3000, the next day
Three computers are spread across the meal table in the dining room. Daylight streams through the vampire-proof windowpane, streaking a glare across my glare-proof computer screen. I attempt to concentrate on sending sentences across the blank page, but I can't seem to focus. To my right, Spike is tapping his finger on the table top to the beat of a band long lost to human record, and on my left, Reyni is humming along intermittently because Spike's been teaching her the melodies since he met her.
I take a sip of sweet, metallic blood from my mug and proceed to rub my foot up and down Spike's leg, sliding my bare toe up his jeans leg and massaging his calf. The rhythmic beats stop. Poking my head around my monitor, I catch Spike watching me with a silly grin on his face.
"Pet?"
I smile impishly back. "What?" My tone is full of playful innocence. I need that after the intensity of our recent adventure.
"Why aren't you working on your report to the Council?" He already knows the answer, but he insists on picking on me.
I purposefully bat my eyes at him. "I'm bored. . . And I don't want to."
"Now what kind of example are you setting for Reyni? Council business is serious." He takes a stab at the stern look but fails utterly.
"Yeah!" Reyni agrees emphatically. "I'm over here working away, and what are you doing?"
I lean over toward Reyni's monitor, which I find blank. "Uh huh. Like you've written pages over here."
"You're right; it is boring as hell," Spike slides his chair back and balances his forearms on his thighs. "How do we explain to a panel of stodgy old men and women what really happened?"
"Watchers have been doing it for centuries, Spike," I remind him.
"But for this kind of phenomenon?" He pauses for effect. "Never."
"I know what we need!" Reyni bursts out.
"What, pet?"
"Ice cream. Brain food of the gods."
"Sounds like a plan to me," I insert my support of Reyni's suggestion. Ice cream is one of those treats that's remained popular through the ages. "The parlor in Bailey?"
"Of course! What other one is there?" Reyni bounces in her seat.
In mere minutes, the computers are put away, and we enter the transport to Bailey, a little town outside Diolar, a major world city, second only in size to the international capital. The ice cream parlor is tucked away in the corner of the world's largest shopping tower. Despite the tiny parlor's popularity, the owners always manage to make the shop seem void of crowds and sticky messes. Adorned with red and white tiles, tablecloths, and seat covers, the shop is dimly lit, allowing for a semblance of comfortable atmosphere and privacy that contrasts with the garish décor.
Reyni happily orders mint chocolate chip ice cream in a white chocolate-dipped waffle cone, and I marvel at her ability to bounce back from the horrors she witnessed yesterday. She's so young; yet, I don't doubt her ability to adapt rapidly and easily. I order French vanilla in a cinnamon cone, and Spike grabs his usual double chocolate with marshmallows and cashews in a vanilla cone. Spike puts ancient quarters in the jukebox, the only one seen in centuries, and picks out some old rock songs I've never heard.
While we eat at one of the brightly colored tables, Reyni notes, "I think I might want to color my hair in a few minutes. Any suggestions?"
"Oh, no you're not, bit," Spike growls and then winks at her. "Your hair's beautiful the way it is. . . all dark and curly. Do you know that other girls would kill for your natural curls, dark hair, and fair skin?"
She rolls her eyes at him. "I bet you say that to all the slayers."
"Actually, just me and you. . . and maybe Ayledan," I correct her, savoring a bite of French vanilla cream and the feel of Spike's hand casually resting on my knee.
"Oh. I don't. . ."
Reyni trails off as the thunder of running footsteps approaches. Several unknown international police officers burst through the doors to the ice cream parlor. Thinking that they are friendly, Reyni greets them with a smile, but after years of experience, Spike and I are more wary and more prepared to resist. One obviously inexperienced officer pushes Reyni out of the way and flies clumsily at me with a stun ray in hand. Ice cream long forgotten and discarded, I kick the weapon away and meticulously hit him again so that he is merely knocked unconscious without real damage. Spike and Reyni are holding their own, each taking down two officers at once.
"Stop!" My head snaps up at the voice inside and outside my head, and action ceases. Hair pulled up in a functional bun, Rhonda enters the messy scene with a frown. She shakes her head at the officers who are struggling to rouse. "I'm sorry, guys, I tried to tell Frank at headquarters not to send his squad after you because you'd do this. Did he listen? Of course not!"
I cross my arms and glance at Spike who seems to be just as concerned as I am. "What's going on, Rhonda?"
Rhonda offers a hand to a fallen officer. She smiles at me, but worry lines remain around her eyes. "Frank at headquarters wants to talk with you and Spike. About what, I have no clue."
"Um, who's Frank, pet?" Spike asks Rhonda.
"The international police chief." She sees our incredulous expressions and reluctantly adds, "It would look very bad on you if you didn't come willingly."
I catch Spike's attention again. He shrugs. I turn back to Rhonda. "All right."
* * *
3000, twenty minutes later
In contrast to what I expect, the headquarters is quiet and virtually empty. Even the officers whom Spike, Reyni, and I fought have vanished. At vacant desks, several computers remain in the on position as if people simply abandoned them. Mugs of coffee are still steaming, and the fluid smells fresh. My vampire senses are on hyper-alert. Something is wrong. Spike touches my waist briefly to let me know that he feels the same thing. Reyni brings up the rear after insisting on coming.
"That's odd," Rhonda comments. "Everyone was just here a few minutes ago."
"Well, they don't seem to be now," I return. "What's going on, Rhonda?"
Her heart rate betrays her concern and apprehension. "I don't know. Guess we'll soon find out." She leads the way through the large, silent office toward the conference room. "Frank said to meet him in here."
Reaching out as we near the conference room, I search for signs of a heartbeat. I hear and sense nothing. The only people we know who can mask their bodily functions are. . .
Spike looms into my personal space, and we exchange knowing looks. Rhonda swings open the conference room door to reveal. . . a cache of Watchers. Damn it.
* * *
3000, several minutes later
"So, we've heard your version of what happened," Charles Arnold, the head of the Council, states in a gravelly tone like he's just woken from sleep. He is tall, slender man with lanky muscles, huge blue eyes, and a mop of curly red hair. Although he's clearly one of the youngest Council leaders, he holds himself with a confidence that exudes power. The other four Watchers pale in comparison to Charles and are merely shadows to their leader.
We are seated around a long, smooth metal table in the conference room. Spike and I are directly across from Charles, Reyni is on our left, and Rhonda is on our right. The room is lit with soft lights. . . just enough to maximize human visual acuity.
"Our version?" Spike wonders aloud, sarcasm deepening his words. The muscles in his arm are tightening, and I place a restraining hand over his fist. He relaxes a fraction at my touch but not fully because he doesn't trust Watchers and never will.
"You don't know the full truth, and we're here today to tell you." Charles places his palms on the table in front of him to illustrate an aura of alacrity.
"And that is?" Reyni asks assertively. She's getting better at dealing with the Council.
"Must this investigator stay? She's not involved with this." Charles casts Rhonda a pointed look. Rhonda glares at him and crosses her arms in response.
"She stays," I insist. "She *is* part of this."
Charles sighs resignedly before continuing, "First, I must tell you that Richard had no knowledge of what I'm about to tell you."
That's interesting. "Okay."
"We've known about Prenwick for several years now. We actually arranged the meeting between Prenwick and Richard because of his connection to Lydia, the remaining member of Nabald's clan."
"And you're saying that Richard had no clue about your arrangement?" I admit to being a bit skeptical.
"No, Richard did not. We hired another demon to introduce them. We had no idea of Prenwick's ambitions, but our infiltration turned out to be a fortuitous one."
Spike snorts. "Fortuitous for you but not for Richard."
"Well, the human population is safe, is it not?" Charles's eyes flash, but his demeanor appears calm.
"Tell that to all the people who were burned in the field and who disappeared as a result of Prenwick's little experiments. Tell that to the Wiccans he cloned and then allowed to die in carrying out his ritual," I add to Spike's point, quite proud that Spike's managed to restrain himself. I return my hand to my lap.
"What's done is done."
"Oh, really," Rhonda speaks for the first time. "You risked losing your slayer and your two best warriors to Prenwick. You knew what was happening, and you willingly allowed them to go into a situation in which they might never come out."
Charles regards Rhonda with contempt. "That's their job."
Reyni clears her throat. "Umm. That's actually *my* job, not Spike and Buffy's. They do this because they want to, not because they have to."
"She's right," I maintain. "We don't answer to you or any other members of the Council. We work with you but not *for* you."
Without warning, Spike launches himself across the table and lands behind Charles, pinning the Council leader against the back of the chair. His face in vampire form, eyes bright with fire, he growls, "Do you know what Prenwick did to Buffy? Do you? Do you know what he could have done to Reyni. . . or Rhonda? You call yourself a leader? You're just as much to blame for the damage Prenwick inflicted as Prenwick himself. You don't deserve to live."
The other Watchers stir to life as if they're half-asleep. Before they can touch my lover, I send him a warning with my thoughts, "Spike. Back down. Now's not the time. I don't want to lose you."
Spike shakes off his vampire face and releases Charles, patting his shoulders. "But now's not your time." He leans against the wall behind Charles, in manner similar to Spike of long ago, keeping his arms crossed across his chest.
Charles smiles as if he has perfect control. "I have some more news to tell you. And it's not good. The international government is intent on finding a culprit for the loss of life, and being that you're the only demons left in this world, they are more than a little wary of you. The general populace is clamoring for your deaths, but I managed to convince government leaders to allow the Council to handle the situation within our circle."
"Situation? We didn't do anything but save the world. . . again." I am personally beyond sick of the Council's politics.
"I'm sorry. This is beyond my control. Within the next two years, you and Spike will be held accountable for what your kind has done. The Council is already in debate about what to do with you as the last of the demons."
TBC. . . next 3001; what will happen to Spike and Buffy? Just two more chapters!!! :o) Glad you're still enjoying! You don't know how much your kind reviews have been appreciated! You're the best!!! :o) I started a new series as well that I will continue as soon as this one is complete! Stay tuned! I hope to have this wrapped up sometime this weekend!
Three computers are spread across the meal table in the dining room. Daylight streams through the vampire-proof windowpane, streaking a glare across my glare-proof computer screen. I attempt to concentrate on sending sentences across the blank page, but I can't seem to focus. To my right, Spike is tapping his finger on the table top to the beat of a band long lost to human record, and on my left, Reyni is humming along intermittently because Spike's been teaching her the melodies since he met her.
I take a sip of sweet, metallic blood from my mug and proceed to rub my foot up and down Spike's leg, sliding my bare toe up his jeans leg and massaging his calf. The rhythmic beats stop. Poking my head around my monitor, I catch Spike watching me with a silly grin on his face.
"Pet?"
I smile impishly back. "What?" My tone is full of playful innocence. I need that after the intensity of our recent adventure.
"Why aren't you working on your report to the Council?" He already knows the answer, but he insists on picking on me.
I purposefully bat my eyes at him. "I'm bored. . . And I don't want to."
"Now what kind of example are you setting for Reyni? Council business is serious." He takes a stab at the stern look but fails utterly.
"Yeah!" Reyni agrees emphatically. "I'm over here working away, and what are you doing?"
I lean over toward Reyni's monitor, which I find blank. "Uh huh. Like you've written pages over here."
"You're right; it is boring as hell," Spike slides his chair back and balances his forearms on his thighs. "How do we explain to a panel of stodgy old men and women what really happened?"
"Watchers have been doing it for centuries, Spike," I remind him.
"But for this kind of phenomenon?" He pauses for effect. "Never."
"I know what we need!" Reyni bursts out.
"What, pet?"
"Ice cream. Brain food of the gods."
"Sounds like a plan to me," I insert my support of Reyni's suggestion. Ice cream is one of those treats that's remained popular through the ages. "The parlor in Bailey?"
"Of course! What other one is there?" Reyni bounces in her seat.
In mere minutes, the computers are put away, and we enter the transport to Bailey, a little town outside Diolar, a major world city, second only in size to the international capital. The ice cream parlor is tucked away in the corner of the world's largest shopping tower. Despite the tiny parlor's popularity, the owners always manage to make the shop seem void of crowds and sticky messes. Adorned with red and white tiles, tablecloths, and seat covers, the shop is dimly lit, allowing for a semblance of comfortable atmosphere and privacy that contrasts with the garish décor.
Reyni happily orders mint chocolate chip ice cream in a white chocolate-dipped waffle cone, and I marvel at her ability to bounce back from the horrors she witnessed yesterday. She's so young; yet, I don't doubt her ability to adapt rapidly and easily. I order French vanilla in a cinnamon cone, and Spike grabs his usual double chocolate with marshmallows and cashews in a vanilla cone. Spike puts ancient quarters in the jukebox, the only one seen in centuries, and picks out some old rock songs I've never heard.
While we eat at one of the brightly colored tables, Reyni notes, "I think I might want to color my hair in a few minutes. Any suggestions?"
"Oh, no you're not, bit," Spike growls and then winks at her. "Your hair's beautiful the way it is. . . all dark and curly. Do you know that other girls would kill for your natural curls, dark hair, and fair skin?"
She rolls her eyes at him. "I bet you say that to all the slayers."
"Actually, just me and you. . . and maybe Ayledan," I correct her, savoring a bite of French vanilla cream and the feel of Spike's hand casually resting on my knee.
"Oh. I don't. . ."
Reyni trails off as the thunder of running footsteps approaches. Several unknown international police officers burst through the doors to the ice cream parlor. Thinking that they are friendly, Reyni greets them with a smile, but after years of experience, Spike and I are more wary and more prepared to resist. One obviously inexperienced officer pushes Reyni out of the way and flies clumsily at me with a stun ray in hand. Ice cream long forgotten and discarded, I kick the weapon away and meticulously hit him again so that he is merely knocked unconscious without real damage. Spike and Reyni are holding their own, each taking down two officers at once.
"Stop!" My head snaps up at the voice inside and outside my head, and action ceases. Hair pulled up in a functional bun, Rhonda enters the messy scene with a frown. She shakes her head at the officers who are struggling to rouse. "I'm sorry, guys, I tried to tell Frank at headquarters not to send his squad after you because you'd do this. Did he listen? Of course not!"
I cross my arms and glance at Spike who seems to be just as concerned as I am. "What's going on, Rhonda?"
Rhonda offers a hand to a fallen officer. She smiles at me, but worry lines remain around her eyes. "Frank at headquarters wants to talk with you and Spike. About what, I have no clue."
"Um, who's Frank, pet?" Spike asks Rhonda.
"The international police chief." She sees our incredulous expressions and reluctantly adds, "It would look very bad on you if you didn't come willingly."
I catch Spike's attention again. He shrugs. I turn back to Rhonda. "All right."
* * *
3000, twenty minutes later
In contrast to what I expect, the headquarters is quiet and virtually empty. Even the officers whom Spike, Reyni, and I fought have vanished. At vacant desks, several computers remain in the on position as if people simply abandoned them. Mugs of coffee are still steaming, and the fluid smells fresh. My vampire senses are on hyper-alert. Something is wrong. Spike touches my waist briefly to let me know that he feels the same thing. Reyni brings up the rear after insisting on coming.
"That's odd," Rhonda comments. "Everyone was just here a few minutes ago."
"Well, they don't seem to be now," I return. "What's going on, Rhonda?"
Her heart rate betrays her concern and apprehension. "I don't know. Guess we'll soon find out." She leads the way through the large, silent office toward the conference room. "Frank said to meet him in here."
Reaching out as we near the conference room, I search for signs of a heartbeat. I hear and sense nothing. The only people we know who can mask their bodily functions are. . .
Spike looms into my personal space, and we exchange knowing looks. Rhonda swings open the conference room door to reveal. . . a cache of Watchers. Damn it.
* * *
3000, several minutes later
"So, we've heard your version of what happened," Charles Arnold, the head of the Council, states in a gravelly tone like he's just woken from sleep. He is tall, slender man with lanky muscles, huge blue eyes, and a mop of curly red hair. Although he's clearly one of the youngest Council leaders, he holds himself with a confidence that exudes power. The other four Watchers pale in comparison to Charles and are merely shadows to their leader.
We are seated around a long, smooth metal table in the conference room. Spike and I are directly across from Charles, Reyni is on our left, and Rhonda is on our right. The room is lit with soft lights. . . just enough to maximize human visual acuity.
"Our version?" Spike wonders aloud, sarcasm deepening his words. The muscles in his arm are tightening, and I place a restraining hand over his fist. He relaxes a fraction at my touch but not fully because he doesn't trust Watchers and never will.
"You don't know the full truth, and we're here today to tell you." Charles places his palms on the table in front of him to illustrate an aura of alacrity.
"And that is?" Reyni asks assertively. She's getting better at dealing with the Council.
"Must this investigator stay? She's not involved with this." Charles casts Rhonda a pointed look. Rhonda glares at him and crosses her arms in response.
"She stays," I insist. "She *is* part of this."
Charles sighs resignedly before continuing, "First, I must tell you that Richard had no knowledge of what I'm about to tell you."
That's interesting. "Okay."
"We've known about Prenwick for several years now. We actually arranged the meeting between Prenwick and Richard because of his connection to Lydia, the remaining member of Nabald's clan."
"And you're saying that Richard had no clue about your arrangement?" I admit to being a bit skeptical.
"No, Richard did not. We hired another demon to introduce them. We had no idea of Prenwick's ambitions, but our infiltration turned out to be a fortuitous one."
Spike snorts. "Fortuitous for you but not for Richard."
"Well, the human population is safe, is it not?" Charles's eyes flash, but his demeanor appears calm.
"Tell that to all the people who were burned in the field and who disappeared as a result of Prenwick's little experiments. Tell that to the Wiccans he cloned and then allowed to die in carrying out his ritual," I add to Spike's point, quite proud that Spike's managed to restrain himself. I return my hand to my lap.
"What's done is done."
"Oh, really," Rhonda speaks for the first time. "You risked losing your slayer and your two best warriors to Prenwick. You knew what was happening, and you willingly allowed them to go into a situation in which they might never come out."
Charles regards Rhonda with contempt. "That's their job."
Reyni clears her throat. "Umm. That's actually *my* job, not Spike and Buffy's. They do this because they want to, not because they have to."
"She's right," I maintain. "We don't answer to you or any other members of the Council. We work with you but not *for* you."
Without warning, Spike launches himself across the table and lands behind Charles, pinning the Council leader against the back of the chair. His face in vampire form, eyes bright with fire, he growls, "Do you know what Prenwick did to Buffy? Do you? Do you know what he could have done to Reyni. . . or Rhonda? You call yourself a leader? You're just as much to blame for the damage Prenwick inflicted as Prenwick himself. You don't deserve to live."
The other Watchers stir to life as if they're half-asleep. Before they can touch my lover, I send him a warning with my thoughts, "Spike. Back down. Now's not the time. I don't want to lose you."
Spike shakes off his vampire face and releases Charles, patting his shoulders. "But now's not your time." He leans against the wall behind Charles, in manner similar to Spike of long ago, keeping his arms crossed across his chest.
Charles smiles as if he has perfect control. "I have some more news to tell you. And it's not good. The international government is intent on finding a culprit for the loss of life, and being that you're the only demons left in this world, they are more than a little wary of you. The general populace is clamoring for your deaths, but I managed to convince government leaders to allow the Council to handle the situation within our circle."
"Situation? We didn't do anything but save the world. . . again." I am personally beyond sick of the Council's politics.
"I'm sorry. This is beyond my control. Within the next two years, you and Spike will be held accountable for what your kind has done. The Council is already in debate about what to do with you as the last of the demons."
TBC. . . next 3001; what will happen to Spike and Buffy? Just two more chapters!!! :o) Glad you're still enjoying! You don't know how much your kind reviews have been appreciated! You're the best!!! :o) I started a new series as well that I will continue as soon as this one is complete! Stay tuned! I hope to have this wrapped up sometime this weekend!