Title: "Episode 83 & 1/2 - With A Little Help From My Friends".
Part: 04/12
Author: "A Gentleman Of Leisure".
Summary: There's a stranger in town and the world's about to end. Who you gonna call?
Story Type: In-Canon adventure set between Episodes 83 & 84 (hence the title).
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to Series 5, Episode 83 (of course).
Pairing: In-Canon
Disclaimer: In the beginning there was Joss. And Joss said "Let there be Buffy". And there was Buffy. And it was the morning and the evening of the first episode. And lo, Joss saw that it was good. (All copyrights and trademarks acknowledged - it's all just a bit of fun, folks. Thank you.)
Author's Note: I'm a British writer, so there may be some terms (and spelling) not used in the US. OK? Now read on...
*
Part Four - 'My Little Red Book' - Love.
Introductions had been made:
"Michael, this is Spike. Once known as William the Bloody. We know he's a vampire, but we tolerate him - for now. You're not allowed to kill him - he's mine! I'm going to kill him myself one day, when I'm in the mood or he just plain gets too annoying! And Spike, this is Michael. Be polite....or else".
"Charmed, I'm sure", Spike had said insolently, slouching against the shop counter.
"So, Spike, why did you turn up exactly when you did?" Giles asked.
"Yeah, Spike. How come the minute you arrive the whole place is bursting at the seams with half the vamps in Sunnydale, and their friends?"
"Honest, Slayer, I don't know. I woke up this afternoon from the weirdest dream - "
"He must have looked at himself in the mirror this morning before he went to bed", said Xander. "Oh no, I forgot - he doesn't need one, does he?"
" - thank you, Boy Wonder! Anyway, I felt sure something was up so I started to take a look round town. Then when all these vamps started coming up out of the ground like there was no tomorrow...!"
" - And indeed there may not be, vampire William", Michael pointed out.
That rather stopped the conversation dead for a moment. It was some little while later, and the whole Scooby Gang, including Tara who had been summoned from college by phone, were now sitting at the round table in the back of the Magic Box. Only Riley was missing from the group, and they had decided there wasn't time to look for him.
When Michael had seen the table he had nodded, and for some reason said simply "Most appropriate".
The shop was now a shade tidier than directly after the disturbance earlier in the evening. As much of the stock as possible had been rescued, and Willow and Tara had made a tidying-up spell to... well... tidy up whatever it would work on. And remarkably effective it had been, too, all things considered.
"There may not be a tomorrow? And what the hell's that supposed to mean? I can tell when something's up. Hadn't you better stop being so bloody mysterious and make with some decent explanations?"
"Spike, will you please shut up!" Giles said testily.
"But you just asked me - "
"Enough, Spike. Let Michael tell us what he knows. Maybe then we'll learn something useful instead of just listening to your wittering".
Spike subsided in his chair, muttering sulkily to himself. Dawn shuffled her seat closer and patted him on the arm.
"Don't worry Spike, he didn't really mean it".
"Oh yes he did", Xander said firmly. "For a dead person, even one who doesn't smell, Spike talks entirely too much, and in a British accent already. One of those is fine, two makes an interesting contrast, but three is way too much of a good thing. Anybody would think we're starting to make a collection of Britishes. Or do I mean Britons? Or Brits?".
"Thank you everybody". Giles tapped the table with his axe, which for some reason he had forgotten to put down. "Michael, why don't you tell us your story in your own way".
"Yup. Make with the 5 W's - the 'Who, What, Where, When and How?'", said Willow, in her best Raymond Chandler type accent.
"The How?" Tara asked, a little confused.
"Well, yes I know 'how' doesn't start with a W, but it does end with one", Willow said defensively.
"You've been at my collection of detective stories again, haven't you, Willow?" Giles sounded amused. "But you're quite right - 'Four Dubbya's and an H'".
"OK then, Michael. What's the what of the what?" Buffy demanded sceptically as she settled herself more comfortably on the chair with the wonky leg. "Fill us in".
"Thank you, Slayer". Michael paused, apparently to gather his thoughts. Strangely, he was still wearing his long coat, and also his fedora hat, but no one had liked to ask him why.
"You should know that there are certain things I cannot tell you, and some I can. Like you I have my duties, and like you I can not divulge some things to ordinary mortals. Your job, Buffy, is ordained - you are the Chosen One, The Slayer. You kill vampires, present company excepted", (here he nodded at Spike) "demons, other entities, and strive to keep the Hellmouth closed. But your Watchers' Council is not the omniscient organisation it might like to think it is. Every now and then things happen in other places. Sunnydale is not the centre of the Universe...",
"Armpit, more like", Xander commented quietly.
"...And sometimes those things have to be dealt with". He paused for a moment. "You can, if you like, think of me as representing a sort of International Rescue".
"Yet another secret organisation? So what is this one called then, or is it so secret that it hasn't even got a name?" Buffy asked, a trifle sarcastically. "Or is even that on a need-to-know basis, rather like the Initiative?"
Michael looked at her.
"You might know it already", he said slowly. "In a way you work for this organisation too. Our job is to fight the Darkness, just like you, but on a different scale. We only take on the most difficult jobs, the cosmic crises, what you might call 'The End Of The Universe' sort of thing. Though we are permitted to ask whatever help we can, from where and who we can, it is only under very strict rules".
"So how many of you are working on this particular crisis?" Anya asked.
"Just the one", he replied and glanced at Buffy. She recognised her own words coming back at her, and somehow, despite her doubts, she had to smile, just slightly.
"OK, OK. 'Been there - done that'", she said. "So there are some things you can tell us, and some you can't. If we're that short of time I guess you'd better skip the unnecessary details and cut to the chase. You English know what that means, I suppose?"
"We get on with it. Thank you, Buffy. I'm glad you're a realist".
"Round here, reality seems to be permanently on the fritz", Xander commented, "so we generally have to hang on tight and just go for the ride".
"Though sometimes we fall off", Willow put in.
"So I've heard", said Michael with a smile. "The important thing is that you always get back on again".
When they all looked at him in surprise he added "I've been fully briefed about all the goings on in Sunnydale. That's really why I'm here. As your friend William said when he arrived to warn us: 'It's always flaming well here'. And why?" He paused, possibly for dramatic effect, more likely to be sure they were concentrating on what he was saying.
"Well, you live close to a major fault line, don't you? And that geological fault line is a reflection of the metaphysical one that manifests itself as a Hellmouth, right here in Sunnydale".
Then, without warning, even as he said those words, there was a quiet, low rumble from far beneath them, and ever-so-slightly the ground slowly shook. Enough to make a couple of glass jars chink together musically - certainly enough to make the point.
"And that fault line is an ideal weak spot between Universes, even ones that should never be able to touch each other!"
*
"Something tells me we shouldn't spend too much more time discussing the whichness of what", Buffy said. "What have you got to do, and how do we help?"
"Well, we have to get the Spear first, and I'm not quite sure how to go about that - there may be things we have to do, or avoid doing".
"Research. Just what I'm good at - geeky but good. We'll hit the books, you keep talking", Willow said briskly, jumping up from the table. She and Giles went over to the ladder leading up to the book loft over their heads at the back of the shop, and as quickly as they could clambered up to the cramped little wooden mezzanine.
"What exactly are we looking for, Giles?"
"There's one particular volume that I remember, compiled in the sixteenth or seventeenth century I think. It's all about magical devices and weaponry. I haven't seen it for years - I just hope it survived the destruction of the school during the Mayor's Ascension. I don't remember seeing it when we were rescuing the contents of the library".
"But what's it called?"
"Um, now let me think". He peered to-and-fro along the jumbled shelves of books. "I remember that it had a red leather cover, supposedly made of the skin of some mythical beast, I think. Oh, and the title was in raised silver letters riveted onto the front board of the book, but they were all rather tarnished, as I recall. Now, what was the name...?"
Willow knelt down and started to work her way along the shelves from one end, pulling out old dusty tomes that might not have been opened for decades, checking their spines and covers, and carefully putting them back, and doing it all as quickly as she could. Giles meanwhile stood, alternately rubbing his chin and polishing his glasses, as he tried to remember the name of the book.
Then, after several minutes they both suddenly and simultaneously exclaimed "Got it! 'Agol's Compendium of Magical Weapons, Devices and Ephemera'!"
"It's here, Giles, it's here", Willow squeaked excitedly. "This is the right one, isn't it?"
Eagerly, Rupert Giles took the ageing volume from her hands and carefully opened it to look at the title page.
"How very strange. 'Printed Privatelie by the Council of Watchers at The Sign of The Eye in Coptick Street, London'", he read aloud. "Well I never. Well done, Willow. Well done. This is what we're looking for. It's exactly what we want. Let's go back down now, quick as we can".
A minute later the heavy old book raised another cloud of dust as Willow plonked it triumphantly in the middle of the table, opened it, and started to turn the pages.
"It's not exactly in alphabetical order, is it?" she said doubtfully after a couple of minutes. "A description of the pointy-eared demon Spokk follows directly after the basic formula Shakespeare used for 'Eye of newt...', and after that is - Oh my!" and she hurriedly turned another page as Dawn leaned in to have a look. "NC-17 rating, I think. Let's try somewhere else further on".
Dawn sat back with a little grin, amused by Willow's reaction to what looked as if it might have been some quite interesting pictures, and thought to herself that she might nip up to the book loft one afternoon when the shop was quiet, and take a peek inside. After all, a girl needed a full and rounded education, didn't she? Especially with a Slayer for a big sister! You never knew what knowledge might come in handy one fine day, did you?
"Here, let me", Giles said. "I think I remember how it's organised. What we want should be near the back. Now - Devices? No. Ephemera? No. Weapons? Yes, here they are - bespelled, magical, religious. That's the part we need".
Slowly he turned the pages, frayed edges, foxed, strange smelling, printed in an unusual cramped typeface that wasn't at all easy to read. There was an air of strangeness about the book, as if its contents were able to influence the room slightly as they were exposed to the light.
"Here it is".
And just then the room quivered again, as if some vast being far, far away had heard him in its sleep, and stirred. Something on a shelf somewhere in the front of the shop rattled.
"Time to get a wiggle-on", Anya remarked, sounding a little nervous.
"Only a four at most on the who's-it scale", Buffy said calmly. "When I...we... lived in L.A. you wouldn't even break your rhythm chewing gum for something as small as that".
"We aren't in the City of Angels, and neither is the Hellmouth", Michael pointed out.
"Is that it, there?" Tara asked, and everyone looked. She was leaning over the book, pointing at an engraving of a spear. Below it was a long passage of text in a small typeface. There were also annotations in crabbed handwriting in faded brown ink in the margin.
"It's all in Latin", Buffy observed, a trifle indignantly. "No fair".
"Of course it is", Willow assured her. "Most magical rituals are in some archaic tongue or other - that's half the fun, trying to figure out what they mean and how to make them work. Seeing what the subject is, naturally any spells will be in Latin. Giles...?"
They all turned confidently to him. He was absent-mindedly mouthing the words to himself as he tried to work out how to translate them.
"Hey Giles - stop that!" she said urgently. "You mustn't recite the words, you don't know what'll happen. We don't know what they mean, yet!"
"What? Oh, sorry Willow. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking".
"The trouble is that you 'were' thinking, but you were thinking aloud", she said sternly.
"That could've been fun", Xander said. "I wonder what might have appeared if he'd kept going. We could use a laugh round about now. Perhaps I should try it".
"Don't even think about it, Xander", Spike said, lolling back in his chair. "Everyone knows that anything you touch turns to sh..."
"Spike!!!" three people shouted at him all at once.
"Ow, my ears! What's the matter? What did I say?"
"It's what you were 'about' to say, Spike, that's the matter. I know you".
"And I know you know me, Slayer", he replied uneasily.
"I know you know I know you, Spike. So then you'll know it's not just your ears I'll have if you don't watch your language in front of Dawn".
"Spike", Giles said, looking up briefly. "Be a good chap. Don't tease her. You know she'll happily have your guts for garters".
"Hey, I wasn't going to say anything that 'little bit' hasn't heard a hundred times in the schoolyard".
"Spike, I won't warn you again!" Buffy growled.
"Spike". Michael's voice stopped them all in their tracks. It suddenly sounded larger than before - deeper, reverberant, commanding. Even the naughty boy himself stared round-eyed at their visitor.
"Damn me", he muttered. "You can't half make a dead man jump when you want. How the bloody hell do you do that? Ventriloquism?"
"Nothing at all to do with Hell, Spike". Michael's voice sounded completely ordinary again. "We just don't have time for fun-and-games".
Giles had gone back to scribbling on a piece of paper. Now he shoved it over for Michael to look at.
"How's your Latin? Can you check my translation of this bit?"
"My Latin is passable, Giles", he replied calmly. "Let me see, now". There was a short silence, then "Yes, I see the problem".
"Well?" asked Buffy after there had been a short, thoughtful silence.
"I now know how to get to the Spear, but..."
End Of Part Four. To Be Continued...
Part: 04/12
Author: "A Gentleman Of Leisure".
Summary: There's a stranger in town and the world's about to end. Who you gonna call?
Story Type: In-Canon adventure set between Episodes 83 & 84 (hence the title).
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to Series 5, Episode 83 (of course).
Pairing: In-Canon
Disclaimer: In the beginning there was Joss. And Joss said "Let there be Buffy". And there was Buffy. And it was the morning and the evening of the first episode. And lo, Joss saw that it was good. (All copyrights and trademarks acknowledged - it's all just a bit of fun, folks. Thank you.)
Author's Note: I'm a British writer, so there may be some terms (and spelling) not used in the US. OK? Now read on...
*
Part Four - 'My Little Red Book' - Love.
Introductions had been made:
"Michael, this is Spike. Once known as William the Bloody. We know he's a vampire, but we tolerate him - for now. You're not allowed to kill him - he's mine! I'm going to kill him myself one day, when I'm in the mood or he just plain gets too annoying! And Spike, this is Michael. Be polite....or else".
"Charmed, I'm sure", Spike had said insolently, slouching against the shop counter.
"So, Spike, why did you turn up exactly when you did?" Giles asked.
"Yeah, Spike. How come the minute you arrive the whole place is bursting at the seams with half the vamps in Sunnydale, and their friends?"
"Honest, Slayer, I don't know. I woke up this afternoon from the weirdest dream - "
"He must have looked at himself in the mirror this morning before he went to bed", said Xander. "Oh no, I forgot - he doesn't need one, does he?"
" - thank you, Boy Wonder! Anyway, I felt sure something was up so I started to take a look round town. Then when all these vamps started coming up out of the ground like there was no tomorrow...!"
" - And indeed there may not be, vampire William", Michael pointed out.
That rather stopped the conversation dead for a moment. It was some little while later, and the whole Scooby Gang, including Tara who had been summoned from college by phone, were now sitting at the round table in the back of the Magic Box. Only Riley was missing from the group, and they had decided there wasn't time to look for him.
When Michael had seen the table he had nodded, and for some reason said simply "Most appropriate".
The shop was now a shade tidier than directly after the disturbance earlier in the evening. As much of the stock as possible had been rescued, and Willow and Tara had made a tidying-up spell to... well... tidy up whatever it would work on. And remarkably effective it had been, too, all things considered.
"There may not be a tomorrow? And what the hell's that supposed to mean? I can tell when something's up. Hadn't you better stop being so bloody mysterious and make with some decent explanations?"
"Spike, will you please shut up!" Giles said testily.
"But you just asked me - "
"Enough, Spike. Let Michael tell us what he knows. Maybe then we'll learn something useful instead of just listening to your wittering".
Spike subsided in his chair, muttering sulkily to himself. Dawn shuffled her seat closer and patted him on the arm.
"Don't worry Spike, he didn't really mean it".
"Oh yes he did", Xander said firmly. "For a dead person, even one who doesn't smell, Spike talks entirely too much, and in a British accent already. One of those is fine, two makes an interesting contrast, but three is way too much of a good thing. Anybody would think we're starting to make a collection of Britishes. Or do I mean Britons? Or Brits?".
"Thank you everybody". Giles tapped the table with his axe, which for some reason he had forgotten to put down. "Michael, why don't you tell us your story in your own way".
"Yup. Make with the 5 W's - the 'Who, What, Where, When and How?'", said Willow, in her best Raymond Chandler type accent.
"The How?" Tara asked, a little confused.
"Well, yes I know 'how' doesn't start with a W, but it does end with one", Willow said defensively.
"You've been at my collection of detective stories again, haven't you, Willow?" Giles sounded amused. "But you're quite right - 'Four Dubbya's and an H'".
"OK then, Michael. What's the what of the what?" Buffy demanded sceptically as she settled herself more comfortably on the chair with the wonky leg. "Fill us in".
"Thank you, Slayer". Michael paused, apparently to gather his thoughts. Strangely, he was still wearing his long coat, and also his fedora hat, but no one had liked to ask him why.
"You should know that there are certain things I cannot tell you, and some I can. Like you I have my duties, and like you I can not divulge some things to ordinary mortals. Your job, Buffy, is ordained - you are the Chosen One, The Slayer. You kill vampires, present company excepted", (here he nodded at Spike) "demons, other entities, and strive to keep the Hellmouth closed. But your Watchers' Council is not the omniscient organisation it might like to think it is. Every now and then things happen in other places. Sunnydale is not the centre of the Universe...",
"Armpit, more like", Xander commented quietly.
"...And sometimes those things have to be dealt with". He paused for a moment. "You can, if you like, think of me as representing a sort of International Rescue".
"Yet another secret organisation? So what is this one called then, or is it so secret that it hasn't even got a name?" Buffy asked, a trifle sarcastically. "Or is even that on a need-to-know basis, rather like the Initiative?"
Michael looked at her.
"You might know it already", he said slowly. "In a way you work for this organisation too. Our job is to fight the Darkness, just like you, but on a different scale. We only take on the most difficult jobs, the cosmic crises, what you might call 'The End Of The Universe' sort of thing. Though we are permitted to ask whatever help we can, from where and who we can, it is only under very strict rules".
"So how many of you are working on this particular crisis?" Anya asked.
"Just the one", he replied and glanced at Buffy. She recognised her own words coming back at her, and somehow, despite her doubts, she had to smile, just slightly.
"OK, OK. 'Been there - done that'", she said. "So there are some things you can tell us, and some you can't. If we're that short of time I guess you'd better skip the unnecessary details and cut to the chase. You English know what that means, I suppose?"
"We get on with it. Thank you, Buffy. I'm glad you're a realist".
"Round here, reality seems to be permanently on the fritz", Xander commented, "so we generally have to hang on tight and just go for the ride".
"Though sometimes we fall off", Willow put in.
"So I've heard", said Michael with a smile. "The important thing is that you always get back on again".
When they all looked at him in surprise he added "I've been fully briefed about all the goings on in Sunnydale. That's really why I'm here. As your friend William said when he arrived to warn us: 'It's always flaming well here'. And why?" He paused, possibly for dramatic effect, more likely to be sure they were concentrating on what he was saying.
"Well, you live close to a major fault line, don't you? And that geological fault line is a reflection of the metaphysical one that manifests itself as a Hellmouth, right here in Sunnydale".
Then, without warning, even as he said those words, there was a quiet, low rumble from far beneath them, and ever-so-slightly the ground slowly shook. Enough to make a couple of glass jars chink together musically - certainly enough to make the point.
"And that fault line is an ideal weak spot between Universes, even ones that should never be able to touch each other!"
*
"Something tells me we shouldn't spend too much more time discussing the whichness of what", Buffy said. "What have you got to do, and how do we help?"
"Well, we have to get the Spear first, and I'm not quite sure how to go about that - there may be things we have to do, or avoid doing".
"Research. Just what I'm good at - geeky but good. We'll hit the books, you keep talking", Willow said briskly, jumping up from the table. She and Giles went over to the ladder leading up to the book loft over their heads at the back of the shop, and as quickly as they could clambered up to the cramped little wooden mezzanine.
"What exactly are we looking for, Giles?"
"There's one particular volume that I remember, compiled in the sixteenth or seventeenth century I think. It's all about magical devices and weaponry. I haven't seen it for years - I just hope it survived the destruction of the school during the Mayor's Ascension. I don't remember seeing it when we were rescuing the contents of the library".
"But what's it called?"
"Um, now let me think". He peered to-and-fro along the jumbled shelves of books. "I remember that it had a red leather cover, supposedly made of the skin of some mythical beast, I think. Oh, and the title was in raised silver letters riveted onto the front board of the book, but they were all rather tarnished, as I recall. Now, what was the name...?"
Willow knelt down and started to work her way along the shelves from one end, pulling out old dusty tomes that might not have been opened for decades, checking their spines and covers, and carefully putting them back, and doing it all as quickly as she could. Giles meanwhile stood, alternately rubbing his chin and polishing his glasses, as he tried to remember the name of the book.
Then, after several minutes they both suddenly and simultaneously exclaimed "Got it! 'Agol's Compendium of Magical Weapons, Devices and Ephemera'!"
"It's here, Giles, it's here", Willow squeaked excitedly. "This is the right one, isn't it?"
Eagerly, Rupert Giles took the ageing volume from her hands and carefully opened it to look at the title page.
"How very strange. 'Printed Privatelie by the Council of Watchers at The Sign of The Eye in Coptick Street, London'", he read aloud. "Well I never. Well done, Willow. Well done. This is what we're looking for. It's exactly what we want. Let's go back down now, quick as we can".
A minute later the heavy old book raised another cloud of dust as Willow plonked it triumphantly in the middle of the table, opened it, and started to turn the pages.
"It's not exactly in alphabetical order, is it?" she said doubtfully after a couple of minutes. "A description of the pointy-eared demon Spokk follows directly after the basic formula Shakespeare used for 'Eye of newt...', and after that is - Oh my!" and she hurriedly turned another page as Dawn leaned in to have a look. "NC-17 rating, I think. Let's try somewhere else further on".
Dawn sat back with a little grin, amused by Willow's reaction to what looked as if it might have been some quite interesting pictures, and thought to herself that she might nip up to the book loft one afternoon when the shop was quiet, and take a peek inside. After all, a girl needed a full and rounded education, didn't she? Especially with a Slayer for a big sister! You never knew what knowledge might come in handy one fine day, did you?
"Here, let me", Giles said. "I think I remember how it's organised. What we want should be near the back. Now - Devices? No. Ephemera? No. Weapons? Yes, here they are - bespelled, magical, religious. That's the part we need".
Slowly he turned the pages, frayed edges, foxed, strange smelling, printed in an unusual cramped typeface that wasn't at all easy to read. There was an air of strangeness about the book, as if its contents were able to influence the room slightly as they were exposed to the light.
"Here it is".
And just then the room quivered again, as if some vast being far, far away had heard him in its sleep, and stirred. Something on a shelf somewhere in the front of the shop rattled.
"Time to get a wiggle-on", Anya remarked, sounding a little nervous.
"Only a four at most on the who's-it scale", Buffy said calmly. "When I...we... lived in L.A. you wouldn't even break your rhythm chewing gum for something as small as that".
"We aren't in the City of Angels, and neither is the Hellmouth", Michael pointed out.
"Is that it, there?" Tara asked, and everyone looked. She was leaning over the book, pointing at an engraving of a spear. Below it was a long passage of text in a small typeface. There were also annotations in crabbed handwriting in faded brown ink in the margin.
"It's all in Latin", Buffy observed, a trifle indignantly. "No fair".
"Of course it is", Willow assured her. "Most magical rituals are in some archaic tongue or other - that's half the fun, trying to figure out what they mean and how to make them work. Seeing what the subject is, naturally any spells will be in Latin. Giles...?"
They all turned confidently to him. He was absent-mindedly mouthing the words to himself as he tried to work out how to translate them.
"Hey Giles - stop that!" she said urgently. "You mustn't recite the words, you don't know what'll happen. We don't know what they mean, yet!"
"What? Oh, sorry Willow. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking".
"The trouble is that you 'were' thinking, but you were thinking aloud", she said sternly.
"That could've been fun", Xander said. "I wonder what might have appeared if he'd kept going. We could use a laugh round about now. Perhaps I should try it".
"Don't even think about it, Xander", Spike said, lolling back in his chair. "Everyone knows that anything you touch turns to sh..."
"Spike!!!" three people shouted at him all at once.
"Ow, my ears! What's the matter? What did I say?"
"It's what you were 'about' to say, Spike, that's the matter. I know you".
"And I know you know me, Slayer", he replied uneasily.
"I know you know I know you, Spike. So then you'll know it's not just your ears I'll have if you don't watch your language in front of Dawn".
"Spike", Giles said, looking up briefly. "Be a good chap. Don't tease her. You know she'll happily have your guts for garters".
"Hey, I wasn't going to say anything that 'little bit' hasn't heard a hundred times in the schoolyard".
"Spike, I won't warn you again!" Buffy growled.
"Spike". Michael's voice stopped them all in their tracks. It suddenly sounded larger than before - deeper, reverberant, commanding. Even the naughty boy himself stared round-eyed at their visitor.
"Damn me", he muttered. "You can't half make a dead man jump when you want. How the bloody hell do you do that? Ventriloquism?"
"Nothing at all to do with Hell, Spike". Michael's voice sounded completely ordinary again. "We just don't have time for fun-and-games".
Giles had gone back to scribbling on a piece of paper. Now he shoved it over for Michael to look at.
"How's your Latin? Can you check my translation of this bit?"
"My Latin is passable, Giles", he replied calmly. "Let me see, now". There was a short silence, then "Yes, I see the problem".
"Well?" asked Buffy after there had been a short, thoughtful silence.
"I now know how to get to the Spear, but..."
End Of Part Four. To Be Continued...
