No way, thought Buffy. No way that's Elvis.
"Dev, good to see you again," said Elvis, turning to Deveraux. "And who's this pretty little lady here?"
"Um...Buffy," said Buffy, still somewhat floored.
"Quiet, isn't she?" asked Elvis.
"Some moments less than others," said Deveraux. Buffy frowned at him as he continued. "We've a very serious problem, and I'll need your resources to help resolve it."
"What do you need?" asked Elvis, in a slightly weary tone of voice.
"Access, more than anything else. I remember you have a copy of the Eidolian Chronicals, and that there is a ritual of warding against telepathic intrusion within. Melissa has doubtless obtained the Dagger by now. Buffy here is going to penetrate her group and steal it back. However, she needs a way to guard her thoughts against at least casual intrusion, thus the Chronicals."
Elvis was nodding. "Yes, I know that ritual. Came in handy dealin' with the old Prince."
"Okay, hold it. How do you know about all this mystic stuff. I mean, no offense, but you're Elvis," said Buffy.
Elvis turned to her, and Buffy for the first time sensed the latent power within him. "When my momma died, I gained a great interest in spiritualism and the occult," He smiled, barely exposing his fangs. "After my...transformation, my interest in those arts increased."
Elvis turned back to Deveraux. "We best get to it. This cat won't skin itself," He looked at Buffy. "You can wait in the den area, if you'd like."
"Unless of course you'd like to come with us," offered Deveraux. "These spells often involve quantum mechanics and calculus equations. If you pay attention, you might even learn something," he said.
Buffy stepped back slightly at that. "Uh...no thanks. I'm allergic to math."
Deveraux snorted. "Awfully convenient allergy there."
Buffy nodded. "Yep, I sneeze, cough, sometimes even get hives."
Elvis grinned at that. "I had the same allergy when I was your age, and I'd be a poor host to inflict such discomfort on one of guests. Bubba and Billy Mack here'll escort you to the den. I got satellite TV. If you're peckish, just tell them and they'll have somthin' brought to ya. I'm fairly sure there's some fried chicken and some peanut butter and fried banana sandwiches left over. I can't enjoy such thing anymore," he said, his voice edged with regret. "But my...employees do and I can still smell, and remember."
"Sure, thanks," said Buffy.
"I wouldn't go wanderin' the house though," said Elvis. "There's...other folks here aside from myself and they get a bit eccentric."
Deveraux spoke at that point. "That means stay in the bloody den until I come for you."
"I know what it means!" said Buffy, crossly.
Deveraux looked at her a moment longer and then nodded gruffly, turning away.
Elvis spoke to the two men with the guns. "You two show Miss Buffy here to the den and get her any refreshments she wants, then return to your posts."
The two nodded silently as Deveraux and Elvis left. "Right this way ma'am," said one in a toneless voice.
They traveled through the house, paintings and antiques filled the hallways. From a series of speakers set in the ceiling, Buffy heard the muted sounds of the hymn "Amazing Grace". She shook her head slightly. A vampire into gospel music, she thought, that is definitely a new one on me.
As they walked along Buffy asked. "So, what's it like working for Elvis?"
Silence.
"Not much into conversation, huh?" she asked.
Silence.
Annoyed, she tapped one on the shoulder. "You guys aren't deaf, or something, are you?"
The one she tapped turned his head to her slowly, panning the area like a security camera. She looked into his eyes and saw...nothing. No hope, no anger, no fear. If the eyes were the window into the soul, Buffy was looking into an empty room. She felt a chill creep up her spine.
They'd stopped in front of an archway leading into a room with several couches, chairs and a huge TV screen. "Here's the den, ma'am," said the one she'd tapped in that same empty voice. "Do you need any refreshments?"
"Um...no, I'm fine," she said. She actually was a little thirsty, but she didn't want to be around these two another second.
They nodded to her and turned away, walking with robotic precision back to their posts.
Buffy rubbed her arms to ward off the chill she felt despite the relative warmth of the room. She sat on a couch and found a remote. She began flipping through the TV channels, pausing ever so often.
"...aw Jill, all the washer needed was more power-" Click.
"...2259. The name of the place, is Babylon-" Click.
"...today is Ginger Spice-" Click.
"...on Jerry Springer, people who've slept with-" Click.
Annoyed, Buffy turned off the TV. Progress, she thought, three hundred channels and still nothing on.
Buffy sat in the sofa and realized another urge. "Oh lovely. There's gotta be a bathroom around here somewhere," she said to herself.
She got up. "Sorry, Giles, Deveraux, whatever. But nature calls." she muttered.
She walked through the corridors of the mansion, looking for anything bathroom-like. The doors she tried opened into closets, bedrooms and showing rooms filled with the beautiful clutter of the rich and artistic. Mom would give her left kidney to see this place, thought Buffy.
Finally, as her need mounted, a door opened into a room with sink, mirror and toilet. "How do I spell relief?" she said to herself, "B-A-T-H-R-O-O-M. Beats the heck out of Rolaids."
A little later, mind clear and bladder empty, Buffy stepped back out in the hall and realized she couldn't quite recall the way back to the den. Oh great, now I'm lost, she thought. No way will Giles understand this, especially this Giles. She started walking, seeing if she could remember a route back.
Then, ahead of her, she saw someone moving. Buffy remembered the warning about 'eccentricities'. She shook it off. I'm the Slayer, she thought. I can handle asking for directions. Besides, if they give me any problems, there's plenty of wood if I need a stake.
Thus resolved she moved to catch up.
*****
"Good, we're nearly finished, then," said Deveraux in satisfaction.
"About time," said Elvis.
A toneless voice came over a speaker. "Your Majesty." it began.
Deveraux raised an eyebrow at Elvis. "I am the King, after all."
Deveraux simply shrugged and resumed writing. "Report," said Elvis.
"Sir, she's gone."
"Well, go and find her and tell me when you do!" commanded Elvis.
"Yes, sir." the toneless voice replied.
"You know, Dev, this coulda come at a better time," said Elvis.
"There's always a better time," Deveraux reminded him.
*****
Moving quickly, Buffy caught up to the figure. She was dressed in an old-fashioned Southern Belle's dress. She was taller than Buffy and her dark skin contrasted with the white of her dress. "Uh...hi," said Buffy, a bit embarrassed. "Do you know where the den is?"
The girl turned to her, revealing oddly empty brown eyes. Buffy stiffened at the sight, but then the girl smiled and her eyes seemed to fill with life. "Hello, there. I'm Emily, what's your name," her voice had a lovely Southern lilt in it, mixed with some other accent that Buffy couldn't identify.
"I'm Buffy."
"Are you one of Daddy's friends?" asked Emily.
"I don't know. Who's your Daddy?" asked Buffy.
"You're in his house. You should know." she smiled then, exposing pointed teeth. "He's not my real Daddy, of course. But he's the King and I'm his Princess. He made me his Princess."
Buffy felt an anger rise in her. Ally or no ally, Elvis or no Elvis, nobody had the right to do what the "King" was doing.
"Do you want to see my dollies? I make them myself. I'll show you." Emily reached out and took Buffy's wrist. Buffy felt the coolness of her touch and was about to protest, but then felt it wasn't worth the effort. Even more than with Melissa and Angel, Buffy felt this sense of belonging, connection with this strange girl and had to follow through on it.
They walked down some stairs and into a what seemed like a basement den. Doors led off in several direction. Emily stroked Buffy's head. "You have really pretty hair." she said.
Buffy just smiled in response, held in a weird contentment. She liked Emily. She just wasn't quite sure why.
Emily led her to a chair that resembled one in a beauty shop. On a table nearby was a mannequin head staring out with empty eyesockets. A variety of tools and makeup littered the table by the chair. "Just sit here," said Emily. "It'll be fun."
Obediently Buffy sat in the chair. From a hazy distance she knew something was wrong, but couldn't quite focus. Emily caressed Buffy's cheek. "You have such soft skin." she commented. The coldness of her touch caused Buffy's mind to clear.
"What's going on? Who are you?" demanded Buffy.
Emily looked into Buffy's eyes and said "Hold still," Buffy felt her mind slam back into her brain and saw the room clearly for the first time. Mannequin heads with removed human faces on them were lined up on a table against a wall. Emily was getting a scalpel from the table.
"Aren't you happy," she asked, empty smile beaming. "You get to be my newest dolly."
Trapped inside her own mind, Buffy screamed in helpless silence..
