Author: JR
Email addy: <JRR42@yahoo.com>
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Status: Complete
Warnings: Nope. Not this time.
Category: Crossover with Highlander
Disclaimer: All other characters belong to their respective owners and are used without permission. This story is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights, nor is any profit being made from it.
This is what happens when you get involved with too many different fandoms.
Universe setting: For you Highlander fans, this story takes place sometime after ‘Archangel’ (sorry to all those Richie Forever people). Please forgive me for playing with the timelines of the shows, but hey, it’s fan-fic and I can do that ;-)
Thanks: As always, to Carrie, and to Marius, the oak and the ash to my birds in the forest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio,
than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hamlet, Act
I, Scene 5
It was a rather slow night in Sunnydale -- slow for a town situated over a Hellmouth, at any rate. Between the closing of the Bronze for its semi-annual fumigation and a wondrous void of world-threatening prophecies, the group known as the ‘Slayerettes’ was enjoying a quiet, peaceful evening at Sunnydale High’s library.
‘And Xander with pizza, Oz in his chains, and Cordelia off pouting, nothing has changed. Giles doing research, Buffy no longer patrols; while Angel is happy with his reattached soul.’ Willow ad-libbed to herself with a hidden grin while glancing up from her computer. Of course, her father would be furious to hear his beloved (and Jewish) daughter improvising on a Christmas poem; but then again, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, Willow surmized.
As she waited for the modem to connect, Willow found her gaze wandering around the assembled group. They were all keeping themselves busy until Cordelia finished eating dinner with her parents. Once she joined them at the library, they were all -- with the exception of the librarian and the werewolf -- planning on heading out for a movie or something to alliviate their boredom. Until Cordy came back, though, there was little else to be done.
Giles, being the consummate Watcher/librarian that he was, was busy cataloguing a new set of dusty tomes sent over by the Watcher council. For his part, Xander was doing his best to attack the pizza supreme that rested on the table before him. Being the second night of his ‘time of the month’, Oz was in his full-blown werewolf mode, and therefore chained to the wall of the caged weapon storage locker. And Angel... well, Angel was just being Angel.
Willow’s roving green eye involuntarily rested for a moment on the vampire. His being there, of all places, was a sight that she never really expected to see again. Just a few days ago, she would have considered the thought of Angel being back in the library of his own free will just a pipe dream. But then again, she’d seen stranger things over the course of the past two years.
Hellmouths were funny that way.
How else could one account for a vampire with a soul becoming the boyfriend of the chosen vampire slayer? Who’da thunk it? But there was certainly more to Angel than met the eye.
Over the past year, the young red-head had come to privately consider the two and a half century old vampire a friend. Well, not exactly the ‘best bud’ type, but Angel was certainly more than just an acquaintance. He had been, in his own way, doing his best to aid Buffy in the fight against the forces of evil that were all-too-prevalent in Sunnydale. Time and time again he’d risked his life. Not just for Buffy, either; but for all of them at one point or another -- including Willow.
On the other hand, though, he’d also tried to kill them all just a few short months ago.
An unexpected shudder coursed through the Willow’s petite frame as the memory of Angel’s hands locking around her neck crept up on her with amazing clarity...
‘Stop it!’ Willow’s inner voice screamed. ‘That was Angelus, not Angel! Angel is the one that *saved* your life from that crazy Watcher, Mrs. Post, two weeks ago. He’s the one who’s always treated you with kindness and respect!’
It was that last thought that made all the difference to Willow. From time to time, it felt like everyone else had taken advantage of her giving nature, either with or without malicious intent. Even Oz, as sweet and well-mannered as he was, was guilty of it; not that Willow ever said anything about it. Being pushy and confrontational about such trivial things was simply not in her nature. It was more Cordelia’s style.
Then again, Willow Rosenburg was cut from a much different cloth than Cordelia Chase.
‘Yeah,’ she thought sadly. ‘Cordelia is made of spandex while I’m just sturdy old, plain, dependable cotton.’
As if sensing her negative thoughts, Angel glanced up at her from the book he’d been pretending to read for the past half hour. As soon as his rich brown eyes met hers, Willow felt a moment of instant panic. It took every bit of her considerable mental discipline to keep her eyes from darting away from the vampire’s.
There was *something* about the way Angel looked at people. From the first time that she’d seen him from across the room at the Bronze, Willow had some unexplainable feeling that the vampire could ‘see’ right into her inner-most thoughts and emotions with a simple, penetrating gaze. This time was no different.
Every now and then, the other Slayerettes would make a comment that Angel was ‘hard to read.’ One instance that came immediately to her mind was the time that Xander went off on one of his little tears, doing his impersonation of Angel’s various emotional states. “This is Angel happy...this is Angel sad...this is Angel being stabbed repeatedly in the leg...” All the while, Xander had kept the same, stoic-yet-tortured expression on his face. Cordelia and Buffy had busted out laughing. Even Giles grinned for a nanosecond before catching himself. Willow was the only one who didn’t get the joke.
Angel was many things, but an automaton was not one of them. He laughed and cried; worried and cared; and in the end, he wore his heart on his sleeve just as plainly as any of the rest of them. Even when he did try to conceal his emotions behind a mask of indifference, one needed only to look carefully to see exactly what he was trying to hide.
As Willow’s thoughts came full circle, her attention returned to the present. Her green eyes were locked on Angel’s as if hypnotized. Comfort, trust, and just a touch of concern were all clearly visible in the warm pools of brown. It took a moment for Willow to realize that something had changed -- that normally imperceivable laugh lines had suddenly appeared at the corners of Angel’s eyes. Her gaze drifted lower, coming to rest on a sight that she didn’t see nearly enough: Angel’s mouth curved into the smallest of smiles. Too shocked to do anything else, Willow could only grin at him in return, happy in the knowledge that she had been blessed by such a rare event.
The moment, however, was broken by an electronic ‘ping’ from the computer announcing that Willow’s last attempt to go on-line had been successful. With a last glance at Angel, the young red-head’s attention returned to the monitor in front of her.
She was busy checking through her e-mail when Giles’ voice broke the silence that had descended over the library.
“It’s almost ten. Would someone care to see to Oz’s dinner?”
Engrossed by something on the screen, Willow only heard the sound of Giles’ voice, not the words he spoke. Angel was preparing to stand up when Xander suddenly beat him to it.
“I’ll get it, Dead Boy.” Xander said harshly. From day one, there had always been a great deal of animosity between the vampire and high school student.
From her seat at the computer, Willow observed the brief look of irritation that marred Angel’s features, before it was carefully concealed under his normal mask of indifference. Sighing deeply, she wondered how Angel managed to keep all of his emotions so skillfully hidden -- at least from everybody else but her.
Maybe, if she asked nicely, he might teach her how it was done.
Not seeing anything of interest in her e-mail, Willow decided to kill some time in the chat rooms. Pulling up one of her personal favourites, she quickly lost herself in the lively bouillabaisse of anonymous conversation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About a half an hour had passed before Willow’s voice finally broke through the tomb-like silence of the library.
“Hey Giles? Have you ever heard of a demon called ‘Ahriman’?” Willow’s innocent question drew the attention of everybody in the room, not just the Watcher.
“Ahriman?” Giles queried as he made his way over to the computer. “The names sounds remotely familiar, but I’m afraid I can’t recall any specific information. Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Willow began. “There’s this new guy in the demonology chat room. He’s asking if anybody’s ever heard of this ‘Ahriman,’ and he says that it’s really important.”
“I sup...pose we can do some research...” Giles started, only to be interrupted by an overly happy voice.
“Cool! Something to do!” Xander hopped up out of his chair, only to stop dead in his tracks. Whirling around, he threw a sudden question in the air. “Did I just get *happy* about doing research? Oh man, I gotta get a life.”
While Giles directed Xander’s search into the stacks, Willow’s fingers flew over the keyboard. Curious as to what exactly she was doing, Angel made his way over to the computer. Pulling up a chair, he sat down off to her side, carefully observing what was happening on the monitor -- despite the fact that he hadn’t a clue as to what she was doing.
Finally, the vampire’s curiosity got the best of him. “What exactly is all this?”
“This? This is the demonology chat room.” Willow explained as she continued to type furiously.
“Chat room?”
“Chat room. You know, where people...” her voice trailed off as realization hit her. “You...probably don’t have that much experience with computers, do you?”
“Not...” Angel began, only to be interrupted by Willow’s steady stream of words.
“No. I guess not, you being old...er and all. I mean, look at Giles. He’s only a fraction of your age, and he can’t stand to be around them, which really is a shame since cataloguing all these books on the computer would really be a big help when it comes to doing research.”
As Willow’s diatribe came to an end, so did her train of thought. Embarrassed by her ramblings, she reluctantly raised her eyes to Angel’s, only to find a fond, amused expression on his face. Relieved that he hadn’t been offended by her comments on his age, the young red head let out a small sigh of relief before returning to the matter at hand.
The sounds of pages turning underscored the impromptu lesson on the finer points of IRC chatting. Used to teaching bored high school students, Willow did her best to keep her explanations from becoming too dry or technical. In the end, she was both surprised and delighted at how quickly the vampire absorbed the information.
“Hexster, Possessed, Demons-R-Us; where do they come up with these names?” Angel asked as he perused the list.
“It depends. I usually log on as ‘Sabrina,’ because of the whole witch-thing.” Willow answered.
“Sabrina?”
“TV show? Teen-aged...nevermind. I’ll tell you later.” From time to time, Willow actually forgot that the person sitting next to her pre-dated television by almost two centuries.
“So, which one of these people was asking about Ahriman?”
“This one,” Willow answered, highlighting the name in question with the cursor. “ROGue.”
Studying the name, Angel asked the obvious question. “Do you know anything more about this person?”
Seeing the wisdom in Angel’s caution, Willow clicked the ‘Who is...?’ function. “That’s weird...”
“What?” Angel asked, concern evident in his tone of voice.
“Well, I asked the computer to supply me with some more information on Rogue, but it’s saying that no additional information is available. Wait a sec...” Before the words had even passed Willow’s lips, her fingers were typing at a dizzying speed.
Using every trick she could think of, she attempted to coax the computer into providing either a name or location for the person chatting as ‘Rogue’; only to be stymied each time.
“Whoever this is, they’re good.” Willow muttered under her breath.
“What do you mean?” Angel queried.
“I mean, I can’t get a fix on who or where this person is.” Frustrated, Willow’s keystrokes were slowly becoming more violent. She was fast running out of ideas when Giles spoke.
“I think I’ve found something.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Whatcha got, G-man?” Xander questioned.
Rolling his eyes, Giles uttered his standard protest to the detested nickname. “How many time do I have to ask you...”
“Giles! The information?” Willow interrupted smoothly.
“What? Oh, yes, right. I’ve found an entry in Ropare’s Encyclopedia of Demons and Evil Spirits. It’s in the section...”
“Giles,” Xander was rolling his hand, hoping the librarian would take the not-so-subtle hint. “Can we skip the footnotes and go straight to the Reader’s Digest version?”
Sparing a glare for the impatient teenager, the Watcher began reading from the entry. Willow’s hands were not idle, typing verbatim what Giles read aloud.
“Ahriman. A bringer of chaos who is given a chance at freedom once every millennia. In order to escape imprisonment, Ahriman must defeat the Champion, an immortal chosen for the qualities of strength, loyalty, and courage.”
“That’s it?” The question came from Willow, who was distressed that she couldn’t offer the anonymous person on the other end of the modem more information.
“Well, there is an illustration. Unfortunately, however, the writing in the picture is a language that is unfamiliar to me.”
“May I look at that?” Angel was up and crossing the room before Giles had an opportunity to close the thick, dusty tome. It was all the Watcher could do to keep from flinching as the vampire entered his personal space. His obvious distaste at their close proximity was not lost on any of them, least of all Angel. Not that the bi-centurian blamed the librarian. Knowing how Angelus took such delight in torturing the Watcher for hours upon end, made Angel just as awkward as Giles undoubtedly was.
Setting personal discomfort aside, Angel studied the open page before him; but, like Giles, was unable to recognize the strange markings. Realizing that three other people in the room were awaiting his conclusion, Angel shook his head in the negative.
With nothing further to add, Willow typed a brief message. Short seconds later, the reply prompted her to reach over and turn on the portable scanner.
“Can I see that for sec?” she inquired politely.
Curious as to what she intended, Angel brought the weathered book over personally. Like a child watching a magic trick, the vampire stared in fascination as the digital reproduction appeared shortly after Willow moved the hand-held device over the pages. She talked as she worked, explaining and describing the entire process, including how the picture would first be saved, then transmitted via e-mail to the person known only as ‘Rogue.’
In truth, Willow’s impromptu lesson over the intricate workings of the scanner was more nervous prattle than actual teaching. Less than a year ago, the she’d been enlisted to scan the contents of several Slayer-related books onto the computer. Nobody, however, could have foreseen that one of the books would actually be the prison of a very powerful demon; nor could they have known that scanning the book would be enough to release the evil thing confined there. The creature had escaped into the computer, and proceeded to start an on-line relationship with Willow. Whenever she recalled the event, Willow couldn’t be sure which emotion was more powerful: the creepiness of it, or her overwhelming embarrassment over the situation as a whole.
Whatever the reason, talking to Angel seemed to help keep her calm, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the vampire. Carefully adjusting the book so he could hold it steady with a single hand, Angel used his newly-freed hand to give one of Willow’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. His thoughtful action was quickly rewarded by one of the red-head’s genuine smiles.
The moment was broken, however, when Xander spoke. “Waitasec. Did that book say something about an *immortal* champion?”
Mentally reviewing the passage, Giles nodded affirmatively. “I believe so.”
“Sooo...what exactly does that mean? Is this ‘champion’ a vampire or something?”
Stunned by Xander’s unusually intelligent question, the librarian pondered the possibilities.
“Perhaps.” Giles began slowly. “But we should also take into consideration that there are many types of immortal beings. Demons, various creatures of darkness...”
“Immortal.” Angel almost whispered the word to himself as he tried to recall why that word was raising a red flag in his memory.
“...any number of sages. Then there are the Hecate worshippers who claim to live for extended numbers of years, and Immortals themselves.”
“Immortals themselves? I thought that’s what we were talking about here.” Xander’s brows were knitted in confusion.
“And that we are. There are several substantiated legends about a race of beings known simply as ‘Immortals.’ It has long been believed that these Immortals look and act very human, and therefore, live among us. Actually, it’s quite fascinating when you consider it. Imagine living through century after century, watching mankind learn and grow.”
“Wait,” Angel interrupted. “Are you talking about those butchers that go around cutting each other’s heads off?”
“Ah, yes, well, there is that to consider.” Giles frowned. “Cutting off each other’s heads? What’s this?” Xander questioned.
“Most of the legends about Immortals do make mention of that fact. It would seem that whenever they run across each other, it’s there custom to fight each other to the death. I don’t recall a great deal about the specifics, but I do remember the Watcher Council being somewhat... concerned by the recent increases in the number of mysterious beheadings on a world-wide scale.”
“But if they’re immortal, then how can they fight to the death?” This question came from Willow, who was waiting for her e-mail to Rogue to finish sending.
“Apparently, the term ‘immortal’ is something of a misnomer...”
“They can be killed.” Angel replied flatly.
“And you know this because...” Xander asked.
“I’ve come across them before.”
“Now how did I know you were going to say that.” Xander retorted as his eyes rolled.
“They’re strong, cunning, and dangerous. Oh, and powerful, too.”
“How so?” Giles questioned, his curiosity peaked by hearing a first-hand account of yet another supernatural phenomena.
“Well, for one thing, they can repell vampires.”
“’Repell?’ How is that possible?” The librarian was fascinated by this tidbit of information. His mind was already considering what an asset such knowledge would be to a slayer.
“I don’t know for sure. All I know is that back around the 1860’s, I accidentally came across a couple of them fighting...” The vampire paused for a moment, hoping that they would all pick up on his silent queue that he had been Angelus back then, not the soul-bearing Angel. Still, it was difficult for him to continue, knowing that any mention of his more sinister persona would stir up recent memories that they all wanted to forget. “I saw them from a distance and I...wanted the winner. After the fight was over, I started to move in towards the one left standing, but before I could get near enough, I felt this...pain in my head. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Of course, that only made me more determined to...; so I forced myself to keep moving closer. Then all of sudden out of nowhere, there was this huge...lightning storm. It was so powerful it started fires all around the woods; hell, it even knocked over trees in the surrounding area.”
“A spell? Or some kind of witchcraft, maybe?” Willow wondered aloud.
“Perhaps.” Giles allowed.
“Something that’s powerful enough to send vampires running for the Extra Strength Excedrin. Not good.” Xander observed. “And there are a lot of these Immortal guys out there?”
“I wouldn’t begin to estimate their number; but, if the legends are true, they could be anywhere, living like any normal, ordinary person.”
“Oh great, isn’t that just comforting? Knowing our luck, this guy the Willster is talking to is probably one of these Lizzie Borden types.”
Out of the mouths of innocents... Xander’s casual comment struck home in both the watcher and the vampire. As if of one mind, they both slowly turned until their eyes met and fear-filled expressions overwhelms their facial features.
“Willow, you said that you couldn’t track this guy, right?” Angel asked cautiously.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I’m pretty sure if I had more time, though...”
“If you could find out who and where this person was...” Giles began.
“...then can he do the same things to find you?” Angel finished.
A sickly white color emerged as all the blood drained away from the girl’s face. Realization came at Willow in a rush. When she sat down behind the computer almost an hour earlier, it had been with the sole intention of checking her e-mail; something that did not require the precautions she normally took when undertaking any of her hacking jobs. That she was using a school terminal provided a certain level of anonymity; she hadn’t, however, taken a single measure to disguise her location, though.
“Oh God!” she squeaked as she reached for the mouse in a state of blind panic. Without so much as signing off, she exited first from the chat room, and then from the rest of the computer.
Only when everything was completely turned off did the four non-lupine beings in the library allow themselves to relax slightly. Nevertheless, an undeniable air of tension had settled over the room. Uncertain of how to proceed, they all remained motionless, quietly assessing the potential amount of trouble that could be headed their way.
After an indeterminate time, Angel’s voice broke the silence. “Willow, worst case scenario. How likely is it that whomever you were talking to would be able to track you down?”
“Uhmm...realistically?” Seeing the varying looks of disbelief thrown her way, the red head quickly finished her answer. “Well, I guess Rogue would have to have enough computer knowledge to be able to read the address numbers, and even then they’d only get the library’s number. This is a public terminal, so anybody can use it.”
“So basically, we just need to keep an eye out for any Lancelot wannabes wandering up and down the school hallways with long, sharp, pointy metal objects.”
As was his habit, Giles ignored Xander’s poor attempt at levity. “I think it would behoove all of us to take measures of precaution until we can be relatively certain that there is no danger.”
“Wait a minute. Time out here.” Willow’s voice was sharp, catching the attention of all the assembled men. “Don’t you think we might all just be...overreacting a teensy bit here? I mean...we’re all just kinda...assuming... that Rogue is an Immortal. I mean, I talk in these kind of chats all the time, and a lot of the people there just think it’s ‘cool’ to hang out in the witchcraft and demon type rooms.”
“Hey guys! What’s the haps?” A new voice interjected.
Cordelia swept into the library still dressed to the nines from dinner at the country club. Happy to have a reason to exit the conversation, Xander moved across the library to greet his unlikely girlfriend. Willow gave the couple a few moments of privacy to share a kiss before walking over to join them.
Realizing that the teenagers had effectively tabled any further discussion on the matter, the two ‘adults’ in the room shared a concerned glance. Sure it was possible that the whole matter had been settled the minute Willow exited the chat room; but both the vampire and the watcher had gut feelings that this probably wouldn’t be the case.
After all, nothing on the Hellmouth was that simple.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seacouver, WA
Busy looking over the .JPEG picture he had received via e-mail, Adam Pierson missed ‘Sabrina’s’ abrupt departure from the chat room. One minute she was there, and the next she was gone; vanished into the anonymous expanse of cyberspace.
“NO!” he shouted in the empty apartment as he scrolled back through the transcript of the chat session. In a rare show of temper, Adam slammed his hands down on either side of his keyboard.
‘NO!NO!NO!’
It had been two months. Two months since Duncan MacLeod, fearing for his sanity had turned to Adam for help. The Scot had claimed that a demon named Ahriman was tormenting him. But Adam hadn’t believed.
Even when he stood by over the body of Richie Ryan, he hadn’t believed. But he should have.
Ryan was MacLeod’s student, for all intents and purposes, a surrogate son to the man known in Immortal circles as ‘the Highlander.’ The memory of MacLeod, confused and distraught as he realized that he had beheaded his own student was forever burned into Adam’s memory. So was the following moment, where the 400 year old Scot had offered up his own katana, begging Adam to take his head in atonement for killing Richie.
Adam had refused. He hadn’t believed.
MacLeod disappeared shortly after that, dropping out of sight without so much as a word. Adam had assisted another mutual friend, a mortal named Joe Dawson, in arranging Richie’s funeral. After the burial, Joe also started to become plagued by nightmares, both sleeping and waking. He, too, claimed that Arhiman was very real; and was behind the terror that he was experiencing. Even then, Adam hadn’t believed.
Until one day, Arhiman came to visit Adam’s dreams as well.
The nightmares were unholy: visions of past, present and future muddled together until he began losing sight of what was fiction and what was reality. The demon tempted him with everything imaginable: love, power, wealth, and the most tantalizing dream of all for any Immortal -- winning the Game and becoming the One. And in return for such a great reward, the only thing Ahriman wanted him to do was nothing.
Temptation, indeed.
There was a time in the not-so-distant past that the man now known as Adam Pierson would have jumped at the chance of winning the Game. Despite his overwhelming desire to keep surviving, Adam knew good and well that he had neither the skill nor the drive that would be necessary to become the last of their race. That fact made Ahriman’s offer extremely attractive...
...until he considered the price of such a gift.
Privately, Adam thought that Duncan MacLeod had the potential to be the best of all the Immortals. A born leader and skilled warrior, the Highlander had the heart of a Boy Scout and the unending loyalty of a cocker spaniel. That’s not to say that MacLeod was perfect -- not by a long shot. The Scot’s tendency to follow his heart was commendable, yet foolish. He was often too quick to judge, especially in situations where he was out of his depth.
And worst of all, the Highlander was like a magnet, attracting both good and evil Immortals into his sphere of influence. With the number of heads Duncan had taken in the past five years, Adam wasn’t overly surprised at how powerful the Scot had grown. Of course, that created the additional problem of drawing some of the more unsavory Immortals looking to make a name for themselves by defeating a swordsman of Duncan’s caliber.
MacLeod was relatively young by Immortal standards, still plagued by the tendency of viewing things in either black or white. It was with that thought in mind, that Adam made the decision four years ago to befriend the Highlander, subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) teaching the Scot to examine and accept life’s shades of grey. Those lessons were often painful, but in Adam’s estimation, MacLeod was slowly making progress. That was until Ahriman came into the picture.
Although the demon’s offer was tempting, Adam not only found the inner-strength to refuse; he also began to research ways to help MacLeod in battle against Ahriman.
In return, the infuriated demon had upped the ante. That’s when Adam realized his nightmares were suddenly becoming frighteningly real.
He had written the first challenge off as a fluke -- a normal run-in between previously unacquainted Immortals. While not every encounter between Immortals ended with a beheading, it certainly did on that night. In truth, Adam wasn’t overly concerned about it when it occurred. Random challenges were part of the downside of life as an Immortal. Unless one was willing to spend his or her life on the sanctuary of holy ground, it happened from time to time to all of them.
In the three weeks that followed, Adam was challenged seven more times. That was more heads than he’d taken in the past four centuries combined. Somewhere around the third fight, Adam realized that Ahriman was influencing other Immortals to seek him out, to do what the demon was incapable of -- destroying Adam Pierson in the flesh. So far, his luck had held, but the challengers were becoming stronger and more skilled. Realist that he was, Adam knew that it would only be a matter of time before he faced someone he couldn’t defeat.
A researcher without peer, the Immortal had thrown himself into his work, desperately seeking something, anything that would help MacLeod, and by extension, himself. Information on demons, however, was a more than a little difficult to find, but Adam had other problems as well. It seemed as if every time he left his apartment, another Immortal would be lying in wait for him. With his movements somewhat restricted, Adam had turned to the World Wide Web simply out of desperation.
Talking about shooting the arrow into the air and having it hit the bullseye... Fate must have been in a good mood that night, as Adam had finally found a person who had solid information on the demon. It was the first break he’d had since he first began looking.
The irony did not escape this man. His eight weeks of meticulously methodical research had turned up less information than an hour spent on the internet. This ‘Sabrina’ had found the information rather quickly, which left Adam wondering what she could turn up if given more time. He’d been getting ready to ask her if she would continue to search when she had left the chat room.
It didn’t make sense. Adam had specifically mentioned that he would be right back. Granted, he was no expert at chat room ediquette; but it was generally accepted that one would wait to say goodbye before leaving the chat room.
But she was gone.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t lose her now. Not with so much at stake. Not with Duncan MacLeod’s life and sanity on the line.
Ruthlessly setting his annoyance aside, the Immortal trained his powerful intellect on the problem. He had only two things to work with: the transcript from the chat room session and her e-mail address, ‘netgirl@rydermail.com’.
The e-mail address was practically useless. The Ryder service was one of those free, check-mail-from- anywhere accounts. Odds were that whoever this girl was, she lied on the personal information form required to sign up for the account.
Nevertheless, it was a start.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunnydale Two weeks later
"Run, Willow!" Oz shouted as a throng of almost a dozen vampires bore down upon them.
"I won't leave you, Oz," the petite red head cried loudly. In a much quieter tone of voice, she began reciting a chant in Latin.
"Will...!" It was all the young musician had time to say before two of the undead creatures broke out of the pack to lunge at the former couple.
Just as the larger of the two vampires reached for Willow's neck, a dim blue glow began to emanate around her entire body. Intent on breaking her neck, the vampire ignored the protective spell to his own peril. Once the creature's outstretched limbs reached the glowing aura, his undead flesh burst into flames wherever he had come into contact with the protective field. The sound of their leader screaming in agony distracted the pack of predators momentarily.
It was at that moment that the other Slayerettes emerged from their hiding places in the shadows -- heavily armed and ready to rumble.
Outnumbered more than two to one, the fight was a bitter one for the Slayerettes once the element of surprise was lost. Oz and Willow, the bait for this evening's trap, stood back to back, each squaring off against separate combatants. Cordelia was busy with a Holy Water-filled super-soaker, drenching ampires at random while Xander tousled hand-to-hand with a pair of female bloodsuckers.
Both Giles and Angel had taken out a vampire a piece as they charged into the fray. Equalizing strength with numbers, Angel was holding his own against two relative newbies. The Watcher on the other hand, wasn't as lucky. It didn't take long before one vampire managed to grab him from behind, pinning the librarian's arms to his sides in the process. Panic welled up in the Watcher as a set of elongated fangs inched closer to his exposed neck.
Without any warning whatsoever, the vampire holding Giles crumbled into a cloud of dust. Only seconds later, the creature in front of him met the same fate, revealing a stake-holding Willow as the dusty remains settled to the ground. Without the solid presence of the vampire behind him, the Watcher's arms pinwheeled as he struggled unsuccessfully to regain his balance. It was no use, and with a drunken lurch, Giles fell backwards, taking down Oz in the process. As a result, Willow was left relatively unprotected.
Before either of the men on the ground could move, another vampire emerged from the shadows, headed directly for the vulnerable girl.
"Willow!" The name poured out of Angel's lips accompanied by a snarling growl. Enraged beyond all measure, the souled vampire staked one of his two opponents without taking his eyes off of Willow and her inbound attacker. Before Giles and Oz could even stand up, Angel was already launching himself at the other vampire.
As he rushed forward, Angel's features shifted into the twisted veneer of his 'game face'. In a matter of seconds, he reached his new opponent with an uppercut to the face. The creature's head snapped back from the momentum of the blow.
The other vampire recovered swiftly and the fight was on. Punches and kicks were exchanged and landed amid a sea of snarls and the baring of fangs. For a while, it seemed as if the two vampires were evenly matched, until slowly, Angel began to gain the upper hand. Finally, a one-two combination of blows to first the solar plexus and then the face sent the evil vampire to its knees. A growl of satisfaction escaped Angel's throat as he reached forward and placed his hands on either side of opponent's head. With a savage twist of his arms, Angel broke the other vampire's neck.
By that point in time, all but three of the evil vampires could have fit into a single Dirt Devil. As if of one mind, the survivors of the fight turned and disappeared into the shadows at a full run.
Still riding their respective adrenaline rushes, one by one the Slayerettes turned toward each other to take stock of the situation. Aside from a few miscellaneous cuts and bruises, no one had been seriously injured. It was a miracle, given the intensity of the battle that had just been waged. "Okay, that *sucked," Oz said shakily. He, like the others, was all too aware of just how close the night's fight had been.
"Is everyone all right?" Giles asked in as calm a tone as he could manage. "Is it just me, or does anybody else miss those months we spent *without* the whole 'Prophecy of the Week' action?" Xander asked to nobody in particular.
"Yeah Giles. I thought all this stuff was over now that Buffy split." Cordelia ignored the Watcher's tired wince at the mention of his absent slayer. "I mean, this whole nocturnal commando thing is getting really old. Even the Estee Lauder woman at Nieman Marcus couldn't cover up these circles under my eyes..."
The others might have been following Cordelia's diatribe, but Willow's attention was focused solely on the vampire who had just saved her life. A vampire who, at the moment, was agitated almost to the point of being feral. Angel was still sporting his game face as he restlessly paced back and forth between Willow and the direction in which the remaining vampires had retreated. In fact, his constant movement reminded Willow of a lion relentlessly prowling the length of its cage.
"Angel?" She asked hesitantly, somewhat unnerved by his unusually ferocious behavior.
At the sound of his name, the vampire in question whirled around as if looking for another enemy to fight. It took a moment before Angel gained enough control over his demonic side enough to let down his guard. "Willow... are...are you okay?"
Nodding in affirmation, she couldn't help but ask. "Are you?"
"Wha...?"
Whether her hand shook from fear, adrenaline, exhaustion, or some twisted combination of all three, she would never know. Regardless, she reached forward, her hand stopping mere inches away from his cheek. "You... you're still in your...game face."
Had it been possible, Angel would have blushed. He was still so incredibly wound up over the near-miss with Willow's safety, he hadn't even realized. With conscious effort, he willed his face back to his normal, human visage.
Sensing Willow's discomfort over his recent behavior, Angel felt a need to reassure the petite girl that he was, indeed, all right. Her hand still remained near his cheek, and without thinking about his actions, he began to raise his own to cover hers.
"Don't!" Willow said sharply as she jerked her arm back towards her side. "The protection spell...might still be working."
The words hit Angel like a slap in the face. It seemed as though every time he finally managed to feel like 'one of the gang', something would happen to remind him of just what he truly was. 'It'll be hard, living among them.' The demon called Whistler informed Angel a few years earlier. 'The more time you spend in their world, the more you're going to realize just how separated from it you really are.' He hadn't really understood what Whistler had been talking about at the time; the true meaning made itself abundantly clear as the years passed.
Although Willow's words of warning were meant to protect Angel, the unintentional slight was enough to push the vampire back to the ragged edge of his control. Without another word, he pivoted sharply on his heel and moved away from the others.
"Angel?" Willow called after him.
"Give him a few minutes, Will." Oz said softly with wisdom beyond his eighteen years. He, more than any of them, understood the vampire's need for space in order to soothe the beast -- or in this case, the demon -- within. Besides, Angel had only gone as far as the tree line of the otherwise deserted park. One by one they all took advantage of Angel's sudden retreat. For most of them, the sudden pause was unnerving in that, in the past two weeks, it had become such a rare occurrence.
It all started two days after Willow's strange chat room experience. In a single night, 22 people had 'disappeared.' While that number probably would not have raised eyebrows in cities like Los Angles or New York; it was considerably out of proportion for a town the size of Sunnydale -- Hellmouth or no Hellmouth.
In typical fashion, Giles and the living Slayerettes spent the rest of their afternoon trying to discover what was happening. It was difficult; however, to find answers when they weren't exactly sure what the questions were. But that all changed at sundown.
The Slayerettes were still wading through Giles' books and Willow's ill-gotten police reports when Angel burst into the library about two hours after sunset. After being brought up to speed by a phone call from Willow, the he had hit the pavement in order to shake down the 'vampire grapevine' for additional information. What he'd heard that night was enough to make him hightail it back to the library.
Her name was Eleni Vasqeria Goya y Garcia, a 500- year-old vampire with a mean-streak that made the Master look like Mr. Rogers on Valium. Between Angel's return to the side of good, Spike's recent departure, and the Slayerette's recent successes at vampire eradication; Eleni met with little to no resistance when she clandestinely arrived in Sunnydale. Eleni maintained a low profile, successfully keeping her location a secret from all the but closest of her 'army'. In fact, she'd already been in town for several weeks before word of her presence finally reached the Slayerettes.
Her presence in the California town was not mere coincidence, though. No, Eleni had come to Sunnydale with a single, deadly purpose in mind.
It was called 'The Prophecy of Legion' by one of Giles' better books on such matters. It forewarned of a strong, seductive, charismatic vampire who would create a virtual army of the living dead before attempting to open a gateway to the underworld.
Surprisingly enough, there wasn't much information on this particular prophecy. It seemed that, over the years, the so-called 'experts in the field' hotly contested the idea as a whole. In fact, there was even dissent among the group gathered in the library that night.
"It doesn't make sense," Angel insisted.
"Oh, pray enlighten us," Xander remarked drolly.
"Well, for one thing, contrary to popular belief, vampires are usually pretty choosy about who they bring across. That's why it's called 'siring.' It's as close as we get to having children." For just a moment, an expression of deep sadness crossed the vampire's face. "And more importantly, there's the issue of feeding."
"Feeding?" Cordelia echoed with a disgusted look.
"Well, yeah," Oz thought aloud. "It's like any other creature. When the population gets too high, it maxes out the available food sources."
"Food sources...you mean...like *US*?" Xander said with a shudder.
"Exactly." Angel spoke the word while staring deliberately at Xander. Despite the knowledge that such mind-games were juvenile, from time to time Angel rattled the teenager for his own personal amusement.
"So then the real danger here is two-fold," Giles cut in smoothly, bringing the conversation back on track. "Not only do we need to worry about another attempt to open the Hellmouth, we also need to consider that the vampire population in Sunnydale will explode within the upcoming weeks."
Indeed.
It had happened just as they had predicted: the numbers of disappearances continued to climb at an alarming rate, along with the number of dead bodies that were found scattered throughout the town. The authorities were as helpful as ever, citing 'growing gang violence' or 'possible cult activities' to explain the strange goings-on. The lies were given to the local press, who chose to stick with the official story rather than an independent investigation of their own, which left the Slayerettes as Sunnydale's only line of defense.
Yet, for all their efforts, it was a losing battle.
They were fighting a war on three fronts -- finding Eleni, patrolling against the packs of hunting vampires, and researching ways to prevent the prophecy. For two straight weeks each and every one of them pulled 20 hour days, 7 days a week. The routine was straightforward: school, afternoon research, and evening patrols. And after too few hours of sleep, they got up and did it all over again. Even Angel was not exempt from the gruelling schedule. Utilizing Sunnydale's extensive sewer system, he arrived at the library just as classes let out each day, then patrolled from sundown to sunrise.
Now, two weeks later, they were all about to drop.
"We should be on our way to the cemetery," Giles reminded, only to be answered by a collective groan from the assembled teenagers.
"No."
Five heads shot around at the unexpected growl. Angel had yet to move from his place by the trees, but thanks to his vampiric hearing, he'd easily heard the Watcher's quiet words.
"I'm sorry?" The surprised librarian asked.
"I said 'no'," the vampire repeated. "No more for tonight. Go home, all of you. Get some sleep."
"Need I remind you that we have..." Giles voice grew stronger with each word, fueled both by annoyance and his innate sense of responsibility. "You don't need to remind me." Angel's tone was less brusque than it had been, but none of them could mistake the underlying determination present in it. Shifting his gaze to the blond-headed teenager, the vampire issued an order. "Get everything together and take them home, Oz. You, too, Rupert."
Angel saw the rare flash of temper light through the Watcher's eyes. 'Ah, so that's what 'Ripper' looks like,' the vampire thought, remembering the stories of Giles' youthful period of rebellion. He had seen the look before, most recently when, after hours of torture, the librarian defiantly refused to give over information to Angelus.
For a long moment, Giles was, indeed, furious. *He* was the leader, the Watcher. Who the hell did Angel think he was to challenge Giles authority? 'He's probably back to his old, Angelus ways,' the inner-voice of Ripper sneered.
Then, as quickly as his temper appeared, it retreated in the wake of conscience.
Taking a mental step back, Giles calmly observed the teenagers silently making their way to Oz's van. Suddenly, the absence of their usual inane banter caught the Watcher's attention. It was the unnatural silence, more so than their worn, haggard appearances that set off the warning bells in Giles' mind.
Angel's assessment had been correct. Fighting evil was difficult enough when one was operating at full efficiency, something that none of them had been at in well over a week. It was a miracle, plain and simple, that they had all escaped without serious injury in the earlier fight.
In the past, nightly patrols were necessary to curb Sunnydale's vampire population. Now, however, with the ever-swelling ranks of the Legion, Giles sincerely doubted that skipping one or two rounds would make much of a difference in Eleni's grand scheme.
The Slayerettes were only six in number. If even one of them fell to either injury or, God forbid, death, the loss would be devastating -- emotionally and strategically. Great danger was laying in wait for them, and they all needed to rest and recoup before heading out to face it.
Comfortable with his decision, Giles headed for the van to join the teenagers. He was halfway there before becoming aware that he was not being followed. Stopping, he turned back to look for the missing member of the group.
"Angel?"
"Don't wait for me. I'll find my own way home," the vampire replied stoically.
It was the flat, resigned sound in Angel's tone that set Giles' mind in motion. With a sudden flash of insight, he realized that the vampire had no intentions of following his own advice. The Watcher would have bet anything that Angel fully intended to patrol the cemetery by himself. At any other time, Giles probably wouldn't have given a damn, but with the Legion Prophecy, Angel was a vital member of the team.
"Come, Angel. You're as exhausted as the rest of us." Giles could tell by the expression on the vampire's face that Angel was about to protest hotly. "Surely you must realize the sheer folly in going to the cemetery by yourself. If ever there was a time we needed not just your fighting skills, but your expertise; this is it."
Whatever words Angel was about to speak remained unsaid as he considered the truth in Giles words. After a moment of internal deliberation, the vampire swiftly reached his conclusion. Comfortable with his decision, the 243-year-old silently trailed behind the Watcher as they made their way over to the waiting van.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Ye gods, how I weep for the future.’
That was the thought foremost in Adam’s mind as he followed the signs leading to the principal’s office. It had been years since he’d last set foot in an American high school, and not long enough between visits, in his opinion. Silently, the Immortal cursed fate for forcing him into his current situation.
“Excuse me, do you have business here?”
At the sound of the irritated voice, Adam turned to face the speaker. The Immortal was hard-pressed to stifle a laugh as he looked down at the short man attired in a cheap suit. ‘He looks like a rodent,’ Adam mused silently.
“I have an appointment with a Mr. Thomas, one of your Guidance Counselors,” he explained patiently.
“A little old to be a student, aren’t you?” The ferret-like man all but sneered. “Or is that idiot, Thomas, freelancing as a shrink now?”
“Who *are* you?” Adam asked shortly.
“I’m Principal Snyder.” It took every ounce of Adam’s control not to roll his eyes at the pompous air in the little man’s tone. Nevertheless, he somehow managed to control the urge as he assumed the role he intended to play.
“Oh, how do you do? My name is Adam Pierson, Doctor of Linguistics at University of Washington, Seacouver. I’m in town for the upcoming college fair at Washington High, but Mr. Thomas and I are to discuss recruiting here at Sunnydale.” Granted it wasn’t the best cover story he’d ever come up with, but using his ‘Visiting Professor’ credentials from UW-Seacouver was the most viable solution he could come up with on such short notice.
Obviously bored by Adam’s introduction, Snyder hastily interrupted. “Mr. Thomas is going to be late this morning.”
“Oh?”
“He called in with car trouble.”
“Nothing serious, I hope,” Adam commented needlessly. He knew better than anyone what was wrong with the Guidance Counselor’s car, as the Immortal had been busy pulling wires in its engine at 4.30 that morning. “What time is he expected to come in?”
“How should I know? It says ‘school principal’ in my job description, not ‘social secretary’.”
Rising an elegant eyebrow at the other man’s abruptness, Adam bit back a sharp retort of his own. ‘Stick to the plan, old man,’ he thought to himself. Speaking aloud, he turned to the principal. “Would it be possible for me to wait for him?”
“There’s a chair in the office,” Snyder replied dismissively.
“Uh, is there someplace a little quieter? I have some work I’d like to catch up on...” The request was made as unobtrusively as Adam could manage. It still brought forth an irritated glance from the little man.
“Does this look like a libr...” Snyder’s voice trailed off for just a moment as he caught sight of something over Adam’s shoulder. “Ms. Rosenberg, come here!”
Craning slightly to see whom the principal was addressing, the Immortal saw a slight, red-haired girl start as her name was called. She was walking alone through the busy hallway, a heavy stack of books in her arms, when she reluctantly turned to head in the two older men’s direction. Her hesitant manner reminded Adam of a condemned prisoner being escorted to the place of execution.
“Show this gentleman to the library,” Snyder ordered callously. Under his breath, he added an additional comment. “Two limeys. I thought this was supposed to be America.”
“Uh, sure,” the red-head answered with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “It’s this way.”
For propriety’s sake, Adam turned to thank the abominable man for his assistance, but Snyder had already vanished into the school’s office. ‘What a detestable little troll,’ the Immortal thought briefly before returning his attention to the waiting girl.
“Lead on, MacDuff,” he said amiably. His words were rewarded by a shy smile from his young guide. As she lead him through the maze of locker-lined hallways, Adam couldn’t help wondering over the strange twist of fate that had led him to that particular place.
For two solid days, Adam had monitored the demonology chat room, hoping that the fates would cut him some slack and the girl known as ‘Sabrina’ would return. Of course, he wasn’t that lucky. As he had already suspected, his efforts to trace ‘Sabrina’ through her e-mail accounts were useless. Just when he was about to move on to other avenues of researching the demon, Ahriman; the Immortal made a breakthrough.
The answer had been in front of Adam the whole time, plainly visible in the transcript of that night’s chat. While ‘Sabrina’ may have kept her identity hidden with a nom de plume, Adam suspected that she hadn’t bothered to take any precautions with the IP address number of the computer terminal she was working from that night. The number appeared in the transcript when she had both entered and left the chat room. Once he had the address, it had been relatively simple to find the computer in question; the one right here in Sunnydale High School’s library.
With a starting point, Adam went to work, using his computer to break into the school records in search of his elusive prey. Surprisingly enough, there wasn’t a single student or teacher with the name ‘Sabrina’ anywhere in Sunnydale High. Eliminating the factual, Adam was limited to educated guesswork
He knew from experience that most chatters picked their nicknames for personal reasons -- hobbies, things they liked, cutsie nicknames, et cetera. The challenge became determining why the name ‘Sabrina’ was special to the mystery girl.
The real problem was that Adam hadn’t the first clue about the likes and dislikes of teenagers today. Ironically, his first impulse was to seek out somebody younger to help him close the generational canyon, somebody like Richie. Ryan, however, was gone -- dead at 24 by the blade of the man whom he had considered a surrogate father. It was such a waste. But unless Adam found a way to help MacLeod soon, Richie wouldn’t be the only victim of Ahriman.
Later that same night, Adam received a call from the local hospital. It seemed that while Joe Dawson was mentally winning the battle against Ahriman’s attacks, his body was taking a beating. Joe had collapsed at his bar that day due to heart palpitations. No longer a young man, the doctor felt the need to admit the ailing mortal to the hospital for observation. With Richie dead and MacLeod off in parts unknown, Adam was the closest thing Joe had to family in the area. For the next week, the Immortal stayed near Dawson, in part for support, but mostly to protect the vulnerable mortal from any of Ahriman’s physical threats.
It was at the hospital that the pieces of the Sabrina puzzle fell into place. Adam had been watching television while Joe napped when an advertisement for a television show played quietly in the background -- a show called ‘Sabrina, the Teen-aged Witch’. The irony of a witch in a demonology chat room brought a raised brow of admiration for the still-faceless girl. At last he had found the connection. At Joe’s insistence, Adam left to make the necessary arrangements for his trip to Sunnydale.
Much to Adam’s surprise, the idea of using his legitimate UW-S credentials to pose as a college recruiter was actually Joe’s idea. The university was only too happy to provide him with the necessary materials when Adam explained that he would be willing to distribute the literature while traveling to Sunnydale on other business. After that, the remaining details had easily fallen into place.
A touch to his arm startled Adam out of his memories and back into the present. “Are you okay? Mister? Are you all right?”
Damn. Getting lost in one’s memories was something that plagued all Immortals. Unfortunately, Adam was more susceptible to the phenomenon than most.
“Yes. I’m here,” he replied as he turned to face the young red-head.
“You looked like you were a million miles away.”
“Not quite that far. I’m sorry about that.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. It’s just that we’re almost there.” The girl offered the explanation with a grin of what looked like relief. “So are you here to see Gi...uhh, Mr. Giles?”
“Who?” Adam asked in honest confusion.
“Mr. Giles?” the girl asked uncertainly. “The librarian? I thought you might be here to see him, you speaking with an accent and all. I mean, I know Britain is a big island, but we don’t exactly get a lot of you guys over here. Oh, I guess I should shut up now.” A slight blush spread across the girl’s features as she realized she was assuming too much.
“No, Miss...Rosen...” Adam struggled to remember the name.
“Rosenberg. Or Willow. Mostly it’s just Willow,” she hastily added.
“Well, Willow, actually, I had an appointment...” Before Adam could finish his statement, they were moving through the two large doors of the school’s library.
The rich, dusty scent in the air was universal to any room with a large collection of books. The library was rather impressive for a simple high school, much more than Adam had expected. Two stories in height, the upper level was filled with shelves upon shelves of books. The lower lever was decorated by a combination of tables and chairs, bordered by the reference desk on one side and what appeared to be an office on the other. However, it was the man struggling to open the waist-high wooden crate in the middle of the room that caught Adam’s immediate attention.
Just as Willow opened her mouth to call out to the tweed-coated figure, the man finally wedged the crow-bar he was holding into the seam of the crate. With a resounding pop, the wooden lid of the box flew open.
“Mr. Giles!” Willow’s voice was abnormally loud as it echoed through the cavernous room, causing the librarian to jump at the unexpected sound.
“Oh, Willow. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you there,” the Watcher explained before catching sight of the unexpected guest. “Oh, sorry. May I help you?”
“Dr. Adam Pierson, University of Washington Seacouver. I had an appointment with Mr. Thomas this morning but, unfortunately, he’s running a little late this morning. Your...principal suggested that I could wait here for Mr. Thomas’s arrival.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Please.” The librarian gestured to the large table in invitation. Nodding his thanks to the pair from Sunnydale, Adam began moving towards the indicated table. He heard more than saw the librarian once again focus his attention on the young red-head. “And speaking of tardiness, I see Xander is late again, as usual.”
“Well, Xander’s...not exactly a morning person,” the girl defended as the first bell of the day rang out through the hallways.
“Nevertheless...” Giles started. Out of the corner of his eye, Adam watched as the librarian waded through handfuls of packing straw to reach the books ensconced inside the crate. Before Giles could continue, a loud ‘thud’ came from one of the library doors as it swung open.
Adam was in the middle of extracting his laptop from it’s nylon carrying case when the noise got his attention. He looked over to see a dark-haired teen-ged boy enter the room. One of the kid’s hands was wrapped around the strap of a worn backpack, which was quickly thrown into a nearby chair. The other hand held a 24-ounce Styrofoam coffee cup, and the boy was clutching onto it like it was a lifeline.
‘No wonder kids today go postal. I would, too, if I drank *that* much coffee in one go,’ Adam mused silently. Trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, the Immortal promptly sat down, ignoring the urge to remove his sport coat despite the warmth of the room. Although the heat made the jacket uncomfortable, Adam sure as hell wasn’t going to risk being separated from the weapons carefully hidden inside the lining. At least, not until he could determined whether or not there was any immediate threat to his person.
“Good morning, campers,” the boy said with caffeine- induced cheerfulness. “And what do we have here?” he asked, absently indicating the crate with the cup in his hand.
“How nice of you to join us,” the librarian retorted sarcastically while stacking the contents of the crate on the floor beside it.
“Giles, Giles, Giles. How many times do we have to tell you that Kathy, the Time-Life operator, isn’t gonna date you, no matter how many books you order?”
“Xander, despite your inherent belief that being a student aide in the library during first period entitles you to an extra 45 minutes of sleep every morning, from time to time there is actually work to be done. Now then, each of these books is accompanied by a cataloguing card. Please sort the books, remove the cards, and stack both, in order, in my office.”
The teenager looked surprised by the librarian’s surliness. “Ja wol, Commandant,” the boy quipped. “And where will you be whilst I toil at my labours?”
“I have an appointment with Principal Synder to discuss the inconvenience these special book deliveries cause.” Giles’ eyes rolled heaven-wards as he moved towards the library doors.
“Oh, well be sure to give der Furhrer a nice, big ‘seig heil’ for me.” Thinking back on the authoritarian attitude of the principal, Adam had to bite back a grin at the boy’s sarcasm. “So Wills, what’s up with the G-man? And who’s our mystery guest in the corner?”
Knowing that he was the main topic of discussion, Adam carefully kept his head down, taping quietly on the laptop’s keyboard. Although he could hear the sound of the girl’s voice, she spoke too softly for the Immortal to make out the actual words.
The two teens continued their quiet conversation as they sorted through the fifty or so odd books the crate contained. Every once in a while, the sound of their laughter would rise above the hushed tones, but Adam managed to covertly keep an eye on their activities without reminding the pair of his presence.
“It’s a cookbook! It’s a cookbook!” The loud words echoed through the quiet room as the boy waved a peeling, leather-bound volume over his head. The girl was laughing at his antics, but Adam was having heart palpitations.
‘It can’t be. It simply can’t be!’ he thought rapidly, barely able to keep his surprise from showing in his expression. But it was. There, on the cover of the book the kid was waving, was the all-too-familiar inverted peace sign surrounded by two circles.
The Watcher symbol.
‘What the bloody hell is a Watcher Chronicle doing here?’ Adam thought as his mind turned over theory after theory.
The Watchers were a secret organization of mortals, like Adam’s friend, Joe Dawson. For thousands of years, they had carefully kept records of every Immortal they could find. Whom they fought, whom they loved, when they lived, when they died -- all of it was painstakingly written down to preserve the ‘history’ of the Immortal race. Distinguishable by the tattoo of the Watcher symbol they wore on the their inner-wrist, members swore an oath to record only and to never interfere with those that they watched. In fact, in principle, the Immortals that they followed were never even supposed to know that they were there. It was a wonderful theory, but not a practical one.
Perhaps that was why Adam Pierson reveled in the irony that he had managed to masquerade as a Watcher for over a decade. For ten years he used the information that the field agents so generously provided as a way to avoid others of his kind. For an Immortal, it was the next best sanctuary after Holy Ground.
At least it was until the day Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod came looking for Adam Pierson, researcher extrodinaire...
The sound of the second bell disrupted the Immortal’s concentration. Using the opportunity to grab the reigns on his runaway thoughts, Adam turned his focus from the past back to the present. The presence of the Watcher Chronicle brought both answers and more unsettling questions to his mind. For instance, at least now he had confirmation that he was, indeed, in the right place to find the mysterious ‘Sabrina’. However, it unsettled him greatly that whomever these people -- he assumed that the librarian was aiding the girl -- were; they were not Watchers. So, who was responsible for sending the Chronicle here?
One thing was for certain, he needed to get a closer look at the contents of that crate.
“C’mon, Xander, or we’re gonna be late for the Biology quiz,” the girl reminded him as she gathered up her books.
“Gee, Will. Give a guy some incentive, why don’t you?” the boy retorted as they walked together towards the library door. “So, what’s the verdict? You gonna stay after school to help Giles sort those books out?”
“Well, Giles told me last night that we didn’t have to be back here until just before sunset. So, actually, I was kinda hoping to go home and work on my computer for a little bit. With everything that’s been going on, I haven’t had time to answer any of my e-mail in over a week.”
“That’s our little net-girl,” the boy answered proudly, throwing a companionable arm across her shoulders. Without looking back, the pair exited the library.
Had he allowed his surprise to show outwardly, Adam’s jaw would have been on the ground. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Not only had he just stumbled across what he suspected to be a lost Watcher Chronicle, he was almost certain he’d just found the elusive ‘Sabrina’.
‘Time enough to deal with the girl later,’ he thought. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Adam quickly made his way over to the still-opened crate. Keeping an ear out for possible interruptions, the Immortal sought out the Chronicle the kids had been holding. Once he found it, he flipped absently through the pages. The subject of the Chronicle was unfamiliar to Adam. Since the last notation in the book recorded the Immortal’s demise, it really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, either. The real mystery was where the book had arrived from and what it was doing in the Sunnydale High School library.
It was a puzzle that would have to wait until a later time, however, as the sound of approaching footsteps prompted Adam to return the Chronicle to its place. A few seconds later, a portly man entered the library, introducing himself as Mr. Len Thomas.
Ignoring the guidance counselor’s small talk, Adam thought over possible strategies as he packed up his laptop. By the time he was escorted to the door of the library, the Immortal had long since decided to spend his afternoon finding out more about Willow Rosenberg.