Buffy: Innocent Blood Chapter 4

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Chapter Four

June 9, 1998

Boca Del Infierno(Sunnydale)

“No, we haven’t found anything yet, Joyce. The moment we do I assure you we’ll ring

you up and let you know.”

Giles paused.

“No, no, it was very helpful. Closing one avenue of pursuit in something like this is just

as fruitful as opening another, I assure you. Really.”

Giles nodded as Joyce said good-bye.

“You too. Take care, and please don’t hesitate to call if anything comes up. We won’t.”

He hung up the phone and moved back to where Willow sat typing away on thecomputer.

“Was that Buffy’s mom?” Willow asked.

Giles frowned. “How did you know?”

Willow replied, “You don’t know that many Joyces.” She noticed his disapproving gaze

and added, “That I know of. You might know a lot of Joyces. You might have a sister named

Joyce, or your mom might be named Joyce too, or...”

Giles’ face wore that unmistakable expression that said, ‘Oh, do stop talking.’ She

recognized it, because he often leveled that look at Xander.

“I’ll just keep typing,” Willow said, and Giles shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Willow, it’s just that I rather thought we’d be a little farther along after two

hours of checking on this.” He put a hand to his forehead and said, “But you’re right, that wasMrs. Summers. And no, Buffy didn’t have the good manners to contact anyone and leave us a

clue. She just apparently vanished.”

“Not by airplane,” Willow confirmed. “I know it was a long shot, but I figured I’d try it

anyway. You said Buffy was likely to do the unexpected, and then you said you didn’t expect her

to take a plane.”

Giles raised an eyebrow. “That’s extraordinary thinking, Willow.”

She beamed. “Thank you.” But then she frowned. “Unfortunately, not extraordinary

enough to find us any leads.”

Giles patted her on the shoulder. “You keep thinking like that and we’ll have some.

Tea?” he asked, and Willow nodded yes. Thinking like that? Willow smiled as she mused over

his words. That was nice of him to say. Giles moved into his office and started the electric range he kept for the sole purpose of

heating up tea. In a few minutes, the beverage would be ready; he picked two cups and dropped

tea bags into them. Willow, he recalled, liked some kind of herbal blend that came in a

frightfully bright box. He stuck with his Earl Grey; not his favorite, but he’d been shuffling the

box to the back of the shelf for too long and he felt vaguely guilty for not drinking it. And for not

steeping real tea.

his entire document copyright [email protected]



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Five minutes later Giles returned with two steaming teacups, complete with saucers, and

Willow thanked him as he set it down near her. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

“Nope,” Willow said, concentrating on the screen. “Mmmmmm, honey blend,” she said,

inhaling the vapor that rose from the tea. “Thanks, Giles.”

He adjusted his glasses. “It’s the least I can do, Willow. After all, school is in recess for

the summer. You have no real obligation to be here.”Willow turned to face him. “Yes I do. I have an obligation to Buffy, and I have an

obligation to you. You’re both my friends, and I want to help you both. And besides that, Giles,

this part of the research you really couldn’t do yourself.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he admitted.

“And you know I’m not one of those kids who hates school and can’t wait to get free. I

don’t mind having an excuse to come back here-- a reason, even,” she said.

Giles paused and set down his tea. “Well, I for one am glad you are here.” He looked

around the room and lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t admit this to the others, but I miss all of you

when summer is out. You would think I’d be happy for the peace and quiet, wouldn’t you?” He

sat back in his chair. “I would. But I’m not. I’ve gotten used to the noise, and the chatter, and the

banter. I miss Buffy when she’s gone. And I miss you. And--”“Giles and Willow! The dynamic duo! How are things today in the batcave?” Xander

asked as he barged in the library. Cordelia followed right behind him.

Willow raised an eyebrow at Giles. “And?”

“Let’s quit while we’re ahead, shall we?” Giles said in a low voice.

“How did you guys get in?” Willow asked them as they approached. “I thought they

locked the doors in summer.”

“We could be that lucky,” Cordelia frowned.

“My sentiments exactly,” Giles muttered, under his breath. Willow heard him and smiled.

“Hey,” Xander said. “It was hard enough for me to convince Miss Enthusiasm here to

come down here. Don’t you guys start on me too.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Giles said, turning to face Xander and Cordelia, “why didyou drop by? Surely you don’t miss school already.”

Xander raised an eyebrow. “Happy to see you too, Giles.” He turned to Cordelia. “Can

you believe they turned down his application to help with the Sunnydale welcome wagon?”

“Mystery to me,” Cordelia said, taking a seat.

Giles gave them both a glare.

Xander spoke, “Remember that crazy little thing we do called patrol? You know, troll the

town after hours looking for those wacky few walking around without a pulse?”

Willow’s voice filled with concern. “You went on patrol? By yourself? Without Buffy?”

“I went with him,” Cordelia offered.

Xander glanced at Giles and then Willow. “Hello? Slayerless town, remember?

Somebody’s gotta pick up the slack.”Giles furrowed his brow. “Am I to understand you went on patrol alone? Without telling

any of us?”

“I...ah...I told Cordelia,” Xander replied lamely.

“Giles didn’t know about last night?” Cordelia raised her voice at Xander. “You didn’t

say anything about being hero boy without permission!”

“Okay, okay,” Xander said, holding up his hands. “I know I went a little Lone Wolf

minus the cub last night, but I’m still here, all right? One piece, no scars, all digits still working.”




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Giles shook his head. “You’re very fortunate you didn’t run into any vampires.”

“Yeah,” Willow echoed. “Think of what could have happened if one of them had popped

up and attacked you.” She frowned maternally at him. “That was dangerous, Xander.”

Cordelia said, “One of them did attack us.” She made a face. “And he was disgusting. He

grabbed my hair-- and I just had it done!”

Xander sat back in his chair. “Oooh, yeah, gettin’ a major buzz off all the confidence inthis room,” he said glumly.

“You mean to say you faced a vampire?” Giles asked.

“Alone?” Willow added.

“Hey!” Cordelia snapped. “I already told you, I was there!”

Willow ignored her. “Are you all right?”

Giles stood, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Will,” Xander said, “I’m fine. Which is more than I can say for the other guy. Thanks

for the ego boost from the brainy section.”

“Xander,” Giles said, “I don’t mean to denigrate your accomplishment. I merely wish to

get the facts straight. Did you indeed slay a vampire last night?”

“Yes,” Cordelia answered for him.“Is that so Ripley’s Believe It or Not?” Xander asked Giles.

Giles put out a hand. “Bear with me here, Xander. And all of you.” He took a deep breath

and said, “First of all, I am surprised that any vampires appeared so quickly after the death of

their king Angelus. That means Spike is more than likely in the vicinity, which, without Buffy

here, is cause for some concern. Secondly, Xander, your success aside, I do not want any of you

thinking it your job to cover for Buffy while she is gone, as it were. Buffy has trained for years

and has special abilities and powers that uniquely qualify her to go out and hunt vampires.” He

looked each one of them in the eye. “All of you have been of invaluable assistance to her, but

don’t let that fool you into thinking that any of you is ready to take on vampires by yourselves.

You’re not.”

“But Xander killed him,” Cordelia argued.“And I don’t want to take anything away from that feat,” Giles told her. “But I don’t want

you to get a false sense of empowerment over this, Xander. You caught a lone vampire

wandering about and you slew him. Excellent work. But if there are two, or three, or more, next

time, you could very well end up dead. Or worse.”

“What’s worse than being dead?” Willow asked. Giles looked down at her, and Xander

put two fingers in front of his mouth and crooked them like fangs.

“Oh,” Willow said. “That.”

“Is everyone clear on this?” Giles asked. “No more heroics until we work out some kind

of plan to deal with Buffy’s absence.”

“Speaking of which,” Cordelia said, “did our runaway leave us any leads?”

“Not so far, no,” Giles said. “Willow has been helping me look for her, but we haven’tfound anything yet.”

Cordelia and Xander nodded. Willow added, “But we still have a few leads to try.”

Cordelia stood up. “Well, we’re done here,” she said. “You two have fun looking for

Buffy. I’ve got places to shop.” She slipped her sunglasses on and turned to face Xander. “You

coming?”

Xander looked at Willow, and then Giles. “Considering that I’d be Captain Useless on a

research mission like this, I’m gonna head out with Cordy. Buzz us if you find anything.”




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“Okay,” Willow said, frowning a little. Xander wants to go shopping?

As they headed for the door, Giles said, “Xander, a word.”

Xander stopped and turned to face Giles.

“Since you seem to have done rather well last night, I was hoping you would join me

tonight on patrol.”

Xander was struck mute.“If you don’t have other plans, that is,” Giles added.

Cordelia watched him through her sunglasses. He’s gonna say yes. He could be spending

the evening with me, but he’s gonna say yes. Dammit, Xander, I...

“Only if Cordy can come along,” Xander replied, and Cordelia smiled. Yes!

Giles blinked. “Of course,” he smiled blandly. “Safety in numbers, and all.”

Xander nodded. “I’m with ya. What time should we...”

Giles offered, “Meet you here at nine o’clock?”

Xander saluted. “See ya then.” He turned and, in an exaggerated gesture, offered his arm

to Cordelia, who took it as they sauntered out of the library.

“There are times when I really don’t understand that boy,” Giles remarked.

Willow offered glumly, “Join the club.”

*

Xander barely looked up from the table as Cordelia returned, parting the packages to

make room for his ice cream sundae. “Here you go, one banana split,” she said, setting it in front

of him. Xander muttered, “Thanks, Cordy,” and stabbed at the banana listlessly with his spoon.

Cordelia regarded him. “Are we going to play Morissey all afternoon, or are you going to

tell me why a shopping trip with me is bumming you out so deeply?”

Xander looked up. “It’s not you, Cordy,” he said. “Just this once, my pain has nothing to

do with you.”Cordelia licked at her tiny ice cream cone. “Are we moping over Buffy?”

Xander looked up, his eyes flashing anger; but it evaporated as he saw genuine concern

on Cordelia’s face. I’m not used to her actually caring about me. I don’t know whether to run

away or hug her. Or both. But in the other order, because running away would make it hard to

hug her, and God, you know, red really is her color, and--

“Hmm?” Cordelia asked.

“No,” he said. “Not this time.” Xander realized it was a fair question. He had feelings for

Cordelia that frighteningly enough were starting to move beyond the merely physical. But he

also had feelings for Buffy. He told himself it was love, but if it was love, then why did he lay

awake at night thinking about Cordelia? And why the hell does Willow always get mad when I

talk about Cordelia?“So it’s not me, and it’s not Buffy.” Cordelia took another dainty lick from the ice cream

cone and said. “I’m gonna go way out on a limb and say this is about Willow.”

Xander looked up. “Willow? Huh?”

Cordelia gave him her look of faint disapproval. “Xander, you are too easy. Only three

people in the whole world bother you-- Willow, because you guys were the only friends each

other had for a while, Buffy, because you have that twisted ‘Every Breath You Take’ thing for

her, and me.” Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Although I can’t imagine how I can upset you.”




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Xander took a bite from the sundae. “Survey says, ehhhnnnt. This time, Cordy, your

impeccable logic is wrong.” He stabbed the spoon in the ice cream again. “This time, it’s Giles.”

“Giles?” Cordelia echoed.

“You know, you would think I’d get a pat on the back,” Xander said. “A little, ‘way to

go, Xander,’ or ‘atta boy, Xander,’ but no. Buffy kicks ass all over the county and he practically

throws her a party. I do a little of the same and it’s ‘Billy, Don’t be a Hero.”Cordelia furrowed her brows. “And this surprises you?”

Xander looked up sharply. “Huh?”

“Xander, listen to me. He’s constantly harping on Buffy. You may not see it through that

rosy haze that surrounds her in your eyes, but believe me, he would have said the same thing to

her if she did what you did.”

Xander looked skeptical.

“Trust me, Xander, I’m an expert at seeing pain in people’s eyes. I see it a lot. I know

what it looks like.” She took a bite from her cone. “I’ve seen it in Buffy’s eyes too. Just because

she’s Supergirl doesn’t mean Giles doesn’t hurt her.” Cordelia shook her head. “You guys all

think of him like he’s your dad.”

Xander frowned. “I do not!”Cordelia nodded. “Yes you do. And Willow, and Buffy.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I have news for you, Xander; he’s a teacher, as in ‘those who can’t, teach.’” Cordelia leaned

forward. “How many times has he killed a vampire?”

“So, what are you saying, Cordy? That he’s jealous?”

Cordelia seemed to consider this. “Well, he would be out of a job if you took over as the

vampire killer, no?” She took another bite from her cone. “But that’s not what’s going on.”

Xander scooped out another piece of banana. “Enlighten me, oh psych major,” he said.

“It’s really simple,” Cordelia said. “Giles is having major guilt issues over the fact that

Buffy blew town and he’s taking it out on you. He’s a little wiggy at the idea of being without a

slayer, and he’s uptight about anyone else getting hurt.” She finished off the ice cream and

wrapped the cone in a napkin. “Why do you think he wants to come along tonight?”Xander shook his head. “You don’t think it’s because he wants to help?”

Cordelia held up her hand and pinched her index finger and thumb together. “Just a

smidge, maybe,” Cordelia assented. “I think it’s more because of his guilt and because he has

that whole father groove going as well. He doesn’t want to lose another one of his kids.”

Xander put down his spoon and stared at Cordelia. “Sometimes you make so much sense

it scares me,” he said.

Cordelia smiled. “I know,” she said.

Their eyes met, and they stared at one another for a long moment that seemed to stretch

out slowly.

“Besides,” Cordelia said softly. “I’m proud of you, even if he isn’t.” She pouted slightly.

“But I would have thought my ‘atta boy, Xander,’ last night would have meant more to you.”Xander had a flashback to Cordelia’s lips on his chest. “Trust me, you made an impact,”

he said, his voice dropping in volume and pitch.

Cordelia frowned. “Don’t do that,” she said.

“What?” he asked, bewildered.

“That thing with your voice. Don’t do that.”

“You mean this?” Xander said, his voice a little deeper and huskier than normal.

Cordelia felt a jolt run up her spine. “Yes, that! Don’t do it!”




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Xander raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” he growled out.

“Rrrrrrrrr,” Cordelia snarled. “I said, ‘Don’t!’”

“I’ll stop on one condition,” he told her, his voice still husky.

“What?” she breathed. Oh God... tingles...

“We go straight to the car,” he said. “No more shopping.”

“Deal,” she managed to get out, grabbing several packages. “Come on.”

*

“Nothing on Amtrak either,” Willow announced. “I ran anything even close to Buffy

Summers, and nothing at all.” Willow pouted. “I even ran our names, just in case. You know,

that ‘you’d never think of it’ thing?”

Giles appeared not to hear her. As the afternoon had worn on, his mood had darkened.

They had no trace of where Buffy went to, and as Willow’s leads had evaporated, so had his

patience. He had settled for standing by the window, staring out at some young children playing,

but seeing things only he could see.“Is there anything you haven’t tried?” Giles asked her without turning around. She could

hear the strain in his voice as he tried to remain civil.

“Well, there’s Greyhound,” she said. Willow glanced down at the screen. Who would

have thought Trailways would have such deep security on their mainframe? she wondered. That

took the better part of two hours. I’m just glad Giles went out for lunch in the middle of it.

“Didn’t you try them?” Giles asked.

“Nope,” Willow said, typing in the address for their web site. “Somebody had to be last,”

she added.

“Very well,” Giles said curtly. He continued his gazing out the window.

Willow let her mind drift back to her date with Oz at the coffeehouse the night before. He

had been charming, the perfect gentleman, as she had aptly described him, and he had made herlaugh. Oz seemed to have many hidden talents, but he often revealed his humor. He had even

taken it in good graces that he had failed his senior year and would be repeating it at Sunnydale

next year. “Look at it on the bright side,” he told her. “Nine more months of seeing you every

day. Well, not every day, because I don’t come to school every day. Or even every week. But--

at least I’ll be around.”

Greyhound’s page came up, cutting short Willow’s musing. She typed quickly, sending

commands to the server to allow her access. She waited, biting her lip, and a programmer’s page

came up.

“Okay,” she said, and tapped in a few more commands.

‘RESTRICTED ACCESS,’ the page told her as she tried to open the record banks.

“Any luck?” Giles asked, his tone indicating that he expected none.“Maybe,” Willow replied. That drew him from the window to come around behind her.

She sent a few more commands to the programmer’s page.

“I don’t see it,” Giles said.

“You’re not supposed to,” Willow said. “They have passenger records well protected.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “But don’t worry, I’ll get in.”

“Good Lord,” Giles said, “do you mean to tell me you’re, you’re accessing these records

illegally?”




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“Illegal is such an unpleasant way to phrase it,” Willow avoided. “I prefer ‘creatively.’”

“Willow, don’t split hairs,” he said.

“Well, we really want to find Buffy, don’t we? And this isn’t the sort of information that

these people give out to just anyone who comes knocking.” Willow said. “Think of it as a

necessary evil.”

Giles adjusted his glasses. “Do you do this sort of thing often?” he asked.Willow turned to look at him.

“I’d rather not know?” he asked.

“Giles, I only break the law on official slayer club business. Promise.”

“Oh yes, I feel much better,” Giles muttered.

The screen beeped. “Ah!” Willow said. “We’re in!”

“We’re in what?” Giles responded.

“This is their customer database. And if they have it set up intelligently...” she clicked

past a few screens. “Yes! There we go.”

Willow tabbed a cursor to a line on the screen that asked for NAME OF RIDER(S): and

typed SUMMERS, BUFFY.

The cursor turned into a spinning wheel, and a new page came up. O NE MATCHINGENTRY.

“All right!” Willow said, clicking on the link.

“This is good, yes?” Giles asked.

“Yes,” Willow replied, reading. “Buffy bought a one-way ticket from Sunnydale to San

Diego on Friday afternoon.” Willow looked up excitedly. “She was in town for a while after she

and Angel... after Angel... after she stopped Acathla.”

Giles traced the line on the screen. “It says here she left Sunnydale at 4:20 p.m. and

arrived in San Diego 6:16.”

Willow nodded. “Checking,” she said.

“For what?”

“Connecting buses,” Willow said. “Buffy probably went someplace else.”“What makes you think that?” Giles asked.

Willow brushed her long hair behind one ear. “Okay, Buffy made this big scene about

running away, right? She left a note for her mom, she didn’t say good-bye to any of us, she left

all her stuff in her locker...” Willow trailed off. “You said it yourself; she’s not planning on

making this journey round trip.”

Giles nodded in agreement. “Yes, quite. So?”

“Well, why leave your name on a bus ticket like this? Buffy’s not careless-- at least not

most of the time-- and she must have known we could track her down this way.” Willow’s eyes

were alight. “She wanted us to think she was in San Diego to throw us off her trail.”

Giles frowned. “I must admit, Willow, it makes sense.” He pointed at the screen. “No

connecting buses.”“Not for Buffy Summers, no,” Willow agreed. “She’s not that dumb. She used her real

name to get to San Diego, and now she’s going to use a different name to go someplace else.”

“How can you be so sure?” Giles asked.

“Giles, trust me, that’s how Buffy thinks. You know that.” Willow allowed herself a

small smile. “Buffy always hints in one direction and goes another when she’s trying to lose

somebody. The vampires fall for it all the time.”




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“And she knew we would track her,” Giles agreed. “Willow, I think you’re on to

something.” He frowned. “So how do we find her? She could be using any sort of alias, and we

would never know what it was.”

Willow tapped on the keyboard. “Well, first we have to narrow our field,” she said,

pulling up a search page. “Let’s see... search for all buses leaving San Diego... not passing

through Sunnydale... from Friday at 6:30 until now.”“That’s five days,” Giles remarked.

“I know,” Willow said. “And San Diego is a big city. With a really nice zoo. They have

these cute pandas...” she shook her head. “Never mind.”

“So?”

“So,” Willow echoed, “We narrow the search again.” She tapped away. “Number of

tickets... one.”

A new screen popped up, filled with names.

“That’s still a lot of people,” Giles said.

“Female,” Willow said, typing it in, and the list shrank.

“That’s much better,” he said, peering at the names.

“Wait,” Willow said, grinning. “It gets better.” She typed in ONE WAY. The list truncated itself further. “Seven names?” Giles asked. “That’s still too many to

track down, and we still don’t know which one is Buffy.” He peered at the screen. “Although it

is better than two-hundred-seventy two.”

“We don’t have to know which one was Buffy,” Willow said, her voice rising. “They all

went to L.A.”

“Buffy is in Los Angeles,” Giles said.

“Or on her way there now, if she’s traveling as Marquetta Reese.”

They looked at one another. “Probably not,” Willow said.

“Still,” Giles said, patting her gently on the shoulder, “that’s excellent, Willow. Amazing.

Even if it is illegal.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said, and Giles slapped his forehead.“Hmm?” Willow asked.

“Speaking of telling, I’d better phone Joyce!” He ran to the phone.

Giles dialed her number, and Willow looked at the names again, trying to scrye from

them which one was Buffy. But nothing came to her, nothing she knew. None of the names rang

any bells at all.

She could hear Giles reach Joyce and tell her the news; from his reaction, Joyce took it

very well indeed. Willow caught his eye and waved him over. Giles cradled the phone between

his chin and shoulder and made his way over his eyebrows raised.

“Ask her if she recognizes any of these names!” she asked him in a stage whisper.

“Joyce, I wonder if I might trouble you with one thing,” he asked.

“Yes, well, she traveled under an assumed name, and I was hoping maybe you could helpus identify which one was hers.”

Naturally, Joyce agreed, and Giles began to read the names.

“Beth Gaynor.”

“Donna Alexander.”

“Annie Hutchins.”

Joyce spoke up.




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“I see,” Giles said. He pointed at HUTCHINS on the screen. Willow started punching up

information.

“I understand,” Giles said into the phone. “No, that’s all we have.”

“Well, alright, what time will you be home? I’ll phone then.”

Giles nodded when Joyce named a time. “Excellent. Best of luck with the exhibit.”

He said good-bye after she did and hung up.Willow asked, “Well?”

Giles took off his glasses. “Apparently, Hutchins is Joyce’s maiden name. Anne is

Buffy’s middle name.”

“I didn’t know that,” Willow said.

“I rather think she was counting on us not knowing either fact,” he said, replacing his

glasses.

“She arrived in L.A. on Sunday night,” Willow said. “She must have spent the weekend

in San Diego thinking about what to do.” She turned to Giles. “Poor Buffy, all alone in Los

Angeles.”

“Yes, well,” Giles said. “Not for long.”

*

Joyce’s mind reeled at how quickly they had found her daughter. Faster than the police,

she told herself, but then the more logical part of her mind took over. They know she headed to

Los Angeles, she argued with herself. That’s a long way from locating her. And who knows if

she’s still there?

Joyce sighed as she let the car roll to a stop. No, it makes sense she’d go there. She lived

in L.A. most of her life. It figures she’d go back there when things got crazy for her. She has all

these other things to work out; I’m not surprised she didn’t want to add learning a new city to all that.

Joyce shook her head. “When did my little girl get so resourceful?”

Must have had something to do with all that time killing vampires, she told herself.

Joyce checked the rearview mirror as the light changed. “First things first,” she said to

herself. “Get her back, then have the talk with her about this Slayer business.” Joyce shook her

head as she accelerated through the intersection. How do you have a talk with your teenage

daughter about not killing vampires? There’s one that life just doesn’t prepare you for.

She turned down the long winding avenue to the gallery. When Joyce had first visited the

Sunnydale downtown district two years ago, she had fallen in love with the little outdoor space

that housed the gallery, as well as several shops, a bakery, and an excellent coffeehouse. The

open area formed a natural place to sit and relax and bask in the good weather that blessed theentire region. Ample parking helped, and the shops and coffeehouses in the vicinity of the

gallery attracted a steady supply of foot traffic-- which translated into a steady stream of buyers

at the gallery. Joyce didn’t make millions, but she did well enough to provide for herself and

Buffy without any major worries-- at least, any financial worries.

She pulled up just as the sun dipped below the horizon-- eight thirty on the dot-- and the

streetlights blinked to life as she got out of her car. The gallery had been allotted only five spaces

in the communal parking lot that the adjacent stores shared, but they all stood empty. Joyce had




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told the owners of the coffee shop that she didn’t mind if their patrons used her spaces on the

nights she closed early. I guess business is slow tonight, she mused as she got out and glanced at

the front of the gallery. “Nobody there,” she said, and glanced at her watch. 8:32.

Joyce headed over into the Electric Expresso and got herself a cup of coffee. She tried to

remain focused on her ensuing meeting, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Buffy,

wondering if her baby was all right. Seventeen years old is hardly a baby, Joyce told herself. But she’ll always be my baby, even if she is the chosen one sent to wipe vampires off the Earth.

Joyce paid for her coffee and walked back outside into the warm evening. She pulled up a chair

at one of the small tables outside the coffee shop and watched the few shoppers present amble

by, strolling along in the encroaching twilight. She glanced at the ivy-covered wall of the gallery

and watched the dark orange sunlight slowly climb upward, until the entire wall fell in shadow.

Crickets began chirping, and Joyce sipped on her coffee. This would be a perfect evening to

share with Buffy, she mused as a long black sedan pulled up into one of the gallery’s spaces.

A tall, handsome man stepped out of the car. Joyce would have noticed him even if he

had not parked in one of the gallery spots. Lean, well built, with brown hair just a little longer

than she liked on a man, he wore a designer suit-- she had to admit she didn’t know which

designer -- that fit him perfectly. For all I know it might be special order. He closed the door andlooked around, his eyes darting from person to person. He glanced at the gallery, looked at his

watch, and then he looked up straight at Joyce. He started right for her.

Joyce stood up, wondering if this was her eight-thirty client. He fit the general

description, though more attractively than she had imagined.

“Mr. Stark?” she asked as he closed in.

A smile came over his face, and it was if the entire area suddenly lit up. Brown eyes

gazed at her warmly, and he shook her hand. “You must be Joyce,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to

meet you.”

“Likewise,” Joyce managed.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” he said, smiling. “I do apologize for being a

little late, but it was such a glorious sunset, I had to stop and watch.”Joyce smiled. “It’s not a problem,” Joyce said, taking another sip from her coffee. She

held it up. “Can I get you one?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No thanks. I just ate.”

Joyce nodded. “So, would you like to see the gallery?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that how this sort of thing is done?”

Joyce tilted her head. “You’ve never sold off any pieces before?”

“Never,” he said. “These have been in my family for many years. My father treasured

them, but I find as I get older, I’m growing less attached to them.”

Joyce leaned forward and said, “You mentioned over the phone that some of these pieces

are antiques?”

“Oh, they’re far older than antiques, Joyce,” he said, smiling. “Most of them are hundredsof years old. But they’re all in excellent shape.”

Joyce frowned a little. “I know this is going to sound a little strange, but why me? Why

my gallery? I’m no expert on anything older than the mid-nineteenth century, and most of what I

sell is contemporary. Don’t get me wrong-- I’d love to display your pieces-- but for something so

old, and so valuable, you might want to try Los Angeles. They might have dealers who could

help you move your items more quickly.”




79

Stark leaned back in his chair. “I’m not interested in speed, Joyce. If I were I could pick

up a phone and have the entire collection gone by the morning.” He raised his eyebrow again.

“I’m looking to cultivate a relationship with a dealer I can trust. I’m looking for a long-term

arrangement. I may have many more pieces after this initial offering. I want someone that I can

trust to look after my best interests.”

Joyce nodded, a little surprised. “I see,” she told him. The truly rich are truly eccentric, she thought.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, smiling. “You’re thinking that the rich are an

eccentric bunch, aren’t you?”

Joyce did all she could not to blush. “Not exactly.”

He waved a hand. “It’s all right-- go ahead and think it. We are eccentric. You see, Joyce,

I’m not interested in how much money these pieces can bring in. I’m more interested in seeing

that they find good homes. My father would have insisted on it.” Stark sighed. “I don’t share his

taste in art, I’m afraid, but I do respect his wishes.”

Joyce nodded. “I understand. In that case, I think I can help you. Sunnydale tends to

attract more of a collector’s crowd than a flash in the pan kind of audience like L.A. It’s one of

the things I like about it.”“It’s got quite a lot to recommend it,” he said, staring into her eyes.

Joyce looked away quickly. Is he coming on to me?

He looked at his watch. “Oh my,” he said. “I hate to cut this short, but I have another

appointment.”

“Hopefully not with another dealer?” Joyce asked, and Stark smiled.

“Not at all, Joyce, not at all. I knew when we talked on the phone you would be the right

dealer for me.” He leaned forward. “I have a sense for these things. I recognize good people

when I see them.”

Joyce smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Please,” he said, extending his hand. “Call me Raymond.”

Joyce shook his hand. “Raymond,” she said, smiling.He reached in his breast pocket and gave her a card. “It was my pleasure meeting you,

Joyce. I’m sorry I have to go. I will be calling you tomorrow to make arrangements. That’s good,

isn’t it?”

“Tomorrow will be fine,” Joyce said. ”Thanks again for coming.”

Stark nodded. “Have a pleasant evening,” he wished her, and he walked to the sedan and

slid into the front seat.

“Yes, this will work out perfectly,” he muttered to himself, and he started the car and

drove away.

*

“Does he always do that?” Oz murmured under his breath.

“What?” Willow whispered back.

“Your dad,” Oz said.

Willow smiled. “What?”

Oz flicked his eyes away from the computer screen for a second. In his peripheral vision

he could see Willow’s father move out of the doorway.




80

“Every time he goes into the kitchen, he stands there watching us for a minute,” Oz said,

his voice still low.

“He’s not used to seeing his only daughter in the presence of a young gentleman,”

Willow said.

“Or me,” supplied Oz.

“Shh,” Willow said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Stop that.”“You know, if he keeps checking up on us, he’s gonna start gaining weight from all those

fridge raids. I don’t know if I can have that on my conscience.”

Willow laughed. “Oz!” she said, shaking her head.

Oz fixed her with his version of a stare, but he wiggled one eyebrow.

“This is new for him,” Willow said. “The only other boy I’ve ever talked about is

Xander, and, well, here they have someone in their house who wants to kiss their daughter.”

“Ooh,” Oz said. “Couched in those terms, I suddenly understand his sentinel-like

behavior.”

Willow looked at Oz fondly; he saw her, and it caught him by surprise. You really do

have the sweetest smile in the world, he thought as he felt his heart start to do that little racing

thing. “No, no,” Oz said.

Willow’s eyes widened. “What no-no?”

“Can’t be looking at me like that,” he said.

“I like looking at you like that,” Willow argued.

“Normally I like it too,” Oz said. “I even like it with the knowledge that your dad is

eighteen feet away. But see, when you look at me that way, that makes me wanna kiss you,

and...” He gazed into her eyes. “Well, you see my predicament.”

Willow nodded seriously. “I do indeed. I’ll frown the rest of the evening.”

“No, no,” Oz said.

“Frowning’s a no-no?” Willow asked.

“No, it’s okay-- if you’re into a frowning kind of thing, which is cool, I guess-- but I’mstill gonna wanna kiss you.”

Willow pouted a little. “There’s nothing I can do that’s not gonna make you want to kiss

me, is there?”

Oz shrugged. “I’m afraid not.”

Willow glanced at the doorway, leaned over, and pecked Oz on the cheek.

“Does that help?” she asked as he stared at her, surprised.

“Not at all,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t really nice, cause, you know, it

was.”

Willow smiled. “Maybe it might help if we look at this,” she said, gesturing to the

computer.

“Gotcha,” he said. “But it’s okay if, while I’m looking at this, I’m really thinking aboutyou?”

Willow nodded in mock seriousness. “I think so.”

“Okay then,” he said, turning his attention to the computer. “So what are we looking at?

Ah, InfoSeek. Old friend.”

Willow nodded. “Okay, now, let me type in the address from Ms. Calendar’s book,” she

said, doing so.

As it did the last time she tried it, the computer powered down.




81

“See?” Willow said.

“Cryptically impossible. A website can’t deep six your CPU.”

“That’s what I said,” Willow agreed. She booted back up, and in a minute they were

online again.

“We could do it again, but the same thing would happen. I tried it at school today, and it

did the same thing.”Oz frowned. “This is weird,” he said. “This is definitely weird.”

“I know,” Willow said. “Now, remember I told you that page was about the Parsis?”

Oz nodded.

“I looked them up at school today, in an encyclopedia. Apparently they’re some religious

group that left Persia to escape persecution at the hands of the Muslims.”

“Like the pilgrims in the Mayflower?” he asked.

“Oz!” she said, surprised. “Exactly! How did you not ace history?”

Oz grimaced. “Ah, it’s... you know, first period. Little tardiness problem.”

Willow nodded. Hmm,” she said.

“So...” Oz said. “Tell me why Ms. Calendar would have had that link in her book? She

wasn’t Persian.”“She was a gypsy,” Willow supplied.

“Do they have those in Persia?” Oz asked.

“I don’t know. But that’s not where her people were from.”

“Gotcha,” Oz asked.

“Anyway, I tried something at school,” Willow said. “Look.”

She typed in PARSIS in the SEARCH block and hit ENTER.

The request came back: 0 LINKS.

Oz scratched his head. “Most unlikely,” he ventured.

“That’s what I said!” Willow exclaimed.

“So whattaya think? Time to call Mulder and Scully?”

Willow shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. And every search engine gives thesame result. Zero.” She frowned. “That’s just about impossible.”

“So why would anyone want to black out these Parsis on the web?” Oz said. “Did they

offend anyone recently? Throw some baseball games? Destroy the ozone layer?”

Willow said, “That’s just the problem. I don’t know. I can’t find out anything about them.

I can’t find out if they have any enemies.”

“Offhand, I’d guess the Muslims, no?” Oz said. “They did run away from them.”

“But the encyclopedia said that they’ve been peacefully co-existing over a thousand

years. Why this? Why now? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Oz shrugged. “You’re not exactly hittin’ me in one of my few areas of expertise.”

“I could check Giles’ stuff tomorrow, see if there’s anything in the library,” Willow

offered.“Mind if I stop by for lunch?” he asked her.

Willow smiled. “Don’t you find it just the least bit funny and maybe a lot ironic that you

never show at school when it’s open and then you’re planning to visit when it’s closed?”

Oz smiled. “That’s me. Man of contradictions.”

“Lunch would be great,” Willow said. “Even if it will be weird to see you at school.”

“I go occasionally,” he told her.

Willow smiled. “Teasing,” she said.




82

“Yeah,” Oz said. “No, it’s just that tomorrow is full moon, and all.”

“Oh?” Willow asked, and then remembered. “Oh, right.” The hazards of dating the cutest

werewolf in town. Hopefully the only werewolf.

“Lunch it is, then. Noon?”

“Noon,” Willow said, and both of them smiled.

“So, what else you have to show me on this thing?” Oz asked her, tapping the screenlightly.

*

“It’s almost ten o’ clock, Giles,” Xander said. “I’m gonna take a stand and say the

vampires aren’t out tonight.”

Giles checked his watch, then glanced across the street where Cordelia stood getting them

all coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. I can’t abide coffee, Giles thought, but it was nice of Cordelia to

offer to buy some for us.

“You may be right,” Giles admitted. “Though Buffy and I usually patrolled untilmidnight.”

Midnight? Xander thought. Good night, Cordelia. “Well, as you seemed so fond of

pointing out this afternoon, I’m not Buffy.”

Giles looked over at the young man, who sat at the other end of the park bench. “Xander,

I hope you didn’t take what I said too harshly. I’m concerned about you. I very much appreciate

your enthusiasm, but I don’t want you getting hurt. Lack of training can do that.”

“Is that all?” he asked.

“‘Is that all’ what?” Giles responded.

“I mean, is that all you’ve got on your mind? My safety?”

Giles adjusted his glasses. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

Xander shrugged. “Cordy seemed to think you were taking out your own bad karma forlosing Buffy on me.” He saw Giles start to respond and cut him off. “Now I know what you’re

gonna say-- that Cordelia isn’t exactly Miss Sensitive, and that she doesn’t have a psych degree.

I know all that. But you know what, Giles? I happen to think she’s got a point.”

“There may be some truth to what Cordelia says,” Giles spoke slowly. “But in all

honesty, Xander, I don’t want anyone getting hurt. I meant what I said about the three of you not

thinking you’re Buffy. That will only get you killed. We are none of us the slayer, nor can we

indulge the delusion that we are. Or that we can take her place.”

“No one can take Buffy’s place,” Xander said, and Giles glanced at him; but the boy’s

eyes were far away.

I’ll bet that goes over well with Cordelia, Giles mused as the girl exited the doughnut

shop and headed their way.“No one will have to,” Giles said. “Willow and I have located her.”

“What?” Xander exploded.

Cordelia came up to them. “Coffee?” she asked. Giles smiled slightly and took one.

Xander nodded and took one as well.

“Giles, do me a favor and repeat what you said in front of Cordy so I have a witness and I

know I’m not hallucinating. Because the words sounded like, ‘Willow and I found Buffy.’”

Cordelia’s jaw dropped. “You guys found her?”




83

Giles said, “We have traced her to Los Angeles. But we have no idea where in the city

she is. She’s been there since Sunday.”

Xander snapped his fingers. “Her dad’s!” he said.

“Her mother already called there. Her father hasn’t seen her.”

“He could be hiding her,” Xander pressed.

Giles favored Xander with the ‘oh, do shut up’ look.“Okay, maybe not,” Xander said.

“How did she get there?” Cordelia asked.

“She took a bus,” Giles told her.

“A bus?” Cordelia asked. “Wow, she must be more depressed than we thought.”

“So what’s the plan?” Xander asked. “Do we saddle up and ride after her? I vote we take

Cordy’s car, Giles, because-- and I mean this in a strictly non-offensive way-- your car would

never make it to L.A., and I’m too young to learn the joys of hitchhiking.”

“L.A.?” Cordelia echoed. “We’d have to stay long enough to do some shopping.”

Both of them looked at her.

“Hey, I don’t get there often, so I don’t want to waste an opportunity,” she said. “And we

are taking my car, so that has to give me some kind of vote or something.”“We’re not taking anyone’s car,” Giles said. “We’re not going.”

“What?” Xander and Cordelia said together.

Giles looked from one to the other. “I gave it some thought over dinner. Buffy left

Sunnydale for a reason. We don’t know what that reason is-- it could be to protect us, or it could

be to get away from us, or something else.” He sighed. “We don’t know what happened with

Angel. Buffy may be in a lot of pain. Seeing us right now might only make that pain worse.”

“But Giles--” Xander began.

Giles cut him off. “If we respect Buffy, and I know we all do, then we have to respect her

reasons for leaving, even if we don’t agree with them.”

“I don’t agree with this,” Xander said. “Cordy, back me up.”

“Xander,” Cordelia said reluctantly.He turned. “You agree with him?”

“I dunno,” Cordelia said. “But I do know if we try to drag Buffy back here against her

will, she’s just gonna get mad and break stuff. We can’t force her to come back here. Especially

us.”

“Even if we could,” Giles said, “she would eventually resent us if we did. Buffy has to

work out her own issues in her own way. If we interfere...” Giles gestured at Cordelia. “She may

be right. We may push Buffy even further away.”

“I don’t believe this!” Xander said. “We know where she is and we’re just gonna let her

sit around while the Hellmouth goes unattended? Not to mention what might happen to her

without us around to watch her back.”

Cordelia frowned. He’s right, a little, but I hate it when he defends Buffy so strongly.“Xander,” Giles said.

“Hey, I can get to L.A. too. If you guys won’t back me up on this, I’ll take a bus too. At

least Buffy will know somebody cares about her.”

“Xander!” Cordelia said, frustration in her voice.

Giles stood. “You’re not going.”

Xander drew himself up to his full height, three or four inches shorter than Giles. “You

wanna repeat that?” he said.




84

“As many times as it takes,” Giles said firmly. “You’re not going to Los Angeles, and

that is final.”

“Like hell it is,” Xander said.

Giles folded his arms. “Even if you don’t accept any of the arguments I made-- which

make a great deal of sense, by the way-- the plain fact is, you’re needed here. Someone has to

patrol in Buffy’s absence.”Xander shook his head. “I thought you ixnayed the John Wayne stuff.”

Giles looked perplexed. “I said I didn’t want you going on patrols alone. You aren’t

trained for it.” He stared down at Xander. “I didn’t say I wasn’t willing to change that. You’ll

train with me.”

Xander was too surprised to respond.

“You can learn some basic defensive moves, and we can patrol together.”

After this news had sunk in, Xander said, “Ok, that would take care of Sunnydale. But

what about Buffy?”

Giles spoke, “You leave Buffy to me.”

Xander shook his head. “No deal. You want me to stay here? You gotta do better than

that.” “How about, I want you to stay here?” Cordelia asked him. “Or doesn’t that mean

anything?”

Xander turned to face her. “Cordy, this is not the time to--” He stopped as he saw the hurt

expression on her face. He sighed, and some of his anger dissipated.

“I’m sorry, Cordelia,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I wanted to

leave you.”

She folded her arms. “You could make it sound like you want to stay with me,” she said

glumly.

Xander closed his eyes. Don’t let her cry. Just please, God, anything else right now. No

crying, okay?

“Cordy,” he said, drawing close to you. “If it was you who disappeared, I’d be doing thesame thing.”

“Sure,” she pouted.

“I mean it,” Xander said. “I don’t want anyone close to me skippin’ town without saying

good-bye. It’s bad manners.”

“You wouldn’t be this upset about me,” she argued.

He nodded. “Oh, yes I would,” he assured her. “Cordelia, I get upset about you being

gone when you’re halfway across town and I know I’m gonna see you in an hour. I don’t dig

missing you at all.”

“It’s not the same,” Cordelia said, but her voice had softened.

“No, it isn’t,” Xander agreed.

“Ha!” Cordelia snarled.“It’s worse when you’re gone.”

“Xander, please, I--”

He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply and passionately, bending her over slightly,

holding her close.

“Perhaps I should just go home, then,” Giles ventured.

The couple parted. “Buffy is my friend,” he said. “She’s my good friend. But you...”

He shuddered. “You’re my...”




85

She looked at him expectantly.

He paused and took a deep breath.

“You’re my...”

Another pause.

“Girlfriend,” he let out.

Cordelia grabbed him and pulled him to her. “Points for timing,” she murmured in hisear.

“And for honesty, I hope.”

She kissed him, and Giles cleared his throat.

“Oh, right,” Cordelia said, her arms still around Xander. “Are we done for the night?

Giles pursed his lips. “Under the circumstances, I’d say yes.”

“Great,” Cordelia said. “I’ll drive you home.”

“That would be appreciated,” he replied.

Cordelia left to go get the car. Xander sidled up to Giles and said, “So if I’m staying here

to train, you’re staying here to train me, and Cordy is staying here to be Cordy, then who’s gonna

go keep an eye on Buffy?”

Giles raised an eyebrow. “I have it covered, Xander. You’re going to have to trust me.”Just then Cordelia pulled up. “For now,” Xander said. “But you’ve gotta tell me in the

morning.”

“I do not,” Giles replied.

“You know, this whole sensei-student thing we’ve got goin’ here is really starting off on

the wrong foot. Come on, Giles, just tell me. It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it, or

anyone I’m gonna tell, and it’ll just save both you and me the trouble of me nagging you every

single minute of our time together until you do tell me.”

Giles pondered this as Cordelia drove up.

“It’s Sam Zabuto.”

Xander did a double take. “In English?”

Giles raised an eyebrow. “Kendra’s watcher.”Xander shook his head. “So this guy’s gonna fly in from... from... some really far away

place in either Africa or the Middle East or Persia or something, all the way to L.A., just to keep

an eye on Buffy?”

Giles nodded. “That’s the gist of it, yes,” he said, moving toward the car.

“Tell me the part again where it makes sense that some watcher guy halfway around the

world spends a fortune to fly here when we can take the Cordymobile and be there by the

morning?”

“Simple,” Giles said as he opened the door. “Mr. Zabuto is coming to Sunnydale to

oversee Kendra’s funeral. He’ll be in town anyway. He’s experienced, careful, and Buffy won’t

recognize him.” Giles gave Xander a firm look. “Any more questions?”

“Um, no, not really,” Xander replied meekly.“You’d better get in,” Giles said as he slid down into the low back seat. “You have a long

day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Cordelia turned around and looked at Giles. “He’s got a long night ahead of him tonight,”

she said.

Giles raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Xander took his seat and Cordelia raced off

into the night.




86

*

Giles flipped the page; he could barely read the text quickly enough. The writing engaged

his interest, as much or more than last night’s, and the predicament seemed just as dire. Well,

infiltrating that SS hideout in Italy was pretty rough stuff, he thought. But this...He read on:

We’ve stopped for lunch. Zular refuses to take me any

further. He says the tomb is cursed and that no one who enters it

comes out alive. I have offered him the rest of my money-- 47

dollars, not a king’s ransom, but in his village he will live like a

prince. But he refused. Better he should remain a pauper than risk

that sort of curse, he says. He will not go.

I know deep down where I live that I should stop here too.

Ignoring that sort of gut reaction was what got Mel killed, and I’ll

always regret that as long as I live. But I have to know-- I have tosee it. If this is really the tomb of the first Vampire King-- the very

first lord of his kind-- than what secrets might we learn from it?

Who knows what he may have buried there? What books, or

scrolls, or weapons of some sort. In the tomb of the demon who

calls himself Ares we found an ancient chakram. What might be in

this chamber? Maybe another weapon like the chakram.

I’ll add this for now and continue later. I have arranged for

everything at my father’s house to be sent to Ian if anything

happens to me, except the scrolls, which will go to Jack. It’s only

fair; Jack was there when the three of us found them, so he

deserves that. But all of the rest, the books, the vampire lore, thecrosses and all of it-- will go to Ian. Maybe some Slayer can use

all of it someday. I don’t know.

I sure wish I had one of Ian’s “chosen ones” with me here

now.

J.C.

Giles flipped the page and saw he’d reached the last leaf in the book; he stared at the

inside back cover. “Of all the damned inconvenient times to change journals,” he said, frowning.

He reread the last section again, jotting down notes on a small pad he kept on the table.

“Ian must be Ian Merrick,” he said aloud, his brow furrowing in thought. “I wonder if his family

has the next journal.” Giles glanced at the clock-- quarter to one, which made it quarter to nine inEngland. No one calls before ten a.m. No one decent, anyway. I’d best wait.

He knew that Ian’s son Donald had been Buffy’s first watcher, and that the vampire king

Lothos had killed him two years ago. Giles had made it a point to learn everything about Buffy

that he could before he had come to Sunnydale; he knew her history by rote. That means either

the Merrick family has the next journal, or Merrick himself had it

He’d never asked Buffy what had happened to Merrick’s library. They had never talked

about her former watcher; it wasn’t proper and he wouldn’t have felt right doing it. And he




87

knew, even now, that that decision had been correct. But this is important, his conscience told

him. Janice Covington found the tomb of the First One. And here I thought it was just a myth--

we all did! Giles stood. She had only a small inkling of what that would mean. We could learn

so much about them, find new ways to fight them...I have to locate that journal.

He knew for a fact he didn’t have it; he and Willow had finished cataloging all of the

new arrivals that afternoon. He thought perhaps Covington’s family might have possession of it,but her journal spoke of nothing regarding any siblings or children. He’d found a few oblique

references to her father Harry, and a long section in the middle about her friend Melinda, until

she’d had the terrible misfortune to die on a raid on a vampire’s lair led by Ian. There’s a reason

they emphasize that we should never assume the role of the Slayer, Giles told himself. And that is

it. Vampires are dangerous creatures, and most are more than capable of killing a human easily.

He shook his head. “Anyway, there apparently is no Covington family,” he said to

himself. “I can ask Sam if he knows anything when he shows up on Friday. That would leave the

Merricks, who I’ll call in the morning. And Donald Merrick’s library.”

He took off his glasses and put them on the table; he went to the window and stared out at

the full moon. How ironic is it that I preached to Xander the importance of not going after Buffy,

and now that’s the one thing I might need to do to get to the bottom of this?

*

Cordelia ran a comb through her hair one last time and put it down on the night stand.

She smiled briefly as she considered her long, dark, glossy hair, and then she flicked off the light

and slid under the sheets. The comforter had proven too warm, even in the air conditioning, and

she had taken it off earlier. She closed her eyes and listened to the central air hum as she settled

into bed.

His girlfriend? she thought. Is that what you want?

And look at the way you had to drag it out of him! He should get down on his knees and thank God you like him! That you’ll even be seen with him, that you condescend to--

“That’s enough,” Cordelia whispered to herself as she turned over. I have no idea why,

brain, but I like him. Sue me. When I put you in charge all I got were dumb jocks and idiot

preppies. None of them gave a damn about me, just about being seen with me.

No car, her brain responded. No money, no nice clothes. He probably won’t get into

college, and even if he does, it’ll be a community college where the only requirement is that you

can fill out the entrance form and pay up front.

Xander cares about me, Cordelia argued back. He likes me, the inside me. You’re the one

that drives him crazy. If you’d just shut up some more, I could really start to like him.

What happened to the ‘ewwww?’ What happened to the ‘shut up?’

Cordelia grimaced. Okay, okay, so I’m just sort of getting used to the idea. There aretimes that the thought that I could feel something for Xander scares me. I admit it. But at least I

can consider it. With the guys you picked out, I couldn’t like them in a million years.

So you’re resigned to working for a living? her brain asked. A waitress, maybe? Store

clerk? Supporting your husband?

Cordelia rolled over. I’m not gonna marry Xander. I’m just gonna date him. I’ll take it

from there.




88

Hello?? her brain said. Should I be checking for evil twins? Oh, excuse me, you are the

evil twin, I forgot.

Shut up! Cordelia growled at her brain. We tried it your way, and it was Loserville. Now

we’re going to do this my way.

This is not Loserville?? her brain retorted. Explain to me how that can be. Explain to me

how being seen with Xander Harris is not Loserville. Cordelia rolled over and said nothing.

I’m waiting...

She crinkled her nose as she smiled. Fuzzies.

What? her brain asked.

You know... fuzzies.

That’s it? That’s the best you can do?

“Do you need a demonstration?” Cordelia asked aloud.

Do I detect some doubt? her brain needled her.

“Fine, we can do this,” Cordelia said. She flicked on the lamp and sat up.

What? her brain asked. What are we doing?

“You want proof,” Cordelia said, “you got it.”Proof? What proof? What are you-- hey, put down that phone! Don’t you know how late

it is?

“I had his nipples in my mouth,” Cordelia murmured. “I guarantee he is not asleep.” She

dialed Xander’s number.

It rang twice, and Xander picked it up. “Cordy?” he asked.

She said nothing, but a big smile crept over her face.

This is cheating, her brain argued.

No it’s not. It’s called proof. “Xander,” she murmured.

“Cordy,” he said, and she could hear the warmth in his voice.

“Xander, I want you to do something for me.”

“Now?” he asked.“Right now,” Cordelia said.

“Okay,” he said. “If I run, I can be there in...”

“No, you can’t come over,” she said.

“Oh,” his voice dropped.

“Xander, could you just... say it again?”

A pause, and then, “Say what?”

“You know... it. What you said earlier.”

He laughed nervously. “I said a lot of things, Cordy.” Quickly he added, “But I meant all

of them.”

“Tell me what I am to you,” she said.

“Huh?”“Xander...” See? her brain said.

“Cordy...”

She waited.

“You’re my girl.”

Cordelia smiled and closed her eyes.

“Good night, Xander,” she said, and she hung up the phone.

So? her brain argued. I don’t feel any...




89

Oh.

Cordelia smiled as that familiar -- and very pleasant-- tingle ran up her spine.

Across town, Xander stared at his phone and said, “Now what was that all about?”

Careful, his brain warned him. She’s starting to like you.

“You know what, brain? I’ve done pretty good so far in life without your help,” Xandersaid. “Just go back to sleep.”

No problem...

*

Three-twenty in the morning is a horrible time to be awake; too early to get up, and too

late to really get any sleep. Only insomniacs and third shift workers are up at that hour during the

week.

And vampires.

This one strode slowly across the grass, his long dark hair fluttering in the night breeze ashe sniffed the air. He neared the graveyard; his objective lay just beyond. The Slayer had come

to the Hellmouth recently, and the last thing he wanted at the moment was to clash with her. He

still bore a scar from the last time he had fought one; the witch had used a knife doused in holy

water. His wound had festered and boiled and given him so much pain that he’d wanted to die.

He had nearly crept out in the sunlight the next day, almost preferring to roast than to lay in the

cave and rot to death. But gradually the wound had begun to hurt less, and then it only stung for

a long while, until, emaciated and half starved, he had finally been able to walk again.

Fortunately there had been a village nearby. He had left it deserted. So long ago, he mused as he

flashed a pair of long fangs in the moonlight.

He felt honored that he should be given this mission. He ranked among the oldest and

most trusted in his king’s court; he had served the king for several hundred years. His Sire hadbeen surprised that he had even been interested in a simple scouting mission. “There are others,

younger and less experienced, who I would rather send out with a Slayer lurking about the

vicinity.” But he had argued with his Sire, convinced him that only a vampire of status and

importance should be sent to open negotiations with the one who called himself the Master. His

Sire had relented and let him go.

He moved behind the nearest tree and glanced around; yellow eyes peered into the

darkness. He always wore his hunting face when he above ground; he saw no reason to conceal

his true nature from the living. Strong, agile, and cunning, he could kill any human he faced,

except maybe the Slayer. Most vampires preferred secrecy and skulking about; it seemed to work

well. But he preferred to use terror and brute force when hunting. Fear worked far better for him

than craft. For many centuries now, that has been true. You can catch more humans with terrorthan you can by being sneaky.

“You may partake of any feeding that you wish while you are out,” his Sire had said, “so

long as you accomplish the task I have given you. And I know you shall not fail. We are very

close now. I know you will see to it that this final part of the plan will develop unhindered.”

His Sire understood terror; he understood threats; this vampire admired that in his Sire.

Though he also espoused guile and subterfuge when necessary, he knew when the time had come

to throw away the masks and feed on the humans like the lambs they were. He had often




90

wondered if his Sire was interested in taking a queen, like some of the kings did. More likely he

did not care to share himself with anyone, no matter how alluring she might be. He discounted

the rumors about his Sire taking a recent interest in a young vampire; he’s not Herzog, or

Bretwell, or one of those European brutes. He is an old King, an ancient one. He is... discerning.

With a quick motion he hopped the hedge that ran along the border of the cemetery and

stopped near a high tombstone. The full moon illuminated the area completely, bathing it in agreyish glow. He raised his head and sniffed again. No one here.

He scowled. Often youths would come to cemeteries and get drunk on mild nights like

this, and he would have an easy time of it. But the teenagers either knew better in Sunnydale, or

they all stopped their revelry earlier than this.

He hopped nimbly over the tombstone and moved three rows over, stopping to admire an

obelisk. He listened some more, and sniffed again; he could still sense no one near. He stepped

away from the obelisk and approached the mausoleum, his yellow eyes widening as he took in

the aged structure.

Even from outside he could sense its power, its evil, its darkness, radiating outward like

an infernal beacon. He inhaled deeply-- he could almost smell the force contained inside. Won’t

he be surprised? he thought. That his sire has come to unchain him. That he shall at last walk free. He smiled, showing his long fangs, and entered the mausoleum.

He saw that the entryway to the cavern below had been broken open, which felt unusual.

It had not been used recently, either, judging from the dust and dirt that had piled up. Could I

possibly be in the wrong location? Could I have made a mistake? Could he have been in error?

Maybe the Master has already loosed himself on the world.

He shook his head; that wasn’t possible. His king never made mistakes. And had the

Master broken his bonds, they would have heard of it. He supposed his Sire might even have felt

it.

He slipped past the open gate and descended into the caves below.

He noticed at once that the humming resonance of force that he had detected outside had

not risen in strength, and he’d anticipated. Either the Master had grown weak, or he really hadescaped his prison on his own. The vampire shook his head, moving toward the main audience

cavern and watching his step in the messy rubble, when the disgusting stench hit him like a

wave.

The Slayer, he thought. The Slayer has been here. He passed his hand over his nose and

moved into the main chamber. What a revolting stench. I may be ill.

The Master had gone. The cavern had lain deserted for many months, almost a year, he

supposed. No one dared live down here any more. The place lay empty, entirely. Not a single

vampire remained.

The stink rising from the pool assaulted his senses. He recoiled, but recovered and bent

low to the water and sniffed; his eyes began to water and he backed away quickly. It’s blessed.

Someone blessed the water. You foul bastards, defiling his place! Tainting his realm!He moved back toward the entryway, taking one last look around.

My Sire will be very angry about this, he mulled. But he must know that the ally he

sought is gone. The fact that the vampires do not own Sunnydale is proof enough that the Master

must be dead.

A cold shiver overtook him. This Slayer killed the Master. She killed one of the Inner

Circle. She must be resourceful indeed.




Like a dark shadow he left, long legs carrying him through the night, churning with

adrenaline. I must tell my Sire, as quickly as possible, that this is a Slayer not to be taken lightly.

* * *

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Buffy: Innocent Blood Chapter 4