London, May 2009
It was something of a relief to return home and discover the department hadn't dissolved into total chaos during his absence. That none of the "minions" had been staked, stabbed, set alight, drained or fired while Giles was in Prague and Heidelberg boded well for his upcoming stay in Sunnydale; that the monthly reports had been done in both a timely manner and correctly and the first pass had been completed on the annual reviews was downright encouraging.
Another thing which boded well for his upcoming absence was the research that had been collated since the call had gone out. The records had been combed to reveal new information and it was a bit surprising to learn of the rising in Paris which was not in the records, as well as some other anecdotal evidence that had been gathered in a phone call to Angel. All of it supported what Giles had firmly come to suspect: the Order of Aurelius was readying for a battle for control of the order, a fight which could well have consequences for those outside the battle lines.
So what was the first order of business? Call a meeting, naturally, to go over the research and share what he'd learned on his trip, see what his department had come up with in conjunction with Research.
"We can always hope that the various warring factions will decimate the Order's ranks of many of the older vampires," Bretall said when Giles opened the floor to discussion following the formal presentations, "but whoever emerges victorious will also likely be a formidable foe, much in the league of the Master.'
"And will most likely command either the respect or fear of the surviving members," MacLeod from Research added. "One thing troubles me, though; there are extant prophecies concerning the Anointed One, who was supposed to help the Master escape his captivity and the role he was supposed to play in this battle. I haven't found any mention of him in reports in over a decade. He seems to have simply vanished."
"That he did," Giles admitted. "He was supposed to lead an attack on the Slayer on the Feast of St. Vigeous, but the attack didn't come off for various reasons and we never heard of him again. Other...matters occupied our attention, so I didn't actually spend a great deal of time thinking about it at the moment." He looked down the table. "I suppose you know something of his fate since you arrived in Sunnydale at that time, William."
All evidence of the calm professional vanished with the grin that split Spike's face. "The Annoying One? Had enough of him after I botched the attack on the school, so I strung him up for the morning sun. A few beatings, one or two stakings and the remaining minions decided I was in charge."
"But, there were prophecies, writings that told he would be the deciding factor in who emerges as the strongest," MacLeod sputtered. "You can't have just...disposed of him."
There was a long sigh from Spike's end of the table. "Trust me, prophecies talk a lot of mumbo-jumbo and pretend they're the end-all to be all, but it's all open to change. Yes, the Master was supposed to escape after killing the Slayer. He did...only she got revived by CPR and kicked old Bat-Face's ass. I got tired of listening to the brat tell me what I could and could not do, so I got him out of the way and took over. I had my own agenda I was following."
"Which means," Giles said, "that the situation is in flux and we can't determine a course simply by relying on prophecy. The particular players in this game seem to be as blind as we are. Take the encounter with the vampire known as Florian; he was seeking Drusilla because of her precognitive powers, erratic as those may be. Clearly, he was seeking something that would give him an advantage."
"But precognitive would be different from prophecy, sir," one member begged to differ. "Prophecy is often written centuries before the actual events. I did a bit of a study on Drusilla when I was in school and her particular gifts seem to be tied to the moment, shifting as the circumstance changes. There's also, the fact that she's insane, which must effect the interpretation." He paused, seemed to remember who was in the room and glanced nervously down the table toward Spike. "Begging your pardon, sir."
"No offense taken." Spike sighed, tapping his fingers on the table top. "Sure Dru's crazy; but when she's lucid -- which is more often than you might think -- she's very sly and not at all above manipulating a situation to suit her fancy. Don't forget, she can pluck an image from the mind of a victim, see what they most desperately want and use it to her advantage. Giles and I have both been on the receiving end of it. Can't do it as well on other vampires, but if she has a chance, she'll gladly interpret a vision so it suits her plans...and she's not above claiming things are visions that she's actually seen in the paper or on the news."
That last was said with a bit of a smile and Giles took advantage of the raised eyebrows around the table to bring the discussion back to where he wanted it. "That point Dr. Ashbury-Smythe's attempting to make, I believe, is that while there may be more than one party in search of the abilities of Drusilla or others like her, those abilities will not necessarily give them an edge. There is also the fact that increased effort in these areas may well serve to alert us to where certain groups are.
"This is not a crisis situation -- yet. At the moment, our goal is to keep as close a tab on the activities of the Order as we can and see what players are emerging. We don't want to go rushing in, but let the various factions do some of our work for us. But if any one group is starting to gather a large number of people or seems to be preparing something, it's imperative that we know. Many of the older members are well-versed in magic; it's always possible that they could try a mystical solution to gain advantage and that could easily cause collateral damage. Continue working with Research and go over the field reports carefully. If a branch office notices something strange, anything at all, and it's vampire related, there's always the possibility it could be something regarding this. And yes, we are going to take the opportunity to dust members when possible."
Giles took a deep breathe. There was more he could say, but he wanted to discuss some of the information quietly before letting it loose to the group at large. "I should advise you that this situation does not have any effect on my departure for Sunnydale at the end of the month. The Slayer is still retiring and the field team still needs to be oriented. Because of that, Dr. Ashbury-Smythe will be running this operation and you should inform him of any new information."
Several people around the table exchanged looks. "And for those of you who remember, yes, he is technically a member of the Order of Aurelius."
"Though very much the unwelcome black sheep of the family. Are we done, Rupert?"
The room cleared quickly, though Spike lingered. Harry started to follow the others out, but stayed at a quiet word. It was clear whom Spike had decided would be his lieutenant for this job, and the choice, as always, was not a surprise. "I don't know if they're more worried about the fact I'm an Aurelian or the fact I'll be in charge while you're gone," Spike said once the room had emptied.
"I put it down to envy," Harry said. "You've risen high and fast, far better than most of them'll ever do. And some of them, despite what they might say, are still traditionalists."
"Which is my chief concern about leaving you here." Giles gathered up his own papers. "I don't really have any choice in the matter, though. You can't go to Sunnydale, so I must. Oh, and I heard about Quentin's attempt to convince you we should switch assignments. He'd apparently been looking for an opportunity for to bring it up for some time, according to my sources."
"Probably hoping Buffy would dust me and we'd be rid of the problem." Spike sighed. "So what didn't you tell us? I saw the look."
With only the three of them present, Giles didn't see any reason to hold back. Just as Spike was fully in Giles' confidence about projects, so Harry needed to be in Spike's for this. "It turns out that what Stancil and his crew ran into in Heidelberg wasn't just a random fight; it was an organized assassination attempt. What's more, it wasn't the only one that occurred while I was there. Someone is systematically trying to kill older members of the Aurelian Clan."
"Is it a faction within the clan or someone from the outside?" Harry asked.
"Both sides of the fight Stancil stumbled on were Aurelian. Some of the other attempts were done by hired demons."
"That's what I'd do if I were killing off rivals," Spike said. "You pay half up front and if they do the work, fine. If they get themselves killed in the process, then you haven't wasted your own minions and you don't have to pay the second half. Besides, if it goes badly, they can't necessarily trace it back to you. Are you sure it's just old members and not faction heads?"
"Three Fyarl demons took out a very old vampire named Gräbner."
Spike sighed. "Damn. They are going after the old ones. Gräbner was a scholar before he was turned and actually seemed more interested in books than violence. That's where I got Dalton."
"Dalton?"
"Short vamp, wore glasses. He did most of the Du Lac Ritual translation for me. Gräbner, by the way, is the one who got me started on my search for the Gem of Amarra." A thought suddenly seemed to occur to Spike. "Please tell me you went after his library."
Giles blinked. "Library?"
"Shit." Spike was up and out of his chair in an instant. Giles and Harry only had time to look at one another before they were out of their chairs as well, following in his wake. "Linda, I need a hotel reservation in Heidelberg!" he shouted as he moved from the conference room to the area outside his and Giles' offices. "I'm leaving as soon as possible."
Linda had already turned to her keyboard. "You'll need a flight, too, won't you? You'll have to transfer in Munich, I believe, so we'll need an evening flight."
"Not flying. Driving. Just need the reservation. Find Mike for me, as well. Giles, I know you're leaving in two weeks, but I've got to borrow him. Harry, think Helen can let you go on such short notice? Call her from my office."
"Spike, what the hell is going on?" Giles demanded.
Spike looked around, and then dragged Giles into his own office. "I need that reservation for tonight. We'll arrive some time after midnight," he called over his shoulder before shutting the door.
"Gräbner was a scholar," he explained. "He collected books...centuries worth of books on mysticism and prophecy, many of which the Council would kill to get their hands on. Maybe it wasn't that they were going after the old ones; maybe they were going after his collection."
"Because there's something there someone might want."
"Or there was something there someone might want and Gräbner wouldn't give it to them. Believe it or not, he did have standards and there were folks he didn't want to deal with. Only reason he liked me was because he caught me eying his collection wistfully when Darla dragged us all there to pay our respects. He realized I liked books, even if I did my best to pretend I didn't because of Angelus. When the happy little family split up after Angel got souled, our paths crossed a few times. I actually liked the old son of a bitch."
"Which is why you never betrayed him to the Council." Giles' mind was racing, trying to take all of this in. There'd always been accusations that Spike might have divided loyalties, sometimes putting vampire interests above the Council's.
"It wouldn't have done much good. He sent me a note when I got made Assistant Director congratulating me on the accomplishment, believe it or not. He also told me that he'd moved the collection to a safe place and he'd have me killed if I came after it." Spike shrugged. "Didn't see the point."
"Oh, I can understand why you did it, but you can see how this might look. There are going to be those who are going to use this..." Giles shook his head. "Never mind. I'll deal with the fallout. Get Mike and Harry and see what you can find in Heidelberg."
***
Having three of them made the ten-hour drive from London to Heidelberg easier, but Spike knew he was going to owe Helen big-time for dragging Harry off so abruptly. Couldn't be helped, though; not if they were going to have a chance at getting their hands on any of Gräbner's collection. "So we're going to try to haul all this stuff back with us?" Mike asked, eying the back of the Land Rover skeptically.
"If there's anything left, we're going to take back as much as we can. If there's more than we can carry, we bring Stancil and his team in; get them to ship the rest of it. I'm laying odds there won't be much." Spike tapped his fingers on the back of the seat in frustration. He could feel the energy building up, but there wasn't much he could do about it at this point except trying to not bounce around the close confines of the vehicle. They'd be there soon; first order of business was to check into the hotel and then head for the location where Gräbner had died, try to find their way from there. Wouldn't hurt to swing by the place where Gräbner had previously kept the collection, either; there were a lot of books and Spike couldn't honestly see the old man moving all of them on account of him. It would have taken too much lifting and Gräbner didn't go in for excitement. That'd been why Dalton had been eager to sign on as one of Spike's minions; for all that he looked up to his sire, he found Gräbner's life a bit boring and longed for the adventure he'd only read about in books. Gräbner had let him go with his blessing, telling him he was welcome back when he grew tired of roaming the world. It'd been a bit hard to tell the man Dalton had been dusted in Sunnydale and Spike had shifted the blame away from himself and onto Angelus, an easy enough task.
Gräbner and his little coterie were a strange example of vampires. Gräbner only ever turned men and then only promising university students and other scholars; no women were allowed to dwell in the sacred precincts, save for Gräbner's housekeeper, who'd served as his housekeeper in life and sired for the sole purpose of continuing that role. Not that Gräbner preferred men; he liked virgin blood as much as the next vampire, but his true god was knowledge and the printed word and to that he remained loyal and faithful through the centuries. Once or twice when he and Dru were on the outs and he'd been in the vicinity, Spike had passed some time in Gräbner's home before the restless urge hit him and he was off again.
Not knowing what else to do, Spike turned back to the information Giles had given him on the Fyarl attack. Gräbner had been caught out alone, so there was always the possibility some of the group were still alive; if they were, the collection might still be intact and the students -- as Gräbner always called them -- working for whomever had set up his death. Either that or they'd scattered to the four winds. None of them were particularly strong and Gräbner hadn't made a habit of keeping muscle around. They hadn't even been big on hunting, practicing the drinking of animal blood as some sort of aesthetic.
As they drove on, the lights of the city growing brighter in the distance, Spike tried to figure out what they were going to do. He'd rushed out without thinking, really, so focused on the books that he hadn't given any thought to details. He just knew there were things in that collection it would be better if other vampires didn't get their hands on. If Gräbner's students were still there, though, he'd find himself fighting people he knew. Most of the time, that wasn't a worry; most of the time, truth be told, he enjoyed it. This was different.
The hotel Linda had found for them was as generic as one might expect when catering to the tourist trade; not the sort of place Spike usually liked to use, but time had been short and she'd probably booked them into the first one of the Council's approved list. The reservation was waiting, the check-in process short, then up to the rooms to dump extra gear before heading out to the old part of the city.
Gräbner had been killed in the Marktplatz, the old main square which was still a center of activity. Giles' report mentioned some upset among local police officials at the attack, which wasn't surprising since the sight of three Fyarl demons would be upsetting to anyone, let alone officials who needed to explain the appearance to the tourist trade...and the attack had taken place shortly after midnight, when a few drunken tourists might still be wandering about.
The Marktplatz was nearly empty at three in the morning and whoever might be lurking in the shadows didn't seem particularly inclined to show themselves. The usual collection of hungry vamps that didn't seem to understand that a tourist area after hours was usually not a great place to find a meal, most likely.
"I don't think we're going to find much in the way of clues," Harry said. "The dusting was three days ago..." he glanced at his watch, "four days ago and at the very least, the street cleaners have been by."
"Figured that," Spike said. "I mainly wanted to get my bearings. Gräbner didn't go out much, except when he got summoned by someone he considered important enough to make the effort for. Everyone else came to him."
Harry shook his head. "So old, yet there's hardly anything on him in the Council's files."
"Not much to tell. Stayed low key, didn't start any fights, never challenged whoever was in charge. As long as he had his books, he was happy. He was old, too -- old as the Master or older. Some claim they were students together or something. No one actually knew."
Spike took a final glance around the Marktplatz, then nodded toward one of the narrow alleys that fed off the square. "This way. If they took him here, it's possible he hadn't moved since the last time I visited."
They moved down the passage, the sound of their feet on the cobbles loud in the stillness. "You sound as if you liked him," Mike said quietly.
He'd known the question would come up sooner or later. "I did. Couldn't stand most of my own kind, even before I got the soul. All they were interested in was the blood lust; got boring talking about nothing but your latest kill. Gräbner and his lot...they were different."
Mike thankfully didn't press the issue, but he and Harry were being terribly silent. It'd been a long time since what Spike was had been an issue; nowadays they didn't even flinch those times he went into game face. This quiet, though, was too reminiscent of those uneasy early days when the two had been more keepers than partners, before the eternal cosmic joke that was Harmony Kendall had inspired a drunken night of male bonding. He was certain it'd always been hovering there on the edge of consciousness, but the idea that they, of all people, might have doubts about him hurt. If a clan war was coming down, Spike knew exactly what side he was on -- and it wasn't with his kin.
There were several twists and turns through a maze of progressively narrower streets. At last, Spike stopped before a low door in a building that also boasted a shuttered shop. "This is it...or it was."
"Do we rush it or is there some secret way in?"
"Let's try the conventional first." Spike knocked and they waited as the sound reverberated and faded.
"You're sure this was it?" Mike said, looking more than a little skeptical.
"Damn sure." He knocked again, the pressed his ear to the door. As he did so, his hand came down on the old iron handle...and he felt it move beneath his weight. Straightening, Spike gave the door a gentle shove and watched as it swung open. "That is not a good sign," Harry said.
"Probably right; we'll know in a minute if a human owns the building, though."
He was tempted to shift into game face for the advantage it might give him in the darkness, but decided against it. If they came upon someone unexpected, it might be better not to alert them he was a vampire immediately."
He crossed the threshold easily, so no humans live here. A few steps in and Spike realized they weren't likely to meet anyone, human or otherwise. The smell of blood still hung in the air, but the copper had an acrid tang to it, the smell of something that had been kept too long. "Hit the torches," he called out. "We're the only ones here."
Two portable lights came to life, illuminating a narrow stair that led downward. "Looks like they didn't give up without a fight," was Mike's comment as they took in the rusty brown staining the wood.
"Or whoever was here decided to have a little fun." Spike started down the stairs. "Vamps will bleed quite nicely if you cut them right."
"Then it definitely wasn't the Fyarl demons; they're more blunt if I recall."
Spike didn't tell Harry he was right, focusing on the increasing evidence of carnage as they descended. If it'd been simply hack and slash, holes and bits of items, he might count it the work of the same creatures, but this showed a bit more thought and finesse. It was either carnage for pleasure...or an object lesson to Gräbner's minions.
When they reached the room that had served as the common area, Spike had no doubt it'd been an object lesson. The table showed that at least some of the vamps had bled before they'd died, the rusty stains across the surface looking almost like sand. Then there were the walls.
"Sweet Jesus," Mike muttered.
"Nothin' holy here." The words came out harsher than Spike had intended, his stomach twisting. The combination of the soul and an overactive imagination was definitely proving a curse at this moment. That he'd never know who'd been killed where didn't help matters. "Library's off to the right. Let's see if they left anything behind."
Whomever had been here had shown little respect for the volumes, carcasses of leather and paper strewn across the floor. Blood was here, too, though the smell was a bit different from the outer room.
"Come to finish me off? Or do you just wish to see me suffer more?" The words were little more than a groan issuing from a bundle of rags huddled against one of the walls. Spike moved instantly, reaching out to help turn what was in actuality a very battered vampire. A torch played over the figure and Spike froze as what he'd hoped he hadn't glimpsed was brought into sharp relief.
The figure was male and had probably been in his mid or late twenties when he'd been turned, but that would have been impossible to guess from the way he looked now. Bloody sockets stared sightlessly up at them, the face cut and bruised almost beyond recognition. But Spike knew him, knew him to be one of Gräbner's chief lieutenants. "Who did this, Ralf?"
"Spike?" Ralf's brow furrowed as his face contorted into a horrifying parody of a frown. "What are you doing...the Watchers. You brought them down on us after all. Are they behind this?"
"No. I just heard today about Grä...Magister." It was better to use the term Gräbner had preferred here with Ralf; more respectful. "They told me three Fyarl demons had gotten him."
"And you thought of the library." A wheezing sigh. "Magister said you could have been one of us."
"Ralf, did you recognize them, the ones who came? Who did they take? What were they looking for?"
"They wanted the Magister's secrets, but we refused to give them up. They took the books, but they didn't take the secrets." Ralf's arm swung up to rest on Spike's. He didn't want to look down, didn't want to see the bloody stump. "The secrets are still safe."
"Safe from whom?" He could feel Harry and Mike shifting behind him, looking anywhere but at him and Ralf. He didn't blame them; whomever had inflicted this pain had been an expert.
"Not sure. These were hired men. They might have worked for Florian or Andre or that hulking Russian who was always sniffing after something. A century ago, I'd say it was Angelus; it's the type of thing he'd enjoy."
None of which helped one jot. "What about the others?"
"They killed Michael and Ernst; took most of the others." A chuckle that gurgled from broken lips. "The others don't know where the secrets lie. Michael and Ernst and I, we wouldn't tell, so they killed them and made me an example, trying to make the others tell. They're probably all dead now...or wish they were. Frau Kellern started screaming when it all started so they killed her first."
Ralf lapsed into silence as Spike wracked his brain trying to figure out what to ask next. Mike and Harry were rustling quietly among the broken volumes, shifting through papers. "You want them, don't you?" Ralf said. "Magister Gräbner said you might; that's why he had the volumes moved. Before he had no doubt you'd respect his privacy but when you became a Watcher," Ralf's face twisted at the very word, "he feared they'd convince you it was your duty to come after them."
Another pause. "So that's what a soul smells like. They say you got it for a woman."
Spike couldn't help a bit of a smile. "You know me, Ralf. Weak in the ways of the flesh."
"Magister said you could have been one of us...but you liked the world too much."
"Still do. Don't suppose I can get you to tell me where the secrets are hidden?"
He was expecting a refusal, certain Ralf would go to dust rather than share, but the vampire surprised him. "Will you kill them? The ones who did this. If I tell you where to find the secrets, will you kill them for the Magister?"
"I don't know if we can find the hired hands."
"Then find the bastard who hired them. He's going to be looking for the collection; someone had been after Magister Gräbner to give him something from it, something he didn't want to give up. That's why they killed him and why they came after us. Swear me a blood oath you'll stop him and I'll tell me where you can find what they didn't take."
Spike hesitated. He'd never held with the old-fashioned rituals practiced by so many of his elders, but he knew Ralf did...and knew the soul would kick at him if he lied just so they could get those books.
"A vengeance oath, Spike. We welcomed you; the Magister gave you what you were looking for. It's a small price to pay in return."
"It's a bloody big one and you know it." He wrestled with it a few minutes more, then slipped into game face, tearing at his wrist with his fangs. "I find them. I'll find whoever's responsible for this and I'll hunt them down. I promise that they'll pay."
He put his wrist to Ralf's mouth and forced himself to look as the vampire sucked. Under normal circumstances, Spike would have simply offered his wrist and let the other party bite down, but that was impossible since they'd also taken Ralf's fangs.
Ralf didn't take much and after only a few seconds let his head drop back with a sigh. "Tastes a bit funny. Must be the soul."
"Must be. You've got my promise."
Ralf nodded and began to speak, clearly putting all his remaining strength into the directions he was giving. Several times he made Spike repeat what he'd said, making corrections when a mistake was made. After a few minutes, he seemed satisfied. "Take care of them."
"They'll be well treated, I can assure you. They may be human, but there are those that have respect for such things."
"Better the Watchers than whoever did this. One last favor..."
It wasn't as hard to slip the stake in as Spike had thought it might be. Ralf had suffered enough that the soul didn't even raise an eyebrow at the action.
He might have gone after those responsible even without the location of Gräbner's hidden cache and the blood oath.
Taking a moment to pull himself together, he let his features slide back to human ones before rising to see what Harry and Mike had uncovered. "We should call Stancil in, get their help," he said. "Let's find the location tonight, pull anything we don't want out of our sight, then you two can oversee the packing in the morning. I want everything from there and here cleared out by tomorrow night. Whoever did this may not have gotten what they're looking for, but it doesn't mean they haven't stopped looking."
He half-expected -- half-hoped -- them to razz him about slumbering while they did the heavy lifting. Neither said a word, looking somberly at the piles that lay strewn on the floor. Then Harry handed him a folder, the kind used to bind a paper for ease of reading. Flipping open the cover, he read "On the Trail of a Legend: The Search for the Gem of Amarra by William Ashbury-Smythe."
Across the bottom of the page was scrawled. "Would like to hear your thoughts. You're mentioned on page 43 -- Spike."
He tucked the folder under his arm and headed out the door and toward the stairs. Yes. Even without a blood oath.