Chapter 24 – Intentions

The Watcher’s Journal of Sir Arthur Gosnard-Tisklin.

London, The Watcher’s Council, February 28, 1901 to March 1, 1901 - There is no need to expound here the furtive fury with which I plunged into the excellent research material at the Council’s library. I cloaked my anxiety for my Slayer’s welfare from the other members of the Council who attended the library that day, behind a façade of ennui and disinterested study, as all the while I frantically searched for some method – by arts of purest white or the blackest from hell – to release my Slayer from the blood bonds that chained her, perhaps for eternity, to Lord Teansdale.

Finally, at 4:39 a.m., I was perusing Vampire Folk Tales of Saxon England, and more than feeling the hopelessness of my task. My eyes blurred from skimming one useless tale after another and my stomach roiled from the unending cups of tea I had consumed to stay awake. I had nearly determined to reveal the sorry state of affairs to Marquis Quentin and beg for his assistance in saving my Slayer, when I chanced upon an old, parchment letter placed inside the book. It was cross-written, folded to form an envelope and sealed with an ancient Watcher’s signet ring.

My hands trembled as I broke the seal.

≈§ ≈ § ≈

Letter from Robert Jones, Watcher
to Sir Alfrith Speround, Her Majesty’s Watcher’s Counsil
Llnfairtalhaian, Afon Elwy
July 31, 1612

Dear Sir Speround,

It is with hevy hart thet I writ to you this eve. That bleeding female, pardon my languidge, Joan Toask, what is ower Slayer for this past winter, has tuk up with a Vampyr of most loathsum charakter. I warnt her most sternly about this sort of theng, but you no how thees Slayer girls ar. Get a littel strenth to them and they com on headstrong as any mule.

As I was saying, a few days ago, Joan tuk herself up with this Vampyr and let him hav a go. This is wot coms of teking on farm girls fer Slayers, I say. They ar frisky wentchs and too much in the companie of kine and other beasts of the field. The Slayer bistness jist encuridgs ther naturil tendunsies. Any way, she not only let Master Vampyr put it to her (behind her father’s barn the prevus nite), but let him tak a biet out of her as well.

Ned, the Vampyr in questshun, Satan’s Own Servant, who uset to be Tom the Blacksmith’s oldest boy, after having his way with her, went an clappd a Vampyr Mating Clam on my Slayer. She fetched arund the next morning, crying and wailing, but I didn’t no whot to do, so I purposd to speek to her new husband and find out his intensyuns.

I cornered the fiend doun in his lair. He had the gall to hole himself up in one of the High Sherriff’s outbuildings, him whot weren’t nothing but a blacksmith’s boy, look you. Anyway, I found him ther, thrasht him gud for presuoming on the Slayer’s goud nature and inocense and graspd his coat very firm and threatened to toss him out into the nunday sun if he didn’t tell me how to brek this mating clam. After that, he was more or less in a cuperativ mind to tell me all he knew.

I was pleasd to find out, as I no you will be to, that while the Vampyr Broot clammed the Slayer good and proper, bieting her with the ful blud and rituls, Joan had enouf sens, or good luck if you will have it, not to biet the right bastard bak and cumpleet the clam. After som mor conversashun with my two gud fissts, Vampyr Tom told me that the clam would run out com the next full moon, whitch coms up agin on August 16, or thereabouts. I purpose to keep the Slayer lockt into her room until she’s safe agin.

I wod not truble you with this infurmayshun, only you said to bee shur and let you no if I got wind of any useful infurmashun of this nature, so heer it is.

As to that lackbrein trullup Slayer of ours, I wil beat her till the blud runs don her heels if she dos not stay cler of Vampyr Ned in future, thet is, if she don’t smile her pretty and beguiling smil and put me off like she alweys dos. If I cannot find impruvment in her cheeky ways, I have halv a mind to send her doun to Stratferd to see whot Bill Shaksper can make of her.

Yurs very trooly,

Robert Jones, Watcher
Llnfairtalhaian, Afon Elwy

≈§ ≈ § ≈

I pocketed the letter and raced home without returning my tomes to the librarian. I will be censored for my lack of consideration, but there is no time to waste if I wish to save my dear Vicky from a horrible fate.

***

The mall owners had gone all out to celebrate the Grand Opening of their new addition.

Throngs of shoppers attacked the Midnight Madness sales, and children and teenagers crawled all over the visiting carnival rides – the black, whirling Octopus with it’s orange-yellow glowing lights, the Crack the Whip, the Wave Swinger and a merry-go-round. Parts of the carnival expanded out into the parking lot to accommodate the larger rides; the Wave Swinger and the merry-go-round were tucked inside the newly constructed addition. Pink, yellow and green lights swirled in dizzying circles as the crowd shoved and shouted to be next to grab a ride.

Buffy pushed through the crowd, followed by Spike, who used his vampire face to clear a path.

“We’ll never find them here, pet. Let’s forget about the Twinks.” Spike did not want to spend his last night as Buffy’s husband shoving around an overheated mall looking for Rosamund and Sunday.

“I’ll find them.”

“With your vampire radar? It can’t work with this many people. There must be a dozen vamps here tonight.”

“Don’t remind me. No, this is a girlie thing.”

She headed inside the mall. Dozens of tables crowded the main hall with sales goods. They passed the merry-go-round which was spinning sedately in the middle of the hall. Buffy touched Spike’s hand. It would be romantic to take a ride on the merry-go-round with Spike. Something sweet to remember their last night by.

Buffy saw Willow going into the Flaming Hot and Extra Spicy Lingerie Shop with the New Girl. Why was Willow holding her hand? And, why was Willow dressed up in that tight black skirt and black nylons and black high heels? And, red lipstick? Willow never wore red lipstick.

The crowd parted and Buffy saw Parker, standing in front of the fountain, talking to a teenage boy.

“My scars are all psychological, you see, my father died last year.”

Buffy considered punching him in the nose, or at least warning the boy about the smooth lies of Parker Abrams, when Parker awkwardly shook out his vamp face and lowered his fangs to the boy’s neck. Before Buffy could react, a girl screamed. The scream was coming from inside the Flaming Hot and Extra Spicy Lingerie Shop.

“Spike, stop Parker from biting that kid. I’ll see what’s happening in the shop.” Buffy ran to the shop without pausing to see if Spike was following instructions.

***

“Brilliant. Just how I want to spend my last night with my mate. Chasing after Fledges.”

Spike grabbed a fist full of Parker’s hair and bounced his skull off the marble retainer wall of the fountain’s pool. Spike held Parker up, dangling Parker by his hair just high enough to keep Parker’s toes from touching the floor. “Don’t know what Buffy ever saw in you, Ponce.”

Parker’s victim boy backed away as quickly as the crowd would allow and vanished.

Spike looked around. Buffy had taken her patrol bag with her and there wasn’t a piece of wood in sight. “Bugger. Guess I’ll have to twist your head off. Damn, I’m going to get dust all over my coat.”

“Wait!” Parker yelled. “Don’t kill me!”

“Why the bloody hell not? You don’t really expect me to let you live after you’ve messed with my woman?”

“Well, uh, I uh, I didn’t know she was your woman when I messed with her. And, now that I’m a vampire, we’re sort of like related or something.”

“’Fraid not.”

“Wait! Let me have a smoke before you kill me.”

“It’s against my better judgment, but all right. There’s cigarettes in my coat and a lighter in my pants pocket. Help yourself.” Spike tugged up on Parker’s hair so he wouldn’t get any ideas about escaping.

Parker patted his hands on Spike’s pants in places the cigarettes couldn’t possibly be until Spike growled. He pulled out the pack and lighter and lit up.

“Thanks. This is really nice of you.” Parker slid Spike’s lighter into his own front pants pocket.

***

Anya and Xander were browsing through the displays outside the Flaming Hot and Extra Spicy Lingerie Shop. Anya held up a teal and black lace bra and panty set for Xander’s approval. “Look, these are twenty percent off. They’re a real bargain.”

“I am Payday Man and …” Xander looked at the price tag. “These cost a fortune.”

“Yes, but they’re worth it. Think of all the money we’ll save if we buy them now.”

Xander held a crooked index finger out and tried to think of a way to explain to Anya that buying over-priced slutty underwear, even if it was on sale, was no deal. He lost his chain of thought when he spied Giles holding up a black silk teddy for Buffy’s Mom to see.

No, no, no.

“What are you doing here?” Xander croaked. It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t right. Giles was an old, old man. He shouldn’t be thinking about women, especially women wearing black lacy things like the one he was holding up and even more especially if the woman Giles was thinking about was Buffy’s Mom.

“Xander,” Giles said. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Quite a sale, don’t you think?”

Xander would have answered if he could have come up with something reasonably glib, but his Glib-O-Meter shut down when somebody screamed and he saw Buffy shove through the crowd to pry her way into the lingerie shop. She was waving a mini-crossbow in her hand.

***

“Do you really have to kill me?” Parker bleated.

“You’re a wanker, and I’m not in the mood to kill wankers. Came here to kill some real villains. What’ll you do if I let you go?”

“Anything! Anything you say.” Maybe he could be Spike’s Love Slave instead of being under the fangs of those two heifers, Rosamund and Sunday.

“If you don’t behave yourself, Slayer’s gonna kick your ass and she’s not big on the mercy angle.”

Parker touched the bump on his head where Buffy had cracked his skull a few nights before. “I’ll say.”

***

“Hey. What’s Buffy doing?” Xander asked.

“She appears to be engaged in some Extremely Violent Shopping. Understandable with these prices,” Giles said. He checked his wallet – cash or charge?

Spike came up behind Giles, dragging Parker with him. “Say there, Watcher. Got a proposition for you.”

“Spike!” Giles sprang away in horror, shoved Joyce behind him and held up the cross that was suspended inside his shirt.

“Yeah, it’s me. Hey, Joyce. Rupert, I got this wanker here. He fledged into a vampire the other night. Thought you might like to keep him for a bit, study him. Says he’ll behave. When you get tired of him, you can dust him. Buffy used to fancy him. I wouldn’t want to upset her by making her stake the ringworm. I’d do it myself, but I expect Buffy wants my help with the Twins and I don’t want to get dust all over my coat.”

While Giles was blubbering in fright and astonishment, Spike picked up a fluffy pink negligee with his free hand. “Think Buffy would like this?”

Giles regained his composure by recalling that this creature, this Spike, was the very devil who had claimed his Slayer. Also, he didn’t want to look like a big girl’s blouse in front of Joyce. “Fiend, I know what you did to Buffy. You claimed her while she was …” He glanced at Joyce.

Willow came up with her new blonde friend. “Sleeping.”

“Sleeping.” Giles said. He looked at Willow. She was dressed quite strangely and she was holding the New Girl’s hand. He couldn’t worry about Willow now. He had to deal with the problem of Spike. “Spike, I want to know your intentions.”

***

Buffy shoved her way into the Flaming Hot, with her crossbow cocked and raised and ready for action. Sunday clutched a shopper by the throat and Rosamund was checking out a two-for-one panties sale.

She didn’t think she could accurately fire a quarrel into Sunday’s heart with the crush of shoppers surrounding the vampire, so she picked up a half-mannequin that was modeling a strapless push-up bra with cross-your-heart styling in navy blue with mint green piping and heaved it at Sunday’s head.

***

“Sleeping! That’s rich. Is that what she told you? And, my intentions?” Spike was trying to argue with Giles and at the same time catch some coherent thought from Buffy who had just been flung through one of the lingerie store’s plate glass windows.

Buffy jumped up and ran back through the display window, into the store.

“Yes, your intentions. The claim expires tonight. What do you plan to do about it?”

“Well, I hadn’t exactly planned anything, Watcher. Maybe a nice bottle of plonk, some candles – got plenty of those – some massage oil.”

Giles punched Spike in the nose and immediately cried out in pain from his possibly broken knuckles. “That’s for claiming my Slayer, you berk.”

Spike dropped Parker, who he’d been holding suspended by his hair all this time and slammed his fist into Gile’s gut. “She’s not your Slayer any more, you big Poof. She’s mine.”

Parker slipped away into the crowd.

Giles forced himself to straighten up and took another swing. “Not if I have anything to do about it.”

Spike ducked. The Watcher packed a wallop when he had his anger up. He didn’t want to hurt Buffy’s Watcher too much, knowing how she’d carry on about it, so he kicked Giles feet out from under him and sent him crashing to the ground.

“Well, you don’t. Dad.”