Chapter 6 – Shades of Grey

Faith fumbled through the pockets of her leather jacket in search of her cell phone. Both the jacket and the phone had been "acquired" from her last undead victim, a stockbroker turned vampire with sandy-hair and a brilliant smile.

She recalled the pearl-like teeth he'd flashed her after she'd approached him in a bar. He'd been a perfect gentleman: offering to walk her home, and lending her his coat when she appeared to be cold.

A perfect gentleman.

Until they passed a dark, deserted alley. Then he'd grabbed her shoulder and pushed her to the ground. Game face on, he'd leered down at her.

They were all the same. Monsters.

It made her "work" a lot easier. She easily jumped to her feet and pulled a stake out of her coat pocket. The vampire's yellow eyes had widened for a half-second. Then they'd narrowed as he grinned for the last time.

Faith flipped open the cell phone and paused for a moment. What was she doing? She should've been on a bus out of the city by now. Why linger?

It was just…

She had a weird feeling. Something about the dark-haired vampire. Something wasn't right.

She walked over to the coffee table and picked up the crumpled slip of paper that was lying amidst the clutter of magazines and discarded wrappers.

Something wasn't right.

She punched in the numbers neatly written under the unfamiliar name. Cameron Grey.

The phone rang and she thought about hanging up.

Not too late.

It rang again and she almost flipped the phone closed.

Then there was a click and a man's voice came on.

"Hello?"

Faith froze. The voice was silky smooth and she thought she detected an accent. English?

There was a pause.

"Hello?" He repeated.

Faith's fingers curled tighter around the phone but she remained silent.

There was a longer pause.

She heard him let out a long, even breath as if he were trying to be patient. He spoke again, his voice quieter this time, almost urgent.

"Hope?" She nearly dropped the phone.

"Hope? Is that you."

Faith snapped the phone shut.

* * *

Hope had been walking for most of the night, barely aware of where she was going. The sky was growing light and people were already on their way to work. She'd be late for school if she didn't hurry.

The doorman to her building nodded to her and smiled knowingly as she entered the marble-floored lobby.

"All-nighter, Miss Mason?" he asked conversationally.

Hope barely glanced at him. She stuck her hands in her pockets and hunched forward.

"Yeah," she replied quietly.

In front of her, the elevator door opened and an older woman with a large poodle stepped out. She glanced at Hope but didn't say anything.

Hope entered the elevator and pressed the button for the twenty-fifth floor.

She thought about skipping school and curling up in bed and going to sleep—maybe permanently.

She was tired and confused. She felt alone.

Still…

"I'm a Slayer—like you," the stranger had said.

"Like you."

She wanted to believe it. Someone like her.

"I've been watching you…"

The elevator stopped with a slight lurch and the brass doors in front of her opened. She stepped into the hallway and took out her keys.

"The way you fight. Like you wanna die…"

She opened the door to her apartment and stepped inside. It was quiet, as she knew it would be. Her mother was still asleep, blissfully unaware of what was going on in her daughter's life.

Hope peeked at her mother through the sliver of open door and saw her sprawled out on the king-sized bed, clutching her pillow, satin sheets kicked to the floor.

"I know what you're going through…"

Hope withdrew and closed the door.

"Nobody knows," she whispered.

"I can help you…"

She entered her room, grabbed some clothes out of her dresser and went to the bathroom. She ran the water and undressed. Steam filled room and she stepped into the shower.

The water was hot, almost scalding. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the warm vapors.

"I can help you…"

She covered her face with her hands and slumped against the shower wall.

"I can help…"

She sank to the floor and huddled in the corner. The tiny droplets stung her skin, leaving red blotches.

"I can…"

"No," Hope said, head down, hugging her knees to her chest.

"I…"

"No," she repeated. "No one can help." She squeezed her hands into fists and pressed them to her cheeks.

"No one."

* * *

The sound started off soft, then grew louder and clearer. A ringing.

Hope tried to ignore it. She was tired. Sleep. She needed to sleep.

But the ringing wouldn't stop. Her mother had trashed the answering machine months before. She'd flung it against the wall after hearing a message she hadn't liked, one from Hope's father.

Hope buried her head beneath her pillow. It felt damp and cold like a mossy rock beside a stream and her hair clung to her face like seaweed.

The caller was relentless and the ringing continued. Who would be calling at this hour? Who?

Hope glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was four in the afternoon.

Cursing under her breath, she reached for the phone and picked up the receiver. Finally, the ringing halted.

Hope was tempted to hang up or pull the cord from the wall, but the man's voice stopped her.

She held the phone to her ear and listened.

"Hope? Hope are you there? Hope?" said a concerned voice.

Somebody, it seemed, actually cared about her.

She bit her bottom lip before speaking. "Mr. Grey?"

There was a sigh of relief. "Thank God." murmured her Watcher. "Hope, you really had me worried. When you didn't show up for school and then missed our training session…"

"I'm sorry," Hope said. "I guess I overslept. I, uh, had a rough night."

Grey paused before speaking. "Well," he said, his voice now even and composed. "I'm glad you're all right. What happened last night?"

"I, uh," Hope began. She thought about the girl—the Slayer. Could it be true? "I—"

She recalled what the girl had told her: "The Watchers' Council is a bunch of lying, old men who can't be trusted…"

But surely she could trust Mr. Grey…

"Hope?" her Watcher asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Surely…

"Are you still there, Hope?"

"Yeah," Hope answered, "I'm here."

Grey sighed. "Why don't you take the day off. No patrolling tonight, okay? I'll see you tomorrow at our usual time and we can talk then."

Hope nodded absently and mumbled her agreement. "Okay."

She hung up the phone and curled up into bed.

* * *

The phone rang two, three, four times before the answering machine picked up. For a half-second, Faith thought about leaving a message then slammed the phone shut.

She stood, shoulders slumped in the middle of her studio apartment, angrily chewing on her thumb nail. He wasn't there. She glanced at her watch. But of course he wouldn't be home. It would be mid-morning in London. He'd be at the office.

She picked up her leather address book and looked up the number for the Watchers' Council Headquarters. She'd try Giles there.

* * *

Giles took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. The liquid was barely tepid. He sighed quietly and made a mental note to buy a thermal mug during his lunch break. These Council meetings tended to be rather long.

He stifled a yawn. And boring.

They'd spent over forty-five minutes talking about the upcoming Watchers' retreat. It was going to be in Wiltshire again, near Stonehenge. Not the most original location. But then Watchers weren't exactly known for their originality.

He wondered what they were known for these days and yawned. Dullness?

The most interesting bit of information he'd learned at the meeting so far was that Quentin Travers wouldn't be attending the retreat this year. It was the office scuttlebutt that Travers was headed for early retirement. Ever since his mishandling of the situation with Faith and Emily eleven months before, he'd been in the hot seat.

Giles looked across the table at his long-time colleague. Travers' loyalty to the Council and the cause was without question. But his methods…

Sadly, Travers still didn't feel he'd done anything wrong. The attempt on Faith's life had, in his mind, been a success—and warranted. No, the only failing he'd admitted to was letting Emily Pierce, the witch and vampire, escape. Travers still claimed to have a plan—something in the works—to right the situation.

Giles wondered what that plan might be and who...

He glanced around the long, mahogany table, scanning the faces of the twenty men and women considered the Council's 'top brass'.

He wondered who else knew.

* * *

Forty minutes later, Giles lumbered back to his office, cold coffee mug in hand. As he sat down at his desk, he immediately noticed that the message light on his phone was blinking.

"I wonder who…" he mumbled as he reached for the receiver.

As if on cue, the telephone rang, causing the Watcher's hand to recoil in surprise. He straightened in his seat then answered the telephone.

The voice on the other end was familiar and sounded urgent.

"Giles," Faith hissed, "I've been trying to get a hold of you for over an hour. I—"

"Faith?" Giles cut in. "What it is? Is there something wrong?"

"I don't know." Faith responded. "I… Giles?"

"Yes?"

"Who's Cameron Grey?"