Transitions - Ch. 49

Even for Giles, who loved books, the library of Mermorgan Hall seemed a gloomy and forbidding place. The dim electric lights, burning in their ancient fixtures, did little to dispel the gloom, and though Xander went to the effort of lighting a fire, in an attempt to alleviate some of the deep chill, the flames shed scant warmth, serving more to cast a flickering redness on the bas relief figures carved upon the library walls, turning what were, perhaps, meant to be magical scenes into images from Dante's hell. Besides which, the cataloguing system for the LeFayes' vast collection could be referred to as eccentric, at best.

Giles sighed and rubbed his eyes. At this rate, none of the women would be left alive. Why hadn't they thought to ward their own bedrooms? And why, when the first died, hadn't the others wakened?

Bloody Ethan. Giles sighed again. He'd no clue as to the answer for the former question, but he knew the answer to the latter quite clearly--the air reeked with Ethan's magic. He regretted wasting even a moment mourning that man, who had never, after all, been his friend.

Even more than Eyghon, Ripper had been Ethan's demon. His pet demon, or so Ethan thought--but Ripper had never been anyone's pet. He had lain dormant since the time when Giles himself cast him out. Dormant, that was, until Ethan woke him again, the Watchers' Council paying for the sorcerer's pleasure. No doubt Ripper, in the person of Mr. Stanley, had struck a small bargain with Ethan: his life, for the LeFaye women's enchanted sleep, a spell that had caught, and continued to catch, poor Willow.

Giles glanced across the room. Willow lay deeply unconscious upon the hearthrug, and now Buffy and Xander had joined her, the three of them curled together like puppies. From this distance, without his glasses, he couldn't see their faces, and only the different colours of their hair distinguished the three in his vision. Barring being allowed to depart Mermorgan at once, Buffy had wanted to set out on the hunt immediately--until Giles explained to her a little more of the demon's nature.

"It will be of no use to injure or to kill his host," he'd said. "Ripper will merely jump to whomever's most convenient."

"Oh, like that demon Denzel hunted, in "Fallen," Buffy responded. Xander and Willow--and even Celeste--had seemed to understand her. Giles and Sebastian traded glances.

"It's a movie," Buffy explained. "This killer demon goes from one person to another, and all the way along it's just kind of mocking and jeering at Denzel. Then, at the end, they're way up in the woods, and Denzel thinks he's got it, 'cause the guy it's in is dying, and he's poisoned himself, so there's no one else for it to jump into. Only he forgot about the cat." She glanced up at Giles anxiously. "The LeFayes don't have a cat, do they?"

He'd been about to tell Buffy that this was far more complex than the plot of some horror movie--and then he realized that situation she described was more or less exactly the one he feared. To prevent such an occurrence, their task must be threefold: to drive the demon from Horace Stanley's body, to prevent it from finding another host, and then, irrevocably, to bind or destroy it.

Sebastian, given his profession, already knew a spell to exorcize Ripper, and Giles, as he'd done with Seb, was quite aware of how to prevent the demon from entering another. What they sought now was the third part of their puzzle, the spell that would either drive Ripper from their dimension forever, or erase its existence--an incantation which, despite all their efforts, seemed to elude them.

"Dad?"

Giles shook his head, bringing himself out of his reverie. Sebastian looked at him with the expression of one who'd been speaking for quite some time without being noticed, and had, perhaps, begun to feel irritated.

"Oh, Seb. I'm sorry." Giles rubbed his eyes. "There I go, woolgathering again."

"You're tired," Sebastian said, touching his shoulder in sympathy. "I wish you'd time for a bit of a rest."

Giles forced a smile. "Soon enough. Have you found something?"

Sebastian had a red-bound book, folio-sized, clutched to his chest, and he carefully placed this volume on the high library table where Giles had accumulated his own sizable stack of references. Seb opened the book to a point three-quarters of the way through. "Look at this. Tell me what you think."

On the left-hand page had been drawn a diagram, accompanied, in its margins, by a list of instructions in a tiny, painstaking, and yet curiously unreadable script. On the right-hand page lay the spell itself. Giles scanned it, an increasing feeling of chill running up his spine. Yet, it would work, almost certainly.

Half the chill came from the fact that the spell seemed to fit them so perfectly. Giles had little faith in coincidence, still less in prophecy--which had proven, in his experience, unreliable at best-- and yet the power of the words touched him clearly. It was an old book--extremely old, preserved only by a stasis spell. The edges of the parchment pages felt rough against his fingertips, which told him, along with other indications, that they'd been cut from scrolls, then bound between much more recent covers.

Giles shuddered--the last such ancient book he'd handled had contained the Eyghon spell, and that association, combined with Ripper's nearness, nearly sickened him. He shut his eyes and propped his elbows on the edge of the table, resting his head in his hands. Yet, this book was not evil in itself, even if it had been written by one whom, the legends said, was half demon.

At one time, Giles would have given everything for the barest glimpse into just this book, yet now the experience nearly overwhelmed him.

Sebastian touched his shoulder again, this time gripping it gently. "It's too much, isn't it, Dad? We ought to look for another."

"No, no." Giles raised his head. He needed to be strong, for himself, for all of them. "It's..." How to explain? "It's the spell we used. Or will use. His verb tenses tend to be a bit unclear. Perhaps he actually did live backward in time--either that, or his Latin was abominable."

"His?" Sebastian frowned slightly, his eyes greyish with confusion.

Suddenly, Giles found himself grinning. "Merlinus Magus. This is his book. His Grimoire, if you will. Or his memoirs. Take your pick. I suppose they would be here, if anywhere. His Nemesis was said to be one of this family."

Sebastian stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "Dad? Merlin the Magician?"

"Your mother--Moira--always swore his eternal tomb was no more than a mile away from here, inside the cliff overlooking the sea. I always thought she was having a bit of fun with me--now I'm not exactly sure." Giles found his voice rising in his excitement. "Look, Seb, it's addressed to us. Just here: 'to the sons of the goat.'"

"And a lovely salutation that is." Sebastian squinted at the page. "Oddly, I always thought Merlin would have better handwriting."

Giles followed the words with his fingertip, reverently, scarcely believing he touched what he touched. "In the summer before the turning, when the owl flies and the grey tower falls, then will red rivers flow amongst the queens of Avalon..."

"Does he say we'll win?" Xander asked.

Giles looked up to see Xander and Buffy standing before him, and with them, Celeste and Willow. Their normally bright faces appeared shadowy with weariness, and with the knowledge of the ordeal that must come.

"Yes, Xander," he answered quietly. "He says that if we all keep together, we shall win. Look, he's named us--" He nodded at Sebastian, "Priest of the Hanged God."

"I'm not sure I like that," Seb answered.

"The Magus would have put it in terms he himself was able to understand. Venefica--that is, witch. Interfectrix--Slayer. Mater."

"Lovely of him to take away my personhood," Celeste sniffed. "'Mother,' indeed. Dark Ages sexist."

"Filius Secundus." Giles glanced up at Xander.

"Second son," Sebastian said, and Giles detected something in his voice, but thought it best to leave it lie, for the moment. "What does he call you, Dad?"

"Magus Dubius Sui," Giles said, and met Sebastian's eyes.

"The magician who doubts himself," Merlinus had called him, in his bad Latin.

I shan't, Giles thought. In this, I will not hesitate.

Seb touched his arm. "Maybe it's true," he said quietly, "But it doesn't mean anything, Dad."

Giles drew in a deep breath, making certain his voice would be controlled before he spoke again. "He's telling us to make the trap here, in the library, and then to go hunting." Giles showed them the book, and Willow nodded.

"It's almost like the one in the Almanack, that we used on the Hellmouth demon," she said, in a small, tired voice. Giles hated to think what the effort merely to stay conscious in the thick of Ethan's sorcery must cost her.

"Yes," he agreed, "Exactly. Only the materials are different."

"What materials?" Celeste asked, looking worried.

"I--er--our own blood, I'm afraid, to draw the pattern."

"Blood Magic's dangerous, Giles," Willow reminded him. "You told me."

"Yes," he answered, "Extremely dangerous, Willow. And rather debilitating in our current state, as well. Which is why I must ask you--" He looked into their eyes, one by one: Seb's, so much like his own, pale green, questioning, wary; Willow's darker green, shadowed with weariness and apprehension; Buffy's clear blue and unafraid; Xander's and Celeste's, both chocolate-brown, both telling him they trusted him absolutely.

Giles directed his question to the owners of those brown eyes, because he knew what their answers would be. "Do we proceed with this, or should I send you away, and deal with it on my own? Your honest answers, if you please."

"Giles, you can't do it on your own," Willow told him, her voice hardly more than a breath.. "I...I'm in."

"And me," Xander said, looking, for once, entirely serious.

"I shouldn't like to miss the adventure." Celeste told him.

"Like I'm really gonna leave you?" Buffy said. "Right, Giles."

"Is that a yes?" Giles smiled at her slightly.

"Yeah. Kinda." Buffy's smile, as always, dazzled him.

"This is my burden as much as yours, Dad," Sebastian said. "I am certainly with you."

"Very well," Giles told them, "We begin."

Ripper sat on the windowseat at the end of the long, low attic room where the youngest of the LeFayes slept, and admired his handiwork. Candlelight gave such a better colour than electric, but even lacking that, he found the scene beautiful, full of stillness and warm tones. The room smelt of copper, salt, and magic, the sweetness with which the girls perfumed the air. He was normally a creature of motion, reveling in the noise, and in the violence, but now and then he liked a bit of quiet, to enjoy, to savour.

The youngest of them had been about twenty he supposed, a sweet-faced girl, which he liked particularly--most of her aunts, sisters, cousins had a square-jawed, determined, Viking look not so much to his taste. But that one--she wasn't quite finished even now, and he could hear a faint bubbling.

What's your name, love? he wondered. Something botanical, it would be, Tansy or Clover or Willow, like Rupert's sweet little friend.

He'd watched her secretly, Rupert's Willow, daughter of his heart, when she'd been imprisoned in the tower. Watched them all, but Willow most particularly. So tiny. So vulnerable, so dear to his bitter enemy. Horace Stanley's mind provided him with memories, and those memories told Ripper that Rupert would wish to protect this one above any of the others--perhaps, because she was so fragile, over even the golden-haired girl, Buffy, who was, most likely, quite able to defend herself.

Suddenly, Ripper knew he must have her. If he possibly could, he must have her.

He heard voices quite nearby, and footsteps, echoing on the uncarpeted wooden steps.

"Ethan," he said, "It's time to go now."

Rayne gazed up at him, wild-eyed, laughing in broken tones. A lovely sight, that, to have broken one so devious, and so cruel in his own right. Work that couldn't help but make a demon proud.

The voices came closer and, in a instant, Ripper formed a cunning plan. They were looking for Horace Stanley? Then, he would give them Horace Stanley, and much joy might they have of him.

Smiling, Ripper knelt down, and took the sorcerer's face between his strong, firm hands. He wished he'd known Stanley earlier in his life--what a prize, to have such a body, such a cruel, arrogant mind for his own.

"You've served me quite well, Ethan," he murmured. "Would you like to serve me a little more?"

Ethan let out a sound of protest, struggling, but Ripper held him fast. "You always like me to hurt you. Always. What's a little more of that, between friends? Let me tell you a small secret, Ethan: I never had to come when you called. But I quite liked to."

Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to Ethan's and, kissing him deeply, made the leap.

"This wouldn't be one of those 'Giles is being devious' things, would it?" Xander asked. "To keep us away from the real action. "Because if it is..."

Giles glanced at him, and Xander shut up abruptly. He still looked about as green, Buffy thought, as person could. She couldn't help but sympathize. She still felt completely green herself. In her Slaying career, she'd seen some things she'd thought were fairly barfworthy--but nothing that actually...

Okay, let's be honest--nothing that actually made her barf, which is what she and Xander had taken turns doing, pretty much every time they'd opened a door on the second floor, until Giles had told them, though not in some many words, to stop already, that Ripper wasn't behind any of those doors. He'd had a frozen, sick look on his own face, but unlike them he hadn't lost it.

She wondered if that was part of Watcher-training.

"Giles," she said, "In Watcher-school, do they teach you not to throw up when you see really gross stuff?"

"Yes," he answered, not sounding like himself. "They teach one that, and resistance to extremes of cold and heat."

"Hence the tweed in California in the Summer," Xander said, nodding.

"As well as to certain magics, and to torture."

Oh. Buffy thought, and suddenly didn't feel like asking any more questions.

They climbed a wide set of steps to the third floor, then another little set of three stairs that led them around a wiggly corner. Already, even with her usually-fairly-reliable sense of direction, Buffy doubted that she could find her way back to the Evil Baron Hall, much less the library, but Giles seemed to be locked onto something like a homing pigeon seeking...well, home.

Hunting Ripper through Mermorgan Hall was like playing the world's scariest game of hide-and-seek, in the world's biggest, creepiest old house, and it almost made hide-and-go-seeking with Zachary Kralik, back on her horrible birthday, seem like a party with cake and funny hats. Only this time, she had her strength, and she had Giles to depend on, so she guessed that made things better.

She guessed.

Why couldn't someone just yell, "Olly olly oxen free," and get it over with?

Buffy realized that she was holding hands with Xander, and both of them glanced at each other with identical, ashamed, scaredy-cat looks, but neither of them let go.

They climbed up to another level, this time on steep narrow steps that seemed like they were leading straight to the top--at least to the top of one of the multiple roofs. Giles stopped at the head of the stairs, his hand on the doorknob. The door itself looked very dark, but a little bit of light spilled from under the bottom, and even from out there Buffy could detect a bad, sweet, metallic smell that she couldn't quite place--mostly because she didn't want to.

"Y-you may..." Giles started, then swallowed and tried again. "You may wish to hold back. When I open... What we'll see... It's likely to be horrific." He glanced at them over his shoulder. "You needn't enter."

In answer, Buffy put her hand on his back and rubbed a little between his shoulderblades, trying to offer a tiny bit of comfort, even though she didn't think anything would release the bad tension there. Giles's spine arched slightly against her hand.

"We're with you, man," Xander said quietly, sounding as grown up as Buffy had ever heard him.

Giles opened the door, and they followed him in.

Buffy knew she was the Slayer, she wasn't supposed to faint, but one look at what lay inside and she went down anyway, her head all filled with a sick buzziness.

After what she'd seen, she couldn't help herself.

Beside her, there was a loud CLUNK as Xander hit the floor too.