Part II
Giles emitted a most un-librarian like snarl that caused Willow to look up from the spell book she was examining with a concerned expression. Giles smiled somewhat sheepishly and explained apologetically, "Sorry. I just found this." He displayed the shredded remains of an obscure text on the role of blood sacrifice in fifteenth century utopian cults that he had found among the wreckage left by the Hellmouth demon. "This was one of only three copies in existence, and it's so much mulch now." He tossed it into the pile of splintered wood and other debris with considerable force, causing a loud crash that caused Oz to look up at the commotion.
Willow smiled sympathetically and commented, "That's a shame: that was an interesting volume. We did scan that one into the computer, so the material isn't lost, if that's any consolation."
Giles grimaced and replied, "A small one, at best. Still, I see that we have to thank Jenny for overriding my sensibilities in that matter." He smiled wistfully, as he always did when he thought of his lost love, casualty of Angel's briefly lost soul.
Sensing a need to change the subject, Oz asked, "Have you heard from Buffy yet?"
"No." Giles replied curtly, then remembered his manners and elaborated, "I didn't want her to go out just yet: even a Slayer's recuperative abilities can be taxed. She insisted, and wouldn't hear of anyone accompanying her. She should be fine, but. . .perhaps I should check to see how she's doing."
"Doing fine and in good health." The familiar voice came from the open doorway, drawing smiles from Giles and Willow and a nod from the less-demonstrative Oz. Buffy moved into the library, stopping to lean against the counter before continuing, "Unfortunately, I'm also more confused than I've been since my last trig final." She turned and called, "Come on in."
A tall figure walked into the room. Giles' first thought was that Angel had accompanied Buffy on patrol, but despite the similarity in dress, this man was clearly not the cursed vampire. Tall, broad-shouldered, and despite a good effort at concealment, Giles could discern the outline of the sword under the expensive trenchcoat. He coughed, at a loss for a moment, then offered, "I don't believe we've met, Mr...?""
"I am-" began Duncan, but was cut off by Buffy: "Later for that, all right? Giles, I found this guy dead from a bullet through the heart and from being some dim-witted vamp's dinner. Two minutes later, he gets up, fresh as a daisy. Next, he tells me that you might be able to shed some light on the situation. Well?"
Taken aback by Buffy's bluntness, Giles was again temporarily at a loss for words. He coughed again, and offered, "I take it he's not a vampire?"
"If I thought he was a vampire, would I be here interrupting your book salvage party?" replied Buffy sardonically. "He rose too fast, and he didn't have the look. Any other thoughts?"
"Ahem." Duncan felt the need to interrupt: the young Slayer looked annoyed enough to continue this line of questioning for some time, and he decided to spare her and the Watcher further difficulty. "I gather you are her Watcher, Mr. . . . Giles, is it? I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, and unless the standards of the Watchers have lapsed in the last century, you will know who I am."
Giles' face went blank for fully five seconds before his well-ordered mind put together the tall stranger's appearance and gear with a Watcher's diary he had read some fifteen years before. His eyes widened with surprise and fascination. "You're an Immortal, then? I read the diary of Anthony Richards, but I half dismissed the tales as too fantastic, even with the other reports I read. . . "
"Hey!" Duncan and Giles turned to look at the now seriously irritated looking Slayer. "For those of us who don't even have the Cliff's Notes, how about a little more detail, okay? What's an Immortal?"
Giles began to open his mouth, but was interrupted again, this time by Willow. "Immortals are humans who are born with an unusual ability to regenerate after suffering severe, even fatal injuries. The reports that I read indicate that they have a potentially unlimited lifespan, unless they are killed by decapitation. Unfortunately, their idea of a good time seems to be getting into sword fights, ending with one losing his head to the other." She turned to Giles, and asked with a grin, "Would that about sum it up, Giles?"
Giles experienced a moment of ambivalence, torn between his usual admiration for Willow's research skills and concern for just how much of his private collection she had managed to absorb: some of the books contained dangerous knowledge. "Right on target, Willow, " he responded, resolving to carefully conceal some of the more arcane works in his office, "but there are specific details relating to this particular Immortal, assuming he is who he claims to be." He turned to Duncan and met his eyes. "If you are who you claim to be, then you will know the name of the woman I am thinking of at this moment."
Duncan smiled, and replied, "Danielle Marlowe." Giles paused a moment, then nodded. "Correct." He extended his hand to Duncan, who shook it with a firm grip.
The moment was interrupted by the hissing sound of Buffy blowing air through her lips, again causing the two men to look at her. "I'm getting a little sick of feeling like I left my decoder ring at home! All right, so you're some Immortal refugee from a Ginsu ad: that's fine by me. But who is Danielle Marlowe, and why is Giles looking at you like you're the second coming of Paul McCartney?"
Giles' cluck of annoyance was interrupted by the entrance of Xander, who piped in with, "Hey, Buffy, I got back early and I thought you might like a little back up tonight." He saw the tall dark-haired man in a trenchcoat with his back to the door, and his well-trained reflex kicked in: "Hey, Dead Boy! What's up?" He was surprised when the figure turned, revealing not an annoyed Angel but a puzzled stranger. Xander's eyes narrowed, taking in the new arrival. "Sorry, thought you were someone else. By the way, who are you?"
Several minutes were consumed in catching Xander up, with Willow and Giles filling in the gaps until Buffy's patience reached its end. She stalked up to Duncan and glared up at him. "Now can we hear what the deal is with you, or what?"
Duncan smiled sympathetically, and replied, "I think I can manage that. It all started with a business trip to London and a broken carriage wheel. . . "
LONDON: JULY, 1895
Duncan strolled along the side street, his skin prickling in the cool night air. The coachman had apologized profusely and assured him that the carriage would be ready to go by morning. Duncan had reassured him that that would be fine, and asked the relieved man to arrange for his bags to be taken to a nearby hotel. While this was being done, Duncan decided to stretch his legs. In spite of his ingrained clan prejudice against the English, he had always enjoyed walking through the streets of London, taking in its many sights.
Abruptly, Duncan heard the sounds of a brawl ahead: it sounded like about ten people or so. Duncan moved towards the sound, ready to reach for his concealed katana if the need arose. The sight that greeted his eyes as he rounded the corner of a warehouse froze his blood.
Twelve figures surrounded a single woman in an open area next to the warehouse. She was tall, dark-haired, and obviously very beautiful. She was also in big trouble, as Duncan could also see that the figures who threatened her had visibly distorted features-vampires! As the scene unfolded before him, two thoughts raced through his mind. Firstly, how was she holding them off? Twelve vampires were far more than anyone should be able to hold off, even with the well-sharpened stake in her hand. Yes, she was obviously losing, with half a dozen obvious wounds on her body, but she was still alive and fighting. The second thought was far more immediate and thrust the first one aside for later examination. Vampires were for killing: he had hated them with a passion for several years, due to a previous unpleasant encounter. Silently drawing his blade, Duncan crept behind the mob and moved to the attack. At the last second, a wary vampire shouted a warning, but too late. The ultra-sharp blade moved in an arc, and two vampires collapsed into dust. With a snarl, four vampires turned to engage the new enemy, and Duncan heard what sounded like a grunted "thank you" from the young woman as she regrouped for a new offensive.
The fight was fast, and brutal. Even fighting cautiously, the vampires were able to wound Duncan with occasional claw rakes, although the wounds healed quickly, disconcerting the demonic creatures. Duncan could see that the woman was fighting back, and even saw a vampire grimace before bursting into a cloud of dust. But she was receiving more wounds, and her time was clearly running out. Duncan redoubled his efforts, and vampires began losing their heads. When only five vampires remained between the two combatants, Duncan saw them share a look, then snarled in anger as they fled at a high rate of speed. Duncan started after them, only to hear a moan and the sound of a body falling to the ground. Shamed by his temporarily misplaced priorities, Duncan moved over to the stricken young woman.
"It'll be all right, miss," he soothed as he tried to bind her wounds with strips torn from his coat, "I'll get you to a doctor."
She reached up and grabbed his arm with strength that astonished him even as it faded and her arm dropped back to the ground. "No doctor. . ." she mumbled, obviously desperately trying to get the words out before she passed out, ". . .take me to Anthony Richards. . . 345 Adams Street. . . please, hurry." She slumped, unconscious.
He was puzzled: why would she refuse medical attention? He finished binding her wounds: Adams Street was close by. He picked her up and carried her five blocks to what looked like an eighteenth century manor house. He used the ornate knocker to loudly announce his presence, and in a moment a staid looking butler answered the door. His eyes widened and he exclaimed, "My word! Miss Marlowe! Please, bring her in. I'll fetch Lord Richards." He vanished from the room as Duncan placed the young woman on a comfortable looking sofa. He had finished arranging her when a deep voice asked bluntly, "What happened to her?"
Duncan was at a loss for a moment as he turned to face the speaker. Lord Richards was a middle-aged man with graying black hair and piercing blue eyes: he seemed used to getting quick answers to any questions he asked. However, saying that the young woman had been attacked by vampires seemed to be a rather dangerous option, given that this man could probably pick up a phone and call twenty policemen to drag him off to an asylum. Still, no useful lie came to mind, and he replied, "She was attacked by vampires," then winced as he anticipated an unhelpful response.
The man nodded and inquired, "How many?" Duncan explained the circumstances of the fight, and that she had requested that he bring her here. Lord Richards nodded and stated, "You acted correctly in bringing her here, Mr. MacLeod. I have means of treating her that a doctor would not."
Duncan watched him as he brought out a small case of salves and elixirs and began to treat the stricken young woman. He was silent for a moment, until he could not refrain from speaking any more. "Look, I just saw her holding off a dozen vampires: that just isn't done! Who is she? For that matter, who in hell are you?"
Lord Richards looked up from his patient and locked eyes with MacLeod. After a moment, he replied, "Mr. MacLeod, I am a very powerful man. It is within my power to have you removed from these premises, and to have you indefinitely confined if you cause me trouble. However, you have saved Danielle's life, and for that I am eternally grateful. Furthermore, casual observation suggests that you are a man who can keep a secret." He inclined his head at Duncan, obviously looking at the bloody tears in his clothing, and at the visibly unmarked flesh underneath. "I will tell you about her, and you will tell me something about what makes you different. . . Immortal."
Duncan hesitated for a moment: should he simply walk out the door and refuse the exchange, or resolve the mystery that had confronted him. Unable to resist, he simply stated, "I agree."
Lord Richards nodded and smiled, then turned to Danielle, who had opened her eyes and was shakily sitting up. "She is Danielle Marlowe, the Vampire Slayer," he explained, ignoring the shocked look in her eyes, "on whom the safety of us all often hangs."
Duncan paused in his account, and drank a glass of water that Oz had brought over. After a moment it was Willow who impatiently burst out with "What happened next?"
Duncan smiled at the young woman's enthusiasm and summarized: "After I concluded my business in London, I stayed at Lord Richards' residence for two months. He told me of the lore of the Slayers, and of the Watchers' Council and I told him of the lore of the Immortals that I knew personally, together with accounts I had heard of Immortals coming into contact with the supernatural. Danielle healed quickly, and we spent some time together, both on duty and off." He coughed, obviously not wanting to elaborate, and no one chose to press the issue. "At the end of two months, I had to leave, and we all parted on good terms. I never saw either of them again." He turned to Giles and asked, "Mr. Giles, I always wondered, and I never was able to find out: what happened to Danielle and Lord Richards?"
Giles' expression was sympathetic as he said gently, "They were ambushed a large group of vampires six months later while on patrol. They were both killed." He put his hand on the Immortal's shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry."
Buffy saw the genuine sadness in Duncan's eyes and wondered what it would be like to mourn the death of someone who died a full century before. Involuntarily, she thought of Angel and the burden he carried. Relieved to know that Duncan was an ally, not a potential problem, and wanting to take his mind off of a sad moment, she commented cheerily, "I guess the Slayers owed you one, Duncan."
Duncan, recognizing an attempt to cheer him up, grinned and replied, "If you want to think of it that way, that's up to you, Buffy. I'm still quite grateful."
Xander burst in with, "So, you guys go around cutting each other's heads off, huh? What's that all about?"
Taken aback by the bluntness of the question, Duncan nonetheless started to explain when the sound of the library doors swinging open caused him to pause. Angel burst into the room, and did not wait for greetings: "Buffy, Giles. There's a major commotion going on at one of the cemeteries. . ."
Buffy was glad to see Angel apparently recovered from the ordeal of defeating the Hellmouth demon and smiled broadly, only to pause in surprise as she saw the changing expression of Duncan, whose back was to the door. At first, a puzzled look of trying to place something, then dawning realization, and finally-incandescent rage. He whirled to face Angel, and both men seemed to share a moment of total recognition. The look on Duncan's face was of complete outrage: Angel's was of complete shock. Before anyone else could react, Duncan charged the stunned vampire with an incoherent roar.
To be continued. . .
As before, comments are welcome and desired.
M. Scott Eiland
Giles emitted a most un-librarian like snarl that caused Willow to look up from the spell book she was examining with a concerned expression. Giles smiled somewhat sheepishly and explained apologetically, "Sorry. I just found this." He displayed the shredded remains of an obscure text on the role of blood sacrifice in fifteenth century utopian cults that he had found among the wreckage left by the Hellmouth demon. "This was one of only three copies in existence, and it's so much mulch now." He tossed it into the pile of splintered wood and other debris with considerable force, causing a loud crash that caused Oz to look up at the commotion.
Willow smiled sympathetically and commented, "That's a shame: that was an interesting volume. We did scan that one into the computer, so the material isn't lost, if that's any consolation."
Giles grimaced and replied, "A small one, at best. Still, I see that we have to thank Jenny for overriding my sensibilities in that matter." He smiled wistfully, as he always did when he thought of his lost love, casualty of Angel's briefly lost soul.
Sensing a need to change the subject, Oz asked, "Have you heard from Buffy yet?"
"No." Giles replied curtly, then remembered his manners and elaborated, "I didn't want her to go out just yet: even a Slayer's recuperative abilities can be taxed. She insisted, and wouldn't hear of anyone accompanying her. She should be fine, but. . .perhaps I should check to see how she's doing."
"Doing fine and in good health." The familiar voice came from the open doorway, drawing smiles from Giles and Willow and a nod from the less-demonstrative Oz. Buffy moved into the library, stopping to lean against the counter before continuing, "Unfortunately, I'm also more confused than I've been since my last trig final." She turned and called, "Come on in."
A tall figure walked into the room. Giles' first thought was that Angel had accompanied Buffy on patrol, but despite the similarity in dress, this man was clearly not the cursed vampire. Tall, broad-shouldered, and despite a good effort at concealment, Giles could discern the outline of the sword under the expensive trenchcoat. He coughed, at a loss for a moment, then offered, "I don't believe we've met, Mr...?""
"I am-" began Duncan, but was cut off by Buffy: "Later for that, all right? Giles, I found this guy dead from a bullet through the heart and from being some dim-witted vamp's dinner. Two minutes later, he gets up, fresh as a daisy. Next, he tells me that you might be able to shed some light on the situation. Well?"
Taken aback by Buffy's bluntness, Giles was again temporarily at a loss for words. He coughed again, and offered, "I take it he's not a vampire?"
"If I thought he was a vampire, would I be here interrupting your book salvage party?" replied Buffy sardonically. "He rose too fast, and he didn't have the look. Any other thoughts?"
"Ahem." Duncan felt the need to interrupt: the young Slayer looked annoyed enough to continue this line of questioning for some time, and he decided to spare her and the Watcher further difficulty. "I gather you are her Watcher, Mr. . . . Giles, is it? I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, and unless the standards of the Watchers have lapsed in the last century, you will know who I am."
Giles' face went blank for fully five seconds before his well-ordered mind put together the tall stranger's appearance and gear with a Watcher's diary he had read some fifteen years before. His eyes widened with surprise and fascination. "You're an Immortal, then? I read the diary of Anthony Richards, but I half dismissed the tales as too fantastic, even with the other reports I read. . . "
"Hey!" Duncan and Giles turned to look at the now seriously irritated looking Slayer. "For those of us who don't even have the Cliff's Notes, how about a little more detail, okay? What's an Immortal?"
Giles began to open his mouth, but was interrupted again, this time by Willow. "Immortals are humans who are born with an unusual ability to regenerate after suffering severe, even fatal injuries. The reports that I read indicate that they have a potentially unlimited lifespan, unless they are killed by decapitation. Unfortunately, their idea of a good time seems to be getting into sword fights, ending with one losing his head to the other." She turned to Giles, and asked with a grin, "Would that about sum it up, Giles?"
Giles experienced a moment of ambivalence, torn between his usual admiration for Willow's research skills and concern for just how much of his private collection she had managed to absorb: some of the books contained dangerous knowledge. "Right on target, Willow, " he responded, resolving to carefully conceal some of the more arcane works in his office, "but there are specific details relating to this particular Immortal, assuming he is who he claims to be." He turned to Duncan and met his eyes. "If you are who you claim to be, then you will know the name of the woman I am thinking of at this moment."
Duncan smiled, and replied, "Danielle Marlowe." Giles paused a moment, then nodded. "Correct." He extended his hand to Duncan, who shook it with a firm grip.
The moment was interrupted by the hissing sound of Buffy blowing air through her lips, again causing the two men to look at her. "I'm getting a little sick of feeling like I left my decoder ring at home! All right, so you're some Immortal refugee from a Ginsu ad: that's fine by me. But who is Danielle Marlowe, and why is Giles looking at you like you're the second coming of Paul McCartney?"
Giles' cluck of annoyance was interrupted by the entrance of Xander, who piped in with, "Hey, Buffy, I got back early and I thought you might like a little back up tonight." He saw the tall dark-haired man in a trenchcoat with his back to the door, and his well-trained reflex kicked in: "Hey, Dead Boy! What's up?" He was surprised when the figure turned, revealing not an annoyed Angel but a puzzled stranger. Xander's eyes narrowed, taking in the new arrival. "Sorry, thought you were someone else. By the way, who are you?"
Several minutes were consumed in catching Xander up, with Willow and Giles filling in the gaps until Buffy's patience reached its end. She stalked up to Duncan and glared up at him. "Now can we hear what the deal is with you, or what?"
Duncan smiled sympathetically, and replied, "I think I can manage that. It all started with a business trip to London and a broken carriage wheel. . . "
LONDON: JULY, 1895
Duncan strolled along the side street, his skin prickling in the cool night air. The coachman had apologized profusely and assured him that the carriage would be ready to go by morning. Duncan had reassured him that that would be fine, and asked the relieved man to arrange for his bags to be taken to a nearby hotel. While this was being done, Duncan decided to stretch his legs. In spite of his ingrained clan prejudice against the English, he had always enjoyed walking through the streets of London, taking in its many sights.
Abruptly, Duncan heard the sounds of a brawl ahead: it sounded like about ten people or so. Duncan moved towards the sound, ready to reach for his concealed katana if the need arose. The sight that greeted his eyes as he rounded the corner of a warehouse froze his blood.
Twelve figures surrounded a single woman in an open area next to the warehouse. She was tall, dark-haired, and obviously very beautiful. She was also in big trouble, as Duncan could also see that the figures who threatened her had visibly distorted features-vampires! As the scene unfolded before him, two thoughts raced through his mind. Firstly, how was she holding them off? Twelve vampires were far more than anyone should be able to hold off, even with the well-sharpened stake in her hand. Yes, she was obviously losing, with half a dozen obvious wounds on her body, but she was still alive and fighting. The second thought was far more immediate and thrust the first one aside for later examination. Vampires were for killing: he had hated them with a passion for several years, due to a previous unpleasant encounter. Silently drawing his blade, Duncan crept behind the mob and moved to the attack. At the last second, a wary vampire shouted a warning, but too late. The ultra-sharp blade moved in an arc, and two vampires collapsed into dust. With a snarl, four vampires turned to engage the new enemy, and Duncan heard what sounded like a grunted "thank you" from the young woman as she regrouped for a new offensive.
The fight was fast, and brutal. Even fighting cautiously, the vampires were able to wound Duncan with occasional claw rakes, although the wounds healed quickly, disconcerting the demonic creatures. Duncan could see that the woman was fighting back, and even saw a vampire grimace before bursting into a cloud of dust. But she was receiving more wounds, and her time was clearly running out. Duncan redoubled his efforts, and vampires began losing their heads. When only five vampires remained between the two combatants, Duncan saw them share a look, then snarled in anger as they fled at a high rate of speed. Duncan started after them, only to hear a moan and the sound of a body falling to the ground. Shamed by his temporarily misplaced priorities, Duncan moved over to the stricken young woman.
"It'll be all right, miss," he soothed as he tried to bind her wounds with strips torn from his coat, "I'll get you to a doctor."
She reached up and grabbed his arm with strength that astonished him even as it faded and her arm dropped back to the ground. "No doctor. . ." she mumbled, obviously desperately trying to get the words out before she passed out, ". . .take me to Anthony Richards. . . 345 Adams Street. . . please, hurry." She slumped, unconscious.
He was puzzled: why would she refuse medical attention? He finished binding her wounds: Adams Street was close by. He picked her up and carried her five blocks to what looked like an eighteenth century manor house. He used the ornate knocker to loudly announce his presence, and in a moment a staid looking butler answered the door. His eyes widened and he exclaimed, "My word! Miss Marlowe! Please, bring her in. I'll fetch Lord Richards." He vanished from the room as Duncan placed the young woman on a comfortable looking sofa. He had finished arranging her when a deep voice asked bluntly, "What happened to her?"
Duncan was at a loss for a moment as he turned to face the speaker. Lord Richards was a middle-aged man with graying black hair and piercing blue eyes: he seemed used to getting quick answers to any questions he asked. However, saying that the young woman had been attacked by vampires seemed to be a rather dangerous option, given that this man could probably pick up a phone and call twenty policemen to drag him off to an asylum. Still, no useful lie came to mind, and he replied, "She was attacked by vampires," then winced as he anticipated an unhelpful response.
The man nodded and inquired, "How many?" Duncan explained the circumstances of the fight, and that she had requested that he bring her here. Lord Richards nodded and stated, "You acted correctly in bringing her here, Mr. MacLeod. I have means of treating her that a doctor would not."
Duncan watched him as he brought out a small case of salves and elixirs and began to treat the stricken young woman. He was silent for a moment, until he could not refrain from speaking any more. "Look, I just saw her holding off a dozen vampires: that just isn't done! Who is she? For that matter, who in hell are you?"
Lord Richards looked up from his patient and locked eyes with MacLeod. After a moment, he replied, "Mr. MacLeod, I am a very powerful man. It is within my power to have you removed from these premises, and to have you indefinitely confined if you cause me trouble. However, you have saved Danielle's life, and for that I am eternally grateful. Furthermore, casual observation suggests that you are a man who can keep a secret." He inclined his head at Duncan, obviously looking at the bloody tears in his clothing, and at the visibly unmarked flesh underneath. "I will tell you about her, and you will tell me something about what makes you different. . . Immortal."
Duncan hesitated for a moment: should he simply walk out the door and refuse the exchange, or resolve the mystery that had confronted him. Unable to resist, he simply stated, "I agree."
Lord Richards nodded and smiled, then turned to Danielle, who had opened her eyes and was shakily sitting up. "She is Danielle Marlowe, the Vampire Slayer," he explained, ignoring the shocked look in her eyes, "on whom the safety of us all often hangs."
Duncan paused in his account, and drank a glass of water that Oz had brought over. After a moment it was Willow who impatiently burst out with "What happened next?"
Duncan smiled at the young woman's enthusiasm and summarized: "After I concluded my business in London, I stayed at Lord Richards' residence for two months. He told me of the lore of the Slayers, and of the Watchers' Council and I told him of the lore of the Immortals that I knew personally, together with accounts I had heard of Immortals coming into contact with the supernatural. Danielle healed quickly, and we spent some time together, both on duty and off." He coughed, obviously not wanting to elaborate, and no one chose to press the issue. "At the end of two months, I had to leave, and we all parted on good terms. I never saw either of them again." He turned to Giles and asked, "Mr. Giles, I always wondered, and I never was able to find out: what happened to Danielle and Lord Richards?"
Giles' expression was sympathetic as he said gently, "They were ambushed a large group of vampires six months later while on patrol. They were both killed." He put his hand on the Immortal's shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry."
Buffy saw the genuine sadness in Duncan's eyes and wondered what it would be like to mourn the death of someone who died a full century before. Involuntarily, she thought of Angel and the burden he carried. Relieved to know that Duncan was an ally, not a potential problem, and wanting to take his mind off of a sad moment, she commented cheerily, "I guess the Slayers owed you one, Duncan."
Duncan, recognizing an attempt to cheer him up, grinned and replied, "If you want to think of it that way, that's up to you, Buffy. I'm still quite grateful."
Xander burst in with, "So, you guys go around cutting each other's heads off, huh? What's that all about?"
Taken aback by the bluntness of the question, Duncan nonetheless started to explain when the sound of the library doors swinging open caused him to pause. Angel burst into the room, and did not wait for greetings: "Buffy, Giles. There's a major commotion going on at one of the cemeteries. . ."
Buffy was glad to see Angel apparently recovered from the ordeal of defeating the Hellmouth demon and smiled broadly, only to pause in surprise as she saw the changing expression of Duncan, whose back was to the door. At first, a puzzled look of trying to place something, then dawning realization, and finally-incandescent rage. He whirled to face Angel, and both men seemed to share a moment of total recognition. The look on Duncan's face was of complete outrage: Angel's was of complete shock. Before anyone else could react, Duncan charged the stunned vampire with an incoherent roar.
To be continued. . .
As before, comments are welcome and desired.
M. Scott Eiland