Chapter 11 - Two Changes of Fortune

It was a hard night for all of them. It was well into the morning before the lights were out and the occupants of the flat were making some pretence of sleep. Something of the atmosphere even affected the children, as Lizzie was restless, and Stephen woke more often than usual.

*-*-*

When Grianne heard the news from Andrea, she called an immediate meeting of all the senior members of the coven. She outlined her new plan, and, as expected, met with substantial opposition. She argued, cajoled, shouted and persuaded for several hours in succession. In the end, she didn't know whether she had won the argument, or simply worn them all down.

*-*-*

It was still dark, or at least he thought so, but the all-pervading cold had become such a part of his existence, that Giles simply couldn't remember being warm. He had had no human contact during his captivity. Meals appeared through a hatch in the door that he hadn't noticed during his initial perusal of his cell. Every attempt he had made to try to see, or talk to, whoever put the food there, had failed.

He had tried a few simple spells in an attempt to escape. He knew many which didn't need any particular ingredients, but none of these had worked. He had ample knowledge, but he was simply not a powerful enough practitioner. He also suspected that some sort of dampening spell was being used on the cell. It didn't seem to obliterate magic altogether, because he sometimes saw tell-tale flickers of light that should have meant that the spell had worked, but that was all.

He spent the rest of his time reliving his life. He remembered details from his own childhood he thought he had forgotten. He relived the sadness of hearing of Buffy's death and the joy of finding she was happy with her new existence. He relived his courtship of Jenny, his wedding day and the arrival of his two children.

For variety, he tried to remember the exact wording of various texts he had studied in the past, and was pleasantly surprised at how much he recalled.

He tried very hard not to simply lose hope. He desperately wanted to know that the others, particularly his wife and children, were safe.

He had wakened from a dream a short while earlier, and lay huddled in his only blanket. He was willing his blood to circulate to his extremities, as he was having difficulty feeling his fingers and toes. He wondered that it was so cold this early in the year, but put it down to the underground location. Logically, it wasn't that cold, but, with the dampness pervading the atmosphere, his resistance to such things was low.

At first he thought he was dreaming. An eerie light filled his cell, and he watched it with detached curiosity, believing it to be a figment of his own imagination. When the door to his cell swung open, he started to take notice. He pinched himself, and winced as his cold arm hurt from the pressure. He sat up, and approached the doorway. Outside was the dimly lit corridor he had seen through the grill, but there was no sign of anyone.

He looked both ways, and noticed the light was brighter in one direction than the other. He walked towards the light source, and soon came to a larger room. It was deserted. He quickly crossed the room, and climbed a flight of stairs at the other side. Two more flights of stairs followed the first, and he walked to the top, taking care to move as quietly as he could. At the top of the stairs, he found he was in a room which was brightly lit and pleasantly warm. Through the doorway, he found himself in a large entrance hall. The huge front door was wide open.

Not understanding what was going on, and hoping it was not a trap of some sort, Giles bolted for the door, and found himself outside . He stood for a second, deciding which way to go, when the door behind him creaked slowly shut. He walked down the stairs to the driveway, regretting the fact that it was covered with gravel. There was no way to walk across it silently, so he took what seemed to be the shortest route to the grass on the other side.

Once there, he looked around again, surprised there was no sign of anyone following. He spotted a faint glow in the bushes. He could think of nothing to account for the glow, but, remembering the glow in his cell earlier, he approached cautiously. The light grew brighter as he pulled branches away to get closer.

At last, he pulled one last frond out of the way, and the sight that assailed him made his heart leap for joy. Grianne was standing there, glowing gently, her arms held out to welcome him. Giles stepped forwards, and hugged the witch. As he did so, the glowing slowly faded, and the two were left in darkness.

Giles had so many questions, he didn't know what to ask first, but Grianne put a finger over her lips, and he nodded his agreement. "We're going to leave now," she whispered, and Giles felt the wind pick up around him. It whirled wildly, and he no longer felt the ground beneath his feet.

He didn't know how much longer the sensation continued, but after a few seconds, or minutes, he felt his feet hit the ground, and the whirling ceased. He slowly became aware of being indoors. He was shivering, and someone was putting a blanket around his shoulders. He flinched away from it, suddenly aware of how dirty he was, but the hands were insistent.

He was in a small lounge. Grianne was there, and another woman, mousy with grey eyes. "Where am I?" he asked.

"You're in Maria's home, in London. Why don't you go and shower, and I'll organise some food." Grianne seemed full of energy.

"I've got to call Jenny," Giles argued.

"It's still early, five o'clock," Grianne reminded him.

"Still, she deserves to know."

"She's in London, staying with Alasdair. The number's on the pad." She pointed to a telephone on the table.

Giles realised he was trembling as he dialled the number. He wasn't sure how much of it was due to cold, and how much to shock. There was a delay before someone picked up at the other end.

"Do you know what time it is?" The voice on the other end made no attempt to hide the owner's irritation at being wakened after only a couple of hours sleep.

"Spike, it's Giles."

This reply was met with silence for a second or two.

"Spike, are you there?"

"Giles! Where are you? What happened?"

"I'll tell you later. Can I speak to Jenny?"

"'Course, mate."

Giles heard the receiver being dropped onto a table. Seconds later, Jenny was there.

Spike went to give Buffy the news, letting Jenny talk in private. Needless to say, she was relieved to know that he was back in touch. The two vampires sat in silence, waiting for a sign that the call was over. When it came, they ran into the lounge to find Jenny sitting with her head in her hands. Exchanging a look with Spike, Buffy joined Jenny on the sofa. She gently lifted the other woman's head and looked questioningly at her.

"He's ok. He's in London, and he'll be here in an hour or two."

Buffy grinned, and Jenny's expression changed to match. A moment later, the shock had gone, and the two women were standing, holding hands, and jumping in small circles. Lizzie chose that moment to come into the room, fisting her hands in her eyes blearily. She looked at the two adults, doing a strange dance, then walked over to Spike.

"Why are Mummy and Buffy being silly?"

Spike laughed, and picked up the surprised child. He danced around the room with her until she was giggling, and her infectious laughter maintained the atmosphere. They were joined a few moments later by Alasdair. He was relieved to hear about Giles, but disappointed that the news wasn't about Emily. He left the others quickly, and Spike went to follow him, but Buffy put a hand on his arm to stop him. "He needs to be alone," she told him.

Clean and fed, Giles got in a cab to travel from Mayfair to Swiss Cottage. He was accompanied by Grianne, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the seat between them as the cab got held up in rush hour traffic.

By the time he arrived, the atmosphere at the flat had risen to something between a party and hysteria. Because he had taken longer than he had said, Jenny was pacing nervously around the room. Lizzie just knew that her dad was coming back, and had been chatting incessantly since she heard the news. Stephen joined in by waking and screaming loudly for food and a change of nappy.

The knock at the door, when it came, wouldn't have been heard had it not been for enhanced vampiric hearing. As Spike got up to answer, Jenny was suddenly frozen to the spot.

Giles entered the room and walked straight to Jenny. They were immediately joined by Lizzie, who insinuated herself into their hug. Jenny extricated herself, and went to get Stephen, bringing him to his father.

Grianne approached the two vampires, hugging them, then asking where Alasdair was. When they told her, she went to the bedroom to bring him back.

It was some time before Giles even noticed the others. When he did, he had a hug for Buffy, and a rather restrained hand-shake for Spike. Alasdair re-entered the room then, Grianne's arm around his shoulders.

When all the greetings were complete, and Lizzie had told her father about her own adventures in London, Jenny took the two children into the kitchen for breakfast.

Giles clearly wanted to follow them, but knew it was imperative that they all share their information as soon as possible. They started with Spike, Buffy and Alasdair telling their story. Giles' followed, and it was much shorter. When that was finished, Grianne explained her part in recent events.

"I took the precaution, the last time we were together, of taking a sample of hair from each of you. I hope you don't think that presumptuous, but I had my reasons, and I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily. Those hair samples have enabled me to find you, Giles, and to know that Emily was at the Council of Watchers headquarters. Unfortunately, her essence left there just before you arrived. I can no longer sense her location, but I believe she is still alive."

"But, you're not certain." Alasdair's eyes were glistening with tears.

"No, I cannot be certain. The spell I use to find someone, normally gives me a trace which allows me to identify their location. On the few occasions that have used the spell when the subject was dead, there was no trace. In Emily's case, I got a trace, but it wasn't specific to a location. The trace was dissipated, somehow. Not localised. As it is, I have never had this particular result before. I'm don't know for sure what it could mean."

She paused to let this news sink in. "I have been keeping another secret from you, and for that I beg your forgiveness." Four pairs of eyes held hers as she continued.

"The coven to which I belong is ancient. It has existed for so long, our history is obscure. We have been linked since our earliest days to the Council of Watchers. In the early days, our aims were the same, and there was no conflict. In more recent times, there has been a divergence, and for that reason, while we have continued to support the Council, we have allowed the details of our coven to be hidden from the Council. They know of its existence, but they believe it to be small and all but bereft of power."

"In the beginning, we shared a secret. A prophecy, someone who would mean the end of Slayers as we know them. Something was going to happen which would supply, if necessary, an army of Slayers stronger than the humans from which they sprang. The prophecy was kept secret in the early days, for fear that powerful demons would act to prevent its fulfilment. More recently, it has been kept secret, even within the Council, for altogether more mundane and less honourable reasons."

She went on to explain about the New. She had made no attempt to link the prophecy with Emily, but did specify some of the requirements which had to be met. It was Buffy who made the link.

"You think it's Emily!"

"I thought so, almost from the beginning of her new existence. Now, I am certain."

Alasdair seemed to have lost the power of speech, and sat, silently. It was still obvious to anyone who looked at him, that he was unhappy about what Grianne was saying.

Grianne carried on her description, detailing the reasons that the Council of Watchers would have for wanting to ensure that the New never came into being. "I suspect it was Michael Barrat who was responsible for Emily being taken in the first place. He probably knew nothing about the prophecy, but instead had personal reasons for hurting Emily. Unfortunately, one of the standard tests the Council carries out on vampires is to check the effects of crosses and holy water. I believe Emily would have been immune, and that news of her immunity reached those who have full knowledge of the prophecy. They would therefore want to destroy her. I don't believe Emily has achieved her full power yet. It has been growing since she was changed, but there is no indication of how long the change will take. It could vary depending on the individual or even the circumstances."

Spike looked confused. "What do you mean, the individual? If it's Emily, then how could it vary with the individual?"

"Once she is at her full power, any vampire made by Emily will be like her. Not immediately, but over time, they will take on the same characteristics as Emily - increased strength, speed and healing capability. They will also be immune to holy objects."

"So, what do we do?" Alasdair had found his voice.

"Well, first we need to find out what happened to her. We have to assume that the Council still has her, but we need to find out where she is. The only reason I can think of for the signal I'm getting is that she's actually no longer in this world, but has been removed to another."

*-*-*

Lucien Spencer arrived at his office that morning happier than he had been for some time. Their not-so-little problem had been dealt with, and they could return to the day to day business of fighting evil in the way they had for centuries.

As he disappeared behind a pile of paperwork which had materialised during the previous couple of days, he wondered exactly why he had been so keen to take on the job of Master in the first place. It was an idle thought, of course, he knew the answer was power. He quite literally had the power of life and death over, not only demons, but humans too.

He was amused at the buzz of conversation as he arrived through the main entrance. The talk was all about Michael Barrat, and how he would be missed. The man had been considered a prat by many, and few had a good word to say about him while he lived. Now that he was dead, it was another story. There was due to be a funeral the next day, and a memorial service at the large Parish Church close to the Council Headquarters a week later. Spencer would, of course, attend both. As Master, it was his duty. He expected to be invited to read the Lesson at the funeral service, and he would naturally be asked to say a few words at the memorial service.

Irritatedly, he pushed aside the papers on his desk, and entered his password into his computer. He pulled up personnel records, and went to the entries for Michael Barrat. He pulled together enough details of the other man's life to do a creditable job, then forwarded it to his secretary with instructions to pull together a suitable eulogy.

He flitted through the events of the previous evening, remembering the fear which clutched at him at the prospect that they had been too late to end the threat of the New. His confidence when he dismissed Jeanette was largely artificial. He thought it likely that the Phoenix could succeed where they had failed, but he was not certain until he arrived at the basement. He had explained the situation, at least in the simple terms comprehensible to the demon, and had been gratified to find that no problem was expected. He had been pleased to see a blue flame come from the creature's clawed hand and ignite the vampire. When the glow faded, there was nothing left of the threat.

He considered the Phoenix. He served the Council without reward. He wondered exactly what sort of reward would be appreciated by such a creature. As far as Spencer knew, the demon was the only one of his kind. He had never seemed to require companionship. He was unmoved by human riches. He went about his tasks, even those involving the death of another creature, with efficiency rather than enjoyment. He was an enigma.

His telephone rang then, and he picked it up. The line was a private one, accessible only to those considered important in the Council Hierarchy. The call was from Sir Earnest Willoughby, and the news was not good. Rupert Giles had escaped. He suspected witchcraft, but had no evidence.

Cursing quietly, Spencer hung up. Giles' escape could prove embarrassing, but with the New destroyed, he could do little harm. More worrying was the news that witchcraft had been used. He immediately contacted the team in Ireland which was holding Grianne Sullivan. The news from there was worse. When someone was sent to actually check on the witch, it became apparent that she was gone. Worse, judging by the food lying around the room she had supposedly been kept in, she had never been there.

He immediately called a conference of all those employees of the Council who were magically talented. He was irritated to find that a number had simply failed to report for work two days previously, and had not been seen since. A little research soon showed that they were all members of the same coven as Grianne. Even Eleanor Price, a distant member of his own family, was apparently on holiday abroad. Alarm bells were ringing loud in his head as he considered his next step.

The main problem had been dealt with, of that he was certain. His concern was simple. Vengeance. Grianne was known to have been fond of the Stevenson girl. If she knew, or suspected who was responsible for her demise, she could make things very difficult for him and anyone else she considered culpable.

Spencer walked to his private lift, and the door opened as he approached. He keyed the command for the sub basement, and descended.

For the first time ever, there was no sign of the Phoenix. The master knew he must have an exit from his lair beneath the ground, but he had never seen any sign of it. From time to time he brought other demons into the area, like the vampire who had killed Michael Barrat. Despite that, there had never been an occasion when the Master had descended to find the sub basement deserted.

He had intended to ask the Phoenix to help with the Grianne problem, but that would have to wait. As he was about to leave, he heard something. Thinking it must be the Phoenix returning, he walked towards the sound. To his terror, what he saw was the vampire who was responsible for tearing Barrat apart. He was unconstrained, and he was approaching fast.

His heart hammering in his chest, Spencer ran towards the lift. He fingered the control in his pocket, planning on the door already being open when he reached it. He just hoped he could get it closed quickly enough that it only had a single passenger.

He ran, his eyes glued to the lift door, willing it to open, but it remained stubbornly shut. He pressed the control maniacally, but it just wouldn't work. When the control wouldn't work, reason left him, and he started to thump on the titanium doors. His voice became more and more shrill as he heard the footsteps approach from behind. The vampire was no longer running, realising that his quarry had no means of escape. He was almost sauntering towards the human, his face a demonic mask of anticipation.

Spencer's voice was becoming quieter as he realised he had no escape. He turned around, thinking to negotiate with the demon, explaining how angry the Phoenix would be if he, the Master of the Council was hurt in any way. The demon gave no sign of comprehension, and grabbed Spencer by the arm, breaking a bone as he clutched at it. Spencer screamed in agony, and then again in terror as the vampire's fangs descended to the human's body. They ripped into the flesh of his arm, tearing and rending. Blood spattered the pristine doors and dripped onto the floor. Spencer was no longer able to scream, but instead whimpered pitifully as his life blood drained. The whimpering continued for a surprising time.

The vampire was mad, of course. That didn't mean he wasn't thorough. He had long ago perfected his method of killing. It wasn't about the blood, although that was certainly enjoyable. It was about the fear. For that reason, he intentionally kept his victims alive for as long as possible. He prided himself on that. Of course, he couldn't manage days. Once the jugular was pierced, death would occur quickly despite his precautions, so he always began with other, less vulnerable parts of the body. Nonetheless, he had a feeling that this time, his long-standing record might just be broken.