Faith The Series

Faith The Series: Prologue (2/?)

L.A.

“Jack, what the hell!” Charles gasped as his former friend’s face suddenly warped into something horrific, eyes yellow, forehead ridged, and teeth somehow elongated. Before he had chance to register the change, his friend was lunging at him.

“No!” Gunn brought his arms in time, blocking Jack from sinking his fangs into his neck although the collision drove him down on to his ass. Gunn threw himself out of the way of a boot to the head, grabbing his attacker’s foot and shoving him away.

By the time Gunn got to his feet his attacker was already charging him, rocking him with blow after blow, punches far more powerful than any Jack had ever managed before. Eventually Gunn fell to one knee, blood leaking from a cut above his left eye and bottom lip, both eyes already swelling up.

His attacker grabbed his collar and started to pull him up to his feet, Gunn tried to pull away but his adversary’s grip was inescapable, so Gunn scrabbled half-blind in the dust for anything he could to use as a weapon. His fingers rested on something wooden, grabbing it, he thrust up, eyes widening as the makeshift weapon thrust through the man’s chest. He’d killed someone -.

And then ‘Jack’ burst into ash.

Wood through the heart? Exploding into dust? Gunn’s forehead furrowed as the two improbable yet inescapable facts connected, vampires existed?

* * *

Giles looked around the shiny, gleaming mall with barely contained revulsion. American malls, there was nothing more disgusting in their drab, unthinking conformity.

“Where we going first?”

By contrast his charge was looking around with barely concealed eagerness. Giles glanced at her, the Council had given him funds to feed, house, and clothe the girl, but in his estimation children needed more. God knew he’d make a lousy parent or guardian, but he had to try, and part of having a child meant trying your best to give them things that made them happy. As a result, he’d decided to supplement the Council’s stipend with his own money. Unlike his reluctant companion it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it.

His eyes narrowed as he noticed a very familiar and very unwelcome figure stood by a hot-dog stand watching him and his charge, a characteristic smirk on his face. “There’s a record store to the left,” Giles pulled his wallet out and shoved a wad of crinkled notes at the young teen, “here’s a hundred dollars, I imagine you’ll want to buy some music. You go there, I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

“Yeah,” Faith stared at him, eyes widening with disbelief before snatching the money from him, “five by five.”

Giles watched the young brunette run off, an ache in his heart as he recalled the child’s nightmares of the previous night. What had caused such horror, such pain? “God,” he shook his head, ever since he’d returned to the Council after his rebellion, he’d hoped to be a Slayer’s Watcher, but now that ambition seemed paltry next to the happiness and life of a wounded child.

His eyes hardened as he strode towards the smirking pest from his past. “Rupert,” the man’s smirk turned to a smile. “How pleasant it is-.”

“Come with me,” he grabbed the man’s arm at the bicep and pulled him towards a stairwell, kicking open the door. “What the bloody hell-.”

“Rupert, Rupert,” Ethan smirked, ignoring their drab surroundings. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me. And congratulations on your promotion to Field Watcher of a potential. And what a pretty little thing they gave you to watch over. If you ever nee-.”

Giles’ forehead slammed into his former friend’s nose, knocking him against the dirty wall, blood pouring down his face. Giles followed up with a right to Ethan’s gut before his country-man had chance to recover, the wheezing man doubling up, a follow-up left hook cracking into his jaw, blood exploding out of his mouth. Giles nimbly sidestepped the Chaos Mage’s attempted charge, grabbing his collar and flinging him into the far wall. Giles watched as Ethan attempted to drag himself straight on the wall then sunk a hook into the man’s kidneys. “Oh god,” Ethan grunted as he slid down the wall to his knees. “Bloody hell, Ripper. I didn’t realise you were so territorial about your chit-.”

Giles slammed a kick into Ethan’s ribs, doubling the bastard up. Rayne had always been rather talented at causing fights, less so at actually fighting them. Giles forced his emotions under control as he crouched before the curled up, wheezing man. “Don’t let me ever see you again. And don’t ever come near her.”

* * *

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Willow nodded, noting the unusually sombre look on her best friend’s face as she stepped out of her house and started down the street. “H…has there been no news yet?”

“No,” Xander shook his head, eyes casting down to the dirty grey pavement, “Sandra’s the third to disappear out of school this year.”

“I know,” Willow sighed. “Where do they all go?”

Xander looked up, eyes flashing around as they crossed over into the park they always short-cutted through on the way to Jesse’s house. “I don’t know, but one day I’ll find out.”

* * *

Giles licked his lips as he sat opposite his charge. The ordeal at the mall had taken all morning and most of the afternoon, supplying the young girl with all manner of clothing, make-up, CDs, and various other accessories. However the bookshelves he’d so carefully put up yesterday morning were apparently going to stay empty despite his best efforts to interest the young girl in literature.

However, he had a far bigger problem to deal with. “Tell me Faith,” the girl looked up from her T-Bone steak, the girl practically vacuumed food into her gob, “have you had any interest in the supernatural?”

The girl looked up at him, eyes puzzled. “No.” And then dipped back into her plate, shovelling forkfuls of chips into her trap.

Giles swallowed. Bloody hell, this was hard work. “The charity that I profess to work with is a front-.”

The brunette’s chair screeched back as the girl rose, a look of betrayed anger on her face. “I fuckin’ knew, ya son of a bitch, I knew it was some sort of bastard trick! Well screw ya, ya goddamn asshole-.”

”Please! Please!” the girl had a mouth on her that a fifty year old sailor would be ashamed to call his own. “Allow me to explain.” Giles swallowed as the girl continued to stare daggers at him. “I represent an organisation called The Council Of Watchers who strive to defend the world from monsters with the aid of a teen girl called the Vampire Slayer. You may one day be that girl.” Giles raised a hand as Faith’s mouth opened. “Before you start telling me exactly what planet I’m from, you have a birthmark of a cross on your hip, don’t you? That mark is uncommon and restricted to potentials.”

“How did ya know?” the potential shook her head. “Fuck that. It’ll be in my adoption records, identifying marks. Don’t prove anything!”

“Very well,” Giles looked at the young girl, unable to prevent a smile. She was hard work, but despite her disinterest in learning, she had a sharp if undisciplined mind. “Then how would I know about your dreams of girls fighting monsters?” The Bostonian sat bolt-upright. “Those are also common to potentials.”

Faith stared at him. “This is bullshit-.”

“I assure you this is far from bullshit,” Giles continued. “Those girls you dreamed of are Slayers from the past. I assume these dreams also covered a variety of cultures and times?”

“Yeah,” Faith nodded slowly, “white, brown, black and yeller, all sorts of clothes too.” The teen paused. ”So I’m gonna be a super-hero?”

Giles noticed with disquiet the excitement in the young girl’s eyes. Of course she who’d never had power would crave it, without thinking of its attendant responsibilities and dangers. Telling himself that there would be time enough to educate the child to those problems later, he replied. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” he tried to explain. “There’s girls all around the world who may be Called to become Slayers.”

“How’s the Slayer chosen?” Faith asked.

“An enquiring mind is always a sign of a keen intellect.”

“Eh?” the brunette looked puzzled.

“Never mind,” Giles returned to the subject at hand. “The truth is, we don’t know-.”

“I thought you were in charge of these Slayers?” Faith queried.

Like a budding to attractiveness bulldog with a bone, she bloody was. “How the Slayer line was created is shrouded in the mists of time.” Seeing the Bostonian’s continuing puzzled expression, he clarified. “It happened so long ago no record of how the first Slayer was created remains, nor do we have any real idea how the next is Chosen, only that all are girls between thirteen and eighteen.” Giles smiled. “And before you ask, we’ve no idea why only girls are Called.”

”And when is one chosen?” Faith queried.

Damn, just the bloody question he didn’t want her to ask. “The Slayer spirit as we call it passes from a Slayer to a potential, upon the Slayer’s death.”

“Right,” Faith looked thoughtful, “and what powers do a Slayer have?”

“Super-strength, super-speed, super agility and balance, increased healing, an instinctive prowess with weapons, and increased senses.”

“Very cool,” the child’s eyes were dazzling in their sparkle. “Do I have to wear a costume?”

Giles hid a smile. “I’m sure denims and leathers would be an acceptable outfit.”

“And you’re a Watcher, right?” Faith jabbed a finger at her. “What does a Watcher do?”

“Ah, to that,” Giles pursed his lips together. “A Watcher’s duties include the researching of a Slayer’s enemies and recording their exploits. In addition to training them to fight.”

Faith snorted. “You? You know how to fight?”

Giles bristled inwardly at the derision in the young girl’s voice. Ask bloody Ethan if he could fight. “My father was determined that I be the best Watcher possible. In addition to employing the best available occultists and demonologists to be my tutors, he also employed a former amateur national boxing champion, a martial arts instructor, and a para to train me.”

“Right.” Faith stared at him through half-lidded, still sceptical eyes. “This training, when will we do it?”

“Until and if you’re Chosen, I don’t see any point in doing more than a couple of hours three to four evenings a week.” All the best books indicated that any sort of vigorous exercise done more frequently would only open up the exerciser up to all sort of problems, including over-training, injuries, and even a possibly diminished immune system.

“No Fridays or Saturday nights,” the potential bargained.

“Very well.” Giles couldn’t help but chuckle at the teen’s fiercely held independence. “Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday it is.” The child began to smirk. “But such training won’t be allowed to interfere with your studies.” The potential’s dark eyes fired in indignation, her curved lips opening in protest. “And let’s not have any argument about it shall we?”

* * *

“Have you any more questions, Mr. McDonald?”

Lindsey shook his head respectfully. “Only one, Mr. Manners. When will you let me know if I’ve got the job?”

“I don’t think we need keep you waiting.” Mr. Manners glanced at the two smartly-dressed men sat with him in the panel. Both men nodded, Manners’ gaze returned to him. “You finished in the top five percent of your class, your references are exemplary, and you did very well in the aptitude tests.” Mr. Manners smiled. “We’ll confirm in writing within the next 72 hours but I’m very happy to offer you the post.”

Lindsey beamed. He’d got it, all those student loans were made worthwhile, a place at the world’s most prominent law firm. “Thank you sir.” His smile broadened, a little research had enabled him to find just how reprehensible W&H’s practices and client list were, but so what, the world was spelt M-O-N-E-Y.

“Our starting salary is best described as highly competitive,” Holland smiled. “As for the pension, health care, and fringe benefits, well they’re,” the man paused, smile widening, “out of this world.”