With a look in her eyes that brooked no objections, Buffy marched them to the meeting room from last night. Gods below, Spike loved her take-charge attitude, which one could possibly describe as bossy rudeness if it were directed at oneself. Oh, and one felt the need for a hemorrhagic pop in the nose, just for the hell of it.
In this case, though, the spirited glare in her eyes was particularly directed at one Rupert Giles, Head Watcher in the reconstituted Watcher's Council here in the lovely, middle-of-nowhere highlands of Scotland. As he trailed slightly behind them, Spike thoroughly enjoyed watching his wisp of a paramour herding all six-foot-whatever of British officiousness down a hallway leading to another meeting where the man, once again, would not be in charge.
He'd learned to spot and savor the little pleasures that unlife brought.
Inside the meeting room, Buffy flicked on the overhead lights, which were working again now that it was bloody daytime and they weren't especially needed. That was country-manor living in the U.K. for you. Spike sidled into the room, avoiding a ribbon of sunlight that graced the room. After that, with this being an old building in Scotland, there was a whole side of the table where the vampire could safely perch without being seared. He couldn't say that he'd missed the overcast isles of his human youth, but the reduced risk of solar encounters was a bit of alright.
Before starting their short march, Head Watcher had flashed out the Tweed Signal to assemble in the person of Andrew who'd been sent scurrying to roust the needed quorum.
Lydia the bespectacled Watcher was, unsurprisingly, first to arrive at the hallowed room of pre-owned oak furnishings. She was followed by two other Watchers Spike hadn't yet met. Lydia did the honors, identifying the thin, balding fellow as Toomey, and the dark-skinned, graying man as Saleh.
Apparently Watchers still attended the type of secondary schools that trained fellows to refer to each other by their surnames to give the weedy lads a casual masculinity. Not a coincidence, in Spike's opinion, that it also bound each one like prisoners to follow the triumphal chariot of his father's place in the world. Toomey followed after Toomey, who begat a Toomey, like turtles all the way down.
They didn't know what to do with a bird in their midst, like Lydia Myles, in more ways than one.
His eyes slid back to the doorway as Vi and Xander filtered in. The quirky Sunnydale Slayer sat next to Buffy with an air of loyal solidarity that warmed Spike's unbeating heart. Then, if his heart had been beating it might have stuttered in a bit of shock when Buffy's carpenter friend sat next to him, ignoring the handful of empty chairs he might have selected.
"Morning Deadboy," the brown-headed lad said before taking a sip of coffee from a mug he'd brought with him. "Don't stare at me. I'm working on releasing my resentments and finding my inner calm. And that doesn't go as well with instant coffee as you might imagine." He shuddered and clonked his mug down on the table, ignoring Giles' irritated and long-suffering gaze.
The vampire hadn't realized his jaw had dropped until Buffy leaned close and, with a smirk, pressed his jaw closed with her index finger. "Not your best Big-Bad look," she whispered.
Then, tilting her head to see Xander, she said, "Spike forgets that, while he was off finding himself with Angel, which whatever…." She shook her head and looked briefly heavenward as though that was the direction that inspired Spike's decision making process. "Anyway, while he was doing that, we had a chance to do some kumbaya on our own pent-up issues."
While Spike registered her words, she snickered quietly at the way the one-eyed carpenter was still staring, disgruntled, at his mug on the table. "Council Nescafé from the main kitchen, right? Stop by later; Dawn and I can hook you up. We get actual roasted coffee in mail-ordered bags."
"You are, as always, a goddess among super-powerful women who could easily kill me by accident." Mimicking a toast, Xander finally picked up his coffee with the enthusiasm of a man about to take medicine.
"And don't forget it," Buffy said archly before she sat up again to look over the assembled group. The cozy Devon witch from last night, Gwennyth something-or-other, had arrived after Buffy's friends. Andrew had also rejoined them, finding his seat near the other head of the table where old Rupert was perched.
Purpose sharpened Buffy's gaze and straightened her posture. She owned the room, regardless of who sat where, and she knew it. "Okay, let's call Willow and then we'll get started."
With only a minor bit of faffing about with phone numbers and conference phones— wherein the answer to the joke about how many Watchers it takes to dial a phone was "all of them"— they managed to reach Willow in California. Of course, what they really did was manage to wake her up in California since she was in the body of her mum, who was on U.S. West Coast time.
Even in that body and over a transatlantic phone call, the witch had a ferocious yawn.
Buffy ran through the scenario they'd just begun to explore in the Watcher's office. Namely, that Niccolo Apollinaris, the self important wanker what styled himself the Immortal, had likely been told by Wolfram and Hart that the Council had been fooling him with a fake Buffy. More kind than Spike, she managed to avoid depositing the issue at Rupert's feet like the stinking turd it was.
Grimly scanning from person to person, she stressed that the Immortal wanker wasn't someone to take a public embarrassment like that lightly. So they should consider that they all had a target on their backs.
Ignoring the generic harrumphs around the Tweed side of the room, she concluded by saying, "Given all of that, I'm also suspicious that the whole Willow body-swappage thingy is related. Spike, who's dealt with Niccolo before, thinks it's a tactic he might use."
Spike knew she was giving him credit, which was something she and the Scoobies had long been loathe to do. But he couldn't help the pulse of temper that caused him to turn his head and blurt, "Pet, why the bloody hell are you on a first name basis with that tosser? Thought you didn't know him."
She smiled her most saccharine smile; the one he well knew denoted fake patience. "Because, dearest, "the Immortal" is way too pompous a name to use and it's shorter than 'Mr. Self important Loser Guy'."
Well that was a perfectly sensible answer that soothed his writhing inner vampire possessiveness. And, okay, maybe he'd been a bit more affected than he'd thought by the time Dru and Darla had both fallen for the smarmy git's wiles. And, he found himself frowning, they'd taken little time before falling into the tosser's bed, more particularly.
But, while he wandered down the seedy path of memory, his ladylove was glaring at him, waiting for a response. "Makes sense, that," he finally said, relaxing back into his chair, arms crossed with no concerns whatsoever. Nary a one, and don't ask.
Buffy's lips lifted in something between amusement and acceptance.
Willow interrupted over the phone, "Buffy, has anyone spoken with Bonnie, who was the Slayer pretending to be you? Is she okay?"
Vi leaned forward toward the conference room phone. "Caridad and Nola are keeping her safe and out of sight." Turning her gaze to Buffy, she added, "She's given us the layout of his Roman villa. She also said he has a huge, locked cellar containing a circle of stones around a wrought iron fire-burny thing that looks like a giant globe of the world. I'll go through our notes and see what else we might've, you know, found out by accident."
"Thanks," Buffy crisply replied.
Shifting in her chair, Watcher Lady put her hand in the air with a brief fluttered wave, as though she was asking to be called on. But then, she forged ahead anyway. "I'm sorry to ask this but, well, why would the Immortal have targeted Miss Rosenberg rather than you, Buffy? And, assuming he did, wouldn't it have been more efficient to simply kidnap or kill her? Not that I would want that to happen, you understand."
On the other side of the table, Giles pursed his lips while looking daggers at Spike. As a vampire who could take out the old codger in less time than it would take for him to remove his glasses for a clean, he didn't give much of a toss about Head Watcher's animosity. Just as long as he didn't make the mistake of pointing that gaze toward his Slayer.
Unaware of the vampire's thoughts, Rupert contributed his decidedly non-committal opinion. "It seems more a chain of coincidence at this moment, yes."
"It seems a stretch to me, as well," the watcher named Saleh added in a deep, slightly accented voice.
Spike could feel the annoyance coiling from his Slayer. He shook his head before saying, "Short answer is the tosser is well known for elaborate distractions, mind games, and symbolic injury. But he operates mostly at a distance. He's like a daddy longlegs in his web, pulling this string and tapping that one while he watches his plan unfold and adjusting it as he sees fit."
Looking Lady Tweed in the eyes, he added, "He comes at you indirectly, and death isn't always the game. He supposedly ruined some Venetian doge who was getting too big for his britches and tried to seize one of his palaces. But he did it by getting the Ottoman sultan at the time to sequester his entire merchant delegation in Istanbul. The doge fought the sultan, the sultan beheaded the doge's brother, and so on."
He glanced sideways at Buffy. "Your pal Niccolo kept his palaces and ended up acquiring one of the ruined doge's estates for the equivalent of pennies instead of pounds." Turning back to the rest of the room, he concluded, "Point is, the Immortal sod was off in Rome or wherever, throwing frufru parties and looking all uninvolved while his enemy was ruined by someone else." He declined to give the examples he and Angelus had seen; they were a bit too close for comfort.
Lady Tweed had pulled a pad out from somewhere and, along with the balding watcher named Toomey, was madly scribbling. Pausing briefly to look at him through her glasses, she said, "This is new information, so very helpful. But I still don't understand why he'd do something like a body swap."
Ignoring the glares coming from Head Watcher and his man Saleh, he sat back and placed his arm over the back of the Slayer's chair. He knew he looked casual, although he was coiled to act. He'd sat like this many times while establishing order over his more recalcitrant minions; in fact, any of his former minions would know this was a dangerous posture.
In a smooth voice, he continued, "The Immortal ponce could never kidnap a witch as powerful as Red. Not for long, at least. And killing her right-out would be a bad tactic. Your lot would immediately loop in another witch to pick up her part of the casting corner and move on. At the same time, you'd immediately jump into solving a murder, knowing you're up against mortal danger. Instead, you've been spending your time trying to figure out how to reverse a body swap, yeah? You're focused on artifacts and spells, not on the big picture. It's his M.O."
"So you're saying I'm a distraction?" Red couldn't help the indignation in her tone.
Spike smiled. "A very important one, love. Getting you back is important. As soon as the gambit was revealed, the whole council was mobilized, yeah? And that's a good reason why moving you off the board's a good distraction. But not to be discounted is the fact that you're the witch most likely to take out any plans he might have. Swapping you into a non-magical body removes your abilities. So, win-win, you know."
"Hmm," Willow hummed in her mum's skeptical voice.
Saleh, who was evidently Rupert's catspaw, frowned darkly. "Why should we believe you, vampire? Even if it's true that you've been cursed with a soul, you're a demon."
"Sir, he earned his soul if the reports are correct," Lydia attempted to interject. She darted her eyes toward Spike, who nodded at her words. Still gazing at him, she smiled in satisfaction.
Saleh simply steamrolled over his female colleague, saying, "You may be here at the Head Slayer's parole, but you were recently with Wolfram and Hart, a font of evil in our world. Futher, you were bound up in the catastrophe in Los Angeles that released evil at a scope it may take lifetimes to understand and neutralize."
"Oh please," Buffy interrupted. "Cut the melodrama. You weren't there. Why? Oh, because the Council refused to get involved. But I was there, along with Rona and a couple new-ish Slayers. We took care of business and neuterized…."
"Neutralized," Spike murmured at her side.
"Yeah, that. We did that. We defeated the invading demons, along with Spike who earned his soul and a crazy-strong, blue god lady. And we stayed for the mop up. Which the Council declined to acknowledge." She turned her sharp glare from Saleh to rake across Rupert. "Because not only did the Council not listen to Angel, you also didn't listen to me or Rona. You sat here ignoring your Slayers who were on site."
Possibly sensing how much further wrong this could go, Xander spoke up. "You know, I've never seen myself as the voice of reason. I doubt anyone would describe me as 'Team Vampire' either. But it seems to me that, if you want to find out about evil plans, ask someone who knows about them. Like a vampire." He paused for a sip of his coffee. Shaking his head, he added, "Besides, if Spike here tells you something, you might as well believe it because he's a crap liar."
"Oi," he objected, although he was oddly grateful for the carpenter's support. World was topsy-turvy. But, as Buffy placed her hand on his thigh, he decided it was quite alright as it was.
In the resulting hush, Vi sat forward, gazing with expressive eyes from Buffy's other side. "Um, I thought of another reason why this Immortal guy might have aimed at Willow." A flush rose to her cheeks as all eyes turned toward her, but she continued. "If he's mad about being fooled by a fake Buffy, he's probably pissed at Buffy. And probably at Bonnie and maybe at all us other Slayers, too. Since Willow did the spell that activated us, he might see her as why there was another Slayer who could take her place. And because she could do it because of a glamour, which is magic."
Spike smiled with pride. In his heart he felt that all the Sunnydale Slayers were partly his. It tickled him no end when one of them proved their exceptional nature, especially in front of a panel of second raters like Rupert and his punters.
"Very good, love. Makes sense." Turning to the room at large, he said, "Alrighty. You were already stalking the Immortal git. What's with this prophecy that started you on his trail in the first place?"
With his best tweedy authority, Rupert dismissed his question. "It's quite long and involved. I'm sure it's a matter more for our researchers, who've been working diligently on it."
Meanwhile, his female colleague practically twittered as she said, "Oh, Toomey and I have been working on it. We have a copy of it in our office. That is, if you'd care to stop by."
With a smile that was practically wicked with enjoyment, he purred, "Well pet, now you're talking." Before he could stand, Buffy squeezed her hand on his thigh, her nails pinching in an exquisitely lovely promise. God, he loved it when she got all jealous. He pursed his lips and looked sideways at her in his own promise for where they could take this later.
"What say you and I go take a stroll and look through this prophecy?" he offered. Honestly, even if they didn't go take a look-see through the moldy old words, he was ready to head elsewhere.
His Slayer snorted. "On one hand, I've had enough prophecies to last a lifetime. On the other… yeah, let's go."
They both stood from the table at the same time. Lady Tweed and her friend Toomey also stood. As they collectively walked toward the door, the witch spoke up.
"Based on our vampire colleague's input, we need to get Willow to safety. Our sister coven across the channel can teleport her to their estate. And Mr. Rosenberg also." At Andrew's questioning of how they'd manage it, she laughed. "I keep telling you. Telephones; they work a treat. And they're ever so much faster than tying little notes to the legs of pigeons, you know."
Buffy chuckled as they slipped through the door and into the hallway.
In her office, Lydia of the Tweed showed them a large book on a desk. It resembled an Oxford reference dictionary.
"Bollocks, this thing's like the phone book, innit?"
Toomey pointed to the pages, noting, "Translation is interleaved with the original, so it's twice as long as the actual prophecy."
Lydia stepped close, saying, "I think these couple of pages are the relevant passages." She flipped to one of the several bookmarks that were sticking out of the tome.
Looking closely, Spike could see that the original pages were photocopies of some scroll. Squinting, he wished he had his glasses, but then he wouldn't have taken them out in front of this lot, anyway. "Alright, let's take a look, here," He pulled up a chair and sat down. Seeing Toomey squirm at what was the likely unauthorized use of his chair made it all worthwhile.
He read a few paragraphs and then started to narrate. "This god-demon was badder than that god-demon, this warlock was a total badass, Blah blah. Big battles. A magic sword, magic armor, everybody wang-chung tonight."
Buffy whapped him in the arm. "It does not say that!" she objected.
"It sure does. Just not those words. Now hush, love. Let's get through this."
At her shrug, he continued. "Blah blah, time winnows down the old. Anubis, Apsat, Cernunos, Faunus, Sobek, Volos… Christ this goes on for two pages. They're all Encyclopedia Britannica and equal-opportunity with their chthonic deities ain't they?"
"Well yes, but then see here, Lydia helpfully turned the page. Continuing to read aloud, he translated as he went. He smiled, seeing Toomey goggling his way. Yeah, didn't think I could read old languages, did you? Classics plus a century of boredom all day inside with his dark princess and her Mad Hatter tea parties with corpses and dolls. A man needed his hobbies, yeah?
"Alright, so here we go. Bunch of cryptic shite. This must be it." He inhaled before switching to his best Cambridge accent. "Distilled to three, the time will come. Once young, a choice is made that takes old to older. Through a death that triggers life. Through a door that's not a door. Through a past unimagined into future never forgotten. Trappings of the world's protectors and the backing of the world's gaolers."
Something there was familiar. As he puzzled through it, he said, "And who have we here? Calu, don't know that one."
Lydia replied as proud as a schoolgirl, "I looked that up, it's Etruscan for a wolf deity. Sometimes ancient texts used it as a name for Romulus, since they were suckled by wolves, you know."
Before she could go on-and-on, he asked, "So what's this one, Kabshka?"
"It's a male sheep, or a ram in an Arabic or Aramaic dialect."
"Cupie doll to the translator. Well, I know this next one, Arsenikó Eláfi. That's Greek for male deer, or hart. So we got the rogue's gallery of Wolf, Ram and Hart, yeah? Plus whoever these five are. Big snake, big fiery bird like a phoenix or whatnot, big griffin-lion thing, big dragon with a bad attitude, and even bigger leviathan-like whatsit. Oh wait, down here, the snake pops its clogs before the big day. The dragon might be toast as well. So maybe we're down to the three your text talks about."
"Rupert, I mean Mr. Giles of course, speculated the snake might be related to a fellow named Mayor Wilkins, which he and his Slayer eliminated near the Hellmouth in California. I wonder if the dragon might be what Buffy's and your notes say you witnessed in Los Angeles."
"Could be. Gets us to three big bad mythical creature features." Then his memory finally clicked.
"So here's something, I've seen some of the cryptic text up top before. Going through a door that's not a door. That's one of the descriptions of how to get to the Deeper Well, where the old gods are stashed. It's like the original Opmpalos. A hole in the world, going all the way through, it's a prison full of nasties we don't want walking the Earth, trust me. And, oh, it's currently unguarded thanks to my old pal Angelus. Such a bloody coincidence, yeah?"
"Where is it? Buffy asked.
"And here's another bloody coincidence. One entrance is a car's ride away in the Cotswolds. Been there. The other's somewhere in the Antipodes." Seeing the Slayer's blank expression, he explained, "That's like New Zealand."
Lydia had gone pale. "Goodness. If the Immortal is tied to this prophecy, which there are other passages that indicate he could be, might he be trying to do something there? Let some of those nasties out?"
"Like maybe aiming for the Slayer is even a distraction?"
"Yeah."
"Could be. Or it could be a wild goose chase."
Buffy looked at him with what was a dangerous smile, for her. "A big space full of nasties. It's just like the gym at my high school at Hemery, which was full of vampires. We could take it out proactively. Let me at it. I love starting fires that take out the bad guys. Or explosions, like how we took out Mayor Wilkins."
"You burned down a gymnasium."
"Yup" she replied.
"You're my girl," Spike smiled, hugging her close.
…
To be continued...
END NOTES
This fourth chapter fulfills the following Challenge Prompt(s) for the 2022 Elysian Fields Mystery Month Challenge.
1. Buffy loves starting fires
Buffy looked at him with what was a dangerous smile, for her. "A big space full of nasties. It's just like the gym at my high school at Hemery, which was full of vampires. We could take it out proactively. Let me at it. I love starting fires that take out the bad guys. Or explosions, like how we took out Mayor Wilkins."