Chapter 13: Graduation

For a week Kennedy waited for Ruby to call, then finally realized it was pointless. At that point neither of them was going to give an inch.

She had a better day than most for a change, and when she was catching her breath after a very long exercise set, she turned to Mr. Glastonbury. "Should I call Ruby?"

He shook his head.

"What should I have done different? She kept wanting me to tell the truth. What's wrong with that? She knew perfectly well I was telling the truth about little things, not the big thing. What should I have done?" She hesitated and added softly, "Sir."

Mr. Glastonbury shrugged. "There's no real choice. If you'd told her the truth, you'd have put and her family at risk. That's not a fair thing, is it? How could you explain that you can't explain without explaining?"

She whacked the side of her head and he laughed. "Miss Kennedy, perhaps I should take you to the emergency room. I would, I think, if I knew someone who'd let you watch."

"I thought you knew everyone?" she replied lightly.

"Oh, I know people who work in emergency rooms. I just doubt if they'd agree, no matter how much they trust me. I'm as sure as I can be: the first case would be some poor sod who caught his balls in a ringer. Wouldn't that be wonderful! The patient wouldn't care to have you watching them work on him, any more than you want to see it either."

"Do guys really do that?" Kennedy asked, curious.

He nodded his head. "Miss Kennedy, sex is the most primal drive in human nature. Even the dead feel the urge! People will do the stupidest things in the name of love or sex!"

"No, you'll just have to listen to me lecture on how important it is that you understand that there are tradeoffs involved in every decision you make, from getting up to going to bed. What clothes to wear, which way to go here or there. And that's just getting breakfast!"

Kennedy smiled, shaking her head. "I think I understand. I have to weigh whether losing Ruby as a friend is a worse fate than having her possibly losing her life. Or her family dying. What about Harriet?"

"What about Harriet? Harriet is very different from Ruby. I think Ruby is smarter in many ways, but Harriet has more common sense, more tenacity, and a far, far larger bump of curiosity. Do you understand that Harriet will never ask you if you're lying? She'll listen to what you say, judge it, and then judge if the reason for your lie might be justified."

Kennedy nodded. He had the essence of Harriet down to a "T."

"She'll die, you understand, if you become the Slayer."

Kennedy looked up at Mr. Glastonbury, her face suddenly pale.

"Is it really that black?"

"Yes."

"And my parents? My stepsister?"

"Toast."

"You?"

He shrugged. "Usually the Watcher dies first. I've survived twice when my student died. It's not something I'm proud of."

"You seem okay with the idea of your death," Kennedy spoke softly.

"Lady Kennedy, we all die. It's part and parcel of being born. Working with Slayers and Potentials ... it's the finest job a person can have. That it's more dangerous than coal mining ... well, my grandfather was a coal miner in the pits of Wales.

"He scrimped and got my father a position as a law clerk in London. That cost a pretty penny! My father wanted me to be a doctor, and when I finished boarding school, he sent me to the Continent to study. So many distractions I had! Wine, women, song ... and rebellion in the streets! I was an easily distracted youth and took to all of them with a verve. It's a pity I can't hold my liquor, can't sing a note, and have terrible luck with women. Still, I was a dab hand at organizing a revolution, and when we got going good, I became a fair soldier and a better blacksmith."

Something about the way he said it struck Kennedy as odd. "Just how many times have you been a Watcher?"

His eyes met hers. "Do you really want to know, Lady Kennedy?"

"Yes, Mr. Glastonbury, I do."

"I went to Paris in the summer of 1847. The kettle was already bubbling and by spring of 1848 it was at a roiling boil. I've worked with two Slayers and twenty-one Potentials. The appointments have averaged slightly less than six years each. I spent a decade in training and a year or two between postings."

Kennedy swallowed. "I must say, for someone whose two hundredth birthday is just around the corner, you don't look it. How does that work?"

"I'm not supposed to say anything beyond 'very powerful magic.'" He laughed. "Of course, if you consider how to boil a living frog, it's fairly obvious."

Kennedy nodded. Obviously, a riddle. She'd said it, too! How very odd!

He bounced up, picking up a kendo stick. "Ready to get spanked?"

She cast a fond, longing glace at Lady Kennedy, but she'd already spent half the morning swinging her.

They had hardly gotten started when there was a startled gasp from the door to the practice room. They stopped and both turned. Kennedy's mother was standing there, looking confused.

"What is that? You're beating each other with sticks?"

"It's a form of fencing, ma'am. It'll be an Olympic sport in a few years. Miss Kennedy, is, I think, good enough to compete."

"Yes, I suppose. Whatever." Her mother turned to Kennedy. "Your stepfather has been injured in a traffic accident."

"Is he okay?"

"He has several broken bones, as does his chauffer. However his mistress was killed instantly, as was her bastard child. The stupid woman was carrying him in her arms."

Kennedy wanted to pound on the side of her head, trying to get the water out that was messing up her hearing. Her mother spoke the announcement like she was reporting the weather.

"I'll be going to the hospital later this evening. He's in Mass Gen, up in Boston. You can come if you wish, but I'd understand if you didn't want to."

Kennedy was about to say she'd pass, thanks, when she saw Mr. Glastonbury make a minute shake of the head. He wanted her to go? She shrugged. There were worse things, she supposed.

When her mother went to the hospital, she didn't go like a normal person would. She drove them a short distance to a private airfield, where they boarded a helicopter for the hop to Boston. They were met by a Mercedes and whisked to the hospital.

To put it modestly, it was a very uncomfortable visit. Her father was clearly devastated, and Kennedy didn't think it was because he had a broken arm and broken hip. But he couldn't very well publicly grieve for his dead lover and his dead son, and Kennedy's mother wasn't about to bring them up.

Finally it was over and they were back in the Mercedes, headed for the helicopter and the ride back to Scarsdale. She drowsed in the car, barely woke up to walk to the helicopter, and leaned her head immediately against a head rest and was asleep before they even got into the air.

When they were back at the house her mother didn't get out of the car. "I'm going to spend a few days in Boston, dear. Then I'm due in Palm Beach. Dear, you look very stupid at your age, playing pretend swords with sticks."

Then her mother was gone. Kennedy found Mr. Glastonbury sitting in the study, his feet up, reading a book. She had intended to tell him about the trip, but something came up as she started towards him.

This time she was awake when it came.

It hit her like a lightning bolt out of the blue. She choked and gagged, gasping for breath, feeling the strong hands forcing her face down into the pool of water. No matter how much she fought and struggled, second by second her universe contracted until finally it went out of existence. It was one of the worst moments in her life.

She sagged to her knees, breathing in ragged gasps, barely able to retain consciousness herself.

Mr. Glastonbury was out of his chair and at her side like a bullet.

By then, it was over. "Miss Kennedy?"

She looked at him; she was pale and trembling. She tried to control her voice. "There'll be a new Slayer tonight. That cheerleader Valley girl just drowned."

He stared at her in astonishment. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I don't know. I knew about the one before. It's going to be a real trial, if I keep seeing their deaths. I'm not going to have any confidence at all, come the day."

"Well, hopefully the next Slayer will be more circumspect as well as more careful. That California girl was a terror!"

"What do you mean?" Kennedy asked, trying to use the time to regain her composure. It was clear Mr. Glastonbury was trying to distract her as well.

"Last spring, at her prom, a horde of vampires attacked her and the school. She killed them all ... but burned down half the school getting it done. They expelled her."

He paused and shook his head. "The Powers That Be sent her to a place called Sunnydale, north of Los Angeles. There's a place called the Hell Mouth nearby. As the millennium draws nearer, there is going to be more and more activity there."

"I thought that year 2000 stuff was all junk?"

"It is. But then, what was special about December 7th, 1940? Nothing! It wasn't a special day until the Japanese made it that way a year later. The same thing with June 6th, 1944, when Eisenhower decided to invade France that day. Just because a date doesn't appear to have any significance to you, it may have to others. Demons are famous, you understand, for having anniversaries just about any old day they please. It's like the old saw: 'It's always someone's birthday.'"

"I'm okay now," Kennedy told him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Glastonbury."

He laughed. "Miss Kennedy, twice now you've experienced someone dying. Having trouble with that, having a physical reaction to that, isn't unexpected. You just rest, and I'll call the Watchers Council and see what I can learn."

She nodded and then spoke the other thought on her mind. "This time, there was no old woman. Just the vision of her dying."

"Honestly, Miss Kennedy, this is all a surprise. I have no idea what to expect, nor, in fact, does the Watchers Council."

He helped her to a couch, then went to fetch a glass of orange juice. She accepted it gratefully, and while she sat sipping it. Mr. Glastonbury smiled at her, then hastened away, headed for the telephone.

He was gone for quite a while, more than an hour. Finally he returned and sat down next to her on the couch. He faced her and spoke seriously.

"I don't know what to say; this is all most irregular. Highly irregular. Nothing like this has ever happened before."

"What hasn't happened? Someone seeing a Slayer when she dies?"

"That too. Do you understand that there's powerful magic locked into the person who becomes the Slayer? When a Slayer dies, those forces are set in motion. The new Slayer, for instance, lives in the Caribbean area; exactly where, I'm not sure."