Disclaimer: Don't own or claim rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or These Old Shades
A/N: Written for a Fiction Land 10 minute challenge. It is a kind of follow-up to Lady on the Hellmouth.~~~~~
Xander stumbled forward. “Well, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” he frowned.
Willow sniffed. “Well, since we’re supposed to be in California, we wouldn’t be in Kansas, anyway.”
Xander huffed. “Picky, picky.” He looked around the room that they had landed in. “Fancy,” he murmured.
“Georgian,” Willow murmured, frowning. “And familiar.”
“I am so very delighted you should find my sitting room to your approval,” an elegant voice drawled.
The pair whirled, startled, then Willow stiffened. “Monsigneur,” she whispered.
“Who is this that calls you Monsigneur?” a little redhead hissed. “Tell me! Oh, tell me you have not chosen another, my Monsigneur! I could not bear if you replaced me!” she declared.
Xander stared at the woman, wide-eyed. “Leonie?” he tried.
The beautiful redhead turned her fierce glare on the hapless American. “And who are you?” she demanded.
“Er…” Xander stared at her. “It’s a really long story, and kind of convoluted, and really rather strange,” he explained nothing at all. “Will, just how … susceptible are these people?” he asked nervously.
“It’s not called the Age of Enlightenment for nothing, Xan,” Willow shrugged. “Not to mention that His Grace is one of the leading intellectuals. At least, anyone with half a brain knows that.”
Xander considered the elegant man now bowing his appreciation to Willow. “Yeah. I kind of remember a nickname you told me. What was it? Satanas
“Ah,” the man smiled serenely, making Xander even more nervous. “You know me!”
“In a really weird way, yeah. Kind of. But only by reputation,” Xander waved vaguely.
“And how is it that you come to be in my house, and that you seem to know us so intimately?” the man, Satanas
, demanded politely.
Xander swallowed. “Uh, okay. Well, it’s kind of like this.” He glanced wildly at Willow. She simply smirked back at him, and waited for his attempt at an explanation. “Okay. So. We kind of maybe grew up in a little place called La Boca del Infierno…”