Chapter Seventeen

 

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

The mist had lifted by the time I arrived back at the house. The sun had just set behind the westernmost hill, and I stepped through shadows to the front door.

Wes was coming down the staircase when I walked in. He looked a little lost, a bit chilly. However, he managed a smile. "Good evening, Giles. Ready for supper?"

"Hullo, Wes – and I’m not sure. What’s on the menu?"

"Er, a vegetable bake of some kind." He tried very hard not to laugh at my expression of horror, but utterly failed. "I would suggest that you ask Regan yourself. She’s in the kitchen, and she said that she wanted to talk to you as soon as possible."

When I passed Frances’s meditation room, Spike burst out of the door as if he could contain his energy no longer. One of his fingers curled around a cord which hung from his neck and dipped below his T-shirt; it was as if he needed as much contact with it as he could get. "Giles! What’s the plan for tonight? Patrol, yeah?"

"Eventually, I’m sure. Why don’t you find Wes –" I waved my hand in the direction of the main gathering spaces behind me – "and I’ll join you both after I talk to Regan."

I actually could hear his footsteps bouncing off the floorboards as he went.

The kitchen steamed with light and chatter and a rather nasty smell of cauliflower. In the corner Regan conferred with Frances and Melisande; they all looked up when I entered the room, then exchanged a glance in which there were depths I couldn’t understand. Frances and Melisande smiled at me as they left – Frances stopping for a minute, humming as she flicked bits of ash off the coat I hadn’t taken off yet. I didn’t think the ash was from the cigarettes I’d had last night.

Regan took my arm, and led me out into the pantry. She gestured me to a crate of some kind, and then sat down on the other. "Giles, there are a couple of points that we need to discuss." I raised my eyebrows, and she said, "Imogen is still in her vision-trance, but in our shared meditations we have been able to discover a bit of what she’s seeing. And, although we don’t have any details yet, it seems that, well, perhaps you three should be prepared for tomorrow."

"Prepared for –?"

"I can’t say any more than that."

Oh, lovely. I trusted Regan, but her cryptic comments and the way she avoided my eyes were not at all comforting. It wasn’t as if I could make her tell me anything she didn’t choose to, however. "Certainly, we will make ourselves ready for, er, something. And the other point?"

She smiled. "Tonight is a night when the coven joins together, focussing our energies as one. We’ve been so concentrated on Imogen that we haven’t paid enough attention to our other problem. Several days ago, when we performed our scan for power imbalances in Britain, as we regularly do – this was when we first sensed the DH’s – we couldn’t determine the source of the darkness. We’d like to try again tonight, try to locate the originating point. And, if you’ll forgive me, we’d rather appreciate if you could spend the evening outside the grounds. For us, you’re all a bit too...Y chromosome."

I had to stifle a grin. "What exactly constitutes ‘grounds’?"

"House and garden area. Other than that, any coven space is acceptable." She coughed in deprecation. "Besides, I somehow surmise that the cauliflower crumble of our common meal isn’t going to appeal to you three. What an opportunity for you to dive into the roast beef and ham which you brought."

I said, "Oh Regan, you just want it out of your fridge. Evening picnic it is, then. And we’ll patrol the border afterward, make sure your efforts are protected."

The quietest and youngest of the witches was directed to fetch Spike and Wes, and then the three of us managed to fill the hamper I’d brought. I believe I caught Wesley quoting "coldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkins" to himself as he packed the sandwiches, but I wouldn’t swear to it. Spike got in the way generally, but managed to put in a packet of blood for himself and some lager for us all. I supervised.

They made me take my turn carrying the hamper, however. Gits.

The night had turned cool and fine. We walked down the dark lane toward the bridge, where we’d decided to base our evening’s operations. Spike sprang ahead, leaping from stone to stone along the side of the track. It was as if he had to move, to flex muscles that he’d been holding tightly all afternoon.

"Spike, you seem as jumpy as a cat. Are you quite well?" Wes asked.

Spike whirled around, a blur of light in the darkness. I had to shake off the oddest sense that he had an edge of luminescence around his eyes. "Perfectly well, old son," he said, and then bounded ahead.

"What did the two of you do today?" Wes said, staring after him.

I shifted the hamper – it was starting to slip from my hands – and said, "I’m not sure what he did after he had his belated breakfast. I was out walking."

Wes’s glasses caught a stray gleam of starlight when he turned his head. "You were –"

"In the hills. Went to the stone circle, actually." Damn hamper started to slide, and Wes reached out to catch it. I let him take the bloody thing. "I’d have asked you to come along, but you seemed quite intent on your work with Melisande."

He stopped in the middle of the track. When I asked him if he were alright, he gave that half-laugh of his. "Yes. Trapped in old patterns, I’m afraid, but other than that, fine."

"Er. Right." I’d have inquired further, but at that moment came a crashing sound and a hearty "Bloody hell!"

"What did you do, Spike?" I called.

"Nothing." He prowled back toward us. "Accidentally, er, jumped too far."

"What the hell were you trying to do?"

"Nothing," he repeated, glaring at me. His hand went again to the cord around his neck, and then he brought out something I couldn’t quite make out. He curled his fingers around it.

Wes said, "Spike, are you carrying a talisman of some sort?"

"Yeah. When I was practising meditation with Frances this afternoon, she gave me an anchor-thingy. Show it to you lads when we get to the river – "and with that, he turned yet again and headed for the bridge. I could see it now, not far ahead of us.

Wes stood still in the lane. "Old patterns," he said, to himself more than to me. "Come on, Rupert, I’m suddenly starving."

There was a small clearing on the coven’s side of the bridge, and Spike waited here for us. "Seems like a good place to spread the feast to me," he said.

It was, too. The river rippled over stone a few feet away, but miraculously the ground was just dry enough to lay the blanket and take our places. Spike put the extra bottles of lager in the river to chill, while Wes unpacked most of the food. I unhooked the lantern from the side of the hamper, and, no worries, I used a match to light it. It shone brightly enough for the three of us.

We didn’t talk much at first – too busy eating. It tasted more than wonderful; I’d no real idea how hungry my walk had made me. The only words exchanged were along the lines of "Could you pass the mustard?" and "What else can you find?" and "I’d forgotten how good that is!" Oh, and there was a minor discussion of what Spike possibly could be thinking, when Wes discovered Spike dunking McVitie’s rich tea biscuits in his blood. Wesley of course was used – or had been used -- to a quite different souled vampire, I supposed.

It was quite a nice meal, all in all.

We didn’t bother to pack up the hamper after we finished: too lazy. Also, we had to let our food settle before going off on patrol. We all sprawled or sat on the blanket and looked into the night, listened to the flowing water and the occasional creak of the wooden bridge.

It was extremely peaceful, until Spike kicked me. "What the – " I began, and he kicked me again. Then in a move I’m sure he thought was highly secretive, he tilted his head toward Wes, who was lounging back against the hamper with his eyes closed.

Oh, right. I was supposed to play father and inquire after Wesley’s entanglement with the Wolfram and Hart lawyer. This was very near the top of the list of Things Giles Did Not Want to Do Ever, but I needed to protect my shins. And I was worried about him. So, just to begin: "Wesley, did you do anything else today besides work on the spray?"

"Yes. I took a walk by the river. Lovely hike." He didn’t open his eyes.

"Yeah? That it? I mean, with your special connections to L.A., if you know what I mean, thought you might be checking in and what all," Spike asked, about as subtle as a rhinoceros.

Wes opened his eyes. The temperature seemed to drop a dozen degrees. "Did you think so?"

Spike held his gaze. "Yeah. I did."

Wes raised his eyebrows. "I might have checked my messages, yes. By the way, interesting information was given me. Apparently we were under special protection in Oxford – the bicycle woman was sent by Wolfram and Hart."

"We were being protected by Wolfram and Hart? The firm which also had DH’s in their offices?" I said. "That hardly seems likely or reasonable – "

"Wasn’t the firm itself, though, was it," Spike said to me.

Of course. Wes’s silence seemed to confirm the guess, but I had to make sure: "Your – lawyer – sent someone to watch you, right? Was this part of the job offer you mentioned?"

"We are safe, and the intervention has no bearing on you. I’d prefer not to talk about this any more."

Spike started to protest, but I shot him a glare. I’d bet a thousand quid that he was about to make Wes retreat further. I said, "Certainly. Of course, we’re concerned about you, Wes, but if you’re sure that she’s not a threat – "

"Bollocks to that!" Spike interrupted. "Mate, this is not a good sign. She’s trying to smother you."

Wesley chipped the next words out of ice. "This is not your business. Either of you. And let’s not talk of smothering."

Spike clearly wanted me to say more, but I shrugged. There were currents under the ice, which I couldn’t chart, shouldn’t attempt. "It’s your decision, Wes. Our apologies."

Wesley’s eyes were fixed on the sky again. Under his breath, he said, "Trapped in old patterns." His fingers wrapped themselves in the blanket, clutched hard. And then he looked at both Spike and me, saying, "I shouldn’t withhold information from you two. That...that doesn’t work. Yet it truly isn’t your business. So I shall tell you that I am indeed aware of Lilah’s...motivations, and I understand and appreciate your concern."

I nodded. "Thank you, Wes. If you need anyone to talk to, I’m at your service. And if you’re truly desperate, so is Spike."

"Oh, sod off. Giles, I mean -- not you, Wes. You need an ear, I’m willing."

Wes smiled, then looked back up at the sky. In the utter relief I felt at not having to pry further, I said, "Right, Spike. Cigarette, please."

"Why don’t you buy your own?" he grumbled, fishing one out of his jacket.

"I bought those, you little twerp." And I held my hand out for his lighter.

He got a horrible look in his eye, the kind I once associated with blood, chaos and mayhem. He put the lighter out of my reach, then said, "It strikes me that you never told us about what you were doing with Anya, Rupes. When we arrived in Bath?"

"Yes, do I know the young woman you were, er, with? She looked awfully familiar," Wes said.

Spike grinned wickedly at me and said, "Come on, old man. Tale first, then lighter."

Right. I reached down, picked up the lantern, and lit my cigarette from the small flame therein. "You really should learn to plan better, Spike. And don’t bloody call me ‘old.’"

I didn’t mention my sudden conviction that I could have lit the cigarette with a thought.

Wes laughed, a crack in the chilly night air. Spike growled a little, and I relented. "Anya and I were having supper together."

"You said that before – wait, ‘Anya’?" Wes said, as if the name suddenly registered. His eyebrows raised. " Oh, the former vengeance demon. I vaguely remember her from Sunnydale – "

"Demon once again," I said. "But not practising vengeance."

I took a long drag on my cigarette. I knew she wasn’t answering vengeance calls at the moment, and she made no mention of going back, seemed quite happy with our shop. Still, I worried. Daily. Hourly. I didn’t want to think about what I’d do – what I might have to do -- if she returned to harming others.

Spike, the evil glint gone from his eyes, looked at me. "She not pining over Harris, then?"

"I think not. I hope not. And I don’t want to talk about it any more." I laid down on the blanket, cool earth palpable under wool. Then, concentrating, I sent a perfect smoke-ring into the sky. Grey dissipated into black.

"Harris? Were they together? Other than at the prom, as I seem to recall," Wesley asked quietly.

"Xander broke the poor girl’s heart, left her at the altar last spring." Spike’s voice was equally soft, and I had an uncomfortable feeling that I knew what he was thinking. I’d heard the story of the Magic Box camera and what had been caught, and the disasters that had followed.

Time for another smoke-ring. Wes didn’t say anything further, nor did Spike. We just listened to the evening and kept our thoughts to ourselves.

After another puff or two, however, I remembered a topic we needed to discuss. "Did either of you, in your conversations with any of the coven members, hear something odd about tomorrow?"

Wes sat up straighter. "No. Melisande was perfectly pleasant, and we made some great strides toward understanding the demonic, perhaps mystical components of the spray. I could go over the findings with you later, they seemed quite promising – but she said nothing about tomorrow."

Spike fingered the cord around his neck. "Frances gave me this gift, taught me some chanty bits I could use. Why?"

"Regan just said that we should be ‘prepared’ for tomorrow. Hard to do if we have no bloody clue for what to prepare, of course."

Wes sighed. "Wonderful. I feel as if we’re never grasping the one thing we need. Every step we take here has just led us to another mystery, and another. Do you feel as if just when we find out something concrete, we’re led further away from where we started?"

"I’m closer to what I wanted, though. Got a start on dealing with my soul," Spike said. He tilted his head, as if to listen to the echo of his words, to memorise their sound. "‘s what Frances was helping me with, why she gave me the present."

"You never showed us," Wes said. "May we see?"

With great care, Spike brought out an exquisite stone threaded on an unusual cord. The object seemed to take light from the lantern. "Topaz for balance, she said. To help me when I leave here, yeah? When I need, well, balance."

"It’s beautiful." Wes spoke very softly. He touched a finger to the stone, then smiled. "And even I, non-magical as I am, think I can feel something. It’s working for you?"

"Have to make it work," Spike said. "Have to try, anyway."

"I suppose that answers my question as well," Wes said.

"I suppose it does." I moved, stretched a bit. "I further suppose we should think about patrolling."

"‘s awfully bloody quiet. Haven’t even smelled a whiff of menthol, either." Spike carefully tucked his prize back into his shirt.

Wes nodded. "Still, better safe than sorry."

"It is quiet, though," I said. I took one last drag on my cigarette, then put it out inside my empty lager bottle. I looked around at the peaceful evening – rippling water, black night, embracing tree limbs. Somehow, I felt moved to sing, "‘Is there a bustle in your hedgerow, Don’t be alarmed now, It’s just a spring clean for the May Queen...’"

Spike and Wes gazed at each other, open-mouthed. Couldn’t have looked more like complete prats. I continued singing, "‘Yes, there are two paths you can go by, But in the long run, There’s still time to change the road you’re on –‘"

And the gits dumped the empty hamper on my head.

Well, it was funny, I admit it, and we all fell about laughing for a minute -- once I took the wicker ornament off, of course. It was a wonderful release of tension I’m not sure we’d fully known we felt. Wes was the first to calm down, and he was the one who started putting the remains of our feast back into the (right-side-up) hamper. Spike and I joined in, and the two of us were reaching for the last mustard-pot when it happened.

As if something sharp ripped through the night sky, I felt the coven’s barrier go down.

Spike startled. "What the hell was that? Did you feel –"

"Yes. Tonight the coven was going to try to send their energies out, fix again on the DH source; perhaps they were unable to keep their wards up at the same time." And why the bloody hell didn’t Regan tell me that was a possibility, I wondered.

Wes stared at us both. "The barrier’s gone?"

I got to my feet, looking around. Spike and Wes followed, and we stood there for a moment in the quiet night. Water flowed past us, no longer marking our safety.

Spike suddenly cocked his head; after he’d listened for a second, he said, "Can you hear that?" He ran forward onto the bridge, then stopped.

"What?" Wesley said.

Spike listened again. "Yeah. They’re coming."

 

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