Chapter 6
Hounslow, Greater London, 27 May 2004
I suppose I should have expected it. I climb out of the crate in a warehouse somewhere close to Heathrow to find a Slayer with a crossbow pointed at me. Glancing around, there're another two strategically placed and similarly armed. Not a familiar face among them. I scan the area carefully. It's a warehouse, stacks of pallets on two sides. I spot the extra on that sweep. This one's different. He's big, fit, and by the look of him, he knows exactly what to do with the bow. Not bookish enough to be a Watcher, but since he's not looking to chat, I ignore him for now.
I stretch slowly. I mean, it wouldn't do for one of them to get the wrong idea, now would it?
"I see Giles still doesn't trust me," I comment, ignoring him and directing my attention at the Slayers. Three girls, all in their late teens. The one closest to me is nervous, her finger twitching.
"Easy," I murmur. "I'm not going to hurt anyone. In case Giles didn't think to mention it, I'm on a strictly animal diet now."
"And that's better how?" A voice from behind me. I turn slowly, taking in the jeans-clad girl who's there.
"And those are plastic boots, are they?" I ask, eyeing them carefully.
"Leave it out, Lena," the one in front of me breaks in. "Let's get him to Mr. Giles and then we'll be finished with him."
"Interrupting your playtime, am I?" I ask. "Well, if you just point me in the direction of Mr. Giles, I'll be on my way."
All three bristle at that, so I give up.
"Ok, I've got the message. You're my welcoming party. Can we get on with this? You try spending twenty-four hours in a box like that. Makes a bloke cranky."
I climb slowly out of the box, every move slow and deliberate. I look around close to me.
"There should have been another crate – a bag with all my worldly goods and all that?" I add.
"The bag's in the van," the girl in front says, nodding in the direction of a doorway, and we proceed out to a van waiting in the shade of the building. I'm bundled in the back with a reminder that the sun's shining and that I should keep away from the door.
The van's bare inside apart from me and the bag that represents my life. Pitiful, really, barely more than a change of clothes. Once the door's shut, I have no way of knowing for sure how many girls are up front or whether their minder has come along. 'Course, there could be a car following too. The van starts to move, and I just know it's going to be an uncomfortable journey.
I reckon it's a couple of hours later before the van finally stops. The journey's been stop-start all the way, so I assume that the traffic has been heavy. I'm not that bothered by little things like temperature and air quality, but even I'm grateful when the door opens. It's gloomy out there – or at least I reckon it would be if I hadn't been shut in the dark for hours. It seems to be some sort of a loading bay and the van's right inside, but there's little if any light coming through the clear plastic curtains at the door, and I get the impression that the road outside is narrow. The girls are arrayed around me, and the one called Lena takes the lead this time. No sign of the minder, but if this is home territory for them, then he could still be around.
"That way," she points with her crossbow towards a lift. If I really wanted to, I could do some serious damage to one, maybe two of the girls before the third had a chance to get off an accurately aimed bolt. If she's not that familiar with the crossbow, then I might even get out of this, but since the whole idea was mine in the first place, that's really idle speculation. I shrug, and, making a point of looking at ease, move slowly to the lift. The door opens, and I enter, turning around to find that the girls aren't planning on joining me.
"On my own, am I?" I ask. "Care to tell me which floor to press?"
"Down," the one called Lena replies. "You're going down."
I look, surprised that there are only two options on the panel - up and down - and press the button. The door slides shut, and the floor lurches beneath my feet.
When the door opens again, it's onto a tiled corridor. In fact, it's reminiscent of school way back when. Yellowish tiles to about shoulder height, one row of dark green, and cream painted brick above. The floor's wood block, and well worn. Whatever this place is, its décor is old.
I peer both ways when I step out, but there's nothing to the left, so I walk the other way, towards the steady heartbeat that I can hear close by. Three doors down, there's a light on, and when I go in, Giles is there - sitting at a desk in a bare, windowless room.
He looks steadily at me, before telling me to sit in the chair opposite.
"Well, Rupert. I must admit, I always pictured the Council of Watchers as being, well, a bit grander than this."
He purses his lips before speaking.
"As you may remember, the Council headquarters was destroyed by an agent of The First. Many good men and women died. The building was completely destroyed. This … building is a little known adjunct to the main offices. Its purpose was the scientific study of demons. It fell into disuse for many years, but has recently been invaluable as a centre for our operations until we were able to obtain more suitable accommodation. However, I'm sure the market in office space in London is of no real interest to you, so I suggest we get down to business."
I sit as requested, leaning as far back in my chair as I can. "So, what's with the 'just you and me' bit? Judging by the welcoming committee, you think I'm ready to go back to killing, but there you sit, bold as brass. What's to stop me having myself a little taste?"
"Spike, I am not afraid of you. Your posturing isn't even amusing. We both know that if anything were to happen to me, Buffy would find out about your involvement. I can guarantee that. And, while I can come up with a valid reason for your presence here, I don't think you could. I can also guarantee that without the appropriate authorisation, you'd never be able to leave this building. If there was one thing the Victorians knew how to do, it was build a secure holding facility for demons. So, do you want to spar some more? Or shall we get on with this?"
"I'm ready when you are," I answer, putting my hands behind my head.
"Right. So, why don't you start by telling me why you want my help?"
"I don't," I reply. "Last thing I want is your help, to be honest. It's just, this past year, well, it's been good. I know I helped Buffy and the rest of you, but the reasons for that, well, they were confusing."
"Didn't seem at all confusing to me," he comments. "You either wanted payment, or you wanted to start, and later resume your relationship with Buffy."
"No … yes … I don't know. Yes, at one time that was part of it, … most of it even, but … it was more than that. Last year, though, I didn't have anyone to impress. Angel? I really couldn't care less what that wanker thinks of me. It was mainly just … I knew it was right. You know. And it felt … good. If you ignore getting dusted, I'm going to live forever, and I've got to have something to do with my time. The demon needs a bit of violence, and the soul … needs to know it's doing some good. I'd like to be able to carry on with what I've been doing. Can't be in LA, though. I couldn't bear to see Buffy with Angel. Just the thought of it … Anyway. I need somewhere, and it seemed the right time to come home. Like I said, coming back here without letting you know … well, I don't have a problem with taking risks, but some risks are just stupid."
"That's never stopped you before," he murmurs.
"Ok, Rupert. Listen. I know you don't like me. I get that. Can't say you're on my list of favourite people either, but I can live with that. If you don't want me around, then tell me. I'll find somewhere else."
He sighs deeply, his glasses in his hand as he looks for a hankie to clean them. "Spike. I can hardly believe that I'm going to say this, but I've got somewhere for you. The only reason I'm helping is the simple fact that if I know where you are, I can do my best to keep Buffy away from you. And you're right. You're dispensable. Why should I put some innocent young girl out there when I can use you?"
"Right. So where am I going?"
He opens a drawer at his side, pulls out a thick envelope and removes the contents.
"This pack includes the standard paperwork for someone newly employed by the Council of Watchers. I've taken the liberty of obtaining a set of appropriate papers for you, matching the fake passport you already have, getting you a National Insurance number, fabricating an employment history and even opening a bank account for you. There are some forms you'll need to return to me, but you can take them for now and post them on when you're ready."
"Employed? I'm not sure I want …"
"What? You don't want the money? I find that hard to believe. Or were you just planning on robbing people and then eating the evidence?"
"No … I just thought … you know, that I'd charge people for helping them. Like Angel."
"It takes time to build up a customer base. What would you do in the meantime? No. I want you under my control. So, you'll be a Council employee, or you'll be on the run from every Slayer at my disposal. Do I make myself clear?"
I sit forward a bit. Posing's all very well, but sometimes it's just plain uncomfortable. Anyway, apart from the fact that it's the Council of Watchers, the idea of regular money is really quite welcome.
"To continue. You'll be paid at the rate currently accorded a Junior Slayer. I've also included keys to a small flat which is in a building owned by the Council. It's a garden flat, so sunlight shouldn't be a major problem, and the rent will be deducted directly from your pay."
"And where is this ideal little home for the undead?"
"Glasgow."
That's a surprise. "Glasgow? But that's not even in England!"
He ignores my outburst, just sits there and waits for me to speak again.
"Ok, so it's Glasgow. I can deal. Can't say I ever heard it was a big centre for demons, though."
"It isn't, at least, no more than any other large city. There are assorted demons there, but nothing that should tax your abilities too much."
"So why Glasgow?" I ask again. I know there's something he's not telling me.
"Because, as a side issue, I want you to do some investigating for me. As you probably know, the Coven in Westbury has seers who are able to sense the presence of Slayers. Their help in identifying the new Slayers around the world has been invaluable. Once identified, each one is then tracked until we can contact them. If they wish to be trained, they are brought to one of the training centres we have set up. If not, we continue to be aware of their location, but we do not contact them again directly. This latter group is large; many of them are older, and already have lives which they do not wish to change. Inevitably, some are sceptical and wary of us, despite the evidence of their increased strength. For their safety and the safety of those around them, we wish to be aware of their location, and we are working on ways to remove the special powers that they have. However, that is beside the point. The point is that there were three Slayers in central Scotland. One has had initial training, and the others refused our help. However, two weeks ago, all three apparently disappeared."
"You mean they escaped your control?"
"No, I mean they disappeared. They are all officially listed as missing. The Coven can find no trace of them. None of them knew either of the others as far as we know, yet they all disappeared on the same day."
"So you want me to find them?"
"If possible, yes. At the very least, I want you to find out what happened to them. Their details are contained in this report. For obvious reasons, I don't want a Slayer investigating this, and, if someone has managed to abduct three Slayers, then sending a normal human being after them would be extremely foolish."
I'm tempted to mutter a repeat of his, 'Never stopped you before,' but I manage to stop myself – well, at least I don't quite finish saying it. Giles glares at me, and then looks back at the papers in his hand.
He pulls a bound booklet from the bottom of the pile.
"Find these girls, and I may start to believe that your intentions are as altruistic as you'd have me believe."
