Chapter 7

Test Preparation

Sunnydale – May 8th

"I feel like somebody is watching me," Willow said to the room at large.

"That's just nerves," Giles said. "We've all been feeling that way the last couple of days. The tester will arrive today, and we'll all be under a certain degree of scrutiny."

"Well, Willow will, at any rate," Buffy offered.

"No, actually," Giles corrected. "We all will. In addition to Willow and Tara, the tester will be evaluating the rest of us, especially you and me. You can be sure that the opportunity to get a peak into the Slayer's life hasn't been lost on them." He paused for a moment to let the words sink in to everyone present. Everyone seemed more or less discomforted by this revelation, except for Dawn, who was completely involved in a set of Algebra problems that were due the following day.

"As for myself," Giles continued, "the council will evaluate me as the sponsor of Willow and Tara's application. It is conceivable that if they were to fail, disciplinary action could be taken against me. When you consider that I make my living as a purveyor of magic, the implications are quite sobering."

"Well, I don't think we have to worry," said Anya cheerily. "If things go poorly, we can simply get rid of the tester, right?"

"What exactly do you mean, 'Get rid of?'" asked Buffy suspiciously.

"You know, bump'em off. Let'em swim with the fishies. Buy'em a pair of cement shoes." Anya was happy to continue ticking off the euphemisms.

"Sweetie, have you been watching The Godfather trilogy again?" Xander asked. Anya had the presence of mind to at least pretend to be chagrinned. "We've talked about that before, An," Xander continued patiently. "That's a movie, this is real life."

"But they might take our money!" she cried plaintively. The discovery of commerce had been one of the things that made existence in this dimension tolerable for the ex-demon.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Giles said more calmly than he felt. "I really shouldn't have even brought it up."

"Does anyone know when she'll arrive?" Buffy asked.

"We haven't a clue," Giles returned.

"Well, it's good to finally hear you admit it, mate," came a voice from the shadows of the shop. Spike, the Sid Vicious of the vampire world, stepped into the light.

Spike was a notorious vampire – the only one to have killed two slayers and lived to tell about it. Buffy had almost been his third kill a number of times. Unfortunately, a close encounter with The Initiative, a secret military team operating in Sunnydale, had left Spike with a chip in his head that prevented him from harming any humans. He was effectively neutered. Despite that, neither the slayer nor anyone in the group had it in them to kill him now that he couldn't even attempt to defend himself. That did not make him welcome, though. They would prefer to shun him, but something in Spike's makeup made him too engaging to avoid. Like a particularly obnoxious neighbor, he had been part of the Scooby gang's lives for too long to simply ignore, but he was not particularly liked.

Spike was dressed in his particular brand of fashion – black leather on black leather, with a black leather coat over it all. The contrast with his slicked-back platinum hair and lower-class English accent both contrasted and matched the monochrome simplicity of his outfit. He was also a chain smoker – a fact that was explicitly unwelcome both in The Magic Box and in Buffy's circle of friends.

"'ere now, wot are you lot up to?" His lower class British accent made him difficult to understand under the best of circumstances. When he was attempting to talk and smoke at the same time, as he was now, it was downright impossible.

"Spike," Giles said, similar in tone to how one would identify a dead fish in your living room.

"What do you want?" Buffy asked the unwelcome addition to the meeting.

"How about nice little piece of you, sweet-cheeks?" He responded.

"Don't make me have to vomit on you," she replied.

"Look," he said, throwing his hands up in surrender, "you know I'd do anything for you, doll. But I just came by to wish red here a bit o' luck," Spike said.

"Really?" asked Buffy disbelieving. "That's all?"

Spike withered under her stare. "Okay, I was just going to grab some tarrow root. But I did want to wish the missies luck."

"Whatever," Buffy replied impatiently.

"Okay, later then," Spike said, and turned to leave.

"Wait, you didn't pay," Anya exclaimed as Spike headed for the front door.

"Put it on my account," he called back as he exited.

"He doesn't have an account," Anya said sullenly to no one in particular.

* * *

Across the street from the Magic Box, Brad Murphy watched Spike leave. It was twilight, the Sun having gone down enough that he didn't have to fear direct exposure to sunlight. Murphy discretely captured a photo of Spike and attached it to the audio file he had been recording. Everything that had happened in the Magic Box for the last two days had been recorded.

He transmitted the information to Johnson, safely ensconced in the rental house they were using as a headquarters, tagged with an "I.D. Request." Across town, the information was processed with the very best computing technologies against all the other figures that they had come across in the last two days.

Murphy's handheld beeped a few moments later. Spike's ID and all known information about him scrolled across his handheld. Murphy quickly absorbed the information and frowned. He rewound the recording he had made and reviewed the contents of the file. Spike was a vampire; but, it seemed, he was friendly with the Slayer.

Murphy flipped on his communicator. "Major, we have a problem."

* * *

The door to the Magic Box opened, ringing the small bell to announce a visitor. Giles walked across the room, immediately switching into "proprietor" mode. The visitor was a small, foreign looking woman. She stood calmly, almost serenely, in the doorway. She looked up at Giles as he approached, but spoke before he could greet her.

"Are you Rupert Giles?" she asked calmly. Her voice was tinged with a French accent.

"Yes, I am. And you are?"

Her eyes hardened and her mouth grew grim. "I am Madame LaFusce, and I am here to conduct the tests." She stood stock still as if to dare Giles to contradict her.

"Of course," he said, slightly discomforted by her gaze. "Allow me to introduce you to the candidates."

"A gentleman would offer to take my coat first," the old woman snapped. She took off her coat and tossed it to him, and then marched into the shop ignoring him. She surveyed the Scooby gang critically, her gaze observing them like a hungry hawk seeking small prey. "Which of you are the candidates?"

Willow and Tara, seated amongst a pile of books, slowly raised their hands. For the first time, Willow was rethinking the decision.

"Cramming for the exam will not help you now," the maven said bluntly. That pretty much set the tone for the relationship.

* * *

Sheffield, MacKenzie and Johnson sat clustered around the kitchen table. "This is exactly the type of anomalous behavior that command wanted us to flag," Sheffield was saying. "Let's get this reported back to them as quickly as possible."

MacKenzie and Johnson nodded, and Sheffield left the room. MacKenzie shook his head. "Seems like the wee lassie doesn't have the best of friends, aye?" Johnson grunted in agreement. "Does it seem to you that we might be missing some information here, though?" Johnson shrugged. Mac was slightly exasperated with the incommunicativeness of the communications officer. On the other hand, Johnson seemed to be well absorbed in the traffic flowing across his screen.

"Well, let's see what else we can find out," Mac said after a moment. "I have a hard time believing that she's become mates with a hardened killer without any explanation." Mac took out his handheld and tapped a message to Cook. Cook, being a former intelligence officer, was the most likely to have some means of finding out more about the creature Spike.

He walked through the house back towards the Major's room. He was interested in knowing more about what to expect. The Major was frowning over his command station. Mac waited, leaning against one side of the door jam until the commander should look up.

When the Major finally did register Mac's presence, he did so with a certain amount of annoyance. "Yes, Captain?" he asked plainly.

"Any word on what to do about Spike?" he asked. It was somewhat of a premature question. The Major had, at best, sent the message to their headquarters contact no more than ten minutes before. However, Mac was interested in seeing if it was something to be acknowledged immediately or not.

Sheffield eyed Mac cautiously, but after some form of internal struggle seemed to relent. "We're instructed to not interfere … no matter what."

Mac cocked an eyebrow at this. "No matter what?"

The Major nodded. "The locals will take care of it."