The gentle rumbling of the Range Rover was soothing, calming the frazzled nerves of the occupants, especially the adults who were well aware of the danger still chasing them. Baby Emma, though, was blissfully unconcerned, cocooned within her blankets. The scents of her family were also an added benefit. With her in dreamland were her Auntie Dawn, Mommy, and Daddy. They were there with her and she felt safe and loved.
Buffy snuggled as close as she could to the car seat, draping her arm over Bitty's tiny body. She wanted to stare at her for hours, taking in every eyelash, every dimple. She wanted to gaze until her eyes crossed. How much had Emma changed in the last seven days? What little nuances had she and Spike missed? There was so much she didn't know about Emma, and closing her eyes for even a minute or an hour was too long. But sleep was calling her. Her body had been running on adrenaline for days, and now that the danger was past, she was crashing.
"Nothing's going to happen to her. He's not getting his hands on her again."
Buffy didn't doubt the veracity of Spike's words, but the fear was there all the same. "I promise you. She's not going to disappear if you close your eyes, pet."
Although, it was impossible to see his expression in the mirror, Buffy knew what she'd see in those beloved blues. She willed back the tears and nodded her head in agreement. "I know, but…" She pressed her lips softly to Emma's head. "I love seeing her face."
Those five words held a depth of meaning to Spike. If anyone understood, it was he. Even in the ugliest of times during their relationship, the best part of Spike's day was being in Buffy's presence. Because the alternative wasn't something he ever wanted to experience again. Spike took his eyes off the road briefly, glancing in the rearview mirror at Buffy.
"She does take after me in the looks department, doesn't she?" He joked. Providing humor was Xander's forte, but in this instance, a little levity wouldn't hurt to ease Buffy's mind. He could feel Buffy's smile, knew without a doubt a rolling of her eyes accompanied it. "Regardless, you still need to rest. This may be your only chance to get some shuteye. Take it. I'll look after you."
There was so much truth to that simple statement; Buffy felt the air catch in her lungs. She scooted forward, laying her head on Spike's shoulder, and pressed a kiss to his neck. The coolness of his skin was like an ocean wave, refreshing her and washing away all her worries. "You always do."
"Have to look out for my girls." He felt Buffy's breath against his neck, her touch lingering as she sat back. He missed her warmth immediately. He ducked his head, lest she see his amusement. He really expected more of an argument from her. Buffy could be as stubborn as a mule on any given subject, but more so on her own health.
Dawn's call had them both on edge. It was unconscionable to think of Emma back under that bastard's thumb. The thought stirred his demon, which wanted to forgo running, in favor of hunting Travers down and ripping out his throat. Yet, the man inside worried that no matter how honorable his intentions were; he'd lose his girls. And he was too damn selfish to risk that.
As if to further remind him of all that he had to lose, Buffy gave a small snore. It wasn't obnoxious or even noticeable above the din of the engine, but it was enough to bring a smile to his face.
Joanna smiled wistfully as she turned around to gaze at Emma. "She never slept so well with me."
Spike jerked his head to the side. The sarcastic retort stilled on his tongue, but he couldn't help but remind her of the facts. "We didn't sleep well without her. She needed us. We needed her."
Joanna nodded, chastened. Why had she made that statement? Because it was the truth, her mind responded.
Spike chanced a look in Joanna's direction. She reeked of fear and guilt, and while a part of him was glad she was afraid, the other part was concerned that she would drop from exhaustion and be of no use to them or herself. "You should probably get some rest too."
"I should." Joanna answered, but made no move to close her eyes. "Do you think the gem will work?"
Spike didn't answer right away because he really didn't know the answer to that question. He wished he did. He wanted one hundred percent certainty, but knew that was impossible. Magic was tricky and ever changing. One thing he did know, and that was that Willow and Giles would never have gotten on that plane without first ensuring he and Buffy had a fighting chance of protecting Emma. So, after the silence drew on, he finally stated. "I trust Red. If she says it will, it will."
"Tea?"
Buffy stared stupefied at Martine.
"I'm dreaming." She stated unequivocally.
"Yes, you are. I needed to speak to you, and as your husband stated, you need your rest." Martine leaned over, plucking the teacup from Buffy's unresisting fingers. "So… hmm… what's that American phrase?" Martine paused, thinking. "Oh, I know. I killed two birds with one stone."Buffy shook her head again, unable to grapple with this new twist to her Slayer dreams. "Uh huh. Okay… what was so important you needed to invade my dreams? Not that I'm not pleased to see you. I'm always pleased to see you." Buffy stated, accepting her tea from Martine.
Martine smiled, and Buffy couldn't help but smile along with her.
"How do you feel?" Martine sipped her tea, blowing cooling breaths on the liquid.
Buffy sighed. "I feel… so much, scared, worried, angry, but most of all I feel relieved. I have Emma back. Spike is okay. Dawn is safe." Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she paid them no heed. "But it isn't enough is it? Travers will never stop hunting us. He'll never stop trying to take Emma from us. It'll never be over."
The wind blew the trees softly, catching their unbound hair and lifting the strands up like spider webs.
"It will, but not today. Travers will be stopped, but for now, you need to rest. You need time to heal and regroup." Martine placed her hand over Buffy's.
"You sound like Spike." Buffy mumbled. Wish he were here now.
"Buffy, I'm gonna take Emma inside, okay?"
Buffy's jaw dropped as Spike appeared out of nowhere. Barefoot with his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his smooth, pale chest, he lifted the bassinet off the ground, cradling the wicker basket in his arms. He spoke softly to Emma.
"How? What? Huh?"
Martine took pity on her. "This place is protected. Spike may walk in the sun. Travers' magick cannot touch Bitty here."
"But… but this is my dream." Buffy stammered. She pushed back from the table, starting to become seriously freaked by the Pleasantville feel of this place.
"It's your dream and my message." Martine explained, also rising from the table. She approached Buffy slowly, not wanting to startle her. "You'll be safe here until you're ready to return to the fight."
"Here? Where is here? Martine, you've been good to me, but this is… this is unreal. This is a dream." Buffy shouted.
"This was my home. This is where Henri and I lived and died."
Buffy spun around and the idyllic setting of the afternoon disappeared into the harshness of night. Men carrying torches and weaponry surrounded the cottage. Voices raised in anger. Shrieks could be heard from those that dared to enter. In an upstairs bedroom, the candlelight illuminated the fight inside. A woman appeared at the window, struggling with several men. Cries of pain and rage could be heard even at this distance. A knife was raised. Buffy's eyes widened as Martine's face became clear. She screamed, certain the men outside could hear her, but they paid no heed. She ran, trying to get to the door, to Martine, but her feet were rooted to the ground.
"Martine!! Martine!!!" It wasn't Buffy's voice shouting her sister Slayer's name. It was a man, dark as Spike was fair. It was Henri. A stake was raised and all went black.
Buffy stumbled as the terrifying death scene shifted back and she was once again in the idyllic, sunny tranquil of the backyard.
"We can't stay here!" Buffy yelled, angry, hurt, heartbroken, but mainly stunned. "You died here. They murdered your child here, and you want me to bring my family here? Are you insane?"
Martine gripped Buffy's shoulders, her strength equal to Buffy's even though centuries and death separated them.
Buffy stared into Martine's eyes, hoping for reassurance. Buffy couldn't risk her family, not again, not after everything that'd happened.
"Trust me, Buffy. I would not suggest this house unless I was certain of its safety. The Council does not know of this place. Once my existence was erased from their books, Monsieur Jayme returned and placed a cloaking spell over this house and its grounds. He meant it to be a place of refuge for the Prophecy child. I offer it to you and yours."
Buffy pulled away from Martine, needing the distance to gather her thoughts. "You're telling me this place still exists after hundreds of years. How?"
"That is not important." Martine rested her hand on Buffy's cheek. "It's time for you to go now. Remember what I've said. Paris is your shelter. Paris is where you need to go."
Spike flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, three more hours until London and barely an hour of night left. They'd have to stop soon enough and fill up on petrol. Spike had hoped to be closer to London, but he hadn't counted on the steady line of trucks heading into the city with their daily wares.
"Spike."
Buffy's voice shocked the hell out of Spike, and it took him shifting into demon visage to keep the car steady on the road.
"Damnit, Buffy. You sca… erm… surprised me. Thought you were still asleep."Too wired by her dream, Buffy didn't comment on Spike's slip of the tongue.
"Martine decided to hijack my dream." Buffy leaned forward, seeking the comfort of skin to skin touch. "I really wished she'd written instead."
"You okay?" Spike asked, concerned by the way Buffy was gripping his arm.
"Yeah, just more of the weirdness that fills my life. I'm fine. She showed me the night of her death. It was awful and terrifying, and it was her way of telling me where we could go to hide out until Emma's ready to head home."
Spike scoffed. "Paris? You can't be serious."
"Good guess and yes, I am." She was still freaked by Spike's ability to wade quickly through information to arrive at the correct conclusion. "Martine said Charles Jayme created a refuge for the Prophecy child. Someplace for the baby to go to be safe from the Council."
Spike scratched his head, sighing. "Okay. Fine. We'll go to Paris."
Now, it was Buffy's turn to scoff. "Just like that? We're going to Paris. No 'Buffy, we need to discuss this further or we need to contact Giles and Willow'. Just we're going?" Okay, was she still dreaming? A pinch to her thigh confirmed she was very much awake. "You trust Jayme? After everything he did?"
Spike shrugged. "Martine is on our side. She wouldn't have told you about the place if she didn't feel it was safe. But you already know that. I'm with you on this, Buffy. If you feel this is the right course of action, I'm all for it. I may not trust many people, but I trust you. I'll go with your gut on this."
Buffy grinned. Typical Spike behavior. He trusted her to make her own decisions. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet, Summers. We have to get there first, and my sun allergy kinda limits our modes of transportation."
"What about the Chunnel?" Joanna asked timidly. She'd awaken sometime in the middle of their discussion. "It travels underwater, and we could get a private cabin with curtains to shield you from the sun."
Buffy took a deep breath. She'd deal with the claustrophobia when they got on the train. For now, they needed to concentrate on getting to London as quickly as possible.
"What about tickets? How are we going to pay for them? We don't have those kinds of funds on us."
Joanna's brow crinkled. "I may have a solution. I have a friend who's a travel agent. He can order the tickets for us. We can pick them up on our way into town."
Buffy turned to Spike and smiled. "Thank you, Joanna." She paused as she studied the woman beside her. "Thank you for taking care of her and for helping us now."
Joanna bowed her head, shaking her flaxen colored hair. "Please… don't. I don't deserve your gratitude."
Spike and Buffy glanced at each other briefly. They each knew about repentance. It was never easy, and it was a solitary punishment.
"What time do you think we'll get London?" Buffy asked, steering the conversation back on course.
Spike shrugged, scanning the sky. "Probably around eight. Sun will be up in an hour… maybe an hour and a half."
"And so will Emma, or at least for a little bit." Joanna remarked, composed. "It's the weirdest thing, too. As soon as dawn breaks, Emma's up, bawling her little eyes out, but she settles down almost immediately. Weirdest thing."
One could have parked a seven forty-seven inside their open mouths.
"Did I say something wrong?" Joanna inquired, seeing the startled looks on their faces.
Buffy looked back at her daughter, her shoulders shaking with mirth.
"No." Spike answered for Buffy. "It seems Emma takes after me, a lot more than we thought."
As the plane dipped below the clouds, Willow's eyes squeezed shut as a tremendous weight settled over her chest. Her lungs burned as if a vise had been placed around them, squeezing what little air she had out.
"Take deep breaths, Willow, and concentrate on my voice. The pain will pass shortly."
Willow stared into Giles' eyes as she followed his directions. A few minutes passed where it seemed as if she'd pass out, but it eventually began to lessen. Ahh, she thought, air is good.
Giles brushed her hair back from her face and peered worriedly into her face. "Are you alright, now?"
Willow nodded, not yet comfortable with the idea of actually speaking. One more deep, cleansing breath and she answered. "Yeah… Kinda scary. Never felt anything… anything like that before."
"I know." Giles stated nervously.
"What was that?" Willow asked, not only concerned, but suddenly fearful. Rack had touched a place within her, had pulled certain properties of her essence to the surface. Had he damaged her in the process?
Giles clutched Willow's hand, leaning forward to keep their conversation only between them. "There is a tremendous concentration of supernatural energy contained within England's borders. It affects everyone who encounters it."
Willow had listened curiously to Giles' explanation when it hit her. "So… this is sorta like jet lag but for the supernatural set? Does it only affect witches or other beings, like Spike and Buffy?" Now that the initial dread was passed, nerdy Willow was back in full effect. She smiled expectantly at Giles.
"Umm… yes, exactly. Thank you for rendering a complex supernatural theory into a two-word phrase for extending period of time in the air."
Willow hid her smile by looking out the window.
Giles continued, unaware of Willow's efforts not to burst out laughing. "And yes, Buffy and Spike were affected, but their strength allowed them to absorb the effects without notice. When we disembark, you'll have to be ready to perform your spell. Do you think you'll be able to do it?"
"She won't need to." Elsmeth's voice whispered softly inside Giles' mind. He sat up, startled.
"Good god, Elsmeth." Giles uttered. Willow looked at him strangely, but he waved her concern away. Instead, he closed his eyes and mind to everything except the siren call of the elder Wicca's voice.
"You've remembered your teachings." The light lilt of her voice was pleasing to Giles' ears, recalling days spent in her company learning the basics of Wicca.
"Yes, although, I must admit, I have not had much need of this particular skill." Giles paused. "Is everything alright? Has something happened I should be aware of?" His concern lay with Buffy and Spike, and the possibility that they had been discovered.
"No, nothing has happened to your Slayer. In fact, I believe she is doing quite well. The three of them are safe. For the moment. My concern lies with you, Rupert. I have sensed nearly thirty agents within the airport. They are on watch for you and your companion."
Giles nodded, smiling at the flight attendant as she walked past. "We assumed as much," Giles sighed. He hated being right, especially in this case.
"Do not worry about your young friend, Rupert." Elsmeth easily voiced Giles' concern for Willow. "I will do a cloaking spell. It will shield you from Travers' people. Okay, must fly. Just found a parking space."
Giles chuckled as the link was severed. Brief, though, the conversation was, it served to give Giles hope.
"Elsmeth has taken control of the airport situation. She will cast the spell for us."
Willow was relieved. She felt confident in her abilities, but she was still somewhat hesitance to cast spells that required her to expend a great amount of power. The fear was there, though she was trying to control it for Buffy's sake, for all of their sakes.
"Can't say I was all that eager to cast on a plane, on the go." Willow admitted wryly. "Did she say anything about Buffy and Spike? Any vibes from Travers' spell?"
Giles' response was stopped by the screech of the tires as the brakes were engaged. London was shadowed with the lingering rays of the fading moon and the brightening shine of the sun.
"She told me Buffy and Spike are with Bitty, and they are all safe. There was no news on the spell, but I'm not worried. In this case, no news is good news. The spell was cast from the coven, so I believe we'll be able to find its specific components."
Willow smiled, staring out the window like a kid on her first plane ride. "Watch out Travers. Here we come."
To those assigned to the capture of Rupert Giles, the petite fifty-ish woman didn't rate a second glance. She should have, though. Elsmeth smiled as she accidentally bumped into two agents, posing as a young German couple. They never noticed the slight pressure to their minds as the spell was invoked.
Elsmeth found a seat in the middle of the terminal with a clear view of the customs area. Even if she hadn't been in the perfect position, she would have felt Giles' presence as he stepped into the room. Not much had changed in the year since they'd last seen each other. But what drew her attention was the redhead walking beside him. Her aura was broad in spectrum, composed of the varied hues of the white witches and those of the darker sects.
"Interesting." She mused aloud. "So this is the one Rupert was concerned about all those months ago. He had reason to be concerned."
Elsmeth raised her arm, arching it through the veil that hung over the terminal. She waved enthusiastically as Giles and Willow approached. Elsmeth noticed with interest, the young woman hung back, almost shyly.
"Rupert, I swear you get better looking with each passing year. Are you using Ponce de Leon's youth formula?"
Giles shook his head, truly pleased to be reacquainted with his old friend. "You're looking well. Thank you for your assistance."
Elsmeth waved off his thanks. "Don't you dare. I couldn't allow the two of you to be nabbed before morning tea. Besides, I so rarely get to play MI-5 with the world, this was a bit of a treat to me." She said wistfully.
Willow's eyes were wide with shock. She was expecting someone a bit stuffier about magick. Sort of like a female Giles. Elsmeth was none of those things. Not with her gray cargo pants and Trading Places t-shirt. Especially not with her canary yellow mini-Cooper with Witches Do It Better bumper sticker. You might want to say they have moved from the terminal to the parking lot – show the movement as they talk.
"Have you had any success in interpreting the spell?" Giles asked as he stowed their bags in the boot.
"Yes and no. Your lover was correct, Giles. Travers is using a variation of a spell used by farmers, but he has added language, which makes it very specific for the child."
Giles brow furrowed with this information. He wasn't certain if this was good news or not. "He has her blood. Isn't that enough?"
Elsmeth gave a quick shake of her head, checking her mirror to change lanes. "Not necessarily. He only has a slight understand of the child's makeup. He sees her merely as a hybrid between Slayer and Demon. When in fact, she's more than he could ever guess."
"More?" Willow's voice squeaked.
"More." Elsmeth replied, amused. "You must expand your boundaries. Not everything is easily explained." At Willow's silence, Elsmeth continued.
"The child's bloodline is one of the strongest ever to be created. Her father is a member of the Aurelius line, the oldest and most powerful vampire family. Her mother is the oldest-living Slayer. Buffy's power and strength has steadily increased as she's aged. Add in the fact, you infused Buffy's body with that of Osiris, is there any wonder this child is special? But no, the baby is not a demon. She is not entirely human either. Will she bring about the destruction of the world? Only if her parents lose their well-known tempers."
Giles' mouth quirked into a smile. "Travers believes she will rule the demon world."
"Travers is and has always been an idiot. He's so close-minded. He can't see the truth when it's as plain as the nose on his face. The child will be safe for now. The amulet will act as a ward against it. You should be concerned for the Slayer. I said the spell was specific to the parents. If Travers decides to go after either Buffy or Spike, he'll succeed in drawing them to him."
"He has Buffy's blood." Giles announced solemnly.
Elsmeth spared Giles a glance. "Oh, hell!"
A light, spring drizzle beckoned the dawn of a new day in London. Quentin Travers sat in his favorite chair, a hot cup of tea at his side. It was a rare day that found him at home at this hour. Usually by seven in the morning, he was in his office at the Council headquarters seeing to the business of saving the world. Today was a special day, though. Catherine would be coming home.
There was a sharp knock to the door before it opened to reveal his longtime butler, Mr. Lewis.
"Sir, Mrs. Lindley and her staff have begun work on the nursery. She reports everything will be in order by the time you return with the child." Mr. Lewis delivered his report with his usual stoicism. He did not question the validity of his employer's story concerning the baby. His duty was to ensure everything within the residence ran smoothly.
"Excellent. Thank Mrs. Lindley for her expedient work." Quentin's grin was sincere. "I have absolutely no idea how to raise a child, Lewis. I may seek your council from time to time."
Lewis' chest puffed up considerably. To have a man of Travers' esteem ask for advice was a great honor; one Lewis would not soon forget.
"Would you like some breakfast, sir?"
"No. No thank you, Lewis. I must run to the office before I catch my plane. If you could have the car brought around, I shall be ready to leave in a half hour."
Travers waited until the shuffle of feet could no longer be heard. He pushed out of his seat, annoyed. Lewis was a capable butler, very loyal, but irritatingly obsequious. There was nothing he liked less than fawning individuals. He would use Lewis to keep the rest of the house in order. Moreover, if anyone questioned Catherine's presence in the house, there was always Shackleford. Speaking of his erstwhile henchmen, it was time for a report.
Travers' fingers punched the numbers to Shackleford's cell, waiting patiently as the transatlantic call completed. When there was no response, other than the unseen shocked ones of Clem, Tara, and Xander as the phone trilled and echoed off the walls of the crypt, Travers slammed the receiver done.
"Where the hell are you, Mr. Shackleford?"
It was rude to stare. Her mother had told her that over and over again. Were the rules different in England?
"No, they are not." Elsmeth's voice was amused. "I apologize, Ms. Rosenberg. I am merely curious."
Willow blushed. "Umm… no problem. Where's Giles?"
"He decided it would be wise to call Travers and to check in with his young lover."
"Oh, I should probably call Tara too." Willow closed the book she'd been studying and tried to scoot pass Elsmeth.
Elsmeth could have accepted Willow's attempt to steer the conversation onto more comfortable footing, but she didn't. There was much to be discussed. There was much Elsmeth needed to impart to the younger Wicca.
"She is not at the house. Only Anya. So we have time to talk." Elsmeth gestured to the seat Willow had previously occupied and sat across from her. "Your aura is very strong. You wear your power like an ill-fitting garment."
Willow shifted uncomfortable with the words and the scrutiny. She wasn't sure what she should say, and why she should trust this woman, who she had just met, with questions and concerns she hadn't completely shared with Tara.
"You can say whatever you feel. I will not judge or be offended if you tell me to rightfully mind my own business." Elsmeth patted Willow's arm comforting.
"I… I", Willow stuttered. "How can I tell you when I haven't told Tara? She's my heart and soul."
Elsmeth's look was thoughtful and understanding. "It is sometimes better to talk to someone who isn't intimately involved."
"I liked the darkness."
Those five words stole the air from the room. Or it just seemed that way to Willow.
"And that scared you so much you immediately stopped doing magic?"
Willow could hear the amusement in her voice and it angered her. She'd gone through hell and back, and this woman was laughing at her. "I nearly killed Buffy's little sister. I was so…" Willow had to stop and take a deep breath before she could continue.
"I was intoxicated by the power I forgot right and wrong. I would have did anything to have more of it." Tears dropped from her eyes, and she pressed her palms into her face, ashamed.
Elsmeth didn't move to comfort the weeping woman in front of her. She knew enough of the young American to know she would not appreciate it. "You strayed from your chosen path. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Now, you know your limits and strengths."
There was no getting around the fact that Buffy Summers Develin was not the best driver in the world. Okay, she could admit it. Show her a katana blade or a pair of draggers and she was better than an Iron Chef at slicing and dicing, but put her behind the wheel of a one ton automobile and there was likely to be bloodshed, namely her own. So, she graciously stepped aside when they stopped at the rest station to fuel up and prepare the windows for the early morning drive into London.
She was content to let Spike do the driving until she got a good look at him, illuminated under the fluorescent lights of the gas island. He'd told her once that demons didn't like the lights, made them look even deader than most were. Right now, her husband looked like death warmed over two or three times. She couldn't sit back and say nothing.
Buffy remembered the ensuing argument all too well. It wasn't their worse fight by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the first they had in front of Emma. Thankfully, their little bundle of joy hadn't inherited her parents' superior hearing.
"You look awful." She'd told him, running her hand over his cheek. Her smile was soft and loving as he leaned into her touch. Not the most romantic place in the world, but they were tactile individuals, and sometimes a touch was all they needed to say "I love you".
"Can't look good every minute of the day, Buffy." Spike teased. He wouldn't admit it, but the lack of food and sleep was catching up with him. He only needed a couple more hours, then he'd rest. But he couldn't close his eyes with his girls still in danger.
"Spike," Buffy pleaded, turning his head towards her, "why don't you let me drive for…" She didn't get a chance to even get the offer out before Spike was vehemently shaking his head. If he kept up the pace, he'd wrench it off.
"No. You don't drive for a reason, Buffy. There's no way I'm letting you loose on these roads. They drive on the opposite side if you haven't noticed."
"I noticed, but it would probably be safer than you falling asleep at the wheel."
Another quick shake. "Nope. I can do it."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "The steering wheel is keeping you upright. Look, I can drive for an hour. Joanna can stay up with me."
"No, Buffy, and that's final." Spike pulled away, yanking the fuel line out and placing it back in its holder. He'd been harsh with Buffy, but he wasn't going to shirk his responsibilities.
Spike had every intention of buying a can of Red Bull when he went inside to pay, but the hand on his arm stopped him cold.
"You don't get to make blanket decisions in this family." Buffy said through clenched teeth. "I thought you understood that. You and me," she said, poking him in the stomach, "are married, and therefore, all decisions are discussed. I know you want to protect us." Her hazel eyes glinted with a fiery mix of love, concern, and anger. "You don't have to take it all on your shoulders. If something happened…" She could see the anger and the hurt in his clear blue gaze.
"I wouldn't do anything to put you and Bitty in danger."
Buffy couldn't bear the wounded look on his face and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his chest, against his heart, which was as strong as any man alive. "You've saved me in so many ways. Don't ever doubt my belief in you. I just want you to think about yourself for just one minute. I want you to think about all we still have left to do to keep her safe. One hour, two at the most, won't hurt you. It won't hurt her. She'll still be here when you wake up."
Spike's arms, which had been pinned under her hold, slipped out and pulled Buffy into a tighter embrace.
"I can drive." Joanna offered timidly. When was the last time either of them had slept? A week at the least, Joanna surmised. Probably hadn't gotten a bit of useful rest since Emma's abduction. "I know where we have to go to pick up the tickets, and I'm a bit more familiar with rush hour traffic in London than either of you."
In the face of Joanna's sound logic, Spike had caved. His pride had taken a hit, and Buffy felt awful about it, but how many times had she neglected herself to protect Dawn and the Scoobies. She understood the need to be all things to everybody, but they didn't have to do that anymore. They could depend on each other and their friends, when necessary, to take up the slack when they faltered.
"Once we get to London", Joanna stated, "I'll have to stop at a bank. I'd rather not use my credit cards for the trip if I can help it. They'll leave a trail for Travers to follow."
Buffy nodded, turning around to face the front. She sighed. Heroines shouldn't have to concern themselves with stuff like this. James Bond didn't worry about how he would pay for his hotel room or his cars.
"Spike and I have a little money. Probably not enough for the tickets, but we could pay you back." She said earnestly.
Joanna chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. "I'm not doing this as repayment to you and Emma, but also because England won't be a safe place for me." Joanna grinned. "I wish, in some insane moment, I could see Mr. Travers' face when he realizes you've taken Emma. He might burst a blood vessel."
"We don't have that kind of luck." Buffy remarked drolly.
Edgar strode unnoticed down the back hallways of the Council. At this hour, there were few people about, and those that were on duty, were more concerned with monitoring situations outside of London. If he survived, which he doubted, that security lapse would need to be addressed. Edgar stopped before a wall that bore the painting of the first female head of Council, Lillith Frasier. To anyone passing by, it would seem as if Edgar had merely paused to take in the talent of the long-dead artist, but in reality, he was whispering the words that would open the door to the inner chamber. The contents of the Lillith Room were only known to a handful of individuals, which included Travers and himself. Of course, Travers didn't realize Edgar had knowledge of the room, which shouldn't have been a surprise since the Smythe-Baileys were founding members of the Council. But Travers was so pompous and arrogant, he probably never considered moving the books, assuming everyone would be under his thumb. Edgar shuddered to think that was nearly the case. How many years had he followed Travers blindly, only recognizing too late the evilness that lurked beneath the surface of Travers' personality?
The blast of stale air was a shock to Edgar, and a reminder that he was exposed in the hallway. He stepped inside the room and turned to face the door. To those that walked down the hall, all would seem in order.
"Let's hope luck is still on my side." Edgar mumbled as he moved quickly across the room. As he pulled away several large tomes, he thought back on his last visit to this room. He remembered the day clearly and cursed himself for not taking the book when he had the chance. He liked to think his grief overwhelmed his common sense. Or maybe, he knew in his heart that he really wanted to bury a blade in Travers' chest. Whatever his reasons, Travers had given him a second opportunity to obtain the book.
Edgar breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes fell on the diary-sized book hidden behind The Atlas of Demon Cultures. He held the book reverently in his hands, flipping through the pages slowly. There, on the tenth page, was the text he needed. Edgar traced the words as he read. His fingers trembled as the chant within his mind became louder and louder. He closed his eyes to all that surrounded him and concentrated fully on separating his conscience from his plane of existence.
"Why have you summoned us?" The voice boomed. Edgar staggered under the force of the voice. He was barely able to form coherent thoughts, much less sentences to convey his intentions. The being or beings, he wasn't sure, seemed to realize his dilemma.
"Your mind is unable to communicate with us in our natural form. We will attempt to remedy this situation." The voice, female, was softer, less bombastic, and for that Edgar was immensely grateful.
The pressure lessened and Edgar found himself in a sitting room, much like his own. He looked around, mesmerized. Had he dreamt of coming to the Lillith Room?
"You did not. We have made our appearance more acceptable to your mortal mind. The question remains as to why you have summoned us?"
"You know." Edgar stated steely. There was no need for subterfuge. They could read his mind, but more importantly than that, they knew all that occurred on Earth.
"The Chosen One is often at risk. It is the nature of her life."
Edgar stood, pacing the sitting room. "Her life is tied to the Balance. There is one who wishes to use her child to start a war with the First. The Balance would be irrevocably broken if he's allowed to continue." Edgar's words were impassioned. "The man is too arrogant and misguided to realize the First will not allow his actions to go unpunished."
The pounding of Edgar's heart only broke the silence of the room.
The voice boomed loudly, and Edgar felt as if his ears were bleeding. "We will hear your statement. You will know our answer when the time comes."
Edgar awoke face down on the carpet. His head throbbed fiercely and he found it difficult to focus clearly. He rolled over as a wave of nausea rippled through his stomach. He closed his eyes immediately to quell the rise of bile. He stayed like that for several minutes, until he felt his world tilt back to center. Pushing off the floor slowly, cautiously, he used the bookcase to steady himself. How long had he been unconscious? All would be lost if he were discovered within the room. Damn, he hadn't expected the spell to take that much out of him. He wasn't certain he'd be able to leave the room unnoticed. Edgar checked his watch, noting quizzically that he'd only been inside fifteen minutes. The conversation, if you could call it that, seemed to take longer than that, or maybe it just felt that way because it was so intense. As Edgar prepared to leave, he saw the book he'd used to make contact with the Powers laying on the floor. He snatched it up and shoved it into the inner pocket of his blazer.
Had his plea been heard? Would they help or stand by and allow the Slayer to fight her own battle? He wished he knew if he'd been successful. If this had all been a waste of time, then he'd have to go ahead with his plans to kill Travers during the meeting. He would be branded a murderer, but his son and the world would be safe.
Edgar slipped unnoticed out of the room, and made his way to the main level of the building. He needed to speak to Olivia and Yvonne. His recent interaction with the Powers had served one other purpose. It had convinced him there was no need for secrecy. Olivia and Yvonne were his allies, not his enemies. They all wanted the same thing. He would talk with them; catch them up on what he'd done. Edgar paused as he saw Travers enter the building. He stayed within the shadows, allowing Travers to pass by him. Once he was certain Travers was ensconced within the confines of his office, he crossed the lobby and hurried upstairs to his office. First thing's first. He was going to call Reginald and ascertain the present situation with Rupert Giles.
Being unemployed sucked in Anya's opinion. How did people do this day after day? It was driving her crazy. She couldn't do the inventory or count her money because the fire marshal wouldn't allow her into the building. It was still unstable. Well, right now, she was unstable. She needed the distraction to keep her from worrying about Giles and Willow and Buffy, Spike, and the baby. Anya sighed, drawing figure eights with her coffee cup on the counter. All she wanted was a phone call, one measly phone call to ease her mind. Was that too much to ask?
The phone seemed to hear her plea because it shrilled noisily.
"Rupert?"
"It's I." The sound of her voice had his body relaxing in ways that suggested, he realized, he was seriously whipped, using the familiar American colloquialism.
"Your plane landed over a hour ago. Why am I just now hearing from you?" Anya demanded, not caring how clingy she sounded. Didn't the stupid man realize she hadn't slept well last night? And damnit, she needed her beauty rest.
Where before he would have taken offense at Anya's brusque tone, he now recognized it for what it was. She was afraid. "I'm fine, Anya. We made it without incident. Thanks to Elsmeth. She provided cover when we arrived at the airport. How are you? Any trouble with Dewey and Shackleford after we left?"
"Aside from Xander whining like a girl when I accidentally hit him, everything at the crypt is fine. Clem had things under control when we left. Tara and Xander are going to relieve him after they drop Dawn at school. What about you? Did Elsmeth have anything more to add about the spell?"
Giles shook his head, amused by the slight jealous lilt to Anya's voice. "Just that Buffy and Spike have more to fear from the spell than the baby does. Willow's amulet should prevent Travers from kidnapping her again. Any word from them?"
Anya refreshed her coffee. "They called to say they had Bitty and were on the run because Travers was coming to Scotland." Dawn had been too excited about her niece to ask about Travers, which was understandable. After the fact, though, that information might have been important. "I suppose we should have found out what was going on with them."
"No, don't worry about it. As long as they are gone by the time he arrives, it'll be alright." Would they head to Bath? He doubted it. "Did they say where they were going?"
Anya could hear the worry in his voice. "No, I don't think they really knew, but Buffy is surprising smart for being blonde and have dated military guys. See, I'm striving for optimism."
Giles chuckled, though, he knew if Buffy had been within striking distance she would have to be held back. "Uh, umm… yes, dear. It's what we're all striving for."
"Mr. Travers, good morning." Giles rubbed at his throat unconsciously. Although the voice was foreign to him, he felt he knew Shackleford's character and could speak with his mannerisms.
"Is it, Mr. Shackleford? I do hope you have some good news for me." Quentin could feel the excitement building within his chest. He felt like a child on Christmas Day awaiting the opening of presents.
"I have Dawn Summers' blood. Isn't that the good news you were hoping for?" Giles felt his stomach clench with anger. He was going for sarcastic, but he feared he sounded angry instead of amused.
Travers didn't notice, too caught up in his own thoughts. Today was the day all his hard work would be rewarded. He had all the pieces of the puzzle now. He had Catherine. He had the Key's blood. As soon as Mr. Shackleford was available, he'd send him off to take care of Buffy and Spike. Yes, this was his day. Maybe, he should change his birthday to today, for he felt reborn.
"How soon can you catch the next flight to London? I…"
"I'm already here." Giles informed him. "Dealing with Ms. Summers wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought."
Quentin chuckled. "Rupert didn't offer any resistance? Why am I not surprised? He couldn't protect his protégé or his lover. A teenager would hardly present a problem to a professional such as yourself. Excellent news indeed. Can you meet me in my office in an hour? We have much to discuss, but I'd rather do it in person."
Giles was instantly on alert. "Do you have the Slayer and her husband?" The seconds it took for Travers to answer were an eternity to Giles.
"No." He growled. "They continue to elude capture. But it'll only be a matter of time. See you soon, Mr. Shackleford."
Giles sagged against the wall, relieved by the news. He trusted Elsmeth, but he'd underestimated Quentin in the past and had nearly lost Anya and Buffy in the process. He'd simply been on pins and needles since their arrival, afraid to put his complete faith in Elsmeth's assertion of Buffy's safety.
The door to the study opened, and Elsmeth strode in, carrying a tray of tea.
"You didn't believe me." Elsmeth stated, amused. "I should be upset, but the Slayer is your daughter, so I'll forgive you this slight." She was still smirking as she took a seat next to Giles.
"I did believe you." Giles stammered, then sighed at her look of amusing disbelief. "I just needed to hear it from his mouth."
Elsmeth leaned her elbows on her knees. "You love her as fiercely as any child borne of your loins. I understand the need for reassurance. Come, have a seat. Tell me what you've planned."
Giles sank into the high-backed chair with a weary sigh. "Travers cancelled the Executive meeting he had scheduled for today. Our plan was to assist the other members of the Council in preventing his use of Bitty's blood." Giles took a sip of the tea Elsmeth pressed into his hands. "He thought to use Dawn's blood to unlock the power within Bitty." Giles told her. "But that's impossible. We performed the ritual shortly before Buffy was kidnapped. Whatever power Bitty may possess has already been unleashed."
It was past time that Rupert knew the truth about the child. Elsmeth had spent many nights researching what little was known, and she felt Rupert should know what she'd discovered.
"Rupert, the only power that child has is ceremonial at best. She is a symbol of what can happen when the barriers of hate are broken down. I've read the prophecy. It's more talk than bite. She is the embodiment of love and forgiveness and understanding. That's her real power. It is what we all have within our souls. Hers carries more weight because Slayers and Vampires are natural enemies. If they can overcome their hatred, then there is hope for the rest of us. Do you understand, my dear friend?"
Giles nodded his head. "Then why was Dawn's blood needed? If Bitty is a normal child, then why?" He asked, his eyes bore into hers, demanding an answer, an explanation to make all of this more palpable.
"I did not say she didn't have any power. She's telepathic, as you know. She will be able to sense demons. She will be able to perceive the true nature of beings. All of that was locked inside of her, but nothing more."
Like father, like daughter, Buffy mused watching as Spike and Emma slept soundly through the pounding rain and the slamming car door. She smiled wistfully, already unbuckling her seat belt to join them in the back of the car. She was halfway over the seat when she felt a cold hand on her rear.
"Morning", she said over her shoulder. Spike was ruffled, sleepy-eyed and yummy. She couldn't resist leaning closer and pressing her lips firmly to his. A girl got used to her morning snog, even if it did happen in the back of a Range Rover.
"Morning, luv." Spike finally murmured when they reluctantly pulled apart. He didn't tell her they were creating a spectacle with her shapely ass in view for everybody to see. That fact didn't seem so important when he realized where they were. "We're here."
Buffy grinned. "Yes, we are, and you slept the whole way down. Hmm…" She said, tapping her finger against her cheek. "Who was right about someone, who shall remain nameless, needing a nap? Hmm… who was that, I wonder?"
Spike rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore the love of his life to check on his second love. "There's my princess."
Buffy's grin matched Spike's. "Hey, pumpkin, did Daddy wake you?" Emma's answer was a spit bubble-laden coo.
"Doubt it." Spike quipped. "Your snoring didn't wake her earlier." Spike felt the burn of Buffy's emerald glare on him, but decided it was best if he didn't look up. She would see the laughter in his eyes and probably retaliate in kind.
"I do not snore." She told him.
"Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that."
Joanna's timing was either perfect or not depending on which Develin you asked. Spike chuckled at the emerald glare aimed in his direction.
"We haven't much time. The train leaves in about an hour." Joanna spared a brief glance and smile in their direction and started up the car.
"We're going to have to get rid of this car." Spike commented as he rummaged around in the back for something quick to eat. "Can't just leave it on the street or anywhere near the Chunnel terminal."
Joanna eased into traffic. "There are a couple of car parks around the station. We can leave the car there. Do you have passports?"
Score one for Willow's diligence and Rupert's connections, Spike thought. "Yeah, we have them. Even got one for Bitty."
"Wherever we leave it has to be close enough so you can take the sewers to the station." Buffy piped in. They hadn't really discussed how Spike was going to meet up with them, and this was as good a time as any.
Spike shrugged, rubbing his thumb across Emma's forehead. "I'm not worried about that, pet."
"I am." Buffy reached across the short space and gripped Spike's wrist tightly. "I need to know how you're going to get back to us. I don't want to leave anything to chance." Buffy shook her head, her brown hair falling like a veil over Emma.
Spike glared at the car seat, wishing he could pull Buffy into his arms, and reassure her. "Hey…there's nothing on this earth that can keep us apart. I'll make the train Buffy. You just worry about what I'm going to do once we're alone in Paris." The last part he whispered into Buffy's ear. He then nibbled it, sitting back to wiggle his brows.
Spike's leer was actually heartwarming. If he was already plotting sex, then that was as good as a guarantee. What was she saying? He was always plotting sex. Nevertheless, he had her convinced.
"I know you're old enough to take care of yourself." She admitted shyly, fingering the collar of Bitty's shirt. "But I worry, and probably will worry for the rest of my life."
Spike lifted Buffy's chin until they were at eye-level with each other. "I waited over a hundred years for someone… to be concerned about me. Don't think for a second it doesn't warm my dead heart to know you love me."
Parked a few blocks away, but within sight of the Council headquarters, memories assaulted Giles as he stared at the wrought iron gates. Memories of maroon carpeting, Murphy's oil-scented wood, and the thousands upon thousands of texts lining the hallways. So many memories - some good, some bad - but all centered on a place that had been a refuge, a penance for his youthful indiscretions.
"Do you sense something, Giles?" Willow asked worriedly. Her green eyes shifted from Giles to the building. She felt power, strong and pulsating.
"No, Willow, just memories. Nothing life-threatening."
"Umm… Giles, you can't be nervous. That's my job. I'm the nervous, brainy type. You're the stoic, brainy, English type. You can't switch roles."
Giles took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "You're right. I can't allow myself to be distracted, not in there. I'll need to be focused once I'm inside."
"The magic buffers." Willow supplied. "Elsmeth tweaked Tara's spell." Willow had watched in amazement as the herbs Elsmeth added increased the power contained within the tiny bags they'd prepared in Sunnydale. The glamour should hold until we dissolve it. Don't worry." Willow laid her hand on Giles' arm. "I'm sure everything is fine with Buffy and Spike too."
"I know they can take care of themselves and Bitty, but this is Travers we're dealing with. He's a crafty sonofabitch." Giles growled. "I underestimated him before and Buffy nearly lost her life. I won't be caught off guard again."
Another squeeze to his arm forced Giles to look at Willow. She had her resolve face on.
"He underestimated us this time. He thought we'd lie down and lick our wounds. Like ewww, but so not the point. Travers is a pompous poopie, and pompous poopies make mistakes. His mistake was not killing us when he had the chance because that was the only way to prevent us from coming after Bitty. So no more of this waffling or worrying. Got it? Do I make myself clear?"
Giles nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You've made yourself perfectly clear."
"Good." Willow harrumphed. "See what happens when you get me nervous? I start babbling." The time had come. She had to let Giles go or he'd be late. She still wasn't comfortable with Giles' plan. Going into the belly of the beast alone. If Buffy knew, she'd have ixnayed that plan, but Buffy wasn't here, so they did what they must.
"Babble or not, Willow. You have a point." Giles squeezed Willow's hand. "Elsmeth, thank you. We wouldn't have gotten this far without your assistance. One more thing, I want you to contact Olivia and Edgar Smythe-Bailey. Find out what they are planning, and see if you can be of some assistance. Their plans maybe foolhardy, but their intentions are good. I want to help them anyway we can."
With that, he pursed his lips together and opened the car door. Two pairs of eyes watched as he walked quickly up the street. In an instant, he changed from the man they knew into the man Willow despised.
"God's speed, Rupert." Elsmeth whispered. "God's speed."
Giles clenched his fists behind his back to keep from wrapping his hands around Quentin's neck and squeezing the life out of this repulsive man. He was so smug, gloating over his prize.
"Look at them, Mr. Shackleford. Blood from children, yet they are the most powerful substances on this planet. And I have them both." Quentin murmured, holding the two vials of blood in his hand.
Giles cursed softly, drawing an inquiring look from Travers. Giles steeled himself not to flinch under the man's perusal.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Mr. Shackleford? There were no problems with obtaining Miss Summers' blood were there? You didn't do anything which would lead the authorities back to me?"
Giles smiled. "No, sir. As far as the authorities are concerned, Dawn Summers decided not to go home, and instead, headed to a motel with a boy. They won't be investigating the incident any further. I made sure of that."
Giles' explanation seemed to satisfy Travers, for he clapped his hands together lightly. "Very well. I'm not really all that concerned to be honest with you. Even if the police were to believe them, the reputation of the Sunnydale group is not on the up and up. They'll just dismiss them as flakes."
Giles bristled at the assessment, but kept his cool. The Sunnydale PD was incompetent and blind, but even they wouldn't ignore all that had occurred in the last few months.
"Will you require my assistance at your meeting?" Although, he knew the truth, Giles was curious to see how much Travers would reveal to his henchman.
Travers eased into his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. "I have no doubt the meeting will be acrimonious, but I'll handle those people who oppose me in ways not easily attributed to me. I'll have my guards with me. I may need you to take care of a member of the Council, though. His name is Edgar Smythe-Bailey. You might remember his son," Travers snickered, "the late Reginald Smythe-Bailey."
"I believe I remember Reginald." Giles snickered only because it was expected of him.
"Yes, I'm sure you do. Unfortunately, you won't be able to confront the father; I am leaving shortly for Scotland."
Giles crossed his arms over his chest, gripping his arms to keep from showing his concern. "Why?" He had to word this carefully not to give away himself, but also his knowledge of what was going on. "Have they found her?"
Quentin closed the box containing the blood, crossing over to his wall safe. He didn't turn around to answer Giles.
"My granddaughter is sick. Colic or something, and I have decided it is far too dangerous to leave her in Scotland. I'd feel much better with her within reach."
Try as he might, he couldn't hold his tongue. "Will she be alright?"
If Travers noted the genuine concern in Shackleford's voice, he didn't comment. "Yes, she will. The local doctor assured me this is a common occurrence, especially when the mother's milk is not available." Quentin's mouth curled up into a sneer. The thought of Buffy Summers touching his Catherine was beyond reprehensible. That situation would need to be taken care of before he could proceed with his other plans.
"There is only one other problem we'll need to address."
Giles' eyes rose up to look Travers in the eye. "The Slayer. Ms. Buffy Summers. She's more persistent than I thought she would be. Once the child's identity is established to the Council, I would like for the constant threat that is Ms. Summers to go away."
"You want me to kill her?" Giles asked.
Travers laughed. "No, we can't kill her. Not yet anyway. If she died, there'd be questions. Questions I would rather not answer. No, what I'd like to happen is for my granddaughter to cease to exist."
Giles was speechless. Travers wanted Bitty dead. It didn't make sense. He'd kill him where he sat if he was seriously considering Bitty's murder.
"Want me to kill the kid? After everything you've done to get her?" Forget the fact, Bitty was an innocent; she was also his granddaughter. Flesh of his flesh in a roundabout way. He loved her as fiercely as he loved Buffy, and he'd kill anyone who tried to lay a hand on her. But, as was becoming something of a habit, Giles had clearly underestimated the madness of Quentin Travers.
"Mr. Shackleford, you're a man after my own heart. Catherine, though, is too important, too cherished to kill. No, my granddaughter must never know her birth parents. I will not tolerate Buffy or William the Bloody popping up in Catherine's life. They must believe her lost forever."
Giles kept his eyes pinpointed on a spot directly behind Travers. If he looked at him in the eye, he'd kill the bastard. It was disheartening to think that at one time Giles had admired Quentin. How did he not see the evil that lurked beneath the surface, the need for power and control? Giles' eyes were open to the truth, and he could see the dark aura that surrounded Travers.
"Whatever you want me to do, I'll do." It was the best Giles could offer at the moment.
"Splendid." Travers closed the box containing the vials and came around the desk to slap Giles on the back. "Our business is almost concluded Mr. Shackleford. I must say your services have been admirable, with a few missteps."
Oh, how Giles wanted to wipe that smug look off Travers' face. But he could wait. As they say, revenge was best served cold.
"Yes, sir." Giles answered dryly.
"Has there been any sign of the Slayer?" Travers asked, rifling through the papers on his desk.
"No." Giles answered honestly. "There's been no word from any of our operatives that they've been spotted either here or New Orleans."
Travers guffawed. "They were never going to New Orleans. That was all a ruse. Not a very good one, at that. I'm surprised by Rupert's utter lack of imagination. I fully expected them to lie to my face. It is the way we've always handled our affairs."
Giles crossed his arms over his chest, regarding Travers curiously. "Who knows? I know I won't underestimate Buffy Summers again." Giles bit his tongue to refrain from uttering Buffy's married name. Giles would do that, but not Shackleford.
"Yet, you were hoodwinked at the airport." Travers said, his amusement evident. "But never fear, we know where she will be."
At that Giles straightened up, he kept his hands tucked under his arms for fear that Travers would see his fists clenched tightly.
"And where is that?"
Travers' brow furrowed as he gazed at Giles, causing Giles a moment's panic. Was the glamour wearing off? Did something happen to Tara or Willow to cause it to fail? Travers finally lowered his gaze to the box in front of him.
"She'll come here for the child." Travers tapped his fingers, the sound dulled by the desk blotter.
"And when she does? What then?" Giles had to know, even though, the thought made his blood boil.
"I haven't decided yet. Depending on how successful I am at using Catherine, I may allow Ms. Summers and her consort to produce again. Or I may have them killed." Travers shrugged as if plotting the demise or impregnation of a Slayer was an everyday occurrence.
Giles felt the air leave his lungs, his eyes blur, and his neck enflame.
"I should leave."
Travers' bewildered look clued Giles into the awkwardness of his statement.
"I would like to check the perimeter myself. I'd rather not be caught unawares." Giles pulled himself up to his full height. "Or would you rather the Slayer and her friends waltzed in unencumbered?"
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Shackleford. We are leaving for Scotland in fifteen minutes."
Giles nodded brusquely. He was trapped. He could try to contact Willow and Elsmeth. He only hoped the glamour would hold, at least until they were out of London. As long as they were in the air, Buffy and Spike had that much more time to escape and hide. He was willing to risk his life to ensure their continued safety. After that, he'd take his chances with Travers. The way he felt about the man, Giles was certain he could hold his own.
