When You Are Tired of London
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.”