TITLE: Rayne of Chaos 3/7
AUTHOR: Jaydn Michelle
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Giles, Ethan, Buffy, Willow, Xander, Angel, Cordelia,
Jenny Calendar, Quentin Travers, Randall Scott, Merrick and Eyghon are the
property of people bigger than me. In other words, it's not mine, never
will be mine, yada, yada, yada.
FEEDBACK: Always welcomed
Natural, or pre-destined Watchers, were the ordained
leaders of the Watcher community - an autonomy of power that
was never questioned until the arrival of Marcus Dupont in 574 a.d
It was Dupont, with his obsession toward the Dark Arts
that forever altered the balance of power. His betrayal, and
the eventual death of the Slayer placed within his care, added to
a reign of terror that continued for almost thirty years.
As a direct result - the Watcher Council was formed, and
pre-destined, or Natural Watchers, were never again placed within
a position of command.
- Watcher David Zelmin.
'The History of the Watchers'.
________________________________________________________________________
LONDON 1974
It was near midnight when the two adolescents left the pub, the streets wet with rain and the infrequent sounds of distant traffic. The night was cold but clear, the temperature bracing.
Ethan was walking with the boneless gait that could only be ascribed to the truly drunk - aiming a kick at a discarded can and missing it completely.
Giles tilted his head up, fingers curling around the half empty bottle of stoli. It was a beautiful night and about to get a whole lot worse.
"Watcher," something shifted, a sound like the rustling of dry leaves, sibilant; shadow drawing shape from darkness.
Ethan drew close and Giles noted, with considerable admiration, that his intoxication seemed to have vanished (he really had to figure out how Ethan did that). "Giles?" there was a question in the voice, a hint of worry, and he could feel the mystic at his back.
"Hang on."
The thing before them *flowed* forward and the two boys hastily stepped back. No time for attitude or airs, unless you were a Slayer, those qualities would only see you dead.
He heard Ethan's breath catch, and then an elbow was jammed into his ribs: "Is there a little something you neglected to mention?"
Giles shrugged, eyes fixed on the demon. "I helped you with the bullies."
"Yes, but they were bullies, this is *ugly*."
Ethan caught the faint smile on the other boy's face and shook his head, the tension in his body paradoxically relaxing. The friendship between them had been instantly solid - a resonance that Rayne couldn't begin to explain even if he wanted too, and he *knew* without a doubt that Giles was going to fight this thing. Knew it with the same certainty that said he couldn't leave the other boy to face it alone.
He edged to the left, noting that Giles was already circling in the other direction, and realised with concern that the ugly thing hadn't shifted its attention from his new friend. //What had he called Giles?... a Watcher?//
"I've been looking for you, boy." It was the voice of an asp; and the demon's form seemed to flicker, change.
"Yes - and so were the other two."
Whatever the implications of that statement meant - it gave the demon pause, until he vented a low chuckle. "You've been hunted?"
The green eyes were hard. "On occasion."
Ethan came to a slow stop, body and mind relaxing. He could sense it, like placing your fingers upon a pulse and *feeling* the slow throb of the world - where magic's intersected and black and white merged into grey. The hum of electricity and the cry of an unborn child; where darkness resided deep and patient. There was a connection untethered, ley lines of power, and he could *feel* Giles.
He reached for that connection, trying to bind them so that they could fight this thing together, and slammed into a wall of power. Magic, in some ways as powerful as Rayne's own - reeling him back from the mystic realm and the untethered bond that was connected to Giles' soul.
A flash of insight - that Giles was waiting for someone not yet born - and then he was flung out...
...blinking furiously on a cold night in the streets of London - as a demon and his best friend squared off.
____________________________________
PRESENT DAY
Hours of research, and the only thing Buffy discovered was that she *really* hated books. Big books, thick books, books with *far* too many words. None of them were nice and those that had pictures were invariably worse.
She groaned, anxiety gnawing, and heard the bones crack in her spine as she stretched. She couldn't see Xander but Willow was engrossed with a volume that was as thick as her arm, turning the yellowed pages with the same reverence that Giles demonstrated.
//There had to be something here, some clue, scrap of evidence, *something*//. But the only certainty she had - was the knowledge that Giles didn't trust her.
___________________________________________
LONDON 1974
Emma Grey was eighteen, nothing extraordinary about her looks or body, a tangle of black hair that fell about her face and a leather jacket that was three sizes too large. At a glance she could have passed as any other Londoner, but there was a hardness to her eyes, and she had a yen for wooden stakes.
She had been tracking the demon for three nights and had put off killing it for the simple expediency that she knew it was hunting.
Emma and her new Watcher, Dayel, were curious to find out what. The 'what' was now accounted for.
The two boys broke apart, dividing the demon's attention and she could hear the low murmur of their voices. Yawning, she rose smoothly from her haunches, stretching musculature and wincing at the pop in her shoulder-blades.
//Damn//, she was getting too old for this.
The demon lunged and she saw one of the youths dodge with surprising agility, shouting something to his companion. Without delay Emma stepped forward, drawing her stake.
The demon hesitated as it spied her and then *flowed* - it was like watching a snake undulate across a floor, all sinister intent, and she leapt forward to match it.
Dimly she heard the same boy shout at her - the words registering two seconds too late.
"DON'T TOUCH IT!"
The stake sunk into rank flesh and the blood that flowed forth was coloured black and foul.
Her eyes watered at the scent, feeling her arm go numb where the blood seeped through her clothing. Coldness crept in and she spasmed, eyes widening in shock.
The demon crumbled, dissolving into shadow.
Emma had time to meet the stare of a pale boy with black eyes, saw the youth who had spoken move towards her, and then her knees buckled.
Ethan winced as she hit the ground.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Constable Shane Grant was leaning against the post when it caught his attention. Two boys, carrying something heavy between them, struggling down the street.
It wasn't until they drew close, oblivious to him, that the something resolved itself into the shapely features of a young girl.
"Hey there!"
Startled, they dropped her.
"Bugger."
Shane couldn't see which one said it, but the pair leant simultaneously to hoist the girl up, standing her erect and up-right between them.
It was the boy with black hair that spoke, smiling rather hopefully, "Ah, constable, sir... hello. Pleasant evening, isn't it?"
The girl's head lolled.
Shane unsnapped his baton, hand shifting toward his radio, "Is she dead?"
"Dead? Good gracious no. Why would we be carrying a dead girl at this hour? She's... she's..."
"Drunk."
"Right... drunk."
"Drunk my arse, she looks dead," Grant stepped forward, trying to see better in the dark and never saw the right-cross that caught him unawares. The girl, released from Giles' hold, hit the ground at the same instant as the constable.
"Bugger."
Ethan shrugged when Giles shot him a withering look, but he bent down to help pick her up all the same. "*Is* she dead?"
"Not yet - just poisoned." There was a mixed look of apprehension and curiosity on Giles' face. "There's a cure - and a simple one at that. But the symptoms hurt and she'll be out of it for a couple of hours."
"Oh... good. Who is she?"
"I expect she's the Slayer," Giles readjusted his grip and the two set off, Ethan muttering darkly about the damage done to his back, and the ironic appropriateness of her title.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
There was a foul taste in Emma's mouth, the world wouldn't stop spinning, and she was in a strange room with two boys: "What happened?"
"A Terric demon. You touched it."
She groaned as she sat up, eyes watering when her body dry heaved, clenching on a knot of pain. "Oh god... that was a no-no, right?"
"Apparently." Giles stepped forward, feeling awkward, and handed her a wash-cloth. "Your Watcher didn't warn you?"
"I don't think he knew." She accepted the cloth gratefully and felt the nausea churn. She was in a pool room. The boy who had passed her the cloth was now reclined against the billiard table, a second youth was sprawled elegantly across the couch with the wanton abandon of a cat - dark eyes fixed on her. There was an expression that was almost on the cusp of cruelness to his features, and she ignored him in favour of the first. "Thank you."
A shy smile. "You're welcome."
She frowned, rubbing at her head: "Are you a Watcher?"
"No. I'm on school holidays."
"School went back three weeks ago."
"Right... I got lost on the way."
"So you're a runaway?"
"Something like that."
//Are you always this difficult?//, Emma wanted to snap, but held herself in check. He had saved her life, she supposed, which was more than her own Watcher had done; and if he had run away from the Council, so what? It was none of her concern. But... "I feel sorry for her."
"Who?"
"Whoever your Slayer is," his eyes shuttered at her remark, and she saw the defensive posture for what it was - he was expecting a jab where she meant none, "...you would have been good at it."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Masters paused on his way to the car, catching sight of the figure standing nonchalantly at the gate. For five weeks Ives' sweeper teams had been searching him out - and he showed up here, of his own accord. Still, it was something of a tradition, ever since the death of his father Giles had a tendency to disappear. But he always came back - he had nowhere else to go.
There was a whispered warning in the back of his mind, something about a lad by the name of Ethan Rayne, but he dismissed it as he unlatched the gate.
Staring down at the young features with appropriate sternness, Masters stated: "You're late."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
OXFORD UNIVERSITY 1976
Emma Grey wandered across the lawn, books under her arms and a smile upon her face.
At the ripe old age of twenty she had lasted longer than most Slayers, mostly because of her skills and partly because of the two young men who *hadn't* been in the faculty today. Neither one having showed up for the history lecture.
It was a beautiful day, a rarity, and the entire student body seemed to be taking advantage of it. Emma had never seen Oxford so quiet - the graveyards she patrolled at night had more pedestrians.
She could feel a trickle of sweat run between her breasts and turned resolutely toward the lodgings that were located in the general vicinity. They cost a King's ransom but Ethan - well, he preferred living in luxury.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Where were you two?"
Ethan glanced up as Emma walked through the doorway and waved two fingers in greeting, "Recuperating."
She plonked herself down in his lap, watching as he readjusted their positions, snaking an arm around her waist. Ethan closed his eyes, tilting his neck back and she nudged him gently, "Partying last night?"
"And tonight. Care to come?"
"Nope, I'm slaying." Emma studied him a little closer, her concern moving up a notch when she noticed how ragged he was looking. "Where's the party?"
"At Randall's."
The name drew a blank and Emma frowned, "Who's he?"
It was Giles who answered, lying sprawled across the carpet and dressed only in a pair of jeans. His hands were folded behind his head, a book hovering three feet above his face with the pages turning slowly. "Ethan's boyfriend."
She paused to admire Giles' body for longer than necessary, and then the words penetrated. Startled, she stared down at Ethan, "You're gay?!"
The smile was slow and she caught the sharp edge of his charm in the dry answer: "Only on occasion."
"Eeeww," she was off his lap in an instant, hearing Ethan's low chuckle.
The mock outrage on Emma's face smoothed itself into tenderness as she studied the reason for her visit. Movements became predatory as she slipped forward - a demur whisper of silk on thigh - taking the youth sprawled across the floor unawares.
Smiling faintly, Ethan levered himself up from the couch and left them to it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Emma."
That was Dayel's voice, her Watcher, coming from the shadows. She straightened slowly, the inward glow that had accompanied her since early afternoon subsiding under his searching stare.
"I thought I told you to stay away from Giles? The boy isn't qualified to be your Watcher, and... and... he's younger than you."
Her voice was husky: "I wasn't going to him for advice, Dayel."
A blush crept over his face, moving from the neck up as he glanced away, scruffing the dirt with his toe. "Emma, you know you can rely on me, right?"
Emma hesitated, Dayel wasn't a bad sort, but he wasn't as quick as Giles either and in the years since their first meeting, she'd come to rely upon the two boys more than her own Watcher. What could she say to that question? //I know you try// - hardly seemed endorsing.
The silence stretched and Dayel continued quickly.
"The Council is concerned about the undue influence Rayne exerts over their student Watcher. Because of your... closeness with Rupert they were hoping you might... pry them apart."
Emma wasn't sure if it was amusement or anger that governed her response, but her voice remained mild, all things considered: "Dayel, tell your Council to go to hell. Giles isn't under Ethan's influence - they're *friends*, and I won't be party to that."
"You don't understand."
"No - *you* don't understand. Ethan, myself, we're *home* to Giles - the only one he has. Tell your Council to tread carefully, Dayel, because if they try to take this from him, Rupert will fight."
Dayel stared after her as she brushed past him. Knowing that he had failed in the Council's orders, and also knowing that approaching Emma had never been the solution.
Rupert Giles would have to learn this lesson by himself - one basic rule of objectivity. Watchers were not supposed to *care* or formulate attachments. Their purpose was governed by their ability to send a child to their possible death - every night, callously, and without remorse.
_________________________________
...the demon Anyanka was first recorded in the year 1107. Her
counterpart, Benduit, almost sixty years later.
It should be noted that while the end result is remarkably
similar (reality altered by a wish), the power source that
allows these two demons to accomplish their acts are quite
different...
- Watcher Thomas Koch.
"The Collected Works of Identification and Demonology."
___________________________________
"I used to date her."
Ben glanced at the dejected young man beside him and smiled, following his gaze to three youths. A girl, not exactly stunning but she had a certain presence, and two boys who were slightly younger.
Their conversation was animated, punctuated by laughter, an easy interaction that spoke of long camaraderie.
Ben nudged the young man beside him and murmured: "What happened?"
"I don't know! Half the girls in college want to date me and she blows me off for two... two... boys!"
Benduit laughed softly and kicked at a pebble, watching it skitter across the path with idle interest. "I wouldn't fret - she doesn't look that special."
"No, but she is! There's something, something that I just can't put my finger on. I don't know," Robert sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and said ruefully, "I just wish she was normal."
Benduit smiled...
...it was the simple pleasures in life...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"GILES!"
There was blood on Emma's forehead, her body curled, and they could hear the sobs that wracked through her frame. Ethan reached her first, turning her over with a face blanched white. "Shit, what happened?"
She never really responded, just a singular statement reiterated over and over.
"I couldn't... I thought... I thought I was eighteen again."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Emma was finally sleeping, curled in Giles' bed, the two men standing at a distance, voices low... "You mean she's lost her strength? Her Slayer abilities?"
Giles nodded, eyes flint-hard. "Yes - until I figure out what happened."
Ethan paced away, catching sight of the bruises on the girl's face and swore. "Why didn't our local master just kill her then?" He didn't add that it might have been kinder. "Why the delay?"
Giles pushed away from the wall, and there was a coldness to him that Ethan had never noticed. "If he kills her the next Slayer is called. While Emma's like this - the vampires have free reign over the city."
"Oh," then it sunk in, and Ethan's stomach dropped. "Oh."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Masters looked up in surprise as the young man burst into the room, face flustered red and panting. "Watcher Dayel? What on earth is it?"
"Emma," Dayel gulped, then started again. "There's something wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"She can't fight... the master... he just threw her around like a five year old."
The senior Watcher was on his feet in an instant, circling the desk with the speed of a much younger man. "Did you just leave her there?"
"Yes - I couldn't, I couldn't do anything, I'm just a Watcher."
"Fair enough. Call a meeting of the senior heads."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Emma opened her eyes slowly, feeling the pressure on her hand that spoke of another human being. "Giles?"
"Is breaking into the Watcher library even as we speak."
There was something soothing about the constant irascibility of Ethan's voice - the well modulated tones of sarcasm and wealth. It felt like a constant - something that would never change. This was home, where Giles' presence flooded her senses and his dark friend sat vigilant by her side. Home - and she never wanted it to end.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"You're sure the girl is incapable of performing?"
Dayel's head snapped up, teeth grinding as he faced the Council. "The master beat her like a child, that seems a fair indication to me."
He could hear the murmur of their voices as they consulted, glancing with rising frustration at the clock.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The second time Emma awoke she almost found a smile - Rayne, for all intents and purposes, hadn't budged an inch. "What time is it?"
"Four a.m," he stretched, dark eyes fixed on her. "Rupert *will* find a solution. He always does."
"I know... You love him, don't you?"
Ethan froze, stillness carved from stone. When he finally looked at her there was an odd smile to his face, an admission of things that were beyond his control - and a reassurance that it meant nothing.
She squeezed his hand and sat herself up with weary intent. "Come on, let's give him a hand - people disappear in that library for days."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"We could consult the books - there has to be a solution somewhere." That was Watcher Dan, staring down the line with a faint frown.
"And invoke the dark arts to reverse it? That's not our function," it was the third member to his right that retaliated bitterly.
"A pre-destined Watcher could do it. Isn't that their function - to arrive in the times when the world is out of balance, and protect the Slayer from the magics that she can't fight? Isn't the Giles boy one?"
"Giles has a talent for the dark arts - a little *too* much talent, I won't risk him being sucked in. We can't afford to lose that boy for a Slayer that he's not even destined to watch. Find another solution."
The muttering increased.
It was Masters who finally called it to order, staring at each face solemnly, voice strident: "The girl is incapable of performing her duty. We're fighting a war, gentlemen, and every instant spent on trying to find a solution results in the death of innocent civilians. Duty requires sacrifice. Kill her - and may the next Slayer step forth."
___________________________________
PRESENT DAY
It was an apartment dominated by hues - soft green and burnished gold melting into the sly fingers of distant shadow. Earthly tones rendered with the dry scent of ancient manuscripts. The apartment was crowded without being overly messy, the habitat of an individual who was constantly busy. The kitchen, cast to one side, looked like an after-thought.
Jenny Calendar examined it slowly with the casual perusal of a first time visitor, turning to face Rupert with a confidence that was at odds with her words: "Thanks for bringing me here - I'm not ready to be home alone just yet."
She sat down on the couch, a tattered piece of furniture that was surprisingly comfortable, and folded her legs beneath her; an odd expression of coyness and vulnerability on her features.
After a beat, Rupert Giles joined her.
The air of distraction hadn't left him, but it was mixed with guilt, and his eyes wouldn't quite meet hers, sliding downwards as he spoke. "Jenny - I'm really *so* sorry about all this. I never meant for you to be involved in any of it."
He was playing with his hands, the long fingers entwining until she stilled them with her own, voice honeyed-velvet: "So, I got involved. It's what happens when two people *get* involved."
He looked up, a slow warmth that always transformed him, and Jenny leant forward, intensity to her actions - eyes dark and wide.
It would have been so easy to lose himself in her - just for a moment, to take refuge and seek absolution. Except that it would destroy her - or bring her to the attention of Eyghon: "I really have to get you home, it's not... I'm not a very safe person to be around at the moment."
Her smile was gentle, a caress, except it never reached the eyes: "Nothing's safe in this world, Rupert, don't you know that?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The shop had been gutted and sat like a monument to all things lost.
Ethan hesitated in the doorway before stepping in, navigating the darkness with ease. Side-stepping the naked model of a male and moving down the corridor to the back of the shop. Dust motes raised with his passing, reflecting ethereal by the light of a crescent moon.
Beginnings and endings.
They were as inter-connected as a snake feeding on its own tail, and there was a part of him (a very large part), that was screaming, //What the hell are you doing here?//
He pushed past the curtain and stopped, staring down at the broken remnants of a statue, and crouched down to study a fragment. It was cut at an angle, tapering to a sharp point, and he fingered it, feeling the weight and texture as it pressed into his skin.
He didn't *need* to be here, the solution was simple - remove the tattoo and replace his position with some other unsuspecting fool.
He could have done that in England.
He could have done it ten years ago. Hell, he could select a ten year old child if he wanted (no chance of her fighting back), but instead, here he was, contemplating a fool's errand, and one that was likely to get him killed. Pissing off a Slayer wasn't the brightest of moves.
Ethan could have done any of those things - but he knew Giles wouldn't, and that was the crux of the problem.
If he had done it - it would have left Ripper to face Eyghon alone, and Ethan couldn't do that, not again.
And his smile was bitter as the fragment sliced into his skin, knowing with certainty that beginnings and endings were alike. Insidiously - they crept up on you unawares.