Chapter 11

"Dr. Higginbottom, what is your assessment of your subject?"

Lydia's pulse raced. She must be professional. Her unfortunate lapse the other night was just that: a lapse. It's well known that vampires have seductive powers to lure their victims. That's all it w. . .

"Dr. Higginbottom, do you think he's telling the truth?"

"Mr. Travers, I have no way of assessing William the Bloody's ability to tell the truth. I do know that he was a vicious killer for many years, although the killing does seem to have stopped recently. He thrived on violence and mayhem; in fact, he still does. He's just channeled his destructive tendencies in another direction. But there's no guarantee that he will continue to be our ally if the chip were removed. And there's no guarantee that his," Lydia blushed, "current affection for Ms. Summers will be constant. What if Ms. Summers were to reject him, once and for all? Would he still feel the need to fight the forces of darkness? I think not." The title of chapter three of her thesis flashed at her accusingly. "Monogamy and Vampiric Sexual Behaviour: Drusilla the Mad and William the Bloody". Lydia was lying, but what was the old saying? "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorn'd"? Unfortunately, the fury didn't make the guilt disappear. Unlike William the Bloody, she had a soul.

"I concur with your assessment, Dr. Higginbottom. As usual, you are quite insightful about Mr. Bloody." Quentin Travers took a sip of tea. Tea, such a civilised beverage. Calming. And after seeing Ms. Summers' test results and losing a very expensive piece of computer equipment, Travers needed something to calm him. Tea would suffice for the moment, although a good Scotch would be nice. But he would abstain; he needed to have a clear head. "Now about the Summers' situation."

Dr. Higginbottom nodded and consulted her notes. "You didn't tell her everything, Mr. Travers."

"I know. It was necessary. It might have affected her performance or hastened her . . . descent if she knew."

"I agree. It's better that she doesn't know the potential consequences of her condition. We need her to fight for us as long as she can. After all, another Slayer will not be called."

Travers sighed. "Yes, the Faith problem. If anything . . . unfortunate happens to Ms. Summers, we may have to deal with her." He took a final sip of his tea, draining his cup. "Dr. Higginbottom, as you know, I must return to England. But I agree that you should stay here to observe Ms. Summers, Mr. Bloody, and the rest of her friends. We cannot be too careful. Of course, if you see anything unusual, you must report back to me posthaste."

"Naturally, Mr. Travers. I will happily be the Council's eyes and ears."

"Very good, Dr. Higginbottom." Travers smiled wryly. "Care for a nightcap? We probably both need one."

The thought of alcohol made Lydia nauseous. "No, thank you, Mr. Travers. I would like to peruse my notes, organise my thoughts. However, I do appreciate the offer."

"Very well, Dr. Higginbottom. I bid you good night."

Lydia read her notes until tears blurred her vision. It was so very sad.

***

Watcher's Diaries, vol. XX, series 3: 1660-1700

23 April 1661

Today was a day for great Rejoycing; for now our Lord and Soveraigne King, Charles II, rules our Fair Isle. I fervently Hope that ye Unrest that has lately Marr'd our countries complexion, might be over, and that Peace and Prosperity will once again be England's Handmaides.

My dear Slayer was resplendent in her Coronation Gowne. Even ye Monarch noticed her exceptionall Beauty and Charm, although in soothe, he noticed many of his Female Subjects this day. Another also Favour'd her with admiring glances. I do not yet know his Name, but I will ask Pepys. Although a Slayer may not be married, perhaps she may find some little Happiness while she lives.

J. Spencer

***

1 July 1661

Pepys tells me his name is Reggio. He's of Italian extraction. As a Rule I do not place much Faith in the Character of those from ye warmer nations. They are Irrational and Hot-blouded, and in Amorous Matters tend towards Jealousie.

My Slayer has been Training, and although her long Gowns hinder her progress, she has become quite expert with ye Crossbow. She has threatened to take up ye current Playhouse style and dress in Breeches. While it may be Practickall, such a costume would do little for her Reputation. I have discouraged this Idea greatly, as only Actresses and Courtesans dress in such a Lascivious manner.

J. Spencer

***

24 December 1661

It is almost Christmas and in spite of our Good King's povertie and the rebellious Spirits in the Land, we celebrate with all the Vigour and Merryment deny'd us under the cruell Reigne of Cromwell and his Sonne. The Dancing and Revells were quite good, as was the wine. Much better than Pepys' sack!

My Slayer receiv'd a practicall gift from me: new Arrowes for her Crossbow and her much desir'd Breeches. Proprietie is superceded by Expediencie. The Forces of Darkness are gathering, and my Slayer must be able to fight them without impediment.

My Slayer gave me a newwe Diurnall for my scribblings, which pleas'd me muchly.

J. Spencer

***

3 June 1662

I have been much Deceiv'd by this Manne, if I can call him suche, Reggio. He is a Beast of the worst kinde. He has corrupted my Slayer in the most grievous Fashione. I saw her, drinking his Bloud. An abomination! Altho' he had not sampled her, completing his darke taske, I neverthelesse ran him threw mightily. He became the dust which he by all things naturall and goode should have been many decades before. My Slayer is resting, but the harlote shall never regaine my trust. I have been too soft in my treatment of the girle.

J. Spencer

***

5 November 1662

Tonight Guido Fawkes was burn'd againe in Effigie. On this night my Slayer died. Altho' I am now marked as Murtherer, I knowe I did my Dutie well. She did not Worke for the forces of light, but had fallen into perpetuall Darkness. The Demon bloud Boyled within her untill there was nothing left and she turn'd upon the one who Lov'd her truest and Beste: her faithfull Watcher. Whosoever finds this record, forgive me my Death and Pray for my Soule. Self-murther is Sinne, but Life is harsher torture than Eternall Fire.

J. Spencer

***

"I'm worried about Buffy. Something just doesn't seem right."

Xander Harris ran a hand through his freshly cut hair. Anya had dragged him to the barber, muttering about shaggy dogs and weddings. His hair felt strange. He'd liked it long. Made him feel more bohemian and not so much like a boring construction worker.

Willow nodded and shoved another cookie in her mouth. She was upset so she made cookies. So what if it was past midnight? After the impromptu Scooby meeting at Buffy's house, they had all departed, bemused and concerned, and by common consent continued the meeting sans Slayer at Xander and Anya's apartment. Shortly after their arrival, Willow had taken over the kitchen.

Willow swallowed a big bite of comforting chocolaty goodness and answered her newly shorn friend. "I totally agree Xander. Buffy was kind of like Stepford Buffy. She didn't seem sufficiently wigged about the abomination thing."

Anya smiled and took another cookie. "These are really good Willow, but if I keep eating them, I will be a fat bride."

"Don't think you need to worry, hun." Xander squeezed Anya's shoulder.

Anya noshed happily on her cookie. "You know, maybe Buffy was just tired of being upset. She couldn't take being unhappy anymore, so she just decided to be happy. . . Oooh! I just got a walnut! Xander, are nuts an aphrodisiac?"

Tara laughed softly. "The nuts don't work for me personally, but who knows?"

Willow looked fondly at the blonde witch and winked. "Anya, go back to the part before the nuts. What did you say about Buffy being tired of being upset?"

"Well, I mean Buffy's gone through so much. Her mother dying, her sister being a Key, losing her boyfriend Riley . . . and she probably hasn't had sex since he left so that can't be helping . . ."

"Focus Anya . . ." Willow was beginning to lose patience.

"I just meant that she's gone through a lot, and maybe she's just too tired to react to her abomination status. Besides, it sounds like a pretty excellent deal to me. All of the powers, none of the evil! I'd be happy too. Sometimes it's nice having powers."

"Wouldn't know, dear. And I have to say, I'm pretty grateful you're not a vengeance demon anymore. I mean, I wouldn't like my parts to fall off every time we got in a fight."

"Oh Xander, I wouldn't do that to you! I'd just be punishing myself!"

Xander looked slightly embarrassed, but he kissed her anyway. At least her mouth would be busy.

Willow rolled her eyes. "Getting back to Buffy . . . you know Anya, I think you may be right. Maybe she's really OK."

"Let's hope so." Tara grabbed the last cookie and shot a significant glance at Willow. "But I think we should keep an eye on her, just in case we think she needs . . . "

"Extra help?" Xander laughed bitterly. "You know, in spite of Buffy telling me I'm her 'heart', I still feel like the buttmonkey. I've been thinking. I've been hanging out with the Slayer for five years now, and even though I've clocked all this field time, I've never really done any training. I just don't want to be a liability to Buffy."

"Oh Xander, you're not that. You help." Willow opened the oven door and took out the next batch of cookies.

"Yeah, how?"

Willow slid the gooey cookies onto a plate and brought it into the living area. "Well, the thing you did with the wrecking ball was pretty neat."

"Yeah, but I still get my ass kicked on a regular basis, and maybe it's time to do something about it."

"Nothing that will be painful or hurtful to your body I hope?" Anya's brow furrowed with concern. She didn't like the sound of this. It was bad enough that her boyfriend--her fiancé--wanted to hang out with the Slayer all the time, fighting evil and risking his life. Now he was getting ambitious. This did not bode well.

"Nah, I was just thinking of getting Buffy to teach me a few self-defense moves. Maybe Spike could help too."

Bits of cookie flew from Willow's mouth "Oh God!" she shrieked and began to laugh uncontrollably, "I never thought I'd hear those words from Xander Harris!"

***

"Slayerrr."

The word was a soft whisper, almost a purr.

"Slayer."

His lips traced their way down her neck.

She shivered.

"What should I do, Slayer?"

She felt blunt teeth graze her neck. She looked into his eyes. So blue. So dangerous. So gentle.

"Take me."

"As you wish, pet."

Spike's fangs broke her skin, and she felt her life draining into his mouth. It was not unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all.

Knock, knock, knock.

What was that?

Again, knock, knock, knock.

Buffy jolted out of sleep, breathing hard and grasping her neck. Wildly she looked around for Spike. Thank God. She looked at her hand. No, her hand was clean. No blood.

Knock, knock, knock.

She'd fallen asleep on the couch. Time? 1am. Who would be knocking on her door at 1am?

Spike.

She didn't want to see Spike. Not right now.

Buffy drew a shaky breath and opened the door anyway.

It wasn't Spike.

A tall dark haired woman stood before her, her face full of anxiety and anticipation. "Are you the Slayer?" Her voice had an Eastern European accent.

Buffy knew this woman. The woman from Prague. Her stomach sank. With a shaking voice she answered. "Yes."

"My name is Lena Petrovich. I have come very far to find you."

Buffy nodded, but could not speak.

"I am looking for the vampire, William the Bloody. I must find him." Lena Petrovich paused and tried to compose herself but her efforts were in vain. Her shoulders shook and she struggled for breath. "I am sorry to greet you like this, but you see . . . "

Buffy knew what was coming. She wanted to run. She didn't want to hear this.

" . . . he killed my family."

End of Part 11

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