Part Twelve

"So now there are all down there having a tea. A tea at two in the morning! After a solid hour of shouting and stomping and crying and waving arms and pointing fingers and the whole bloody gamut of emotions." Ethan bent his head down and peered into Amy's cage. "Are you listening to me?"

Amy kept running in her wheel.

"And the topper is that Conrad-Chaney is coming to 'help'. That's a good one. Let me tell you something, as soon as that lard-arse has 'helped' everybody into their grave I shall call a conference and remind my fellow dead that I tried to warn them."

Amy kept on spinning.

"Would you pay attention? Animals are suppose to pay attention." Ethan muttered as he stuck a spectral hand into the cage and tried to stop the rotation. Twice his finger passed through the wire of the wheel before he gave up and attempted to pat her on the head. At the touch Amy squeaked and scrambled across the cage, taking refuge in her tin can burrow.

The shade arched an eyebrow and bent down to look directly into the can. "That was an interesting response, worthless but interesting. Just like your name... 'Amy'. That's not a very appropriate rat name. Whiskers, or Miss Grey, or even Scruffy would be better. But you're not very scruffy, you seem to be a very well groomed rat.... just like me." Ethan looked down at himself and traced his finger around the main bloodstain on his shirt. "Well, at least I used to be well groomed. Getting shot in the head did not do anything for my attire and I'm sure it did even less for my appearance. In a way I'm glad I can't see myself in a mirror. I'd wager I'm a bloody mess, both literally and figuratively."

Footsteps on the stairs caught Ethan's attention. Turning toward the door he waited on Willow and Buffy to enter the room whereupon he greeted them with a deadpanned "Boo".

Willow went directly to the bed and sat down. Buffy shut the door and leaned up against it. She shut her eyes for a moment and her face became as hard as stone. "Human or vamp, they're mine."

"Buffy." Willow said with a whine. "Please, listen to Giles and Wesley."

The Slayer's eyes shot open. "Or you'll go rat me out again."

A smile curled onto Ethan's lips as he stage whispered toward Amy. "If you pardon the expression."

"If I have to, I will." Willow softly replied. "Please Buffy. We've all been through, not like you, but all..."

"Damn straight 'not like me'!" She snapped. "I was raped and didn't even know it!"

Willow hung her head. "I know."

"By some son of a bitch who they tried to turn into super-vamp!"

"I know."

"And Giles and Wussley weren't going to tell me!"

Willow was silent.

Buffy eyed her friend somewhat suspiciously. "Did you know?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Buffy!" Willow cried out. "I said I didn't and I didn't! Don't you believe me anymore?!"

"I don't know who to believe, or who to trust, or what the hell is going on!" Buffy shouted as she gave a pillow a kick across the bedroom.

"Listen to you!" Willow shouted back as she stood. "You know that isn't true. We, we are the gang. Like all for one and one.. for.. all." Tears began to stream down her face. "When one of us is hurt we all hurt and.. and..."

A sharp stab of guilt twisted into Buffy. "I'm sorry Will." She choked out as she gave Willow a hug. "We're losing it, aren't we?"

"And I don't want to loose it!" Willow wailed. "We've lost Xander, and Cordy, and Angel, and.. and Oz and we might lose Giles and you! And that just leaves me and (sob) Wesssley!"

"Wesley's okay." Buffy whispered.

Willow blinked through her tears. "Huh?"

Buffy took half a step back and wiped her eyes. "He's okay. He's not Giles, or Angel, or Xander... or even that guy that fills the machines in the lounge. But he's okay."

Not yet divested of the habits of the living, Ethan headed for the door. "I'll leave you two to continue damning that poor bugger with faint praise. In the meantime I'm going home with him to see if I can greet my old chum Douglas when he arrives." He stopped halfway through the closed door and added with a leer. "Unless you ladies are planning on 'kissing' and making up. Then I would stay." The shade chuckled at his own wit and continued on his way downstairs.

"Nothing to enlighten us in this one either." Wesley mumbled as he closed the last book.

Giles sighed silently as he removed his glasses and rubbed his face. "It is possible that there are a few drips of information scattered in my other references, but these eight volumes were our best prospect."

"I've read enough." Joyce whispered with a tremor in her voice as she handed Wesley the notebook concerning Aaron Smith. She paled and shuddered as written description of long ago violence scraped in her mind. "Oh God. What he did to your.. your people. Those men didn't have a chance."

Taking the notebook from her, Wesley nodded in agreement while understating. "It was a dark day for The Council."

"To say the very least." Rupert added dryly. He unconsciously brought his glasses upward and chewed on the earpiece for a moment. "Among the multitude of things which I find disturbing is the fact that this creature still exists." Giles raised his gaze until his eyes locked onto Wesley's. "Quentin Travers stated to you that he personally... 'personally' staked Aaron Smith as the fire 'raged' around him."

Wesley neither averted his gaze or responded to the sarcastic inflection. "Mr. Giles, I do not know why.."

With four words Rupert both finished Wesley's statement and threw his own down. "He 'lied' to you." Giles rolled his shoulders. "Lied to you and lied to the Council. And now rearing its ugly head is the simple question: in the past twenty-seven years since his alleged destruction, how many of the deaths of our brethren, our comrades, our fellow Watchers can be laid at the feet of this damnable lie?"

"May we return to the topic at hand." Wesley asked through gritted teeth.

In a hollow voice Giles began to recite the names of the recent dead. "William Meyers, Anthony Rees, John Merrick, Anna Martindale, Byron Sadgebury..."

"Enough!" Wesley spit. "That is quite enough!"

"... They fell performing their duty. They died with their Slayer, destroyed by the evil we have vowed to face and fight without regard to our own life.."

Wesley opened his mouth to speak but was suddenly silenced as he felt a chill, like a sword of ice being drawn through his soul.

"...And in reward the truth is denied to us. The truth that a man who was of our fellowship, educated and honed razor sharp in the ways of our calling and so very aware of our strengths and our weaknesses is now our enemy..."

"If you never listen to him again, listen to him now you little twit!" Ethan hissed into Wesley's ear. The specter again ran his hands down the Watcher's spine causing Wesley to unconsciously shift in his seat.

Rupert caught the motion and leaned forward. His eyes seemed to blaze but his voice remained controlled. "An enemy whose genesis they denied because it illuminated the archaic nature of their final examination. An enemy who now preys on our Slayer because a man who sits on the Council bench was too prideful to confess failure."

"I see." Wesley said as he drew in a hissing breath.

"Do you really?" Giles asked dryly. "A glimmer of the true nature of that beast Travers? Or perhaps a spark of realization that we are more pawns than rooks in the game? Consequently I have to agree with your Uncle, do not report this Wesley or you will be knocked from the chess board in the blink of an eye."

"I will accept that something is amiss with Mr. Travers and at this time I agree with the wisdom of keeping these events to myself." Wesley stated as he mirrored Rupert's attitude. "And I would be a fool to shut my eyes to the base fact that Aaron Smith's turning was, for whatever reason, swept away to become a slowly forgotten rumor. But, I refuse to accept that all this is woven into a grand conspiracy of malice against those of us in the field."

"Keep your back to the wall Wesley." Rupert warned.

Realizing they a point of impasse, Wesley stood and took Joyce's hand. "Joyce thank you for everything and I promise to get to the bottom of this for Buffy's sake and yours."

"I know. I appreciate it." She said with a forced smile.

He glanced toward Rupert. "I am exhausted. Goodbye Mr. Giles."

"Allow me to drive you back." Rupert muttered.

"Not necessary. I would rather walk." Wesley grumbled.

"Never fear Ripper. I'll keep an eye on him." Ethan shouted in an unheard voice.

"Don't be a fool, allow me to..." Giles began but was cut off by the door closing behind his compatriot. "Idiot." He hissed under his breath.

Joyce let out a ragged exhale. "Will he be all right?"

"Hopefully." Rupert answered quietly as he began to stack his books. He paused and allowed the last one to fall from his hands back to its original place. To Joyce it seemed as if Giles aged a year with each passing second as he immersed himself in his thoughts. She left her chair and sat down beside him on the couch. "Rupert?" When he did not respond she took his hand and squeezed it gently. "Rupert, you should go to bed."

"Earlier you said that you wished you had never moved to Sunnydale."

"Un-huh." She answered not sure where his statement had come from.

"I feel the same way. Wish that I would have chosen another path. Become a grocer or a chemist with my own little shop. Blissfully happy in my ignorance of these things. Living a life where my greatest concern would be whether or not my wife would again burn the roast or if the children would for once, clean their plate."

Joyce shook her head. "And that would mean that Buffy and a lot more people would have died. We needed you here."

"Not really. Another would have been sent who would not have made such a mess of things." He leaned back and closed his eyes, his voice became edged in pain. "Joyce, I do not know what to do. Every time I believe that I have deciphered this enigma another twist arises and the darkness tightens." He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. "Who is the target? Who is the perpetrator? How do the pieces fit?"

"That's one I can answer." Joyce said quietly. "Anyone good is the target. The girls, you, Wesley. And the 'perps'? They are the one's that are going to lose."

A small smile crossed Rupert's face as he hesitantly reached out and stroked her cheek. "Thank you. I appreciate your confidence. "

She tilted her head toward his touch and drew in a sigh. "It's late."

Rupert moved his hand from her cheek and brushed her hair back with a lingering touch. "Yes it is. We need to go to bed."

They both stood at the edge as the double meaning of the words hung in the air. Twice Rupert moved his lips to speak before his voice caught up with his want, but by then his mind nixed it. "Do you... oh, never mind."

"Do I what?" Joyce asked, knowing what he meant, but wanting to hear it from him.

"Never mind, w-we should get some sleep," he sighed, as the moment seemed to pass. He stood and began to say his good nights.

Joyce shut her eyes for a moment and made a "tisk-tisk" noise. This man could be so impossible at times. "Rupert Giles." she hissed, taking his hand, "if you want to ask me something, then just do it!"

Giles tightened his hand around hers and guided her up. "I will."

"Okay."

"Fine."

"Oh for god's sake," she began, only to be cut short as Rupert pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. "Sometimes words fail." He murmured as they parted slightly.

"Umm-mmm." She agreed with a soft brush of her body across his.

Giles ran his hand down her back and brought it back up under her sweatshirt stroking her soft skin as she pressed closer to him. A second hungry kiss was followed by a third as the room faded from their consciousness leaving them to focus on only the touch and rising heat of their embrace. He maneuvered toward the couch, lowered himself down and drew her with him, positioning her onto his lap. Then with a sound that was akin to both growl and purr he pulled her sweatshirt off and began to place a line of kisses from her neck downward to her breasts.

Joyce gasped as his lips lightly pinched her erect nipples through the material of her bra. She began to rock on his lap, rhythmically pressing her weight into what she felt hardening beneath his trousers. Running her hands through his hair she removed his glasses and set them on the back of the couch before pushing closer to him. As his hand went to the clasp on her bra she bent down and whispered into his ear. "We're in front of a window, let's go upstairs."

"Show me your bed." He murmured back bringing his face to hers for a deep kiss.

With a shuttering sigh Joyce slid off his lap and they made their way up the stairs, pausing every few steps to lock into a weaving clutch until as one they danced through the doorway of the bedroom. Rupert shut the door, leaned against it and then reached for Joyce and pulled her back tightly up against him. He reached around and unfastened her jeans sliding them down over her hips while his other hand cupped a breast all the while placing increasingly passionate kisses on her cheek, and her neck, and her ear. Joyce's movements within his embrace as she kicked off her shoes and squirmed out of her jeans set him on fire. A low moan of desire coursed from his lips as he scooped her up hastily crossed the room and laid her on the bed.

"Your turn." Joyce purred as she twisted around to kneel on the edge of the bed. She reached up and pushed his jacket off his shoulders then slowly unknotted his tie and casually drew it off his body. With the same leisurely pace she unbuttoned his shirt, pausing every third button to rub a fingertip across a nipple or to run a fingernail lightly up the strained zipper of his trousers. By the time he was freed of his shirt Rupert's hips were rocking. He licked his lips and panted out. "Luv, you are torturing me."

"We don't want that." She smiled as her fingers went for his belt, and then the button and then the zipper. In one motion she both lowered herself to a seated position and drew his trousers and boxers down freeing his rock hard erection. She licked her lips and took a few inches of him into her mouth, swirling her tongue across the tip and sucking ever so lightly. Her hand closed around his balls, kneading them in lockstep motion with the movement of her tongue and lips. Giles abandoned all thought, focusing in on the exquisite pleasure radiating upward from his groin. With a ragged breath he warned her that the sensation was building to the point of inevitable release which caused her to take him deeper into her mouth and increase the pressure and speed of her attentions. Rupert's hand went to the bedpost to steady himself as he went over the edge with a choked cry.

For several seconds Rupert stood there groaning, allowing the gratification of his orgasm to echo through his body. He heard Joyce's whispered "shuuuu", cautioning him to lower his voice. With a "Ripper" smile he divested himself of his disarrayed clothing and laid down on the bed patting the space beside him. "Come here dear. It's your turn to be a tad noisy." She slid up the bed and laid down at his side. Giles rolled over halfway on top of her, kissing in the taste of his own essence, his hands traveling down to her mound feeling the damp proof of her excitement through her panties. He pressed harder, sliding the silky material across the tip of her clitoris causing her to arch upward against him. Slowly he slipped his hands into her panties and began to explore deeper while his mouth again found her breasts. Joyce whimpered as he withdrew his touch and brought his hand upward and around her back to unfasten her bra.

"Patience." Rupert whispered as he moved astride her. "Patience..." He drew in a hissing breath as he removed her bra and tossed it to the side then murmured out "Oh yes" as he lay down flat on top of her and took a hard nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while he rolled its twin between a thumb and forefinger. With a maddening leisurely pace he moved downward placing nibbling kisses on the underside of her breasts, on her side and on her belly. Then in one motion he drew both hands down her side and caught the waistband of her panties and pulled them downward to reveal her secrets.

As he slid the material down her legs Rupert sat back on his heels and licked his lips like a starving man at a feast. He tossed the panties to the side and placed his hands upon her knees, spreading her apart. Joyce moaned in anticipation and began to stroke her own breasts, a sight that caused the heat to again build in Rupert's groin. Leaning downward he brought his lips to her clitoris and began to tease it with his tongue while his finger began its journey toward her sex. One finger, then a second slid up within her and matched the rhythm of her upward thrusts. As her climax neared her panting became more ragged, the taste of her sweeter and the heat within her more intense. A sensory overload which concluded in both her white hot orgasm and his second throbbing erection.

With a growl Rupert covered her with his body, pressing his cock against her sex, taking in the throbbing wetness of her release. As his mouth went to hers he reached downward and guided himself up and down between the lips of her labia once, twice and then a third time before he thrust his length inside her. The kiss parted as they both gasped in selfish pleasure at the sensation. Rupert raised upward onto his elbows grinding his weight down on the point of their union. Joyce reached up and pulled him back down upon her as her hips came upward, driving him deep into her. Immediately they found the rhythm and with increasing passion were swept away to the point of no return with Joyce going over the edge and bringing him along in the same racing heartbeat.

Rupert's mouth covered hers, drowning out each others cries as they both returned to earth. He lay upon her both panting and shivering as the heat dissipated leaving a overwhelming desire to rest. With a final lingering kiss Giles rolled free of her and began to collect his clothing.

"Stay" Joyce whispered, as she turned down the corner of the bedcovers and slid underneath them.

A flash of worry crossed his face. "I better not." He said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Taking her hand he kissed it and looked away. "If I stay, I will make love to you again in the morning."

Joyce arched an eyebrow. "Rupert, I have to say that's a new one."

"No... it's just." He sighed. "We were not um, 'protected' and why tempt the fates anymore than we already have?"

An expression of understanding underlined by a sad smile appeared in Joyce's eyes. "Don't have to worry about that. Believe me." She sighed and bit her lip for a moment. "Hank only wanted one 'perfect' child. So after Buffy was born he had me make sure there would be no others." Her expression changed to anger. "Not like he would go get clipped, but I had to."

Rupert squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do it." She answered softly as she drew his hand toward her. "I want you to stay."

"Then I will, but I must warn you that I can barely stay awake." He said as he also slid in beside her.

"That's allright, we need to sleep and we will have the morning." She murmered as they nestled together and both drifted off into the first dreamless rest granted to them in a week.

******

Blinking, Wesley came lurching off the couch jarred into motion by the insistent pounding on his door. In an useless attempt to improve his appearance he smoothed his hair back as he stumbled across the living room. "One moment! One moment please!"

"LAD! ARE YOU IN THERE? JUST SEND HER PACKING OUT THE BACK DOOR AND LET ME IN!"

At the sound of his Uncle's voice booming through the door Wesley glanced at his watch. "Almost nine-thirty!" He muttered under his breath as he unlocked the door and greeted Conrad-Chaney. "Uncle Douglas... ah, welcome to Sunnydale. How was your...."

With a snort Douglas lumbered into the flat. "About time! My God Wesley, hire a housekeeper!"

Wesley gave his head a small shake of exasperation and began to shut the door when the unmistakable sound of Rupert's Citroen rounding the corner met his ears. "It's Mr. Giles!" He said a bit too loudly.

"What are you talking..."

For once Wesley interrupted Douglas. "Mr. Giles is pulling up outside. Now listen to me he knows everything except your suspicions and what information you have relayed to me concerning his past."

Conrad-Chaney threw his hands into the air. "I thought you knew the definition of the word 'covert'!"

"I do!" Wesley snapped. "But once Buffy overheard me giving my report, my house of cards came crashing down. Anyway, I no longer believe that Mr. Giles was..."

Douglas's eyes narrowed. "You believe he is innocent?! After all I have told you believe he is innocent?!"

"I believe that he is most defiantly not guilty of this crime and furthermore I also part company with him over his theory that the Council is somehow involved. In other words, I have made my own decision and that is: Aaron Smith came to Sunnydale to enact his revenge on the Council by creating a melded vampire to set against the Slayer. Now when this failed he murdered Mr. Rayne and tried to set it up in such a way to cast suspicion on Mr. Giles and myself." Wesley drew himself up and swept his hand toward the street. "And finally, I am positive that Smith is somewhere in Sunnydale plotting his next move and all three of us must put our heads together and find this creature before he strikes again."

"Very well. I will trust your judgment and accept your theory, with reservations." Douglas growled as he noted Rupert walking up the sidewalk. "But be warned Lad, there is something defiantly amiss with this wanker."

"Blast." Giles muttered softly as he saw Conrad-Chaney standing behind Wesley in the open doorway. He had so hoped to be there ahead of this man, but no such luck.

"It seems the two of you are on the same schedule." Wesley deadpanned in way of greeting. "Uncle Douglas just arrived also."

"Very good." Giles answered dryly, pausing for a moment before extending his hand and introducing himself.

Douglas accepted the handshake and gave his head a toss toward the disarray of books, clothing and spell remnants. "I heard the two of you had a bit of an adventure, so tell me were the coppers duly impressed?"

"Not exceptionally." Giles said as he began to clean his glasses. "So Mr. Conrad-Chaney..."

"Douglas!" The older man corrected as he headed for the most comfortable chair in the room. "No reason for to choke on formality." He settled his bulk down and chuckled at his own observation.

Rupert replaced his glasses and faintly nodded. "As you wish, Douglas. So tell me why are you here?"

Conrad-Chaney met Rupert's gaze. "Because, I have come to the recent conclusion..." He made a "hurrumping" noise and twisted deeper into his seat. "...'recent', as in one minute ago... that my nephew is correct in his assessment of this situation and consequently you will need all the help you can get."

"Then you have information." Giles said as a statement not as a question.

In answer Douglas muttered under his breath then sat like a lump on a log, twirling the end of his mustache. Wesley hissed out a sigh and offered Rupert a seat. "Make yourself comfortable while I heat some water for tea and then attend to a few personal matters."

"Yes, yes... forget about the bleedin' tea, just go siphon the python and get back here." Douglas mumbled. He waited until Wesley was leaving the room before acknowledging Rupert's remark. "Perhaps I do, but first allow me to lay my cards on the table. I know you are no longer a Watcher, I don't trust you and it is only for the sake of my nephew that I am here risking dismissal."

Giles made a "cluck" noise and leaned forward. "I appreciate you candor and I will offer you the same courtesy. The only reason I am here is to try to get a grasp on what can be done to protect the Slayer; and once the fog has somewhat lifted I am going to remedy this situation in a swift and most likely, violent manner."

"Why do you even care?" Douglas asked with a snort. "If I was you I would be back in London enjoying a decent pint and.."

"Because I am her Watcher." Rupert interrupted with an icy tone.

Douglas began to chuckle. "You are a stubborn bastard."

"That goes without saying.... Douglas." Rupert agreed through clenched teeth. "Now that we are on the same page, do you have any information about this creature?"

Conrad-Chaney plastered an expression of melancholy across his face. "Aaron Smith and I were like brothers."

Giles rubbed his brow at this non-answer. "I have read Wesley's summary. You told him that much."

Douglas leaned forward and placed his head into his clasped hands creating the picture of distress. "He was not told everything." He raised his head and swept his gaze around the room before finally centering his attention on Rupert. "It was a mess and Quentin and myself were sworn to secrecy. Ordered by Albert Hart not to ever break the silence on pain of expulsion or perhaps worse."

"He was Sergeant at Arms, correct?"

"That was his title." Douglas sneered. "But behind his back we all called him 'der führer'. For thirty-eight years he reigned due to his political maneuverings and alliances all overlaid with more than a touch of blackmail and strong-armed tactics. Hart held more power than the rest of the Council put together and no one dared cross him." He clenched a fist and slammed it down on the chair arm. "So Quentin and I packed up all of Aaron's personal effects and tossed them into the storeroom. Then we began our dis-information campaign, telling everyone that Aaron had run off with some tart and disappeared into the psychedelic sixties never to be heard from again."

"My God." Wesley interjected from the doorway. "Uncle Douglas! You told me..."

"I told you what you needed to know!" Douglas shouted back in a display of anger. "That Aaron had been turned and escaped from the estate! That 'we' decided along with our sponsors to keep a lid on it for the good of the Council! You are so blasted idealistic that you would have never believed that we were threatened into silence!"

Wesley paled a shade at the onslaught and glanced over toward Giles who only waved a hand in a 'I told you so' motion.

Conrad-Chaney snarled and swept his arm across the end table sending a mound of references to the floor. "And the threat still holds! That bastard Hart has been in the ground for twenty-five years but his disciple still sits on the Council!"

Rupert arched an eyebrow at the tirade. "And would that be our mutual 'friend' Quentin Travers?"

"Very good!" Douglas roared. ""How do you think that backstabbing fuckwit came into power?!

"Uncle D-d-Douglas!" Wesley sputtered.

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me! Travers realized immediately who held the trump cards and sold his soul to Hart, became his secretary, his confidant and his toyboy! Went up the ladder with one hand on the next rung and the other on Hart's cock!" Douglas pointed at his own chest. "And I? Weeellll Lad, let's take stock shall we? I just passed my sixtieth birthday and I'm still living out of a suitcase! My career has been at a dead stop for twenty years and you know why? I'll tell you in two words - Quentin Travers!"

Rupert's suspicions of Conrad-Chaney began to lessen for the man seemed to be as much of a disenchanted peon as Giles felt to be. "Did you know Smith had escaped the snare in 1972?' Rupert asked softly.

"No." Douglas wiped his face and regained a bit of his composure. "The rumors started immediately, for it's hard to hide the fact that three Watchers were doused with petrol and set ablaze. I heard whispers that this unnamed vampire was in reality the one who had been a candidate ten years before; so I confronted Quentin and he confirmed that, yes it had been our old friend Aaron. But he reassured me that it was 'finally over'."

Wesley made an attention getting noise. "(ahem) Uncle Douglas... um, just to clear the air, is it possible that Mr. Travers purposely allowed this vampire to go free?" He gave Rupert a sidelong glance. "That scenario has been brought up."

Rupert watched as Douglas seemed to consider this possibility. After a long second Douglas shook his head and for the first time spoke a normal volume. "I cannot see that being the case. Not because of any great moral aptitude on Quentin's part, but instead because it would not be advantageous to his career to be found lying about this operation. I am sure he honestly believes that he destroyed Aaron." He grimaced as if in pain. "I just cannot believe that, that after twenty-seven years Smith has returned."

"In the realm of the vampire, twenty-seven years is like a fortnight to the living." Wesley pointed out.

"And revenge is a dish best served cold." Rupert mumbled under his breath as the logic being presented began to jell. He picked at a loose thread on the couch arm and thought about it for a moment before adding. "He certainly would have his reasons for revenge. Travers substituted a forged manuscript for the genuine and then followed the pack back to the lair." He picked up the dog-eared report, paged back to Quentin's statement and began to read outloud.

"Having covertly dispatched to hell two vampire guards we continued on through the garden and entered the decrepit farmhouse. Angry voices from the cellar drew our attention, causing us to believe that our ruse had been successful. I remember smiling at this clamor, sure in my ignorance that this criminal mob of demonic creatures and mercenary mortal were now set upon each other."

"Without delay we found the access to the cellar consisting of a rough wooden stairwell leading to a narrow, cluttered passageway which ran the length of the structure. It was only by the grace of God and my training that I felt the need to reascend the stairs and check the latch for any sign of tampering as David, Harold and James continued down the passage toward a closed door at its terminus."

"Then came the sound of the trap being sprung. I shined my torch down the stairwell and saw a large cabinet at the base of the stairs begin to lean forward, propelled by a metal rod being thrust from some secret place behind the stone wall. Within a heartbeat it hit the end of its tether and came to a lurching halt at a forty-five degree angle. The doors swung open and at least three score of glass bottles of petrol came sliding out, crashing upon the stone floor. The clamor of shattering glass cued a second adversary to open a murder hole above this pool and down poured chunks of white phosphorus; flaming into life as they spun away from their liquid containment. The fumes immediately erupted into a wall of fire, the force of which knocked me back to relative safety but to my never-ending horror it also trapped my companions in their flaming tomb. The ghastly screams of my colleagues will ring in my ears for eternity."

"Suffocating smoke and tongues of flame boiled poured upward and filled the chamber where I landed half senseless. For how long I lay there in shock I do not know, for it was only with the rumble of a second conflagration erupting on the upper floor that I was jarred into action. Upon my hands and knees I crawled toward the outer room, to my shame the only thought within me being self preservation. Behind me the inferno fed on the worm-eaten timbers of the farmhouse sending a blanket of foul smoke descending from ceiling to floor. As I bellied my way toward what I only could only hope was the exit, a hard kick connected to my ribs causing my torch to spin out of my grasp. By divine providence the light came to a stop faintly illuminating the feet of my adversary. Then I heard it - the mocking, profanity laced voice of the one whom with which I had once broken bread. Instinctively, one hand went to the bottle of Holy Water within my pocket while with the other I grabbed for this abomination's ankle and held on for dear life as I uncapped my only weapon and doused its lower exterminates with the Sacramental."

Rupert frowned and ran his finger down the rest of the statement. "The prose gets rather purple form this point on, but the long and short of it is that after a vicious battle in blinding smoke, Travers stakes Smith and barely escapes as the farmhouse collapses around his ears."

"It's truly a shame the pompous sod did not roast!" Douglas spit.

"Sir!" Wesley said in dismay over the comment.

With a curl of the lip Rupert offered his two cents. "As much as I hate to play devil's advocate in regard to Quentin Travers, it is possible that Travers made contact with a second vampire as Smith stood to the side, hidden by the smoke."

Conrad-Chaney snorted but Wesley grabbed the straw. "Yes, yes that could be it." He stood and began to force the pieces into a theory. "It is an undeniable fact that Smith was forewarned of the operation. He had time to lay the trap down to the smallest detail which was proven by the investigation. That is taped voices to lure them down to the cellar, the cabinet base hinged, the bottles collected and filled."

"So there would have had to been a turncoat in the organization." Rupert surmised.

Wesley shook his head. "Not necessarily! It is quite possible that Smith planned this entire thing. Look back a page, it states that the initial contact came from the owner of the manuscript. He had been approached and threatened by an agent of the undead."

As Wesley droned on and Giles picked at the commentary, Douglas shut his eyes and forced himself to remain composed as the memory of those days came hammering back. For seven years they had been quite the team, Aaron and Quentin and himself. Each in their own sphere of existence; vampire shadows, and Council chamber, and field soldier respectively. And it all came to an end when Travers promised Hart that he would procure "The Greyfriar Parchment" for his mentor's pleasure and sent Douglas on the search for it. Using his connections, Douglas had found it within a week, the property of an elderly dealer of rarities who wanted an obscene price for it.

Quentin had then launched his plot by contacting this dealer and informing him that Douglas was not an agent of the Council of Watchers but instead a human operative of the undead. Masking his true intentions with a honeyed speech about assisting in the greater good, he convinced the dealer to clandestinely allow him hold the true manuscript under the 'Council's' protection and agree to a forgery being put in its place. Then he had sent Aaron and his pack to terrorize the ever-loving hell out of the man as they made a show of stealing the bogus relic.

It would have worked if Quentin had stopped with this, for the dealer's eighty year old heart gave out a week later due to the stressful fright. But Travers' desire for recognition did not stop at merely presenting "The Greyfriar Parchment" to Hart. No, he also wanted the glory of handing Aaron's head to his mentor. A textbook double-cross which Douglas had thwarted by warning Aaron. Too bad about those other three poor buggers, but they knew the risks.

"Uncle Douglas?" Wesley asked for the third time before Conrad-Chaney came back from his retrospection.

Douglas squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face. "What? Sorry, I drove all night."

Wesley rolled his eyes. "I 'said' - what is your take?"

"Quentin thinks Aaron is no more and after we finish proving him wrong, I want to be the one to inform him of his error." Douglas said with an evil smile.

"Granted." Rupert confirmed in a dry voice. "And since we are all in agreement as to who is behind this, it is time to plan for this evening I Believe we should split up, and along with Buffy do a complete sweep of each quadrant of Sunnydale."

"You are suggesting that we go alone?" Douglas questioned.

Wesley began to clean his glasses. "Vampiriac activity is at a low ebb since so many of them were destroyed during the Mayor's ascension. Additionally what vampires that do remain are rather gun-shy about dealing with us, so I am sure that any we would be fortunate enough to corner would talk without too much persuasion. And that also applies to the mortal and demon hangers-on. In matter of fact, last evening Mr. Giles went to a local establishment which caters to the undead and found the place rather... dead."

" 'Dead' as in the absence of patrons, but after a few moments the proprietor became quite chatty. He told me that he has not seen any new faces and that if he did he would let me know." Rupert added.

Douglas arched an eyebrow. "And you took his statement at face value? You should always assume that those kind are lying out their arse!"

A "Ripper" smile flickered for a second on Giles's face. "Believe me Sir, even though he has been know to lie, I am sure he dared offer me nothing but the truth. That is when I returned to my flat and began to research the melding spell."

"Now, is there anybody else, living or dead, who would assist us?" Conrad-Chaney asked with a hint of conspiracy. His eyes narrowed a bit as he stared at Giles. "Like your son's associates?"

At this Giles gave Wesley a look that could kill accompanied by a grumbling. "Thank you Mr. Wyndam-Pryce."

Wesley let out a hissing exhale. "Yes... yes! I told him about Matthew. We have to be honest with each other."

"Will you ever learn to keep you gob shut?!" Giles snapped.

Douglas waved his hand. "Don't lash out at him Rupert! I have no intention of relaying this bit of intelligence to the Council! In matter of fact, it might be for the best that we have access to them in this situation!" He pried himself out of his chair and began to pace. "And I say that truthfully, because their records might have mention of Aaron's activities of the last three decades."

Rupert clenched his fists and made a sharp noise of disagreement. "I do not want Matthew or the Alliance involved!"

"But they might have information that we can use!" Wesley countered. "Remember they have updated 'The Hunter's Book', added cross-references and..."

"NO!"

Both Wesley and Douglas flinched at Rupert's barked negative. Conrad-Chaney flung both hands in the air and shouted back at the same decibel level. "WHY NOT?!"

Through gritted teeth Rupert answered. "Because, it is not going to happen."

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Oh... thank you so much for clarifying your position. Now we know that you are just being your usual asinine self...."

"Matthew has enough on his plate, you know that as well as I!" Giles broke in.

Douglas stood between the two Watchers. "Wesley told me the lad is getting married this month, but for God's sake Rupert!" He took a step toward Giles and held his hands palm up in a gesture of supplication. "For God's sake just ask him to look for information. It's not like we want an Alliance crew to start operations!"

Rupert bowed his head slightly. "It's not that simple. I am sure Matthew would drop everything and come out to assist and this could make him a target." He raised his gaze and took a long breath. "I will not put him in a position to risk all for my sake not now, not ever."

"Perhaps we could ask one of the Blanchards'?" Wesley considered. "John does owe us a favor and that Michael chap did say 'if we ever needed anything, just ask'."

After a moment of thought Rupert hesitantly agreed. "I will contact Michael and ask for any intelligence they might have on Smith. But first I will extract his promise that he does not relay this on to Matthew."

"Then it is settled." Douglas surmised. "Rupert will find out what he can from the Alliance and Wesley, I want you to run me about Sunnydale so I can get my bearings." He reached out and gave Wesley a slap on the shoulder. "By tomorrow at this time we will have this all tied up in a neat little box!"

From his perch on the desk Ethan shook his head over the whole affair and muttered. "And as we all know Tubby, you are very proficient in boxing things up."