Successor (BTVS)

[X] Go into the basement.

She took a step toward the basement door. It really was in quite a state; she dimly remembered half-cleaning it this morning now, and suspected that hadn't been the first time.

Nobody Goes Into The Basement.

Perhaps a thorough scrubbing now was the best course. She was reaching under the sink to get out a fresh sponge before she realized something had gone wrong somewhere.

She had to get into the basement. Richard had told her to, even though it was hard. She'd never failed him before. (She told herself that Graduation Day didn't count.)

She took a step toward the basement door. Her eyes flicked up to the clock and she noticed it was 4:13 AM. Her head hurt, possibly from overtiredness.

Nobody Goes Into The Basement.

Less than 6 hours of sleep a night was ill-advised in the long term, and seeing as there was no emergency afoot it'd be best for her to rest now, and be ready for tomorrow. She was leaving the kitchen when she noticed the still-wrapped sponge in her hand, wondered where it had come from, and then turned back to the basement door.

Nobody Goes Into The Basement.

She noticed the small pile of other letters on the kitchen table. It was really irresponsible to leave them unopened, on second thought. Who knows what sort of critical correspondence could be there? Her own home would be a highly unlikely destination for such, but if someone felt the need to get in contact with her covertly, her prompt action could be invaluable to serving the mayor's interests.

She set down her checkbook in the middle of addressing the telephone bill and looked back at the basement door, then yawned uncontrollably. That late night 'patrol' with Harmony had certainly improved her mood, but it had tired Cynthia out. The young vampire set a punishing walking pace when she was angry, without even truly realizing it. She slumped down to her bed with a sigh and set the unused sponge on the nightstand. She could feel her mild headache developing into a nasty migraine.

But that door really did need a cleaning. Surely she wouldn't be able to sleep, with its grungy surface haunting her dreams. There was nothing for it but to do it now. As Richard had always said: 'Never do tomorrow what you can do tonight.'

She grabbed a bucket from the closet and filled it with water quickly, squirting in a splash of detergent to accompany it. Then she carefully set it by the basement door and started her work. After only the barest start on the front, she realized that the back of the door was likely even more neglected, and that she'd do better to deal with the more serious issue post haste. She opened the door outwards into the kitchen and it confirmed her suspicions; the backside of it was an abomination of dust and grime.

Then she very deliberately tripped over her bucket of water and suds, sending herself (and it) flying through the door and down the stairs. Luckily, the banister was in better repair than it appeared, and her frantic grab at it let her stop herself before she careened all the way to the bottom. Her knees were scratched up and her treasured dress much worse for wear, but she was finally in the basement.

Nobody Goes Into The Basement.

She wasn't going into the basement. She was already there. Surely the stairs were part of the basement; after all, she'd never gone onto them before. With that thought firmly in mind, she carefully and slightly unsteadily descended the rest of the way down the soapy steps. She avoided looking back and was only moderately distracted by how badly everything here needed to be cleaned. Surely Richard would understand.

By the time she'd reached the bottom, the light from the kitchen was doing little to help. She felt around and found a switch, casting her surroundings in dim light. The basement, at least the part visible from here, was mostly full of bookshelves, though there was also an ancient washer & dryer set tucked into a corner (neither was a patch on the ones she had for her own use upstairs.) In addition to all the things which had presumably been in the basement for a very long time, she also found her sponge sitting next to the overturned bucket, now wet with water and soap. It had served her well already tonight, so she picked it up, just in case it would be needed again.

While she was curious about her newly discovered library, she had a job to do. Her house wasn't particularly large, so unless the space down here was expanded somehow Richard's rune diagram shouldn't be that hard to find. She moved through the musty stacks with purpose, and after a couple turnings found an open space.

She stopped a moment, staring. This was hardly just a couple circles, even though they held center stage. The spellwork around them was an elaborate collection of runes and channels, written on the bare concrete of the walls and floor with a dark red paint that was almost certainly blood-based. Some of the channels led back under nearby bookshelves, making her think that the collection might be serving some kind of purpose in the ritual.

The rune from the envelope was present again on the wall directly opposite her, larger than all the rest and glowing with an eerie golden light.

Serve The Mayor.

She knew that Mayor Summers was searching for a Lachrymal artifact of Richard's, something very well hidden. Something underground. Something dangerous and powerful, and connected to her in ways she did not fully understand.

Richard had implied this was very urgent. Perhaps she could make the adjustment, and then alert the others.

Mayor Summers did not trust Richard. His instructions could have consequences for her and the entire city if he was indeed dishonest now.

Part of her could not believe that Richard would lie to her, not with his first words to her in months, not about something so serious as this. Richard had not loved her, but still-

Even if it was hurting her, even if went against Richard's wishes, she couldn't, she had to-

Serve The Mayor.

Something stung sharply in her head, and she blinked away the fresh blood in her eye. She then wiped her face clean with one hand before cleaning it in turn with the sponge.

'Please Cynthia, go now.' About that, at least, Richard had clearly not been lying.

She took a deep breath, then forced herself to take everything in again. While this was very impressive, nothing about it seemed ancient and terrible, except perhaps the primary rune. She was not precisely an expert, but she believed that Richard could've done all this himself, with sufficient time. It might be linked to the artifact, but she was almost certain the artifact was not here. Some channels did lead into the bookshelves, but others led up into what she suspected was her bedroom. None that she could see led out through exterior walls.

Whatever this was about, it was about this place, about her. It might have something to do with the artifact, but it seemed unlikely it controlled it at such remove.

Unlikely, but-

Serve The Mayor.

Another sting, behind her eyes. She wiped away more blood from her face, then reflexively cleaned her hand again. Her time was short, and her sponge was filthy. Mayor Summers valued her service, and would not want her dead.

The red and green crystals both glowed with their own inner light, softer than the gold of the primary rune. Disrupting a spell in progress was dangerous, but Richard was exacting if nothing else, and would have warned her of any complications she might face. So she stepped through and around the other runes, up to the edge of the central circle. She paused once more, and then steeling herself, took the red crystal in her hand.

Everything was so loud.
.
Webster's New International Dictionary, edited by William Allan Neilson & Thomas A. Knott
…
20th Century Bookkeeping & Accounting, by Paul Adolf Carlson
…..
The Common Properties of Galardian Languages, by Hestia Duvall
…….
The Westmore Beauty Book, by Perc, Wally, Bud, Frank, and Mont Westmore
……...
High Performance Driving in the Urban Setting, by Eric Castleton
………..
How to Win Wars and Influence Demons, by Ytharkek the Tyrant
………….
The Good Housekeeping Housekeeping Book, edited by Helen W. Kendall
…………...
She set the red crystal down in the other circle, and then her mind was quiet.

Cynthia Danvers backed away from the runes, lowered herself to the ground, and put down her sponge. She had to tell Buffy about all this.

Wait. Something about that thought didn't feel right to her. Maybe more than one thing.

She didn't actually feel like she had to tell Buffy about this. Mayor Summers. Buffy. Either way. She could see the reasons why it was a good idea, how it was a responsible course of action. But she didn't have to.

Richard probably hadn't wanted Buffy to know. In hindsight, if he had, it would've been simpler for him to send the letter to her instead, and have her just break into the basement and fiddle with the spell herself, leaving Cynthia blissfully unaware. Even if the spell had some sort of mental effect on people other than her, Buffy was resistant to such, and Richard knew that.

But if telling Buffy was responsible, then why wouldn't Richard expect her to just tell her now, providing she even survived the harrowing experience? Why didn't Cynthia want to tell her? Why wasn't she picking up her radio right now, and directing the magic department to descend upon her house like a swarm of flying monkeys?

She didn't feel like she was still under any compulsions, for whatever that counted for. She still saw Buffy Summers as a fine young woman who tried very hard to do the right thing, but that opinion was a far cry from the fanatical loyalty she'd carried for months. Whereas Richard Wilkins was a bad man, but one that had not been bad to her. One that she couldn't help but feel a certain attraction to, even now.

But before graduation day, it had been more, hadn't it? Stronger. One might even call it fanatical. She thought back, trying to remember how all this had started, if Richard had actually treated her well. If she'd ever known about the mind control machine in her basement.

Though she couldn't find it in herself to regret working for him for a decade, she also couldn't remember anything about this arrangement under her bedroom. She'd been living in this house since 1988, the first year she'd worked here. In all that time... she'd never been in the basement? Not even when she'd moved in? When had she moved in?

She woke up here one day, fresh and ready as always. She'd seen a job advert in the post, then went to City Hall and applied for the open secretarial position. Richard had interviewed her himself, complimented both her typing speed and her sense of style, and hired her on the spot. And the day before that-

Nothing? Nothing.

It had been a pleasant couple of minutes, thinking that her mind was once again entirely her own.

So not only was Richard acting suspiciously now, not only had he been unabashedly evil for as long as she'd known him, but now it was seeming more and more likely that this magic was not here to protect her, but to control her. That in some way, she might still be under its power. And yet, for all that evidence, she still hesitated to call Buffy.

Call it a hopeless crush or even Stockholm Syndrome, but she loved him. It felt so good to be able to think about it again without the thought being instantly shooed out of her head. In hindsight, that had probably been the worst thing about these last months working under Buffy.

It wasn't a simple, slavish love, as one might expect, considering her situation. It came from a lot of things. It'd been in the reassuring chats they'd had and the things he'd taught her. In his effortless presence, the way he inspired fear without needing to be frightful. How he trusted not just her loyalty, but her competence, her judgement. The quiet sadness in his eyes whenever he spoke of his tragic Edna Mae, a part of his heart that was too soft to ever let her go.

It felt good to think about the dirtier, more guilty thoughts again too, and she allowed herself the luxury of an idle daydream, if only for a few moments. But this was hardly the time or the place, and the fading echoes of her headache spoiled the mood.

It was deeply ironic that he could've trusted her, even without the magic. How without it constantly pushing on her she might have been more capable, more dangerous, (more forward.) If only he'd known. But he had known, hadn't he? Or at least he suspected now, or that letter would never have been sent and she would never be thinking all these difficult thoughts. Well, there was nothing to do with difficult thoughts now but table them for a few minutes while she worked on a distraction.

Namely: the mysterious library, whose purpose she was still not entirely clear on. She got up, this time leaving the sponge be, and walked back out into the stacks. Deliberately not looking at the title first, she pulled out a book at random.

Her prize was Thirteen Habiths of Highly Ethective Minions, by Igor. Perusing it was strange; she didn't remember ever reading the book, or even knowing of its existence, but it was filled with things she already knew. There was ominously implying your master's displeasure without directly appealing to authority, the art of balancing your waking schedule between overall effectiveness and the necessity to cover your master's personal needs, and the need to sometimes take control in a crisis without ever actually ascending to executive privilege of your own.

Each page was completely new to her, and yet contained no new information, not even in detail. She replaced the book, and then walked to the end of the stack, turned at random, and took another book midway through the next one.

It was How to Play Your Best Golf All the Time, by Tommy Armour. She opened to page 134 at random. It mentioned a casual experiment Bobby Cruickshank had performed with his putting and its unsatisfactory conclusion. She had already known that anecdote, though upon examination of her memory, she was unable to deduce from whence.

Further searching through the large collection of books produced the same results again and again. The subjects were eclectic, but all nonfiction, all things she'd found useful or at least almost useful in the past, and the great majority of the books were published before 1960. Apparently, she had gotten a whole library of somewhat dated literature put into her head somehow. She wondered if it fit into the space left behind by everything that happened to her before that day in 1988. Hmm.

She'd had that thought in jest, but it was distressingly likely, in retrospect. But was it really so bad?

Now she knew who she was, after a fashion. She was a library. This one. Perhaps there was something left in her of whatever girl had gone to sleep in this house the night before she woke up. Perhaps she'd even been named Cynthia Danvers. But it didn't seem like there was much left, and if there was, how much did it matter?

Richard had certainly done something very bad to that girl in 1988. One might argue he'd killed her, and Cynthia would be inclined to agree. But she'd seen Richard kill an awful lot of people; she hadn't cared a whit at the time, and found herself not caring so much now either. The-Library-That-Was-Her was rather pointedly lacking in any texts on ethics or moral good, she wagered.

Which wasn't to say she didn't admire those qualities in Buffy, but it was in a distant, aesthetic sort of way. They certainly suited who Buffy was, and therefore suited her followers, but Cynthia didn't think she particularly had to choose to be a good person, even if it didn't seem like it'd be the worst thing in the world either.

She reflected that she did, however, have to choose to either be a good person or a bad person, if not now, then soon. Richard had said there was no reason for him and Buffy to be at odds in the letter, but that didn't mean much; he'd had to say that, or Cynthia would've never followed his instructions under compulsion. Richard's obvious attempt to conceal the matter from Buffy also implied that he worried they wouldn't end up on the same side.

And for all of Buffy's good qualities, Cynthia couldn't find it in herself, whatever manner of a human or human-adjacent creature she was, to choose against Richard quite yet. Not without talking to him first, either by further correspondence, or more preferably in real time. The details of her creation, his plans for Sunnydale's future, and the long ignored subject of her very strong feelings for him all needed addressing before she made any permanent choices.

This presented a problem. Allowing Buffy to know about her possible change in loyalties was a choice in itself, and it would be counterproductive to do so before she had actually decided. But without letting Buffy suspect, Richard might be exceedingly difficult to contact, especially considering he was probably still at least half-dead. Buffy did not watch her closely, but CyberWillow saw and heard almost everything, and would have no reason to conceal any suspicious behavior or the use of city resources.

She knew that Richard had been influencing Adam, and with her mind once again clear it seemed likely that Adam had reproduced his handwriting (hopefully with his willing assistance) and been the physical source of the letter. She could simply manufacture a reason to place herself in Adam's small zone of control on campus and let him approach as he would, but that was a path both passive and risky. Adam was both powerful and untrustworthy, and placing herself directly in his power might be the last mistake she ever made. Even disregarding that issue, the contact might be rather clumsy, and risked an unfortunate discovery.

Another option for an intermediary besides Adam was Maggie Walsh's other pet project, Faith Lehane. In any effort to aid Richard, she was certain Faith would be her ally. Faith was also not particularly clever; while she was still physically terrifying, Cynthia might be able to successfully lie and extract herself if she decided to stay loyal to Buffy after all.

On the other hand, Faith would be harder to contact secretly than Adam. It might not be impossible to arrange a meeting, but it'd need to be something Cynthia planned, instead of something she could let happen on its own. Also, most troublingly, there was no reason to particularly believe Faith was in useful contact with Richard at all. As his most powerful steadfast ally, contact with her would definitely benefit him, but might be technically unfeasible.

Last, failing both of the Initiative's illustrious, she could just try to contact Richard's unquiet spirit herself. She didn't know nearly enough of magic to manage it now, but there were research materials available. It was also possible she could co-opt some other spellcaster's services, maybe one from outside of Sunnydale. It was the most appealing path, promising direct or almost-direct contact if it succeeded.

But it was also the longest one, requiring much in the way of preparations, preparations that would need to be deniable or secret. The political and mystical situation in Sunnydale was evolving rapidly, and she might find herself foisted into an impossible choice before efforts in this direction bore any fruit. Even worse, while she respected Richard immensely, sending the letter in the first place suggested he needed her help in some way; could she really afford to be so slow and careful?

Vote: Which path does Cynthia focus her efforts on in her quest to contact Richard Wilkins? Note that your ability to write-in or stunt is now limited to alternate courses of action Cynthia might believe serve her goals better than these.

[] Cynthia tries to meet Adam in secret (easy difficulty)

[] Cynthia tries to meet Faith in secret (medium difficulty)

[] Cynthia tries to contact him directly with magic, either hers or another's (high difficulty)