( continues...) realized she couldn’t win. She needed help. Riley, maybe. Maybe the real slayer. She began to run, but found herself colliding with an old man’s cane.
“Sorry, young lady,” said Doc, a kindly smile plastered across his face. “But the party’s only starting. What kind of hosts would we be if we let you leave without dessert?”
She felt his fist knock across her head. And then there was only darkness.
Part Twenty-One: Italian Interlude
Although she visited London often, Buffy Summers and her sister, Dawn, called Venice home. And on a day like today, the sun blazing down on Duomo's Square, she remembered why. Best of all? Barely a vampire in the whole damn city. Sure, she had some administrative work to do—and that whole messy affair with the Immortal ended up some drama, certainly—but for the most part, she was free to do what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it.
“So why on Earth,” she thought, “am I here in front of my house watching my ex-boyfriend’s wife rappel out of an unmarked U.S. government helicopter?”
Buffy sighed, although the realization that Giles was right behind her in that helicopter made her giggle a bit—he was a lot of things, but paratrooper wasn’t one of them. Still, Sam Finn wasn’t one to be easily alarmed.
The three of them—Giles mildly airsick—made their way into the spacious apartment, where Dawn was waiting for them--with coffee and biscotti.
“OK,” said Buffy, as everyone settled in to work. “What the Hell has you two in such a fluster? And if one of you says it’s the end of the world, I’m going to sceam.”
Giles looked uneasy. Buffy could tell that it really was the end of the world. She had a sense about these things. Sam said nothing, but instead handed her a printout of the e-mail that had been sent to her. Buffy read it with intense concentration.
“If this is true…” started Buffy, letting the sentence trail off as she considered the implications.
“Then the situation is even more dire than we thought,” said Giles.
“What are you guys talking about?” asked Dawn.
“Our friends are in deep trouble,” said Sam. “Buffy, will you help?”
Buffy looked to Dawn, who nodded at her.
“Of course,” said Buffy. “I’m ready to go now. Giles, can you look after Dawn while we’re gone.”
“Of course,” said Giles. “In the meantime, I’ll utilize the Council’s resources, see if we can find out more information.”
A few minutes later, Buffy and Sam were headed for America, leaving Giles and Dawn behind.
“So what is it?” asked Dawn. “What has Buffy and Sam so spooked?”
Giles didn’t look at her. Instead, he focused on the small wine collection Buffy had accumulated.
“Our friends do indeed seem to have been turned to evil,” said Giles. “And Riley Finn is working for a dead man.”
“Oh,” said Dawn. “So, uhm, have you had lunch?”
“There’s a lot of good eateries in this neighborhood, as I recall,” said Giles, thankful Dawn had let him off the hook.
Dawn started to reply, but she was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Willow in the room, accompanied by a frail old man.
“Doc,” said Dawn, her eyes widening in the memory of the demon slicing a knife into her skin. “Small, shallow cuts.” She remembered it all to well.
“Ms. Summers,” said Doc. “Good to see you again. Gosh, I’d have never figured you’d head off to Italy. Lovely part of the world.”
Giles began to move toward the two of them, but Willow intervened.
“Immobilize,” she said, and both Dawn and Giles were frozen in their tracks.
“Heh,” laughed Willow. “These two are easy. We should go after the slayer.”
“Now, now,” said Doc. “All in good time. First, though, we have big plans for this girl.”
He then turned to Giles.
“And he could be useful too,” said Doc, “now that I think of it.”
Dawn watched as Doc gently laid his palm onto Giles’ torso. There was a flash of energy, and suddenly decades seemed to strip off Giles’ face, and his clothes seemed to morph from a sharp jumper and slacks to torn jeans and a “Who” T-shirt. His hair turned thick and spiky.
“Giles,” said Dawn, cautiously, not entirely sure that his was, indeed, still Giles.
Giles turned to look at her, a swagger in his posture that hadn’t been there previously.
“Giles? That’s my old man,” he said. “You can call me … Ripper.”