La Rue Sauvage, France
Early 18th Century
The cave was cold, dark, and dank. Siegfried Simonet sniffed at his new accommodations. It seemed he had lowered himself farther and farther over the years, after losing his royal position at Chateau de Laurent. He had traveled to other provinces surrounding La Rue Sauvage, gathering allies and forming strategies. He had assisted at Asile de DeSarte, the asylum which secretly housed many of their enemies. Including – ever so briefly – Helena Basque, the teenage upstart that had come to be known as the Red Rider.
Simonet tightened his lips, pondering what had gone wrong. What costly mistakes had allowed Helena to slip through their fingers once again. All he could firmly determine was that they had greatly underestimated her abilities. And that she had received aid from the other inmates, including the troublesome Marceau.
That aging bearded rebel now stood before Simonet, his arms bound above his head by a rope hanging from the cave ceiling. Simonet allowed himself a tiny smile. Marceau could cause no trouble here.
Marceau's allies stood on either side of him, similarly tied and hung from overhead stalactites. Frayne Leóne, the rotund village blacksmith, and his enchanting wife, Lisette, in one of the exquisite dresses she had fashioned for herself. In front of them all stood their teenage son, Pierre Leóne, trussed in the same manner, his blond hair falling across his eyes as his head hung in despair.
Marceau grit his teeth, his eyes blazing. "Simonet, if you're going to kill me, then get on with it," he said. "Let the Leónes go. I'm the one you want."
Simonet studied him, considering how Marceau's methods of threatening and intimidation had failed to evolve over the years. The same self-centered bravado, the same forceful attempt at negotiation. "As always, Marceau, you have no idea what I want. And I am the one giving orders here."
"He's right," Frayne chimed in, shaking as he fidgeted in the ropes. "Lisette and Pierre can't hurt you. Let them go."
Simonet regarded the fat blacksmith, who had turned out much braver than anyone had anticipated. "Your deep concern for your wife and son are noted," he said. "And demonstrates exactly how to force your cooperation, should I need to threaten them. So I suggest you keep silent."
Frayne shut his mouth tight with a look of contempt.
Simonet turned toward Lisette Leóne. A mature and lovely woman, who seemed wise enough to hold her tongue. He narrowed his eyes at her. Her wide eyes and shallow breath showed clear fright, yet she remained attentive to her surroundings, examining the rock walls of the cave, her distance from her fellow prisoners, and the thickness of the ropes binding them. She was biding her time, weighing her options, searching for a means of escape. In some ways, she might be the cleverest of them all.
"What do you want from us?" she asked.
He considered ignoring her question. But he admired her calm resolve. "I want Helena Basque," Simonet answered. "And the four of you will make it very easy to lure her to us."
"Leave her alone," Lisette said evenly.
Perhaps she was not so clever as he thought. "That is not an option," he said. "Mademoiselle Basque has proven far too great an obstacle to our plans."
"And what plans are those?" Marceau demanded. "Perhaps you need some better ones."
"At present, they are far beyond your understanding," Simonet said, folding his hands together in thought. "Suffice it to say that when we are finished, we will be rid of Helena and the four of you, permanently."
"You don't frighten us, Simonet," Frayne challenged.
"No?" Simonet asked, as a large black wolf crept up from behind him, striding toward Frayne. As it drew close, it stood to its hind legs, rising to a full six-foot height, and appeared to grin at Frayne, displaying its sharp claws in front of his face. "Then you are a fool, Monsieur Leóne. Or you have simply forgotten what the Lycanthru are capable of. One swallow of our Lycanum potion and a touch of moonlight and we become the most powerful beasts you can imagine. In our wolf form, we have more than twice your strength. And even without it ..."
Simonet stepped forth to Pierre Leóne, who had wisely remained silent the entire time. His fingers closed around Pierre's throat, then lifted the boy high off the ground.
"... We can still do considerable damage."
Pierre choked as his body twisted and writhed in the air.
"Please!" Lisette cried. "Put him down!"
Simonet held the boy aloft, measuring the other captives' reactions.
"Set him down before you break his neck," a stern, gravelly voice said from behind him. "He's no use to us if he dies."
Simonet turned toward the elderly witch, Avurkana, whose thin, angular lips frowned with disapproval beneath her arching eyebrows and aquiline nose. Her sharp features stood in stark contrast to her short body, rounded like an enormous egg. Large gold amulets hung from her thick chain necklace and even broader jeweled belt, and her dark robes trailed to the dusty cave floor. She resembled a human vulture, similar to the one on the golden insignia that adorned her headpiece.
Simonet lowered Pierre to the ground. "Very well, Avurkana. Are you ready to proceed?"
"Yes," the ancient woman said, turning and bending to retrieve a wooden box with etchings around its sides. She brought it forth and set it at Pierre's feet.
"What is that?" Marceau asked.
"The first step in your destruction," Simonet said casually.
"Who is this?" Marceau continued. "You're letting an old woman do your work for you now?"
Simonet ignored him, as Avurkana smiled.
"Feisty, isn't he?" she said to Simonet.
"He was always so. The others have all been influenced by Helena's brazen actions," Simonet explained. "Otherwise, the rest of these simpletons would never be so brave."
Avurkana gave an approving smile. "Well, she won't trouble you much longer."
"You're certain these spells will work?" Simonet asked.
She lowered her chin and glared up at him, making her squat figure look even more ludicrous and birdlike. "I was initiated into the Coven of Ramah at a young age. I have witnessed our rituals since childhood. My mother fled from persecution and migrated to Hungary, but I was born in Romania, the home of Ramah herself, the secret advisor to Vlad Tepes over two centuries ago. Our magic draws from the secrets hidden by various cultures, dating back to the Valrokian Empire. The spells will work."
She reached into a pocket of her long robe and produced an egg-shaped flask. She shook it vigorously, then uncorked it, waving it slowly back and forth beneath Pierre's face.
"I was drawn here to La Rue Sauvage because of the terror your Lycanthru have produced in the region, and this 'Red Rider' Helena Basque who's dared to challenge you. The perfect conditions for raising Kalderon."
A thin green vapor wafted up from the flask into Pierre's nostrils. The boy arched his back to turn aside. After breathing some in, he twisted violently to avoid inhaling more of the fumes.
He shut his eyes tight, clenching his teeth. Then lifted his head, his eyes popping wide open.
"Red?" he asked with concern, as if seeing something that was invisible to everyone else. "Red, no!" he cried.
Avurkana turned to Simonet. "'Red'?" she asked.
"It's what he calls Helena Basque," Simonet explained.
"Ah," Avurkana said.
"Red, stop!" Pierre continued, his voice rising. "Please! You're hurting yourself! Stop!"
"Interesting," Simonet said. "His deepest fears are not for himself, but for his love. And not that she would be destroyed by the Lycanthru, but that she would destroy herself." Simonet stroked his chin. "Now to determine how we can use that knowledge against her ..."
Avurkana cast a cruel smile over her shoulder. "Once she arrives, you won't need it. Either the Remnant spell will eliminate her forever, or – as I hope – she will make the perfect tool for raising Kalderon."
Pierre stared beyond them all, visibly trembling as he screamed at what he imagined to be happening in front of him. "Red! Red!"
"Stop!" Lisette cried. "Whatever you're doing to him, stop it!"
"Save your strength, Madame," Simonet said. "We need Pierre and the rest of you, to ensure that Helena comes here. So that you can all witness her failure to rescue you, and be swallowed up in her own fears."
Simonet watched as – just as Avurkana had promised – the ornately designed box in front of Pierre began to tremble.
Sunnydale High
Today
Rupert Giles strode from his rear office to the library's broad receiving desk, his nose in a thick book. For days, he had been studying records of Angelus – now known as "Angel" – hoping to find some detail in the vampire's violent history that would reveal a weakness they could exploit.
He removed his glasses and began to clean them. Unfortunately, every new fact he learned about Angel only demonstrated the demon's power, ferocity, and genius for committing acts of cruelty. The more Giles learned, the more indestructible Angel appeared.
But he refused to believe that. There had to be some way to defeat him. And quickly. Before Giles and everyone close to him suffered a horrible death. Starting – or, to add to her torment – ending, with Buffy Summers, the young Slayer Giles had sworn to protect.
Of course, he had sworn no such oath to the Watcher's Council. His duty as a Watcher was to train and prepare Buffy to fulfill her duties, defending the world from the onslaught of vampires and other demons. Although the Council would prefer to keep each Slayer well-trained and alive to fight back the demons as long as possible, they never required – or expected – a Watcher to keep his Slayer alive.
Preserving Buffy's life was something Giles had sworn to himself.
He slammed the heavy book down on the desk. If he couldn't find a way to destroy Angel, there had to be some way he could at least send him far away. To some bottomless abyss where he could no longer reach Buffy or anyone else.
Like Jenny. The one woman he had loved.
The woman Angel had taken from him, in the most sadistic manner possible. Giles had tried to take his revenge, succeeding only in destroying the vampires' current lair. If Buffy had not intervened, Angel would have killed him.
But he wouldn't let Angel harm anyone else. He would not let Buffy suffer the same horrible fate as Jenny. If nothing else, he would banish Angel to some distant realm. Send his enemy far away ...
He paused. Sending his enemy far away ... Why had he suddenly thought of that, after all these years?
He sensed a slight buzz in the air. He stood rigid, his senses alert.
The buzz came again.
No, he thought.
He moved around the desk, casting an eye toward the library entrance to make certain he was still alone. He crept quietly toward the caged room that stood opposite the desk, and opened the barred door.
In the far corner, the faint buzzing continued. Barely detectable. But stronger than it had ever been before.
Giles moved to the corner, swallowing as he reached for the thin tarp covering the small crate there. He hesitated for a moment, then peeled away the covering to reveal a small box etched with ornate designs around its sides. The box trembled slightly, producing the strange, continuous buzz.
More frequently than ever.
"Good heavens," he said aloud, gaping at the box. "Dear Lord, not now."