Dark Destinies

Disclaimer: Most characters featured in this story are not of my creation. They belong to their respective creators, J.K. Rowling, Joss Whedon, and any and all parties related to Bloombury Publishing, Scholastic Inc., AOL/Time-Warner, Fox, and Mutant Enemy. Grrrr, arrgh.

Chapter 8

Rupert, his hands full with groceries, sprang up the steps to his tiny London flat when he heard the phone ringing.   "Hang on a bit!" he muttered under his breath, trying to will the other person on the line to stay on.  "Just a bit..." He set his bundles carefully on the floor of the corridor and started to fumble with his keys.  As soon as he shoved himself through the door, he grabbed at the receiver and picked it up.  "Hello?"

"Rupert Giles?" the voice, distorted and tinny, said into Rupert's ear.

"Yes, I'm Rupert Giles."

"I'm not sure if you'll remember me," the voice continued.  "I'm...an old acquaintance.  A friend of a friend, if you will..."

Rupert quickly scanned his memories in an attempt to match up the odd, inhuman-sounding voice with a face.  "I'm terribly sorry, but, I can't...I can't seem to remember who you are.  If you'd just give me a little hint or clue...?"

"You are in danger, Rupert Giles," the voice said in a frightening monotone.  "You and your family are in great danger."

Rupert stiffened, pressing the receiver hard against his ear.  "Who is this?"

"I know you.  You care for your family very much.  Flee England, if you wish to live."

The line went dead.

"Hello?  Hello?" Rupert said futilly into the receiver.  "Damn!" he exclaimed, throwing the reciever back onto its cradle.  He stumbled into the nearest chair and stared at the telephone.  Who had actually called, and why?  Rupert tried to remember the many cases of the supernatural he had already investigated as a Watcher.  Demons, poltergiests, zombies, vampires.  No, none of these would actually care if a human died.  There were cases of humans with psychic powers.  A few actually worked with the Council as advisors.  Did a fellow Watcher, with precognitive abilities, call and try to warn him about some upcoming event?  Or did someone from his past have inside knowledge of the danger?

"Mr. Giles?"

Rupert shook himself out of his meditative posture and turned around.  A small, elderly woman stood in the doorway of the flat.  Rupert had forgotten to close the door when he answered the phone.  "Oh, Mrs. Curtis.  It's you."

"You've forgotten your groceries in the corridor again," Mrs. Curtis said, with all the gentleness of a mother.  "You know, you really should get a ladyfriend," she said as she picked up the bags and carried them through the door.

Rupert stood up and rushed towards the doorway.  "You-you don't have to help me with these," he said.

"Nonsense!  I've done the same thing for over 40 years.  A few minutes won't hurt..." Mrs. Curtis said as she brought the last of the groceries into the flat.  "There we are."

"Thank you," Rupert said, genuinely grateful.  "There's been....I've had much on my mind recently."

"Must be hard, working among all those relics from the past," Mrs. Curtis said.  "But you do enjoy it, don't you, Mr. Giles?"

"Hmmmm?  Oh, yes, very much."

"Well, I'll leave you now.  I left the kettle on and you know how cross Mr. Curtis gets when he doesn't get his tea exactly at 4," she glanced around the flat, making sure everything was in its proper place.  "Good day, Mr. Giles."

"Good day," Rupert said, smiling.

As soon as Mrs. Curtis shut the door, Rupert sank down into the chair again.  He took his glasses off and began to rub his tired eyes.  He turned the question over and over in his mind: Why would anyone want him dead?

The phone rang once again.  Rupert eyed the receiver then cautiously picked it up.  "Hello?"

"Giles, it's Quentin Travers.  There's something the Council needs you to do."

"Uh, yes, of course," Rupert said.  "What is it?"

"There's been a murder.  We believe some sort of sorcery was involved.  Bring your spellbooks.  I'll be sending Cable along as well."

"Mick Cable?" Rupert asked.  Cable was the Council's resident demon forensics expert.  Show him a murder scene, and he could tell you what sort of demon killed the victim.  "Alright, give me the address..." Rupert said, picking up a pencil.  As he scribbled the address down on a piece of paper, he began to plan out which spellbooks might be needed.

"'Evening, Giles," Mick Cable said as Rupert arrived.

"Mick," Rupert said, nodding in greeting to the fellow Watcher.  "So, this is the murder scene."

"Aye, door's closed but unlocked.  Let's get in there."

"Dear Lord!" Rupert exclaimed as they pushed their way in.  He fished out a kerchief from his coat pocket and placed it over his nose and mouth.

"That's a Ko'raff demon for you," Mick Cable replied.  "The stench of death follows it around, no matter were it goes.  Those things are scavengers, feeding on carcasses and then moving on when they're done.  They don't kill.  They get rid of evidence.  It's perfect.  Ah, here are the bodies...what's left of 'em anyway."

Rupert sidled over to the corner of the small front parlor where the victims lay sprawled.  There was nothing left except their skeletons.  The bones were picked clean of flesh.

"So, these unfortunates," Rupert said as he pointed to the skeletons.  "were dead before that demon got here?"

"Fraid so," Cable said.

"Who or what killed them then?" Rupert asked, removing the kerchief from his face.

"That's what we're here to find out," said Cable.  "You see these marks?" he asked, pointing out various small fractures in the nearest skeleton.

"Yes," Rupert said.  "Are they teeth marks?"

"No, Ko'raffs don't have teeth.  They have raspy tongues, like cats.  They lick the bones clean with 'em.  Very efficient.  Their maws are like vulture beaks, very strong, able to rip stuff apart.  You know, once I saw one in the middle of eating and..."

"Um, what about these marks?" Rupert said, quickly changing the subject.

"Oh, yeah.  Well, these aren't from the Ko'raff and these aren't from any demon I know.  And, trust me, I know a lot of demons!  I was hoping you could figure it out."

"Me?  What...how?" Rupert stammered.

"Can't you sense it?" Mick said.  "Christ, I can smell it in the room even with the Ko'raff musk all over."

Rupert frowned, and then he felt it.  The dank heaviness that hung in the air.  The suffering.  And the most frightening thing of all.  The glee.  The sheer exhultation of killing, of taking someone's life.  The power.  For a small moment, he remembered the power of killing.  "There's evil here.  Great evil."

"That's where you come in," Mick said.  "You've got your spells and things, right?  Isn't there something you can cast to find out what happened here?  There's probably still magical residue all over the place."

"Yes...yes...there are spells which can reveal...if magic was used in a specific location.  I've brought some books that might be helpful," Rupert said.  "They're in the car."

"Get them," Mick said.  "We've got to find out what happened here."

Rupert soon returned with a stack of books.  He found the right spell and cast it.  "Now," he said, placing the spellbook on a table. "This should work by shifting the magical residue to the visible light spectrum...Ah!  There..." Rupert pointed out a sickly grayish light coming into view.

"What's that color mean?" asked Mick.

"Uh..." Rupert picked up the spellbook again.  "The use of any of the Three Unforgivable Curses...Good Lord."

"You're the magic expert, Giles.  You've got to tell me what that means."

"There are three spells in the Wizard world which are not meant to be used.  Cruciatus, which causes intolerable pain to the victim; Imperius, which causes the victim to do whatever the caster wishes; and the Killing Curse. You can guess what that causes..."

Mick nodded and said nothing.

"Those fractures were probably caused by the Cruciatus Curse.  And then the Killing Curse to finish them off."

Mick shook his head.  "Tortured and murdered. By Wizards...humans...I thought demons were bad but this..."

"This is inhuman," Rupert said.  "We've got to stop this.  Whoever's done this is sure to do it again.  Who were these people?  Any information?"

Mick rummaged through his pockets until he found his small notepad.  He flipped it open. "Just what I got from the Council files.  The house was owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Petrie.  Mr. Douglas Petrie was a Wizard.  He worked in the Ministry of Magic, high up in Muggle Relations, something like that.  Mrs. Emilia Petrie, she was a Muggle.  No magical talent.  Their daughter Anna's away at Hogwarts. She's a fifth year Ravenclaw.  What a pity..."

Rupert's sighed.  "Terrible thing to do," he agreed.  "Wizards killing wizards...but why Mrs. Petrie as well?  Why kill the Muggle?  She can't defend herself, can't duel."

"Perhaps we've discovered the work of a mad wizard who hates Muggles," Mick said.  "Any chance of you figuring out what sort of wand cast these spells?  It'd narrow the suspects I think."

"Not with these spellbooks," Rupert said.  "I'd need more powerful spells, and I'm not sure I can cast them with my meager power alone."

Mick frowned at the bodies. "There's something missing here.  Something about this whole things doesn't feel right."

"A calling card," Rupert said.

"That's it!" Mick said.  "A calling card, something to identify the killer..."

"No," Rupert said quietly as he picked up a small piece of paper from the floor.  "A calling card."

"Ah, right...what's it say?"

Rupert squinted at the paper.  "Nothing, there's a symbol though.  A skull and serpent...Good Lord.  I know this.  It's a Dark symbol.  The Dark Mark."

"Sounds ominous," Mick said softly.

"It's a great clue, nonetheless," Rupert said.  "This narrows the suspects down a good deal.  It's a Death Eater."

"A what?" Mick asked.

"A Death Eater.  Things are going quite badly in the Wizarding world right now.  There's talk of a powerful Dark Wizard named Voldemort.  His followers are called Death Eaters.  They bellieve that no one with Muggle blood should be allowed to practice magic.  They're killing Wizards left and right.  So, the Petries are just more of their victims..."

"Genocide," Mick breathed quietly.

"Madness," Rupert said.  "Nothing but madness."

"Didn't your cousin go to Hogwarts?" Mick asked.

"She's already graduated, and married.  And expecting a child soon." Rupert managed to smile.  His little Lily had grown up, and he hadn't missed anything along the way.

"You should keep an eye on her," Mick said.  "She can't end up like this.  She's Muggle-born.  They're sure to get her.  And her child as well."

"Lily's strong," Rupert replied.  "Stronger than any other person I know.  Not just her magical powers, but her spirit.  She's got more life in her than she knows what to do with.  She'll make it."

Mick made a non-commital grunt and headed for the door.  "Well, we've figured out who's done this, so, it's time to leave."

Rupert nodded and followed Mick out.  He then remembered the phone call earlier in the day.  His family was in danger.  He was in danger.  Did the caller mean Lily?  Rupert made up his mind to visit Lily and James Potter out in Godric's Hollow.