When Giles answered his phone at the end of June, it surprised him to hear from one of his few remaining contacts at the Watcher's Council. The ex-Watcher exchanged polite pleasantries with Robson as was expected before blatantly inquiring as to the reason for the call.
"Ah, yes, well, I was wondering if you had seen the news," the active Watcher started.
Although he spent most of his time scouring his library for information on the possible prophesy that Jenny retrieved from Brother Luca, Giles had watched the news the previous evening. The exiled Brit did not remember anything of note being mentioned. He replied that he had not seen anything of special significance. Other than erupting violence in Albania and ongoing issues within the Turkish government, there had been nothing represented of strong international interest. There had certainly been nothing that seemed to prick his conscious as being related to the supernatural.
"Well, perhaps American journalism lacks a common interest in anything that does not involve celebrity scandal or political corruption," Robson commented before explaining the recent international news which held importance to those in the business of watching slayers.
Robson's voice held a strong note of appreciation as he explained that the information that Giles provided the Council enabled them to avert major catastrophe in Delhi. Ms. Calender's collected data provided the necessary groundwork that allowed the newly called Slayer to defeat the group of bloodthirsty Rakshasas who attempted to raise a fiery Asura in the middle of a crowded movie theater. Although there were still a number of casualties, the foreknowledge allowed the Watchers to better prepare for the previously unexpected attack. The release of a nature deity like an Asura would have been an unmitigated disaster which would have resulted in city wide death and destruction.
"The information you provided helped avoid a tragedy of epic proportions," Robson explained. "The Slayer was able to defeat the demons before they called forth the power-seeking deity."
"Damage was minimal compared to the inevitable devastation which would have occurred if the Asura had revived. Fortunately, the Council was able to spin the events to the media so that everyone believes that it was a simple fire in the Upharr Cinema that killed 58 patrons and not an intervention of the supernatural."
"Interestingly enough," Robson added. "The theater was showing a movie called Border when the incident occurred. The borders and fences part of the information was the only thing we were unable to understand in your data until after the incident."
Robson shared that it was unfortunate that the newly called Slayer was victim number fifty-nine in the event. She had succumbed to her combat injuries and the excessive smoke inhalation shortly after thwarting the summoning. He added that the newest Slayer had been called in Italy.
Giles sighed at the news. He had hoped that the data from Sunnydale might have saved the life of the new Slayer. Fleetingly, the disgraced Watcher wondered if anyone would truly mourn the Indian Slayer. From Robson's words and attitude, it already appeared that the Council had quickly shifted their attention and concern to the Italian peninsula. The ex-Watcher's disgust with his previous employer only grew at the cavalier manner even his once friend and colleague presented in regards to the Chosen One. For the first time, Rupert saw the truth behind the Council of Watcher's army of one. The Slayer truly was nothing more than a thing to the stuffy old men.
"I wanted to stress my thanks for you help, Rupert," his friend continued without realizing the preoccupation of his long-distance audience. "Your information actually made an incredible difference for the Council. In fact, when I shared who gave us the heads up, Hughes actually suggested that we extend an invitation to you and your computer colleague to come to London and work in the prophesy and portends division of the Council. It would be a great opportunity. Have you back in the thick of things instead of languishing overseas at the mouth of Hell."
"What do you think?" Robson extended. "Fancy a return to the fold in the motherland?"
Giles remained silent for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. As of yet, he had not contacted the Council about the continued existence of his Slayer. The British man had been livid at their treatment of him after her assumed demise and had resisted the urge to inform them of the change in status. The failure to share might have been predominately a result of pinched feelings, but the librarian's logical side embraced the subterfuge as well. Rupert had hoped to observe any changes in his Slayer's abilities before contacting the Watcher's Council. Since a new Slayer had been called, Giles had wondered if Buffy's powers had been lost in the short time she was technically dead. Since her recovery from the incident was followed by her summer trip to her father's home, the ex-Watcher lacked the chance to pursue these tests and observations at this point. Fall and the new school year would be soon enough to confirm Buffy's status.
To be honest, Giles was also concerned about the influence of the new prophecy that Jenny had discovered. It was daunting to think that his Slayer would be facing another test so soon after her prophesied death. With minimal consideration for Robson's offer, Giles declined. He was not about to abandon his post in Sunnydale or his Slayer. In addition, he was most certainly not going to inform the callous bastards that his Slayer was still alive. They could muck in some other poor girl's life. He would do what he could to protect his girl's life.
"Hey Wills," Xander greeted with a peppy grin as he swept into her bedroom like he owned it. He made a beeline for her bed and flopped onto the neatly made bedspread. The mattress bounced under his weight and the books and papers scattered across the surface shifted precariously. Xander pushed most of the mess into a pile and stacked it on the floor. He then picked up and examined the heavy book that sat on his best friend's pillow. The book looked ancient and Harris correctly assumed that it belonged to their very own ex-Watcher friend.
"You know it is still summer vacation," he commented as he waved the most likely dry and boring tome in the direction of his friend before returning it to its previous resting spot. "It's not time for homework yet."
Willow nodded absently as she finished perusing her current paragraph from an equally old reference book. When she finished reading the unhelpful passage about the Mother-of-Devils, Kishimojin, and her ten demonic daughters, the red-haired teen crossed off yet another entry from the long list of possible demon related references to a daughter. She was happy that there seemed to be no similarities between Buffy's situation and the Buddhist ogre who learned a divine lesson and later became the goddess responsible for both fertility and childhood illness.
Although thrilled that her friend still lived, the red-haired teen feared the impending doom that hovered around the next prophesy about their favorite slayer. Willow was determined to assist in any manner possible to help avert any further tragedy. If that meant spending her entire summer with piles of Gile's musty and sometimes even moldy books, she was game.
Closing her current tome since it was more than time for a break, Willow turned her attention to her waiting friend. The slightest hint of a blush crept onto her cheeks as she thought about how nice it was to have Xander on her bed. It warmed her body in a tingly and happy way to see him relaxing on her innocent cream colored bedding. Slightly flustered by the presence of her best friend and current crush since her mind was wondering to naughty places, Willow's next reply held a hint of fluster in her tone. "You know I am trying to help Giles with finding references to Daughters in his extensive collection of books."
"Yeah," Xander replied as he flipped onto his stomach and made himself more comfortable on his friend's bed. "I know that you're looking and I am all with the support. Anything to help the Buffster. Thing is, you've spent so much time with the G-man's books that I was thinkin' of buying you a tweed skirt and jacket for the first day of school. Where's the fun?"
"You've been at it almost all summer and do we even know if you're lookin' in the right direction? Not like Buffy was sharing person before she left for LA."
Small hints of pain and confusion tinged with a bit of anger seeped into Xander's voice. The teen was obviously feeling a bit annoyed with the third member of their best friend triangle. Willow nervously shifted her fingers along the wire metal rings of her notebook.
"I'm sure she told Giles everything," stated Willow finally. Even after being fired, the school librarian was still the focal point for the teen's desire to be included with research. She might not be a physical help to her friend but Willow was determined to be at least a book help. "That's why we're searching for connections to the information from Ms. Calender."
Xander moved once again until he was sitting on the bed properly. He twitched a bit before finally resting his hands on his knees. While he shifted around, the teen's thoughts kept circling around how distant and unfriendly their best Slayer friend had been. The dark haired teen could still smarted over the almost daily repeated rejections issued by Mrs. Summers as he stood in the shade of Buffy's front porch.
"School starts soon," Xander complained. "And I haven't heard from her all summer. Have you?"
Willow offered her friend a look of shared discomfort and concern.
"Not since the first postcard," she admitted before adding her own bit of optimistic hope. "But I am sure she will be back soon and all with the sharing."
"She wouldn't see me, Will," Harris added with frustration evident in his expression and tone. "I mean, I understand why she wouldn't want to see DeadBoy. He's a creepy vamp when all is said and done. Honestly, I was glad when Buffy's mom told him he couldn't see her when he showed up at the same time I did to check on her when she came home from the hospital. I didn't mind being told to go home since Mr. Broody was told to leave too. But she wouldn't see me any other time either. Everyone knows we're best friends. Why was she all with the hiding from us?"
Willow nervously chewed on her lip. She too was a bit hurt that Buffy had withdrawn from them after 'The Incident' as the two friends had chosen to call whatever actually happened to the Slayer the night of the school dance. The quiet teen visited her best female friend once in the hospital and then once again at her home. Willow had helped Buffy pack for her visit with her father and encouraged her friend to share her feelings. All the blond had said was that she died and came back. The petite Slayer had shrugged and said that there wasn't really anything else to say. Buffy had then shifted the conversation to shoes and accessories and Willow had accepted the topic shift with only a small stab of concern.
As summer progressed and she didn't hear from her friend, the teen's concern grew from a kernel to a full sized corn stalk. It was now an eight foot tall healthy green shoot of queasy concern with several ears of prickly fear. Like Xander, Willow's feelings were also a bit pinched over her friend's lack of communication, but unlike her male friend, she was willing to be more supportive. Even though "The Incident" had ended without the real tragedy, Buffy had died. It was bound to have some unexpected effects. Unlike Xander, Willow wasn't dwelling on the perceived slight. She was more concerned with the underlying cause of the isolation and not the isolation itself. Willow only hoped that whatever issues were bothering her friend would be resolved in time for the next emergency.
As her clueless crush rambled about his petulant whine, the red-haired teen wondered fleetingly if she should ignore Xander for a few weeks to see if he would suddenly realize that she was there. The insidious thought crept into her mind and bloomed like a kudzu. Purple flowers of happy Xander attention bloomed in the lush yet choking green plant in her thoughts. The lack of Buffy-contact seemed to have made her normally happy-go-lucky friend even more focused on the pretty Slayer than he had been. An unconscious giggle tickled her throat and escaped her lips as she imagined Xander finally realizing how much he cared for her because she was ignoring him like most other girls did. It would be a serious change from their normal state of affairs where she hung on his every word and catered to his every whim.
Feeling a bit guilty over her giggling and wandering fancy while her companion was clearly still upset, Willow shifted her notebook nervously. It slipped off the top of her work space and slid towards the floor between the desk and her overstuffed bookshelves. Stretching from her chair and balancing precariously, the teen squished her hand into the thin, dusty space between her furniture in hopes of retrieving her notebook. She made a non-committal grunt in response to Xander's continued lament about their friend's strange behavior as her fingers felt along the edge of her desk near the floor. Her digits touched paper and so she wiggled her fingers in an attempt to shift the notepad towards the front where she could actually grasp it. After repeated attempts and banging her knuckles a couple times on the pressed wood, she finally shifted free the notebook. Willow altered her grip and pulled the notebook from the floor. When she sat it back on her desk, she noticed that she had also retrieved a folded newspaper.
Willow frowned at the folded Sunnydale Press. Green eyes scanned the paper as she tried to remember why she had saved it. The memory eluded her for the moment and so she skimmed the articles in hopes of stimulating a memory from the content. She sifted past the article about the Spring Fling to another story on the page. Her gut clenched and her breath seemed to catch sideways in her throat. She suddenly remembered reading this article weeks ago and taking it to Giles' flat thinking that it might be something of concern. With the firing and Ms. Calender's arrival, all thoughts of the newspaper had slipped her mind. As she reread the short news story, Willow realized how right her instincts had been. The information had been important to the Scoobies. Bile bubbled up in the back of her mouth.
"Oh god," she muttered in horror as her hands began to shake. Flickering images of the real horror her friend faced shimmered in the teen's mind.
"Willow?" her friend called in concern as he dropped his quiet tirade in the middle of his sentence. Her obvious distress cut right through his surface pain to a deep seeded worry in his gut over his best friend. Xander rose from the bed and moved to support the suddenly emotional Willow. With her hands still trembling and eyes rimmed with tears, the redhead held out the folded newspaper towards him. He took it with one hand while rubbing her shoulder with the other.
"I think I know why she doesn't want to talk about it," she stated in a husky voice as Buffy's behavior now made more sense.
Xander read the article once. His forehead wrinkled in confusion as he read it a second time. Just like Willow, the young man started to shake also. With a growl, he crumbled the newspaper into a rough ball and whipped the offending information across the room.
"We need to talk to Giles," the livid teen barked before stomping from the room. Nodding her head in agreement, Willow trailed behind him with only a quick detour to grab the discarded newspaper and attempt to smooth the crumpled mess in order to share with the ex-Watcher. They needed to know if Giles really did know all the facts.
Devon MacLeish loudly thanked Mrs. Osbourne for the drink and for allowing him in the house just before he slammed open his friend's bedroom door and strutted into the room like he had captured the gold medal in some sporting event. He placed his half-finished glass of iced tea on his friend's tall dresser before greeting the occupied musician.
His currently red-haired friend glanced at him for a moment in acknowledgment of his presence. With a quick, silent nod, Oz petitioned the singer for a few moments of silence before he returned his attention to the paper in his hand. Daniel wanted to finish reading his newest mail while the words were fresh in his mind. The loose-leaf notebook paper had obviously been folded previously and extracted from the cancelled envelope laying ripped open and discarded on the guitar player's desk. Devon smirked at the bright purple ink and loopy handwriting on his friend's letter. He immediately recognized the pretty and obviously feminine scroll of his buddy's current LA trapped pen pal. The singer couldn't help but tease his friend about his new girlfriend while the smaller musician refolded his note and placed it back in its envelope.
"Not my girlfriend," Oz replied automatically for possibly the hundredth time over the summer. Devon had taken to calling Buffy his girlfriend every time she was mentioned. The singer figured that if he kept repeating the harassment enough that it would finally break through the calm facade that his buddy always seemed to project. So far, the tactic had not worked but McLeish wasn't about to give up any time soon. Finally having something worthwhile with which to tease Oz was a blessing he was not about to abandon.
Devon just shook his head while he dropped to the carpet and started digging through the stacks of CDs strewn across his friend's floor. There was little rhyme or reason to the collection of music. The choices covered multiple decades and styles. He found something interesting and slipped it into his friend's stereo. Tony McCarroll's percussion rolled from the speakers for a few measures then was joined by Noel Gallagher's trilling on guitar before his brother Liam's vocals took hold. Devon grinned as he lamented in a good-natured manner just how unfair his friend's music collection was. The singer sorely coveted the vast array of UK imports that Oz owned.
"So, I finally hooked up with Cordelia Chase," Devon stated without any segue or build-up.
Oz nodded in understanding but still wasn't sure why this information was important for him to know. Devon connected with new chicks on a fairly regular basis and never really made a point to inform anyone. It would have been useless to announce who his newest fling was because they changed so rapidly that even Devon sometimes had trouble keeping track of who was current.
"And?" prompted Osbourne as he started stacking his CDs into some semblance of order. He knew that if he didn't make the effort to remove them from the center of his carpet that his mom would have a fit when she noticed the mess.
Devon looked a bit sheepish for a moment.
"Well, she's a junior. So's your friend. I was thinking maybe we could do something together. Like a double date."
"Not my girlfriend," Oz once more repeated for the hundred and first time.
"Well, we could just make it a group thing then, ok? Maybe ask the other guys too?" Devon nudged.
Oz frowned and asked why. His question was met with an embarrassed blush and stammering until MacLeish finally admitted he was nervous about the date for which he had angled for most of the summer. Cordelia Chase was one of the hottest and most sought girls at SunnyDale high. Although Devon had an overdeveloped sense of self-worth, he still felt the need to try to impress the girl who had resisted him for months. It was the first time it had happened since the senior had joined the Dingos. Cordelia's resistance unnerved him slightly. Oz stared at his friend for a few moments. Then he sighed.
"Buffy comes home tomorrow afternoon. I'll ask her."
"Drusilla," Spike enunciated very slowly and with a tone that just barely covered his building annoyance. "Pet... Why are we slogging through the ruddy sewers? Don't you think we could find somewhere a bit more comfortable to spend the day?"
The pale blond vampire kicked some rocky debris from their path and it bounced down the tunnel until falling into some foul, stagnant water at the junction of their current tunnel and the one running perpendicular to it. The vicious kick did nothing to relieve Spike's current level of frustrations. He was not having a good night. For weeks, his lover had bulked and held up their cross-country trip. After Dru's issues with the plane which led to a longer trip by boat, the crazy vampire had then insisted that they follow a ridiculously meandering route through every piss-ant little town that struck her fancy. They had ripped a path across the United States searching for small covens, gifted prophets, and even a couple psychic scam artists. It had been a slow and seemingly unfocused trip. Then, yesterday, Dru suddenly started screaming that they were going to be late. She panicked so badly that Spike had finally promised to drive their stolen car all day instead of sleeping so that they would reach their destination in time for whatever had Drusilla in such a tizzy.
The lack of sleep contributed to William the Bloody's size-able desire to rip something to shreds but it was not the only cause. The previous evening, the pair reached the outskirts of LA about forty minutes before midnight. At that point, Drusilla had decided that they needed to drive another two hours to some hell hole called SunnyDale. When Spike had attempted to delay for a snack, his wicked plum had refused to eat any of the snacks he acquired for her. In fact, she had gotten nasty when he tried to sample the goods too. His left cheek still bore the slight scabs from when she viciously raked her sharp claws down the side of his face in a fit of fury.
Finally, when they reached their quiet little destination, Drusilla had practically destroyed the classic car the blond vampire had liberated from some grandpa farmer in Iowa who had probably bought the thing brand new in 1959. Since he wasn't privy to why they were in Sunnydale, Spike had been cruising the DeSoto up and down streets waiting for something to catch Dru's fancy. Problem was that when something did strike her interest, the reality challenged vampire flung herself at the wheel and jerked it so hard that the Fireflite plowed through a sign and took out two mailboxes before it crashed into the iron gate of a rather large cemetery. Spike liked the car; it made him feel all big and manly. He was not happy with the damage Drusilla inflicted on it.
To top the car fiasco, Drusilla then dragged him through the gate to weave between tombstones until finally finding a crypt that led to the tunnels where they had been wondering for hours. He was tires, hungry and so not enjoying the odors assaulting his senses.
"Dru... Luv... Won't Miss Edith want a nice bed to rest her pretty head on?" Spike prodded in an attempt to sway the dark beauty from her conviction that they had to find something in the underbelly of there new hometown. "If we go now, we can still grab a snack and find someplace befitting my dark princess before the sun comes up."
His companion stopped as if considering his words but Spike's surge of triumph was short lived. Despite the dimly light space, Spike realized that she was not actually considering his suggestion. Instead, the loony vampire was once again listening to the voices in her head. Silently, Spike hoped that one of the blasted voices took a cartography class sometime in its life because he suspected they were good and lost at this point. The peroxided blond sighed and rubbed his tired eyes as Drusilla began to sing.
"Over the river and through the woods to grandfather's house we go," she cackled as she lithely jumped over the foul sewer water and turned confidently to the left. With another sigh, her tired lover followed her like he had done for over a century. It was going to be an even longer night than he had already expected and not even his unwavering love and devotion were enough to completely stamp out his building temper. If the vampire had been any less of a monster, he might have felt badly for whoever was going to be the inevitable recipient of his current cogitation. As it was, the next creature was just down the next tunnel and was about to learn just how unpleasant Spike's day had made him.