( continues...) basically the same deal you signed, accept that I’m not bound to servitude.”
“And what happens to you when you’re done here, Wesley? Are you going to be just another ghost, haunting the world?”
“Lilah, that’s all I ever was when I was alive.”
The sadness between the two of them was palpable, thought Marcie—two dead souls, locked into roles they’d long cast themselves into. And she could certainly relate to haunting the world. That’s all she’d ever done, after all, and she was very much alive.
“So what, exactly, are we doing here?” asked Marcie, eager to get back to work.
“Yes, I rather wonder about that myself,” said Ethan.
“Yes,” said Wesley, as Lilah glared at him. “You see, it all started when the old one Illyria—you’ll remember her from your briefing—was released from the Deeper Well, and consumed the form of Winifred Burkle, not only killing her, but rending her soul into pieces.”
“Right,” said Ethan. “I remember that bit from the files. Even the same magic that binds Angelus’s soul to his vampyric body can’t be used to put Humpty Dumpty together again.”
Wesley shot him a cool look, and then rubbed his forehead.
“More or less,” said Wesley, but something happened that … complicated matters. Shortly after Fred’s death, we used a device to shed some of Illyria’s extra power. It allowed her to walk this world more or less safely, preventing her from destroying her current form and, consequently, a goodly portion of the western seaboard.”
Wesley laughed a little bit at that, and Marcie suddenly understood why people found her laugh unsettling.
“Illyria’s powers center strongly on the manipulation of time and space. What we didn’t know is that, as her essence was bound to Fred’s form, her excess power acted as a magnet to Fred’s soul, drawing the disparate pieces back together again.”
“So her soul can be saved?” asked Riley.
“Well,” said Wesley, “it’s hard to say. What happened, then, was that it became a sort of null point in space and time—an endless loop containing nothing save a vague sentience and near-limitless power. Quite possibly, it would have simply recycled itself throughout creation forever.”
“Until Illyria died,” said Ethan, catching on.
“Yes,” said Wesley, his voice so cold now that Marcie truly believed he was dead. “But Illyria is, for all intents and purposes, a god, and gods don’t die easily. The four of them, and the armies of the Wolf, Ram and hart, were sucked into the null point at the moment of her death, where they would relive that battle endlessly, if something weren’t siphoning some of Illyria’s power.”
“Xander and Willow,” said Marcie. “They looked younger—like back when we were in school.”
“Yes,” said Wesley. “Someone is stealing bits of Illyria’s power, and seems to be using it to manipulate the slayer's friends. And that someone is a client of Wolfram & Hart.”
All eyes turned toward Lilah.
“Any deals with said client have to remain confidential,” said Lilah, obviously annoyed, “and were made before we knew the extent of his plans. And yours. That being said, we’d be willing to withdraw our support.”
“But at a price,” said Wesley.
“Yes,” said Lilah. “There’s always a price.”
She handed Wesley a file, which he read intently. Wordlessly, he pulled a pen from his pocket, and signed the document.
“These terms are acceptable to me,” he said, handing the file back to her.
“Good,” said Lilah, turning toward the door.
“Make this one count, Wes,” she said, the sadness in her voice reverberating. “You’ve no idea what you’ve unleashed here.”
Without another word, she left. Wesley stared at the door several moments after she’d disappeared.
“I rather think I do,” he said.
For the
Open on Sunday
'Journeys' drabble challenge:
Always Coming Home.
Home means red hair; the sharp curve of a freckled shoulder blade; a blazing smile. Oz has travelled more miles than he can count, he has drunk tsuica in the Carpathians and mint tea in Fez; he has learned a slow, painful mastery of the wildness in his blood and now he's come full circle, salmon-urgent, never questioning that this is the time and the place he's been travelling towards.
Here. Now. Her.
Willow's face is eggshell pale in the moonlight, fragile and unspeakably precious as understanding belatedly dawns.
Oz feels joy flaring up under his skin. Nothing is impossible.
Part Twenty-Four: Gods and shadows
Dawn stared slack-jawed at the visage of her sister standing before her, next to Doc. The way she folded her arms and cocked her head, her posture and the way her hair fell along her shoulders—it was all perfect. It was a lie.
“You’re not my sister,” said Dawn, and then realization fell on her like a sudden thunderstorm, and her bones near-cracked from chilling. “I know who you are.”
“What, you’re not going to say my name, bitch?” said the thing wearing Buffy’s face.
“The First.”
“Yes.”
Doc chuckled. “Yes, the First and I have come to a small arrangement. I get a small modicum of power, enough to resurrect the Beast, and it gets a new army of soldiers to replace the ones the slayer broke.”
“You mean us,” said Dawn, spitting the words.
“No, honey,” said the First. “You get to be a sacrifice.”
“Again,” said Dawn, trying to sound braver than she felt. “That trick never works.”
“It will this time,” said the First. “I can no longer act in your world, but certain rituals allowed me to grant old Doc here power over things that go bump in the night. If it’s touched by evil, Doc can control it. And by borrowing some of Illyria’s ambient power, he can bend time to find the points in history when they were touched.”
“Everybody’s touched by evil, said Doc. “But not everybody’s truly immersed in it, and I’m afraid it takes a certain immersion for this power to be truly effective.”
“So that’s why Willow’s the wicked witch again and Xander’s possessed by a hyena spirit again?” said Oz.
“Bingo,” said Doc.
“But what about Giles?” asked Oz. “He was pretty wild, but he wasn’t really evil.”
“Giles?” said Doc. “Oh, I’m sorry. You misunderstand. This isn’t Rupert Giles, is it Ripper?”
Giles’ face shook and contorted, growing narrower and Reptilian.
“Eyghon,” said Dawn. “The demon’s name was Eyghon.”
“Doc tells me that the slayer and the vampire with a soul managed to destroy me,” said Ripper. “But guess what kids? I’m back, and I’m bad.”
“But wait,” said Amy, who’d been listening quietly until this time. “If you’re draining Illyria’s power…”
“You catch on quick,” said Doc. “Yes, it’s my draining of Illyria’s energies that’s endangering the time pocket. Soon, it will wear though the dimensional walls, allowing gods and old ones and the like long bound from Earth to walk it again. In that moment, we’ll sacrifice the Key and the sire of Jasmine’s mortal form, and the time-lost remains of Illyria’s essence, and use the power from that to resurrect Glorificus.”
“We need you, Dawnie, because you’re tied to Glory, even if you don’t do anything spectacular anymore,” said the First, now walking between the chained prisoners and inspecting them. “Not that you ever did, babe. And it’s never a one for one trade with resurrecting gods. We need to sever two gods’ connections to the mortal plane before we can bring one back. Jasmine and Illyria seemed to be the ones that would object the least. Plus, it hurts you people, which-let me tell you--bonus.”
“But first things first,” said Doc, stepping beside the First. “The dimensional walls are thinning, and we’ll have company soon.”
Doc raised his right hand, and a dark, nebulous energy swirled around it. Justine, chained stoically felt a wash of loss and depression wash over her. Her shoulders slumped, and suddenly, she was filled with a mindless rage. Amy was consumed by an overwhelming anger and jealousy and her eyes turned jet black in rage. Oz convulsed, the wolf stealing his form so rapidly it hurt. Doc snapped his fingers, and the three were released. They stood with Faith, Xander and Willow, now part of Doc’s growing army.
Doc looked off in the distance, where a light shimmered and faded.
“They’re here,” said Doc. “It’s show time.”
This week's Open on Sunday challenge was "food/eating".
So....
At the Moment of Angel's Death (the title speaks for itself)
She picks the bits out of the ice cream, soft chewy nuggets of cookie dough in the bulky container, caught between her fingertips.
memory, is it a memory, the two of them snuggling close in a bed in a warm place, laughing, Angel running naked across the floor, coming back with a container of ice cream, dripping it on him, licking it off his nipple, is it a memory oh God
Buffy's hands begin to tremble.
An old spell suddenly wears off, and she suddenly understands the loss that must have led to this moment, what must have just happened.
