Wesley had awoken that morning to find two guards standing over his bed. Clearly the strong silent type, the larger of the two – a heavyset man, going bald on top, but making up for it in terms of hair by growing several days worth of stubble on his double chin – gruffly informed him that he was wanted in the library. He scarcely had time to get dressed before the two of them were frogmarching him out of the locked room with no windows that had been his prison for the past three days.
As he was escorted down long, plushly carpeted hallways, he said an internal prayer of thanks that it was supposedly a library he was being taken to, not a torture chamber or a dungeon or to face one of the hundred other hideous fates he had spent the past 72 hours imagining. To be fair, however, his captors had been very good to him. His room was comfortable and he was kept well fed and watered. There were even a few books provided for his amusement, though the irony of their subject matter – the very same prophecy concerning Connor he had been researching before he’d left California – was not lost upon him. In fact he found it chillingly disturbing. Wolfram and Hart must have been following his exact movements to have known precisely what he was researching when even those closest to him had no idea. Plus their books appeared to be so much more comprehensive on the subject, suggesting they were already fully informed about the prophecy, whilst Wesley’s knowledge of it was still somewhat confused. He was dying to find out just what the books said, but their ancient languages were too difficult for him to translate sufficiently without proper resources, and even with his fully collection of books, he wasn’t sure that he would have been able to concentrate on the text, anyway.
Instead he just spent all day staring at the jumbled words and feeling guilty. He’d betrayed Angel so badly, cheated his friend’s trust on a mission that he had foolishly believed to be right, but that was now more than likely to get the vampire’s only son killed. He was an idiot, pure and simple; one who had thought his own judgment superior to everyone else’s and had been proven spectacularly wrong – with fatal consequences. Angel would never be able to forgive him, and rightly so, he would never be able to forgive himself.
The corridor twisted to become long and narrow, then ended at a heavy wooden doorway. One of his two guards unlocked the door with a substantial set of keys, while the other pushed him through into the large room beyond. Wesley nearly stumbled in shock at the sight that befell him. He recognised this place, had spent many an hour here immersed in books. It was the library of the Watcher’s Council’s headquarters in the centre of London. Suddenly everything was falling into place, the explanation for how he had been apprehended so easily in London, the reason why Lilah Morgan had blindfolded him as they neared their destination. One thing was still a mystery to him, what were the Council doing involved with this? Despite his various run ins with the ruthless Special Ops team, he had always believed in the Council’s general integrity. In a way he’d had to, he’d had to be sure that he’d devoted so many years of his life to something that was good and worthwhile, not evil and corrupt. But as he looked up at the long, rectangular table in front of him and saw, seated at the head of it his former mentor – Quentin Travers – Lilah Morgan positioned at his side, his certainty began to waver.
“Pryce!” Quentin Travers greeted him warmly, then reached over to pat the chair opposite Lilah. “Good to see you again, sit down.”
“Sir?” Wesley said in confusion, almost kicking himself when he saw Lilah smirk at his obeisance. “What’s going on?” he asked in a firmer tone of voice. “Why am I being held here?”
“The lovely lady’s idea, I’m afraid,” Travers shot Lilah an admiring look, causing her to grimace in response. “She had a few doubts about your loyalty to the Council, doubts I’m inclined to agree with following the way you sided with a vampire to aid the escape of a rogue Slayer from detainment by our Special Operations team.” His eyes narrowed, the expression in them becoming calculating and Wesley was suddenly struck with how shrewd and cold-blooded the man he had used to utterly respect now appeared.
“The Council terminated my employ, sir,” he replied brusquely. “I felt I was no longer under obligation to help them murder a very sick young girl.”
“No,” Travers replied with a cool smile. “I suppose your loyalty was more directed towards your then employer, who we all know has never murdered anyone.” He emitted a short laugh. “It’s amazing what ignorance money and an impressive job title can buy.”
Wesley shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Well, look at you, Pryce. Working for the Council all these years, and you had no idea what we were about. Not even the slightest suspicion.”
“I think I’m beginning to catch on.”
Travers laughed again. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it, old chap. You see all this,” he waved his hand out indicating the lavishly decorated room, filled with priceless manuscripts. “Headquarters in Kensington, training grounds in the Lake District, regional offices in New York, Rome and Beijing, Watcher’s retreats all over the world, hundreds – if not thousands – of dedicated staff… Do you really think this is for just one little girl?”
“The Slayer is not just a ‘little girl’!” Wesley exclaimed. “She’s The Chosen One. The fate of the world rests in her hands!”
Quentin dismissed the outburst with a wave of his hand. “Oh, the fate of the world is safe – for a couple more centuries at least. All that was worked out by much higher powers than us a long time ago. The Slayer is just an image, an ideal…a product profile, if you will. Kind of the brand name we trade upon.”
“Trade?”
Travers smiled broadly. “Yes, of course, trade! Just imagine Wesley – the numbers of demons and vampires scattered across the globe. In Europe, Asia, Africa…not just good old California, USA. Hundreds of thousands of millions of them. You know, so many humans think they’re top of the food chain. Well, they’re wrong wherever there are people in the world there are also monsters looking for their next meal. Did you really believe that just one girl could make any kind of inroads into such a threat?”
Wesley faltered. “Well, I…”
“Don’t bother having an existential crisis about it,” the head of the Watcher’s Council slammed his hands down on the table, effectively silencing the discussion. “That’s not the issue here. This little exercise isn’t about shattering your illusions – ”
“Enjoyable though that may be,” Lilah interrupted with a cruel smirk, causing Wesley to wander yet again what she was doing here and how Wolfram and Hart were involved with the Council.
“We actually wanted to open your eyes,” Travers continued. “Make you see things our way. Grasp a true idea of the possibilities involved.”
“You mean the possibilities for committing evil.”
“Not evil, Wesley,” Travers shared a knowing glance with Lilah. “Business.”
“There’s a fine line.”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” he acknowledged with a nod. “The difference is simply the amount of money involved.”
“And we’re talking about a lot of money,” Lilah interjected.
“You see, the Watcher’s Council started out small,” Travers began to explain. “A band of righteous men taking it upon themselves to guide and protect the Slayer. Well, you’ve heard the company legend, and basically that’s how it happened – until we get to the part we don’t print on the formal stationary. One of these men inevitably landed on an idea. The Slayer was, after all, incredibly powerful and feared…and completely under their control. Think of the things they could get her to do, the threats they could issue. The riches they cold amass…”
“That’s sick,” Wesley felt cold all over. This was the organisation he’d devoted so much of his life to, the philosophy he’d worked so hard to sustain? “It’s nothing but blatant exploitation of an innocent girl.”
“Plus, the opportunities for commercial advancement were sadly lacking.” Lilah picked up the tale. “A couple of centuries of bossing about the local noblemen and your beloved council had become nothing more than a bunch of greedy old men whose profits were spent on drink and whores barely before they could even make them.” Her lip curled upwards in distaste.
“Until, of course,” Travers continued. “Another young entrepreneur stepped in. He had the idea the company should branch out, learn to deal with the demon community instead of trying to suppress them. After all, these creatures have needs too. Imagine the extent of the untapped markets. Accommodation, transportation, safe passage across borders, provision of forged birth certificates and identity cards in order to go unobserved amongst human society – ”
“Legal and financial representation,” Lilah added.
“That’s how the Council became great, Wesley,” Travers explained with no small amount of satisfaction. “Isn’t there an American phrase?” he turned to Lilah questioningly. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em – that’s it. In the end we didn’t even need the Slayer anymore. She became the legitimate cover for our operations. In fact, letting her kill freely was perhaps one of our better business moves. Now our clients fear her. They know we won’t hesitate to use her to take them out if they double-cross us.”
“But you can’t now, can you?” Wesley thought he was beginning to understand some of why he was here, enjoying a somewhat civilised conversation instead of rotting in a ditch somewhere courtesy of Wolfram and Hart. “Two Slayers have been called and you don’t have control over either of them.”
Travers pursed his lips and Wesley knew he had touched a sore point. “Is this why I’m here?” he demanded. “Do you think I have some sort of influence over Buffy or Faith?”
Quentin sighed. “We already tried dealing with Rupert Giles, but he was too much ruled by the stubborn, rebellious nature of his Slayer to work with us. You, however, acted as Watcher to both current Slayers, you currently work within in the close confidence of Ms Summers former vampire lover. The board of directors thinks you are perfectly placed to take over management of at least one of the Slayers, if not both of them…for a considerably financial re-compensation, of course.”
“You want to pay me to help persuade Buffy and Faith to do your dirty work for you?” Wesley asked in a cold voice.
“Nothing of the sort,” Travers reassured him. “We wouldn’t be asking you to give up any of your principles, Wesley. Just to do exactly the same as you’re doing now. Killing demons, keeping innocent people safe, but watching over the Slayers as they do it. It’s the job you were trained to do, the one thing every Council employee dreams of! And just occasionally we may ask you to step in on one of our business problems. Strictly to do with demons or vampires. Evil creatures, the kind you believe should be killed anyway.”
“So you’ll be making the Slayers your enforcers?”
“Such a dirty word, Wesley,” the Head Watcher tutted and shook his head in mock dismay. “Think of them more as the clean-up crew, taking out some of our more unsavoury clients.”
Wesley thought for a second, internally debating his position. He was a prisoner of the Council and Wolfram and Hart, both organisations he knew to be utterly ruthless and without conscience. At the moment they thought he could be useful to them, the second he refused their demands then that would be it. End of negotiation. Now more cosy accommodation or friendly chats in the library. God knows what would happen to him then.
“What about Faith?” he asked, trying to buy time until he was forced to give an answer. One that didn’t involve betraying all his friends and his principles in order to make Buffy and Faith lackeys of the Council. “She’s in jail. How do you intend to get access to her there?”
“The Firm can arrange for her release,” Lilah said smoothly.
Wesley turned on her, his curiosity getting the better of him. “How are Wolfram and Hart involved, anyway? What’s in it for them?”
“Oh, we’ve cut a deal with the Council. They helped us get what we want. We help them get what they want.”
“And what is it that Wolfram and Hart want exactly?” Wesley asked, a feeling of dread building up in his stomach.
“I think you already know,” Lilah replied with a smile.
“Connor,” he whispered. In the light of the revelations by Travers he’d almost forgotten about the fate of Angel’s child, now all the fear and guilt suddenly came back to him. “What are you going to do to him? He’s not dead is he?”
“Of course not,” Lilah raised her eyebrows. “Though, you have no idea how close we came to killing him. Thank goodness you alerted to us to that prophecy, otherwise we could have ended up making a literally fatal mistake.”
“I-I don’t understand…”
“No? I see we’ve been overestimating you then. I’d really thought the books we left in your room would have explained it all. Never mind though, I’m sure it will be much more fun if I get to say it.”
“Say what…?”
Lilah leaned forward confidentially, placing a long bony hand, with perfectly manicured nails, over the top of Wesley’s. He shuddered at the contact, and at how cold her skin was – like a reptile’s.
“We didn’t take Connor in order to kill him,” she informed him with obvious satisfaction. “We took him in order to save him.”