IV
The band at the Bronze was terrible; they had this awful, pounding rhythm. A moment ago, they'd been pretty good, and everybody had been dancing and stuff. But now there was this awful noise and everyone stopped dancing. And then everyone left and she was alone.
And then the Bronze was gone and Buffy opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment by the strange room she found herself in. The heavy wooden bed, the large chest and dresser, the tiny nightstand....
The terrible pounding rhythm from her dream kept up and she slowly realized it was someone knocking. About the same time she remembered where she was.
She slid out of bed, shivering as her feet touched cold wood, and she pulled the knitted throw off the end of the bed, wrapping it around herself as she stumbled out of the bedroom and through the house to the front door.
She fumbled with the lock and opened the door a crack, peering out. A man in a blue uniform and an older lady stood there.
"Good morning, Miss," the uniformed man, a police officer, she assumed, said. "May I ask what you're doing here?"
"Huh?" she mumbled, still more asleep than awake.
"This isn't your house, Miss," the officer said. "What are you doing here?"
"What? Oh, no, I...." She shook her head. No way she was going to be able to explain this. "Hang on." She doubled back to the hallway and opened the bottom door to the stairs. "Giles!" she called up. "Giles!"
"That's right, this is Mr. Giles's home," the officer said and she jumped. He'd followed her into the house.
"I know." She turned to the stairs again. "Giles, come down. There's a cop here!"
"Wha...?" she heard, and then he opened the upstairs door, blinking down at her owlishly. "What's going on?"
"There's a cop wants to know what we're doing here."
He sighed. "Be right there." He disappeared from view and she turned back to her unwelcome visitors.
"He'll be right down." She moved past the cop and into the parlour.
In a minute, Giles appeared, sleep-tousled, tugging a bathrobe around himself. "What's this?"
"Rupert!" the old lady exclaimed.
He blinked, taken aback by her exclamation.
"You know this man, ma'am?" the officer asked.
"Why, yes, it's...."
"I'm Rupert Giles," Giles interrupted. "Richard Giles's son."
"I had no idea you were here!" the woman said.
"We got in rather late last night."
"I saw the smoke from the chimney and then I came by and saw the car, well, I just thought the worst, especially with the poor man on his...."
"Yes, of course," Giles nodded. "I'm sorry we alarmed you."
The officer looked from one to the other of them. "Well, if there's no problem here," he began.
"No, no problem," Giles assured him.
"I'm sorry, Mick," the old lady added.
"That's quite all right, missus. Better to be safe." He tipped his hat. "Good morning, folks."
"Good morning," Giles nodded and the officer left.
"I'm sorry about all that, Rupert," the old lady said. "But I had no idea you'd be coming in."
"They sent me a telegram earlier in the week. I got here as soon as I could," Giles said. Buffy hung back and watched him with the old woman. They obviously knew each other, but while Giles was being friendly and everything, she could tell he wished she'd go away.
"Have you been to see him yet?" the old lady asked.
"Yes, last night."
"Poor man," she clucked. "Still, you're here now, that's a blessing." She glanced at Buffy, as if seeing her for the first time. "And this is?"
"I'm his-" Buffy began, but Giles silenced her with a shake of his head.
"This is Buffy Summers," he said simply.
The woman stared a moment, then her eyes widened in surprise. "Ooh! Oh my! It's an honor to meet you, my dear!" she exclaimed.
"Thanks." Buffy forced a smile and looked at Giles in confusion.
"How lovely that you've come with him," the old lady went on. "Did you meet Mr. Giles?"
"Yeah, last night."
"I'm sure he was delighted to meet you. He always...."
Giles coughed. "You'll excuse us, Mrs. Peavey, but this rousted us out of bed. We're a tad jet-lagged." Buffy smiled. That was Giles, always the diplomat.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Rupert, of course. I'll be on my way, then. I'm glad you're here, and I know Richard is, too. If there's anything I can do for you...."
"Actually, there is," he said. "The coal shed's practically empty. Do you know where I can get fuel for a short time? And right away?"
"Of course," she waved her hand. "I'll have Bill bring some round for you. How long do you reckon on staying?"
"I'm not sure. A week or two, at a guess."
"Right, we can take care of that."
"Thank you."
"How are you provisioned otherwise?"
"Rather poorly, I'm afraid. We need just about everything. A trip to Lesters is on our list of things to do today. Er, Lesters is still there, aren't they?"
"Of course," she laughed. "If Lesters ever folded up we all might as well do the same.
"Look, why don't you two get cleaned up, then come up to the house. I'll fix you a nice breakfast, get you off to a good start."
"Oh, we wouldn't want to..." Giles started to protest.
"Nonsense. You need to eat. And we can get caught up."
Giles smiled resignedly. "Yes, all right, that would be nice."
"Good. Then I'll let you go and I'll see you shortly."
With a wave, she was out the door, a seventy-year-old tornado on stubby legs.
Giles and Buffy exchanged glances.
"Welcome to Chalworth," he said with a slightly embarrassed little smile.
"Who was that?" Buffy asked.
"Mrs. Peavey, our neighbor. She's lived here as long as I can remember." He said it like they'd just met that one relative everyone has who always embarrasses everybody.
Buffy smiled, then her expression changed to concern. "Why did you just introduce me as Buffy? Why did she seem to know who I was?"
"Mrs. Peavey's late husband was a watcher," he said. "As was her daughter."
"Oh." Buffy frowned and thought about that. "How many other watchers am I gonna meet here?"
"I'm not sure anymore. Not many. There aren't too many left, especially not here. They all leave, like me and Elizabeth."
"Who's Elizabeth?"
"Mrs. Peavey's daughter."
Buffy mulled this information. This was something she hadn't considered: multiple watchers. When he'd told her the watcher's council was located here, somehow that hadn't translated in her head to watchers being neighbors and friends. Too weird.
"Sorry about the early wake-up call," he went on. "I'd hoped you could sleep in this morning."
"That's okay," she dismissed.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Ehh," she shrugged. "Weird dreams."
"Oh?" He looked concerned and she quickly tried to reassure him.
"Not important ones, just...strange, whacked-out images. Nothing specific."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'm getting good at figuring out the ones which mean something and the ones which mean I ate pizza too late."
He smiled. "Yes, well you were over-tired and then with the strange bed, strange surroundings, I suppose it's not surprising."
"How'd you manage in the arctic north up there?"
His expression was rueful. "It's very odd, being here. Especially under these circumstances."
"Didn't sleep too well, either, huh?"
"Still," he dismissed, "I expect we'll settle in." He took a deep breath. "Well, we'd better get dressed; breakfast is waiting for us."
Mrs. Peavey had prepared for them a traditional English breakfast: eggs, bacon, tomatoes, toast, tea. It was more than Buffy ever ate in the morning and she was pretty overwhelmed. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, but she just couldn't handle that much food first thing in the morning.
"I'm sure this is different from your usual fare-coffee and a biscuit or whatever it is American kids eat these days," Mrs. Peavey said.
"I'm a toast and juice person myself," Buffy agreed.
"Ah, juice," Giles said and pulled a small notepad out of his pocket, jotting on it.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Shopping list. We need just about everything. Tea, juice, bread...loo paper." He stopped, considering. "Mrs. Peavey, I hate to impose even more, but...."
"Anything, Rupert, you know that," the old lady reassured him.
"I was wondering if you could run Buffy to Lesters and then back home."
Buffy frowned. "I thought I was going with you."
"I don't know when else we can get the shopping done. Besides," he said gently, "I imagine he'll sleep much of the day. It's bound to be crashingly dull. I have to be there, you don't. And I could use your help in this."
She sighed. When had he learned how to manipulate her so well? "Yeah, okay. But if it's as small around here as you say, I don't need a ride, I can walk it."
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Peavey chimed in, "you can't carry those sacks of groceries back by yourself. I'd be happy to take you."
"Good. That's settled then," Giles smiled. Buffy gave him a dirty look and mentally promised retribution later.
Mrs. Peavey went into the kitchen and Giles reached over, patting her hand. "Thank you."
"Thanks a bunch," she muttered. "She's worse than my grandmother."
"Oh, it'll be all right. Besides," he leaned in conspiratorially, "she's a famous gossip. She'll give you all the dirt and more."
"Giles!" Buffy laughed. On the other hand, the old lady had known him since he was a boy. The stories she could tell.... "Okay, I guess it won't be so bad."
"Good."
Mrs. Peavey came back in with the teapot and filled Giles's cup again.
"How's Elizabeth?" he asked.
"Oh, wonderful!" she beamed. "She's in Doncaster now, happy as can be. Brian's just started at York University. She's thrilled."
"Really? York's a good school. I enjoyed my time there. What's he studying?"
"That's right, I'd forgot you were there. Oh, Lord, I can never remember what he's studying. Something high-minded, no doubt. And probably something totally inappropriate." She sounded disapproving.
Giles frowned. "He's still not interested?"
"Not a bit of it. He won't even discuss it. And it doesn't matter how much his mother talks to him, or Burkridge talks to him...."
"Well, Burkridge talking to you would put anyone right off," Giles dismissed. "And given what happened with Liz, it's understandable he's not interested." He took a sip of his tea. "If she thinks it would do any good, I can try with him, but I don't know if I'm the best example."
"You're doing what you have to do, and successfully, too, if this young lady is anything to go by." She smiled at Buffy. "And you had your rebellion at about the same age. It could well do the trick."
"Or scare him off completely."
"I'll can phone her up and ask. Perhaps she'll be able to come down. For the funeral, I mean."
He nodded, and Buffy felt the mood at the table darken at the mention of funeral. It was weird, planning for something like that, and yet not planning for it, because Mr. Giles was still alive. They knew there would be a funeral some time, but....
"I hope she can," Giles said. "It would be good to see her again."
"She'd love to see you, too, I'm sure."
"Well, we'd better get going," Giles said, getting up from the table. "We'll just stop back at the house and get a few things, then Buffy can come back here."
"Fine," Mrs. Peavey answered. "Give me a chance to put away the breakfast things."
"We do appreciate all your help," he told her. "About the coal...."
"Oh, I'll send Bill round with it later. He'll just put it right in the shed."
"Thanks. We'll be back soon." They left the little house, walking across the grass and through a break in the hedge between the two backyards.
That had been interesting, seeing Giles talking with an old neighbor lady like he'd known her all his... Oh. That's because he probably had known her all his life.
"So-" Buffy began.
"Yes?"
"Elizabeth is Mrs. Peavey's daughter?"
"That's right."
"She an old girlfriend?"
Giles laughed. "Where did you get that idea?"
"Just...something. In your voice. Your face. When you were talking about her. I just thought...."
"Well, for most of the time when we were growing up, she thought of me rather as a pest, if she thought of me at all. Liz is a little older than me. But she went through a rough patch and came home around the same time I was here before going back to school. After London. We became close then, but I'm not sure it ever quite qualified as...that is, we never...went out."
Buffy grinned, wondering if he even realized how much he'd just told her by trying not to tell her anything.
"Did her problems have to do with her being a watcher?" she asked.
"What made you think that?"
"A guess?"
He sighed. "Yes, it did. But I don't want to go into it. It's rather personal."
"For her or for you?"
"For her."
Buffy nodded, thinking about it. Maybe she could get Mrs. Peavey to spill. "And Brian that you were talking about, that's Elizabeth's son?"
"Yes, he's...oh, he must be twenty or so."
"And they want him to be a watcher and he doesn't want to."
He stared at her, shaking his head. "You never cease to amaze me."
"Why? Cause I can figure stuff out? You taught me that."
"I never realized you paid attention."
"I pay attention to more than you think I do."
He just gazed at her. "I'm beginning to see that."
They shared a smile as they got back home.
"All right," he scribbled some notes on a piece of paper. "This is the grocery list, at least what I could think of. Go ahead and get anything else you want-within reason, of course. And lightbulbs so I don't break my neck on those stairs. And see if you can't get these traveler's checks cashed at the bank." He handed her the paper and several travelers checks, which he signed over to her.
"I'll probably be at the home all day. If you want, once you get back from the market, you can start going through things here. Anything that's obviously junk-old junk mail, newspapers and the lot-can be thrown out. Correspondence that looks like it might be important put on his desk."
"How will I know what's good stuff and what's not?"
"Take your best guess. Look at the wardrobes in the bedroom. I'm not sure he ever got rid of any of her clothes. That sort of thing."
"Okay, I'll try."
"Thank you." He sighed. "I wish we were still on the telephone, I'd call you. If you get stuck, or really bored, you're welcome to come out to the home, though I'll warn you, it's apt to be awfully dull. Mrs. Peavey can drive you. Feel free to take a walk, get to know the area. It's quite safe here, and fairly difficult to get lost. The stable out back is ours. It's probably empty now, but you can have a look."
"Stable?" She hadn't expected that.
"We had horses, when I was growing up. I haven't been out there in years. You can check it out for me. If there are any tools or such out there, just make a note of them and leave them there. We'll probably get an appraiser and an auction house to handle most of it."
He stopped and shook his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
She touched his arm sympathetically. "You're doing what you have to do, Giles."
"He's not even dead yet!" he said bitterly, "and I'm so anxious to make an end of it."
She stepped in front of him, forcing him to face her. "Is there a chance he'll ever come home again? Is there a possibility he'll suddenly get better?"
He stared at her for a moment, then lowered his eyes. "No."
"Then you're only doing what has to be done. It's what he'd want you to do. He wouldn't want some stranger coming in and getting rid of everything, would he?"
Giles took a deep breath. "I suppose not."
"So?"
He smiled his thanks and put a hand on her shoulder, as if the touch gave him comfort. Maybe it did. It was weird. They'd spent the first year they knew each other never touching, except in training. Sometimes she thought he wanted to, but something, probably that stuffy Englishness, kept him from reaching out. But after Angel.... And after Ms. Calendar. Now it was like the touches-the hands on arms or shoulders, or the touch of a back in passing, maybe the occasional hug-it was like they were necessary reassurances that despite everything that had happened, they were still there for each other.
"Well," he went on, withdrawing his hand, "I'd best be off. If you need anything, I'm sure Mrs. Peavey would be more than happy to provide."
"Yeah," she agreed, following him out of the house. "I'd better get over there."
"See you later, then," he said, and he climbed into his car and pulled down the drive.
Buffy watched Giles drive off, waving, her bright smile fading as soon as he passed through the gate.
"Oh, Giles, you are so gonna owe me," she muttered, closing the door behind her and heading back through the hedge to Mrs. Peavey's. The idea of having to spend the entire morning with the old lady was enough to set Buffy's teeth on edge.
Oh, it wasn't that there was anything wrong with her. She was very sweet, very helpful. But maybe that was the problem. She made Buffy feel like she was even more of a fish out of water than she was. And there was a sort of...awe...the old woman seemed to feel toward her which made her nervous. As if a slayer couldn't also be a normal girl.
Mrs. Peavey was warming up the car when she arrived, and with little more than a cursory word, they took off into town.
Giles was right; nothing was very far from anything else here. The grocery store, called Lesters, was no more than a five minute drive. The store was kind of strange, like a Super-K-Mart except a lot smaller. It contained not only groceries but also household items, clothing, and other stuff. So in addition to everything on their shopping list, plus all the things she thought they could use which hadn't been on the list, she bought for herself a baggy sweatshirt to sleep in, an extra pair of sweatpants, and a couple of pairs of warmer socks. The stuff was Woolworth quality, but at least it was pretty cheap.
They stopped at a bank so Buffy could cash the travelers checks. And while in line, they got to talking again.
"How long have you known Giles?" Buffy asked.
"You mean Rupert? Most of his life. They moved here when Rupert was a baby. His father grew up here, then moved away when he went to school and got married. But when Rupert was born they came back and never left."
"Did...I mean does he have any other family? Like brothers and sisters?"
"Who, Rupert? No, he's an only child. I don't know if Richard had any brothers and sisters. Catherine, that's Rupert's mother, she did. But after she died, I don't think Richard stayed in touch with them."
Buffy frowned. Mr. Giles sounded like he was sort of a...recluse. No family. No friends. "What did Mr. Giles do?" she asked.
"He was a solicitor. A lawyer."
"Really?" She was surprised, but didn't know why she should be. It just hadn't ever occurred to her what else watchers might be. Librarian seemed to fit so well.
"Oh, yes. And a good one. Most everybody in town went to Richard Giles at one time or another. For awhile he had a practice in Bristol, but he always lived here. He retired, oh, five or six years ago. Still kept his hand in; people always calling him, asking for his advice."
Buffy tried to reconcile the image of a shrewd lawyer with the sight of that poor, sick man last night. "I wish I could have known him before he got sick," she said. "Was he always so...crotchety?"
Mrs. Peavey laughed. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. Yes, he never had time for fools."
Buffy looked down. "Seems like he never had time for his son, either."
"What makes you say that?"
"Just some things he said."
"Did he give Rupert a hard time?" she asked as if she already knew.
"I don't know what he said to him. But he gave me a hard time, trying to make me think Giles wasn't good enough."
"That's just Richard's way. It's easier to scold or correct than to praise. But he loves Rupert, don't let him convince you otherwise. Whenever he would get a letter from Rupert, telling him how it was going, telling him about you, he'd come right over and show it to me. Oh, he was so proud. He'd read the whole thing to me out loud."
Buffy stared at her. That was so different from the way he'd acted last night, making Giles think that everything he was doing was wrong. "Really? 'Cause Giles thinks...."
"Richard Giles always ruled by intimidation. But all it took was Rupert's standing up for himself, for something he believed in, and he gained Richard's respect. That's why he was so proud of him. Because even though he knew Rupert didn't relish his calling, he did it, and from all reports, he's doing it well. I haven't been to see Richard since last Tuesday. But he told me they'd sent a note to Rupert, and how he hoped he'd be able to come. I think he really wanted to see him again before he died. I know he's pleased Rupert's here."
She sighed. "He's been a very sad man, ever since...since Catherine died."
"I saw her picture. She was very pretty."
"Oh, Lord, yes, she was beautiful. And a beautiful temperament to go with it. She was the balm for all of Richard's fire and bombast. He missed her fiercely when she died. I think he still does."
"Do you think that's why he and Giles fought so much? Because they both missed her."
"Possibly. Sometimes loss strengthens people. For the Giles men, used to relying on Catherine's strength, it weakened them. Richard became bitter and Rupert became rebellious. Oh, and I shouldn't be telling you that."
"It's okay, I know all about his wild days."
The older lady looked surprised. "Well! He believes in being honest with you, doesn't he?"
She shrugged. "He wants me to be honest with him. He learned it worked better if it went both ways. I know he hasn't told me everything, but he told me enough. I got the idea." Of course, she'd practically had to drag those details out of him. But at least he'd trusted her enough with his secrets.
"Yes, well it was a very difficult time for both of them. And they're both very stubborn, I'm sure you've realized that. They ended up causing each other a lot of pain because neither of them would bend. But that never meant they didn't love each other. Sometimes love can hurt."
Buffy felt that terrible fist close around her heart. "Yeah, I know," she whispered. She'd loved Angel. She probably still did love Angel, or at least the Angel he'd been. That was what hurt the most.
It was Buffy's turn and she took care of her banking. Then back in the car, the conversation continued.
"Can I ask you a question?" Buffy began.
"Of course, dear."
"Giles said something earlier about Elizabeth, and some problem. But he wouldn't tell me about it when I asked. Which usually means it's slayer stuff and he doesn't want to tell me something he thinks might upset me."
The old lady took a deep breath. "Well, if he doesn't want you to know...."
"He said he didn't want to tell me because he didn't think it was his place. But she's your daughter. So it would be your place. But if you don't want to tell me...."
"It's not that I don't want to, dear. But I can understand Rupert's concern. It is, as you say, slayer stuff. And it's neither an easy story to tell nor, I imagine, easy to hear."
"I want to know," Buffy said softly. After all, if she was the slayer, then she should know what sort of things she was up against. Shouldn't she?
"Well, this was all over twenty years ago. Lizzie got the call to go to Ireland and name a new slayer-designate. She was a sweet child, about twelve years old, but already strong. They trained together for several years, and then the current slayer died and Bethany-that was her name-Bethany became the active slayer. Lizzie, meanwhile, met a nice Irish lad and married, and they had a son, Kenneth. Bethany was like an adopted daughter to them.
"It was only a few months after that-Bethany was barely sixteen. I don't know the details, Lizzie would never say. But somehow, Bethany and Kenneth were out together and they got cornered. They killed Kenneth and...and they turned Bethany."
Buffy felt her stomach drop down to her toes. It had to be every slayer's worst nightmare. It was certainly hers. "They turned her into a vamp?"
The old lady nodded. They pulled into the drive and stopped in front of the house.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice soft. It was hard to breathe over her horror.
"Lizzie...Lizzie had to destroy her. And it shattered her. Her son and her slayer, both taken from her. She fell apart, had a complete breakdown. She left her husband, came back here, and bit by bit, she started putting her life back together again. But it was a long, hard climb. She and Rupert spent a lot of time together then. He was here after his problems in London, trying to put his own life back together. They used to go out to the stable and sit together for hours.
"Eventually, they both recovered. Lizzie called John, her husband, and he came over and they started over again. Rupert went back up to Oxford to complete his schooling.
"And Lizzie officially retired as a watcher."
Breathing returned to normal and Buffy frowned as she climbed out of the car and gathered her parcels. "What does that mean, officially retired?" she asked.
"A watcher who loses a slayer can be given another one, depending on the circumstances surrounding the slayer's, um...."
"I get the picture," Buffy interrupted. She really didn't want to hear the details.
"In Lizzie's case, because what happened was so traumatic, there would have been no way she could have effectively trained another slayer. So she retired and a new watcher and slayer pair was activated. In this case, it was the first American watcher in almost fifty years. Merrick."
Buffy blinked. "And Merrick was the watcher until...."
"That's right," the old lady nodded. "He had quite a number of slayers in his time. He was a legend among the watchers. Most of them knew him only by reputation because he kept very much to himself. But he was highly regarded."
Buffy frowned as she and the old woman headed to the kitchen to put the groceries away. She thought about Merrick, how stern he'd been, how insistent. How he'd told her that he should have been there sooner. "There's a lot about watchers and slayers I don't get," she said, putting a jar of jam in the pantry. "I mean, some slayers know they're slayers before they ever...become slayers, right? I mean, before the other slayer dies and they become The Chosen One. They're supposed to be trained for it, from an early age. Right?"
"That's the way it's supposed to work, yes."
"So why doesn't it? Or didn't it? I mean, I was fifteen before anyone told me I was a slayer."
"Well, as I understand it, we'd been almost two years without a slayer. The previous one had been in France, and Merrick had been injured in the attack which had killed her. He'd been so good, so strong, the watchers had grown complacent, assuming he'd go on forever. But his injury made everyone realize how lax they'd grown. Though several girls were found who clearly had slayer potential, none of them had actually received the call-received the Slayer's gifts. Once Merrick recovered, he began searching for her, the new slayer. And he found her, in you."
"How come it was left to Merrick to find her? I mean, me?" The sight of the stern man with the mustache, insisting that she had a sacred destiny, was one she'd never forget.
"It wasn't so much left as he took it. He was a bit of a maverick-went his own way as opposed to doing what the council expected. He took it upon himself to find the new slayer. He thought he was invincible, and in fact, so did most of the watchers, who'd settled down into fairly routine lives in the interim. His death was a terrible shock to all of them."
"It was no party for me, either," Buffy muttered. She shivered when she remembered holding him in her arms while he told her that she would have to be strong without him. Then his eyes closed, and she was alone. "I didn't have a clue what I was doing. I still don't know how I did what I did."
"But you did, and everyone was very impressed." The old lady smiled. "After my husband died and Lizzie moved away, I stopped paying much attention to what the watchers and slayers were doing. Until Rupert went to America and Richard started telling me the news."
Together, they put the last of the groceries away. "Well, thanks for your help," Buffy said, wondering if there was some polite way to get rid of the old lady. Not that she didn't like her, but Mrs. Peavey's story had given her a lot to think about. She wanted to be alone to think.
"You're very welcome, dear," Mrs. Peavey answered. "If there's anything else I can do...."
"Um, well, can you tell me how to get to the nursing home?"
"Oh, I can drive you over."
"I'd rather go myself, if that's all right. It feels like all I've done for the past two days has been sit. It'll feel good to walk."
"All right. You just go up to the main road and turn left, and keep going through town until you see the sign for St. Joseph's, then turn down the lane. It's about a twenty minute walk or so. Not bad at all."
"Great, thanks."
"That's all right, dear. Anything else you need, you just let me know."
"I will. Thanks."
After a bit more dithering, she finally managed to get Mrs. Peavey out the door and back down the lane. She shut the door behind her, sighing.
"So here I am, playing house in a cottage in the middle of no-man's-land England. How fun!"
Actually, it was kind of fun, in a weird sort of way. A house to explore, maybe cool, incriminating pictures of Giles to be found. Then there was that stable out back. Buffy had never ridden a horse. When other girls were into horses, she'd been into ice skating. Other girls had taken riding lessons and collected books about Black Beauty and Misty of Chincoteague; she'd taken ice skating lessons, watched the Olympics, and read everything she could about Dorothy Hamill and Katerina Witt. But she'd always admired the strength and beauty of horses, even while being a little afraid of them-after all, they were so big and she was so little....
She went out the back door, heading to the stable. The building was old and run-down, not very big, and mostly empty. There were some old leather straps hanging on one wall, and a broom and a bucket in one corner. The old barn still smelled, though, the smell of someplace that was once alive, and now was abandoned. There was a small loft and she climbed the ladder, looking around, but it was empty.
She climbed back down. It was kind of sad, thinking about what this place must have been like when Giles was a boy, trying to imagine him coming out here, taking one of the horses and riding across the countryside. Even though she'd never thought of it before, it was kind of neat, and kind of fit, to think of him on a horse. Like some knight errant. She smiled, wondering if he used to have fantasies about rescuing damsels in distress.
Now he got to watch her beat the crap out of vampires and had to bail her out when she screwed up yet again.
With a sigh, she left the stable, walking back up to the house. A man was coming down the slope into the back yard, pushing a heavy looking cart.
"Hi. Looking for Giles?" she asked.
The man, who looked very narrow between the eyes and none-too-swift, muttered something in an accent she didn't understand, but she caught the words "Peavey" and "coal" and figured this was the guy Mrs. Peavey was sending over to deliver coal.
"Oh, just put it...I don't know, wherever coal goes." What did they call the place where coal was stored? She didn't think coal storage was right.
It didn't seem to matter what she knew, because he appeared to know exactly where it went. He pushed his big cart toward the little hut and started unloading it. So she left him to it and went back inside.
She stood in the middle of the living room, or parlor, as Giles called it, trying to decide where to start. The place was a mess. Before they could get things sorted, they'd probably need to clean up. Dust at least. And it was so dark and gloomy in here. At night it looked cozy, but by day it was dank and dreary. She couldn't imagine living in a place like this.
Then she realized that there were shutters closed over all the windows, and she opened the casements, pushing the shutters out of the way. Immediately, the room flooded with soft, warm daylight. It changed the whole room, turning it from depressing to cozy again. The kind of place she could imagine Giles's mother living. Or at least, the woman Buffy imagined her to be.
She moved from room to room, flinging open the shutters, until the whole house brightened. Then she found a dust rag and a feather duster, and set about tidying up the place. She wiped off every surface, including the stacks of papers and books, since they were all dusty. The dust flew and she opened the parlor windows to air the place out, letting in the chilly spring air. Tugging her new sweatshirt over her head took care of her being cold, and the fresh air felt good.
In the small study, while straightening the desk, Buffy saw them. They were sitting on a corner of the desk, a stack of small books. The one on top was a small, thick volume with a locking strap and a key. A diary. Its pink cover and heart design told her it was the diary of a girl, probably a young girl. Mrs. Peavey said Giles didn't have a sister....
It wasn't locked, so she opened it. The front page said it belonged to Tamara Weigel, May 26th, 1969. Buffy frowned. Who was Tamara Weigel and why did Mr. Giles have her diary....
Diary!
She moved the book aside and checked out the volumes beneath. They were each diaries or journals. The oldest one was dated 1908, Tamara Weigel's was the newest. These must be the diaries Mr. Giles mentioned to her last night, the ones Giles hadn't wanted to talk about. Diaries, but not of watchers. Of slayers.
Buffy stared at the books in shock. Slayers' diaries. Diaries just like hers, written by girls just like her. Slayers. With slayer strengths, slayer fears.
She bit her lip in confusion. It wasn't like Giles had told her she couldn't see them. And Mr. Giles said she should. But did she want to? Did she want to see what had happened to her predecessors? After all, she knew how they'd all end....
She swallowed, fingering the cover of Tamara Weigel's diary. If she'd been Tamara Weigel, would she want someone, someone she didn't even know, reading her diary?
Resolutely, Buffy moved the stack and dusted around it, moving on to the shelves and the single chair. From the study she moved on to the bedroom, but found her mind drifting back to those books.
She went back to the study, sitting in the chair and staring at them, letting her hand drift over their spines. It stopped on one of the books in the middle of the stack, a thin volume with a cardboard cover. She pulled it out of the stack, opening it. According to the first page, the book had belonged to Louise Kiefer, who was seventeen years old in 1937.
She skimmed the pages quickly. Louise had been a high school student, living with her "uncle" (her watcher) named David. In the entries she read, Buffy saw no reference to Louise's parents. Louise talked about her training, the vampires she fought, her fears. But she also wrote about her high school friends, a favorite cat, and her crush on Clark Gable.
Very nearly normal.
Dismayed by her own morbid curiosity, Buffy flipped to the last entry in the book, an entry which occurred about two-thirds of the way through the thin volume. Louise wrote of a boy in school, one who had asked her to the homecoming dance, and how she was hoping to be able to convince her uncle to let her go.
"He's such a sweet boy," Louise wrote, "not the most popular or the best looking, but he seems to like me, and I know I like him. Uncle David doesn't approve of my being friends with the kids in school, but sometimes I just want to be a normal girl.
"Well, it's time for my nightly tour. Uncle wants to come with me tonight. If it goes well, if he's pleased, then maybe afterwards I can talk to him. Maybe he'll be feeling kind and let me go to the dance with Ben.
"More later."
But, of course, there was no more.
Buffy swallowed back the tightness which threatened to close her throat. Louise Kiefer didn't get to go to her homecoming dance. Some vampire killed her instead. And Ben, the boy in school, never knew why the girl he liked had suddenly disappeared.
She wiped at her eyes. There wasn't anything in what she'd just read that she didn't already know; there had been slayers before her, those slayers had died. But they'd never had faces, they'd never had names. They'd never been people.
She picked up the next book on the stack, this one dated from the '20s. The location was different, and the setup. But the story was the same.
And the next and the next. Until Buffy couldn't look at them anymore. She'd stopped seeing various slayers writing in their journals. Instead she saw herself. Her words, her life.
Her death.
She jumped up from the chair, pacing away from the desk. Now she knew why Giles had wanted her to think about them, why he hadn't let her see them last night. He was trying to protect her. Sometimes his protection annoyed her, but this time she understood it. Reading
those books bothered her more than she thought it would; she wished he were here to talk to about them.
"Well, hey, brainless, it's not like he's so far away," she chided herself. It was a short walk through town to the nursing home. And he had said that if she got bored she could come over. She wasn't exactly bored, just the opposite, in fact, but she did want to talk to him. Maybe he could
tell her why the diaries had freaked her out so much.
Interesting how, when they first met, Giles's lecturing and his stuffy "watcherness" had bugged her. Sometimes still did bug her. But mostly now she was grateful for it, wanted his advice and his knowledge. And she wanted his support, that way he had that said that no matter what it was, no matter how bad it got, somehow he'd find a way to make it okay.
She shrugged into her coat and locked the door behind her, heading down the lane to find her watcher.