In the Space of a Journey
Chapter Ten
England -- The Cell
A noise outside woke Sonya up from a fitful doze on the hard, cold, stone floor. Her eyes snapped open, and instantly she remembered the events that had led up to where she was now: the four vampires, staking one, she and Doyle chasing the other three to find out who sent them, being led into a trap where a group of masked men threw them into the back of a van and finally waking up in this cell. A bit of grayish light coming through the tiny, barred window told her it was dawn outside. She glanced at Doyle. His face was still demony, but he looked better than he had the night before. Apparently, he could heal faster than a normal human, too.
She tried to pinpoint whatever it was that had woken her up. It had been a noise, she was sure of it. Then she heard it again. Two people were talking, right outside the door to the cell.
Her stake had been taken, of course, so Sonya crept quietly up to the door of the cell. There were two doors, in fact. A thick, metal, sliding door covered a door made out of iron bars. Whoever put them in here was making sure they could never get out.
"I want to see the prisoners," a female voice ordered. The sound trickled in through the small window in the sliding door. "How are they doing this morning?"
"Still out, last I checked," a man replied.
There was a click, that could only be the sound of a key in a lock, and the metal door started to slide. Sonya decided instinctively that she didn't want them to know she was awake yet, so she laid back down on the floor, positioned so she could peek under her lashes and see who came in. She felt bars of light on her face as the sliding door opened. She caught a glimpse of an institutional hallway lit with fluorescent lights, but nothing that gave her a clue as to where they were.
"Marcus, I thought the girl had rapid healing abilities?" the woman asked.
From what Sonya could tell, the woman was thin and pale. She had blonde hair wrapped up into a tight chignon, and was wearing a navy blue, skirted business suit. Sonya didn't recognize her. She didn't recognize the man... Marcus... either. He was younger, and had nondescript brown hair. He also wore glasses. What gave her pause was the tweed suit.
"She does," Marcus replied. "In case you haven't noticed, all her wounds have vanished. She was much more ragged when they brought her in here."
"And the demon?"
"He'll heal, as well. Brackens are good at that."
Sonya felt a shiver run up and down her spine as the woman looked her over again. She had to work hard not to let it show. Then the woman spoke again.
"I expected something more from a former Slayer..."
"Like what?" the man asked.
The woman shrugged. "I don't know... just something more... exciting."
Then the woman turned on her heal and walked off, leaving the man looking in on them.
"Have a good sleep, Sonya, Doyle," Marcus whispered. After that, he slammed the door shut, and Sonya heard the lock click again.
As soon as she was sure she was alone again, she sat up and scooted back until her back was against the wall. Then she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The pieces, at least some of them, were starting to come together in her mind: the tweed, the man and the woman's English accents, the name Marcus which had been on the bottom of Giles's letter about the tribunal, the woman knowing Sonya used to be a Slayer...
"Doyle was right all along," Sonya said softly. "It's the Council..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- Angel's Apartment
Angel awoke abruptly from a rather disturbing dream, but when he opened his eyes, he found he couldn't remember any of it. He lay there for a minute, but nothing came back to him. Glancing at the clock, Angel realized it was past sunset. Time to get up. He stood up, yawned and stretched. Then he walked over toward the closet and pulled on his favorite, black, silk robe. He was just heading over to the fridge for a snack when the phone rang.
"Hello?" he said into the receiver.
It was Jenny Calendar on the other end. "We need to talk."
"What about?" Angel wondered at the tension in her voice.
"Something's happened in England. I just talked to Giles."
"What's wrong?" Angel demanded. "Is it Buffy... or Xander? Is one of them hurt?" Then he remembered some of Faith's off handed comments about the Council, and he added, "No, it's Giles... the Council canned him?"
"Worse than the last, better than the first," Jenny said bluntly. "Sonya and a guy they met over there, Doyle, were kidnapped, or worse, by a group of vampires."
Angel felt some tension ease from his taut muscles. Buffy and Xander -- two of the most important people in his life -- were all right. Then he felt guilty. He shouldn't rejoice in the fact that Sonya was now who knew where. "What do they need us to do?" he asked quickly, trying to cover up his momentary lapse. "Of course, we'll do anything, but we're half a world away..."
"They need to know where Spike is," Jenny replied. "He's their only lead. Giles thought you might have vampire connections you could use to find him."
Angel thought for a moment. "Well, there is one person I can call. She kind of owes me a favor."
"Do it, and meet us at the condo when you're done." And then Angel was left listening to the hum of the dial tone.
After a minute, Angel walked over to his antique, mahogany desk and pulled out an address book. Folded inside the pages was a crumpled bit of paper. He smoothed it out and took it back to the phone. Then he dialed the number.
"Hello?" The childlike voice sounded soft and sleepy, as if she'd just woken up.
"Darla, it's Angel."
His sire's voice grew alert instantly. "Angel... what a surprise. The last time I saw you, you were so... virtuous. Did you decide to take another walk on the wild side?"
"You know that's not true, Darla," Angel answered. "Gotta love a gypsy curse. They sure know how to stick."
"Too bad, baby. You don't know what you're missing." Her voice went from playful to suspicious. "So, why call me up after all this time, lover?"
"I'm not your lover anymore," Angel reminded her. The past was not something he loved talking about, even though it was something he could never get out of his mind. "I need a favor."
"And you called little, ol' me... I'm stunned," Darla replied. "What makes you think I'd help a goody-goody vampire like you do anything."
"You owe me, Darla!" Angel enunciated every word clearly, so she'd know he meant it. "When Sonya took the Master down, I got you out of there. I don't know why I did it..."
"Family loyalty," Darla interrupted.
Angel could visualize the catty smile on the small blonde's face. The image contrasted sharply with the last time he'd seen her, covered in dust and blood, begging because of the love they'd once shared (disgusting to him now though it was) to help her. He hadn't been able to refuse. At least now what could have been a huge mistake would come in handy. "Call it what you will, 'Mom'" he said sarcastically, "but you know that every day you live, you owe to me. And I'm calling in one of those favors."
Realizing that she wasn't going to get anywhere with him, Darla replied, "What do you want?"
"I need to know where Spike is. I know he's in England. Have you had any contact with him?"
"I saw him about a month ago in Venice. We shared a nice, little tourist boy and talked about old times. He told me about what happened in Sunnydale. I told him he was right to get away from there..."
"All right," Angel interrupted. "That's all lovely, Darla, but I need an address or a phone number."
Darla sighed. "You're no fun anymore, baby. I miss the old you."
"I don't!" Angel snapped. "Now tell me where Spike is or I'll come to Venice myself and hunt you down!"
Darla sighed. "He told me if I ever come to England that I should look him up at a pub in London called the Knight's Downfall. It's one of those trashy demon bars -- just Spike's type. That's all I know."
"Thanks," Angel replied. "It's been just lovely talking to you..."
"Likewise, I'm sure." Darla returned sarcasm for sarcasm. "Does Spike know you're coming?"
"I'm not... someone else is."
"Poor Spike."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Scooby Gang's Hotel
Giles hung up the phone and looked at the group of freshly washed and dressed young people gathered around him. If their anxiety didn't show on their faces, they would look like any group of teenagers starting a new day in a foreign country. Joyce stood in the back of the room, a worried look in her eyes. She was trying keep up a brave front, but somehow Giles could tell that underneath she was very worried about the missing duo. Almost as panicked as he was himself.
"Well?" Buffy prompted him.
"Angel found a lead on Spike," Giles told them. "Apparently, Spike frequents a pub called the Knight's Downfall. Rather like Willy's, it's an establishment that caters to the, shall we say varying tastes of demons, vampires especially."
"What are we waiting for?" Buffy asked. "Let's go!"
"We can't go now." Giles held up a hand in protest.
"Why not?" Xander demanded.
"You, Buffy and I must go to the Compound. We're expected there soon."
"What does that matter when..." Xander started.
At the same time Buffy was saying, "But she's supposed to be there, too..."
"I know, I know," Giles interrupted them. "I don't want to go without her either, but there is not much good we can do during the daylight hours. Spike is more likely to show up at this pub after sunset. And while we're at the Compound we can let the Council know what has happened, so they, too, can put their resources into finding Sonya."
Buffy looked at Giles suspiciously, remembering some of the things she'd heard about the Council from Faith, Nicole and Doyle. "How do we know we can trust them?"
Giles looked at Buffy seriously. "If we can no longer trust the Council, then the world is in more trouble than just the loss of two people."
"But you didn't trust the Council when Sonya had her accident," Buffy protested, finally giving voice to all the thoughts she'd been having since the letter summoning them to England had come to light. "What made you change your mind now?"
"Things were different then, but I never lost my faith in the entirety of the Council," Giles replied. "Things were more confusing in the heat of the moment. And in all cases it is best to investigate before acting on unproven assumptions and alienating what could be a good resource."
Buffy looked at Xander, and he seemed just as confused as she did, but in the end she realized that Giles was right about one thing -- it would make more sense to look for Spike after sundown. "So, what's the plan?" she asked the Watcher.
"We go to the Compound, and Oz, Cordelia and Joyce stay here, in case we get word about Sonya," Giles said.
"Wait!" Joyce protested. "I wanted to come to the Compound with you. That's the whole reason I came on this trip."
Giles could see the resolve in her eyes. "If you must..."
"I must," Joyce said firmly. She looked at Cordelia and Oz. "Will you two be all right without me?" They both nodded, though they looked at each other warily.
"Then I'm going," Joyce repeated.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- The Condo
Angel walked into the condo and found he was the last to arrive. They had all congregated in the living room. He noticed Amy and the blond commando sitting next to each other on the couch and Jenny glaring at him impatiently, but it was Faith on whom his gaze settled.
"Practicing those lock picking skills again?" he asked.
She shrugged, every movement of her torso outlined by the black spandex that covered it. "It's not my fault you're always late..." Her lips curled up in a combination sneer/smile.
"Angel!" Jenny said, stepping between them and blocking Faith from his view. "I need to speak with you."
Back to business, Angel nodded and followed Jenny into Giles's study. Once inside, Jenny bypassed all the occult books and magic paraphernalia to pick up a copy of today's newspaper from on top of the desk. She opened the paper to page three and showed him an article circled in red magic marker. Angel read the headline: Two killed in wild dog attack.
He looked at Jenny. "Werewolves?"
She shook her head. "We've never seen any in town before. But we've seen something else just recently that might have done this..."
Angel's eyes widened in comprehension. "Feral vampires."
"Yes." Jenny pointed to a relevant paragraph in the article. "It says here that the wounds were located around the neck and upper torso. In my opinion, that's too messy for a normal vampire, but too discriminating for what I've read of werewolves. They tend to eat a good portion of the body when they attack."
Angel nodded. "I think you're right. Good researching. Almost as good as Giles."
"Speaking of Giles, when I talked to him earlier today he gave me a very odd assignment." She picked up a piece of parchment that had been on the desk under the newspaper and showed it to Angel.
The vampire looked surprised. "But that's the spell..."
"Yes," Jenny said again. "He wants me to derive a more general spell from this specific one."
"But why? Has something else happened?"
Jenny shook her head. "I don't know. He couldn't talk much as Oz and Xander were in the room with him."
A thought occurred to Angel. "Is he worried about what the Council will do?"
"I think..." Jenny paused, and then slowly gave voice to her theory, "... that he's just being careful. I don't think he knows who he can trust."
"And there's not a lot we can do about that from here," Angel added sadly. "But he's got Buffy, Xander and the others."
"I hope that will be a good thing," Jenny said, almost to herself.
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"I'm just getting an odd feeling. Large groups can have a pull that's hard to resist."
"Sounds like you know something about that..." Angel looked at her and wondered, not for the first time, what other things went on in the life of Jenny Calendar.
Startled, Jenny seemed to push the disturbing thoughts out of her head, and she changed the subject again. "But what we have to do is find out about these feral vampires. It seems unusual for there to be more than one at a time."
Angel nodded. "It's very seldom that a vampire doesn't find a victim to feed on for the length of time it takes to go feral. It takes days... or even a week or more. But the Hellmouth does pull in the unsavory elements. I suppose feral vampires would be less able than normal vampires to resist the call."
"That could be," Jenny agreed, "but either way, there's at least one more out there to catch."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Compound
Giles drove the rented car at the upper edge of the speed limit the entire way to the Compound. If Buffy and Xander noticed he wasn't puttering along as usual, they didn't mention it. Instead they just sat in the back seat of the beige sedan whispering to each other. In the passenger seat, Joyce appeared to be admiring the view from the window as if this were a normal sight-seeing trip.
They didn't stop until they reached the thick walls that surrounded the large, stone mansion that housed the Council's headquarters. In front of the imposing, iron gates, Giles stopped the car and rolled down his window. A uniformed security guard made his way from the tiny gatehouse to the car.
"Are you on the list?" the young man said importantly, gesturing to the clipboard in his hands.
"Rupert Giles, Buffy Summers, Joyce Summers and Alexander Harris," Giles replied crisply.
The guard squinted down at his list. "I don't have a Joyce Summers. Only Buffy."
"I'm her mother," Joyce said in her most imperious mom-voice. "Where she goes, I go."
The mom-voice had no affect on him. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but no one gets in who isn't on the list." The guard touched the holster attacked to his belt for emphasis.
"You must be new here." Giles gave the young whipper-snapper a stern look. "They are waiting for us inside, and if you do not let Ms. Summers in, we will have to turn about and drive all the way back to London to take her back to the hotel. Then our extreme tardiness will be on your head. Please, tell me your name so that I get it right when they ask me why we're so late."
The guard looked nervous now. "Blackmoor, James Blackmoor. But... don't go back."
"Well, Mr. Blackmoor," Giles continued in a calm voice that barely concealed his anger, "you, then, have two choices. I have the proper security clearances. Either let her in on my authority, or call the Proconsul's office and get clearance. I'm sure Proconsul Chamberlaine will be thrilled that you had to bother him for such a piddling matter as opening the gate. We'll wait here." Giles turned away from the guard without another word and struck a pose of waiting with his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the closed gate.
The guard stared at Giles for a moment, and then hurried back to the gatehouse. A moment later, there was a loud clanking noise as the gates started to retract just enough for the car to squeeze through.
"Wow, Giles," Xander said as they began driving up the circular driveway. "You sure gave him the business. Your use of blackmail was stellar."
"I didn't think you had it in you," Buffy added, surprise evident in her voice. "You're usually so... er... well... polite."
"He was getting on my nerves," Giles replied casually. "In my day the trainees weren't allowed to be so uppity to their elders."
"HE is going to be a Watcher?" Xander asked incredulously.
"Yes, well, the destiny to be a Watcher runs in families," Giles explained. "And sometimes that lends to less than perfect candidates."
"So, you're not the first Watcher in your family, then," Buffy commented, trying to make sense of the enigma that was Giles. She realized this was one of the first bits of personal information she'd ever gleaned from him.
"No," Giles replied. "I'm a third generation Watcher."
"Did you want to do it?" Xander asked curiously. "I can't imagine going into the same line of work as my dad. I'm just not into welding."
"I balked a little at first," Giles admitted, "but when I realized the importance that is behind the mission and duty of the Watchers, I came around." They pulled up to the front of the driveway, and he parked the car on the side. There was enough room in case another car needed to get by.
Eager to stretch their legs, Buffy and Xander hopped quickly out of the car, leaving thoughts of Giles's past behind for the meantime. Joyce put her hand on his to stop Giles from leaving the car as well.
"Thank you for that," she said softly, nodding back toward the gate.
"It was nothing," Giles replied. "In fact, I'm surprised it impressed you all so much." Maybe it was something about being in England, but Giles realized he suddenly felt stronger, more forceful -- the way he'd felt in his younger days, something that had both gotten him in trouble and helped him win the coveted, though low-ranking, job as active Watcher. A squeeze on his hand pulled him back from his reflection, and he realized Joyce's hand still covered his own.
"Well, it meant a lot to me," Joyce said with a soft smile.
Giles could swear he felt himself begin to blush. He jerked his hand back and reached for the door handle. "Yes... well... we'd better get inside." Joyce nodded, and they got out of the car to catch up with the teenagers.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Cell
The sun was brighter now. It warmed the chill that had seeped into Sonya's bones from sitting on the cold floor.
"You would think they could have at least given us beds or chairs or a blanket or *something*!" she groused, pacing back and forth in the small space. "Isn't there some law against cruelty to prisoners... of course, it's probably in the same statute as the anti-kidnapping laws..."
Suddenly, she was distracted from her absurd thoughts by a loud popping sound. She turned to Doyle to see the half-demon had somehow popped his neck so that it looked straight again, and now his eyes were open. As she watched, his spines and the greenish complexion that he'd had all the while he'd been unconscious slowly started to fade away.
"Man," he groaned, "I feel like I been hit wi' a ton o' bricks. Where are we, anyway?"
Sonya shrugged. "Don't know," she admitted. "But I think you were right about one thing."
"O' course I was..." Doyle paused. "But, just so we both know... which thing was I right about this time?"
"We had some visitor's this morning. Obviously Watchers."
"Then the whole vampire attack was a set up," Doyle surmised, getting to his feet and shaking the knots out of his muscles. "Well, at least Cordelia is OK."
"Probably so," Sonya agreed. "I'm sure Oz heard the fight over the phone and called in the Calvary, and she was in the suite when we chased after the vamps." She shook her head and sighed. "We were so stupid!"
"Well, how was we ta know?" Doyle demanded. "They seemed like ordinary vampires ta me." He shrugged, and the action made him groan again.
"You all right?" Sonya asked, concerned. "Should we bang on the door and demand that they call a doctor. Not that it will do much good, but we can try..."
"Nah." Doyle laid back down on the floor. "I'll be fine soon. I'm much stronger in me demon face. I'll be OK in a jiffy. How are you?"
"Fine," Sonya replied.
Remembering the bullet wound, Doyle nodded. "Of course." He paused and then patted the floor next to him. "So... why don't you tell me the story o' your life?"
"The story of my life? What good will that do?" Sonya looked at him askance.
"Not much, I suppose," Doyle admitted, "but look around ye, lass. Thick walls, iron bars over the window, two doors... we aren't gettin' outta here 'til someone let's us out, so we might as well get ta know each other while we wait."
Realizing he was right, Sonya sat down next to him and leaned her back against the wall. "I guess you're right, but I'm not going first."
Doyle smiled at that. "I'll get it out o' ye, yet. But I'll start, if ye like. Let's see, the story o' me life... Well, I was born in Ireland, and I lived in a tiny little house wi' me ma an' me four brothers and sisters. The first time I went outside ta play I met this li'l tyke in the yard next door. He said his name was Aidan..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Compound
Buffy followed Giles and her mother in the front door of the Compound and looked around in awe. She held onto Xander's hand for comfort. The entry way was huge and grand. There were oriental rugs over the marble floor, the knick-knacks on the tables looked extremely valuable, as did the paintings on the walls. Everything about the place bespoke old money. For the first time, Buffy wondered how the Council had come to be, and where it got its funding. Grateful family members who were bypassed by the Watcher legacy perhaps?
But even more intimidating than the classy surroundings was the crowd of people waiting for them in the lounge. A young man who said his name was Marcus guided them from the entry hall to where the assembly was waiting.
"A few people to greet us, yeah right!" Buffy muttered to Xander from behind a fake smile. "This is a crowd... a mob, even."
The room was bigger than the entire bottom floor of the house she shared with her mother in Sunnydale, and it was over half full. A fire blazed in the huge fireplace, and Buffy could feel her heels sinking into the plush, wine-colored carpet. Scattered around were antique tables covered with hors de ordeauvres and beverages and antique chairs, settees and couches for sitting on. Buffy was afraid to sit on one -- what if she crushed it or spilled something on it?
"Don't worry, Buff," Xander whispered back, keeping a tight hold on her hand for both of their comfort.
"Don't worry? Xander, they're all staring at me!"
"That's cuz you're sort of like a celebrity to them," Xander replied, grinning at her. "THE Slayer that they've heard so much about, and that they've been training to help ever since they got here. It's probably a big deal to them."
Before Buffy could decide whether that analogy made her feel better or more nervous, Giles was pulling her forward to meet people. Xander smiled at her for good luck as he hung back with Joyce near the food. And seconds later Buffy was introduced to a whirlwind of names and faces. Some stuck, others didn't; some people treated her normal, others looked at her with awe and a couple seemed a bit reluctant. What really stuck in her mind, however, was how they all looked the same -- and they looked very similar to Giles -- all clean cut, professionally dressed in suits (many of them tweed), a good majority of them wore glasses and they all seemed quiet and mature. She thought she caught a glimpse of Aidan in the background, but he didn't come over to them. She craned her neck a little, trying for a better look at the one person she recognized, and then Giles was pulling her forward again.
"Buffy," he said in an odd tone, "I'd like you to meet Gwendolyn Post. In the chain of command, she's second only to the Proconsul himself."
Buffy looked up to see a sleekly dressed woman wearing a navy blue suit dress. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a chignon from which not a single hair strayed. She had icy blue eyes and a pale complexion, and she was sticking out her hand for Buffy to shake. Buffy shook her hand, and felt a cold palm press up to her own.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Buffy," the woman said in a cultured British accent. "I've heard so much about you in the past few months..."
"Yes, well..." Buffy stammered, unsure of what to say.
"Proconsul Chamberlain asked me to convey his profoundest regrets to you," Gwendolyn continued. "You'll be meeting with him later in his chambers. He would have been here, but something... rather unusual... came up that needed his direct attention."
"Anything that Buffy can help with?" Giles interrupted.
Gwendolyn shook her well-coifed head. "No, Mr. Giles, but thank you. This is more in the administration vein, but still important, I assure you." Then she turned her attention away from Giles and focused it completely on Buffy. "Would you like to take a tour of the grounds, my dear? I'm sure you will find them interesting, especially our training areas. Did you bring a change of clothes for working out? Mr. Giles was supposed to tell you..."
"Yes, ma'am," Buffy nodded, patting her oversized purse. "They're in here. But, could my mother and Xander come on the tour, too?"
Without missing a beat, Gwendolyn nodded and said, "Of course, they may."
Another man, who looked to be in his mid-sixties with salt and pepper hair, stepped up to the group and Gwendolyn hastened to introduce him. "Buffy, this is Edmund Barrows."
"Pleasure to meet you, Buffy," Barrows said, gripping her hand tightly.
"You, too," Buffy replied as she had so many times already, but there was something about this guy that she didn't like. But she couldn't put her finger on it. She decided it was just her introvert nature acting up again. With her friends to insulate her in Sunnydale, she hadn't been bothered by her shy tendencies lately, but they were still there under the surface, as they'd been since the horrible months when all her friends in LA dumped the 'poor crip.' She pulled her mind back to the present when she realized Gwendolyn was saying something else.
"Mr. Giles, if you will go with Edmund while we go on the tour, he's got a few things that you must attend to before the proceedings."
Giles didn't look happy about it, but there didn't seem to be another option. "Of course. Buffy, I will see you in a bit."
"Good bye, Giles," Buffy called, watching him walk away with the other man. Then, before she could dwell on it too long, Gwendolyn gathered up Xander, her mother and Marcus -- the young man who'd met them at the door -- and took them off on the tour.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Giles left the lounge with Barrows despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn't know Barrows very well, but the few times their paths had crossed before Giles had left for America, they hadn't hit it off well.
As they walked in silence up the stairs, Giles searched his relatively good memory for any information on Edmund Barrows. What he came up with wasn't very encouraging. After Buffy's accident showed the Council that the destiny of Slayer did not make a girl invulnerable to catastrophe, there had been a huge backlash. Council members realized that had the Choosing happened a few seconds sooner, they would have ended up with a critically wounded Slayer who could do no good for the cause. Some of the reactions had been good, in Giles's opinion. They had resulted in more warriors, like Faith and her team, being trained to help the Slayer in her lonely war against the darkness. However, Barrows had taken the extreme position that the Council needed to be more hands-on with their role to the Slayer. He lobbied for more than one Watcher, and more extreme methods of training, even unto binding the Slayer emotionally to the Council. He had been over-ruled, of course, by the traditionalists, and Barrows had soon backed down so as not to compromise his high rank in Council hierarchy, but Giles still remembered the man's ideas with a touch of distaste. Barrows had been one of the reasons behind his actions after Sonya's accident.
The sound of a door opening distracted Giles from his thoughts, and he looked up to see that they were entering a small lounge on the second floor. This one was much less grand than the first floor lounge which had been used to greet Buffy. It was furnished rather sparsely with a couch, some shelves and a table and chairs. There was a young, dark haired man wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a tweed suit waiting for them. Giles had never met the young man before.
"Mr. Giles," Barrows said, "as you know, the tribunal starts tomorrow morning. While Miss Summers is accompanied on her tour, we wanted you to have some time to confer with your counselor."
"I see," Giles replied. He shot a glance at the nervous-looking young man and wondered what he had done, or who's bad side he'd gotten on to get this job. "And who will be the prosecuting counselor?"
A gleam entered the older man's eyes. "I will be."
"Well, then," Giles said, feeling less optimistic than ever, "if you don't mind..."
"Of course not," Barrows replied, all civility. "Take your time. Ms. Post will make sure that the Slayer is properly entertained."
Giles thought about smiling at the irony of that statement, but he didn't. After Barrows took his leave, Giles shut the door behind him and turned to the nervous young man. "Hello, I'm Rupert Giles. And you are..."
"Wesley Windham-Price," the young man replied, trying to disguise the nervous squeak in his voice. He cleared his throat, and shook Giles's hand with a surprisingly firm grip. "Well... I suppose we have our work cut out for us, don't we, Mr. Giles."
Taking pity on the young man, Giles found a smile for him and gestured for the boy to take a seat. Sitting himself, Giles said, "Please, Wesley, call me Rupert. If you're going to attempt to defend me, we should be on a first name basis, don't you think?"
"Er... quite," Wesley replied. Then he picked up a pencil and a pad of paper. "Well, Mr.... Rupert, why don't we go over the charges against you, and you can tell me your side of the story..."
Chapter Ten
England -- The Cell
A noise outside woke Sonya up from a fitful doze on the hard, cold, stone floor. Her eyes snapped open, and instantly she remembered the events that had led up to where she was now: the four vampires, staking one, she and Doyle chasing the other three to find out who sent them, being led into a trap where a group of masked men threw them into the back of a van and finally waking up in this cell. A bit of grayish light coming through the tiny, barred window told her it was dawn outside. She glanced at Doyle. His face was still demony, but he looked better than he had the night before. Apparently, he could heal faster than a normal human, too.
She tried to pinpoint whatever it was that had woken her up. It had been a noise, she was sure of it. Then she heard it again. Two people were talking, right outside the door to the cell.
Her stake had been taken, of course, so Sonya crept quietly up to the door of the cell. There were two doors, in fact. A thick, metal, sliding door covered a door made out of iron bars. Whoever put them in here was making sure they could never get out.
"I want to see the prisoners," a female voice ordered. The sound trickled in through the small window in the sliding door. "How are they doing this morning?"
"Still out, last I checked," a man replied.
There was a click, that could only be the sound of a key in a lock, and the metal door started to slide. Sonya decided instinctively that she didn't want them to know she was awake yet, so she laid back down on the floor, positioned so she could peek under her lashes and see who came in. She felt bars of light on her face as the sliding door opened. She caught a glimpse of an institutional hallway lit with fluorescent lights, but nothing that gave her a clue as to where they were.
"Marcus, I thought the girl had rapid healing abilities?" the woman asked.
From what Sonya could tell, the woman was thin and pale. She had blonde hair wrapped up into a tight chignon, and was wearing a navy blue, skirted business suit. Sonya didn't recognize her. She didn't recognize the man... Marcus... either. He was younger, and had nondescript brown hair. He also wore glasses. What gave her pause was the tweed suit.
"She does," Marcus replied. "In case you haven't noticed, all her wounds have vanished. She was much more ragged when they brought her in here."
"And the demon?"
"He'll heal, as well. Brackens are good at that."
Sonya felt a shiver run up and down her spine as the woman looked her over again. She had to work hard not to let it show. Then the woman spoke again.
"I expected something more from a former Slayer..."
"Like what?" the man asked.
The woman shrugged. "I don't know... just something more... exciting."
Then the woman turned on her heal and walked off, leaving the man looking in on them.
"Have a good sleep, Sonya, Doyle," Marcus whispered. After that, he slammed the door shut, and Sonya heard the lock click again.
As soon as she was sure she was alone again, she sat up and scooted back until her back was against the wall. Then she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The pieces, at least some of them, were starting to come together in her mind: the tweed, the man and the woman's English accents, the name Marcus which had been on the bottom of Giles's letter about the tribunal, the woman knowing Sonya used to be a Slayer...
"Doyle was right all along," Sonya said softly. "It's the Council..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- Angel's Apartment
Angel awoke abruptly from a rather disturbing dream, but when he opened his eyes, he found he couldn't remember any of it. He lay there for a minute, but nothing came back to him. Glancing at the clock, Angel realized it was past sunset. Time to get up. He stood up, yawned and stretched. Then he walked over toward the closet and pulled on his favorite, black, silk robe. He was just heading over to the fridge for a snack when the phone rang.
"Hello?" he said into the receiver.
It was Jenny Calendar on the other end. "We need to talk."
"What about?" Angel wondered at the tension in her voice.
"Something's happened in England. I just talked to Giles."
"What's wrong?" Angel demanded. "Is it Buffy... or Xander? Is one of them hurt?" Then he remembered some of Faith's off handed comments about the Council, and he added, "No, it's Giles... the Council canned him?"
"Worse than the last, better than the first," Jenny said bluntly. "Sonya and a guy they met over there, Doyle, were kidnapped, or worse, by a group of vampires."
Angel felt some tension ease from his taut muscles. Buffy and Xander -- two of the most important people in his life -- were all right. Then he felt guilty. He shouldn't rejoice in the fact that Sonya was now who knew where. "What do they need us to do?" he asked quickly, trying to cover up his momentary lapse. "Of course, we'll do anything, but we're half a world away..."
"They need to know where Spike is," Jenny replied. "He's their only lead. Giles thought you might have vampire connections you could use to find him."
Angel thought for a moment. "Well, there is one person I can call. She kind of owes me a favor."
"Do it, and meet us at the condo when you're done." And then Angel was left listening to the hum of the dial tone.
After a minute, Angel walked over to his antique, mahogany desk and pulled out an address book. Folded inside the pages was a crumpled bit of paper. He smoothed it out and took it back to the phone. Then he dialed the number.
"Hello?" The childlike voice sounded soft and sleepy, as if she'd just woken up.
"Darla, it's Angel."
His sire's voice grew alert instantly. "Angel... what a surprise. The last time I saw you, you were so... virtuous. Did you decide to take another walk on the wild side?"
"You know that's not true, Darla," Angel answered. "Gotta love a gypsy curse. They sure know how to stick."
"Too bad, baby. You don't know what you're missing." Her voice went from playful to suspicious. "So, why call me up after all this time, lover?"
"I'm not your lover anymore," Angel reminded her. The past was not something he loved talking about, even though it was something he could never get out of his mind. "I need a favor."
"And you called little, ol' me... I'm stunned," Darla replied. "What makes you think I'd help a goody-goody vampire like you do anything."
"You owe me, Darla!" Angel enunciated every word clearly, so she'd know he meant it. "When Sonya took the Master down, I got you out of there. I don't know why I did it..."
"Family loyalty," Darla interrupted.
Angel could visualize the catty smile on the small blonde's face. The image contrasted sharply with the last time he'd seen her, covered in dust and blood, begging because of the love they'd once shared (disgusting to him now though it was) to help her. He hadn't been able to refuse. At least now what could have been a huge mistake would come in handy. "Call it what you will, 'Mom'" he said sarcastically, "but you know that every day you live, you owe to me. And I'm calling in one of those favors."
Realizing that she wasn't going to get anywhere with him, Darla replied, "What do you want?"
"I need to know where Spike is. I know he's in England. Have you had any contact with him?"
"I saw him about a month ago in Venice. We shared a nice, little tourist boy and talked about old times. He told me about what happened in Sunnydale. I told him he was right to get away from there..."
"All right," Angel interrupted. "That's all lovely, Darla, but I need an address or a phone number."
Darla sighed. "You're no fun anymore, baby. I miss the old you."
"I don't!" Angel snapped. "Now tell me where Spike is or I'll come to Venice myself and hunt you down!"
Darla sighed. "He told me if I ever come to England that I should look him up at a pub in London called the Knight's Downfall. It's one of those trashy demon bars -- just Spike's type. That's all I know."
"Thanks," Angel replied. "It's been just lovely talking to you..."
"Likewise, I'm sure." Darla returned sarcasm for sarcasm. "Does Spike know you're coming?"
"I'm not... someone else is."
"Poor Spike."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Scooby Gang's Hotel
Giles hung up the phone and looked at the group of freshly washed and dressed young people gathered around him. If their anxiety didn't show on their faces, they would look like any group of teenagers starting a new day in a foreign country. Joyce stood in the back of the room, a worried look in her eyes. She was trying keep up a brave front, but somehow Giles could tell that underneath she was very worried about the missing duo. Almost as panicked as he was himself.
"Well?" Buffy prompted him.
"Angel found a lead on Spike," Giles told them. "Apparently, Spike frequents a pub called the Knight's Downfall. Rather like Willy's, it's an establishment that caters to the, shall we say varying tastes of demons, vampires especially."
"What are we waiting for?" Buffy asked. "Let's go!"
"We can't go now." Giles held up a hand in protest.
"Why not?" Xander demanded.
"You, Buffy and I must go to the Compound. We're expected there soon."
"What does that matter when..." Xander started.
At the same time Buffy was saying, "But she's supposed to be there, too..."
"I know, I know," Giles interrupted them. "I don't want to go without her either, but there is not much good we can do during the daylight hours. Spike is more likely to show up at this pub after sunset. And while we're at the Compound we can let the Council know what has happened, so they, too, can put their resources into finding Sonya."
Buffy looked at Giles suspiciously, remembering some of the things she'd heard about the Council from Faith, Nicole and Doyle. "How do we know we can trust them?"
Giles looked at Buffy seriously. "If we can no longer trust the Council, then the world is in more trouble than just the loss of two people."
"But you didn't trust the Council when Sonya had her accident," Buffy protested, finally giving voice to all the thoughts she'd been having since the letter summoning them to England had come to light. "What made you change your mind now?"
"Things were different then, but I never lost my faith in the entirety of the Council," Giles replied. "Things were more confusing in the heat of the moment. And in all cases it is best to investigate before acting on unproven assumptions and alienating what could be a good resource."
Buffy looked at Xander, and he seemed just as confused as she did, but in the end she realized that Giles was right about one thing -- it would make more sense to look for Spike after sundown. "So, what's the plan?" she asked the Watcher.
"We go to the Compound, and Oz, Cordelia and Joyce stay here, in case we get word about Sonya," Giles said.
"Wait!" Joyce protested. "I wanted to come to the Compound with you. That's the whole reason I came on this trip."
Giles could see the resolve in her eyes. "If you must..."
"I must," Joyce said firmly. She looked at Cordelia and Oz. "Will you two be all right without me?" They both nodded, though they looked at each other warily.
"Then I'm going," Joyce repeated.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- The Condo
Angel walked into the condo and found he was the last to arrive. They had all congregated in the living room. He noticed Amy and the blond commando sitting next to each other on the couch and Jenny glaring at him impatiently, but it was Faith on whom his gaze settled.
"Practicing those lock picking skills again?" he asked.
She shrugged, every movement of her torso outlined by the black spandex that covered it. "It's not my fault you're always late..." Her lips curled up in a combination sneer/smile.
"Angel!" Jenny said, stepping between them and blocking Faith from his view. "I need to speak with you."
Back to business, Angel nodded and followed Jenny into Giles's study. Once inside, Jenny bypassed all the occult books and magic paraphernalia to pick up a copy of today's newspaper from on top of the desk. She opened the paper to page three and showed him an article circled in red magic marker. Angel read the headline: Two killed in wild dog attack.
He looked at Jenny. "Werewolves?"
She shook her head. "We've never seen any in town before. But we've seen something else just recently that might have done this..."
Angel's eyes widened in comprehension. "Feral vampires."
"Yes." Jenny pointed to a relevant paragraph in the article. "It says here that the wounds were located around the neck and upper torso. In my opinion, that's too messy for a normal vampire, but too discriminating for what I've read of werewolves. They tend to eat a good portion of the body when they attack."
Angel nodded. "I think you're right. Good researching. Almost as good as Giles."
"Speaking of Giles, when I talked to him earlier today he gave me a very odd assignment." She picked up a piece of parchment that had been on the desk under the newspaper and showed it to Angel.
The vampire looked surprised. "But that's the spell..."
"Yes," Jenny said again. "He wants me to derive a more general spell from this specific one."
"But why? Has something else happened?"
Jenny shook her head. "I don't know. He couldn't talk much as Oz and Xander were in the room with him."
A thought occurred to Angel. "Is he worried about what the Council will do?"
"I think..." Jenny paused, and then slowly gave voice to her theory, "... that he's just being careful. I don't think he knows who he can trust."
"And there's not a lot we can do about that from here," Angel added sadly. "But he's got Buffy, Xander and the others."
"I hope that will be a good thing," Jenny said, almost to herself.
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"I'm just getting an odd feeling. Large groups can have a pull that's hard to resist."
"Sounds like you know something about that..." Angel looked at her and wondered, not for the first time, what other things went on in the life of Jenny Calendar.
Startled, Jenny seemed to push the disturbing thoughts out of her head, and she changed the subject again. "But what we have to do is find out about these feral vampires. It seems unusual for there to be more than one at a time."
Angel nodded. "It's very seldom that a vampire doesn't find a victim to feed on for the length of time it takes to go feral. It takes days... or even a week or more. But the Hellmouth does pull in the unsavory elements. I suppose feral vampires would be less able than normal vampires to resist the call."
"That could be," Jenny agreed, "but either way, there's at least one more out there to catch."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Compound
Giles drove the rented car at the upper edge of the speed limit the entire way to the Compound. If Buffy and Xander noticed he wasn't puttering along as usual, they didn't mention it. Instead they just sat in the back seat of the beige sedan whispering to each other. In the passenger seat, Joyce appeared to be admiring the view from the window as if this were a normal sight-seeing trip.
They didn't stop until they reached the thick walls that surrounded the large, stone mansion that housed the Council's headquarters. In front of the imposing, iron gates, Giles stopped the car and rolled down his window. A uniformed security guard made his way from the tiny gatehouse to the car.
"Are you on the list?" the young man said importantly, gesturing to the clipboard in his hands.
"Rupert Giles, Buffy Summers, Joyce Summers and Alexander Harris," Giles replied crisply.
The guard squinted down at his list. "I don't have a Joyce Summers. Only Buffy."
"I'm her mother," Joyce said in her most imperious mom-voice. "Where she goes, I go."
The mom-voice had no affect on him. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but no one gets in who isn't on the list." The guard touched the holster attacked to his belt for emphasis.
"You must be new here." Giles gave the young whipper-snapper a stern look. "They are waiting for us inside, and if you do not let Ms. Summers in, we will have to turn about and drive all the way back to London to take her back to the hotel. Then our extreme tardiness will be on your head. Please, tell me your name so that I get it right when they ask me why we're so late."
The guard looked nervous now. "Blackmoor, James Blackmoor. But... don't go back."
"Well, Mr. Blackmoor," Giles continued in a calm voice that barely concealed his anger, "you, then, have two choices. I have the proper security clearances. Either let her in on my authority, or call the Proconsul's office and get clearance. I'm sure Proconsul Chamberlaine will be thrilled that you had to bother him for such a piddling matter as opening the gate. We'll wait here." Giles turned away from the guard without another word and struck a pose of waiting with his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the closed gate.
The guard stared at Giles for a moment, and then hurried back to the gatehouse. A moment later, there was a loud clanking noise as the gates started to retract just enough for the car to squeeze through.
"Wow, Giles," Xander said as they began driving up the circular driveway. "You sure gave him the business. Your use of blackmail was stellar."
"I didn't think you had it in you," Buffy added, surprise evident in her voice. "You're usually so... er... well... polite."
"He was getting on my nerves," Giles replied casually. "In my day the trainees weren't allowed to be so uppity to their elders."
"HE is going to be a Watcher?" Xander asked incredulously.
"Yes, well, the destiny to be a Watcher runs in families," Giles explained. "And sometimes that lends to less than perfect candidates."
"So, you're not the first Watcher in your family, then," Buffy commented, trying to make sense of the enigma that was Giles. She realized this was one of the first bits of personal information she'd ever gleaned from him.
"No," Giles replied. "I'm a third generation Watcher."
"Did you want to do it?" Xander asked curiously. "I can't imagine going into the same line of work as my dad. I'm just not into welding."
"I balked a little at first," Giles admitted, "but when I realized the importance that is behind the mission and duty of the Watchers, I came around." They pulled up to the front of the driveway, and he parked the car on the side. There was enough room in case another car needed to get by.
Eager to stretch their legs, Buffy and Xander hopped quickly out of the car, leaving thoughts of Giles's past behind for the meantime. Joyce put her hand on his to stop Giles from leaving the car as well.
"Thank you for that," she said softly, nodding back toward the gate.
"It was nothing," Giles replied. "In fact, I'm surprised it impressed you all so much." Maybe it was something about being in England, but Giles realized he suddenly felt stronger, more forceful -- the way he'd felt in his younger days, something that had both gotten him in trouble and helped him win the coveted, though low-ranking, job as active Watcher. A squeeze on his hand pulled him back from his reflection, and he realized Joyce's hand still covered his own.
"Well, it meant a lot to me," Joyce said with a soft smile.
Giles could swear he felt himself begin to blush. He jerked his hand back and reached for the door handle. "Yes... well... we'd better get inside." Joyce nodded, and they got out of the car to catch up with the teenagers.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Cell
The sun was brighter now. It warmed the chill that had seeped into Sonya's bones from sitting on the cold floor.
"You would think they could have at least given us beds or chairs or a blanket or *something*!" she groused, pacing back and forth in the small space. "Isn't there some law against cruelty to prisoners... of course, it's probably in the same statute as the anti-kidnapping laws..."
Suddenly, she was distracted from her absurd thoughts by a loud popping sound. She turned to Doyle to see the half-demon had somehow popped his neck so that it looked straight again, and now his eyes were open. As she watched, his spines and the greenish complexion that he'd had all the while he'd been unconscious slowly started to fade away.
"Man," he groaned, "I feel like I been hit wi' a ton o' bricks. Where are we, anyway?"
Sonya shrugged. "Don't know," she admitted. "But I think you were right about one thing."
"O' course I was..." Doyle paused. "But, just so we both know... which thing was I right about this time?"
"We had some visitor's this morning. Obviously Watchers."
"Then the whole vampire attack was a set up," Doyle surmised, getting to his feet and shaking the knots out of his muscles. "Well, at least Cordelia is OK."
"Probably so," Sonya agreed. "I'm sure Oz heard the fight over the phone and called in the Calvary, and she was in the suite when we chased after the vamps." She shook her head and sighed. "We were so stupid!"
"Well, how was we ta know?" Doyle demanded. "They seemed like ordinary vampires ta me." He shrugged, and the action made him groan again.
"You all right?" Sonya asked, concerned. "Should we bang on the door and demand that they call a doctor. Not that it will do much good, but we can try..."
"Nah." Doyle laid back down on the floor. "I'll be fine soon. I'm much stronger in me demon face. I'll be OK in a jiffy. How are you?"
"Fine," Sonya replied.
Remembering the bullet wound, Doyle nodded. "Of course." He paused and then patted the floor next to him. "So... why don't you tell me the story o' your life?"
"The story of my life? What good will that do?" Sonya looked at him askance.
"Not much, I suppose," Doyle admitted, "but look around ye, lass. Thick walls, iron bars over the window, two doors... we aren't gettin' outta here 'til someone let's us out, so we might as well get ta know each other while we wait."
Realizing he was right, Sonya sat down next to him and leaned her back against the wall. "I guess you're right, but I'm not going first."
Doyle smiled at that. "I'll get it out o' ye, yet. But I'll start, if ye like. Let's see, the story o' me life... Well, I was born in Ireland, and I lived in a tiny little house wi' me ma an' me four brothers and sisters. The first time I went outside ta play I met this li'l tyke in the yard next door. He said his name was Aidan..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Compound
Buffy followed Giles and her mother in the front door of the Compound and looked around in awe. She held onto Xander's hand for comfort. The entry way was huge and grand. There were oriental rugs over the marble floor, the knick-knacks on the tables looked extremely valuable, as did the paintings on the walls. Everything about the place bespoke old money. For the first time, Buffy wondered how the Council had come to be, and where it got its funding. Grateful family members who were bypassed by the Watcher legacy perhaps?
But even more intimidating than the classy surroundings was the crowd of people waiting for them in the lounge. A young man who said his name was Marcus guided them from the entry hall to where the assembly was waiting.
"A few people to greet us, yeah right!" Buffy muttered to Xander from behind a fake smile. "This is a crowd... a mob, even."
The room was bigger than the entire bottom floor of the house she shared with her mother in Sunnydale, and it was over half full. A fire blazed in the huge fireplace, and Buffy could feel her heels sinking into the plush, wine-colored carpet. Scattered around were antique tables covered with hors de ordeauvres and beverages and antique chairs, settees and couches for sitting on. Buffy was afraid to sit on one -- what if she crushed it or spilled something on it?
"Don't worry, Buff," Xander whispered back, keeping a tight hold on her hand for both of their comfort.
"Don't worry? Xander, they're all staring at me!"
"That's cuz you're sort of like a celebrity to them," Xander replied, grinning at her. "THE Slayer that they've heard so much about, and that they've been training to help ever since they got here. It's probably a big deal to them."
Before Buffy could decide whether that analogy made her feel better or more nervous, Giles was pulling her forward to meet people. Xander smiled at her for good luck as he hung back with Joyce near the food. And seconds later Buffy was introduced to a whirlwind of names and faces. Some stuck, others didn't; some people treated her normal, others looked at her with awe and a couple seemed a bit reluctant. What really stuck in her mind, however, was how they all looked the same -- and they looked very similar to Giles -- all clean cut, professionally dressed in suits (many of them tweed), a good majority of them wore glasses and they all seemed quiet and mature. She thought she caught a glimpse of Aidan in the background, but he didn't come over to them. She craned her neck a little, trying for a better look at the one person she recognized, and then Giles was pulling her forward again.
"Buffy," he said in an odd tone, "I'd like you to meet Gwendolyn Post. In the chain of command, she's second only to the Proconsul himself."
Buffy looked up to see a sleekly dressed woman wearing a navy blue suit dress. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a chignon from which not a single hair strayed. She had icy blue eyes and a pale complexion, and she was sticking out her hand for Buffy to shake. Buffy shook her hand, and felt a cold palm press up to her own.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Buffy," the woman said in a cultured British accent. "I've heard so much about you in the past few months..."
"Yes, well..." Buffy stammered, unsure of what to say.
"Proconsul Chamberlain asked me to convey his profoundest regrets to you," Gwendolyn continued. "You'll be meeting with him later in his chambers. He would have been here, but something... rather unusual... came up that needed his direct attention."
"Anything that Buffy can help with?" Giles interrupted.
Gwendolyn shook her well-coifed head. "No, Mr. Giles, but thank you. This is more in the administration vein, but still important, I assure you." Then she turned her attention away from Giles and focused it completely on Buffy. "Would you like to take a tour of the grounds, my dear? I'm sure you will find them interesting, especially our training areas. Did you bring a change of clothes for working out? Mr. Giles was supposed to tell you..."
"Yes, ma'am," Buffy nodded, patting her oversized purse. "They're in here. But, could my mother and Xander come on the tour, too?"
Without missing a beat, Gwendolyn nodded and said, "Of course, they may."
Another man, who looked to be in his mid-sixties with salt and pepper hair, stepped up to the group and Gwendolyn hastened to introduce him. "Buffy, this is Edmund Barrows."
"Pleasure to meet you, Buffy," Barrows said, gripping her hand tightly.
"You, too," Buffy replied as she had so many times already, but there was something about this guy that she didn't like. But she couldn't put her finger on it. She decided it was just her introvert nature acting up again. With her friends to insulate her in Sunnydale, she hadn't been bothered by her shy tendencies lately, but they were still there under the surface, as they'd been since the horrible months when all her friends in LA dumped the 'poor crip.' She pulled her mind back to the present when she realized Gwendolyn was saying something else.
"Mr. Giles, if you will go with Edmund while we go on the tour, he's got a few things that you must attend to before the proceedings."
Giles didn't look happy about it, but there didn't seem to be another option. "Of course. Buffy, I will see you in a bit."
"Good bye, Giles," Buffy called, watching him walk away with the other man. Then, before she could dwell on it too long, Gwendolyn gathered up Xander, her mother and Marcus -- the young man who'd met them at the door -- and took them off on the tour.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Giles left the lounge with Barrows despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn't know Barrows very well, but the few times their paths had crossed before Giles had left for America, they hadn't hit it off well.
As they walked in silence up the stairs, Giles searched his relatively good memory for any information on Edmund Barrows. What he came up with wasn't very encouraging. After Buffy's accident showed the Council that the destiny of Slayer did not make a girl invulnerable to catastrophe, there had been a huge backlash. Council members realized that had the Choosing happened a few seconds sooner, they would have ended up with a critically wounded Slayer who could do no good for the cause. Some of the reactions had been good, in Giles's opinion. They had resulted in more warriors, like Faith and her team, being trained to help the Slayer in her lonely war against the darkness. However, Barrows had taken the extreme position that the Council needed to be more hands-on with their role to the Slayer. He lobbied for more than one Watcher, and more extreme methods of training, even unto binding the Slayer emotionally to the Council. He had been over-ruled, of course, by the traditionalists, and Barrows had soon backed down so as not to compromise his high rank in Council hierarchy, but Giles still remembered the man's ideas with a touch of distaste. Barrows had been one of the reasons behind his actions after Sonya's accident.
The sound of a door opening distracted Giles from his thoughts, and he looked up to see that they were entering a small lounge on the second floor. This one was much less grand than the first floor lounge which had been used to greet Buffy. It was furnished rather sparsely with a couch, some shelves and a table and chairs. There was a young, dark haired man wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a tweed suit waiting for them. Giles had never met the young man before.
"Mr. Giles," Barrows said, "as you know, the tribunal starts tomorrow morning. While Miss Summers is accompanied on her tour, we wanted you to have some time to confer with your counselor."
"I see," Giles replied. He shot a glance at the nervous-looking young man and wondered what he had done, or who's bad side he'd gotten on to get this job. "And who will be the prosecuting counselor?"
A gleam entered the older man's eyes. "I will be."
"Well, then," Giles said, feeling less optimistic than ever, "if you don't mind..."
"Of course not," Barrows replied, all civility. "Take your time. Ms. Post will make sure that the Slayer is properly entertained."
Giles thought about smiling at the irony of that statement, but he didn't. After Barrows took his leave, Giles shut the door behind him and turned to the nervous young man. "Hello, I'm Rupert Giles. And you are..."
"Wesley Windham-Price," the young man replied, trying to disguise the nervous squeak in his voice. He cleared his throat, and shook Giles's hand with a surprisingly firm grip. "Well... I suppose we have our work cut out for us, don't we, Mr. Giles."
Taking pity on the young man, Giles found a smile for him and gestured for the boy to take a seat. Sitting himself, Giles said, "Please, Wesley, call me Rupert. If you're going to attempt to defend me, we should be on a first name basis, don't you think?"
"Er... quite," Wesley replied. Then he picked up a pencil and a pad of paper. "Well, Mr.... Rupert, why don't we go over the charges against you, and you can tell me your side of the story..."