Part Nineteen

"There is a cottage open at Healy's Hideaway. This one would be perfect for you. It has a wonderful view of Pico Peak, fifteen minutes from the ski slopes and it only costs $75.00 more per week than the..."

"I'm not interested in the scenery!" Douglas retorted. "And as for that skiing nonsense?! Look at me for God's sake! Do I appear to be the type of man who is interested in plummeting downhill with planks strapped to my feet?! I want solitude!" He shifted his bulk in the chair and leaned forward toward the Realtor. "If I remember correctly, 'solitude' is what I requested when I employed your leasing service two weeks ago. And what did you give me? A badly decorated hovel in the middle of a wretched tourist camp!"

"I'm so sorry that Andrea's Lodge did not meet your needs. We've never had any complaints before." Monique replied as professionally as possible, even though she was about two seconds from tossing her first client of the day headfirst out into the curbside snowpile. She cleared her throat. "This is a bad time of year to find something long-term at such short notice."

"I don't care what time of the year it is! My needs are not the same as the unwashed masses!" Douglas's face skewed into a mask of disgust. "This morning I was awakened by a pack of squealing whelps who were bashing the 'ell out of each other with snowballs!"

Monique smiled at him through clenched teeth. "I'll see what else I can find. You do want 'furnished' don't you?"

"At this point I don't care if the furnishings include rats the size of mastiffs! Just get me away from these holiday idiots!"

"Well, Mr. Conrad-Chaney, that opens up some other alternatives." She took a long sip of her morning coffee, half to kickstart the morning caffeine buzz, half to hide the growing trace of a twisted smile as an idea blossomed in her mind. "For $475 a month, there is this... ah... 'historic' farmhouse available fourteen miles North of Rutland. We are renting it out for the next five to seven years while the owner is... well, 'away'."

"Does 'historic' mean a dirt floor?" Douglas suspiciously inquired, then with a snort tossed both hands in the air and retracted the question. "Never mind! All I want to know is if it is quiet and off the beaten path?"

Monique pursed her lips. "Mr. Powell was 'mostly' finished with the interior renovation when he was arrested for growing a quarter acre of..."

"I believe that answers both of my questions. I'll take it."

"It has been empty since late August, but I'm almost sure the electricity is still on." Monique bit her tongue to keep from laughing and shuffled some papers.

"Douglas went for his wallet. "If it's not, you'll hear from me."

"I'm sure I will."

"Pardon?"

"If it's not on there will be a $75 reconnect fee." Monique rapped her pencil on the desk in what she hoped was an annoying manner. "And you'll need to have the driveway plowed."

"Arrange it!"

Monique's false smile broadened. "That will be an additional $75."

"Fine."

"You do realize that there is a cancellation fee for leaving Andrea's Snowshoe Retreat without 48 hours notification?"

Douglas's lip curled. "Which is?"

"Well, let's see here." Monique tapped the keyboard frame with a fingernail and bent forward to peer at the screen. "Another $75, plus you forfeit the amount already paid."

"Is $75 some sort of mystical, sacred number in this region?" Conrad-Chaney grumbled.

The Realtor's fingers flew across the calculator. "For the new lodging out on Pine Lake Road, first month's rent, last month's rent, security deposit, utility reconnect, snow removal.."

"And don't forget the surcharge because it's Tuesday." Douglas sniped.

Monique did not even look up from her calculations. "Mid-week cancellation and rescheduling fee, that's an additional $75."

Douglas ground his wallet into his palm. "Imagine my surprise."

With a billfold considerably lighter than when he entered, Douglas left the Realtor with the keys for the 'historic' farmhouse. "Of all the agencies in this village, I have to secure a modern day Blackbeard in a skirt!" He bellowed in a voice loud enough to carry back through the closing door.

With a muttered damnation toward the entire region he stormed across the street to a small park and tossed the Pine Lake house keys to his coconspirator. "There! Happy?!"

Aaron straightened up from the railing which he had been propped against and held them up to eye level. "Skeleton keys? Appropriate, but it does tell me we are not staying at the Lanesborough."

"Since when does your accommodations have to be five star?" Douglas snarled. Not waiting for an answer he tossed a beefy thumb toward the truck a half block away. "Let's go! I want to get something to eat!"

Giving the keys a toss upward, Aaron snatched them back out of the air then repeated the motion. "That's a new development."

Conrad-Chaney's countenance went even more sour. "Today! Damnit!" He turned on his heel and went for their vehicle, not caring whether or not the vampire was coming.

Aaron's shoulders jiggled with silent laughter as he followed. "Poor lamb."

Douglas heaved his frame into the truck and started the engine, pulling out of the parking space before Aaron even had the passenger door closed. Five seconds later a movement caused him to take a sidelong glance toward his companion. "Why in the hell are you stripping?"

Undoing the last shirt button, the vampire pulled the garment open, chuckled and sat back in the morning sunlight that was streaming through the windshield - a picture of relaxation. "A bit of a tanning session." He twirled the keys between his fingers. "It doesn't bother me at all anymore."

Douglas shook his head at the oxymoron of a sunning vampire.

"I'll have to shake Quentin's hand when he rises tonight. It was so nice of him to share his demon."

"As if he had a choice." Douglas said dryly, his mood improving a with Aaron's sarcastic commentary. "After all these years we finally found a proper use for that old sod."

Aaron licked his lips. "Sour. I swear I've never tasted such unsavory blood in my entire existence. Can we make sure the next one's more palatable?"

"Another melding is not in the cards."

"I was thinking...."

Douglas slapped the steering wheel. "Here we go again!"

"Now is that anyway to be, Douglas?" Aaron said with mock offense.

"Let's sodding hear it."

"What a beautiful day!" Aaron smirked. "I never realized how much I missed this."

"Smith... you're wearing my patience thin."

"As if you had any to begin with." Aaron lobbed back, then before Douglas could comment he continued. "We've given the Council a poke in the eye by melding Quentin, so what do you say we do the same to one of those Alliance sods?"

"Absolutely not! Even those fuckwits would notice if one of their own vanished!"

Aaron's voice became a low, soothing murmur. "I'd just like to see what happens if I do the casting and you drain some unlucky bastard. I know you are tainted with demon and that you crave the taste of blood, so why not experiment a bit?"

The thought of hot blood awakened Douglas's hunger. His throat tightened and a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. "Tem-tempting, but we can't risk it."

"Didn't you relish it all?" Aaron prodded. "Smell the fear spewing out of Travers as his blood flowed? Nothing in any sphere is like that surge in the instant when our shadows became one." He shivered and smacked his lips. "But that even pales in comparison to the rush experienced when the melding was consummated and we were splintered back into three."

"Stop it!"

"Intensely gratifying on all counts, sight, smell, feel, sound and... taste. Especially the taste." Smith inhaled sharply then hissed out the question. "Don't you want to seize the unholy power, feel a soul leave the mortal shell, savor what I savored?"

Douglas hit the brakes and swerved over onto the shoulder of the road. "Damn your eyes!" He shouted over the squeal of the tires.

The corner of the vampire's lip turned up into a faint half smile. "So which one will we take?"

"That Inn..." Douglas panted, his demon taking the reins. "...that place we inspected this morning. 'If' that is where the others are staying then, then we'll see. But not until later in the week. Friday night, perhaps we could take one of them Friday night."

"Splendid." Aaron whispered, settling back into his seat. "So let's get on over and inspect our new lair."

Douglas wiped the sweat off his face and pulled back onto the road. "Yes... of course."

Aaron turned his face away and smiled.

******

Wesley picked up his sandwich, this time removing the wilting lettuce and dropping it into the rubbish can. "Nasty." Upon further examination, he decided that no amount of dissection would improve matters, so the rest of the sandwich followed its components into the trash.

"Someday I'll look back at this and laugh." He muttered, as he plopped back onto the bed and folded himself into a cross-legged position.

The day had not improved. First, the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday had resulted in a scarcity of motel accommodations, which was the reason he was now lodged in a place that would give Norman Bates pause to consider. Then, even the simple task of renting a car had turned into a two hour exercise in aggravation as he worked his way down the food chain from the national rental agencies to Ted's Bait, Beer, Car Rental and Gift Shack.

Leaning forward, Wesley mumbled Ted's corporate slogan, "We guarantee that you will get out of sight." He shut his eyes and blindly jabbed a finger down onto Rupert's map of Rutland which was spread out on the bed before him. "I'll wager body parts that clapped out, deathtrap will leave me stranded... HERE!"

He bend forward and laughed at the gallows humor in the random location under his finger. "Saint Joseph's Cemetery! Perfect!"

After the luxury of a moment's amusement his mood sobered. "In a way, that was a bit portentous." He swung his legs off the bed and proceeded to fold the map back into a neat rectangle, laying it on the dresser beside Rupert's weapons bag. "Point for Mr. Giles' planning and packing." Wesley conceded, placing his notes and markers on top of the map. "Even though I did have to listen to him cackle."

Through bloodshot eyes, he glanced at his watch. "Four-thirty. I should try to sleep a bit." He sighed out a breath and rubbed his hands back through his already disheveled hair. "Nothing else I can do until Buffy, Rupert and Joyce arrive so we can plan our routes."

Wesley set the alarm on his watch for 7:00, laid his glasses to the side, stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. "Sleep." He commanded himself.

But sleep was not forthcoming, not then and not during the next two hours he lay there. For as soon as he shut his eyes what briskly launched into high gear was that part of the mind that chatters away when a person is too tired and wired to sleep.

And if it wasn't his brain playing "twenty questions" it was the unceasing noise of truck traffic to and from the factory across the street.

Then a couple checked into the next room to take advantage of the hourly rates.

The bed in the next room bumped into the wall so hard that a velvet painting of a matador came crashing down in Wesley's room, narrowly missing his head. "Nice job!" Wyndam-Pryce spit toward his unseen, but well heard neighbors.

"To hell with all of it!" He snapped in contempt to whatever vindictive fate that was in control of his life as of late. Wesley sat up on the edge of the bed adding. "I can see that Sod's Law continues to be in force!"

Replacing the glasses on his nose he yanked the map back off the dresser, grumbling over the ruckus seeping through the thin walls. "Might as well go ahead and do this!"

He sat there for a few minutes, eyes shut, calming down and composing his thoughts. Matt had mentioned, as they all labored to be polite over breakfast, that he, Karen and her father would be leaving the house sometime around 7:00 PM for the final planning meeting with that Mary Ann from the catering service.

An hour later Wesley had relayed to Rupert this information, inserted between a curt explanation as to why he was leaving and the embryo of a strategy that would allow them to hunt the undead. In the afternoon Rupert would mention that he was taking Joyce and Buffy to the cinema for a late show. But in reality only Joyce would go to the movies, just to glean the plot and a ticket stub, while the three of them searched for this vampire.

For his own part he was going to spend the day exploring the city and what campgrounds that were still open. The best possible scenario would be that he would find that camper truck. Even if this did not pan out, at least he would be able to get a handle on what parts of Rutland looked like prime vampire hunting grounds.

The operation was to commence as soon as Willow left with her date.

Wesley's eyes slowly opened beneath a furrowed brow as the thought of Mark Shellenbarger being with Willow crossed his mind. "Mmmmm... more and more I don't care for the idea of Willow seeing that man." He rubbed his chin and began to consider the implications. "I do hope she doesn't let anything slip. I'm sure Mr. Karn would throw all of them out into the street if he knew we were taking it upon ourselves to patrol."

"Karn." Wesley hissed the name out. From the outset, his former host had not been what you could call overwhelmingly friendly but at least he had been cordial. Something nagged at Wesley. The mood swing in Ray from yesterday to this morning was a sea change and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what happened.

"To the man..." He touched his abused cheek. "...And the 'woman', these Alliance types do have an illogical streak." A sad smile curled along his lips. "Oh well... what's done is done. For the best, I suppose." Unfolding the map with a snap of the wrist, he laid it back on the bed and smoothed it out. "Time to get busy." He muttered, reaching for his recon notes. "It's going to be a long night."

The time passed quickly as Wesley immersed himself in highlighting with a hot pink marker what sections of the city he believed were the best bets for vampire activity. Then with a cautionary yellow he outlined the areas around Alliance headquarters and the blocks around both the elder and younger Karn residences. The fact that this vampire was in possession of a camper worried him to no end, for that meant its lair was mobile. "As soon as he's aware the Slayer is on his trail he will bolt."

His watch began to beep, signaling that it was now time to get up. Wesley curled his lip and turned off the reminder of his non-nap. With a final inspection of his color coding he refolded the map and stood with a stretch. "Well, they should be here in about..."

A knock sounded at the door.

"... now. They're early. Very good." He slipped his suitjacket on and headed over to answer the rapping. But instead of Rupert, Joyce and Buffy, there on his doorstep was Renée.

Her name stuck in his throat along with any word of greeting he might be able to think of.

"Allo." She said a bit too brightly.

"Uh..." Wesley's mouth moved but no other sound came out.

Renée swept in and gave the dingy room the once over. "Mais, you got da bon vivant here."

Wesley's jaw tightened at what he regarded as flippant words and attitude. "I'll assume that was sarcasm." He said, giving the door almost a slam shut against the winter night.

"Mais oui." She confirmed, tensing at the sudden coolness in the man's voice. "Matt told us dat you and Ray got into it over a vampire."

"So I'll also assume that you are here to tell me that in addition to my being a..." Wesley paused to pretend that he had to think in order to recall her angry words. "Oh yes, in addition to my being a filthy, bastard, Watcher, I'm also a fool."

"Dat's not why I'm here." Renée said truthfully and then quickly turned away from him as she felt a pang of guilt over the deceptive purpose of her visit.

Wesley's emotions began a rollercoaster ride as his common sense and pride began to battle with his heart and desire.

Three loud raps shook the door.

"Hey Wes! Open up!"

Renée gave Wesley a questioning, sidelong glance. "Buffy?"

The question was answered by a faint nod from Wesley. He drew in a long breath and silently went to open the door.

"About time. It's freezing out.." Buffy plastered a false smile on her face. "...there. Hi Renée, back for another round of Wesley smacking?"

"A no." Came the answer, terse both in tone and length.

Rupert came through the door, sized up what he saw and began what he hoped would be salvage operations. "Well Wesley, are you ready to go? The movie starts in less than thirty minutes and..."

Wyndam-Pryce waved his hand and turned to Renée. "I've never lied to you and I will not start now. We are going to patrol for the vampire."

Giles mouthed a curse and tossed a hand into the air.

Buffy and Joyce exchanged rolls of the eyes.

Renée whistled soundlessly then with a small shake of her head offered her take on the idea. "Have you lost you bons sens, hein?!"

Much to his own surprise, Wesley found himself chuckling. "Oh, it is a well know fact that I have never had any good sense to lose in the first place, just ask Mr. Giles."

"Without a doubt." Rupert confirmed with a grumble. He crossed his arms and made a "cluck" sound. "But I will say, for the record, that I believe that he saw a vampire this morning. And furthermore..."

"So do I!" Renée loudly interrupted. "Been thinking about it and, yes-yes," She began to wave her hands around. "What is crazy is dat you gon out to hunt withouts any backup!"

"We don't need any help." Buffy sneered.

"HA!" Renée shouted directly toward Buffy, then she rapidly pointed at each one in turn. "Yous just wait here." Then she stomped out the door, leaving them before another word could be uttered.

Once safely outside she let her face fall. "Now what da devil?! Is he playing us all for fools? Is Matt's pere in with dis tass of merde or is...?" Renée exhaled a sigh. "Whatevers! Keith said to call his bluff about dis vampire, so dis will work out." She went over to her loaner car, opened the back door and grabbed her backpack of weapons.

Her partner cocked his head at the motion.

Renée gave him a sign to follow here. "Mais, Marteau... let's go hunting!"

In the room, Wesley was in the middle of trying to explain why he had unveiled their operation to Renée. "We can trust her! The fact she came to me proves it!"

"Oh yes, love conquers all!" Giles shot back. "And if not 'love' a good all night romp in..."

"That's ENOUGH!" Wesley barked.

Buffy let the drapes fall back into place. "Uh, guys."

Joyce positioned herself between the Watchers. "Both of you, please!"

"Uh... guys, mom, check this out. "

"She will waste no time reporting back to her handlers and even more hell will break loose!"

Buffy put two fingers in her mouth and let loose with a loud, high pitched whistle.

"What is it Buffy?!" Giles grouched.

The Slayer smiled and opened the door for Renée and Marteau. "Heads up."

Joyce took a step back as the animal paced into the room. "Oh, my..."

Rupert and Wesley both stared slack jawed wonder as the canine busied itself in sniffing around the room. Large by breed standards, the catahoula had to weigh in at least 85 pounds but still its size did not compromise its fluid movements.

"Dis is Marteau. Had him since he was a pup."

"Impressive beast. She... she told me about him." Wesley whispered, taking in the striking black over brown, leopard like markings of his smooth coat. "I just didn't think he was so... mmmmm, imposing."

Marteau stopped at Buffy's feet and looked up at her. The Slayer raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with his eyes?"

"You born in a barn?" Renée asked turning back to shut the door which Buffy had left wide open. "And not'ing wrong with Marteau's eyes. Dey are just cracked."

Buffy frowned. "Cracked? Like broken?"

"A no. It means two colors in the same eyeball." Renée snorted. "Look at dem! White eyes with dat blue streak gon through da middle."

"Uh-huh." Buffy pulled her gaze away. "Looks pretty weird."

"Shouldn't he be on a leash, or something?" Joyce squeaked.

"Don need one." The huntress laughed as she sat down on the end of the bed and began to prep her dart firing weapon. "Marteau is da smartest one in da pack. He knows what you t'inking before you even t'ink it."

"Hammer." Giles muttered the translation. "Appropriate name."

"I take it you came here to assist us." Wesley said hopefully.

"I came here to help you find dat vampire you said you saw." She somewhat confirmed.

Rupert crossed his arms and wondered about her choice of words.

"Cool." Buffy chimed. "So Giles and I can take one side of town and Wes and his girlfriend can take the mutt and go to the other. We'll meet back here at midnight and then go get a pizza."

"Bon. Den let's stop with dis rahdoht and go hunting." Renée said, sighting down her weapon.

******

"And I thought Sunnydale rolled up the sidewalks at sundown." Joyce sighed as she flipped the turn signal on.

"Sunnydale has a reason to." Rupert observed. He half turned in his seat. "Are you sure we turn right?"

Buffy rattled the map. "Yeah, then we go straight until we're in that low rent district where Wesley's staying."

Joyce glanced in the rear view. "Are you warm enough yet, honey?"

"No. I'm never going to warm up!" She curled her lip. "I see why vamps hang around Sunnydale."

Rupert pushed his glasses up. "The undead are not bothered by extreme heat or cold, so climate is not a factor in where they appear."

"Well Slayer's are! I nearly froze to death!"

"Oh Buffy." Joyce sighed. "You didn't mind the skiing."

"That was different."

Rupert stifled a yawn and sat back in the seat as the car picked up speed past the small businesses and modest homes that made up this section of Rutland. His eyes wandered along the sidewalk, unconsciously allowing his training and experience to do the work for him as he watched for anything or anyone suspicious. While it was not suspicious, something did catch his eye. "Joyce, slow down."

"What?"

"Uh.. pull over. I just saw that rental car of Wesley's."

"Are you sure?" Joyce questioned, pulling to the curb.

"Not many cars that look like that one." Buffy giggled. "White with a green driver's door. Bet he paid extra for that."

"I'm sure he did." Rupert opened his door and nodded toward Joyce. "The car is a back a block, parked on the cross street so they should be around here somewhere. Perhaps over in that small park."

"You going to tell him we're heading back to the motel?"

"Umm-humm." Giles hummed, pulling on his gloves and knit hat. He quickly leaned over and gave Joyce a surprise kiss on the lips. "Stay warm, Luv. I'll just be a minute."

Buffy found herself smiling at the scene.

Rupert got out and crossed the street to the far sidewalk which bordered the park. "Well, where are they?" He asked the empty scene as he slowly worked his way in the direction of the entrance. After half a block he was rewarded with a movement from within the grounds. Back in the playground, two figures strolled along a cleared path in the company of a large bounding dog.

"Wesley! Renée!"

The two waved in acknowledgment and began to come toward Rupert. As soon as Wesley got within hailing distance he called out. "Find anything?"

"Nothing!"

Wesley sighed in disappointment at the returned shout. "Well, there's always tomorrow night."

"You gon do dis again?"

"Until I find that creature and destroy it, I will not rest." He said emphatically.

"Soit" She bit her lip. "I be here."

Wesley took her hand in his. "I appreciate that."

Renée Jeanmard felt her insides twist. She had neither seen or felt any sign of conspiracy above the understandable fact that Wesley didn't want Ray Karn to know what was going on. But that was neither here nor there. She knew she had delayed too long and it was time to get on with the job. Under the guise of scratching her nose she slipped her hand from his. "So... do you do many covert jobs?"

Marteau sprinted back and forth around them in doggie heaven over his trainer's recent command of "Marteau jouer!" - an order to 'go play'. As he criss-crossed the drifts his webbed paws created his own private blizzard of flung snow in a display of canine exuberance. A catahoula loves nothing more than to run and after spending the past two days being cooped up in the Blanchard motor home he was wound up tighter than a ten day clock.

Then a shift in the wind brought something to his attention which propelled his hunting instincts to the fore. The Catahoula stopped his romp and eyed the figure standing at the edge of the park. Two hesitant steps, then he sniffed the air again, bared his teeth and broke into a gallop.

Rupert shivered a bit, not from the cold but instead from the sight of Marteau coming toward him. With a whistling exhale he decided right then and there that he was thankful that he would never be on the receiving end of those jaws.

Or would he?

R-r-r-r-rrrr.

Giles jumped back as 85 pounds of catahoula came over the railing with a rumbling growl. "Sit! Uh.. umm... Stay!"

Buffy was out of the car in a heartbeat. "That's mutt's going after Giles!"

But Marteau veered off and began to snarl and sniff along the fence. Hackles raised, the animal tensed, threw his head back and let out a winding bay to tell one and all of his discovery.

Wesley and Renée broke into a dead run.

"Stay back from him!" Rupert ordered Buffy as she came to a sliding stop at his side. He heard a second set of footsteps and repeated himself to Joyce. "You too! Stay back!"

Renée came over the fence and knelt beside Marteau. She took hold of his collar and gave the catahoula a reward hug then released him with the command. "Find 'em!"

Marteau put his head down and bared his teeth at the scent of his prey. He left the fence and took off like a shot down the sidewalk coming to an abrupt halt thirty feet away. With his nose never leaving the ground he doubled back to the group, circled around and returned to the curbside terminus of the scent and laid down with a thump.

Renée broke the silence. "Mais, I be damned. Der is a vampire in Rutland."

Wesley half turned and gave her a questioning look. "I thought you believed me?"

******

Luis López had attended better meetings.

In reality, this was right up there with the time that vamp knocked him off a catwalk and he nearly drowned in a silo of wheat.

He felt like that now. No air, pressure on his chest.

And he had felt this way since he was called to Charlie's house the night before, even before he had a chance to unpack.

Then up half the night talking it over with Nina.

He rubbed his cheek, wincing a bit when his fingers pressed along the cut he gave himself shaving this morning.

Mike Blanchard added his John Hancock to the appropriate line and slid the paper toward López.

Luis didn't make the first move to touch it. Instead he glanced toward the man at the head of the conference table. "You're sure?"

"All the tests say I waited too long." Charlie answered, a faint waver in his voice betraying his fear. "But, I go in next Tuesday for them to take a look and do what they can." He sighed and waved his unlit pipe at each man in turn. "You are the only ones who know this and I want you all to keep it under your hats until after the surgery. As far as everyone else knows, I'm retiring because I want to spend some time on my boat. No reason to wind everybody up until we get the final verdict."

Tightjawed, each man at the table acknowledged the dictate.

Abruptly regaining his bravado, Charlie's tone went to its usual gravelly slant. "Now, my last official order is, 'all of you go get checked'. It's not pleasant, but it's better than dying."

"You'll beat it dad." Ray said optimistically.

"Damn straight." Charlie smiled faintly at his son's words and sat back. "Sign it Luis, I can't fight prostrate cancer and continue my duties at the same time."

Wordlessly, Luis reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out his pen and signed.

Blanchard reached over, gave Luis a hard smack on the shoulder and cracked wise, lessening the pall a bit. "Mais, now dat you are da new Alliance boss you gon get us dat pair of jets dat Charlie promised us?"

"And, I reckon, you'll want a gold-plated hanger to put them in?" Luis dryly added.

"First bit of advice, Luis." Charlie laughed. "Never believe a damn thing Mike tells you."

"Pardnor, I already knew that one." López puffed out a breath and folded his hands before him in almost a prayer-like stance. "I know ya'll help me make this go as smooth as possible."

"As always." Keith said extending his hand across the table. "Congratulations, Luis. Have you decided on a second in command?"

"Weeeel.." López drawled out as he accepted the handshake. "Up until ten minutes ago I assumed that Ray was going to stay on." He paused and snorted. "Thank ya muchly for that bombshell, pal."

"No problem." Ray deadpanned.

Luis tapped his fingertips together. "My first pick would be Sam Landry, he's been making noise about wanting to cut back in the fieldwork. If nobody has a problem with that I'll talk to him this afternoon."

The four others signaled their approval with nods.

"Now, Luis..." Shellenbarger said as he opened a plain folder. "..here's your first problem." He flipped a photo into the center of the conference table.

"I know dat sonna bitch." Mike hissed. "Quentin Travers, head of da field ops for the Council."

"And he's in Rutland on some sort of covert business." Keith began to polish his wire rims as this information sank in.

"Bad news." Luis muttered.

Keith slid his glasses back on. "Confirmed. Now, last night at about twenty-two hundred he checked out of the Birch Ridge Inn in Sherburne. The desk clerk said he seemed ill and that he was in the company of a pair of British nationals who she had never seen before."

This was also news to Ray. "Any idea where he went, or who these other two were?"

"Negative." Keith answered darkly, handing out a single page report to each. "At this stage of the game, this is all we know for sure."

Ray worked his jaw as he read the bare bones report, his unease growing with each word. But what bothered him the most was the information from Renée. "Damn, she got a positive hit over on West Market! Confirms what Wesley told me." He tossed the paper back down. "Guess I shouldn't have thrown him out."

"She was convinced Marteau picked up an undead scent trail." Keith said in a obviously condescending manner. "And did you really want a Watcher in your house?" He underlined the last comment with a sniff of disdain and continued. "As for the alleged undead creature's appearance..."

As Shellenbarger droned on giving his opinion on the vampire's presence, Blanchard flipped his pen back and forth between his fingers, his body language expressing his contempt over this federal "suit" telling them what they should do. It only took about three minutes for the last layer of his famously thin patience to wear through. "All right..." He interrupted. "...yes, yes we have a dead dick in Rutland. Renée can read a hit as good as the rest of us. The vampire? Probably lost, fell off a truck, whatevers! We'll find it and stake it.. done!"

Keith glared across the table as Mike threw down the glove.

"How 'bout you leave da hunting to da hunters and go work on why dis Travers is here with a couple of his friends? Dat's your job, mais oiu?"

"I don't need to 'work' on this, because I'm positive he's in town to meet with either this Giles or this Wyndam-Pryce."

"A no!" Blanchard said with a rough shake of his head. "We can trust dem! Both are bon!"

"You sure about that, Mike?" Luis asked.

"Stake my life on it." Blanchard affirmed.

Charlie crossed his arms and gave his head a slow shake. "They're Council, can't trust them."

" 'Dat'..." Mike spit with a rough jab of his finger onto Quentin's photo. "...is Council. Rupert and Wesley are field, just as much as us. Got dat?"

"You know them better than we do." Ray grudgingly conceded. "But..."

Keith leaned forward toward Blanchard and finished the statement as he saw fit. "..'But' as you just said, finding out what is going on is 'my job', and that is what I am going to do. And furthermore..."

Luis's eyes darted back and forth between his fellow group leader and the government contact. It only took a heartbeat to decide that he trusted Mike's instincts over Keith's hard-line attitude. "Keith."

"What?" Shellenbarger growled.

"Then I'd suggest you go do it."

******

"You always take me to the nicest places." Aaron sniped as he poked around the kitchen.

"Shut... UP!" Conrad-Chaney bellowed, sliding out from beneath the sink.

Giving the cabinet door a slam, Smith curled his lip and held up a tiny, mummified mouse for Douglas's consideration. "How charming, the previous inmate left us his pets."

Douglas clenched and unclenched his fists. "I can't get wedged in there far enough to turn on the water! So would you stop playing with the fauna and give me a hand?!"

Aaron dropped the mouse and applauded.

"I'm going to twist your head off." Douglas threatened as he pulled his girth up from the floor. "Then I'm going to drive back into town, pop that Realtor's head off and replace it with yours!"

"Attractive mental image." Aaron laughed as he bent down and peered under the sink. "How far back is the valve?"

"All the way to HERE!" Douglas spit, taking four paces along the counter and smacking the brick wall.

Aaron snaked into the space. "I see it. Keep your hair on."

"What a shitpit!" Douglas barked toward the heavens.

"Well, you wanted 'secluded'." Aaron echoed from the crawlspace.

"I assumed that walls and ceilings and floors were included!"

"It's not 'that' disagreeable."

"I beg to differ!" Conrad-Chaney bared his teeth and hissed. "Half renovated, damp, drafty, substandard wiring, the furniture that I've seen looks like it was picked up from the side of the road!"

"There! It's turned, try it!"

Douglas gave both handles a twist and was rewarded with a sputtering gush of brown water. He lurched backwards away from the spray. "DAMN!"

Aaron wormed out from under the sink and turned off the water. "Problems?"

"That woman is dead! Giles is dead! His bastard son is dead! Those Alliance sods are dead!" Douglas raged, beating his fist against the counter. "They all are dead in the most slow and painful way imaginable!"

The heavy butcher-block counter split lengthwise under the assault.

Douglas curled his fingers around the lip of the wood and gave it an upward thrust. With a screech the nails pulled free, the wood snapped and a five foot spear of counter came free. Bellowing obscenities in six languages, he flung the segment sideways across the kitchen where it impaled into and through the wall in an explosion of brick and mortar dust.

"I wish you would be more careful." Aaron said, sidestepping away from the human's frenzied ire. "That harpoon could have done some damage." He strolled over to investigate the wreckage, drawing in an unnecessary breath just to whistle it back out. "Or should I say, 'greater damage'." He hissed under his breath.

It reminded Smith of one of those film clips which showed the power of a tornado. The straw impaled in a telephone pole, the dishrag forced under a cement block or, more true to what now met his eyes, a two by four through a tree. He reached out and pushed against the impromptu oak spear.

It was jammed tight.

"Let's see what the rest of this hellhole looks like!" Douglas snarled, passing his undead friend.

Aaron followed Douglas into the next room. "Mmmmm.. of course." He paused and briefly examined the sharp point of countertop which extended two feet into the next room. A thin smile masked his concern. "So much for getting our deposit back."

******

Rupert literally roared with laughter.

Wesley was bent double over the table in the same condition.

Grinning like a Missouri mule, John Blanchard raised his beer in a mock toast to his brother. "Took us over an hour to hose him off."

The object of the merriment did his best to look annoyed. "It's not dat funny."

"I thought it was a scream." Ethan chortled from his seat at the next table. "Trapped overnight on a windmill platform, while magenta robed vampires from the cult of Swami Bob entertained themselves by pelting you with rotten lemons." He clapped his hand together in glee. "I am so glad that tagged along! You Alliance chaps are so much more entertaining than Ripper!"

"And he had what you call dat 'lemon fresh' smell for a week!" John wrinkled his nose. "Poo-yi-yi!"

Mike sat down his beer and mimicked the motion catching a lemon out of the air and returning it with a fastball pitch. "A yes, but I got dem back! Knocked more den one of dem sideways off da scaffold! Thwack!"

"I would have loved to have seen that one." Rupert said, giving his chest a rub.

"Without a doubt." Wesley added.

"Mais, maybe you should ride with us for awhile and learn somet'ings." Mike grinned.

"I must confess, using fruit to ward off vampires was not part of my training." Wesley snickered.

"That's because you went through the 'modern' method." Giles deadpanned. "I, on the other hand, am well versed in that procedure. Did you know that in 1891 a Watcher stationed in Polynesia dispatched one with a coconut shard?"

Wesley wrinkled his forehead. "Really?"

"And in 1670.." Rupert rubbed his chin as if the facts were coming back to him. "No, it was in 1760, a Watcher in Hong Kong was attacked during his evening meal and was forced to stake one with his chopsticks."

Wesley blinked. "Hong Kong?"

"Then sometime during the second world war, 1942 I believe it was, a Slayer used the lid off of a ration tin to decapitate one." Rupert nodded in all seriousness as he sat there for a long second, swirling the scotch and regaining his composure before adding. "Over the years there has been a multitude of food based weaponry used in the fight and these events are all recorded in the Diaries. Wesley, I'm surprised you never read those passages."

"Uh... well.. uh, mmmm, of course I read those." Wesley hedged, right before he noticed that Rupert seemed to be hiding a smile behind his hand.

Yes, he had been led down the garden path.

"Mr. Giles, you're lying like a rug." Wesley snorted with a pointing shake of his finger. "There has never been a Watcher in Polynesia and furthermore, the one and only Watcher in Hong Kong arrived there in 1831. And, during the Second World War the Slayer was Italian which caused no small amount of problems!"

"Well, I'm sure there were ration tins in Italy." Giles snickered, then looked away and waved to the waitress. "Miss? Another round please."

"So, Wesley... I got some fine, fine land I can sell you." John chortled. "Hundred acres at only $3,000 apiece. A bon marche, I tell you. And you can farm it!"

"A yes! A very good price!" Mike confirmed. "Good farmland, if you want to raise gators and skeeters."

"Sounds like a splendid offer." Ethan agreed. "Don't pass it up Wesley."

Wesley curled his lip. "Have I ever mentioned how insufferable I find the whole lot of you?"

Rupert arched an eyebrow. "Mmmm... it's been brought up in conversation - once or twice."

"That's what I thought." Wesley lobbed back. "So are you ever going to take the hint?"

"Doubtful."

"How do yous two work together?" John questioned, waving his hand back and forth between them. "Like cat and a dog in da same cage."

Rupert sat back. "Well this 'old dog' has relaxed a tad. I now try to be more helpful and less territorial."

Wesley's eyebrows shot up in semi-sham astonishment. "Since when, may I ask?"

Rupert's face darkened. "You must admit. We worked together well during our recent problem."

"Dat Smith?" Mike asked.

Both Watchers nodded.

John glanced between the three. "Who dat?"

"Dead dick. A bad, bad, one." Mike mumbled to his brother then he turned his attention to Giles. "How'd dat wash?"

"Wretchedly.." Rupert stopped and reached for his wallet as the waitress appeared.

"Let me get dis one." Mike said pulling a twenty out.

"Put that back." Giles ordered. "This is the agreed on payment for your... ah, 'help'."

"Soit."

"Now's a 'ell of a time for you to start cracking open your wallet at a pub." Ethan snorted. "What happened to, 'Sorry lads, I'm a bit short'? That was always your line when I was alive and drinking." His humor improved a bit as the waitress leaned over the table right in front of him. The specter whistled and leered, then sighed as she made the change and walked away.

"In a nutshell.." Rupert began, in a low voice. "Aaron Smith slipped away. We believe that his plan to create a melded vampire failed and consequently he left town to give himself some distance while he plans his next move." He exhaled loudly. "Out of those three bits of information, the first and last are informed speculation. If the scheme had went as planned, we would have known it and if he was planning something else we would have seen it by now."

Mike leaned forward. "But you know for sure, dat he's left Sunnydale?"

"No." Rupert bluntly answered before the question was even finished. "That was insinuated by the interrogation of one of his minions which had been had left behind."

"And even then, it's third hand information." Wesley added. "This subordinate was captured by a pair of Sunnydale detectives." He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar. "Tragically, events spun out of control during the questioning and Detective Stein was killed."

"Le Bon Dieu." Both hunters breathed as they automatically crossed themselves.

"Detective Marcum gave his report to his superior, Lieutenant Colbert, who relayed the information to us."

Rupert took a drink at the mention of Colbert. "In bits and pieces I might add. This 'officer of the law' is half demon. And as to where his loyalties lie, that remains to be seen."

"Dat's Sunnydale." John hissed giving his mug a raise.

"Without a doubt." Giles sadly agreed. "I just wish I knew all the particulars.

Ethan glided over into the booth behind Giles and leaned over to shout into the human's ear. "And if you would open your thick head and listen to me you would have your bleedin' 'particulars'!"

John noticed Rupert's small shiver. "You okay?"

"Just a chill." Rupert said through a grim smile. "I've been cold... mmmm, quite a bit here lately."

"Crow pecking at you grave." Mike pronounced solemnly. "Dat's what my grand-mere always said dat meant."

The ghost cackled at this idea. "Now that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

This dredging up of the past month sent Wesley's thoughts back to Sunnydale. "In reality, the only hard, cold actualities we have are that, one rape and two murders were committed and that Aaron Smith was behind it."

"And let's not forget Tubby Doug and the most likely late, great Sean!" Ethan snarled giving Wesley a ghostly smack on the side of the head.

Wesley took a fast drink and squirmed in his seat. "And Mr. Giles and I came very close to being arrested for the Rayne murder."

Rupert rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers.

"A yes, glad you dodged dat bullet." Mike added. He glanced over at Giles, taking in the man's sudden thousand yard stare. "What's dat matter?"

"Ethan Rayne..."

"Present! But sadly, unaccounted for." The shade snotted.

"What of him?" Wesley grumbled with surprising malice.

"...On Smith's orders this sorry excuse for a human targeted Willow so Buffy could be lured into a trap." Giles paused, his mouth becoming a thin line.

Ethan began to shake with rage. "I was blackmailed!"

John arched an eyebrow. "I hear dose wheels turnin'."

"The devil is in the details." Giles said, more thinking outloud than speaking to the others. "And those 'details' are still foggy. His plan was in motion, then out of the proverbial clear blue sky he shoots his sorcerer, packs it up and leaves Sunnydale."

"The crux of his strategy was the melding and it failed." Wesley sniffed. "Smith was a trained Watcher, and if you remember from our training, one does not force an operation to continue once things start to go bad." He raised an index finger and waved it around. "But, my mistake. I keep forgetting you were absent on the day that instruction was given."

"Are you finished?" Rupert growled.

Wesley rolled his eyes heavenward as if asking for deliverance. "I suppose. So let's hear where this is going."

"Maybe he didn't give up. He seems to have vanished soon after the electronic correspondence between Willow and Matthew was examined. It could be the vampire you saw in the wee hours of yesterday morning was Smith."

As one the other three tensed.

Wesley downed his drink. "But what about the other events? Your missing money and the seeming destruction of that hapless man's spirit?"

"Merely a sideshow. If it worked - fine, if it didn't - fine." Rupert stated sharply. "Between the tainted police force and my history with the deceased it was worth having a go at it. But I'm still sure that if the main goal was to frame me for the murder I would be sitting in jail at this very moment."

John tapped his fingers on his beer mug. "Mais, it does seem a strange coincidence dat a vampire would show up da same week you do."

"I don't believe in coincidences." Giles huffed.

"Correct." Wesley agreed. "The one thing I have learned during my tenure is that everything happens for a reason."

"Is dat so?" Mike said with a pause between each word. He gave the two Watchers a hard, probing look, assessing their character as he considered his next action. "So, if nothing is 'coincidence', why is Quentin Travers here, hein?"

The hunter saw only genuine shock at this revaluation as both Rupert and Wesley began to sputter out their questions of "what?", "when?" and "why?".

"He came in on Monday night, went to Sherburne for twenty-four, den checked out at 'bout 22:00 last night in da company of two others. According' to da desk clerk, dey all talked funny, just like you twos." A glimmer of a smile flashed then disappeared into the hunter's visage. "So what you takes on dis?"

"Mmmm... ah, maybe he's here on holiday." Wesley offered in a voice a little too high.

Ethan began to pace. "Or here to watch you all die! Tubby was acting on orders from the Council!"

"Oh yes Wesley, of course he's here for the outdoor attractions. I'm sure he'll top off a run down the slopes with ice fishing and bobsledding." Giles said with more sarcasm that most would think possible. He turned to Mike. "There were two others?"

"A yes." Mike's eyes narrowed. "Any idea who?"

Rupert's gaze darted between the Cajuns. "None whatsoever. Most likely a pair of those black ops sods he keeps on a leash." He went silent to allow the hunters to accept or counter this statement, but Wesley butted in with.

"Not again!" The younger man seethed. "Conspiracy, intrigue, the worst possible scenario! Why? Why Mr. Giles must you instantaneously assume that Mr. Travers is here to cause harm?" Wesley straightened up in his seat. "I understood your question, sir. You were asking in a roundabout way if those two men were Rupert and myself and I can assure..."

"I read Renée's report, so I know it wasn't you twos." Mike butted in.

"So she 'was' spying on us." Rupert clipped out.

Mike nodded. "Confirmed."

Rupert sneered. "I see..."

"No you don!" Mike cut in. "Shellenbarger sent her to find out what you were up to and she came back saying 'galee! Der is a vampire here!'." He tossed a wicked grin toward Wesley. "Came back dis morning, come to t'ink of it. We gon hear dat report too?"

Wesley looked like he had just sat on a tack. "Our relationship is none of your business."

"May we return to the matter at hand?" Rupert asked between clenched teeth. "I would like to know where Wesley and I stand."

"You be bon in my book." Mike shrugged. "And John's.."

"Yeah, de're okay." John grunted.

"..And Luis is going along with dat too. Ray? He's sittin' on da fence but Charlie and Shellenbarger don trust you any farther den dey can throw you." Mike rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. "Now, I'm gon toss dis out, if dat was Smith checking out da motel, do you t'ink dat Travers could be here to meet with his old pardnor?"

Rupert bit his lip. "Anything is possible."

Wesley gave his temples a rubbing pinch. "The figure I saw, in the moonlight, from the back, for a fleeting moment, was male, slender and dressed inappropriately for the clime. Now, if I throw logic to the wind..." He gave Giles a sidelong glance. "...Which seems to be the standard operating procedure, and assume that this was Aaron Smith. It does seem portentous that a vampire with ties to Mr. Travers would arrive in such an out of the way place at the same time as Mr. Travers."

Giles shot Wesley an aggravated stare. "Does that speech condense down to 'it's possible'?"

"Conceivably"

"I t'ink we have a bigger problem den we thought." Mike mumbled. "Gon have to tell Luis 'bout all dis."

"I'll start looking around." Ethan offered. "Not like it will do any good, but at least I'll have something to tell all of you after you're slaughtered."

Rupert slid out of the booth. "Well, I think it's time we 'all' sat down and presented the facts to your new commander."