Giles looked up. The mail carrier thrust a package at him. The Watcher frowned for a heartbeat, then remembered the phone call. His pulse quickened and his mouth grew dry. "Can I help you?" he asked.
"If you're Mr. Giles you can sign for this." She held out a small electronic device. He took it and noticed the small, rectangular green screen and the stylus dangling on a grubby piece of string. He scrawled his signature, she touched her fingers to her cap and left the library. He turned the package around to look at it. It was wrapped in rough brown paper and sealed with a great deal of scotch tape. His name and the school's address were written in a shaky hand, probably with a marker. He simply looked at it for a few minutes. This was his Rubicon, he thought, then corrected himself. This would simply confirm that he had already crossed, that his life was forever altered. He took a deep breath and ripped the paper.
***
David Mangwana lifted his head as the door opened and Kirkland stepped into the cell. 'Cell' seemed a strong word for a well-appointed room with narrow windows, but Mangwana was no fool. The room was on the third floor and those windows had iron bars over them. The locked door and the sound of footsteps and voices made him aware that someone was always keeping watch. Mangwana doubted that he would ever leave.
Kirkland wore a three-button suit, black, over a white shirt buttoned to the neck with no tie. He was trying for stylish; he achieved smug. The door closed behind him and the two men stared at each other across the room. Mangwana's face was impassive, his eyes dark and still.
"It has begun," he said. "You have killed Koenig."
"Oh, I see," Kirkland said. "Now, I say 'How did you know that' and you say 'I didn't until just now.' Always works in the cinema."
Mangwana's expression was grave and stoic as he stood. "I do not rely on parlor tricks. I know because I sent my spirit out to search for him. You sent assassins to him, killers with blades and they took his life." David's face did not move but fire ignited in his eyes. "The blood of a brother is on your hands."
"Spare me." Kirkland's urbane front curdled. "I don't need to listen to your jungle hogwash. 'Sent your spirit out'... What next, will you steal a lock of my hair to tie to a doll and stab with pins?"
Mangwana shook his head, a slow, deliberate motion. "You don't even understand what you're doing, do you? First you desecrate the rituals, now you order the murder of a member of our Order, all the while declaiming the need to hold fast to our sacred traditions. What tradition does the slaughter of one of our own uphold?" He sat down. "You don't even realize the path you're taking."
"I am taking the path that will restore us to our proper position," Kirkland snapped. "Now, tell me who you faxed those documents to and what you told the others that night, and I'll rescind my order to deal with the other members of your little cabal."
"Cabal?" Mangwana smiled. "You suspect us of acting as you would." His eyes narrowed. "At least tell me you didn't intend for the Maeda woman to be killed."
"I suspect you of being a treasonous bastard," Kirkland said. "And my intentions are none of your business. Now, an account of your conversation please."
"No." Mangwana shook his head again. "Your agents will continue their task anyway." He looked around the room. "I'm surprised you stand here alone." He feinted toward the other man. Kirkland started and waved a hand. Red and purple filigreed the air between them. Mangwana laughed. "I suspected you had warded the room."
"I'll do more than that." Kirkland reached out and rapped on the door with the knuckles of his right hand. The door opened and Humboldt Eubanks entered, carrying a pair of gloves on a square pillow. Kirkland pulled on the creased old leather gauntlets. "Remember these?" he said. "I'll bet you thought they were a legend, but they're not. The gloves of Eris Theon, last worn by Gilbert of Trent. You're quite the scholar, so I believe that you know what they can do?" Kirkland looked at Mangwana and smiled a smile to frighten small children and give dogs nightmares. "Let's see if they're all the ancients claim, shall we?" He extended his hands toward Mangwana.
David steeled himself but the shock of pain in his chest still took his breath away. Pressure increased and the pain rose from a dull throb to a steady agony. He heard his rib snap.
"Well," said Kirkland, holding up his hands as Mangwana gasped, "that was certainly impressive, wasn't it? Let's see what else we can do."
***
Giles did his best to not run as he left the library. The package was under his arm, most of it still wrapped in the torn brown paper. He hit the door hard, banging it open as he broke into a trot going down the steps.
Matti Hollis poked her head out from her spot between two banks of lockers. The door swung shut with a loud clack. Her eyes narrowed as she considered her options.
***
Willow stared at her shoes. They were red canvas sneakers. She could feel the seam of one of her socks wrapped around her little toe. It annoyed her. She wiggled her toes. This only caused the seam to shift its position slightly. She looked at her feet more closely. She wiggled her toes again, aware of the movement, but also conscious of the fact that she couldn't see anything happening.
"Hey, if you get any deeper in thought we'll have to send in spelunkers." She jumped at Oz's words, startled out of her reverie. They were seated on a bench outside the school, grabbing a few minutes of quiet as students rushed past.
"Oh, sorry," she said. "I was thinking about something."
"Apparently," he said. "Anything you want to share?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. It sounds petty and shallow."
"Hey, two emotions I can relate to." He smiled. "If it'll make you feel better, I'm here."
Willow grimaced. "I hate myself when I'm this way. I know that it's a good thing that Faith's back in school, but did you notice how quick her and Buffy went off together?" She sighed. "It's like I'm friend 1-A again."
Oz nodded. "I get it."
"I'm good enough when Buffy's freaked about getting mind-warped by Trick and Faith's not around, but let Miss CrazySexyCool show up and bam! I'm Thursday's turkey pot pie again." Willow took a deep breath, a scowl of anger clouding her features. She looked at her feet again and suddenly the scowl vanished. She shot to her feet.
"Sorry," she said to Oz. "I gotta go. I need to see someone, okay?"
"Always," he said, but she was already quick-walking across the lawn away from him.
***
"Giles? Earth to Giles?" Buffy's knuckles rapped on the counter but the librarian did not appear. "Sorry," she said as she turned to Faith, "you know he's usually in here."
"I think he stepped out for a minute." The girls turned and saw Ms. Hollis standing in the door. "I saw him leave like, thirty seconds ago. He might be back any minute." The Slayers looked at each other.
"Hey B, it's no thing." Faith shrugged. "Besides, I gotta book. You know, classes and stuff. Catch you later?"
"Sure," Buffy said. "Later." The girls left the library, Faith going straight down the hall, Buffy turning left. Matti watched until distance diminished them, then she raced toward the door.
***
Willow crossed the cafeteria with longer than usual strides. She was moving so fast that she skidded a little when she stopped. She tossed a notebook onto the table; it landed with a sharp smack. Tyler Pittman looked up from his book.
"Okay," she said. "Show me what you got."
***
The trembling hand lowered the knife back to the coals. The hand did not quiver with weakness but rather with the strength of its grip. The blade had cooled to a dull red. Curled bits of white skin clung to its edges.
The followers of Othniel Hampton stood outside the closed door and stared. Their leader had fallen into these moods before. Coyne paced in front of the door and the waves of nervousness coming off of that scarred old vampire caused the others to shake in their boots (or sneakers or oxfords or pumps or...). Their master had sequestered himself in his private sanctum some hours ago.
The door slammed open and the smell of burned meat filled the basement. Coyne jumped and the groups fell back a pace. Hampton stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing with weird energy, sweat beading his face and running down his neck.
"Hear me," he said, his voice rasping in their ears. "We have been lax, slumbering while the unjust labor." He blinked, swaying from side to side. "No more. We will become as cleansing fire. The corruption must be purged and our purpose restored." He raised his hands. "We were not put here to serve mammon nor to love this world. We are to judge it." He looked at them, his posture rigid, his eyes aflame. "Today, I tell you, today is the day of our restoration. I have been blind, but now I see. I have made peace with the enemy, but when he deigned to touch one of the anointed, his true face was made plain to me." He looked around and where his eyes met theirs a spark kindled. "We must be the instruments to punish that offense. And we will punish them until their hearts cry out."
***
Robert Woo slowed as he approached the door of his apartment. All day he had felt that something was out of balance, out of alignment, and now as he approached his domicile, the sensation was increasing. He paused before the door, gathering himself. He took two deep breaths and immediately sank into a deep meditative state. He remained immobile for thirty seconds, then took another deep breath and opened his eyes. There were two men in his home; he'd felt them in his trance. He opened the door and stepped inside, immediately sliding to his left and dropping into a crouch. The knife passed through the air where his head had been an instant before. The blade crunched into the wall. Robert kicked the assailant's feet out from under him; the man fell with a thud. Woo rose and took two fluid steps backward along the wall. The second man stood in the middle of the room. The first got up from the floor and pulled the knife out of the wall. They were big men in dark clothing and ski masks. Robert extended a hand toward them.
"I give you this opportunity," he said, "to leave without penalty." They looked at each other, then started to move apart. "I'm serious," he said, first in Mandarin, then in English. A harsh laugh erupted from the second assailant as a butterfly knife appeared in his hand.
Robert motioned and a ring of fire sprang up from the floor, surrounding them. Streams of flame arced up, meeting over their heads, trapping them in a cage of fire. Robert went into the only bedroom and returned with a large duffel bag over his shoulder. He looked at them for a moment, then made another gesture. The flames began to draw inward, pushing the two assassins toward each other. They remained silent. The cage shrank, pressing them back-to-back and forcing them to crouch. The smell of singed hair and burned wool filled the room. Robert paused at the door and looked back. One of the men met his gaze with a look of hatred, then extended a hand, middle finger raised. Robert shook his hand and signaled. The cupola of flames collapsed inward.
As he closed the door behind him he reflected that neither of them ever spoke a word. As he reached the street sirens could be heard. Robert shook his head. The fire would extinguish itself when it was finished with the two assassins. The only thing the fire fighters would discover was some smoke damage, slight singeing, and two piles of ash and bone.
***
"I was thinking," Xander began.
"Well, we'll see that you get a gold star for that," Cordelia said.
"You know, some day you're going to be one of those women who complain about how men won't share their feelings. When that happens, I want you to remember what you just said." Xander pouted.
"Sorry," Cordelia said. "What were you thinking about?"
He stood up straight. "About our anniversary. We've been dating for over a year now."
"No we haven't." Cordelia put her Sociology book in the locker. "We've only been dating..." She thought for a minute, then her eyes widened. "Oh my God. It has been a year. A whole year. It can't be."
"And I must say that your reaction warms my heart." Xander rolled his eyes. "Anyway, we didn't celebrate it because of, you know, the thing with you and then the thing with Faith, and I don't think we want to wait until Valentine's Day because, well, you remember what--"
"Yes," she said, holding up a hand. "What are you saying?"
"Remember how you were planning on going to Domenico's?" Xander took a deep breath. "Well, I've been saving up and I thought that maybe we could go tonight. Sort of an anniversary dinner."
She touched his cheek. "That is so sweet. Of course."
He nodded hastily. "So how about we meet at the Bronze and then go? Say, seven?"
"Sure." She closed the locker door and turned back to him. "Has it really been a year?"
"Trust me," he said. "Sometimes it seems like more."
***
"If you're Mr. Giles you can sign for this." She held out a small electronic device. He took it and noticed the small, rectangular green screen and the stylus dangling on a grubby piece of string. He scrawled his signature, she touched her fingers to her cap and left the library. He turned the package around to look at it. It was wrapped in rough brown paper and sealed with a great deal of scotch tape. His name and the school's address were written in a shaky hand, probably with a marker. He simply looked at it for a few minutes. This was his Rubicon, he thought, then corrected himself. This would simply confirm that he had already crossed, that his life was forever altered. He took a deep breath and ripped the paper.
***
David Mangwana lifted his head as the door opened and Kirkland stepped into the cell. 'Cell' seemed a strong word for a well-appointed room with narrow windows, but Mangwana was no fool. The room was on the third floor and those windows had iron bars over them. The locked door and the sound of footsteps and voices made him aware that someone was always keeping watch. Mangwana doubted that he would ever leave.
Kirkland wore a three-button suit, black, over a white shirt buttoned to the neck with no tie. He was trying for stylish; he achieved smug. The door closed behind him and the two men stared at each other across the room. Mangwana's face was impassive, his eyes dark and still.
"It has begun," he said. "You have killed Koenig."
"Oh, I see," Kirkland said. "Now, I say 'How did you know that' and you say 'I didn't until just now.' Always works in the cinema."
Mangwana's expression was grave and stoic as he stood. "I do not rely on parlor tricks. I know because I sent my spirit out to search for him. You sent assassins to him, killers with blades and they took his life." David's face did not move but fire ignited in his eyes. "The blood of a brother is on your hands."
"Spare me." Kirkland's urbane front curdled. "I don't need to listen to your jungle hogwash. 'Sent your spirit out'... What next, will you steal a lock of my hair to tie to a doll and stab with pins?"
Mangwana shook his head, a slow, deliberate motion. "You don't even understand what you're doing, do you? First you desecrate the rituals, now you order the murder of a member of our Order, all the while declaiming the need to hold fast to our sacred traditions. What tradition does the slaughter of one of our own uphold?" He sat down. "You don't even realize the path you're taking."
"I am taking the path that will restore us to our proper position," Kirkland snapped. "Now, tell me who you faxed those documents to and what you told the others that night, and I'll rescind my order to deal with the other members of your little cabal."
"Cabal?" Mangwana smiled. "You suspect us of acting as you would." His eyes narrowed. "At least tell me you didn't intend for the Maeda woman to be killed."
"I suspect you of being a treasonous bastard," Kirkland said. "And my intentions are none of your business. Now, an account of your conversation please."
"No." Mangwana shook his head again. "Your agents will continue their task anyway." He looked around the room. "I'm surprised you stand here alone." He feinted toward the other man. Kirkland started and waved a hand. Red and purple filigreed the air between them. Mangwana laughed. "I suspected you had warded the room."
"I'll do more than that." Kirkland reached out and rapped on the door with the knuckles of his right hand. The door opened and Humboldt Eubanks entered, carrying a pair of gloves on a square pillow. Kirkland pulled on the creased old leather gauntlets. "Remember these?" he said. "I'll bet you thought they were a legend, but they're not. The gloves of Eris Theon, last worn by Gilbert of Trent. You're quite the scholar, so I believe that you know what they can do?" Kirkland looked at Mangwana and smiled a smile to frighten small children and give dogs nightmares. "Let's see if they're all the ancients claim, shall we?" He extended his hands toward Mangwana.
David steeled himself but the shock of pain in his chest still took his breath away. Pressure increased and the pain rose from a dull throb to a steady agony. He heard his rib snap.
"Well," said Kirkland, holding up his hands as Mangwana gasped, "that was certainly impressive, wasn't it? Let's see what else we can do."
***
Giles did his best to not run as he left the library. The package was under his arm, most of it still wrapped in the torn brown paper. He hit the door hard, banging it open as he broke into a trot going down the steps.
Matti Hollis poked her head out from her spot between two banks of lockers. The door swung shut with a loud clack. Her eyes narrowed as she considered her options.
***
Willow stared at her shoes. They were red canvas sneakers. She could feel the seam of one of her socks wrapped around her little toe. It annoyed her. She wiggled her toes. This only caused the seam to shift its position slightly. She looked at her feet more closely. She wiggled her toes again, aware of the movement, but also conscious of the fact that she couldn't see anything happening.
"Hey, if you get any deeper in thought we'll have to send in spelunkers." She jumped at Oz's words, startled out of her reverie. They were seated on a bench outside the school, grabbing a few minutes of quiet as students rushed past.
"Oh, sorry," she said. "I was thinking about something."
"Apparently," he said. "Anything you want to share?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. It sounds petty and shallow."
"Hey, two emotions I can relate to." He smiled. "If it'll make you feel better, I'm here."
Willow grimaced. "I hate myself when I'm this way. I know that it's a good thing that Faith's back in school, but did you notice how quick her and Buffy went off together?" She sighed. "It's like I'm friend 1-A again."
Oz nodded. "I get it."
"I'm good enough when Buffy's freaked about getting mind-warped by Trick and Faith's not around, but let Miss CrazySexyCool show up and bam! I'm Thursday's turkey pot pie again." Willow took a deep breath, a scowl of anger clouding her features. She looked at her feet again and suddenly the scowl vanished. She shot to her feet.
"Sorry," she said to Oz. "I gotta go. I need to see someone, okay?"
"Always," he said, but she was already quick-walking across the lawn away from him.
***
"Giles? Earth to Giles?" Buffy's knuckles rapped on the counter but the librarian did not appear. "Sorry," she said as she turned to Faith, "you know he's usually in here."
"I think he stepped out for a minute." The girls turned and saw Ms. Hollis standing in the door. "I saw him leave like, thirty seconds ago. He might be back any minute." The Slayers looked at each other.
"Hey B, it's no thing." Faith shrugged. "Besides, I gotta book. You know, classes and stuff. Catch you later?"
"Sure," Buffy said. "Later." The girls left the library, Faith going straight down the hall, Buffy turning left. Matti watched until distance diminished them, then she raced toward the door.
***
Willow crossed the cafeteria with longer than usual strides. She was moving so fast that she skidded a little when she stopped. She tossed a notebook onto the table; it landed with a sharp smack. Tyler Pittman looked up from his book.
"Okay," she said. "Show me what you got."
***
The trembling hand lowered the knife back to the coals. The hand did not quiver with weakness but rather with the strength of its grip. The blade had cooled to a dull red. Curled bits of white skin clung to its edges.
The followers of Othniel Hampton stood outside the closed door and stared. Their leader had fallen into these moods before. Coyne paced in front of the door and the waves of nervousness coming off of that scarred old vampire caused the others to shake in their boots (or sneakers or oxfords or pumps or...). Their master had sequestered himself in his private sanctum some hours ago.
The door slammed open and the smell of burned meat filled the basement. Coyne jumped and the groups fell back a pace. Hampton stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing with weird energy, sweat beading his face and running down his neck.
"Hear me," he said, his voice rasping in their ears. "We have been lax, slumbering while the unjust labor." He blinked, swaying from side to side. "No more. We will become as cleansing fire. The corruption must be purged and our purpose restored." He raised his hands. "We were not put here to serve mammon nor to love this world. We are to judge it." He looked at them, his posture rigid, his eyes aflame. "Today, I tell you, today is the day of our restoration. I have been blind, but now I see. I have made peace with the enemy, but when he deigned to touch one of the anointed, his true face was made plain to me." He looked around and where his eyes met theirs a spark kindled. "We must be the instruments to punish that offense. And we will punish them until their hearts cry out."
***
Robert Woo slowed as he approached the door of his apartment. All day he had felt that something was out of balance, out of alignment, and now as he approached his domicile, the sensation was increasing. He paused before the door, gathering himself. He took two deep breaths and immediately sank into a deep meditative state. He remained immobile for thirty seconds, then took another deep breath and opened his eyes. There were two men in his home; he'd felt them in his trance. He opened the door and stepped inside, immediately sliding to his left and dropping into a crouch. The knife passed through the air where his head had been an instant before. The blade crunched into the wall. Robert kicked the assailant's feet out from under him; the man fell with a thud. Woo rose and took two fluid steps backward along the wall. The second man stood in the middle of the room. The first got up from the floor and pulled the knife out of the wall. They were big men in dark clothing and ski masks. Robert extended a hand toward them.
"I give you this opportunity," he said, "to leave without penalty." They looked at each other, then started to move apart. "I'm serious," he said, first in Mandarin, then in English. A harsh laugh erupted from the second assailant as a butterfly knife appeared in his hand.
Robert motioned and a ring of fire sprang up from the floor, surrounding them. Streams of flame arced up, meeting over their heads, trapping them in a cage of fire. Robert went into the only bedroom and returned with a large duffel bag over his shoulder. He looked at them for a moment, then made another gesture. The flames began to draw inward, pushing the two assassins toward each other. They remained silent. The cage shrank, pressing them back-to-back and forcing them to crouch. The smell of singed hair and burned wool filled the room. Robert paused at the door and looked back. One of the men met his gaze with a look of hatred, then extended a hand, middle finger raised. Robert shook his hand and signaled. The cupola of flames collapsed inward.
As he closed the door behind him he reflected that neither of them ever spoke a word. As he reached the street sirens could be heard. Robert shook his head. The fire would extinguish itself when it was finished with the two assassins. The only thing the fire fighters would discover was some smoke damage, slight singeing, and two piles of ash and bone.
***
"I was thinking," Xander began.
"Well, we'll see that you get a gold star for that," Cordelia said.
"You know, some day you're going to be one of those women who complain about how men won't share their feelings. When that happens, I want you to remember what you just said." Xander pouted.
"Sorry," Cordelia said. "What were you thinking about?"
He stood up straight. "About our anniversary. We've been dating for over a year now."
"No we haven't." Cordelia put her Sociology book in the locker. "We've only been dating..." She thought for a minute, then her eyes widened. "Oh my God. It has been a year. A whole year. It can't be."
"And I must say that your reaction warms my heart." Xander rolled his eyes. "Anyway, we didn't celebrate it because of, you know, the thing with you and then the thing with Faith, and I don't think we want to wait until Valentine's Day because, well, you remember what--"
"Yes," she said, holding up a hand. "What are you saying?"
"Remember how you were planning on going to Domenico's?" Xander took a deep breath. "Well, I've been saving up and I thought that maybe we could go tonight. Sort of an anniversary dinner."
She touched his cheek. "That is so sweet. Of course."
He nodded hastily. "So how about we meet at the Bronze and then go? Say, seven?"
"Sure." She closed the locker door and turned back to him. "Has it really been a year?"
"Trust me," he said. "Sometimes it seems like more."
***
