FIC: Ascension's Shadow (5/?)

[Alan Rogers <masterofwords@xxxxxxxxxx>]

I know you have all been waiting
breathlessly for this....*grins* Right.  I know better than that,
but here it is anyway.

As always, many thanks and much-deserved gratitude to Mad Hamlet for his
beta-reading skills and insight.  As with the last two, certain
passages and tweaks to some of the scenes are his derangement and not
mine, so it's not ALL my fault, just mostly my fault.

So far this has been a blast to write, and even more fun to plan out...I
hope everyone else is enjoying this half as much as I am!

I'm going to apologize in advance -- this installment has no Buffy and no
Willow, but it's some good stuff none the less, and needed to set the
stage.  The next part is all Slayer and all Wicca so have faith in
me!

Thanks...

enjoy!

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Ascension's Shadow
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fanfiction

by: Alan Rogers (masterofwords@xxxxxxxxxx)

Author's Note:  This fanfic takes place after Graduation Day -- about an hour after the end of the episode Graduation Day Part II, to be precise.  This is an Alternate Universe fanfic; It will most likely not have Riley, Dawn, or the Initiative.  Spike will be his traditional, very wonderfully evil self.  A few changes you might wantto be aware of though: 1) Buffy did NOT get accepted to UC Sunnydale -- she's a townie like Xander; 2) The Watchers' Council did NOT accept Buffy's resignation. 

Rating: R, for graphic violence 

Disclaimer:  I, Alan Rogers, do not in any way, shape, form or fashion own anything of or related to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series.  Those rights are held exclusively by Joss Whedon, Warner Bros. Entertainment, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Inc., and any other entities, corporations or groups not named here that have legal rights to aforementioned  series. 

The Original Characters of Charlie Rille, Auric Ward, Falcon Smith and all other Original Characters in this Fanfiction are the soleproperty of myself, Alan Rogers. 

This is a work of fiction.  Some of the cultures and histories are based on real cultures, groups, events, etc., but MANY poetic liberties were taken.  My apologies in advance to any who maybe offended by my warping of history and culture. 

Acknowledgments: To Joanne W, who made me love Buffy Fanfiction; Kimber, for showing me just how much fun it could be do create a wild Alternate Universe; to Gee, for showing me that a series doesn't have to move fast to be wonderful, and can be as much like the show as the show is like Fanfiction (if that makes sense) and to Ozmandayus for demonstrating just how serious and emotional shipper-fics can be. 

Dedication: To Kimber, for endless patience with my rambling and inspiring me to write this, no matter how bad it turns out to be. 

Summary: The night of Graduation Day, Xander Harris returns home to have his life changed forever in the blink of an eye.  But when Buffy is given a new Watcher and refused admittance to UC Sunnydale, things start going from bad to worse. 

Spoilers: Graduation Day I & II especially; Seasons 1-3 (minor) -- not much of seasons 4-5 because I'm changing so much.

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Author's Reference Note: I'm gonna be honest folks.  I tried, I really did, but I can't get the time differentials between here and England quite right...so just play along.  :)  Thanks!

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Chapter Nine: The Ides of England 

Cordelia Chase was not a happy woman by any stretch of the imagination.  She did not want to be here, walking off of a plane onto English soil sans make-up, shoes (which she had forgotten on the plane) and any form of passport or money -- in the middle of the night.  Somehow, it was the middle of the night when she had left almost twelve hours ago, and it was themiddle of the night again when she had arrived. 

Her first impression of England was that it was cold.  In the summer.  Is it even summer here? 

Hugging herself to stay warm, she stared up at the gray sky and silently wished for Sunnydale in all it's Hellmouthy glory. 

And worse yet was the reception committee.  A half dozen tweed-clad Watcher's and three or four young girls hovering about with almost awed reverence, each and every one of them clad in dark shirt, pants, boots and jacket like feminine commandos while Cordelia was dressed like a housewife spending a Saturday doing laundry. 

And I think I might dress better to do laundry.  This is my 'wake up and go out in a panic to find the stuffy English guy' outfit, not my 'meet the Watcher's and Buffy-wannabes' outfit.  These people need to get with the program and get me a hotel room, room service, dinner, and new clothes before I get annoyed. 

"Are you the Slayer?"  One of the girls asked in an incredulous tone dripping with scorn.  She was slightly taller than Cordy, with spiked, bleach-blonde hair and bold blue eyes that scanned the already aggravated and jet lagged woman up and down. 

Too late.  I'm annoyed. 

Turning the gaze that had cowed even the formidable Xander Harris upon the bleached-blonde fourteen-year-old that had dared to address Queen C as an inferior, dark eyes smoldering like heated steel, Cordelia raised an eyebrow and quirked her lip into a sardonically patronizing half smile. 

The Slayer-in-Training took a step back as Cordelia stepped forward. 

"Oh dear,"  Giles muttered under his breath, silently pondering how he was going to explain the emotional devastation of a SiT to Quentin. 

"No, I'm not the Slayer.  But you," Cordelia managed to put more arrogant condescension into those last two words than any of the onlookers would have thought possible, "have some serious issues to work out, little girl, if you think you could be.  I've killed more vampires than you're likely to see.  Have you ever looked Angelusor William the Bloody in the eyes?"  Turning her nose up at the SiT, Cordy hmphed indelicately, turning to Giles.  "What is she supposed to be?" 

Coughing politely, Giles muttered, "Well, I do believe she is a possible candidate to be Slayer if Buffy or Faith were to ... ahem ... " 

This time, Cordy actually snorted.  "Right.  I could tie herin knots and scrape the bunions off Snyder's feet with her hair." 

With a cry of incoherent rage, the tall blonde leapt at Cordelia, her handsoutstretched for her throat.  The Watchers tried to call her back, but her well-honed rage had already taken over. 

Cordelia Chase was not a fighter, but she had not taken years of self-defense and had not been helping Buffy for the past couple of years without learning something about idiotically charging a better positioned opponent; after all, it seemed to be newly-risen vampires' favorite means of attack.  The summer before this one, when Buffy had been on her sojourn toLA, Cordy had helped with some of the patrols and had learned a few techniques. 

In what appeared to be an effortless motion, Cordy stepped to the side, grabbed the girl's throat, and rammed her knee full force into the SiT's solarplexus.  A life-long dancer and cheerleader had powerful legs and hips.  In that brief second of physical contact, the SiT learned why no one messed with Cordelia Chase more than once.  With a contemptuous shove, Cordy pushed the crumpled would-be Slayer to one side of the ramp and brushed her hair over her shoulders. 

The girl collapsed in a gasping heap at Cordelia's bare feet.  Smilingsweetly, Cordy shrugged.  "Whoa, testosterone much?"  For a second, her eyes winced at the damage she had just caused, showing the sympathy she couldn't let her face show before hey gaze sharpened and slashed across the collective gazes of the assembled Watchers. 

"Keep your puppies in check boys.  They're not very well trained." 

Wesley gave a choked cough that could have been a suppressed laugh or a stunned surprise, but nobody paid any more attention to him than it took to see that he wasn't choking to death or something else that would involve removal of his body. 

A confident sway back in her hips, Cordelia walked the rest of the way downthe gangway, delicately stepping over the body of the sobbing girl, tryingnot to cringe in guilty sympathy. 

Following in a state of shock, Giles raised an eyebrow.  "My.  Well, if that wasn't unexpected."

~ * ~

 "Rupert, why didn't you tell me your girl could fight?"  Quentin Travers walked up beside his one-time friend, resting a hand on Giles' shoulder. 

Because I didn't bloody well know, you blasted windbag. 

Rupert Giles was nothing if not tactful.  "It didn't seem appropriate.  Miss Chase is quite a bit more than she seems, Quentin, and youwould do well to remember that.  She has, in fact, stared both Angelus and William the Bloody in the eyes, and has handled vampires, demons, andquite a bit else besides.   Better, I expect, than one of your most gifted trainees might." 

In fact, I would wager my library against your fortune, Quentin, that any one of my Scooby Gang would lay out any one of your toy Slayers in less time than it takes Xander to eat a twinkie. 

Quentin laughed.  "Dear boy, after that little demonstration, I believe you!  In fact, if you and young Wesley had a hand in teaching that remarkable young lady, then I would think that the Council will have tore-evaluate just what we are planning to do with you two." 

Taking off his glasses and cleaning them on the hem of his jacket, Giles gave a slight shrug.  "That is the Council's prerogative, of course." 

"Funny to hear you say that, Rupert, when just a few months back you were calling us all old fools with no sense at all.  Has that opinion changed?"  Quentin moved his hand from Giles shoulder, gesturing for the Watcher's and their charges to fall in with them.  Wesley waited a moment and fell in at the back of the line, watching carefully.  For once, he prudently didn't speak. 

Giles slipped his glasses back on his face, and regarded Travers with a guarded _expression_ of restrained anger.  "Not in the least." 

Heaving a tired sigh, the Councilman shrugged.  "I'm sorry to hear you say that, Rupert.  And I think, so would your father.  Yourfamily has..." 

"My family has served this Council with distinction far longer than yours, Quentin.  And my father would be in tears to see what has come ofhis life's work since it has passed into your inept hands!  Don't presume to tell me what my father would say when your ill-considered and misguided scheming drove him to an early grave." 

"Rupert, don't interrupt me when I'm speaking.  Respect and family aside, you are a prisoner right now.  I had truly hoped that you hadcome to your senses about Council policy and would be willing to put that unfortunate Cruciamentum test fiasco behind us, but I can see that you are still more emotionally involved with your Slayers than is wise." 

Giles strode ahead of the older Watcher, not even looking over his shoulderas he shot back.  "Wisdom, Quentin, is a commodity one gains by experience.  Something you have precious little of when it comes to Slayers."

~ * ~

Darkness was an odd concept most times -- philosophers and scientists have often argued about whether darkness was the absence of light, or the opposite of light -- or if both possible definitions mean the same thing. 

But darkness always meant demons could come out and play. 

The way of the cosmos has always been to find a balance for all things, an opposite that is a compliment and vice versa.  There had always been various cliques and sects of humankind or the more benevolent otherworldly that tried to organize and do battle with the Forces of Darkness that seemedHell-bent -- or Hell driven -- into the conquest/destruction of the Earth.

Of all these various and sundry organizations, only one had stood the test of more than two or three centuries.  The Watcher's Council survived by being diverse and conservative at the same time.  Each person had a job, a position, a place in life that gave them a role in the war.  Ofall those affiliated with the Council, only a handful were Watchers -- most were mages, magicians, warlocks, wizards, witches and warriors with ranksbroken by the odd demon or prophet here and there; these front lines were supported by hordes of researchers and students who loved nothing more thanto be buried in the well-lit, de-ionized and hermetically sealed, magically warded and elegantly appointed archives where the vast libraries of arcane, occult and supernatural knowledge was protected.  Special agents and a few of the more esoteric religious orders vied with those who taught the Watcher's their trade for the most eccentric of the group.  This tapestry created a s
mall army that pushed back the darkness year by year.  As with most things, some years were better than others. 

This had been a very good year.  It really was a shame they had lost both Slayers. 

But despite everything, arrogance and old-fashioned elegance were their creed and coat of arms.  That, and they were from the Old World, after all. 

Still, Cordelia was surprised when she found out that Watcher's Keep was really a Keep, in that medieval castle type way.  And although it was not a truly big castle as castles went, Watcher's Keep was still impressive. 

Cordelia really loathed finding anything of the Watcher's impressive. Especially something Quentin Travers took pride in. 

Giles had barely spoken since his parting comment to Quentin, but that older man had filled the gap of silence with an endless stream of prattle that had annoyed Cordelia to the point she wished she were back in High School listening to Principal Snyder. 

Yeah.  It was that bad. 

"Watcher's Keep will be your home now.  Giles, Wesley, your old room await you.  Miss Chase, because your case is somewhat...unique...we will temporarily allow you to room in the apprentice's suite next to Mr. Giles.  He will see to getting you outfitted properly.  The Council will spare no expense, no expense at all for you Miss Chase." 

Cordelia raised her eyebrow slightly.  Well, they certainly know the way to a girl's heart, don't they? 

Giles looked a little worried about her enthusiastic smile. 

Travers was still talking.  "Again, since your situation is unique, and will grow to be more so with each passing day, feel no pressure to comport or outfit yourself as a Watcher.  You will be something quite different, I think." 

The man was positively gleeful as he lead them into Watcher's Keep, the towering gray stone wall making Cordelia wonder if she were being escorted into a concentration camp or something equally horrid.  Except instead ofmaking your work, they made you study and wear tweed. 

Just the idea made her shudder. 

Utterly exhausted, Cordelia noticed almost nothing about the keep as they were escorted to their rooms.  She was stumbling along, barely able to keep her eyes open or really notice the scrapes and blisters her bare feet were getting.  Eventually, they came to the far south wing of the Keepwhere they would be staying. 

Travers walked off with Wesley, still rambling glibly while she and Giles were shown to their rooms.  Remarkably well appointed, even her small apprentice's quarters had a large bed, refreshments -- and everything else afour star hotel would provide a guest. 

The bathroom was even better.  The hot tub dominated the room, but thelarge sink and vanity mirror competed rather well for ownership of the room.  As good as the hot tub might feel, Cordelia wanted sleep more. 

Giles poked his head into her room through the door adjoining them, adjusting his glasses.  "Yes, well...goodnight, Cordelia.   Sleep well, and remember...you cannot trust these people.  At all."

"Didn't you used to be one of these people?"  She asked a little more acidly that she had meant to. 

"I got over it." 

Cordy chuckled a little over that.  "Good." 

"Quite a good show this afternoon.  I'm glad you proved me right about bringing you here.  You are more than capable of taking care of yourself, and us." 

Even dead-tired, flattery could make Queen C beam and preen like a cat.  "Of course I am. You know,  I can almost see why Buffy and Faith get off on this beating people down thing.  But I'll leave it to them.  It looks really hard on your wardrobe." 

She paused a moment before looking the Watcher straight in the eyes.  "I won't let them buy me.  I'll let them wine me, dine me, and I'll let them spoil me rotten in the manner in which I have soooo earned by being dragged here, but I will still be in your corner." 

Giles smiled.  "Sleep well, Cordelia." 

He closed and locked the door behind him. 

She stared to strip, but only got as far as peeling her jeans off before she collapsed on the bed, asleep before she finished falling.

~ * ~

"Isn't this splendid!  I always like to see families doing thingstogether, especially when a single parent is involved!"  Clapping his hands and smiling widely, Mayor Wilkins strode around his desk to carefully regard the three members of the McClay family, who stood awkwardly in the center of his brightly lit office.  "And prompt to.  Isent the call out for recruits just a few days before my Ascension!  This is delightful!" 

The patriarch of the three, a tall -- gaunt man who had neglected to give afirst name to his receptionist -- merely nodded in response.  "Family is important to us."  His flat, gravelly voice had a the clipped and stretched sound of a suppressed country accent.  "And the Old Blood runs deep in our womenfolk.  That's why Donny and I brought Tara." 

The Mayor turned his gaze from the two men to the blonde girl cowering behind them, doing everything she could not to be noticed.  "Come over here, Tara.  I don't bite, I promise." 

She was rather beautiful, in a pale, vulnerable way, her large eyes and full mouth giving her a pouty, almost childlike _expression_ that was made all the more evident by the frail confidence not daring to show itself in the face of three men.  Obviously emotionally battered and repressed, her shoulders were slumped and her worn and unflattering clothes hung like rags on her. 

But the Old Blood ran deep in her, like her father had said.  There were depths of power to this girl no one had dared plumb, much like that charmingly shy young redhead that his Faith often spoke of with teasing fondness. 

But this fear of herself and everyone around her...that would not do, not at all. 

Each timid step forward, the Mayor devoured the fear in her eyes even as hesmiled brightly.  "Come on now, sit."  He patted a chair that scooted across the floor towards his gesturing hand.  "Relax.  You and I are going to be doing a lot of word together, and thatmeans we should get to know each other a little better, don't you think?" 

His hand brushed along her hair, just avoiding touching her cheek.  "So, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"  He paused, looking back up at the two men speculatively.  They could be usefullater, but right then they were a hindrance to bringing this poor, frightened girl out of her shell! 

Her brother, Donny seemed to have a lot of unchanneled aggression.  A good thing for a boy his age, but the Mayor was confident he could find a constructive way to channel that anger.  But the father...ahh, the father.  There was a man who had a personal power and presence that Richard Wilkins could admire.  A quick question or two should set this wholesituation aright and he could get back to the serious task of healing thispoor girl and bringing her into the larger Sunnydale family that he had been building for a century. 

He would have a word with those two later about how to treat a lady.  A polite and understanding word, of course.  They had been doing theirlevel best to help a budding mage along her path to some modicum of control and without arcane knowledge themselves, imposing a higher order of discipline was the logical and reasonable course of action.  And as her family, the would of course try to help. 

"Mr. McClay, have you ever served in the military?" 

Nodding slightly, the man shrugged.  "Some.  Special Forces,for awhile." 

The Mayor nodded.  "Good, good.  Why don't you and your son go find the chief of my personal security force and talk with him about jobs?  You are staying while Tara is here, aren't you?  He didn't wait for them to answer.  "I thought so.  Like you said, family is important."  His rich brown eyes caught them both in a sharp stare.  "Go on and talk to Mike.  He'll help you getsituated.  I know you'll both do just fine." 

The aide by the door smiled politely and lead the two men into the lobby. 

Turning back to the timid witch, the Mayor sighed as he sat down on the edge of his desk, feeling very morose.  He missed Faith.  Not only would she have kept him from having to deal with the two male McClays, but she would have already had Tara smiling and laughing and willing to talk with her easy humor and frank speech.  And who could say no to those flashing dark eyes, so guarded and so vulnerable at the same time? 

No, he could recruit a thousand troops, clergy and magic-wielders and have them trained to a fair-thee-well and he would never replace the loss of that one, special girl. 

"Tell me, Tara, do you like picnics?  I know a lovely spot."

---

Chapter Eleven: Morning People 

"Well, you see...um, Mr. Travers, I, well, I really don't think Miss Chase is much of a morning person."  Wesley jogged down the hall after Quentin Travers, more than a little surprised that the rotund little man was outdistancing his longer stride.  In his arms were a bundle of clothes for Cordelia, and behind him, one of the SiT's had a second bundle that she struggled to keep balanced while trying to keep up with the two older men. 

Laughing, Quentin shrugged.  "My dear Mr. Windham-Pryce, Miss Chase's preferences really have very little to do with the situation.  I have confidence that with time she will adapt and adjust to the realities of her new situation quite well." 

The dark stone hallways of Watcher's Keep were lined with imperfectly jury rigged florescent light that flickered from time to time, as if the stone itself were reminding the inhabitants that the Keep was meant more for torches and candles than for computers and technology.  Modern sealants andinsulation kept the worst of the fog from condensing into water, but therewas still a humid morning chill that pervaded everything. 

Outside frosted glass windows, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon and send slender razor-edged rays of light through the fog, like scalpels of sunshine slicing away the dawn to make way for morning. 

Quentin stopped outside Cordelia's room, and took a deep breath while Wesley rushed to catch up, but before he could raise his hand to knock, the doorswung open. 

Cordelia certainly didn't look happy to be awake, but she was dressed and her hair was slicked back with water.  She gave Quentin a once-over before harumphing in his general direction.  Studiously ignoring Wesley, she leveled a cold gaze of sharp needled at the Slayer-in-training. 

"What is she doing here?" 

Again, Wesley wondered how Cordelia had learned to put that much scorn intoa single sentence.  He felt it should have broken at least onelaw of physics. 

"Miss Drummond is here at my request, Miss Chase.  After your...er...encounter last night, I felt that I should arrange a more formal introduction."  With dramatic flair that would have done Spike or Angelus proud, Travers stepped into a courtly bow, gesturing to both women.  "Cordelia Chase, this is Marcia Drummond, the most senior of our Slayers-in-training." 

Cordelia's eyes narrowed.  "You mean she's almost into puberty?" 

The warning grown in Marcia's throat didn't throw Cordy for an instant.  "Listen, princess, it's too early in the morning for your hormones to get in my way.  I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm dressed worse than Willow Rosenberg ever dreamed and I'm broke.  I want coffee, breakfast, andnew clothes.  If you want me to put you down again, I will.  Arewe clear?" 

Marcia stepped up, towering over Cordelia, her tank top and jeans showing off rippling muscles and a powerful build to good effect.  Her blue eyes flashed with barely restrained annoyance.  The bundle of clothes in her awkwardly balanced in her arms did make it a little harder to look intimidating, but somehow, she managed. 

"Listen, bitch, this is the rule.  I'm in charge of all the girls.  I'm pretty damn sure that means you, unless your skinny's boy-toy who likes to pad his bra."  She gestured back to Wesley, who sputtered for a moment before sighing, dejectedly accepting that defending himself might bring about bodily injury.  "So if you think that..." 

She never got to finish.  Cordelia grabbed the clothes from her arms with a groaning sigh.  "Uh!  Just shut up already and let me change!  And someone get me some coffee?  I thought castles had room service or something!" 

The door slammed in Marcia's face. 

Almost before she could blink, the door swung back open and Cordy reached out to grab the clothes from Wesley's arms with a sugar-coated smile.  "Why thank you, Wesley." 

Marcia took a step forward only to have the door slammed in her face again.

Shaking her head, the tall girl took a deep breath and gathered herself to kick in the door, her eyes flashing in anger.  "That fucking bitch is going to...." 

A polite cough interrupted her for the second time that morning.  "I would think that a Slayer would try to consider a situation with rational thought instead of anger.  Anger breeds carelessness and..."  Giles took a sip of his tea and gestured to Wesley. 

"And a careful Slayer is a live Slayer." 

Giles gave a small nod from where he was leaning against the wall a few yards down the hall.  "I suspected that something like this might happen, but I had also hoped your better sense would prevail, Quentin." 

Quentin never got a chance to speak.  Tired of being interrupted, Marcia strode towards Giles with murder in her eyes.  "Listen old man, I do what I please when I please.  And when your little bitch of a Slayer dies in that hospital, or the blonde chit is eaten by her vampire fuck-toy then it'll be my turn and I'll..." 

Giles walked right past her, shrugging at Quentin.  "I see you keep the trainees appraised of the active Slayer's circumstances.  I suppose that could be helpful." 

Looking over his shoulder, Giles smiled gently at Marcia.  "I don't think you'll do much of anything.  The Hellmouth would take your anger and feed it back to you while you died screaming.  The best Slayers know patience and they know control.  Forgetting those is what brought Faith to lie in a hospital bed and Buffy to be betrayed by Angelus.  Buffy learned from her mistake.  I hope Faith will.  You probably won't." 

At first his smile hadn't reached his eyes but even they softened a bit. Hereally couldn't blame this child.  She had been molded. Blame the maker, not the clay, he decided.  "Still," He amended slightly, continuing to walk away, "hope springs eternal, now doesn't it?"

~ * ~

Cordelia took a deep breath as she shut the door behind her. 

Okay...now I'm as crazy as Buffy. 

Throwing the second bundle of clothes on the bed, she shook her head and let out a shaky breath.  "That was stupid, Chase.  Blondie canbreak you six ways from Sunday and you and piss her off.  Stop actinglike Xander and start thinking!" 

Rifling through the clothes, Cordy alternated between making noises of approval and snorting in disgust, but she did manage to put together a decent outfit. Dark blue designer jeans that were almost a size too small and a silk blouse in a deep shade of a sapphire.  To her delight, there was also a pair of thick socks and patent leather boots that matched the black leather duster. 

A few minutes with a hairbrush and the small make-up kit included in the bundle she had gotten from Wesley made her presentable and feel almost human.  She still needed coffee though. 

Where am I going to get good coffee in England?  Do they even know what Coffee is?  Giles is always drinking tea... 

Pacing pack and forth in front of the door, Cordy thrust her hands into thepockets of the duster, warming her hands up.  They could have at least given me some gloves. 

She really hadn't realized how cold she had been until she had gotten dressed.  She had awoken shivering much earlier than she normally did, and although a hot shower had gone a long way warming her up, there was still achill in her bones that seemed to have taken up permanent residence. Still, hot coffee could do a lot, especially for her. 

Clenching her fists, her fingers wrapped around a wad of stiff and crinkly paper.  Pulling out large wads of English currency from both pockets, Cordelia smiled to herself. 

"Looks like this thing didn't get sent through the wash before they brought it to me.  I wonder whose it was?" 

Even ask she asked the question, she realized that the only women's clothing the Watcher's Council probably owned was either tweed or apparel that hadonce belonged to a Slayer or Slayer-in-training.  And the Council inherited their clothes when they died? 

"Oh....eww...I'm wearing some dead girl's clothes?  Please tell me they were at least washed first?"  Cordy looked up at the ceiling as she shoved the money back into her pockets.  "Talk about blood money." 

This time when she shivered it wasn't from the cold. 

A heavy knock sounded on the door, and Drummond's voice raked up her spine likes nails on chalkboard.  "Hey bitch, aren't you dressed yet?  I know it takes awhile to hide your face, but hurry up!" 

Cordy sneered at the door. "And why don't you go curl up in a corner and lick yourself?" 

She wasn't brave enough to shout it back. 

Wishing she had her purse -- the one with her mace in it -- Cordelia reached for the doorknob. 

You know what?  This is all Buffy's fault.

~ * ~

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" 

Tara shook her head and smiled a bit as she followed Mayor Wilkins back to his office.  In fact, she had more fun on the picnic than....well, ever.  The Mayor had been charming and friendly, drawing her out with little jokes and compliments, and soon Tara had found herself talking quietly about herself, and more importantly her magic. 

Hugging herself, she shivered at the thought.  Her magic.  Her only joy in life...and her curse.  The proof of the demon blood in her.  Proof her taint, that she wasn't right.  That she was evil. 

But the Mayor didn't mind.  When she had told him about the evil in her, he had smiled and taken her hand in his, his dark eyes staring into hers. 

"Tara, you are a lovely girl with a beautiful heart and a smile that just lights up a room!  That can't be evil, now can it?  And magicis just magic."  His hand had waved expansively around the idyllic park they were picnicking at.  "Magic is just a tool that people use.  And evil is just a matter of opinion.  If I kill a man for trying to kill me, then some people would consider me evil for taking his life.  And others would think the man trying to kill me was evil."  He smiled wider, shaking his head in amusement.  "And all that is just silly anyway, because people would decide that without everknowing why he had tried to kill me or why I had killed him." 

Then he had let go of her hand and looked at her seriously.  "Butenough of fairy tales.  This is the life you deserve.  Sunshine and summer breezes, eating barefoot in a park being proud of who and what you are.  Now the world is a mean place, and we all have to earn what we deserve.  How would you like to earn all this,"  he leanedback against a tree and gestured at the park again, "and freedom fromyour family?  Freedom from your 'taint'?  Because I, lovely Tara, can help you discover the beautiful and happy girl that's inside you justwaiting to get out!" 

Tara had wanted to answer, to tell this warm and open man that yes she would help him and yes she would let him help her, but he had shushed her with a shrug and another smile. 

"It's a big decision, you know, to do something like this.  I want you to come home with me, and get a good night's rest.  Sleep on it and think about.  Talk with your father and call your friends if you need to!  Then tomorrow afternoon, go shopping.  Buy some nice clothes and some nice things of your own, and think about it some more." 

"B-But, I don't have any f-friends." Tara had stuttered quietly, staring at the ground, her lank blonde hair hiding the shame etched on her face. That had thrown the Mayor a bit -- how could lovely girl like her be so completely alone?  Sometimes, this world just simply disgusted him!

"Well..." He had said slowly, "I could loan you some of mine"' He paused, and shook his head with a sigh, "No. Not your type really.  Hmm..we'll just have to make you some then. Not literally make of course. I'm sure someone like you could get yourself a little clique of pals in no time.  However...tomorrow at dinner...." 

Wilkins sighed again, once again truly missing Faith.  She would have known what to say, or do. 

"Tomorrow at dinner, then you can tell me what you want to do." 

Then he had hugged her like she was someone important to him.  It was the best hug Tara had felt since her mother had died, leaving her warm and fuzzy inside with a smile on her face.  Helping her up, she had lead her back towards his office. 

Now, they were walking inside, where her father was sitting on a couch nextto her brother in the lobby.  Her looked up to regard her with his sharp eyes, and Tara shrank back behind the mayor, remembering she hadn't puther shoes back on.  Her father had always said it was 'uncouth' for an unmarried woman to walk about barefoot.  It meant she was too carefree, and too free with herself. 

She felt her face going read and stuttered excuses dying on her lips as herfather stood, obviously angry.  "Tara, it's time for us to go back to the hotel now." 

Donny stood behind their father, glowering at her as if he were angry too.  It was always very bad when both Donny and father were angry. 

Mayor Wilkins smiled and laid a hand on her shoulder.  "Indeed itis.  Don't worry, Mr. McClay, Tara will be quite safe with me tonight.  I've invited her to my home for awhile.  She and I have a lot to discuss come tomorrow evening, and she needs plenty of time to think about it all!" 

It was times like this that the Mayor most missed his Faith.  She could have already escorted the two of them back to the hotel and been ready totake Tara off his hands.  As it was, he would have to wait for nightfall before giving her over to...hmm....well, who she would go with would take a bit of thought. 

Tara and the Mayor watched her father and brother stalk out of the office, both shooting lingering glares over their shoulders. 

Looking thoughtful, the Mayor turned to his receptionist.  "Madeline, would you please call Doc and have him come pay me a house call? I think I'll need his services here soon."

~ * ~

Shadows fell across his desk as the bright sky outside turned as black as Angelus' heart.  Wilkins sighed and looked up from his paper work, and rolled his eyes. 

"Well, at least you waited until the girl left." 

The shadows invaded the office, cloaking everything in an inky darkness broken by the gray light around various magical items scattered throughout theroom.  A slowly creeping chill spread through everything and thick white fog rose from the carpet to swirl around the mayor's ankles.  The dampness spread through his socks and his pants, making him shiver. 

You failed yesterday.  It wasn't so much a voice as much as it was a presence in his mind that sent emotions and images running through him.  Smothering pressure and the scent of ash filled his nose as the voice echoed in his skull like the basso thrum of a kettle drum. 

"Failure is such a harsh word.  I still Ascended and I still killed everyone you said needed to die.  And I captured the Slayer's pet vampire." 

In that, and that alone you have done well.  But you were not meantto remain interred in the mortal coil this long.  A demon lord you may be and a warlock you may have been, but invincible you are not. 

Each word made his joints ache as the air shuddered with silent thunderclaps.  The presence did not belong there, in his office or in this realm,and the fabric of what was reality in the world of Earth fought against itbeing there. 

Hissing a sigh through clenched teeth, the Mayor stood with an exasperated shake of his balding head.  Just what was with these immortal powers, anyway?  Didn't they pay attention to his monthly reports?  He sent them in for a reason, not just because procedure recommended them! 

"Invincibility was never the goal.  You know, I don't understand why you people keep wanting ultimate power.  Ultimate this, ultimate that.  Total destruction of the world....we feed off the world, off the pain, the hate, the blood.  That's why I most often employ vampires, magic-uses and Slayers.  They all understand that until humans rise above their limitations and blindness, they are food and pawns to be played." 

Then like your minions, you are a fool.  Humans are made blind to what lies beyond sight for a years.  Otherwise, they are dangerous; unpredictable and capable of gaining immense power.  Much like yourself.  Corrupting a Slayer is an impressive achievement, yes, but still paltry compared to what yet remains for you to do. 

The chill of the otherworld deepened around him, causing frost to rim the edges of his glasses and his window. 

The Mayor sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee.  "Ugh!  Do you always have to make everything so cold?  You always ruin my coffee!" 

Do not mock me! 

Cold air rushed into the room, causing the wood of his desk to creak and groan in protest as his coffee turned to ice crystals in his mug.  Sighing, Wilkins looked up. 

"That's the problem with long term plans.  There's always something the remains to be done.  And I'm doing them." 

Since your failure has trapped in the mortal coil, plans will change.  I will send my children and my messengers to you.  You will shelter and nurture them and help them come into their own.  Teach them the mortal world.  Make them part of it.  Make them part of your plans and your manipulations, and will allow you to remain part of mine. 

A feeling like an oil slick running through his body passed over him as theshadow's deepened, the air humming and crackling with dark forces gathering to let him 'hear' the presence. 

"As if I could stop you?  You're moving to fast, but that's neverbothered you.  Why don't you go take a hot bath or whatever it is youdo to relax and let me handle things? Trust me, a good, long vacation can do wonders for the soul and can help you regain focus!  You really aretesty today!" 

My instructions are clear.  Patience is irrelevant.  This shall happen at the appointed time. 

"You're wrong.  Patience has been the only saving grace we've had.  Careful planning and even more careful action is all that will let us win." 

They will come to you.  Do as you are instructed and then proceed as you see fit.  But do not fail me twice. 

The Mayor nodded slowly.  "Sure.  Keen idea."

~Alan, the Mad Dragon (aka Listmum Kimber's Personal Pet Muse)