Part Sixteen

Joyce startled awake on the second ring, her mind not sure as to where she was or, in matter of fact, where the phone was. She slid out of bed and padded into the living area, finally finding the demanding device on the eighth chirping ring.

"Ah.. hello?"

"Good morning! It's Willow, if you want some breakfast it will be ready in about a half hour." She paused to giggle. "Isn't this neat? An intercom, phone thingie between the two houses!"

"Yes... it's 'neat'." Joyce agreed while blinking herself awake. "What time is it?"

"It's 7:36" Willow answered over the frying potatoes. "Mr. Karn got all this food out for us to eat before he and Karen and Matt went to church. Buffy and I are fixing all of it! Sausage, and potatoes and eggs and toast and French toast with this real maple syrup stuff and..."

"What's going on?" Rupert asked hesitantly from the bedroom door.

Joyce clasp her hand over the mouthpiece. "Buffy's cooking, we have to get over there before she burns down the kitchen."

Rupert yawned and shook his head. "Yes, that could be a dire situation."

"We'll be over in a minute." Joyce said returning to the conversation. "Bye-bye."

"Bye!"

"Well, guess this day is starting." She mumbled to herself, as she returned to the tiny bedroom.

"Let's see, on today's agenda we meet Charles and Mary Karn while Karen and Matthew take the girls over to... " Giles paused and scowled. "..That is if Matthew ever came home this morning! Bothersome little pratt!"

"He came home." Joyce informed him. "Willow said that he went to church with Karen and Mr. Karn."

Rupert's mood took yet another step downward. "Unless they hold his head under the baptism water until he turns blue I can't see that doing much good." He began to yank the day's clothing out of his suitcase and toss them into a pile.

Joyce sat down on the edge of the bed. "So what exactly happened last night?"

"He said he hates me."

"He didn't mean it."

"I beg to differ." Rupert grumbled as he headed for the bathroom.

"He's just overwhelmed." Joyce began only to have the door close before she got the last word out. She rolled her eyes. "I think someone else needs drowned in the font."

******

Wesley stared at his clothes as he slid the hangers across the small closet for the second time. "No... no... no... why didn't I bring anything 'American casual'?"

"Because you don't have anything 'casual', American, British, Mexican or Norwegian." Ethan chuckled. "Everything you have can best be described as 'funeral wear'."

"Mmmmm... dark blue trousers and a white shirt? That will have to do." Wesley muttered as he selected the same and laid them on the dresser.

"Right Gv'ner, you'll fit right in down at the Catholic school." The shade snipped. "What you need to do is wait until the shops open and find yourself some black jeans and a silk shirt." He glanced down at the single pair of dress shoes in the closet. "And for God's sake get some trainers!"

"Thank you for holding this for me.." Wesley began as he practiced his opening line in the mirror. "..so foolish of me for not making sure I had all my luggage.." His face fell a bit and he began to make odd noises. "Eeee.. ah.. mmmmmm. No.. no that will not do. Renée dear... or dear Renée.. so good to see you again. Then I'll smile and.. and invite her out for lunch... no, not lunch, lunch is too long and I don't know any of the restaurants here. A tea.. coffee... yes, we'll just stroll over to the motel cafe for a coffee... I hope they have a cafe. Oh dear..."

Ethan groaned and flung his hands upward. "I've got a stellar idea! Just show up at her door with a box of johnny's and get it over with!"

"Hey Wes! Breakfast!"

Wesley jumped and called back through the door. "Thank you Buffy. I'll be down in a moment."

One very nervous Watcher quickly got dressed and made his way downstairs to find everyone seated around the table, trying to see each other over the mound of food.

"Mmm.. good morning."

Willow giggled and pointed toward an empty seat. "Hi Wes! Sit down and eat before it gets cold."

"I'm not really hungry." Wesley hedged.

"You better be." Joyce said as she swept her hand toward Buffy and Willow. "They've been cooking since ten 'till seven."

"Right, and the deal is 'we cook it - you eat it'." Buffy said as sternly as possible as she helped herself to a mound of French toast. "Remember you're going skiing with us today and you got to get some padding on your bones."

Wesley sighed a bit, gave up and put a spoonful of scrambled eggs on his plate.

"I think I'm going with you also." Joyce said offhandedly. "I'm not going to ski. I'll just stay at the lodge, make splints and roll bandages."

Rupert's brow wrinkled. "Joyce, we're invited to Karen's Grandfather's for lunch."

" 'You' were invited." She corrected. "Ray said that his parents wanted to meet Matt's family."

"But that would..." He paused as Buffy's eyebrow shot up. "..would mean.. my, ah... guest also."

Joyce shook her head. "You go on, I'll be fine."

"I too have something else planned." Wesley piped in. "I left one of my bags on the plane and have to go retrieve it." He fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out the message. "While we were touring about last night did anyone notice a lodging called 'Viking Inn and Suites'?"

Everybody shook their head 'no' except Willow who began to grin like the cat that ate the canary.

"Wonderful."

"Your misplaced luggage was taken to a motel?" Giles questioned. "That's odd."

Wesley squirmed a bit. "Yes it is... they do things different here."

Willow put her hand over her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress a giggle. Wesley shot her a questioning look which only made her laugh even harder.

"Willow?"

Willow plastered on her best 'innocent' face and stuffed a half a French toast in her mouth to stifle her amusement. "Ummmm?"

"What is going on?" Wesley asked in a sour tone. "Have I again been made the butt of a joke?"

"Oh no!" Willow said with a shake of her head. "It's not bad."

"Let me be the judge of that." Wesley countered.

"I didn't do it, Xander did." Willow began as her smile broadened to cover her face. "He thought that maybe you just needed to be, you know 'alone' with Renée. So he kinda pushed one of your suitcases way back in the cargo part of the plane and when your back was turned he tossed it in Renée's taxi so that you..."

"I'm going to have to kill him." Wesley muttered to himself as Willow laid the entire conspiracy out.

The rest of the table began to offer their two cents worth.

Giles made a toasting motion with his tea cup. "Good luck Wesley. Sweep her off her feet and try to be back by Saturday."

"You're not wearing 'that' are you?" Buffy curled her lip. "Maybe you should borrow something from Matt?"

"Oh! We could take him to that mall we passed." Willow chirped. "Get him some clothes."

Joyce rested her chin in her cupped palm. "He's fine, we just have to think of an opening line for him."

"Right mom." Buffy agreed. "Let me get some paper and.."

"Enough!" Wesley snapped as he got up from the table. He snatched the note up and crammed it back into his pocket. "I'll find this Viking Inn, retrieve my luggage and put a stop to this nonsense."

"Wesley..." Giles began but the younger man turned on his heel and stormed out of the dining room.

Buffy blinked a couple of times and shrugged. "Whoops."

"That sums it up quite nicely." Giles sighed.

Willow waved her fork around. "Xander was just trying to help. He said that Renée wasn't seeing anybody."

"I don't know." Joyce said with a small frown. "She seemed a little wild for Wesley. Maybe this is for the best."

The bright morning sun made Wesley squint as it reflected off the snow covered yards. He stood for a moment at the end of the driveway to get his bearings, pulled his coat closed and headed toward the downtown area. "Route 4, East." He mumbled to himself. "If I remember correctly this road intersects the city proper." With a snort he nodded his head and paced away.

Almost three hours and eight backtracking miles later a shush splattered Watcher stood at the entrance of the Viking Inn. "Of course this place would be out in the countryside." He looked down at himself and grimaced. "Soaked from the knees down. Covered with grime. Shoes are ruined. I've seen derelicts that did not appear this ragged."

In a way he wished that pair of juggernauts would have clipped him instead of merely showering him with road spray. Then he would be safely prostrate in the ditch waiting on the ambulance.

With an apprehensive, drawn out sigh he trudged toward the motel coming to a stop in front of room 22. Wesley stood there, hand raised to knock but not moving an inch, hoping beyond hope that the ground would open up and swallow him whole so he could be spared.

But no such luck was in the stars, for the door opened and there she stood with a baffled expression on her face as she noted both his appearance and the lack of vehicle. "Le Bon Dieu! You walked out here?"

Yes, falling into a smoking crevice leading straight to the third pit of hell was beginning to sound appealing.

"Yous just gon stand der and freeze, hein?"

Lightning, to be struck by lightning and reduced to smoldering ashes, now that would be a blessing.

Wesley found his voice. "I.. ah, I didn't think it was this far." He shifted on his icy feet and managed a thin smile. "So if you would just allow me to collect my bag, I'll leave you in peace and.."

Renée shook her head and opened the door all the way. "A no! Ici dans!"

"I don't want to intrude. I know this was a ploy by Xander and I assure you that I will speak with..."

"A yes, I know what da rookie did. When he gets back we can both pass a slap on him. Now get in here and thaw!" Renée repeated standing aside and motioning for him to enter.

With a mental groan Wyndam-Pryce gave up and entered.

"Take off doze shoes and coat and get over der by da fire."

Wesley glanced around the large suite style room, taking in the fireplace and the grouping of couch and chair before it. To the back were a pair of doors leading to what he assumed were the bedroom and bath. In the far corner a small kitchenette from which wafted the tantalizing smell of something in the oven. He slipped his shoes and coat off and seated himself in a chair near the fire.

"You want cafe au lait or cafe noir?" Renée called from the kitchen area.

"Whichever is easier." Wesley called back.

Renée held up a pair of demi-tasse coffee cups and nodded. "Cafe noir, yes. You want a beignet, hein?"

"A what?" He asked, the question prompting Renée to bring him a sack of powered sugar covered pastries.

"Sam brought a dozen or three on da plane, he let me take da rest." She explained as she opened the bag under Wesley's nose. "Bon! Try one!"

"Thank you." Wesley said sincerely, digging a sweet from the sack. He bit into the doughnut and nodded. "Very good... and these are?"

"A beignet. Joellen, Sam's femme made dem." Renée nodded and sat the entire bag beside him. "We bring our own supplies, yous can't get any bon fare up da bayou."

"Up the.. what?" Wesley asked with furrowed brow.

"Up da bayou... up North, here in Yankeeland." She laughed. "Luis used to bring his kitchen too but now da grocery has a aisle of Tex-Mex so he just goes and makes a bill." With a flip of her hand toward the kitchenette Renée added. "I making a fine, fine Fricassee D'Boeuf and rice. You want to stay for lunch?"

Wesley's stomach overrode his apprehensions and he found himself saying. "If it's not an inconvenience, I would be delighted."

Renée smiled and she went back to fix her frozen guest a cup of strong, black coffee.

With a unconscious motion to smooth his non-existent tie, Wesley settled back into the chair and tried his best to look at ease. He took a furtive glance toward his hostess. Lord, she was beautiful and the way she moved - so graceful but not in a pampered, delicate way. His thoughts offered up a comparison to a tigeress, which his brain abruptly reformed into the image of her laying naked on a tigerskin rug.

Wesley blinked the mental picture away, swallowed hard and gave himself a mental slap.

"Here you goes." She said handing him a small coffee cup. "Getting warmed up?"

"Yes, thank you." Wesley responded while his mind scrambled for a topic of conversation. "Mmmm... I was not expecting a fireplace in a motel room."

Renée sat down on the couch to his right. "Mais, all da rooms have dem. Dis is a nice place. We come here every year for da meeting." She waved her hand toward the door. "Alliance headquarters is right across da road." Taking a sip of coffee she nodded and added. "We rent out dis entire place for a week. Wilson gives us a good deal."

Wesley sat back a bit. "Wilson?"

"A yes. Jeff Wilson. He's Mary Karns' nephew. His sister is da one who's putting on da wedding fais do-do for Matthew and Karen." Renée explained while drawing boxes in the air to illustrate the relationships.

"I see."

With a final toss of her hand into the air she too settled back. "Mais, we're all related, all famille and we keep to our own. Just like you Watchers, hein?"

"That is also our precept and we try to follow it." Wesley concurred. "My mother's family have been Watchers since 1678. She caused a bit of an uproar when she married into a non-Watcher clan, but father took to the life quite well. For a time he was employed by the Council in research." He sighed and shrugged. "But he tired of it and went his own way, the commitment was not there."

"You mean he just went walkin' away from da job, hein?" Renée asked just a little sharply.

"Somewhat. He was not.. ah, extremely dedicated. That is why he was stationed in the research department." Wesley admitted, trying his best not to go off on a tangent about his father. "But as a trained Watcher, I realize that it is a covenant not undertaken lightly for the danger is real."

"Mais oui, it is real!" She said, punctuating the words with a shake of her finger. "You have to not care if you live or die 'cause da job is you life. Dat bâtard Roth killed mon Mere and mon Frère but I still go hunting. It is da way it is!"

"No one is more aware of this than you." Wesley softly stated as his collar began to feel a little tight. "Renée... I am truly sorry that we could not save your Mother and Brother. My condolences to you are sincere."

"Merci." Renée whispered, then as her posture soften she breathed out "Soit" in resignation and turned away from his gaze to stare into the fire.

"We bury our own and go on. This is the way it has always been." Wesley quietly continued. "But the tragedy in Sunnydale established that we can no longer be at odds with each other. The lines of communication between The Council and The Alliance must again be opened." He bit his lip for a second and sadly shook his head. "We should be allies, not antagonists."

Renée turned back to him. "Mais oui, but tell dat to da graybeards."

"Someday we will be the.. ah, graybeards. But, this wedding could be the start." He hopefully considered. "Matthew is from a long line of Watchers and Karen's family is pure Alliance." Wesley flashed what he hoped was a charming smile. "Just think about it, if not for this wedding we would not be here having this conversation."

"Don put too much stock in weddings." Renée countered with a roll of her eyes.

"Pardon?"

Renée shook her head. "Nothing." She sipped at her coffee for a second then met his eyes. "I was married, bet da Rookie told you dat."

"Mmmmm.. yes. He did mention it in passing." Wesley hedged.

"You not a bon liar."

Wesley blushed. "Is that bad?"

"A no." She answered with what Wesley found as a captivating laugh. "It's nice. Maybe I won't pass a slap on Harris."

"Xander can be impulsive." Wesley affirmed. "Willow told me he put my bag in your taxi, just so this could happen."

"And I bet my next pay dat Sam was in it too." Renée grumbled. "He and Joellen keep saying dat I'm going to be a vieille fille if I don watch it."

"You will never be an old spinster." Wesley disagreed. "I will make my own wager that you could have your choice of companions." He waved his empty cup around. "They are probably lining up at your door just for the chance to say hello or to get a glimpse of you. And I must add that your ex-husband was an idiot for letting you go."

"You are so full of merde."

Wesley flinched a bit. "I apologize. That was uncalled for, I completely overstepped my bounds."

"Don need to apologize. You right about Mark being an idiot, dat's why I took my famille name back after da divorce. But as for the men lining up... Ha!" Renée stood and took the cup from his hand. "You want another, hein?"

"Yes, please."

She stood there for a moment assessing her visitor. "Now, you should be da one who has to chase da amoureause away from you door."

"Hardly." Wesley dryly disagreed.

"Why not?" She asked with interest.

"Well, my last lady 'friend' - Linda, found my collection of reference material unsettling. Then she opened my bedroom closet and saw my training supplies and weapons collection." Wesley chuckled under his breath. "She made some comment about popping over to the chemist's... never saw her again."

The mental image of a semi-panicked lady leaving Wesley's apartment sent Renée into a giggle fit. "It's the gospel truth." Wesley deadpanned. "Then there was Catherine. I staked a vampire on our second outing and within two days she had moved back to Harrogate." A sly grin twisted up the corner of his lips. "She left me a note pinned to her door suggesting that I.. well let's say that she recommended that my right hand should become my (ahem) best friend. Last I heard she was deeply involved with a cabbage farmer."

"Á ca oui!" Renée shouted through laugh tears. "Mais.. I have seen dis too. My first beau, Joe.. he comes over and sees Mere and T.Paul sitting der on da front porch honing a sharp, sharp edge on their swords."

"And he retreated?"

"A yes! Ran like a yellow dog!" She tossed her head toward the kitchenette. "Come on, get washed up. Da Fricassee D'Boeuf is almost done and you can help me with da rice."

"Only if you let me repay you with dinner tonight."

"A no..." She began.

Wesley's face fell.

"...tonight I have to go to Charlie's and go through some mauvais paperwork." She cocked her head to one side. "But I am free all day tomorrow. I'll ask Charlie for one of da Alliance cars and we can go... maybe up to da ski lodge and make a day of it, yes?"

Wesley stood and an uncontrollable smile spread across his face. "Splendid!"

******

"Mmmmm... what to do? What to do?" Ethan snotted as he glided between the front window and the sofa. "Should I stay here and watch you do nothing or should I go with the two young ladies in tight ski pants?" He stopped in front of Rupert and crossed his arms. "Joyce should be going with you to meet your future daughter-in-law's family. She 'is' still going to be your daughter-in-law isn't she?"

Giles began to shuffle through the Sunday paper.

"Or after that little spat last night are you going to disown your boy?" Ethan curled a lip up. "That runs in your family - fighting and brawling and disowning and taking back and round and round."

Rupert picked the comic page out of the pile and tossed it aside.

"All right, just ignore me. I'm getting used to it." The specter leaned over and tried to pick up the funnies section. "Ripper, old chum... would you be so kind as to open this up so I can read Garfield? He's my hero."

Matt opened the door and stuck his head in. "Ray says that whenever you're ready to go, he's ready."

Giles did not look up from the newspaper. "Knocking before entering, a concept that civilized people understand."

"I could see you sitting here."

Ethan snorted out a gallows laugh. "And here we go again."

Rupert peered over his glasses. "Makes not the first bit of difference."

"Yeah, right. But then you're always right." Matt lobbed back.

"Without a doubt."

Matt grumbled something best left unheard under his breath then informed his father. "The rest of us are leaving for the Killington slopes. I'm going to swing past the Viking Inn and see if Wes made it over there."

"Don't annoy him, leave him in peace." Rupert snap-rattled the paper and folded it back up. "You are capable of leaving a soul in peace aren't you?"

"If that's what you want." Matt sniped as he took one step into the room. "Or how 'bout I just get you a bus ticket back to Sunnydale? Should only take about eight, ten days for you to Greyhound it back out there."

"If that's what 'you' want." Giles's tone was arid. "But that brings up an entirely new kettle of fish because I am positive that you don't have the first clue as to what you want."

"I ain't listen' to this!" Matt snapped, then he headed back out the door.

SLAM!

"That settles it." Ethan stated as he followed Matthew. "Women in colorful, skin tight ski attire it is." He paused and sarcastically waved goodbye to his living compatriot. "Ta-ta for now."

Rupert curled his lip. "Now 'that' was a surprise." He watched out the picture window as his son went storming up to Ray's Explorer, hopped into the driver's seat and left. A small pang of worry floated through him over Matt driving while he was in this foul mood, but he shook it off.

With a stretch and a snort he stood. "Time to go calling on the future in-laws, oh joy."

******

"Hell if I know, Quentin!" Douglas bellowed as he fed money into the phone. "Somewhere outside of Des Moines, Iowa, eighteen hundred damned miles from San Francisco and we still have a twelve hundred mile forced march ahead of us!"

As Travers fumed over the fact that his co-conspirator was not yet in Vermont, Conrad-Chaney glanced over to their small camper truck. He had spent the last forty hours caged up in that deathtrap and his mood was foul.

Traver's commentary crackled over the line. "If you would keep moving rather than stop every hour to take in the sights! Must I remind you that I will be in Rutland tomorrow evening and I expect you to be there on time!"

"Blast it! We are on the road! We stopped here only to refuel and get a 'bite'! But that is neither here nor there, give me your final your travel arrangements!"

The sound of papers being rummaged through could be heard. "Yes, British Airways flight 175 to New York's John F. Kennedy..." More paper being shuffled as Quentin did the math. "...which is eight hours! Then I wait around for two more hours before the next leg, an United Express to Boston and then some US Airways commuter flight to Rutland which arrives at 18:30 local time!"

Conrad-Chaney fed more quarters into the phone. "Very good...."

"Very good? Between the security checks and the waiting time I will be in airport hell for sixteen hours!"

"My sympathies!" Douglas snapped. "May I suggest that the next time you may drive across North America while I fly across the Atlantic!" Without conscious thought he bared his teeth in an animalistic threat display. "I've neither the time or the patience to stand here and listen to you whinge."

"Insubordination, Mr. Conrad-Chaney, is not conducive to carrier advancement." Quentin threatened.

"I am out of coins!" Douglas snarled, ignoring the warning. "So write this down. You are registered at the Birch Ridge Inn in Sherburne."

"Where the hell is that?! Thought this operation was in Rutland!"

"Quentin, you have been behind a desk for too many years! For us to stay in Rutland risks compromise." Douglas's face twisted up. "Remember, some of these Alliance fuckwits know your face! So go to Sherburne, check in, get pissed as a newt in the bar and when we arrive we will find you."

"Mark my words Douglas! We are going to have a long chat wh..."

Douglas slammed the receiver back into its cradle and scraped the pile of quarters from the phone shelf into his palm. "Miserable old bastard!"

Aaron straightened up from leaning on the payphone hood. "Took the words out of my mouth." He glanced at his watch and nodded toward the camper. "I have to get inside, the sun is starting to make me ill."

"How long did you last this time?" Douglas asked the departing vampire.

"About twenty minutes of noontime sun." He called back over his shoulder.

"Bully for you." Douglas hissed between his teeth. His eyes narrowed as his gaze darted around the truck stop. Blood, he wanted blood - hot from the vein. They had lured a pair of hitchhikers into the camper early that morning but those vessels had been given to Sean, Steven and Chandra... one must keep the troops happy.

He rolled his shoulders and groaned as his wants became necessities. The small glimmer of soul which had not been scorched by the melding contested his cravings. Douglas tossed the apprehension aside and began to stalk the parking lot. First blood, then he would have another romp with the chauffeur.

Then he would be settled enough to drive.

A pick-up truck caught his eye, complete with a large mixed breed hound in the passenger seat. Douglas watched as the driver filled up his tank, replaced the cap and strolled into the station to pay. Without a second thought Conrad-Chaney slid toward the vehicle.

The dog sensed him and launched into a snarling, snapping display of aggression. Douglas didn't pay the first bit of attention to the prospect of getting mauled as he opened the passenger door and met the animal's lunge with his own. Beefy hands latched onto the hound's collar and muzzle, he dragged the beast upward and bit with enough force that his human teeth sliced into the canine's jugular.

From within the camper Aaron watched the attack. "Damn."

Stephen opened his eyes and sat up from the narrow bunk. "What's the matter boss?"

"I'm not sure if things are turning out as our friend planned."

******

"Have a seat Mr. Giles." Charles Karn made a motion toward the empty chairs in his office-library.

"It's nice to finally meet some of Matt's family." Mary Karn added from the doorway.

"The pleasure is all mine. I've heard quite a bit about you and your husband." Giles politely responded, remaining on his feet while Mary was in the room.

Charles settled into a chair and chuckled a bit. "If you heard it from your boy, Lord knows what you were expecting." He glanced over at his son. "Ray, are they stopping back here after they finish skiing?"

"No." Ray shook his head and blew out an exhale.

"The kids have better things to do than hang around with the old folks." Mary said in a somewhat disappointed tone.

"I do want to meet Buffy." Charles added. "We have not had any contact with the Council for years."

"Except for that time Frank and Mike went up to Montreal and then over to England." Mary paused to put the mental family history in play. "That was '86 the year Suzy got married two months shy of her fortieth birthday." She cocked her head to one side and nodded in confirmation of the date, then motioned to her son. "Ray, I need some help getting the leaf in the table. I have to keep an eye on the roast so then you can run over to the store and pick up some Cool Whip."

"Where's Mrs. Hannaford?" Ray asked, following his mother out.

"She doesn't work weekends."

"Since when? I hired her to work Wednesday through Sunday. So..."

"Ray, you can't expect someone to work Sundays."

As the voices faded down the hall Giles laughed inwardly and sat down.

"Mrs. Hannaford also does not do windows, ironing, move furniture or fix my lunch more than twice a week." Charles glanced heavenward as if asking deliverance. "But she and Mary sit and watch the soaps when they are not playing Hand and Foot."

Rupert's brow wrinkled. "Playing what?"

"Hand and Foot, it's a form of Canasta." Ray explained. "You should hear them. They start every game with 'now are we playing nice or are we playing mean?'"

"And how do they play?"

"Mean as snakes." Charles answered without a trace of humor. He lit his pipe and settled back. "So what do your handlers think about your son's job?"

Giles briefly considered the implications of the question. "Well, Mr. Karn..."

"Charlie."

"Of course." Rupert acknowledged the interruption and then continued. "Ah.. 'Charlie', I am no longer with the Council. They found my methods lacking and this last February I was replaced by Mr. Wyndam-Pryce." He took his glassed off and began to wipe them. "But Buffy will not seek out his council and I am just too blasted stubborn to leave. Consequently, for all intents and purposes I am still perform my duties as her Watcher."

Charles puffed his pipe for a moment. "So this is why you called Mike Blanchard on the 3rd instead of your own people?"

A flash of annoyance crossed Rupert's face and he felt his defenses begin to rise. "I see that Mr. Blanchard did not keep this information to himself."

I know, Ray knows, Luis knows, Mike knows." Charles said, catching the dark emphasis. "Just me and the three who are in charge of each division. Don't worry, your boy wasn't told about this Aaron and his bag of tricks." He leaned forward and waved his pipe in a lazy circle. "Glad it's you and not us this vampire's gunning for."

With a thin smile Giles replaced his glasses and with an almost insolent inflection snipped. "That goes without saying. But Aaron, along with his so called 'bag of tricks', has left Sunnydale for parts unknown. Most likely he's still in the United States taking his anger out on anyone within his reach... which makes this now an Alliance difficulty."

"He's in the Alliance Book now, we'll find him sooner or later." Charles looked right through Giles as a lifetime of finding 'them' washed over him. "Find him and send him to hell, but there are always others just as bad..."

Something in the tone of the elder's voice made Rupert feel a tad ashamed over his attitude.

"...Always others, and we both know that, even though the Council doesn't think we are worth spit." Charles pointed the stem of his pipe toward the wall behind Giles. "The Alliance has been on the job since 1866 and no matter what anyone else thinks, we've done them proud."

Giles turned in his chair to see what Charles was referring to. He blinked once, then a second time at the painting which hung on the wall. Recreated in oil from an 1866 photograph it paid tribute to the founding fathers of the Alliance.

First thing Giles noticed was the figures portrayed for they seemed to contradict each other in all respects. Three men, one clean-shaven, barely into his twenties attired in both the heady optimism of youth and the blue, government issued uniform of the 2nd Vermont Battery. Beside him, in the flamboyant livery of the Tiger Rifles, 1st Louisiana Special Battalion, stood an older, bearded man. At second glance Rupert decided that the assumed age difference between the two was not so much due to the passing of years, but instead from the toil and trouble this man had seen. And finally, posed between the two soldiers sat the third founding member of the Alliance. Dressed to the nines in a tailored suit, mustache precisely trimmed and his head cocked at a rakish angle, he appeared the epitome of a nineteenth century dandy.

Then it hit him. Giles stood and slowly drew closer to the painting to confirm that he was really seeing what he thought he saw. He took off his glasses and stared in mute shock at the civilian, for on a small table beside him was piled a set of four Watcher's Diaries.

"My God." Rupert whispered, reaching out to touch the rendering. His mind cranked away at the facts - bound in red leather, embossed with both the Council standard and the McClellen coat of arms - there was only one set like that. "These are Ian McClellen's diaries! He was an egotistical man who had them specially made... and that's.. that's them. They were... ah, 'lost' in..."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'stolen'." Charles interrupted.

"Very well, 'stolen' it is." Rupert agreed, not at all shocked but a bit unnerved at the discovery. He rubbed his forehead and turned back toward the amused Alliance chief. "Would you mind telling me how this came to be?"

Charles came over and stood beside Giles. He tapped his pipe into an ashtray, refilled and relit it. "Long story."

"I believe we have the time."

"John Smith of London, England." Charles began with a nod toward the center figure. "If that is what his name really was... no one ever asked him point blank and he never said otherwise. He was a gambler, con man, thief, scoundrel and bigamist lady's man... and those were his good points. After the Civil War started he made his way to New Orleans and went into the lucrative trade of smuggling goods in from the British Caribbean Islands."

Giles curled his lip. "War profiteer."

"Yes Sir." Charles confirmed. "And he served the highest bidder, some cargo came into New Orleans, some went North to New York. It was said that he could simultaneously whistle Dixie out of one corner of his mouth and sing the Battle Hymn of the Republic out of the other.. while taking everyone's money with both hands. He's Luis's great-great-grandfather, went out West in 1867 to avoid getting shot dead by a group of... 'investors'."

"Investors?" Giles snorted. "Is that the correct term or is 'suckers' a more accurate classification?"

"When you're talking about John Smith there's always a fool with emptied pockets in the story." Charles acquired a sly look and in a off-handed fashion added. "And those empty pockets did bankroll the founding of the Alliance."

Rupert's gaze went back to the image of the pilfered Diaries. "Or an emptied bookcase." He thought to himself.

Karn took a long puff on his pipe and pointed toward the Union soldier. "Edward Benjamin Karn, my great-grandfather. He was with the 2nd Vermont Battery - Light Artillery, which was one of the occupying forces of New Orleans in May 1862. We have a letter he wrote home that says it's a pleasant posting since Major General Butler issued General Order Number 28." Charles laughed and gave Rupert a nudge with his elbow. "Whenever I was bored and wanted to wind old Frank Blanchard up I'd mention this, just to watch him sputter, swear and damn 'Beast Butler' to hellfire a hundred years after the fact."

"I'm not familiar with that Order Number 28."

"Oh it was a doozy. Butler got tired of the women of New Orleans doing anything they could to tease, torment or annoy the hell out of his men so he wrote out Order Number 28..." Charles paused for a moment and quoted:

"As the officers and soldiers of the United States have been subjected to repeated insults from the women (calling themselves ladies) of New Orleans, in return for the most scrupulous noninterference and courtesy on our part, it is ordered that hereafter when any female shall, by word, gesture, or movement, insult or show contempt for any officer or soldier of the United States, she shall be regarded and held liable to be treated as a woman of the town plying her avocation."

As Charles laughed Giles pursed his lips and soundlessly whistled. "In other words, any insubordination will result in the lady being considered a prostitute."

Karn gave his head a small shake. "This insult to the ladies reputations did not go over well."

He tapped the image of the third man in the painting. "Philippe Beau Blanchard, everyone called him 'Shine'. In July of 1861 he was in the First Battle of Manassas where the Tiger Rifles of the 1st Louisiana Special Battalion charged the 11th New York Infantry Regiment and took two of Sherman's cannons away from him." Charles caught Rupert's eye and after a pregnant pause added. "They were out of ammo and armed with only bowie knives."

Rupert processed this factoid and stared back at the image of Philippe with genuine esteem.

"Almost a year later Shine lost his left arm from the elbow down during a skirmish at Berryville during the Shenandoah Valley Campaign and was discharged out. He made his way back to Louisiana where he heard about Old Butler's affront to the Southern Ladies and so he went back out to defend their honor." Charles paused to underline this statement with a snort. "Or so he claimed, I think those Southerners just like to scrap and raise hell... but anyway he joined up with a bunch of partisan raiders to harass and sniper the Union troops." Charlie headed back to his chair. "I have to sit for a bit. The knees started to go a few years ago. Too much recon in my younger days."

"The Alliance has an interesting heritage." Rupert admitted as he also took his chair. "But if you don't mind, could we get back to my original question; how did the Alliance come into possession of these Watcher's Diaries?"

"Towards the end of May the 2nd Vermont was sent a few miles upriver to a hellhole called Camp Parapet which was a series of earthworks that guarded New Orleans from any incursion from the North. It lay hard up between the Mississippi and this bottomless swamp that bled out of Lake Pontchartrain. And that's where Edward was stationed for the next six months."

"I see." Rupert mumbled, now sure that his question would be answered when Charles was damn good and ready.

Immersed in the story, Charles didn't even notice the comment. "On October seventeenth, word came up from Major General Butler that a John Smith, Confederate spy and procurer was bringing supplies into the area and he was to be hunted down and hung after the trial. So Edward found himself as part of a ten man squad sent to find Smith. They slogged into the swamp and found him within a few hours on the only trail that went into there." He laid his pipe down and took a deep breath. "Unfortunately Smith was in the company of twenty-eight Cajun Rebels."

"Now the Union men were outnumbered almost three to one, but they had better weapons. The Reb's biggest advantage was that they were in their own element and they used it well. It quickly went into a stalemate with both groups picking each other off one at a time. Right at dusk the Captain ordered Edward to make a break for it and head back to Camp Parapet for reinforcements."

Charles leaned forward in his chair. "Edward thought it was just good luck in that he was able to slip away, but it was a trap. The Rebel Captain saw him go and decided to kill two birds with one stone. He ordered Shine and Smith to track Edward down and quietly cut his throat, that way the Yankees would think that help was on the way, then Shine was to take John and finish their transaction."

"It didn't take them long to track Edward down, found him on the trail talking to a woman about two hundred yards West from where the fighting was taking place." Charles's eyes narrowed. "A woman, out in the swamp, talking to a Yankee. Shine knew something wasn't right so he hunkered down and watched them. All of a sudden they all heard horrible screams coming from the others. Wild gunfire and terrified men yelling out profanity and prayers as they scattered into the swamp."

Rupert felt a chill. "Vampires."

Charles nodded in confirmation. "Pack of them, drawn in by the spilled blood of the dead and wounded. They outnumbered the living and saw this as a feast they could not pass up. Humans trapped in the swamp after dark, bodies would never be found, quick and easy kills."

"Mercy."

"There wasn't any mercy that night." Charles said grimly. "As soon as the screaming started the woman on the trail showed her demon to Edward and attacked. Had him.. had him like Sherman took Atlanta."

"How did we get the Diaries?" Charlie asked, the question coming out of nowhere. He smiled at Rupert's puzzled expression and again pointed toward the painting. "Smith... John Smith was from a Watcher clan. He knew what was happening, grabbed Shine's machete and came running out of the cover to get the vampress off of Edward."

Giles almost came out of his chair. "He was a Watcher?!"

"Watcher family, not a Watcher. He was the black sheep of the family who left London one step ahead of the law." Charles scratched his chin. "Don't know if he was the son, nephew or cousin of a Watcher but he knew enough to do what had to be done, he cut her head off. This thing disintegrating right before Edward and Shine's eyes stopped them both in their tracks. John gave them a one minute lesson in vampire assassination and then mentioned that he was now running like a bat out of hell. They could hear the slaughter and loyalty to their comrades in arms made the other two disagree with this idea."

"So they went back, herding Smith along at gunpoint to convince him that he was going to help. There was no blue or gray that night, no North or South - only a dozen survivors, shoulder to shoulder trying to live until dawn. They lost seven more in the night, and morning found them following Smith's instructions on how to make sure their friends and brothers did not rise."

"Under a flag of truce a Yankee, three Rebels and a Englishman made a pact, signed in sweat and blood that they would make it their life's work to fight the undead." Charles raised an index finger. "One year.. it was decided that one year to the day after the end of the War of the Rebellion they would meet in Baltimore and form a force to challenge hell itself." His line of sight again found the painting. "Edward, Philippe and John were the only three that lived until then to form the Alliance."

Giles half smiled. " 'The American Alliance of Diomedes', from what I have gathered from the Council records its formation was not considered worthy of comment. It wasn't until 1878 that this organization was even mentioned in the minutes." His smile faded. "But the lost Diaries were noted."

"They were our textbooks, our only guide to the ways of the undead." Charles's voice became a bit cool. "We were flying by the seat of our pants for the first twenty years without a damn bit of help from anybody. We needed them and whether Smith begged, borrowed or stole them... well, that's water under the bridge." He cast a hard look toward Giles. "And another thing, if it wasn't for us taking up the slack all these years you would be up to your butt in vampires."

"That might be the case... Charlie." Rupert countered. "But it would be a wonderful gesture of solidarity to return these diaries to their rightful..."

"There's an old saying around here - 'when pigs fly'."

Rupert began to feel his temper rise. This confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, all of the contemptuous commentary he had heard over the years concerning the Alliance. He conveniently forgot about his own years away from the fold, his anger focusing in on the fact that a Watcher line had produced a incorrigible thief who had betrayed both his duty and his vow of silence.

And these people had shamelessly welcomed the fruits of this crime with open arms? "I don't believe this." Rupert grumbled under his breath.

Charles completely ignored his guest's obvious irritation. Taking his pipe back into his hand he tapped the ash out and began to repack it. "Do you think that Aaron Smith that was causing you all those problems was a relative of old John? They both seem to be cut out of the same bolt of cloth."

"If you two are finished chewing the fat, lunch is ready."

Giles worked his jaw for a moment and turned to his hostess. "Yes, Madam. We are 'done'." Submitting only because he was not going to upset Mary Karn.

Charles laughed at the inflection. "Then let's eat." He pulled himself out of the chair and pocketed his unlit pipe. "So Rupert, how you like Vermont so far?"

"I'm having a 'wonderful' time." Giles mumbled. "Absolutely wonderful."