DISCLAIMER:  Not mine, never were. I'm very jealous of Craig and Steve and Joss, and I just want to play in their sandboxes for awhile. Please don't sue; all you'll get is stale doritos and some belly button lint.
NOTES: I was relatively new to BtVS when this story began and most of my information was gleaned from the episode summaries I found online. I discovered too late that I had made a major continuity error - having only seen 2 eps from season 6, I did not realize that Giles was no longer in Sunnydale. So instead of rewriting - in my universe, he never left.

Many thanks (!!!!) to Liz Shelborne for once again patiently picking through my first draft and pointing out my many errors. She tried to fix 'em - any that remain are my own stupidity. Thanks aslso to cousinjean for excellent tips on technique, and to Djinn for pointing out Buffyverse continuity errors and offering insights into those characters. I hope you enjoy.

FEEDBACK: Yes, please, starving author here. (Pathetic, much? Why, yes....)

***************************
The Magic Box
Sunnydale, California
Early Friday evening
***************************

Giles turned the sign on the door from "Open" to "Closed, Please Come Again!" and sighed. It had been a long and busy day, and he looked forward to relaxing. He left the door unlocked and began to make his way back across the shop. A moment later the bell signaled that someone was coming in. Turning back to the door, he took a breath to call out that they were closed when he recognized the figure entering the shop.

"Hello, Xander." He smiled at the young man.

"Hey, Giles," Xander replied as he walked over to Anya. "Hi, babe. Have a good day?"

"Uh-huh." She nodded as she sorted through some papers. "How about you?"

Giles tidied the shop as the young couple chatted, and was returning misplaced items to their proper shelves when the phone rang. Anya picked it up.

"The Magic Box, your one stop shop for all your magical needs. Can I help you? Oh, just a moment please." Anya covered the receiver and looked over at her boss. "Uhm, Giles? It's a voice I don't recognize. But he sounds like you - only worse. And he says it's urgent."

Xander groaned. "Anya…"

Curiosity piqued, Giles let the comment slide. "Thank you Anya." He took the phone from her.

"Rupert Giles speaking, how may I… Oh! Brother Gloak! It's good to hear from…"

Xander and Anya watched the expression on his face shift as he listened to the mystery caller. Over the course of the brief conversation it went from pleased to concerned to down right grim.

"Yes… yes, I understand. I'll look into it immediately. Thank you for your promptness in bringing this to my attention."

Giles hung up the phone and headed over to the bookshelf that specialized in prophecies, codices and other ancient writings. Without a word, he began searching through them and pulling down select tomes.

Xander was becoming worried. "Giles?" he asked hesitantly. "What's going on? Evil coming? The End Of The World Round Three? Another Big Bad headed for town?"

The Watcher's lips compressed into a thin line. "I don't know for sure. That's what we need to find out."

"Research." Xander sighed. "Right."



**************************
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Early Friday evening
***************************

Jarod absently tossed a Sweet Tart in his mouth, eyes glued to the screen of his laptop. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he realized he'd hit another dead end.

The Internet was a wonderful resource, one that offered almost endless information. Unfortunately, even after many hours of searching he hadn't been able to find any references to the Vespasians, the scrolls, or any prophecy that hinted at the Centre.

When he'd been captured and held captive on the plane, Jarod had dared Mr. Parker to read the manuscripts that had caused so much suffering. After a nervous glance around, the Centre's director had done just that. Before the pretender's eyes, Parker had gone from his usual blustering, confidant self to one who looked as if he'd just escaped from a mental hospital. His eyes, normally distant and cold, shone with an unholy, insane light that more than frightened Jarod. He muttered and mumbled words about "The Chosen," The End of the World," and most intriguingly, "The Centre Shall Rise." When Mr. Parker had made his rather unique exit, taking the scrolls with him, Jarod was left with an insatiable curiosity as to just what the Chairman had read.

The pretender widened his search parameters, to include occult this time, and hit the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button on the Google search page. He popped another candy as the search returned its results.

"Hmmm… that looks interesting," he mused, clicking the link. The site turned out to be a conspiracy theory/occult phenomenon type with a tabloid feel. A bold headline declared 'Demons Wreak Terror and Mayhem in California'. On a whim, he clicked.

'Vampires are alive and well in a small west coast community,' the story proclaimed. 'The only thing preventing the decimation of the town is the Chosen One.'

Jarod blinked. 'The Chosen One?' He continued reading.

'How long will the people of this country remain blind to the evil? The Slayer alone stands between the people and the demons who would bring about the end of the world.'

He felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle as he heard the words echo in this head. He picked up his cell and punched in a number. One ring, then, "Thank you for calling American Airlines…For domestic travel reservations, press 2."

He went through the menu until he got an agent on the phone. "Yes, can you tell me, do you have any direct flights to…" he looked at the name of the town again. "Sunnydale California?"



*************************
Sunnydale, California
Friday evening
*************************

Buffy was looking forward to a good workout. The events of the past few weeks were wreaking havoc with her emotional stability. Her thoughts kept returning to Spike and their night of brutal passion in the collapsing house. No sooner would she manage to exorcise that memory then recollections of her wanton behavior when struck by the Idiot Triplets invisibility ray would creep up on her. She *so* needed to kick some demon butt. Being that it was still a little early to go on patrol, the punching bag would have to do for now. She smiled in anticipation.

Walking into the Magic Box, she found Xander, Anya and Willow gathered round the table, books pilled around them. Giles looked up at her.

"Ah, you're here. Good."

Buffy stopped short, smile fading. Giles had the look that said 'Boring Research Party in progress'. She groaned. "I just came to get my gear. Gotta go patrol," she offered quickly, crossing over to the weapons chest.

"Uh-uh, Buff," Xander protested, ignoring the glare she gave him. "We would be bad friends if we didn't share this laugh fest. Get your vampire slaying butt over here and help out."

She shuffled over to the table and plopped down beside Anya. "What are we doing today, Giles?" she inquired with resignation while she reached for a book. "Researching vamp stuff? Cryptic prophesies? Maybe a problem with more of those snot spraying demons?"

"Chaos demons," he corrected absently as he pulled his glasses off. Giles paused a moment before explaining. "This afternoon, I received a telephone call from an old friend. He is a monk of the Vespasian order."

"Vesp-a-whatsit?"

"Vespasian. An order established many years ago thought to be an offshoot of the Knights Templar, entrusted with the safekeeping of certain valuables. In this case, a set of scrolls containing a series of prophesies. It is said that simply reading the scrolls was enough to drive a man insane."

"If they're anything like reading through this," Xander muttered, indicating the book in front of him, "I can relate."

Giles ignored the comment. "For centuries, the scrolls were kept safe by the monks on a small island off the Scottish coast. Just over 100 years ago, something terrible happened. The scrolls were stolen, and the man who took them read them - then murdered his entire family, wife and children, by burning them alive."

Willow's eyes widened. "That's horrible."

The Watcher nodded. "He ran away to America and began a cult that evolved into almost a kind of empire, with his evil at it's core - one that still exists today. His followers mistakenly believed that he had the scrolls, but they had been re-hidden on the island. No one knew where, but they remained safe all this time. That is, until last week."

"What happened?"

"There was a monstrous storm, and the island was evacuated. When the Brothers returned to the monastery, they found the crypt room desecrated and several members of the order dead." Giles' face was somber as he related the tale. "Brother Gloak believes the storm was more than a natural phenomenon, and I must concur. Furthermore, there were several Americans on the island asking a lot of questions both just before and on the day of the storm-"


"I must admit the creep factor is getting pretty high there, Giles. But you still haven't told me *what* we're looking for."

"Right. Well, as I said, the scrolls contain prophecies, but no one is quite sure what they are. The monks believe that it is now time for the prophecy they contained to be fulfilled. Unfortunately, the only things we do know from the scrolls for certain are that there are references to the Chosen and something about a Convergence. We need to find anything, any other reference that mentions both."

Xander slumped forward and let his head fall with a thud on the book in his hands. "oh, yippee," came the muffled voice. "That narrows it down to, oh, ninety percent of the books you have in here." Xander pulled his face out of the book and rolled his eyes. "Aren't we the Friday night party central of Sunnydale."

Giles adjusted his glasses and ignored the young man as he pulled out a book and began to page through it

Anya popped up with a cheerful smile. "Oooh, a study party! We should order pizza!"





About 11pm the door of the shop opened. The scoobies looked up to see Spike standing in the entrance, casually lounging against the doorframe. Buffy felt her pulse quicken as memories of being pressed against his hard, cool body leaped forward unbidden. She looked back at the book before her, trying to pretend that every part of her was not acutely aware of his presence.

"Ready to get in a spot of slaying, pet?" he inquired.

Before she could respond, Giles agreed with a distracted nod. "Oh, yes, do go on Buffy. We'll continue on and see what we can come up with."

"But this is important, Giles," she floundered, looking for an out.

The Watcher looked over at her, puzzled. "Yes, yes it is... but we'll manage. You are needed in another capacity."

"Yeah, go ahead, Buff," Xander offered and gave her a quick smile. It was quickly swallowed up by his scowl of concentration as he muttered. "At least one of us can get out of here and have a little fun..."

With a small grimace, she picked up her bag and slipped by the blond vampire out into the night. She was halfway down the street before he caught up with her.

"What's the rush, luv?"

Buffy kept up her brisk pace, tossing Spike a brief glance before setting her eyes straight ahead once more. "Just want to get to work, that's all."

As they made their way to graveyard, Buffy fumed. She could feel him smiling at her in the dark, that smirking, knowing, infuriating smile. She felt her stomach do a funny little flip-flop. 'Chill, Summers!' she scolded herself sternly. She was not going to get worked up over Spike, no matter what kind of smile she saw on those pale, sexy lips, lips that could turn her knees to jelly, with kisses that reduced her to a mass of quivering - oh god no, *so* don't want to go there! She drew a ragged breath.

"You all right, Slayer?"

She jumped, startled. His voice was right beside her, mouth so close she could feel the breath that carried the words on her ear. She whirled, eyes flashing, about to rip a strip off him. His arm unexpectedly snaked around her middle, and suddenly she was pressed right against him, staring up into his face.

"Spike! Get your hands off me!" She gave him a shove, and twisted within his grasp. Undaunted, he slid his other arm behind her neck.

"I haven't had a chance to tell you how good it is to see you again, pet," he murmured, and then bent in to drop a soft kiss on her mouth.

As though possessing a mind of their own, her arms were suddenly running up his chest, one hand finding its way to his shoulder, the other insinuating fingers through his soft hair. After a moment he pulled back to gaze thoughtfully down at her. "I miss you, Buffy."

"We can't do this, Spike," she replied, desire warring with Slayer instincts that screamed being in this oh-so-comfortable embrace was wrong. "I can't do this. It won't work." Once more she tried to escape him. Not very hard though. It didn't require much effort on his part to hold on to her.

"Yes we can. Yes you can. Yes it will," he disagreed, punctuating each statement with kisses. "There must be something in you that wants to try, or you never would have shown up at my crypt, invisible or not."

This time she did break free from him, and clutched her bag close as she set her path for the cemetery once more.

"It was stupid of me. And thoughtless. Brain was on holiday in invisible land. Brain is back now."

"You can tell yourself that, Buffy," his voice drifted up from behind her as they reached their goal. "But I know the truth."

This time she placed a headstone between them before turning to confront him. "Oh, you do? What truth is that, Spike?" Feelings, suppressed and simmering all week suddenly came to a boiling point. "The truth that you're a vampire and I'm the Slayer?" she snapped out. "Or the truth that being with me makes you so happy that you threw me out of your bed?" The words tumbled out before she had a chance to censor them, before she even realized that she was going to speak them.

'Nononononono, oh shit no, I wasn't supposed to say that...'

Spike's jaw dropped, and for a moment he was speechless.

"You silly bint," came the insult, his gentle tone of voice depriving the barb of any real sting. "That's the absolute last thing I wanted to do." As he rounded the grave marker that separated them, he was torn between wanting to yell at her for playing with him, trifling with his feelings and wanting to gather her in his arms and comfort her.

Bloody hell! I'm turnin' into a soddin' poof.

Before he could reach her, a hand shot up from the grave and grabbed her foot. He reached into his duster and tossed her a stake. Grabbing it out of the air, she dropped to the knee of her free leg and waited till the new vamp had emerged to waist height, offering her a clear shot. A quick thrust, and she was brushing dust off her pant leg.

Spike reached down and grasped her arm, pulling her gently against him. She brought the stake up between them, and he took it silently, slipping it back into the pocket from whence it came.

"Buffy," he began again, only to be interrupted by the sound of another fledgling vampire erupting from a new grave just down the row. He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Hold that thought, pet."

He turned and quickly strode down to face off against the neophyte. "Look, mate," he stated in an annoyed tone, "I'm trying to have a private conversation here. Three's a crowd." The previously used stake made its second kill of the night as Spike slammed it home.

The blond vampire turned back to find Buffy had vanished. After a moment's paranoid searching, he realized she'd run while he was busy.

"Bloody hell!" He gazed in the direction she'd gone. "This isn't over, Slayer, not by a long shot," he promised the midnight air.


**************************
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
Mid-morning, Saturday
**************************


Miss Parker sat on the sofa in her office, arms wrapped tightly around her torso, while Syd looked on in concern.

"It's your inner sense again." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

The psychiatrist waited patiently for her to continue. After a few moments she jumped up and began to pace the floor.

"It's just like last time, Syd. I get a recurring vision of a beautiful beach… it's not Blue Cove, not even the east coast. I think it's California. Suddenly, my mother is there beside me. I try to approach her and she turns to face me. Before I can say anything, she tells me I need to go, the time for the Convergence is almost here. The light catches the diamond in her ring as she points down the beach. Only it's not the beach anymore. It's a graveyard. I look up and I can see two figures in the distance. I'm drawn to them, and the next thing I know, I'm running towards them. It was a man and a woman…" she hesitated.

"Miss Parker?" he gently prompted her.

Her cool eyes met his warm ones. "It was… it was Jarod, Syd, I'm sure of it." She slipped back into her present tense recounting of the images in her mind. "I can't see the woman's face. They're fighting; not each other, but something - it looks like darkness, shadow… it felt… it felt like evil, Syd! I tried to get closer, but I couldn't. I just knew I had to help, but I didn't know what to do." She turned to look out the window. "So Freud? What the hell does it all mean?"

Sydney pondered the odd dream - vision? "Perhaps it's another premonition."

She let out a snort. "Yeah, that's me, Premonition Girl. How about something helpful maybe? An interpretation? Come on Syd, how often do I actually invite you to shrink my head?"

He rested an elbow in one hand, pensively tapping the index finger of the other on his lips. Silence hung between them as each considered what it could mean. Their reverie was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. They turned as one to find Broots poking his head in around the door, a surprised yet pleased expression on his features.

"What?" she demanded, quashing down the impulse to say something nasty for no other reason than he was far too happy to suit her present mood.

"You're not going to believe this," the computer tech stepped fully into the office, closing the door behind him. "I can hardly believe it myself - the chances are so slim after all, the probability factor must be on the order of one in a million… okay, maybe not that high, but certainly-"

"Broots!" Parker growled, taking a menacing step towards him. "The point. Today."

"Uh… I found Jarod." He supplied with a stammer. "Random surveillance of airport security tapes from across the country. I taped into the security systems of all the major airports and-"

She jabbed a finger into the centre of his chest hard enough to make him wince and shut him up. "Where?"

"LAX. He arrived at 11 last night."

Syd and Parker shared a significant look.

"California." The older man's voice reflected a smile that he did not allow on his features. Parker stared at him through narrowed eyes for a second before she turned back to address Broots.

"Get packed and call the Centre air strip, Scoobie-doo. Looks like we're going on an adventure."


*************************
Twin Palms Inn
Sunnydale, California
Saturday afternoon
*************************


Jarod stepped out of the small bathroom, towel-drying his hair. Water droplets still clung to his naked chest, some skittering down the surface only to be absorbed into the waistband of his black jeans. With one hand, he pushed back the curtain and gazed down at the street below.

The last 24 hours had been a buzz of frenetic activity. He'd managed to make it to General Mitchell International Airport with mere minutes to spare, and only his FBI identification had gotten him onto the flight with all the new security protocols in place. After that, he'd haggled for 20 minutes to rent a half decent car and then driven all night to get to Sunnydale. The next flight hadn't been until the morning, and in the moment, it had seemed time was of the essence.

'Great. I'm here. Now what, Genius?'

He sighed. When he'd arrived, he'd checked in, flopped onto the bed in his room and passed out almost immediately. After a few hours sleep, he'd awoken with a start and jumped into the shower, ready to get on with the next step. Jarod was used to dealing with complicated situations, concocting elaborate stings, and playing mind games with his favorite huntress. However, this tracking down of elusive snippets of what might or might not be related to what he thought he was looking for was aggravating to the nth degree.

He thought about it for a moment as he tossed the towel on the floor and grabbed his knapsack from beside the bed. The Internet search had scored when he added the word occult; so occult was the place to start. That decided, he rifled through his bag and pulled out a box of Pop Tarts before grabbing the yellow pages. Ripping open one of the foil packages, Jarod bit into the sweet pastry while he flipped through the phone directory.

He scanned by several advertisements for tarot readings, fortune telling and licensed Psychics before his eyes lit upon one that caught his interest. 'The Magic Box'. Among other things, the ad boasted of a large assortment of magical and mythical reference materials available for purchase or research. That definitely sounded promising. He checked the address, and then pulled out a local map he'd picked up from the "Welcome to Sunnydale" display he'd walked past before checking into the hotel. It looked like the store was just a few blocks away.

Tossing the Pop Tart wrapper in the general direction of the waste bin, Jarod reached into his knapsack, pulled out a black t-shirt and slipped it on. He shoved his Halliburton under the bed, grabbed his leather duster and headed out the door.


*******************
The Magic Shop
*******************


The gang was once again hard at work searching through ancient tomes, trying to find something that seemed to fit. Dawn, at least, was enjoying the afternoon hanging out at the mall with her friends. Buffy thought her little sister spent quite enough time at the Magic Box already, so it was nice to know she was out having fun. It also spared them from putting up with all the irritating 15-year-old questions and attitude that invariably came out when they were trying to work and Dawnie was bored.

Willow scrunched up her forehead, her lips in a perplexed pout. Buffy noticed immediately. "What is it, Will?" she asked, peering across the table trying to catch a look at the writings in front of her best friend.

"I think it might be something, except it might not be?" she replied uncertainly as she reread the ancient script. "It mentions 'The Chosen', and a Convergence, but it also talks about The Slayer… oh," Willow's voiced dropped, "and the end of the world too."

"Oh, *that* old theme," remarked Xander sarcastically. "You would think these `prophecy guys would realize 'End Of The World' is getting a little overdone by now."

Willow gave Xander a nudge and looked up at Giles. "I don't get it. Isn't Buffy the Chosen one?" she asked as she handed the musty red leather book over to the Watcher.

"Well, yes," Anya interjected. "But she's not the only Chosen one. Different people are chosen at different times, for different situations. In this case it's not 'The Chosen One', but 'The Chosen' and The Slayer together. That sounds like the prophecy about the Man of Many Faces."

The former vengeance demon was oblivious to they way they all froze then slowly turned to stare at her. Giles was the first to break the silence. "Anya, why didn't you say something earlier?" Exasperation was evident in his voice.

"Well, how was I supposed to know which Chosen One your were talking about?" she protested. "Live over a thousand years as a demon and people expect you to know everything," she groused.

Buffy tapped the book in Giles' hands. "Well, what does it say?"

He adjusted his glasses and began to read.

And It Shall Come To Pass
That The Centre Shall Rise
And The Hellmouth Shall Open
And When The Convergence Is At Hand
Woe To All
For The End Of The World Draws Nigh.
Then The Chosen And The Slayer
Must Join To Fight
For Only Together Will
The Man Of Many Faces
And The Keeper Of The Key
Find Victory

"Whoa."

"Yeah. Very Whoa."


****

Jarod entered the shop, peering into the dimness. The bell jingled as he moved and the door shut behind him. After a moment, his eyes adjusted and he took in his surroundings.

The interior was a cornucopia of things magical. There were different crystals, oils, and powders, medicinal plants, feathers, and spices. A few people quietly meandered about perusing the wares. Against one wall, there was a large table surrounded by a group of young people. They appeared to be working on some sort of research project, and he could hear them excitedly discussing something in muted tones. After looking around a bit, he quashed down his natural curiosity. He could spend all day just exploring in here.

Stepping around a lady who was standing in the aisle examining different mortar and pestle sets, he walked over to a wall that was covered with leather bound books. His eyes wandered across them in a random pattern, trying to take in as much as he could. Titles jumped out at him. The Ancient Arts. Voodoo Charms And Talismans. The Pergamum Codex. Lycanthropy. Nostradamus. Vampyres. Simple Hexes and Wards. There was no way to know where to start. With a shrug, he pulled one off the wall.

"Can I help you?" came a soft, English accented inquiry.

Jarod turned to find a tall, bespectacled man standing off to his side. He smiled.

"Yes, actually. I've been doing some research and I'm looking for more information, but," he gestured to the books. "I haven't got a clue where to begin."

"I'm sure I can help you with that," the shopkeeper assured him. "Can you tell me what the subject is?"

"Prophecies."

"Really? And the predictions? What is the outcome of these prophecies?"

"To be honest, I'm really not sure." Jarod crossed his arms, a pensive look on his face. "I think the end of the world might be involved, but somehow I imagine that's a running theme in many prophecies," the pretender finished with a small chuckle.

"Yes, I must say that does tend to play into a great many of them," the man agreed. "How about particulars? Events or people mentioned? That might help narrow it down."

"I… overheard something. All I know for sure are two references - one was "The Chosen", and the other was.." he trailed off for a moment.

"Yes?"

He shook off a chill. "The other was 'The Centre Shall Rise'. That's it." Jarod looked hopefully at the shopkeeper. "Ring any bells?"

To his surprise, the man seemed to close down before him. It was something that most people wouldn't have noticed, but to Jarod it was glaring. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but suddenly things had changed.

"No, nothing in particular comes to mind," the man said, his tone of voice calm even though sudden tension was obvious to one who was as practiced as Jarod was at reading people. "Perhaps you might leave me your name and number, and if I find anything I can give you a call?"

A snippet of conversation, just a bit louder than the ambient noise level floated over from the table to the two men.

"Okay, 'Hellmouth' I understand, but what is this 'Centre'? And where is it going to rise, I'd like to know?"

Jarod's eyes widened, and he turned towards the table. Before he could actually get there, however, the proprietor had interposed himself.

"I think," the shopkeeper stated in a forceful tone, "that it is time for you to leave."

"But, I…"

"Now."

Jarod tried to glance around him and get a better look at the book that seemed to be the focus of attention. The man grabbed it and snapped it shut with finality.

"I don't understand - "

"Hey, mister," a petite blond girl had risen from the table and was standing beside the Englishman he was squared off against. "If Giles told you to leave, well then it's time to go." The other people were standing now too, all presenting a united front.

After a final look at the red leather tome wrapped protectively in the proprietors arms, Jarod turned and walked out of the shop.

Part 2