Chapter 17
Los Angeles27 June 2004
I put the phone down with a feeling of satisfaction. It's all arranged. I've organised some time off, I've booked my flights, and now I've spoken to Mrs. McConnechie, or Moira as she's told me to call her, and she's confirmed my hotel booking. All I've got to do now is finish the packing and get myself to the airport by some completely unreasonable hour tomorrow morning. Once in London, I'll have one full day to get over the worst of the jet lag before the service, and the day after it, Dawn'll fly into London. We're planning on spending a couple of days there, taking in the shops and sights, and then we're going to fly to Glasgow with Moira. We're going to share her spare bedroom while we're there, and she's promised an interesting time. I admit I'm really looking forward to it all.
There's just one small thing I'm worried about. When I told Giles I was going to meet Dawn, he, not unnaturally, assumed I was going to Rome, and I didn't actually correct him. If he's at the service, and Moira expects him to be, then he's going to spot my little omission. Still, by then, there's not a lot he can do about it. And I've booked leave, so it's not as though I'm cheating the Council in some way, so my conscience isn't too upset.
I'm just making a list of the things I've got to finish work-wise before I go, when I hear an unfamiliar voice in the outer office. It's a voice that makes my ears prick up - it's like Giles' but … more so. It's the sort of voice that I'll always associate with the Council, and I'm back to feeling like an immature little girl again for an instant before I remind myself that Giles is in charge now, so everything's different.
When the door opens, I freely admit that I'm shocked into silence. The man in the doorway looks like a cross between a movie star and a fantasy. He's tall, slim, tanned but not overly so, dressed in a smart and probably very expensive grey suit, but my attention is drawn to his eyes - green/grey - and the most amazing smile I've seen in …
I shake my head to clear it and spot that he's holding out his hand to me.
"Philip Spencer-Kidd," he says, shaking my hand warmly. "And you must be the famous Buffy Summers. Naturally I've heard a great deal about you, while you, in all probability, have never heard of me."
"I'm afraid you're right," I answer. "I haven't."
"Oh, I can't imagine you're ever afraid these days. The things you've faced … but I'm rambling. Like you, I work for the Council. I've been in Brunei for some years, handling a number of things there, and I'm on my way back to London now my assignment is over, but I thought I'd take some time along the way to look up some old friends."
The Council? Old friends? I suppose he means Neville, so, at least that makes sense. For the first time since this newcomer entered the room I notice Neville sitting at the next desk. As I glance over at him, I spot an expression that shows more hostility than I've ever seen on his normally open and friendly face.
"Oh, you know Neville?" I ask.
Philip glances at him, eyes narrowing as if to try to remember. "Ah, yes, I think I have met you, haven't I?" he manages, holding out a hand to Neville. "London, I think, perhaps three years ago? Some briefing on a Hell God called …"
He stops, apparently trying to remember the name. Neville answers for him.
"Glorificus."
"Ah yes, that's the one. It's so hard to recall the minutiae sometimes."
He ignores Neville then and turns that hundred megawatt smile on me again. Ok, I admit it. I'm mesmerised. Logically, I know my reaction isn't at all rational, but there's just something about him that seems to take away my ability to take logic seriously.
"So," he says, taking the chair from in front of my desk and moving it round to the side before sitting on it. "I hear you're going to London for the Remembrance Service."
"What? How?"
"Oh, nothing sinister, I assure you. I've got contacts in London - people who keep me up to date on what's happening there. The problem with being out of London for an extended period is that you can completely lose touch with what's really happening, so I took steps to ensure that I wasn't left behind. It's important to always be up to date, is it not? I did some checking, and found what flight you're on, so I took the liberty of booking myself on the same one. I've always wanted to meet the Slayer who made Quentin Travers back down, and it seemed like the ideal opportunity."
"Does everyone in the Council know I'm coming?" I ask, worried about Giles.
"Oh, no. In fact, it took a lot of digging to find out, but Penelope's a lot more than just a pretty face. I suspect she could get information out of anyone."
"Penelope? Your girlfriend?" I mentally kick my self at that. 'Your girlfriend?' I mean, honestly. Could I get any more obvious about checking out his availability?
"No, my contact," he answers, and I'm more than grateful that he shows no sign of having taken my idiotic question at more than face value. "So, will you do me the honour of being my travel companion on the way to London?"
"Oh, yes, sure." Somehow, that's all I can manage. I'm not altogether convinced that it's going to be a comfortable flight, but at least I know I'll have a good view the whole way.
"Oh, and if it's ok, I'll upgrade your business class tickets to first class. I always travel first class - pay for my own upgrades, you know? In the old days, the Council always used to spring for first class, but these days they reckon business class is good enough. And it's ok, I suppose, if you're not used to better. It's tedious enough to have to travel without having to make do with second rate champagne is what I always say."
I'm nodding. I'm getting the feeling that there's something off about my reaction, but the visual information is over-riding any other thoughts.
He's standing up again, holding out his hand.
"So good to have met you," he's saying. "I'll arrange a car to take you to the airport. We might as well do the whole journey as painlessly as possible."
And with that, he's gone, and I'm left looking after him. I turn to Neville, and I'm surprised to note that his expression hasn't changed.
"You don't look happy," I comment.
"Don't I?" he says, looking at me disapprovingly.
"What?"
"He does that every time."
"What?" I say, aware that I'm sounding repetitive.
"Walks into a room and charms any women who're there."
"Is that what he just did?" I demand, irritated at his attitude, all the more because I know he's right. Well, except for the fact that he didn't so much charm me as cause my brain to turn into goo.
"I'm sorry," he apologises immediately. "It's just, well, I don't trust him. There's just something too … smarmy about him."
Smarmy - that's one of the things Dawn called Carlo. Well, maybe I like smarmy.
"So, what do you know about him?" I ask, keeping my voice even. Neville really hasn't given me any reason not to trust him, and while I know he'd like to date me, we're really just friends.
"He comes from an old Watcher family. Money too. No title, but related to more titles than I can name. My dad used to say that the Spencers were only interested in being Watchers because they liked playing James Bond, and the Kidds, well, he reckoned they were always a bit dodgy. There were a couple of scandals back in the fifties, but they got hushed up. Between their money and the influence of the Council, you could get away with murder in those days."
"That's the family. What about him?"
"What he said about being in the Middle East is true. He's been working with the Sultan of Brunei or at least, with his staff. They've had some sort of demon problem and he's been observing and advising. I heard they'd finally sent a Slayer over a couple of months ago, and that the problem had been sorted."
I wonder for a moment why it is that Neville knows all this when I don't, then realise it might be something to do with the fact that I don't read the raft of memos that arrive on a daily basis. I tend to just scan for what seems to be important.
"You don't know which Slayer, do you?"
"Er, yes. Faith, I think. I'm surprised you didn't know."
"Faith? She's back working for the Council?"
"It looks like it. You can take a look at the database if you like. It has details of every employee's current assignment providing it's not secret or something."
Distracted for a moment from contemplating either Philip's perfect smile or Neville's odd reaction, I log into the system. I enter Faith's name, and there it is. She's currently assigned to Cleveland – due to start running a final training centre for Slayers about to go into the field.
That means she's right in the line of fire. I consider changing my plans and going straight there, but dismiss the idea immediately. There's no point in getting ahead of this thing - the important thing is to understand what's already happened.
Neville's phone rings then, and it sounds like he's going to be busy for a while, so I decide to do another bit of loose-end tying before my trip. I head over to the Hyperion to let Angel know my plans.
He comes up from the basement at my call, and after pouring us both a cup of coffee, he takes me back down there to talk.
"I'm improving the cage set up," he tells me. "It worked fine for Nina, but it's a bit basic, so I was going to make it a little more comfortable. Not too much, though, because werewolves? Not good with soft furnishings."
"Are you expanding too?" I ask, noting what looks like materials to build another cage.
"Yeah," he grins. "It was Nina's idea. She … recognised someone, you know, in the street. She disappeared, and Nina was rushing home to sit for her sister, but she realised she's not the only one. We … thought I could, you know, advertise the service?"
"You're going to charge people to lock them up?"
"Sooner or later, someone's going to have to pay for it. For now, I've got enough money to keep things ticking over, but yeah, it's going to have to be viable to keep going. I'm going to look into alternatives to charging the individuals because some of them aren't going to be able to pay. It's like before. If the person we helped could afford to pay, then sure, we charged them. If they couldn't, then we didn't charge. I'll need to find some paying clients, but it should be ok. Maybe I'll be able to get some local business to sponsor the cages. I'm not sure who'd be right for that, but in a city this size, there's bound to be someone who wants to sell to werewolves or who's going to gain from not having them rampaging every full moon."
It seems like a rather ambitious plan, but Angel seems sure enough, so I accept what he's saying.
I tell him about my plans, and then inevitably I update him on the case of the disappearing Slayers.
"Can I help?" he asks. "It's a while till the next full moon, and anyway, I could easily get Nina to sort herself out."
"I don't know what you could do," I say. "Giles seems to be working on the problem, and he's got Willow and the Coven working to protect Slayers from being teleported, but progress is slow. I'm hoping to do some snooping while I'm over."
"It started in Glasgow, not London."
"I know. But the organiser of the service lives in Glasgow, and she's invited Dawn and me up there afterwards. I'll get to meet the local Watcher and get a first hand account of what he's been doing."
"I'd like to do something. The idea of … well, all that power falling into the wrong hands. It could be big."
"I know. It's scary. And without any link at all, did you know Faith's in Cleveland?"
"Cleveland? At the Hellmouth?"
"Yeah, Giles is setting up some courses for Slayers there, and he's got Faith involved. I assume Robin's not in the picture any more."
"Cleveland? But that's right in the path of …"
"Yeah. I thought about going there too, forgetting about London, but I don't see how that helps."
"You're probably right, it wouldn't. But I could go, see Faith, find out if I can help. Might not do any good, but I don't see how it could do any harm."
"If you like."
I think about that. There was a time when sending Angel to Faith would be painful. Now? Hardly a twinge. It's liberating. Angel's expression is registering surprise that I'd agree so easily too. He's looking at me closely, as if trying to see something in my eyes that belies my apparent comfort level, but it's obvious that he doesn't see anything. And, you know? In that moment, I see acceptance. Oh, he was moving that way before, I know he was. But now? He knows that he and I are never going to be together like that. And as he comes to realise it, I know it too. I thought it before, but now I'm certain. Whatever the future holds for Angel and me, it's not that. And I'm at peace with it.
