Chapter 4
~*~*~*~*~
Ah,
distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Edgar
Allen Poe
The
Raven
~*~*~*~*~
Ripper
had taken time the previous night to assemble the items he would need to work on
sapping the Buffy's strength. A
while back, he'd been issued the case by Quentin Travers in order to test the
Slayer on her eighteenth birthday, but now there was no need to wait that long.
He would turn the Council's own weapons against itself.
The thought thrilled him.
Ripper
was exultant as he strode over to the library to set his plan in motion. Patience was never his forte, and the restraint of this past
week had been a trial, acting the part of the apologetic librarian – laying it
on thick even as it grated his nerves – trying to restore the trust of the
slayer and her friends. Their
gullibility ensured it had been all too easy; they were pathetically eager to
forgive and forget. But now…now
it was time. He was ready.
The
demon within gave him so much power and strength, he felt as if he was going to
erupt through his skin. He needed
to hurt something, someone. And the
someone he especially wanted to hurt, well she’d be waiting for him –
all perky and blonde, with that inane conversational equivalent of supermarket
music. It irked Giles; it drove
Ripper to contemplate sweet and bloody torture.
Anybody who really knew Giles might have noticed how his walk was
now more of a swagger, his usually downcast eyes glittered with malevolence and
the sneer of his lips hardened his soft features. In all, gone was the mask of the reserved librarian, stripped
away to reveal the face of a sadistic killer.
As
he reached the library door, he paused, glancing down at his tweed suit with
distaste. Poncey git; Spike was
right. Sad old Giles must have thought dressing like his dad would keep the
demons at bay – it was time to come out of the dark ages and into the era of
denim. Or at the very least get rid
of those god-awful jackets with patches. Taking
a deep breath, he wreathed his face in his best “Giles-fluster-look” and
pushed through the doors.
“Giles!
Finally!! I’ve been here for hours.
You said you had something important for me to do, but I do have a life,
you know. Not much of one it’s
true, what with the slaying and school and the having to read stuff.
And I wanted to go see Angel but now I’m not gonna have time.”
Buffy
pouted, her bottom lip quivering with indignation, her little foot stamping.
No doubt she thought she looked adorable.
Was she 6 or 16? How he
longed to slap her until her face bruised and her lips spewed forth blood and
spit. In time.
“Yes,
well. I rather got caught up with
cleaning…you know, bottles and …and … glasses and…whatnot.”
He removed his spectacles for a quick polish, using the distraction to
stop himself from laughing out loud as he tried to sound guilty and remorseful
for his recent ‘lost weekending’ with the bottles of scotch.
“Giles,
I don’t know what was going on with you.
But promise me you won’t do the drinking alone thing again.
It scared me. I don’t want
to lose you. I don’t want to walk
in one day and find you dead in a pool of vomit.
Okay? I hate to see you
hurting.”
He
almost had to stick his knuckles in his mouth to stop Ripper from guffawing. Her earnest face was just begging for a fist.
He composed himself as he replaced the glasses back on his nose.
“I
promise you, Buffy. It was just
such a shock when the police got in touch with me.
I knew those people, for so long. They
were part of my youth and I felt responsible for them. I’ve let them down.”
He allowed his eyes to moisten with tears.
God, he was good. Maybe
Hollywood beckoned! Glancing at
her, he assessed the effects. Yes,
she’d bought it. That “poor
Giles” look was a dead giveaway.
“Please
don’t worry, Buffy. I’ll be
fine. Come, sit.
We need to work on the mystical side of your slayer abilities.
Now don’t look at me like that; you know we need to do this.
I take it you’ve been reading up on the properties of crystals, as I
asked you to?”
“Well…I
meant to…it’s just I’m all avoidy when it comes to books and there was a
sale on at the mall and it said they had Jimmy Choo’s with 75% off -- which
they didn’t, even -- but while I was there I saw this leather skirt with only
a tiny rip that they were selling off.”
Buffy
could see that her – perceived – wardrobe crisis wasn’t having an
impact on Giles, especially considering his annoyed look.
For a moment she thought… then she mentally rolled her eyes at the
foolishness of her musings.
‘Like
Giles had a mean bone in his body.’
It
was why he made such a good watcher – he never seemed to rile.
Although, the look he was now giving her...
She
struggled to recall the last question he had asked, and then winced because she hadn’t
been reading like she was supposed to.
“So
the answer to your question would be no; I didn’t read the book.”
“I
see. Well, let’s start with the
basics then.”
Giles
pulled out a large crystal, not a uniform shape, tall and angular but with one
flat face that that enabled it to be stood upright.
“I
want you to gaze into the grounding crystal, Buffy.
Clear your mind and just focus on the small flaw at its centre.
This should enable you to concentrate and become receptive to the various
stones I will place in front of you.”
“Jeez,
creepy much? I mean, do you
honestly think that a crystal is going to zap me into new-age Buffy?
Shouldn’t there be drugs or something for that to work?
Not that I want drugs because ewww…but really Giles.
You’re so naďve!”
“Just
focus, Buffy, please?”
She
sighed and shifted in her seat, rolling her eyes before finally focusing on the
crystal in front of her. Eventually,
her features went slack as the supernatural nature of the crystal did its job.
Ripper let his Giles mask slip and stretched out his hunched shoulders.
Waving his hand in front of her face he was satisfied that her mind was
absent, locked into contact with the crystal.
“Can’t
you ever just do as I say? You
stupid, sniveling, obstinate bitch. And
drugs? They’re right here, Slayer. You’ll get
your wish…you’ll be normal. Won’t
that make you happy, Buffy dear?”
As
he spoke, he withdrew a leather-covered box from his briefcase and opened it;
nestling inside was an old-fashioned hypodermic needle and a vial of amber
liquid. Drawing off some of the
fluid, he held the needle up and squirted a little out of the end to clear any
air bubbles. He didn’t want her
dead…that wouldn’t do at all, not for the success of his plan.
He injected her quickly, rubbing over the needle mark with cotton wool.
It would take a while for the serum to work, but when it did, the fun
would start. Well, fun for him anyway – not so much for the Slayer.
Ripper
checked that there was no telltale signs of his little Slayerectomy then clicked
his fingers before her eyes to wake her.
“Oh!
Did I zone out? Sorry, I’ve not been sleeping well. See, told you it wouldn’t work.
I guess I’m just not open to new stuff.
Willow’s your girl for the whole stone thing. But I can kill demons a treat.
Just let me do that, ‘k?”
Buffy
smiled at him, eyes wide and innocent and completely trusting.
Fool.
Giles
smiled in return. “Okay, Buffy,
maybe you’re right. Well, I think
that’s enough for today; you go and do your thing own for a change. I daresay you can think of something?”
“Yes!
Well, catch you later, Giles. And
no more naughty boozehound for you!”
His
self-deprecating smile vanished as the door swung to behind her.
If only he could be there when she realized her strength was diminishing.
Her hurt look would be manna to his demon, her suffering a side order of
ambrosia. Still, she’d seek him
out soon enough and then the gloating would be sweet.
~*~*~*~*~
After
Buffy left the library, chock-full of de-Slayer juice, he’d ambled over to the
factory and spent the night planning his next move with Spike. Drusilla caused him some unease; her ability to see into his
mind disturbed him. He didn’t
like to show his hand and certainly didn’t trust Spike in the slightest.
But teaming up with Spike meant he had to accept Drusilla.
For now. He had other plans
to keep Spike amused.
Now
he was alert to sounds of breaking glass and teenage ranting coming from the
library as he approached. Ah…so
it had started. Wonderful.
“Good
morning, Buffy. Is there any reason
why you chose to break my priceless statuette of the Goddess of Fertility?” He gestured at the pieces on the floor.
“Giles!
There’s something wrong – watch…” She demonstrated the problem by
throwing a dagger; the blade ricocheted off “The Collected Spells of Hecate”,
narrowly missing her head on its return trajectory.
“What’s wrong with me? I
can’t aim, can’t throw, I couldn’t even carry my school bag this morning
– it was so heavy. BOOKS! I
couldn’t even carry books. And I
feel all icky, hot and achy. Help
me. Look stuff up.”
Ripper
was chuckling deep within his chest. She
was hurting, aaah... bliss.
“I’m
sure it’s just a bug of some sort, Buffy; after all, you’re not immune to
everything. Give it a couple of days and you’ll be right as rain.”
“What’s
right about rain? It’s cold and
wet and ruins my hair. Giles –
what if I stay like this forever? How
can I slay if I throw like a girl?”
“I
think you’re overreacting, Buffy. I
mean, your aim has never been that wonderful anyway.
Running, leaping, staking at close quarters – that you are adequate at.
Deduction and reasoning? Well,
you will no doubt accept you do have problems concentrating for long enough to
research successfully. I’m not
sure your brain is fully in control of your limbs or other faculties, you are
far too easily distracted – and let’s not mention your lack of
coordination.”
“I
was reporting back to the council the other day and they were asking if you’d
made any progress. There’s always
been concern that you wouldn’t match your predecessors.
Naturally, I tell them you’re good at other things but they still think
the Slayer should be able to walk and talk at the same time.”
Buffy
looked as if she’d been slapped. “Wha…Giles…do
you think I’m a bad slayer?” Her
hurt little voice gave him such a kick.
“No,
Buffy, not at all. I think you do
very well, considering. You’re really good at identifying demons, albeit
somebody else has to, as you say, ‘look stuff up’ for you.
But you’ll always have that help.
Xander and Willow make up for any shortcomings you have.
He may be a little…on the slow side…in some things, but he’s
certainly able to throw better than you, less like a girl.
And Willow, she thinks things through, doesn’t react impulsively.
It doesn’t matter that you are weak, just as long as you’ve got
them.”
Buffy
was obviously disturbed. “You
think I’m weak?”
“Well,
you have to admit that you do rely on them a lot.
Actually, Buffy, since you brought it up, I understand from Xander and
Willow that they both feel a little…resentful…that you take all the glory
for yourself. Willow told me
that she wanted to do more things of her own rather than be your sidekick.”
Oh
for a camera to capture that look, a mixture of kicked puppy dog and wronged
friend, with a side order of vengeful woman. Tears were gathering in her eyes.
‘Oh,
look out, here come the waterworks… please!’
Ripper ached for her to cry.
“Oh,
I’m sure it was just sounding off, Buffy.
I don’t think she was serious. Nor
Xander.”
“What
did Xander say?”
“He
hasn’t told you? Oh, then I
really don’t feel I should…best ask him yourself.
I wouldn’t want to break any confidences.”
Ripper had Giles look all morally superior.
Buffy
was thrown by the entire conversation. It
was all going according to plan. She
was losing her powers, she was upset, off kilter, and now she thought her
friends were stabbing her in the back. It
was exactly where he wanted her to be. Time
to step up the pace.
Making
soothing noises, he ushered her out of the library telling her to take two
aspirin and lie down for a while. When
he asked her if she wanted him to send for Xander and Willow, she replied with a
small tight, “No.” It made him
smile.