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Chapter 16

England
Giles’ Office, Watcher’s Council Headquarters

Giles was sitting at his desk, lost in thought. It was early on a Saturday morning, but that had never stopped him from going into the office to get some work done. It seemed like he spent more time behind his desk than he did at home anyway. Restructuring the Watcher’s Council from scratch took time and effort and wouldn’t fit into a normal workweek schedule. Besides, it wasn’t like he had plans to be anywhere else.

Ever since Spike’s call last night, he was more puzzled than ever about the text he has translated. Which was why he sat leaning back in his seat, glasses held in his hand, as he absentmindedly sucked on the tip of one of the ear frames. He was going over the translation in his mind when he suddenly sat up, perched his glasses back up on his nose and reached for his discarded notebook. Quickly, he reread the translation.

“Of course,” he mumbled aloud, pausing over a word that repeated itself: the one. Then he froze; the blood drained from his face leaving behind a pale visage. “Oh, dear God.” Scrambling out of his chair, he rushed to his bookshelf and began desperately searching for the text he needed. It was several minutes before he found the one he was looking for. The book was musty from disuse, yet thick – filled with vast amounts of knowledge. So much so, that several volumes could have been written instead of just the one.

Glancing at his watch, he noted the time: 6:00 a.m. ‘Only an hour before I need to call Buffy,’ he thought as he mentally calculated the one-hour time difference. He hurried back to his desk and got busy; an hour wasn’t much time, and he had a lot of reading to do.

His earlier words to Spike came back to haunt him. Buffy seemed to be at the center of the prophecy, and if what he feared was true, so too was Spike.

~*~*~*~

Los Angeles
Wolfram & Hart Offices

While Giles was researching new meanings to the transcribed prophecy, halfway around the globe Angel was just walking through the door of Wesley’s office to check on what, if any, progress was being made on the sketch he had dropped off earlier. A clock chimed ten times, indicating the lateness of the hour, yet Angel noticed Wesley paid it no mind. The former watcher was thoroughly engrossed in the book laid out before him. Wesley hadn’t even spared him a glance when he gave a quick knock and walked in.

“Anything, Wes?” Angel asked.

Wesley started as Angel’s voice broke through his concentration, just realizing that he was standing in his office.

“Bloody hell, Angel. Knock or something next time.”

“I did. You ignored me.”

“Oh. Terribly sorry about that. Was rather engrossed. I think I’ve got a lead. Finally. I was just starting to read about it when you walked in.” He gave Angel an annoyed look for scaring him half to death. “Er, yes. Like I was saying. I just started reading. But, I can tell you those markings are for some type of protection. They allow safe passage for persons from the Draemuir dimension. Sort of a means to keep them grounded here in ours.” He saw Angel open his mouth to ask the question, but cut him off adding, “And, before you even ask… No, I have no idea who or what inhabits that dimension and why they would be here. I am headed in the right direction, however, and should have something for you in a couple of hours. Hopefully.”

Angel sighed and walked over to the window, looking out at the night sky. ‘Why would someone from the Draemuir dimension be here, and what does it have to do with Buffy? Are the senior partners somehow involved?’

“… with that scroll that was delivered to me?” Wesley’s words finally penetrated Angel’s silent musings.

“Uh... what was that, Wes?”

“I said, do you think this guy’s appearance has anything to do with that scroll that was delivered here?”

“No. Spike said that Giles thought that the scroll had nothing to do with them. We need to concentrate on this guy and try to figure out why he went after the Slayer. I’ll be back in a few hours. And, Wes?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

~*~*~*~*~

Rome
Buffy’s Room

Both occupants on the bed sleep soundlessly, oblivious to the household waking up around them. For one, it was their normal sleep schedule. For the other, it wasn’t.

~*~*~*~*~

Rome
City Square

Dawn, along with the other girls, had woken up early. There was an art festival in town that weekend in addition to the weekly farmer’s market held in the square and they had all made plans to get up early and go before the crowds hit. Which was why the ringing phone went unanswered.

That, and neither Buffy nor Spike could be roused to answer it.

Dawn wasn’t worried when Buffy hadn’t shown for their jaunt. More than likely, her sister was catching up on her sleep. A little grin broke out over her face as to why she would need it, but was happy because it meant Spike was still around. The art festival was going to be there all weekend, so it wasn’t like Buffy was going to miss it if she didn’t come right now.

Wandering through the various booths, Dawn tried to see if anything warranted “gift” status. Pretty jewelry abounded and Dawn picked out a silver ring with an amethyst stone for Buffy, and a handmade necklace for herself. She paid for her purchases then wandered off again. She stopped when she came to a local painter’s booth. She eyed his wares before noticing the painting he was currently working on. When she saw what he was doing, an idea came into her head.

“If I gave you a picture, could you paint a copy of it? Like what you’re doing there?” she asked.

“Sure. With something to go by, I could have it finished in a few hours. You could pick it up later this afternoon once it dries,” the artist replied.

Squealing with delight, she reached into her purse to pull out her wallet. Opening it, she extracted a picture of her and Buffy together. It was a candid shot, taken a few years ago. Their arms were wrapped around each other and innocent smiles played across both of their faces. She couldn’t remember who took the picture, but it was her favorite. That’s why she had cut it down to size to fit in her wallet. Spike would love it as a painting. Christmas was coming; well, in another six weeks anyway. She just prayed she could keep quiet about it until then.

~*~*~*~

Rome
Buffy’s Room

Spike woke from a soundless sleep sometime around midmorning. Eyes closed, he reached an arm out in the hopes of encountering the Slayer’s body, but knowing the space beside him would probably be empty. She was normally up and about this time of day. However, he smiled when his hand encountered the warm bundle lying next to him.

“Slayer, I think you overslept,” he said drowsily, eyes still closed.

He didn’t get a response. That made him open his eyes and he leaned up on one elbow to look at her. Buffy was lying on her back, her slightly pale face the only thing exposed above the sheet that covered her body. He reached out a hand to gently shake her awake. She’d be pissed that she had overslept, thus missing Giles’ call. His light shaking caused her to groan in her sleep. Pain, not pleasure. Hearing it, he jerked his hand back.

“Buffy,” he called in a louder voice, trying to wake her with his words. When he sat up, the sheet pulled away from her body, exposing her upper arms. His stared, horrified, at what he had missed a moment earlier: twin blue streaks starting to snake up between the valley of her breasts.

Carefully, so as not to cause her any more pain, he slowly lifted the sheet away from her body.

“Nooo…” he moaned softly. The sheet slipped from his fingers to pool around her hips. Her upper torso was left bare to his scrutiny. The slight spidery veins of the night before had doubled in number. She looked like someone had painted a blue sun on her belly then drawn a bunch of rays outward from the circle. Some reached down to the tops of her thighs, others started to circle around her waist. More wound their way up towards her neck, not quite reaching the tops of her breasts.

She lay unresponsive to his attempts to get her to awaken. He didn’t know what to do. His bellow for Dawn went unanswered. Then he remembered; the girls were at the festival. He jumped out of bed and threw on his jeans. Call the Watcher, his mind told him. Giles would know what to do.

Spike raced out of the room to do just that.

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