Chapter One
Cordelia let her heels drag as she wearily followed her equally exhausted companions down the hall towards the library. It was two in the morning, almost abnormally cold, and her Manolo Blahniks were covered in various shades of demon goo, irreparably damaged.
She didn’t even want to think about the dirt and demon blood that covered her slacks and cashmere sweater, and was embedded under her fingernails, which were now in desperate need of a manicure.
Ahead of her, a disheveled and slightly limping Giles pushed open the swinging doors, holding them wide until all of his young charges had filed in. Buffy headed over to switch on the overhead fluorescent lights, and they flickered to life, illuminating the expansive library, but doing nothing to heat the frigid room.
Playful tired banter had been passing between Buffy, Willow, Oz and Xander ever since they’d killed the Chyai’ark demons they’d been hunting earlier that night. Cordelia ignored them, shivering and stalking her way towards the long rectangular center table where she slumped down into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs.
With a pronounced sigh she removed one of her ruined heels, intent on treating her cramping toes to a short massage. Cordelia rubbed the dainty digits vigorously between her hands in an effort to warm them, and decided she definitely deserved a pedicure after this, as well that manicure.
“When did demons stop going ‘poof’?” Xander complained, hopping up onto the counter of the front desk, much to Giles’ chagrin. Oblivious to the annoyed look, he tossed his shovel to Buffy who caught it with ease.
“I liked it better when they went ‘poof’. No messy clean up jobs post-slayage. Nope, just kill ‘em and dance the Snoopy-dance among their ashes. Now it’s all shovels and digging and burying. Could demons be a little more considerate?” he grumbled. He grimaced as he reached over to knead the aching muscle of his left shoulder, having jarred it during the earlier fight.
Cordelia allowed herself a small amount of satisfaction at his pain as she slipped her heel back on. It couldn’t begin to compare to what he’d done to her in recent weeks, but it was something. Just nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine shoulder twinges to go and they’d be even.
She continued to watch in silence as the Slayer made her way over to the book cage where all of her weapons were kept, a heavy mace swinging lazily down at her side, while Willow and Oz walked in her direction.
“Maybe we’re doing something wrong?” Willow suggested as she took a seat opposite Cordelia, next to Oz. “We could have done some more research before going after the Chyai’arks. I could take another look… Or maybe there’s a special potion we can make that will disintegrate demon remains? Or… or maybe Buffy should have used a bigger mace?” she babbled.
The redhead then directed her ramblings to Buffy’s Watcher. “Do we have a bigger mace? You never did tell me why it’s called a mace…”
Willow trailed off when Oz lightly took her hand, squeezing gently. “I think Buffy killed them good,” he assured her, as always his face deadpan. The young Wicca grinned shyly at her laconic boyfriend, before her body tensed with guilt and she drew her hand back.
The couple had tentatively begun to give their relationship another chance, and she didn’t want to push things.
Noting her friend’s discomfort, Buffy quickly picked up the conversation. “It’s not the size of the mace that matters, but how you use it,” she quipped with a sly grin. “And besides Will, with all the practice we’ve had killing demons, I think we’ve got it just about right,” she said, dropping the dirt encrusted shovel and swinging the aforementioned weapon in a slow but deadly arc through the air as if to demonstrate.
“Yep. Shark demons ain’t getting any deader. Point, set and match to the Scooby Gang!” Xander added.
“Chyai’arks,” Willow corrected automatically, though her efforts were in vain when Xander merely shrugged indifferently. Still, she was smiling again. The redhead seemed a little more at ease with their slaying accomplishments that evening.
Cordelia rolled her eyes at the whole exchange, blowing a stray strand of chestnut hair that had fallen out of her ponytail from of her eyes. She was tired, sore, dirty and messy. Cordy just wanted to go home, enjoy a nice long soak in her bath, slip into her bed, and pretend this whole sorry evening had never happened.
Two and a half hours of trudging through cemeteries, sewers and woods, in heels, followed by a measly five-minute fight, in which the only way she’d managed to contribute was to get in the way of Willow’s fall when one of the demons had shoved the redhead.
How did she let herself be talked into these things? Making a vow to never let a certain stake-happy blonde and her cheating band of misfits drag her demon slaying again, she was relieved when Giles called a ceasefire to the pointless argument.
Giles cleared his throat to pre-empt any more sad attempts at wit as he moved behind the counter. “As enthralling as this conversation is, I think we are all in need of hot showers and warm beds. You all have school tomorrow,” he reminded them as he began to gather his belongings, intending on heading straight home himself.
As he passed by, he gave Xander a pointed look. The teenage boy didn’t take the hint. In fact, when none of his charges gave any indication of leaving, Rupert Giles lifted his head from his task of collecting his personal books and papers, giving all of the children a stern glare.
“I do believe I told you all to go home.” His voice held a note of frustration.
“Sure thing, oh brainy Watcher of mine,” Buffy retorted good-naturedly, eliciting an exasperated sigh from the man in question. “Just gimme the key to the weapons cage so I can put away all my toys and we’ll be on our way,” she finished with a smirk. Her slim fingers gripped the mesh and rattled the door to underscore its locked condition.
“Ah,” Giles exclaimed, somewhat embarrassedly, and began patting his pockets in search of the elusive keys. Coming up empty he began searching the counter and under-shelf, shuffling papers and opening draws.
When he was still strangely unsuccessful in his hunt the Watcher concluded that they had to be in his private office, and turned toward the small room. When he reached out to grasp the door handle though, he was suddenly stopped short, a flash of memory informing him that something was odd.
“Oh my…” he muttered absently, hand falling back to his side.
Buffy’s senses immediately went on alert at the concern she heard in her Watcher’s voice. “Giles?” she asked, getting a firmer grip on the mace still clutched in her hand. “What is it?” she continued when the older man offered up no immediate explanation.
For a moment Giles still didn’t answer her, looking between the closed office door and the front entrance of the library. He took a couple of steps away, mumbling something to himself, then made a motion like putting one thing down before reaching to pick up something else to his left.
Xander spun around on the desktop to watch the curious behavior. Mimicking the action of putting on his coat, Giles took another few steps towards the entrance, stopped, and walked back, his attention once more focused on the closed door to the office.
He nodded once curtly, as if satisfied, and then began shaking his head in confusion.
“Giles?” Buffy said a little louder, suddenly beside him. Only the counter separated them.
The unexpected close proximity of her voice startled him out of his thoughtful reverie. “Ah, yes… Well, I’m certain now that I left the door to my office open when we left. I came out after checking some last minute details,” he told them, and again made the action of setting down the volume he had been using for his research.
“I set down the text, then collected my axe and coat,” his hand moved to the side again, “put my coat on, then we headed out to hunt down the Chyai’arks. I didn’t close the door be–”
“Giles!” the blonde yelled this time.
“Someone’s been in my office, Buffy,” Giles finally stated simply.
Not needing anything more, she hefted the mace and easily leapt the counter, landing between her Watcher and the closed door, while Xander slipped off the counter behind Giles. Buffy dropped one hand from her weapon to check that Mr. Pointy was still tucked into the waistband of her jeans, and then placed the hand on the doorknob.
Her senses gave her no hint as to what to expect within the darkened room, if anything. Whoever or whatever had been here could have been long gone by now, but she was cautious anyway.
Firmly clutching the handle in one hand, mace in the other, she flung the door open abruptly to surprise any intruders. The sharp metallic tang of blood instantly flooded her nostrils as she quickly returned her spiked weapon to a two-handed grip and lifted it above her head…
Her blue eyes widened as they fell upon the scene within the room. Buffy lowered the mace, arms dropping to her sides, and it slipped from her limp fingers to the linoleum floor with a heavy thud. She didn’t even notice.
“Oh God…” Wood scraped harshly across linoleum as the others leapt out of their chairs and rushed over to the bench to find out what was wrong. Buffy stepped over the threshold but remained there just inside the doorway, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
Giles pushed passed her while everyone else peered over the counter and Xander peeked around the doorframe. Willow cried out and turned to her boyfriend, burying her face in his chest. Oz held her, a look of distress in place of his own usually stoic expression.
“Oh man,” Xander exclaimed quietly. He moved to Buffy’s side and took her in a tight hug.
Cordelia was numb. Unable to say anything around the hitch in her throat she just watched with rapidly moistening eyes as Giles knelt beside the body of the woman on his sofa. Her skin was a creamy white, even paler against the dark brown material of the couch.
Drying blood covered the hand resting on her belly, where a large bloody wound had bled heavily through her white blouse and around down her sides. A dark congealing stain had spread out from beneath her back on the cushions. The hole in her stomach clearly went right through. Her eyes were closed and a peaceful look graced her dirt-smudged, almost elfin features.
Even as Giles checked for a pulse, Cordy knew that the woman was dead.
“Dammit,” Giles muttered. He sighed heavily, leaning back and removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “She’s dead,” he informed the teenagers needlessly. “I don’t recognize her.” His voice was sad, weary. They’d all seen too much death in their lives.
Replacing his glasses and moving his hand again, he pressed the backs of his fingers against the woman’s cheek. “She’s still slightly warm. I doubt she’s been here more than an hour.”
Willow lifted her head, wet eyes wide in alarm. “What are you saying…?! Could she…?! Would she still be alive if we’d gotten back sooner?!” she asked hysterically, tears streaming down her face.
Giles at once shook his head. “We can’t blame ourselves, Willow,” he told her. “I don’t think there’s anything we could have done for her. Whatever did… this,” he gestured towards her fatal wound, “to her, is the one responsible for her death.” His trained eyes looked over the body, letting the rational side of his brain take over so that he didn’t give in to his agitation and dismay.
He didn’t know this woman, and had seen many – too many – nameless bodies during his career as a Watcher to normally feel shocked. But to find her dead in his office disturbed even his carefully controlled emotions. Wanting to protect the children from any more grief, Giles nodded his head toward the outer room. “I think perhaps you should all wait outside.”
Oz immediately agreed, leading a trembling Willow back to their seats at the table, but Buffy resolutely shook her head. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she said insistently, “I’m okay.”
“Me too,” Xander said, not quite as firmly. He wasn’t about to leave Buffy though.
The librarian’s gaze slipped passed them to Cordelia who still stood on the other side of the counter. A shaking hand pressed against her mouth, eyes leaking silent tears, Cordelia finally noticed Giles’ stare, now accompanied by that of Buffy and Xander.
“I’m staying,” the cheerleader choked out in response to the questioning looks. Wiping away her tears, Cordy then dropped her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her upper arms. Her chin rose defiantly. “Don’t even try,” she said, cutting off Giles’ attempted protest as she moved around the bench. “I wanna know what bastard did this to her.”
The venom in Cordelia’s voice surprised Giles for a moment, so unused to seeing this depth of concern from the girl, but he forced himself to ignore it. Knowing it was useless to argue with the determined teenagers, he returned his attention to the woman’s body, hoping to discover something that might lead them to whatever had done this.
Firstly, Giles checked her pockets for any identification. He found nothing, not even loose change.
He looked at the body next. Blood covered her hands and drenched her shirt. Between her splayed lifeless fingers, the edge of the tear in her shirt was visible, hinting at the injury hidden below. The material of the sofa beneath her had soaked up the blood seeping from the wound in her back, creating a relatively small puddle of darkening blood that had spread out passed her slim jean-clad hips.
Beneath the curtain of wavy light brown hair falling across her neck Giles could just make out another bloodstain, possibly a vampire bite.
But though there was a lot of blood present, there wasn’t nearly as much as there should have been. There was also no sign of a struggle in the meticulous office, nor on the woman’s body.
“She wasn’t attacked here,” he quietly informed the teenagers behind him. After all, they had remained to hear this. Even so, he kept his voice soft and soothing so as not to startle them further. “There’s not enough blood. If the culprit knew that this was my office, she may have been attacked elsewhere, then left here specifically.
Perhaps for the purpose of a warning, or to throw our emotions. She might have been… arranged here, to mock us…” Giles added. His tone was colder now, breaking.
Anger and grief rose inside him as his mind flashed back to last year, when he had found his beloved Jenny’s body arranged on his bed, surrounded by a sea of rose petals. Her eyes staring up at him, lifeless… Giles shook his head forcefully to shake away the bitter memories of what Angelus had done to Jenny. To him.
“You… You said, ‘attacked elsewhere’,” Cordelia realized, stunned. “Not ‘killed’. She died here, didn’t she? She was left here… alone… to die.” Fresh tears slipped down Cordelia’s smooth cheeks as Giles looked up at her and merely nodded his confirmation, and her heart cried out to this woman.
She knew what it felt like to be alone. Hurt. Abandoned.
Cordelia had never truly hated anyone before, not even Xander. Even after he’d broken her heart and betrayed her trust. She had thought that she hated him, with every fiber of her being. But this woman had been attacked, taken to a strange place, and left to slowly die alone. Cordy wondered if the woman had a family.
A family that would be worried about her, wondering where she was, or when she would be coming home to them. And she felt pure icy hatred for whatever had done this to her and her family.
Giles watched the myriad of emotions visible in the young brunette’s eyes for a moment. Fear, anger, empathy, sorrow, hatred… He was beginning to understand that there was more to the sharp-tongued girl than he would ever know. Again though he had to force his attention back to his unpleasant but necessary task.
Aside from the blood, her skin was marred by smears of dirt and sweat, her hair dull and slightly tangled. She didn’t appear to be a homeless person though – her hair was too well kept despite its current unclean state, her clothing was too nice, her skin soft and her figure trim and fit, even toned from training.
At a guess he’d take her age to be in the mid-thirties, maybe even older if the years had been kind to her. She was also wearing a silver necklace and a wedding ring, the gold metal of the band barely visible beneath the blood staining her hands. Giles noticed the ring was of an intricate Celtic design. Her eyes were closed, her face quite serene in death. She looked angelic.
Finally, carefully, Giles reached out to gently cup the woman’s jaw, turning her head aside to examine the mark he had originally thought to be a vampire bite. Her head moved easily, rigor having not set in yet.
Instead of two punctures neighbored by shallower abrasions from the other teeth, like he had expected, there were merely two small smudges of blood. No wounds to explain their curious presence, other than perhaps she had brushed a bloodied hand against her neck.
He next turned to the wound in her abdomen. Gently taking hold of her left wrist, he lifted her hand away from the injury to get a better look. Again, he was able to move her arm with little resistance.
“Oh dear Lord!” He leapt to his feet, releasing her arm as if it had burnt his hand, hastily backing away from the woman’s body.
The hole in the flesh beneath her blouse was ragged, but roughly round in shape and smaller than what he had imagined. Due to the nature of his lifestyle, his Watcher-trained mind had automatically assumed her death was supernaturally related – maybe the claw of a demon, a horn.
Talons, barbs, spines, or some other bony protrusion, depending on the physiology of the particular demon involved. Maybe even a weapon like a sword or staff or spiked club.
He was genuinely shocked to recognize the bullet wound in the woman’s abdomen.
Buffy had instantly taken a step closer to the shaken librarian at his alarmed exclamation, but he held out an arm, preventing her from moving any nearer.
He was shocked to realize that he allowed these children to witness horrific demonic acts, confronting them with evil and the supernatural every day, involving them in a world and a war that would terrify not just others their age but anyone, and yet he was trying to protect them from what was this time most likely a result of human immorality.
Because this scared him.
Stunned by the reaction of her usually imperturbable Watcher, Buffy pushed her way passed the flustered man, heedless of his attempt to hold her back. She stopped just beside the woman’s body, and stared in astonishment at the bullet wound in her abdomen. “She’s been… shot?!”
Giles tried to shepherd the startled teenagers behind him from the room even as he addressed her. “Buffy, we should leave. I think that… that in this particular situation, we should call the police.”
His Slayer didn’t move, her gaze still intent upon the woman. “Buffy! We need to leave!” Giles’ raised voice and uneasy tone barely elicited a start from the girl.
“I know this,” she murmured distractedly. Giles paused in his efforts to remove the children from the office. Curiosity at Buffy’s statement was quickly overruling his better judgment and the instinct to protect Buffy, Xander and Cordelia.
He watched the blonde teen crouch down next to the sofa, her small hand reaching out to pick up the pendant that lay against the woman’s skin, scrutinizing it closer.
“What is it?” Giles asked her. He hadn’t taken any notice of its design previously. He’d only paid attention to her wedding ring because it signified that she was married, which was information that might have aided him in discovering her identity.
Buffy angled the small circular accessory so that her Watcher could see it. “A sun and three stars…” she described.
There was a lurch in Giles’ chest as her words triggered his memory. He stepped closer to her and the token, already knowing what he was going to see emblazoned on its surface. “Surrounded by the rune for ‘fidelity’,” he finished for her.
“The Order of Aurelius,” he whispered uneasily.
Buffy gently brushed aside the woman’s hair, moving to take the necklace from around her neck.
“Don’t!” Giles shouted, surprising her so much that she instantly pulled her hands back away from the chain, holding them up beside her head as if in surrender.
“Step away from her, Buffy. Right now,” the Watcher instructed her in a quieter but no less commanding voice. The Slayer finally did as she was told without argument.
Giles wordlessly ushered the children from the office, absently closing the door behind him. Sensing his worried contemplation, they allowed themselves to be herded back out to the main area of the library where Oz still sat at the table comforting Willow, both of whom looked up as the others approached.
Before they could ask what they had learnt, they noticed the agitated Watcher still standing by the counter, and their concern was turned towards him.
Clearly deep in thought, the older man began to pace across the floor as Buffy, Cordelia and Xander moved to take seats at the table. After several long moments, the library eerily silent but for the scuff of Giles’ shoes on linoleum,
Buffy couldn’t take the suspense any more. “Gi–”
“I’m sorry, Buffy. All of you,” he interrupted. “But this… This disturbs me greatly,” he muttered, again becoming lost in his thoughts. Just before the room threatened to descend into tension-filled silence again, Giles turned vaguely to face them. His eyes remained unseeing though. His mind was focused elsewhere.
“Buffy, I need you to go and see Angel. Bring him here.”
Buffy looked at the man in disbelief, but he remained oblivious to her shock and merely resumed his pacing. It had been only a matter of weeks since her Watcher and her friends had learned of Angel’s return from Hell, and by no means had that relatively short amount of time eased their fears or anger.
Especially for Giles. Angelus had murdered Jenny, and tortured him for hours, for pleasure. Buffy didn’t expect Giles to ever trust Angel, or forgive him, so she was surprised that he would even request the vampire’s presence. “Um, Giles…?” she began, only to be cut off once more.
“Now, dammit!” Giles shouted again. His roiling emotions already had him on edge, but even so he was ashamed at his outburst. Buffy was not to blame for what Angelus had done, nor did she or her friends deserve to bear the brunt of Giles’ temper.
They were all shaken as it was by the evening’s events, and they didn’t need to witness his own mounting distress. He forced his feet to stop pacing, removing his glasses from his face and rubbing the bridge of his nose again. Giles took a moment to calm himself by vigorously cleaning the lenses of his glasses, before he finally lifted his apologetic gaze to the group of stunned teenagers.
“I… I-I’m sorry. Please, Buffy, just bring Angel here. I need to speak with him,” he told her, his voice gentler and forcibly calm. Still, he was troubled by the presence of a token of Aurelius on this woman’s body, and how the vampire might react to it. “Just… Do not tell Angel anything about what has happened,” he added.
Not wanting to upset her Watcher again, Buffy simply nodded her response without protest, and Giles’ attention immediately returned to his thoughts, seeing her agreement. The blonde bit her lip nervously at the thought of having to see Angel.
She was concerned for her Watcher, the man who was like a father to her, and how he would deal with being face-to-face with her ex-boyfriend, since he was already uncharacteristically jittery at just the thought. She was also concerned about seeing Angel herself.
It had only been three weeks since she had made the decision to stop going to see him at the mansion, and she was trying to keep her distance, for both their sakes, and it still hurt so much. Her duty came first though, and if Giles could set aside his anger and grief to ask for Angel’s help, then she could push down her own pain.
Buffy drew herself up from her chair resolutely and turned toward Cordelia. “Would you mind driving me over to Angel’s please?” she asked the brunette.
Still too stunned by what had happened already that evening, and Giles’ recent outburst, the most scathing rebuff Cordelia could come up with was,
“Just let me grab my keys.”
