Sunnydale, CA 2009
* * *
Buffy awoke in front of a glaring desklamp and an ancient tome in front of her. "Crap."
Woozily, she glanced around through the window and was greeted with the usual, clear sunshine that peeked through the trees, gently cascading its broken bits of light into her living room. Giles' living room.
Rising from her chair, Buffy headed for the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Ordinarily, she would have never been able to live in a place such as his but the Watchers' Council had no clue of his death and, Buffy thought, would not have cared. They, however, went on paying for his living quarters and Buffy was obliged to write reports every now and then to let the Council know that he was "alive."
She gave a wry grin at that task. It was not easy trying to copy Giles' mode of speech or his dialect. It took Buffy months of studying his Watcher's diaries to get a good idea of how to write in his style. And it took her forever to think of a plausible reason for Giles to cease using his phone and rely on electronic mail. Buffy rarely used his phone. The answering machine was never used so much until eight years ago when her old friend finally succumbed to the forces of darkness.
She glanced at the answering machine. There was a message on it. Odd. She must have slept through that incessant ringing. Pushing the play button, Buffy let the fumes of the coffee slowly alert her.
"Thursday, March 14, 2009, 4:06 AM," the answering machine mechanically announced. Then it shifted to a familiar voice. Buffy froze at the sound. She reeled from the mass of memories that was brought on by that voice. "Hey, kid. Listen, you gotta get in touch with me soon. Something big's about to happen and, surprise surprise, you're needed. You can beep me at this number-" Buffy made no move to copy it down, she was still recovering from the shock. "-if you don't beep me, I'll be calling again at this time. This is urgent. Whistler."
The mug in Buffy's hand shattered.
* * *
Hanging up the phone, Whistler sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. The poor girl had been through a lot and now he was asking for more. Unfortunately, Whistler could not think of anyone else more qualified than Buffy Summers. He supposed that he could get someone to kill her so that the next Slayer can handle this but his orders were specific. This was Buffy's destiny.
As the oldest living Slayer recorded, Buffy had demonstrated extraordinary resourcefulness and tact in her dealings with the undead and dying. Whistler knew that the Watchers' Council still had an interest in her despite her headstrong attitude. 'The girl is more clever than she gives herself credit for,' he thought as he headed for the fridge for a cold beer. The clock in the kitchen clearly showed that it was now 4:30 AM. Heck, what was time to a demon?
Whistler was brooding over his task when his acute demonic senses caught a flicker of a shadow in the corner of his eye. Calmly, he looked up to see a man and a woman sitting sedately together on the sofa across from him.
"Hello, Whistler," she said pleasantly. Her eyes swept across the room. "Nice place you got for yourself."
"Juniper. Remington," Whistler acknowledged. The man sitting next to her inclined his head slightly in greeting. "What are you doing here?"
Juniper gave a lilting laugh. "Always getting to the point. Perhaps one of your aspects is lack of diplomacy."
"You know very well what my aspect is," Whistler replied coolly. "And I doubt either of you like it. Why don't you tell me what you want and maybe I won't exorcise you from my house."
"Why, Whistler, what a thing to say!" Juniper gave a disarming smile, her golden eyes expressing wary mischief.
Remington coughed. "I think you know why we're here, Whistler."
Whistler narrowed his eyes. "You know the rules. Of all of us, you can't cajole me into any promises. It's already started." He took a swig of his beer and made a face. "The hell's with the manufacturers these days. They don't make these like they used to."
"Oh come on, you can't possibly think that one little girl can beat us," Remington scoffed. "Even if she's the Slayer and all, she'll never be able to find the Codex. The hiding place is too obscure for a human being to find. I think you neutrals are getting off balance here. Which of course, I don't mind."
"And you know where the Codex is hidden? Oh, by all means, enlighten me," Whistler drawled.
"You mean, you don't know where the Codex is?" Juniper asked, stunned.
"No one knows where it is, honey. Is that why you guys came here? To get the location outta me? Sorry, folks, but it doesn't work that way."
"Whistler, we were chosen because, well, we're the worst spawns of Hell," Juniper smiled at Remington. "How can it be fair to pit us against one girl? Codex or no Codex, your 'Slayer' is going to be dead before she even reaches the Gates. It's written."
"Never thought you held prophecies in high regard, June," Whistler yawned. "All I have to say to you is try to find that Codex before she does."
"Say, how would you like to join us for a party? It'll be fun."
"Your perversions are somewhat more exotic than mine. I prefer mine with less moisture."
"Oh, don't be such a prude, Whistler. Any celebration without any blood or body parts is dull."
"You know, if I were you, I'd be a bit worried about a girl who has been a Vampire Slayer for fourteen years instead of mooning over a small blood bath."
Whistler was answered with miffed nothingness. He took another swig at his beer.
* * *
The Director of the Watchers' Council glanced at the middle-aged man standing before him. He was of medium build with hair slightly graying at the temples. And those eyes… the Director shuddered at the thought of what those eyes have seen. This man had seen enough horror to fill a dozen lifetimes-and here he was, about to go out again and confront the same evil.
"Arthur Liam Travers. You know why I sent for you?"
"No sir. After all, I was only notified of this meeting this morning."
"Ah, yes, an unfortunate discourtesy on my part. As you are well aware, we are still continuing on the surveillance of the current Slayer and her Watcher, Rupert Giles, although we have not heard anything substantial from him in the past few years. I want you to discreetly go to Sunnydale, California, and report to me their activities." The Director saw Arthur stiffen.
"You wish for me to spy on them. That hardly seems honorable, sir."
"Mr. Travers, we are fighting a war where the enemy is hardly honorable. And I have good reason for this subterfuge. Despite Mr. Giles' reentry to our society, the Slayer has become intensely mistrustful of our motives and still refuses to accept us at face value. It is a situation that stands to be corrected."
Arthur raised an eyebrow indignantly. "You cannot correct distrust by this chicanery!" he exclaimed. "If reconciliation is what you desire, we must honestly approach the Slayer and actually have a real conversation with the girl. Hang it all, sir! The girl's been out there fighting a- a Hellmouth for well over a decade and with very good reason. She could not have survived that long without a certain amount of astuteness."
There was a slight pause. "Thank you, Mr. Travers. Your opinion, as always, shall be seriously considered and discussed. Nevertheless, you will board the next flight to New York by tomorrow morning. We will discuss your proposal and contact you when you have reached New York."
"I'm sorry, sir, I've overstepped my bounds and-"
"Quite alright, quite alright," the Director waved off his apologies. "I'm older than most and I tend to forget certain proprieties. Fortunately, I stand corrected by one of the most esteemed Watchers in our Council." The Director smiled tiredly. "I'm sorry to have you sent out on such a journey. A man your age should be eligible for retirement, hm?"
Arthur laughed ruefully. "Not yet, sir. But may I be so bold to ask, why am I being sent on such a mission? Forgive me saying so, but a novice Watcher can probably fill in the capacity of spy and diplomat as well as the next one."
There was a long pause. Arthur watched, as the Director became lost in thought.
"Have you read the Pergamum Codex, Mr. Travers?" the Director asked suddenly.
Arthur gave the Director an incredulous look. "All Watchers are required to read it, sir. I need not remind you that that manuscript is part of our training and studies to become Watchers."
"I meant recently."
"I can't say that I have, why?"
"Do you recall a section in the text where the words written in it were utterly incomprehensible?"
"You speak of the part where the language in it is no where near possible derivations from other known languages and seem whole-heartedly its own origin."
"Yes. To be honest, we're not entirely sure where the Pergamum Codex had originated. Nor do we know anything about the prophet or its author."
"Except for the reference at the opening of the work. 'Behold, for behind the Gates I undertaketh this task. I shalt faithfully set down mine eyes, unshroud the mystery of future, and giveth way to the coming of the Chosen Two.' "
"Capital, Mr. Travers, capital. Your reputation precedes you once again. Unfortunately, well, here." The Director pushed a sheet of paper across his desk. Arthur took it up and read aloud.
" 'What was unclear shall becometh clear. Heed the spirits, thine and others, to find that which was once hidden. One of Two shalt taketh up the Codex. Both shall be present to witness fruition of desire. Be it evil, be it good, thy heart must cometh from pure intent else perish in vain attempt. Beware, Slayer, if thou wouldst enter the Gates, through victory or defeat, thou wilt never live to return to the living.' "Arthur swallowed. "The instructions here seem quite explicit, for once."
"Instructions?" the Director snorted. "This is the first time the Pergamum Codex has ever directly sent a Slayer anything. The prophet has always mentioned the Slayer in third person. And these are no 'instructions'. A prophecy or two and then an explicit warning."
"Who was able to translate this, after all these years?"
"No one translated it, Mr. Travers," the Director said quietly. "I opened the Codex last night, as is my habit, and happened to peruse the page upon opening it. The message had translated itself."
"Impossible! If that happened, that would mean-"
"-the author of the Pergamum Codex is, quite possibly, still alive. It's happened to every copy of the Pergamum Codex in existence" the Director said. He sighed. "I was hoping I could tell you this in New York but I thought better of it. The real reason I want you in Sunnydale is to warn our Chosen One what is going to befall her quite possibly in the near future. It's the least I can do for her. You're the only one I trust to deliver such a message." The Director smiled faintly. "I don't know where my mind is nowadays. I ran in a complete circle in order to tell you what I really wanted you to do."
Arthur stared into the Director's eyes. "Better late than never, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must pack for tomorrow's flight. Good day."
"Better late than never," the Director whispered as he watched Arthur exit his office. He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples in anguish.
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