A month later
Rowan stepped briskly out of the castle and into the waiting Rolls-Royce. The driver held the door open and closed it behind him. A man in his early fifties, dressed in a smart pin-striped suit was waiting for him in the back seat. Once Rowan was inside, the man held out his right hand and greeted him.
"Good morning, Mr Shea. I'm Robert Keith."
"Lord Marischal," Rowan greeted the man and shook the offered hand.
The Earl Marischal gave him a good-natured laugh. "You're very well informed, Mr Shea."
"I try to be," Rowan smiled back.
"I know a little bit about you, Mr Shea. I think we can drop the courtesies and treat each other as equals, at least for the duration of the drive. Of course, certain amount of ceremony will be expected when we reach our destination. So, what do you say, Rowan?"
"Thank you, Robert. I'd like that."
Lord Marischal tapped the glass separating the back of the car from the front seats and the car smoothly exited the Castle's front yard.
Sir Quentin Travers gave a relieved sigh as he noticed the pair who had been ushered in. He excused himself to the others in the group and went to greet the newcomers.
"Framadar," he nodded politely to Rowan.
"Consul," Rowan responded the same way.
"The others are anxious to meet you. Please follow me. I'll make the introductions."
The other members of the group watched the approaching trio with interest. Travers stopped in front of the group which had formed a line. Lord Marischal took his place as the second in the line.
"Your Grace, My Lords, My Lady, Hierarch, may I present to you Framadar A'Rowane Than'Shea," Travers introduced Rowan to the group.
A tall, young man who had been the first in line took a step forward.
"William Stafford, the Duke of Buckingham. Here in his capacity as the Lord High Constable of England."
The two being introduced looked at each other for a few seconds, appraising one another. Then Rowan put his right palm on his heart and nodded briefly.
"Constable," Rowan greeted the duke.
The young duke greeted Rowan with the same gesture and gave a small chuckle. "It's an honour to meet you, Framadar."
Next, Robert stepped forward from the line.
"Robert Keith, the Earl Marischal. Here in his capacity as Marscallus Scotiae."
"Marshal," Rowan greeted him formally.
"Framadar," Lord Marischal smiled back. Next a portly man took a step forward.
"Henry Butler, the Earl of Ormonde. Here in his capacity as the Great Seneschal of Ireland."
"Steward," Rowan nodded at the man who was looking back at him with a barely-contained, hungry look in his eyes.
"Framadar," Lord Ormonde managed to swallow, loosening his tie. There were drops of sweat on his brow which he quickly dapped with his handkerchief.
Next was a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged woman in a dark robe.
"Lady Althenea Moncreiff, Priestess of the Goddess. Here in her capacity as the Mistress of the Coven in England."
"Lady," Rowan leaned over the offered hand and touched the slender fingers of the woman lightly with his lips.
"Blessings of the Goddess be on you, Framadar," the formidable woman intoned in a deep voice.
The last person to be introduced was an old man with a long white beard. He was dressed in a pure white robe.
"Crispin Strange, the Archdruid of Britannia."
"Hierarch," Rowan nodded and touched his brow, lips and heart with his fingertips.
"I believe I still lead you in years, so I hope you don't mind me calling you 'young man', young man," the old Druid chuckled with his blue eyes twinkling.
The men and the Priestess joined hands in a circle and beckoned for Rowan to join them.
"These proceedings are sealed. My sword is on the table," the Duke of Buckingham announced formally. The others murmured "my sword is on the table" in response and immediately there was a lightening of the mood as everyone relaxed.
"While we are under seal, there are no secrets in this room," Travers explained to Rowan. "All titles are dropped, of course."
"I see," Rowan nodded in understanding. "Please, call me Rowan."
"This Order was created during the reign of Vortigern, King of the Britons. For most of its existence it has had close ties with the Council," Travers explained to everyone present in general and Rowan in particular. They were sitting around a round table in luxurious golden chairs, lined with crimson velvet. "The Order's concerns are the mythical, legendary and supernatural affairs within Britain and Ireland. However much the political landscape changes, underneath it all they are still One. The Order also advices the Monarch in all aspects supernatural as they relate to these lands. Its current statutory members are the highest ranking hereditary Great Officers of State in England, Scotland and Ireland, and the Prince of Wales. It is customary, though not mandatory, that the Archdruid and the... a Priestess of the Goddess are members as well. The Head of the Council is, ex officio, the secretary of the Order and, by custom, the deputy to the Tywysog Cymru."
"Can we finally get to the point of this meeting, Quentin?" the Priestess cut in impatiently. "I'm sure you can fill Rowan in with the history details later."
"I was getting there, Althenea," Travers nodded. "But, please, go ahead."
"Rowan, we were recently contacted by the High Priestess of Britain who demanded we send you to meet her. She did this before most of us even knew of your existence." She looked around the table, then leaned back before continuing. "So, on the Autumn Equinox you will..."
"Althenea!" Robert burst out sounding scandalised. "We have yet to ask him if he's even willing to be a participant in this."
The old Druid held up his hand. "We didn't ask him here to just listen to us wag our tongues, Robert."
Rowan kept a neutral look on his face. "I'm still listening." He had been able to fill out most of the missing details, but a key piece seemed to be missing.
"Who is the High Priestess?" he asked the group in general.
Everyone stayed silent until Travers broke it.
"She is Morgaine, the Duchess of Cornwall, and she is a vampire."
After a short pause, Rowan nodded to himself. Some of the discrepancies in the Watcher Diaries were suddenly starting to make sense. "I see. The Morgaine?"
"In principle," Travers answered. "The Council and the Coven have kept a file on her for centuries, but the details are not important here. Althenea and I can write a summary report for you later. For now, the following should be sufficient. She is the daughter of Constantine, the last reigning duke of the Duchy of Cornwall. She was born around the year 492 CE, became a Priestess of the Goddess at 11 years old and was invested as the High Priestess at 24. She's believed to have become a vampire not long after that, even though her death has never been officially recorded. Hence, she remains the suo jure Duchess of Cornwall. Geoffrey of Monmouth included her in his writings after he had allegedly met with her in 1147. Ever since, fact and fiction have been inseparably mixed in the Arthurian legends."
"She is known to take pride in the fact that she has never drank from a commoner," Althenea supplied. "She has been implicated in the deaths of multiple persons with Royal Blood over the years, some obscure, some quite prominent. Quentin?"
Travers grimaced. "A... plan to kill her was secretly put into action by one of my predecessors. The attempt executed by the Council's Special Operations Unit failed, but after the events at Mullaghmore, several family members of past and then current Order members vanished as did my unfortunate predecessor. A tentative truce was brokered by Crispin as a somewhat neutral party. No more assassination attempts for no more disappearances. There's more but that's the core of it."
Rowan let his gaze sweep over everyone around the table. "Any idea how she knew to ask for me specifically?"
"Many legendary creatures in Britain and Ireland, and practically everyone who still follows the Old Covenant, regard her as their rightful Queen," Althenea answered grimly. "There's very little going on in these lands she is not aware of."
There was a long silence during which the Order members gave each other furtive glances.
"So...," William eventually broke the silence in clear discomfort.
"Indeed...," Robert nodded.
Rowan rolled his eyes. "What you all are emphatically not saying is that if an accident, like slipping and falling on a stake, were to happen to the High Priestess, I might get away with a slap on the wrist."
"Oh, no. We would never condone such action," Henry shook his head, failing abysmally in his attempt to sound horrified at the mere suggestion.
A look at Althenea made it clear that the woman would definitely not hesitate to have herself invested as the next High Priestess if an opportunity presented itself.
"She's very well protected," Travers told him. "She's also clever, powerful and, first of all, a survivor. You don't get to... live to be 1,500 years old without an extremely well-honed instinct for survival."
"Count me in," Rowan finally nodded. "She seems like someone... intriguing."
"Very well," Robert smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Before we adjourn this meeting. William, maybe a few words about possible compensation?"
"Yes, of course," William agreed. "So, Rowan, how can we...?"
"The High Priestess is almost certain to try to negotiate something with me at some point. No more than that, whatever it will turn out to be."
"I'm glad you didn't agree to do this pro bono, Rowan," William laughed. "Now I know we can take you seriously. Very well, we're adjourned."
Rowan was sitting on top of the low wall lining the front steps to the mansion where the meeting had taken place, watching the slowly approaching Rolls-Royce, when Henry stepped out of the door and came to stand on the stairs next to him.
"Lord Ormonde, what can I do for you?" Rowan asked without turning his head.
"I was wondering...," Henry started hesitantly. "I was wondering if you would accept an invitation to dinner."
Rowan sat in silence, watching the portly man practically squirm until the Rolls-Royce stopped in front of the steps.
He hopped down from the wall and winked at the man. "I'll think about it, Henry. You seem nice, but I'm afraid you'll just have to get in line."
With that he stepped into the waiting car, feeling the man's gaze bore into his backside.
"Oh, my," Henry breathed and started fanning his suddenly very hot face with his handkerchief as the car drove away.
"Problems in paradise, Ormonde?" an amused voice queried from behind him.
"Robert, do you have any idea how much...?" Henry practically stammered.
"Yes, he does seem to have that kind of an effect on many people, doesn't he?" Robert nodded and patted Henry's shoulder in sympathy. "Best let it lie, though, Henry. Remember Travers telling us that he's involved with the Slayer? You wouldn't want to have her come after you for trying to seduce someone that belongs to her, now, would you?"
"She wouldn't do that, would she?" Henry whispered in shock, peeking over his shoulders and looking like he expected the Slayer to jump at him from behind the shrubbery at any moment.
"She might. You can never really know with Slayers."
"Faith, you have a visitor," Pauline announced from the door to the Slayer's room.
"What?" Faith asked in bafflement from where she was lying in her bed and lowered her English textbook to her lap. She ran a quick mental checklist. Besides the Faithful, the Powers and select few others, no-one knew she was in NZ in the first place, let alone here in Oruanui.
Despite her Slayer healing, she was still not 100% recovered from her DUI accident. She had had to cut back on her physical training but that didn't mean she had been allowed to spend the extra time in idleness. Oh, no. Pauline had deputised Miyoko to act as the teacher in the afternoons when Dr Kiwi herself had classes at the college and the two younger women would otherwise be sparring or otherwise exercising.
Faith might be lacking in some social skills, but she was extremely loyal to those who she felt deserved it. And this small group around her definitely did that. After her accident she had fulfilled all her tasks to the "T", never complaining or trying to make it easier on herself. As a result, her studies had advanced at an astounding rate. Her first straight "A" in an English test had been a cause for celebration, but after that she had just taken the following "A's" and "B's" as a matter of course.
What she didn't know was that her learning curve in these two plus months has been such that she was currently at a level of a High School junior near the end of their year. Pauline had never mentioned this to Faith, in order not to lay any undue pressure on the Slayer that might hinder her progress, but by the end of the year with the current progress, the Slayer would equal a Senior mid-way through their final year.
Pauline was determined to have Faith earn a GED by early Spring and maybe complete a few college courses before her allotted year was out. She was equally determined to see Faith get accepted to a college in the States starting next Autumn. There were two colleges in Auckland serving as international test centres for SAT tests. The next possible test date was in early October. She would do her best to have Faith ace that one.
As Faith stepped onto the patio, a young man in an expensive-looking suit stood up from the chair he was sitting in and held out his hand to her.
"Good afternoon, Ms Lehane," the newcomer greeted her brightly. Faith just looked at the offered hand, and after a few seconds he withdrew it. "My name's Anthony Sheppard. I represent the law firm Wolfram & Hart."
At hearing this Faith ran another quick mental check on everything she had done that might be the reason for a lawyer to contact her. Her DUI accident hadn't been reported to the police, so that couldn't be it. A quick look at the yard made it clear the guy wasn't just an intern or anything. A pristine-looking dark-blue BMW M5 was parked next to their carport.
"Yeah?" Faith frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "What the fuck do you want with me? And how the fuck did you find me?"
Sheppard didn't initially say anything. He motioned for Faith to sit in the chair opposite him at the patio table, on top of which he had laid his leather briefcase. When Faith didn't move a muscle, the lawyer sat down and leaned back in his chair.
"To answer your second question first, Ms Lehane, we have... an extensive global network," Sheppard started in a clear court-room voice. "You are well-known in some of the, let's say... more exalted circles to which some of our clients belong." He once again pointed at the vacant chair opposite him. "Why don't you sit down, Slayer? It would make the business we have easier to conduct." Then, seeing Faith's face harden, he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not armed, Ms Lehane, and I assure you I'm quite human. My briefcase contains only documents, folders, pens and such, and an electronic device. I can open it for you or, if you prefer, you can open it yourself." He pushed his chair back, leaving Faith free access to the briefcase.
"You open it," Faith commanded. "Left hand. Open it so it faces you."
Nodding in agreement Sheppard popped the locks open with his left hand and opened the lid. Faith looked cautiously inside from a distance. From what she could see the briefcase contained only what the lawyer had said it would.
"Now, Ms Lehane," Sheppard continued as Faith seemed to be satisfied with the results. "I'm here because of the last will and testament of one Richard Wilkins III."
"Say, what?" Faith asked slack-jawed as her higher thought processes came to a grinding halt. Without being consciously aware of it, she plopped down in the chair opposite the lawyer.
"Before his... unfortunate demise, Mayor Wilkins left detailed instructions with W&H on what was to become of his estate in case his... plans didn't come to fruition," Sheppard explained patiently. "The first provision of these instructions was for our firm to get in contact with you after you... awoke from your slumber in Sunnydale General."
"I don't want anything to do with the fucking estate of that dead motherfucker!" Faith growled and started to stand up.
"I see," Sheppard nodded slightly. "Before you make any decisions one way or another, Ms Lehane, maybe you should allow him to explain his reasonings to you."
Faith barked a mirthless laugh. "What are you, a medium? Don't see any ectoplasm around you or a Ouija board in your bag."
"No, Ms Lehane, I'm merely a messenger." With that he took the black, rectangular device out of his briefcase and opened its lid, revealing it to be a portable DVD player with a small 7" screen. He pushed a button, and almost immediately a medium shot of Richard Wilkins with his familiar office in the background appeared on the screen and Faith could only stare.
"Faith. As I'm recording this, you're... sleeping and there is a possibility that you might never wake up. I'm sitting here, within an enchanted circle, to keep... the other one muted – unaware. So, this is me, Richard, talking to you, Faith..."