Author: Sandra Pascoe

Pairing: None

Rating: FRM - some violent situations and swearing

Archive: Sure - just ask first

Disclaimer: Giles doesn’t belong to me - I’m only borrowing him. Can I keep him, please?

Spoilers: I don’t think there are any

Setting: Giles is still in England during S6-though its going a tad AU…hehe

Notes: Sequel to "The Summoning". It helps if you’ve read that first. A few odd references in this one - mainly Dr Who. The title comes from the Barry Manilow song of the same name - it’s only available on his recent "Ultimate Manilow" album and is from his film "Copacabana". I’d advise you to listen - it’s a superb and moving song. (The song actually has nothing to do with this fic - but the title fits!)

Dedication: To Jules and Julia - cracking betas - especially Julia who beta’d this whilst recovering from a hospital stay - there’s dedication for you! Also thanks to Ruth for her valuable input.

**********

Quentin glanced at the young, eager-looking man sat opposite him and raised an eyebrow.

"Summarise this," he said; pointing to the small pile of papers the young man had placed on the desk. "I’m not ploughing through all that, Charles, in order to find one sentence of relevance."

Charles Grant contrived to look rather hurt and then launched into a breathless explanation.

"As I said, we’ve found a match as regards the…uh…modus operandi. That match is Jack The Ripper. The Ripper’s victims were all strangled first and then mutilated. Now, three of the Ripper’s victims, Annie Chapman, Catherine Eddowes and Mary Kelly, had their intestines removed and placed near the body. The particular one that matches our…um…case…is the murder of Catherine Eddowes."

"And the link between the Ripper murders and Bernard’s death is?" Quentin raised an eyebrow as Charles’ face fell.

"We don’t know…we haven’t been able to find one."

"I see," Quentin sighed, tapping his fingers on the desk. "I’ll give you access to the sealed records…you’ll find more information about the Ripper and his victims there."

"Sealed records?" Charles sat forward eagerly. "But…a Watcher was involved?"

"Indeed. And the information goes no further than this investigation…understood?"

"Of course, sir," nodded Charles eagerly. "So…how involved WAS this Watcher?"

"Very involved," replied Quentin. "If I remember right…we had him executed."

**********

Giles threw down his pen with a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

You need a break. You have been working for hours.

"Well, even with your assistance, for which I am grateful, this translation is tricky."

And it doesn’t help when you do not concentrate. You keep thinking about your friend…and the circumstances surrounding his death.

"I can hardly help that. I was hoping to clear this work quickly…then I could concentrate on trying to find that demon."

You were away from here for two days…and yet you have returned to enough work to last a week. Is that normal?

Giles smiled slightly, glancing up as the door was pushed open and Henry peered in.

"Sorry," frowned Henry, "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"Oh…yes…I was on the phone," replied Giles, trying not to grin at the amusement that flashed though his mind.

"Ahhhh…I see," replied Henry as he pushed the door open further and walked in, carrying two mugs. "Well, as you haven’t been out of this room for hours…I thought you’d like a cup of tea."

"Oh, you have no idea how much I need that," replied Giles with a smile. "Thank you, Henry…most thoughtful."

Henry handed Giles a mug and leaned back against the wall, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

"So what’s on your mind, Henry?" Asked Giles, raising the mug to his lips.

"Nothing, old man," replied Henry evenly. "Just wanted to be sure you were okay."

Giles raised an eyebrow and Henry sighed.

"Very well. Our lord and master is concerned. He thinks you’ve been a tad distracted recently."

"He’s probably right," shrugged Giles, sipping his tea.

"Well that’s entirely understandable under the circumstances," replied Henry. "Losing a friend is never easy. Were you close?"

"Fairly close," replied Giles. "We were at University together."

"I see," Henry paused briefly, waiting to see if Giles would elaborate. When he remained silent, Henry shrugged and continued. "Well I have artefacts to unpack. Can’t stand around here chatting all day."

"Thanks for the tea, Henry."

"You’re welcome. Don’t work too late, Rupert. I know you…you’ll be here until midnight to catch up."

"I won’t be here that late…important day tomorrow," replied Giles softly.

**********

You know, Rupert, I was going to have Quentin Travers killed next. I thought that might stymie your budding new relationship with the Council. But they’re not important…YOU are. And I rather think I’ve found another target. The Hooded Man chuckled as he watched Henry leave Giles’ office. A bumbling fool…but you like him. Like attracts like, perhaps? This time, however, I need to be more obvious. I neglected to allow for your natural stupidity. Really, Rupert…I’m disappointed. Leaving SO much to the Council researchers? You need to look closer to home. Who was it who said the past always comes back and bites you on the ass? Ah well…never mind. There is one thing though: I honestly thought that you and your new-found friend would prove more of a challenge to me. Maybe you are BOTH over-rated, eh, Rupert?

**********

Quentin entered Bernard’s office, carrying a large, empty box. He closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh. Dear lord, why can’t they leave me alone? Stop bombarding me with their false sympathy and calculating eyes. You’ve been gone for less than two days, Bernard, and some are already canvassing for your job. It’s disgusting…watching them try and outdo one another in the sympathy stakes. He walked across the room and put the box on the desk. With slightly shaking hands, he started filling the box with Bernard’s personal effects, pausing as he picked up a framed photograph. Quentin smiled at the proud mother and slightly embarrassed looking son in the picture. You never did like having your photo taken, did you, Bernard? I used to wonder if you believed the camera would steal your soul. Quentin carefully placed the photograph in the box and sat down. What am I going to do without you, Bernard? Who will talk sense into me when I go flying into a rage? Who will pick up the pieces? Who will watch my back? Who will be my conscience? I valued your advice...I may have ignored a lot of it but I DID value it. Quentin sat back and smiled slightly. Remember the Cruciamentum? You said it was mistake…an outmoded system. I disagreed…I still do. It had been effective for Centuries - there was no reason to change it. I thought it was sour grapes on your part…I thought you were trying to protect Rupert. That was the first time I ever saw you lose your temper. My God, you let me have it with both barrels. I think most people expected me to fire you…but I admired you for it. You had the courage of your convictions and you fought for what you believed in. He sighed. And where does that leave us now? Whom can I trust? Rupert? No…he has other concerns. I don’t think the good of the Council is…or ever will be…uppermost in his thoughts. There will be no shortage of applicants though. There are roomfuls of people falling over themselves to help solve this…and purely to put themselves one up on those around them…to give themselves a better chance of promotion. Quentin opened the desk drawers and smiled at the neatly organised contents. A place for everything and everything in its place. I envied you that. Envied your ordered mind…your efficiency. You were the perfect right-hand man. He closed the drawers and glanced into the half-full box. Not much to show for a life, is there? No medals…no citations…nothing to show the impact you had on those around you. The outside world may not know…but we do, Bernard…and we’ll remember. He picked up the box and walked to the door, opening it and taking one final look around the office. I’ll miss you, my friend.

"Mr Travers, sir?" Charles Grant positively quivered with excitement. Not even the glare and string of muttered curses thrown at him by Quentin could dampen his enthusiasm. "We’ve found something."

Quentin opened his mouth, closed it again and then sighed. "Precisely WHAT have you found, Charles?"

"The answer…the connection," smiled Charles, pulling papers out of his briefcase.

"Not here," muttered Quentin, moving along the corridor and opening his office door. He stepped back, allowing Charles to shuffle past him. "Well, I hope this is worth it."

"Oh it is," Charles sat down, waiting patiently as Quentin put down the box he was carrying before handing him the papers. "Don’t worry…I’ll summarise!"

Quentin dumped the papers on the desk and sat down. "Carry on."

"We searched through the sealed records and may I say they are most fascinating! To think that an active Watcher was responsible for those murders…"

"Get to the point, Charles."

"Oh…yes…well…" Charles paused briefly to gather his thoughts and then continued: "As you are no doubt aware, the Watcher in question was interrogated by the Council and his diaries used as evidence. Going through the diaries, we found references to a demon…but the problem is that one of the diaries - the one that specifically details the murders - is missing."

"Missing?" Quentin glowered and Charles held up a hand.

"It doesn’t matter…you see we found the interrogation transcripts and not only is there a detailed drawing of the demon in question…" Charles leaned forward, scrabbling through the papers he’d given Quentin and holding one up, "but there’s also a name."

Quentin narrowed his eyes as Charles paused for effect before adding dramatically: "Sceleratus."

"That’s the same demon," muttered Quentin, taking the paper from Charles and gazing at it.

Charles nodded. "Recorded sightings go back to the 16^th Century and that’s where we discovered the...uh…common denominator. In 1546, a Watcher called William Giles disappeared without a trace…leaving behind a wife, Anne and a son, Edward. Months later, the first sighting of Sceleratus occurred. He almost killed a Slayer and he was heard to say ‘forgive me, Anne, my love,’ before disappearing."

"That’s a bit tenuous," remarked Quentin with a frown. "I suppose you’re going to tell me that this William Giles is the ancestor of Rupert Giles?"

"Yes he is. And the connection may well be tenuous but it’s the only one we’ve managed to find."

"Hmmm," Quentin dropped the drawing onto the desk. "What do we know about William Giles?"

"Not a lot," shrugged Charles. "His diaries are rather on the sparse side. They state facts…not theories or thoughts. The Council were obviously concerned about him though…there’s a note on his file…it seems there was doubt about which side William Giles was actually on."

"Rupert might be able to discover more," murmured Quentin. He frowned and then glanced up. "Thank you, Charles…good work. Keep looking."

"There is one other thing…"

"Yes?"

"During the interrogation, reference is made to a spell that either summons or controls the demon. I would assume the missing diary details this because we can’t find any more information about it."

"And therefore whoever has the diary…is the one behind all this…thank you, Charles."

Quentin waited until Charles left the office and then he picked up the phone. He dialled quickly, tapping his fingers on the desk as he listened to the seemingly endless ringing tone. Come on, Rupert…come on, come on…pick up the phone. Bugger. Quentin slammed the receiver down. Where are you? Surely you’re not still at the Museum? Quentin flicked through his diary, locating the number and dialling again. Damn it, Rupert, why can’t you get a mobile phone like everyone else? He frowned as an automated response cut in.

"Thank you for calling the Museum of Ancient Antiquities. Our office hours are…"

Quentin cursed and hung up, sitting back and fingering the papers in front of him. He glanced at his watch. Maybe we should speak in person anyway. Quentin picked up the papers, stuffing them into his briefcase. This isn’t really the kind of thing we can discuss over the phone…and Bath isn’t THAT far away.

**********

Giles tossed his pen onto the desk, sat back and stretched.

"Thank you for that," he murmured.

I enjoyed it. It was most intriguing. It appears to have elements from a variety of cultures interwoven in a pattern that seems rather elusive.

"In other words, you can’t work it out." Giles smiled slightly.

I am sure that, given time and access to detailed reference work, it will all become clear.

"I’m sure," replied Giles. "Henry’s theory is that the various cultures represented, together with the intricacy of the carving, is indicative of an advanced, sea-faring race that existed prior to our current understanding."

An interesting theory and one that certainly has points of validity.

"Henry will be pleased to learn that he has a supporter."

The office door suddenly opened and Nicholas Goldsmith peered in.

"Ahhh, you ARE still here," he said, closing the door behind him. "Henry tells me you’ve requested the day off tomorrow."

Giles narrowed his eyes. "Yes. I have a funeral to attend."

"Of course," Nicholas held up a hand. "Not a problem. It’s just…you’ve been a bit distracted recently. I was getting rather concerned."

"I’ve had some things on my mind," replied Giles and Nicholas sighed, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"Tell me honestly, Rupert," he said, "have you received another offer?

"Offer?"

"For your services. You must be in demand…and the Museum can’t pay as well as some could."

"No," smiled Giles. "No other offer and, for the record, the money isn’t important. I have no intention of leaving, Nicholas."

**********

Sceleratus stood in the middle of the cellar, gazing impassively at the Hooded Man.

"You have need of me?" He asked.

"Yes. I have someone else for you to kill. Same method as before…and no one else is to be harmed…especially not Rupert Giles…not yet. Do you understand?"

Sceleratus bowed his head. "Yes, master."

The Hooded Man nodded briefly and picked up the phone.

"Time to set the scene," he said as he dialled a number. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Henry? It’s Rupert."

"Oh, hello, old man," came the reply. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine thanks. I’ve found something important. I need you to come over to my place…immediately."

"Uhhh yes…of course." There was a slight pause. "Rupert…you don’t sound too good. Are you sure you’re alright?"

"Hurry, Henry."

The Hooded Man put the phone down and giggled.

"You wish this one to be killed in the home of Rupert Giles?" Asked Sceleratus with a frown.

"Of course. Maybe now Rupert will realise that this is all about him." The Hooded Man glanced at Sceleratus. "This could be the last time I call you here. After this, I expect Rupert to pull out all the stops to find you."

"Why do you wish him to travel to my realm? I can just as easily kill him here."

"Tut, tut," the Hooded Man giggled and waggled his finger at Sceleratus, "that’s a secret. He HAS to die in your realm…that’s all I need to say. You will follow your orders and I will consider granting you your freedom."

**********

"There IS one thing though, Nicholas," said Giles, glancing up.

"Oh?" Nicholas frowned. "What’s that?"

"There may be times when it’s necessary for me to take the occasional…sabbatical and I would also appreciate a degree of flexibility when it comes to my working hours."

"I can’t see that being a problem," replied Nicholas with a smile. "I’m sure we can come to mutually beneficial arrangement regarding your working hours."

Giles groaned slightly. "Why do the words ‘mutually beneficial’ send a shiver up my spine?"

"I’m not a complete ogre, Rupert. I merely try to obtain the best deal I can…in the interests of the Museum of course."

"Oh …of course."

"And the considered opinion of the members of the Board…and myself…is that it is in the Museum’s best interests to keep you here. We are prepared to negotiate certain concessions but…" Nicholas paused and looked hard at Giles, "don’t push it too far."

"Now that’s better," remarked Giles, standing up. "For a while there you were entirely too amenable."

Nicholas smiled slightly. "We’ll schedule a meeting for next week and sort out the details."

"That’s fine," replied Giles, picking up his briefcase. "Forgive me for rushing off, Nicholas…I have an early start in the morning."

"No problem, Rupert…and I’m sorry for your loss."

**********

He stood in the shadows; his eyes closed as he patiently waited. He tensed, nostrils twitching and eyes opening at the sound of an engine getting closer and closer. Is that him? Is it the one to die? Sceleratus relaxed back against the wall, closing his eyes once more as the engine continued on its way without stopping. Obviously not, he sighed. Please hurry. I wish for this to be over. He said this could be the last…with the exception of Rupert Giles of course. And then what? I have followed his instructions…will he set me free? Sceleratus opened his eyes as another engine interrupted the silence. Closer and closer, louder and louder, he willed it to stop, his body as tense as a coiled spring. He relaxed, relief flowing through him as the engine drew to a halt outside. He stepped closer to the lounge door, ensuring he had a clear view of the hall and front door. A shadow appeared at the door, accompanied by a firm knocking and Sceleratus stepped back into the shadows.

"Rupert? Are you in there?" The voice sounded slightly puzzled and Sceleratus permitted himself a small smile. The door is unlocked. Come inside. Another series of knocks…the rattle of the door handle…the creak of the door opening and closing again.

"Rupert?" The voice was closer, no longer muffled by the door. Footsteps advanced slowly along the hall, tentative and uncertain. Sceleratus stood just inside the lounge, watching as the shadow in the hall drew closer and closer. A face peered around the lounge door, eyes widening in horror as Sceleratus stepped forward and grinned broadly.

"Boo!"

Henry emitted a high pitch shriek, his eyes rolled back and he slumped limply to the floor. Sceleratus tutted and stepped forward. These humans…no stamina. This one makes it too easy. Where is the challenge? Where is the sport? Pathetic. He knelt on the floor and gently placed his hands around Henry’s throat. He began to squeeze, gradually increasing the pressure. Are you watching, sorcerer? Do you like what you see?

**********

Giles pulled into the drive and frowned.

"I wonder what Henry is doing here?" He muttered, stopping behind the other car.

I do not like this.

"Neither do I," murmured Giles, getting out of the car. His neck and back were tingling madly, his muscles as tense as a coiled spring.

Your instincts ARE sharper. You can feel that there is something amiss.

"By the pricking of my thumbs…" whispered Giles, moving quietly to the front door. He curled his hand around the door handle, taking a deep breath and slowly pushing the handle down. There was no resistance, just a soft, barely noticeable click as the catch drew back.

Interesting. You locked the door this morning.

Giles pushed open the door, his eyes narrowing at the sight that met his gaze: Sceleratus was kneeling next to Henry’s motionless body…its hands wrapped firmly around his throat. Giles didn’t hesitate. He grabbed an umbrella from the stand, reversed it, took one large step forward and executed a near perfect straight drive, catching Sceleratus full on the chin. Sceleratus roared as his head snapped back and he fell backwards on the floor. Giles stared briefly at the broken remains of his umbrella before tossing it aside and advancing with a kind of angry determination. Sceleratus scrambled to his feet, trying to ignore the pain in his jaw. He stared intently at Giles, bowed and, before Giles’ angry eyes, he slowly faded from view.

**********

"Mr Travers?" Nicholas frowned and spoke louder into the phone. "Mr Travers…can you hear me?"

A burst of static greeted his question and he sighed. Why is it that, in the X files, he thought, they can get a signal anywhere…and over here it’s almost impossible?

"Nicholas? Is that you?" The voice was slightly muffled but its owner was unmistakable.

"Yes…can you hear me now?"

"Yes, I can hear you."

"Good…um…I just wanted to tell you that, as you expected, Rupert has brought up the subject of his working hours. I’m meeting with him next week to discuss it."

"Good…good," came the reply. "The Museum will be fully compensated…so you will be flexible."

"I understand…but we DO need this work done. We can’t have it lying on Rupert’s desk for when he’s got the time to look at it."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"Well," Nicholas took a deep breath. "We were thinking about an assistant…and you will admit that the Museum have been VERY co-operative with you so far…"

"And you want us to pay this assistant’s salary?" Interrupted Travers evenly.

"It seems only fair," replied Nicholas, trying to keep his voice level.

"In that case, WE will employ someone. Send me a report of the kind of qualifications and experience this person should have and we’ll take it from there."

**********

"Very good," the Hooded Man patted Sceleratus on the shoulder. "You showed admirable restraint…and followed my instructions well."

"I did not complete my task."

"I think the point has been made." The Hooded Man looked at the wound on Sceleratus’ chin. "I thought that, whilst you were in this realm, you were impervious to harm?"

"I am impervious if I am alert…prepared for the threat. In this instance, I was not."

"Having too much fun killing a human to notice Rupert come in?"

"Death is not…fun."

"You enjoy it. Oh maybe not before…or after…but…" the Hooded Man grinned, "DURING…you feed off it. You enjoy killing and yet you feel such guilt afterwards…such disgust. You are more human than you might think."

"You know who I was? You know what I did?" Sceleratus stepped forward. "Tell me…please."

"Oh no, no, no, no." The Hooded Man waggled his finger. "We can’t have that. I wonder how much of what you were still resides in you today? How much of the Human condition is alive and kicking within that demonic frame of yours?"

"I am no longer human. No part of me is human."

"Whatever you say," replied the Hooded Man, gently patting Sceleratus on the shoulder once more. "Now return to your realm and wait for Rupert Giles."

"When I have killed him…then will I be free?"

"It’s a very good possibility."

"Then I will be content with that."

**********

"No permanent damage," said Giles quietly as his fingers gently explored Henry’s neck, "but you’re going to have some lovely bruises."

Henry groaned and looked up from his slumped position on the couch. He swallowed and then winced.

"Don’t try to speak, Henry. Just relax."

"No," croaked Henry. "I need to know. What was that…thing?"

"It was a demon," said Giles succinctly.

"And its name is Sceleratus," said Quentin as he entered the lounge, tossing his briefcase onto a chair.

"Good evening, Quentin," remarked Giles, "do make yourself at home."

"The door was open, Rupert," replied Quentin disapprovingly.

"Um…a demon?" Asked Henry, glancing between Giles and Quentin. "Oh come on…you can’t be…" He paused and looked closely at the two men standing in front of him. "Good grief…you’re both serious."

"Deadly serious. It’s already killed one of my friends…and for a few moments I thought I’d lost another."

"Another attack so soon?" Quentin raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

Henry sighed and slumped back again. "I trust one of you is rushing towards an explanation because all this ‘Secret Squirrel’ talk is decidedly tiresome."

"I don’t do explanations," remarked Quentin, sitting down.

"Well you’re going to have to," said Giles, looking hard at Quentin, "and whilst you do that, I’ll make us a pot of tea."

Quentin sighed. "Well as the Museum employees have all been cleared by security then I suppose there’s no harm."

"Security?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "What have you got yourself into, Rupert?"

"You’re about to find that out," Giles smiled slightly as Henry looked expectantly at Quentin and, as he left the room he heard Quentin clear his throat and start to talk.

"Into each generation…"

**********

Ahh the three wise monkeys. Hear No Evil…See No Evil…Speak No Evil. I wonder which one is which? I take it you come bearing news, Mr Travers? Well it’s about time. I’m starting to lose my patience. The Hooded Man stepped away from the scrying glass and coughed suddenly. He frowned at the metallic taste in his mouth and rummaged in his pockets, finally producing a clean, white handkerchief. He spat into it, staring down at the blood that dotted the material. Sorcerer, heal thyself, he thought and then sighed, I wish it were that easy. They knew what they were doing…did you, Rupert? Did you have any idea? It doesn’t really matter…but if I’m going to die then I’m taking you with me.