THE ANGEL CHRONICLES, Vol. 2 by Richie Tankersley

Author:Richie Tankersley [Richie Tankersley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 0-7434-3116-2
Publisher: POCKET BOOKS
Published: 2001-07-24T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 4

Giles tried to keep up with Buffy as she hurried through the cemetery. It was clear to him that her feelings were still hurt—she was obviously trying to lose him.

“Buffy,” he sighed. “Please. Slow down.”

“Get with the program, Giles,” Buffy tossed back. “We have work to do, remember?”

“You’re behaving in a terribly immature manner—”

“Bingo. Know why? I am immature! I’m a teen! I’ve yet to mature!”

Giles struggled for the proper response. “I was simply offering a little constructive criticism—”

“You were harsh,” Buffy set him straight. “You act like I picked this gig. But I’m the picked. Too bad if I want a normal job.”

Something must have happened, Giles thought to himself, wishing like hell he knew what it was. It just wasn’t like Buffy to go around feeling sorry for herself like this. He looked around at the sun-dappled headstones and tried to collect his thoughts.

“What you have is more than a . . . gig,” he reminded her firmly. “It’s a sacred duty.”

He recognized the “been there, heard that” look she gave him over her shoulder. He scrambled faster, determined to calm her down.

“Which shouldn’t prevent you from eventually procuring a more . . . mundane form of employment if you like,” he added. “Such as I have.”

“It’s one thing being a Watcher and a librarian.” Buffy remained stubborn. “They go together—like chicken and . . . another chicken. Two chickens. Or something.” Then, noting Giles’s look, “You know what I’m saying—you can spend all your time with a bunch of books, and no one blinks. But what can I do? Carve stakes for a nursery?”

Giles conceded at last. “Point taken. I suppose I’ve never really thought about—” He broke off, thought a moment, then brightened. “I say—have you ever considered law enforcement?”

Luckily for Giles they’d reached the mausoleum now, so she didn’t even have to come up with a scathing reply.

“This is the place,” Buffy said.

She pulled open the heavy iron door and went in, Giles following.

She’d remembered to bring a flashlight with her; now she flicked it on, playing the beam all around the gloomy interior. After a moment, she led Giles over to the vault in the far wall, where the door was still standing open.

“May I?” Giles asked softly.

“Be my guest.”

He took the flashlight from her, then shone it into the empty vault.

“It’s a reliquary,” Giles explained, “used to house items of religious significance. Most commonly, a finger or some other body part from a saint.”

“Note to self,” Buffy quipped. “Religion—freaky.”

Giles turned back around, going over the rest of the wall with the flashlight. Now they could see something else they hadn’t noticed before—bold letters carved into the granite above the doorway.

“Du Lac . . .” Giles read the name aloud. Immediately Buffy could hear the recognition in his tone along with unmistakable concern. “Oh dear . . .”

“I hate when you say that,” she said flatly.

“Josephus du Lac is buried here.”

“Was he a saint?”

“Hardly.” Giles frowned. “He belonged to a sect of priests who were excommunicated by the Vatican at the turn of the century.

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