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Author's Chapter Notes:
Characters: Giles, Willow
Later that night, Willow knocked on the door to Giles’ rooms. She had her notebook folded studiously under one arm, to which she had added scores of detailed, highlighted notes about the aura detection spell she had performed. She included the cobbled together star references she had found online at short notice, plus drawings – sketches, really – of the symbols the spell had revealed.

After a moment, Giles called from within for her to enter.

“Hi,” she said, trying to sound breezy. One look at the drawn expression on his face, and the breeze blew out.

Giles motioned her to sit down in the chair beside his writing desk. He scanned the lines of hand-written Latin scribbled in what looked like a sand-worn journal from about five centuries ago.

Willow sat on the edge of her chair, now in studious mode. She waited. Giles read.

Finally, she said, “I took notes from our encounter with William earlier. Thought you might want a look.” She slid her spiral onto the table’s edge.

Giles raised his eyes to meet hers, but said nothing. Willow could feel a blush spread from behind her ears to the peaks of her temples. She’d seen that look before. The steely stare of Watcher reproach.

“Giles? What...”

“You were supposed to watch them,” he said.

“What?”

“I asked you to watch them. If you could not, I would have left Andrew in your stead,” Giles said.

Willow’s brow creased. She stammered, which always reminded her of Tara, like she was somehow channeling Tara. That only made things worse.

“Willow, of everyone here, you should understand the gravity of this situation. I expected your help in this,” he said.

“Giles, no. I had to go to Westbury. I needed supplies for the spells. Plus, I have students of my own, of both Wicca and Technophile variety. I had to at least explain to them that I would be out...”

“Could you have used the phone? Wiccans are not so archaic as to avoid them,” he said.

“Wait a minute,” Willow said, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but I think you’re wrong. I read William’s aura today, and it didn’t feel like it could be...”

“Rubbish,” Giles said, flatly.

“What?” she said, taken aback. She blinked. “But Giles, I...” Willow turned the notebook to face him. She flipped to the pages containing her notes. “These are the symbols I read. But it was more than the symbols. It was the energy. It was like wholesome-y oatmeal cookie goodness, without the pesky fat and calories.”

Giles rounded on her. “Do you think that someone who was once so evil as Spike could suddenly come out without a streak of that taint in his aura?”

“Well, I...” she said, stammering again.

He went on, his words clipped with restrained anger. “I’m familiar with aura spells, Willow. I know how they work. Our auras are records of our life experiences. And Spike has lived for a long, long while. Most of that time was passed going down dark avenues upon which he performed unspeakable crimes. I’ve read the journals. I know. Even with the recent addition of his soul, that brand of dark dealing would leave its mark.”

“What about redemption, Giles?” Willow asked, but even to her ears it sounded weak.

Giles scoffed. “Don’t be so naive. Not even God is that forgiving.”

Her chin fell. “I just thought.”

Giles leaned in. “Willow, you killed a man. Tell me what kind of imprint is left.”

She looked at him, horrified. “Giles!”

“Spike has killed thousands. Men. Women. Children. No matter. We could fill these streets with the blood he has spilled. We won’t even speak of torture because it’s – it’s unspeakable. So do not talk to me of redemption,” Giles said. He sat back, tugged off his glasses and gave them a rough scrub.

“He saved the world,” Willow said.

“He did. Once.”

Willow frowned, darkly. She hated so much to think of Giles being disappointed in her. It gave her belly grumblies. But still, they had seen something.

“What was it, Giles? What did we see?” she said.

“A trick, Willow. A magic trick. Someone played you, just like they are playing Buffy. Now I have nothing concrete as yet, but I do have a mission for you,” he said.

“A mission?” She sat forward. “Will it help us figure this thing out?”

“It may,” Giles said. “I’ve just learned that Angel and his associates have disappeared. The building that housed Wolfram & Hart was destroyed in last week’s quake. Since then, there has been no sign...”

“But Angel? And Wes? And... and Spike?”

“No sign. However, one of Angel’s colleagues did appear in France. And empathy demon, fellow named...”

“Lorne! Yeah, I met him. Dethwok Clan. He was nice,” Willow said.

“He seeks asylum, Willow. We’re going to grant it. He may help us solve this mystery,” Giles said. “I need you to bring him here. But he’ll need a glamour to hide him.”

“I can do that,” Willow said. “Make him look all Joe Regular, sans horns and bumpy skin.”

“Good, good,” Giles said. He suddenly looked very tired, and much older than normal Giles old. “You may want to take Kennedy with you. Just in case.”

Willow stood up. “Good to have a Slayer bodyguard. Plus, Paris – Romantic. Even if you’re smuggling out green faced demons on the lam. And hey, we still haven’t unpacked from our last botched outing to Scotland. So.”

Giles looked down at her notebook. He flipped idly through the pages with her notations about the aura spell.

At the door, Willow paused. “About earlier,” she said. “about Spike. I guess, maybe it’s possible that Buffy’s not the only one happy to see him. It’s just been a long time since we’ve seen her happy, you know?”

Grim peered up at her, grim-faced. “Willow, if it’s false happiness, we do her disservice to prolong it.”

Willow opened the door. She slipped out into the hall, feeling a strong pinch like a king crab trying to squeeze under her shoulder blades. She swiped her hands over her face, then headed toward her rooms to tell Kennedy of their impending trip to Paris.





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