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Out Of The Fog

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This story is No. 1 in the series "Cruciamentum". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: Edward is hired to avenge a slayer's death.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Anita Blake > Buffy-CenteredanyankaFR1855,53334817,8706 Feb 0910 Feb 09Yes

Chapter One

Disclaimer: Shocking, but none of the characters are mine. I know y'all were confused there for a second. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is gained. BTVS belongs to Joss. Anita Blake and her buddies belong to Laurell K. Hamilton.

If you're a fan of Tales of the Slayer, Volume 4, you'll know Slayer Peri Bohr was a Slayer before Buffy. For this story, please assume Peri died in Keller, Nebraska under Watcher Mr. McClellan during her Cruciamentum.

Cold and blustery, the wind whipped the fog on Artillery Row into motion. Swirling tendrils of mist twined around the building, obscuring part of it from view. God, Edward hated England. The fog, the food the tea…he’d give anything for a hot cup of coffee right about now. Shaking off the stray thoughts, he wondered why it seemed so hard to concentrate. Gritting his teeth, Edward winced and rubbed his eyes. He let out a yawn, trying to shake off the lethargy that settled into his bones. It was when his head was turned that some strange vibe tingled through him like a small electric shock. When he looked up, the Watcher’s Council was gone.

“That’s not possible.” The words were soft, but the annoyance in his tone would have been clear if there’d been someone to hear him.

Shaking his head, he peered through the scope on his sniper’s rifle, but the view was the same. The building wasn’t there. It had vanished into the fog. For a second, rage built through him. The only outward sign was a tick in his clenched jaw. With blue eyes as cold as the weather, he stared out at the blank spot where a building used to be. It was a long minute that he stood there before, with quick, meticulous motions, he took apart his gun. Not looking away from where the building used to be, he put the pieces into the slots specially fitted for them in his messenger bag.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he shut the open window and headed toward the door. He passed a woman laying silent on a bed—her eyes open wide, but seeing nothing. Edward didn’t spare her a glance. Her lost life didn’t register on his radar as good or bad, it had been necessary for him to get to his target. And, if what his client said about the Cruciamentum was true, one less Watcher alive couldn’t be a bad thing.

Hand on the door, he exited the room without a backwards glance and headed down the stairs to the front door of the old house. Feet automatically missing the creaking stair-step he’d hit on the way up, his retreat was silent and unobserved by anyone, but it was felt by something. As soon as Edward was flying over the Atlantic, the fog gathered again until it obscured everything on Artillery Row. When it faded away, the Watcher’s Council was back in place. Not that this helped Edward out at all.

His expenses had outrun his profit on this gig a month ago. This was no longer about the money or pleasing his client. Killing Quentin Travers had become a matter of pride. Edward wasn’t about to let a human get away.

The hunt was on.

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