More apologies! I spent a week in Portugal recently. Having worked myself almost into the ground I needed the break very badly indeed. It's funny, you never know how tired you are until you take a break – whereupon you sleep for 12 hours a day. I have had such a break and I feel a lot better. Here is the latest chapter, being somewhat of a filler for the next one, of which I can safely say: heh heh heh... (evil grin)
Many thanks to my invaluable Beta, Wendy.
Wolfram and Hart was a place that never slept. Parts of it didn't have eyelids for a start and other parts were not strictly speaking alive and not strictly speaking dead, so sleep was something that was rather an alien concept to those parts. It could be a bit confusing sometimes.
Holland Manners liked the place at night though. There was a sense of movement, of undercurrents, of... things happening. So much to do, much information to sift. One man's useless chaff was another man's gold nugget of data. He smiled quietly and sipped at his glass of Oban as he stared out of the window onto Los Angeles. The city that never slept either. The city that fed the branch of Wolfram and Hart that sat in it rather like a trapdoor spider, waiting for the next scurry of feet across the ground as something careless wandered its way.
And information got you the sound of that scurrying. Information was his specialty. Who was up, who was down, who was sideways. Who was watching his or her boss with hungry ambition, who was sliding down the path to indifference, who was focused and who was incompetent? It was all there in a hundred little facts and figures, in body language, real or faked, in expressions that often flashed across a face without the owner realising what they'd done, in language in memos, in phrases that set off landmines when uttered to the wrong person.
He put the single malt down and walked back over to his desk, where a trio of pale folders was waiting for his inspection. Three of his most brilliant subordinates were all displaying slightly worrying signs of losing their own focus. Lee Mercer had been sniffing around a rival firm. That was understandable, after all Lee was an ambitious soul and so far things were at the tentative stage, but if he took things too far then he would have to make a very messy example of him. Such a shame, the man was good, but that was life.
As for Lilah Morgan, she was showing signs of faulty judgment, especially when it came to picking subordinates. This was vital - you had to know who to choose to carry out a particular job and when to have them dropped over the side to sleep with the fishes - or the fish-man hybrids that had been seen off the coast of Malibu recently - when the police showed atypical signs of intelligent life. Her so-called 'master plan' to get the Book of Shadows out of the hands of those witches in San Francisco had backfired spectacularly when the demon thief she'd hired had bungled the job and gotten itself annulled. Literally.
Which left Lindsey. Who was showing classic signs of rediscovering the atrophied remains of his conscience. This wasn't too worrying - it happened to most of Wolfram and Hart's lawyers at some point in their careers. Hell, it had happened to him, once. But the key to a successful role at the firm was to realise that your career here was more important than anything else, like innocents. Although Lee and Lilah's collective conscience wouldn't have been larger than that of a brain-dead cockroach.
Ah well. Perhaps the Sunnydale excursion would make him realise that there was more to life than worrying about things. After all, Wilkins was a legend. You didn't meet a legend every day, did you?
"Ah, this sounds promising - Antarlya. Oh wait, that's a fish demon. Very ugly one as well. Damn." Rupert Giles put the book down with a sigh and removed his glasses so that he could massage the bridge of his nose. He had the start of a hell of a headache. Researching could be a real pain, he thought, especially when they were still trying to find out what the hell had happened three weeks ago. He sank back in his seat and looked over at the Jedi next to him. Xander's account of what had happened - the feeling of massive power and a demonic presence that had turned into a rather baffled human teenager. It was all very peculiar, but then so much of life on a Hellmouth was naturally peculiar per se.
At least they had the girl under observation. It would have been better to have her under lock and key, but as she seemed human at the moment and as it might not be a good idea to have her flee, they were playing this one by ear. That meant, first of all, going through a massive number of books to find out if she was in any of them. So far they hadn't had much luck.
"Giles, I might have something here," said Xander. "Anyarta, female demon, very powerful, likes cats and the beating hearts of living men. Oh wait, says here 'Deceased due to decapitation by shrapnel whilst sightseeing at the Battle of Kursk, 1943.' Nuts."
"Sightseeing at the Battle of Kursk?" came the query from Oz, who was balancing on one hand in a corner of the library. "How does that work?"
Looking over to the werewolf Giles smiled. "Oz, demons don't have exactly the same recreational pursuits as humans, although there is some overlap, like card games, and even some team sports. I'd hate to play rugby against some of the demon teams I've heard of though. No, World War Two was very popular with the demon community. They found it amusing to see the human race committing mindless atrocities and utilising such terrible weapons on itself. Of course that all changed after they realised that a tank could blow a hole in the biggest demon. And Hiroshima. And Hamburg. A lot of demons thought that they could take advantage of the war. They were unpleasantly disabused of that notion. The Watcher's Council... settled some scores here and there." He looked over at Xander. "Is he supposed to train and talk at the same time?"
The Jedi Knight looked up, an intent but amused smile on his face. "Yes, Giles. It's called multitasking. Trick will be doing three or more things at the same time - balancing your body, using the force and say singing, all at the same time. Teaches concentration." He nodded sharply. "He's doing well. He's going to be on sword training within another week or so. I'd like your permission to use the library when that starts. Get him off to a good start. Oh, here comes Buffy."
As the Watcher nodded the main doors opened and Willow and Buffy both entered. "Hi guys!" gushed Willow and Oz wobbled in the air slightly.
"Hey!" said Xander. "Focus! Feel the force, not your hormones."
"Yes, Obi-Wan," said Oz, waved with his free hand at his girlfriend and then closed his eyes. After a second he straightened his pose.
Willow turned to the table and put the book she was carrying down. "Sorry, Giles. I looked and I looked but all I found was a yucky demon called Anytarg the Black, who's dead, and the entry came with pictures that made me feel all... icky." She shuddered visibly and opened the book to a page marker covered in pictures of small ginger kittens with unfeasibly large eyes. Giles looked at the pictures of 'Anytarg chastising the unbelievers of Gorn on the day of the winter Solstice' and made a firm mental note not to eat any cheese before going to bed. God only knew what his dreams were going to be like otherwise.
"Indeed. Well, we'll keep looking. Oh, Buffy. I had a call from a Bishop Brennan in Rome earlier on. He wanted to thank you for saving those three priests from that gang of vampires. I don't think that he liked them very much - the priests I mean."
"Well they were kind of odd," said the Slayer. "The young guy kept asking me which..." she screwed up her face, "Filum, whatever that means, they were going to be in and the old guy kept staring at..." She blushed, "bits of me and saying words like 'Drink!' and 'Girrrls!' and the middle guy was your standard well-meaning loser."
"Well, the Bishop was very grateful. Well, he said he was at least. Anyway, now that you're here you can help us. Grab a book."
Buffy grabbed with a certain lack of enthusiasm. "We've been doing this for weeks now. It's dull. Dull Buffy is not a happy Buffy." She caught his gaze. "Okay, whinge over. Total study mode now. Good thing Faith's on Anya-spying detail right now. She hates dull as well."
"That may be, but we must find out what happened," admonished Giles. "I don't like the thought of someone unknown lurking out there." He thought for a moment about what he'd just said. "That was terribly trite, wasn't it?"
"I thought so," said Xander, turning his head to inspect a picture better. Then he shuddered. "Is that her head or her... oh God, can this thing get any worse?"
Chuckling, Giles pulled a new volume over. "Well, these are just the demons with inherent internal powers. I think we can soon rule these out if we can't identify her from these.
"No, it's more than possible that what we're dealing with is a creature that follows - or followed - the talismanic school of power. Which would explain a great deal."
Buffy and the others looked at each other. Then they looked back at the Watcher. "The what?"
"Buffy, have you never read the Watcher's Guide in detail? I mean cover to cover?" One look at her somewhat red face gave him an instant answer. "Oh dear."
He stood up and walked over to take up what he knew Buffy had described as his 'Watcher explains to dumb slayer' stance. "Very well. Simplifying things massively and cutting out a great deal of detail, there are, broadly speaking, three classes of power when it comes to demons and gods, three ways in which a being can project power." He paused and took a stab in the dark. "Have you ever read the Lord of the Rings?"
"Oh that. Yeah. Skanky evil ring, short guys, good guys, guys with big beards, bad orcs, insane former short guy, big battles, yadda yadda yadda, more big battles, ring ends up in volcano with lava that goes blup, skanky evil guys blow up, good guys win. That cover everything?"
He stared at her. "Blup?" he asked eventually.
"Kablooie, if you prefer."
He shuddered. "Buffy, I was the chairman of the JRR Tolkien Appreciation Club at my college. You'd have been... well, if you'd given that description back then people would not have been very happy and they would have probably thrown you in the nearest river."
He turned back to his explanation. "Yes, well, talismanic powers involve a god or demon pouring their power into one specific object, most typically a piece of jewellery, like a pendant or a ring. This has certain advantages. It can enable them to concentrate their power, for example. On the other hand if they lose that object, if it is stolen and then destroyed-"
"Or goes blup,"
"Or goes blup, thank you for the sound effects Buffy, then they can be severely weakened or even destroyed themselves. And if they were human before-"
Xander looked up at this. "Then they can be human again. That might explain a lot, Giles."
He shrugged. "Well it's one theory, anyway. And, and one worth exploring."
There was a pause, punctuated by several yucks of disgust from various people and one 'I think I'm gonna be sick' from Willow as various pictures were viewed and descriptions read.
Then a voice came from the corner of the room: "Giles, what are the other two types of power for demons and gods?"
He glanced over at Oz, who was still balancing but was now also tapping out what seemed to be a drum measure in the air with his free hand. "Well," he said with a sigh, "The second involves creatures such as these that internalise their power. In other words they are their power, which can make them extremely strong and at times almost indestructible. I use the word almost. They have certain limitations - if they meet a stronger power then they can be defeated. Vampires are good example of this type.
"The third type is both the most potentially powerful and the most... potentially draining. Some gods or demons rely totally on worship - the power of prayer. This can be immense. The more people believe in them, then the more power they have. There is, of course, a catch."
"People lose their faith," said Xander and Giles gave an internal smile. The man was progressing faster than he had hoped. If his long-term goal worked out then... well, things would be different.
"Well done, Xander. Yes, a significant loss in support can weaken a being that relies on this form of power. If there is a war that involves significant bloodshed, or a people are conquered and converted, then the dynamics change, a being can go from immense power to, well, not a lot. It's a dangerous path to tread."
He took his glasses off. "History is, is littered with peoples who worshipped gods that are no longer remembered. No longer thought of. There are no altars to Marduk any more, or Mithras. Ashur is gone, so are Bel, Toutatis, Lug, Jupiter, Poseidon, the list is, is almost endless. Not that such gods entirely vanish." Giles sighed reflectively.
"My cousin John is now an archaeologist but he trained as a potential Watcher with me. He was in Iraq on a dig before the Iran-Iraq war started in 1980, at the Tell that once was the Assyrian city of Assur, where the main temples to Ashur were situated before the city was utterly destroyed in the great disaster of 612 BC. One night there was a lunar eclipse and he was standing on the site of one of the temple courtyards to observe it when he heard... a voice. Wailing on the wind in Assyrian. Mourning the dead. It was Ashur, reduced to little more than a memory, a ripple of thought on the wind. What the author Terry Pratchett would call a small god, a spirit, little more than that. They're everywhere. Call them ghosts of gods."
The others visibly shivered and he chuckled dryly. "Probably a good thing. When people have different ideas about the same god, the effects can be... unsettling. Apparently there were so many priests to Jupiter by the time of Constantine that the poor creature was hopelessly insane and went around with two styli up his nose and his underpants on his head saying things like 'whibble whibble' in response to prayers. That's why Ethan ended up worshipping Janus. He was the only old roman god with his marbles still more or less intact and some power left. Apart from the Goddess, of course." He smiled. "Bona Dea."
Turning he caught their collective look of shock. "What? You believe in vampires and demons but not the old Gods? They were real, once."
"So every time you say something like 'By Jove' then..."
"Yes Buffy, you're calling on the god. Not that he's going to show up. Well, he might, but he'd, um, probably just say 'whibble' at you."
The Slayer looked bemused. "I'm so going to watch my language from now onwards."
There was a scrabbling noise and Giles turned to see Willow flipping through one of the largest books. "Hey," she said as she looked up, "That might explain this odd reference in this book to Anubis. Says that there were two different aspects to the god, two sides to him. It. Whatever."
Ah. Giles paused. "Willow, references to the Egyptian gods are always... somewhat confusing. The original gods were bad enough - it's very difficult to think coherently if you have the head of an ibis, plus the priests had a nasty habit of merging gods every now and then that just, well, sent them even more around the bend.
"But a second group also sprang up briefly around the time of the Fourth Dynasty, the ones that built the Pyramids of Giza. These... creatures is one way of describing them as they certainly weren't human, took on the names of the Egyptian gods and ruled a substantial part of the ancient world for close to a generation.
"They were not exactly popular. Thousands of people were vanishing, no one knows where too and eventually the hatred that these creatures were stirring up overwhelmed them. There was a massive revolt and they disappeared, never to be seen again. The Watcher's Council heard rumours of some kind of magical artifact that was used, but it gets a bit hazy, this was almost 4,000 years ago and the Egyptian priesthood of the time made the Vatican look like a bunch of feminist atheists. Very conservative and very secretive."
"So these nasty bad things just vanished?" asked Buffy. She groaned and tapped on the table. "Knowing our luck they'll reappear in our back garden tomorrow."
"Try and be more cheerful, Buffy."
He liked to be at his office first thing in the morning, and that meant dawn. Putting his briefcase carefully down to one side he sat at his desk and looked through the messages that had been left there. One from Mr Trick, his valuable vampire aide, on the nights' events. He might to have a word with the Catholic Church again about seminars in Sunnydale. Having vampires kill priests was all very fine and dandy, but if there were any foreign priests being killed then attention might be drawn to his city and that would not be fine and dandy. No siree bob. Having two damn slayers in town was bad enough, the last thing he wanted was for Camillo's damn special blessings group to arrive and do their work.
Hmmm... and another escorted truckload of supplies had been shipped in to the Initiative. He really should get more involved with sorting that out. Having the US military going around the place was never a good idea. He'd heard some interesting stories about recent events, some of which were disturbing. Not that they would pose a threat to him after his Ascension, which was getting closer and closer.
The Summers girl had been out again the previous night. It was a good thing that the First Evil had been thwarted, an all-out war between that thing and the Powers That Be would have brought far too much attention to the place. And Harris had been out with Summers. He leant back in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers together. That one was a doozy. At first he'd accused Trick of having had a few hits at the local vampire bar, but when he saw the video... well, he was impressed. Much as he despised Rayne's anarchism - damn it, you needed a little order! - the concept had been brilliant. The after-effects had not. A Jedi in Sunnydale. Very freaky. Killing him would not be easy. Ah well, he'd think of something.
What else.... oh, Bob The Damned was back in town. What a shame, but he had been warned, hadn't he? Too bad but Trick should be able to enjoy himself thinking up something appropriately messy.
Ah and a Lindsey McDonald would be arriving from Wolfram and Hart today. What fun.
The best thing about Wolfram and Hart sometimes was the fact that it had a transport department that was more like a car mall. He'd picked out something black and fast that mysteriously failed to show up on police cameras and which made radar speedometers melt. He left LA at 10am and he was on the outskirts of Sunnydale 42 minutes later. Damn, it was sweet. Checking into his hotel (and performing a quick barring spell on the room in case of visitors in the night) he glanced at his watch and saw that it would be another two hours until he saw the mayor. Time to stretch his legs.
The place was surprisingly normal for something that stood on the mouth of hell. It had a Starbucks, although he strongly suspected that Starbucks were turning up everywhere, including several alternate dimensions. People looked so damn uninvolved here, so oblivious to the fact that they were walking on a hellmouth. Settling his sunglasses more firmly on his nose he walked on, past the high school, rubbing at a tingle on the back of his neck as he did so. Probably not such a good idea to get so close to the actual Hellmouth itself, situated as it was under the school library.
He wandered on, looking at the cemeteries in particular. Oh there were a lot of cemeteries. He shook his head and passed on his way back to the hotel.
Getting to the town hall proved to be easy. Getting to see the mayor was a little harder. A medium sized man with a moustache and eyes that were hard and inhuman met him and quickly but efficiently searched him and his briefcase. He would have protested, but the eyes told him that this guy wasn't human. All part of the welcoming committee, no doubt. He co-operated and was then taken down a long corridor where a nervous man with a twitch almost collided with him. By the way that he jumped at the very sight of his escort, yup he wasn't human. Possibly a vampire. Another corridor and then a set of double doors. The escort tapped quietly and then opened the door to let him in.
Wilkins was standing at the window, glancing out and he dismissed the escort with a wave. "Thank you Tom, I'll take it from here." He walked forwards. He was an average-looking man, with fair hair swept back and a suit that had obviously cost a lot of money. The mouth smiled, but the eyes did not.
"Hi there. Richard Wilkins." His hand came out and they engaged in a brief test of grips. Wilkins broke the contact first. "Wolfram & Hart told me that you are the man of the moment there, Mr McDonald."
Lindsey smiled easily. "For the moment, Mayor Wilkins."
"Take a seat. Coffee?"
"Thank you. White, no sugar please."
Wilkins seated himself at his desk and used his intercom to order the drinks. Then he clasped his hands in this lap, leaned back in his seat and looked at him, obviously assessing the lawyer.
"So, tell me, how's Holland these days? Still playing off a ten handicap?"
"Down to seven now," drawled Lindsey, not letting his faint bemusement show. Wilkins knew Holland?
His best poker face must have shown something, because Wilkins smiled. "Holland and I met in LA about 20 years ago, just after the last... negotiations. I understand that Holland got a promotion back then."
In the privacy of his head Lindsey swore. Yes, Holland had been promoted. In odd circumstances – he'd done his homework on the records of the last time the Arrangement had been negotiated.
"They never did find Mr Trant. I wonder why," he said and this time he noticed that the smile did get as far as Wilkins' eyes. Wow, he'd impressed him. Putting the pieces together had not been easy.
"Mr Trant... ah, Mr Trant wasn't the best lawyer that Wolfram & Hart could have sent. And he just happened to fulfill certain..." the eyes glittered with something. "Requirements." He straightened in his seat and placed his hands on the desk.
"I can see that you're a different case, Mr MacDonald. A much better class of lawyer for a start. Shall we stop fencing and get down to it? The Arrangement benefits both sides. I keep an eye on the Hellmouth – hell, I built this place, so who better to administer it? You get all the relevant information without risking your people. Not that that would matter to the Senior Partners, they don't care who lives or who dies, do they?
"And in return for this Wolfram & Hart keeps its nose – or whatever it uses to smell – out of Sunnydale. Out of my affairs."
Lindsey nodded thoughtfully. That was the bare bones of the Arrangement. And Wilkins was right, it was a good deal. But that left some of the other areas around it, and it was here that the hard bargaining would go on, where the finer details needed to be renegotiated every 20 years. "We have a large number of clients," he said, spreading his hands apart. "Sometimes they have... business here on the Hellmouth. Getting to Cleveland can be difficult at times, and some of the other Hellmouths can be extremely hard to reach. We need to come to an understanding on such points, to prevent any possible confusion."
Wilkins nodded himself. "Good point, and here's a funny thing. Five Sankregs just happened to turn up here last month from LA. They had an encounter with the Slayers and a... friend of theirs, which they didn't survive. Funny thing is, one of those big red devils had a card from Wolfram & Hart on them. Said Lilah Morgan on it."
The lawyer deliberately flickered an eyebrow. Lilah thought she was so damn smart. "They were here against orders. Ms Morgan was employing them for a job in San Francisco, but they took the earlier death of one of their kind rather personally and, ah, diverted themselves."
Wilkins smiled again. He seemed to be enjoying their little dance. "Sankregs sure are tough customers."
"So are Slayers. We appreciate your efforts to keep an eye on them."
"Only two of them were killed by the Slayers."
Lindsey paused, thinking very hard. Connect the pieces, he thought. What killed that Sankreg in the desert last summer? What could take down a Wraith? Was there a connection here? "What killed the others?"
"Cards on the table, Mr MacDonald. Last summer a lad called Alexander Harris left Sunnydale. When he came back a few months later he knew an awful lot about how to kill a Sankreg."
Harris, he thought, wasn't that the name of a homeowner on one of the few properties near the cave where the Cross had been? A relation? What to say? And why was he enjoying this fencing session with Wilkins so much? "Well, Mayor Wilkins, perhaps we should agree to share more information? About this Harris and any other issues that might come up? And given the problems that came up when Buffy Summers left town, perhaps we should talk about more reliable forms of communication that the phone that would benefit both sides?"
"Perhaps we should." There was a knock on the door and a smartly dressed woman entered with a tray on which were two bone china caps, a pot of coffee and a little jug of cream. "Ah. As my dear old mom used to say: shall I be mother?"
When the door finally closed on the lawyer, the Mayor surprised Mr Trick by letting out a breath of air. "Man! That is one hard bargainer. Some people just don't know the meaning of trust anymore, and that's so hard to cultivate these days."
"Trust or distrust?" asked Trick from his post at the door. "He seemed to be quite good for a Wolfram & Hart lawyer. I've met him before."
"Trust is an alien concept to Wolfram & Hart," replied the Mayor, frowning absently at his hands. Getting up he walked over to his private washroom and used the sink to give them a quick scrub. "No, that one's good. No wonder Manners chose him and Manners is a man after my own heart." He paused. "What's left of it anyway. No, our young guest played his cards very well." Wiping his hands on a soft towel he carefully hung it back up and walked back out to his cabinet.
"Was it... wise to give out so many hints about Harris?" asked Trick carefully.
"Better to play to form and drag the negotiations out over a couple of days. This Arrangement is supposed to be good for another 20 years. Trailing Harris in front of their noses means that I get to confuse the trail. The Senior Partners must never find out what I'm up to here." He opened the cabinet and looked inside. "Besides, it's kind of fun to get back to cut and thrust of negotiations. Takes me right back to the good old days. Of course back then we had a more open view of bribery and lynching."
He emerged with an upside-down skull that had been mounted on a pedestal. Trick eyed it warily. He really didn't want to know what his employer had tucked up away in that cabinet of his.
Wilkins looked inside, pulled something out and popped it into his mouth. "No, young Mr McDonald is good. So sharp he'll cut himself one of these days. He'll go far. If he lives that is. And better," he slapped the smooth side of the skull, "Than Mr Trant. Oh, where are my manners." He held the object out. "Jellybaby?"
"Climbing up on Solsbury Hill, I could see the city lights..." Faith stopped singing quickly as she saw the figure at the table. Liking old stuff was bad enough, but there was no way in hell that she was going to let the others know about it. Then she relaxed. It was Mr Jedi Knight.
"Hey Xand-man, whatcha up to?" she asked as she swung up to the table. There were a lot of maps and stuff spread out over it. Tugging at the end of one she pulled it out. "Plan of municipal sites in Sunnydale," she read out loud. "Taking up a new career as a civil servant?"
Xander looked at her and then smiled briefly. "Finally got a chance to do the research I've been planning for ages." He reached out and pulled a big map over towards them. "Faith, you ever notice how easy it is for the vamps to get into the sewer system?"
"Yeah, well, the fang-faces like the dark and gross places of the world. What's your point?"
"But it is rather easy for them to get there. This place is honeycombed with tunnels, Faith. Water, gas, electricity inspection, you name it Sunnydale has it. That's kind of handy, don't you think?"
"Handy? Guess so. That's vamps for you though, they like taking advantage of things."
"Yeah but it's funny how none of these tunnels go under any churches. Any faith-based places. And the number of manhole covers in this town is incredibly high. I did some checking thanks to Wills, the girl who the Mayor knows no fear when it comes to hacking. Sunnydale has got more manhole covers per square mile than New York."
She stared at him. "You're saying that this place was... designed to be easily accessible?"
"No," he said grimly, "I'm saying that this place was designed to be vampire-friendly."
"Xander that's crazy."
"Why?"
"This place is too big, and it goes back like a hundred years!"
There was a big book further along the table and this suddenly moved over to her as the Jedi guy used the force. Damn, that was a nice gift to have. The book was open but she could read 'History of Sunnydale' on the top of each page. Xander's finger stabbed down at a picture on the left-hand page and she saw a picture of a group of men dressed in old-fashioned waistcoats in odd, stiff poses around a big clock. Why was it that pics from the old days always showed hairy old guys who looked as if they were about to fart, or chicks in what had to be trendy S&M kit that involved very small waist? The picture caption read: 'Mayor of Sunnydale Richard Wilkins I with fellow councilors at the new town hall, 30th June 1898.' Next to it was a picture of the same guy next to some dude with a pointy helmet thing with a metal duck on top called Wilhelm. The dude, that is, not the duck.
"Meet someone who's been around for a hundred years."
The guy's cork was obviously getting a little loose. "You sure this Jedi stuff hasn't done something to your head?"
He sighed and pulled over another book. The same guy was pictured, but this time the caption read: 'Mayor Richard Wilkins II with Vice-President Richard Nixon, 1957.'
Okay. "So his son looked a lot like him?"
Another sigh and today's paper was in front of her. The same guy yet again, with the caption: 'Mayor Richard Wilkins III talking to House Speaker Newt Gingrich.'
"Guy sure likes Republicans, anyway." She scanned all three pictures again. "Okay, you sold me. It's the same guy doing the Highlander stunt, leaving everything to himself every time he 'dies'. Now what?"
"Now I try to persuade Giles that I'm right."
She grinned at him. "Lot of evidence there and the G-man is good on the books. You'll manage it, no sweat." Leaning on the table she took a long hard look at him. "You know, with all the things you can do, I'm surprised you're still in Sunnydale. You can do stuff that would make David Copperfield hang his wires up. Showbiz, baby, showbiz."
He looked back at her. Then he glanced down at the floor. "I never had a choice here Faith," he said. "Buffy came to Sunnydale and everything changed. I lost an old pal to vampires and the next thing I know my best friend and I are hanging with the Slayer along with our school librarian. We could have walked away but we didn't. We're Scoobies. Next thing I know some mad chaos mage is in town and I've got the life and times of a non-existent man in my head and the knowledge that I can do things. Life sucks here in Sunnydale. We've got more vampires than LA has lawyers, there are demon things that I really don't want to think about and I think that there's a secret Army base nearby somewhere.
"And then there's you and Buffy. Giles has told me what the life span of the average Slayer is. That's why I stay here. To make a difference. To help as best I can. It's the Jedi way, Faith. Help the innocent. Fight evil. That's my choice. I get to decide this time and I choose-" he gestured at the mound of demon books that were stacked in one corner, at the weapons cabinet in the corner and the headless target that had been carelessly tucked behind the counter. "This. How can I leave? Why?"
Faith realised that she was staring at him and then shook herself out of it. "You're a weird guy to be around, Xand-Man, you know that? Yeah I know that my life's tough. It was tough before I woke up one morning and realised that I could punch through walls and leapt tall buildings – well, okay, short buildings – with a single bound. Not quite the same life as B. She has it lucky. Nah, I'm just me. So I make with the slaying and I shake my booty and I party pretty damn hard. You shouldn't worry about me, I'm gonna run my own race and see where that takes this slayer." She slapped him on the shoulder carefully. "Let me know what the G-Man says about your theory. I got some patrolling to do and then I'm Bronzing with B."
Xander watched her walk out of the door with a frown on his face. Turning back to the table he hopped up onto it, settled himself into a meditation pose, embraced the force and ran the entire conversation back through his head, along with the feelings that Faith had been experiencing. Puzzlement. Confusion. Acceptance. Disbelief. Bemusement. And all the time, like an undercurrent, fear. Doubt. Specifically doubt in herself.
Opening his eyes again he looked at the wall opposite with unseeing eyes. Damn. Why hadn't he seen this coming? Always too much to do, too much to take care of, too much to plan. And now this. He muttered something that he'd once, sort of, heard from a Corellian smuggler on Coruscant.
"I beg your pardon Xander?" said a bemused voice and he turned to see Giles standing at the doorway with an armful of books. "I'm not sure what language that was in, but it sounded... pungent."
Hopping off the table Xander winced slightly. "Giles we have a problem. Two problems to be precise. I'll get to the one with all the evidence second, but I really think that we need to have a little talk about Faith first."
Putting his books down hurriedly, Giles turned. "Faith? Is she alright?"
"Physically, yes. Mentally, no. She's too fatalistic. Definitely an 'eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we die' girl, and far too rooted in the here and now. And she's afraid, Giles. Not of the vamps, not of the demons, I think that she's afraid of herself." He paused, struggling to put all the feelings that he'd been picking up for months into words. "I think that she doesn't have a lot of self-worth. And when she compares herself to Buffy, the other Slayer – I don't know what she sees. What was her pre-Slayer record like?"
"Pretty bad, I'm afraid," said Giles, looking pale. "Father absent since infancy, mother in prison on an impressive array of charges, ranging from petty theft to soliciting to major theft. Xander, what exactly are you saying? Faith seems to have settled in very well here. The Council is paying for her accommodation, which is cheap by her request. She seems to have dealt with the death of Mrs Horrocks as well as can be expected."
"I'm saying that we've been taking Faith's word for how she's been doing and we've been measuring her by the one yardstick that we have – Buffy. That's a hell of a thing to lay on someone, Giles. Buffy may not be a council-trained Slayer, but you said it yourself that she has raised the bar on Slayerdom. What if Faith feels she can't measure up?"
Removing his glasses and staring off to one side Giles did some rapid thinking. Then he tapped his glasses against his nose and walked over to the table, where he sat down.
"That's a very alarming thought, Xander. But, but you're right. We have been treating Faith as we treated Buffy. A Slayer is not just a Slayer as my father once put it. Each is individual, no matter how well they are trained."
Replacing his glasses he looked up at the Jedi. "You know, Xander I still don't think I've thanked you properly for seeing straight through Gwendolyn Post so easily. Or for dealing with that child-demon last week."
This threw Xander somewhat. "Hey, what's the big deal? The minute Miss Evil opened her mouth I spotted with the force that she was lying through her teeth and it took but a moment to whisper that in your ear. As for the other one... I could see that those two bodies weren't real at all from the start. Made it easy to chop the heads off. No big deal, like I said, though I was lucky that I killed it before Buffy and Mrs Summers turned up on the scene." He shrugged and wished for a second that he had a robe with big sleeves that he could tuck his hands into. Jedi weren't into the whole thanks bit. Duty was all, protecting the innocent was all. "What did the Council decide about Miss Evil anyway?"
Giles shuddered. "They packed her off to a place with no occult leanings whatsoever to atone for her crimes. Port Stanley, Falkland Islands. Apparently she looks after sheep there. And helps to map the old Argentinean minefields. Very nasty." He coughed. "And I'll take your advice about Faith. Perhaps some more training sessions. Or a birthday party – it's her birthday next week."
Xander frowned. "She never said anything."
"I know. Which is why I believe your theory might be true. While party hats and birthday balloons aren't really her style I think that we can organise a few other things to make up for it."
The Jedi nodded slowly. "Nice idea. Make her feel more of a Scooby." He smiled. "Haven't used that phrase in a while."
Giles smiled back. "Xander, I think that you act as a valuable touchstone for us all. You never let your powers go to your head, you think of others more than you think of yourself sometimes, you seem to be..." he struggled for the right words.
"Giles, I'm a Jedi. It's what I do." He paused. "Buffy's coming. Let's plan this out later. Oh, and we also need to talk about the Mayor of Sunnydale, because I don't think he's human."
When, a moment later, Buffy came through the doors, she was with Willow and Angel, who looked much more with it than Xander had seen before. The vampire with a soul nodded formally at him as he approached, wrinkling his brow in thought as he did. Xander gave a silent sigh. He needed to have a word with Angel about what he remembered as Angelus. They still hadn't talked about it as Buffy was more worried about Angel's recovery from his several centuries in a hell dimension. The only thing that Angel had been able to cling onto in his time there, bobbling like a cork of memory in a sea of madness, had been Buffy. You had to respect that. Deadboy was no more. Angel was Angel.
All were clutching books and looking defeated. Apart from Angel, who just looked thoughtful. "Giles," he said, "I have a bad feeling about this demon – or what was a demon. I mean power like Buffy said you detected-"
Xander threw a quizzical glance at Buffy, who made an 'oops my bad' face.
"-must have been pretty powerful. And I remember hearing something about a demon back in 1920's who would appear and disappear from sight whilst granting some kind of wishes, ah, mostly to scorned women. I can't remember the name though..."
"Ummm... was it... Anyanaka?"
"Yeah, that was it, and..."
They all turned to look at the main doors, where a worried face was peeking around the entrance.
"Cordy," said Buffy in a bright voice, "Care to share something with us?"
The former cheerleader inched into the library clutching the one book that she had been assigned to read. "I, um. Might have found her. It. Whatever."
"Well done Cordelia," said Giles in a voice that was slightly too jovial. "And, and do you have an entry on this, Anyanaka?"
"Promise me you won't shout at me first," came the reply. When she received a number of glares she huffed in exasperation and walked to the table. "Okay, Anyanaka. That's her in the flesh. Sorta."
Grabbing the book in eager hands Giles pulled it open to the required page. He read. He paused. He reread. Then he said something that sounded as bad as Xander's earlier Corellian, before adding: "Oh dear lord. A vengeance demon. A D'Hoffryn variant demon to be precise." Then he brightened slightly. "Ah, a talismanic power being, like I surmised. Interesting. Oh."
He looked up. "What did you wish for again?"
"Hey, I didn't know that she was a skanky evil thingy demon did I? Just because someone says something – that isn't granted! – doesn't mean that they did a bad thing? Does it?" Cordelia looked as worried as Xander had ever seen her. He cleared his throat.
When she didn't take the hint he said: "She wished that Buffy had never come to Sunnydale."
This earned him a glare from Cordy. "Well, yeah, maybe, but it didn't come true, did it?"
Giles sighed and took off his glasses. "Well no."
Cordelia glowed with relief. "There! You see?"
Her relief was cut short as Giles replaced his glasses. "Not that we would remember it. I think that it's more than possible that the wish was made, did come true, and was unmade. Why else would this Anyanaka lose her powers?"
Buffy raised her hand. "Um, I think I speak for all of us, when I say 'what?'"
Making a face Giles stood up. "Well, this is quite complicated to explain. Such vengeance demons vary in power but the D'Hoffryn group is amongst the most powerful, capable of bending space and time. Cordelia's wish could have – probably did – come true. But if something happened within that world, that dimensional offshoot as it were, to her power centre, said to be a necklace or pendant, then reality would snap back to the place where the last major fork in the road was made. The last decision. The last wish."
He looked up. "We might have been living very different lives within that previous place. The fact that she is human now means that she has lost her powers at some point between the moment that Xander sensed her and the moment that the alternate world collapsed upon itself." Another frown. "Schrodinger would have had a field day with this stuff."
Searching for a little rationality Xander pulled the book over. A picture of a female demon with stripes along her face looked up at him. "Okay, so she's a demon." He read more of the description. "A thousand year old demon. Who loves torturing men. And who's just lost her powers. And is a high school student who can't order anything more than a diet soda." He looked up at the others. "Okay, no-one needs a spider-sense to know that the one thing that she's going to be keen on is getting her powers back. Question is, how?"
"I think that we're getting ahead of ourselves here," said Giles. "She's not going to approach Willow as she might suspect that we're watching her. So she might go to one of the magic dealers in Sunnydale itself or one of the demon shamans that are around. We'd better keep our ears open about who is in town at the moment."
There was a sound that appeared to be a cross between a groan and a sigh and they all turned to Willow. "Or someone else in the school. Um. Like Amy. She's, she's powerful. Um. And I saw her here tonight. With a bag of things. Which I should have mentioned earlier on. Um, my bad?"
"Oh dear god. Spread out and find her. Fast."
Anya felt exultant. She had a chance at getting her power back now, a real chance. She'd talked to this brainless fool of a human and had charmed her into performing a 'finding spell' to get her amulet back in return for her writing a history paper for her about the Tenth Century in Europe. It was easy - big swords, big beards, her relatives going off every now and then to raid England and kick some Saxon butt, much quaffing of mead and slapping of barmaids. She scowled for a second. Not that she would mention bloody barmaids. Or Rhodri Mawr.
She sat down on the opposite side of the circle and waited for Amy to start the ritual.
Just outside one of the science labs Willow felt sick. Something was building up in the air, something that felt icky. "Buffy, something's happening. I can feel it. Magic's being used. Quite close."
"You want to sit down, Will?"
"Yeah. I'm okay though. I think." She pointed with a shaking finger. "There. Stop her."
Buffy burst through the doors, caught sight of the candles and the dribbly things in the symbol that the two figures were seated on opposite sides of and made a fast decision. With one hand she grabbed a surprised Amy by one arm and jerked her away from the former vengeance demon, and then with one outstretched leg she kicked the nearest candle away from the symbol. Red light flashed briefly along the design and then died abruptly. Letting out a deep breath she looked down at Amy. "Didn't your mom tell you to never deal with former demons? Come on." Helping the witch up she walked up to the sprawling former vengeance demon and pulled her roughly up. "We, on the other hand, need to talk."
It was a very dark alleyway. It was also very dirty. The figure did not look as if it appreciated the location. Then it looked up sharply, staring at the vampire as it weaved drunkenly towards it. "Hey man, stop... stop blurring like that man. Makes it... urp... makes it hard to catch you. Hee hee..."
There was a snap-hiss as the red lightsabre extended, bathing that part of the alleyway in a red glow. The vampire stopped dead. "Cool, man." The figure brought the blade up so fast that it really did seem to blur and lopped the vampire's head off. As the dust flowed down the figure relaxed its poise and flicked the lightsabre off.
"What the hell just happened?" asked Darth Mortalis.
