Transitions - Ch. 51

In his head Sebastian ran through, for what seemed the thousandth time, the words and gestures of what he felt he must call a Rite of Banishment, rather than a Rite of Exorcism. Exorcism belonged to the church, to his calling as a priest. A calling, that, to his own distress, he seemed lately to have almost forgotten.

The words he meant to use weren't a ritual of the Church at all, but were, rather, a strong piece of his mother Moira's uniquely pagan magic.

Sebastian found his mind drifting toward the woman who'd given him life. She and Celeste were thick as thieves, but in truth he'd never been entirely comfortable with Moira, no matter how he admired her. He'd never felt free to call her "Mum," as he'd come to call Rupert "Dad," and was at times disconcerted when her dark-green gaze fell upon him--a look as if she found him lacking in some way.

One always got, from Moira, the impression of her absolute self-sufficiency.

Four years before, after Sebastian described to her his new duties, Moira had told him crisply, "If you actually intend to embark upon such a hazardous career, I shan't have you going out ill-prepared, Seb." And so the lessons began.

At that time, after her long absence, Moira had appeared rather frail, and not particularly well, but she proved an exacting teacher nonetheless. Sebastian remained quite aware that he'd learned more under her sporadic tutelage than the Masters and Dons had imparted to him in all his years of schooling. His mother possessed a natural talent for instruction, and perhaps, upon reflection, the only way she could find to connect with Sebastian was to teach him.

"I've let Kit know," Moira had continued, surprising Sebastian yet again by referring to His Grace the Archbishop not merely by his name, but by his nickname, "That if anything untoward befalls you, Sebastian, I shall hold him ultimately responsible. In fact, I believe I've made that quite clear."

Sebastian had gaped at her in alarm, and wondered if he still, after her intervention, even had a job--but when he'd tried to apologize on Moira's behalf to the Archbishop, His Grace had only muttered something to the effect that his mother was "a remarkable woman." For some reason, His Grace had then blushed a deep crimson, leaving Sebastian to wonder.

For what seemed the millionth time, Sebastian considered what the Archbishop might say if he knew of his Special Assistant's current endeavors.

This is not the time to dwell on such concerns, he chided himself. This is the time to exist in the here and now, before the demon's drawn to us.

The pattern Sebastian, Rupert, and Willow had painted on the library's wooden floor was long since dried, and had been covered over with a large Persian carpet--what Merlinus Magus had called, with the obscure turn of phrase common to most books of magic, "a weave of Araby." Why, he wondered, could Grimoires not be written in a clear, readable style, and be filled with useful bits of advice, in the manner of Celeste's cookbooks, a glossary in the back to explain the more arcane terms?

Sebastian shifted nervously. He needed to focus. He must focus.

Celeste's hands rested on his shoulders from behind and, as the two of them waited, her strong fingers kneaded Sebastian's tight muscles in a way that was entirely painful. His wife possessed an eternal need to touch and be touched, one that Sebastian by no means discouraged under normal circumstances--but just now he thought her persistence would drive him nearly out of his currently over-sensitive skin.

Although Sebastian knew the Spell of Obscurement he'd performed hid them from view, he couldn't help but feel as exposed and obvious as if he'd been standing in the middle of the motorway wearing nothing whatsoever but a workman's Day-Glo orange safety-waistcoat.

"Willow looks terribly forlorn, poor dear," Celeste said, resting her chin on Sebastian's shoulder, slipping her arms round his waist.

Sebastian covered his wife's hands with his own as he watched the girl they'd left solitary at the centre of the carpet--which was to say, at the centre of the Binding Spell.

Poor Willow indeed. Her weary appearance continued, and a bleak darkness filled her soft, green eyes. Such as she weren't meant for loneliness, they were meant to be cared for, and perhaps sheltered a bit from the hardships of life.

But she hasn't been sheltered, Sebastian reminded himself. She's bravely faced quite as much evil as you ever have.

"Courage, Willow," he murmured, even though he knew the girl could not hear him.

Again and again she glanced toward their hiding place, mindful of their presence even though he and Celeste remained as invisible to her as they would, hopefully, be to the demon.

"Buffy and Giles have been gone an awfully long time," Willow said, "And Xander." She turned another leaf of the book she'd been pretending to read.

"I don't like leaving her out there alone." Celeste pulled away, and rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. "Brrr, it's bloody cold, Bastian. I'd have thought we'd feel a bit of warmth from the fire."

"Hmn?" Sebastian responded, only half hearing. Willow's green eyes seemed to stare directly into his. To use her as bait, in such a manner, seemed to him unconscionable, yet she and his father had worked together the spell that would make her more attractive to the demon.

"What if this...Ripper spots what we've done?" Celeste asked.

"It's built into the obscurement spell, that all of our work be hidden," Sebastian answered.

"Clever," she said.

Sebastian smiled slightly. "That's my dad."

"I thought--" Celeste began, sounding unusually diffident. "I thought when all this ended, Bastian--"

Sebastian waited for his normally outspoken wife to continue. What's brought on this attack of shyness? he wondered.

"That is--" she went on, in a rush, "I know His Grace has quite depended upon you, love. And it's not that I don't see the value of your work... But there is the baby..."

Celeste moved to face him. She touched Sebastian's cheek, then his chest, gently, lovingly. Her great brown eyes gazed into his. She kissed him, her lips warm against his, their meeting soft yet fervent.

Sebastian thought of nearly losing her in the wood, and of the nasty gash in her side which Celeste bore uncomplaining. "You want me to give up my work?" he asked her.

"Not 'give up' as such," Celeste answered. "I want us to go to California."

"But your work, love," Sebastian said. "Your programme."

"I'd meant to tell you before all this arose--" Her words came out, again, all in a rush. "Nigel--you remember Nigel, don't you? My agent?"

Sebastian nodded. Celeste's agent was no doubt effective at his job, but he'd found the man vaguely appalling--he'd an alarming tendency to treat one as an intimate friend upon very brief acquaintance, a tendency Sebastian could not help but distrust.

"At any rate, Nigel's put together a package which sells the airing rights to some American company, to appear on what they call their Public Television. I'm to make a few appearances, and they'd like another book, perhaps a series of them." Celeste was smiling, her eyes shining, despite the circumstances. "Nigel thinks I'll be ever so much more popular than that rather unpleasant woman with the dreadful hair. People quite like me."

She said it without affectation, as a mere statement of a fact that was unquestionably true, as if to say, "the sun is warm" or "in summer, the sky is often blue." Sebastian could not help but return her smile. "Who would not, my love?" he told her.

Celeste rose a little on her toes, to kiss him more thoroughly, her tongue delving into his mouth. God, she excited him! The slightest touch of her, her scent, her forthright bravery. Obscured as they were, and in his state of nervousness, Sebastian was severely tempted to go further--but both of them seemed to realize, in the same instant, that they must not. Celeste pulled away, pausing only to breathe into his ear, "Later."

Again, Sebastian smiled at her.

"Have you said 'yes' to my little plan, Bastian?" Celeste asked, looking slightly wistful. "I'd so like to be close to our family, not only for the baby's sake--but for mine and for yours."

"Our family?" Sebastian asked, with some confusion.

Celeste gave a small smile. "Well, my sister Liv's always out traveling here and there, but she's more often in California than she is in London, and it looks as if Moira plans to stay there for a bit as well. Then there's Rupert and Buffy--and I suppose, eventually, the kids."

"Rupert and Buffy's kids?" His confusion grew.

"No, no, Bastian. Or, rather, I suppose, eventually. But the kids--Xander and Willow."

"They--" Sebastian began, meaning to say, "they aren't my family," rather sharply to her, but caught himself just in time. "That is to say..."

Celeste linked her arm with his, drawing him closer. The slow, calm rhythm of her heartbeat thrummed against his chest.

"That is to say," she told him, in a manner far more gentle than her usual one, "That rather than feeling as if you've gained a younger brother and sister, you can't help but imagine that you've had your father stolen from you a second time. Celeste stroked his arm with her sensitive fingertips. "It's not true, Bastian. Don't you realize?"

"Intellectually, yes," Sebastian answered, surprised by her words--not that Celeste lacked insight, but in general her focus turned outward on the world around her, rather than turning inward to the realm of introspection.

"You need to spend time with Rupert," she continued. "Perhaps help him a bit with his work. Perhaps merely get to know him better as a person. Wouldn't that be nicer, even, than the letters? And then you won't mind so much about Buffy, or the kids."

"I don't mind them. Honestly."

Celeste raised a perfect eyebrow in his direction. "My love, you are so bloody jealous of those children it's a wonder you don't turn chartreuse, or viridian."

"Or celadon." Sebastian shook his head, smiling--albeit rather sadly. Only his Celeste would know so many shades of green. "I don't mean to be jealous. It's only that I can't seem to help myself."

"You'll rise above it," Celeste assured him. "It's only that you've missed your dad so badly these past years."

Sebastian gazed down at her with amazement. "A wise woman really is worth more than rubies."

"Oh, I'm worth at least as much as diamonds." Celeste flashed that quick, elfin smile so beloved by viewers all over Britain--and soon, no doubt, all over America.

"Large diamonds in platinum settings, I should say," Sebastian answered, but even as he moved to embrace her, Celeste stiffened.

"Bastian," she breathed.

A man staggered into the room, so battered and bloody he could hardly be recognized as human. At a glance, Sebastian took in the man's height, and for a heart-stopping moment feared the ravaged figure might be his father--but of course, he was not. He'd a much lighter build than Rupert, and what could be seen of his hair-colour was wrong.

"Help me," the man moaned, in a thick, raw voice. "For the gods' sake, help me." He fell to his knees, holding his ribs as he coughed, red staining his lips and falling in spatters to the library floor.

Willow's eyes went wide with alarm. "Ethan?" she asked in a small voice.

Celeste, her natural instinct of kindness engaged, stepped out of the magic circle where she'd been safely hidden, hurrying to the man's aid.

"Celeste!" Sebastian called, but it was, of course, too late, she could no longer hear him.

"Where are you hurt?" Celeste asked, touching the man's back. "Perhaps you ought to...?"

"Uh, Celeste," Willow interrupted, "I don't think--"

"You're so kind," the man rasped, the parody of a smile twisting his torn mouth. "So very kind." He raised his arms as if he meant to let her help him to his feet--but instead, in an instant, caught and held her fast, with what could only be demonic strength. He pressed a small knife or scalpel to Celeste's throat, and a thread of blood unwound across the smooth cafe au lait of her skin.

Celeste held perfectly still in his grasp, far more still than Sebastian himself could have managed under the circumstances. Her eyes appeared calm, but hard with anger. "Ripper, I presume?" she said in a quiet voice, scarcely moving her lips.

"Oh God!" Sebastian cried out, not certain if he meant the words as a prayer, or only an expression of his utter anguish. He wanted nothing more than to break free from his hiding place, to tear the man, demon, whatever he was, limb from limb.

Instead, he began his incantation, not hurrying, pronouncing the words carefully, in the knowledge that the Rite required every syllable to be perfect, or else he must start all over again.

The demon never relaxed his hold, but his eyes shone, a sulphurous yellow, and his tongue snaked out to gather the blood from Celeste's throat.

You must not give in, Sebastian told himself. You must not panic.

"You're not the one I came for, love," the demon purred, "But you'll do nicely in a pinch--and then it will be little Willow's turn." Grotesquely, the monster winked, distorting even further his unrecognizable, inhuman face.

Willow's lips moved, and Sebastian knew that she'd attempted to begin a spell of her own, but the demon countered with a mouthful of words that drove the young witch face-down into the carpet, her temple striking sharply against the floor.

"Two down, one to go?" the demon asked. "Come out, come out wherever you are?"

Sebastian shaped the last words of the spell with a cold precision, a focus of which he hadn't known himself capable. The air became arctic, and the lights dimmed to the barest glow.

And the demon laughed. "You think that will catch me, you whelp? I've been alive for millennia, and no one's bound me yet."

Sebastian felt the Obscurement tear away, a sensation of almost physical burning--like, absurdly, having a very sticky adhesive bandage torn off one's skin.

"Liked that, did you?" The demon laughed again. "Felt good, did it? Let me tell you, little boy. Even this body was doing magic whilst your mum and dad were still shagging in the Underground tunnels. There's nothing you can do to me. Nothing."

His beautifully woven spell had been no use whatsoever, and even in the dimness Sebastian could see the flow of red increase from Celeste's throat. He cried out, enraged, terrified, impotent--and, unable to help himself, charged across the room, fully meaning to murder the man where he stood, even as it flashed across his mind that Celeste would be killed, or he would be killed. Or both.

Instead, Sebastian hit hard against some invisible barrier that flung him back to the floor, half across Willow's senseless body. Oddly, even in this half-stunned state, he'd a peculiar sense of motion in the dark behind the demon, perhaps of a door opening, and something flickering, of which Ripper seemed oblivious.

"Things look bleak for our heroes, wouldn't you say?" the demon taunted. "Bleak indeed. What did you think, that I wouldn't protect myself? That I'd walk blithely into your pathetic little trap? That I'd allow you to destroy me, and never see?"

The sense of motion increased. A sword sang out, cutting a perfect arc through the air that parted head from body, but still managed to stop just short of Celeste. Sebastian gaped, dumbfounded, as the torso of the demon's host collapsed in one direction, the head in the other, both showering the carpet with red--and with that, a strange, glimmering darkness that twisted and contorted itself over the jewel-toned Persian rug.

"Actually, now that you mention it," remarked Buffy's bright, young, American voice. "Yeah, that's pretty much exactly what we thought. Nice stalling tactics, Seb--keep them gloating, that's what I always say." She twirled the sword experimentally in her hand. "Nice sword too, Giles--and nice spell."

"My pleasure," Rupert answered, as he stooped to help Celeste, gently, to her feet. "All right, are you, love?"

Celeste clung to him fiercely for a moment, and Rupert held her with great tenderness in return. "Yes, I am," she answered, a trifle shakily. "Though I'm glad you didn't leave it any later."

At last, Celeste pulled away, fire in her eyes. "And now, I say let's kill this supernatural berk."

Buffy smiled at her. "Can't argue with you there."