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Chapter 1: Running
It was late. The eccentric
old bar known as the Hag's Breath was just about to close. Tom Devries,
the owner, was washing a few stray glasses, while the
band, a dusty collection of men trying to escape some
unpleasant reality, finished up their last number. The last few patrons, regulars at the Hag's Breath, hardly
noticed when the final sounds floated out the open door,
ghosts of the songs they once were.
"Thanks boys." Tom smiled. Justin Page, the lead singer smiled back quietly as they began to pack
up their equipment. "I-it was our pleasure as always,
Tom. Same time Saturday? " Page's band had been
playing at Tom's bar every Monday, Thursday and Saturday
night for the last month and a half.
"Of course." Tom reached
into his back pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. "Here's for
tonight
and Monday. Sorry I couldn't pay Monday, by the
way. You know how it is sometimes."
Page, a quiet, unassuming man
with an amazing singing voice, got a cloudy, far away look for a moment.
Then he smiled, more to himself than to Tom. "Yes. Yes, I know how it is sometimes. Don't worry about it."
"Thanks, mate. See you Saturday."
Tom watched as the private man
walked out of the bar into the rainy London night, and shook his head.
The Hag's Breath did not cater to a wealthy clientele. Most of the people who came to the bar, either to
drink or to work, had one secret or other. He knew
very well that the dilapidated establishment attracted the
darker side of London; the side that most fine, upstanding
citizens didn't want to acknowledge. Page was
something completely different though. He had secrets. There was no question about that. But somehow
he was different from the others.
"You're reading into things too
much again, mate." Tom muttered to himself, and walked back in to
kick out the last few stubborn customers, who would take
up residence if they could.
**********
Justin Page entered his tiny
flat, wearily. He managed to lock the door behind him and turn on
a light
before collapsing on his couch, which was also acting
as a bed at the moment.
He sprawled, absolutely still
and silent for a moment, before setting himself to the task of sorting
through
the small stack of envelops he'd picked up from his post
box. "Bill...bill...order..." He froze at the forth one.
The address was written in tidy scrawl with rainbow colored
ink. "Damn!" He whispered. Of all the things
he had to suffer through...and he suffered through a
lot...he thought these letters were the hardest to cope with.
He opened the letter carefully and pulled out the neat, feminine stationary.
Dear Giles,
I know you won't write back,
but I wish you would. We all miss you so much. I was half expecting
you
to show up at the wedding. A whole week before
the wedding, every time the door bell would ring, I'd cross
my fingers. You never came though, did you? I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel guilty. Well, maybe just a little.
You missed and interesting event. I don't know what was worse...having to fight demons for a chance in
the bathroom, or having to listen to Xander's family. They didn't get married you know. I don't want to go
into details because I still don't really want to deal
with it. How come nothing good ever happens on the
hellmouth? I mean you find a good thing and then
it gets ruined by a demon, or a vampire, or an apocalypse.
I think I'm going to college in New York.
I hope that London is nice, although
I hear it's kind of gross this time of year. I'll write again soon
to give
you the excruciating details of Days of Our Hellmouth.
Love,
Dawn
PS Don't worry, I still haven't told the others where you live.
Giles stared at the letter for
a long time, trying to fight back the tears. After he came to London
he'd
moved several times. He tried to break off all
contact with his former life after it became painfully clear
how upsetting it was. Buffy was the worst, sending
letters filled with such anger and hurt. She really thought
Giles had left in order to punish her. She wouldn't
accept that what he did was best for everyone. More
than anything, he wished that Buffy and the Scoobies
would forget him and move on with their lives...their
adult lives.
Somehow though, no matter what
he did, Dawn found him. Even with his new flat rented under the
alias of Justin Page, she had still found him. It was quite remarkable actually. Giles had long suspected
that Dawn possessed a subtle kind of magic that put any
of Willow's spectacular achievements to shame.
This was just another example.
Giles sighed, folded the letter
back into the envelope, and put it in a box with a growing pile of similar
letters and cards. He threw the other 3 envelopes
on the trunk that passed for a coffee table, and stalked
off to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
**********
By the next morning the rain
had stopped and even though it was still cloudy, the sun did show through
in spots. Giles woke up early, despite his late
night. After making himself a large mug of very strong tea,
he sat back down on his couch to start his day job.
When Giles first arrived in London,
he didn't find a lot of job openings for librarians. What he did
find
was a large population of very rich people looking for
very rare books. While he worked at several menial
jobs, he established a name for himself as a man who
could find books. Of course that name was Justin Page.
He knew that the name was rather tacky and obviously
contrived, but people remembered it. Pretty soon
he was able to quite his other jobs and become a book
hunter full time.
He kept the band job though. No matter where he was in life, music kept him grounded. When he
sang, all of his worries and fears disappeared, even
if only for the space of a song. He lost touch with
his music for a while back in Sunnydale. It took
him several apocalypses and the loss of a job before
he went back to it. He didn't want to loose touch
of it again.
Giles picked up the order that
came in the mail the previous evening and opened it. The order was
for an incredibly rare latin text about early christianity. Giles had heard of it before, but had never seen
it. He had a few contacts that could probably give
him leads on that one, but it would have to wait. He
had a large shipment of books to distribute and hopefully
some considerable checks to collect.
**********
Nine hours later, Giles stood
at the door of a very fancy county house just outside of London. He held
two books in his hand; the last delivery of the day. He stood with some trepidation as he rang the door
bell. This was the home of Mrs. Welmont; a wealthy
widow of sixty three years whose interest in rare
books grew exponentially when her friend had mentioned
the new, mysterious book hunter who could
find 'simply anything, dear.'
Heavy, eager footsteps could
be heard inside. Then, there was a click of the lock, and Mrs. Welmont
was there in all of her corpulent, flowery glory.
"Mrs. Welmont, how nice to see you." Giles said with a rather sickly smile plastered on his face.
"Justin dear, please call me
Anna!" Her Wagnerian voice grated on his few remaining nerves. Every
time he delivered books to her she said the same thing. Six deliveries and I still call you Mrs. Welmont.
Take the hint, you old cow.> To Mrs. Welmont he
said "Yes, of course Anna."
They stood there for a moment
in silence; Giles in self conscious irritation, Mrs. Welmont in undisguised
admiration. I feel like a piece of meat.>
After the agonizing pause, Mrs.
Welmont jumped as though she had just remembered where she left
her keys. "Oh yes, of course. Your check!" She laughed, and smiled flirtatiously. "When you get to be
my age, things just slip your mind. Won't you come
in? This will just take a moment."
Giles followed her in. 'Come into my parlor' said the spider to the fly.> He knew that
she had not
forgotten his check. She probably hid her check
book under a couch cushion somewhere so that she
could keep him there an extra half an hour.
She puttered around the downstairs
of her enormous house, all the while dragging Giles with her and
wondering in a singsong voice "Now where did I put that
check book?" Finally, unable to stop himself,
Giles asked "Did you check the couch cushions?"
"Excuse me, dear?" Mrs. Welmont's head turned towards him, delightedly.
"Never mind." He struggled
with the rude smirk that was trying to surface. Mrs. Welmont might
be
a terror to single men everywhere, but she was also a
good source of income. She always ordered extravagantly
expensive books and always paid top price for them. He didn't want to loose one of his best customers, just
because of a rude comment.
Eventually she did find her check
book("Oh, it was in my purse the whole time! How silly of me?") and
Giles was able to return to the relative peace of his
little apartment. He stepped into his apartment with his
usual stack of mail and a much more satisfying stack
of checks, to be deposited the next day.
"Order...order...bill...junk..." He sat on his couch, sorting his mail. He stopped at an unusually
letter.
The address was handwritten, but not by Dawn. And,
unlike Dawn's letter which were always addressed
to Justin Page, this one was addressed to him, Rupert
Giles. There was no return address, which made
the whole thing even more suspicious. Cautiously,
Giles opened the letter. The message was quite simple
and direct:
Tully's. Saturday. Noon. Important.
His eyes narrowed at the cryptic
message. Was the Council trying to contact him? Usually, if
the Council
wanted to talk to a person, they just walked in the front
door without knocking.
He couldn't think of who it could
be. No one knew where he was except Dawn, and she didn't exactly
have
the means to fly to London.
As he got ready for bed that
evening, he found it incredibly difficult to relax. A terrible feeling
was beginning
to form at the base of his neck and spread, like frost,
down his spine to his limbs.
