Part Twenty Two

"Interesting."

Wesley tossed his assigned tome to the side and nodded toward Rupert. "You found something?"

"Mmmmmm..."

Wesley began to polish his glasses. "I've know you long enough to know that translates as 'yes'."

"And Zagam, revealed himself to be a false ally." Giles mumbled. "Zagam, that's ringing a bell."

"Very obscure creature. Demonic helpmate of forgers and counterfeiters." Wesley defined. "Coin of the realm usually, but it could also change blood into oil and trade souls from one person to another." He stood and stretched. "It allegedly fed on blood and appeared at night. If it did ever exist it was probably a vampire with a gift of sorcery. But it is a distinct possibility that Zagam was merely the name the ancients gave to whatever hell demon possesses a corpse at the moment of vampirac reanimation."

"Why am I not surprised that you would know this?" Rupert chuckled.

"Donna Finfrock." Wesley grinned as he sat back down. "She was in my group. Her initial thesis was on little known demonic entities but that became a bit more than she could chew, even with my assistance." His grin became a bit wicked. "And all those nights we spent 'researching' in her quarters came to naught. She finally gave up and wrote a sensational tome on William the Bloody."

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, more and more I see that you are, in reality, quite the cad."

Wesley clutched at his chest and attempted to look indignant.

"But back to our problem." Giles said, holding up 'Tibalt's Ruins'. "This edition names Zagam as the demon that drove Tibalt insane."

"Interesting, but I don't see what good it does us."

"Your Uncle Douglas reported that Travers was becoming unhinged." Giles paused and peered over his glasses toward their bodyguard who was draped backwards snoring in his chair.

Wesley took advantage of the pause. "There is something that has been bothering me. Mr. Travers left the Sherburne lodging in the company of two men. We presumed that they were his own human operatives. A line of reasoning that.." He gave his head a toss toward John. "...'they' have set in stone. But if that is the case, why has Quentin vanished without a trace?"

"Because he's behind this. Because he's planning his next move." Giles huffed. "Here I part company with your Uncle's theory. I don't believe that Travers would give up control of a plan regardless of how badly it has went off the track, nor do I believe that he and Aaron Smith have parted company."

Wesley bit his lip. "He does enjoy being in command."

"It's been close to a month since Aaron left Sunnydale. Plenty of time to return to London, meet with Quentin and give it another try." Giles made a "clucking" noise. "Without a doubt Travers would be pridefull enough to believe that he could execute this spell."

Wesley rubbed his head. "And they all motored back here in that truck? I hate to break this to you, but there is that small, slightly bothersome ocean between here and there."

"Bear with me."

In answer, Wesley rolled his eyes heavenward.

"An unlucky tourist is melded to them..."

"The third party is always of a criminal nature." Wesley interjected.

"Then a criminal tourist!" Giles shot back.

"You're grabbing at straws."

Giles waved the book toward Wesley. "I know. But all I'm trying to do is make sense of it all. Tibalt went insane and Travers is also descending into the same state."

"So you are positive that Tibalt melded with a vampire?"

"Mmmmm.... not 'positive'."

"But that's never stopped you from forming an ironclad speculation." Wesley sniped. "Very well, carry on. Tell me, how did Tibalt's existence end?"

Rupert opened the volume and paged forward a bit. "As an absolute madman. Upon Zagam's persuasion, he threw himself into the sea demanding that Zeus take him to sit at the right hand of the Gods." He cleared his throat and quoted:

"And on the shore Zagam feasted upon the souls he had wedded."

With a curl of his lip Giles added. "Unfortunately we're a bit far from the Atlantic, but there are some rather deep lakes."

"Mr. Giles!"

"It would rectify our problems." Rupert deadpanned, going to a bookmark. "And then there is this passage that is the crux of my 'ironclad speculation'. This relates an event that occurred directly before Tibalt began to exhibit signs of insanity. It takes up as he and Zagam call up a slave from hell."

"Hades opened the gate and bid the shade to go and serve his masters. And the shade went and was bound in servitude until the day in which his shroud was cast upon the pyre."

"It fits." Rupert closed the book and gave a sharp nod to punctuate his statement.

"Oh yes, two lines out of an entire, what... two hundred pages?"

"It, fits." Giles repeated, each word uttered almost as its own sentence. "Zagam feasted on souls.. plural. And the constrained spirit existed in his 'shroud' which I translate as 'body' until he was burned.

Dismissing the theory with a shake of his head, Wesley stood. "If you say so. I have to be going."

"You're not allowed to leave alone."

"Oh, for God's sake." The younger man grumbled under his breath. He glanced at the mantel clock and pulled his coat on. "It's almost 2:30, the shower should be over. I'm going to go out to the Viking Inn and meet with Renée."

" 'Research', I assume." Giles sniped. "If I may point out, becoming this deeply involved with an Alliance huntress is not fair to her. And furthermore, the Alliance dinner is tonight and you will not be allowed to accompany her."

Wesley ignored the commentary. "The dinner will not last all night. Don't wait up for me."

"I won't have to. I'm positive that as soon as your unauthorized jaunt is noted you will be brought back here bound and gagged." Giles snorted, returning to his books.

"Nothing to worry about. I'm heading straight over to the Inn where I'll be in the company of 80% of the Alliance and unfortunately 100% of their dogs." He jingled his rental car keys. "Safe and sound."

Rupert made a sour sound.

With that, Wyndam-Pryce left the guesthouse.

"Yes." Wesley sighed as his rental car groaned into life on the third turn of the key. Backing out of the driveway his thoughts immediately went to planning his evening. "While she's over at the dinner I'll start a romantic fire in the hearth. We'll have a glass of wine. Wine. There was a wine store.. where did I see that?" He pulled over to the curb and began to backtrack in his mind the places he had been over the past few days. "Oh yes... it was across from that park where we picked up the vampire's trail." His smile spread across his face. "I can find that without any problem."

The drive to the wine & spirits shop only took a few minutes. Wesley pulled into a parking slot a half a block from his destination and hurried in to make his selection.

Sometimes a person can know too much. Wesley wandered the aisles considering and dismissing the various vintages until he frustrated himself. Finally he stopped in front of display case of champagne, crossed his arms and decided. "One can't go wrong with bubbly."

This decided Wyndam-Pryce picked up a bottle and went to the register queue. Ahead of him a woman quibbled with the clerk over the fact that her check was good "this" time and there was no reason he couldn't take it. With a roll of the eyes betraying his impatience, Wesley turned away and gazed out the storefront plate glass.

And saw his Uncle Douglas lumber by.

"What in the...?" He said a bit too loudly.

"Just wait your turn!" The other customer barked. Wesley took a step, then without another word he thrust the bottle of champagne into her hands and ran out onto the sidewalk.

"Uncle Douglas!"

Conrad-Chaney stopped dead in his tracks. Swallowing a curse he turned toward his nephew. "Lad! This is... unexpected."

"What are you doing here? I thought you were in California. Not that it's not good to see.... uffff!"

Douglas gave Wesley a second push into an alley that ran between the Realtor's business and a pawnbroker's storefront. "Where's your training, boy?!" He seethed pointing toward the front end of a black camper parked in the shadows. "I'm here for five hours and I find them, while you waste a week playing with yourself!"

"Sir.. I.. I..."

"Shut the fuck up and follow me!"

Wesley bristled at the coarse command but held his tongue and followed his Uncle to the back door of the camper.

"Now, if you think you can assist, we will try to surprise these bastards." Conrad-Chaney hissed while bringing his foot down on an abandoned pallet, shattering it into long spears of wood. "I'll assume you're wandering around in an defenseless daze, so arm yourself!"

"For your information, I have my icon cross on my person." Wesley sniped, bending down to pull a length of wood free.

Douglas bared his teeth and in a blitz attack drew back and brought both fists down on the back of Wesley's skull.

Confusion shot through the pain as he went face down into the pallet. He came up on his knees blinded by the blood that gushed from the split on his brow. Conrad-Chaney's sham warning of "Look out!" rang in his ears tangling up what he was hearing against what he thought had happened.

With a ferocity born in the demon side of his being, Douglas snatched up a hunk of two by four and smashed it into the side of his dazed nephew's head. Wesley's body lurched sideways into the brick alley wall and his consciousness went spinning into the blackness.

Aaron arose from his hiding place behind a row of trash cans. "By the way, the back door is barred, screened, gated and padlocked. I don't think she trusts her fellow man. We'll both have to go in via the front."

"Forget about her!" Douglas snarled, picking Wesley up by his coat collar. "This little trainspotter just bollocked everything up! Open the camper!"

"As you wish. Not like it hasn't been going tits up since we got there." Aaron grumbled. "Want me to turn him?"

"No, you fool! Just tie him up! He doesn't know it, but he has just volunteered to take the fall as Quentin's assistant in this evil plan." With an un-nerving smile Douglas ran his tongue over his teeth. "Yes... imagine the shock when it's discovered that my fuckwitted nephew was in it all along."

Kneeling beside the downed Watcher, Ethan tried to wipe the blood from Wesley's eyes. "Come on mate, wake up. Wake up!"

Smith climbed into the camper, pulled Wesley forward and propped his limp body against the post of the tiny dining table. He turned his attention to the cabinets and drawers, methodically going through them in search of binding. "Rope... rope... rope..."

"Would you please, hurry up!" Douglas ordered, heaving his bulk into the shell.

Aaron pulled a crumpled bag from the back of a drawer. "Oh look, here's your missing 'eye of newt and toe of frog'."

"DAMN YOUR EYES!" Conrad-Chaney cursed, ripping a cabinet door free of its hinges. He dug around for a second and came up with a roll of duct tape which he flung toward his partner.

Snatching the roll out of mid-air Aaron sent it spinning upward and then with a flourish caught it again as is descended behind his back. "Duct tape, perfect. We'll have to change your name to Douglas Conrad-McGyver-Chaney."

The allusion to an old television show went right over Conrad-Chaney's head and it angered him. Clenching and unclenching his fists he took a threatening step toward Aaron. "You are just trying your best to drive me insane! You have thirty seconds to get him bound or I'll..."

"Or you'll what?" Aaron interrupted with a snap of his teeth. "You'll take your bat and ball and go home? Don't threaten me Douglas, old 'friend'." He shot a warning look then knelt down first taping Wesley's wrists together behind his back then adding another long length of tape to fasten them to the pedestal.

"Get his legs and ankles, also!" Douglas ordered. "And his mouth!"

"He's fine, this post is bolted to the floor. But, if you think he needs more, do it yourself." Aaron shot back, giving the tape a toss toward Conrad-Chaney who made no attempt to catch it as it bounced off his chest. He turned his attention back to his prisoner and began to go through his pockets relieving him of his cross. Giving himself a self congratulatory nod of approval, he stood and paced past Douglas. "Let's go, we have work to do."

The slamming of the truck door cut through the haze in Wyndam-Pryce's mind. His body pitched to and fro as the vehicle bumped along the alley. Sick, he felt violently ill and his back and shoulders screamed in protest over the awkward position he was bound into. Blinking through the blood stained tears washing his eyes he tired to focus on the face that flickered before him. Nose to nose in front of him a stranger crouched on his hands and knees. A stranger, but familiar. Wesley half whispered, half mouthed the words "Who are..? Help me... "

Another blink and the stranger came into focus, a horrifying visage of blood and shattered skull. A face he had seen a month before in the Sunnydale morgue and as the recognition came rushing to him he croaked out the name. "Ethan Rayne."

Then it was gone from his comprehension.

"You can see me? You 'can' see me!" The spirit crept closer, hovering over Wesley. "Listen to me. You have to get a message to Ripper! They are going to..."

"I'm losing my mind." Wesley wheezed out as he strained against the tape. "Uncle Douglas.. where's Uncle Douglas? He was behind me and..."

"I'M HERE! LISTEN TO ME!" Rayne shouted to no avail, directly into the captive's ear.

".. he shouted for me to look out and then... he... attacked... me." Like a thunderbolt the truth dawned. For a long minute Wesley sat there then a mirthless laugh bubbled up within him. "And playing the role of the half witted fool, Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"About time." Ethan mumbled.

The tape cut deep into Wesley's wrists as he twisted around trying to pull himself free. Beneath him the tires began to hum against the pavement as the truck picked up speed. Forcing himself to calm down Wesley craned his neck attempting to see out and get a hint of where they were going.

"Damn." He snorted, unsurprised that all the windows which came into view were covered with a heavy black material. "All right, Wesley... think."

"There's a novel concept." Ethan sniped, assuming a cross-legged position on the floor beside Wesley. "Thinking. Where did you pick that up at? Certainly not Watcher's school." The ghost shut his eyes for a moment and for the thousandth time tried to think of some way to cross the barrier between himself and the living. Beside him Wesley began to try to shoulder the tabletop off of its post. He twisted and turned, putting himself into positions that bordered on something out of the contortionist's handbook.

Ethan opened one eye and curled his lip. "That seat's taken, mate."

"Oh, God no!" Wyndam-Pryce exclaimed as he found himself staring directly into the dead eyes of the late Keith Shellenbarger. The shock peaked then drained as Wesley's training took the reigns. He pushed his curled frame up an inch higher, balancing his weight on an unsteady tripod of chin, shoulder and heels. "Turned." He flatly stated, observing the smear of blood across Shellenbarger's lips and teeth. "Splendid, just what we need... a demonic federal agent."

"I've always been under the impression they were demonic no matter what the circumstance." Ethan snotted.

With a twinge, his strained muscles began to warn of impending cramps. Wesley grunted and twisted back down to again sit on the floor.

"I'm going to now do something extremely daft." Wesley spoke to the thin air. "When I was coming to, I saw something."

"You saw me. Just happy me." The specter confirmed with a mock brightness and a wave of his hand.

With much apprehension Wesley asked. "Ethan Rayne, are you here? If so give me a sign of some sort."

"I've been trying to do that for the last damned month! Damn it all to hell I can't make contact!" Ethan bellowed heaving himself over into position in front of the bound Watcher. "

"If I say your name it 'should' make you stronger. Call you forth, and all that." Wesley cleared his throat and gave it a try. "(Ahem) Ethan Rayne make yourself known!"

Concentrating for all he was worth, Ethan stared straight into Wesley's eyes.

"Ethan Rayne!"

"I'm here, mate."

"Ethan... Rayne!"

"Come on.. come on.. come on.. put some balls into it!"

"Ethan... oh, hell." Wesley grumbled. "Not only am I trussed up tighter than a sacrificial goat, I'm also hallucinating. There's nothing here."

"I'm not NOTHING!" Ethan barked as anger, hurt and exasperation peaked within him. He drew back a fist and hit Wesley square in the jaw.

Wesley jerked as the chills went screeching through his body. "What the...? Was that... ah..."

Ethan hit him again bringing forth in Wesley a second round of piss shivers.

"You are here!"

Ethan tried to weave all ten bloody fingers into Wesley's hair. "Damn right!"

Wesley's teeth chattered. "I-I-I be-believe the mes-s-sage has been r-received."

Rayne took his hands off of the living and went back on his heels contemplating what had just happened. "Since you're not screaming, it's obvious that you can't see me. So now what?"

Wesley calmed himself with a cleansing breath then spoke to his spectral companion. "I'm going to ask a question.. or two. If.. if the answer is 'yes' do whatever it was that you just did to make me shiver. If it's 'no'... just... mmmmm.... don't do it. Understand?"

"Sounds like a plan." Ethan agreed reaching out and running his hand down Wesley's chest.

"Do you understand?" Wesley repeated.

"Yes, I understand!" He voiced, touching Wesley again.

"Damn. This spirit must be extremely weak."

The lack of reaction hit Ethan like a hammer. Instantly his temper flashed and he backhanded Wesley.

Wesley felt it and lurched sideways with a squawk.

"So that's the drill! My sodding luck I'd be stuck with you!" Ethan sniped. "Ripper and Rosenberg have enough sense to perceive me but I have to be totally pissed for you to get the first bleedin' clue! Go ahead, say something else asinine!"

"Very well." Wesley mumbled, his eyes darting around the camper. "Is Aaron Smith behind this?"

Ethan drew back then reconsidered and let his hand fall back to his side.

"Quentin Travers?"

"That's not a 'yes or no' there, mate. He started this mess, but..."

"Uncle Douglas?"

"There we go!" Ethan crowed, working out the rage that had built up since his murder.

And Wesley definitely felt the answer. His heart sank and he shuddered at the implications. "Have.. have.. we been lied to? Is he setting us up for the kill?"

Ethan lashed out again. "Like lambs to the slaughter!"

Wesley wasn't sure how much longer his nerves would take the spectral beating. "You seem to be a very angry spirit. I can understand that, you did leave this life rather violently."

The confirmation Wesley felt was exceptionally chilling. "All right, let's change that subject. I need you to do something. My friend, Renée.. she's staying at the Viking Inn out on Highway..."

"Yes! I know!" Ethan said with a smack. "And I've missed all the romps between the two of you!"

Wesley's eyebrows hit his hairline at the unexpected positive from the shade. "Ah... ah... I'll take that as a confirmation of the fact that you know of this place. But Renée is who you must go to. As of the rising of the moon tonight she will be able to see shades. You must find her.. find her and decipher a way to communicate to her what is happening."

"I'll be damned. All this, this time spent wanking off and there was a medium in the Alliance." Ethan raised both hands upward and brought them down onto Wesley's shoulders. "I'm on it!."

Goose pimples shot down Wesley's back.

Ethan scrambled to his feet and trotted to the end of the camper. Looking back over his shoulder he shouted one final bit of unheard advice. "Try not to get killed!" With that he leaped out of the moving truck and found himself standing in the middle of an unfamiliar road. He glanced back and forth trying to get his bearings. "Where the hell am I?"

******

For the tenth time Giles went back to the line and read it out loud. "And on the shore Zagam feasted upon the souls he had wedded." His brow furrowed. "On the 'shore'." He leafed back a page and reread the account of Tibalt's suicide. "Well, it doesn't specify if it was day or night."

Something was still nagging at him. He dropped "Tibalt's Ruins" to the coffee table, picked up one of his tomes and opened it to the bookmark. "Melding - Hell's obscene stain upon humanity." He shut the book. "I have this one memorized and it doesn't shed one iota of light on this mess." Giles sighed, putting the book back down.

The glasses came off his face for a good cleaning. "Mmmmm... maybe, I should get a lift back out to Alliance headquarters and peruse their library again." A slight curl of the lip appeared. "They might have a second collection hidden somewhere that 'I' wasn't allowed to touch. Perhaps the series that also contains those pilfered Watcher's Diaries." The curl became a dark frown. "Still cannot believe they have those."

John snorted in his sleep.

"And 'thank you' for your assistance. You have been such a help in this exercise in futility." Rupert mumbled to the sleeping guard. He wavered for a moment on the edge of giving up, fixing a cup of tea and having a well deserved sulk over the way things had turned out.

He glanced at his watch. "Three-forty. Where are they? Oh yes, out having.. 'fun'." The glasses went back onto his nose and he stood and stretched.

John mumbled something in his sleep and shifted position. Giles gave him a sidelong glance and noticed the corner of a book wedged in-between the seat cushion and the arm of the chair. "Which one? Oh, yes.. that's the spellbook Wesley picked up from their library."

Gently Rupert pried the volume free and took it with him to the kitchenette. As the water heated he leaned against the counter and opened the book. "This one's in French." He thought, his attention going to the title page. "Le Sentier. Very well, let's see exactly what 'The Path' has to say."

Giles adjusted his glasses and began to scan through, running his finger down each of the musty pages.

The kettle had almost boiled dry when he found a section regarding the mid-nineteenth century melding between a vampire named Novykh and a Russian sorcerer from Siberia called Sashenka. "My word." Giles whispered under his breath. "Both preyed on the local population, taking wealth, sexual gratification and command as they pleased. If anyone tried to cross them, the reanimated corpse of a criminal would appear and slaughter the brave fool along with his kith and kin. A classic consensual melding."

"Whereas their opponents realized the truth about this pair, their allies believed they were Holy Men. It was reported that Novykh could hold the blessed gold Cross of the Savior and anoint with the Holy Oil." He shook his head. "Amazing."

The smell of hot metal wafted from the stove. "Blast!" Rupert muttered, removing the empty kettle from the heat and turning off the stove. He stood there for a second watching the glow fade from the burner. "Novykh... that was Rasputin's family name."

He went back to "Le Sentier" and checked the publication year. "1904. Rasputin didn't appear at the Russian Court until a year or so later."

He turned back to the account. "In 1900 Sashenka was cut to ribbons by a detachment of the Tzar's cavalry. Like a madman he had stood with his believers and baited the soldiers, daring them to touch him, while from across the square Novykh egged him on." Giles puffed out a breath. "Madman. Insanity seems to be a thread, but not always." He scratched his head. "Perhaps it happens when the spell goes rotten... or... mmmm... "

Rupert paced over to the front window and stared off into space. "All we have is assumptions and third hand information. We were 'told' that Ethan and Smith melded and then used their combined power to bring a hideous follower into existence. We 'assume' that this creature was defective. We 'assume' it was destroyed by the same hand that murdered Ethan. And finally, we are working with the 'assumption' that this turn of evens resulted in Aaron and Quentin parting company." He gave the bridge of his nose a rubbing pinch. "Tibalt and Sashenka both died foaming at the mouth while Zagam and Novykh remained. It could be that a defective melding gives the vampire the edge to the point he no longer needs his human counterpart."

"The vampire holds the power. That would make sense. A vampire is already vested with demonic possession so the melding would not affect him so harshly." A deep frown creased his brow. "If we throw all logic to the wind and continue 'assuming' all things, let's say that Novykh and Rasputin were one in the same being. Except for his mystical, mesmerizing abilities Rasputin was considered human. He walked in the day, ate, slept, sought shelter and et cetera. Only in his difficult death did the legend arise that he was demonic."

He pursed his lips. "Mmmm.. stretching all logic a bit further we'll again 'assume' that Aaron has the same powers in his possession. His share of the melding, so to speak."

A three car parade pulled into the driveway. Giles pulled the curtain back and found himself grinning at the activity unfolding before his eyes. Xander and Matthew seemed to have been made the official pack mules as an older woman loaded them up with shower gifts to be taken into the house. "That's Janice Blanchard." Giles muttered, remembering her from the previous Spring. "And that young lady, perhaps she is Xander's lady friend? They do seem to be making eyes at each other."

Joyce, Buffy and Willow came toward the guesthouse laughing and chattering between themselves. He watched the second group head up the sidewalk and enter the main house, relieved to see that his son and future daughter-in-law were also home safe and sound.

Dropping the curtain back into place he momentarily returned to his hypothesis on Aaron. "So, if..." He stopped and snorted. "Another 'if'. I'm going to 'if' myself to distraction. But I will have to present to Wesley the idea that Smith is now a modern day Rasputin." A wicked grin crossed his face. "That will set him off quite nicely."

"I couldn't believe that spread!" Buffy said with amazement as she came through the door. "Holy cow! More food than I've ever seen!"

Willow nodded with wide eyed agreement. "I'm not going to eat again for a month."

"I want all those recipes." Joyce added.

Pretending that he was uninterested Giles asked the incoming swarm. "How was the shower?"

"So much fun!" Joyce bubbled, coming across the room holding up a bright purple bag of flowers. "I won the centerpiece!"

"You should have seen the games!" Buffy snickered.

Joyce darkened. "I thought that one was a little over the top."

Willow blushed cherry red, but kept on grinning. "You mean the pin the 'you know what' on the cardboard guy game? Oh Giles, Buffy won a bottle of hot cinnamon whoopee oil playing that!"

"Yeah! All that blindfolded training came in handy!" Buffy shut her eyes and mimed her winning performance of sticking the cutout on the cutout.

Giles arched an eyebrow and looked over his glasses at the group. "I though bridal showers were cake, punch and poetry readings."

The women collapsed into snicker fits.

His nap history, John opened his eyes and added his two cents to the commotion. "You don know Alliance women. Bet dey cut da cake with a sword and had a crossbow shoot."

"How did you know?" Joyce said with mock amaze.

The door crashed open and in bounded catahoula Buffy followed by Xander and Caroline.

"The door, Xander!" Joyce admonished. "It's cold!"

Xander gave the door a nudge with his elbow sending it mostly back into its frame. He ushered Caroline toward Giles. "G-man, this is my amoureause, Caroline Landry."

"A pleasure." Giles said, with a slight gentlemanly bow.

The catahoula jumped up on the couch and sprawled out.

Joyce gave up and shut the door the remaining three inches.

"Yous two my replacement, hein?" John asked.

"Yes, Sir. Luis assigned me to be the guard while the dinner's going on and Caroline said she'd stay too." Xander paused to shoo his dog off the couch. "Buffy, L'terrain. Oh, an by the way, your femme told me to tell you to get out there 'cause you guys have to go and make a bill at the hardware and grocery store."

Giles laughed under his breath at the Cajun pathos and slang peppering Xander's words.

John stood and retrieved his coat from the back of the chair. "Yes, yes... I din forget. She always t'inks I'm gon forget." He mumbled while searching the pockets for his list. Finally finding it in the last possible place he frowned at the roll call of "honey-do's", slung his coat on and said his good-byes. As he left he glanced over his shoulder at Xander. "You keep dem safe. Got dat, Rookie?"

"Yes, Sir!" Xander

"We'll be safe. I don't foresee any problems." Rupert also guaranteed.

As the door shut Xander broke into a huge grin. "You hear that?! He put me in charge!" He rubbed his hands together in not so mock glee.

Giles chuckled under his breath. "Mmmm.. yes, we'll have to find you a riding crop."

Plopping down on the couch, Willow leaned over and picked up one of Rupert's books. "Did you find anything?"

His Rasputin hypothesis suddenly seeming too absurd to voice, Rupert shook his head. "Nothing. Not the first thing. Wesley and I considered some theories, but nothing seemed to fit."

Buffy shrugged. "Well, if you and Wes can't figure it out we'll just have to..." She stopped and looked around the room. "Uh, where's Wesley?"

"He went back to the Inn to be with Renée."

"Say what?" Xander grimaced out. "Wes bailed? When... why... oh man!"

Giles began to clean his glasses. "No reason for concern. He left about and hour or so ago." He held the spectacles up to the light to find that last invisible speck. "He also mentioned that we should not wait up."

"Just so he doesn't get me in a bunch of trouble." Xander huffed. "I'm suppose to be watching all of you."

Caroline patted him on the shoulder. "A, don worry. If he's over at da Inn, he's okay."

******

Wesley recoiled from Chandra's cold touch.

"You don't like me?"

"I prefer my women... living." He said as a matter of fact, scooting over a tad on his chair.

She laughed and ran her fingertips up his thigh. "Coward."

"Don't torment him, dear." Aaron ordered from across the table. "We went out of our way to pick him up some Chinese so let him finish his supper."

The vampress pouted and pulled back a fraction.

"I'm 'finished'." Wesley announced to the pair, pushing the untouched container into the center of the table. A dry smile crossed his face. "Unless you would be so kind as to let me have that pair of wooden chopsticks that came with this meal, then I might be more interested in finishing things."

Aaron rubbed his chin as if considering this request. "Let me think about it... 'no'."

Wesley slapped Chandra's hand off his crotch. "Hellspawn!"

She morphed and snapped her fangs at him. In that same heartbeat Wesley decided that this was his chance. His hand went to his pocket... and came up empty.

"Chandra!" Aaron barked, with a sweeping point toward the living room doorway. "Leave!"

"Douglas said I could have this one." She hissed, jumping back from both Wesley and Aaron's motion.

"I... said... 'leave'."

The unvoiced threat in the vampire's voice and body language was obvious.

Chandra submitted. "Yes, sire."

As the vampress slinked away, Aaron's eyes shifted back toward Wesley. "Did you lose something?" He reached into own pocket and slowly extracted the Watcher's black and silver cross, held it up and stroked his cheek with it.

Wesley felt his stomach knot.

"Amazing isn't it?"

"I'm mildly impressed." Wesley said, forcing himself to appear relaxed.

"I can also stand in the noonday sun."

Wesley looked away. "Congratulations."

"Would you like to know the details of how this came about?"

"I already know." Wesley muttered.

"Oh yes.. I forgot your Uncle has given you and yours so much useful information." The vampire leaned forward. "Some of it was slightly true."

"For your information, I am aware of the identifies of both the ringleader and his cohorts." Wesley said with as much bravado as he could muster. "As we speak Council operatives are closing in on the conspirators within the organization."

With an expression of total boredom, Aaron leaned on the table resting his chin within his cupped palm. "Is that so?"

"Unquestionably!" Wesley crossed his arms. "I spoke with the security chief only an hour before I was taken and he assured..."

"Please, I'd rather you did not insult my intelligence." Aaron cocked his head to one side. "And speaking of 'intelligence', did you know your Uncle is insane?"

The reply came accompanied by a sneer. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you." Aaron smirked out.

"Then what do you say I just stick with the dry facts? I can see that you can hardly contain your enjoyment of this situation. You want to rub my nose in my predicament. You want to make me beg for information." Wesley set his jaw. "Go to hell."

"Sorry. But hell is 'your' next stop." The vampire's lip curled into a half smile. "Unless..."

Refusing the bait, Wesley let the one word hang in the air until it dissolved.

"You're going to die." Aaron promised. "Horribly."

"We all die."

"True, but for some of us it's not the end." He leaned forward a tad. "Unfortunately, for your friends it's all over with the first strike. Collaborate with me and some will survive."

"Never." Wesley met the vampire's gaze. "Council and Alliance, we know the risks of our duty, we accept it. I will not ally myself with you for any purpose. That is treason and I would rather die with my honor than live as a craven fugitive from my conscience."

But Aaron was ignoring the man's proclamation. He inhaled deeply once, then twice drawing in the odor which wafted from his prisoner. His eyes glittered. "Would you like your lover to be among the few survivors?"

Wesley's throat went dry.

Aaron again sniffed the air. "I have her scent, cooperate and I'll make sure she lives."

Wesley remained mute.

"Apricot splash and your cologne, her sweat and your heat, the pheromones and the passion all infused into your skin." Aaron's nostrils flared. "You've been enjoying your holiday. Definitely your 'last' holiday, but it's up to you if you want it to be hers also."

The only sign of emotion from the Watcher was a fleeting clench of the fist.

Heavy footsteps in the hall announced Conrad-Chaney's approach. Aaron gave the doorway a sidelong glance and sat back in his chair. "Think about it and if you're interested in what I can offer you, let me know."

"FINISHED!"

"That's nice, Douglas." Aaron deadpanned.

Douglas went to the sink and began to wash black and red hex signs from his hands. "The old sod, you should have heard him gurgling out his last breath as the noose tightened!"

Aaron smiled wickedly. "Really?"

"Trust me! Williams is a swinging corpse! Dead as hell by his own hand!" Snatching Wesley's coat up from the counter Conrad-Chaney wiped his hands with it and eyed the untouched carryout. "Not hungry, lad?"

"Hardly." Came the clipped reply.

With a snort Douglas dismissed his nephew's mood and plopped his bulk down at the table. Wesley caught the squeaking protest of the rickety wooden chair and caught his breath for a second, hoping that the joins would snap and send this treacherous lump cascading to the floor.

And then he'd at least be able to grab a stake out of the rubble. As his Uncle dived into the rejected fare, Wesley unconsciously rubbed the friction burns on his wrists and thought through the last three hellish hours. His situation was neither pleasant by any definition of the word, nor promising by any stretch of the imagination.

And now the declaration that Williams was dead.. a "swinging corpse". Wesley felt a bead of sweat form. "Williams?" The only man he knew surnamed Williams was the Council Sergeant at Arms. "Dear God... Douglas is also attacking the Council."

His back stiffened and he glanced back and forth between the two conspirators. "Which one was in charge? Or which of the 'three'? Mr. Travers was also in the area, but is he trying to stop this or is he pulling the strings?"

A twinge behind the eyes announced the birth of a headache.

Covertly, he gazed around the kitchen. A decrepit farmhouse, God knows where but certainly many miles out into the countryside. Why else would they have not bothered to bind him?

He centered his attention on the sliding back door, peering out the glass past the unfinished deck. The shadows were long, red-gold haloed blots on the snow. Less than an hour until sunset.

"This is won ton!" Douglas snapped, holding the Styrofoam container toward Aaron. "I told you to get hot and sour!"

Aaron shrugged. "Our friend looked like a won ton sort of fellow."

Douglas turned his attention to Wesley, and spoke about him rather than to him. "He is rather bland. No spirit, no fight.. takes after his father." He sniffed out his disdain and gulped down the soup then with a laugh he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Can you imagine everyone's shock when they discover posthumously what a murdering bastard he was?"

Aaron smiled.

Wesley paled.

Douglas finally addressed Wesley. "You're taking the fall... boy."

"We'll see about that." Wyndam-Pryce growled. Hiding the motion by leaning toward Douglas, he gripped the edge of the table. "Mark my words, you will not prevail." He braced his feet and with all his strength flipped the table up and into the mocking faces across from him.

Conrad-Chaney teetered back in his seat, hung balanced for a microsecond and then went backwards as a chair leg snapped. Aaron snarled and vamped out as the edge of the table came down across his crotch.

Not a diehard fool who would stand and fight such odds, Wesley launched out of his seat and sprinted for the door. Five long strides and the handle was in his hand. Behind him the table went airborne as Aaron heaved it off of his person.

The door slid along its frame for a bare four inches and jammed up against a length of broom handle wedged in the track.

Aaron had him, dead on. With a roar the vampire hit Wesley like a juggernaut and they both exploded through the Plexiglas and went skidding across the icy deck.

Wesley scrambled to keep his balance while using the creature's own momentum against it. Latching on to Aaron's forearm he dug his heels into a spot of bare wood and sent his attacker over the railing in "crack the whip" style.

Conrad-Chaney's bulk came through the doorway. "I'm going to break YOUR SODDING NECK!"

In that split second that Wesley faced his Uncle it registered... yellow eyes. Wesley ordered his body to run and in what seemed to be slow motion it responded. He went down the porch steps and sprinted toward a line of trees a hundred yards off with Aaron hot on his trail.

The outcome of a foot race between vampire and a human is never in question and the winter cold was an additional mark on Aaron's side of the scoreboard. Wesley felt his lungs pinch, protesting the gulps of frigid air he was taking in. Laughing, Aaron pulled up beside just out of arm's reach and matched him stride for stride. "Going somewhere?" He asked with overt amusement. "Even though I find it absolutely exhilarating to have a run through the fields, you're looking a tad winded."

Wesley never saw the slight drifting mound of snow which hid the backyard fire ring. Nevertheless his toe found it and sent him sprawling face down with a thud.

"That was very good." Aaron applauded. "I'll give you a perfect score for effort, but not quite so high for planning." He stepped between Wesley and his escape route. "Now, what do we do now? Should we fight and I kill you or do you want to go back and live to try again?"

"Bastard!"

Aaron ignored the spit curse. "For your information the road is rather desolate and we are over two miles from the nearest residence. Now, the cold doesn't bother me, but you seem to have forgotten your coat and the wind chill is horrible this evening." He took a step back as Wesley went back on his feet and squared off. "Your choice, freeze to death or surrender."

Though the adrenaline was still high, Wesley's teeth began to chatter. "I-I'll Fr-fr-freeze."

Giving his chin a rub the vampire nodded. "Suit yourself. But I'll just wait at your side until you finally collapse in a heap. Then I'll turn you thirty seconds before you die from hypothermia." His eyes drifted back toward the house. "Or we can go with option three and let our elite troops tear you apart."

Wesley followed the gaze. Coming across the backyard was his Uncle flanked by two shirtless, vampires both bearing the proof of the melding spell in the form of an unhealed gash running from their necks downward. He recognized them both, one was the damnable rapist shown in that long ago vision and the other was Quentin Travers.

Aaron pointed toward the creatures. "Look at them. They fear only fire. They have no will but that of their masters." He stepped up behind Wesley and hissed the truth into his ear. "And their masters are none other than Douglas and I."

Wesley felt an eerie calm. "Kill me."

"You're not that fortunate." Aaron chuckled giving the half frozen man a push toward the melded vampires. "Take him to the basement and let him thaw by the furnace."

"I beg to differ!" Douglas raged. "The little bastard's going to freeze solid as..."

"Remember, he has his place in 'your' scheme." Aaron quietly countered.

Douglas's face twisted into a horrible mask. "I've changed my mind!"

The vampires stopped and waited for the final order.

Aaron caught their attention and with a slight wave of the hand signaled for them to proceed in dragging Wesley away. Before Conrad-Chaney could voice his disagreement Aaron gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder and said. "I'm glad to hear that, old friend. Because I have a use for him."