When You are Tired of London

Victor D. Infante

Victor D. Infante is a poet, screenwriter, and journalist. More information and other works by the author can be found at his Web site.


Part One: Blood is Thicker...

The cab pulled up the driveway to the West Sussex manor house at just a bit before midnight. The fare would be horrendous, but the nervous, distracted man in the back didn't much care. It's not like he couldn't afford it. "Nice house," said the cabbie, as they approached. "Some sort of school, is it?"

"Mmm?" said the man. "Yes, yes. A boarding school, I guess. My cousin's the headmaster."

"Must be close, popping in at this hour."

"No, not really."

"Oh. Well then. Here you are."

The man slid the cabbie fifty quid, and walked to the door. He'd been here a few times, as a child, but, as he'd said, he and Rupert were hardly close. He rang the bell.

After a moment, he heard the stamping of someone coming down the steps. A young woman's voice—American, he noted—asked who was there.

"I'm...I'm looking for Rupert Giles."

There was a moment of silence, and then the door opened. The slim young woman gasped when she saw him.

"Giles?" she said, and then looked closer. "Wait. Not Giles. Who are..."

"He's my cousin," said Giles, from behind her. "Dawn, meet my cousin James. James, please do come in."

"He looks just like you," whispered Dawn, as James stepped into the foyer.

"Trust me," said Giles. "The resemblance stops there."

"Rupert," said James, stepping to shake Giles' hand. "Good to see you, old man."

"James," said Giles, coolly. "Since you're rarely in need of money, I can only assume you're in some sort of trouble."

James went to say something, and then he lowered his head, nodding imperceptibly.

A small gaggle of girls had gathered to see what was up, and Buffy leaned against a wall behind them, her arms folded.

"Uhm, girls?" asked Giles. "Could you be so kind as to take James to my study. I'll be along directly." He then muttered, near under his breath, "And for God's sake, don't actually listen to him."

"Wow," said Buffy as they left. "He looks just like you."

Giles rolled his eyes. "He's a self-centered, irresponsible berk is what he is."

"Language!" said Buffy, in mock horror. "You're gonna burst a scone. So, you have a wacky, identical cousin. From England! Will there be hijinks?"

"One can only hope," said Giles. The two walked to meet James in the den.

James, surrounded as he was by young women, seemed to forget whatever troubles had been earlier disturbing him, and he was engaged in listening intently as the slayers-in-training told him about themselves. Giles rolled his eyes.

"So," said Giles, with an authority that chilled the room a bit. "What on Earth brings you here at this unholy hour."

"I needed your help, Rupert," said James, with renewed seriousness. "You see, I've been receiving death threats."

"I wonder why," said Giles, then quickly adding. "Why don't you go to the police?"

"Well, that's the thing," said James. "I'm being threatened by a ghost."

Giles was silent.

"See?" said Buffy. "Hilarity ensues."

Part Two: Dooooomed!

Giles had hated James ever since they were children. Giles had been the adventurer, the black sheep. James had been the goody-good, the snitch. When Giles was sneaking cigarettes in the woods, it was James who'd told on him. But eventually, Giles mellowed, and he became a responsible adult, a respected researcher for the British Museum and, unbeknownst to most, a member of the Watcher's Council, although James really knew no more about that than he did vampires, demonic possession or other-dimensional portals. James had become a dentist, and was a whiz at investing. He was steady and boring, all the qualities that Giles had hated about him as a child.

But as Giles matured, James had gone the other way. A steady stream of affairs led to an inevitable divorce, followed by a near-endless stream of alcohol, drugs, twentysomething-year-old models and never-ending parties. Whereas once Giles had hated him for being too square, now he hated him for being too childish. And that he had become immensely wealthy in the process didn't dispose Giles any better toward him.

Now, he was sitting in Giles' study, recounting a story about a ghostlike apparition that had appeared in his bedroom, spouting, "You are doomed! Dooooomed!!!! Dooooooomed!!!"

James told the story with appropriate hand gestures. Buffy was quite visibly having trouble restraining her laughter.

"And then," said James, winding down, "I thought about you."

"And pray tell, why was that?" asked Giles.

"Well, because of all the weird stuff you were into, back in the day. All the tarot cards, and the weird books, and the late night orgies."

"Did I hear orgies?" said Xander, entering the room with Willow, "finally, a case I can get in ... holy smokes! Giles has an evil twin!"

"I DO NOT HAVE AN EVIL TWIN!!!!" exclaimed Giles. Giles took a second to adjust his glasses. "Xander, Willow, this is my cousin, James. And it's only a passing resemblance."

"Right," said Buffy. "For one, he's got a fabulous earring."

"Oh," said James. "Do you like it? I picked it up at this marvelous little shop in Kensington."

"Really?" said Buffy. "Cause I could use a bracelet with those kind of stones."

"Oh yes," said James. "It's just the place."

"James," said Giles. "Please. Tell us more about your... ghost."

"Well, I don't know what to say, really," said James, nervously. "It appeared, and I thought perhaps I had had too much sherry."

"Heaven forbid," said Giles.

"And I promptly, uhm," James glanced nervously around the room, "hid under the covers until it went away. Which it did, but it returned the next night."

"Let me guess," said Giles. "It told you were doomed?"

"Doooomed!" said James, quite caught in the moment.

"Right," said Giles. "I see. Well, spirits of this sort really don't appear randomly. Have you ever seen any signs of a haunting before?"

James shook his head.

"Right," said Giles. "Have you killed someone?"

"What!?!?!" exclaimed James, "Rupert, I never!"

"All right, all right," said Giles. "Just eliminating all possibilities. You, uhm, haven't, have you?"

"No."

"Fine. Do you have any enemies? Living, dead, what have you?"

"None. I get along with everyone."

Giles produced then a stare that Buffy recognized quite well. It was the stare of someone has just said something ridiculously stupid.

"Well," said James. "My ex-wife did recently have a go at me with a knife."

Giles rubbed his forehead. Buffy seemed to be biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"What about your friends?" said Giles. "You still hanging around with the same gadabouts?"

"My mates?" said James. "Surely you don't suspect..."

"Not really, no," said Giles. "But I suppose they're worth investigating. Might give us a lead. Have you been dating anyone?"

"Well, one or two girls. You know, nothing deep."

"Never is, really. Would any of them&..." Giles didn't bother to finish the question. "Right, any number of them. All right. Here's the plan. Xander and Willow, I want you two to investigate James' flat, then when you're done, Willow will talk to James' ex-wife, and Xander will check in with his friend, Gary."

"We're on it like Jessica Fletcher," said Xander.

"Only younger, and cuter, and not leaving a trail of dead college friends wherever we go," said Willow.

"Good," said Giles. "Buffy, you'll interview his friend Terry, and I'll talk to Patrick. Then we'll converge and see what we can discover of his," Giles adopted a disgusted look, "liaisons."

"Are you sure that's a good idea," said James. "Sending a young lady alone to talk to Terry? I mean she..."

"Can drop kick him across the Channel from a stand," said Giles, dismissively. "You'll wait here, in relative safety. And you won't touch anything, do you understand me?"

James nodded.

"Good, said Giles. "We'll start in the morning. Xander, can you show him to a guest room?"

"You think it's a good idea to leave him alone with a house of girls," she asked. "Faith'll be back in the morning," said Giles. "And we'll leave instructions for her to kill him." "If he acts up." "Hmm? Oh, yes." They walked into the hall, and prepared to head to their rooms. "Orgies, huh?" "Let us never speak of it again."

Part Three: Xander's Day

For many Americans, the prospect of driving on the wrong side of the road was the most daunting thing to adjust to in England. Xander, on the other hand, was enraptured by it. With the exception of a few brief forays through various Hell dimensions, and an only-somewhat less dangerous cab ride through Tiajuana, this was his first time outside the United States, and he was enjoying every second of it.

Well, enjoying might not be the right word, but the change of scene kept his mind from lingering on the past, and that was something. Plus, he'd get to see the unaired episodes of Firefly, which was a plus.

"Sometimes," he thought, "It's the little things."

But London? He'd fallen in love with London from the get-go. Where Buffy and Willow would crinkle their noses at the little fish and chip stands in Leicester Square, he found himself drawn to them. He amassed albums by bands whom he thought he had every album by. He spent hours taking advantage of the National Library reader's card that Giles had acquired for him, and when his brains were about to explode from too much research, he'd walk around the corner to the two-story science fiction and comic book store.

There was always a voice in the back of Xander's head, whispering how much he's lost. But here, so far from Sunnydale, he realized there was a world for him to explore, and he loved it.

Today, however, there was a mystery, and a pricey looking Kensington flat.

Xander brushed aside the shrubbery outside to peer through the window as Willow fumbled with the keys. They weren't sure exactly what they were expecting, but James' flat was rather tasteful and sparse. Willow walked to the center of the living room, and then glanced about, as though she were looking for something. Xander began picking though James' things.

"Huh," said Xander, examining the large CD collection. "Sheryl Crow, Michael Bolton. Eek!" he recoiled from the CD rack. "Celine Dione! It's criminal, I tell you. Surround sound, monolithic speakers, and a music collection as large as Giles' with none of the taste. No wonder Giles hates him."

"We're supposed to be working here, Xander, not critiquing."

"I'm working, I'm working. It's just that... If Giles hates his cousin so much, then why is he helping him?"

"Who knows," said Willow. "The ways of family are mysterious and strange." She then took on a more serious demeanor. "But there's definitely something here. There's a lingering after-trace of etheric disturbance."

"I love when you talk like that," said Xander. "But it's gone, right?"

"Uh-huh," said Willow, confused. "How'd you know?"

"Deduction, my dear Dr. Watson," said Xander, walking up to a side window. "This window's obviously been jimmied open."

"How can you tell?" asked Willow.

"Because there's metal scrapes on the ledge, and the guy who owns this apartment doesn't let things like that happen without getting them fixed immediately. Also, the jimmy's in the shrubbery outside."

"Oh. So then, somebody's broken in. And stolen something."

"That would be my guess," said Xander. "Time to split up?"

"'Fraid so, great detective," said Willow. I get the ex-wife, you get the 'decking king."

"How do you become the King of Decking, anyway?" asked Xander, as they parted company.

The answer came a few hours and quick detour past the comic book store later, as he stood on the absolutely most gorgeous handmade enclosed deck and swimming pool he'd ever seen.

"This is nice craftsmanship," said Xander, admiringly. "This was all done by hand?"

"Well, I had some blokes install the pool," said Gary, "but yeah. This one's my baby, it is. I always say, if you going to build for other people, build your best work for home."

There was a brief pause, as both Gary and Xander stopped to admire the woodwork.

"Right, so, I got James' call. You're a friend of his, then?"

"Friend of the family," said Xander, casually. The two of them settled down at a table near the pool, where a couple of beers had been thoughtfully left for them.

"I'm looking into some matters for him," Xander continued.

Gary looked concerned.

"Not any trouble, is it?"

"Well," said Xander, "There's been a couple threats, and my associates and I are trying to find out if there's anyone who'd, well, have a grudge against him."

"Against James? Not likely. I mean, nicest bloke I know. Always there for his mates."

"Anyone owe him any money?"

"Well, lots of people..."

"I see, and is there anyone who'd feel... jealous of him?"

"Bloody Hell. With all the birds he nails, who wouldn't? I mean, you should see him in action. Different girl every night, and sometimes... Wait, you're not saying I'm the one threatening him, are you?"

"No, no, not at all," said Xander, who inwardly was amazed at how much control he had over the situation.

"Right, cause that's a load of bullocks if you are. James is my mate, and I'd never hurt a hair on his head. Don't care how many models he parades in front of me, even with a dodgy wanker!"

"Whoah!" said Xander, "Too much information!" He placed a comforting hand on Gary's shoulder. "We're just gathering information. You've got nothing to worry about."

Gary looked relieved.

"So," said Xander. "What kind of sander did you use on the floorboards?"

Part Four: Willow's Day

For Willow, England would always be a form of penance, and as London faded into the rearview mirror, this fact was made abundantly clear to her. It's not that she hated London, but there was an energy flow through that city that near-maddened her, forces converging from all over the globe, way more than she'd ever felt in Los Angeles. Ley lines, she'd heard them called, or dragon lines. In many ways, London was the magical center of the world, and when she walked its streets, that energy pulsed through her, and her mind went to places she'd rather it didn't. Things she'd been sent to England to atone for the first time.

London was a city full of ghosts, but none of them drowned out the ones she already carried with her. Indeed, it only amplified them.

She wondered what Kennedy was doing, but she found no resonance in the thought. She liked Kennedy a lot, but they were already drifting. Willow pushed the thought away, and lost herself as the trees began to emerge along the roadside.

The country house wasn't too terribly far out of London, and was nestled against a stretch of forest and a field where a horse was running. A pretty, dark-haired middle-aged woman sat on the fence, watching the horse run. Willow parked and stepped out of the car.

"Elizabeth?" asked Willow, tentatively.

"You must be Willow," said the woman. "Got your phone call. So, you wanted to talk to me about James, is it? What, you one of his new bits."

"Not likely," said Willow, mildly offended. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

Willow hesitated a bit. "There's been some threats."

Small trickles of laughter began snickering from behind Elizabeth's clenched teeth. After a moment, Elizabeth stopped trying to restrain the laughter, and a full-fledged guffaw erupted.

"You don't seem concerned," said Willow.

"Concerned?" said Elizabeth. "Bugger that, I've been waiting for him to do something stupid and get himself knocked off for years. What is it? Gambling? Drugs? Some bird he's shagging?"

"We were hoping you could tell us."

Elizabeth just rolled her eyes at her.

"What, you some kind of copper, are you? Don't right look it."

"No, I'm... I'm kind of a private... investigator. Yeah. Sort of."

"Right," said Elizabeth, stepping off the fence. "You're a detective. And I'm the zombie of the Queen Mum. Still, you want to know about James? I'll tell you about James."

The two walked to Elizabeth's kitchen. Elizabeth pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses, and before Willow could protest, she found one of the glasses in her hand.

"You like the house?" said Elizabeth.

"Uh-huh," said Willow. "It's nice."

"James paid for it. Every bit. When we got divorced, he didn't even put up a fight for it. Said I could keep it. Didn't even shrug much at the alimony demands."

"Well, that sounds..."

"Said it was, and I quote, 'a sound investment in his freedom.'"

"Ouch. That's cold."

"He's not a cruel man, James. But that was the cruelest thing he could have said, and he damn well knew it."

"Must have hurt."

"Oh yes. Not that he's ever shown an inkling of noticing. Men. Stupid, childish, gits. Only one thing on their mind, and it turns them into..."

"Beasts," said Willow, flashing back to the sight of Oz and Veruca in the cage, she nodded as Elizabeth poured her another glass.

"Bloody right," said Elizabeth. "Couldn't keep his trousers on long enough to make it from the door to the car some mornings. Don't think there's an aspiring model in London he hasn't shagged."

"You're still angry at him then?"

"Oh, of course I'm still angry at him. Damn near ruined my life, not to mention what the divorce did to the kids. But I'm not threatening him, if that's what you're getting at. Why should I? I don't want for money, and frankly, if me or the kids need anything, it's always on tap. His conscience is so guilty, he throws money if they look at him askance. No, I'm not your woman. I'm having my revenge by bleeding the bastard dry."

"So, you're dating someone else?" asked Willow.

"Oh, here and there. Nothing serious. Mostly don't feel I need a man in my life. More wine?"

The glass was filled before Willow could protest. Suddenly, she was feeling mildly uncomfortable.

"James said something about, um, a knife?"

"Did he, now?" said Elizabeth, who was starting to laugh again. "Did he mention that he'd come around here looking for a tumble?"

Willow shook her head to indicate that he indeed hadn't.

"Seems his pecker was out of order, and he came round here looking for a helping hand. Couldn't resist giving the tosser a scare."

"Did you..."

"Well, of course I did," said Elizabeth. "Couldn't resist, really. Never pass up an opportunity to let them know who's on top."

At this point, to steal a line from one of her favorite poet, Willow wasn't certain whether she wanted to be this woman, fuck her, or borrow her clothes. Or maybe just run screaming from the room.

She took another sip of wine while deciding.

Part Five: James' Morning

Rupert and his young friends had left early, leaving James settled in the kitchen with a pot of coffee, The Times and a bowl of cereal. He was welcome to make something else, of course, but he was dreadfully afraid to touch anything.

Outside, on the back lawn, a squad of teenage girls was running through what looked like some sort of karate exercises. Which was odd, to be certain, although he couldn't deny the view was entertaining.

"Left alone in a house full of teenage girls," thought James. "If I weren't convinced that Rupert would murder me..."

He let the thought go. He wondered what sort of school this was, but then, it had always been strange schools with that side of the family.

On occasion, James' mother spoke of how her sister, his aunt, had suddenly one day begun private tutoring. And then, there was the odd academy that Rupert had been sent off to—none he'd ever heard of, but evidently prestigious enough to get him enrolled in Oxford, even with his dubious behavior record.

"Rupert was cool back then," thought James, recalling just how much he wanted to be like him. The wild parties, the dangerous friends, the running away to London. James always harbored a knot of jealousy toward Rupert. Even when he suddenly returned to school, transformed into a model student, he was cool. Soon after graduation, he was traveling the world for the museum, his life one seeming adventure after another.

James had watched him from his orthodontic clinic, and couldn't help but feel that he was missing something.

His revelry was disturbed by the sound of someone moving about in the adjoining chamber. Startled, he spilled a few drops of coffee on the table. Not seeing a cloth nearby, he soaked it up with the Book Review section.

In the window, an atrociously beautiful dark-haired woman in her early twenties appeared. She glanced in the window, smiled and waved, then opened the door and stepped in.

"Prodigal's back!" said the woman. "Next time we need a nest cleared out in Liverpool, B. can take it. I mean, birthplace of the Beatles and all, cool, but man, crawling around those factories can be a bear. I've got grease in places I didn't know could get greasy."

The woman stopped and looked at him seriously.

"You wearing an earring, Giles? This isn't some kind of mid-life thing, is it?"

"Giles? No, I'm sorry," said James. "I'm Giles' cousin, James."

The woman looked at him quizzically, but before she could say anything, Dawn entered the room.

"Hey, Faith," she said. "Good hunting in Liverpool? Hey, Giles."

"James, Dawn. We met last night?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Dawn.

"James," said James. "Giles' cousin? The one he doesn't like very much?"

"Funny, you look like Giles to me," said Faith.

"I'm lost," said Dawn. "So, you're not Giles, you're his identical cousin? This isn't some kind of weird, Trigger Happy TV thing, is it?" she asked, looking around, "because my hair's a total mess."

"You... you don't remember? What with the Rupert scolding me and the 'doooomed' and...."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

James was speechless. Something terribly strange was going on, and he had no idea how to deal with it. And for the second time in as many days, he wished Rupert was here.

Part Six: Giles' Morning

There should be, thought Giles, a limit to just how many times one should stop to ogle shoes when investigating mysterious threats from, allegedly, beyond the grave. Of course, he knew that expressing the illogic of stopping at every shop in Knightsbridge would in no way be a deterrent to Buffy, so instead he just rolled his eyes and took comfort in her, relative, restraint.

"What?" said Buffy, at the look on his face, "It was only a couple stops. It's not like I'm making you carry them. Unless, of course, you wanna?"

"Buffy, you're superhumanly strong and have endurance that by far surpasses that of any normal human being. You can carry your own fashion accessories."

Buffy sighed. "No chivalry for the superhero."

"You seem much more...giddy... than you usually do on a mission."

Buffy smiled. "Well, we don't usually end up anywhere... nice. It's usually, 'Ooooh, you go trek through the spooky graveyard, I'll go crawl through the smelly sewers!' There won't be sewers, will there?"

"I don't believe so, no. Moral cesspools, perhaps."

"You really don't like your cousin, do you" Which is weird because, identical?"

"WE ARE NOT....I mean, there's no... I have better posture."

Buffy gave him her best, winning smile.

"Whatever."

Giles didn't bother to hide his annoyance, but relief overtook him when he found the gallery he was looking for. It was one of those "contemporary" galleries, where—and he was quite certain of this—those bearing too much money and too little taste purchased formless sculptures as part of an elaborate practical joke perpetrated by the city's artistic elite. He entered, and Buffy followed.

He didn't see his quarry, and Buffy became seemingly hypnotized by a stack of precariously perched bronze rectangles that, he was quite certain, symbolized the existential angst of the Labour Party or some such silliness.

"Hmm," said a voice from behind them. "Makes you long for the days when art meant something, doesn't it? When form and expression could touch some deep recess of the soul."

Giles and Buffy turned to see a large, older black man smiling at them.

"Rupert Giles," said the man, seizing his hand enthusiastically. "Good to see you, you old dog."

Much to Buffy's surprise, Giles seemed oddly cheered.

"Buffy, this is the man I came to meet, Patrick. Patrick, this is my colleague, Buffy Summers."

Patrick gently took her hand and kissed it.

"Very pleased to meet you, Ms. Summers, although why a beautiful young woman like you is wasting her time parading around with this old man, is beyond me."

Buffy giggled, but then quickly glanced to see if Giles was perturbed. He wasn't, so she went back to letting herself enjoy the attention.

"I thought you said all of James' friends were roustabouts?"

"Gadabouts. And they are. It's just that Patrick's the only likeable one in the bunch."

"Well I won't argue with that," said Patrick, grinning broadly. "But you sounded rather urgent on the phone."

"That's my cue," said Buffy. "Gotta motor."

"I thought your appointment wasn't until later," said Giles.

"Much later," said Buffy. "Hours. But there are shoes longing to be free now, and only I can save them. Giles, it's my sacred duty. Nice meeting you, Patrick. Bye!"

And with that, Buffy left.

"Spunky girl, Rupert. A bit young for you, isn't she?"

"Nothing like that," said Giles, who found himself relaxing a bit for the first time since the day before. "She's more like..."

"A daughter?"

"Perhaps. But enough about me."

"Yes, you said James had been receiving threats. What kind of threats?"

"They were..." Giles struggled for the delicate way to phrase it. "They were evidently voices of doom from beyond the grave."

"Really?" said Patrick. "How terribly exciting, although I must say I'm a bit disappointed it was James and not me. I've been dabbling in the occult for years, and haven't seen a thing."

"Dabbling in the occult, you say?"

"Why, yes," said Patrick, quite proudly. "It's all the rage in London. I know every medium between here and Surrey."

"That's not terribly far."

"Not really, no. I'm working on expanding."

Giles laughed, gently.

"So. Did James have any dealings with Mediums, or... or the occult, or any such thing?"

"James? I should think not. If it doesn't make you money and you can't stick your Willie in it, he loses attention right quick."

"Yes," said Giles, coolly. "He's not very deep, is he?"

"No," said Patrick. "He really isn't. Of course, if he was messing with the 'forces of darkness,'" he said, putting on his best melodramatic voice, "It's only because he's always wanted to emulate you."

"Me?" said Giles, shocked. "Surely you're joking."

"Not at all. James has always looked up to you. He started smoking because you did. Bought his first Velvet Underground album because you liked them. I wouldn't be at all surprised if all of the stupid, juvenile things he's done with his life had been a vain attempt to emulate you."

Giles was floored by this thought.

"But I.... I grew out of all that."

"Not the Velvet Underground, surely?"

"Well, no, not that, but the rest...."

"And not the occult, either, I take it?"

"It's not like it used to be," said Giles, defensively. "I have... responsibilities."

"Right," said Patrick. "So you've grown up, gotten responsible, and you're still cooler than he'll ever be."

"Well, I don't know about.... Well, all right. But his... follies... are his own making."

"Agreed. Never meant to insinuate otherwise. But still, I find it odd that you're up here chasing some ghost on his word."

Giles furrowed his brow.

"He's family," he said. "I don't much like the prat, but I couldn't not help. Not when I could make a difference."

"And that," said Patrick, "Is where he can never be confused for you."

Patrick rose and wandered over to a painting of various orange circles on a purple background.

"Not much emotional resonance in this, is there?" asked Patrick. "Not much feeling."

"No," said Giles, "There really isn't. Just so much color contrast meant to catch the eye. There's no depth to it."

Patrick smiled and looked surprised when he turned toward Giles.

"Why, James," said Patrick. "I see you've picked up a thing or two about art."

"What?" said Giles, confused. "Patrick, it's me."

"Yes, I know. You who've never shown even the slightest interest in painting before. I knew you'd get something from these outings eventually. Come, let's grab some lunch."

Patrick began to walk toward the door, and Giles, bewildered, followed after him.

Part Seven: Faith's Day

James wasn't sure what was happening, but he knew it wasn't good. All of the girls he'd met the night before were convinced he was Rupert, and none of them remembered his arrival. Dawn knew that Buffy and the others had gone to London on some sort of case, but she couldn't recall what exactly. Every time he tried to explain who he was, the memory seemed to slip away.

Rupert would know what to do. Best, then, to think like Rupert. Of course, Rupert wouldn't need to ask directions to his own office.

"Excuse me, Mr. Giles?" said one such girl. "I've been reviewing 'Formgander's Compendium,' like you suggested, and I'm afraid I can't find any of the information on Medieval German Necromancy for the test."

"Uhm, yes," said James, tired of attempting to explain that he was, indeed, not Giles. "That would be on, uhm, page 76."

"Really? But that part's all in Sumerian!"

"Oh. Well, maybe there's a translation."

"I don't see how you can expect to quiz us on things that aren't even in a language we're studying this semester."

"Right, right. I'm a terrible headmaster. I'll go flog myself, right quick."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Uhm, now where is my office again.?"

James followed the bewildered girl's instructions to Giles' office and, upon finding it, began to tear through his books for some clue as to what was happening. Unfortunately, it seems that it wasn't just page 76 of "Formgander's Compendium" that was written in Sumerian. Everything seemed to be in languages he didn't comprehend. Even those evidently in English mostly eluded him. He foraged through the bookshelf and then, finding nothing, rummaged through the desk. He didn't find anything useful written down. He did, however, find a bottle of Lagavulin 16.

"Old Rupert did always have good taste," he thought, as he took a sip.

It was then that he heard a knock at the door, and the extremely attractive girl—"What was her name again? Faith, that was it."—popped her head in.

"Hey chief," she said, casually. "Just checking in. You OK?"

James took another sip of Scotch.

"Peachy. Drink?"

He passed the bottle to Faith, who looked at him warily, but took a sip anyway.

"It's just," she said, hesitantly, "you've been acting like a spaz all day. I mean, it's OK and all, but we've gotta think of the neighbors."

"Oh, quite." Said James, very lost.

"Geez, G-Man. That was a joke. Seriously, what's up?"

James spent a moment appraising her, and then took another sip before speaking.

"Faith, how long have we known each other?"

"Huh? Ages now. Ever since I first came to Sunnydale."

"Yes. Yes, of course. And why did you come to England with me?"

"After Sunnydale sunk? Well, it was either that or back to jail. You know all this, Giles. You and the council holdovers said you'd get my record wiped if I stayed and helped out here." She took another drink. "You're starting to scare me here, G-Man. What's up?"

"Nothing. Nothing at..." he looked up at her. "Have I ever told you what a beautiful woman you are, Faith?"

"OK. Now you're creeping me out."

"Oh. I'm sorry. It's just... I'm having a rather bad day."

"Dude. Is the world ending? Cause if it's not, whatever else is cake."

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I was out of..."

"Well," said Faith. "Can't say I've never thought about it. You know, the whole, Watcher/Slayer thing." She rose from her chair and slid onto the desk in front of him.

"Yes...Slayer...what's a... never mind." He reached a hand up to her shoulder, and pulled her close for a kiss. Their lips pressed against each other for a moment, and soon she had slid down from the desk and was straddling him on the chair.

"You...are the most...incredible...." He started to say, but Faith kissed him again. Her hand caressed his leg, and then ran up his neck, to his throat.

Suddenly, he realized her fingers were wrapped around his throat, and she was standing, hoisting him one-handed up above her head.

"So tell me, lover boy," she said. "Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Giles?"

Part Eight: Buffy's Day

Three new pairs of shoes, one lovely new blouse and a sweater for Dawn later, Buffy found herself headed toward the restaurant where she was supposed to meet James' friend. She realized that she was slacking off working for as long as possible, but really, how many times did she get to just goof off and have fun by herself.

"Count 'em, never." She thought.

London was strange and exciting. She thought it would be... sort of Gilesish. Kind of old and a little stuffy and kind of cool, in an old-fashioned sort of way. But London was as modern as L.A., and much easier to get around. It was kind of ironic, she thought, that London was so new to her.

It was also kind of quiet on the vampire front. "I mean," she thought, "there are vampires here. Lots of them. They just don't come in the Sunnydale economy bulk size."

These days, when they got whiff of a vampire attack or whatever, one or two slayers had to go investigate. Sometimes she went, but not all the time, and if she did, she took a couple newbies. It was all kind of...low key.

Which was funny, she thought, because just about every mystic bad-ass over the age of 25 that she knew came from the British Isles. Giles, Angel, Spike, Wesley. Every member of the Watcher's Council she'd ever met. Baddies like Drusilla and Ethan Rayne.

"It's like they manufacture them here," she thought, "and America imports them. Like how all the toys are made in China, but no one there actually buys gorillas that dance to La Macarena or bendy rubber cowboys or whatever. Huh.

"Maybe it's a geopolitical thing," she wondered. "Like, Britain was once the seat of world power, so all the mystical-type things congregated there, to be where the action was, and then when power moved to America, everything started trickling over. Huh.

"I wonder if someone's ever done a study on that," she thought, and then added, "I wonder why the fuck I'm thinking about this. Geez. I have been spending too much time at home."

Her musings were interrupted by her cell phone. It was Faith.

"Hey, B.," said Faith. "There's this guy here pretending to be Giles."

"Guy?" said Buffy. "Faith, that's Giles' cousin, James. Didn't you get the note?"

"There was a note?" asked Faith. "I didn't get a note."

"It was on the fridge," said Buffy. "Didn't Dawn say something? She knew what was going on."

"Didn't say a word," said Faith, a little confused. "Does this mean I should untie him?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Buffy, "Well, maybe. Yeah, untie him. He's pretty harmless. We're checking out some stuff here in London, but we should be home tonight."

Faith said goodbye to Buffy, and hung up the phone.

"It's your lucky day," she said, turning to the trussed-up James. "Buffy said...Giles! Ohmygod! What happened? Who tied you up? Are we under attack?"

James looked like he was about to cry.

Buffy furrowed her brow at the call. Something weird was happening back at the ranch, but she figured Faith and Dawn could handle it until they got back. She came to the restaurant she was supposed to meet Terry at. Very chic, but not too formal. That was OK.

Terry, it turned out, would have been kind of babeish if he weren't, like, old. "Of course," she thought, "two-thirds of my last few boyfriends were over 100."

"So you must be Buffy," he said when she was brought to his table. "I'm sorry we couldn't have gotten together earlier, but I had some business to attend to, and then an appointment with my trainer."

"What are you being trained for," asked Buffy, breezily.

"No, no. The person who tells me how to work out."

Buffy smiled. "I know. I was just kidding. To be honest, I'm totally not any good at this Sherlock stuff."

"Well," said Terry. "You don't seem the type. Lovely young woman like you should be spending her time having fun, not chasing after...what was it you said? A death threat of some sort?"

"Something like that," said Buffy.

"Right," said Terry. "Look, if James doesn't want to do it himself, why don't I just hire him a detective of some sort? Honestly, all this chasing around, running to Rupert for help business. Seriously, he's been fixated on his cousin for too long."

"Really," said Buffy, who began fiddling with a spoon as Terry spoke, and wondering if she was going to have to pay for her own dinner. Then she realized she had Giles' gold card, and stopped worrying.

"Oh yes. Idolizes the man. Don't know why, really. Anyways, after dinner, I know I know this wonderful little place. Wonderful jazz pianist..."

Buffy began delicately folding the spoon into an accordion shape. Terry stopped talking.

"You work out, huh?" said Buffy looking up from her object d'art. Terry nodded yes.

"Cool," said Buffy, a bit more seriously. "So tell me, who'd want to threaten James?"

"No one," said Terry. "I mean, he dates lots of women, yes, and I think a few people owe him money, but..."

"Do you?" asked Buffy. "Owe him money."

"Me?" said Terry. "Certainly not. Well, there was that bet on Arsenal last week, but that was just a few... wait, are you saying I'm a suspect here?"

"Don't know," said Buffy. "Any reason you would be?"

"None!" said Terry, wondering how such a small woman could change from being so...girlish to so...intimidating so suddenly. It was as though, all of a sudden, she was remarkably... present. It was unnerving.

"Look," said Terry. "James is my mate. Been friends for years. I'd never do anything to hurt him. I've let him stay at my flat when his was being fumigated. Gone with him to visit his pregnant daughter. Bought him that lovely African mask for his apartment."

Buffy snapped to attention.

"Did you say...African mask?"

"Yes. Bought it in a little shop, not too far from here, actually. I mean, it was bit expensive, all told, but..."

"Do you remember the shop's name?"

Terry thought about it. "Not really, no. Don't think I caught it."

Buffy sighed.

"Do you remember how to get there?"

Part nine: Terry's Day

"A man of a certain age," thought Terry, in one of the odd monologues that frequently ran through his head, "with a certain degree of freedom and means, can find himself in a position to seek adventure. In one's teens and twenties, of course, adventure is constantly sought, but at that age, one rarely has either the experience or the resources to fully seize their opportunities.

"By one's thirties and forties, the search for adventure is eclipsed by life's responsibilities, the demands of a job and a family. But by one's fifties, once one is freed of the shackles of marriage and children, and when one has enough financial freedom...well, such a man can savor the pleasures he once considered but was forced to pass over.

"Take, for instance, breaking and entering."

Buffy, after ascertaining that there was no one watching them, forced upon the locked door to the shop with her shoulder, and stepped inside. Terry, bravado aside, was terrified.

"Dear God, woman! You're going to get us arrested!" he exclaimed.

"Nah," she replied, unconcerned. "Whoever ran this place is long gone."

The shop looked like it had been tossed by looters. Anything that was of value was gone, and papers were strewn across the counter, by the register. Buffy began searching through them.

"Damn it," she said. "Anything with a name on it's been taken. There's shipping invoices. We could probably track something down from that, but.... no. There'll be something. There's always something."

Buffy began sorting through the drawers, and within moments, pulled a set of metal dog tags attached to a chain from one of them.

"Bingo," said Buffy. "I think we have our culprit, Dr. Watson."

"Dog tags?" said Terry. "I'm afraid I don't..."

"I'll explain later," she said. "We have to get to Giles."

Giles and Patrick were sitting in an upscale club. Patrick had ordered them martinis, and passed Giles a cigar, which he declined.

"Since when have you quit smoking?" said Patrick. Giles had long since given up trying to explain that he was, indeed, not James. He sighed, took a sip from his drink, and waited for Buffy. And, he hoped, that Buffy would recognize him.

"That girl's been eyeing you since we arrived," said Patrick, nodding toward a lithesome young woman sipping wine near the bar.

"Has she," said Giles, startled.

Weren't you talking to her the other day?"

"I...I don't recall."

"Well," said Patrick. "Aren't you going to buy her a drink?"

"Wouldn't that be a bit... forward?"

Patrick stared at him in disbelief.

"James, old man, if I didn't know better, I'd say your smitten." Patrick waved down a waiter, and instructed him to bring the woman at the bar another of whatever she was drinking. He then pushed Giles in that direction.

"Well," thought Giles, "If James was talking to her the other night, she may be a lead."

Of course, he had no idea how was going to go about the talking part. It had been a long time since he was comfortable talking to strange women. He approached the bar tentatively, but the woman's eyes fixed on him immediately. Suddenly, he felt very hunted.

"James," said the woman. Her voice was a purr. "I was almost afraid you'd disappeared." Her hand caressed his arm. "Where have you been?"

"Oh. Around. Here and there. Went out of town to see my cousin."

"Really?" she said, pulling closer to him. "Is he as much fun as you are?"

"No, no. Right stick in the mud, actually. Nice bloke, though. Very...keen."

"Hmm. You'll have to introduce me sometime." Suddenly, he realized that she was kissing his neck.

"Is something the matter?" She asked. "You seem...tense. Maybe we should find someplace...quieter."

"Yes! I mean, no. No, I have to wait for some friends." Suddenly, for one brief moment, Giles could see a definite advantage in being mistaken for James. The woman... he wished he had caught her name, was now massaging his knee. She kissed him again, on the lips this time, and he found himself melting into it. And then someone was tapping on his shoulder.

He turned, to see a very amused-looking Xander and Willow.

"You made it! I was just..."

"We noticed," said Willow, smiling wickedly.

"Yes, uhm, this is..."

"Caterina," said the woman, who was smiling rather intently at Xander.

"Have we met?" asked Xander. "You seem familiar."

Caterina laughed. "James, your friend needs to work on his lines." She kissed his neck again. "We should be leaving."

"No, I... I can't. I... I need to wait for..."

Buffy and Terry entered the room, hurriedly.

"Sorry, G-Man," said Xander, "but as the soldier-boy said, no more chick pit for you."

"Giles!" said Buffy. "I think I've figured out what's...who's she?"

There was a moment of tension as Buffy sized up the woman hanging off of Giles' shoulder. Xander smoothly wrapped his arm around hers, turned her, and walked her away from the crowd.

"Do you have any idea what's happening?" said Giles, to Willow.

"Not a clue," she said.

Terry, who had stopped to talk to Patrick and Gary—who had come in with Xander and Willow—now approached them.

"Typical James," he said, smoothly. "Hogging the two most beautiful women in the room."

"James?" said Willow. "No, this is..."

Giles signaled for her to not even bother. She looked at him, and he just shrugged.

"Uhm," she said, "Wait right here," and she hurried off to confer with Buffy and Xander.

Giles just gave his cousin's comrades a confused look, and there was an awkward silence until, moments later, the three young Americans returned.

"James," said Buffy. "Why don't we all go back to your place?"

Part Ten: The Parlor Scene

Getting everybody to James' apartment was harder than one would think.

"James," purred Caterina, "Why don't we ditch these people and go somewhere to be alone?"

Giles actually looked like he was considering it for a second, but one look at Willow and her resolve face knocked him back into line. "Come along, then," said Giles. "It'll be..." he looked at the very confused assemblage "Fun."

Buffy, not looking at all pleased with the woman hanging off of Giles' arm, was apparently trying her best to be civil.

"Nice necklace," she said. "Looks expensive."

"It would be," said Caterina, cattily. "It's an antique. A family heirloom."

"Maybe we should shuffle off," said Gary. "This is starting to seem a little crowded."

"Nonsense," said Patrick, enraptured. "I can't help but think that something unusual is going to happen, and I want to be there to see it."

"I've called for a car," said Terry.

"Might need two," said Xander, who had just made a couple phone calls himself. "There's a lot of us."

"Never fear," said Terry. "Our ride awaits."

Twenty minutes and much small talk later, a stretch limousine appeared in front of the club. Xander, particularly, seemed perplexed when Terry stepped inside of it.

"Wait. This is for us?" he asked Willow, who was just as perplexed as he was, but made less of a show of it. "Guess so," she said. Neither of them budged. Buffy stepped past them, stopping to whisper, "C'mon you guys. Case is almost over. Go with the flow." She slid into the limousine, next to Terry, who already had a glass of champagne poured for her, which she accepted with a smile.

"So, Buffy," he said, conversationally. "How are you finding your stay in London?"

"Well," she said, taking a sip. "It's not boring."

"Ah," he said. "Wilde once said that when you are tired of London, you're tired of life."

"It was Samuel Johnson," said Giles, causing all of James' friends to stare at him in amazement. Sheepishly, he added, "everyone makes that mistake."

They arrived at James' flat, and the guests made themselves comfortable in his living room. Caterina, particularly, seemed annoyed. "So," she said. "What are we going to do? Play twister?" Giles nearly choked.

"How about charades?" said Buffy. Caterina just glared at her as the door rang. It was Elizabeth.

"All right, James, she said. What's so all-fired important that you had to..." she stopped mid-sentence at the sight of Caterina. "I know you," she said. "You're the girl from the salon! What are you doing...Oh. I see you've, ahem, met my ex-husband."

"Well, I've certainly been trying to," said Caterina. "But I suspect that's not happening, so..." she was headed for the door, but Buffy stepped in front of her. "Don't leave now," she said. Things are just getting good. At that instant, the door opened, and James walked in, accompanied by Faith.

"Hey guys," she said. "Giles and I...Holy shit! Giles has an evil twin!" "WE ARE NOT TWINS!" exclaimed Giles and James in unison, with Giles adding, "I have better posture."

"I'll bet you're wondering why I've called you all here," said Xander, stepping to the middle of the floor. He was met with blank stares.

"Sorry, always wanted to say that. We've brought you here because, someone has been making threats on James' life. Someone in this room" There was a gasp from James' friends and ex-wife, who seemed to have forgotten that they'd all been informed of this earlier.

"Who's James?" Faith asked, looking back and forth between Giles and James.

"Giles' wacky identical cousin," said Xander, re-seizing the moment. "Gary, earlier, we discussed James', ahem, dating habits."

"Right," said Gary. "Different bird every night. But I never..."

"You've never been jealous enough to threaten his life?" Gary fervently denied it. "Xander's getting just a bit too into this," whispered Willow to Buffy.

"Let him do the Clouseau," whispered Buffy. "Man needs a hobby."

"No, Gary, you weren't. But someone else here was. Isn't that right... Elizabeth?"

"What? Me?" she said, temper obviously simmering. "Maybe a few years ago, but now? No way. What's the point?"

"C'mon now, Elizabeth," said Xander. "Don't you ever wish..."

"I'm bored now, James," said Caterina to Giles, while James looked on in horror, nearly forgetting that he was the alleged victim in this story.

"I never wished him dead, if that's what you're getting at," she said. "I wish he'd grow up, sometimes, but that's about it. Bloody Hell, told your girl there that the other..."

Moving with a violent explosion of speed, Buffy suddenly reached out and tore the necklace from Caterina's neck.

"Hey! Give that back!" she shouted, lunging at Buffy. Faith stepped in to pull her back.

"Uh-uh," said Buffy. "One step and the necklace is powder."

Caterina stopped, but continued to glare at Buffy.

"Oh, all right already," said Caterina, annoyed. "I'm a vengeance demon, OK?"

Giles backed away from her. "Oh, dear," he said, astonished. That means the threats, the forgetfulness..."

"We're getting to that." said Xander.

"Right, but how did you recognize her?" asked Giles.

Xander shrugged. "She was at my wedding." "Oh. Right," said Giles.

"She was... bumpier then."

"Ahem," coughed Buffy.

"Right," said Xander. "But it doesn't stop there, does it? Patrick, you led Terry to a little antique shop recently, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Patrick. "A friend had mentioned it."

"Someone connected to the occult, perhaps?"

"Someone who reads tarot cards to pick up girls," countered Patrick. "Terry was looking for a gift, so I brought him to his shop."

"Reveal!" incanted Willow. There was a flash of light, and suddenly Ethan Rayne was standing there amid them, looking a bit confused.

"Hello, Ripper," he said, quickly regaining his balance. Buffy clocked him. Mostly on principle.

"Ethan!" exclaimed Giles.

"When I heard about the store, I knew. Ethan's just the sort of bad guy who'd keep the same M.O. after he's been busted. The shop was closed, but I found these."

Buffy dangled the dog tags.

"It's my guess Ethan walked out of his U.S. army prison disguised as a soldier," she said. "Isn't that right?"

"It's called a glamour, Buffy. It's not just a game of dress up."

"Bite me," said Buffy, who then returned her attention to the group. "In addition to being the sort of idiot who always waits around to get caught, Ethan's the sort of guy who keeps souvenirs."

"Right. So you got me," said Ethan. "Bully for you."

"My guess," said Xander, "is that when Caterina set out to fulfill Elizabeth's wish, Ethan here stepped in to help up the ante."

"Well, you have to admit it almost worked," said Ethan. "Caterina was about to curse James there with a nasty growing curse or something, but I interceded. Figured I'd have a bit of fun at Ripper's expense. Almost trapped James in that dreadfully boring life of Rupert's, while Rupert was supposed to be tempted by the cheap allure of easy women and booze. Would have worked, too, if it hadn't been for... Oh, God. I'm starting to sound like you people."

" What was the mask for?" asked Willow.

"It manifested his worse fears," said Ethan.

"Wait," said Giles, turning to James. "Your worst fear is being shouted at by a cartoon ghost?"

"Well it's scarier than it sounds!" said James.

"It won't matter," said Caterina. "The spell holds and as soon as you separate, you'll be unable to undo it."

"I'll smash your power center," said Buffy.

Caterina looked defeated. She sighed, and asked for her necklace back, so she could undo the spell. With a snap of her fingers, everyone's perceptions returned to normal, and she and Ethan were gone.

"Well, that solves that problem," said Buffy. No one looked convinced. James and Giles particularly gaped at one another, unsure of what to say.

"Do you understand any of this?" whispered Gary to Terry.

"Not a word," said Terry casually, and then, with a jovial smile, he addressed the room.

"So," he said, "who's up for a drink?"

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