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''Well - he was asked to leave. it's almost unheard of.''
''Why?''
''The, uh, the girl he was training, was, was killed shortly after you
became
the Slayer. He was - shattered. A watcher is allowed time to
grieve, then he
must move on. He couldn't get past it quickly enough to suit the taste
of the
Watchers' Board, and they requested that he resign. I suppose
that's why they
didn't alert myself or Luke to his presence here.''
''Well, what do we do about it?''
'''Do?''' Giles echoed, replacing his glasses.
Buffy nodded. ''He might be able to help us.''
''Buffy, the Board would be furious. Besides, we just agreed not to
involve
anyone else.''
''He was a watcher, though, he'd know what to expect. And as far as
the Board
goes, who was it again who never did tell me about the Slayer's Handbook?''
Luke jumped into the conversation. ''Rupert, if this guy can help, we
should
at least give him the option.''
Buffy ran with this. ''Right! I mean, we can't make him help. It would
be his
choice.''
''Who are we to withhold that choice from him?'' Luke added.
''Besides, he could figure it out anyway,'' Buffy continued. Giles sighed
heavily.
''You two aren't going to leave me alone about this, are you?''
''No*way,*'' Buffy said emphatically, a tiny smile of triumph beginning
to
show.
''Not a chance,'' Luke agreed. Giles sighed again.
''All right, all right,'' he caved in.
''Yes!'' Luke and Buffy exchanged high fives. Considering the conversation
over, they left the office.
''Dear God.'' Giles murmured. ''Now there are two of them.''
********** [Author's Note: I will tell you right now, that this next
part of
the chapter is purely self-indulgent, I-wish stuff. I have been dying
to do
this since I started the story.]
Finally, night fell, and she let the vampires loose to hunt, with strict
instructions to go to separate towns. Spike stayed in Port Charles,
casing out
the town, studying and memorizing it. Eventually, he took a seat in
a little
bar called the Recovery Room, ordered a token beer, and sat quietly,
watching
the patrons and pretending to nurse his drink.
''Mind if I sit here?'' A woman with wild, curly hair and a face that
immediately irritated the hell out of Spike gestured to the seat across
from
him. Her demeanor screamed ''victim.'' Spike gave her a charming smile.
''Certainly.''
''Thanks.'' The woman ordered a martini, knocking it back with a speed
that
made Spike, a seasoned drinker, wince.
''My name's Julie.''
''Spike.''
''Interesting. I don't remember seeing you around here before.''
Spike shrugged. ''New in town.''
''Oh.'' Julie ordered another martini and drank it with the same speed.
''So what's your life problem?'' Spike asked.
''Excuse me?'' Spike gestured to the empty glass.
''Most people don't drink like that unless they're suicidal or miserable.''
''Oh. Boyfriend and I got in a fight,'' she replied briefly.
''So you're drowning it.'' Spike had Julie pegged: women like her loved
friendly attention and advice.
Julie nodded. ''Yeah. I know it's stupid, but . . .'' she shrugged.
''Then don't,'' Spike replied. ''Come for a walk - just a walk, I promise
- in
the park with me and get it off your chest. It's better for you than
martinis
and I'll try not to give you an hangover.''
She hesitated.
''Oh, come on,'' Spike wheedled, laying it on thick. ''I'll be a perfect
gentleman, and if I accidentally get out of line'' - he held up his
cane -
''you can hit me with this.''
Julie giggled, and Spike held back the anger that welled at her poorly-covered
relief over discovering his ''handicap.''
''Okay,'' she smiled, pulling out her wallet.
''Oh, let me,'' Spike protested, laying money on the table. He positioned
his
cane and got to his feet. Julie stood, thanking him warmly, and they
left.
As they walked through the park, Spike half-listened to her yammer,
something
about her boyfriend and a drug problem. Spike nodded and made sympathetic
comment at the proper intervals.
Finally, she dried up, and they walked along in silence for a moment.
Spike's
hunger was twisting in his stomach. Julie had been sufficiently Lestat-ed;
it
was time. He let his cane drop to the grass and, vamping out, grabbed
her. She
cried out and struggled, her fear heightened by the alcohol that had
finally
hit her.
She never had a chance, of course; Spike bit hard into her throat and
drank
deeply, scarcely noticing the sharp flavor of the alcohol in her blood.
When Detective Alex Garcia was told that there had been ''another victim,''
he
assumed that the General Homicide murderer had struck again. A quick
look at
Julie Devlin's body told him otherwise, however.
''Massive blood loss, but not a drop on or near the body, no evidence
she'd
been moved to that location, and the only wounds two small holes on
her
neck,'' Alex told Comissioner Mac Scorpio several hours (and piles
of
paperwork) later.
''Vampires.''
''Excuse me?''
''That what my grandmother would have said,'' Mac explained. ''And that's
what
a lot of people will be saying if we can't come up with something to
tell
them.''
Alex crumpled the coffee cup that had been keeping him conscious for
the past
hour. ''You want a cover story, get Taggert,'' he told Mac. ''I don't
do
those.''
''And I don't approve of them,'' answered Mac. ''But in this case . . .''
Alex nodded. ''I'll call Taggert.''
**********
When Buffy was eating - or, more accurately, picking at - her breakfast
that
morning, the phone rang.
''Will, put me on speakerphone. Anne needs to hear this too,'' Luke said.
Giles set up the speakerphone - a concept which Buffy had teasingly
explained
to him at length the day before - and Luke began.
''They found a body last night in the park. Julie Devlin. Drained of
blood,
two holes in the neck, you know that song. They're saying she died
from
deficiencies in the blood. More like, *of* blood. Anyway, she was at
a bar
last night, and the owner - reliable guy, Mike Corbin - said he saw
her leave
with a white haired guy with a cane.''
'''White haired guy with a cane,''' Buffy repeated. ''Was he old?''
''Don't know. Mike said he happened to glance up just as they were walking
out
the door. Recognized Julie from her hair.''
''Must be some hair,'' Buffy remarked.
''Major hair. I'm not sure it *is* hair. Anyhow, I thought I should
fill you
in. Did you get any vamps last night?'' Luke asked.
''Not a one. Must've been an off night.'' She'd considered hunting in
the
park, but had gone to the cemetary instead. Stupid.
'''White haired,''' Giles mused. ''Is he sure it was white, and not,
say . .
.'' Buffy picked up on his line of reasoning, and jumped in with,
''Billy Idol blond?'' giving Giles an anxious look.
''I didn't ask. I will.'' Giles and Buffy faintly heard a female voice,
then
Luke said, ''Hey, Luce. I gotta go, guys, I think Lucy wants to unload
about
her crisis of the week.'' He hung up.
Buffy looked at her Watcher solemnly.
''Do you think,'' she asked slowly, ''that it could be Spike?''
''Perhaps, but w-we musn't jump to . . . to conclusions.'' He paused.
''Still, if it is him, and he is not aware of your presence here, it
wouldn't
do to have him recognize you and warn the others. Some sort of disguise,
possibly . . . ?''
''Say no more,'' said Buffy. ''I'll take care of it.'' She pushed away
her
now-soggy bowl of cereal. ''I gotta get to school. And I'm walking
this
time,'' she added firmly, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.
Buffy poked her head into the classroom. ''Mr. Murty?''
Murty looked up from the papers he was correcting. ''Anne. Hi. Did you
talk to
your father?''
Buffy cleared her throat. ''Yeah, I did. And my name's not Anne.''
Murty got the same look that Giles got when he heard something that
he thought
should surprise him but somehow didn't. < Must be a watcher thing,
> Buffy
reflected.
''What is your name?'' Murty asked. Buffy, who been looking for a way
to tell
him everything, pounced on the opportunity.
''My name is Buffy Summers.'' She took a deep breath. ''I'm the Slayer.''
Murty nodded. ''That shouldn't surprise me. That's how I knew you. Every
watcher recognizes a slayer on some level. Even a retired watcher,''
he added
with the smallest trace of bitterness. He paused. ''You do know that
I'm
retired?''
Buffy nodded. ''Giles told me all about it.''
''Rupert Giles is the Slayer's Watcher?'' Murty cracked a smile. ''He
owes me
five bucks.'' At Buffy's startled look, he explained, ''I was sure
that would
happen, but Rupert's tendency toward self-effacement made him object.''
''So you did the mature watcher thing and made a bet.''
Murty chuckled. ''Don't tell the board.'' Then he sobered, asking, ''Why
are
you here?''
''Rise in vamp activity. Don't tell me you didn't know that.''
''Well, I had a feeling that the 'sudden-epidemic-of-anemia' explanation
wasn't exactly kosher. I'm guessing the newest victim is that doctor.''
''Julie Devlin. But why only one?'' Buffy asked. ''I wouldn't be here
for just
one vampire.''
''My best guess is that they go out of town for some reason,'' Murty answered.
''Great,'' Buffy muttered. Then, ''Wait a minute. Most vamps aren't
that
smart. What could possibly make them bright enough to spread their
hunting
around?''
''A leader,'' Murty answered simply. ''Most covens have one.''
Giles tended to pace; Murty remained stationary. Buffy, aware of and
somewhat
unsettled by the difference, tried to make up for it by beginning to
pace
herself, saying,
''But the Master never gave orders like that. Neither did the Annointed
One,
or Spike. There's gotta be a reason for this.''
Murty didn't get a chance to respond, because just then the bell rang
and
students started filing into the room.
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