Angel:
I was out of the building, but where was I going to go? Truth be told, I hadn't thought about it. I needed to find some connection to my past, some people that I could call friends. I had to find out what had happened after I died, and I had to do all of that without letting the lawyers find me.
I had no money, and the people of this world still seemed ignorant of the supernatural, so finding sympathy was unlikely. So I resorted to living on the streets. I'd done it before, so I knew what to expect. I watch the other homeless men and women, constantly in a state of depression or ill health or both. They have no idea what preys on them, and they have no idea that they're now harbouring a wanted man. You spend time on the streets and sooner or later people just stop seeing you, even the ageing man who slept in the next box over in that dark alley where the sun doesn't even shine at noon. Well, that would suit me fine – if they think I'm not even here then there's less chance of being found by the only people aware of my existence – but there's a flaw in that plan. Basically, it goes along the lines of: this is a new world for me, and not being a vampire any more, I need more than just rats to keep me alive.
So, having spent more than enough time in the darkest, deepest alleyway I could find, the cold and the hunger forced me to emerge. I need food, I need money and I need employment, and it's not that easy to open a detective agency with no license, no property to speak of and the forces of evil searching high and low for you.
So now I'm applying for a temporary job, at a bookstore of all places. I've been out of the loop for quite a long time, but maybe knowing about 'ancient' literature will give me an advantage over the competition.
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Bookkeeper:
I've needed an assistant for quite a while. The store is quite extensive, containing most of the surviving paper books from this region, and since dear Isabelle died, I've had to run it all the time. Still, the homeless man before me doesn't exactly fit the profile I'd envisaged. Nevertheless, this being a fair country and me being a fair man, I have to give him an interview.
"What's your name?" He hesitates for a moment. How can he not know his name?
"Liam," he says after a while.
"And what was your previous occupation?" Again, another pause. I wonder if perhaps I'll get a single honest answer in this entire questionnaire.
"I… helped people with problems."
"What sort of problems?"
"Well, it involved a lot of looking up things in very old books and cross referencing." I never would have expected that.
"Really? When did you last read a book?"
"Uh… it's been quite a long time." Yes, it looks it.
"I see. Why do you want to work here?"
"I need information, I need money and I need privacy. I think I may just be able to get those things here."
"Money I understand, but why privacy? Are you running from someone?" There is the briefest pause again.
"Yes." At least he's honest about that.
"Who? Why?"
"Who I'm running from isn't important, and I'm running because they think I'm someone I'm not."
"You mean you're innocent?"
"No, I can't say I'm innocent. Fact is, I really did do most of what they think I did. But I've put that past behind me, and I wish everyone else could do the same." Suddenly, I don't know why, but I realise I trust this man. He may not want to tell me everything, but he's willing to at least tell me this – everything he thinks I should know, he is telling me. There's something noble in that.
"What information do you think you can get here? Most of these books are hundreds of years old."
"Yeah, well that's okay. I need very specific information, and if you don't have it, I don't know where else I'll be able to get it."
"Care to share?"
"Not just yet." Fair enough. I sigh. This man looks dishevelled and he's quite tight-lipped, but he's at least honest and claims to know the material – which is more than I know – and, frankly, nobody else wants the job.
"Tell you what," I tell him, trying to pretend I'm not desperate for him to say yes, "I'll give you a tryout, say a month. If you do a good job, I'll put you on staff and if not, you'll need to find your information elsewhere." He smiles – at least half-smiles – and nods his head.
"Sounds good. Umm… one more thing. I don't suppose you'd allow me to put a bedroll down in the shop, would you? 'Cos then I could protect the place at night, you know, from… thieves." I don't know if I trust him implicitly, but he clearly needs some shelter, and this place needs protection at night. I don't want to lose someone else the way I lost Isabelle.
"Okay, sure. You can sleep here, but only until you get a place of your own."
"Thanks." I lean forward and hold out my hand.
"I'm Edward Giles."
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Angel:
Giles? Could there be a connection? Is it possible that I've come to the one place in this world where one of Rupert Giles' descendants works? I hadn't noticed a similarity initially – his face is slightly rounder, his hair significantly thinner – but as I look closely there is a sort of resemblance in the jaw and the eyes. It's worth looking into.
"Giles? You don't sound English." He looks confused for a moment.
"English? What makes you think it's English?" I try to put on an innocent face.
"Why? Isn't it?" He looks suspicious for a moment, as if he realises that there's something I haven't told him. If only he knew how much.
"It pays 53 dollars an hour" – talk about inflation – "and you start right now." Fine by me. It's not like I have anything else to do.
I'll work the rest of the day, get my pay and see how much food it'll get me.
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Customer:
I need help, and the only person I can turn to is Ed. The shop's ahead of me, closer… closer. I know they're behind me, but hopefully they won't see me duck inside.
I've made it, now Ed can hide me. But Ed's not here. There's someone new behind the counter. He's covered in muck and I think for a moment he's a thief. But no, there's a tag on his chest… and a hand on my arm. Eyes wide, I slowly turn to look at the man over my shoulder. His face is craggy, his eyes deep set, and though I don't recognise him, I know exactly what he wants with me. He'll beat me up, then he'll take me away and I'll never see the sky again.
"Hey!" It's the man behind the counter, rising from his seat, leaving an open book in front of him. He must have seen the fear on my face, but what's he doing? Doesn't he know what's going on?
The hunter releases his grip on me and turns towards the newcomer, practically cracking his knuckles in anticipation. I back up against the wall, cursing myself for involving Ed and his co-worker. Suddenly, the hunter throws a punch and the bookkeeper skips lightly to the side, then, faster than I can see, swings a punch into the hunter's stomach. To my surprise, he doubles over in pain, and almost sinks to his knees but for the young bookkeeper who puts an arm under his shoulder and heaves him out of the store. As the hunter scrambles to his feet and away, the bookkeeper calls after him
"Nobody hassles our customers" and slams the door.
I'm still staring when he turns to me, and through the pounding in my ears I just about hear him ask if I'm okay. I choke out that I'm looking for Ed, and he calls into the back room. Ed emerges and rushes over to me,
"My god, Rick, what happened?" I can't speak, so the bookkeeper, rubbing the back of his neck as if nothing at all has happened, answers for me.
"He was being manhandled by some ruffian, but don't worry, I threw him out."
"You threw him out?" Ed is clearly as surprised as I am, but the bookkeeper doesn't understand why.
"Yeah. I got into some fights in my last job."
"No kidding. Well, thanks." Ed took a few bills out of his pocket and pressed them into the young man's hand. "Here's today's pay. Go out for a couple of hours and get some food or clothes or something will you?" The young man looks confused for a moment.
"… Yeah… yeah I'll do that." And slowly he turns and walks away, stuffing his newly acquired money into a pocket. He casts a glance over his shoulder, then disappears out of the store and is gone into the darkness in moments. Who is that?