Fic: Scorned 8/8
Nov. 1st, 2010 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonyphoenixTitle: Scorned
Series: Lotus in Muddy Water
Fandom: BtVS
Characters/Pairing: Faith, Wesley
Rating: PG-13
Concrit: Please, in comments
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, not yet, but the will be once I've taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Summary: As she pinned the comb in her hair, whiteness snaked out from the comb, bleaching her hair. She screamed, arching forward as she fell into the sea. Twisting under the waves, she writhed under the water, as if scrabbling for escape. Her hand reached upward but was unable to break through the surface. With a final grimace, she relaxed into the sea's cold embrace. As her feet touched down to the bottom, white locks drifted in the current. The moon drifted across the horizon and was close to setting before she moved again. Her eyes opened and looked up from below the sea.
Notes: Many thanks to my most awesome betas: deird1, for making sure Wesley and Aidan didn't do anything totally unBritish and shakensilence who asked a simple question which made me think through story elements I hadn't gotten to yet. Sadly diebirchen has been having computer problems so no grammar check on this one; hopefully her computer will be better soon. *crosses fingers*
Notes: Petra Hyde Burnand was Faith's previous Watcher, the one killed by Kakistos.
* * *
The cops didn't seem to care about the occult books that were still strewn across the living room table. Granted most of the cops were combing the beach for clues, but you'd think that Kirkpatrick's Demons of the Emerald Isles – and what had the guy been smoking to come up with that lame a title – would draw some interest. There were two cops in the living room, obviously acting as guards to make sure nobody ran off, while a third was interviewing Wesley in the study.
Faith paced the back end of the living room, taking care to keep away from the couch were Grace was sitting while Brigit and Claire did their best to comfort her. When Brigit had brought her a soda, Grace had thanked her in a dull monotone. She hadn't spoken since. Presumably the cops would get her to talk when it was her turn in the study, but Faith wouldn't bet good money on it.
Aidan, who'd been interviewed first, had brought out a couple of books and was busy researching, well, something. Faith didn't know what it might be since the demon was already dead. Only it wasn't a demon, was it? It was some chick who'd gotten the raw end of the deal and had been trying to get some of her own back. Faith stalked across the room and stared out the window. Yeah, some fucking idiot of a chick who'd turned herself into a demon.
Faith heard the sound of the study door and kept staring into the darkness, not wanting to deal with Wes. He'd been freaking earlier until Aidan had taken him aside for a small chat. Faith hadn't caught all of what Aidan had said, but it had been full of phrases like “Watcher heritage”, “maintaining decorum”, and “family honor.” It had worked, somewhat. Wesley didn't really look less freaked, there was something wild in his eyes, but he'd started acting like he wasn't about to fall apart. Must be nice to be that old before something tries to kill you.
As the cop, a tall and lanky man in a tan suit with a brush of unruly dark hair, called for Brigit, Faith turned to face the room, not really pleased but relieved that Wesley seemed to be too busy staring at nothing to get on her case. Brigit stood but looked uncertainly towards Grace, and then leaned over to squeeze Claire's shoulder. “Take care of my sister?” she asked. Claire, who looked as if she were about to burst into tears, nodded.
Faith was itching to book. Being stuck in one place had trapped her inside her head. “Damn and double damn,” she muttered, using a phrase she'd picked up from Petra. How was I supposed to know that demon had been human? Who even knew that humans could even become demons? She thought about vampires, but they lost their souls when they were turned. Did that Betty chick still have her soul?
Claire stood abruptly, knocking out Faith's train of thought, for which she was grateful. “Your soda has lost its fizz,” Claire said, which couldn't be true since it hadn't been sitting out twenty minutes yet. “I'll get you another.” She yanked the drink off the table and dashed towards the kitchen. Think if I sat and stared into space someone would wait on me hand and foot? Doubt it. Faith wanted to smack herself. Grace was just a kid; of course she was going to be wigging. Faith thought back to the first demon she'd killed, a vamp. She had shouted “Fucking A” into the night. Petra had told her to behave, but she hadn't been able to resist letting out another whoop of triumph. She'd survived. It was like... There weren't any words.
She thought back further, to the first time she'd encountered death, not a demon's death but a human's. There'd been this kid in junior high, David. He hadn't even gone by Dave or Davey. It was David. He'd been a scrawny pencil-necked geek, but they'd sat next to each other in history, and he'd explained some stuff to her when she hadn't caught on right away. She'd been on the last row, closest to the window, but up front because history wasn't all that bad, and he'd sat one row in. It had happened over the weekend. David had been working at his dad's bakery, doing deliveries or something, when somebody had just come up and shot him, right out on the street for no reason at all. David had been Jewish and so the funeral and all that shit was already over by the time she knew anything about it. A bunch of the kids had gotten together and cried over the weekend, but nobody had thought to let her know. Like she'd needed it; she barely knew the guy, really. He was just a chess geek who happened to be in some of her classes. She'd almost sat in his seat, that first Monday back, it being closer in and all, but at the last moment it just hadn't felt right.
The cop was standing just this side of the hallway calling out her name. “Finally,” Faith muttered. He directed her down the hall to Aidan's study and, pointing towards a leather chair in the middle of the room, sat himself on the edge of Aidan's desk. Faith sprawled out on the chair and stared at the vase of flowers by the window.
“So tell me what happened,” he said, far too casually.
“Aren't you supposed to ID yourself, first?”
He pulled out a badge. “Detective Warne.”
“Bit young to be a detective,” Faith said.
Ignoring her comment, he started into the interview. “I understand that Grace Wright and Claire Moore weren't supposed to be here this evening.”
“Nah, they split their time; some here and some at Grace's house. They came back for a video,” Faith replied.
“Do you know what it was?”
Faith snickered and said “probably something dirty” to see if she could throw him.
He gave her an intense stare. “Why do you say that?”
“That's what I would have been sneaking back for when I was their age.”
“What happened next?”
“I saw something out the window and caught them. The girls said something about Wes running towards the beach and shouting for help, so we followed. He was trying to save that chick, Miss Campbell I mean, but looked like he could use some help so I ran in after.”
“Do you know why he was worried about her? It's not as if he could see she was drowning from the house,” Warne said.
Faith shrugged. “Maybe she looked depressed or was carrying cement shoes or something.”
Warne stared at her without replying until Faith, with a turn of her head apologized. It wasn't like she'd meant to sound so callous.
“Did he know Miss Campbell?” he asked.
“I doubt it. We just got here.”
“This house belongs to Mr. Aidan Taylor. What is your relationship to him?” he asked.
Faith felt like crossing her fingers but instead sprawled out a little more comfortably, feeling relieved that Aidan had brought this when they'd been figuring out what they'd tell the cops. “Wes is my legal guardian,” she said. She hadn't known, before that evening, that Petra had taken on a legal responsibility for her. Wes had said most Watchers did since it made for fewer questions when a slayer died. When, not if. When Faith had asked if it wouldn't look funny to the cops that her previous guardian had disappeared just a week ago, Wes had said he'd talk to the Council. Apparently they had some kind of mojo that allowed them to change the paperwork so it'd look like Wes had been her guardian ever since she'd become the Slayer.
Warne didn't say anything. After a minute or two, Faith added, “He's some kind of distant cousin or something.”
“I don't see any resemblance.”
Faith decided to add some details to make it more believable. “He found me about five months after my mom died. I'd been living on the street and wasn't about to ask too many questions, you know? I mean, if he'd tried anything, I would have been gone like a bat out of hell, but he's always behaved like a brother to me, a really annoying know it all kind of a brother, but I have no complaints.”
Warne looked suspicious, but Faith felt comfortable. Hell, this was nothing compared to the grilling she'd gotten after she and Tommy had been caught in the guitar shop after hours.
“You'll be available if we have more questions?” he asked.
Faith raised her hands upwards and outwards. “Not going anywhere.” He looked like he wanted to ask more but instead led her back to the living room. Grace was in the middle of a hug, surrounded by Brigit, Claire, and some older woman. Faith's breath hitched. Her hair flipped around her shoulder as she turned to the cop. “Can I split yet? I'd sort of like to get out of here for a bit.”
“I need you to stay here until I finish my interviews. It shouldn't be much longer,” he replied.
The woman gently broke away from the hug and barreled down on Warne. “You can't be thinking of subjecting my daughter to one of these interviews. Look at how upset she is. She needs to go home. Now.”
He looked at the group still holding each other, two brunettes and a blond, and to the woman's hair – dark and just going gray. “Mrs. Wright, is it? I apologize for causing you and your family any distress, but this is procedure. Given that your daughter is underage, you may be in the room for her interview if you prefer.”
Mrs. Wright looked at Aidan who was engrossed in a book. “You'll interview both girls at once, with me in the room, and then I'm taking them home.”
“That's somewhat irregular,” he started to say. Mrs. Wright gave him a look. “This way,” he said, directing them to the study.
Brigit looked around uncertainly. “I'll make coffee,” she announced. “I'm sure the officers would like something to drink.”
After a few minutes, Faith followed Brigit into the kitchen, more for something to do than anything else. Brigit was standing by the coffee machine, that was about one-quarter full already, and staring bleakly into space. “Hey,” she said, unable to back out before Brigit saw her.
“It's my fault,” Brigit said.
Faith wrapped her arms around herself. “Can't say I'm following that logic.”
“I keep thinking if I'd been a better person, if I'd been there for her, none of this would have happened,” Brigit said.
“And maybe it wouldn't have changed anything,” Faith said carefully. She didn't want to alienate Brigit by dissing her friend, but that Betty chick had obviously been fucked in the head if she'd sold her soul to a demon or some shit like that. “Were you two close?”
Brigit paced across the room. “It's more like we hung out in the same crowd sometimes. Close enough that I knew she was hurting but not enough that I did anything about it.”
“It's not your job to watch out for everybody,” Faith said.
“I still feel guilty,” Brigit admitted.
“Yeah,” Faith agreed. “Tell me about it.”
Brigit turned away from the pain in Faith's eyes and started pulling cups out of a cabinet. “Are you all right?” she asked, carefully not looking at Faith.
“Fine,” Faith said quickly.
Turning to Faith, she added, “You could come with us, to my parent's house, afterwards if you didn't want to be alone.”
“Thanks,” Faith said, “but I'm OK here.” Brigit looked like she was about to say more, and Faith quickly added, “You don't have to save me; I'm five-by-five.”
After Brigit had left to hand out coffee, Faith thought about the demon she'd killed, who'd really been a woman, at least at first, and the men she hadn't saved. Fuck, she hadn't even realized they'd needed saving. You may think it's your fault, she thought, but it was my job to save them. I met the demon. Hell, I even talked to it, and I still didn't see what it was. If I hadn't been so worried about getting my rocks off, those guys would still be alive.
* * *
Aidan's office was stark and organized. The cherry wood of the walls, selected by his wife over six years earlier, gave the room a dark warmth. To his left was a door and the four chairs that Aidan had carefully realigned after the detective had finished with the room. Past the chairs and across from his desk, a bookshelf, covering the length of the room, held ancient tomes. Along the final wall was a bay window before which stood a small table. His wife's photo was framed by two candles. Next to the ornate golden scrollwork of the picture frame sat a glass vase full of fresh flowers. Aidan, sitting at his desk, stared at the room without seeing it.
The demon hadn't recognized Faith as the Slayer. That debate, whether or not demons had an intrinsic awareness of a slayer, had raged amongst the Council for centuries. He had the answer now, although he wasn't planning to share it. A year after Aidan had been offered, and had rejected, the position of Watcher, he'd found a spell so ancient that it wasn't even hinted at in any tome he'd ever read. It had allowed him to speak with Betty's soul. The demon she'd become had been shocked that Faith had been able to see her until it noticed the demonic taint that gave the slayer her power. When the demon had taken Wesley, she'd strengthened the glamor that made her invisible – only Brigit's magic had allowed Faith to see the demon.
The new information didn't help as much as he'd hoped it would. A demon that knew about slayers but was inexperienced might or might not recognize a slayer when it met one. As he walked across the room and selected three specific books from the shelves, Aidan's heart sank as he saw the days of research and planning stretching out before him. It wasn't that he minded the research, he'd been trained for it after all, but the thing he wanted most in the world was once again flickering out of his sight. He'd known that bringing Faith and Wesley into his home was a calculated risk, but it still felt like he'd been punched in the gut. The Slayer might be one more dead end.
* * *
Lying in bed with his arms over the covers, which were pulled up over most of his torso, Wesley found he couldn't sleep, even in the pitch black room. He thought of all the Watcher Diaries he'd read and how he'd never noticed the number of people who'd died at the hands of demons. It made sense, really; that's why the Slayer had been created in the first place, but he'd never realized that he, as a Watcher, would be threatened. He'd rather fancied himself safely surrounded by his books while his Slayer faced the actual danger.
The fury of the demon's face flashed before his eyes. I almost died! If Faith hadn't rescued me, that demon would have drowned me. I'd be floating, drifting out to sea right now. Don't be so dramatic Wesley. I'm certain Aidan or Brigit would have brought your corpse back to shore. My corpse.
A thought formed so far back in his mind that he was almost able to ignore it. Oh come now, he told himself. I've been training all my life to be a Watcher, and it's a great responsibility to have been assigned to the Slayer. My family have been Watchers going back as far as eleven generations. Not one of them has ever blighted the family name.
He sat up, blinded by the darkness but afraid to turn on the light. He didn't want to see himself at that moment. “Nonsense,” he mumbled. Maybe you're not up to the job whispered in the back of his mind. Wesley saw his father's face, pale and stern with disappointment. Death before dishonor? he asked himself, trying to give it a cynical twist. Instead the thought rang with truth.
“I'll never get to sleep at this rate.” Reaching carefully to the bedside table, he found the sleeping pills that Brigit's brother had left after he'd checked Wesley over for injuries. He took them, and carefully placed the empty water glass back onto the table. Just before he dozed off, a final stray thought rose to the surface. While the police had questioned them thoroughly, Brigit's brother had been decidedly incurious about the corpse, which he'd taken to the morgue, and, while he'd treated Wesley's and Faith's injuries, he hadn't asked what had caused them.
* * *
Dozens of small, twisting paths – where roots intertwined under last year's leaves – led to a clearing in the woods where forty-eight stones, each taller by half than a tall man, stood in a circle. The northernmost stone, which was called the Mother-stone by those who knew of it, had a circle carved through its center. On the ground before the Mother-stone was yet another stone, close to three inches thick with bits of quartz flickering in the torch light.
Laid out on that stone was a body wearing a blue dress that was embroidered with a subtle pattern of green and white waves. While the face was covered by a white veil, the figure was obviously that of a woman. Her pale hair stretched outwards from her head, like rays of moonlight.
Three women stood around the body: to the west, above the body's head was the Maiden in white, to the south stood the Mother in red, and to the east, the black-robed Crone. Reaching down to her chain-link belt, the Maiden pulled out the small curved blade that had been sheathed at her left hip and cut off a lock of pale hair. The Mother held out a silver box. As the Maiden mixed the pale hair from the corpse with the reddish-brown hair in the box, she chanted, “At both birth and death, we enter the gateway. Alone.”
Bringing the box back around to the center of the slab, the Mother called out, “Three drops of amber mark the passage of the deceased: one for the child she was, a second to guide her to the Summerland, and a third to lead her soul back when the time is ripe for rebirth.” As she spoke, she dropped the nuggets of amber into the silver box.
The Crone's hair shimmered like gray smoke in the torchlight. Chanting, she leaned over and cut two toenails, one from each foot, two fingernails, and a lock of hair from the body.
The Mother stepped into the darkness, beyond the circle of torches, and brought a cauldron, overflowing with scented smoke. “The souls that are ours, are ours and may not be lightly traded away.” As the Crone spoke, she dropped the nails and hair into the cauldron. Small sparkling flames shot up as they hit the smoke. “Bettina Andrea Campbell was ours in life, as she is ours in death. Her bargain with the dark is null, void; she was not given what she had bargained for.” The Maiden stepped into the darkness, returning with a birdcage that held a dove. Reaching into the cage, the Crone pulled out the dove and held it to the sky. “Her soul is ours. Here and now, I offer you sacrifice.” She snapped the dove's neck.
As the Crone laid the dove outside the stone circle, she said, “You who are none of ours, this is yours. Payment is made in full. We owe you nothing.” The dove vanished.
When the Crone returned to the circle, the Maiden removed the veil, revealing Betty Campbell's face. In silence, the three women moved to the Mother-stone. The Maiden, at the right of the stone, passed the veil through the hole to the Mother who stood behind the stone and to its left. The Mother then stepped forward to the front of the stone and passed the veil through the stone to the Crone, who stood behind the stone and to its right. The Crone passed the veil to the Maiden, who had moved behind the stone and to its left. They continued their dance-like pattern until the veil had been passed through the stone nine times. “It is finished,” they chanted as one.
Series: Lotus in Muddy Water
Fandom: BtVS
Characters/Pairing: Faith, Wesley
Rating: PG-13
Concrit: Please, in comments
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, not yet, but the will be once I've taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Summary: As she pinned the comb in her hair, whiteness snaked out from the comb, bleaching her hair. She screamed, arching forward as she fell into the sea. Twisting under the waves, she writhed under the water, as if scrabbling for escape. Her hand reached upward but was unable to break through the surface. With a final grimace, she relaxed into the sea's cold embrace. As her feet touched down to the bottom, white locks drifted in the current. The moon drifted across the horizon and was close to setting before she moved again. Her eyes opened and looked up from below the sea.
Notes: Many thanks to my most awesome betas: deird1, for making sure Wesley and Aidan didn't do anything totally unBritish and shakensilence who asked a simple question which made me think through story elements I hadn't gotten to yet. Sadly diebirchen has been having computer problems so no grammar check on this one; hopefully her computer will be better soon. *crosses fingers*
Notes: Petra Hyde Burnand was Faith's previous Watcher, the one killed by Kakistos.
The cops didn't seem to care about the occult books that were still strewn across the living room table. Granted most of the cops were combing the beach for clues, but you'd think that Kirkpatrick's Demons of the Emerald Isles – and what had the guy been smoking to come up with that lame a title – would draw some interest. There were two cops in the living room, obviously acting as guards to make sure nobody ran off, while a third was interviewing Wesley in the study.
Faith paced the back end of the living room, taking care to keep away from the couch were Grace was sitting while Brigit and Claire did their best to comfort her. When Brigit had brought her a soda, Grace had thanked her in a dull monotone. She hadn't spoken since. Presumably the cops would get her to talk when it was her turn in the study, but Faith wouldn't bet good money on it.
Aidan, who'd been interviewed first, had brought out a couple of books and was busy researching, well, something. Faith didn't know what it might be since the demon was already dead. Only it wasn't a demon, was it? It was some chick who'd gotten the raw end of the deal and had been trying to get some of her own back. Faith stalked across the room and stared out the window. Yeah, some fucking idiot of a chick who'd turned herself into a demon.
Faith heard the sound of the study door and kept staring into the darkness, not wanting to deal with Wes. He'd been freaking earlier until Aidan had taken him aside for a small chat. Faith hadn't caught all of what Aidan had said, but it had been full of phrases like “Watcher heritage”, “maintaining decorum”, and “family honor.” It had worked, somewhat. Wesley didn't really look less freaked, there was something wild in his eyes, but he'd started acting like he wasn't about to fall apart. Must be nice to be that old before something tries to kill you.
As the cop, a tall and lanky man in a tan suit with a brush of unruly dark hair, called for Brigit, Faith turned to face the room, not really pleased but relieved that Wesley seemed to be too busy staring at nothing to get on her case. Brigit stood but looked uncertainly towards Grace, and then leaned over to squeeze Claire's shoulder. “Take care of my sister?” she asked. Claire, who looked as if she were about to burst into tears, nodded.
Faith was itching to book. Being stuck in one place had trapped her inside her head. “Damn and double damn,” she muttered, using a phrase she'd picked up from Petra. How was I supposed to know that demon had been human? Who even knew that humans could even become demons? She thought about vampires, but they lost their souls when they were turned. Did that Betty chick still have her soul?
Claire stood abruptly, knocking out Faith's train of thought, for which she was grateful. “Your soda has lost its fizz,” Claire said, which couldn't be true since it hadn't been sitting out twenty minutes yet. “I'll get you another.” She yanked the drink off the table and dashed towards the kitchen. Think if I sat and stared into space someone would wait on me hand and foot? Doubt it. Faith wanted to smack herself. Grace was just a kid; of course she was going to be wigging. Faith thought back to the first demon she'd killed, a vamp. She had shouted “Fucking A” into the night. Petra had told her to behave, but she hadn't been able to resist letting out another whoop of triumph. She'd survived. It was like... There weren't any words.
She thought back further, to the first time she'd encountered death, not a demon's death but a human's. There'd been this kid in junior high, David. He hadn't even gone by Dave or Davey. It was David. He'd been a scrawny pencil-necked geek, but they'd sat next to each other in history, and he'd explained some stuff to her when she hadn't caught on right away. She'd been on the last row, closest to the window, but up front because history wasn't all that bad, and he'd sat one row in. It had happened over the weekend. David had been working at his dad's bakery, doing deliveries or something, when somebody had just come up and shot him, right out on the street for no reason at all. David had been Jewish and so the funeral and all that shit was already over by the time she knew anything about it. A bunch of the kids had gotten together and cried over the weekend, but nobody had thought to let her know. Like she'd needed it; she barely knew the guy, really. He was just a chess geek who happened to be in some of her classes. She'd almost sat in his seat, that first Monday back, it being closer in and all, but at the last moment it just hadn't felt right.
The cop was standing just this side of the hallway calling out her name. “Finally,” Faith muttered. He directed her down the hall to Aidan's study and, pointing towards a leather chair in the middle of the room, sat himself on the edge of Aidan's desk. Faith sprawled out on the chair and stared at the vase of flowers by the window.
“So tell me what happened,” he said, far too casually.
“Aren't you supposed to ID yourself, first?”
He pulled out a badge. “Detective Warne.”
“Bit young to be a detective,” Faith said.
Ignoring her comment, he started into the interview. “I understand that Grace Wright and Claire Moore weren't supposed to be here this evening.”
“Nah, they split their time; some here and some at Grace's house. They came back for a video,” Faith replied.
“Do you know what it was?”
Faith snickered and said “probably something dirty” to see if she could throw him.
He gave her an intense stare. “Why do you say that?”
“That's what I would have been sneaking back for when I was their age.”
“What happened next?”
“I saw something out the window and caught them. The girls said something about Wes running towards the beach and shouting for help, so we followed. He was trying to save that chick, Miss Campbell I mean, but looked like he could use some help so I ran in after.”
“Do you know why he was worried about her? It's not as if he could see she was drowning from the house,” Warne said.
Faith shrugged. “Maybe she looked depressed or was carrying cement shoes or something.”
Warne stared at her without replying until Faith, with a turn of her head apologized. It wasn't like she'd meant to sound so callous.
“Did he know Miss Campbell?” he asked.
“I doubt it. We just got here.”
“This house belongs to Mr. Aidan Taylor. What is your relationship to him?” he asked.
Faith felt like crossing her fingers but instead sprawled out a little more comfortably, feeling relieved that Aidan had brought this when they'd been figuring out what they'd tell the cops. “Wes is my legal guardian,” she said. She hadn't known, before that evening, that Petra had taken on a legal responsibility for her. Wes had said most Watchers did since it made for fewer questions when a slayer died. When, not if. When Faith had asked if it wouldn't look funny to the cops that her previous guardian had disappeared just a week ago, Wes had said he'd talk to the Council. Apparently they had some kind of mojo that allowed them to change the paperwork so it'd look like Wes had been her guardian ever since she'd become the Slayer.
Warne didn't say anything. After a minute or two, Faith added, “He's some kind of distant cousin or something.”
“I don't see any resemblance.”
Faith decided to add some details to make it more believable. “He found me about five months after my mom died. I'd been living on the street and wasn't about to ask too many questions, you know? I mean, if he'd tried anything, I would have been gone like a bat out of hell, but he's always behaved like a brother to me, a really annoying know it all kind of a brother, but I have no complaints.”
Warne looked suspicious, but Faith felt comfortable. Hell, this was nothing compared to the grilling she'd gotten after she and Tommy had been caught in the guitar shop after hours.
“You'll be available if we have more questions?” he asked.
Faith raised her hands upwards and outwards. “Not going anywhere.” He looked like he wanted to ask more but instead led her back to the living room. Grace was in the middle of a hug, surrounded by Brigit, Claire, and some older woman. Faith's breath hitched. Her hair flipped around her shoulder as she turned to the cop. “Can I split yet? I'd sort of like to get out of here for a bit.”
“I need you to stay here until I finish my interviews. It shouldn't be much longer,” he replied.
The woman gently broke away from the hug and barreled down on Warne. “You can't be thinking of subjecting my daughter to one of these interviews. Look at how upset she is. She needs to go home. Now.”
He looked at the group still holding each other, two brunettes and a blond, and to the woman's hair – dark and just going gray. “Mrs. Wright, is it? I apologize for causing you and your family any distress, but this is procedure. Given that your daughter is underage, you may be in the room for her interview if you prefer.”
Mrs. Wright looked at Aidan who was engrossed in a book. “You'll interview both girls at once, with me in the room, and then I'm taking them home.”
“That's somewhat irregular,” he started to say. Mrs. Wright gave him a look. “This way,” he said, directing them to the study.
Brigit looked around uncertainly. “I'll make coffee,” she announced. “I'm sure the officers would like something to drink.”
After a few minutes, Faith followed Brigit into the kitchen, more for something to do than anything else. Brigit was standing by the coffee machine, that was about one-quarter full already, and staring bleakly into space. “Hey,” she said, unable to back out before Brigit saw her.
“It's my fault,” Brigit said.
Faith wrapped her arms around herself. “Can't say I'm following that logic.”
“I keep thinking if I'd been a better person, if I'd been there for her, none of this would have happened,” Brigit said.
“And maybe it wouldn't have changed anything,” Faith said carefully. She didn't want to alienate Brigit by dissing her friend, but that Betty chick had obviously been fucked in the head if she'd sold her soul to a demon or some shit like that. “Were you two close?”
Brigit paced across the room. “It's more like we hung out in the same crowd sometimes. Close enough that I knew she was hurting but not enough that I did anything about it.”
“It's not your job to watch out for everybody,” Faith said.
“I still feel guilty,” Brigit admitted.
“Yeah,” Faith agreed. “Tell me about it.”
Brigit turned away from the pain in Faith's eyes and started pulling cups out of a cabinet. “Are you all right?” she asked, carefully not looking at Faith.
“Fine,” Faith said quickly.
Turning to Faith, she added, “You could come with us, to my parent's house, afterwards if you didn't want to be alone.”
“Thanks,” Faith said, “but I'm OK here.” Brigit looked like she was about to say more, and Faith quickly added, “You don't have to save me; I'm five-by-five.”
After Brigit had left to hand out coffee, Faith thought about the demon she'd killed, who'd really been a woman, at least at first, and the men she hadn't saved. Fuck, she hadn't even realized they'd needed saving. You may think it's your fault, she thought, but it was my job to save them. I met the demon. Hell, I even talked to it, and I still didn't see what it was. If I hadn't been so worried about getting my rocks off, those guys would still be alive.
Aidan's office was stark and organized. The cherry wood of the walls, selected by his wife over six years earlier, gave the room a dark warmth. To his left was a door and the four chairs that Aidan had carefully realigned after the detective had finished with the room. Past the chairs and across from his desk, a bookshelf, covering the length of the room, held ancient tomes. Along the final wall was a bay window before which stood a small table. His wife's photo was framed by two candles. Next to the ornate golden scrollwork of the picture frame sat a glass vase full of fresh flowers. Aidan, sitting at his desk, stared at the room without seeing it.
The demon hadn't recognized Faith as the Slayer. That debate, whether or not demons had an intrinsic awareness of a slayer, had raged amongst the Council for centuries. He had the answer now, although he wasn't planning to share it. A year after Aidan had been offered, and had rejected, the position of Watcher, he'd found a spell so ancient that it wasn't even hinted at in any tome he'd ever read. It had allowed him to speak with Betty's soul. The demon she'd become had been shocked that Faith had been able to see her until it noticed the demonic taint that gave the slayer her power. When the demon had taken Wesley, she'd strengthened the glamor that made her invisible – only Brigit's magic had allowed Faith to see the demon.
The new information didn't help as much as he'd hoped it would. A demon that knew about slayers but was inexperienced might or might not recognize a slayer when it met one. As he walked across the room and selected three specific books from the shelves, Aidan's heart sank as he saw the days of research and planning stretching out before him. It wasn't that he minded the research, he'd been trained for it after all, but the thing he wanted most in the world was once again flickering out of his sight. He'd known that bringing Faith and Wesley into his home was a calculated risk, but it still felt like he'd been punched in the gut. The Slayer might be one more dead end.
Lying in bed with his arms over the covers, which were pulled up over most of his torso, Wesley found he couldn't sleep, even in the pitch black room. He thought of all the Watcher Diaries he'd read and how he'd never noticed the number of people who'd died at the hands of demons. It made sense, really; that's why the Slayer had been created in the first place, but he'd never realized that he, as a Watcher, would be threatened. He'd rather fancied himself safely surrounded by his books while his Slayer faced the actual danger.
The fury of the demon's face flashed before his eyes. I almost died! If Faith hadn't rescued me, that demon would have drowned me. I'd be floating, drifting out to sea right now. Don't be so dramatic Wesley. I'm certain Aidan or Brigit would have brought your corpse back to shore. My corpse.
A thought formed so far back in his mind that he was almost able to ignore it. Oh come now, he told himself. I've been training all my life to be a Watcher, and it's a great responsibility to have been assigned to the Slayer. My family have been Watchers going back as far as eleven generations. Not one of them has ever blighted the family name.
He sat up, blinded by the darkness but afraid to turn on the light. He didn't want to see himself at that moment. “Nonsense,” he mumbled. Maybe you're not up to the job whispered in the back of his mind. Wesley saw his father's face, pale and stern with disappointment. Death before dishonor? he asked himself, trying to give it a cynical twist. Instead the thought rang with truth.
“I'll never get to sleep at this rate.” Reaching carefully to the bedside table, he found the sleeping pills that Brigit's brother had left after he'd checked Wesley over for injuries. He took them, and carefully placed the empty water glass back onto the table. Just before he dozed off, a final stray thought rose to the surface. While the police had questioned them thoroughly, Brigit's brother had been decidedly incurious about the corpse, which he'd taken to the morgue, and, while he'd treated Wesley's and Faith's injuries, he hadn't asked what had caused them.
Dozens of small, twisting paths – where roots intertwined under last year's leaves – led to a clearing in the woods where forty-eight stones, each taller by half than a tall man, stood in a circle. The northernmost stone, which was called the Mother-stone by those who knew of it, had a circle carved through its center. On the ground before the Mother-stone was yet another stone, close to three inches thick with bits of quartz flickering in the torch light.
Laid out on that stone was a body wearing a blue dress that was embroidered with a subtle pattern of green and white waves. While the face was covered by a white veil, the figure was obviously that of a woman. Her pale hair stretched outwards from her head, like rays of moonlight.
Three women stood around the body: to the west, above the body's head was the Maiden in white, to the south stood the Mother in red, and to the east, the black-robed Crone. Reaching down to her chain-link belt, the Maiden pulled out the small curved blade that had been sheathed at her left hip and cut off a lock of pale hair. The Mother held out a silver box. As the Maiden mixed the pale hair from the corpse with the reddish-brown hair in the box, she chanted, “At both birth and death, we enter the gateway. Alone.”
Bringing the box back around to the center of the slab, the Mother called out, “Three drops of amber mark the passage of the deceased: one for the child she was, a second to guide her to the Summerland, and a third to lead her soul back when the time is ripe for rebirth.” As she spoke, she dropped the nuggets of amber into the silver box.
The Crone's hair shimmered like gray smoke in the torchlight. Chanting, she leaned over and cut two toenails, one from each foot, two fingernails, and a lock of hair from the body.
The Mother stepped into the darkness, beyond the circle of torches, and brought a cauldron, overflowing with scented smoke. “The souls that are ours, are ours and may not be lightly traded away.” As the Crone spoke, she dropped the nails and hair into the cauldron. Small sparkling flames shot up as they hit the smoke. “Bettina Andrea Campbell was ours in life, as she is ours in death. Her bargain with the dark is null, void; she was not given what she had bargained for.” The Maiden stepped into the darkness, returning with a birdcage that held a dove. Reaching into the cage, the Crone pulled out the dove and held it to the sky. “Her soul is ours. Here and now, I offer you sacrifice.” She snapped the dove's neck.
As the Crone laid the dove outside the stone circle, she said, “You who are none of ours, this is yours. Payment is made in full. We owe you nothing.” The dove vanished.
When the Crone returned to the circle, the Maiden removed the veil, revealing Betty Campbell's face. In silence, the three women moved to the Mother-stone. The Maiden, at the right of the stone, passed the veil through the hole to the Mother who stood behind the stone and to its left. The Mother then stepped forward to the front of the stone and passed the veil through the stone to the Crone, who stood behind the stone and to its right. The Crone passed the veil to the Maiden, who had moved behind the stone and to its left. They continued their dance-like pattern until the veil had been passed through the stone nine times. “It is finished,” they chanted as one.
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Date: 2010-11-02 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-02 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-03 02:55 am (UTC)I've started a story for bad_swa; I might complete it before starting the sequel to this one (working title is Tar Baby but that'll likely change) or I might write them both but, either way, it will be a while before it's ready.