you know how wrong it is for me to have to say that to you?"
The librarian felt his face grow hot. Something rose inside him; he wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and shake her hard, shout in her face that she could never understand what was happening. He wanted to scream, to run, to lie down and sleep forever.
He took a deep breath. "Sorry. What were you saying?"
Coyne tilted his head to one side and stared at the stranger. The guy just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking calm and a little bored. Coyne decided the guy was either clueless or crazy. Either way, he had made a biiiiiiig mistake.
"So," the guy said. "Where is he?"
A big, lopsided grin spread over Coyne's mug. "Who do you think you are to come in here and start talking about seeing people?" he said, sidling up to the stranger and puffing out a belligerent chest.
The stranger leaned forward, hands still in pockets, until he was almost nose to nose with Coyne. "I'm someone who is going to see him right now." He locked gazes with Coyne, who swallowed and took a step back.
"Let me see," said the vampire. "Let me see where he is."
Matti Hollis slipped through the library doors. "Mr. Giles?"
The librarian appeared at the door of his office. "Yes?" They stared at one another for an uncomfortable span of time before Matti gestured with one hand.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
"What? Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me." Giles stepped back. "I'm not quite myself this afternoon."
"I can imagine." Ms. Hollis squeezed into the small space. Giles was uncomfortably aware of how close she seemed and how small the room had become. Matti leaned against the wall. She wore a sky-blue T-shirt with a gray Nike swoosh on it, navy blue track pants with a gray stripe up the side and complicated running shoes of nylon mesh and nubuck. She looked down at the floor then up at Giles. "I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Giles. I mean, not just that I have to tell you this, but the news itself. I'm just... really, really sorry."
Giles felt his stomach drop away. He clasped his hands on the desk to keep them from trembling. "I understand. What do you know?"
Matti ran a hand through her hair. "Gerard Roland's whereabouts are still unknown. We have confirmed that at least seventeen Watchers are dead. Another fourteen are missing."
"How certain are you of these facts?" Giles asked, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice.
"Extremely. We've obtained multiple sources, multiple confirmations. The data is accurate."
"My God," Giles breathed.
"What we suspected is now fact. The Watchers Council is engaged in some sort of internecine struggle that has turned deadly. The new de facto leader of the Council seems to be a man named Desmond Kirkland." Giles uttered an audible groan. Matti's eyes narrowed. "Did I hit a nerve there?"
"I'm afraid so," Giles said. "I barely remember him... he was behind me in training." Giles took a deep, heavy breath. "I received a package from Gerard. It--"
"What? You got a what?" Hollis pushed away from the wall.
The Watcher held up his hand. "Please. I received a package from Gerard. When he visited some months ago, he shared a suspicion with me. This package contained documents that confirmed that supposition. I have examined them, albeit in a cursory fashion."
"Mr. Giles, get to the point. What did they say?"
"Ms. Hollis." Giles closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his palms. "You will have to forgive me my convoluted ramblings, but this is the only way in which I can approach this subject. To do otherwise is simply too painful." He dropped his hands and blinked twice. "The documents prove that Desmond Kirkland manipulated the ritus adlego."
Matti Hollis crouched beside the desk, bringing her face level with the librarian's. "Mr. Giles, I'm not trying to be a smartass here, but I don't get it."
"The ritus adlego is the rite of selection, whereby a Watcher is chosen. Whenever a Slayer is called, a Watcher must be assigned to her. The purpose of the ritus adlego is to correctly match the two."
"And to screw with it is...?"
"I can think of no worse act. It... it strikes at the very heart of what it means to be a Watcher. It undermines everything we stand for."
Matti stood and touched a thumb to her lower lip. "But why would he even want to do that?"
Giles shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm now certain that Lindsay Maeda was not Faith's intended Watcher. She was too young, too inexperienced."
Matti glanced out into the library. "What's your schedule look like this afternoon?"
"I'm supposed to meet with Buffy and the others. Why?"
"Tell you what, I'm going to be around. You may not see me, but I'll have your back."
Giles stood up as Matti walked out the door. "You think that's necessary?"
She turned back to face him. "I may be wrong, but I'm starting to get an ugly feeling about this whole thing. I'm wondering if this isn't all about trying to get rid of you."