There was a loud WHACK! and the padded dummy resonated with the blow to its shoulder. Rowan took a step back and repeated the performance with its other shoulder. He was practicing with a bokken in the gym located in the basement of the Headquarters. His own sword, which he had sent to England by courier, rested on a wall mount next to the dummy.

There were a few Watchers in the large gym with him. One was running on a treadmill; another was going long-distance on a rowing machine and yet another was lifting weights. He could only hear them, though, as there was a boxing ring between them, dividing the gym to two sections. The "combat" area with its tatamis, dummies, etc. was separate from the other with its fitness and training gear.

Again, the dummy shook, and again and again. Shoulder, head, left side, right side, chest, shoulder, head... Some of the visitors to the gym had come and inconspicuously watched him train from a distance, by the boxing ring. None had approached him and each had then subsequently returned back to their own personal training.

Rowan came out of his half-trance when he heard a quiet sniffle from behind him. Turning around he saw Lily standing next to the boxing ring looking small and dejected with tears streaming out of her eyes. There was a fresh bruise on her left cheek. Laying down the wooden sword, Rowan approached the child slowly and then sat down cross-legged in front of her, a few feet away.

"What happened, Lily?" he asked gently.

Lily bit her lip in indecision but eventually couldn't hold it inside anymore. "I... I heard Uncle Roger say some awful things about you. He said you were an... abo-abo..."

"Abomination," Rowan nodded. "Not wholly unexpected."

"He... he said you were a demon, a... a... hell-spawn, filth."

"Colourful."

"I... I didn't mean to listen in, but... but when I heard him say that, and realised he was talking about you, I ran in and told him you were nice."

"Thank you, Lily. That's not all, is it?"

"No, he... he slapped me and when I told him I'd tell my father, he said he'd break my arm if I did that. Then I told him I'll tell you and he just laughed. I... he used to be so nice. Why...?" The rest was drowned by more sobs.

"Do you trust me, Lily?" he asked the girl.

A flush of emotions flashed through Lily's face as she fidgeted in place in indecision.

"Are you... are you... scary?" Lily asked hesitantly. She took a step back, torn between curiosity and caution.

"I can be," Rowan admitted and stood up slowly. "But you don't have to be afraid of me. Remember when you asked me if I was interested in Slayers? I know both of them, Buffy and Faith, and they are my friends. Do you think the Slayers would have befriended me if they thought I was a threat?"

"How do I know that they know?"

"You could ask your father. I assume the original versions of the Watcher Diaries kept by Rupert and Gwen for the past year have been catalogued by now. But, ultimately, it depends on whether you trust me."

They looked at each other in silence for almost a minute.

This time it was Rowan who broke the silence. "Like your uncle has shown, humans don't always look too kindly upon the demon-kind, regardless of... our disposition. I cannot fault them for that, I guess, but I truly mean you no harm."

"Me or people?" Lily asked sharply, her tears forgotten for the moment. She was a very astute young girl.

"Would you settle for just you for now?"

"I guess," Lily answered hesitantly after mulling over the question for several seconds. "You were nice to me earlier," she continued with newly found confidence. "You didn't have to be, but you were."

Lily took a few hesitant steps forward almost trembling. She touched Rowan's hand lightly, and slowly looked up. "Why doesn't Uncle Roger like you?" she whispered. "You... you're nice and you're beautiful."

Rowan smiled widely at the wide-eyed look on Lily's face. "Coming from a pretty girl like you, that's special."

"You think I'm pretty?" Lily asked with her eyes impossibly widening even more. "You think... people can be pretty?"

"Yes, definitely. Faith, that's the Slayer I mentioned earlier, I like her very much and I think she is very pretty. Much more than just pretty."

"You... you 'like her' like her?" Lily breathed and lowered her eyes again.

"Yes, yes I do." Rowan nodded.

"'Cause she's a Slayer?" Lily asked through suddenly gritted teeth. When Rowan just looked at her, she shook off his hand and backed away. "I am going to be a Slayer one day!" she shouted, turned and ran out of the gym.

Although it shouldn't have been possible, Rowan heard the sound of glasses being cleaned on the other side of the boxing ring.

"How much did you hear, Wes?" Rowan asked and returned back to the dummy. He picked up his own sword as the Keeper came into view.

"Most of it," Wesley answered and pocketed his handkerchief. "You handled that very well."

Instead of responding, Rowan unsheathed the sword and flowed into the "falling water" pattern. "Did you come here to just watch me train?" he asked without breaking form.

"Maybe I did," Wesley answered smugly.

"Not about to switch teams, are you?" Rowan asked and froze into a one-legged stand, sideways to Wes with the sword held horizontally at eye-level, pointing directly at the Keeper.

"No," Wesley chuckled briefly. "Although the temptation is sometimes difficult to resist, I must admit."

"It's refreshing to hear you speak your mind when we're alone. If I didn't know differently, I'd say you were about to piss your pants when the vote was taking place."

"Hostile territory," Wesley shrugged. "By the way, Hoàng Liên Trang called. The Slayer will be taken to meet the... the Powers today."

"Good luck, Sunray," Rowan murmured while fluidly flowing from form to form.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce's association with the Faithful went all the way back to when he was still in the Academy. Just before the final practical exams, his class had attended a witchcraft seminar in Devon, where he had been contacted (and, well, "recruited") by a Witch who was... "sympathetic to their cause" as she had put it.

The Faithful, formerly part of the Council but separated from them centuries ago, were a small, loose group who believed in the Powers and their quest for balance in the multiverse. The Council's official creed was that all evil must be erased from the world by any means necessary, but a few enlightened Watchers saw many years ago that without balance, absolute Good held little difference to absolute Evil. These few Watchers left the Council and went underground before they could be excommunicated... or worse.

Over many years they accumulated knowledge about the Powers and sought out any evidence of their continued presence and influence in the world. Eventually they found what they were looking for, or actually, what they were looking for found them. An emissary of the Powers contacted them one day and, according to lore, told them that, "Yeah, you've been noted and, by the way, you will be officially doing the Powers' low-level clean and dirty work in the world from now on. Any questions? Alrighty, then. We'll be in touch."

Always trying to keep under the radar of the Council, they contacted an occasional Potential before the Council had her in their clutches, a Watcher-in-training every now and then, unremarkable young witches and so on. Never too many to raise suspicions.

Wesley had accepted their offer almost without hesitation. He had been told to lay low and not make a big number of himself. That had put him directly at odds with his father, who had dreams of heading the Council one day and then eventually retiring to the position of a grey eminence when his son was ready to take the lead – under his watchful eye of course. He knew his loyalties didn't lie with the Council which he had come to learn to be totally distanced from reality. The way they pulled the strings in the shadows, the way they regarded and treated the Slayers, without whom they had no real purpose to exist.

So, he had lobbied heavily to be appointed to his current position as the Keeper when it became evident that the position would see a vacancy soon. To his surprise and annoyance, he could have saved himself the energy he had spent in the lobbying as he never had to vie for the position. Everyone seemed to be relieved that someone had volunteered for a position most of them regarded as the most wretched job within the Council.

Of course, Wesley had had his ambitions of being a Watcher in the trenches and maybe even getting a shot at being the Watcher to a Slayer. Someone seemed to have realised, though, way before he did, that his talents lay elsewhere. The Keeper was a Cabinet position, a member of the Council's inner circle, although many often wondered why. Maybe it was some anachronistic remnant no-one had bothered to correct. So, he had a first-row seat to the inner workings of the Council with very little actual responsibility. Maybe it was a sinecure office, but in the current circumstances he couldn't have wished for a better position. He tried to appear disappointed and dejected in public, so that no-one would mark him for promotion, but alone in his underground "office" and lately with Rowan, he was really in his element. He had access to every book, every prophecy, every artefact the Council had accumulated over its long history.

And when his... other job required his absence from the Headquarters, it was easy to explain as an acquisition trip. And, then, Rowan had arrived, preceded by a late-night call from his "other" boss in New Zealand.

The faded, green road sign had screamed "Welcome to Cleveland!" in large white letters. It had brought a fleeting memory back to Xander's mind, something to do with Rowan and the school library. But it was late already and finding lodgings for the night took precedence. He now had over $200 in his pocket in addition to a full tank. Rick had been so impressed by his fixing of the bar interior that he had stayed for another day and done additional maintenance in the kitchen as well.

"Northfield Road," he muttered as he drove slowly along the somewhat quiet street, looking for motel signs. The he spotted it, "Economy Inn & Suites". Excellent, "Economy" suited him just fine.

The reception was wo-manned by a by a young woman painting her nails. She didn't look up until Xander cleared his throat. "Any rooms available?" he asked after he had the receptionist's full attention.

"And how long would you be staying, Sir," the woman asked and logged into the pc in front of her.

Xander hadn't really thought about that yet. "Dunno," he scratched his head in uncertainty. "What do you got?"

"Well, it seems you're in luck, Mr...?"

"Harris."

"... Harris. We have a cancellation just in. Normally a single is $15 for a night, but if you'll book it for five, you can get it for $50."

"Breakfast?" Xander asked hopefully but got a flat look in return. "Ok, no breakfast. I'll take it. Any food joints nearby?"

"There's a Caribbean place next door," the woman answered and handed Xander the registration form. "Further up Northfield there's a Cajun place, a BK and Wendy's. In the other direction there's a Subway and a BBQ bar."

"Thanks. You got any maps of the area?"

The receptionist pointed at a pile of folded maps on the other end of the desk and handed Xander his key card. "Room seven. Outside and to the left, second floor. You can dial "0" for reception. Calls outside will be charged to your room. Anything more I can help you with?" All this was said in one breath in a way that reminded Xander of Willow. He took the key card and a map with a half-sad, half-fond half-smile on his face and left to look for his room.