Daniel followed Legatus deeper into the network of tunnels. It was getting progressively hotter and Daniel found that, for the first time in his life, he’d begun to sweat.

"Will it be this hot when we reach our destination?" He asked, wiping his forehead with his hand.

"No," replied Legatus, "it is merely the tunnels that are hot. The cavern is cool. You will be able to concentrate there."

"Good…but surely there is a quicker way to get there?"

"There is." Legatus sounded amused. "Daniel, we have a few hours before your particular talents will be called upon. You have never done this before and you are understandably nervous. If I had transported us directly to the cavern, you would have spent the last day or so waiting…and perhaps getting progressively more worried and concerned. I need you calm, Daniel."

"So all this walking is merely a distraction?"

"Indeed," replied Legatus, "but there will be no more distractions. We’ve arrived."

The tunnel turned abruptly and Daniel suddenly found himself at the entrance to a large, well-lit cavern. The walls and floor were smooth, almost polished, giving the impression that the entire cavern had been purpose-built. Before them was a succession of raised stone slabs and upon each one lay a motionless body.

"Your place is prepared, Daniel," Legatus indicated a larger stone slab in the middle of the cavern. "From there, in a few hours time, you will begin the destruction of the Council."

Holding a small pile of clothes in one hand, Jo knocked softly on the bedroom door.

"Rupert?" She hissed. "Time to get up."

Oh dear, she thought with a smile, he’s obviously still asleep…looks like I’ll have to go in and wake him. Jo gently opened the door and peered into the room. There was a large shape in the bed but, sighing at the fact that it was too dark to see clearly, Jo decided to risk Giles waking before she got a good look at him and switched on the light. She smiled as he didn’t stir, the smile slipping as she walked closer to the bed. Giles lay on his back, one arm thrown across the bed whilst the other lay casually across his stomach. The bedclothes were piled just beneath his arm and Jo’s attention was drawn to the three vivid red scars across Giles’ chest. Ouch, she thought, resisting the urge to reach out and touch, they look painful. Proof positive, if any was needed, that he was telling us the truth. Jo turned and placed the clothes on the dressing table. She then reached out and gently shook Giles’ shoulder.

"Rupert? It’s 6am…rise and shine."

An incomprehensible mutter escaped Giles’ lips as he stirred slightly and Jo shook him harder.

"Rupert. Come on, wake up." Jo suddenly grinned wickedly. "If you don’t wake up now, I’ll pull the bedclothes off and take a good long look at you naked."

Jo’s grin widened as Giles opened his eyes and stared up at her in surprised befuddlement.

"Um…good morning," he croaked.

"Good morning, Rupert," replied Jo. "I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t get to carry out my threat."

"Uhhhh…how did you know I was…um…naked?" A vivid blush worked its way up Giles’ face and he pulled the bedclothes up over his chest.

"Because we’ve washed and dried your clothes," replied Jo, "and I doubt that you carry a spare pair of those cute black boxers around with you."

"Oh…thank you," Giles smiled slightly, "I think."

"You’re not really with it first thing in the morning, are you, Rupert? No matter…I’ll leave you to it. Breakfast in 30 minutes, okay?"

Giles nodded, feeling a touch of relief as she walked to the door.

"By the way, Rupert," remarked Jo, glancing over her shoulder at him, "that blushing virgin bride act really doesn’t suit you."

The dreams crept in on him like they usually did. No warning…no indication…one second all would be peaceful and calm as he drifted in his safe place, but then everything would fall apart. The walls would collapse, the walls he’d spent an eternity building so carefully would collapse like matchsticks and he would be exposed to the past once more, the images he’d tried so hard to forget. To Ethan, it was his idea of hell. Reliving it…experiencing it all again, piece by painful piece. He would feel the cold metal under his bare feet, smell the mixture of blood and antiseptic that permeated the air, shiver with cold as he watched the cell door open and feel himself shrink back into the corner as the khaki-clad figures entered the cell. He could never hear them though…in his dreams, he could never quite hear what they were saying. They would place an object on the floor, talk to him and gesticulate. He couldn’t hear them…he could see their lips move and he’d try to speak back to them but the words seemed to dissipate in the air around him. Then it would begin. He would feel the compulsion building, the need to do magic, to show them, to scare them. In his dream, Ethan would scream soundlessly, desperately trying to stop the inevitable. It never worked…he could never stop it. The need would be too great. He would watch, a helpless spectator as, in the dream, he raised his hand and blasted the object on the floor into thousands of small pieces. He would brace himself for what would follow, trying to rebuild his walls to give himself a modicum of protection. The khaki-clad figures would advance on him, pulling from their clothes an assortment of metal objects. They would place them against his bare skin and then there would be nothing but pain…a pain so intense that it seemed to explode in his mind, touching each part of him, every nerve ending screaming in torment.

This dream started the same way. It all began as it should, as it always did. Ethan found himself in the cell once more, that familiar and so very hated cold, metallic place. The khaki figures came in, placed an object on the floor…everything was proceeding normally until one of the figures raised his head, looking Ethan directly in the eye. The face was blurred and Ethan struggled to bring it into focus, concentrating hard. Suddenly…a whisper…a soft voice. A small sound that threatened to be overwhelmed by the heavy, oppressive silence. I can hear…I can hear something. He strained to listen, willing the voice to speak again. Then it came. Three words…three familiar words.

"No matter what."

No matter what? Why was that phrase familiar? What did it mean? All other thought was suspended as the dream suddenly shifted back to its usual course and the figures advanced upon him, touching the metal objects to his naked flesh. Ethan struggled to wake, to leave the dream and escape the pain, but something was holding him back and, for the first time, he sensed a little of what was causing the barrier. No, he thought, not ‘what’…WHO. You are not me. I thought you were. I thought you were part of me…the better half…but you’re not. Who ARE you? Ethan felt himself pushed and then he was falling…falling through darkness…a darkness that surrounded and embraced him, touched and welcomed him. At least the pain has stopped, he thought and then, with a start, Ethan opened his eyes and found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling whilst three words echoed through his mind:

"No matter what."

Nicholas Goldsmith walked through the Museum towards his office, a noticeable spring in his step. I’ve got them this time, he thought. A masterstroke that will save money and yet allow us to offer the same, if not better, services. Best of all, they can’t argue. The Finance Committee won’t have a leg to stand on…and neither will Rupert.

"Good morning, Mrs Jones," said Nicholas with a smile, almost giggling at the look of stark surprise etched on the young blonde girl’s face. She peered at him over the top of her computer monitor.

"Good morning, Mr Goldsmith." Her lips curved in a hesitant smile.

"Lovely day isn’t it?"

"Yes…yes it is." Mrs Jones relaxed slightly. "Would you like a coffee, sir?"

"I think this morning I’ll have tea," he replied. "Oh…did you get that new contract typed up?"

"Yes, sir." She handed Nicholas a large envelope.

"Excellent. Thank you," he grinned. "Clear my diary of appointments this morning, I have a few things to go over before the meeting this afternoon."

"Yes, sir…you have a note in your diary to see Mr Giles before the meeting."

"Ah yes," nodded Nicholas. "As soon as he comes in, tell him I need to see him."

Quentin sat back in his chair and tried to stifle a yawn. I’m getting too old for all this, he thought. At my age I should be thinking about retiring, not gallivanting around the country and trying to forestall…whatever this is. I can’t step down yet though, he thought as Giles put down the reports he’d been reading and glanced up at him, because I can’t trust anyone else to do this. Not you, Rupert...not anyone...not yet at any rate. Quentin smiled to himself. I wonder if this is how the Emperor Claudius felt when he wanted to restore the Republic but soon realised that the Senate wasn’t up to the task?

"You’ve both read the reports," he said as Henry placed a small sheaf of papers back on the desk, "what are your first impressions?"

"To be perfectly frank," said Henry quietly, "I can’t understand how the two of you can sit here so calmly."

"There have been many false alarms over the centuries, Henry," replied Giles, "so first of all, we have to be certain that there IS a genuine threat. However, I think we are all in agreement that not only is this threat genuine but that time isn’t necessarily on our side."

"We also have to establish the nature of the threat," interjected Quentin. "Until we do that, we will have no idea how to combat it."

Precisely. Our next move will be easier to predict once our adversary has been accurately identified.

"The nature of the threat seems obvious," replied Henry with a frown. "My notes make that quite clear."

"Not really," Quentin skimmed through Henry’s notes. "A lot of it is pure conjecture. A number of the events you’ve noted are not just supposed to precede the coming of the Antichrist…there are other possibilities."

"So you’re going to do nothing?" Henry looked surprised. "You’re just going to sit here and wait?"

"No," replied Quentin firmly. "I’m going to London. I’ve called a meeting of the Conclave. I’ll put the evidence to them and we can discuss our options."

"The Conclave?" Henry glanced between Giles and Quentin.

"The Conclave is a sort of inner Council," explained Giles. "Like a board of directors. They decide Council policy."

"Bringing in the big guns, eh?"

"Something like that," replied Giles, turning his attention to Quentin. "Time really isn’t on our side, Quentin."

"I’m well aware of the urgency of the situation, Rupert, and I will recommend that we initiate a Code One Declaration."

"In other words, Red Alert, Mr Spock," whispered Giles to Henry. "Set phasers to maximum."

"In the meantime," continued Quentin as Henry grinned at Giles, "continue the research. Rupert, has your ‘friend’ any suggestions to make?"

"Not really," shrugged Giles. "It depends who or what we are up against. However, I DO have a request."

"That doesn’t surprise me."

"I think this is a good opportunity for the trainees to gain an insight into the kind of work most of them will be doing in the future. I’d like to involve them in this at a grass-roots level."

"Fair enough," replied Quentin. "I’ll arrange for them to come down to Clunewic but co-ordinate with Robin Miller…he has a few tasks for them as well."

"Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet, Rupert," smiled Quentin, opening a drawer and taking out a mobile phone. He held it out to Giles. "This is for you. Please ensure it is switched on at all times."

Giles took the phone reluctantly, handling it as though it might explode at any second.

"With the situation as it is, Rupert," continued Quentin, "it’s essential that we are able to get hold of you quickly. Besides, I’ll drag you into the twenty-first century if it kills me."

Ethan sat up in bed and glared at the man he’d previously thought of as his "other self".

"You lied to me."

"I did nothing of the sort," replied the other, who was leaning against the bedroom door with his hands in his pockets. "I never actually claimed to be anyone. You merely assumed."

"You deliberately misled me," replied Ethan, his voice low and dangerous.

"Does it matter?" shrugged the other.

"You know damned well it does. I thought that you…" the effort of speaking was suddenly too much and Ethan slumped back down on the pillows, breathing heavily. The other man approached the bed, holding out a small bottle and a syringe.

"Is this what you want?"

Ethan nodded desperately, reaching out, despair flooding through him as his hand passed through the bottle.

"Oh dear," giggled the other as the bottle and syringe vanished. "You’ve gone past that now. It won’t do you any good…nothing will."

"Bastard," cursed Ethan weakly, gasping for breath.

"Now, now. Don’t take on so. I can’t have you dying on me quite yet."

"Like you…give a damn."

"Oh but I do," replied the other as he sat on the bed and gently brushed the hair from Ethan’s forehead. "I have a task for you…remember?"

"Not doing…anything…you want," Ethan tried to twist away from the cold, clammy hand.

"You will," grinned the other. "Tell me, Ethan, who do you serve?"

"J…Janus," muttered Ethan, "I serve Janus…not you."

"And who does Janus serve?"

"No," frowned Ethan, "Janus…"

"Janus is a servant just as much as you are. His servants are MY servants. You owe me a debt, Ethan Rayne, and it will soon be time to call that debt in."

Daniel sat on the stone slab, his legs dangling over the side. He glanced around the chamber, his eyes lingering on the motionless figures all around him before coming back to rest on Legatus. The emissary was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his eyes closed. Silent and still, he resembled a statue.

"How much longer?" Asked Daniel quietly and Legatus opened his eyes. He swivelled to face Daniel.

"Soon," he replied, "very soon."

"You said earlier about the ‘physical’ and ‘mental’ strength required. You also mentioned a viper in the bosom of that Watcher."

"I did indeed."

"I see. How powerful are you?"

Legatus smiled and stood up.

"This battle is being fought primarily on three fronts. Firstly," Legatus waved a hand, indicating the chamber around them, "you…and our friends here. Your mental energy will be sufficient to complete stage one of the plan. Secondly, I have summoned a number of others…they possess physical strength and are used to following orders."

"And the viper?"

"Ah yes," Legatus smiled, "the viper is the third stage. The Watcher has a traitor close by…a traitor who will do what I ask, when I ask it."

"And you are powerful enough to control all this? To set each aspect of your plan into motion at precisely the right time?"

"Of course. I draw on the power of the First. And that power grows daily." Legatus studied Daniel. "You do not seem convinced."

"It is important to me that I can trust you," replied Daniel, "that I can believe in you."

"I understand. Very well, Daniel," Legatus stepped forward and stared at Daniel. "Close your eyes and you will have the proof you need."

Daniel closed his eyes and Legatus placed his palm over them.

"What do you see, Daniel?"

"Nothing…no…wait. I see a human…he’s in a bed. He’s shivering…weak. How am I seeing this? Who is he?"

"That is the viper…he may look weak but he will be strong enough for the task ahead. I am allowing you to see this, Daniel, as an expression of trust. Your abilities will be more efficient if you have belief in what you are doing. Now…look deeper, Daniel…see the rest…see the power of the First."

Daniel sucked in a breath at the vision in his mind. He could see a chamber, much larger than the one he was currently in and, everywhere he looked, a multitude of demons of all shapes and sizes stood silently, patiently waiting.

"There are hundreds of them!"

"A thousand to be precise." Legatus removed his hand from Daniel’s eyes. "Do you believe now, Daniel?"

"Yes," Daniel opened his eyes. "Yes…but you did not have to show me…you could have merely commanded me to obey."

"I could," admitted Legatus. "However, had I done so your effectiveness would have been reduced. Your kind work better when you are at ease with those around you…when you can TRUST."

Daniel frowned. "They’re all demons. Your…army…consists entirely of demons. What about vampires? They responded to the call as well."

"Indeed they did," smiled Legatus. "However their call was slightly different. Their instructions are to disappear until this is over. I don’t particularly care HOW they do it."

"You’re not using them at all?"

"Use them?" Legatus shook his head. "What possible use could such creatures be? They are base…shallow…and utterly selfish. They are solitary with loyalty for none but themselves. Their inherent stupidity is legendary. Think about it, Daniel. The advances of the age we are in and yet these vampires still cower in the dark. They could walk in sunlight if they so wished. The technology is there but do they use it? No…no, let them stay in the gutters where they belong. Besides…their disappearance will give the Council something else to think about."

Susan sipped her tea, resting her elbows on the kitchen table.

"I can’t see our lodger upstairs willingly answering questions," she said, glancing at Barbara, "so how do you propose to find out what happened to him?"

"Psychometry," replied Barbara, around a mouthful of toast.

"I know that works on objects…what makes you think it’ll work on people?"

"Um…" Lisa glanced quickly at Susan before turning her attention back to the bacon sandwich she was carefully constructing. "I have been able to sense feelings and emotions by merely touching people."

"YOU are going to try it?"

"Yes," replied Lisa firmly, squirting ketchup on her bacon.

"Then we’d best prepare ourselves for wild tales of alien abduction…or did the talking peanuts do that to him?"

"That’s enough," said Barbara as Lisa glared at Susan. "I think it’s worth a try."

"Fine," replied Susan. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you."

"I CAN do this," said Lisa calmly, her eyes firmly fixed upon her now complete bacon sandwich.

"And can you block the effects of anything he uses to fight back at you?" Susan glanced at Barbara. "He IS supposed to be a powerful sorcerer, remember?"

"I know," replied Barbara, "but Mr Rayne isn’t in a fit state to fight. He’s got nothing left…nothing at all."

"I hope you’re right," remarked Susan. "I really do."

James Newton pushed his bag under the seat and then sat next to Rachel. He stared out of the window of the minibus and frowned.

"Why does everything have to be such a mystery?" He asked. "Why can’t they just tell us what’s going on?"

"And give us information?" Rachel tutted and shook her head, closing her book. "That will never do."

"Surely it’s not too much to ask for them to tell us WHY they’re sending us out into the middle of nowhere?"

"It’s Cornwall," smiled Rachel, "it’s hardly the Australian outback."

"Might just as well be," muttered James gloomily.

"It’s not that bad. You do realise that they even got electricity last week?"

"Oh ha ha, very funny. Although," James smiled, "I suppose on the up-side, we do get to see the infamous Country Retreat. I take it even YOU have heard the rumours about Clunewic?"

"Yes…I’ve overheard the odd rumour," replied Rachel. "It’s supposed to house some quite remarkable records…"

"Ever the student," scoffed James. "I didn’t mean that. You must have heard that it’s supposed to be haunted?"

"I don’t think Mr Giles wants us there to conduct a séance," Rachel giggled slightly.

"God knows WHAT your Mr Giles wants."

"Since when did he become MY Mr Giles?"

"Since he practically orgasmed upon discovering a Potential was in his class." James glanced at Rachel and burst out laughing at the shocked expression on her face. "Come on, you’re as much a candidate for teasing as anyone else."

"Yes," Rachel smiled, "I suppose I am."

Henry closed the car door and then stretched luxuriously. He glanced up at the Museum and smiled slightly.

"Nice to be back," he said, "but this does rather feel as though we’re fiddling whilst Rome burns, so to speak."

"Did no-one ever tell you that patience is a virtue, Henry?" Giles asked, retrieving his briefcase from the back seat of the car. "Sometimes you simply have to wait…and that can be the worst part."

"I suppose you must be used to all this," replied Henry as Giles locked the car, "but I rather thought all the pieces to the puzzle would just fall into place one after another."

"Sometimes they do," admitted Giles falling into step beside Henry as they walked to the Museum. "Sometimes it all happens very quickly. You have no time to think, you just have to react instinctively."

"I think I might prefer that," replied Henry, opening the front door. "Waiting doesn’t agree with me."

"Ah, but that’s what we do, Henry," smiled Giles, entering the Museum. "We watch…and wait."

"Yes…and in the spirit of ‘watching’," grinned Henry, "may I warn you to be on your guard and watch your back?"

"Why?"

"Go to your office and find out," Henry smirked as he walked away. "It’s going to be fun seeing if you can deal with THIS particular demon."

"I don’t know," frowned Giles, "but there’s one way to find out."

Giles walked to his office and slowly opened the door, peering inside.

"Good god!" Hand still on the door handle, Giles stared around in amazement. Everything was neat and tidy; papers were stacked, not lying around haphazardly; reference books were now on shelves and, the most ominous sign of all: another desk. Another VERY tidy, very efficient looking desk.

"In or out, young man?"

"Um…I beg your pardon?" Giles turned and found himself captured by the piercing gaze of a bespectacled, smartly dressed lady who emanated an air of efficient determination.

"Do you intend to enter the office or merely stand in the doorway for the rest of the day?"

"As this is MY office," replied Giles grimly as the lady’s biting tone of voice instantly caused his hackles to rise, "then what I do is entirely up to me."

"Ahhh," comprehension dawned suddenly, "then I must be addressing the elusive Mr Giles?"

"Rupert Giles," he said, extending his hand, "and you are?"

"Emily Dawson," she replied, shaking his hand forcefully. "MRS Emily Dawson. I am your new assistant."

"Assistant?" Giles looked slightly nonplussed.

"We have time to discuss duties later," she said firmly, "but first, I believe Mr Goldsmith wishes to see you."

"Indeed?" Giles put his briefcase on his desk and glanced up at Mrs Dawson. Right, he thought, two can play at that game. "I’m sure Nicholas won’t mind if you make me a cup of tea first."

"My understanding is that he wishes to see you immediately," replied Mrs Dawson tightly, deciding to ignore the tea comment for the time being.

"Mrs Dawson," replied Giles with a sigh, "I am going to have a cup of tea…THEN I will see Mr Goldsmith. Do you understand?"

"Very well, Mr Giles," she said stiffly, "but on your head be it."

Giles opened his mouth to reply but stopped at the amused fascination in his mind.

Giles’ sudden coughing fit caused Mrs Dawson to step backwards, a look of extreme distaste on her face. Her expression softened somewhat however upon seeing Giles wince in pain.

"Are you quite alright, Mr Giles?"

"Uhh…yes," he gasped, pulling out his chair and sitting down with a grateful sigh.

"You just stay there," said Mrs Dawson firmly, patting him lightly on the shoulder, "and I’ll go and sort out some tea for you."

"Thank you," replied Giles softly, closing his eyes and taking deep, relaxing breaths. At the sound of Mrs Dawson’s retreating footsteps, Giles opened his eyes and sighed with relief. He put a hand to his aching chest and rubbed gently, feeling the dull pain gradually recede.

"Please don’t say anything like that ever again," he muttered irritably.

It is something you need to consider. You have a duty to continue your bloodline.

"You’ll forgive me if I don’t attempt to ‘continue my bloodline’ at this particular time? After all, we DO have more important things to consider."

Lisa sat down and then glanced nervously across at Barbara, who was sitting on the other side of the bed, a notebook perched precariously on her knee. Barbara smiled and nodded reassuringly before giving her a quick thumbs up. Lisa took a deep breath, shifted around in her chair and then sat back, regarding the apparently sleeping man in the bed quizzically.

"Mr Rayne?" She said with a smile. "I know you’re awake."

Don’t move, thought Ethan, keep breathing steadily. Oh, what does it matter? What does any of this matter? Let them find out what they want…I don’t care anymore. I’ll be safe…safe in my secret place. Can’t touch me there…can’t hurt me there.

"Never mind," continued Lisa, "I can do this whether you’re conscious or not."

Taking a deep breath, Lisa reached out and placed her palm on Ethan’s forehead. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, tried to calm her nerves and allow the feelings to come to her.

"Damn it," she muttered, feeling uncomfortable and jumpy. Opening her eyes, she looked at Barbara apologetically. "Sorry…for some reason, I can’t seem to relax."

"Understandable," replied Barbara. "I know what you’re thinking. What if he’s so powerful that, even unconscious, he can still strike out at you?"

"I thought I was the empathic one?" Asked Lisa, smiling slightly.

"I may not have your abilities but I do know human nature." Barbara tapped her pen on her notebook. "You saw the state he was in when he arrived, you also know the level of concentration it takes to perform even the most rudimentary spell. Look at him. He can’t even get out of bed so how can he possibly hurt you?"

"I know you’re right," replied Lisa, "and I also know that this is important."

"This is all linked in with your vision, isn’t it?" Asked Barbara. She looked down at Ethan. "Was HE in it as well as Rupert?"

"I didn’t see him," Lisa shrugged, "but there were a lot of shadowy and grey areas that I couldn’t make out."

"There would be," replied Barbara, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I wish visions would be more precise. It would make things so much easier."

"Which is probably why they’re so ambiguous. Can’t have things TOO easy, can we?"

"Not really," Barbara glanced at Ethan again. "Fancy giving it another go?"

"Okay."

"Remember: don’t try to interpret…just say what you’re feeling. We can figure out the rest later."

"Right…here we go."

Lisa gently placed her palm on Ethan’s forehead once more. Closing her eyes she allowed her body to relax, her mind open and reaching out. She could feel him…small indications at first…brief and unclear. Come on…let me see…let me feel. She flinched as the unmistakable feeling of joining, of linking, washed over her. Yes…yes…that’s it.

"Darkness…all around. Feel closed in…trapped. Helpless." Lisa frowned. "Deeper…need to look deeper."

Barbara scribbled in her notebook and then stared intently at Lisa, watching the various expressions flash over her face.

"Blame…all his fault. Make him pay…pay for the pain…the hurt. Can’t get away…can’t stop them…hurts when I try. The pain…so much pain…want to neuter me…better death than this…"

Barbara stopped writing and looked at Lisa. The colour had drained from her face and beads of sweat stood out on her brow. Time to stop this, thought Barbara, before it goes too far.

"Lisa…come on…that’s enough." Barbara frowned as Lisa started to slump forward.

"Death if I do…death if I don’t. No choice…bastards…can’t stop me using it…it’s part of me…"

"Lisa. Come forward…come on…come forward, Lisa."

"Mmmmm…what?" Lisa opened her eyes and peered blearily at Barbara. "Did it work?"

"It worked," confirmed Barbara. "It definitely worked."

Legatus frowned and his eyes suddenly snapped open. He swivelled around to face Daniel who was still sitting upon the stone slab.

"Daniel." Legatus stood up. "It is time. You need to prepare yourself."

"Very well," replied Daniel, lying back on the slab. "I will need specific information as to what you wish me to do."

"Of course," Legatus moved to the slab and stared down at Daniel. "You know of the Council Headquarters in London?"

"Yes…I know it. You wish it destroyed?"

"No," replied Legatus, "that would achieve only a temporary distraction. The destruction of their Headquarters would galvanise them…anger them. As yet, I have no wish to tip over the beehive, Daniel."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Move them."

"Move them?"

"The people, Daniel," smiled Legatus. "I wish you to move them, strand them somewhere."

"You have somewhere in mind?"

"The choice of location is yours. Another dimension…outside of time." Legatus shrugged. "Whatever you wish…just ensure they are trapped. Alive but trapped."

"Hmmm," Daniel frowned. "I think I know somewhere."

"One more thing, Daniel."

"Yes?"

"You will stay linked to the others. Once you have transported the Council members you will use the energy of your comrades to allow our prisoners to see the attack I have planned. I want them to watch as everything they’ve ever worked for is torn apart and destroyed right before their eyes. Let them experience what it is to be utterly powerless. "

"How do you feel, Rupert?" Asked Nicholas, peering across the desk at Giles with more than a hint of concern. "You’ve recovered fully from the accident?"

"Yes," replied Giles, sipping his tea, "I’m much better, thank you."

"I’m glad to hear it." Nicholas sat back in his chair. "You have, of course, met the inestimable Mrs Dawson?"

"We bumped into one another briefly," said Giles with a wry smile.

"Indeed? I’m sorry I missed that," Nicholas tried not to sound too amused, "but I’m sure you understand our reasons for employing an assistant?"

"Of course," replied Giles, putting his cup on the desk, "I haven’t exactly been around much lately."

"It’s not just that." Nicholas picked up a folder and handed it to Giles. "I’ve considered your request for more flexibility in your hours of employment."

"Oh?" Giles opened the folder and pulled out a Contract of Employment. "Why do I get the feeling I’m about to be fleeced?"

"I wouldn’t go quite that far," replied Nicholas with a smile. "You will agree that payment by hours worked - with bonuses of course for completed translations - is a much fairer system than paying a monthly consultancy fee which does not take into account the actual work you do for us."

"I can’t really argue with that, can I?" Giles looked up at Nicholas. "You don’t mind if I take the Contract and read it fully before I sign it, do you?"

"Of course not," replied Nicholas, "but I do need an ‘in principle’ decision today."

"Very well. In that case, my decision – ‘in principle’ and subject to studying this," Giles held up the Contract, "is yes."

Ethan opened his eyes and stared around, flinching as he saw the other leaning against the wall, casually picking at his nail.

"Decided to return to the land of the living, have we?"

"Who are you?" Asked Ethan tiredly. "You could tell me that at least."

"I could," agreed the other, "but it’s best for you to remain ignorant."

"What if I refuse to help? Will you kill me?"

"Of course not," the other grinned and walked over to the bed, staring down at Ethan with a predatory look. "You WANT to die so that would hardly be a fitting punishment."

"You’ll keep me alive…"

"Not just alive…but in torment. A living hell."

Ethan lay back and closed his eyes.

"Why me?" He asked dully.

"Why you?" The other giggled softly. "Why, because of your associate of course. Rupert Giles."

"Rupert?" Ethan opened his eyes.

"Yes," the other gently stroked Ethan’s hair. "I know you’re confused…I know it’s difficult for you to think, so let me explain. He’s caused you so much pain over the years…he’s hurt you terribly. I’m going to give you a chance to get your revenge on him. When the time is right you will be the pebble that causes the landslide. Now, go to sleep…save your strength."

Legatus stared with delight at Daniel’s glowing and writhing body on the stone slab. The very air seemed to crackle with energy, there was a shimmering and suffused light in the cavern that seemed to emanate from every restless shape on every slab.

"Yes," whispered Legatus, watching as Daniel glowed brighter and brighter, "that’s it, Daniel. Take the energy…embrace it…welcome it…contain it."

Daniel groaned aloud as he felt the influx of power from those around him. He was vaguely aware of a soft whisper but he ignored it…it wasn’t important…not as important as what he was feeling. The power touched him everywhere…he was galvanised…charged with energy. More…I want more! Give me more! This is incredible…I can feel it all…feel my blood…my nerve endings…each individual cell pounding with this wonderful, intense energy.

"Now, Daniel!" Yelled Legatus as the glow reached its peak, "do it now!"

Daniel screamed and arched on the stone slab. Control it! Send it out! Focus…have to focus. He struggled momentarily before gathering the energy and forcing it from him, sending it flashing towards its target: a deadly, unstoppable, invisible missile.

Quentin glanced around the newly refurbished boardroom and smiled to himself. This is better, he thought, it looks…traditional. Wood and leather is a much warmer combination than that awful chrome and glass monstrosity it was before. Looks like these old dinosaurs are still capable of getting SOME things right, he thought, his eyes flicking to the six elderly gentlemen sitting at the table. Cigar smoke hung in the air and Quentin coughed ostentatiously.

"If I might have your attention," he said loudly, interrupting the whispered conversations of his six colleagues. "You’ve read the reports and I’m sure you’ve all grasped the gravity of the situation."

"Now hold on a moment, Quentin," Robert Jones interjected forcefully, "don’t try browbeating us…I for one am not entirely convinced of all this."

A small chorus of "ayes" greeted this statement and Quentin sighed, tapping his pen on the table.

"Gentlemen," he tried to keep his tone even, "I cannot stress enough the importance of this situation. You all have the reports and figures in front of you…how can you even question this?"

"Because it involves Rupert Giles, THAT’S why we question it." Robert sat forward and stared at Quentin. "And not too long ago you were baying for his blood. He was a ‘loose cannon’ I believe you said…and he needed to be put out of the way."

"Yes," replied Quentin with a touch of amusement, "I did say that."

"So what has changed, Quentin? Why are you listening to him all of a sudden?"

"I’m listening to facts."

"And where did those ‘facts’ come from?" Robert flicked through the reports. "There are no references, nothing in here to substantiate these outlandish claims."

"Gentlemen," sighed Quentin, "we do not have the time for a long drawn out debate."

"We want answers, Quentin. We want to know where this information came from. We want to know why you appointed Rupert Giles to take Gerald Montague’s place." Robert folded his arms. "And what DID happen to Gerald?"

"I don’t know," replied Quentin coolly. "He simply disappeared."

"So, nothing to do with that operation you instigated at the Museum? The one that involved Rupert Giles?" Robert smiled at the surprised expression on Quentin’s face. "My dear chap, rumours reach us…even in our ivory tower."

"Rupert has access to a quite extraordinary…source of information. If we are to take advantage of it, if we are to use it for ourselves, then we need to co-operate with him." Quentin shrugged. "For a while anyway."

"Until we can access it ourselves?"

"Until we can find a way, yes. But if we can’t then it makes sense to keep Rupert close. To control the source we need to control Rupert."

"Thank goodness for that," smiled Robert. "For a while there I thought you were going soft."

"Hardly. I always have the…" Quentin paused and frowned at the low-pitched hum he could hear. "Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Shh…listen…"

The humming quickly increased in both pitch and volume and suddenly a flash of intense white light engulfed the building. When the light dissipated seconds later, there was no-one left inside the Council Headquarters to bear witness. Telephones rang shrilly, breaking the heavy silence…cigarettes lay still smoking in ashtrays…hot mugs of tea and coffee, some half finished, sat on desks and tables…computers buzzed and hummed, their screens projecting a wealth of information to empty rooms and the security cameras recorded…no-one.

Legatus stared down at the shaking and sweating Daniel.

"Well?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as Daniel slowly opened his eyes. "Where have you sent them?"

"Sideways," muttered Daniel, "sent them sideways."

"Interesting. Sideways in time or in space?"

"Both," Daniel smiled slightly and yawned. "Tired…so tired."

"You can sleep later," replied Legatus, smoothing Daniel’s hair back from his forehead. "Until then, use the power of those around you…they’re expendable…it will refresh you. Be ready, Daniel. When darkness falls my army will march…and I will have need of you."

"As…as you wish, my Lord."

Lisa huddled in the corner of the sofa and tried to stifle a yawn. I’d forgotten how tiring this was, she thought, suddenly aware that Barbara had finished speaking and that the others were looking at her expectantly.

"Barbara has said it all," shrugged Lisa, "I’ve nothing to add."

"No more impressions or feelings?" asked Jo. "No…hunches?"

"Just the pain," Lisa shuddered slightly. "He blames Rupert. He thinks it was all Rupert’s fault that he had to suffer so much."

"Which brings us to the rather obvious conclusion," said Barbara, "that it was this ‘Initiative’ that Rupert told us about who did this to Mr Rayne."

"You can’t be completely sure of that," said Susan.

"Short of a signed confession," replied Barbara, sounding slightly exasperated, "we CAN’T be sure."

"Okay, okay…so what did they do to him?"

"Tried to neuter him," said Lisa quietly, "tried to take away his magic."

"That’s impossible," scoffed Susan. "Block it, yes…but take it away? No…can’t be done."

"It was part of him," Barbara glanced at her notes. "Remember what Lisa said? ‘Death if I do…death if I don’t’. What if his physical condition is linked to his use of magic?"

"It is anyway," replied Susan. "You know that magic takes a physical as well as a mental effort."

"THAT’S what he meant!" Lisa sat up, her eyes gleaming. "The feeling that it was too much a part of him…that they were trying to destroy WHO he was…his very essence."

"So if he’s this big powerful sorcerer…the first thing you do is try to disable or block his magic," cut in Jo.

"Yes! But they couldn’t do it! Don’t you see?" Lisa stared around at the others. "They couldn’t actually stop him using his magic…it was too deep…too much a part of him…like thinking or breathing."

"So they did the next best thing," grinned Jo. "They increased the amount of physical effort it would require for him to use his magic."

"Yes," replied Lisa, "increased it dramatically…and that’s why he’s in this state. It was a Catch 22 situation. He HAD to keep using his magic even though he knew it would kill him…the compulsion was just too much."

"But he’s not dead yet," said Jo, "and the question is…what does he have left?"

Charles Grant paced up and down the office, biting his nail nervously.

"Well?" He turned to the young lady sitting at the desk. She sighed and replaced the telephone receiver in its cradle.

"Nothing, sir. No reply from any of them."

"You’ve tried EVERY extension?"

"Yes, sir…and I’ve tried mobile phones, faxes and emails. No response at all…sir."

"Oh God, oh God…this is bad," Charles started to pace once more, "this is VERY bad!"

Angela Wayne sat back in her chair and watched Charles. The more he paced, the more nervous she was becoming.

"Uhh…sir?"

"Yes, what?" Charles continued to pace, his stride increasing.

"What do we do, sir?" Angela sounded nervous and worried.

Charles sighed and stopped pacing. Don’t panic, he thought, don’t panic. Get a grip – you have to set an example.

"Mrs Wayne…" he began, stopping as the office door burst open and a middle aged, white haired man hurried in.

"Charles…."

"Good lord, Ben…where’s the fire?"

"You’d better turn on the television, Charles," said Ben calmly, surprising himself at how even his voice sounded.

Charles frowned and then walked into the adjoining office, followed by Ben and Angela. Charles turned on the television and the three of them crowded around the small set.

"And our lead story once more," came the strangely reassuring tones of the BBC news presenter. "A possible terrorist attack has led Police to seal off an area of South London. Eyewitnesses report an intense flash of light surrounding the offices of the Tuatha de Danaan, a well-known charitable organisation. Police are refusing to comment on reports that over 300 people have vanished without trace and rumours linking the ‘attack’ to the organisation’s charity efforts in Iraq and the Middle East are said to be without foundation. We’ll have more in our bulletin at six o’clock…"

Awareness returned slowly and, to Quentin Travers, it was somewhat akin to trying to swim through a pool of thick syrup. It took a tremendous effort and every bit of willpower he possessed to even manage coherent thought let alone figure out what had happened to him. He could feel nothing; hear nothing; see nothing. He wasn’t even sure if he HAD a body anymore. Maybe I’m just a disembodied entity floating in the ether…well if I am then I’m not alone. I can sense others around me. Quentin’s musings were suddenly cut short by a lilting voice intruding on his consciousness. An odd sensation, he thought, it’s like a presence in my mind…I wonder if this is how it feels for Rupert?

Toto, thought Quentin, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.

Giles stared out of the window, a bored expression on his face as he tried to tune out the droning voices of the other Committee members.

I have been considering recent events, came the thoughtful voice in his mind, and I have some concerns.

Giles sighed, grateful for the distraction but not relishing communicating via thought instead of talking aloud. He paused, getting his thoughts in order before concentrating and sending one brief message.

Very well, thought Giles, but what are your concerns?

As I mentioned before, it is a feeling of unease…as though everything we do is expected and has been taken into account.

Giles’ eyes widened suddenly as his jacket pocket began vibrating.

It is your telephone, came the amused voice.

I know, I know, thought Giles, feeling slightly embarrassed as he fished the phone out of his pocket. He glanced around at the other Committee members with an apologetic smile.

"Excuse me," murmured Giles as he got to his feet and quickly left the room. He sighed with relief as he closed the board room door behind him and leaned against it, staring down at the phone in his hand. The green button looks promising, he thought as he pressed it and held the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Said Giles tentatively, his eyes widening as his eardrum was suddenly assailed by an almost hysterical torrent of chatter. Panic was evident in the vaguely recognisable voice and, as soon as the caller paused to draw a breath, Giles quickly leapt in. "Wait a moment! Take a few deep breaths…count to ten…and then, first of all, tell me who you are."

"Um…it’s Charles Grant here, Mr Giles…you remember me? I’m…um…Mr Hodgkinson’s replacement."

"Yes…I remember," replied Giles, suppressing a twinge of sorrow. "What can I do for you, Mr Grant?"

James Newton glanced down at the head resting peacefully on his shoulder and smiled to himself. Rachel had fallen asleep within an hour of leaving London and, although James found it extremely difficult to keep quiet at the best of times, he was loath to wake her. She wouldn’t sleep unless she really needed to, he thought as he tore his gaze away from the motionless figure beside him. He stared out of the window, trying to contain a sigh as he squinted slightly against the afternoon sun. He tried to block out the soft murmur of conversation around him, concentrating instead on watching the landscape whiz past the window. It’s too green, he thought, the countryside is just TOO green. Everything is just too far away…I bet pizzas cost a fortune to be delivered down here. James frowned and stared ahead as he felt the minibus slow down and then stop. A weight lifted off his shoulder and he smiled at Rachel, who was staring blearily around.

"Are we there yet?" She asked and James grinned.

"I think so," he replied, pointing out of the window.

Rachel glanced outside and frowned. The minibus had stopped at a large and rather impressive gate, manned by at least half a dozen guards. The guards were animated, gesticulating wildly to one another and, Rachel noticed, they were armed to the teeth.

"Have we been sent to Stargate Command or something?" She asked, shaking her head slightly. "It all looks a bit…military, doesn’t it?"

"It makes sense," replied James. "If the rumours about this place are true and it IS one of the Council’s main records repositories then the high security is understandable."

"Hmmm," Rachel continued to watch as the gate opened and the minibus moved steadily through, continuing slowly along the gravel drive. "The guards don’t look happy though…do you think something’s going on?"

"Isn’t something ALWAYS going on? It’s like…" James stopped, his eyes widening in surprise. "Oh wow…look at that!"

Rachel gasped. "It…it’s beautiful," she said softly, her eyes flicking between the perfectly cut lawns, the calm serene lake and the tall, imposing Manor House that dominated the landscape.

"I wonder how many ghosts it has?" Asked James with a grin. "It looks like it oozes paranormal activity…and I bet the front door creaks."

"You watch too many films," replied Rachel, unable to tear her gaze away from the Manor House. I want to work here, she thought. This is it…a place of dreams. It looks so peaceful…so welcoming…so…safe. It’s as though nothing can touch me here…no one can hurt me here. That’s what this place provides: safety, warmth and protection. What more could I ask?

Ethan lay still, watching through half-closed eyelids as the woman sitting in the chair next to the bed held up her knitting and muttered under her breath. Damn you, woman! What IS it? What are you making? The steady clickety-clack of the needles had been soothing at first, a gentle rhythm that relaxed his consciousness. It had become a steady and familiar accompaniment to sleep. Now, however, the sound had started to irritate, had started to mock and tease. Ethan could hear one phrase repeated over and over again in the rhythm of the needles: do you know what it is yet? The annoying thing was that he DIDN’T know. To Ethan it was merely a shapeless mass of wool, although he had long since discounted the possibility of it being a scarf. Ethan sighed slightly as the woman started knitting again, the needles sounding out their litany once more. He watched intently, trying to suppress the sudden feelings of guilt building within him. With all that’s happened, I’m thinking about knitting? Oh so what? I don’t care. I don’t want to think about the big things…it’s not my problem. I just want to find out what she’s knitting…before I die.

"Your dream of death is somewhat premature." It took every ounce of effort Ethan possessed to stay still and not react as the other strode forward from the shadows and stopped beside the seemingly oblivious and still knitting woman in the chair. "I can keep you alive for eternity, experiencing pain the like of which you have never perceived. Do you think anyone will care? Of course they won’t…they’ll rejoice in it. Especially Rupert Giles…him most of all."

Ethan opened his eyes a bit wider, his gaze flicking between the knitting woman and the other.

"Oh don’t worry," continued the other, "she can’t see or hear me. She can, of course, see and hear you so I suggest you keep quiet and listen to my instructions. The time has come for you to start repaying me for the time and effort I put into you. I trust you are a good actor, MISTER Rayne, because your starring role begins here. You need to get close to Rupert Giles. This bunch of amateurs can take you to him but you have to convince them. You have to make them believe in the urgency of the situation. How you do it is up to you…but by dawn tomorrow you WILL be at Clunewic with Rupert Giles. I’m sure you are aware of the consequences should you fail."

Quentin struggled through the fog in his mind, trying desperately to grasp the memories and information that drifted agonisingly just out of his reach. Concentrate on what is known; concentrate on certainties not theories. First of all, I know I’m not alone…I can sense others here and that emissary said "you are ALL here…" The question is…how many others? The Conclave? More? It’s all shrouded…I cannot be sure. Very well, then the next question is can I communicate with them? Hello? Can you hear me? Hmmm, obviously not. The next step is this emissary…what did he call himself? Ah yes…Legatus. Interesting choice of name. An emissary of the First. That’s worrying in itself. Is the First about to return? Is Legatus merely an advance party or is he preparing the way? And more importantly, who is left to fight? Who is in charge of the Council? Questions, questions, questions. I appear to have a wealth of questions with no discernible answers. All I can do is wait…wait and hope. My destiny – and that of the Council – is out of my hands…and I must trust to others. I pray they have the necessary capabilities or we are all lost…