Chapter Text
Secret Diary of William Henry Allen - 1908 – 1912
Watcher of Mary Delia Tharrington (1893 - 1912)
26 December 1908 - 9am
Today, as I rose with the dawn to greet the chilly morning air of London, I could feel the legacy of my ancestors coursing through my veins. Like the threads in a grand tapestry, their stories intertwine with mine, creating a beautiful testimony to our shared heritage.
My name is William Henry Allen and I am a Watcher, like my mother and father before me and their mothers and fathers before them. My lineage as a Watcher goes back so far into the past that no one is sure how long my family has been with the Council.
My parents, Henry and Matilda Allen, no ordinary scholars, are Watchers of the highest order. They were never assigned a Slayer or a Potential, yet their wisdom is coveted across all circles. They tell tales of Slayers from eras past and impart age-old lore to younger Watchers at the Watcher's Academy where they teach. When I was a very young child, the mantle my parents carried with such dignity made me wear mine with exultant pride.
I remember how I used run through the corridors of the Council Headquarters as a child. The walls lined with ancient texts and artefacts from distant realms, whispered of a legacy far greater than any mortal could fathom. How my eyes sparkle at the sight of scabbards that gleamed even if the mighty sword they housed were gone. Every jewelled ornate amulet that bestowed unimaginable power and every book that housed knowledge or magical spells, was a priceless treasure that I knew seeing them was nothing less than a privilege.
My family's lineage of being Watchers has shaped every aspect of my existence. Each solemn oath sworn, every gruelling training session undertaken, all serving as a reminder of the sacred duty, to prepare myself for the moment I may be called upon to guide a Slayer or a Potential into battle against forces of darkness.
Being a Watcher is not just a title; it's an identity cloaked in responsibility. We are the keepers of knowledge, the guardians of secrets, and the trainers of Slayers - young women born as the Chosen One; girls who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and face the dark side of evil every moment of their (often) short lives.
Before I grew old enough to attend the Academy, I spent a great deal of my childhood around the hearth, listening and learning about past Watchers, and their helper, the Slayer. The stories were filled with heroic tales of the Watcher who led his Slayer into battle to stop the forces of darkness. Every Watcher was attributed as the one who conquered the evil, saved entire villages, and even shifted the axis of power in grand battles. They knew exactly what to do in every situation and how to use the Slayer to attain maximum damage to the supernatural devils and demons that plagued the world around me. They were gallant, brave and self-sacrificing; the epitome of everything a Watcher was supposed to be. They took pride in every Slayer's accomplishment, because it meant they were doing their jobs and honing the girl into the weapon they were destined to be.
I heard so many stories of how important the Watcher's Council was to Slayers and Potentials, that I never questioned the wisdom and the absolute authority of the Council. It appeared to my young mind that they were a beacon of righteousness, a bulwark against darkness. The Council was not an organization to be questioned. Due to their Royal Charter, the Watchers Council's decisions were law. I followed each one with the faithfulness they deserved.
As I began to grow older, I started to see some of the flaws and lies the Council tried to hide. Whenever I witnessed something that seemed a bit peculiar, I would silently question their methods or actions. The more it happened, the more I began to suspect the truth behind the Council.
The first thing I realized is that it was the Slayers and Potentials who are the true heroes; the Watchers just trained them. It was the young teenage girls who made the enormous commitment that led to the greatest changes of evil versus good. It was also the Slayers and Potentials who usually paid the price with their lives.
Additionally, I discovered that the Council's rigid adherence to tradition and their unwillingness to adapt to changing circumstances was a problem. There were times that they clung so tightly to outdated rituals and rules, that it led to missed opportunities and unnecessary sacrifices on the part of the Slayer or Potentials. Sometimes it was the very fact that they refused to acknowledge that the world was evolving around them. The Council would find out that new strategies were needed to combat the forces of darkness, but wouldn't accept them until another evil creature escaped and continued to wreak havoc on the world. Only after it had killed many more people, would they accept to adjust their traditional way of doing things. Though sometimes they only altered it long enough to take care of that one creature. Afterwards they'd just go back to their same outdated way of doing things until something else came along to shift it again.
Still, that wasn't enough to sway me away from my belief about how important the Council was, and the core beliefs about them that my parents had instilled in me as I was growing up.
It wasn't until I turned thirteen that I saw something that completely changed my view of the Council. At the time, I was observing Council meetings for a week, which was required as part of a school assignment. A Watcher came into the Council Headquarters and approached them about a demonic threat that needed attention. The girl he'd been training for over three years had just turned twelve a couple of months ago, so he didn't think she was old enough to take care of the problem on her own, even with him helping her, something he wasn't supposed to do. He requested the backup of several Potentials, and perhaps the Slayer Libby Thompson if she was accessible or in the country. Unfortunately, not only had the Slayer been taking care of an issue in the Americas, but the Council refused his request for more help and dismissed his worries as unfounded paranoia, arguing that it was the job of the Slayer to confront such threats – the risk was part of their calling. The Watcher argued stating that Potential Slayers were not yet the Chosen One; they were simply possible candidates for that role when and if their time came. They were vulnerable no matter what their status was.
I had a really hard time trying to determine why the Council denied him. There were quite a few Potentials who were available, so what was the problem?
Several days later, the same Watcher came charging into the Council Headquarters full of rage because his Potential was dead. The demon had possessed the young girl and during the exorcism, the demon killed her and himself just to make sure she was taken out of the battle. After his story had been told, the Council's only reaction was to offer to assign the Watcher another Potential. They told him that if he did want another girl he would have to do a better job training her. The Watcher was so upset he went storming back out the door the same way he'd come in. I don't remember ever seeing that Watcher show up again.
It was at that very moment that I realized that the Council's indifference towards anything not involving the training of the girls as weapons was practically nonexistent. To the Council, these girls were treated like weapons to be wielded and discarded when they broke. The girls weren't human beings with feelings and dreams of their own. The only Watchers who tended to show any interest in the emotional wellbeing of the Slayers and Potentials, were normally the ones who were assigned them.
26 December 1908 - 11am
As I stare at the window of my office, my reflection in the glass is a stark reminder of my heritage and burden. Despite my height at 6 feet and 3 inches tall, broad shoulders and solid build weighing in at 15 stones, I have never been one to intimidate others. Not many people can overlook my presence, but my demeanour is always approachable and welcoming. My hair, a dark auburn, bordering on black, frames my face. Though I'm only thirty-two, there are tinges of grey hair around my temples.
My physicality may grant me a certain visibility, but it is not my stature people often remember – no, what they remember is the intensity they say burns behind the ethereal emerald colour of my eyes. Most say they've never seen such colour and some remark that their depths hold not just wisdom, but stories untold and secrets yet to be unravelled.
Perhaps it is true; there is a complexity to them that even I cannot fathom, maybe a longing for something more than this duty-bound existence.
My movements are calculated and precise, honed over years of training my mind and body. Having no real need for extravagance I dress simple; today it's a charcoal sweater with black trousers, practical for the cold weather.
Duty is my truest companion... through sometimes I do wonder.
Being a Watcher has required many sacrifices over the years. I've missed out on birthdays and holidays with my parents and siblings, and I had to leave behind a romantic relationship or two in pursuit of my duty. I never resented it. It was an honour to continue my family's legacy and serve the greater good. All of it had been the duties of a Watcher who wasn't currently assigned a Potential or Slayer.
From a young age, I was trained in the ways of a Watcher. My parents taught me how to observe without being seen, how to blend in with any crowd, and how to gather information without arousing suspicion. When I entered the Watcher's Academy, they taught me the value of research and the importance of finding out as much information for the active Slayer as possible. They also instilled in me the magnitude of remaining detached – our duty is not to interfere with the Slayer's battles, or fight them for the girls, but to simply research, train, observe, and report.
Once I grew older and graduated from the Academy, my skills sharpened. I was sometimes sent on missions by the Council. Some were simple tasks, such as monitoring and researching portents or possible prophecies, while others were more complex operations that required months of planning. I was sent out to discover if new vampire clans were rising, or why werewolf populations were suddenly booming in random places around the world.
Sometimes, though it was rare, I was forced to attend an oversight visit to the home of the active Slayer and Watcher, to see if anything 'improper' was taking place. Other times, I was made to give lectures to young men at the Watcher Academy. Lectures that used to bore me when I myself attended the school. (Young female Watchers are sent to their own academy until they reach the age of fourteen. After that, they are sent to attend the Watchers finishing school.)
One week ago, the previous Slayer, Grace St. Clair (a young American girl), had fallen in a battle against a vampire named Davorin, a monster of unimaginable viciousness and power, with a ruthless thirst for blood.
The news shook me to my core. Despite my training to remain purely objective, I felt a pang of loss. Ms. St. Clair had been just fifteen and active for only five months. It wasn't the shortest time a Slayer had remained alive, but it was hardly the mark of a long, fulfilling life either. The majority of Slayers at least made it through a year once they'd been activated before dying.
The fact that it'd been a mere five months reverberated through the Council, causing speculation about her Watcher to run rampant. Whispers filled the halls, suspicious glances were exchanged, and a deep sense of dread permeated the air.
I heard the regrettable news two days after Ms. St. Clair's death and decided to visit her Watcher, (middle aged portly Albert Travers) to give him my condolences. I was highly uncomfortable when I walked into his house to find the interior cluttered and dimly lit. The residence was musty and stale, the scents of mildew, cigarette smoke, and cheap scotch lingering in the air. It was a stark contrast to the clean crisp cold December air outside. All of it was the complete opposite of how Council assigned houses usually looked and smelled. The only reason it could have been that loathsome inside was because of the lack of care Travers' put into it.
When I offered my condolences for Ms. St. Clair's death, he told me that it was her own fault she was killed. According to him, Ms. St. Clair had been lazy and never paid attention to his lessons.
As I listened to him rant for nearly twenty minutes, I realized he was more upset about losing the extra money he received to support and equip the Slayer than he was about her actual death. Albert wasn't remotely grieved. The loss of Ms. St. Clair didn't even register in his mind.
After I left his residence, I could feel a weight lift off my shoulders and the tension in my body ease. A cool breeze brushed against my skin, providing a refreshing contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. There was a bitter taste in the back of my throat, a lingering unpleasantness from my encounter with the cold and callus Watcher inside the house. I couldn't help but shudder at the memory of Travers' unfeeling demeanour and feel sorry for Ms. St. Clair and how she must've suffered in his presence.
Albert Travers was a heartless man, unfit to be in charge of any Slayer's destiny. It was clear and obvious that he was not meant to guide the Chosen One in her battle against darkness. He never should have been assigned a Slayer in the first place.
Although we are expected to maintain impartial, that doesn't mean we always do. Watchers are only human and just as susceptible to emotions as anyone else.
Of every Slayer I've read about in history, I've never once heard of a Watcher blaming their Slayer for getting killed, much less not feeling a sense of loss at their death. Most Watcher's experienced grief and blamed themselves, feeling as though they hadn't trained them well enough. Yet, here was Travers doing the exact opposite. On top of that, Travers had already petitioned to be the newly activated Slayer's Watcher just one day after Ms. St. Clair's untimely demise.
The Council was so suspicious of his actions and lack of emotions toward the death of Ms. St. Clair that they opened an investigation three days after her death.
It had taken them all of twelve hours after they'd begun the inquisition, to discover he'd been completely negligent with his duties pertaining to the Slayer. Not only had he failed to spend any time with her, but he hadn't bothered training the girl either. All he did was send Ms. St. Clair out night after night on her own, while he went to the local pubs and got drunk with the money he was supposed to be using to support and arm her.
I have to wonder how the Council's oversight visits completely missed this behaviour. He had quite obviously hidden his indifference so well, that once it was revealed, showed how little he felt. The man's emotions were like a half frozen lake that you'd go ice skating on. You'd feel safe just long enough for it to crack under the slightest pressure, revealing the cold depthless darkness beneath.
It's amazing poor Grace St. Clair had stayed alive as long as she had.
Yesterday, I wasn't remotely surprised to hear from another member of the Council that Albert Travers was being renounced and expelled for negligence in his duties. His family has been with the Council for at least forty years, and all of the remaining members, including his cousin who currently ran the Council, were deeply shamed by his actions.
On Christmas Eve, two days after their investigation into Travers' negligence, I was summoned to the Watchers Council main anteroom in the early morning of the newest activated Slayer's sixteenth birthday (Mary Delia Tharrington). I was immediately informed by Chairman Travers that I was being assigned as her Watcher. They already had a designated Council house ready for us and I was ordered to make the trip in time to arrive at the house by evening. I needed to be there and have everything ready to receive Ms. Tharrington when she arrived on the 27th. All I had to do was collect the keys and a copy of the Slayer Handbook from our requisition officer.
After I'd been apprised of my new assignment and dismissed, I retired to the smoking room for a small while. I only had a little bit of time before I had to leave. Especially if I wanted to visit my family before I left. While I was sitting in the room, I heard many discussions about Travers. Just the very thought of the man and how he'd failed the young Ms. St. Clair, made me shudder.
Now, I had a Slayer assigned to me.
My own Slayer.
Two hours later, I'd finished visiting and saying goodbye to my family. I arrived at my small studio loft and packed everything in preparation to move into my new house in Lincoln. I had no idea why they'd assigned us to a city outside of London, but I wasn't one to complain. With the long travel times, there was an added benefit that there would be less oversight visits by the Council, but Lincoln seemed like such a small place compared to London. Most of the supernatural activity was prominent in much bigger cities. It wasn't that Lincoln was in the middle farm country, but it was nothing compared to the booming population in London.
I suppose they would notify me of the reasons later. I would have plenty of time to think it over on the trip, since it was going to take me at least six hours by train to get there.
As I carefully folded my clothes and put them into my suitcase, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. This was the beginning of a new chapter in my life: being a Watcher to a Slayer.
Once I was done, I went through my belongings, making sure I had everything I owned that was important to me; my family portraits, research materials, and, of course, the Slayer Handbook.
I wasn't sure if I would be using the handbook, because that would depend on what Ms. Tharrington's disposition was like. I know that for most Slayers the handbook has been a valuable tool. They appreciate the guidance, adhering strictly to the regulations outlined in its worn and well-travelled pages.
But I have heard of a rare Slayer or two, who tended to bend the rules or redefine their roles to what they believed in. These Slayers rebel against the strict guidelines and prefer instinctual navigation of their abilities.
I wondered which category Ms. Tharrington would fall into.
As I looked around the room, now barren and echoing with the emptiness of my departure, I felt a twinge of melancholy. This cramped Council loft, filled with the aroma of aged books and worn leather, had been my sanctuary for quite some time now. But it was time to move on, to embrace the unknown.
I grabbed my coat from the back of an antique chair that was sitting in front of a desk, now devoid of the clutter of notes, maps, and relics that usually adorned it, and took one last look at my old home. The early-afternoon sun streamed through the tall, narrow windows, casting long shadows that crisscrossed the dusty wooden floor. It was a sight I had grown accustomed to over the past couple years. I turned away, the moment for introspective thought had come and gone. Now it was a time for a change.
When the Council first assigned me to this mission, I felt a surge of pride and excitement. But as the hours passed on the train, my initial enthusiasm was replaced with a growing sense of unease. It had been years since I last went on a long term assignment, and now, I was about to embark on one that would be my greatest challenge yet. Part of me was eager for the opportunity, but another part couldn't shake off that feeling of disquietness. The thought of possibly failing my Slayer, like Travers had, weighed heavily on my mind. Not through lack of training or neglect, more that I might forget to remember that she isn't an unfeeling soulless automaton weapon, but a human being with dreams, fears, hopes, and a heart.
While sitting in that passenger car, right there and then, I made a solemn vow that I would do better than he did.
Though it was my duty to prepare her and hone her skills until she became the weapon the Council so desired, I would be certain that my Slayer was well taken care of, no matter what obstacles fate threw our way. I was going to remember that she was a young teenage girl first and a Slayer second.
26 December 1908 - 12:53 pm
After seven hours of travel time, I was fairly exhausted by the time I'd reached the house. However, once I saw the outside, I was surprised at the austere nature of it. It was a two story Victorian, more like something a large family would move into; certainly not a place a young charge would move into with man that was supposed to be her guardian. I may have been a little worried that people around the moderate sized town might get the wrong impression. The story was that, due to an unfortunate family accident, Ms. Tharrington was being left in my care because I was a family friend. This house seemed a little cosy for that to be the case.
Yet, it was precisely this charade of normality that we were expected to maintain. To the world outside, we would be nothing more than an eccentric guardian and his ward. But behind closed doors, we would wage a war against darkness and evil.
When I first entered the large dwelling, I found myself drawn to the office in the back corner of the house. A fireplace was located against the left wall of the room, that I knew once lit, the flickering flames would provide warmth and comfort.
However, that wasn't what had led me here.
What drew me in, was the small library filled with leather-bound books I knew would be present; former Watcher Diaries, volumes on demonology, witchcraft, and lore. I had known that books were going to be there, but this was more than I'd expected. The sight of all of those tomes of knowledge filled me with a renewed energy.
It was immediately clear to me that this was more than just a simple house - it was a repository of knowledge passed down through generations of Slayers and their Watchers.
After lighting a fire, I spent the first six hours reading through the ancient texts, even though I hadn't unpacked yet. Once I'd started reading, it was hard to pull away from the knowledge those books contained. The words spoke of battles fought and won, strategies employed against creatures that were otherworldly in their power and ferocity. Reading about these epic struggles only intensified my determination to train Ms. Tharrington into the strongest Slayer she could be.
While I was going through all the library books, I realized that I still hadn't looked at the bedrooms or into the training rooms. Considering the fact that I had to prepare for Ms. Tharrington's arrival, I knew I had to focus on what needed to be done. I could come back to the books later.
When I rose, I stretched my limbs before moving to the windows that peered out into the backyard. The sight of a training yard dusted in a light cover of snow stirred a sense of anticipation within me. Within these walls, I was afforded every resource – a library rich with arcane knowledge, an arsenal of weapons, and chambers dedicated to the physical and mental fortitude required of a Slayer.
"Everything a Watcher could need," I murmured, my breath fogging the glass.
Yet, at the time I had to wonder... was it enough to prepare for the unknown? To mould a young girl into the warrior she must become? Or did they only include the things I would need to mould the child into the 'weapon' the Council insist all Slayers become?
I had no idea (and still don't know) which path I'm going to have to take to earn the young girl's trust. Until she arrives, I'll remain unsure what direction will need to be followed.
Once I pushed my speculations aside for the time being, I focused on getting everything set up for Ms. Tharrington's arrival. Whatever she may be like, it was my duty to guide her and prepare her for the battles that lay ahead.
As I wandered through my new home, I could feel a strange sense of déjà vu. Even though I'd never before been in this house, several generations of Watchers before me had resided here while training their Slayers.
I walked through each room, feeling the ghosts of past Slayers lingering in every corner. Their presence was both comforting and unsettling at the same time.
I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for a time I had never experienced.
The furniture was ornate and elegant, with rich mahogany wood and velvet upholstery. There were blank outlined spaces on the wall where photographs and painted portraits probably adorned the walls at one point. More than likely they had been taken down the moment they'd decided to assign the house to me. It did afford me places to hang my own family portraits and any Ms. Tharrington might bring along of her own family.
That thought suddenly made me falter a step. I groaned aloud as I realized I had yet to research her family lineage... something I should have done while I was still in London and had access to more materials. I had a small dossier on hand, but I found out years ago that those had very little real information in them about the girls themselves. All I could hope was that I had enough information in the books here to find out what I needed to.
Though her last name did spark a memory that I couldn't quite reach out and grasp. I just knew it was very familiar, as if I'd heard it before at some point when I was many years younger.
Focussing back on my current task for the moment, I continued touring the house. Once I'd gone through all five bedrooms available, I decided it would be best to give the young girl the third bedroom on the second floor. Apparently that was standard because it was the only room that had a canopy bed and a vanity desk. It also held a large wardrobe, which was something I'd heard girls and women needed for all of their clothes, supposedly rumoured to be many. My younger sisters seemed to be proof of this since they always had an abundance of outfits.
However, it wasn't so much the furniture that swayed me to assign it to her... it was the fact that it was the only bedroom door that had a lock on it. I had no intentions or ideas of anything inappropriate happening, but I still thought her ability to keep me out of her room would make her feel safer. Even though I am to be her Watcher, I was still an unknown older man that she was moving into a house alone with, and I didn't want to leave the poor girl restless. Of course she was a Slayer with immense strength at her disposal, but she should not have to worry about having to use it on me, or any Council members from future visits.
For my own bedroom, I took the second one on the first floor that was next to my new office. Not only was it the furthest away from Ms. Tharrington's room, but it was close to where I would probably be spending the majority of my time, undoubtedly it will be much more convenient for me in the long run. As for the three remaining rooms, I knew that they were mainly there for when the Council sent out Watchers for the oversight visits, but I would keep those ready for when we had any visitors, perhaps some of my family or members of hers... if she had any.
After going through all of the other regular rooms, I finally made my way to the one of the training rooms, which were both on the first floor. Once I looked around I was extremely chuffed at what I found. We had dozens of weapons, all of them clean, quite a few of them new, and every single bladed one had been recently sharpened. Spread out on the floor there were training mats, more for my benefit then hers, I'm sure. I made my way into the second training room to find exercise equipment, including a stationary bike and a vault horse.
Once I was finished with my inspection of the house, I realized it was already eight in the morning and the sun was starting to rise. It was officially Christmas day of 1908. I still needed to get some sleep, but I wanted to place a call to my family before I went to bed for a few hours. Thankfully, with the Watcher's Council being what it is, I was able to get connected to them fairly fast. The connection was terribly staticy and I was only able to speak for about five minutes before I lost the connection, but it had been long enough to wish them all a Happy Christmas.
After that had been done, I finally went to my room and unpacked, before climbing into bed for a few hours of sleep.
Even though I was exhausted from the move and had spent six hours reading, I couldn't get my mind to rest. I still had so much to do. I was also extremely nervous about everything I still needed to accomplish before Ms. Tharrington arrived on the twenty-seventh.
Despite my exhaustion, it took me nearly an hour to finally surrender to sleep. My mind kept racing with thoughts and worries that seemed to run wild like a pack of wolves. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as I tossed and turned on my bed, trying to find a comfortable position amidst the chaos in my head. The minutes ticked by slowly, each one feeling like an hour as I struggled to quiet my racing thoughts and slip into peaceful slumber. Every time I thought I had drifted off, another concern would meander back into my consciousness, keeping me awake and restless.
Finally, after what seemed like an endless battle, I succumbed to exhaustion and slipped into an uneasy sleep.
I woke up a mere four hours later... panting and sweating, my heart pounding in my chest. The images from my nightmare still haunting me, even though I knew they made no logical sense. The nightmare that had plagued me lingered in my mind like a prophecy. I had never experienced such vivid dreams before, but something about this one felt different, unsettling.
It was a strange feeling, as if the dream held some sort of warning or message for me. But how could that be possible? I had never experienced anything like this before. Should I ignore it and go back to sleep, or try to decipher its meaning? Was it a sign of things to come or just a product of my overactive imagination? I couldn't shake off the feeling of agitation as I tried to understand the icy images that bombarded me.
My subconscious was torn between logic and instinct.
As I tried to fall back asleep, my mind was consumed by the haunting cold images of my nightmare. I wanted to stay in bed for just a few more minutes, but the thought of going back to sleep terrified me. Part of me wanted to face my fears and try again, but another part of me couldn't bear the thought of reliving that ghastly night terror.
Instead of sulking or brooding, I decided to be productive and finish preparations for my Slayer's arrival. For the remainder of the day, I took advantage of the fact that I worked for the Watcher Council because it afforded me more freedom to be able to get things done on Christmas day. I contacted a local grocer and was able to order a basic food and supply shipment to arrive that evening. Then I scheduled deliveries for the dairy, butcher, and bakery. As for cooking meals, I was taught how by my nanny I grew up with, who stayed employed by my parents well into my seventeenth year, due to the amount of younger siblings I had.
Once I took care of our provisions for the week, I hired someone to come in once a week to clean. I knew whatever else that needed to be done, both Ms. Tharrington and I could handle, so that one housekeeper would be all we would be using servant wise. It would also help us to keep the secret of what we were doing there. The last thing I wanted was for us to have to face some random evil who discovered the Slayer was living in this house.
After everything was done, I finally felt a sense of calmness. I was ready. When my Slayer arrived, I would be completely prepared. I sat down at my desk in my study and let out a breath of relief.
However, as I sat there, I remembered Albert Travers' treatment of his unfortunate young Slayer. Even though the situation had been resolved by the Council, my thoughts circled back to them again and again.
How was I going to be able to make sure I was doing the right thing when it came to Mary Tharrington? How would I keep the secret from the Council that I intended to treat her like a human being and not the weapon they wanted?
Since I've always found solace in putting pen to paper, because it helps me gather my wits and organize my thoughts, I realized that would be the perfect way to keep my vow.
It was at that moment I decided to start this secret Watcher Diary. I would have a regular Watcher Diary, but I'd only put the basic things that the Council wanted to read. However, in my secret diary, one that which the Council will have no idea exists, I'll be able to keep a record of my ability to remember that Mary Tharrington is not just a Slayer.
I decided to be completely honest with myself in this journal. Maintaining this diary would be a incontrovertible testament to the vow I made. I shall write in these pages everything that transpires between Ms. Tharrington and myself. However uncomfortable, however raw, I will not shy away from the truth. After all, that's how we learn from our mistakes. This chronicle... this confessional, will be my anchor. A record of my feelings, fears, triumphs, and hopefully not too many failures.
After I made the decision to begin this internal journey yesterday, I had to contact the store to add the empty book to the supplies I needed. I made certain to specify that the book should be as plain as possible.
I spent the rest of Christmas evening accepting deliveries and putting everything away. Once I'd finished securing the supplies, I pulled out the blank book that would be my secret diary. As my fingers delicately flipped through the blank pages, I could feel the slight texture of the paper beneath my touch, reminding me of the importance of what I was about to document and the responsibility that came with it.
I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the diary, even though it was just a simple blank book. The smooth leather cover, the delicate pages, and the faint scent of new paper all added to its appeal. It seemed almost sacrilegious to use such a lovely book for something so secretive and potentially controversial. But then again, what better place to keep my honest thoughts than in something that could be easily concealed?
This book shall never know the scrutiny of the Council's prying eyes. Here, within these clandestine pages, I can express my unguarded thoughts without anyone else questioning or picking apart every word and letter of them.
26 December 1908 - 4:53 pm
I truly had no intention of adding another entry tonight, but as I looked outside earlier it began to snow and something started making me uncomfortable.
At first I thought it could be the house the Council has assigned me. There are too many things about it that make no sense. Other than the bare outlines from where pictures used to hang on the wall, this house is immaculate, almost too perfect... as if untouched by time.
Despite its splendour and nostalgia, I couldn't shake off a certain feeling of disquiet as if the house is hiding something sinister beneath its grand façade and antiquated charm.
After taking several deep breaths of the hot dry air the fireplace was putting out, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I made my way to my office and pushed open the heavily draped window. A rush of frigid cold air met my face, causing me to flinch momentarily at its biting touch. Instead of shutting the window against the cold, I stood there, letting the icy air prickle at my skin in a futile attempt to rouse myself from the building apprehension.
The world outside was completely silent and still, wrapped in the cold embrace of winter. Dusk had begun to fall quickly, as though the sun itself was daunted by the cold's empire. It hung low, a pale disk blocked by clouds, barely warming the frosted panes.
As I watched the sun creep down, I saw it cast a feeble light that sparkled on the trees, their branches encased in ice and trembling under the weight of winter's adornment. The air was so still, so silent, I could almost swear I heard the whispered secrets of the snowflakes colliding with one another, before settling upon the frozen earth.
Within this tableau of frigid serenity, I stared out my office window gazing out at the silent town below, observing the austere beauty of the landscape and pondering the paradox of its deadly allure. The quaint houses stood quietly in the darkness, their inhabitants blissfully unaware of the unseen battle. My gaze wandered over rooftops burdened with a winter’s dusting that was slowly being added to, their proud angles softened under the duvet of white. Smoke curled from chimneys, its languid dance contrasting with the immobility of the scene outside.
All of it was the complete opposite of London, which put me slightly on edge. Normally, even in the middle of a snowstorm, the city exuded noise. It was always abuzz, the hum a constant vibration in the background.
The chill began to creep into my bones by then, so I closed the window and sat down in the chair next to the lit fireplace.
I have never been good with too much quiet. At times like these, when the world hushes its clamour, I find my thoughts drifting toward contemplation and introspection… after all, a Watcher's mind never truly rests.
That's when I realized it wasn't just the house or quietness causing my unease. It's the questions I now have regarding the information I managed to obtain about my new Slayer. Up until an hour ago, I knew nothing about her other than her name – Mary Delia Tharrington.
Then I investigated her family…
Even with my limited research material, I was able to find out more than I ever would have expected.
I also finally figured out why her last name was so familiar.
Not only was Ms. Tharrington the daughter of a previous Slayer, Genevieve (Evey) Quinn, but her father had been her mother's Watcher, Isaac Tharrington, whose Watcher Diaries are included in my office collection. Her parents had been an anomaly and a connection had grown between them. They'd defied and gone against the council in ways that I have only heard about in whispered conversations and stories told by my grandfather. Not only had they gotten married, despite their positions, but they'd had three children.
To be truthful, I was a little confused about how Ms. Tharrington had become not just a Potential, but an active Slayer… just like her mother. The station of Watcher was commonly passed down through families as a birthright, but it didn't involve a mystical activation. I had never heard of the possibility that being a Slayer could be passed down through family lineages. I wasn't sure if this was the first time it happened, or if the top level Watcher's Council members knew and just never informed anyone outside of their ranks.
After discovering who Ms. Tharrington's parents were, I pulled Isaac's Watcher Diaries and thumbed through them briefly. That's when I uncovered information about the deep connection Isaac explained he and Genevieve shared. After they'd gotten married, the two of them had been, among other things, able to feel what the other was feeling and able to find one another anywhere. There were other aspects that he wrote about, but he must have been exaggerating. They were just too preposterous and unbelievable to be true.
I'd always assumed that the accounts of these supposed connections between Watchers and their Slayers were just folklore. If they had really been possible, it would've been something they would warn us against in the Watcher Academy or in our general lessons.
I, myself, have never seen such a relationship.
Though I have heard tales, despite the Academy never broaching the subject.
When I was around five and six, my grandfather would place me on his knee and tell me stories about relationships that could form between a Watcher and a Slayer and how strong they could get. He warned me that, despite whatever direction the Watcher and Slayer took, wherever their path led, duty and affection could intertwine deeply. A link could be forged - a connection stronger than any blade - a connection between Watcher and Slayer, as enigmatic as it was profound.
Grandfather claimed that he'd known about many instances in which the Watcher and Slayer became the closest of friends. A rare few fell in love and married each other, going completely against the Council's rules.
At that time, these stories used to give me a strange hope. As a child, I still believed that love and friendship were just as essential as knowledge. When I was that little, I didn't really know the difference between Slayers and Potentials. I didn't care. All I wanted was to be friends with them because they worked with the Watchers, the heroes who saved us every day from the monsters of the night.
Then I was sent off to the Academy and things changed. It was drilled into us at the earliest of age by all of the older professors, that loving or caring about your Slayer was not only unnecessary, but frowned upon as well. The Slayer was but a weapon of war, that once broken, was easily replaced with the activation of another girl.
Even when I was a simple child who knew very little of life, that way of thinking seemed so callous. To believe that the existence of one powerful girl was just as replaceable as a used up broken quill was not only abhorrent but also dangerously misguided.
That's quite likely why Albert Travers was so horrible at being a Watcher. He listened to those opinionated 'lessons' and believed them.
Well, that and he's obviously just a dreadful human being.
Barring the murderers and occasional Albert Travers', most any human life to my reckoning, is a diamond in the rough... but a Slayer? Every single one of them is unique, priceless, and stronger than a thousand forged swords.
As the years have worn on, the echoes of those early lessons have become a dissonant chorus that still jars against my own convictions. Each Slayer is more than a faceless soldier; each Potential is a treasure to be nurtured rather than a blade to be sharpened and discarded the moment it dulls. The preservation of life, especially the life of the Slayer, should be of utmost importance. They're not mere tools to be wielded and then cast aside when they've fulfilled their purpose, but precious treasures to be cherished and protected. They are Slayers, not simply a notch on someone's belt or another trinket to adorn the Council's trophy case.
My heart aches to think they are undervalued so; these brave souls who shoulder a burden no ordinary person could ever comprehend. Who could sleep soundly at night knowing the fate of the world rests heavily upon their young shoulders? Who could stand tall, defiant against the encroaching darkness without faltering? Only a Slayer.
The Council may regard them as expendable soldiers in an endless war against the supernatural, but I see them for what they truly are – warriors of light, battling against an unforgiving darkness that seeks to engulf our world. To see them as anything less is a grave insult to their courage and sacrifice.
If my Slayer were already here now, I would tell her this: You are irreplaceable. You are invaluable. Remember this always, even when the world tells you otherwise. For you hold in your hands, not only your own destiny, but also the destiny of those countless others who sleep peacefully under the blanket of safety you provide.
So the Council can continue with their cruel and shortsighted beliefs. I have chosen my path, and it is one that recognizes each Slayer for their true worth: unique, inestimable beings of unparalleled strength and bravery.
This journal serves as my witness: no matter what obstacles we may face, no matter what challenges may present themselves — my Slayer's life will be deemed invaluable. Her worth will not be measured by the number of vampires she slays or the battles she wins but by her resilience in the face of adversity and her capacity for kindness in a world filled with darkness.
As I scribble down these words in the dim firelight of my study, I cannot help but feel a sense of excitement. The idea fills me with both dread and anticipation. Dread for what will happen if the Council finds out my plan to avoid the path laid out by them, and anticipation for what will happen now that I dare to defy their outdated practices.
I have no time to dwell on these thoughts any further right now because of Ms. Tharrington's imminent arrival tomorrow, but I know these musings will keep circling through my mind.
Even if I am worried about the issues, I have much more important things to think about. I'm both excited and looking forward to learn everything I can about my Slayer. I have so many questions. What is Ms. Tharrington's personality like? What are her strengths? Her weaknesses? What kind of person is she? Will we get along?
So with Boxing Day drawing to a close, and the night heralding the eternal dance of darkness and light, I steel myself for the journey ahead. It is one of duty, yes, but also of strength, imagination and unfathomable courage. A journey that will demand more from me than any previous endeavour, but it is a challenge I face willingly, knowing the stakes. I am ready.
And perhaps... perhaps Miss Mary Delia Tharrington and I will become friends and forge a connection stronger than any blade.
A connection as profound as it is enigmatic.
27 December 1908
When I woke up late this morning, there was a new layer of powdery snow covering everything. The morning frost still clung to the windows, painting a picture of delicate, ice-spun filigree against the backdrop of a sombre sky. I had risen well after sunrise, the air inside the house as cold as outside, despite the best efforts of the hearth. Since I was expecting Ms. Tharrington, the house needed to be prepared so I set forward to figure out what was wrong.
I'd had to make my way to the heating unit downstairs to see what was going on. I got to where I thought a steam heating system would be, instead I found a couple of strange contraptions. It took me a good few minutes to realize one was a heater for the whole house. It was set up so that it was supposed to blow hot air up through the walls, but there seemed to be nothing happening. When I studied it, trying to figure out how to stoke it, I saw no place to put coal, or firewood for that matter.
The promise of Ms. Tharrington's imminent arrival within the next couple of hours pricked at my consciousness like an unplayed note in a symphony. If I didn't fix this soon, she was going to have to stay wrapped in whatever warm clothes she entered the house in and sit in front of a fireplace until the situation cleared up.
After poking around and pulling a few small doors open, I soon discovered that the unit was tied in to the gas system of the house, something I'd never seen before, much less heard of. Behind one of the small doors there was a small lit flame showing that the gas was ready, but there was still no heat coming out of it the unit. After a few more moments of investigation, I noticed a strange dial on the contraption and decided to try turning it. From where it was at, it would only twist one way and the moment I did, the whole unit suddenly whooshed loudly and hot air began blowing into the walls, quickly warming the room I was in. I tinkered with the dial again and listened as the heat stopped and started blowing off and on whenever I turned it.
Holding up the lantern, I noticed that the front of the dial had temperatures etched on it, going around the outside. There was no way it could possibly be exact, but I figured I would try anyway and set it at 21°C. I had no idea what it would do or how it would know when it reached that temperature, but I guessed I'd find out soon enough.
After I was finished with the weird heat machine, I inspected the other contraption. When I started looking and analysed it, I saw water pipes both leading in and out of the back. It took me a few moments to realize it was a water heater. Not for heating the house, but to supply hot water to it.
Even though I'd gone through the lavatories, both upstairs and downstairs (each with its own toilet room), I never investigated the second valve located over the clawfoot tubs or the sinks. I knew cold water came through a spigot in the kitchen sink, but I never turned the other handle. I just assumed that one was for well water and the other a cistern. Apparently, I now realized, if I had turned the other tap I would've gotten hot water out of it. I really wished I'd known that last night when I'd spent an hour boiling the water to warm my bath.
Everything about this was starting to bother me and make me ask questions. Hot water supplied through pipes? Gas heating a whole house? How on earth was that possible? Up until today, I expected I would need coal deliveries in the future, the house would be mostly heated by the fireplaces and a steam heater, and I would have to continue boiling water. It was a good thing I hadn't set up those supply deliveries yet. I had just assumed that there was enough coal in the basement to last a week or so, and I'd seen more than enough firewood outside to last a couple of weeks at least. Now I knew I didn't have to get coal at all, but I'd still need wood deliveries after a while.
As I made my way back upstairs to the main floor, I pondered on the strange setup of this home. Despite the fact that some of the features of this house might have been partially natural in London, all of it was completely outrageous to be located in the much smaller Lincoln.
Though I do remember reading about deaths that happened in Lincoln that had something to do with the shared well water around three years ago. Perhaps that was when the Council had added these extraordinary upgrades.
However, my leeriness of this house was growing more and more with every new strange thing I found inside of it. It was almost too futuristic, not remotely normal for a medium sized city in the year of 1908.
I was so distracted thinking about these variables that I almost didn't hear the sharp impatient knocking coming from the front door.
With a deep breath that did little to calm the steady thrumming of my heart, I crossed into the foyer. Opening the front door, heat met the brisk morning air with a hazy sigh, dissipating into the icy expanse. A gust of frigid air bit at my skin and a shiver coursed through me, not solely from the cold but from the anticipation of what was to come.
There she stood—Mary Delia Tharrington, the Slayer. Her figure was obscured by layers of wool and fur, garments woven to ward off the season's bite, her face an impassive mask sculpted by the chill. However, no cloth could cover the sullen cast of her eyes, a blue as piercing as the ice that clings to the world beyond these walls.
"It's about bloody time! I've only been knocking for five minutes and freezing my blasted arse off!" Her voice was muffled by the woollen scarf wrapped tight around her face, but there was no mistaking the youthful defiance and attitude behind her words. There was a sharp edge carried upon each syllable.
I hid a smile. It looked like she was already showing some spirit, and I couldn't wait to discover more of her personality.
"You'd prefer to be inside, perhaps?" I retorted, standing aside to grant her entry into the home that is both sanctuary and crucible.
The door swung inward, the warmth of the hearth contending vainly with the chill that clung to her. She hesitated, her gaze piercing through the veil of winter's breath; her expression spoke volumes of her indignation. But it was not the cold alone that had drawn the sullen cast upon her youthful features. I could read the turmoil within her, the anger at being plucked from the comforting fold of family. It radiated from her like heat from embers, and I knew that it was going to be no small feat to temper it.
She didn't come inside.
"Mr. Allen," she replied, ignoring my retort, her voice betraying none of the warmth that had escaped from my abode. "I presume you're expecting me."
"Indeed, I am," I acknowledged.
"I take it you're the bloody numpty who's supposed to be my new Watcher," her voice lowered as she looked down and sarcastically muttered the rest of her sentence, though I still heard it, "bet you're all eager to train me up and mould me into your obedient little soldier, aren't you?"
I couldn't stop from chuckling out loud. "My dear Ms. Tharrington, I do believe that you are going to keep me on my toes."
I finally hastened her inside, before we lost all of the heat to the cold air invading the house.
I caught sight of her hands, clenched into fists at her sides—a small but telling sign of the battle raging within her. Mary was strong, her lineage undeniable. The daughter of Genevieve Quinn and Isaac Tharrington, a legacy of strength and tragedy entwined in her very being. She unwound the scarf, her dark hair tumbling free and cascading down her back like a waterfall in a moonless night. Without the scarf, she revealed a countenance marked with stubbornness and incandescent blue eyes that held a depth I recognized all too well. They were not just windows to her soul; they were mirrors reflecting her destiny, a destiny she had yet to fully comprehend.
I silently shut the door behind her as she wandered into the living room, dropping her scarf and gloves on the first chair she came to.
"Let's get this over with," she declared, turning towards me with frustration, her tone brimming with resentment. It was clear she saw me not as a guide, but as the embodiment of her forced separation from kin.
"Certainly," I responded, "Yes, I am your Watcher. My name is William Henry Allen, but you may call me William if you choose." I smiled sincerely at her as I clarified my motives. "And, to be absolutely clear, I have no desire to train you into a soldier or rule over your life in any way whatsoever. I intend for us to be partners, in both respect and trust."
She scoffed in disbelief. "Yeah... right," she muttered under her breath.
Ignoring her scepticism, I continued, "And you're my new Slayer, Mary Delia Tharrington," I stated, reaching out to help her take her coat off.
She shook her head and pulled away, then rolled her eyes at me. "What gave it away? Do I have 'Slayer' stamped on my forehead like a shipping label?"
The boldness in her voice made me laugh again, a hearty sound that echoed in the silence of the house. "Not exactly, Ms. Tharrington," I replied, amused.
This was too good to be true. My new Slayer was quite the character.
"You see, it's much subtler than that," I leaned in slightly, sharing a conspiratorial glance. "The first clue was that you showed up at our new house on the day you were supposed to. The second," I smirked at the obviousness of what I said next, "you didn't flinch when I called you 'Ms. Tharrington'. And the third, which is also the last... well, that one's rather unique."
She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes, an incredulous look etched on her face. "What's the third?"
I adopted a mock-serious tone. "It's a bit more... unconventional. You see, it's all in the attitude."
Ms. Tharrington raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Attitude?"
"Yes," I confirmed with a grin. "Legend has it that every Slayer has an uncanny ability to be a sarcastic little shite. And you, Ms. Tharrington, scream 'I'm here to combat supernatural threats, but I'm still the doyenne mistress of caustic remarks.'"
Her mouth dropped slightly open in shock, before snapping shut as she closed her eyes and shook her head. "Well, ain't I the full package? Slayer extraordinaire and a regular wit."
"Absolutely," I replied, feigning solemnity. "It's a little-known fact, but trust me, it's fool proof. Only a Slayer could be as sarcastic and asinine as you are. So, there you have it, the mysterious ways of the Watcher revealed."
Before I could say anything further, she threw her arms up in the air with frustration, and began taking off the rest of her winter gear. "Great! Just perfect! They banished me to the middle of nowhere with a comedian!" she snarled, her tone laced with a resentment that seemed to emanate from her very core.
"Listen, Ms. Tharrington," I smiled at her, more sedately this time, "I realize this transition is... challenging."
"Challenging?" Her voice carried bitterness, her eyes fierce and unwavering. "You mean being ripped away from the only family I've known? Yes, I suppose that's one word for it."
"Unfortunately, the Watcher's Council and your grandparents insisted your training should be entrusted..."
"Entrusted or dumped?" she interrupted, her gaze was direct, her blue eyes fiercely intelligent and blazing with an anger that belied her sixteen years. The eyes of a Slayer, ancient and knowing, yet housed within the visage of a girl who had been torn from kin and kindred. "Is that your way of saying I shouldn't be upset? I've been yanked from my little brother and little sister by my own bloody grandparents!"
She moved past me without another word, and sank down on the sofa, her sulky demeanour as clear as the ice on the trees. Even in her defiance, there was a grace about her.
Her grandparents, Sarah Mary and Benjamin Isaac Tharrington—both esteemed Watchers—had charged her care to me by the order of the Council. The anger in her silence spoke volumes about how little she cared for their decision or mine.
Either she didn't know or she didn't care that they'd had utterly no say in the matter. I'm undoubtedly certain they didn't want to send her away any more than she wanted to go. Even if she thought otherwise, they'd had no more choice in this situation than I did, or she did herself.
"Understandably so," I conceded, hoping to acknowledge her turmoil without diminishing it. "But know this - your training here will forge you into more than just a Slayer. You will become a force unto yourself, capable of facing the darkness with unyielding strength."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she retorted, crossing her arms defensively.
"Perhaps not now," I admitted, allowing a fraction of empathy to colour my tone, "but in time, you'll see the necessity of it all."
"It's not necessary. They just don't love me anymore!" she snapped, both pouting and glaring at me at the same time.
It was a mixed expression I'd never before seen on anyone's face. I raised my eyebrow at her, forcing myself to not roll my own eyes.
"Ms. Tharrington," I began, my tone more gentle than the usual timbre as I sat down on the couch next to her, "I understand this isn't easy for you. Being taken from your brother and sister... it is a sacrifice. But one that comes with the destiny of your bloodline."
"Destiny," she scoffed, "A convenient word for abandoning those you love." At the continuous whinging in her voice, I finally reached my limit.
"Enough young lady," I turned towards her and spoke in my true tone, something she was going to have to get used to when we started training, "Acting like a child and throwing a temper tantrum by being a whingy brat, is not going to change our situation. You're not the only one who had to make sacrifices. Your grandparents did not want to send you away. In fact, your grandmother petitioned to become your official Watcher, but they felt that she might interfere too much because she loves you."
While she still sat in defiance, I continued, "I was forced to move out here on Christmas Eve, away from my siblings and parents, whom I love unconditionally. I got a whole hour to say goodbye to them on Christmas Eve, before I had to go home and pack. It was the only way I could board a train and get here that night so I could prepare the house for your arrival."
I glanced at her to see she was still pouting. I looked directly into her icy blue eyes as I kept going, so I could get my point across to her, "You know how you got to spend Christmas Eve, your birthday, as well as Christmas with your whole family? I got to call my parents on Christmas day over a staticy phone line that lost its connection after five minutes, making it so I didn't get to speak with my younger brothers and sisters." As much as I didn't want to, I could feel my throat constricting with emotion. I hadn't really focussed too much on having to leave my family, and it suddenly occurred to me that it was going to be quite a while before I got to see them again. I adored my younger siblings... several of which had grown to know the truth about the Watcher's Council as I had. My youngest sibling, James, had just barely turned eighteen halfway through the year and he was one of the most jovial people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.
I stood up and walked over to stoke the fire so I could better compose myself. After a few more moments I was able to look back towards her to find that she now had a contrite expression on her face.
"Ms. Tharrington, don't lose your anger. It's a fire that can both forge and destroy," I murmured. The sound echoed through the room, a reminder of the barriers between us. "You can use that anger in battle and training. Make it a reason to fight and hone. Just don't use it against the things you have no control over. It's a waste of energy."
"Fine," she conceded, though her posture remained rigid, like a bowstring drawn taut.
"Ms. Tharrington," I began, seeking a truce within the silence that stretched between us, "I cannot replace what you've lost. But I can offer you something else—a partnership built on trust, respect, and perhaps one day, friendship."
Her eyes narrowed, searching mine for any hint of deceit. Finding none, she nodded curtly, the first wall between us showing the slightest crack.
"Good. Your room is upstairs, second door on the left," I informed her, "I'll give you time to settle in. If you need me, I'll be in my office down here at the back of the house doing some research. Take the day to get to know the surroundings and the training rooms. We'll start fresh in the morning."
Just as I began to walk towards my office, I heard her whispered words, "I'm sorry, Mr. Allen."
I nodded then retreated to my office, leaving her to settle in, the echo of her determined footsteps fading up the staircase.
In the solitude of the room, I allowed myself a moment of reflection. The gravity of my charge sat heavily upon my shoulders - a young girl plucked from the warmth of her family, now thrust into a world of shadows and bloodshed. My duty was to prepare her, to ensure she would stand tall against the forces of darkness.
But as I pondered the road ahead, I knew that training the Slayer was only part of my burden. For beneath the surface of our nascent bond, beneath the veneer of Watcher and Slayer, stirred the inklings of something far more complex. A connection both mystifying and profound.
I would need to tread carefully. Our lives, entwined by fate and duty, depended on the balance I was sworn to uphold. And so, with the ghostly dance of firelight casting long shadows across the room, I vowed to guide Mary Delia Tharrington, not merely as her Watcher but as her steadfast ally in the war that awaited us.
27 December 1908 - 5:32 pm
After hours of hearing Ms. Tharrington's bustling movements around the house, I abandoned my research and ventured into the kitchen to make some tea. I made no actions to cover my movements, knowing she would probably seek me out at the same time. As I expected, she followed closely behind me, her footsteps echoing off the walls.
"Would you care for some tea?" I offered without looking at her, a small smirk playing on my lips as I turned the tap to get some hot water to boil. She let out a surprised yelp, quickly stifling it with a fake cough.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked with genuine shock in her voice.
I finally turned towards her after setting the kettle on the stove to heat up. "As a Watcher, it is my duty to be aware of everything happening around me," I replied insouciantly. "It has an even greater necessity when you're a Slayer." I grinned towards her with amusement, "By the way, your lack of subtlety could use some work. I heard you everywhere you went in the house today. Perhaps we should work on your silent movement techniques during our first training sessions. What do you think of the contraptions in the basement and the training rooms, Ms. Tharrington?"
She furrowed her brows, clearly taken aback by my observations. "Why do you insist on calling me 'Ms. Tharrington'?" she questioned, attempting to maintain a serious demeanour.
"Because you haven't given me permission to address you otherwise, Ms. Tharrington," I responded with a hint of playfulness. Her lips twitched as she fought back a smile.
"Stop it. It's creepy. Just call me Mary," she insisted.
"As you wish, Mary," I smiled again, turning my attention back to the icebox. I retrieved some clotted cream and bakery scones that had been delivered Christmas day, along with jam.
While I prepared the tea, going through all the actions I was familiar with from years of living on my own, I noticed Mary's curious gaze. "You have questions?" I inquired, chuckling softly.
"Why are you treating me so differently? Every Watcher I've ever met has been annoyingly strict and only cared about if I was being trained properly and turned into the 'weapon' I was born to be." she snorted. "Even my grandparents were strict about all of this! But you? You gave me a whole day to just wander around?"
I set everything down at the table in front of her and took my own chair.
As I poured the tea into our cups, I spoke, "I guess old age has taught me a few things."
She cut in abruptly, blurting out, "You're not old..." Her sudden interruption made her face turn red as she realised what she'd said.
I ignored the blush, a jolt of amusement streaking through my body, "Mary, every Watcher has their own methods. The Watchers you've encountered in your life have been strict because they see their role as one of an instructor, but I believe that a Watcher is more than that. A Watcher should be a friend, a confidante, and a mentor. I should not only train you to become the weapon you were born to be, but also be there for you when the world seems too much to bear. I should understand you, know your weaknesses and strengths, not just as a tool of destruction but also as a person."
I paused for a moment to hand her a cup of tea, letting my words sink in.
"And," I sighed, "truthfully, I believe that sometimes, the best lessons are the ones that come from self-discovery and personal experience."
She looked at me, her expression a mixture of confusion and frustration. "So you're saying... what exactly?"
"I'm saying that I'm not here to force you into anything," I replied. "Yes, training is important. Yes, we have a great responsibility. But I also believe that understanding and compassion are equally important. You've been through a lot and you're going to go through even more. But you're not alone in this journey."
She looked down, stirring her tea thoughtfully for a moment before glancing back up at me with those strikingly icy eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"I do," I said sincerely.
Silence fell between us for a few moments. After taking a small drink of tea I caught her eyes watching me, still with confusion evident on her expression.
I saw the question she was afraid to ask in her stare.
"I believe in balance, Mary," I said evenly, holding her gaze. "When I was a teenager, I learned a harsh lesson about the standard tactics the Council normally used and it altered both my perception of what it is to be a Watcher, and my beliefs in how important the teenage girl is behind the Slayer mantle. Yes, I am your Watcher, but I'm also a human being. Just like you are more than just a Slayer. You are Mary Tharrington, a sixteen-year-old girl who just arrived from her family’s home. You need time to adjust and feel comfortable in your new surroundings.”
She sat quietly for a moment, considering my response, then softened her posture slightly. “So that's why you're not forcing me into training right away?"
"Correct," I replied with a nod, savouring the warmth of the tea as it spread through my body. The scent of mint and chamomile filled the room, soothing some of the tension that had settled between us. "We will train hard, no doubt about it. But it’s important to remember that you are not merely a tool or weapon to be used against otherworldly creatures; you are a person who has thoughts and feelings of your own. I don't want either one of us to forget that."
Her eyes, previously guarded and wary, softened at my words. "You're...different, Mr. Allen," she conceded, her cool gaze holding mine a heartbeat longer before she glanced away.
"Life has an odd way of shaping us, Mary," I said, my fingers tracing the rim of the ceramic cup holding the remnants of my tea. "We all have our scars. Some are visible...others not so much."
"I didn't choose this life," she said suddenly, her tone sharp with bitterness. "I was thrust into it. Now I'm expected to risk my life fighting... monsters."
"There's no denying the hand you've been dealt is a challenging one." I mused, choosing my next words carefully. "But the road ahead can be less burdensome if shared with an ally who genuinely cares for you."
Her shoulders sagged slightly as if a small amount of weight had been lifted off them. “Are you saying that’s you?” She asked.
"I'm saying that I hope it to be me. No more and no less." I smiled gently at her again, "Our path is something we'll both have to figure out together."
I noticed her opening up a little more at my words, a subtle change in her demeanour that suggested she was beginning to understand the unique approach I was taking towards her training.
"You're right," she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not just a Slayer... I'm also Mary Tharrington."
A smile found its way to my face at her echoing words. It was a small victory, but an important one. "Very good," I praised gently. "Remembering who you are is just as important as remembering your duty."
I could almost see the gears turning in her head as she mulled over what I'd said. The silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore; it was contemplative, filled with the palpable sense of understanding growing between us.
After a while, she finished her tea and stood up, heading towards the stairs. "I think I'll go lay down for a bit," she announced, sounding tired.
It had been quite a day for both of us. I nodded my head towards her as I stood up to clean away the remnants of our meal. "Feel free to have a restful nap. I'll wake you when your things arrive later."