New Girl in Town: Part Thirteen
by Byn
Eliza and Giles were just finishing a candle-lit dinner. After the dishes were cleared, Eliza poured two glasses of white Zinfandel and sipped at hers meditatively. Giles contemplated his new love; she was in deep thought and sinking deeper. He sipped at his own glass for a bit, and then broke the silence between them.

"Eliza," he prompted gently. "What are you thinking?"

Eliza paused a moment before she replied. Now that she and Giles were involved, it was perhaps best that the truth did out now, before he discovered it through other means.

"I think, Giles," she said slowly, "that it's time you learned about me, about a part of who I truly am."

"You're not a vampire, are you?" Giles smiled. Eliza shook her head. "Well, then, let's have it."

As Eliza opened her mouth to reply, the phone jangled. She groaned, and rolled her eyes.

"Figures. Would you wait for me in the den? I won't be long."

"Of course," he agreed and picked up their glasses. He strolled into the pleasant book-lined room. Unable to resist perusing her collection, he set the glasses on her walnut desk and strode to the book shelves. Its contents were arranged in sections; fiction on one side of the room, non-fiction on the other. The fiction was arranged by genre and author. Giles pulled out one of her gothic novels, "Anno Dracula" by Kim Neuman, a rather fun romp through Victorian England that melded historic figures and literary characters of that era together in a "what if Dracula came back and took over" type of thing. He leaned a shoulder against the side of the case.

Giles heard a quiet click and felt the wood beneath his shoulder give slightly. The bookshelf swung inward, unsettling him. He regained his balance and inspected the thing closer. The shelves seemed to be set upon an axis of some kind, and would swing a full three hundred sixty degrees if pushed so. Ingenious, he thought.

He followed through with that thought, and maneuvered the shelves until he heard and felt them catch. Then he looked at the newly exposed set of shelves. A small crucible sat as a centerpiece, surrounded by vials of liquid, bunches of herbs, and some neatly labeled jars. On the shelves above were various volumes of witchcraft lore, and one book which Giles took to be Eliza's own personal grimoire. A sick feeling gathered in the pit of his stomach as his normally nimble mind fumbled with the facts.

Eliza descended the stairs into the room and depressed a well-hidden switch. She released the shelves and swung them back around to their original display. She watched Giles, trying to gauge his reaction. He was closed to her. Eliza reclaimed her wine glass from the desk and sank onto the settee, sipping and waiting. Giles finally recovered his voice and turned from the book case to look at Eliza. His face was carefully blank.

"Was this," he gestured to the bookshelves, "what you wanted to tell me about?" Eliza inclined her head once in affirmation. "Ah. Well. At least you are willing to be up front about it. After the fact, of course."

"Partially." Eliza winced. "May I explain?"

"Oh, certainly, by all means. Yes, indeed, please do." Giles said flatly.

"I . . . dabble in the Art. I am not a serious practitioner, by any length."

"And do love spells and other such enchantments fall within your. . . dabbling?"

"No." Eliza's answer was emphatic. "To use a love spell for your own purposes--to entrap a mate-- is, well, cheating. And I've seen them go awry too often to attempt one."

"Very sensible of you, I'm sure. And-and it’s a relief to know that what happened between us was not induced by artificial means." Giles' tone lost a bit of the chill that had permeated the air between them moments before. Eliza took heart. "Now, if you don't mind, please tell me what exactly it is that you do practice here."

"The impedimenta were my grandmother's. She was a true witch. She practiced magic and died of it, eventually. One of her spells went very wrong; we still don't quite know what happened to her. My mother would have nothing to do with it after that, and everything passed to me.

"When I first moved here during the summer, I realized something was very wrong with Sunnydale. I'd no idea what, but I was determined to find out. It was pure luck that I found you and inadvertently got some of the answers. Then I remembered some simple scrying spells that my grandmother taught me long ago. I tried them, but got very fuzzy answers at best. Something about a great evil that has ruled this town for centuries. I've been trying, very carefully, to find out more ever since."

"And you didn’t tell me because?" Giles prompted.

"Because of Jenny. Because of how she was involved, and how it got her killed. And how you felt about all of it. I thought you'd be upset if you knew. Then, after last night, I decided it would upset you more if you didn't know and found out via other methods, or through other people.

"And you would have. I think some of the undesirables have picked up on me. That's what I think might have prompted the attack on me that night at the school. Someone picked up on my scrying and sought to keep me from learning the truth. I didn't realize it then. But after learning what I have through you, it seems to me that explanation fits the facts. And there's one more thing that's happened because of it. Snyder said that unless I stop teaching my class, my life is in jeopardy. He's afraid that my class is going to open folks' eyes about the vampires and such.

"So, there you have it. Everything I know, out in the open. My deep dark secret. It's up to you, now, Rupert. Decide for yourself what to do."

Rupert picked up his wine glass off the desk and sat in the armchair next to the shelves. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes in thought. Eliza set her glass aside, clasped her hands over her knees and became absorbed in studying the pattern of the rug beneath her feet. Giles opened his eyes and gazed at her as he weighed what she had told him.

"What are you going to do about the class?"

"Stop teaching it, of course. I can continue for Buffy and the rest of them, but I have no choice but to play along here. Not that I like the idea, mind you. I despise being threatened."

"What will you do in its place?"

"Something far less harmful. Maybe Austen's novels, or-or a feminist view of To Kill A Mockingbird. I don't know. I really haven't thought it through completely yet." She sighed.

"Th-that does appear to be the safest course of action. Very sensible. What about your other hobby?"

"I won't touch it, I promise. Obviously that's what got me into trouble in the first place."

"Good. Out of curiosity, what exactly did you see when you cast your spells?"

"A dark man. Tall, powerfully built, and young-looking, but I got the sense that he was centuries old. I can't explain it, but that's was what I felt when I saw him. The vision blurred rapidly and disappeared seconds after his image appeared."

"I see. Tomorrow, then, we'll take a look through the literature and see if we can't locate him. I think it's time for me to say goodnight." Giles placed his now-empty glass on the desk and rose. Eliza rose also, uncertain of her status now.

"I see." She silently followed him to the living room. She held his coat as he shrugged into it, and smoothed it over his shoulders. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Yes. T-tomorrow," he replied, looking down at the throw rug in front of the door. "Good night."

"Good night." She held out her hand to him. He took it and squeezed. She placed a swift kiss on his cheek, winning a slight smile from him. Giles walked out the door and down the steps to the driveway. He unlocked the car door and turned to look at her, the soft candle light glowing behind her. He waved briefly and got into the car, started it, and drove off.


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