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“If I wanted to keep information about the history of my family, where would I keep it?” Joyce asked, as the two of them made their way down the deserted hallway.
After Wolf Fergusson stormed off, their hosts stayed in the sitting room, giving Giles and Joyce the perfect opportunity to “snoop” around until dinner was served. They had to find out what the Fergusson’s were hiding, and learning the truth would be the only thing that would help them find their way home...back to Sunnydale...back to Buffy.
“There’s only one place I can think of...” Giles suggested.
“The Library.” they said in unison.
After several minutes of searching the closed doors of the downstairs, hoping and praying that they wouldn’t be discovered, they finally came upon the Library. Or, as Willow so often said, ‘Where the books live.’ Giles only hoped that they would find what they needed to know, among the vast amount of books that adorned the giant Mahogany cases.
Giles closed the doors behind them and looked at the hundreds...no, thousands of books and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Joyce asked, puzzled at the Librarian’s behavior, “I thought you would be in you glory among all these books. I mean, as Buffy would say...you live for this stuff.”
The Watcher, gave a side glance over to Joyce, who had a mischievous grin on her face, and couldn’t help cracking a small smile, “Believe me, if this were any other circumstance, I would tend to agree, but...”
“But?”
“But,” he sighed, “Now, we are going to have to sift through all these books to find what came looking for. And as much as I love books...we are pressed for time.”
Joyce looked a bit defeated, “I see your point,” then it suddenly occurred to her, “Well...if I had such a huge Library, how would I arrange my books? How would you?”
Giles thought about it for a minute, then answered, “I would put the most read books, or the ones of greatest value, where I could reach them...on the lowest shelves. But how do you know, they would do the same?”
“Because,” she figured, “they’re related to me...and habits tend to be passed down through the generations. Besides I have this feeling like we’re meant to find the books.”
“What gives you that impression?” Giles asked, moving to the first self on the left.
“I don’t know exactly...I just have this feeling.”
“Oh great,” Giles chuckled, “More Woman’s Intuition.”
“Hey,” Joyce returned the banter, “Don’t knock it. It’s been know to save many a man’s butts from time to time.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
They continued their search in silence, each one starting at the opposite end of the horseshoe stacks, and working their way to its’ center. Every once in a while, Giles would steal a glance over at Joyce, who was concentrating on the matter at hand. He shook his head, chastising himself for being so distracted. He was a man who prided himself on his ability for research, and efficiency, and now could barely keep his eyes on the many books right in front of his face.
Earlier, when he first saw Joyce in that Red dress, he told her that she looked lovely. He was wrong. She was absolutely stunning. The dress fit every curve of her body, as though it were tailored specifically for her. She was the epitome of grace, beauty and intelligence...and the dress just finished the image. He shook his head and continued to scan the leather books.
He was not falling for Buffy’s Mother. Was he?
He was concentrating so hard on not concentrating on her, that he didn’t realize how close they were until they reached for the same book. His hand covered hers, and for a moment, her swore he felt her body quiver slightly at his touch. Images of the night at his place flooded his mind...and invaded his heart. He might have been under the influence of cursed candy, but he knew what he liked...and what he wanted. But that was Ripper, and this was now. And Rupert Giles would never do anything to jeopardize the relationships he had tried to hard to forge with Buffy and Joyce...
“Um...Mr. Giles,” Joyce said, unable to break the gaze they shared, “I...I don’t think this book is that heavy, that I can’t hold it myself. Do you?”
“What?” he asked, breaking the spell that had come over them, “Oh....y-yes...r-right,” he blushed, quickly letting go of her hand, and dropping the book, “S-sorry. I was just....h-have I told you how lovely y-you look tonight?”
Now this time Joyce blushed, “Yes, you did. Several times.” There was an uneasy moment of silence between them, as they where unsure of what to do, or say, next. ‘This is silly,’ she thought, ‘We can’t keep going on like this. One of us is going to explode!’ Finally she decided to end the silence, “Mr. Giles...Rupert, we really need to talk about...”
“Ooo!”
“Ooo?”
Giles picked up fallen book, “I believe we’ve found the answers we’re looking for.” He held the book up so she could read its’ cover.
“Diaries of the Looking Glass,” Joyce read, “by, Shawnna O’Connor...1743. That’s about one hundred years before this time...if our assumptions are right. And look, here’s another one, by Brianne McDermott...1559!”
“Yes...yes,” Giles said, barely able to contain his excitement, “It appears that these diaries date all the way back to 1343. I must hand it to the women of this family, they were well educated for the times, and noble in breeding. This is fascinating...”
“Rupert,” Joyce said, handing another beautifully leather bound book to him, “Morag’s diaries. There are several volumes...see? But, I can’t understand them, can you?”
Giles studied the Gaelic writings for a few minutes and nodded, “I can read them, yes...it might take a moment or two to translate the text, but I think I can do it. Where to you want to start?”
“At the beginning,” she suggested, “The day the mirror came into her possession.”
“Good enough place start,” Giles agreed...and began to read...
A clip from Morag Fergusson’s Looking Glass Diaries: as translated by Rupert Giles:
June 21, 1835:
Today the Looking Glass, and all the secrets it holds, was passed down to me, as it had been for generations. Today, my Mother died. It was a somber occasion that is certain, but not completely sad. She had achieved more in thirty two years, than most women, or men for that matter, would have achieved in a lifetime. She was a keeper of the Looking Glass. And now, that responcibity falls on my shoulders. I only hope that I honor my mother’s spirit, by continuing the proud tradition.
August 3, 1835:
Wolf came by the other day wanting to see the Mirror. He claims that he is just curious, but I know better. There is something not right about our cousin...not honest. Gussie tells me that I’m just being foolish, that Wolf is a good man, if not a little misguided. Perhaps, but still...
August 7, 1835:
Umma, one of our servants came to me today with disturbing news. She was cleaning Wolf’s quarters and discovered Witch’s herbs and talismans. I never knew that he was interesting in the black arts, but I will not have it in my house, or near the Mirror. Should he be foolish enough to cast a spell, it could have dire consequences on us all.
August 31, 1835: The moment I feared would happen, did. Wolf was determined to use the Mirror for his own dark purposes, and now, will pay the price for his foolishness. I was woken from my sleep by the calling of my name. Since the entire house was asleep, I could only assume that it came from the Mirror itself. I quickly went down to see if everything was all right, and found Wolf standing in front of it, reciting an ancient spell, I dare not repeat.
Then I saw something that I would not soon forget; images began to flood the glass, flashing to the next with ever increasing speed. Images, of which I do not understand, and which frightens me; great iron machines that filled the sky, horseless carriages moving on strange black roads, and people...oh, so many faces flashed before my eyes, that I almost fainted from the sight. Suddenly the images stopped on the face of a monster. Or was it a man? I couldn’t tell which, for it’s features changed too quickly to be of the mortal world. But I recognized the creature from the legends that my mother used to tell me...it was a vampire.
Before I could do anything, a light shot out of the glass and threw Wolf back onto the floor, and the Mirror went dark. When Wolf awoke, he seemed somehow different, babbling over and over about being cursed by the Mirror. I knew not what he meant, but I wanted no part of this madness. And neither did Gussie. My dear, dear husband did the only thing he could do...banish his cousin from our estate, forever. But before he left, he vowed that one day he would return and reclaim the Mirror...and his soul.
December 9, 1835:
The Looking Glass has been dark ever since Wolf cast that dark magic over it. Now, as if awakening from a long slumber, it has come to life, bestowing upon me images of the future, and a woman I do not know. She is dressed strangely, and her blonde hair is too short for what is considered proper, yet her face brings me great comfort. There is something familiar about it...almost as though I have seen her face before.
End of transcription...
Giles flipped through the pages and looked at Joyce, who stood with her mouth agape, “It goes on telling about the birth of her daughter Meg, and how the images of you came at greater frequency as the years went on. Morag learned, through the Mirror, that you were the descendant of her cousin, Wolf Fergusson.”
Giles put the book down and found a diary dated April 12, 1843. He opened it and read the words to himself. He then turned the page and stopped.
“What is it?” Joyce asked, “What does it say?”
“She wrote about how she saw my image in the Mirror with yours, and knew that it was for one reason: that we where meant to protect the Mirror, even thought she wasn’t sure exactly how. So, she cast the spell on the Mirror.”
“And?” Joyce asked, anxious to hear what was written next.
“And...nothing else,” Giles answered her, showing her the book, “That was the last entry. It ends with: ‘They have arrived...and so, it begins’.”
~~~~~~ Angel sat at the desk, reading the pages in the diary quietly to himself. He wanted to make sure that what he was reading was right. It had been over a hundred years since he read in Gaelic, and he could have been wrong. He hoped he was wrong. But after the twentieth time of going over the same text, gave him similar results, he was convinced that this was no mistake.
“Angel, you’ve been staring at that thing for hours,” Buffy nudged, “And I’ve seen that look before. You knew what it said the first time you read it. So, what gives?”
Angel looked at her mournfully, and answered, “I just wanted to make sure that the translation was right. And it is.”
“And you’re going to share...when...?” Buffy asked.
All eyes where glued on Angel’s next response, except for perhaps Willow, who was busy typing at the computer, trying to dig up any information on Morag Fergusson she could find on the Net.
“Okay,” he hesitated, “But...please understand that it’s been awhile since I’ve read in Gaelic, and I might have miss-translated some words...”
"Man, what’s with you Vampires,” Xander quipped, “You guys really have a flare for the dramatic. Read it already!”
A chorus of agreements prompted the 240 year old vampire to begin with the first sentence of the first page, “April 12, 1843: They have arrived...so it begins...”
The gang, including Wesley, listened intently as Angel read from the diary, unfolding the events of the day, as though it was just happening. He told about how Giles and Joyce came through the Mirror, and how all of the inhabitants of the manor mistook them for husband and wife...
“Husband and Wife!” Buffy practically shouted, interrupting the tale, “Giles and Mom?!?”
“Buffy,” Angel smiled patiently, “Do you want me to continue, or do you want us to set aside some time for you to rant?”
“Read.” She sulked.
He continued reading, getting passed the part where the Vicar came for dinner, when he was interrupted, yet again, “Okay, who here thinks we’ve just entered a romance novel?” Oz piped in. All hands in the room were raised, including Wesley’s. When he got a slightly annoyed look from Angel, he added, “Just checking. Continue.”
He began again, but this time stopping when he got to the last several paragraphs. He looked nervously at Buffy and the others.
“Why did you stop?” Buffy asked.
“Look, I told you before that my translation might not be completely accurate,” he said lowering his head, “So, please keep that in mind. I could be reading this part wrong.”
Buffy got up from her chair and walked over to her lover. She sat down next to him, and put her hands on his, “Angel, I know why you’re doing this...but we have to know what happens to them. No matter how bad it is.”
Angel place his hand on her face and looked lovingly into her eyes, and action that didn’t go unnoticed by Xander. He took a deep breath and read, “ ‘Mr. Giles, though not married to Joyce, sacrificed his own life in a noble attempt to save her’s. If they had never expressed their true feeling for one another before, the final look they shared, told it all. They did love each other, more than either would admit, and now, they will never know, for he died in her arms.’. ”
All were stunned into silence.
Willow got up from the computer and walked with unsteady feet over to Buffy, “Giles...dead? I-it can’t be true, right? I mean, Angel said that he might have misread it...”
“No,” Buffy said sadly, looking at the expression on Angel’s face, “He didn’t misread it. It’s right. So, what else does it say?” she asked Angel, almost afraid to know.
“There is one more line... ‘Wolf has the Mirror-the end is near’. Then it repeats itself, with only a few minor variation. But in every entry it ends the same; Giles dies, and Wolf Fergusson gets the Mirror.”
“Well, the Mirror wasn’t destroyed, because here it is,” Willow said, going over to the computer, “So, if this Wolf-guy got the Mirror, and it’s still in one piece, than maybe the thing about Giles isn’t true. All I have to do, is find the history of Morag Ferguson and prove you wr...oh...”
“Oh, what?” Wesley asked, “Please tell me that is a good ‘oh’.”
Willow shook her head, “No, it’s not. I found the history on the Fergusson’s, and you’re not going to like it.”
“I’m not liking this now,” Xander sighed, “I can’t get much worse.”
“Oh, yes it can.” Willow sounded depressed, “According to history, on April 12, 1843 a fire swept through the Fergusson Manor destroying the entire estate. The only thing that survived was the Mirror and this book.”
“Mom?” Buffy’s voice seemed small.
Willow just shook her head.
This day was going from bad to worse.
~~~~~~ A man stood on the roof of the Library lurking in the shadows, and waiting for the right moment. Time was running out, he knew that. But he didn’t know why. Only that he had to get to the Mirror, or he would be trapped in this world, and in this retched body for all eternity. There were too many of them protecting the Mirror, he thought, as he watched through the sky light. But no matter how many people got in his path, he could not ignore the calls of the Looking Glass, as it beckoned to him.
He looked up at the starry sky and somehow knew that dawn would not be far away. Then he would have to hide away from the deadly light of day. But, as he backed away from the roof, he forced himself to remain calm and serene, even though end was approaching. This night, and his first chance to get the Mirror, was almost over...but he quest had only just begun...
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