Chapter Twenty

 

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

The door opened on Imogen’s offer of tea, and Frances and Melisande appeared, Regan following with a laden tea-tray.

"Well-done, all of you," Regan said, as she placed the tray on a table in the corner. The three of us looked at each other, then rose to our feet. Imogen, laughing, twisted her chair around to look at the space clearly meant for tea.

"Come, Wesley, you’ll need refreshment after your adventure," Melisande said, pulling out a chair at table for him. He hesitated for only a second before taking the place she indicated for him.

Frances walked over and inspected Spike’s still bruised face, tilting his head so she could get a better look in the lamplight. "That’s looking better. You’ve been using your gift, haven’t you?"

"Why, yes, I have, Frances. Thank you." He sounded for just a moment like William, but then he grinned and the tosser I knew was back. She chuckled and pulled him to the table, where he found a chair.

The four witches and my two comrades looked at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to join them.

I didn’t move, couldn’t speak. I was all but choking on a sudden rush of anger.

The coven had been manipulating us – me – for months now. Had to have been. It had been Imogen’s initial prophecy about Willow and Regan’s suggestion of my taking the power which had started this whole mess. We three had been sent out to ‘patrol’ last night without full information, without knowing that the coven’s wards might well fail. We had been set today’s tasks, again without crucial details – and who the bloody hell wouldn’t have mentioned at some point that the coven harboured a sleeping Somanti demon? No one had told us that the latest prophecy would concern us so directly.

No one had told me that my very being would be changing. I could still feel after-sparks in my hands from the past two days of magic. I felt as if I would break apart.

"You will not," snapped Imogen, as if answering my thoughts. It was a very maternal remark, the kind made when an obstreperous boy had repeated a question for the hundredth time. She rose to her feet, straightened her cardigan, and said, "Rupert. Your pain is because you have not spoken."

"Pain? ‘Bout what?" Spike asked. Wes put his hand on Spike’s sleeve, quieting him. I had shouted at Wes today, and I knew I had frightened him; the guilt just made me angrier.

Regan moved to me and took my hands in hers. She jolted at the touch – I hadn’t bothered to restrain the fire. Yet she didn’t let go. Her thumbs rubbed against my palms, and some of my fury ebbed.

It was enough for me to unclench my jaw, to say, "‘The Touch could break an unsound vessel.’" The witches exchanged glances, and I had to shrug off the rage I felt. Better to redirect to someone with whom I wasn’t angry. "Wes. You likely remember what that means, don’t you?"

"I do recall the reference: that one who carries magic for others could..." He trailed off. "Oh, Giles. You didn’t think –"

I didn’t say anything, and Regan’s fingers tightened. "Answer him, Rupert."

"Yes. I thought that I was falling apart. The magic I borrowed in order to save Willow has changed me. I was afraid it had broken me."

"Magic always has consequences," Spike said quietly. "Mate, we didn’t know. You didn’t say."

Imogen walked over to the table and poured herself a cup of tea. Then, in that bizarrely motherly voice, she said, "You weren’t listening closely enough to the prophecy, were you." She looked again at the three of us: me with Regan’s grip on me, a wall between my rage and the others; Melisande leaning toward Wesley, supporting him; Spike with Frances’s hand on his shoulder.

She continued, "You must be able to speak openly with each other. A wise man once said that sometimes the most adult thing one could do is to ask for help." I startled, hearing my own words come out of her mouth. "And Rupert, you should have asked one of us long ago. We could have guided you to the truth."

"We couldn’t have given you so much magic if the potential hadn’t been there already," Regan said. "It has called your natural gift out of hiding. You grow stronger, not weaker." Her index finger tapped my hand, and I had to fight down a sharp jolt of power. She grinned at me, and then stepped back.

"And you two," Imogen said, turning to Spike and Wes. "You with your new soul, Spike, have made the greatest strides, for you have asked and asked again. And you have received. You must continue to ask when you need it." She moved to Wesley, whose scar flared red against his pallor. "You are trying, Wesley. I can see it. You must continue to try, to reach out. We don’t want another incident like this past spring, do we? You’ve proven yourself since, but you shouldn’t forget your mistakes." And she kissed the top of his head.

"No, Imogen," he managed. "I mean..."

"I know what you mean. But you must find the words for yourself from now on," she said. She looked back at me. "And we here will do better too. We were too frightened by what we felt pressing at our boundaries. The evil you three fought will not attempt to harm the coven again, we have felt the retreat, the break, when you won the battle. But that is not to say that the evil has been defeated. We ally ourselves to you; we will not withhold information from you." She made it sound like a vow.

Melisande brushed back a strand of her long hair. "Which reminds me. Spike, Frances has given you a present which signifies the three of you; the threefold cord is as powerful as the stone. Giles, Regan has given you a staff. You have great magic without it, but it reminds you to lean on your comrades."

Wesley looked down at his hands. Empty hands, I was sure he was thinking. Melisande reached into her pocket, drawing out a vial of indigo liquid. She then took a twisted ring of wood out of another pocket. She dipped the ring into the indigo. When she pulled it out, the ring was dark blue stone, three grooves marking its surface.

She murmured a blessing over the ring, then presented it to Wesley. "Take this to remember to whom you should be speaking," she said. "This circle represents the Three, alone yet together. It is to remind you to have faith; you all passed the first tests."

He was shaking, just a bit, when he slid the ring onto his right hand. It fit his finger perfectly. "Thank you, Melisande. I shall remember."

Imogen clapped her hands together. "Well, I think that’s all that we need to do for you lads. Why don’t we leave you alone for a bit, let you puzzle out the prophecy and begin your planning?"

"Aren’t you going to help us?" Spike asked.

She smiled at him. "Well done to make the request, Spike. But no. The coven needs to lend no aid for this."

"Strange, you keep saying that," I couldn’t help but remark. Regan caught my hand again and squeezed. I acknowledged the rebuke, muttered my apologies.

The ladies smiled and left the room, while Wesley pulled out a chair for me at the table. As soon as I sat down, however, Spike picked up a muffin off the table and threw it at my head. "You are such an arse, Rupes!"

I brushed the crumbs off my forehead. "Don’t do that again, Spike, or I’ll turn you into a stink-beetle. Deliberately."

"Spike is right," Wes said quietly. "You should have told us your fears. I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier or push more when I finally did. We could have reassured you, Rupert."

"Really." Spike popped a bit of muffin into his mouth, then mumbled, "Bloody brilliant wizard, you are. It’s been obvious since we arrived."

"Exactly." Wes nodded.

I poured myself a cup of tea to cover how moved I was by their confidence, and said, "Thank you both. I think. Now should we begin to analyse the prophecy?"

"I’m off to the Hellmouth, right. Supposed to guard it." When he caught Wesley’s bemused glance, Spike said, "I got the whole Welsh thing, Wes. Underworld sounds like the Hellmouth to me."

Wes said, "I suspect you’re right. And do we agree that our task will likely centre on the DH problem, in one way or another?"

"Yes, I think so. Our research showed that there are problems in Sunnydale, and you two proved rather conclusively that there are DH’s in Los Angeles, at Wolfram and Hart." I spread some butter (well, foul soya spread) on one of the non-missile muffins, and took a bite. God, I was ravenous.

Wes sipped his tea, then said, "So Spike is to return to Sunnydale, to guard the Hellmouth and to discover the DH connection. Will you be alright there, Spike?"

He set down his plate, which he’d been filling with all sorts of baked goods. His hand went to the cord around his neck, then he said, "Yes. Think so. It’s my task."

And, suddenly stricken, Spike looked at me. It was a request of some kind, I knew, but I couldn’t quite tell what he wanted. I prompted, "Would you – Spike, is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Could you warn her?" I didn’t need to ask whom he meant; the anguish on his face told me it was Buffy. For Spike, Buffy was always ‘her.’ "Don’t want to bloody surprise her, not going to visit her or anything – just let her know I’m there, not to bother her, but to try and do the right thing."

"I can do that for you." I poured him a cup of tea, which he gulped thirstily. It was a good way to stop the tears that seemed near to the surface; hard to cry when one is swallowing. Besides, I was out of handkerchiefs. "Would you mind if I mentioned the soul to her as well?"

"Please. Please, Rupes." And he buried his face in his hands just for a moment. He was fine, though, when he looked up. "‘d appreciate it, more than I can tell you."

"Consider it done." I drank some of my own tea, then I said, "And for you, Wes? The prophecy’s insistence that you ‘enter the service’ –"

"Wolfram and Hart. The job offer." Wes twisted his new ring around his finger, caressing it, before he said, "One ‘head of the hydra’ must be there. The Mabinogion character, Gwyn ap Nudd, was the Lord of the Underworld, roughly analogous to Hell – that would be Hell’s own law firm, would it not?"

"The ‘hydra’ could be your bird," Spike said. "Told you she’s a killer."

Wes said a little sharply, "No, Spike, I don’t think so, she’s been trying to help." Then he sighed. "It’s not impossible, though. But in any event, Wolfram and Hart is where I must go. I’ll try to continue my investigations into the scientific aspects of the DH’s as well."

"And you’ll talk to us?" I said. "About everything, including your, er, lawyer?"

"Yes. I will." He looked us both in the eye as he spoke. Then: "Actually, I have an idea."

"Yeah? Say on, tosser," Spike said, digging into a pile of biscuits. Then he stopped. "Oh, sorry, Wes. Didn’t mean – I shouldn’t call you names like I do Rupes. Sorry."

Wes smiled at him. "Actually, I wasn’t offended. Clearly for the two of you, insults are a sign of affection."

Spike and I looked at each other. "You think I have affection for this little prat?" I said. "Dear God."

"Yeah, I hate the miserable git," Spike said. And then we laughed. It is possible that there was a manly exchange of shoulder-punches.

"So, Wes...I mean, of course, annoying wanker. What’s your idea?"

He grinned. "You’ll love it, Giles. It involves using a computer."

"Doubly annoying wanker." I frowned at him.

"No, it makes sense. We’ll set up an online account – not e-mail, that’s too confusing..." He stood up, started to pace as he thought. "A web community. A blog of some sort, where we all can post."

"A what?"

"A web log, Rupes. Bloody hell, do you use your laptop for anything but Magic Box business, CoW reports, and smutty e-mails to Anyanka?"

"I do not send smutty – oh, for God’s sake, Spike, shut up before I stake you. Continue, Wes."

"Well, as he said, it’s a web log. We’ll set up a private journal for the three of us – we’ll keep each other up-to-date on our findings, we can reference earlier discussions in a way that we couldn’t with the telephone, and it’ll alleviate the time zone problem."

"Yeah, ‘cause obviously your whole ‘unmasking the foe within’ gig is with the Council of Wankers. You really do have to take that job in London," Spike remarked, as he shovelled in yet more food.

"I had figured that out, thank you," I said. "I’m just somewhat concerned...."

"What?" Wes and Spike said in unison.

"The, er, Ripper problem. You might have noticed – well, perhaps not, neither one of you seemed to see – there’s been a bit of difficulty lately with my, um, saying things that might not be consistent with the image necessary for the Council. Haven’t been quite able to control it."

"Don’t worry, Dad. You’re still just as much of a poncy sod as ever you were," Spike said kindly.

I glared at him. For a full minute, until Wesley said, "Oh, please don’t do that. It’s very unnerving."

Spike grinned. "Not to me, mate. But, really, Giles, we have faith in you. You’ll tear up the Council, see if you don’t."

"You’ll just have to talk to us, and we’ll help in any way we can." Wes hesitated. " Er, is the Ripper problem like possession of some kind? As if you’re taken over – ? "

"No, Wes. Ripper is part of me. It’s just that I’d suppressed that part for so long, the balance is a bit off now that I’m, er, back in touch."

Wes clearly wanted to ask more, but he restrained himself. "Yes, I see. Oh, and you can talk about Anya too. Your, well, demon."

The spin he put on "demon" was offensive, but I trusted that he meant well. I nodded. "So, of course, one of you will have to show me how to use the bloody thing. Set it up on my machine, perhaps."

"One question, Wes. What about security? ‘Cause I don’t have a machine, don’t know how safe an Internet café would be."

"I suppose you’ll have to have a laptop of your own," Wes said. And then the two little bastards turned to me. As if – it was like they expected –

"I am NOT your bloody father, I do not have to provide sodding electronics!" I exploded.

"But you’re the man with the readies, Rupes," Spike said. Unanswerably.

I put my head in my hands. "Fine. Yes. I’ll drain my retirement account. But you will be paying me back with the Council retainer." Spike grinned, and I knew that I would just have to trust in the new soul somehow.

Wes finally sat back down. "But your point about security is a good one, Spike. We’ll need more than the basic walls I can construct. Perhaps if we can add a bit of magic – "

"Don’t look at me, mate." I took a sip of my now stone-cold tea.

"Right, Dad just blows things up or sets things on fire," Spike said. "Perhaps Melisande or one of the coven members?"

"An excellent idea," Wes agreed. "Before we leave."

And then we sat there, looking at the table we had somehow despoiled during our discussion. No more food, cold tea. I was tired – it had been a long strange trip already, and we had done much today. But somehow... "Anyone up for returning to Bath tonight? The DH’s seem to have stopped for the moment; my flat likely would be safe again. We could finish our plans there, make your travel arrangements, all that."

Spike and Wes looked at each other for a moment, then nodded in unison. "I think we should go, after a quick consultation with Melisande of course," Wesley said.

Spike smiled at us. It wasn’t his usual smirk – it was the sincere expression of an odd kind of happiness. "Yeah. Needs to be just the three of us for a bit, before we go our separate ways."

"Apart, yet together," I quoted.

We shook hands on the deal.

A busy couple of hours followed. Melisande gave me a quick lesson in electronic warding, said it would be helpful beyond our blog or whatever the bloody hell Wes said it was called. Spike disappeared with Frances for one last session of meditation. Several coven members – including Imogen, who got stuck into the job just as if she hadn’t been in a trance for days – helped Wes do the packing. He wanted to do it, he assured me, although this might have been a lie.

I was finished with my tasks first, and I went out to the Range-Rover to wait for the others. It was a lovely, cool evening. Stars overhead seemed so close, so bright. So magic.

I made a quick phone call.

"Hello, Magic Box," she answered in her usual bright tone.

"Hello, Anya. ‘s me. Do you have a minute?"

"Rupert, I gladly would put off a customer to talk to you. Although I don’t actually have one right now, so we won’t suffer any economic losses by chatting."

I smiled to myself. "Well, I was wondering. There’s been some, er, adventures lately, I’m going to have to be taking a Council job in London, I’ll give you all the details later – but I’m still a little concerned that we didn’t get to finish our evening the other night. Could we choose another night, try it again?"

The flick of her day-planner pages was audible even over the transatlantic connection. "It’s early closing day next Wednesday. What about then?"

"I think that’s fine. Wonderful. Er, I might be in London --"

"Teleportation does work in major metropolitan areas, Rupert."

"Good to know. That’s very good to know, Anya." Surrounded by women, Spike and Wes appeared in the doorway of the coven house. Bugger. Time to go. "I wish I could talk longer, but Spike and Wes – it’s complicated."

"Is it ever going to be anything else?" she asked.

The blokes, flanked by Regan and Imogen, headed toward me. "No. It’s never going to be anything but complicated. But I’d like to try anyway."

"Thank you. Thank you, Rupert," she said. "I’ll talk to you later, then?"

"Yes. Absolutely, soon as I get home. Good night, Anya." She said good night, and I managed to stow the mobile before Spike and Wes got there. Not that I was fooling anyone, obviously, judging by their grins.

Regan came up to me and took my hands again – gauging my power, perhaps. I smiled at her. "Sorry for snapping earlier."

"That’s not exactly what I would call ‘snapping,’ Rupert," she said, then squeezed my fingers. "You need to come back and see us; we really should work on your control."

Imogen came up to us, her hands on Regan’s shoulders. "She speaks truth, Giles. We will help you. And that will help Spike and Wesley. The Three are united." She managed to enfold the boys in her warmest smile.

They smiled in return. "Thank you for everything," Spike said, and Wesley echoed the words. Imogen and Regan hugged them both, then stepped back.

Time to go.

We took the places we’d grown accustomed to: I was driving, Wes in the front, Spike stretching out in the back. The Range-Rover started back down the deeply rutted lane we’d travelled just a few days before. Unlike that night, however, the mists were gone.

I slowed the car as we approached the bridge. The strangest idea took hold of me, and I said, "Could we stop for just a minute?"

Wes looked at me."I think I know what you’re thinking."

"Me too," Spike said.

The three of us got out of the car, walked out onto the wooden structure which had seen so much trouble just a day before. The trees, the bridge, the river: all looked unharmed. The coven must have done some healing there. There was no barrier, no need for one.

The three of us leaned on the bridge railing for a minute, looking around us, listening to the sounds of the night. Spike predictably was the first to break the comfortable silence. "You know what, mates? We’re right wankers."

"Pillocks," I said.

"Idiots," Wes finished.

We grinned at each other. And we jumped into our future, together.

 

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