Part Three

Rupert pulled up in front of his flat, as visions of a shower, drink and perhaps falling asleep on the couch in front of some mindless television program formed in his mind. Lord he was tired! He slid out of the cramped driver's seat and stretched. Three hundred thirty miles folded up like a pretzel, but it was worth it. He chuckled softly as he reached back in for the McDonalds bag. "Three hundred thirty miles there, three hundred thirty miles back at the spur of the moment." He mumbled to himself. "At one time you would have planned six months in advance for a trip of that length." He eyed the fast food sack then looked down at his attire - black jeans and thick flannel shirt. "Rupert old boy, you are going native."

With a final laugh he slammed the car door and went around to the trunk.

"Rupert Giles! Got a minute?"

Rupert's smile faded as he turned to see Detective Stein and another Sunnydale detective coming across the street toward him holding their ID's up for him to see. "I think we know each other." Stein began. "This is my partner Detective Marcum. You just getting back from somewhere?"

"Ah... yes." Rupert answered uncomfortably as his mind began to race with the possibilities of why these two were here. "I've been in Coloma since Sunday. What is the problem?"

Detective Marcum opened an envelope and handed Giles a Polaroid snapshot. "Did you know this man?"

The past tense in the question caused a chill to run up Rupert's spine. He took the photo and slowly held it up. "OH JESUS GOD!" He averted his eyes and tried to regain his composure. "Ethan.. is that Ethan Rayne? What... what... who?"

"You knew him." Stein said as a statement of fact.

Giles thrust the photo back toward Marcum as he tried to force coherent speech from his suddenly dry throat. "Y-y-y-es... I know... k-knew him."

Stein nodded and arched an eyebrow. "You seem to know a lot of the bodies we find."

"What do you mean by that?!" Rupert snapped, an action he immediately regretted. He stood there blinking at the detectives, the hair rising on the back of his neck as he realized he might be a suspect. "My God... I had nothing to do with this. I've been out of town for the last four... almost four and a half days." Rupert's voice got a little high and he took a step back. "You can... you can contact Mr. Yannucci, the river tour operator. I arrived at the camp at noon on Sunday, checked in as soon as I got there."

"We already know that. A Miss Willow Rosenberg told us where..."

"WILLOW!" Rupert's eye's went wide. "HOW IS WILLOW INVOLVED? HAS SHE BEEN HARMED?!"

Detective Marcum waved his hand toward Giles. "She's okay. Calm down." He exchanged a glance with Stein and took Rupert by the shoulder. "This morning Miss Rosenberg found a device attached to her computer, looks like someone planted it to collect her incoming and outgoing messages. She called one of the computer instructors over at the college who called us after he got the number where this thing was sending the info. A couple of uniforms went over there and saw the victim through the basement window." Marcum flipped open his notepad. "Do you have an address for his next of kin?"

"Not specifically..." Rupert shut his eyes and thought. "... ah, he has a brother, Edward Rayne. Last I knew he lived in... in..." He ran a hand back through his hair as his mind went blank for a second. "Oh hell...in.. Felixstowe. He's a crane operator in the employ of the Port of Felixstowe."

"Where's that?"

"Britain."

"Spell it."

"B - R - I.."

"Not that!" Marcum snapped.

"Oh... sorry." Giles rubbed his forehead. "F - E - L - I - X - S - T - O - W - E. Again , sorry about that. I'm not thinking too clearly at the..."

"Do you know who would want Mr. Rayne dead?" Stein butted in.

"No I don't."

Stein opened his notepad. "Are you sure about that?"

Taking a deep inhale, Rupert steadied himself before he answered. "On risk of sounding cold, Ethan was not... was not a likable fellow. I never went to him, he would always search me out and trouble would soon follow." He paused and shook his head. "I am shocked, but not surprised that he has met with a violent end. But as for what he was involved in recently, I cannot help you. I have not seen him since last autumn."

Looking up from his notes Stein continued to question. "Did you introduce him to Miss Rosenberg?"

"He knew Willow, through me. But I never formally introduced the two of them." Rupert's eyes narrowed. "Did he plant that infernal thing in her room?"

"We don't know, lab's checking it for prints." Marcum took notice of Rupert's changing attitude. "You think he would?"

"I will tell you this truthfully, I would put nothing past him." Giles clenched a fist as the thought went through his mine. "And if he did, he's lucky to be already dead." Rupert gritted his teeth as the shock turned to barely controlled rage at the possibility that Ethan had violated Willow's privacy. He quickly hid his emotions and turned to unlock the trunk. "If I think of anything else I will contact you. Now, please excuse me."

"How long did you know him?"

Rupert removed his bags from the trunk before answering Stein. "Since 1975. Now may I go?"

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Stein asked.

"I'm not in a hurry, I'm just very tired and there is nothing more..."

"Couple more questions."

Rupert slammed the trunk.

"Was Mr. Rayne involved in the drug trade, either as a user or a dealer?"

"As far as I know he quit using years ago." Giles answered as he turned back toward the detective. "Anything else?"

"What else was he involved in?"

"Ethan was a thief, a liar and an opportunist..." Rupert began.

"And your friend?" Stein interjected.

"At one time... yes. But as I said we no longer saw each other on a soci..."

"Why would he spy on Miss Rosenberg?"

For a split second Rupert considered telling the truth but decided against it. "I don't know."

Marcum stepped between Rupert and his partner and handed Giles his card. "If you think of anything, give us a call."

"Yes... I will." Rupert's relief that this questioning might be drawing to a close echoed in his voice.

Stein gave Rupert a disquieting look. "You should have my card. But I think we'll be stopping back in to see you. Where are you working now?" He arched an eyebrow. "I'm assuming that you are no longer with the school system, since that 'gas explosion' destroyed the high school."

Rupert caught the inflection and slight curl of the lip at the reference to 'gas explosion'. Of course Stein knew more than he let on. "I'm unemployed at the moment. I've been reduced to cashing in my investments and living off a small inheritance." He looked Stein in the eye. "You have no idea how I wish the city had taken care of that 'gas' problem years ago."

Stein dangled the bait. "Off the record Mr. Giles. You got any speculations as to what came down here?"

"Off the record?" Giles repeated not averting his gaze from Stein who gave a slight nod and closed his notebook. "Off the record, Ethan Rayne was a very powerful sorcerer and very proud of it." Rupert gave them a nod. "Your turn, how did he die?"

"Funny.... real funny." Marcum snapped.

"Quid pro quo? Fair enough." Stein countered then tossed his head toward their unmarked car. "Get in and we'll talk privately Mr. Giles." As Rupert walked away Marcum gave his partner a covert nod of approval and began to reread his notes.

"Okay Mr. Giles, let's get on the same page. I know what's been going on, but I could never do shit about it. Marcum just moved here from LA, looking for a quieter place." Stein laughed. "Boy is he in for a shock."

Staring out the passenger window Rupert just nodded at the detective's statement then repeated his question. "How and when did Ethan die?"

"Execution style. One bullet in the back of the head, close range. Went straight through his head and the monitor. It looks like he was sitting at the computer when the perp came up behind him and popped him. The computer geek said the unit had last been accessed forty-nine hours before and the condition of the body confirms about that time span. So he was shot sometime about 9:00 Tuesday morning, give or take a couple of hours." Stein tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "Your turn."

"I'm thinking." Rupert answered then went silent for a moment. "The only way Willow's involvement makes any sense is if Ethan was trying to harm her to get at me." He turned to Stein. "I have thwarted Rayne's black magic more than once and Willow is a Wicca. Sorcery could possibly be a common thread." He gave Stein a nod. "Were there any signs of someone else being involved?"

"The place is a rental. We're still lifting prints, but the tech said it looked like his all over the computer. His fingertips were scarred so it made that an easy call. So you think he came back to get at you and the perp followed him in?"

Rupert took off his glasses and rubbed his face. "Entirely possible, and that narrows it down to jealous men, wronged women and angry victims of his confidence games." He replaced his glasses and looked over at Stein. "I believe that if this involved sorcery, Ethan's demise would have been much more... creative. In a way the bullet was a blessing."

Stein sat back and sighed. "I'll buy that. And in a way I'm glad this might be a cut and dried normal homicide." He snorted and gave Rupert a nod. "As opposed to a 'Sunnydale Saturday night Special'."

"Sunnydale Saturday night Special?"

"Bar-b-que fork in the neck." The detective grinned. "Little gallows humor there."

"Very little." Rupert dryly commented. "May I go now?"

"Not yet." Stein answered pulling out one of his cards. "I'm going to give you my home phone number. If this does involve black magic or the like I want you to clue me in, because you owe me more than one."

Rupert's puzzled look asked the question. Stein pursed his lips as he handed the card off. "I know Miss Summers takes care of the undead elements of Sunnydale, I know you and that other guy are her keepers and I've left you both alone to do the job."

"Thank you, and I will keep you apprised." Rupert said simply as he opened the car door.

"By the way, Miss Rosenberg and Miss Summers called your pal Wyndam-Pryce from the morgue. He took them home."

"Oh God!" Rupert's face twisted into a grimace. "Why did you subject Willow to.."

"Had to. Victim's wallet was gone but the landlord said he rented it to a Ethan Rayne."

"Why couldn't the landlord take the responsibility?" Rupert reshut the door with a slam. "The top of his head was blow to hell! How could you..."

"Landlord never did a face to face and they recognized the name." Stein interrupted. "They're okay, we had a cloth over the exit wound." He tossed his hand toward the door. "You can go now, don't leave town."

Rupert flung the door open with enough force to make the hinges squeak in protest, then slammed it with equal vigor before stomping across the street. Deliberately ignoring Marcum he collected his bags and crossed the yard toward his flat.

Stein smiled as his partner picked up the long forgotten McDonalds sack and came back to their car.

"You pissed him off." Marcum laughed as he got in.

"Yeah, rule one... keep his asshole in a permanent pucker." Stein jerked his head toward the sack as he started the engine. "Is there a quarter pounder in there?"

"Nope. Looks like a couple of chicken sandwiches and a fry. So, did he spill?"

"A little bit. I'll take one of those sandwiches. He confirmed that both he and that redhead are into that magic shit and that so was the stiff." Stein paused to unwrap the sandwich. "He tried to steer me toward the jealous husband scenario."

"Yeah, pissed off husbands always stop to carve a mark of subordination on them. Shit! These are just plain, no lettuce, no mayo." He dumped the crime scene photos out onto the seat and shuffled through them until he found the one showing Ethan's chest. "Someone wanted him to stay put."

"Until they were done with him."

"Guess they were done." Marcum dryly observed. "Looks like there's a new player or two in Sunnydale."

Stein reached over and tapped his finger on the photo. "Is that real hard to do?"

"Not easy, not hard. It's middle of the road." Marcum took another bite of the sandwich and held up the photo of Ethan slumped in front of the gore splattered computer. "But this is defiantly easier."

"Whoo! Whoo!" Stein interjected sarcastically as he noticed Wesley's van pass two lanes over. He looked in the rear view catching a glimpse of the turn signal and brake lights as Wyndam-Pryce approached Rupert's street. "Well so far so good. His buddy is heading over there to tell him about everything."

"Or tell him 'mission accomplished'."

Stein bit into his sandwich. "Maybe."

******

The canvas bag rolled the last several feet before coming to rest at the base of the stairs, followed by the second which remained airborne breath of the room. "There was no reason to drag Willow down there!" Rupert slammed the front door to punctuate. "NO REASON! Thank you Ethan, old 'friend', even in your demise you managed to bollock things up!" He stood for several long seconds allowing his anger to cool before deciding what to do next. Taking off his glasses Giles rubbed his face and let an hissing exhale escape from his lips. "Wesley took them home... splendid. Does that mean back to the dorm, or his flat or God knows where?"

Heading over to the phone Rupert stopped and stared at the display on his answering machine. "Eight messages? Well I wonder what those are about?" He muttered sarcastically as he hit the button.

The mechanical voice blared: You have eight messages. Message one - Sunday October twenty fourth - two fifty two PM - (beep) "Hey Old Man.. I... ah.. we need to talk. Call me as soon as you get back. When you get back today, 'cause we're leaving early tomorrow morning. Ah... so call me here, in Columbus. Later."

"That did not sound good." Rupert observed, then hit 'next'.

Message two - Sunday October twenty fourth - six nineteen PM - (beep) "We're taking off right now for Vermont. Ah... I really need to talk to you. Bye."

Message three - Monday October twenty fifth - twelve oh one PM - (beep) "Cripe Old Man! Ain't you ever home? Listen call me at 802.. 555... 1616 that's Ray Karn's place. This is important. Bye."

Rupert fumbled for a pen to write the number down and frowned. Why was Matt up at Karen's father's house? From all he had heard about the difficulty between Mr. Karn and Matthew he could not see him popping by for a social call. "Eight oh two, five..... oh hell." He poked at the answering machine to get it to repeat the message.

Message four - Tuesday October twenty sixth - five forty four AM. (beep) "Ah... me again. Where are you? Does this thing work? We're still in Vermont. Call me!"

"No, damn it... message three, blasted thing."

Message five - Tuesday October twenty sixth - eight fifty nine AM. (beep)

"That's when Ethan died." Giles whispered to himself as the machine noted the message time.

"Hey Dad, ah... listen I 'I.M.'ed' Willow and she told me you were gone 'till Thursday. And... ah.. well by then we'll be back in Columbus. So call me... or I'll call you then... or whatever. Bye."

Rupert tossed the pen and pad down. "What is going on with him?" He again hit 'next'.

Message six - Thursday October twenty eighth - five oh eight PM. (beep) "Giles! It's Buffy. Listen, I don't like telling you this on the phone, but... but Ethan might be dead. Someone bugged Willow's computer and it was traced and they found a body. We have to go down to the morgue and see because the lease was in his name so it might be him. We'll be over or get back to you as soon as we can. Bye."

Message seven - Thursday October twenty-eight - five fifty three PM. (beep) "Mr. Giles! It's me, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Please pick up if you are there! I'm calling from the morgue and... just pick up... pick up the sodding phone! (mumble) Oh blast it! I will call you later!"

Message eight - Thursday October twenty eighth - six forty nine PM. (beep) "Mr. Giles? It's me, Joyce. Buffy and Willow are going to stay here for the night. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is here also. Could you please come over as soon as you get home. Buffy was right, your ah.. friend is dead. Bye-bye now."

Rupert glanced at his watch. "Almost seven-thirty, it's getting late in Ohio... first things first." He whispered to himself as he picked up his address book. Giles sat down on the sofa and dialed. In spite of himself he smiled as Matt answered on the first ring.

"Hey Old Man! How was the white water? Ain't you getting too old for that.. Gramps?"

A hard rap on the door entered Rupert's left ear as the final word of Matt's opening line hit his right.

"Would you repeat that?" He asked as he went to the door and motioned to Wesley and Joyce to come in.

"Mr. Giles! Thank goodness you're home did you.."

Giles hushed Wesley with a wave of his hand and returned to the couch. Sitting down with a plop he listened to Matt's news occasionally adding a "that is wonderful" or an "of course".

"He doesn't look like much of anything is 'wonderful'." Wesley quietly observed taking in this end of the conversation.

Joyce took a covert glance at Rupert and wondered what was up. Wesley was right, Rupert's words did not match the concerned frown which was plastered across his face. She sat down across from Giles and idly picked up a book from the coffee table. "Alchemy's Lost Fire." Joyce arched an eyebrow at the title and put it back on the table. "Doesn't he ever read, 'Newsweek'?" She wondered as she settled back into the chair and tried to close out the phone conversation. This was a mess. She remembered Ethan from that night with the band candy, not a nice man, but still she felt sorry that he had been murdered. Willow was extremely upset - there was an understatement, and Buffy had clamed up - again.

"I will be looking for the invitation. Yes, yes.. it is quite a bit of news. Goodbye Matthew, my love to Karen." Rupert disconnected, pressed the phone against his forehead and mumbled something under his breath.

Wesley stopped pacing. "Is there a problem?"

Rupert shook his head. "Matthew is going back to school."

"Ah... splendid. Now did you get our messages?"

"And he and Karen are getting married." Rupert hung the phone back up. "Nuptials are next month in Vermont. You're invited also Wesley."

"Who's Matthew?" Joyce asked.

Giles slapped his hand down on the coffee table. "Idiot! How is he going to work and go to school and support a wife and a.. a... never mind."

Wesley rubbed his chin. "Wife and a...? Tell me, does that missing word begin with 'B'?" He chuckled a bit before adding. "Grandfather Giles, it does have a nice ring."

Joyce's jaw dropped. "Grandfather? I never knew you were a father!"

"Realistically, I wasn't. It's a long story." Rupert ran his hand back through his hair and glared at Wesley. "You're here about Ethan, correct?"

Taking the hint that is was time to change the subject, Wyndam-Pryce wiped the smile away and sat down. "Unfortunately.. yes, that is why we are here. I take it you got..."

"What I 'got' was interrogated by the authorities." Giles interrupted. "Two Sunnydale homicide detectives were waiting on me to return. I told them what I knew about Ethan, which is sorry little."

"Did they ask you about this?" Wesley dug a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Giles. "It was cut onto the deceased's chest, Willow drew it from memory so it might not be completely accurate."

"Accurate enough." Giles said with a hissing exhale. "Mark of subordination."

"That's what Wesley said he thought it was." Joyce said in a worried tone. "So what does it mean?"

"It's hard to say."

Joyce's face went dark. "Don't lie to me Mr. Giles. I'm here for answers."

"Joyce, I can only speculate..."

"Then speculate!" Came the barked response. "I have learned to accept vampires and demons and witches and werewolves. But this... this is in a way, worse. This is human evil." Joyce pointed a finger at Rupert. "I will not be in the dark on this, tell me what you think."

"The Council."

Wesley leaned back in his chair and snorted. "Oh yes, the Council. Your favorite scapegoat. Is there anything you will not lay on their doorstep?"

"Why would the Council want to do something like this?"

Wesley shook his head as he answered Joyce in Rupert's place. "They would not! The Council has left both Buffy and Mr. Giles alone since June." He replaced the glasses on his nose and punctuated the statement with a sharp nod. "I am their representative and I can guarantee you that there has been absolutely no increase in contact from them; no dire threats; no dark dealings and no reason for you to believe that they have decided to move into homicide."

"And how much longer do you think they will sit back and wait on Buffy to 'come to her senses'?" Rupert snapped. "I would wager that your twice monthly reports of 'no change in the unfortunate situation' is getting on their nerves."

"You are being paranoid! No! More than paranoid... you are out of your mind!"

Joyce slapped her hands together and shouted over Wesley. "Left you alone? Buffy come to her senses? Twice monthly reports? What are you two talking about?"

"Buffy quit and Wesley has been ordered to stay here and lure her back into the Council's sphere of influence." Rupert made a cluck noise and leaned toward Joyce. "I take it she did not tell you this?"

"Oh why would she tell me anything?" Joyce pointed her finger back and forth at the two men. "Why would she tell me anything about her leaving the poobah of Watchers? Why would she tell me anything about this Ethan being your old friend? Why would she tell me anything about you sending reports?" Her voice went shrill. "Oh hell! I'm just her damned MOTHER!"

Rupert leaned his head into his hand. "I'm sorry."

"YOU'RE SORRY?!"

"Yes Joyce, I am. Please believe that." Giles said softly. He braced himself for another outburst but none came, instead only the simple question:

"Are the girls in danger?"

"I think so." Rupert answered then shot a glance with Wesley. "But that might just be my 'paranoia'."

Wesley stood and went to the window, staring out into the dark front yard as he thought. "Very well. Let's assume.." He turned back toward the other two. "..'assume' that is, that the Council was using Mr. Rayne to accumulate information on Willow. That brings the simple question to the forefront... why?" Wesley waited for a moment for a response then added his thoughts. 'When I saw Willow's drawing, my first thought was that the undead had again hired Mr. Rayne for a scheme. A 'job' so vile that, after the details were presented to him, he refused. So they marked him and when they were finished, they murdered him."

"Vampires would not have shot him."

"A vampire is capable of pulling a trigger." Wesley countered.

"And waste all that fine blood?"

Joyce put her hand to her mouth and grimaced. "Mr. Giles, please."

"My apologies Joyce. It was just a statement of fact." Rupert looked back toward Wesley. "Also, Ethan was murdered at 9:00 AM, well after sunrise. He was sitting at his computer when someone entered and took him by surprise. This leads me to believe that the perpetrator was human."

Wesley's eyebrow shot up. "How do you know this?"

"The detectives told me that much." Rupert let out a ragged exhale. "And I think they consider me a suspect."

"But you were gone." Both Joyce and Wesley said in tandem.

"Thank God." Rupert said with a bit of a tremor in his voice. "If I would have been in Sunnydale at the time of the murder, I am sure that I would be in a cell at... the... moment." His voice faded out and an expression of horror crossed his face as he mumbled half to himself. "At the time of the murder, Oh dear God!"

"What is it?" Joyce asked as Rupert slid across the couch to the answering machine and began to replay the messages.

You have eight messages. Message one - Sunday October twenty fourth - two fifty two PM - (beep) "Hey Old Man! I... ah.. we need to talk. Call me at home as soon as you get back. When you..."

"Mr. Giles?" Wesley began only to have Rupert motion him over to the machine.

"Get this damn thing to play... ah, four or five!" Rupert ordered.

Wesley shook his head. "Of course, really Mr. Giles it is very simple..."

"DO IT! Save your instruction for a later time!"

Message four - Tuesday October twenty sixth - five forty four AM. (beep) "Ah... me again. Where...."

"Not that one!"

Message five - Tuesday October twenty sixth - eight fifty nine AM. (beep) "Hey Dad, ah... listen I 'I.M.'ed' Willow and she told me you were gone 'till Thursday. And... ah.. well by then we'll be back in Columbus. So call me or I'll call you then."

"That's it. Matthew and Willow discussed my travel plans via the computer." Rupert slammed his hand down on the end table and swore.

"I'm still not following what this means." Joyce interjected with a wave of her hand.

"You are not alone." Wesley added.

Rupert ripped off his glasses and waved them toward Wyndam-Pryce. "Willow is our Achilles' heel. Put her in danger and all reason goes out the door." He stood and began to pace as the scenario formed in his mind. "Set Ethan up so it appears that he is after Willow for whatever reason, I go over there and thrash him, they come in behind me and murder him."

Wesley finished the statement. "And you go to prison, Buffy is left without a mentor and she returns to the fold."

Joyce shuddered. "And since you were gone they couldn't do it that way."

"Precisely!" Rupert agreed. "I went up to Coloma at the spur of the moment. An indulgence which I felt I needed."

"I still find this hard to believe."

"Open your eyes Wesley! Look at your own training, reflect on your own commentary: 'sometimes it is necessary to sacrifice one for the good of all'." Rupert spit out the words.

"That was uncalled for!" Wesley shouted back into Giles' face.

"STOP IT!" Joyce yelled, stepping between the two men. "I just thought of something!" She glared back and forth to make sure they were going to hold their tongues. "Whoever or whatever did this is now working on plan 'B'! I don't want either Buffy or Willow to go back to the dorm and I don't think it would be a good idea for you, Mr. Giles to be without an alibi. All of you should stay at my house."

Rupert shook his head. "I don't think I need to impose on you."

"I insist!"

Wesley replayed the message and gave a grudging nod of agreement. "As much as I hate to admit it, it does seem rather foreboding that Mr. Rayne died at the same time this message came through. It would probably be a very good idea if you would stay with either Mrs. Summers or myself for the duration."

"I can take care of myself." Rupert grumped. "Anyway, your flat is piled floor to ceiling with books and it would not be proper for me to stay at Joyce's. End of discussion."

"No it's not." Joyce countered. "I have a guest room that is just sitting there. And it's not like you're moving in with me." She flashed him a wicked grin. "Are you?"

"J-J-J-JOYCE!" Rupert sputtered.

"I was a joke. Come on Rupert, just until they catch whoever did this."

"I have an idea." Wesley said. "Let me make a phone call or two, just to ease your mind."

"Do not call the Council!" Rupert said, his voice rising. "At the very best they will morn the fact it is not me laying in the morg..."

"I am not 'that' stupid!" Wesley barked.

Joyce rolled her eyes. "Don't you two ever talk at a normal volume?"

"Oh yes!" Wesley sniped. "On the rare occasion that he is not being 'impossible' we have had civilized conversation. In matter of fact, I remember one back in... July perhaps, or was it August? Anyway.. he was actually civil for all of..."

Rupert tapped a finger on the coffee table. "Back to the subject at hand, if you don't mind!"

Wesley grinned at Rupert's mood for a second. "If you insist. As I was saying, let me ring up my sponsor, Uncle Douglas."

"He is back in their good graces?" Rupert asked incredulously. "After that 'incident' in Paris five years ago..."

Wesley paled a bit. "Ahem! Water under the bridge... he now realizes the 'error' in his judgment."

"What did he do?"

Giles snorted at Joyce's inquiry. "Oh it was a delight! You see, I am not the only 'black sheep' in the Council's flock."

"Too achieve his... mission, that is to collect information... he bodily tossed two vampires out a window." Wesley tugged at his collar for a moment. "It did work, even though it drew unnecessary attention."

"What Mr. Wyndam-Pryce fails to mention is that the balcony was on the sixth floor of the Villa Opéra Drouot, in the middle of the theater district." Rupert gave a grim smile. "Oh, and one more thing, it was twelve noon and quite a few passersby's witnessed these creatures falling to earth, flaming like Haley's comet."

"He was severely reprimanded." Wesley interjected.

Joyce blinked. "Un-huh... So you think this Uncle of yours would help?"

"Of course he would."

Rupert's face clouded. "I do not like it, but not knowing would put us at a greater risk. Exactly what is your dear Uncle Douglas's position now?"

"He is in charge of acquisitions. He travels all around the globe ferreting out rare tomes and manuscripts." Wesley leaned toward Joyce. "He has contacts, world and 'other-worldly' wide. If there is a connection between the events here and the Council he would know. I'll simply present it as a concern of mine that Buffy might be in danger, it would be logical for me to ask. We can trust him."

"And until we hear anything you are staying at my house." Joyce added.

With a heavy sigh Rupert agreed with both. "I still don't like it, but since I am outnumbered... fine, make the call Wesley. All I ask is that you be discreet. And Joyce, yes, yes... if it will make you feel better, I will spend a few days as your guest."

Wesley stood and adjusted his jacket. "Then it's settled."

"As 'settled' as anything ever is in the Hellmouth." Rupert mumbled under his breath