Be it known that Buffy, Giles, Xander, Cordelia, Willow, and all other characters appearing on BTVS belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Gideon Black and Eliza Wells are my characters, and the actual plot and story is my own. I am not using this story or the characters therein for monetary gain. I've merely asked them to come out and play for a while.
This takes place approximately six months after Angel’s descent into hell and Jenny Calendar's death. Buffy has returned to Sunnydale, to high school, and to her duties as Slayer. She is, for the most part, more dedicated and serious, and slightly more bitter than any time previous.
Author's note: Since we are well into Season Three, I thought that I should "place" this for you -- I originally wrote this piece during this past summer in anticipation of what the then)coming season would bring, what with Buffy's eventual return, the Mayor, Angel, et cetera. It has been evolving since then, and I am finally ready to submit it. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Also, the lyrics from the chorus of "You" by 'Chad' are used with permission. Comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated.
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Part One
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"Okay, gang. Good discussion today. Remember, the first five short stories in your Poe anthology for tomorrow." Typical student groans rose above the ringing bell. Willow, Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia strolled toward the door.
"Five stories!" Cordelia whined. "It's not like I don't have a life or anything!"
"I like Poe," Willow enthused. "He's creepy. . . in a harmless, old-fashioned kind of way."
"Great," muttered Buffy. "I live this stuff and now I get to read all about it."
"Giles will definitely be amused," said Xander.
"Um, it was Giles who suggested that we take this class in the first place," Willow reminded him.
"And since when is Giles amused by spooks, monsters, and things that go slurp in the night? It's more like enthralled," Buffy chimed in.
"I knew that," Xander said. "And you're right. Giles isn't exactly sense-of-humor-guy these days, anyway. Closer to quiet-withdrawn guy. Not that he hasn't always been quiet-withdrawn-guy. I'm bibbling again, aren't I,"Xander stated with a suspicion borne of surety.
"Yup," said Buffy and the rest laughed as they exited the classroom.
Ms. Eliza Wells smiled as she caught their discussion. It amused her no end that, after the bell sounded, students either forgot their teacher was there or assumed that she wouldn’t hear any of their conversations. Giles, hm? Eliza made a mental note to thank that person for sending four such interesting students her way. Their viewpoints on their assignments thus far had been, well, unique. She gathered her notes and books and walked quickly into the teacher’s lounge.
Eliza found the bookshelves where the yearbooks were kept and pulled the out latest one. Teachers' section, teachers, teach. . . ah, here. Mr. Rupert Giles. Sunnydale High School Librarian. The black and white photo showed a . . . well, a librarian. Eliza replaced the yearbook and glanced at her watch. The last two periods of the day were hers to dispose of as she saw fit. Plenty of time to meet Mr. Giles. In the small alcove that served as a coat room was a small mirror. Eliza checked her appearance briefly. Grey-blue eyes twinkled back at her above a pert,freckle-spattered nose and full pink lips. A light blush darkened her already rosy cheeks. She flipped her shoulder-length auburn hair back behind her ears and gave herself a mental stamp of approval.
"Hello? Anyone home?" Eliza peeked around the counter toward Giles' office. Empty.
"Hello? Yes?" After a few moments, a quiet, very British tenor voice drifted out from among the stacks. It was soon followed by its owner. Mr. Rupert Giles, she discovered, was a tall, slender man, well-formed. He towered over her petite five-foot-two form, looked down at her with very somber green eyes that were slightly vague with preoccupation. Blond, closely cropped curls topped Giles off as he continued to stare at her from behind gold frames. His lips quirked in an uncertain smile. Eliza held out her hand.
"Eliza. Eliza Wells."
"Ah. Yes. Ms. Wells. A - a pleasure to meet you." He took her hand in a quick, light grasp and released it. “You're the new English teacher, are you not?”
"Yes, I am. And please, call me Eliza."
"What can I do for you?"
"I need to do some research for my class, and I wondered if I might make use of the stacks."
"Certainly. Wh-what subject?"
"Gothic literature. Poe in particular. Oh, and anything having to do with vampires."
"Gothic literature. Vampires, did you say?" Giles swallowed once, convulsively and watched her face intently.
"Yes. I'm teaching the Gothic Literature and the Modern Era course. And I have some short stories about vampires up next."
"Ah. Ah, yes. The - the gothic literature and, uh, criticisms are this way," he finally got out, sweeping an arm in the direction of the book stacks. Motioning her to follow, he lead the way to the desired section. "Here we are. Gothic. As you can see, we have an extensive collection."
"You certainly have," Eliza murmured. She flashed a bright smile at Giles. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he said with another of his uncertain smiles. Giles left Eliza to her research.
An hour passed, and Eliza lost herself in some particularly rare texts that even Harvard didn't have. And she should know, having done her master's research in the libraries there. Her research had taken her back quite a ways, text-wise. Her mind wandered, and she absently wondered why on earth a high school library would have such a large collection of gothic and the occult. Four familiar voices interrupted her reverie.
"So, Giles, what's on tap for tonight?" Buffy.
"Well, the usual, I suppose."
"Usual? Giles my man, that word does not exist in Sunnydale-on-Hellmouth and you know it." Xander.
"But, Xander, the unusual is usual here, so Giles' use of usual is, well, usual. I think." Willow. Eliza could almost hear the delicate frown that was undoubtedly creasing her brow.
"Ah, thank you, um, Willow. Actually, there's been little enough vampiric activity of late. In point of fact, it's been too quiet. Something must be afoot, but I haven't been able to determine what. Yet. So, Buffy, training at the usual time, and then a patrol."
"Geez. Buffy's lucky. She doesn't have to read five stories by that Poe guy tonight." Cordelia. Eliza sighed.
"Gee, Cordy, all things considered, I'd rather just read about these uglies than read and slay them," Buffy retorted sharply. "Check that. I'd rather not be reading about them at all."
"Ah, how is your class in gothic going?" Giles segued and gave Cordelia a sideways glare. She appeared chastened for the moment. Xander took her hand in his and squeezed gently.
"Fine," Buffy said. "Nice to know the rest of the world thinks of our demon friends as fiction."
"What has she got on your reading list?"
Buffy pulled out her syllabus and passed it to Giles, who gave it a quick but thorough perusal.
"Mmm. Stoker, Shelley, Poe, Lovecraft. A good assortment of authors, even the modern ones. King. Now there’s a chap who treads on the truth. Wonder if he knows it? And Rice. The outlier, the odd man, or - or woman, out, if you will. Good. Good." He handed the paper back to Buffy. "Now, what have you discussed so far?"
"Well, let's see," Willow said. "Frankenstein's monster was bits and pieces and parts put together and brought to life, and he was lonely and wanted a bride. But the monster there was Dr. Frankenstein, not the monster."
"And, speaking as a model for that bride, yuk!" Cordelia chimed in.
"Been there, done that," yawned Xander, stretching in his chair. And, as always, the Hellmouth does not revolve around you, Cordy." Cordelia shot him a look that straddled the line between hurt and hurt pride.
"Dracula wanted to take over the world, or at least England, and was dusted by a bunch of friends and their mentor," added Buffy, swiftly changing the subject. "My personal favorite," she muttered sarcastically.
"Old news, people," Xander said impatiently.
"Giles, we've lived each one of these stories," Buffy said. "Oooh, creepy." She rubbed at the sudden gooseflesh on her arms.
"Not really my idea of a party kinda time," Xander quipped.
"In a word, yes," Giles commented, taking a bit of effort to ignore Xander . Please pay attention to th-these stories and learn all you can from them. It will, believe it or not, help you. Now, I know you all have Chemistry this period, and I have work to do. Buffy, I'll see you later." Thus dismissed, the four left the library.
Wide-eyed, Eliza quietly stepped out of the stacks, clutching one of Giles' texts to her chest. Suddenly aware of another presence, Giles looked up from the table to see her standing on the steps.
"I, um, guess I can chalk up their unique insights to actual experience and not to being extraordinarily well-read?" she asked. "Just a supposition, mind. And I suppose I should thank you for that. They do add a lot to class discussions."
"Oh, dear," he said, shocked and horrified. "I forgot you were there."
"So I assumed. And I'm not going to apologize for eavesdropping. I heard everything. But I would like to know what’s going on."
Giles sighed deeply and removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before replacing the frames.
"L-look, Ms. Wells. . . ." he began.
"Eliza."
"Eliza, there are . . .f-forces, if you will, at work here in Sunnydale that are unsavory at best and extremely dangerous at worst. Which is most of the time." He rose, agitated, and began to pace. "Too many people have gotten hurt, and I cannot bring another innocent into this. I cannot."
"Then answer me one question."
Giles looked at her expectantly.
"What is a Hellmouth?"
"W-well, it doesn't really. . . it's-it's not something you need be concerned with, um, necessarily," Giles hedged.
"Isn't it. I just find out that fiction is in truth fact in these parts, and I don't need to be concerned? Mister Giles, if vampires in real life are anything like the vampires of myth, you're dealing with some serious nasties here."
"Ah. Um, yes. You do have the right of it. Well put."
"Can I also assume that the Hellmouth, or whatever you call it, is the focus of the paranormal activity?"
Giles opened his mouth to further deny the obvious, then sighed resignedly. She was relentless. And there was no use in insulting both their intellects by prevaricating further.
"It is, in fact, a portal into hell. A literal mouth of hell. Sunnydale is located on top of one, which does account for all the paranormal beings running about. It is that energy which draws them here. And others, too," he finished with a flash of pain that set the old soul-deep wound bleeding afresh. "Moth to flame would be an accurate description."
"Well, that explains a couple of things." Eliza sat at the table Giles vacated.
"What things?"
"Well, for one, Snyder’s reaction to my plans for a gothic literature class."
"Oh?" Giles' interest was piqued in spite of himself.
"Yeah. First he looked at me like I'd grown two extra heads and then proceeded to verbally tear them off. The standard ‘not in my school’ garbage I've heard before, but there was something different about him. He was too vehement, but not morally outraged. Methought he didst protest o’ermuch, to paraphrase the Bard."
"So," Giles mused aloud. "Snyder knows about the Hellmouth, and the vampires." He steepled his fingers, rested his chin there a moment, and looked up into the sunlight streaming in through the windows. "Dear God."
"I take it this phenomenon is not . . . ?"
"It's not common knowledge, no. People hereabout merely accept the extraordinary as-as ordinary, if a bit strange, but they don’t dwell on it. Easier to cope, I expect, or-or the paranormal energy does something to their memories to facilitate the effect. Either way. . . ." he paused and frowned slightly. "W-what did you say your educational background was?"
"Actually, I didn't," she replied with a wry grin. "But since you asked; Harvard, Masters in literature, emphasis in gothic literature, specifically that dealing with vampires. Thesis on vampires and their use as metaphor for the era in which their story was written, with a comparison of their evolution in literature thrown in for good measure."
"Then you understand the danger."
"To my life or my thesis?" Eliza quipped.
"Um, both, actually."
Eliza groaned.
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