Chapter Sixteen

 

----====Giles====----

Late the next afternoon, I went alone to the standing stones.

The morning had been blessedly quiet, after the storms and fights of the past few days. Most of the coven had been mysteriously absent – tending Imogen in her undisclosed location, I assumed. Mid-afternoon I’d rung Anyanka; she and the rest of the Sunnydale group were doing well, with no odd sightings of DH’s. She was a bit sleepy, as my call had woken her up, but she was extremely understanding about it. Said, er, she’d been waiting to hear from me.

Then I checked on Spike and Wesley, making sure that they were occupied, as happy as the poor fellows could be at the moment, and not unduly irritating our hostesses. I said ‘unduly’– it was Spike, after all.

Wesley had ensconced himself firmly with Melisande, the herbalist; the two had started working on the nasal sprays, busily doing, well, whatever it was they were doing. Not my area, of course, and I didn’t want to disturb him.

Spike had slept late; I’d begun to think he was going to make up in one night what he’d missed in the past months. I made sure that he found the blood when he got up, then he got stuck into a pint as if it were all he wanted in the world. Good job, that. I’d been worried about him.

They both seemed taken care of. So I borrowed a staff (non-magic) from Regan, and I walked out of the trees and onto the hillside. Crossed the moorland, clambering over the rocks; felt the rain-bearing wind on my face; turned off my brain.

I’d walked the same path with Willow during the summer. Then, I’d stepped into the stone circle and waited. Even then, I could feel something -- not in the sacred stones, but in me. It had been if sparks swirled in an up-draft, lighting on nerves and feelings atrophied long ago. Just a brush with fire, right. Nothing to be worried about, I’d told myself.

When I reached the circle this afternoon, the moor was quiet. No birds, no animals, no people. The day was cloudy, the rain not too far away.

The first step into the stones was like a lightning-strike. Invisible flames crackled around me; I could smell it in every inch of the protected space. Yet I wasn’t burning, didn’t feel any exterior heat.

And then it all stopped abruptly. The stones appeared untouched, as did I.

All the scorch-marks were inside.

I sank to my knees in the long grass, bent my head. To who or what, I couldn’t say, but the action seemed right. I had to bow, so that I could hear the voices. They whispered from every corner of the moor:

– It’s a laugh, innit?

– Giles, we’re in need of assistance.

– Don’t you want to jump, start afresh?

– You’re a handsome devil. What’s your name?

– Are we there yet, Dad?

– The Touch can break the unsound vessel.

– Do you accept the job?

– It’s so terribly bad for you.

– ‘s not at all like you, old man.

– Thank you. Thank you, Rupert.

And then, under them all, came the sounds of a bell tolling, a clock striking again and again. Over the voices came a light little chuckle, stirring the grasses around me.

"It is a laugh, isn’t it," I said, and then the hillside was silent.

Now the old Giles would have started to puzzle out the meanings of the voices, thought hard about the mystical and prophetic properties of the standing stones, mentally cross-referenced previous metaphysical phenomena with this instance, and begun to draw and test conclusions. The old Giles, however, also would not have been in Devon, looking after Spike and Wesley.

The old Giles would not have sensed the fire all around him.

I found myself lying down in the cool green inside the circle, looking up at grey sky. I took in a deep breath of the Dartmoor air, and then another. Oh God, I was tired, so tired. I closed my eyes for a second, which stretched out into a minute, and another – and then I woke up, a couple of hours later, to the touch of mist on my face.

I felt better: ready to go back and take care of Spike and Wesley, if they needed me; ready to face the challenges of whatever it was that lurked outside the sanctuary; ready for whatever Imogen would tell us when she awoke.

Also, I wanted my tea. Tea and sandwiches and then perhaps muffins. Suddenly I was ravenous.

First, though, I had to stretch, work out some of the soreness the past two days had left with me. Next I picked up the borrowed staff from where it had fallen and wrapped my fingers around it. Last, I made sure to crush out the couple of still smouldering sparks on the ground where I had lain.

Time to go back. I stepped out of the circle, heading down the hill, towards my comrades. Yes, it felt utterly bizarre and yet quite right to think of Spike and Wes that way.

And I laughed as I walked through the mist.

***

----====Wesley====----

I spent a good day working with the chemist, Melisande, and we discovered valuable clues about the ingredients of the nasal spray.

The menthol smell came from an extract of Melaleuca Alternifolia, and not from Mentha Arvinses at all. It was being used as a carrier for a strange organic chemical that Melisande could not recognise, but she said it had qualities similar to the compounds used in modern cyanoacrylate 'power-adhesives'. This compound had an 'anchor' that she thought would cause it to lock onto certain human respiratory cells, but be harmless elsewhere.

Melisande's knowledge of both chemistry and biochemistry was far beyond mine, and I was pleased to be working along side her. She was efficient and friendly, with a droll sense of humour about the world. She was fairly convinced that the sprays contained some mystical or ritually imbued effect, as well as a chemical one, and we spent some time theorising about what this could be. The fact the chemical was designed to work on humans, not demons, led me again to question just what it was we were dealing with.

After she left to prepare for a coven function, I looked around to see if I could find either Giles or Spike with whom to share my new information. I had several theories I wanted to discuss, but neither of them seemed to be anywhere to be found.

I firmly swallowed down childish hurt feelings at missing out on whatever they were doing together.

It was a lovely late afternoon, and so I decided to go for a walk and explore the countryside that the coven nestled in. I hadn't known that I missed English scenery so much until we got here. When I wasn't boarding at public school, my childhood was spent in the family home near Oswestry, on the English/ Welsh border. Our many acres of property were not dissimilar to this area of Dartmoor, and I had spent many hours wandering the woods and hillsides alone, avoiding the house for as long as was feasible. I had grown to love our green and pleasant land.

So I followed the river downstream through the woods, until I found a quiet bank of long grass and wild flowers on which I could sit. There was a large rock to lean against. I rested there for a while, watching the water flow rapidly past. It was soothing and somehow cleansing, but it was also lonely. I decided, quite consciously, to stop resisting the compulsion to make contact.

I turned on my Triband cell phone, yet another recent gift, and, after switching to the correct frequency, I ignored the flashing icons telling me about messages received and awaiting voice mail. I then sent a brief text message, closed my eyes, and lent back against the rock. About ten minutes later, the phone trilled quietly. I pressed the green key.

"Hello, Lilah."

"Wesley," she acknowledged. "I was almost expecting your phone to be switched back off already. I've tried to call several times since you ran screaming like a little girl from my office."

"It's strange, you know, I don't recall any screaming."

"Well, that could have been my secretary," she admitted, chuckling. I was having a strong reaction to hearing her voice. The familiar mix of irritation and dangerous arousal was charged with something softer edged; I wasn't sure what.

"Where are you now?" I asked, attempting to be business like in my tone.

"Alone in the restroom of a restaurant, darling. Why, do you want to talk dirty to me?" I ignored my body's inevitable response to her teasing.

"Fairly safe then. I'm sure you realise that those idiots with the uniform sinus conditions are bad news." My excuse for calling was to warn her, and there was my excuse already exhausted.

"I'm more than aware. They have backing from high up however. When are you coming home?"

"How do you know that I'm *not* home?"

"The last report I received had you placed in Oxford, England." I was not exactly shocked to discover she knew that, in fact I was surprised she had yet to know of our relocation to Devon. She continued, "There is also a noticeable pause between responses during this call, which would suggest many miles, and several different connecting networks, between us."

"Gosh, Lilah. I'll make a detective of you yet."

Swallows swooped low over the river, catching dragonflies; I smiled at them.

"I'm a lawyer, I'm way better than any detective."

"Why? Because you create 'the truth', instead of discover it?"

"Well, yes." I could hear the Cheshire cat smile. Part of me wished I could see it. "So when are you coming home?" she asked again.

"Your friends are making that difficult."

"You're safe from them."

"I am?"

"Yes, I spoke to one of their high-ups... one of the replacement high-ups for those your, hmm, 'friend' turned into unpleasant stains on my carpet. They've agreed to drop the pursuit."

I laughed. "So you know about the attacks and exciting car chases?"

"I sent protection, didn't I?"

"What prot... oh." The strange woman on the bicycle -- I wondered what species of demon *she* was. "I really am a valuable asset then. Lord knows why."

"The Lord might not know, darling," she drawled, "but *you* do."

"Lilah," I replied testily, "whether or not I sign your damn contract, I am never going to tell you anything useful about Angel."

"We'll see. Come home, Wes. You're all safe and wanted here."

"I feel so warm and loved."

She chuckled and then offered, "I have another version of the contract for you to consider. I really think you'll like this one. We made all the changes you asked for, plus I had them boost your research clearance."

I sighed. I contemplated asking what she was wearing, but decided that such a question would be most unwise. Instead I inquired, "And if I sign it? What then?"

"Then you'll be getting nice and settled in the office next to mine."

"Next door? So you can keep an eye on me?"

"Eyes, hands, whatever's available," she said in her sultriest voice.

I couldn't help but release a tiny, almost inaudible, moan. I wanted her. We had been meeting up for sex almost every night for months. I was used to it. I missed it. My bruises were healing and I wanted new ones.

Lilah either heard the moan or interpreted my silence in a way that suited her. She purred, "Miss my touch, Wes?"

I snorted quietly. "So, if I sign your contract, do I cease to be a valuable asset to be courted, and become just another minion to be taken for granted?"

"Are my attentions that important to you then?" She sounded smug at the thought. I became a mirror for her, and asked,

"Are they important to *you*?"

Silence. I laughed and said, "We have been speaking for far too long, anyone that wanted to could have traced this call by now, so it's good that I'm in a protected space. Keep those hands of yours safe, Lilah. I'd be... perturbed to return and find them holding a nasal spray."

I pressed the red button and turned the cell phone off. I laid back in the long grass and wondered what the hell I was doing with my life.

***

----====Spike====----

Once I got up from my nice, long, and much-needed lie-in, I did as Giles advised. I had myself a little chat with Regan on my demon-soul conflict problem. Regan sent me into a small room, lit only by candles, with lots of unfortunately non-hallucinogenic smoke and crystals. This was the domain of Frances, a small, black-haired witch, in a Bolivian waistcoat, Tibetan trousers, and enough jewellery to blind me if she turned the lights on.

So I had me a long chat with Frances.

I finished with, "It's not as if I've got a little horned, duster-clad Spike on one shoulder and a prat in a bad suit, glasses, and a halo on the other. I wish it was that simple - I could just buck 'em both off and watch the smackdown with interest. It's not that easy.

The demon isn't sentient; it doesn't whisper 'rend this, tear that, bite that'. The soul isn't either; it doesn't come up with 'the correct procedure in this circumstance is x, y,z' - I bloody well wish it would; it would make it all so much easier. They make the same thing feel so good, and so bad, all at the same time.

It's my mind that filtered those feelings into creating havoc for over a century, and it's responsible for what I did. It's my mind that's trying to work out what to do now. Giles said to talk to you, that you might be able to help; so, here I am - asking for help. This ain't easy, you know, so I hope you can; I need it."

That was how I ended up trying to meditate.

Anyone who has ever met me knows I have a slight problem with staying still - my knuckles nearly got flattened at school for that very reason, and the left handed thing - always been awkward, me. So, me and meditation were never going to be the dream combo.

The demon hated it. It wanted to smash the crystals that made up the circle I sat in, and the big piece of rose-quartz I had to focus on, into powder - I was strong enough enough to do that too. It felt terminally antsy at being imprisoned in this good place, and loathed the soothing mantras Frances took me through. I really needed to pace.

The soul loved it. It felt even cosier with the mantras, and was ready to register the wedding list after the peace of mind I glimpsed. I only got flashes of peace, but God it felt good. I couldn't stay there for more than a few moments: too much in my head for it to clear it for long, and I reckon that won't change; especially added to the inability of both man and demon to stay still. But it helped - it really did.

So I told Frances. "Thanks, luv. That didn't half help. Though I feel like a complete wanker sitting around 'umming' like this." She smiled. "Only problem is that it's still aggravating the demon, while it's soothing the soul. The soul does feel stronger though. Dunno if it's the place or all this stuff. The little bits of peace and quiet were great. But I don't know if I can keep it up when I'm not here or without all this gear, and at some point I know I've gotta go back to home-sweet-hell. Can't put off facing my mistakes too much longer, and I don't know if I can do this back there. If this whole place does this to me, what's the Hellmouth gonna do? I've got to be able to keep it together if I'm gonna make any kinds of amends, and I'm not sure if that's even possible, but a man's gotta try."

She lit some more candles, brightening the room, and rang a bell. A girl in a plain white dress entered into the room, and handed me a small cotton pouch. Then she left. Most odd.

I looked at Frances who said, "Open it. It's a gift that should help you with those problems, and the worries you've told me about."

I blinked away a tear. People don't give me presents.

I opened up the pouch and found an inch long pillar of golden-brown stone with a cord threaded through it.

Frances took hold of the cord and said, "Topaz for balance, sanctified, and given freely by our own river. A threefold cord to hold it in place. One strand of hemp - plain, strong, capable of bearing the heaviest burdens, but with hidden magic. One strand of linen - shining, brittle in one direction, but strong and fair in others. One last strand of silk - beauty born of death and rebirth, yet strong and bright as steel. All grown in our greenhouse, and with the strength of our land in their fibres. Such a cord does not break easily, and can help to support your burdens."

"Dunno what to say. I don't deserve this, but thank you so much. You really don't know what it means that you actually want to help me, and give me something precious. Not exactly used to it, you know."

She smiled at me. "It's good practice. It is given freely, from us to you, to help when we cannot be there. I'll teach you to how to use it later. For now, I give our gift by tying it around your neck with a threefold knot." She knelt behind me, and took the strands and tied the first knot, calling on the Maiden, the second knot, honouring the Mother, and with the third knot playing homage to the Crone.

When she stepped back from me, and the circle I sat in, I felt the power round my neck. It did help. My soul felt strong, and my head felt a bit clearer. My demon still felt itchy, so I told her that, and we spent the rest of the afternoon learning more chanty bits, and other stuff, to help me when I returned home to the Hellmouth that contains my very own heaven and hell.

 

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