FEBRUARY 10, 2008- LOS ANGELES- WOLFRAM & HART OFFICES-

Daisy Pendleton detested her client, and around here, that meant something. She wasn’t stupid, she knew where the power really was, and it wasn’t in the Synod. Not these days. Oh, they had it once, briefly, but the Slayer had it now, and didn’t know it.

That made the Slayer very dangerous.

Huh, imagine that. The words, “The Slayer” had actually formed in her mind, and the roof hadn’t caved in.

The Slayer was a monster that anyone who knew better, and valued their parts, steered clear of. And, she’d done her best to do just that, like a good girl. For years, even uttering the words, “The Slayer” within earshot of a garrison commander was grounds for imprisonment, and a rather…lethal interrogation.

Yes, she’d done her best. Until she met Rupert Giles, and everything changed.

Daisy looked at the clock on her office wall. Four o’clock. The sun would be up in less than an hour, and The Synod’s head cheese was late.

She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of malice as she felt a smirk tickle the edge of her mouth. Maybe they got him. Maybe I don’t have to see his ugly…

“Did you find that bitch?” Angelus’s voice boomed as the door to Daisy’s office flew open.

Daisy winced as she watched the fine Italian marble door shatter as it was forced against the wall…

…It’s just * not* my day, today, is it. And the marble…! Oh, why couldn’t the door be made of wood? A stray splinter and…poof…and I can go back to where I belong…

With the ease of years of courtroom experience, which allowed her to veil her true feelings, Daisy looked at the furious picture he presented, and said calmly, “No. And, you’re late. It’s rude, and unprofessional…”

“I didn’t hire this firm, or you, for a lecture on lawyers’ etiquette. I hired you because you deal with the scum of the earth all the time. You would know where a killer like that would hide.”

Daisy couldn’t help smiling as Angelus scowled at her, “We have quite a file on you. Have you tried your old haunts? You might get lucky…and it would save you the embarrassment of having to come to us for help. You came to us to help you find a rag-tag bunch. People you know. It’s sad, really. Didn’t you fight on their side, at one time? Why on earth would they hide from you? Why are you hunting them?” her blue eyes glinted back at him, triumphantly, “That is what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“I have my reasons…” Angelus bit out.

“Oh,” she said, as she opened the file, and leaned back in her chair, forming a tiny steeple with her fingers, she contemplated him, “I’m sure you do. Our last confirmation was in China. But, that was over a month ago…”

Daisy saw no reason to inform him that the Cell that protected the Slayer was already one step ahead of his efforts, and would remain so, until her debt to Rupert Giles had been paid.

She was loyal to the resistance, and the Cells.

No one knew that she owed her life to the Cells. No one in the firm knew where the Slayer was. She didn’t even know, and that was by design.

If Angelus tried to read her, now, he wouldn’t find anything. Nothing- except what he already knew, what she knew from the files, a vivid account of the demise of “William the Bloody.”

Rupert Giles’s magic was powerful. So powerful, that even the very elect, the upper echelon could truthfully say- that they were blind.
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10 FEBRUARY, 2008- NORWAY-

Panya had never been to a place that was this cold. His blood was not accustomed to the icy temperatures. But, he was young, despite what Simba thought. He would often say that he had, “the soul of an ancient.”

Panya was not sure what that meant. But, he did know that he would do whatever he had to do, to keep Shujaa safe. Safety meant staying one step ahead of the Synod. It often meant that he woke in unfamiliar places.

He would do what he had to do- to give Simba some peace.

He would even lie. He had lied. They all did.

He only hoped that, one day, Simba would forgive him, and his beloved Shujaa…

Panya could still hear the screams…

Buku would not rest until the Ukesolrill was destroyed. In his eyes, nothing but blood would satisfy.

He would not rest until it was destroyed, and the power was his to control. He did not know, nor could he, that destroying the spirit that gave Shujaa her power would destroy the being he mourned.

And so, that power was kept hidden, even from the one that held it.

Not even he had known exactly where it had been hidden. And then, when the word came that the Englishman had taken ill, and Simba appeared, he knew where the sorcerer had hidden the power.

And, the joy of seeing his friend again, was overshadowed by the great responsibility that was now upon him.

He had to protect that power, from all those that would destroy it.
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In the darkened room, he sighed. Respite of any kind was rare in these days, and Simba was finally asleep.

He tried to look after his friend, as well as he was permitted to. At times, Simba made looking after his welfare very difficult. Simba did not exist well. The years away from her, the years of carrying her burden, and his own, had taken their toll. Time had drained him of the life that had so long ago refused to release its hold on him.

Time had become a weight that was nearly impossible to carry.

But, Panya knew that he would continue to shoulder the weight for his Shujaa, because he loved her.

A blind man could see that he loved her. It was impossible for him to do anything else. Because he loved her, he could not see.

He could not see that he was right, more right than he knew.

Panya sat and wondered, shivering from the cold that had seeped into his skin and heart. Did Simba know? Is that why he called him an “old man?” Did Simba see that he was carrying his own burden, one that he could not speak of?

To speak of it meant death to all that Shujaa had built, all that she knew.

It meant Simba’s death, not the banishment that had been created for him.