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"Dr. Higginbottom, what is your assessment
of your subject?"
Lydia's pulse raced. She must be
professional. Her unfortunate lapse the other night was just that:
a lapse. It's well known that vampires have seductive powers to lure
their victims. That's all it w. . .
"Dr. Higginbottom, do you think he's telling
the truth?"
"Mr. Travers, I have no way of assessing
William the Bloody's ability to tell the truth. I do know that he
was a vicious killer for many years, although the killing does seem to
have stopped recently. He thrived on violence and mayhem; in fact,
he still does. He's just channeled his destructive tendencies in
another direction. But there's no guarantee that he will continue
to be our ally if the chip were removed. And there's no guarantee
that his," Lydia blushed, "current affection for Ms. Summers will be constant. What if Ms. Summers were to reject him, once and for all? Would he
still feel the need to fight the forces of darkness? I think not." The title of chapter three of her thesis flashed at her accusingly. "Monogamy and Vampiric Sexual Behaviour: Drusilla the Mad and William the
Bloody". Lydia was lying, but what was the old saying? "Hell
hath no fury like a woman scorn'd"? Unfortunately, the fury didn't
make the guilt disappear. Unlike William the Bloody, she had a soul.
"I concur with your assessment Dr. Higginbottom. As usual, you are quite insightful about Mr. Bloody." Quentin Travers
took a sip of tea. Tea, such a civilised beverage. Calming. And after seeing Ms. Summers' test results and losing a very expensive
piece of computer equipment, Travers needed something to calm him. Tea would suffice for the moment, although a good Scotch would be nice. But he would abstain; he needed to have a clear head. "Now about
the Summers' situation."
Dr. Higginbottom nodded and consulted her
notes. "You didn't tell her everything, Mr. Travers."
"I know. It was necessary. It might have affected her performance or hastened her . . . descent if
she knew."
"I agree. It's better that she doesn't
know the potential consequences of her condition. We need her to
fight for us as long as she can. After all, another Slayer will not
be called."
Travers sighed. "Yes, the Faith problem. If anything . . . unfortunate happens to Ms. Summers, we may have to deal
with her." He took a final sip of his tea, draining his cup. "Dr. Higginbottom, as you know, I must return to England. But I agree
that you should stay here to observe Ms. Summers, Mr. Bloody, and the rest
of her friends. We cannot be too careful. Of course, if you
see anything unusual, you must report back to me posthaste."
"Naturally, Mr. Travers. I will happily
be the Council's eyes and ears."
"Very good, Dr. Higginbottom." Travers
smiled wryly. "Care for a nightcap? We probably both need one."
The thought of alcohol made Lydia nauseous. "No thank you Mr. Travers. I would like to peruse my notes, organise
my thoughts. However, I do appreciate the offer."
"Very well, Dr. Higginbottom. I bid
you good night."
Lydia read her notes until tears blurred
her vision. It was so very sad.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Watcher's Diaries, vol. XX, series 3:
1660-1700
23 April 1661
Today was a day for great Rejoycing; for now our Lord and Soveraigne King, Charles II,rules our Fair Isle. I fervently Hope that ye Unrest that has lately Marr'd our countries complexion,
might be over, and that Peace and Prosperity will once again be England's
Handmaides.
My dear Slayer was resplendent in her
Coronation Gowne. Even ye Monarch noticed her exceptionall Beauty
and Charm, although in soothe, he noticed many of his Female Subjects this
day. Another also Favour'd her with admiring glances. I do
not yet know his Name, but I will ask Pepys. Although a Slayer may
not be married, perhaps she may find some little Happiness while she lives.
J. Spencer
++
1 July 1661
Pepys tells me his name is Reggio. He's of Italian extraction. As a Rule I do not place much Faith in
the Character of those from ye warmer nations. They are Irrational
and Hot-blouded, and in Amorous Matters tend towards Jealousie.
My Slayer has been Training, and although
her long Gowns hinder her progress, she has become quite expert with ye
Crossbow. She has threatened to take up ye current Playhouse style
and dress in Breeches. While it may be Practickall, such a costume
would do little for her Reputation. I have discouraged this Idea
greatly, as only Actresses and Courtesans dress in such a Lascivious manner.
J. Spencer
++
24 December 1661
It is almost Christmas and in spite
of our Good King's povertie and the rebellious Spirits in the Land, we
celebrate with all the Vigourand Merryment deny'd us under the cruell Reigne
of Cromwell and his Sonne. The Dancing and Revells were quite good,
as was the wine. Much better than Pepys' sack!
My Slayer receiv'd a practicall gift
from me: new Arrowes for her Crossbow and her much desir'd Breeches. Proprietie is superceded by Expediencie. The Forces of Darkness are
gathering, and my Slayer must be able to fight them without impediment.
My Slayer gave me a newwe Diurnall for
my scribblings, which pleas'd me muchly.
J. Spencer
++
3 June 1662
I have been much Deceiv'd by this Manne,
if I can call him suche, Reggio. He is a Beast of the worst kinde. He has corrupted my Slayer in the most grievous Fashione. I saw her,
drinking his Bloud. An abomination! Altho' he had not sampled
her, completing his darke taske, I neverthelesse ran him threw mightily. He became the dust which he by all things naturall and goode should have
been many decades before. My Slayer is resting, but the harlote shall
never regaine my trust. I have been too soft in my treatment of the
girle.
J. Spencer
++
5 November 1662
Tonight Guido Fawkes was burn'd againe
in Effigie. On this night my Slayer died. Altho' I am now marked
as Murtherer, I knowe I did my Dutie well. She did not Worke for
the forces of light, but had fallen into perpetuall Darkness. The Demon bloud Boyled within her untill there was nothing left and she
turn'd upon the one who Lov'd her truest and Beste: her faithfull Watcher. Whosoever finds this record, forgive me my Death and Pray for my Soule. Self-murther is Sinne, but Life is harsher torture than Eternall Fire.
J. Spencer
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"I'm worried about Buffy. Something
just doesn't seem right."
Xander Harris ran a hand through his freshly-cut
hair. Anya had dragged him to the barber, muttering about shaggy
dogs and weddings. His hair felt strange. He'd liked it long. Made him feel more bohemian and not so much like a boring construction
worker.
Willow nodded and shoved another cookie
in her mouth. She was upset so she made cookies. So what if
it was past midnight? After the impromptu Scooby meeting at Buffy's
house, they had all departed, bemused and concerned, and by common consent
continued the meeting sans Slayer at Xander and Anya's apartment. Shortly after their arrival, Willow had taken over the kitchen.
Willow swallowed a big bite of comforting
chocolately goodness and answered her newly shorn friend. "I totally
agree Xander. Buffy was kind of like Stepford Buffy. She didn't
seem sufficiently wigged about the abomination thing."
Anya smiled and took another cookie. "These are really good Willow, but if I keep eating them, I will be a fat
bride."
"Don't think you need to worry hun." Xander squeezed Anya's shoulder.
Anya noshed happily on her cookie. "You know, maybe Buffy was just tired of being upset. She couldn't
take being unhappy anymore, so she just decided to be happy. . . Oooh! I just got a walnut! Xander, are nuts an aphrodisiac?"
Tara laughed softly. "The nuts don't
work for me personally, but who knows?"
Willow looked fondly at the blonde witch
and winked. "Anya, go back to the part before the nuts. What
did you say about Buffy being tired of being upset?"
"Well, I mean Buffy's gone through so much. Her mother dying, her sister being a Key, losing her boyfriend Riley .
. . and she probably hasn't had sex since he left so that can't be helping
. . ."
"Focus Anya . . ." Willow was beginning
to lose patience.
"I just meant that she's gone through a
lot, and maybe she's just too tired to react to her abomination status. Besides, it sounds like a pretty excellent deal to me. All of the
powers, none of the evil! I'd be happy too. Sometimes it's
nice having powers."
"Wouldn't know, dear. And I have
to say, I'm pretty grateful you're not a vengeance demon anymore. I mean, I wouldn't like my parts to fall off every time we got in a fight."
"Oh Xander, I wouldn't do that to you! I'd just be punishing myself!"
Xander looked slightly embarrassed, but
he kissed her anyway. At least her mouth would be busy.
Willow rolled her eyes. "Getting
back to Buffy . . . you know Anya, I think you may be right. Maybe
she's really OK."
"Let's hope so." Tara grabbed the last
cookie and shot a significant glance at Willow. "But I think we should
keep an eye on her, just in case we think she needs . . . "
"Extra help?" Xander laughed bitterly. "You know, in spite of Buffy telling me I'm her 'heart' I still feel like
the buttmonkey. I've been thinking. I've been hanging out with
the Slayer for five years now, and even though I've clocked all this field
time, I've never really done any training. I just don't want to be
a liability to Buffy."
"Oh Xander, you're not that. You
help." Willow opened the oven door and took out the next batch of cookies.
"Yeah, how?"
Willow slid the gooey cookies onto a plate
and brought it into the living area. "Well, the thing you did with
the wrecking ball was pretty neat."
"Yeah, but I still get my ass kicked on
a regular basis, and maybe it's time to do something about it."
"Nothing that will be painful or hurtful
to your body I hope?" Anya's brow furrowed with concern. She
didn't like the sound of this. It was bad enough that her boyfriend--her
fiancé--wanted to hang out with the Slayer all the time, fighting
evil and risking his life. Now he was getting ambitious. This
did not bode well.
"Nah, I was just thinking of getting Buffy
to teach me a few self-defense moves. Maybe Spike could help too."
Bits of cookie flew from Willow's mouth "Oh God!" she shrieked and began to laugh uncontrollably, "I never
thought I'd hear those words from Xander Harris!"
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Slayerrr."
The word was a soft whisper, almost a purr.
"Slayer."
His lips traced their way down her neck.
She shivered.
"What should I do, Slayer?"
She felt blunt teeth graze her neck. She looked into his eyes. So blue. So dangerous. So gentle.
"Take me."
"As you wish, pet."
Spike's fangs broke her skin, and she felt
her life draining into his mouth. It was not unpleasant. Not
unpleasant at all.
Knock, knock, knock.
What was that?
Again, knock, knock, knock.
Buffy jolted out of sleep, breathing hard
and grasping her neck. Wildly she looked around for Spike. Thank God. She looked at her hand. No, her hand was clean. No blood.
Knock, knock, knock.
She'd fallen asleep on the couch. Time? 1am. Who would be knocking on her door at 1am?
Spike.
She didn't want to see Spike. Not
right now.
Buffy drew a shaky breath and opened the
door anyway.
It wasn't Spike.
A tall dark haired woman stood before her,
her face full of anxiety and anticipation. "Are you the Slayer?" She had an Eastern European accent.
Buffy knew this woman. The woman
from Prague. Her stomach sank. With a shaking voice she answered. "Yes."
"My name is Lena Petrovich. I have
come very far to find you."
Buffy nodded, but could not speak.
"I am looking for the vampire, William
the Bloody. I must find him." Lena Petrovich paused and tried
to compose herself but her efforts were in vain. Her shoulders shook
and she struggled for breath. "I am sorry to greet you like this,
but you see . . . "
Buffy knew what was coming. She wanted
to run. She didn't want to hear this.
" . . . he killed my family."
END PART ELEVEN