"Did you hear?" a Third Year Watcher-in-training whispered urgently to his closest friends at the breakfast table. "The Council sent a demon here to test us under uncontrolled circumstances!"
"What? No way!" his friends burst out causing heads to turn in their direction at the other tables.
"I swear it's true. My uncle called. He'd heard that the demon was interviewed by the Cabinet and it all but attacked Roger Wyndam-Pryce for daring to oppose the plan."
"That's not what happened, Craig," the only girl in the group snorted. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is here; I saw him briefly yesterday. He mentioned nothing of the sort, and he was there."
"You're a fool, Sophie," Craig retorted. "And what about these 'uncontrolled circumstances'? Are they going to just let a demon loose among us?"
No-one had an answer to that. So far, they had only faced a few vampires in "controlled circumstances" which meant chains, crosses, bottles of holy water and seasoned Watchers with crossbows carefully monitoring the situation.
"Bugger that," one of the boys started but fell silent as another Third Year joined their group.
"Did you hear...?"
"A demon," everyone in the group sighed in synch.
"How did you...? Anyway, get this. He's going to participate in our martial arts class today to assess our skills."
"He?" Sophie asked.
"Yes, 'he'. I overheard Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Mr Konoe discuss this just now."
"Why would Konoe-sensei accept something like this?" Sophie asked in bafflement.
"Well, he's got his orders, hasn't he?"
"Did they mention what kind of demon he is, Eddie?"
Eddie furrowed his brow as he tried to recall. "I think it started with 'Le' but I didn't catch it all."
"Lei-Ach," Craig groaned.
"Aren't they the kind that look like Pennywise the Clown and Gene Simmons had a child?" Sophie asked with a look of disgust on her face.
"Right, the warrior race," Eddie recalled. "They have these oozing sores all over their skin."
"Thanks for reminding us, genius," another Third-Year groaned and pushed his breakfast plate away.
"Well, I'm not gonna go near 'It'," Sophie shuddered in revulsion.
"And you call yourself a future Watcher, Sophie?" Eddie asked sarcastically. "They are not nearly the worst of what you can expect out there."
Craig took a look around the table and a plan started forming in his head. "Fifty quid from each of you and I'll volunteer to go one-on-one with 'It'," he announced smugly. This was his chance to show his classmates and the whole Council that Slayers were just anachronistic remains of a less-enlightened era, and well-trained Watchers were really the only thing needed to keep the world safe from undead creatures and other lower lifeforms.
"Have you totally lost your marbles, mate?" Eddie burst out. "Yeah, yeah, you are the only one of us with a black belt already, but this is an effing demon we are talking about here! Just because you were in the national junior team does not make you a Slayer."
Each of them knew that Craig had ambitions to spare and then some. He was almost sure to graduate top of their class with honours and join a select group which included such great names like the 15th Earl of Glamorgan, Sir Thomas Dymoke, Edna Fairweather, Sir Quentin Travers, Roger Wyndam-Pryce and Gwendolyn Post.
One of the Third Years, the one who had pushed his plate away rose up and held out his hand to Craig. "For everyone participating, I'll double their share in the pot."
With a wide grin on his face, Craig rose up himself and shook the offered hand. "You're on, Benny!"
Benjamin Rothschild came from one of the wealthiest families in England, so everyone knew he was not just flapping his tongue. It didn't take long until there was £750 in the pot which with Benny's contribution amounted to £1,500. For Craig that was equal to almost a half-a-year's worth of spending money.
Rowan entered the Castle's small dojo wearing his gi with his green belt tied around his waist. In the upper-right corner of the dojo an old man was kneeling in front of the dojo's tokinoma. Bowing in the direction of the shomen, Rowan knelt himself in silence.
After maybe five minutes the old man bowed deep, rose to his feet and bowed again before turning around.
"Kiritsu," came the quiet command and Rowan stood up in a fluid movement.
"Come here," came the next instruction. "I want to see you move."
Rowan did as he was instructed and took the required steps to bring him maybe six feet away from the old man.
"So, you're the demon they sent," the man stated – not unfriendly.
"Yes, Sensei," Rowan answered and bowed.
"What's your name, Lehaïr?"
"Rowan, Sensei."
"And you have a green belt?"
"Yes, in jujutsu."
"I see," the old man murmured almost too quietly to hear. "My name is Konoe Shinzo and I'm the martial arts instructor here at the Academy. Most of my advanced students have earned a black belt by the time they are half-way through their final year. This is the class I've been asked to let you participate in. They might not take a green belt seriously."
"It's what I've earned so far, Sensei," Rowan answered honestly.
Shinzo nodded sagely at Rowan's words. "I've seen Slayers and vampires fight, and now I've seen you stand and move. Forget about what you've earned for a while. How would you rate your own skills?"
"I can hold my own against a Slayer, at least for a while," Rowan answered without hesitation.
"That is something no-one who didn't mean it would say. Show me."
Rowan thought about this for a few seconds. "I can show you the pattern I had to perform when I passed my 'adept' test."
"Pattern?"
"Something like a kata in modern martial arts terminology," Rowan answered. "But this was... a long time ago and the moves are mostly... unorthodox."
"How many distinct moves in the pattern?"
"187. The original name of the pattern doesn't translate but it could be called 'tip-toeing through hot springs'."
Shinzo nodded again at this, took few steps back and lowered himself to a seiza.
'Hajime!'
The fourth member of Father O'Shaughnessy's little group had introduced herself as "Becky" ("short for 'Rebecca', but no-one calls me that"). She was a plain-looking 20-year-old girl with a wild, tawny hair. She attended the College of Sciences and Health Professions at CSU, majoring in Chemistry. She had once been living at the same orphanage as her two team-mates but through perseverance and academic brilliance managed to make her way to CSU. She was also the "head" of their one-person research team.
"Garlic mace?" Xander asked incredulously as the scholarly girl presented him samples of some of the products she had invented.
"Yes," Father O'Shaughnessy answered fondly and laid a hand on Becky's shoulder. "She invented a distillation method to extract the essence harmful to vampires out of garlic cloves. Don't ask me to explain..."
"It's the organo-sulphur compounds – mainly allicin, ajoene and vinyldithiin – which are the super-allergens causing the abnormally vigorous immune response in vampires," Becky explained quietly.
"And the award for the best achievement in incomprehensible explanations goes to...," Xander started.
"Hey, I'm trying!" Becky snapped.
"Whoa! Is everyone in your little group this edgy, Padre?"
"No, just Becky and Bob," the priest answered with a straight face.
Xander decided to let it lie. All in all, this was extremely fascinating. "So," he continued. "Holy Water tranq darts and garlic mace. What else?"
"That's mainly it, for now," Becky shrugged. "As a long-term project, I'm hoping to recreate what some old legends call 'cold iron' through different annealing processes." When she saw Xander open his mouth, she continued. "No, it isn't just 'iron taken out of a freezer'. The lore around cold iron is often contradictory and there's little general agreement what 'cold' means in this context. Some sources say it needs to be 'cold-worked' as opposed to hot-worked. Others posit that the iron has never been smelted, or smelted in a way that doesn't involve any heat. A few texts refer to the fact that heating magnets to a certain point causes them to lose their magnetism, so 'cold' iron could be iron that still has its magnetic power."
"Wow, that's 'cool'," Xander smirked, but it seems his little joke just went over everyone's head. "What's it for?"
"According to myths and legends, cold iron is the only substance that can harm ghosts or beings that are only partially manifested in our reality," Father O'Shaugnessy supplied.
"Well, sounds like a real project," Xander nodded, actually impressed. "Anything else?" he asked Becky.
"In the short term I'm trying to find a way to create cross-bow bolts that self-ignite upon impact. The tip and part of the shaft would be hollow with two isolated chambers filled with chemicals that spontaneously combust when the impact causes them to mix."
"Potassium chlorate and sulfuric acid," Xander heard himself say without really thinking.
"What!" Becky almost screamed. "How would you...?"
"I... I sometimes get these military flash-backs," Xander stammered. "It was this magical incident the Halloween before last when I..."
"That's... that's brilliant," Becky grinned widely and started jumping up and down in excitement. "Highly dangerous, though. Maybe test with shafts made out of bamboo... The chambers and the components would have to be insulated with...," she continued as she stepped past Xander, already tuning out the outside world as the wheels in her head picked up speed.
"Does every group like this have a mandatory Willow in them?" Xander asked no-one in particular.
"What are you so angry at?"
The question stopped Faith in her tracks. It had been a relaxing morning jog so far and she had answered several innocent-enough-sounding questions by Miyoko along the way as they ran the eight-mile course.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Cat-Hands?" she growled, feeling some of the old tightness return to her shoulders and jaw muscles.
"Earlier, when I was assessing your form, I could see the... denseness... a slight unyielding in it," Miyoko explained in a gentle voice. "And this morning the unconscious hesitance in some of your answers..."
"Who do you think you are, my fucking shrink?" Faith snapped, balling her hands into fists. If she hadn't been angry before, she was now.
Miyoko took a few determined steps to bring her almost nose-to-nose with Faith. The look in her narrowed eyes actually made Faith take a step back.
"Yes!" the Japanese woman shouted. "And more. Did you think this would be just forms and physical exercises? Sorry to burst your bubble, Sureiyā-san. You signed up for this Champion gig. Better get used to it not being just dancing on rose petals. Now, do you feel like backing up on the whole deal? Feel like running away from all this?"
That was exactly what Faith was feeling, like she always did in uncomfortable situations. No one, not even Buffy and Rowan, had ever called her up on it so challengingly. 'I want this, I need this,' she kept repeating to herself as she took a few whole-body breaths, in through the nose – out through the mouth, just as Miyoko had showed her the day before.
"Yes, but I'm not going to," she answered honestly when she felt back in control again. She was totally unprepared for the wide smile that lit up Miyoko's face – even more so when her companion closed the distance between them and planted a soft, warm kiss on her lips.
"I want you to think about my question, Faith," Miyoko told the Slayer seriously after they had separated. "I'm going to ask it once more in the future. Then and only then should you give me your answer. Now, we should finish our lap."
As they returned to jogging, Faith stayed silent for a long time, mulling over things in her head. "Why?" she asked as they were getting close to the exit to their private road. "Why are you so interested in me, so... determined? You must know that standing up to an angry Slayer isn't very conductive to one's health."
Miyoko didn't answer until they had stopped before the open gate. "You're right, Faith. I do have a vested interest in this."
"You do?" Faith asked in surprise.
"Yes," Miyoko nodded as she started stretching her legs. "My little sister, Satsu – she's a Potential."