Chapter 26

Wesley walked into his parents' house as if he were expecting someone to jump out and do him harm. Which was nothing new. Ever since he'd gone to boarding school as a boy, he'd dreaded what might be waiting for him every time he came in the door.

There was nothing waiting to jump out at him in the foyer, no one waiting for him to arrive, nothing out of place. The central stairwell was a different story; a portrait he'd always hated (it felt like the man's eyes were following him) had fallen or perhaps been ripped off its hook, and was leaning crazily against the wall in a shattered frame. The phone was also off the hook, and there was some kind of broken glass on the floor. There was no movement, though. Despite evidence of past violence, the house was now cool and quiet.

He began a careful circuit of the downstairs; through the parlor, his father's study, the breakfast room, the library, and then into the kitchen. There was no one around, and nothing looked out of place. Even the storage closet under the front stairs was empty of everything but cobwebs. There was a teacup and plate in the kitchen sink, which were the only evidence of recent occupation. Wesley stood at the sink and surveyed the space around him, sniffing for any recent evidence of his mother's perfume or any meals having been cooked. There were no scents other than the faint whiff of bergamot from the teacup. He looked out the back window, but there was no one on the patio and no evidence of anything amiss. Even the gate was locked. So, it was either upstairs to the bedrooms and his mother's study, or downstairs to the laundry and the room where magical supplies were kept out of reach of staff and 'normal' guests.

Since the greatest concern at the moment was his mother's possible magical involvement in whatever his father had been doing, Wesley decided to start downstairs. He opened the basement door just off the pantry cautiously, and was somewhat unsurprised to find the stairwell lit. With a sinking heart he headed down the stairs, trying to remember and avoid the creaky spots on the wooden slats. If there were lights on, more likely than not there was someone down here, which meant his mother…

Wes took a deep breath at the bottom of the stairs, trying to calm his racing heart, and cast a protection spell Willow had taught him to perform without vocalizing the chant or using herbs. Chanting the words in his head was supposedly enough to give some amount of protection with this incantation, more like a prayer really. With the possibility that his mother would be willing to act against him on the table, he felt like it might be needed.

Once he'd thought through the chant a few times he took one last calming breath and stepped out of his shoes, so he could proceed down the hallway without making any sound. Twelve steps and he was at the door. Turning the knob as quietly as he could, he opened the door quickly, hoping to surprise whoever was inside. It wasn't halfway open before he realized that he needn't have bothered. There were no lights on in the room, but in the spill of light from the hallway he could see his mother's crumpled form on the floor beside her workbench. From the smell, she'd been there for several days. A chill of dread washed over him, and Wesley felt himself start to shake, but he walked forward anyway, because he couldn't bear not to know. If there were any chance…But even before he knelt and rested his fingers against her neck, he knew. His mother was dead.

For a moment Wesley knelt there on the basement floor, the scents of herbs and old books and recent death swirling around him, his fingers coasting over the cheeks of the woman he hadn't seen in years, who had defended him in his youth and seemingly become indifferent to him as he grew. She'd once been the dearest person in the world to him, and now he didn't know her well enough to guess if she'd been involved in a massive conspiracy to take over the Council she'd devoted her life to. He thought he might black out for a moment, then he focused, his brain shifting gears as he wondered how she'd come to be here. Had she done this to herself? Was it his father's fault? He needed to go get Tom, or call him, so the other man didn't rush off to get reinforcements from the Council. He tried to rise, but started to feel wobbly again, and elected to try the call instead.

Fortunately, he had some reception. "Tom? Hello, could you come inside, please. I'm afraid I'm not feeling up to coming out. No, not injured. My mother's dead, I think I'm just in shock. Nothing dangerous I saw, just a few broken items in the front stairwell. No, in the basement. Through the kitchen, I left the door at the top of the stairs open. Yes, in the back of the house. Thank you."

Penny was trying hard to concentrate and not really succeeding. She'd sent her mate with Wesley to ease her worries, but even knowing Tommy was there didn't truly reassure her. Unfortunately, there was no one else to send, no one else from their youth Wes ever confided in. If her father and his mother hadn't been friends, Penny doubted he'd have ever spoken to her about his home life.

When they were kids, Wes' stories had sounded like any kid with strict parents griping about the restrictions on them. It took Penny years to fully process that Wesley and Anne were victims of emotional abuse, with Roger frequently using one to manipulate the other into doing what he wanted. She'd often thought the entire Wyndam-Pryce family would have benefitted by Roger being hit with a bus, and his recent actions had done nothing to prove her wrong.

While her father had never liked Roger, he'd cautioned her against involving herself in the personal affairs of work colleagues, or embarrassing friends by offering unwanted advice. His direction had never stuck. Despite being British, Penny wasn't known for being circumspect or having much of a stiff-upper-lip. She was open with her emotions, and generally wanted to be friends with the colleagues whose company she enjoyed, while she was barely able to work with those she thought were assholes. She'd just never picked up the habit of being reserved.

Fortunately, it seemed her tendency to be forthright would be valued more in this new Council than in the old. Rather than being farmed out to work with a Potential they thought would never be called due to her second sight, (Penny loved Elise dearly, but she didn't have any illusions about why she was initially given her charge) she now found herself an advisor to the first true Queen of the Sineyans in recorded history. The recognition felt good, and more so it felt like a budding friendship.

Penny didn't want to damage Buffy's trust in her by failing at her assigned task, but her worry over Wesley just wouldn't allow her to focus enough to unravel spells well. She'd barely gotten through three machines so far. She should just go after Tom, see what she could do to support Wessel. She'd certainly have been a better person to back him up if he ended up fighting his mother with magic…And now she felt like an ass for not thinking of that sooner.

Andrew looked up from the computer he was working on as Penny stood. He'd been deep into indexing the files of a security analyst whose job for the Conspirators had been monitoring the e-mails of the entire former Sunnydale contingent; including him, Faith, Robin, and all the Slayers who'd survived the battle with the First. Breaking the magics that prevented the hack from being detected by IT had made the file system wonky, and he was having a rough time digging up where things were stored and what file served which function. He could use a break.

"Interested in coffee? I could really use some caffeine." Andrew stood and stretched.

Penny took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she met the younger man's gaze. "I'm having trouble concentrating. Yeah, sure, maybe coffee will help."

Andrew nodded and gestured Penny ahead of him and out of the small meeting room they'd taken over to conduct their magical-forensic examinations of the conspirators computers. "Are you having trouble because you're horrified, but also kind of awed by what this group of people managed to accomplish from within the belly of the beast?"

"No," Penny chuckled, "I have no complex feelings about the Council. I've always believed in the mission, and not chafed so much under its rule that I needed to quit like Merry did. I want all of those wankers eviscerated for endangering what Buffy and Rupert are trying to accomplish, full stop." She shook her head. "No, I'm not distracted thinking about the conspiracy, especially not to be concerned they may have done some things right. I'm worried about Wesley. He used to be very close with his mother, and if she attacks him, or he's forced to take her into Council custody…I don't know what I was thinking, sending Tommy alone. I know I have work to do here, but I can't bear not to know what's going on."

"You've been so helpful here, though, with getting me into those machines and figuring out what the spells were and how to break them. You'll be able to talk to Wesley later, I'm certain he can take care of himself long enough to get back here for you to fuss over."

Penny sighed. "I guess. I feel like a bad friend, though."

"Did you stab him?" Andrew gazed at the older Slayer with wide guileless eyes, and Penny momentarily thought she'd misunderstood him. "If not, you're already doing better than me. Granted, I was under the influence of the First Evil, but I stabbed my best friend to death."

Goddess, the survivors of Sunnydale had so much baggage, and it popped up at such random times. "Alright, granted I haven't tried to injure Wes since we were kids, but that doesn't really make me feel less neglectful."

Andrew reigned in his emotions, reminding himself that although confession was good for the soul, it didn't mean every kind person he met needed to know all about his interior life. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to invalidate your feelings, merely offer some perspective."

"No harm done. I appreciate you trying to help." Penny patted his shoulder consolingly, and was about to say something else when her phone vibrated in her pocket. "My phone." She waved Andrew off with one hand as she extracted the device from her pocket with the other.

Andrew nodded and stepped away to go grab that coffee he'd been wanting, sending Daniel a quick text as he walked. When he got back, Penny was back in the conference room, head cradled in her hands, elbows braced on the table. He could tell just by looking at her that the news wasn't good.

"How's Wesley?" Andrew asked quietly, not knowing what else to do.

"Safe, but not in great shape." Penny muttered, lifting her head from her hands to look at him. "Anne Wyndam-Pryce is dead, and it looks like her husband may have killed her. They had to call the police, Tom says there'll be an inquest." She groaned. "I don't want to bother Buffy, but I don't know who else to contact. Normally when the Council has to deal with local police matters the Security Division gets involved, but everything over there is so crazy right now…"

Andrew made a pacifying gesture. "Call Chet and have him assign someone, Buffy won't know who to send any better than you will. Then go be with your fiancé and your friend. I'll keep working here and hopefully see you tomorrow."

Penny nodded and hauled herself slowly out of her chair. "Thanks, Andrew. Stabbing aside, you seem like you'd be a good friend to have. I'll see you soon." She squeezed his arm gently on her way past, heading for a side door with a nearby taxi stand.

"Sophie, really, I'm fine. Please stop fussing." Giles glared at his great-aunt, who was trying to get him to drink yet another healing potion she'd brewed up.

"Nonsense, Rupert. Until you're restored, Vin and I won't be able to stop feeling terribly that we didn't realize you were in need of our assistance all this time."

"She's right, you know. I've got all sorts of guilt and anger flowing through me." Aunt Lavinia shuddered. "Unseemly emotions, and likely to increase wrinkles. I'd very much appreciate it if you'd drink Sophronia's potion, dear."

Giles sighed, transferring his glare to the glass of blue liquid on the nightstand. "What is it supposed to do, again?"

Sophie smiled. "It's meant to restore health and resilience, generally. There are also some components that enhance brain power, and some that should help to clear residual magics out of your system. And a touch of sleeping draught to help you rest while everything else works."

He blinked. "That sounds quite reasonable, but…Why is it blue?"

She chuckled. "It's got a good dose of blueberry juice, for its antioxidant properties, and a bit of blue curaçao in the sleeping draught for flavor and soporific properties. Perfectly harmless, I assure you."

"Really, Rupert, you know how good Sophie is with potions. I'm surprised at what a fuss you're kicking up." Lavinia stared him down, and Giles squirmed like he had when they'd caught him out at something in childhood.

"After everything that's happened lately, you'll have to forgive me for being rather more cautious than usual." Giles responded, earning a frown from Sophie and a sympathetic smile from Lavinia. "Why haven't you been cooking up potions and all, Aunt Vin?"

"I've been scaling back my use of magics for the last year or two, as I focus on new opportunities."

"New opportunities?" Giles couldn't fathom what his carefree great-aunt could possibly be more interested in than magic. As far as he knew, magic was all she'd ever been interested in.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Lavinia's become a capitalist. She even filed taxes last year."

Lavinia turned her stare onto her sister, who blithely ignored her. "Just because I've cultivated some new hobbies, which also turn out to be in demand enough to turn a small profit, I wouldn't call myself a Thatcherite or the like." She sniffed.

"Vin, you have business cards. Until two years ago, the only time you set an alarm to wake up in the mornings was if you had to catch a flight! It stinks of responsibility and stability." Sophie said the words as though they tasted bad in her mouth.

Giles smiled. He'd grown up hearing booth women expound on the horrors of being responsible to something other than their own whims, the same way his parents and grandmother had harped on duty and honor. He had to admit, he was frightfully curious about what project had lured Lavinia out of her lack-of-routine. "What, pray tell, is this 'opportunity' which requires you to have business cards?"

Sophie crossed her arms over her chest and nodded at her sister, clearly expecting Lavinia to own up to whatever it was. Lavinia blushed faintly. "Well, erm, I've gotten involved in dog breeding. As it turns out, there's quite the market for English Bulldogs who are well trained and have fewer health problems than the average inbred specimen. I've always liked dogs, you know? They're sweet, and loyal. But, then they make a mess of your house, and caring for them gets tedious after a bit. This way I get to find them new homes before I get tired of them."

"She's turned the old milking barn into a great doghouse, and there's all these other dog people always about. And, she kissed her dog trainer!" Giles tried hard not to laugh, because it was starting to sound distinctly like Aunt Sophie was tattling.

Lavinia smirked at her sister, suddenly unrepentant. "David Simsbury is a handsome, charming man in his 40s who is very good with animals. If he wants to kiss me, I'm certainly not going to say no."

Sophie snorted. "His 40s. He's too old for you, or at least he should think so."

Lavinia rolled her eyes. "Regardless of what he thinks, or how it appears, we both know that he's rather too young for me; not that it's ever stopped me before. Also, age is a moot point. He's a nice man, but it's not as though I'm planning to spend the rest of my life with him. We hardly know one another."

"And yet, you're going into business with him. Business! Business is what boring normies do all day! Rupert, drink your potion!"

"I'm interested in puppies. Business is just an outgrowth of having the pups and not having to be responsible for the dogs for 15 years after that!"

Giles snorted and grabbed the glass, taking sips from the blue liquid as he listened to his great-aunts bicker back and forth. Reading between the lines, it seemed as though Vin may be taking a more-serious-than-normal interest in a gentleman, which was making Sophie concerned that she'd lose her lifelong companion in excess. They'd sort it out between them eventually, he'd never seen a conflict between them go on for very long. He set down the empty glass and relaxed back into the bed, eyes already closing.

As Giles dozed off, the bickering sisters fell silent. Sophie looked at her great nephew, taking in the lines of age and tension on his face, then at her sister. Lavinia still looked as young as she had for years, though she was beginning to look somewhat weatherworn due to all the recent time outside. And, was that a grey hair? "Are you really sure you want to do this, Vin?" she asked again. She'd been asking for months, hoping for the reply she wanted, the response that would keep her sister with her and take them back to their hedonistic life in London.

Lavinia responded as she had every time. "I'm sure. It's time there was a Fairweather on the Council again. And, I think it's time for me to grow up." She ran her eyes over the man in the bed. "Rupert could do with some cousins. Probably would have been better when he was younger, but…"

Sophie choked. "Good goddess, you're actually thinking of procreating with that man!"

"He really is a nice man. He'll be a good father, and he has excellent bloodlines." Lavinia smiled. "Dogs like him, you know? Dogs are excellent judges of character."

"Dogs are smelly little monsters who like anyone that brings them food." Sophie sighed, shaking her head at the vague, happy expression on her sister's face. "Once Rupert is in better shape, I'm going back to London."

"Oh, but I thought you were going to stay here! There's plenty of nightlife in Bath, isn't there?" Lavinia bit her lip, wondering what to do. They'd never really been separated.

"It's time for me to go. Not right this second, but…You're building a new life for yourself, and it's not the right fit for me." Sophie wrapped her sister in her arms. "You'll be happy. And call me every day, and send texts, and pictures of your stupid dogs."