Ed Becerra
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor seek to make a profit from, all characters and situations belonging to or related to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", which is owned in it's entirety by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, Inc.
--
"...the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason."
-- T.S. Eliot
--
"Why me?"
"Because you are able. And you have reason."
"And I should trust you?"
"Of course not! You'd be a fool to."
"Then tell me again why I should do this."
"Pride. MY pride, specifically."
"Eh?"
"Look here. I started this, the entire thing, out of pride. And my pride is more important to me than ANYTHING else. Why else would I put up with all that I do?"
"Okay, point. But what does that mean to me?"
"You're worried about the innocent. Fine. SO not the problem. I will abide by any oath you wish to avoid injury, physical OR spiritual, to the innocent. Even the guilty will only receive what they would normally end up with."
A long quiet moment.
"Will you explain to me what YOU get out of it, then?"
"I'll make my enemy look foolish. I'll make him admit that he was wrong and that I was right all along. Something you can understand."
"Yeah. Yeah. I guess I can."
Another moment.
"And on my part?"
"You get them both. You know as well as I that they didn't deserve what they got. What happened to them was a triumph of rule book law over true justice. Amusing, seeing as it came from him. That's usually my sort of thing. But they're in my dominion now. And as they're in my dominion, they're mine to do with as I please. And it pleases me to give them over into your dominion, no strings attached."
"And if They don't like it?"
"Fuck those self-righteous bastards and the horses they rode in on."
A quiet snort.
"There's a feeling I can get with. Most definitely."
"Then you'll do it?"
"I will. But if you're scamming me, prepare for an eternal room-mate. You know what I'm capable of, you wouldn't have come to me otherwise."
Laughter.
"Oh, trust me on this. I may twist the spirit of the bargain, but I never, EVER go back on the wording. Is it a deal?"
"It is. Will you provide transportation, or should I make my way there myself?"
"On your own, I think. You'll want to remain beneath the radar, so to speak, for as long as possible. They WILL notice you eventually, and while they can't do much to you, they'll try their best to make your life miserable in the hopes of distracting you while they get some bloody Champion warmed up in the bullpen to take you on."
"I can do that. And if I need to contact you?"
"Use the word 'Mariposa'. I'll hear it."
"Heh. Now THERE'S irony for you. Doctor Malcolm would approve."
"Thank you. It's so rare that anyone appreciates the little touches of elegance any more."
"Truth. If that's all...?"
"It is."
"Then I'll be on my way to Sunnydale."
"Oh... If you should happen to run into that traitorous bitch Jasmine, give her my regards."
"Now THAT will be a pleasure."
"Fare well. And good luck."
--
Sunnydale might have been merely the creation of Mayor Richard Wilkins as a feeding ground for his eventual Ascension, but his obsession with small town America and his generally affable manner (when he wasn't preparing for demonhood) meant that Sunnydale had every modern convenience that Wilkins could arrange for.
If it weren't for the fact of the Hellmouth, Sunnydale would have been an ideal place to live.
Even the bus station was clean and well kept.
The noon bus from Los Angeles pulled in, and a short square man got off. The driver unloaded what appeared to be a military footlocker from the luggage compartment, matching its ticket to the one the man was holding. Satisfied with the match, the footlocker was passed to its owner, while the driver set about the urgent business of refueling the bus and continuing on his way OUT of Sunnydale.
The man drew a few odd looks from passersby who noticed his unusual dress.
Most sensible folks in California did NOT wear buffalo-flannel shirts and twenty-weight Levi's in the heat of high summer, unless they were masochists in search of a nice case of heatstroke. This man not only appeared to be comfortable, he wasn't even visibly sweating as he marched briskly down the street, the footlocker resting lightly on one shoulder.
When the onlookers noticed that, they quickly stopped onlooking, and unobtrusively tried to be anywhere he wasn't.
Sunnydale denial was a powerful force, but only the stupid and the dead failed to listen to their instincts.
Some people noticed that he was whistling cheerfully as he walked along. A few recognize the song, and hearing the lyrics in their minds, shuddered and walked the other way.
"Another 40,000 coming everyday... We can be like they are..."
In Sunnydale, it was always better to be safe than sorry.
--
A hotel was quickly located and a room taken for the week.
"Your name, sir? With some ID?"
"Teddy Landsdowne. And here's my driver's license. Do the rooms have phones?"
"Yes, sir. Local calls are free, long distance is billed to your room."
"Acceptable. I'll need a phonebook for the city of Los Angeles,
if you have one available."
"No problem, sir. I'll have one brought up to your room just as soon as you're settled in."
"Thank you."
The short man walked away, whistling. The clerk - who secretly enjoyed country & western music - frowned at the choice of music. It made him feel... uneasy. But a customer was a customer. It wasn't his place to judge them provided their money was green.
"Thirteen months and fifteen days... The last ones were the worst..."
--
After unpacking the footlocker, the short man sat down to the desk, quickly flipping through the LA phone book that the desk clerk had so promptly provided.
"W's... W's... Walker... Wilson... Ah. Wolfram & Hart. Why do they keep changing the damned numbers?"
He dialed the number, which was answered on the first ring.
"Wolfram & Hart, Attorneys at Law, how may I direct your call?"
"I have an account with your firm under the name of Henry Charles Landsdowne. I would appreciate it if you would inform whomever is currently assigned to my account to contact me, in person, at my current residence at the Sunnydale Ramada Inn."
"I'm afraid that may take some time, sir," replied the phone receptionist.
"You have one hour to get the person assigned to my account to reach me by phone. You have three hours to have one of them here in my room in person. Failing that, I will personally inform the Senior Partners that I'll be taking my business elsewhere."
The shocked silence at the other end of the line made him smile.
"I.. ahh.. sir? Personally, sir?"
"Yes, I said personally. Now if you'll kindly start things moving from your end? I'm currently residing in room 237 of the Sunnydale Ramada Inn."
"Ahh... thank you, sir. I'll be certain to deal with this MOST promptly."
"Excellent." A cold smile crossed his face. "Do have a nice day."
--
Lindsey MacDonald was an extremely nervous man. Possibly the most junior of the lawyers in the firm of Wolfram & Hart at the moment, he'd been assigned a number of the inactive accounts, accounts that the firm was certain wouldn't be in use any time soon.
Now, thanks to a phone call from the blue, he was being stuffed into a Bell Jet Ranger and rushed to the small, unimportant city of Sunnydale, apparently to pacify an irate client.
And his instructions made it QUITE clear that said "pacification" could take any form the client wished it to. Up to and including Lindsey becoming a piece of snack food.
He flipped through the documents in desperation, trying to find any errors that the previous lawyers assigned to this account might have made that would irritate their client. He could find none.
That made him all the more nervous. An irate client might just decide to tear his head off. Literally. Or worse, complain about the choice of lawyers assigned to his account. Such a complaint could reach the Senior Partners. In which case, Lindsey would much PREFER that the client tear his head off. It would be far less painful that way.
The Jet Ranger was coming in for a landing at the Sunnydale Airport. Lindsey glanced at his watch. He had one hour left before the deadline expired. He suppressed a shudder at the images his word choices had evoked, then tried to calm himself. He had more than enough time to reach the hotel.
Now, if he could only calm his client. He might just survive this career debacle.
--
Lindsey had been frightened. Now he was frightened and extremely confused. The man he'd come to see, the man who'd managed to throw an entire branch office of Wolfram & Hart into a panicked frenzy, was busy pottering about in the hotel room's kitchenette, fixing coffee.
Not just any coffee, either. No. He was filtering the water carefully ("Chlorine in the water, you know... ruins the delicate flavor of the beans. Nasty stuff, really."), hand-grinding the beans, and actually taking the temperature of the water with a small digital thermometer.
Mr. Landsdowne ("Call me Teddy!") had immediately asked him to make himself comfortable while he fixed them both something to drink before discussing anything.
In MacDonald's experience, only two sorts of clients acted this way. The utterly harmless... and those so lethally dangerous, they didn't feel any need to project a threatening aura.
Lindsey immediately chose to assign this being to the second category. Better safe than sorry, when sorry meant dead. Or worse.
When his client sat down, he passed Lindsey a cup of coffee, and reached for a flat manilla envelope, extracting several 8x10 glossy photographs from it.
"I have a list of people here, one from Los Angeles. The rest from here in Sunnydale." The client noted Lindsey's reaction. "Yes, I'm aware of the Hellmouth, counselor. It's of no import to me at this time."
He spread the photos across the table like a hand of cards for Lindsey to inspect.
"I want these people placed under observation, and I expect weekly reports. Under no circumstances are the observers to be spotted."
"That's easily done, sir," nodded MacDonald.
"Additionally - and I recognize this WILL engender conflict - I want all of these people placed under a protected status. Their health and well being is essential to my project, Mr. MacDonald."
The lawyer hesitated. "That... may possibly interfere with some ongoing projects, sir. I can't assure them protection until I've checked with senior management."
"I understand that, counselor. In the event that my agenda conflicts with that of another major client, all I expect from Wolfram & Hart is a neutral stance, while the other client and myself settle things between us. I would, however, appreciate it deeply if W&H were to inform both sides of the conflict of interest before it devolves into open warfare. I'd like to think that I can, with W&H's help, settle any differences without the... ahh... accidental exposure of certain covert activities to public scrutiny."
MacDonald blinked several times at this display of affability. Perhaps he'd actually get out of this situation alive?
"I understand, sir. We can make just such arrangements, and even offer third party mediation of any such disputes, if you would so prefer."
"Excellent, counselor, excellent! While the old adage of 'violence has never solved anything' has been disproved again and again, I still prefer to bargain first. It's a sign of strength, not of weakness. After all, in a true bargain, both parties benefit. This does not mean that I'm averse to violence, however. It's just that it's so blasted difficult getting gore out of one's clothing. And have you TRIED finding a dry cleaners who doesn't ask awkward questions about why you have several dozen bullet holes in your sports coat?"
Lindsey coughed as some coffee went down the wrong way. His client helpfully patted him on the back until he recovered.
"Uhh.. I believe I can help you with that too, sir." Lindsey's mind worked fast. He had an small opportunity here to score points. He reached into his wallet and extracted a card. "W&H's Corporate Services, sir. They assist all W&H employees with unusual and exotic requests and needs. I'm certain they can help you with such a minor problem."
"Why,
thank you, young man! That's most generous of you. It's always
been a pet peeve of mine. I'm rather set in my ways, you
understand, and it's difficult to get used to things when I move.
The bartenders
never know how to mix my drinks, it's impossible to find my favorite
cigars, the laundry always puts far too much starch in my clothing.
those sorts of things."
"I fully understand, sir. It's always the little annoyances that tend to build up on a person."
"Indeed. And back to business." He picked up the first photo. "Ms. Buffy Summers. You might recognize her from that recent incident of the gymnasium fire at Hennery High School. What you may not be aware of is that she's the current incarnation of the Slayer."
"I didn't know that, sir."
His client nodded. "The police are already talking about psychiatric evaluation and observation, to include several weeks in an institution for the violent. Put an end to that."
"Sir?"
"Start pulling strings, counselor. She isn't to be evaluated, nor is she to be incarcerated. Club whomever you need to."
Lindsey nodded. "Yes, sir. Her parents, sir?"
"Her father's absent. Her mother honestly thinks that her child is mentally disturbed, as Ms. Summers made the understandable error of mentioning vampires. You'll need to deal with that. I suggest implying that Ms. Summer's statements were a deliberate - if somewhat inept - attempt at a cover story, and strongly hint that anyone who digs deeper into WHY Ms. Summers burned down the gym might end up taking a long vacation at a Federal facility, courtesy of those fun folks at Langley, Virginia."
MacDonald raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"No need to worry, counselor. I have matters at that end taken care of as well. But if you feel the need, contact the W&H branch in Washington, DC and make any arrangements required."
Lindsey nodded. "Are there any other immediate concerns, sir?"
"Yes," nodded his client, picking up three more photos. "These three young people. I'm given to understand that they may come under the scrutiny of the Master, and his hand-picked favorite, Darla. That ENDS."
"Sir?"
"They're off-limits, counselor. To the Master, to Darla, to any and every vampire in town. And Mayor Wilkins is to be warned off as well. In fact, I'd like you to both warn him, and arrange for a meeting with him for me." The client frowned slightly, and took a sip of his coffee. "A peaceful meeting, that is. A face to face. At the moment I have no issues with his plans for Ascension. I'd like for him to know that, so that we don't come to blows unnecessarily."
"Yes, sir. We can arrange that meeting for you," nodded Lindsey nervously. "But you do understand that what you're doing may come into conflict with some plans made by the Senior Partners."
"Yes, I am quite aware of that, counselor. And when you return to LA, you will pass this message up the chain of command."
"Sir?"
"This is official, counselor. The Senior Partners are to be informed that the changes I have made are made at the request of the Chairman of the Board and Majority Stockholder. Is that clear?"
Lindsey dropped his coffee cup.
--
Several hours later, a great deal of business had been done. MacDonald had chosen to take a room for the night at the Ramada rather than waste time on the trip back and forth to Los Angeles. It would reduce the time required to tend to his client's requests, and from the word that had come from the Head Office, his latest client's happiness was of paramount importance.
Not being a fool, Lindsey had quickly excused himself to make a call on his cell phone, a request the client had cheerfully granted. Sitting in the hotel's restaurant, Lindsey had phoned the office and passed along the request, as well as the information his client wanted forwarded to the Senior partners.
It had taken only slightly more than two cups of coffee, about fifteen minutes, for his panicked supervisor to return his call with urgent instructions to assure the client that there would be NO problems whatsoever in filling his needs, nor would there be any resistance from the Senior Partners against any changes Mr. Landsdowne might choose to make in or around the town of Sunnydale.
This only made the hollow feeling in the pit of Lindsey's stomach grow to an even larger size.
What had he become involved in?
He stopped at the front desk and took the first available room at the hotel. Then once back at his client's suite, he did his best to make certain any and all needs that Mr. Landsdowne had would be met promptly and in full.
To the lawyer's initial surprise, the majority of his client's needs seemed no different than that any common lawyer might encounter. Mr. Landsdowne's first request was for the name of a reputable real estate agent so that he might purchase a house in the Sunnydale area, and the addresses of businesses to prepare it for turn-key occupancy. Very little surprising there.
But the list of items that Mr. Landsdowne wanted quietly procured - they gave Lindsey pause. Many were obscure, all were unusual. Even for an employee of a firm of evil lawyers quite familiar with the supernatural.
"Sir, I don't know if this item is even available any longer."
"Probably not, counselor. The De Lisle carbine was a limited production item, even at the height of the war. Try contacting Barnaby Walter in Great Britain. Failing that, try the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Exterieure, or the Deuxième Bureau in France. If you still can't find one, have one custom made. I'll pay the additional costs."
"That could be quite expensive, sir, are you certain-"
Lindsey stuttered to a stop at that point, his eyes fixed on the fist-
sized flawless blue diamond his client was holding up for his perusal.
"I think this should cover it nicely. If not, I have more. It's only carbon, after all."
"I.. ahh.. I believe that should be more than sufficient, sir. What would you like done with any surplus funds, should there be any?"
Landsdowne shrugged. "Consider them a gratuity, counselor. I don't believe in muzzling the ox that treads the grain, so to speak. I don't mind a little bill padding either, so long as it's clearly understood that it's to be limited to the level of tipping. AND provided that it doesn't get in the way of my current business. Anyone gets greedy enough to ruin what I'm doing, and they won't like the result."
"Quite understandable, sir. Quite understandable."
--
Days passed, and MacDonald had done his best for his new client. The trouble wasn't what he was doing, or even what he hadn't done.It was that bitch, Lilah.
Word had gotten around the office of a powerful account that had just become active again, after an untold time spent dormant. And dear Lilah wanted it for herself. She was doing her level best to sabotage his work, and make it look to be the result of his own incompetence. Every time he turned around, one of her personal toadies was there, ready to take advantage of even his slightest slip.
And if he slipped too far...
This account was simply too important to the Senior Partners. If they blamed him, or simply decided he wasn't skilled enough, he'd be retired.
Lindsey hurried to the hotel room where his client waited, briefcase in hand, with the ownership papers for a hotel in LA. He had no idea why Mr. Landsdowne wanted to own the decrepit wreck, much less spend as much money as he was to have it restored to its glory days, but the client was always right.
"I'm terribly sorry I'm late, sir. I take full responsibility."
Mr. Landsdowne looked him over closely. "Not true, son. Now, try again, and I want the truth."
Lindsey froze.
"Counselor, I'm a great many things, but one thing I'm not. I'm not the sort of idiot who ignores the rules of the game. And at the moment, I think Rule #32 and Rule #45 apply, son."
"Sir? I-"
"You are probably quite confused. For your edification, rule #32 is,
simply put, 'I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who
brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good
messengers are hard to come by.' Rule #45 is even simpler. 'I will
make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for
what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will
not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for
failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.' Now,
tell me what the problem is, I'll investigate, and try to correct
it."
Lindsey's jaw sagged slightly in stunned disbelief.
"Counselor? If you would?"
MacDonald took a deep breath and reluctantly explained the current status of office politics among the junior attorneys in Wolfram & Hart.
"So, this Lilah Morgan has decided to climb the business ladder using your back as a stepping stool. Has anyone explained to her that what I'm doing is far more important than her pathetic little career ambitions?"
"I've tried, sir. She feels that once she's handling your account, she can..." Lindsey's voice trailed off, uncertain as to how he could phrase the next bit without dying.
"That she can start handling me, perhaps?" Mr. Landsdowne's voice had turned bitingly cold, and Lindsey felt a icy tendril of fear work its way up his spine.
"I didn't mean to imply..."
"Not your fault, counselor. I've seen this sort of thing before. I'll deal with it. Call the head office, and inform them I want to see Ms. Morgan. Immediately. I want her here before sundown. And Mr. MacDonald?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Feel free to gloat. Not too much. But some."
Lindsey swallowed hard. He'd just dodged a bullet. Lilah, though...
--
Lilah practically skipped as she exited the helicopter. The new client had sent for her personally. She was almost giddy with anticipation. Her campaign against that fool MacDonald had worked. She had the new client in the palm of her hand.
At the moment, the only cloud in her blue sky was the fact that she was unable to access his files. The last time she had tried to do so, the brute squad from Wolfram & Hart's Internal Security division had arrived at her office door and politely informed her that the next attempt she made would be the last attempt of her life.
Obviously, Mr. Landsdowne was far more important that she'd thought. Which made it all the more important to get this client under her control. With his backing her rise to the top would be unstoppable.
A limo was waiting for her at the landing pad, the driver
explaining that he'd been sent to pick her up by Mr. Landsdowne
himself. She had a difficult time restraining a smug smile.
Perhaps she'd impressed him already?
She made idle plans involving Lindsey as her personal flunky. It would be... amusing to see him reduced to shuffling papers and making coffee for her in her new corner office.
She couldn't wait.
--
"Mr. Landsdowne? I'm Lilah Morgan. May I take a moment to tell you how thrilled I am to be taking over your account?"
She frowned slightly, as the man didn't look quite like the photograph one of her toadies had managed to sneak of him. His hair was grey. An odd shade of grey. Being a woman of great personal grooming, she was very familiar with hair. Normally, grey hair was an illusion, caused by all white hairs mixed with black. His, however... each individual hair was a strange shade of battleship grey.
It also seemed to be a theme. He was.. grey. Grey shoes and socks. Grey slacks. A grey turtleneck pullover, and a grey leather jacket.
He waved for her to take a seat.
"Firstly, Ms. Morgan, why do you think you're taking over my account with Wolfram & Hart?"
"Well, sir, given Mr. MacDonald's demonstrated incompetence over the past several days, I assumed that you wanted him replaced as your attorney of record. That IS what you've called me here for, isn't it?"
"No, it is not. I've called you here to give you an opportunity to explain why you've been sabotaging Counselor MacDonald's efforts on my behalf." The words were demanding, yet his tone light. "Would you care to explain yourself, or do I need to extract the information for myself? And while you're about that, please tuck your teats back into your blouse before they fall out. Waving your assets in my face will do little more than air-cool them for you and moderately annoy me."
"Sir, I have no idea what you're talking about!" Lilah pasted a carefully crafted expression of confused innocence on her face.
"Ms. Morgan, I'm an equal opportunity employer. I do not discriminate on basis of gender, skin color, religion or lack thereof, or even species. All that matters to me is that the beings I employ are able to successfully perform the tasks I set before them. However, I do deeply resent it when an evil lawyer - or even a GOOD lawyer, should such a mythical beast exist - assumes that I'm a blithering idiot with the observational skills of a piece of road kill." He nodded towards the second room of the hotel suite. "Mr. MacDonald? If you would?"
Lindsey came through the door, took a seat opposite Lilah, and gave a short, but detailed, list of the actions Morgan had taken to discredit him.
"And your answer to this, Ms. Morgan?"
"He's obviously trying to hide his inept handling of your
account by attempting to pass the blame on to me, sir"
Butter would have frozen solid inside of Lilah's smiling
mouth.
"I thought that might be your answer, Ms. Morgan. Mr. MacDonald?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Please call the LA office. Ms. Morgan will need some assistance returning to her office."
Lilah took a nervous step back. "Please, sir, there's no need for violence. If you wish for Mr. MacDonald to continue on as the attorney of record for your account, I have no intention of contesting your wishes."
The grey man smiled. "The only problem with that, Ms. Morgan, is that you've already lied to me once. I don't have problems with people lying, but when they lie to me, that's a problem. I can't trust you, and I'm quite certain that you have some intentions of trying some other way to work yourself into my good graces. The Senior Partners have already alerted me to your attempts to access some of my more... confidential information. That was strike one. You attempted to sabotage my project, a project I've undertaken at the EXPRESS wish of the Chairman of the Board. That was strike two. You've lied to me about that attempt, and you're continuing to lie to me now. That is strike three." He paused. "I assume you're familiar with baseball, Ms. Morgan?"
Lilah couldn't move, frozen by those terrible grey eyes. "Sir, I'm - I'm sorry, I'll make amends, I'll do anything you wish."
"I'm certain you mean that now, Ms. Morgan. But as soon as you leave here, you'll no doubt change your mind. I need to see to it that you do not."
Without seeming to move, he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Look at me, Ms. Morgan. And understand."
She didn't even have time to scream.
--
Lindsey MacDonald wanted to run. He wanted to run desperately. Only the thought that doing so might earn him the same fate as Lilah kept his feet where they were. He looked down at his co-worker, who was curled up in a fetal position on the carpet, whimpering wordlessly. His client caught his eye.
"No need to fear, Counselor. As I said before, I try to have both a clear understanding of the Table of Organization, and I try to AVOID being the sort of idiotic drama queen so many of the other clients of Wolfram & Hart seem to be. I see no useful purpose in killing someone if they've made an honest mistake. I'm more concerned with loyalty, hard effort, and the ability to be part of a team, not a self-serving pathetic waste of skill like Ms. Morgan here."
"I - I, uh.. that is.."
"You're perhaps wondering what it was I did to her, and if it's safe for you to even be thinking that question?"
Lindsey went for the safest policy. Total honesty. "Yes, sir.
I am."
"Well, you finish that call to the LA office, and get a clean-up crew here to take Ms. Morgan back home. If memory serves, she has a contract in perpetuity with Wolfram & Hart. That's the primary reason she's not dead."
"Yes, sir." He pulled out his cell, phoned for a retrieval squad, and informed his direct superiors that Ms. Morgan had apparently offended a client, who had then taken direct action to deal with the insult. His superiors didn't sound surprised.
"They'll be here directly, sir."
"Excellent, Counselor. Now, you had questions?"
"Yes, sir. I - ah - what exactly happened to Lilah?"
Mr. Landsdowne walked to the table in the room, picking up a small bottle. "I really should use some Grecian Formula, you know. They know what I look like, unfortunately."
"They, sir?"
"Them, Counselor." Ted pointed a finger skyward.
"Oh."
"Fortunately, they're somewhat clueless. They go searching for people who are concealing their appearance with a glamour, and never stop for a single second to consider something as simple and mundane as hair dye. Pathetic, really. Why use an artillery round to kill an insect?" He favored the lawyer with a mildly annoyed frown. "But there you have it. They're all drama queens, more obsessed with HOW they do the job, than actually getting the job DONE. It's as if their entire philosophy is little more than 'It is better to look good than to feel good.'"
Lindsey blinked. "Then this is your... ah... real appearance, sir?"
"More or less. The clothing's a uniform. I don't particularly care for it, but it comes with the job. The hair, too. Fortunately, I don't have to wear the clothing most of the time, and the hair's easy enough to take care of. But back to your questions. You were wondering what I did to her."
"Yes, sir," nodded MacDonald.
"I gave her Understanding," said the grey man. He frowned at the confused
look on Lindsey's face. "Think of it this way. The Creator knows and
understands everything, supposedly, by definition. He did, after all,
make it."
"Yes, sir."
"Lesser beings have lesser levels of understanding. That applies to both the Ascended and the Fallen, as well as Those Who Stand Aside."
Lindsey nodded again. "I can see where that would apply, yes, sir."
"What I did was to 'raise her clearance level', so to speak. For a few seconds there, I allowed her to see things from my vantage point. A brief glimpse only."
"Then her mind is-"
"No, Counselor. It's not gone. She's just in a form of catatonic withdrawal and denial. She'll recover, eventually. She has her own part to play in this little farce, a part that's important enough on its own level. It would be annoying to have to groom a substitute for her role. As is, by the time she's recovered, she'll have learned enough humility to better serve my purposes." Mr. Landsdowne clapped his hands together as if to rid them of some dust. "Now that this minor matter is settled, I need a status report."
Lindsey nodded briskly. "Yes, sir. First, the Hyperion Hotel has been successfully purchased. Renovation crews have been hired, and will proceed to restore the entire hotel beginning next Monday."
"Ideal, Lindsey, ideal. However, be forewarned that there are a few supernatural nasties lurking in the hotel. Take the appropriate safety measures. It's hard to hire good skilled workers if you allow them to be eaten alive while on the job. And I want the work done skillfully. No half measures."
"Understood, sir." The lawyer pulled out a pad and started taking notes. "Your De Lisle carbine will arrive in LA later tonight, along with several hundred rounds of the custom ammunition you requested. It will be shipped to Sunnydale by overnight express and will be ready for your inspection and approval tomorrow morning. Your house is prepared, and needs only your signature on these documents. I have the keys with me. All of the utilities have been turned on, water, electricity, gas, telephone, cable..."
--
Lindsey looked around the foyer of the small, yet elegantly appointed house he'd obtained for his client. Located in a quiet, out of the way area of Sunnydale, it didn't attract attention, which is what his client wanted.
Several trucks had come and gone, leaving the house furnished and in a 'turn-key' condition, ready for immediate habitation. Lindsey nodded in approval, and noted that the moving teams had finished in under the time limit, earning the bonus Mr. Landsdowne had instructed him to offer. He'd have to get right on that. Mr. Landsdowne appreciated prompt action, and believed in properly rewarding his employees.
He snapped open his cell, and phoned the Ramada.
"Sir? Yes, sir. The house is ready. The crew from Corporate Services has come and gone. Your... special... items have been stored according to your wishes, the wards are erected, and they have been tested. If you like, I can send a car and you can take possession immediately."
The young lawyer nodded at the response. "Yes, sir. I'll remain on site until your arrival." He snapped the phone shut, replacing it in his jacket pocket. Today had been a particularly good day for the young solicitor. His client was quite happy with his performance, he'd managed to achieve all his goals to date. He'd even earned a letter of approval in his personnel file from one of the Senior Partners over how successfully he'd handled such an important,yet difficult, account.
Best of all, that bitch Lilah was in a straight jacket at a facility controlled by Wolfram & Hart, babbling nonsensically about 'Kadath' and 'the Gate of the Silver Key' and 'Umr at-Tawil'. It made him want to break out in happy gloating chuckles.
Although he was a little uneasy about the fact that his superiors at the LA offices had several stenographers taking down everything she said, sealing the filled pads with the strongest wards available and sending them directly to the central offices of W&H.
He thought about that for a moment, and made a mental note to see to upgrading the personal wards on his apartment and adding some wards to his car, if possible. One could never be too careful, as Mr. Landsdowne was fond of saying.
--
"Excellent, Lindsey, excellent!"
MacDonald smiled, a small touch of pride evident in his face as he watched Mr. Landsdowne walk through the house, inspecting each room. All of his client's requests had been fulfilled successfully, even the most esoteric ones, and they'd been done nearly a full week AHEAD of schedule.
"As requested, we brought in a crew with an earthmage to extend the basement, sir. You now have a hidden, underground room that's 14 by 21 feet in size, and undetectable to anyone outside of Wolfram & Hart. Those items you requested that might be, ahh, unfavorably looked upon by local law enforcement have been stored there in lieu of any instructions to the contrary."
Mr. Landsdowne nodded. "Are there any further updates to the condition and position of the Slayer?"
Lindsey checked his notes. "Yes, sir. As per your instructions, we have quietly assisted Joyce Summers in her efforts to purchase a home and gallery here in Sunnydale, doing so from behind the scenes. Her new address is 1630 Revello Drive. Buffy Summers will be attending her first day at Sunnydale High School on Monday next week."
"And the vampire formerly known as Angelus?"
"We had a little difficulty tracing him at first, sir. However, by tracking the Balance Demon known as Whistler, we were led straight to him. He's currently in Sunnydale, having set up in a small mansion in the wealthier section in town."
"Good. Set someone to watch him and report. Preferably someone who can keep from being eaten by the local nightlife. Or spotted by Angel. He might have a human soul now, but that doesn't necessarily make him stupid."
Lindsey made a note of that. "I believe Special Services can accommodate that, sir."
"Well done, Counselor. Now for the first part of your reward."
"Sir?" asked Lindsey nervously.
"I'm going to need long term legal services while I'm working on this project for the Chairman of the Board. And I really can't afford the waste of time inherent in sending people back and forth between Los Angeles and Sunnydale."
"I don't quite understand, sir."
"It's really simple, Counselor. Wolfram & Hart is about to open a minor branch office in Sunnydale. And YOU, Lindsey, are to head that branch."
MacDonald's eyes widened in surprise.
"I... Sir, I don't quite know what to say!"
"Say 'Yes, sir, thank you, sir', and accept with grace, Counselor. You're a gifted lawyer, and you've served me efficiently, without complaint. Nor have you attempted to pry, unlike certain other solicitors I could mention."
"I... Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I take it you've already spoken to the Senior Partners about this?" asked Lindsey, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Indeed I have. As soon as you report back to the hotel, call back to the LA office. They'll start the ball rolling to get office space here in Sunnydale, as well as a personal staff for you."
"This could make my career, sir."
Mr. Landsdowne smiled. "I expect it would, son. As I've said, I don't believe in pinching pennies where loyal, effective employees are concerned. Now, you go take care of that. I'm going to settle in, then I intend to have a brief discussion with a certain pedophillic vampire."
"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir." MacDonald was ecstatic.
"But remember, I'll expect to see you bright and early next Monday morning. That's when this project will really kick off."
--
It was amusing to watch the streets of Sunnydale as the sun slipped inexorably below the horizon. The people living in the city would deny to their dying breaths that the supernatural existed - most of them, anyway. Yet their actions belied their claims. Glances around became sharper and more nervous. Paths through the town were chosen not for efficiency and speed, but for how close they could keep one to areas of potential safety.
It made the grey man smile.
He began to sing softly. Almost inaudibly.
"...From out of the shadows she walks like a dream
Makes me feel crazy, makes me feel so mean
Ain't nothin' gonna save you from a love that's blind
When you slip to the dark side you cross that line..."
Pedestrians began to quickly edge away from him. He found it entertaining to witness their efforts to escape something they refused to admit existed.
Stepping up his pace, he headed for the mansion that the ensouled vampire had claimed for a lair. It was long since time to have an enlightening conversation with the spineless putz and the short-sightedly violent thug he shared a body with.
Besides... the Powers had annoyed him for long enough. They deserved to feel some of the frustration and anger they'd freely visited upon others. The difficulties that an early revelation of his presence might cause would be worth the trouble. And it would throw most of their plans for the immediate future straight into the crapper.
Oh, yes. More than worth the cost.
"Oh, just wait till Ratboy gets a load of me. Heheheh."
--
Angel woke to the sound of hammerblows against his front door, and barely suppressed the urge to kill someone. Damn it, couldn't a man have a little peace and quiet in which to brood?
Wasn't it enough that the damned gypsies had cursed him with his own soul, yet left the demon inside him? Wasn't it enough that the Powers That Be decided he'd make an excellent Champion, and sent him the message by way of a Balance Demon with all the fashion sense of a pimp escaped from a 70's blacksploitation film?
He was beginning to think that the demon lurking in the depths of his unbeating heart might - for once - have a point. It did seem as if there were people whose greatest contribution to society could be made only AFTER they'd been converted to fertilizer.
He took a quick look at the clock, noting that the sun was safely set.
"I swear, if it's another damned salesman, I'm going to punt him into the nearest graveyard. Don't these fools realize how dangerous this town is for humans?" he muttered to himself as he headed for the front door. "Damned suicidal lemmings, every last one of them..."
That's when the door exploded into the main foyer of the mansion, spraying splinters in all directions, the flying wood just barely missing its chance to turn the former Angelus into a pile of dust.
Seeing what looked to be a normal human reduce a door made of solid oak to a pile of kindling wood caused Angel to make an understandable error in judgement. He immediately assumed that a minion had decided to make a try for mastery by staking the infamous Angelus.
Grabbing a stake and a pistol, he opened fire at the minion's head, hoping to slow it down enough that he could stake the snot-nosed punk trying to ambush him.
His last confused thought before the back of his head hit the floor was 'damn, he's fast for a minion. I wonder who sired him?'
--
"Wakey, wakey, bloodsucker!"
Angel flinched at the touch of water hitting his face, realizing a second later that it couldn't be holy water, or his face would be burning in agony. He opened his eyes.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man in the grey leather jacket laughed. "Aren't you in the wrong position to be demanding answers instead of giving them, Liam?"
The vampire carefully tested the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. They weren't the simple steel used by human police. Whatever they were, they seemed to be doing a competent job of restraining him.His arms were bound to his waist, his legs shackled together with just enough give to allow him to shuffle, but not to run.
"So who turned you? Who's your Sire?"
"Again with the questions," sighed the stranger. "You're rather mouthy for a vampire. Oh, forgive me... a REFORMED vampire. We mustn't forget the niceties. It's what keeps us civilized."
Angel shook his shackled arms. "You call this civilized?"
"Just because you might intend to kill someone doesn't mean you have to be RUDE about it, boy. Besides, those bindings are strictly temporary. I mean to have a talk with you, and you WILL pay attention. I find restraint devices help focus one's attention wonderfully. I'm told Angelus thought much the same."
"I'm NOT Angelus," snarled the vampire.
"I know. And that's what we're here to talk about, boy." The stranger's eyes sharpened. "So, listen up, if you want to continue your unlife. I'm well aware of your recent visit from the demon with the atrocious fashion sense. I'm familiar with the fact that the Powers That Be plan on shaping you into some sort of Champion for their cause."
"And you want to prevent that, is that what this is about?"
"No. And if you can't say anything sensible, don't say anything at all. Just listen."
The stranger began to pace as he spoke. "There are a few things Whistler didn't tell you, because the Bastards That Be didn't see fit to tell him. Not that you've been lied to. Everything said was the literal truth, in one form or another. Now, show me that you have half a working brain, and tell me what that implies."
Angel intended to snap back with something flip and annoying, in the hopes of provoking this intruder into a mistake. But before he could, memories of Angelus' past caused him to think of all the times that Angelus had made a minion, then sent the minion off as a disposable bit of cannon fodder, telling the minion only what little he needed to know to accomplish the mission.
"That I'm expendable, you mean? I'm already aware of that."
"Then you're a fool. It's not that you're expendable, leech. It's that everyone ELSE is."
The cold weight of the stranger's conviction shook Angel. "What do you mean?"
"First of all, the Creator's big on Free Will and all that rot, boy. Second, the Powers were assigned to do the grunt work, so the Creator doesn't have to. Third, the Powers find that the Free Will which their Creator prizes so highly hinders them greatly in carrying out their duties. Finally, there are the words 'fait d'accompli'." The stranger glared at him. "But most important to YOU, vampire, is that the Slayer you're here to help is a cute young girl."
"So? ALL Slayers are cute young girls."
"Idiot. For someone under a gypsy curse, you're rather stupid. Didn't you ever bother to study the terms and conditions of your curse?"
"I-" Angel paused, and realized how utterly stupid his next few words would make him sound. "It.. never really occurred to me."
"Thought as much. That soul you're so proud of isn't as firmly attached as you'd like to think. Cute-looking Slayer of vampires. Reasonably good looking vampire, rougishly handsome in the Irish sort of way. Forbidden loves, star-crossed lovers, and all that sort of rot. Is any of this ringing a bell inside your brain-dead skull?"
"Oh, come on! You can't think I'll be stupid enough to fall in love with a SLAYER? Or that a Slayer can fall in love with ME! I'm a vampire, damn it, Slayers SLAY vampires!" protested Angel.
"Newsflash, leech. That's what the Powers intend to happen. What I said about Free Will? The Powers are trying to work their way around it, through third parties. That way, when the shit hits the fan, they can show the Creator a set of clean hands, and claim they never broke the rules. That it wasn't their fault if others fell to temptation and DID break the rules. That THEY subsequently took advantage of that to profit from the errors of others doesn't actually break the rules, though it bends them severely." The stranger's eyes blazed. "Their intention is to get humanity to screw up, then use that to get over."
"And you expect me to believe you over the Powers, given all that they've done for me?"
"No."
Angel's jaw worked silently for a moment. "Bwaaa?"
"I intend to get you to start THINKING, boy. Instead of just reacting. Try it sometime. You might find it a useful skill."
The stranger stopped pacing. "And just to drive the point home, as well as give your other half a little incentive to behave in the event that you, Liam, take a hike, there's this." He uttered a single word in a voice that sounded like curdled hellfire.
Angel felt the demon inside him flinch. It was impossible.
"That's right, leech. I have your True Name. Irk me, and I'll use it for a VERY special summoning ceremony. The knowledge of how to forge true Rune Weapons isn't totally lost. How'd you like to go through the rest of Eternity as a potato peeler, Angelus?" The insane smile on the intruder's face would have backed down Angel's grandsire.
He pulled a large plastic tag from the pocket of his jacket. "Here's the key to your cuffs. Keep them if you're of a mind to. I have plenty more where those came from." He pitched the key across the foyer and into the living room, behind a sofa.
"Have fun getting out of them, Ratboy. And remember... Eternity as a potato peeler should you get out of line. And that's if I'm in a good mood."
In a burst of misplaced bravado, Angel spoke out. "And if you're not?"
"Don't try me, boy. Or your bodymate there can spend Forever as an indestructable sex toy. I don't recommend that he try it."
With that cutting comment, the intruder walked out, leaving Angel to swear and struggle across the room to reach the key to his cuffs.
--
The grey man walked down the streets of Sunnydale, headed for his new house, whistling absently.
In Sunnydale, that's usually a bad idea. Things lurked in the darkness that considered humans their rightful prey.
Which was exactly what the grey man wanted.
A trio of vampires emerged from an alley, spotting a meal, and arguing over who got first bite.
A fourth vampire cowered in the shadows. Melvin had been a mistake. An error in judgement by a minion who'd been prone to them. In life, he'd been a linebacker on the Sunnydale football team, and in unlife,he found he missed the privilege of bullying around younger, weaker students.
His rather dimwitted solution was to turn the first school nerd he found outside after sunset.
His own sire found the thought of a minion creating minions of his own irritating. So the sire removed the source of the irritation, dusting the undead football player.
That left Melvin at loose ends. He'd been a small, frail intellectual in life, and when he was turned, the luck of the deal resulted in his corpse being possessed by a demon almost as pathetic as Melvin himself had been.
No Master had wanted him, no Sire wished to claim him. Melvin wandered the night as an oddity, feeding off of house pets and street animals.
That was about to change.
Melvin watched as the three larger, more powerful minions approached the human, two of them grabbing him by the arms, pinning him in place for the third.
His jaw sagged as the human's leg came up with such force, it not only crushed the leader's testicles, Melvin could clearly hear the sound of the leader's pelvic bone shattering like glass.
As the leader of the minions slipped to the ground, moaning in pain, his legs no longer able to suport him, the two followers immediately tried to subdue what they now believed to be another demon of some sort, disguised as a human.
It didn't work.
The human? demon? gripped the vampires' wrists with his own hands. With a twist of his shoulders, he slammed the two of them into each other, face first. One fell, unconscious. The second, wobbly, but still on his feet, tried to put up a fight. Their former victim, now their attacker, simply backhanded him across the face, breaking his jaw and sending teeth spraying across the street.
Melvin decided that whatever the thing in the grey leather jacket was, he wanted nothing to do with it. He eased deeper into the shadows, as quietly as he could, hoping that the ... thing... wouldn't notice him. He kept observing carefully. Information was valuable, something he could sell in return for fresh blood.
As soon as he felt it was safe to do so, he broke into a desperate run for Willie's bar.
Willie, at least, didn't card vampires, and Melvin needed a drink. The lyrics he'd heard floating in the air as the thing had dusted the three minions had tied his guts in knots.
--
Landsdowne smiled as he booted the third vampire in the head, crushing its skull and dusting it. He grinned as he heard the scurrying sounds of a fourth vampire desperately attempting to avoid notice.
He let it go. It never hurt to get the word out that some folks were NOT to be irritated.
He tapped his shoes against the edge of the curb to rid them of the annoying black ash that coated them, and continued on down the street, cheerfully singing under his breath.
"Why, I'm the top, the point, the end
I'm more than a lover, more than a friend
I am the power of pure desire
My magic will take you higher
Than you've ever been before
So follow me beyond the door
Of the stupid hopes and dreams you've got..."
--
Rumor's one of the few things in the world that can appear to exceed the speed of light. Melvin reached Willy's Alibi, on foot, less than fifteen minutes after the last of the trio of vampires had been dusted. Five minutes after that, he'd sold his eyewitness account of their deaths to Willy in return for a weeks' worth of blood. It would have been less, but Melvin had been cunning enough to settle for animal blood instead of human, and Willy had taken pity on him, recognizing a fellow victim in the pathetic vampire.
The story, along with the description of the creature who'd destroyed a trio of vampires without even appearing to make an effort of it, spread quickly after that. The less intelligent demons in the bar took the story as evidence that there was a new rival in town, one they'd have to force into the local pecking order.
The cannier ones realized that there were beings in town who'd want to be informed if something new and (apparently) powerful had arrived in Sunnydale. They immediately left to seek their masters.
The truly smart ones sat back and finished their drinks. They'd been around. They recognized the signs. What the pathetic vampire had witnessed hadn't been an attack, it was a challenge.
But to whom?
The status quo was about to change, and new battle lines would be drawn. And they would have to investigate carefully before they chose which side to take.
--
Lindsey approached the house with several folders in his briefcase. The first of the weekly reports were ready for his client's perusal,and he had no intention of being late. His star was already rising rapidly in Wolfram & Hart, and he had no intention of allowing it to hesitate in even the slightest degree by being less than prompt at all times.
"Ahh, Councilor! Are those the reports?"
"Yes, Mr. Landsdo..." His client held up one hand.
"Please, Lindsey. It's Teddy, at least when we're at my residence."
"I understand, sir," noted the lawyer. "I'm simply uncomfortable with the informality. I could develop bad habits. The main office, you understand."
The grey man nodded, smiling. "Quite. The Senior Partners DO tend to take themselves a little too seriously at times. They could learn much from a one-time acquaintance of mine."
"Sir?"
"Oh, merely something he once said to me, to the effect that 'A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.'"
"I'll make certain to remember that, sir. The reports?"
"Indeed." Landsdowne examined them closely. "I take it today is Ms. Summer's first day at her new high school?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent. Contact Special Services. I'm going to need a medium sized van, and several muscular aides who won't have any trouble restraining a vampire and returning it to its sire's residence. Get them a cell phone, provide me with the number, and have them waiting in the parking lot of the Bronze at least ten minutes prior to sunset."
Lindsey opened his own cell phone and issued the appropriate orders. "Will there be anything else, sir?"
"Not at the moment, Councilor, but thank you. I appreciate your assistance."
MacDonald nodded. "Your meeting with Mayor Wilkins is scheduled for this Thursday. I've taken the liberty of booking you a reservation at the best Italian restaurant in town, and requesting a private room for your conference with him."
"Thank you, Lindsey. It's always easier to speak with a person when you're breaking bread with them, as it were. Was there any trouble in obtaining his co-operation for this meeting?"
"No, sir. He's understandably cautious, as the firm has informed him that you're here at the request of certain... entities that he respects, but wishes to speak with you frankly, with the understanding that he has no more desire to see open warfare in the streets of his town than you do."
"Something we both can agree on. Helpful, as it's a point that we can build bridges upon. His attitude towards Heinrich Nest?"
"He'd much prefer that Nest be rendered impotent, but not removed at present, sir. Nest's current... incarceration, for lack of a better word, prevents the opening of the Hellmouth until Nest is extracted from it, and that suits Mayor Wilkins' purposes for the moment, sir."
"Awkward for my plans, but I thought that might be the case, and made allowances for it," nodded Landsdowne. "I'll simply have to make my first message to Nest a trifle more blunt than I'd previously intended."
--
The first day at Buffy Summer's new high school went much as it should. Friends met, and a nascent white knight managed to publically embarrass himself in front of her.
The schoolday ended as such things do, and new friends decided to meet at the local club.
The grey man watched carefully as Angel made his first approach to the Slayer.
"Don't turn your back on this. You've gotta be ready."
"What for?"
"For the Harvest."
"Who are you?"
"Let's just say... I have reasons of my own to hate vampires. And myself."
The grey man smiled as he eavesdropped. The first pebble had
fallen, and it had fallen in the direction he intended it to.
Now for the next pebble.
Let the avalanche begin.