Thanks to my wonderful beta, Immortal_Beloved :)




The guard post at the rear of Ethan Rayne’s slave compound was quiet as usual. The single guard assigned to it, a large and somewhat slow Greechnok demon named Rakor, paced idly back and forth in front of the back exit to the building, not sure whether to feel grateful that his job was so easy, or irritated that it was so boring. He carried a heavy broadsword in his hand…but he bore a magical binding bracelet on his wrist, just like every other demon in Rayne’s possession.

He supposed, really, that he should be grateful to have such a position at all instead of being used as a pleasure slave like most of the other demons on which Rayne had managed to get his hands.

Not that there was really that much call for Greechnok demons as pleasure slaves.

Perhaps it was the random spiny growths that covered their bodies that served as such a turn off to most of Rayne’s customers. Or, perhaps it was the blue slime that oozed from those spiny growths.

Rakor was pondering that question when it became his final thought. A wooden arrow flew threw the air, well-aimed and hitting its mark directly between his eyes, piercing through bone and cartilage into the demon’s brain.

He died instantly and without a sound.

****************************************

Michael Gordan stood guard a few hundred yards away and around the corner on the eastern side of the compound, near an exit which was usually very quiet this time of the night. It was kept locked from the outside; and, since no one ever came near Rayne’s property, Michael usually had a reasonably quiet job.

Too quiet.

In fact, some nights, like tonight, he would deliberately leave the door unlocked, hoping for some hapless demon slave to make an attempt at escape, if only to give him something to do. Besides, he hated demons with a passion, and was always looking for a reason to lay into one of the disgusting whores Rayne kept at his command.

He was well paid by the British sorcerer, but Michael would likely have done the job without as much pay just for the access it gave him to the hated creatures he so loved to hunt down and punish for their very existence. Rayne’s slaves were generally too well-cowed to say anything about Michael’s frequent abuses…not that Rayne would have cared much if they had.

As long as no permanent damage was done, he usually didn’t care much about the welfare of his property.

An unfamiliar noise, a sound out of place, drew Michael’s attention from his thoughts, and he turned eagerly toward the door, his hand going swiftly to the club he wore at his side. His eager expression turned to a puzzled, suspicious frown when he saw the large rock lying beside the door where it had apparently fallen.

But…who had thrown it?

Alarmed, Michael spun around, realizing too late that the threat was coming from behind him rather than from inside the building. Before he could even complete his turn, a heavy blow to the back of his head sent him collapsing silently to the ground.

Without a word, Melinda directed two of the young Slayers with her to carry the man’s unconscious form back to camp while she and the others continued around the side of the building.

**************************************

Near the front entrance to the building, Melinda and the others remaining with her saw what appeared to be a young man, slim but muscular, with dark hair, apparently standing guard, though he held no weapon in his hand.

As soon as they drew near enough, their supernatural senses told them why.

He was a vampire; he already had his weapon.

Melinda exchanged a glance with Larissa, who nodded with a grim smile, knowing exactly what she was going to do and how to go along with it; they had discussed possible methods to use before leaving the campsite.

Melinda motioned with her hand for the others to stay put and then headed quietly out across the edge of the trees that surrounded the building, where she knew the vampire would be sure to notice her. Sure enough, he looked up sharply toward the spot where she hid, his body tensing in preparation to strike.

She slipped subtlety closer to where he stood, feigning ignorance of his presence near the door, taking care not to even glance in his direction. The vampire began to creep cautiously toward her, and Melinda expertly led him away from the door into the trees…away from any source of help that might be available to him.

She allowed the vampire to grow gradually closer and closer to her until, finally, she spun around with a frightened gasp, her eyes wide as she stared at the monster visage before her.

The vampire grinned at her. “What are you doing out in the woods all alone, little…”

His voice trailed off abruptly as he closed the distance between them, his golden eyes widening in stunned realization as his own senses revealed to him -- too late -- the danger that she posed.

“Slayer!” he hissed, taking a quick backward step away from her…and directly into Larissa.

He spun around, glancing wildly between the two girls, rising panic in his expression.

Larissa moved forward and roughly gripped his arm, Melinda swiftly closing in on the other side, a stake in her hand, which she pressed firmly against the vampire’s chest, giving him a wide, false smile.

“Believe it or not, we really don’t want to stake you,” she informed him matter-of-factly.

“Speak for yourself,” Larissa muttered.

Melinda shrugged as she clarified with a nod, “*She* wants to stake you. But, we’d really rather not if we can help it. So…are you going to come along quietly like a good little vampire? Or, are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

********************************

The guard on the west side of the building was completely unaware of the dramas taking place all around him, simply walking casually back and forth beneath the shelter of the overhanging branches that brushed against the west wall, enjoying the usual peace and quiet of the evening.

Which was suddenly shattered by a shrill, tinny noise that sounded almost like…

…a cell phone?

Frowning as he glanced around for the source of the sound, which seemed unnervingly close, the demon jumped backward a step when something suddenly dropped to the ground in front of him. He slowly stepped forward again, staring in surprise at the tiny glowing object, which was indeed a cell phone.

Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, “How in the…?”

He never finished the thought, let alone the voicing of it. Two powerful legs suddenly fell around his neck, wrapping tightly around his throat and twisting sharply. His neck broken, he fell to the ground, dead instantly.

As his body slumped to the ground, the Slayer dropped lithely to the ground next to it from the tree where she had hidden, crouching down to retrieve her ringing cell phone.

Her eyes widened when she saw who was calling, and she wondered at the sick, uneasy feeling she felt in the pit of her stomach.

*Why should Giles calling make me nervous?* she wondered uncertainly, hesitating just an instant before answering the call.

“Hello?” she said in a hushed voice, glancing cautiously around for any sign of anyone who might overhear her conversation.

“Buffy?” Her Watcher’s voice sounded intensely relieved as he added, “Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been unbelievably worried, my dear. Are you quite all right?”

Buffy was quiet for a moment, mentally debating as to the best way to handle this encounter. Her instincts were telling her to exercise caution, though her heart saw no reason to hide anything from the man who was like a father to her. Still…Spike’s reaction when she had asked about Giles’ part in the situation echoed painfully in her mind, and she knew enough to know that there was at least something she did *not* know.

And until she knew what that something was, caution was the order of the day, she decided.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’m sorry I haven’t called, Giles. I just…I’ve been really busy here…”

“Xander was expecting you home in Scotland already, Buffy,” Giles reminded her, a strangely cool note to his voice. “I was hoping to hear that you were already on your way there.”

Buffy felt something within her heart go cold at his words, and the strange tone with which he spoke them. Xander had told her that Andrew had made up the entire story -- which she knew for a fact to be false, now that she had found Spike.

What was still unclear was Giles’ role in the whole thing.

Why was it so important to him for her to go home?

Surely he hadn’t *known* that Spike was here, a prisoner, about to be sold as a sex slave, and still attempted to hide that knowledge from her? Surely he hadn’t…had anything to *do* with…?

*Maybe…maybe Xander just got the message confused…there has to be some mistake…*

Even as she desperately clung to that hope, the cold, numb sensation of dread that had begun in the pit of her stomach began to slowly spread throughout the Slayer’s body and mind.

“Giles…I’m a little confused here. What was Andrew talking about, about the top secret mission you were on? And, coming to Ireland and everything? What’s up with that? I mean…Xander said that there’s nothing here…but…”

“There isn’t, Buffy,” Giles assured her calmly. “Andrew…honestly, my dear, I don’t know what got into the boy. He’s spent too much time making up stories, I’m afraid. It seems perhaps he’s beginning to have trouble differentiating reality from fiction. At any rate, it was all a hoax, and you need only turn around and return to your duties in Scotland as soon as possible. I apologize for allowing him to find your number and waste your time, Buffy. I thought it was secure.”

“Oh,” Buffy replied flatly. “Okay. I -- I understand. I mean…if he was determined to get a hold of me for…for some reason…it’s okay, Giles. I don’t really mind…”

Her mouth was automatically producing words that seemed appropriate to the conversation, but her mind was racing steadily toward panic, struggling to find an explanation other than the one that was swiftly becoming apparent.

*Giles couldn’t have known. He wouldn’t have done that to Spike. Maybe he doesn’t even know he’s here…but…then how did *Andrew* know? How did Spike even get here in the first place, when Giles was the last one to see him after rescuing him from Siron? Unless…unless *Giles*…*

She shook her head, drawing herself out of her thoughts with an effort as she tried to focus on what Giles was saying…more apologies for Andrew’s thoughtless, foolish invasion of her privacy, as well as the waste of her time and the Council’s money in sending her all the way to Ireland for no apparent reason…

“Giles,” she cut him off abruptly, her voice trembling slightly as she struggled to conceal her own uncertainty. “Giles, are you sure…I mean…is there any reason at all why he might have sent me here? Is there anything…anything you’re not telling me for some reason? I mean…maybe there’s something you’re…protecting me from?”

“Buffy, I assure you, there’s nothing for you there in Ireland. It’s all the imaginations of that foolish boy’s mind, I assure you. You need only book the nearest ticket back to Scotland as soon as you can,” Giles replied without hesitation.

“Okay,” Buffy replied, forcing the word out with an effort though she felt completely numb, barely able to react at all, as her breaking heart struggled to process what was happening…what her emotions screamed at her *couldn’t* be happening. “I’ll…I’ll be home as soon as I can. I promise.”

“Very good, Buffy,” Giles replied, relief evident in his voice. “I…I’ll be making a trip there to see you soon. I…I miss you, Buffy.”

“I miss you, too,” Buffy replied, though there was an underlying meaning to her words that the Watcher could not have recognized.

*Giles…God, Giles, what happened to you? Where did you go?*

When Buffy hung up the phone, she simply stood there for a moment in numb silence, staring into space through wide, stricken eyes as the cell phone slipped unheeded from her fingers to the ground at her feet.

***********************************

Giles hung up the phone, staring grimly down at his desk as he slowly set it down, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out with a weary sigh of resignation. His mouth set in a grim line, his eyes narrowing as he murmured to himself,

“Bloody hell. She knows.”