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Giles and Joyce froze as the door to the drawing room slowly opened. “If that’s a little girl searching for a white rabbit,” Joyce whispered, “I’m really going to start questioning my sanity. Or maybe yours.”She saw a smile tug at Giles’ lips. Then a stunned look came to his face as he watched the opening door. Joyce turned to follow his gaze.
The first thing she noticed was long curly hair. Golden brown curls on a small head. Their visitor was indeed a little girl. So far only her head and shoulders appeared inside the room as she peered around the door. She seemed to be no more than six or seven years old. Her hair was long and thick, cascading in waves around and past her shoulders. Brown eyes danced with excitement as she looked at Joyce and Giles, and a sensitive mouth grinned broadly.
Before either Giles or Joyce could say anything, the child ducked out of the doorway and back into the hall. They heard her footsteps echo in the corridor outside the room. Putting the chair down, they moved toward the still open door.
“I’d better go first,” Giles said softly, moving in front of Joyce.
“I don’t think there’s anything really dangerous out there,” Joyce replied. “I mean, if that little girl felt safe in coming in.”
“Still, it pays to be cautious.” Giles looked out into the hall, then stepped outside.
She followed on his heels. As they prepared to leave the room, Joyce felt excitement stirring in her. She had asked Giles how he could live without knowing what was coming next, without the “comfort” zone of the mundane. Now she was beginning to have an inkling of the allure of adventure. While she was still nervous about their circumstances, she was more curious about what had brought them to this house – and why.
They were in the front hall of a rather large house. A mahogany table stood in the middle, a vase of flowers in the center. A staircase was to their left, the front door to their right. Past the stairs were other doors, all closed. No one else was in the hall.“We could try to leave,” Joyce said.
“Where would we go?” Giles countered.
A noise from beyond the stairs caught their attention and they both turned sharply. A man closed one of the doors behind him and approached them. He was of average height and weight, with a balding head and sharp blue eyes. From his dress and the way that he carried himself, Joyce suspected that he was the butler.
“Welcome. I am Malcolm. Mrs. Fergusson is awaiting you in the library. Please come this way.”
Joyce looked up at Giles. He smiled gently and offered his arm. “It seems that we’re expected. Shall we?” he asked.
Slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, Joyce took a deep breath. “What was it you said? ‘We accept the reality in which we’re placed?’”
Giles’ smile broadened and Joyce felt herself relax. Whatever was going to happen, she knew that they were in this together. They fell into step behind Malcolm.
* * * * * Cordelia tried not to let her nervousness show as she stood before Buffy and Xander. Ever since her breakup with him, Cordelia had been wary when near him. She never wanted Xander to know how much seeing him still hurt. To that end, she usually attacked, trying verbally to inflict on him the pain that she felt when she’d found him in Willow’s arms. Forgiveness had never come easily to Cordelia Chase. As much as she wanted it to. It was easier to pretend callousness – and there was less chance at being hurt again.
Still, she couldn’t stay away, continually finding some reason to join them in the library. Sometimes it was like biting on a sore tooth. Other times she wanted just to be a part of the gang again. The only place she’d ever felt accepted for herself and not for her social position or clothes or her “coolness factor” – or out of fear.
“Cordelia!” Xander said a little too enthusiastically.
“Oh, please!” she shot back. She turned her attention to Buffy. “Is Giles anywhere around? I have actual homework and I need to find a book on Edith Wharton.”
Buffy half-smiled. “Gee, Cordy, I’m sure that Giles would love to drop everything just to help you type the name Edith Wharton into the catalog, but he’s not here right now. But Wesley could probably help out. He’s in Giles’ office.”
Xander smiled and nodded. “In Giles’ office,” he echoed, pointing the way.
“Oh!” Wesley. Cute Wesley. At least Cordelia thought he was cute, in a kind of klutzy, nerdy way. It was fun flirting with him and watching him blush right up over his ears. While she’d never before been attracted to guys so much older than herself, she found him – endearing. And a complete change from Xander.
She started to turn on her heel and head straight for the office. But something held her back. This didn’t feel right. Buffy and Xander were practically pushing her toward the new Watcher.
Cordelia turned back to them. “Okay. What gives?”
* * * * * Malcolm led them down a hall just to the right of the staircase. He stopped at the second door on the right and opened it, leading them into a large room. Shelves filled with books lined three walls of the library. A woman rose from a settee to greet them. She had dark brown hair, almost black, and clear green eyes. Her clothing was in keeping with the rest of the house. Their hostess wore a long dress of forest green. The outfit was more casual than most dresses that Joyce had seen in old photographs. Around her neck, she wore a silver Celtic cross.
“Ye’ve arrived then,” she said. “Meg told me that you were here.”
Meg was evidently the little girl who had released them from the drawing room. She sat on a chair to the left of the settee, bouncing a bit, still showing how excited she was at their appearance. Joyce smiled at her. As she did, Meg ducked her head, stopped bouncing, but then shyly met Joyce’s eyes again. Like the woman, the girl wore a dress appropriate to the place they’d come to, but again it was a very casual outfit, this time in deep blue. Turning back to Giles, Joyce saw that his attention was riveted to the shelves of books. Just as she had been mesmerized by the art in the drawing room, the extensive private library of the house fascinated him.
“Will ye sit?”
Their attention was snapped back to their hostess. Joyce made her way over to the settee, while Giles went to the chair to the right of them. He waited for Mrs. Fergusson to resume her seat before taking his own. The Watcher’s display of manners always pleased Joyce. So few men bothered. It was comforting to be with a man who cared about such things.
“That’ll be all for now, Malcolm.” As the butler left the room, their hostess smiled at them. “I can see that you’re both confused, and I can hardly blame you.” Her voice had the lilt of a Scottish accent. “I’m Morag Fergusson. And this is my daughter Meg. We’ve been waiting for you.”
* * * * * “And why should I do anything for you?” Cordelia asked Buffy, her voice filled with as much contempt as she could muster. While she was partly excited by the prospect of being part of the gang again, Cordelia was also annoyed that she was being used only as a distraction for Wesley.
Buffy furrowed her brow. “Because of all we’ve been through?” she tried.
Cordelia’s expression didn’t change.
“Because this is something worthwhile?”
Again, no reaction.
Xander finally spoke. “Because if Wesley knows what’s going on, he might – correction, he will inform the Watchers’ Council and who knows what might happen to Giles and Buffy’s mom then. The Council might decide to come over here and take the mirror back and that could screw things up big time. We all know that being on the Hellmouth is the reason so many things happen here. If the mirror gets taken to England, it might never work again.”
“Right!” Buffy agreed. “At least here, we can keep an eye on things.”
Cordelia considered their arguments for a moment.
“Cordy?” Xander was looking intently at her. “I know you have every reason to hate me. I can’t blame you. But Giles has never done anything to you. And neither has Buffy’s mom. They need our help right now.”
Feeling herself relenting, Cordelia looked over her shoulder toward the office. “Okay,” she finally said. “But only for Giles and Buffy’s mom. Certainly not for you.” And as she walked to the office, she almost believed it.
* * * * * Giles leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t understand. How could you have been expecting us?”
“Well, perhaps I misspoke,” Morag replied. “I really wasn’t expecting you.” She looked at Joyce. “I was expecting you.”
“Me?!” Joyce was stunned.
“Aye. You’re the one I saw in the mirror. Then, today,” Morag continued, turning to Giles, “I saw you for the first time. That’s when I knew that the time had come.”
As Joyce tried to absorb that information, Giles spoke up. “How could you have seen her? She only saw the mirror a short while ago? Time had come for what?”
Morag laughed. “One thing at a time! First, tell me ye names.”
Joyce found her voice. “I’m Joyce Summers.”
“Joyce Summers. Strange. That doesn’t sound like a Scot name.”
“No. It’s my husband’s name.”
“Him?” Morag asked, nodding toward Giles.
“No!” Joyce replied, a little too strongly. She looked apologetically at Giles. “No, I’m divorced. My ex-husband’s name is Summers.”
“Then what is your own name? You’re a Highland lass. It’s in your face, your eyes.”
Her own name. Joyce smiled. “Joyce Margaret McAlister.”
Morag looked her up and down. “Aye!” she said, satisfaction in her tone. “It fits ye.” She turned her attention once again to Giles. Joyce followed her gaze. “I thought when I saw you in the glass that ye were Sassenach. But ye’ve Highland blood as well.”
Giles appeared surprised by the pronouncement. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied. “My mother was Scottish.”
“Sassenach?” Joyce asked.
Giving her a sheepish grin, Giles answered. “English.” He looked toward Mrs. Fergusson. “My name is Rupert Giles. And I have to ask about your seeing Joyce is the mirror. How long have you seen her?”
Morag sat back. “For as long as I’ve had the glass,” she answered. “Eight years now. Since before my Meg was born. I only saw you today, Mr. Giles. That’s when I knew that the time had come. That you would both be coming here. I said the spell that would seal the room and we all left the house. Meg, though, said that we had to leave tea for you, in case you in hungry.”
Giles nodded at the little girl. “We were,” he told her. “Thank you.”
“Thank you very much, Meg,” Joyce said in turn.
The child grinned at them. “You’re welcome.”
“But getting back to the mirror,” Giles continued, “I don’t think I understand the significance of your sealing the room. We’re here because of a spell that I said.”
Meg giggled.
“Is that what ye think?” Morag asked, appearing equally amused. “This was not of your choosing, Mr. Giles. You’re here because you were meant to be here with Joyce.” She placed a hand over Joyce’s. “It’s she that was chosen.”
Giles looked a bit miffed at that, and Joyce suppressed a smile. “Why?” he asked. “Why Joyce?”
“Perhaps because she’s Highland. And you for the same reason."
"Of course!" Giles exclaimed. "The spell on the mirror is in ancient Gaelic!"
"Aye. But I don't why you're here. It must be something very grave to draw you from wherever you were to this place and this time. Whatever it is, you won’t be leaving until it’s done.”
Joyce was wary. “And how long will that be?”
“I don’t know. It might take days or weeks. Or only a few hours.”
Joyce jumped to her feet. “Weeks?! My daughter will be frantic!”
“Calm yourself,” Morag replied. “Time doesn’t move the same way in two places.”
“Like the Chronicles of Narnia,” Giles murmured. “She’s right, Joyce,” he said aloud. “It’s likely that when we return, no time at all will have passed in Sunnydale.”
“Like the City on the Edge of Forever,” Joyce said, sitting down again. “But I still don’t understand how you could know to call me.”
Morag shook her head. “I didn’t choose you or call you,” she explained. “The glass did.”
* * * * * As the sun set over the manor house, the shadows in the wood lengthened. A man stood on the edge of the trees. He had sat for hours, watching and waiting. And there was no doubt in his mind that the time was near. And he would be ready.
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