Anya wasn‘t looking forward to telling the others that they weren‘t wanted, so she drifted back to them as slowly as possible. Carlyle had made himself comfortable on the staircase and looked entirely at home; Andrew was studying one of the many portraits, bouncing up and down on his heels with nervous energy.
‘How about this place?’ he called out to her. ‘We’re totally gonna live at Theed Palace!’
‘No, we’re being kicked out.’ She slumped down onto the very first stair. ‘They only want Giles; we have to go.’
‘Where?’ asked Carlyle.
‘I don’t know.’
‘If we’re not with Giles, does that mean no more vampire attacks?’ wondered the Watcher.
‘I don’t know,’ Anya said more forcefully - why did men always need to be told what to do?
‘Do you think we should talk to them, see if they‘ll change minds?’ Andrew sounded hopeful.
‘I don’t know!’ cried Anya. ‘It’s very unfair of you of both to expect me to sort everything out. I don’t have a plan, I don’t know what to do and I want Giles back - at least when he doesn’t know what’s going on he shuts up.’
She rested her elbows on her knees and hid her face in her hands to escape Andrew and Carlyle’s puzzled and slightly scared-looking faces. This was her fifth day in England and everything had gone wrong already. Rings and Immortals - she didn’t care what Giles said, it wasn’t right, she could feel it. Just once in a while would it kill him to acknowledge that she had over a thousand years experience and take her advice? For someone so clever he could be so dumb, and stubborn, and pedantic, and now she had to leave him behind. Her eyes began to feel hot and itchy as tears started to form.
‘Anya.’
‘Leave me alone.’
A hand gently pulled hers away from her face, and Anya found herself looking straight at Giles.
‘I’m not going to leave you,’ said Giles quietly. ‘How could I?’
‘But they said…’
‘They said a number of things,’ the anger was evident beneath his measured tone. ‘And they are wrong, so we are leaving.’
Anya sniffed then smiled up at him.
‘Good.’
The first part of their journey had been quite exciting. Whatever The Committee had said to Giles had turned him into Mr Decisive. He’d led them from the house, announced that they were going to The Coven, guided them across two changes on the tube and then stalked through the crowds at Paddington as if they simply weren’t there. Anya trailed after him, quite taken with his detached aggression; Giles was kind of hot when he was pissed off.
It was Carlyle who changed the mood. They’d grabbed a table on the packed train, there were four seats and exactly no leg room. Carlyle had been quiet, but then clearly couldn’t contain himself any longer.
‘This is doomed to failure,’ he said to Giles who was sat opposite him. ‘Do you know what they are capable of?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’ll kill us all.’ Anxiety made Carlyle’s voice loud and everyone within earshot stared at him.
‘Those pale guys at the house are going to kill us?’ asked Andrew, stunned.
‘No, and we are not discussing this i-in public.’
Carlyle turned to Anya and Andrew. ‘Forgive me, I am going to be quite rude,’ and then spoke in another language. Giles glared at him before answering back in the same tongue. Their conversation was a little hesitant at first, with frequent digressions into English, however they were soon speaking with fluent ease.
Carlyle was right, it was way rude to exclude her and Andrew from a conversation about something happening to all of them. Pretty slick though, she didn’t recognise a single word of what they were saying, and guessed that it must be a fairly obscure language for Giles and Carlyle to be so confident that no one else would capable of understanding them. Maybe there were currently millions of people somewhere on Earth using the same words, not to talk of death and demons, but to order coffee, scold their children and say their prayers. Or had the two scholars casually resurrected a language that had died long ago and was now known only to the select handful who possessed the intelligence, inclination and dedication to master it?
As time wore on, the mysterious conversation became more of a monologue as Giles’ responses got shorter and less frequent. He looked even paler than he had done last night, and once again was holding his right hand to his chest as if trying to keep it safe from further harm, although there was only a small cut across his knuckles, and no indication of real damage. Giles shifted in his seat, but seemed unable to relax. He might as well have been wearing a t-shirt that read ‘I’ve been hurt.’
‘Are you okay?’ Anya didn’t know why she bothered; the answer was obvious.
‘Fine.’
Make that a t-shirt which read ‘I am lying.’
********************
Yet again Carlyle looked out of the window and then checked his watch.
‘Not thirty seconds has gone by since last time. Please give it a rest.’
Giles knew that he should probably leave Carlyle alone, but he was finding the man’s compulsive behaviour hugely irritating and impossible to ignore. He, Anya and Carlyle were sharing the back seat of a taxi, as Andrew sat up front apparently getting on famously with their driver, who possessed an almost comically broad Devon accent. Giles doubted that Andrew could understand more then half of what was being said to him, yet he seemed to be coping well.
‘I’d still be taking a gander at ’merica. She’m won’t have none,’ said the driver.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Dunno know what she‘s giving it, says ‘tis one ‘tis all.’
‘What do you think?’
As the driver launched into a more detailed explanation of the workings of his wife’s mind, it occurred to Giles what a skilful listener Andrew was. When he chose to he could be puppyishly enthusiastic, and instinctively asked questions that made other people talk more - a useful talent for a potential Watcher to have.
‘It’s getting dark,’ said Carlyle.
That was the problem. Shadows had been long when they’d reached Plymouth station and now after half an hour in the taxi, night was falling and fast.
‘We’ll be there before it does,’ said Giles, hoping that he sounded calm.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
After a pause, Carlyle turned to the window again.
Eventually the roads became narrower and more twisted, until finally the car crunched slowly down the long gravel drive of The Coven.
‘Coneys,’ tutted the driver in disgust, as a couple of rabbits weaved between the beam of the headlights. ‘Bugger off!’
To Giles’ intense relief Anya hadn’t seen and was mercifully unfamiliar with the dialect name for her least favourite animal. Rabbits and their overwhelming presence in the local landscape was a conversation for another time. Her reaction to this news was likely to be explosive, and he had no present desire to face it.
The massive oak door opened, and there stood Cassie.
‘Welcome, you’re all so very welcome,’ she said in the lilting accent - so different from his own - that Giles had always adored. Giles brought Cassie’s hand to his lips as was his custom when in her company, she threw her arms around his neck as was hers.
Over Cassie’s shoulder, Giles saw Anya’s eyes narrow in suspicion and nearly laughed out loud at her barely-concealed assumption.
‘Come on in to the kitchen, tea’s brewing.’
The kitchen was as he remembered it, though unusually full. Empty chairs were pulled out, and plates of home-made biscuits proffered. Giles acknowledged some familiar faces, but hesitated in the doorway: it was all too much.
‘A-actually Cass, can you show me where I can put this?’ he gestured with his bag, willing her to understand his need for peace.
‘Sure, this way.’
They set off down an echoing, flag stoned passageway.
‘Everyone seems pleased to be bothered by unexpected guests,’ he observed.
‘Guests are a gift, hospitality a pleasure, and your call gave us more than enough warning. Don’t fuss so,’ Cassie scolded. Giles grinned; no one ever spoke to him like she did.
‘Be that as it may, last time…’
‘Last time was just the same, only you couldn’t see it. Too busy moping.’
‘Moping,’ repeated Giles, rising to the bait. ‘I-I prefer recovering from injuries sustained whilst heroically saving the world.’
‘No doubt you do.’
Flicking her hair out of her eyes Cassie gave Giles a very serious look.
‘It was bloody awful wasn’t it?’
‘It was rather.’
They reached a chamber with several doors leading off it.
‘Come on,’ said Cassie eagerly. ‘Quick detour, there’s something I want to show you.’
Giles followed reluctantly. Ten minutes, he reckoned he could stay awake for ten more minutes then he was going to fall asleep, hopefully in bed or if not right in front of whomever he’d be talking to at the time. This had better be quick.
A few more doors, a short flight of stairs and then they were there.
‘What do you reckon?’ Cassie wanted to know.
‘Impressive,’ said Giles as he leaned over the parapet of the gallery to look down onto the cavernous hall below.
‘The whole project won’t be completed this side of Christmas, then the entire North Wing will be habitable. But we’ve already got this and quite a few rooms, more than enough to get started I’m thinking.’
‘Get started with what?’
Cassie looked at him as if he was being insufferably dense; perhaps he was. Concentration was proving to be a real struggle at the moment.
‘Well if someone was looking for some space, to accommodate a few potentials, do some training, run offices and be protected by all the magic our love can summon. That someone might want to be doing all that here.’
She was almost dancing with enthusiasm. ‘The Council isn’t the only organization that‘s changing. Our powers were returned to us - stronger than ever, our home is growing and we want to share it all. It’ll be perfect, can’t you see?’
Giles went to reply when he realized something was wrong. The swiftness of the feeling took him by surprise. One minute he felt okay - knackered, bruised and aching but okay - the next minute he felt his temperature rocket and his vision start to fade. Every last bit of his remaining energy was concentrated on not falling on his hand as he succumbed to the dizzying shock of collapse, and after that - nothing.
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