Crestfallen, Finn reached for the telephone. This was a terrible start to his career as a Watcher, but how was he to know that Bella would be so lacking in the proper spirit? Weren't slayers supposed to be programmed to do this kind of thing? She ought to be keener even than he was.
And he was very keen indeed.
He'd spent years training for this. It was a very competitive job, what with there only being one vacancy as Watcher at a time, aside from that awkward business with whatshername.
Obviously, there was a high turnover. That was the nature of the thing. He had confidently expected an astonishingly long, productive, and fully pensioned retirement with his true love, Shakespearian criticism.
But that cheerful acceptance of his slayer's death pre-dated meeting Bella. It seemed a grotesque attitude now. If Bella died of sheer ignorance, it would be on his head.
Finn looked at the phone in his hand. He'd met this man once, at a party in the Cotswolds. Giles had been a bit of a black sheep to the Council, and Finn had not liked to associate too openly with him. One thing Finn did remember about what Giles had said.
Giles had talked about his early experiences with that valley girl slayer. He had found her completely alien and impossible to deal with. Giles might be able to give Finn some useful advice now.
He hadn't expected to need to go running for help so soon.
He had just dialled the number and was listening to it ringing when he heard a sound behind him. "Who's there?" There was an unWatcherlike quaver in his voice. It occurred to him that he was going to have to earn that long, peaceful academic messing about with Shakespeare that he so anticipated.
That was the last thing he knew, before he was knocked flying, and all the rest was darkness.
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