Buffy and Deveraux stepped out of the interrogation room and into the hall

Buffy and Deveraux stepped out of the interrogation room and into the hall. To Buffy's disgust, Deveraux lit another cigarette. She wanted to snatch it away, but he'd recuffed her hands behind her. "For transport," he'd explained.

"All right, hold it." said a heavyset man wearing a gold badge. Buffy recognized him as Detective Miller, the officer who'd actually read her her rights when she'd been arrested. "Federal marshall or not, you can't have her 'til the paperwork goes through."

"The paperwork won't go through until sometime tomorrow morning. The plane leaves in two hours," said Deveraux, an edge in his voice.

"Then she and you can just settle down here an' enjoy our fine Southern hospitality for a little while longer," Miller smirked.

Deveraux sighed. "Detective, let me explain something to you. This girl is a federal witness in an rather important trial. That is why you were all given those orders about not shooting her. You are the officer in charge and you performed well. On my word I will ensure that you are covered in glory from on high for your actions."

"However," Deveraux continued, in a merciless tone. "If you delay me for one millisecond longer, I will place a couple of calls. One will arrange delayed transport for in the morning. The other will awaken the U. S. Attorney General, who will awaken your state's governor, who will awaken your city's mayor, who will awaken your chief of police, who will doubtless ensure that you spend the rest of your all-too-brief career as a meter-maid in the nastier parts of town. Got it?"

Miller had turned an unhealthy shade of green at Deveraux' icily indifferent recitation of the consequences of delaying him further. "Uh, s-sure Marshall Deveraux. I guess we don't need the paperwork now. We'll get it in the morning." he said, smiling weakly.

"Good show. We'll just be leaving now," said Deveraux, as he and Buffy walked outside. He opened the door and helped her inside. Then he entered from the other side, started the car and off they went.

"You didn't have to be so rough on that guy," said Buffy, in a snippy voice that usually drove Giles crazy. "He was just doing his job."

Deveraux reached his hand out and patted Buffy on the head. She flinched away, but was hampered by the seat belt and cuffs. "Hey!" she said. "Quit! What's that for?!"

Deveraux retracted his hand. "I was always taught that little girls were something special. If they said something childish or naive or even downright stupid, you just give them a little pat on the head and say 'That's nice, dear.'"

He turned to Buffy. "That's nice, dear."

She scowled angrily at him. "That is a seriously sexist thing to do. I'll bet you don't do that to the guys that work for you."

"No, I don't," he said with equanimity. "Generally, when they do or say something stupid, I just give them a good smack behind the ear and they generally get the idea."

"Nice to know you're equal-opportunity in treating people like crap," said Buffy. "Like you did with that cop, who was still just doing his job."

"In point of fact, he was not doing his job. His job was to keep you there until the proper paperwork arrived. Any policeman who can be intimidated out of his prisoner doesn't deserve his badge. What exactly has my counterpart been teaching you, anyway?" Deveraux asked with a sniff that called up Giles' own bewilderment at American culture. "Most of the darkness in this world and most likely yours springs from human hearts. Until you can more clearly see and understand that darkness, all the combat techniques in the world won't do you a bloody lick of good."

Buffy sat in silence at that, then, "Where are we going?"

"To an ally's house to outfit you for your little undercover job. Turn around a bit," Buffy turned her back to him and saw the lights of the city passing her as they drove along the darkened streets of Memphis. He unlocked her cuffs and removed them.

Buffy sat back up, then lashed out with her hand, intending to give this Giles a pop on the back of the head. Nothing hard, of course, just a tiny reminder of who was the Slayer. Sometimes people needed that.

Intending was the word, though. Swift as a striking snake, he parried her arm and managed to pin it behind her back. He used that leverage to then bend her forward until her head touched the dashboard. He didn't even look at her. "You will note that one can learn quite a bit about hand-to-hand combat in the SAS. I'm going to release you now. If you give me any more trouble, I'll spank your bottom and put you in the trunk. For your information, I'm a rather lousy card-player, principally because I never bluff." He released her hand and she started rubbing it.

"How did-" Buffy started, astonished.

"-I do that? Quite simple, really. Your Slayer fighting skills, which I observed on the security cameras in the mall and the store are quite effective. However, like any standardized martial art, it is a relatively simple task to analyze the style and take advantage of its weaknesses. Your 'Slayer-Fu' seems to be a hard style that takes advantage of your heightened speed and strength. You go for the heart or head in most attacks. However, hard styles are vulnerable to soft styles that concentrate more on leverage and the redirection of force and momentum. It doesn't matter how strong you are, when you can't bring that strength to bear."

"Also," he continued, coolly. "If I could analyze your fighting style, others could as well. Including those vampires you slay. I should recommend enrolling in a martial arts class, preferably Aikido, Jujitsu or Tai Chi. You need to supplement your standard moves with others and remain unpredictable to your enemies, that's how you stay alive."

"You just watched me on tape and figured all that out?" asked Buffy.

"Of course. Your Giles is trained in what, occultism, history, medieval weapons? I was trained to go interesting places, meet interesting people and kill them, and I was bloody well good at my job." He said. "Still am, for that matter."

Buffy swallowed. The idea of Giles as a commando or an assassin was just too strange for words.

"I've realized, I've been harsh with you, haven't I?" asked Deveraux.

"You think?" said Buffy.

"Yes, actually. You need to understand, though. So much depends on this. You must get the Dagger, and the only thing that will allow this is Melissa's bit of affection for you. One thing I must warn you about. Do not attempt to kill her or otherwise attack her. However she may act, she is no longer some punk street child with a few mystical tricks. Melissa will have full command of her powers and faculties.

"I listened to your description of the vampires you faced in your world. Melissa was right about that part. Even the Kindred you fought earlier tonight were young and weak. Melissa isn't. She first came on the scene in Europe, anyway returning with Marco Polo from his China journey. If you aren't a history buff, that's a good 700 years ago. It is quite possible that she was Kindred for a long time even before that in China.

"Her plots and manipulations in various personalities have causes wars to rage and cities to fall. Malkavians also love 'pranks'. They enjoy putting humans and other vampires in bizarre and frightening situations and shattering their usual beliefs. These pranks get larger the older the Kindred gets. One of Melissa's 'better' pranks was the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. That little incident triggered the First World War. Just researching her true career took the better part of that week I mentioned earlier.

"If she suspects you, she'll squeeze your brain dry of information and leave you a soulless husk. That is why I've been so harsh. I'm worried, and when I get worried I get peevish. Can you forgive me?" he asked, his tone reminding her of Giles with its self-conscious embarrassment/

"Okay, I forgive you. What about that wolf-cub?" asked Buffy.

"I doubt there was a wolf-cub. Andru most likely put that in 'my' mission briefing to lure Scratches and Rebecca to theirs deaths. I expect they were slaughtered as soon as they arrived at their destination."

"You're awfully cold about this, you know. If somebody had done that to my friends I'd be a little upset." said Buffy, looking at him. "and don't even think about that patting on the head stuff!"

"I find I have a choice. I can either throw myself on my bed and bawl my eyes out in grief over my loss, or I can find and punish those who inflicted that loss. I choose the latter course," said Deveraux. "The job comes first. Always."

They turned into a driveway leading to a large house on a hill.

"Who is this ally guy, anyway?" asked Buffy as they got out of the car.

"He's the leader of the Toreador, a vampire clan of artists and patrons of the arts, music, etc. He is also the highest ranking of the Camarilla vampires in the city."

Deveraux knocked on the door. "He's a bit eccentric, hasn't quite let go of his mortal life," Deveraux said, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Sounds lovely," said Buffy, yearning for vampires who'd just try to kill you.

The door opened and two large men with machine pistols clenched in their fists admitted them into a large foyer.

"Okay, so this guy is like, the new, um, prince, or something?" asked Buffy, a bit proud of herself for remembering the terminology.

Suddenly, a pair of double door opened and a new person entered the room. He was tall, with dark, wavy hair and he wore sunglasses and a white, rhinestone-studded suit with an open shirt that had a stiff, pulled-up collar.

The newcomer struck a familiar, hipswaying pose and spoke as Buffy's jaw dropped. "The Prince is dead, little darlin'. Long live...the King."