The Watcher

This is a sample short story for a possible setting of a series in Britain. I'm not too familiar with the entire ethos surrounding Buffy, however, I hope that you will enjoy this story and consider its possiblities. I have never written a script, and hope that the story will convey the ideas and some of the imagery important to this concept. By setting it in a British university, familiar patterns will be present, but will not stifle a significant departure from the original settings. As Giles in character and by actor, is a Westcountryman, a homecoming of sorts would be the starting point, weaving in the rich sources of the British, and specifically the Westcountry, supernatural traditions.

Email comments to - mrmeph99@yahoo.co.uk

Episode 1

Whist: a game of life and death.

Steady drumbeats on the ground woke Julie from a dreamless sleep. It was pitch dark, the moonlight that had seeped through the tent fabric was gone. She rose up to fish out a torch, found it and switched it on low. Peter, her boyfriend and teammate, turned in his sleeping bag, but didn't wake. He could sleep though a warzone. The rumbling came clearly now, horses, several of them. Growls and yelps accompanied them. Julie's curiosity melted into chilly apprehension. Instinctively she drew her sleeping bag around her and switched off the torch.

Lighter footsteps could be heard now. The tent suddenly shook as something tripped over a guyrope. An animal was sniffing the edge of the tent, whimpering softly. Julie's eyes went wide in the dark. She gripped the torch tightly, ready to smash it into the face of anything that entered the tent. Whatever was investigating the tent started scratching the earth away from beside and underneath it. Julie wanted to scream, wake Peter, yell, anything, but couldn't bring herself to move. She was aware of her helplessness, making the panic worse, her heartbeats were deafening. Surely Peter can hear this? Stories of big cats on the moor came to mind. The thought of facing a puma inches from her face brought sweat running down her back.

The noise stopped. Silence. Julie could move again. Listening hard, she could hear her watch ticking. It seemed too slow. Julie counted three minutes. Still no sound. Surely a cat had less patience. She counted another four minutes to be sure. Julie felt a dire need to go to the toilet and clambered out of her warm sleeping bag cocoon. She stopped, grasping the zip, and listened. Another two minutes of her watch, and she quickly unzipped the flaps. Upright, quickly, Julie swept the camping ground with her torch in rapid jerks. The other two tents stood intact, no marks.

On the ground, Julie saw no tracks, no hoofprints. With the torch, she checked the tent. One of the guyropes was knocked out, and something had dug a small hole near the support pole. Julie crouched down, reached inside the tent and retrieved the toilet roll. Five paces later, Julie heard breathing. She froze. Warm breath rolled over her neck, condensing on her shoulders. Nerveless fingers dropped the toilet roll. She ran. As a crosscountry runner, the speed was no problem. Her fear numbed the pain as her walking socks, then flesh, were gradually shredded by gorse and granite. On she ran, switching to the rhythm she knew by instinct.

The moon had come out, a full one, lighting up the moor. Julie could see where she was going, west. Forest and the occasional lights of a farm were in the distance. Several minutes later, she'd reached a road and stopped to think. The pain of cuts and splinters in her feet forced a new alertness. Julie looked back to locate the campsite. And saw. And forgot to breathe. A shiver of despair, and Julie started down the hillside, giving up on the road. Either direction would have brought them closer. Breathe, rhythm. That will save me, thought Julie as she ran. Occasional glances back confirmed the tenacity of the pursuers. Julie ran on.

Julie laboured up the other side of the valley and into woodland. The windstunted willows gave way to tall oaks. She dodged, dived and tripped through the forest. Small branches snagged her clothes. Julie hit the wall of pain all endurance athletes reach, mortal fear propelled her on. The forest thinned out now. A blackness appeared in front. Julie stopped. A cliff. Water could be heard below. Fucking hell she thought, as she recognised the sheer drop of Dewerstone, she'd run miles. Julie had been here before, learning to climb. A good spot, as well as Chudleigh Rock. Catching her breath, Julie bent over, shaking from exhaustion. Nothing could be seen over the edge, but she knew that 120ft below ran the river Plym.

Trying to gather her thoughts, Julie straightened out. Looked up. They were there. Watching her. On all sides. No way out. She walked backwards, then realised what was behind her. Julie stopped. Looked straight at them. All fear had now gone, Julie crossed herself amid a religiousness never felt since holy communion, pulled out her silver crucifix, kissed it, offered a prayer skywards, shook her head once, and performed a backflip her gym teacher would have been proud of.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we will now shortly be arriving at Exeter St Davids. Please make sure that you have all your baggage with you when you leave this train. On behalf of Great Western, I hope this was a pleasant journey."

Giles jerked out of the uncomfortable doze he'd been in since Paddington, checked his watch and clambered out of the seat. A sharp stab of pain lanced through his head. The jet lag was kicking in, reminding him not to make such quick moves for the umpteenth time. Several other passengers were jostling to get out of the carriage, so waiting was a prudent move, and one which reminded him to pick up the days paper from between the seats.

Once it was clear, Giles could already hear the station guard shutting doors further along, so quickly grabbed his bag, worked his way along the aisle and hauled the large blue travel case, a present from Willow, practical as ever, out of the cramped space by the door. Towing the heavy case behind him, Giles went through the sliding doors to the Taxi rank. Various minicabs and a couple of blackcabs were waiting. It had been a long time since he'd been to Exeter, a nice touristy place, but more modern and business-like than his native Bath.

"Where're you going mate?" A minicab driver was already getting out to help with the bags.
"Oh, Silverton, but via Garrets, on Fore street."
"Hmmm. The estate agents? Okay." The driver managed to squeeze the case in the boot, and slung the shoulder bag and laptop on the back seats. They drove the half-mile into town.
"Wait here a moment please."

Giles got out and caught himself looking the wrong way for the traffic. He popped into the estate agent. A smart woman, about 26, approached, with a distinct Westcountry lilt, "Hello, can I help you sir?"
"Yes, er, I'm Rupert Giles, I'm here to pick up the documents and keys for Caerhaies Cottage, Silverton." He offered his passport as identification.

"Hold on a moment, I'll look for you." a couple of minutes later, the young woman came back with a bulging brown envelope and some papers.
"If you could sign and date here, and here, then everything's complete. Any problems, give us a ring. The solicitor will pop some final documents in the post, should reach you next week. Okay? Thankyou very much Mr Giles. A pleasure being of service."
Giles shook hands, "Thankyou."

Outside, he stopped a moment to look aimlessly at the sky. Warm, but with cloud, not bad for October. Inside the cab, he couldn't help grinning. The cabbie looked inquisitively.
"Well, the cliche is true, its good to be back." The cabbie simply nodded.

It was a picturesque drive, up the Exe valley and turning into the high-banked Devon lane to Silverton. The cottage was not quite in the village, up a side road that was more of a farm track than anything. It was shambling, about 300 years old, made with characteristic cobb, but with a tiled roof. According to the particulars it had burnt down a couple of times in the past. Giles had chosen it from brochures on the internet after being accepted to teach Medieval history at Exeter University.

With money saved up, and from the sale of the shop in Sunnydale, he could afford a decent plot to settle on, the land prices being artificially low due to the recent foot and mouth outbreak. A couple of acres of fields and orchard held great potential for future projects. After paying the driver, he went inside.

The door was heavy, but well balanced and oiled. A dry, dusty smell pervaded the air. He opened all of the windows downstairs. A living room was well-proportioned, with a real inglenook fireplace. Some ancient bookshelves remained, but only one chair. The carpets were in good condition. A second room functioned as dining room, being directly accessible to the kitchen. A third room, clearly meant for a study, again with antique bookshelves. Oak, he noticed, surprised that they'd not been stripped out. He fell in love with the kitchen when seeing it on the internet. It was spacious, even with the kitchen range in place, he'd bought the appliances off the previous owners. The centrepiece was an Aga stove, thankfully gas-fired. A stable door led outside into the garden, with overgrown vegetable and flowerbeds, a woodshed and an outside toilet, fully working of course. There was also an outbuilding, with a stable attached. He mused about owning a horse, an unrealised dream.

Upstairs was the master bedroom, a double-bed already in place. Two further bedrooms and a bathroom in need of modernisation completed the cottage. Giles dropped his case and bags in the bedroom, sat down on the firm mattress, and felt content. Jenny would have loved this, he thought, contemplating the airy peacefulness. He sighed and checked the time, went downstairs and switched on the chest freezer and fridge. With nothing more to do he resolved to explore the village, find food and the local pub. The next day was going to be busy, with the furniture van coming up from Plymouth docks.

The weekend was busy, post started arriving, from the university outlining the initial week ahead, from various utility companies, several from the gang, and even a sardonic note from Spike, who'd discovered email and forwarded his address. The thought of him lurking in chatrooms made Giles wince. The weather held, and Giles made full use to explore the village and its surroundings. On the Sunday, Giles visited a local garage and acquired a sporting green MG convertible, suited to his taste. The jet lag had cleared, and the pub had done a decent sunday lunch. The local papers and news were still speculating about a strange death on Dartmoor, some student had died in the night by falling off a cliff.

On Monday, Giles drove to the university early to walk around and get a feel of the place. The library was a massive 1960's cube, with acres of shelving, also very cold. Students were milling around. He picked up the union paper from a drop-point and found the history department. Giles arrived promptly at 10am at the Head of History's door. A studious type, striped shirt, cords and tie, opened it and offered a firm handshake.

"Ah, Rupert Giles, Martin Haywood, pleased to meet you. Sit down sit down. Grace will bring coffee in a moment."
"Thankyou, I see term has already started."
"Yes, I'm afraid we're throwing you in at the deep end old chap, we were so glad when your application arrived, nobody seems to want to teach anymore these days, especially "humanities". It's all business studies, media studies, law, and so on. You only arrived last week, how was the trip?"
"Oh, fine fine. Got a place just north of here."
"You're not going to swim just yet. Ah, here's the coffee."
A young black woman in a smart dress suit came in with a tray.
"You've got an office just down the corridor here, we've left in the previous chaps books, you might want to keep some of them. Milk? We're not too far into term, and the group you'll meet this afternoon is quite small, in fact its a mix of post and undergrads. I take the Roman aspects of the course. He left us in the lurch somewhat, accepted a chair in London. Very irritating. I'm afraid I must be off to a budget meeting in five minutes. Grace'll be able to show you around, staff room, department library, offices, the other facilities, and so on. There's a staff meeting at 1 30pm, so catch an early lunch. Anyway, pop back later this afternoon, we'll talk more, including research. I noticed you mainly worked at high schools, it's a different ball game here, though your British Museum experience'll help, some of the chaps these days produce stuff that isn't even cross-referenced to sources, hmph."
With that, Martin got up, proffered his hand again and sauntered out of the room. Giles contemplated his coffee a moment and finished it in one gulp. Grace was waiting. "I'll show you the office first, mine is just next door, I have to cover the admin for the whole department you know." Giles followed.

The classroom was a functional affair, with plenty of wallcharts and bookcases to break up the angular lines. The group of 24, 15 girls, nine boys, was breaking up at the end of the lecture. Giles was shuffling his notes and putting them away.
"That was an interesting lecture, especially whether or not Cecil had strong links with John Dee." Ben, a 24 year old Phd student and self-appointed deputy of the course, had come up.
" It's a stock lecture I have, you know, for history societies and so on. I studied the history of witchcraft at Oxford." Giles replied.
"Quite in depth. I'd be interested in your sources."
" Sure. Most of my personal books will be coming over in the next few days."
Not all of them, he thought. A mysterious fire had destroyed a container in transit. Maybe peace was just on holiday.
"So, whats your thesis on?" He inquired.
"I'm looking at the feuding that went on round here prior to the Wars of the Roses. It was a lot more than Lancaster v York, everyone used it as an opportunity get one over on their neighbours. Richard III made his reputation quelling some of the disputes."
"Interesting, I'd like to look at that," Giles then brightened, "by the way, what's the bar like?"
"The Ram's nearest, thinking of a pint?"
"Yes, I could do with getting to know the scene a bit."

The pair wandered over to Devonshire House and into the bar. It is sparsely populated, and very quiet.
"Hmm, atmosphere's a bit tense."
"It's the news of Julie's death."
"The girl on Dartmoor? You knew her?"
"A bit. She's a first year, met her at freshers a couple of weeks ago. My friend Peter's girlfriend, he runs the expedition club."
"Poor fellow. Didn't she fall off a cliff at night?"
"That's the odd bit. They were out on a training expedition last week. Nobody leaves camp at night on those trips. Safety. Yet Dartmoor Rescue found her at Dewerstone. The tents were 7 miles away. What's more, she ran the distance. Very odd. Peter's out of it with grief. Police are unable to get anything from him. He slept through it all. They weren't arguing or anything."
"Bizarre." Giles sipped thoughtfully at his pint. "What do you make of it?"
"Dunno, what would make an otherwise intelligent and solid girl, get up in the middle of the night, on Dartmoor, in mist, run seven miles and jump. Buggered if I know."
"Could be anything."
"Eh?"
"Oh, nothing. Thinking aloud." But not what you're thinking, he mentally added. Oh well, no rest for the wicked. Homecomings could be bittersweet. "What are you doing Wednesday?"
"Well, supposed to be on the river, but we've enough rowers. Why?"
"I fancy a trip on the moors."
Ben arched his eyebrows. "What for?"
"To look around. I've got a funny feeling about this."
"Not your witches again, I suppose."
Giles looked disdainfully. "You wish. Meet here lunchtime?"
"Sure."

Giles finished his beer, got up and walked to the carpark. It was sunny and before rush hour, so the roof came off for a pleasant drive home. He pondered the ins and outs of the situation, eliminating the obvious. This still left many possibilities, demons, faeries, godknows-what else, even the local wildlife could've startled someone into a panic. He would have to make a certain phonecall sooner than anticipated.

A couple of packing boxes were waiting for him, some of his books, though only the Sabine Baring-Gould treatises were somewhat relevant. The post had brought a modem to link up his laptop. Once these, and dinner had been sorted out, Giles sat down by the phone with a bottle of red, and started dialling. "Devizes 5903?"
"Ramsay? Giles here."
"What the hell are you ringing me for? I thought we'd told you you're out!"
"John. I'm in-country now...."
"So? You're no longer one of us. Clear off."
"Don't. Hang. Up. We'll talk more about that later. Somethings up down here."
"You've done something extracurricular haven't you? Not been drawing on yourself I hope?"
"Don't be stupid. There's been a death, a strange one. I need to know background information. Who's in Exeter?"
"No, we're not playing that game Giles. You are persona non grata, the Guild and its members are off limits to you. Use a library. You lived in one once."
"Look. I thought I was out too. We're not on about vampires, something else, I think it's the Dartmoor hellmouth."
"Again, use a library, you lost your skills or something? Been drinking again? Find out the local stories and look them up, then decide which ones are real and which ones are for the tourists. Get yourself organised man."
"Great, another bloody lecture. When will you lot live in the real world? People die there."
"People die here too, idiot. We'll be in touch."
The phone went dead. Then rang once, Ramsay checking the redial presumably. So they still want to keep tabs. Giles plugged in the modem and started searching the internet, remembering to email old friends.

Ben bought another beer and returned to the outside bench, pondering his new lecturer. The guy obviously knew his stuff but had managed to keep out of academia, not in itself a bad thing. Small groups of students were still around, the atmosphere was lightening up, Exeter was too big to remain muted for long. Ben brooded as he thought about Peter. What did happen up there? Giles's curiosity was refreshing though what new stuff he could dig up'll be a long shot. Odd things do happen he supposed, and the university paper occasionally reported an assault or accident on and off-campus. He remembered the meningitis scare last year, where four students died.

"Oi oi molloy!"
Peter glanced up. The eights crew cox, Hannah Simmons and her friend Zoe Tremain, had flounced in and sat down with their own pints. Together, they couldn't be so different, Hannah was short and attractive with blonde hair, freckles and a spritely figure. One could call her cute, but only out of earshot. Zoe was tall, with a dusky complexion, but while not a greek beauty, she was comely with well toned muscles. Ben knew she was also a surfing fanatic, and on the swimming team with Hannah.
"Whatto, you two."
"Who was that?" Asked Hannah, who tended to do the talking for the pair.
"Rupert Giles, a new lecturer in the department. Took an interest in Julie's death, seems to think witches are involved and wants to go up on Dartmoor."
Hannah's face went serious. "Oh? How's Peter?"
"Dunno, still up the station, he's totally lost it, and the doctor's told them to leave him alone for a day or two."
"Should think so too, not like it's Cracker or anything."
"Aye. I don't believe it at all, they were so in love with each other. No, he didn't do anything."
"That's the problem, should he have done something?"
"I think Peter'll be asking that for a long time himself."
The three of them stared at their glasses for a bit.
"My round." Said Zoe, her first words of the conversation, before striding towards the bar.
"Very quiet that one." commented Ben.
"Yep, good swimmer though. Zoe's noisier when drunk, then the opinions start coming out."
"Never seen her like that."
"Well it takes some doing with the booze, she drinks like a fish socially."
"Mr Giles wants me to take him up to where they were camping on Wednesday."
"When?"
"Afternoon."
"You're not thinking of going are you?"
"Yes. I feel I ought to."
"You bastard! You know we've got to get the rookie boat organised for next month."
"I know I know. But it's bugging me."
"Look, I know Peter's in a state and all, but you're not running that club any more, you're running the 3rd boat."
"Oh, put Rory in at three, we're surplus and he hasn't been out much."
"Only cos he rarely turns up for circuits."
"Please?"
"Hmmm. Can't you take His Nibs up the moor on another day?"
Ben just looked at Hannah. She shook her head and was about to say something when Zoe managed to spill cider down Hannah's arm before putting the drinks down.
"Sorry."
Hannah just rolled her eyes. Ben checked his watch. "You two fancy coming round for food later?"
Zoe beamed at the mention of food. Hannah looked at her darkly and scowled at Ben. "Looks like it."
Ben stuck his tongue out at her. "Hey, I thought you liked my pasta dishes." "Oh alright."
"That's settled then. Good. Oh stop that!" Zoe's wide, innocent look was unsettling. Zoe just grinned then yawned and knocked back half of her pint in one gulp. Hannah raised an eyebrow briefly and drank a lesser amount. Zoe went back to the bar, a decent bitter was on offer and attracted her attention.
"How does she do it?"
"What?"
"Eat and drink like that?"
Hannah shrugged, idly running her finger around the rim of her cider. "Lets see, swimming, surfing, martial arts. Zoe's a right fitness bunny on the quiet. Personally I think she fancies you."
Ben was amused. "We'll see. We'll see. I wasn't expecting it from her though." "Alkie." Bens comment received a finger salute in reply.
"So who swims the fastest?" He asked.
"Hannah does. Total speed demon" Replied Zoe.

The three drank up several minutes later at Ben' insistance on the time. It was getting dark as they walked down the hill towards his flat. It was part of an Edwardian terraced house tucked away in a cul-de-sac in the St. James area. He'd taken it out on a mortgage and a bequest a couple of years before. The street lighting left something to be desired, but it was quiet and well suited to his tastes. Zoe and Hannah flopped onto the sofa and put the television on, while Ben went into the kitchen to start the meal. "Any drinks you want, get them yourself, I'm busy."
"Awww, handbags." came Zoe's comment above the din of the Neighbours theme tune. A moment later came the jingle for the six o clock news. Hannah came in and started raiding cupboards.
"What you looking for?"
"Booze and nibbles."
"Pringles are in there, and the cider you left last time is in the fridge. Eh! Leave that wine alone! And give Zoe the beers in that cupboard there." Hannah disappeared clutching the lot and some glasses. Ben returned to slicing up the chicken breasts. While cooking, he drank more of the wine than went into the cooking. "Hannah!!"
Hannah poked her head round the door. "What?"
"Keep an eye on the meal would you? I'm going out for more wine."
"Pisshead."
"Just watch the sauce doesn't catch, and the pasta only takes a few minutes." Ben grabbed his coat. Zoe joined him.
"Did I hear 'booze run'?"
"Yep."
"Good. I'm coming."
Ben knew this meant double the bottles. At least tomorrows lecture was in the afternoon. They walked in silence through a couple of roads and an alleyway to the off-licence and took some time choosing. Eventually three bottles of Pinot Grigio were selected.

Ben had a curious feeling on the way back. Zoe was tense and alert, her eyes rapidly scanning the shadows. Just as she raised her hand to stop Ben, he ducked instinctively at a whistling sound. Somebody had aimed a baseball bat at his head. Three forms detached themselves from their hiding places and attacked. Zoe reacted like lightening, grabbing the baseball bat and pulling its owner off-balance before delivering a vicious kick to his head. Ben saw his chance and put his entire upper body strength into a punch that cracked into the face of another assailant. The attackers face was curiously leatherlike, and where it should have broken a cheekbone, the attacker only staggered back while Ben's wrist was jarred. Before this fully registered, the third had managed to get behind him, and stamped at Bens back, sending him flying. He, or it, Ben couldn't tell, walked over, delivered a kick to Ben's ribs, then raised his foot to drive Ben's skull into the kerbstone.

"No you don't." Ben rolled over to see that Zoe had the man in a headlock, the poor lighting seemed to dessicate the man's face. Ben got up and kicked another through an old panelled fence. A snapping sound turned his head. Zoe had dropped the man she'd been strangling to swiftly elbow the final man in the guts as he tried to smash her down with a sledgehammer. The one Ben had knocked into someone's garden returned wielding a gardening fork. His remaining partner struggled up, and seeing Ben and Zoe backing away, lifted up the motionless third. whose head was hanging from a funny angle. They then made off in the other direction. Ben noticed a stench, like rotting trainers. His back throbbed from the kicking. Zoe came over, dabbing a bleeding lip.
"Are you okay?"
"Just about, got an excuse for not rowing on Wednesday. Who the hell were they? Did you kill one?"
"Probably. For gods sake do not tell anyone. Not even Hannah, she wouldn't understand."
"Understand what?"
"There's more to life than you think."
"Eh?"
"Oh come on! You're the history geek. Lets just say its worth you going with this Giles character. I've a hunch about him. Oh, and another thing."
"What?"
"Back to the offie, we are going to get very drunk tonight." Zoe held up the bag, white wine was pouring through a jagged hole in the bottom.
"Oh."
"Come on you muppet, and ring Hannah to say we're late."

The Land Rover headlights made strange reflections in the mist. WPC Andrews and PC Collins were disturbed by the lack of visibility, and were driving at a crawl, not more than 10 miles per hour. A farmer had gone missing walking back from the pub, and they both should've been off duty at midnight. A shadow loomed out of the grey blanket, Collin stopped the vehicle, but it shambled off, a pony. This lane had to be checked, maybe as far as Widecombe. Two other patrols had been called out, as had the park rangers and Dartmoor rescue. It was in this sort of weather that one felt the isolation, even if you were local.

The lane gradually swung right and downhill.
"There!" Hissed Andrews.
Collins blipped the siren. No response, the figure shambled on. He drew level with the man.
"Mr Patterson? Mr Patterson! Stop."
He kept on walking. Collins cut the engine and both got out to follow the man. From the description, it was Patterson. He stopped a few yards further, and was moaning incoherently. He was bent forwards and clutching something to his chest.
"Nooooooooh. Nooooooooooh. Bastards! Why?"
"Mr Patterson!" Andrews thought he was swearing at them, but coming closer, she saw he hadn't recognised them.
"Ooohhhh!" The drunk man was sobbing, tears coursing down his young but weatherbeaten face.
"Are you okay, not hurt yourself?"
Patterson flinched when Collins grasped his shoulder.
"Here, let me look at you." Collins, being first aid qualified, flashed his torch in his face to check him over. Andrews looked closer at the bundle Patterson carried. It was wrapped in a blanket.
"Here, let me carry this for you." Andrews took the bundle from Patterson's unresisting grasp.
It was about 10 pounds and flexible. She had a feeling wash over her, a sense of dreadful knowledge. Andrews carefully unwrapped the blanket. The sightless eyes of a newborn baby stared into the mist.

Giles was fidgeting with the radio. He could see Ben talking with what looked like his rowing eight. The girl cox was visibly annoyed with him. Eventually, Ben came over.
"Took your time."
"Sorry, had to sort out the team for today." He got in. Giles started the car. "On the back seat is a bag with a load of books on various legends of Dartmoor and Devon, while we're driving, have a browse though." Ben grabbed it and put it down by his legs in the front.
" Why? You reckon the pixies got her?"
" I'm not joking. Something else was there, we talked about this on Monday remember?"
"Yeah, yeah. There is more to life than you think. A friend of mine said that Monday night, right after we were attacked by some really smelly people."
"Smelly?"
"Yeah, like mildew and price-reduced chicken."
"Your friend's right. I'd like to ask you two about that later."
"Anything to do with Julie?"
"Doubt it, but certainly odd."
"Peter's on bail by the way. The police are still bringing him in every now and then. He's still a mess, they've been implying that they'd had a row or he'd tried to rape her or something. They also arrested and put on bail everyone on that trip."
"So they still know nothing and are chasing shadows."
"Isn't that what we're doing?"
Giles just scowled. Ben played safe by reading one of the library books.

"Ironic really."
"What?"
"Devon tourist authority promotes all these mysterious legends to draw people in, then, ooops one might have come true. Is that a good thing or bad thing for tourism?"
"People want to believe in such stories. That was the point of the Hound of the Baskervilles, using a legend to scare people away from a mundane criminal activity."
"So, Julie stumbled across smugglers and legged it?"
"Noooo, to put it in another Conan Doyle quote. "Eliminate all the unlikely possibilities, and whatever you have left is the reason."
"I'm not sure that's right, but I know what you mean, keep your mind as well as your eyes open."
"I'm sure that's a quote too."
"What are we doing for lunch?"
"Find a pub."
Ben looked at another book. "It could've been a cat."
"Possible, certainly a plausible suggestion."
"Yeah, we've had loads of sightings down here over the years. A Panther was run over and killed near Ivybridge about four years ago according to this one, and a toddler was attacked in the outskirts of Moretonhampstead."
"Hmm. Trouble is, we're four days after the incident and Tuesday's rain wouldn't have helped. I'd love to get my hands on the police report."
"Not likely over here."
"We'll have to go on whatever we see up there. Ah, that was the Brent turning. Get the map out, I think we come off at Ivybridge anyway."

By Ben's navigating, the pair found the campsite easily. Many off-road vehicles had already been here, and some police cordon was flapping, trapped by a nearby gorse bush. The wind had picked up a bit. No other signs were there, the forensics people had gone. It was very difficult to find any sign of a camp, the only indication being a scorched part of grass. Giles photographed it.
"Shouldn't worry about that." said Ben "Someone knocked the stove over there, that's common. At a guess, the tents would've been in a semi-circle, here, to create a windbreak for it."

Ben croutched lower to look at the lay of the land.
"I thought you were in the expedition club?" Enquired Giles.
"I am, but not on this trip, its for the first years to get used to it. There's nothing here. Weather and the police have made sure of it."
He stood up and surveyed the area. "Dewerstone's that way."
"You sure?"
"Of course I'm sure! I KNOW this area!"
Giles stared at him.
"Sorry Mr Giles. I'm thinking of Peter."
Giles nodded. He'd seen this aftermath before. Ben started off at a brisk pace. It nearly an hour to reach the treeline. Ben stopped. Wordlessly, he pointed to a young tree. A small branch had been bent inwards. Further along a bramble still held blue strands of thread. Soon, they reached the edge of the cliff. Sunlight filtered through the golden and brown leaves, revealing the river and its pools. A couple of climbers were at the bottom, preparing their gear. It was tranquil, peaceful. Giles had no difficulty imagining the sheer terror of that night, less than a week ago. He was thinking of another fall. His minds eye saw Buffy down there. Ben was saying something.
"Mr Giles?"
"Sorry, just thinking."
"Well, Peter said they found Julie just there, half in half out of the pool." He paused for a long moment. "It was quick. Her neck, you see."
Giles looked down, then at Ben. He was facing the river, but his eyes were closed. He touched Ben.
"Come back." He said quietly but firmly. They walked in silence all the way back to the car.
"I had to see for myself."
"I know Ben. I knew and lost people in California. I know."

A Dartmoor Park Authority Landrover was parked by the MG. Leaning against the bonnet was a well-built man, bearded, mid-thirties in a rangers uniform of jumper and jeans. His CB radio was bleeping in the background.
"Oi Oi. What are you doing here?"
"Oh, having a look round." Said Giles nonchalently. He started to frown.
"What for? You know a girl died near here a few days back."
"Yes, that is why we're here. Say, do I know you?"
"That you should, Mr Giles. You taught me about 10 years ago, I was an assistant curator of the ruins near Cirencester."
"Ben, back to the books will you? I need to talk with this ranger."
Ben shrugged his shoulders and got into the car, only skim-reading the books while watching the other two men.
"Good Lord, Matthew! So you're down here now!"
"Yep. So, you've made yourself popular with the council. His Nibs ain't pleased you're back in-country."
"Oh that. The council are all semi-retired anyway. They weren't on-scene. I've got a smallholding north of Exeter"
"Nice. My wife and I have got one near Tedburn St Mary. Ramsay was complaining that you got Wesley to go native too."
"Easily done when you've got a major hellmouth as your library floor. So, you're still with Carol?"
"Yes. Couple of kids too. She became quite a good artist. I'm not supposed to be in contact, but I agree, the council are getting too Old Guard, quite a few of us are thinking that now. Here's my card. Wistman's is playing up. Our protective magics are being seriously tested and I believe something got out and killed that girl. I think you and I can guess what, but I'm not certain yet. Ask around. Try the Black Dragon. They do a good stew on wednesday's and the beer's good."
"Will do. Keep in touch. This is my address and number."
"Be seeing you."
"Bye."
Giles got into the MG. "Friend of yours Mr Giles?"
"An ex-student. By the way, please either Rupert or Giles, much less formal."
"Thought you never taught."
"We used to teach people when I was at the British Museum, as well as delivering a few lectures like the one you heard, only more concentration on the magical arts."
"Oh."
"Anyway, lunchtime. My friend recommended a pub near here."

They found the pub nestling into a wooded hillside a few miles down the road. Luckily it was still serving pub lunches. Some walkers had taken the alcove area. The locals were obvious by clustering around the bar. After leaving their bags on a spare table by the window, Giles and Ben went to order. The Landlord and one of the locals were still in conversation whilst pouring a couple of pints.

"Tis a shame. Nice young couple."
"Any news?"
"Nah, Patterson's still in the nick. Marie's not answering her phone. Her mum's there I think."
"That'll be 3.30 please. The coroner said anything?"
"Nope. Doc reckon's it were natural though. Happens. They're a bit busy at mo. What with that girl at the weekend."
Giles and Ben immediately lost their attempts to mask listening in.
"Can I help you two?"
Ben answered, "The girl. We're friends of hers, from the university. Someone else has died?"
"Oh. One of the farmers round here. Was in ere last night, but went missing for ages. Police found 'im holding 'is baby in middle of nowhere. Marie'd only just brought it home from Derriford. Very strange."
"Yes. How sad."
"Hmmm. The odd thing was, Patterson was in ere all night, celebrating. The wife don't remember 'im coming home. Only went out to a neighbour for some milk. Came back. Baby'd gone. She rang 'ere about half an hour after 'e'd left, and then the police."
"Shocking. So where did they find Patterson?"
"About five mile up the road ere." the landlord gestured. "Yet 'e always walks home three mile that way." He gestured in the other direction.
"Old Bernard'll have something to say about this." Said another customer.
"Eh?"
"Yeah. I remember him telling us about another incident like this a few years back."
"Does he come in here often?"
"Sometimes. He'll be with his sheep this time though. Take this road east for about five miles, til you get to a signpost - Stapleton Tor it says - and follow the dirt track til you get to his cott."
"Thanks. A pint and a half if you please."
Giles and Ben sat back to their meal, which finally arrived. Inbetween eating and browsing the books, they discussed what to do.
"I'd like to hear what this old chap has to say."
"Could be useful. You think there's a link between this baby's death and Julie?"
"Yes. That I do believe."
"And what or who did it?"
"Only a hunch. I hope I'm wrong, but its only a hunch. If it is who I think it is, we're in deep."
"So, some creature is out there, on a random killing spree, but in a confined area."
"I wouldn't say that confined. I also believe it's still out there."
"And if we meet this thing of yours?"
"That's in my other bag. In the boot."
"So, you're telling me this thing is not natural?"
"Well, its not a cat, and I'm not sure you'd believe me anyway."
"Try me."
"Okay, you've read Dennis Wheatley? They Used Dark Forces, etc?"
"What? Demons?"
"Yep."
"Hmmmmmm."
Giles sighed and switched back to his librarian-giving-a-lecture mode.
"The supernatural is real, Ben. We are dealing with the twilight between science-fact and science-fiction. You and your friends are out of your depth if you don't open your mind as well as your eyes. As those books show, there is plenty of activity on the moor. Now, we have to find out which particular supernatural entity is the culprit. Those people who attacked you are probably ghouls, they really do smell at this time of year."

Ben looked at Giles as if he'd gone mad.
"Look, your friend Julie and a baby are dead, you've been attacked. Is that real enough for you?"
"Okay, what now?"
"You can drive?"
"Yes."
"You're going to Tavistock." Said Giles, sliding over his keys.
"Why?"
"The coroner. See if we can get any info on the autopsy. It might help to see what we are up against."
"Oh good, I get to play journalist," said Ben, with irony "What are you going to do?"
"Find out what I can. The church in the village we past, I'm going there, see if I can find the vicar or someone, and look up some records. We've not got much time, especially if I think I know who we're up against."
"Who?"
"Probably a demon. Ever heard of the whist hunt?"
"Nope. Why am I going to the coroner again?"
"Two things, see if he'll give away how the baby died, and...... ask if it was baptised."
"Er, right."
"I've only read the folky bits on this demon, and I don't know its name, so the more information we get, the more likely we'll know how powerful it is. Every detail must be found and checked, our lives and whether or not we can stop this one rest on them. You have one hour."

A mizzle had rolled in from the west, which made the drive dull, though Ben found the handling of the MG a lot more interesting than his Fiat. After consulting a town map, the coroner's office was located as the doctors surgery. It was shut, but a receptionist let him in after repeated knocking and a flash of his student press card. She showed Ben into the Doctors room. "Take a seat. What can I do for you?"
"Hi, I'm Ben Frobisher, from the Exeter Evening News. We're covering the death up by Dewerstone and had heard of a baby's death last night. I was wondering if we could ask some questions about the two incidents?"
"A strange request, as I've told other reporters about the first. The details won't be released to the public yet, as they still figure in the criminal investigation, and no, I do not wish for photos."
"Why are you interested in the second?"
"We heard about it while investigating the first. Is it not true that the baby was brought in by police early this morning?"
"Well, you know that much then. Yes, at about 2 30am. Do you need to know this?"
"I'm curious. I doubt it'll go in the final piece, but it's so close."
"Okay. It was a newborn baby, it was eight days old, and upon examination, I do believe it was a natural cot death."
"Yet our sources tell us that her father, one Seth Patterson, was found carrying the baby on the road by the police."
"Yes. I would say it was am impulsive move brought on by shock."
"Right. Okay. One last question. Had the baby been baptised?"
"What? Oh, no. They were going to call it Stephen. Now, look here, I do not wish to see my name in print you understand."
"Yes of course, Dr... Fanshawe. Thankyou for your time."
Outside, Ben returned to the car, via a newsagents, picking up the local newspaper. He mulled over the implications of this information all the way back to the village church.

He found Giles in an alcove studying an old register of deaths.
"I suspect you won't be surprised as to what I learnt."
"Ah, Ben. So, the authorities have found their own verdict - a natural death I presume?."
"Yep. If it looks like cot death, sounds like cot death, then it must be cot death."
"And so it shall be. Amen. Only the unbelievers conveniently haven't noticed certain facts. Well, according to this register, postnatal deaths are very common, almost at third world levels."
"I can think of timescale, he was still in the pub about midnight, and found walking in the wrong direction, yet the baby was reported missing at midnight-thirty."
"Lets look at the map again. Right, pub's here. The road forks like so. Three miles.... that would be one of these farms here. Now five miles that direction....this is the only road, so... about here. Nobody mentioned seeing him again. You reckon you could cover three miles in thirty minutes while out of your tree?"
"At a pinch, but very very unlikely."
"Now, he would've had to either cut across the fields and stream here, or go back along the road."
"I don't think he got his baby from the house."
"No I don't think he did either. He met someone, or something with it which was probably our demon. Your talk with the coroner ruled out a cat. Cot death symptoms do not involve bite marks or even mouthing marks. Hmm."
"The shepherd?"
"Yes Ben. Time to listen to some legend lore, only I don't think the tourists would like this one."

They drove in silence back onto the moor, relocated the pub, and followed the directions to Bernard's Cott. They found a shambling run-down affair at the end of the dirt track. The cobb walls were partially exposed, and some of the slates needed replacing. Geese hissed at their approach, flapping their wings in warning. The sun was low in the sky, creating long shadows of the trees that danced in the wind. Nobody answered the repeated knocking on the door, and nobody was in the yard.
"An' jes what you think your doing ere?" Giles suddenly had large white beard, angry eyes and yellow teeth in his face.
"Oh, ah. You must be Bernard, the shepherd."
"An oo's askin'?"
"My name's Rupert Giles, and this is my colleague, Ben Frobisher. The landlord at the Black Dragon said you might help us."
"In what? Ain't been down there for weeks." "It's about a story you tell down there."
"An' what would thabbe?"
"A farmer, one Seth Patterson, was found last night, carrying his new born child, dead, on the road to Widecombe. They say you used to tell a similar tale."
Bernard just stared, immobile as granite.
"Are you okay? Can I get you something?"
Silence.
"Ben, go to my car. In the boot among the shopping you'll find something that will help Mr Bernard here."
Ben returned carrying a bottle of Oban whiskey.
"Would this help?"
Bernard, took the bottle, quickly read the label, then returned his stare to Giles. He stood for a moment more.
"You two can come inside." He said flatly and quietly.
The Cott was untidy, with old books, papers and photos on the wall. Giles and Ben took all this in while Bernard rummaged around to produce a tin mug, and a couple of china teacups.
He opened the bottle and poured all three a drink. His was a considerable amount.
"Sit down then."
"Bernard? We're here because a friend died at Dewerstone," Bernard froze again," and we do not believe she was alone when she died. We came up here to look around and by chance overheard a conversation in the pub. They said to ask you about your stories."
Bernard pushed a load of books off a chair and sat down.
"Aye. Sounds like you know more than them walkers who bother me at all hours."
"I have my hunches as to who we are facing." Ben raised an eyebrow at this, clearly Gile's train of thought had left him at the station.
"Are ye prepared?"
"As well as one can be. I'd like to hear this story of yours it would help confirm my suspicions."
"Right then. What happened to Seth ain't the first time, nor will it be the last. Ol' Nick always takes his due round here. He took one o' mine. My eldest son, was born to my wife in October 1951, in this cottage. It were a massive storm, the district nurse had to stay overnight afterwards. My wife were put to bedrest, while me and the nurse took the baby to Tavistock. Only the car failed us 'bout 4 miles out. A mist settled in and we carefully wrapped him up and took to the road. There is only one road between here an' Tavistock, so we should hae been safe. It was a thick mist, could only see the next few yards of road. We walked and we walked. it must have been hours. We don't know how long it took, the nurses watch had stopped. We kept going, the baby had to get to see the doctor and the registry people. We heard the sound of horses and hounds behind us. It confused us, why would the gennlemen be out now? Maybe they'd been caught by the mist."

Bernard paused, thoughtful. He took several sips of whiskey. Ben noticed his hands were shaking. Giles's face had grown firm and resolute, a hard edge to his normal affability. This shocked Ben, stopping him from his usual cynical comments, and an uneasy realisation crept in that maybe Giles and this shepherd knew a lot more, the dark underbelly of this life.

"Then the mist parted. Nine dark horsemen sat on black stallions. They were cloaked. I couldn't see their eyes, but I could sense them. The horses eyes were also jet black. They were frothing at the mouth, their hooves striking sparks on the road. I remember, you could not see the outlines. The riders, their horses and their hounds seemed to blur into the air. Oh, the hounds!! Big, large as a dartmoor pony they were. Like mastiffs. Bloodshot eyes. Deep growls. Our hearts felt like ice. One came forward. "Do you know who I am?" he asked. We shook our heads. "Are you shriven?" We were. "So, you are promised to Him above eh? "Well that leaves one other guess as to who I am. Will you kneel before me and recognise me as your supreme lord?" I said no. The nurse just whimpered. The leader then drew level to the nurse. "Then I shall take this!" He grabbed my boy!"

Bernard suddenly got up.
" I made to grab my boy back. But he just laughed. He signalled to the other riders. They let loose those hellhounds. We just ran, ran for our lives! I don't know what happened. I felt hot breath on my back, and sharp rending claws scraping down my spine. I've never been able to stand properly since. Then it went black."
He sat down again, eyes wide, reliving those moments fifty years ago.
"I was found by farmers, called out by the police as a search party. I was found at the foot of Hay Tor, miles away. They found the nurse the next day, right where they found your friend - Dewerstone. Dead."
"In the river?"
"No. They found her at the top of the cliff. Her heart had burst and her hair had gone grey, fright and exhaustion. She was only 28, had delivered many babies previous. There was no sign of my baby son, the police looked for another four days. They thought we'd done something, but nothing was done. My wife never left her bed. Blamed me for the death, no-one believed me. She died a year later."
Giles nodded grimly, his suspicions confirmed. Ben had gone white as the truth sank in.
"Aye, young man, your friend was killed by the Devil himself and his whisthounds. Same as Seth's son. You want final proof, find out if they'd baptised him yet."
"It wasn't, we checked. It was only eight days old."
"Well there you are then. There ain't much you can do to stop ol' Nick."
"Hmmmm. True. The hellmouth must have been widened."
"A what?" Asked Ben.
"An entrance, or exit, depending on your point of view, to the dimensions of hell."
"You do know your stuff then. I remember meeting someone like you, about 40 year ago. They found 'im a couple years later, dead down a mine shaft."
"Well then. It's getting dark. We ought to be leaving. Come Ben."
"Oh, okay." Ben swigged the last of his whiskey, catching the back of his throat. They hurriedly left. It was starting to mizzle, and visibility was down. The MG was complaining as Giles reversed down the track.
"One piece of good news."
"What? We're up against the devil and that's good news?"
"Nope. We are not up against the devil, otherwise, this area would've been far worse. No, it'll be one of his henchmen though. Powerful enough to lead the whist hunt."

"Giles, you are hiding a hell of a lot from me. I've heard a lot of bullshit today. You and all these people know what is happening, and now I'm in the middle of it. If it wasn't for the fact that Julie is lying in a morgue right now, I'd dismiss the lot."

"You would. You really think that everything just chugs along at a random pace? There is a whole other world living, if you can call it that, side by side to us, using us, feeding off us. A few know what is going on, but rarely do they get the whole picture. All these wannabes out there, playing witches and warlocks, they've no idea. You and your friend have walked stright into all this, monday's attack was probably ghouls. Look, for your sake, you have to consider carefully if you wish to associate with me at this level. This world celebrates the normal, the average, the banal. Yet at its fringes, in its shadows rest many aspects of greater power. This power permeates, twists and turns through the threads of time and reality, creating its own ripples.

"Hell knows this and is best equipped to benefit, nourishing the perverse, the obscene. Vampires are real. Demons are real. Werewolves are real, and there are more than you can imagine. I've been researching, and fighting these for years. It is more complex than the christian good versus evil - I've known and worked with such creatures as allies too. I tend to make friends, use my experience and skills to the benefit of those who choose, or are chosen, to fight and protect. Yes, many good friends, ever since university. I've supported their ambitions, known their joy, known their fears, and I've helped bury them too. There is an entrance to hell on Dartmoor, where the borders to reality are weak enough to be penetrated. It is Wistmans wood."

Ben was gobsmacked. He was one of the wannabees, having fooled around with ouija boards when drunk. They never worked, though he still kept his tarot deck. Gile's rant totally took him back. He couldn't figure out this new lecturer of his. Everything he said challenged and ripped to pieces all conventional wisdom.
"Giles. I've seen and heard enough to be convinced that something is going on. Several pieces are falling into place, so you can count on me to help."
"Good. Because we are going to Wistmans wood, there we shall try and seal the hellmouth. I feared as much when all this started cropping up. Now all other alternatives have been discarded, we ccan now put and end to this altogether. Bernard's story ties in with what my ranger friend told me. It is the whist hunt, a pack of powerful entities led by a senior demon, trouble is we still don't know which one it is. His riders are the twisted souls of those who used to be paid to murder people on the moor in the middle ages. They steal unbaptised souls to be devoured by themselves. Anyone else who sees them rarely lives. Bernard and the young farmer were lucky."
"Right. Look, the night's drawing in, should we be doing this?"
"Better now than never. Also, you see things for their true nature at dusk. You'll find the stuff we need in the boot, under the shopping. Ah, here we are." Giles pulled the MG into the Two Bridges Hotel carpark. They got out, and opened the boot.
"Hold this open will you?" Gile handed Ben a rucksack, then put a map, compasses, torches, a couple of old books, and several vials. From the shopping he added a pack of chocolate biscuits and a couple of cans of cola.
"Holy water?" Asked Ben.
"Yes, and some goats blood."
Giles went back into the boot, and pulled out a long knife. He gave it to Ben.
"This is an indian kris. Its from my own collection, and was forged from the iron of a meteor. It should be strong enough to defend yourself if we meet anything in the wood. You know how to use this?"
"Yes."
"And are you prepared to use it?"
Ben nodded firmly, no more spectating in a fight, especially after Monday night. "What if it is not enough?"
"As you saw, I've a few more tricks up my sleeve, we had a hellhound problem once before, but if not, then we will have to leg it a rather long way back to this hotel. Now, a kris is just like a Nepalise kukri, you must only draw the blade if you intend to use it. if you don't, cut a finger before replacing it."
Giles himself brought out a samurai katana, fished out some gloves and a sponge, and opened a vial. He carefully dribbled the contents down the blade, and used the sponge to smear the silver liquid over the blade. "Mercury?" "Yep, the alchemists quicksilver, plus a few bits of my own mixed in." Giles sheathed the blade. "Right lets go." They both set off down the path that would lead to Wistman's wood.

Ben looked at the ground. "Tire tracks Giles, looks like your ranger friend is before us."
"Good good. A second Watcher would be highly useful here."

They saw Matthew's dark green landrover thirty minutes later, but instead of heartening them, it destroyed their confidence. Giles stood openmouthed. Ben muttered "oh, shit."
The landrover was upside-down, the front cabin crushed. Scattered earth around it showed that a great force must have picked it up and thrown it as if only a toy. An arm hung out through the remains of where the windscreen should be. The fabric of the jumper clothing it covered glistened in the setting sun's rays.

"Quick, over there, we do not have much time." They ran for the treeline. Giles went from tree to tree.
"Bugger. All of the wards are destroyed."
"Er, Giles. Look." Ben pointed to the nearby tors. A mst was rolling towards the wood, from the valleys between them. At the head of the gloom moved a dark shadow.
"Oh spirits of our forefathers, save us. Rucksack, now!"
Ben unslung the rucksack. Giles delved into it and brought out two vials.
"Take this holy water, and pour it in a circle, a complete circle, about ten feet across."
While Ben was carefully doing this, Giles brought out more vials, and started pouring out a pentacle in goats blood, muttering incantations in Latin, English and Aramaic. From a pouch, he placed assorted chicken bones, stones and herbs at each point. The mist enveloped them.
"Get inside the circle Ben!"
A close silence surrounded them. Giles finished his incantations, and the mist cleared in the circle.

"Do you think that could stop ME, Rupert Giles?" boomed a deep, resonant voice. The mists roiled back to reveal the riders of Bernard's story. Though Giles and Ben could not see the leader's face, they sensed a malicious smile lurking under the cowl.
"You! I know you Ashaegur! I deny you and I defy you!"
"Oh, empty words! I enjoy you and your colleagues," Ashaegur gestured to the smashed landrover, "you provide good sport to test and prove my minions. That one was good, just not good enough."
"You can never achieve dominion, you cannot replace the Master."
"Oh, it will happen. You forget Rupert Giles, I am no slave to timespace, I too can control it, just as the Creator can."
"You've taken long enough to get this far, pretending to be Satan will never work."
"Ah, a wit as well as a warlock. You will be a great prize! Acknowledge me now Rupert Giles! Come and be my left hand. Help open the rest of the hellmouths, and enjoy eternity by my side!"
"Never! You think I would fall for that! As if you need me to open hellmouthes." "Very well. Be damned then!"
At a signal from Ashaegur, the riders and hounds charged the circle. They effortlessly broke through the protective magics. Giles was crestfallen, but resolute. He and Ben fought wildly, the katana wreaking havoc among the attackers, crushing each other to get at the humans.
Ben was bowled over by a hound, its hot breath singeing his hair and eye brows, its mouth sank into his shoulders, mauling the flesh under the thick clothing. Ben drove the kris through its eye into its skull. The hound evaporated, but the bite remained. From his croutched position he then thrust into a stallion's chest. it too evaporated.

Giles whirled and brought the sword down on the skull of another hound, but a riders whip lashed him across the face. Changing his balance, Giles delivered a classic fleche to the riders sixte. Ben managed to grab a vial from the bag, and hurled it into another riders cowled face. it too disintegrated. A hellhound lept at Giles's back, but Ben brought it down with a wild swing. Giles turned round to plunge the katana through its back. Another riders flail winded Giles, doubling him over. Ben pulled it off its horse. The kris flashed up then down, and Ben was left holding smelly black rags. The attack ceased, and the survivors returned to the demon's side.
"Impressive. You two have bested some of my closest allies. But can you best this?"
He reached into the air with both hands, and slowly closed them into grips. Giles and Ben couldn't breathes, their chests were tightening. Their hearts were straining to keep beating, being slowly starved of blood and oxygen. Ashaegur slowly raised them up in the air, kicking and struggling. "You see Rupert Giles. I have power enough. Yet I won't take you. You have a doom Giles, and in this game you have to play out your doom in full before anyone can claim you."
Ashaegur swung his arms out wide, and with tremendous force, hurled Giles and Ben into each other. All went black.

It was night when Ben awoke. The sky was crystal clear, with thousands of stars shining through. Groggily, he looked over to see Giles staring at the stars. Ben's shoulder, chest, and head hurt.
"Look Ben, Saggitarius. And of course the pole star."
"Er, Giles, hadn't we better be going. Before he, it, comes back?"
"He won't be back, not immediately anyhow."
"What did he mean about a doom?"
"Rules of Fate. Something even demons cannot control. In my student days, we got up to a lot of foolish things, and I guess it originates there. Anyway, I seem to have broken my arm or wrist. It hurts like buggery. Whats the time?"
"Don't know, my watch is smashed. Why didn't he kill me?"
"Oh, you're not worth the hassle. Not enough entertainment. Demons can be predictable at times."
Ben slowly got to his feet and looked round.
"The Ranger's landrover's still here."
"Yep, that really happened too. Better leave that one to Dartmoor rescue. We've got to clear up first."
"Right. So how's that one going to look?" Asked Ben as he picked up the various remains of the battle.
Giles flashed on a torch."Look, that's where we were, all the scorch marks. They'll say it was an old army shell. Come on, lets get back to that hotel, sort my arm out and take a look at that shoulder of yours."
"So, what did this achieve?"
"Not much. We did destroy several demons. It will take a while for others to appear, but the hellmouth is still open, so we can expect further warps of reality. These are powerful weapons, but as you saw, my magic is not strong enough to defend us."
"So we lost then, objective failed?"
"Not entirely, a skirmish, that's all. You see, we've weakened the defenders of this hellmouth, they have to be on the defensive now."
"Yet lives were lost."
"Yes, and I've seen bloodier."
"So, you and me against the dark forces then. A bit too starwars for me." Ben winced as he carefully rotated his arm. "Christ this shoulder stings!"
"Cynic. I've some balms in the car. Anyway we must shut that hellmouth. I've got some calls to make. The loss of that ranger is serious."

And then there was silence. Two weary figures limped onwards, exhausted yet determined. Starlight illuminated the track back to the car. A meteor shower sparkled above. The fight had only just begun.