Disclaimer: The characters of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions Inc. No monetary profits are being derived from the writing and distribution of this fanfiction-which of course is our quaint way of saying "Please don't sue us."
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Thanks to all for reviews, and to Linne for being the Red Pen Goddess. In answer to Merrin's question, I felt that centering the piece around Giles gives the reader a more limited perspective which is actually the desired intent. Plus, Giles is a thinker, and introspective, so his head is an excellent place to be. In the classic drawing room mystery, most of what happens focuses around the investigator and sometimes one or two of the other main characters. Since Phil asked me to write a novella length work, I also felt it was more important to stay focused on the main character of the piece, and I do want the "villain" to be a surprise. Next chapter, expect to see more of Lydia, Nigel, and Philip along with someone you might not have expected at all.
As for Penhaligon's, it is a real shop (there are several now including two in the US) that has been around a long time, is truly favored by royalty and Winston Churchill did like one of the aftershaves made by the company. I fudged a little on the release dates of one of the fragrances, but the name of it screamed, "Buffy," and I couldn't resist.
Please note, if any of the details seem off or even too familiar, this is a companion piece to Shades of Grey that does include some information from that story.
Chapter Five
Roses and Revelations
Written by Jen
Necessity had driven Rupert Giles to use a computer, and thanks to his young cousin, the Watcher was discovering that e-mail and sending files wasn't nearly so exotic as it sounded. While neither Buffy nor Dawn possessed a computer due to their current finances, Giles assumed anything he sent to Tara Maclay would be shared with Buffy if requested. Thankfully, Tara had forced her student e-mail address on him long before he even stepped on the plane to leave Sunnydale. Since Giles wasn't on good terms with Willow, taking Tara's e-mail address had seemed for the best. He felt an overwhelming sense of respect for the young woman who, as far as he was concerned, had braved far worse demons because they were so personal.
Unsure of what to write, Rupert stopped and stared at the over-bright screen, finally deciding to take the plunge.
Dear Tara,
I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I find myself at a bit of loss because I have not yet heard from Buffy. Would you please ask her to call me on the cell phone? Remind her that discretion is imperative considering my whereabouts. Better yet, you could give her a copy of the letter. Perhaps such reminders would come better from me, and it should save you the trouble of Buffy's less gentle moods.
Should anyone ask, all goes well in England, but I will probably be delayed longer than expected. Do let Anya know I have greatly appreciated her faxes concerning The Magic Box; I trust her with the finances, and it really isn't necessary to fax weekly copies of the books. Though it is extraordinarily considerate of her.
Also, would you mind speaking to Anya and Xander about a more personal matter since I desire Anya's aid and Xander's compliance. Anya will see to it Xander refrains from causing himself pain. In the top left drawer of my desk at The Magic Box, there should be a box of chocolates that were meant as a gift for you and Willow, a small thank you for helping inventory the shop. I apologize for not giving them to you before I left; distraction is not a state I wear well at all, and I felt a gift meant for both of you would be inappropriate given your current living situation. I am so sorry that I could not have been of more help to you in that matter, Tara. I'm assuming Xander has eaten the candy already and it's of little consequence, but please let Anya know he will probably get quite ill if he hasn't yet found the truffles. They're spoilt by now, and I know the boy rummages through my desk for treats when he believes no one will notice. Still, a pound of prevention is worth an ounce of cure.
That having been said, expect a package in the next few days. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of sending it directly to your post office box rather than the house. Living with Buffy and Dawn means dealing with Dawn's less flattering characteristics. I am well aware that Dawn Summers is a teenager and apt to get into things that simply do not belong to her. Do let me know whether or not you receive your gift and if it pleases you. I had Willow's sent to her parents' home rather than ask you to deliver it. Willow is still someone I care for greatly, but as we both know, she must be willing to accept the fact that she needs help. Please forgive me for mentioning such painful memories, and do take care, Tara. I think highly of you as does everyone who knows you.
Before I forget, you can let Dawn know that I have not forgotten her should she notice your gift, but she shall have to wait for hers along with the others.
Your friend,
Rupert Giles
Giles turned off the computer and rose from his chair to stretch. Truthfully, he would always prefer a handwritten letter over anything typed, but as Sarah said, e-mail was much faster. Even if Tara didn't check her mail for a few days, she would certainly get the letter by the time his package arrived. He'd been at loss to find an adequate thank you for either of the witches that didn't involve magic when his cousin volunteered to help him choose something. She'd asked questions about both women and finally, after Giles said he knew both women were unlikely to ever consider pampering themselves, Sarah had quickly clapped her hands and squealed, "I've got the perfect idea! Hurry up so we can get there before the shop closes!"
With that, the two of them headed into London where Giles found himself being dragged through Penhaligon's at Covent Garden near the Royal Opera House. It had been years since he'd been in one of the establishments, but he remembered fondly that his mother had also been a fan of their products.
Finally, Sarah had asked the question he didn't want to answer, "Why not something magical, Rupert? You did say they're witches."
"Fair question. I wanted to give them something that didn't say I'd taken the easy way out of gift giving and opted for magics yet again, Sarah. It's a bit of an apology too, forgetting the chocolates and all that," Giles grinned sheepishly as he replied, refraining from delving into Willow's history abusing magic. Truthfully, he also hoped sending Willow something might help to smooth over the rough patches their friendship had suffered. He'd chosen the Bluebell soaps, lotion and eau de toilette for Tara because she, like the fragrance, made him think of English springs. It was a clean fragrance, almost rain drenched and with the light floral scent of the bluebell flower, perfectly captured. For Willow, Giles chose a spicier, citrus scent called Quercus that reminded him of her flaming hair and, at times, biting wit. It was probably far more sophisticated than the girl had ever used, but Willow had changed from the shy little mouse she'd been when he'd met her. He hoped she enjoyed the presents.
"Which do you like, Sarah?" Giles asked.
Sarah paused for a moment before speaking, "Hmmm, I always liked the Violetta fragrance when I was young, but it's a bit too sweet for me now. I think I like the Cornubia best."
Giles asked the shopkeeper to add a bottle of the perfume to his purchases and then said to his cousin, "My gratitude for helping. You know, I should probably get a little something for everyone while I'm here. It's much easier to get it all over and done with at once, and I suppose Dawn will kill me if I return home empty-handed." The clerk, eyes alight with the promise of more sales, asked what else Giles would like to see.
"You say the Violetta is sweet, Sarah?"
"Yes, but it's a soft fragrance, Rupert, if you're thinking of the younger girl."
"Exactly, it will be perfect for Dawn! And Buffy..." he looked about the store before a bottle caught his eye then continued, "I wonder..."
"Well, sir," the clerk interrupted, "you can sample all the scents. I'm sure we'll find something suited to your friend's tastes."
Just as she said it, Giles was reading the label on the bottle he'd noticed. It read, "Subtle with hints of nectarine, jasmine, precious woods and amber," but it was really the name of the perfume that caught Giles' attention. It was a newly released fragrance making it likely that Buffy would be unfamiliar with the product if she'd even heard of Penhaligon's. Artemisia. Named for Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and moon, and Giles felt it would be simply perfect. He was fairly certain the Slayer hadn't taken the time to even look at new clothes of late, let alone lotions or perfumes.
After choosing a traditional shaving kit for Xander, including foaming bar and brush, he'd picked two bottles of Elizabethan rose, one for Anya and one for Sir Robert's wife, Penelope. He whimpered a bit as the shopkeeper added up the purchases but reminded himself that he so rarely spoiled anyone it was well past time. In a moment of what he would deem weakness much later, he also decided he should find a way to thank Spike for taking care of Dawn so often and added yet another bottle, a favorite aftershave of Winston Churchill's, to his purchases. He even bought some for himself.
Minus several hundred pounds, Giles strained under the weight of parcels as he and Sarah returned to her car, but he did feel a bit better having picked out gifts for his loved ones back home, even it meant dipping into his reserves. Gifts posted to Willow and Tara, Sarah had treated him to dinner before returning him to the dreariness of the Council. All in all, his afternoon had been pleasant, Giles thought, contemplating the day. When his cell phone rang, he jumped in a rush to answer, hoping it was finally Buffy calling.
"Hello, Buffy?" A silence filled the phone, quiet and deadly, and Giles would have sworn he could hear a low, skittering noise. "Is someone there?" he demanded.
From what sounded like chasms of distance a voice, chillingly familiar and alien, desperate and pleading, hissed into his ear, "It's a new game now, old friend."
The call ended, and Giles sank into an armchair, cold sweat beading his arms. Quickly checking the call logs, the Watcher stared at name and number on his screen, "The Abyss 00000000000". When a loud knock rapped against his door, the Watcher jumped.
...
"Mr. Giles, may I please come in?" Lydia Chalmers asked. "I think you've avoided me long enough."
Anger crept through Rupert Giles, but he did move aside and invite the young woman to sit down despite his reservations. Rather than dance around the issue, Giles asked bluntly, "When were you planning on telling me Quentin is your uncle? He tells me I'll have to discuss this with you, so we might as well get it out of the way, Miss Chalmers." Giles knew his voice was cold and bitter, and he felt the tiniest pang of guilt at seeing the young woman before him flinch, hurt lurking in her eyes.
"I do owe you an explanation, I know," Lydia answered softly. "Do you remember Quentin's sister?"
Giles nodded in response and said, "She distanced herself from the Council decades ago."
"Four decades to be precise. You would've been very young at the time, and I wasn't even born. In fact, Mother hadn't married yet, but when she met my father, Shelby Jameson Chalmers, Mum swore to herself that Father would never know about her family or former life. Dad isn't a bad man, Rupert. He is very kind, in fact, but Mum was terrified he wouldn't be able to cope with the truth about the world around him. Anyway, when I finally had the chance to meet my uncle, it was only because of an incident in school." Lydia paused, apparently lost in her past.
"What happened?" encouraged Giles.
Looking out the window, into the night sky, Lydia said, "I was attacked by a vampire. Of course, no one at the school would believe me, and I was sent home to recuperate. University officials told my parents I was in crisis because my obvious fabrications were so very fanciful... The police claimed it was a sexual assault gone wrong, but I knew what I'd seen. Needless to say, Mum knew the truth, and she was forced into telling Father far more about this world than he ever wanted to know." The young woman stopped again, long enough to unbutton the top buttons of her blouse and pull her collar aside. Vicious scars marred the pale flesh at her throat. Continuing she said, "The only person my mother felt capable of helping me was her brother, and Uncle Quentin believed it was in my best interest to get therapy here. He listened to me... When no other soul would hear me out, he heard what I was saying. By the time I was able to face the world again, Quentin had discovered I was a talented researcher as well as gifted in minor magics, and he asked me to join the Council. Mum was furious that I did, but Dad has been very supportive and is quite proud of me. In the interest of keeping things professional, I normally refer to him as Mr. Travers at work, and he felt that was best. No one accuses him of nepotism, and whatever promotions and commendations I get, I've earned."
"Does everyone in the Council know you're related?" Giles hoped so. It would mean that Lydia had not been dishonest on purpose, she'd simply assumed he knew she and Quentin were family.
"Our collective superiors do, but our family ties have never been openly discussed. You must understand, Mr. Giles...Rupert..." Lydia whispered his name, commanding more attention than if she'd shouted. "When Mr. Wyndham-Price's son failed so miserably in Sunnydale, my uncle felt it best that he and I succeed or fail as individuals. Things are quite different outside these offices, I assure you."
Giles smiled, relieved, but he felt he owed Lydia an apology for thinking the worst of her. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have assumed you were being dishonest with me-"
"Hush, don't worry about it. Uncle reminded me to tell you when he realized how much time we'd been spending together, and I forgot. It's really my fault-Quentin warned me that to make a friend of Rupert Giles one had to be honest. Now that we've got this out of the way, I've come to avail myself, and Mr. Travers," Lydia said, stressing she was back in full Council mode, "has assured me you shall have his complete cooperation. He's assigned Philip and me to assist you in every way possible. Philip will be here first thing tomorrow morning. What would you have me do?"
Staring openly at the young woman, blouse still slightly undone, Giles couldn't help the growing attraction as he thought to himself, 'What would I have her do? Oh gods! What a question that is!'
Aloud he said, "This is what I know so far," and he hoped he was making the right decision in confiding in both her and Quentin Travers. For her part, Lydia took copious notes, listened intently and puzzled over the scrap of paper found in Adam Penderson's dead hand. As they worked into the night, Giles slowly began to realize that Lydia was far more adept at theorizing and basic magic than he'd initially thought. While she too was intrigued by the various security tapes and possible spells used, she kept going back to the mysterious note and even more mysterious conversation Giles had heard in the hall the day he'd been thumped across the head. Then there were the files, taken, purged, and returned. Who would go to such trouble she had asked of Giles, but he felt just as flummoxed as before. When his bedroom phone rang, Giles remembered he'd completely neglected to tell Lydia about his earlier call. If it was the same person, she would be able to hear the strange caller herself, and if it was Buffy or Sarah, Giles would simply be relieved.
"Hello, Rupert Giles speaking," he said into the little phone he hated so much.
"Rupert! You're home, great!" Sarah yelled into his ear. "Guess what? I've done it! I'm coming out first thing tomorrow morning, screw class, this is more important. Just wait till you see what I've got off those discs you gave me-"
"Sarah? Calm down and speak slowly," Giles begged. The girl was jabbering away like she'd never speak again if she bothered to breathe.
"Calm down! Are you mad! Listen to this first and then tell me to be calm," the girl laughed with obvious glee over her discovery before continuing, "We cleaned up the disks...well, I did most of the work, but Dual helped." Dual was Sarah's boyfriend, and Giles wondered how on earth the boy had acquired the nickname.
"Cleaned them? You can see someone?" excitement filled the Watcher's voice.
"Yes and no," Sarah's voice sobered a bit, "we can see everyone in the halls now-except the person who enters Sir Robert's office shortly after his nurse. Giles, the door opens, closes, and about ten minutes later opens and closes again. Right next to Sir Robert's office, you see that potted palm in the hall totter away on the stand. Just as she said, the nurse dropped off the lunch and medications and left about shortly after she entered! This means someone had several minutes alone with Sir Robert, but we can't see the bastard yet."
"But it's enough evidence to show, without any doubts, that Sir Robert was indeed murdered." Lydia looked at Giles curiously and he nodded, hoping she understood that he'd explain in a moment.
"Absolutely," Sarah replied, "and it means you were right, my dear Cousin Sherlock! The wards were down, and whoever did this lovely bit of magic knew enough to make it look as though the wards were working."
"You're an angel, Sarah, a real lifesaver here! Bring Dual out tomorrow as well, and I'll treat you both to lunch. We'll make a double-date of it! Oh and Sarah? Remember to use call the cell phone from now on, dear, safer that way I think." Giles wished his cousin goodnight and smiled broadly at Lydia.
"Would you like to have lunch with Sarah and me tomorrow?" he asked her.
Lydia blushed and answered, "Yes, that would be lovely." After that, it occurred to Giles he'd said "double-date".
...
RIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGG! RRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!
The noise wouldn't stop, despite Giles' resolve to slip deeper back into sleep. Gods no, he thought, it was the phone-again. He sat bolt upright wondering if it was his damned mystery caller this time. Fumbling for his cell phone, the Watcher cursed and swore as he slammed his elbow painfully into the heavy brass lamp on his nightstand. This had better be worth the effort, he thought ruefully.
"Hello?" Giles growled into the phone.
"Giles?" asked the one person he'd been hoping to hear from for what seemed years! Of course, Buffy Summers would choose the middle of the bloody night to call England, but it was wonderful to hear her voice.
"Yes, Buffy, it's me," he answered.
"Did I wake you? Cause, I thought it was seven am there, and Tara said she thought it was more like two am, and I'm really sorry for waking you. But Tara said I should call your cell-hey! When did you start leaving it on all the time?" the Slayer asked, her random thoughts practically ping ponging themselves through Giles' brain, almost at machine gun speeds.
Answering before she could continue, Giles said, "Slow down, Buffy. Everything is quite well, but it looks like I'm going to be delayed a bit longer than I'd thought. Is everything all right in Sunnydale?"
Perhaps Buffy could fool one of the others, but he heard the slight intake of breath at the other end of the phone as a falsely cheerful Buffy announced in an all too bright voice, "Everything's great! Patrol, kill, eat, sleep, usually in that order. So what's up in Merry Old Homeland?"
"I'm afraid it's rather grim, but I would prefer not to discuss all the details until I've returned home..." Giles began saying when a squeal at the other end of the line was heard.
"Sorry, Giles, that would be Dawn practicing for the next Halloween movie. Speaking of Halloween, will the Council celebrate?"
Giles laughed, knowing Buffy was redirecting the conversation to avoid whatever was going on at home. He didn't appreciate her trying to protect him, but there really wasn't anything he could do from England. Instead he replied, "Can you honestly see Quentin Travers celebrating anything? Besides, Halloween is not quite as widely celebrated in England...oh, not since Reformation anyway. I believe some children have adopted American customs though I doubt many adults quite understand why. Perhaps we should have a fancy dress party."
"Huh? Fancy? Um, Giles, I'm talking about Halloween, you know, ghosts, goblins, everything you swear never comes out this time of year and always seems to in Sunnydale," she quipped back at him.
"Sorry, Buffy, I should've said costume party. Anyway, no, I'm afraid it will be a quiet evening here for me, though I'll probably visit an old friend," translate that to, 'ask Lydia out on a proper date that didn't include his cousin and her eccentric boyfriend', thought Giles, and he'd be telling his Slayer the truth.
"So, how come it's taken you so long to call?"
"Funny," Giles said, instantly knowing that neither Dawn nor Spike had given her a single message, "I was just going to ask you the same thing. I've gotten your messages, and I've spoken to Dawn several times. We really must get you a cell phone. There are several family plans these days, and we could include everyone if you wanted."
"Wow, it's the Amazing Techno-Giles and his sidekick, Cingular! Again, why with the no-call?"
Oh lord, the girl was half-listening again which meant spelling it out for her. "Yes, very droll, but I suspect you should ask Dawn why she hasn't give you the messages I've-" again Giles was interrupted.
"DAAWWWWNNN SUMMERS GET BACK DOWN HERE NOW!" Buffy shrieked at an unearthly decibel.
"Mr. Giles?" Tara had taken the phone.
"Tara!" he answered fondly, "How you are you?"
"I'm okay, um, Buffy has a little problem with Dawnie," said the young witch.
In the background Buffy yelled, "Why haven't you been giving me my messages!"
"So I hear," the Watcher felt like things were going to be all right for the first time in weeks having heard all three young women at the Summers' house. "I take it you received my e-mail, Tara, thank you so much for asking Buffy to phone. I'm quite relieved to hear from all of you, but I must say, you have a far better idea of the time difference here than Buffy does." Giles heard Tara laugh quietly.
"I remembered to check my email after class. I told her to wait a few hours, but she swore you wouldn't mind. Uh... Mr. Giles? You know...you didn't have to get me anything-"
It was Giles' turn to interrupt someone, "Nonsense, Tara, you were instrumental in helping me with inventory, and now all I ask is that you let me know whether or not you approve of the gift. Fair enough?"
"More than fair," Tara answered, and Giles could hear the smile in her voice, "thank you."
"You're quite welcome. And do remind Dawn I have something for her as well before she has the chance to get into your gift," answered Giles.
Tara laughed heartily, "Already done. I promise." Neither of them mentioned Willow.
Before Giles knew what was happening another voice came through the line, shattering the quiet conversation he'd been having. "GILES! Tara said you bought gifts-what'd you get me!" Dawn chattered excitedly.
"I'm not telling you, Dawn, it's called a surprise for a reason."
"That is so not fair. Tara gets her present in the mail," whined the girl.
"Tara spent at least forty hours of her busy week helping me without my asking, so I'd say that she has earned more than a little thank you. You, on the other hand, can wait until I get home."
Giles would swear he could hear Dawn roll her eyes, "Okay, fine, but you have to tell me something first. Is Prince Harry really that cute in person or is he just photogenic?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," replied Giles, startled by the question. Teenage girls were just so frustrating! Having spoken with each of the women, Giles promised to check his e-mail in the morning. Tara had sent him a note and mentioned that Anya might give him a call in the next few days. He said goodnight to each of the girls and returned to bed, falling into a restless and nightmare filled sleep, each dream more bizarre than the last, a voice calling to him that he knew he should recognize.
...
"Rupert!" Quentin Travers snapped, "we need to speak-now."
Giles followed the older man into an empty office and watched as Quentin set up wards against eavesdroppers. "Oh lord, Quentin, what's happened this time?"
"Lydia showed me her notes this morning... She tells me you've involved your cousin. Are you certain that is wise?"
"Yes," Giles spoke cautiously, "I have every confidence in Sarah's computer skills."
Quentin sighed, relief evident in his tone, "Her father called this morning and sends his congratulations, Rupert, he is extremely pleased with your efforts to recruit Miss Giles into the Council of Watchers."
Taken aback, Giles replied, "I was afraid this would happen. I'll ring him this afternoon and let him down gently."
"I'll take that to mean Miss Giles is helping you, not the Council at all," Travers chided. "Rupert, I need all the allies I can get within the organization, and her father would prove to be a great asset, along with you of course. Consider persuading the girl, and whatever you do, refrain from phoning her father!" It was an order that spoke volumes, and Giles had no idea how to get around this one. Travers glared at the younger man, and the Watcher realized why Travers was so insistent the truth behind Sarah's help not be mentioned.
"He's coming here," Giles stated.
"For the vote, yes. By that time, everything will be in order, correct?" asked Quentin.
"The situation shall have to be resolved, or there won't be a vote," retorted Giles.
"Too true, so get it done. You shall have whatever resources you need, including Philip-he's quite handy with spell casting research, along with weapons. I thought perhaps it would be best if he and Lydia worked together on this project. I've also taken the liberty of contacting Greece, Rupert, and they have agreed to allow Lydia and Philip full access to their libraries once I disclosed the circumstances," Travers informed Giles.
"You didn't! Oh gods, man, weren't you thinking? Sir Robert and Adam were murdered, Quentin! And it was a power play by one of the factions within the Council or, if we are quite lucky, it was an outside force with ties to Sunnydale. If we are quite unlucky, both or worse will be involved!"
"Not everything is about your Slayer!" snapped Quentin Travers.
"What about the missing files?" demanded Giles.
"I am quite certain it has nothing to do with Miss Summers!"
Anger rising, Giles retorted, "I am not convinced of that! Apparently, Sir Robert was quite amused by Buffy's antics, and I suspect there are several people within the Council who did not take kindly to his generosity regarding me or the Slayer. I read the notes-when will her salary become a reality?"
Travers paled and asked, "Do you honestly believe someone murdered Sir Robert because he favored your methods as a Watcher or found that young woman even slightly entertaining?"
"I honestly don't know, Quentin, but I will say I am well aware of Sir Robert's feelings after reading his journals. He indicated his acceptance of the Sunnydale situation was not appreciated."
Smirking, the older man replied, "I suspect you are reading far too much into this, old man. I know of Sir Robert's opinions regarding you and Miss Summers as well, but the fact is, there is no possible connection between his murder and your suspicions."
Perhaps it was the smirk that made Giles blood boil, but he was furious with Quentin Travers' dismissal of the mere notion that Buffy or anything to do with the Hellmouth might be involved. "It's more than that, man, someone is playing a very dangerous game with me, and I bloody well intend to find out who! God help you if you're involved." Giles stalked out of the office in a rage, too furious to notice the acrid odor surrounding him or the electrical charge as the wards fell across the property.
...
As soon as Giles regained his composure, he sensed he was being followed and was unable to pinpoint his pursuer's location. He strained to listen, the hallways oddly silent for the late morning hours. When his cell phone rang, Giles found himself answering it carefully, half expecting it to attain a strange life-force and turn on him in a homicidal rage.
Faint whimpers and pitiful mewling greeted him this time as the voice from the previous day said, "Sussed me out yet, mate? And here I thought you were a clever boy, but that's not quite you these days, eh? Something bubbling beneath the surface? Something fiercer than the mild mannered Watcher? No more lapdog for you."
"Who are you?" demanded Giles.
"Ask the wind, the storms, ask the sea, ask the world when the quakes hit and shake to rattle teeth from skulls, reverberating through flesh until the masses are a pallid and empty shell... Did you ever hear this one, mate? He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts," the voice called mockingly. "Put the letters together, solve the puzzle, find me!"
Frightened and angry beyond all thought, Giles yelled, "DAMN YOU! I will find you, and you will pay for Sir Robert's death!"
A nasty, tittering giggle filled Giles' ear, but it came from behind him rather than the cell phone. He whirled about and faced thin air.
"I swear, old man, I didn't kill him. He was decent to me even when I didn't deserve decency. He was the sacrificial lamb led to an unholy slaughter," the man on the phone suddenly sounded so tired to Rupert Giles. "Your Slayer-doesn't it always lead home? I tried to be better for a time, but I can't breathe in here, help me!"
"Then tell me who you are!"
The line went dead and the hallway dark. Giles stared in horror at the light emanating from his cell phone as realization dawned at last. The note, everything surrounding him was gaining clarity, and he'd been talking to a madman while being watched by at least one killer. Unfortunately, there was only one man insane enough to plead for help while playing such infantile games. He desperately needed to find the caller, but determining his whereabouts would be damned near impossible.