The queue for customs was moving at a snail's pace. Unfortunately, the flight that had arrived at the same time as Charlie's was from Europe so there were two planeloads of people attempting to be processed by two weary customs guards. She shifted her bag slightly and craned her neck to see over the crowd. It looked like this would be a long wait. The corridor she queued in was not exciting: beige walls, beige carpets and uninspired photographs of local sites. Even the ceiling was beige. Charlie quickly concluded that Halifax Airport had not been redecorated in some time.
The temperature was a little lower than she was used to, and she was glad of the warmth of her comfortable old leather jacket. Her faded blue jeans and white cotton shirt were both chosen for comfort on the flight, although she was feeling a little rumpled now, and her sturdy hiking boots were protecting her feet from the effects of waiting in a queue for a long time. But nothing could diminish the effect of a long flight, little sleep and the frustration of having wait in a dull corridor. All she wanted now was food and a bed, not necessarily in that order.
"I heard someone slit their throat because the walls were so depressing."
Charlie turned to meet the green eyes of the speaker. He was on eye-level with her, with short black hair that fell untidily as though he had run his hands through it a few times. His shoulders were broad and muscular under his rugby shirt and his eyes were bright with intelligence.
"Nah, I think it was the carpets," Charlie said with a friendly smile. "They're the wrong shade and clash with the ceiling - some interior decorator saw it and had a heart-attack."
The young man stuck his hand out with an engaging grin. "Hi, I'm Pat."
The tall woman took his hand and shook it firmly. "Charlie."
"Are you local?"
Charlie chuckled. Pat's accent was very English, probably Home Counties, and the variations between her accent and a Canadian Maritimes accent were probably not obvious to him yet.
"No, I'm from California." She was intrigued by the way his face fell as she told him. "Why?"
"I was hoping you might know what this city is like - where the good places to visit are and where I should avoid."
"Can't help you there. This is my first visit."
"Ah. Well, it was worth a try." Pat grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Is this a fun visit or are you working?"
"My new job is here."
Pat brightened. "What a coincidence, so is mine. Maybe we could meet up some time - you know, compare notes, that sort of thing?"
His enthusiasm was sweet, but Charlie winced. "Is this a roundabout way of asking for a date?"
"No!" Pat said quickly, then he, too, winced. "Sorry, didn't mean to sound so, uh . . ."
"Repulsed?"
"No. It's just . . . I prefer my women shorter."
"So do I," Charlie said with a wide grin.
For a moment Pat looked confused, then his eyes widened and he blushed. "Oh. Oh! You mean . . . ah. Well, that's good."
Charlie blinked. "Huh. That's not the usual reaction I get."
"It isn't?"
"No. Mostly I get 'but why?' Or 'but there are plenty of nice guys out there . . . such as me'. People don't often say 'good'."
"Well, it's good because I can have a friendship with a nice-looking lady, but without any complications." Pat shrugged. "Selfish, but true."
"Hey, I like that idea." Charlie rummaged in her bag and produced a piece of paper, which she proceeded to scribble on. "Here's my number. Give me a call if you want to meet up some time. I have a feeling I'll need someone fairly normal here - if the people I'll be working with turn out the way I think they will."
Pat rolled his eyes. "One of those jobs, huh? Well, I'll give you a call. No fear there."
A tired customs guard called for the next person and Charlie shouldered her bag again. "That's me. It was nice meeting you, Pat."
"Likewise."
By the time Charlie made it through customs, her green duffel bag was already making its way around the carousel. She snagged it before it could disappear and slung it over her shoulder. There was one bored guard at the doorway but he waved her through quickly and she was finally out. It was too early for any of the stores in the airport to be open and there was hardly anyone waiting by the escalators. Just a couple of tired taxi drivers holding signs. Neither of the signs were the ones that Charlie was searching for, so she shrugged and sat down on a bench to wait.
The Watchers were notorious for their ability to 'lose' important memos so she decided she would give them ten minutes and then call the contact number she had been given and raise hell. She had very little faith in their organisational skills.
Charlie shivered slightly and pulled her jacket more securely around her. Although it was summer, the air conditioning was slightly lower than she was used to in California. Winter would probably be unpleasant. It would give her an excuse to go shopping for a new wardrobe, though, so there was an up side. She was a firm believer that if you looked closely enough, there was a silver lining to everything.
Glancing at her watch, Charlie frowned and looked around the deserted airport again. Just as she was about to give up and raise hell, a man dressed in tweed ran up the dimly lit corridor and stopped next to the escalators, panting. After a moment he managed to regain his breath enough to hold up the sign he clutched in his hand: "The Stewart Research Institute."
Charlie sighed and picked up her bags. The Institute had been named for her grandmother and great-aunt, a final tribute to two amazing women, but it was just a cover for their real purpose. It would be a little harder to explain "The Stewart Watcher Training Facility". She suspected that probably only a couple of people in the Canadian government knew what it really was; even the majority of the British government was unaware of the existence of the Watchers and their Council. But it was better this way. A few years ago she had hacked into some U.S. government files and found out about an organisation called the Initiative. After the way that was handled, and the discovery that most of the officers were killed when the demons they had been collecting got loose, she had concluded that this world was best handled by the experts. In other words, the Watchers were all they had.
The tweed-clad Watcher paled slightly when he saw her approaching. Charlie topped him by a couple of inches and she guessed that the combination of her height, the leather jacket and the ease she shouldered the heavy duffel with could appear intimidating. She grinned wolfishly, and was rewarded when the Watcher unconsciously stepped back a pace.
"You must be here to collect me," she said when she was a few feet away.
"I-I am?" the Watcher said nervously.
Charlie stuck out her hand and he eyed it suspiciously. "Charlotte Giles."
He swallowed. "Ah, yes. I apologise for the delay. There was a slight miscommunication regarding your flight number. My name is Edward Tubberman."
She barely managed to restrain her smirk. The short, slightly rounded man suited his name to the ground. Watchers always seemed to fall into two categories: cold and efficient, or weak and ridiculous. This one fell firmly in category two. Tubberman ignored her hand and craned his neck to look around her.
"Are we waiting for someone else?" Charlie asked curiously.
"Yes, he's . . . ah, there he is."
Charlie turned to see Pat hurrying towards them, dragging a large trunk behind him.
"Sorry, sorry it took . . . hello Charlie." His expression of wide-eyed surprise was comical and this time Charlie did not hide her smile. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon. You're . . ?"
"Uh-huh." Charlie nodded. "You too?"
Pat grinned. "Guess this won't be so bad after all."
Tubberman cleared his throat pointedly. "If we could be leaving? It is rather late."
Charlie saluted cheekily and gestured for the Watcher to lead the way. Tubberman huffed, pulled his jacket straight and scurried towards the exit. The two trainees rolled their eyes and followed.
***
Charlie was embarrassed to find that she fell asleep during the drive, and was woken by Pat shaking her arm. Outside the stars were just beginning to wink out and the moon had already set. It was the darkest time of night and she could barely make out anything of her surroundings. The bulk of a building loomed above them, obscuring the few remaining stars, and there was the distinct tang of pine in the air mingled with other, less familiar scents.
Tubberman climbed out of the car and hesitantly made his way towards the building. Abruptly a light turned on to illuminate the clearing they were parked in, and Charlie squinted against the glare. After a moment her eyes adjusted and she could make out what looked like a huge old wooden house against a backdrop of trees.
"Well?" Tubberman asked, looking at them.
Charlie quickly scrambled out of the car, followed by Pat, and they followed their guide to the door. He unlocked it and ushered them into a dimly lit foyer. The sound of their footsteps on the polished wooden floor echoed and out of the corner of her eye, Charlie could see Pat looking around nervously.
"Worried?" Charlie whispered.
"M-me? Why should I be?"
Tubberman turned and hushed them imperiously. Lamps in wall sconces, turned down low, lit the rounded room. There was a fireplace opposite the font door with leather armchairs arranged around it. Other doors led off the foyer and portraits decorated the panelled walls. To one side there was a large wooden desk, complete with blotter, pens, ink bottle and, incongruously, a computer screen and keyboard. Tubberman scuttled behind the desk and began pulling things out of the drawers. Charlie felt as though she was back in school as she waited in front of the desk with Pat.
Tubberman held out two thick packets. "These are your welcome packs. You'll find your handbooks, rule book and class schedules in here. Please read them carefully."
Charlie sighed and took her heavy pack. She had been wrong - it was worse than school.
"There are forms in there that you will need to look over, sign and hand in at the meeting tomorrow evening," Tubberman continued. "Please do not forget them. We cannot proceed with your training unless you sign the appropriate wavers."
The short Watcher produced two sets of keys with two white pieces of paper and handed them to the trainees. "Here are the keys to your cabins. Do not lose them. It costs ten dollars to get a replacement. Sign the forms to acknowledge your receipt of the keys and welcome packs. Tonight, please. I think we all want our beds."
Charlie patted her pockets and looked at Tubberman expectantly. "Got a pen?"
Heaving a great sigh, the short man pulled out a pen and handed it over. When the forms were signed Tubberman led the way out of the large building, carefully locking the door behind them. Wordlessly they followed him to the car and climbed in. The drive to Charlie's cabin barely took a couple of minutes and she was so tired she did not take in any of her surroundings until the car slowed to a stop. Tubberman turned and looked at her expectantly.
"This is it?" she asked, peering out into the darkened forest.
"This is it," Tubberman repeated tiredly.
There was the barest hint of grey in the night sky but under the trees it was still pitch dark. Charlie did not have the energy to get annoyed with Tubberman so she wearily got out of the car and retrieved her bags from the trunk. Pat gave an encouraging wave and she smiled back before making her way to the log cabin she could just make out next to the dirt track they had driven along. As soon as her foot touched the porch steps a light switched on above the door and behind her, Charlie could hear Tubberman's car driving away. She fumbled for a moment before she managed to get the key in the door and open it.
She stepped into a small, comfortable looking lounge but Charlie barely noticed. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a door to her right, through which she could see a faint light and, most importantly, a large bed. Just the sight of the bed cheered her up. At the same time her body decided that she had done enough and it was definitely time for sleep. Somehow she managed to get across the lounge without tripping over and dumped her bags in a corner of the bedroom. She rummaged inside the duffel bag and found an old T-shirt. It barely took her a moment to pull off her shirt and jeans and slip into the comfortable nightshirt, and then she fell onto the bed with a contented sigh. After a minute she shivered and wriggled under the warm comforter. Seconds later Charlie was asleep.
***
Dappled sunlight streamed through the window and Charlie opened one grey eye to glare at it. She wriggled deeper under the quilt, pulled a pillow over her head and stubbornly ignored the cheerful beams. After a few minutes she sighed and pushed the pillow away. Sleeping was wonderful, but if she had to suffocate herself under a pillow it was not worth the effort. Charlie sniffed. Somewhere in the cabin there was coffee. The rich, pungent scent drifted into the room temptingly. She decided that it would be good manners to get up and sample the coffee someone had so carefully prepared.
Good manners, right. You just want the coffee, she thought, rolling her eyes. Sitting up, she pushed her long blonde hair out of her eyes and looked around.
In the daylight, the room was a lot more cheerful and welcoming than it had appeared at dawn. The walls were painted white and reflected the soft light from the large window above Charlie's bed. The sunlight was streaming through the branches of the trees that surrounded the cabin and casting moving shadows around the room. A wooden wardrobe stood in one corner with a low chest of drawers next to it. At the foot of the bed there was a blanket box and all the wood appeared to be cedar. Charlie thought she would probably be grateful for that box later in the year; her quilt, although beautifully patterned with fall leaves, was not thick.
Most of the polished wooden floor was bare, although there was a small but thick woollen rug at the side of the bed. Her bags were piled in the corner not far from a small stove, which she guessed was intended to provide extra heat during the winter.
The coffee-smell tantalised her nose so Charlie slipped out of bed and padded over to her bags. Her T-shirt was fine to sleep in, but it barely reached the tops of her thighs and she did not want to shock whoever had made the coffee. She pulled out a pair of shorts and a robe and pulled them on before following her nose out of the bedroom.
Her hair was dishevelled, and she probably looked a complete sight, but somewhere there was coffee and she needed it. She barely even noticed the sitting room, instead following the smell into a small kitchen and finally to a pot of coffee. Fresh coffee. Perfect.
It took her a moment of searching to find a mug and she decided to bypass cream in favour of sipping at good - scratch that, delicious - coffee the way God intended it.
The tall woman was half-way through her first cup when a voice behind her said, "Morning, sleepy-head."
Charlie gasped, but was proud that she managed swallow her automatic yell. She whirled to face her visitor, her body immediately going into battle-stance. Holding her coffee ready to throw in the intruder's face, she balanced on the balls of her feet so that she could dodge quickly if necessary. Even as she did so her mind was quickly sizing up her opponent and making an assessment of everything in the tiny room that could be used as a weapon.
Leaning against the doorjamb stood a shorter, slender redheaded woman, her pale blue eyes alight with amusement. A cheerful grin spread across her face as she took in Charlie's tense response.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said in a lilting Irish accent.
Charlie's hesitation was barely perceptible before she relaxed and leaned against the counter lazily. The girl did not seem threatening, in fact she radiated gentleness and trust, but the taller woman was no fool. Although she looked relaxed, there was tension in the set of her shoulders and the wary eye she still directed at the redhead.
Smiling apologetically, the girl said, "I couldn't resist - call it my character flaw. You didn't even notice me when you walked past so . . ."
"Ah. I asked for it."
"Something like that." The shorter woman held out her hand. "Let's start again. Hi, I'm Siobhan O'Connor. My friend's call me Vonnie."
The blonde woman took the proffered hand, surprised at the strength of the grip. "Charlie."
"Nice to meet you. Looks like we're going to be roomies," Vonnie said with a cheerful grin. "You're Charlotte Giles, right?"
Damn. For a moment Charlie had forgotten about that. Anyone with any connection to the supernatural world knew her name and in a Watcher compound it would be impossible to avoid the inevitable reactions. Watchers either hated her or hero-worshipped her parents. She really did not want to deal with it until she had taken a shower and had at least one more cup of coffee. Maybe it was not too late to change her mind about this.
"Must be tough," Vonnie said sympathetically.
Charlie's eyes shot to her face, her mind taking a while to catch up with the words. "Huh?"
Vonnie rolled her eyes. "My parents run this place. It's amazing the number of people who think I can influence them. You must get it even worse."
Numbly, Charlie nodded. This was the first time her identity had provoked this response.
"Look, why don't we go into the lounge and do this properly," Vonnie suggested. "We can get to know each other and I can try to persuade you that I'm not a mad psychopath."
"Am I that transparent?"
"Um, yeah?"
Charlie chuckled and allowed Vonnie to pour them fresh cups of coffee before following her into the sitting room. Now that she was paying more attention, she realised that the shorter woman had probably been sitting in there when she made her dash for the coffee. The book on the floor next to one of the armchairs attested to a quiet morning waiting for her to wake up.
The room was small but comfortable, with a couple of armchairs and a small sofa arranged in a semi-circle facing the TV screen on the wall. A wood-stove had been built in one corner and there was already a small stack of logs next to it. Another corner of the room was designated as the dining area, with a table and chairs, so Charlie assumed that she was intended to eat some of her meals in the cabin. Other than some shelves on the walls the room was bare, almost austere. It would need a little work to become a home.
Now Charlie realised why she had not seen the extra bedroom before. The kitchen was the first door down a tiny hallway in the back of the cabin, and two more doors led off the hall. One probably led to Vonnie's room and the other to the bathroom.
Vonnie curled up in her armchair and Charlie settled down on the sofa.
"So, why Canada?" Vonnie asked.
"I thought it would suit me better than Oxford."
Looking across at Charlie's lanky frame and barely concealed aura of power, the redheaded girl was forced to agree. Charlotte Giles was not an Oxford sort of person.
"Oxford is . . . quiet," Vonnie said cautiously. "It's, uh . . ."
"Heavy on the tradition, and probably every Watcher there hates my guts," Charlie supplied easily.
"Uh-huh. Not that it's a bad place. I went to university there, but the way they're training now . . . did you know that the Oxford trainees aren't even intended as active Watchers anymore?"
Charlie shook her head.
"Basically, this place has taken over the training of Watchers for field duty. Anyone training in Oxford will be a researcher. Possibly they'll eventually get into the management structure and then maybe into the Council but they'll never get a Slayer. One of the advantages of parents in the right places - you find out things other people can't."
"Ah." Charlie raised an eyebrow curiously. "So, why did you choose Canada? It can't be easy to train under your parents."
For a long moment Vonnie studied the surface of her coffee before raising her head to meet Charlie's grey eyes. "If I have to be a Watcher, I'd rather do something useful than sit in a library for the rest of my life."
"You don't want to be a Watcher?"
Pounding at their door interrupted them, and Vonnie sprang up immediately to answer it. Her reluctance to answer had told Charlie a lot and she filed away that titbit of information for later.
Behind her, Charlie heard a squeal and turned her head to see Vonnie being caught up in a bear hug by Pat.
"Put me down, you great lump of lard," Vonnie shrieked, but there was a delighted smile on her face.
Pat rolled his eyes but obediently lowered the girl to the ground. "Hey, short-stuff. I didn't know you were here."
"Someone had to stop you getting into trouble," retorted Vonnie, fluffing her chin-length hair imperiously. "I didn't want the Maritimes destroyed, thank you very much."
"Since when have I been trouble?"
"Since the day you were born."
Charlie stood cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I'm going to take a shower. Sounds like you guys have some catching up to do."
Pat grinned at her. "You look just fine to me."
Rolling her eyes, Charlie ambled out of the room.
Vonnie punched his arm. "What did you do that for?"
"Do what?" Pat asked, rubbing his arm. "It was just a bit of fun - she's hardly going to be interested in me."
"Don't you know who she is?"
"Sure, she's Charlie. We met at the airport." Pat reached out and rested his palm against Vonnie's forehead. "Are you feeling all right? Getting jealous that I'm flirting with your roomie?"
"In your dreams," Vonnie said with a sigh. "That's Charlotte Giles."
"*The* Charlotte Giles?"
"Uh-huh."
"No shit."
"Potty-mouth."
Pat stared at the door Charlie had disappeared to with an expression of wide-eyed shock, and a tinge of hero-worship. "You mean I talked to Charlotte Giles without even knowing it?"
"Uh-huh."
"And she talked to me?"
"Lord preserve me, she's just a normal person," Vonnie sighed. "Yes, you talked to her and she talked back. I knew you'd do this."
"What?" Pat still stared at the door.
"Now I can see why she had that 'uh-oh' expression when I guessed who she is. I thought she was going to make a run for it."
"Yeah?"
"Have you heard anything I've said?"
"She's Charlotte Giles."
Giving up, Vonnie sat down in her armchair again and picked up her book. Hero-worship - who wanted it?
***
"It should have been me," Bobby grumbled, kicking a can. "That loser doesn't sing any better - why did he get the recording contract?"
The alleyway in downtown Halifax was deeply shadowed and, if Bobby had known it, one of the most dangerous parts of the entire city. Even drug-dealers were afraid to walk down there. But Bobby, not the brightest twig on the branch, cheerfully assumed that nobody got attacked during daytime. It is strange the way that people think daylight can protect them. Despite the fact that the deserted alleyway was almost as dark as night time, Bobby carried on his monologue and never heard the quiet footsteps behind him.
"Dumb-ass producers. What do they know about talent? About passion? About - gaah!"
*finis*