Part One of the "Lady Liberty" series
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Summary:
A prophetic Slayer dream calls Buffy and Willow's attention to a particular Watcher's Diary. The Watcher's Council, however, wants to make sure that the Ministry of Magic never hears about the events described in that diary...
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Story Disclaimer:
All characters and locations taken from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer television series, the Harry Potter books, or other sources are properties of their respective creators and distributors. Plot and original elements are properties of the story author. All are used without permission and without intent to profit. Story is for entertainment purposes only. Disclaimer ends.
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Chapter One: Dreaming of Me
6:35 AM, Friday, September 27, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Buffy Anne Summers, the Vampire Slayer, climbed out of the shower, running her fingers through her damp hair to untangle it as she toweled off. Finally satisfied that she was dry enough, she pulled her pajama pants back on, and wrapped the wine-colored towel around herself. Then she stared into the bathroom mirror, the light of the waning moon shining in the window. In the mirror, she saw herself.
Or did she? The girl in the mirror... she certainly had Buffy's face, her eyes, her hair. But she looked younger. Very young. Come to think of it, she looked about the same age as Buffy herself had six years ago, when she'd first moved to Sunnydale - fifteen. And as she peered at the mirror (oddly enough, the face in the mirror peered back at her as well), she noticed that the girl in the mirror was wearing a plain white nightgown, while she herself was wearing a damp burgundy towel wrapped over her chest and plaid pajama pants.
And strangely enough, the background was different too. Buffy noticed that the room behind the girl in the mirror wasn't her bathroom. In fact, it isn't a bathroom at all, she thought. There was a wooden dining table, and behind that, a stone fireplace with a blazing fire within. A cauldron hung over the flames, and several wooden chairs around the table. A window in the far wall - wooden - showed the sunrise through a number of small, square panes of glass.
Buffy stared for a moment, but then she felt something in her stomach. A pain, a small rumble. She turned toward the toilet, probably about to lose her dinner...
...and sat upright in her bed. Blinking against the sudden sunlight, she threw off the covers, and ran to the bathroom, throwing up the leftover pizza she'd had for dinner the previous night. She crouched over the porcelain basin, not noticing when the door creaked ever so slightly.
"Are you okay?" asked the voice of her sixteen-year-old sister, Dawn. She was uncharacteristically calm - Dawn was widely known for being hyperactive and perky - and sounding very concerned.
"I'll be fine. I think." Buffy stood up, flushing the toilet and making her way over to the sink. She looked in the mirror, but saw only the bathroom wall behind her, and herself in the mirror. She ran the tap, splashing a bit of cold water on her face, and looked up. "I'm okay. You'd better get ready for school."
"Should I get Willow?" Dawn asked. "You don't look well."
"I'll be fine. Probably just bad pizza." Buffy shrugged, heading back to her room for clean clothes, hoping to take a shower before Willow saw her looking as bad as she felt.
No such luck. Willow was just coming out of her room. "Buffy, are you all right?"
"Not really." Buffy walked into her room and slumped onto the bed, and Willow followed her.
"It's not about..."
"No, it's not that. Just bad pizza and a really weird dream."
"Get dressed and come downstairs, then. I'll make you some pancakes, and you can tell me about this dream." Willow knew that quite often, Buffy's dreams weren't just dreams. Quite often, they were actually prophecies, or at least clues that led to some greater mystery.
"Fine." Buffy forced herself out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and headed for the bathroom, as Willow stalked downstairs in her pajamas.
"Hey, Willow." Dawn greeted her in the kitchen, carefully extracting two slices of toast from the toaster. "Did you talk to Buffy? How's she feeling?"
"She says she had some bad pizza and a weird dream, is all. I'm not so sure."
Dawn thought about the mood Buffy had been in the previous afternoon, but realized Buffy was adult enough to get over that. "You think it was a prophecy dream?"
"Won't know until I discuss it with her. But I wouldn't be surprised."
A tap on the kitchen door, and it swung open. Xander walked in, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. "Hey Will, hey, Dawnie." While he didn't live in the house with them, it wasn't all that unusual for Xander to come over for breakfast. Sometimes, he even drove Dawn to school, as he had for the first week and a half - before Willow's return from England. "How are my ladies?"
"Fine. Toast?" Dawn asked, shoving her plate toward Xander.
"Don't mind if I do." He took the plate and sat, as Dawn shoved two more slices of bread into the toaster. "How's Buffy?"
"Not good." Willow measured out a cup of flour, and turned. "It's not what you think. She claims it was just bad pizza and a strange dream."
"Dream about what?"
"Haven't had a chance to ask yet." Willow pulled a wisk from a drawer, and began mixing up the collection of ingredients she'd put together. "I'm making pancakes for six."
"Ah. Slayer-bribe pancake recipe." Xander grinned. Buffy, on occasion, seemed to be able to eat four times as much as a normal person. Perhaps her Slayer metabolism. Between Willow and Buffy, Xander doubted there would be leftovers, even if he and Dawn didn't have any themselves.
It was about then that Buffy appeared, still towel-drying her hair. Willow had just poured the first few pancakes onto the griddle, and Buffy sniffed. "Smells like... pancakes. "She got herself a glass of milk, fished the maple syrup out of a cabinet, and sat down. "Any tests today, Dawnie?"
"Just world history. But I talked to Giles about it."
"When?"
"I was on the phone with him at four this morning. Don't worry. I went to bed early. And four here is noon in England, you know."
"Yeah." Willow nodded, turning the pancakes. "So, about this dream of yours..."
Buffy shivered. "That dream gave me the wiggins. I was in the bathroom, and it was like I was seeing me, but I wasn't, at the same time. I mean, it looked like me, but when I first moved to Sunnydale. In a plain white nightgown, which you know, I never wear plain white nightgowns, plus, I'd just gotten out of the shower. But... the room behind me, in the mirror I mean, was all wonky."
Xander frowned. "What about it?"
"It was all wrong. It wasn't even a bathroom. There was this dining room table, with chairs, and a big stone fireplace with a cauldron."
Willow turned. "You think it might have had to do with witchcraft?"
"I didn't say that, Will. I said there was a cauldron. And there was this window... I couldn't see it very well, but the sun was shining in right through it, and there were lines across it. It's strange, because in my dream, it was night-time, and I could see the moon in the window behind me."
"So... what do you think it was?" Willow asked, as she took the pancakes off the griddle and poured a second batch. Sometimes that was the most important question to ask when interpreting dreams.
"It was weird. It was like I was dreaming of me... but not."
Willow looked thoughtful for a moment. "I remember reading something about that in one of the Watcher's Diaries. Feel like helping me look for it later?"
"Guess so." Buffy paused. "It just felt so strange. I've had weird dreams before, but this one, it's like I was dreaming of someone who looked like me. I much prefer dreaming of me."
Chapter Two: Research Girl
8:45 AM, Friday, September 27, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Willow tromped down the basement stairs, Buffy close on her heels. "I'm trying to remember when I saw that dream in the Watcher Diaries, or even what we were researching. Might help us narrow it down a bit."
"Oh, come on, there can't be that many." Buffy complained. "We can just look through them until we come to it."
"Buffy, we've got translated copies of the Watcher Diaries since the beginning of written history here. Dozens of centuries. I'm glad we don't have to deal with the originals, because some of them are in languages that were already dead during the Roman Empire, and on scrolls as fragile as the Dead Sea Scrolls. In fact, some of the originals don't even exist anymore; the Council has always kept copies in case the texts were destroyed. Giles left us a full set."
"How many could that be?"
Willow pointed at one trunk, about the size of Buffy's weapons trunk. "I've been sorting them by date. Those are the ones after 1600 A.D." The trunk was full.
"So where do we start?"
"Well, I'm fairly certain we can narrow it down by what we've read. Can you recall us ever needing to break out the ones from before the Crusades?"
Buffy thought about it. "When were glass windows invented? I'm fairly sure I saw one. And I think the girl I saw was looking in a mirror."
Willow nodded. "And if we assume she was the Slayer, and at least for the time being I see no reason not to, I think we can eliminate any Asian or African slayers. You did say she looked like you."
"She was me, Will. She looked exactly like I did when you first met me. Just the outfit and the background were different. At first, I thought I was just hallucinating, or dreaming of being in another time period."
"Maybe you were. It's happened before. Remember the Halloween costumes, junior year? Anyways... yes, that's a good place to start. We're looking for a Slayer of European descent, sometime in the last thousand years..." Willow sighed. "Unfortunately, I hadn't finished sorting the diaries. That trunk with the ones after 1600? It's only got about two thirds of those in there. The rest are in there." She pointed at a mass of large cardboard boxes, stacked neatly in one end of the basement. "When Giles and I left for England, Xander boxed up all the diaries and brought them here. He did box them according to how Giles had them arranged, but Giles arranged them alphabetically, not chronologically. I've simply been going through the boxes, checking dates, and setting aside the ones after 1600."
Buffy leaned against the wall. "Let's call Giles."
"Buffy, the diaries are here. Giles doesn't have copies."
"I know. But it's like you said. With the glass and the European thing. If I talk to Giles about it, maybe he can narrow down our timeframe even more. Remember that we're going to have to skim-read all of the ones that might fit."
"And it might be nice to have less to read through. Good point." Willow headed up the stairs again, Buffy right behind her.
Willow grabbed the phone, dialing the number for where Giles was staying. "Hello... I'm calling for Rupert Giles." She stated, in her best fake-British accent. "Yes, I'll hold the line." She tapped her foot impatiently, and then Giles came on the line.
"This is Mr. Giles."
"Giles, it's Willow. How's England?"
"Fair. How are things on your side of the pond?"
"Well, we got attacked by another Harmony gang the night before last, but we drove them off. They tried to tear down the house. But that's not what I'm calling about."
"What are you calling about?"
"The Watcher Diaries. Buffy had a strange dream. We think it might have been related to something I read in one of the Diaries, but I can't remember which one it was. We were hoping you might be able to listen to Buffy's description and help us narrow down the timeframe."
"Timeframe?"
"It sounded like the dream was obviously set in the past. But I should let Buffy describe that. We've got all the diaries here, we just need to narrow things down before we start skimming through the possibles. At present, it could take months."
"Okay. Let me talk to her."
Willow waved Buffy over, handing her the phone. "Tell Giles about the dream."
"Hey, Giles, do I haveta?" She said, in a half-whining voice.
"Only if you want to solve this bloody mystery. I know Willow does, or else she wouldn't have called me. She would just go research it until she found it."
"Point. Okay, so in this dream, I was in the bathroom."
"Your bathroom?"
"Yeah. The hall bathroom in my house. And I saw myself, wearing a towel and pajama pants, like I always do after my morning shower before I get dressed. Nothing special. But when I looked in the mirror... well, it was like it wasn't a mirror. It looked like me, but... not now. Like when I first came to Sunnydale. And in an outfit I wouldn't be caught dead in..."
"Although you have been caught dead before."
"Another point." Buffy scowled. "So anyways, this girl, she looked exactly like me, except for the clothes. The room was all wrong, though. There was a table and chairs, a fireplace, and a window."
"No other people?"
"No. Oh yeah, there was a fire in the fireplace, and a cauldron over it."
"Might she have been a witch?"
"Will said that too. I don't think so. My Slayer sense was tingling the way it did with Faith and Kendra. I think she was a Slayer... actually, I still think it could've been me."
"In that case, I'd suppose it's in the past, at least not this century. I don't know of many normal people who cook in a cauldron over an open, indoor fire anymore. What about this window? Was it glass?"
"It looked like it. Little square panes." She thought a moment. "Will... where have I seen those before? I think it was on a book cover."
"It was!" Willow beamed. "Our American History book. It had a picture of Independence Hall on it. It's got those kind of windows."
Giles added, "That sounds about right. A lot of English buildings from that time period do, as well. I'd say that it's probably safe to focus on, say, 1500 to 1900, for now. Call me if you think of anything else."
"Will do." Buffy smiled. "Laters, Giles." She hung up, and turned to Willow. "He said 1500 to 1900, based on the windows and the cauldron."
"Well, that's something. Better than what I came up with."
7:00 PM, Friday, September 27, 2002
Watcher's Council Headquarters
Caledonian Road, London, England
"I still do not think it appropriate to tap Mr. Giles' telephone." The newest member of the Council said, as soon as the call had ended. As Travers had expected - the man, if he could be called that, was not only a friend of Mr. Giles, but also of Headmaster Dumbledore; thus, Travers couldn't afford to let him in on what was truly going on here.
"Nonsense. It's the best way to keep tabs on Buffy Summers without sending anyone to Sunnydale. Now, about this dream of hers... I agree with Mr. Giles' assessment. I also think that it might be in our best interests to discover which Diary they are looking for, before they do." Quentin Travers said, setting down his mug of pumpkin juice, in order to stare down his subordinates.
"How so?" The former Gryffindor, worn down beyond his years by time and repeated illness, asked. He was looking a bit more tired than usual... but then, it was nearing new moon, was it not?
"There are certain things in the Diaries I would rather Ms. Summers not be made aware of." Nor yourself or Dumbledore, Travers didn't add. "We can't very well with-hold potentially vital information from her, but... in order to preserve the honor of the Council, there are certain things she must NOT be allowed to know."
A third Watcher spoke up. "For example, if she were to try to put all the diaries in perfect chronological order, she might discover that there is a year or two missing here and there. And blame us."
A fourth wizard spoke up. "Are there missing diaries?" I thought we gave Mr. Giles a complete set when we sent him to California."
Travers nodded. "We did. And there are. I'm particularly worried about that. What if these girls do just that? Or even worse, they find out why there are missing diaries?"
"Why are there missing diaries?" the Gryffindor asked. Of course.
"There are certain periods of time during which the Slayer had no watcher. Many of those were due to either the Watcher being killed, or a new Slayer having not yet received her Watcher."
"Many, but not all?"
Damn you, Remus! Travers almost said. The one thing about Gryffindors is that they are very quick on the uptake - almost as much as the Ravenclaws who have historically made up the vast majority of the Council. "That's precisely what I'm worried about. Ms. Summers is not the first Slayer to reject the guidance of her Watcher. And that is information I do not want known outside of this room, or else our position within the Ministry might be threatened. Unfortunately, this search might lead her to it, Mr. Lupin."
"You're saying that the reason for those missing Diaries... is IN the Diaries?" Lupin asked, incredulously.
"Yes. And they are not technically missing; they never existed." The second Watcher sipped his tea. "We shall devote all our efforts to finding this diary before those bloody American girls do. And then... if it is, in fact, the diary regarding one of our previous rogue Slayers, we will make sure they can't find it."
"You mean destroying it?" Lupin asked. "Doesn't that violate our mandate to preserve history?"
"No. I mean stealing it. She can't bloody read what she doesn't bloody have. It might also destroy our credibility with the Ministry if this were to become public knowledge, and now is not the time for us to draw attention to ourselves, now that You-Know-Who is back."
6:00 PM, Friday, September 27
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"You mean, we've got to go through all of those boxes?" Dawn asked. Xander had brought her home from school, after dragging her along to a Home Depot three towns away for supplies to repair some damage done to Buffy's house earlier in the week.
"We've got to find all the diaries from after 1500. Buffy's dream is in there somewhere, according to Giles."
"But, that'll take weeks!"
"Not really. For now, we'll just check the dates and set them aside. I'd been planning to sort them by year anyway. We'll start new piles for each time period, and then we'll be able to work with just the more recent ones." Willow smiled.
"Okay." Dawn said, still a little unhappy at the prospect. "It'll still take all weekend."
"I know. But it's the best idea we have right now. So let's go with it." Willow pulled the tape off of one large packing box.
Dawn muttered to herself, "Think of it as the Restricted Section."
"What?" Buffy asked.
"Never mind. Crack a book sometime, will you?" Dawn said, a derisive tone in her voice.
Buffy waved her off. "Books, cleverness... there are more important things."
"You DID read the books!"
"What books?"
11:00 AM, Saturday, September 28
Watcher's Council Headquarters
Caledonian Road, London, England
"I think this is it." One of the younger Watchers approached the grandmaster Watcher, a slim volume in hand. "See, here it is. This entry describes a vision that the Slayer of the time had, and it sounds suspiciously modern. Too modern."
The grandmaster looked at the entry for a few moments, then flipped to the title page of the Diary. His face went three shades paler. "This is what I was afraid of." He looked around. "I want all diaries from 1750 through 1800, right the bloody hell now. And someone get me a computer with a scanner."
Chapter Three: Chess Moves
4:45 AM, Saturday, September 27, 2002
78th Floor, 350 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY
"Mr. Franklin?" a man asked from the doorway, in a slight British accent. This was the first time Franklin had agreed for a client to come to his office.
"Yes?" He said, not turning away from the window, gazing across the city toward the site of the destroyed World Trade Center. "I suppose you are Mr. White?"
"I am. Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice. My employer has a task that must be done, which lies outside my expertise, and those who do have that expertise are not currently in a position to carry out this mission. It was believed it might lie within your ability. That is why I am here."
"I am not a mercenary, Mr. White. I am a patriot, tracing my family all the way back to the Continental Congress itself."
"Nor do we expect you to be. We simply need one task done, quickly and quietly, and have nobody near the location where it must be done who is qualified. We have... reason to believe that you are qualified for this."
"Explain."
"There is a girl in California, with whom our organization has had many prior dealings. She has a rather large collection of rare books, which we gave her for research purposes. However, my employer has realized that this collection includes a certain volume we would rather she did not have access to. It contains very sensitive information regarding the purpose of our organization."
"So you want it stolen?"
"That is correct. You would simply take the one volume and give it to me. We will handle it from there. We are prepared to pay handsomely for this service."
"How handsomely?"
"One hundred thousand American dollars, plus expenses. In addition, we would offer our future assistance to you, at your discretion. We have quite a few operatives, expansive resources and access to many rare and antique text references."
Franklin whistled. "This is important to you. What do you know about this girl, or am I going to have to search the whole state for her?"
"We have her address, several photographs, and other information. We also know that the books are within her home. You will have to search the house, then locate this particular volume from within her massive collection." He tossed a manila envelope onto the empty desk. "All the information you need is in there. A facsimile of the title page of the book. Photographs of the girl. Even a floor plan for the house. She has two housemates – a twenty-one year old friend, and a sixteen-year-old younger sister. The girl herself is also twenty-one. We wish no harm to come to any of these girls; in fact, it would be best if they did not discover your presence, but if it is a choice between the girls and the mission, we would hope the mission can be carried out."
"So you want me to sneak into a house inhabited by three young women, and steal a book, of which you do not know the location? Without being caught doing so?"
"That is a fair summary of our request."
"Fine. How do I contact you?"
"We will be providing you with a telephone number that goes to our headquarters, in London. You may call it at any time that you need our assistance. Know, however, that we are not used to acting rapidly. This is a special case, or else, we would wait and send one of our own men."
"Fair enough. I'll leave as soon as possible."
"Time is of the essence. It has been brought to our attention that the girls are actively searching for this particular volume, but that they do not yet know which volume they are looking for. We would rather that they do not find it. There is information contained within it – not what they are looking for – that would destroy the reputation and standing of our organization within certain circles, and if this information were revealed, our organization would not necessarily survive."
"Understood." He paused. "I'll leave today."
11:30 AM, Saturday, September 28, 2002
1626 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"Yes, sir, chess sets. I represent the Imperial Chess Company. Would you like to see our selection?"
"I suppose." Growled the elderly gentleman. Perhaps, if nothing else, keeping this chess set salesman occupied will irritate those young girls in the house next door, he thought. He'd often seen them playing chess, and they'd be angry if this salesman missed them. "Please, come in."
Cole Franklin hefted his case into the man's house, setting it down on the floor in front of his couch. "We have a selection of chess pieces and boards in varying sizes, and made of glass, wood, and stone." He handed over a display set – a clear plastic box containing a pawn, castle, knight, bishop, queen and king. "This is our frosted blue glass set. We've found it quite popular. It comes in three sizes – this is the international standard size. We also have it in travel size and tabletop size, which is about forty percent larger than this. Quite impressive."
"What's this one?" The elderly gentleman pointed at the castle.
"That is the castle, sir. Normally, it's one of the most ornate pieces, because it is the most visible. The castles occupy the corner squares of the chessboard." Obviously, he'd hit on a man who knew nothing about chess.
"What about a board?"
"With that set, people often buy our mirror board. It's an all glass mirror, with the edges and alternate squares frosted. The frosting is done by an acid treatment, and is permanent. The international standard size board is the same size as many board game boards, such as Scrabble or Monopoly."
"How do I order?"
"I can take your order today, and the set will be shipped to you, along with a bill. You'll need a second set of chessmen, though. This is only enough for one side of the board."
"Ah... what would you suggest?"
"We have an identical set to that one, made of red glass. Or perhaps one of handcarved pieces of authentic Hawaiian black volcanic glass, or..."
"That sounds good. The frosted blue and the Hawaiian, then."
Cole shook his head. Some people were so dull. "Okay... here's the order form. I'll need your name, mailing address, and telephone number."
11:40 AM, Saturday, September 28, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"Checkmate."
"Good game, Dawnie. I didn't even see that last move coming. Now, let's get back to sorting through those diar...." Willow was interrupted by the doorbell. She thought quickly. "Everyone's here already."
Dawn shrugged, running up the stairs. She answered the front door. "Hiya!" she bubbled at the stranger at the door.
"Hello. I'm Cole Franklin, with the Imperial Chess Company. Might you be interested in a chess set?"
Dawn beamed. Normally, she didn't like door-to-door salespeople, and the missionaries were even worse. At least the Jehovah's Witnesses had stopped coming after the time Willow had answered the door in full-witch mode, complete with solid black eyeballs. But chess? That is entirely a different matter. Next to school, books, Harry Potter, and possibly Xander, chess was her life. Willow even made jokes about the reliability of Dawn's tactics – she always led with her knights. She wordlessly held the door wide open and allowed the man to step across the threshold, without an actual invitation. It was nearly high noon, but one could never be too careful.
Willow came up from the basement, closing the door carefully before pulling a cobweb from her hair. "What is it?"
"Door-to-door chess set salesman." Dawn looked like she'd hit some sort of Vegas jackpot.
"Oh, well, that's different, then. Please, have a seat, and don't mind the noise." She pointed to the ceiling, where an incessant pounding racket was coming from. "We're having some work done in the upstairs bathroom."
He set down his case, looking over the two girls. Neither matched the pictures Mr. White had provided, but then, he had mentioned a best friend and a little sister, hadn't he? He reached into his case, pulling out the frosted blue glass chessmen. "As I said, I'm with the Imperial Chess Company. We sell chess boards and pieces by mail-order. Since we've just recently expanded to the United States, we're carrying out a door-to-door campaign to promote name recognition with our new customers. We've been selling high-quality designer chess sets in England for decades. This is an example of our less expensive pieces."
Dawn looked over them, and passed them over to Willow. "Very nice. I like the knight." Dawn commented. Willow agreed with a silent nod.
He was surprised that he'd hit such a mark with these girls, and opened the case wide. Thankful he'd gone to such an extent to establish his cover, he twisted the case around so that the girls could see the twenty-odd sets of chessmen and a half-dozen catalogs inside. "I think I'd best let you ladies have a look on your own terms. Would you mind if I used your restroom?"
Dawn nodded, her eyes already scanning over obsidian and jade and marble chessmen. "It's the door in the hall, on the left."
Franklin knew that already, of course; Mr. White had thoughtfully included a plan of the house in his manila envelope. Not a blueprint, and apparently not to scale, but it would do. And he knew both from the older girl's hair – which still had a cobweb or two in it – and from Mr. White's information that the book he needed was in the basement. That would be the hallway door on the right, rather than the left. He snuck into the kitchen, and the dining room, and back into the hallway, finally making use of the restroom. The basement, he'd leave till later – if nothing else than to avoid the telltale cobwebs.
"Seriously, Will," he overheard a new voice from the front room, "whoever heard of such a thing? A door-to-door chess set salesman? I haven't heard anything that crazy since... when Dawn had Xander put in that mail slot."
The younger girl's voice replied, "Crack a book sometime, Buffy."
"Sometimes I think you read too much."
Willow commented. "I don't know, Buffy. Reading and playing chess are a lot safer than the things we did at her age." She paused. "Or you, anyway. I wasn't like that for another year or two."
Franklin chose the following pause to emerge from the hallway. "Did you ladies find something you liked?"
Willow replied, rather diplomatically, "Well, with the bathroom repairs, I'm not sure we're able to afford anything right now. But if we could keep one of the catalogs?"
"Certainly."
Dawn looked a bit crestfallen as he gathered up his things, and made his way out of the house. The last words he heard, as he was stepping off the front porch, were those of Willow saying, "Well, back to work." Just then Dawn shut the front door.
Chapter Four: The Whole Enchilada
6:45 PM, Saturday, September 28, 2002
Maria Elena's Cantina
5972 Pacific Railway Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Dawn sliced up her chile relleno expertly, barely looking down at the plate. She was much more concerned about Buffy. "Are you sure the margarita is a good idea, Will?"
"No. But..."
Buffy smiled, slightly drunkenly. "I can kick her butt, so she lets me drink margaritas."
Will nodded. "That's about the size of things."
Xander frowned. "Well, at least we've got Will to be a designated driver."
"Excuse me, mister. One drunk is bad enough. I'm not dealing with two."
"Fine..." Xander sighed, although everyone knew he had a Coke in front of him already.
Willow looked down at her plate of cheese enchiladas. "I've got this feeling about that vision Buffy had. I think..."
Buffy giggled. "You're always thinking, Will."
"As I was saying, I think I remembered something about the diary it was in."
Dawn bounced in her seat. "Ooh, ooh, what is it?"
"The vision was in the beginning of the diary."
Dawn slumped in her chair. "Well... that'll make it a little easier..."
Xander shrugged. "Not as good as we hoped for, but it's a start."
Willow looked incensed. "You can't expect me to just drag the whole enchilada out of my head!"
Dawn smiled. "No, but I think we can expect you to eat the whole enchilada." She grinned, pointing at Willow's plate.
Willow laughed. "Good one, Dawnie."
A waiter came by, refilling Dawn's iced tea, and Willow's as well. He plunked down a new basket of tortilla chips and walked away without a word. Buffy childishly blew the wrapper off of a straw, and the flying paper hit him in the back of the head.
Xander laughed. "You always were the fun one, Buffy."
"Too bad Giles isn't here." Dawn blurted out.
"Why?" Willow asked.
"Because I always used to love watching him turn up his nose at Mexican food." She giggled. "How old is he, anyway?"
Xander shook his head. "It's not because he's old. It's because he's English."
Willow nodded. "He's always saying things like 'bloody Americans.'" She sipped her iced tea. "He never did understand some things about us. Like how we can stand to drink tea cold."
3:00 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
Watcher's Council Headquarters
Caledonian Road, London, England
"Sir, I thought it better to use someone whose skills are appropriate to the task. I am merely a researcher and facilitator, not a sneak and a thief. The men we do have for that were not available, so I hired out."
"Mr. White, that is the most enlightened thing I've heard all day. Plus, it distances us, should he be caught. Miss Summers won't know it's us... you didn't tell him, did you?"
"No, sir. I gave him some information, but not anything Miss Summers could positively identify us by. And I had to promise him future aid..."
"Don't worry about that. People tend to use that far less than you'd expect."
"Well, thank you for deciding to come to London in person to explain this to me, Mr. White."
"Well, that wasn't my entire purpose. I wanted to find out the most recent news on the conflict." He was careful not to use the common 'war' euphemism, as that often caused confusion with the American government's 'war on terror'. Not that he'd initially understood that phrase – the President's nearly incomprehensible Texan accent had, at first, led him to believe that America had declared war on Ireland. Or at least pretty Irish lasses named Tara. But after seeing it in writing, he'd understood. Common people had a remarkable affinity for overlooking what was right under their noses – like vampires and demons, as the existence of the Council proved – but that attack last September had been far too large to overlook. Instead, they'd regarded it as a call to arms, a call for vengeance. Even ordinary civilian Americans saw it as their fight.
Mr. White knew better. There were far more dangers within America – indeed, within every civilized country. But in most cases, those dangers kept their head down, not like those bloody Arab fools, White reminded himself.
7:50 PM, Saturday, September 28, 2002
Room 687, Vacation House Hotel
975 Henderson Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Cole Franklin studied the facsimile title page of the book he was to steal. It looked handwritten, and certainly newer than the date upon it proclaimed it to be. "The Diary of John Thomas St. Croix, Watcher. Begun July 1774." A pair of signatures graced the bottom of the page – the first the looping, proud script of Mr. St. Croix, the second the seismic, grudging scrawl of someone else. Cole could only read the initials – L.A.G. The rest of the name looked like... well, the phrase something produced by needles at CalTech's earthquake detection facility came to mind.
"I wonder whose signature that might be?" he asked himself. Doubtlessly, if the signature was across the page of a book older than the United States, they were long dead by now, his brain reminded him. He set the page aside, and studied the another letter from the envelope Mr. White had given him. "This book contains information which could destroy the reputation of our organization, and possibly destroy the organization itself, were it to become common knowledge. This would doubtlessly lead to the needless deaths of many civilians. It is necessary that this book be taken and returned to us, in order to prevent this information from being exposed. We would prefer that this be done in such a way that the girls are unaware of its theft. Time is also of the essence."
Franklin nodded. It might be tough, but he decided not to wait even until Monday. Sunday, and hope for the best. For now, it was time to get a good dinner and a decent night's sleep.
8:25 PM, Saturday, September 28, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"Well, that should do it." Willow stood up, closing the last of the cardboard packing boxes, and taping it shut with a half-used roll of packing tape. Dawn glanced up at her from skimming a Watcher's Diary dated 1712.
"No luck yet. That's the last box?"
"Yes. We've got all the diaries out. Now it's just a matter of time, and going through all these." She waved at the pile of nearly two hundred diaries on a table in the basement.
Dawn yawned. "I still don't think I've caught up on my sleep from that fight earlier this week. I think I'll go to bed and start reading some more in the morning."
Willow nodded. "That's a good idea. Maybe I should do that too."
From upstairs, she heard the strains of some familiar music. "What's that?"
"Oh, Xander's probably watching that Robin Hood movie again." Dawn shrugged. "Well, at least we've gotten through that whole stack of boxes."
Willow grinned. "The whole enchilada."
Chapter Five: Sunday, I Think
12:15 PM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
Watcher's Council Headquarters
Caledonian Road, London, England
"How long do you expect this to take, Mr. White?"
"I really can't say, sir. That is the problem with hiring freelances. But in this case, it seemed necessary."
"Agreed. Still..."
"He can't have been in Sunnydale for more than, oh, twenty hours by now. According to my sources, he'll want to study the area for at least that long before he acts. This isn't a simple sneakthief operation, sir. He's trying to steal an object of unknown location out of an inhabited house."
"Good point."
"Besides, we can't rush him. All contact was done via his New York office, and he did not appear to have a staff. If he is in Sunnydale, we have no way to contact him."
"So what you're saying is, we've set the task before him, and have no way to know it is even being carried out until he chooses to contact us?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's hardly satisfactory, Mr. White."
"Sir, I have every reason to believe he'll cooperate with us..."
"How?"
"I played to his sense of honor. I told him that our fall would endanger American civilians. He's patriotic and honorable enough to do it just because of that. And I doubt his operation could do without the funding we offered, as well."
The head Watcher considered that. "I hope you're right, Mr. White. Even if our reputation and our Council survive his failure, your career with us will not." He pulled his copy of the daily newspaper from under a small stack of books, muttering to himself, "Now, about that Falcons game today..."
8:20 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
Room 687, Vacation House Hotel
975 Henderson Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Mr. Franklin studied the schematic of the house one last time, noting the windows he'd marked. A pair of windows on one side of the house looked like they opened into the basement – the house had been built on a slight slope. The books were in the basement. And he had St.Croix's and his mysterious partner's signatures and the date memorized. The book couldn't be all that hard to find...
Besides, it was Sunday morning. While he hadn't actually been around long enough to test the theory – this mission was moving far too fast for that – he was hoping that the girls would be off at church, as many people were on Sunday morning. If not, then he'd hope that the 'work' on the upstairs bathroom was continuing, and that he could be quiet enough to slide in under the radar, so to speak. As long as nobody is in the basement, it should be perfectly safe, he reasoned. And if he did see anyone moving around the house, he could always try again after dark.
He pulled on his driving gloves, and pocketed his hotel key and registration receipt. Time to go to work.
8:30 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"It's Sunday, I think." Xander said, imitating the blind man on the television screen, just as Dawn lumbered down the stairs.
"Funny, Xander. Watching 'Prince of Thieves' again, are we?"
"What can I say? The Sheriff looks positively evil. It's almost as good as training with your sister."
"Plus, fun." She grinned, dropping onto the couch beside him. "So, any plans for today?"
"I've got to install new pipe in the upstairs shower, and I'm having some guys come over to measure the house for vinyl siding." He held up a hand. "I know, I know. But Will's birthday is coming up, and she does live here now. I'm sure they'll understand."
Dawn smiled. "I think we should make them breakfast in bed. Both of them have had a rough week."
"So have we, Dawn. But we're up." He shrugged, hitting the 'stop' button on the DVD player. "Let's do this."
Dawn ran into the kitchen, swinging the refrigerator door open, seeing what they had to work with. "How about ham and cheese omelettes and fried potatoes?"
Xander smiled. "Works for me. You mix the stuff up and I'll be responsible for the stove."
"Sounds like a plan." She beamed at him, and reached under the counter for a mixing bowl to crack the eggs into. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, Dawn."
"Why don't you just move in with the rest of us? It's not like they wouldn't let you, and we have the room. We could convert the dining room..."
Xander shrugged. "Or the basement for that matter. I guess we just never really thought about it. It's certainly something we'd need to discuss with Willow and Buffy first, though."
"Of course." She passed him the bowl of whipped egg, and headed for the pre- chopped potato chunks in the freezer.
8:50 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"Huh? Wha?"
"Wake up, Buffster."
Buffy awoke to see Xander hovering over her bed, tray in hand. "Hey, Xand."
"We made breakfast. Here, sit up."
"We?"
"Dawn's waking Willow. The two of us made a great team in the kitchen."
Buffy grumbled, "Mornings are just not my thing." Yet, she slid up to a sitting position at the head of her bed, her shoulders leaning against the wall, and let Xander plunk the tray of food down on her knees. "What's the menu?"
"Ham and cheese omelette and fried potatoes."
Buffy tried a single bite of each. Not bad. How are the house repairs?"
"Coming along. I wanted to ask you... would you mind if..."
"Spill."
"I was thinking about having that vinyl siding installed."
"Can't afford it, Xand."
"I know." He grinned. "I can, though."
Buffy shook her head. "I couldn't."
"It's not for just you, Buff. I think we should have Dawn and Will's input."
"But it's my house!"
"It's their house too."
"Fine. Talk to them about it. But I'm not paying for any of it. Got that?"
"No problem."
"Good, 'cause I was just about to slay your butt."
8:51 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"Will! Wakie wakie!"
Willow opened her eyes to a mass of emerald green fabric, remebered she'd fallen asleep face-down, and rolled over. "Hey Dawnie," she commented sleepily, as she sat up.
"Breakfast." Dawn pointed to a tray. Unlike Xander, she'd thought to grab one of the small tray-tables from the living room and drag it upstairs. It was sitting next to Willow's bed. "Omelettes and potatoes. I even had Xander leave the ham out of your omelette, 'cause someone told me once that Jewish people don't eat ham."
Willow shrugged, grabbing the tray hungrily. "My family never really kept kosher. Xander should've known that. Besides, if I did, meat and cheese together is against the rules too." She saw Dawn's smile turn to a pout. "But it's okay, Dawnie. Cheese omelettes are good too. At least you thought of ketchup for the potatoes."
"Yeah, and you'll need the protein and the carbs for that strenuous day of diary-reading we've got planned."
"In that case, Dawnie, pull up a fork."
Dawn bounced out of the bed. "I'll be right back." She ran downstairs, toward the kitchen...
Chapter Six: Under My Feet
9:10 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
The dark form known as Mr. Franklin was outside of the Summers house, waiting for the construction foreman's extra-cab pickup truck to pull out of the driveway. Finally, he heard the door slam, then a second time, and the engine rumbled to life. He heard the parking brake pop, and the truck roll out of the driveway. The power steering whined, the transmission slipped into gear, and the truck motored off down Revello Drive.
"Finally. Off to church." He said aloud when the truck pulled away. He kept on thinking about the city, how it had a strange bad aura about it. He finally reached a basement window, flexed his hand, and his suit created a small diamond-edge glass-cutting blade. He cut around a hand-sized hole in the lower edge of the window, and used a suction device on his other hand to stick to it and lift it out of the way. He reached in and unlocked the window lock, opening the small window and looking at the rather smallish opening it provided.
He thought to himself, George and Martha, this is going to be a rather tight fit.
He inhaled, his whole volume shrunk, and suddenly he fit through the tight window with ease. He crawled down the side of the wall clinging to it. He flipped onto the basement floor and looked around. He let out a huge breath and pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket.
Okay, now to find the book, ahh there's the books. He looked through the pile of books on and around a large folding table. The first one he opened was dated 1863, and decorated with a pair of crossed sabers. The second bore the date 1588 and an artsy line-drawing that looked something like a dragon breathing fire upon a line of sailing ships. A third bore the date 1653, and half its title was written in Chinese characters. He grabbed for a fourth and – surprised by a creaking floorboard overhead - fumbled with it, trying to catch it before it hit the floor.
It struck the floor with a hollow thump – the muted sound of a leather-bound volume on solid concrete. The front cover fell open, and Franklin blinked, noticing that the book had the identical title page to the one he held in his hand, complete with the seismic second signature.
Meanwhile, just upstairs, Dawn was pulling a can of soda from the fridge. This turned out to be entirely lucky for Franklin, because she didn't hear the book hit the floor – she happened to close the refrigerator door at the same time. But his luck didn't hold long – she was planning to go into the basement and look through the books herself. She quietly opened the basement door and a pair of glowing large eyes startled her. She flipped on the lights, and he bolted.
Franklin quickly scooped the book up off the floor – dropping his facsimile title page in the process – and stuffed it in his pocket.
Damned book, fit! The book didn't fit well, but he shrugged and made for the open window.
"Buffy!" Dawn shrieked, running after the man. She tried to catch him by the ankles as he jumped out the window, but he was simply too fast for her. He'd cleared the window before she was down the stairs. Out of breath, she grabbed the end of the banister and tried to catch her breath.
Upstairs, Buffy heard Dawn's piercing shriek – at least, it was either that or fingernails being dragged across a chalkboard, and she knew thy didn't have a chalkboard in the house. Every muscle tensed, and she quickly shoved aside her now-empty breakfast tray, vaulting out of bed in her pajamas and racing out of her room. She barreled down the stairs, and swung herself into the hallway, making for the open basement door as Dawn shrieked her name again. Willow was hot on her heels, rushing down the stairs from her own bedroom.
The Slayer bounded down the stairs, and Willow appeared at the top of the stairs as well. Both were too late to see the man jump out the window. "What's wrong?" both of them asked, looking at the pile of Watcher's Diaries.
"That thing... it stole one of the books!" She pointed. "And I think it dropped those."
Buffy picked up the two scraps of paper on the floor – one near the books, and a second near the window. "This looks like the title page from one of the Diaries... and this is a hotel receipt." She scanned it with her eyes. "Checking out tomorrow. Well, at least we know where to find this guy." She turned to Willow. "Get dressed. You're driving." She looked at Dawn. "What did it look like?"
"Kinda like Batman or some kind of superhero guy."
9:17 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
1600 block, Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Mr. Franklin ran away from the basement window as quickly as he could, but just long enough to get out of sight from the windows of 1630 Revello Drive. He slowed down and looked around, finding himself in a cemetery, of all places. Fortunately for him, it was daytime, or else the cemetery would have seemed menacing. For now, it was a nice place for a walk, with its neatly manicured lawn. He stopped running, and just walked, trying to look like he belonged.
Then he decided to sit down and read this book a little, perhaps find out what was so important about this book that he was being offered a hundred thousand dollars to steal it. Plus expenses, mind you. He skimmed over it a bit, shrugged, and packed it up again. It didn't seem too interesting, but then again, he probably wasn't in on whatever code this book was written in – it made all sorts of references to vampires and something called The Ministry. He got up and headed for his hotel, preparing to pack up his travelling gear and leave for New York. Somehow, he had a feeling that the bad aura he'd felt since he came to Sunnydale was even more intense in this graveyard.
He quickly made his way to the street, a few blocks away, where he'd left his rental car, palmed the keys, and climbed in. After pushing up the visor – the sun had been low enough in the sky to require it when he had parked here – he started the car and drove off for the Vacation House Hotel, across town.
Chapter Seven: Vacation House
10:18 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
900 Block, Henderson Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"There it is." Buffy smiled, pointing at the seven-story hotel on the edge of Sunnydale's downtown district. "The Vacation House. Funny. I wonder if Cordy's family used to stay here in the summer..."
Willow spun the wheel as Giles' BMW rolled into the driveway, and into the parking lot. "What room does it say?"
"Room 687."
"I doubt he'd try escaping through the window then. We could just bust down the door and demand the..."
Dawn shrieked, about as quietly as she could manage. "That's him!" She pointed across the parking lot, at a man who'd just emerged from the building, suitcases in hand. "Looks like he's checking out."
Buffy grinned, smacking her fist into an open palm. "Perhaps in more ways than one. Will, keep your eyes open. Beep the horn three times if you see any cops." She unbuckled her seatbelt, barely waiting for Willow to bring the car to a stop before she popped the door open and hopped out. "Cover me, I'm going in!" she quipped. Xander smiled, and Buffy headed across the parking lot toward the mysterious man and his hot sports car.
10:20 AM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
Parking Lot, Vacation House Hotel
975 Henderson Drive
Sunnydale, CA
After discovering that he had lost his hotel receipt, Mr. Franklin decided to take no more chances and get the heck out of town. Fortunately for him, the main office was out of view and no-one was around that day. So he felt safe, and hoped he could depart without further incident. The further he could get from this deceptively beautiful oceanfront town, the better.
"Damned girl." He'd kept on muttering that to himself for the past hour. He had quickly packed up, and stuffed the suitcases in the trunk of the rental, a 2003 Mustang GS Turbo. He felt home free until his warning sense kicked in. He swiveled a complete 180 degrees to face the Slayer. He deftly caught her hand, which was about to tap him on the shoulder, by the wrist, but she didn't look at all surprised.
"What do you want?" He asked, as he let her hand go, and looked like he was about to get back to trying to fit his suitcases into the trunk of the smallish car.
"I know what you did an hour ago and I'm tempted to call the police."
He snickered at her remark. "I would be long gone before they would even arrive."
She went into a stance and glared at him. "Sadly, that's far too true in this town. But you'll find that a run-in with me can be just as dangerous. That was my house you broke into, and I know you stole one of my books. My sister said so. Why did you want that book, anyway?"
He pointed to himself and grinned. "Me? I don't want this worthless dust collector!" He pulled the Diary out of the trunk, waving it about. "This British guy wanted it, said his employer desperately needed to prevent some information in it from falling into the wrong hands. Which I guess means yours. They must have wanted it really bad, judging by the price they offered."
Buffy started to look confused. "You were being paid to come to my house and steal a potentially priceless, one of a kind book, and you're not even sure why? I suppose they laid some guilt trip on you about saving lives. Or was the money enough?" She spat. "Freaking mercenary."
He shrugged. "When you say it like that... they never really did give me a solid reason. Other than that the information would be damaging to them if it became known... I suppose I could give it back to you. On two conditions?"
She laughed. "You steal from me, I catch up with you, and you think you're in a position to make surrender terms?"
"Hear me out. Promise me that you'll not use this information to destroy them... unless, of course, they deserve it. And second, let me go without further incident." He handed over the book. She quickly opened it, just to make sure it was still in one piece, then pocketed it – her lab-style coat had immense pockets.
"Did you say a British guy?" she asked.
"Yea, he even had a London phone number to call when I was finished. Don't ask me; I left it back home, before I ever set foot in this wretched town. What's the problem?"
"Never mind. I think I know who it was." She paused. "You have until sundown to be out of this town, and so help me if I ever see you in Sunnydale again."
"No problem. This town's got some weird vibes, you know?" He shrugged. "How'd you find me?" Then he answered his own question. "You found the hotel receipt."
"I did. I suppose you need it?" She pulled it from a pocket, wadded it up, and tossed it into the trunk. "Get out of my town!" she offered as a parting shot, and turned on one heel to walk back to Willow, Dawn and Xander, waiting in Giles' red convertible.
12:15 PM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
"So, what do you think?"
"It's definitely a theory, Buffy, but I'm not convinced. Why must this book be the one we were looking for? It could just be a coincidence."
"Good point." Buffy looked around the basement, where Dawn and Xander were busily installing bookshelves around the entire room. She noticed a piece of paper that seemed like it was sticking directly out of the wall. Leaning closer, she realized that it wasn't a wall, it was a door. In fact, it was the door to the tiny cupboard under the basement stairs, where her mother had kept the good china. Second, it wasn't a piece of paper, it was the end of an envelope. And it wasn't stuck – it was peeking out of a mail slot. Buffy grinned. Whoever heard of a mail slot in an interior door? Much less one in the basement cupboard door?
"Dawnie, what's this?"
Dawn twisted around, still helping hold the shelf Xander was screwing into place. "Oh, that's the mail slot I asked if I could put in. You said I could..."
Buffy stared at her. "Why a mail slot in the basement cupboard door?"
"Because it's the only cupboard under the stairs we have." Willow nodded as if this explained everything.
Dawn grinned. "Exactly."
Buffy frowned. "You lost me. What's it for?"
"Owl post." Dawn supplied. At Buffy's confused glance, she remarked, "Gee, you need to read more." Then, as if that explained everything, she turned back to Xander, who'd just finished with that shelf. Buffy pulled the envelope out and glanced at the green calligraphy on its address, and sure enough, it was addressed to the Cupboard Under the Stairs. She shrugged and shoved it back into the mail slot.
Willow was already stacking Watcher Diaries on some shelves a few feet away. "Mind helping me with this, Buffy? Or perhaps helping us all by grabbing lunch?"
"What about the vision? The Diary you were looking for?"
"Buffy, there's not that much light down here. Without the sun coming in the windows, it's too dark to read down here. So I was putting off anything beyond finding the book until dark, so we can get some things done down here while there's light." Willow explained. "I want to start putting all the Diaries in chrnological order. This search helped with that already – we have all the ones from the last 500 years sorted out already, so we can put those in order very quickly..."
Buffy's eyes had glazed over by now. "I guess I'm on lunch detail. What do you guys want?"
Chapter Eight: Theories
2:30 PM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Willow pulled into the garage carefully, unlatching her seatbelt and pulling the keys from the ignition of Giles' red BMW convertible. Dawn was already out of the car, having vaulted out of the back seat much as the Dukes of Hazzard might have, had the General Lee been a convertible. Buffy climbed out of the passenger seat by using the door, with Willow silently approved of with a slight nod, before doing so herself.
She wasn't as pleased, however, when Buffy slammed the door; she wished Buffy would be more careful with Giles' things while he was away in England. "Buffy..."
"Will, just worry about what's in that book. If it's really important enough to steal, I want to know why. And I hope that's the diary we've been looking for this whole time. I'll take care of the rest."
Dawn, meanwhile, was already inside the house and dialing the phone number they had for Giles in England. She hit the speakerphone key just as he answered with a gruff 'hello.' "Hey Giles!"
"Hello, Dawn." He paused. "Sounds like I'm on speaker."
"You are." Willow confirmed, sitting down on the couch.
Buffy jumped right into the summary. "It's been an eventful morning. Some Batman wanna-be broke into the basement this morning and stole one of the Diaries. We had to track him down to his hotel and get it back."
"I see. Which Diary, might I ask?"
Willow quickly looked over the title page. "It's dated July 1774. The Watcher's name is John Thomas St. Croix. I can't read the Slayer's name."
Giles paused, but then continued, "There must be some reason that they wanted this Diary out of your hands."
"I think it was the Council. After all, who else would care about the Diaries?" Buffy pointed out.
"Quite." He considered that a moment. "It's not widely known, and I've never mentioned this to any of you, but the Council does not exist independently. I think they might be worried about their standing within their parent organization. And times are rough over here, right now."
"The nail that sticks up gets pounded down?" Xander offered.
"Or pulled out. In either case, the Council would most likely prefer to stay below the radar for the near future. They generally do – their role is so mysterious that only those who deal with them are generally aware of their existence. Any skeletons getting dragged out of their closets, and thus drawing attention to themselves right now, might lead to the destruction of the Council as we know it. I believe that is something they are unwilling to risk."
Willow flipped a few pages, skimming. "I haven't found anything really disturbing yet, unless you consider disliking some American intern at the Council offices..."
"Keep reading, I'm sure there's something." Giles said. "Did the thief give you any clue why he was stealing it?"
"He said he was paid off. The few clues he could offer also point to the Council, but none of them specific enough to rule out everyone else. Could this parent organization you mentioned be involved?"
"Unless they were trying to discredit the Council, I doubt it. There's a third and fourth players here, though. There's... well, let's call it a resistance movement. They're good guys, willing to admit just how dangerous things are right now. Which the others haven't. And a group who would rather see anyone they can destroyed, simply because they're in the way. I can see reasons for either being involved, to discredit the Council... but this whole theft thing doesn't strike me as either one's style. The good guys would just as soon ask you for it, open and aboveboard, and the bad guys wouldn't try to get away clean. They'd kill you all just to make a statement."
"That almost sounds like the Death Eaters from the Harry Potter books." Dawn remarked.
"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" Giles asked, distractedly. "I really should get off this line, the overseas phone charges..."
Willow shushed him. "Giles, I think I found it. They had trouble finding this Slayer. Something to do with a map divination spell failing... because she wasn't on the map." Willow flipped a few pages. "Giles... this could be very interesting."
"What might that be, Willow?"
"I think this might be an account of the first American slayer. And judging by the dates... Giles, this is during the Revolutionary War. What if the Slayer or the Watcher got involved in a way they don't want brought to light?"
"Slayers do have the tendency to cause trouble. Take yourself, Buffy. You've died twice, and come back, so now there are not one but three vampire slayers."
"Point. But why cover up the first American slayer? If that's what this is?"
"Because, I gather, that there's more to it than just that. I really should go..." Giles sounded very uncomfortable with this conversation.
"Buffy! I found it! Your vision! This slayer had exactly the opposite vision... you saw her and she saw you!" Willow shoved the Diary into Buffy's hands, stabbing her finger at the page. "See the description?"
Buffy skimmed the page. "This could be me. This is me! And my bathroom too!"
Willow looked thoughtful. "I think we'll have to read the whole Diary. In addition to finding out exactly what they don't want us to know, or what they want to use against the Council, depending on who they are... just the insights on the Revolutionary War period could be rather interesting. From a purely historical point of view." She grabbed the book back and continued skimming.
Dawn nodded. "Yeah. Imagine that, Buffy. A Slayer in the American Revolution."
Xander grinned. "It's like that old movie, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Except without the time travel. Or King Arthur. Okay, it's nothing like that old movie."
Willow grinned, still flipping pages quickly. "She's a Yankee though. Here he mentions going to Salem."
"Oh, lord." Buffy sighed. "She's not a witch, too, is she?"
Willow glared. "I don't know, does it look like I'm reading for details? I'm just skimming to see if anything jumps out at me."
Giles yawned audibly. "I trust you'll keep me informed. Unfortunately it's past midnight here in England, and I must be off to bed."
All four of them chorused, "Good night, Giles!" Then Dawn tapped off the speakerphone. "Anyone for pizza?"
Chapter Nine: Winner Goes First
7:15 PM, Sunday, September 29, 2002
1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Willow fluffed up her pillows just so, tugging on the corners of her comforter to get all the wrinkles out. She looked at the tray table beside the bed, which was well stocked with snacks and a nice, cold glass of iced tea. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear absentmindedly. "What's missing?" she said to herself.
"Oh, right, the diary." Ever since they'd skimmed the beginning of the Watcher's Diary earlier in the day, Willow had been thinking about reading the whole thing. She'd cleaned her room, made her bed, and so forth, getting into prime recreational-reading mode.
As she headed toward the stairs, she walked past the door of Dawn's room, and nearly collided with her. Dawn's room looked immaculate – Willow thought she'd heard the vacuum cleaner a little while ago – and Dawn was already in her pajamas, even though it wasn't close to her bedtime. "Heyas, Dawnie."
"Hi." Dawn bubbled, bobbing her head a little, as usual. "What's up?"
"Just going to grab that diary for a bit of light reading." She paused at the look on Dawn's face. "What?"
"That's what I was doing!"
Willow cringed. "But there's only one copy..."
"I know." Dawn started pouting.
Buffy emerged from her room at all the commotion in the hallway. "What's going on? You two sound about ready to kick each other's butts." They didn't, really, but if this kept up much longer...
"We're both headed downstairs for the same book." Willow summarized.
Buffy thought for a moment. "Why don't we flip a coin... no, Will can probably tweek that with magic. Hmm... let me think... ah, I got it." She smiled. "Why don't you play chess for it?"
Dawn smiled. "I'll get you this time, Willow!" She barreled down the stairs, setting up the chessboard so fast that half the pieces were placed by the time Willow and Buffy got there.
Buffy knew the drill, and she snatched two pawns – one of each color – and headed for the hall bathroom, mixing them up in her hands. She emerged, and Willow and Dawn simultaneously picked opposite hands. Buffy opened them to reveal that Willow was black and Dawn white.
Dawn shrugged, twisted the board to put the white pieces on her side, and promptly lifted her king's side knight into place, just in front of her king's bishop's pawn. Willow countered by sliding her king's pawn forward a single square.
Dawn's queen's knight shortly found itself in front of the queen's bishop's pawn, and Willow thought for a moment before advancing her queen's knight's pawn two spaces. Dawn almost hopped in her chair, leaning forward to remove that pawn with her queen's knight.
Willow slowly extended a single finger, and pushed her queen's castle's pawn forward a square. Dawn slid her knight across to the queen's row, just on her own side of the middle of the board. Willow slid her queen forward into the vacant square where her king's pawn had started out. Dawn replied by pushing her king's castle's pawn forward two squares. Willow did the same with her queen's bishop's pawn, forcing Dawn to save her queen's knight by dropping it back to the space just in front of its own pawn.
Willow's queen's bishop quickly found itself in the empty queen's knight's pawn square on her own side, and Dawn replied by advancing her queen's pawn a square. Willow struck fast, charging nearly all the way across the board with her queen's bishop, taking out Dawn's abandoned king's knight, which hadn't budged since the first turn of the game. "Stupid move." Dawn commented, as she used her king's pawn to take out the offending bishop.
Willow knew, however, that losing her knight would momentarily put Dawn off her game. The girl was just too attached to her knights. She subtly rubbed it in by moving her own king's knight pawn forward a square, and Dawn's reply to this opening was to try to take Willow's king's bishop by moving her own just in front of the king's castle's pawn.
Willow had seen that one coming, though – Dawn tended to be reckless with her bishops at times, and Willow quickly used the same king's bishop Dawn had threatened to dispose of the threat. They'd each moved nine times now – with Buffy quickly scribbling down the moves, in case there were any arguments later about illegal moves. Their tenth moves were a pair of pawns – Dawn slid forward the one she'd used to take the bishop, and Willow moved her king's pawn forward, allowing Dawn to return her king's pawn to its proper row by taking hers. Then out – finally – came Willow's queen's knight, sliding forward just behind the queen's bishop's pawn. Dawn moved her queen forward and to its right, to the king's bishop's row, and Willow replied by taking the adventurous king's pawn with her queen's knight.
Dawn, not realizing that the same knight now endangered her queen, pushed her queen's pawn forward another square. Willow swept the white queen off the board with her knight, and pronounced "check". Dawn made a gesture toward one of her pawns, perhaps the king's knight's pawn, but then realized that the move would be illegal. The King was also endangered from the remote black queen, sitting directly in front of Willow's king. Instead, she slid the white king sideways into the queen's square.
Willow replied by using her queen's bishop's pawn to take Dawn's queen's pawn, which Dawn avenged immediately using the queen's knight. Willow's queen's knight struck back, taking Dawn's remaining knight off the board.
Dawn sat back, examining the board after fifteen turns. She was down to her king, the untouched castles, some pawns and a single bishop, the king's bishop. She then saw the potential, and stuck across the board at Willow's queen's castle's pawn, realizing too late that Willow could easily take her bishop with the queen's castle, which she did. Dawn slid her king's castle into the vacant king's square, hoping for a cross-board strike at Willow's black queen. Unfortunately, Willow saw this, and slid the queen's castle in front of it.
Dawn looked things over. Now the whole queen's side of the board was virtually vacant, except for a wall of three of her pawns and her queen's castle, none of which had been touched yet. She might be able to push a pawn across and exchange it for her lost queen, so she pushed her castle's pawn forward two.
Willow smiled just a little at Dawn's obvious desperation play, sweeping her queen's castle across the board from its post in front of her queen, and into the very place of Dawn's king's castle – the original king's square. "Checkmate."
And it was. The King couldn't take the castle, as the Queen covered it. It couldn't move forward and to the right, due to both of them covering that row. Forward and to the left stood the queen's bishop's pawn, which had never been touched. And the two squares directly forward and directly to the king's left were covered from afar by Willow's king's bishop, sitting in front of the king's castle's pawn. The king itself was covered by the castle that had just moved, as well. There was no way out.
Dawn pouted, lifting the diary from the coffee table. "Here." She nearly shoved it into Willow's hands, and started putting away the chess set. "Good game," she added very grudgingly, at Buffy's stare.
Willow squeezed Dawn's shoulder. "I promise, you can read it as soon as I'm finished. And when they put out the next Harry Potter movie, we'll take you on the first day."
"Okay." Dawn smiled. She wasn't happy, but she'd live. "I hear Kenneth Branagh's in it as Lockhart."
Buffy looked all dreamy-eyed. "Oooh, Kenneth Branagh. I loved him when we had to watch Hamlet for English class..."
Willow smirked. "Actually, we were supposed to read Hamlet. Buffy just thought she could get away with watching the movie."
Dawn coughed, "Harry."
"Quite. Buffy, you really should read those books, or you're not really going to understand the conversations around here, you Muggle." Willow stood up. "As for me, off to read the Watcher's Diary... I wonder why they didn't want us reading this one..." She wandered upstairs, her thoughts already pondering that one as she opened the book to the first page. As she reached the top of the stairs, she chuckled. The Watcher apparently thought himself a novelist, and had even supplied the sections and chapters with humorous titles, in both English and Latin...
Series continues on my personal website; many later intallments are not yet uploaded at this server.