Beginning Note From Raith: This took a while to update for several reasons. Mainly, because I am easily distracted and work on things according to immediate inspiration. Also, I rewrote this chapter several times. I have the details fixed now, and I'm happy with the result. Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter, and a special thank you to everyone who left a review! I've replied down below.
(Anything written in italics and parentheses is Grace having a psychic vision thing.)
Part I: The Introduction
Chapter II: Shopping Malls and Graveyard Dirt
Perspective: Grace
A little before dawn, Grace gripped the thin shower curtain and pushed it out of the way with a little flourish just to make herself smile. She had showered the night before, but there was something about sleeping in a motel bed that just made her feel dirty all over again. So, as soon as she opened her eyes, she stumbled out of bed and into the shower. The night before had taught her that this particular motel had very low water pressure that barely got up to lukewarm temperatures, and there wasn't even a little bit of steam clinging to the mirror as she carefully stepped out of the shower. Just because she naturally ran hot didn't mean that she didn't like a little steam after a shower, and who knew how long it would be before she could have a good shower again? Not important. She was clean, again, that was what mattered. Clean, clean, clean.
The thin towel she had left out soaked up most of the water, but her skin still felt damp as she looked in the mirror. Her fingertips slid across her skin as she whispered under her breath, and her head tipped to the side as she watched the changes. The black stains against her hips and ribs faded to show smooth golden skin, until it looked like she hadn't been hit by a car the night before. Her hand slipped up higher, palm pressed in tight against the front of her throat, until the dark marks there faded as well. The scrape on her cheek took longer, broken skin was always difficult, but she looked completely ordinary in a matter of minutes. The glamour wouldn't hold for long, six hours if she was lucky, but she had a couple of things to do and didn't want to be stared at while trying to go about her day. So, glamour. The bruises would be gone in another couple of days and then she wouldn't have to worry about the curious stares of strangers.
"Besides, don't they know that staring is rude?" she muttered to herself.
She was naked as she walked out into the main part of her motel room, and she was glad she had the foresight the night before to turn the air conditioner off. (Foresight? Ha! She normally needed to be conscious for a couple of hours before she could start making puns.) She was always warm, but she luxuriated in the heat as she did a little twirl in the warming room. Quiet humming filled the room as she swayed, and her fingers plucked various items out of the open duffel on the bed. Panties and bra, in clashing shades of orange and green, were slipped on first. (That seemed obvious, on the surface. Of course underwear goes on first. Despite that, she had lost count of how many times she had been distracted and pulled on pants first. Those were always uncomfortable days.) Her jeans were next, plain denim with only a small hole under the right front pocket, but there weren't any stains. A black tank followed, and she danced her fingers across the exposed strip of skin between the loose tank and the top of her jeans. Eh, good enough. She slipped on an old gray flannel just for a little something extra. The shirt had been washed so thin that it was practically translucent in some places, and it was soft against her skin. The sleeves definitely had to be rolled up though, because she was going to need her hands today.
The bed creaked under her as she sat down on the edge, and she picked up her humming as she pulled on her old black boots. The boots were ancient and scuffed, had lost their shine long ago, and the laces were fraying a bit. Maybe she should go shopping? If she survived the upcoming week, she might go shopping. She couldn't keep living out of a duffel bag. (Need to leave now can't miss them can't miss the chance gotta go, go, go) Once her shoes were on, she reached inside her duffel for her rosary. She'd left it behind the previous night, she hadn't wanted to offend the vampire that she was attempting to woo into a friendship, but she didn't feel right without it. Instead of placing it around her neck, she carefully wound the rosary around her left wrist. She tucked the crucifix into the beads and then smiled, because it worked surprisingly well as a bracelet. A small knife was pushed into her right boot, and she decided to forego carrying around a stake for the day. She did twist her damp hair up into a ponytail, and then she was nearly done.
Her sunglasses had somehow managed to get to the bottom of her duffel, and she hooked them on the front of her tank as she moved around the motel room. She zipped her duffel and used her foot to push the bag under the bed, and her hands patted absently at her pockets. Her truck key and motel room key had been slipped into the front left pocket of her jeans, and she dipped her fingers into the ashes still inside the small ceramic bowl on the table next to the bed. She moved to the four corners of the motel room and touched the ashes to the wall, securing the privacy spell, and then wiped her dirty fingertips against the inside hem of her flannel. No one would be able to see it. On her or on the walls. (Can't you see the walls? The bleeding and the screaming and the crumbling and the fire. Can't you see it all fall apart?) The room was secure, she was all set and ready to go, and her steps were even as she crossed the motel room.
She paused, and the world blurred around the edges for a bit. When she became aware again, she looked over her shoulder. The duffel bag she had just zipped up and kicked under the bed was now sitting on the foot of the bed, unzipped and pulled apart to show the inside. A few items were laid out on the bed next to the opened bag, and she couldn't remember leaving the spot she was standing in. (It's a gift, can't you see? Trust and transparency can't you see just open your eyes to see the truth.) She shook the weirdness off, she'd been doing that a lot lately, and turned back around to face the exit. The door opened easily to show the rising sun, and she paused in the doorway for a moment so that she could feel a little bit of that extra heat. Then she stepped outside, pulled the door behind her, and stepped next door.
"Hey, Angel! I'm going to open the door in three-two-one!" She called out just loud enough for the vampire to hear her before opening his door a crack, and she slipped through the opening and quickly closed it behind her. Once the door was closed, Angel stepped out of the bathroom and looked at her like he was debating about whether or not to kill her. "What's that look for? I gave you warning."
"You could've knocked first," he told her as he walked steadily closer to her. Maybe he wasn't a morning person? That would make sense, considering that sunlight could kill him. She probably wouldn't be a morning person either if the morning could kill her.
"I could've, but I'm paying for this room," she pointed out. She had gotten two rooms when she first got to the motel, because she had been hopeful about getting him to come with her. It seemed to be working, so far. He was still on the fence, about joining her fulltime, but she didn't have time to convince him right now. Later. She'd try to convince him later.
"Why are you here?" He was standing in the middle of the room, still fully dressed and now with his arms crossed, and she couldn't imagine never being able to relax. Did he ever feel stiff? Like the corpse he should've been centuries ago?
"I've got some errands to run, and I wanted to give you a heads-up so you wouldn't think that I just disappeared. I'll be back, probably in a few hours. Most likely by noon and definitely before sundown. I'm guessing we can leave then." The words poured out of her as he stared at her, and she could see him looking for the bruises that should be showing on her face and neck. "I'm not sure what we can do with your car. Driving both vehicles across the country seems like a bit much. I'd leave the truck somewhere, but we're going to need the room. Unless you're okay with getting demon carcasses on your upholstery?"
"I don't want you messing with my soul," he said after a drawn out moment. She had started to shift on her feet while waiting for him to speak, and she slowly replayed his words and didn't try to fight the whispers. He was going to go with her, and he'd kill her if she tried anything. Maybe now was the time to tell him that she only knew about one spell ingredient and was nowhere near close to figuring out how to permanently bind his soul? On second thought, nah.
"The caves still have ingredients that I need, and some extra help would be appreciated. We can talk on the drive," she promised him. She could see it, when things got quiet and she actually focused. A small space and honest words. (It's dark here. They can talk when they can't see the words.) If he left with her, they'd be able to really talk.
"I'll think of a place to store the car," he said and looked into her eyes. He had stopped looking for the bruises, and she wasn't going to tell him about the glamour. He'd figure it out later when the bruises were visible again.
"I'll, uh, knock when I get back," she said as she took a step back. She thought he wanted to smile, even though his expression didn't shift at all. It was just something that she could sense in the air, some type of humorous emotion, and she kept backing up while she was still on his good side. "See you later."
The sun felt even hotter as the motel door closed behind her, and she closed her eyes as she pawed blindly at her chest. After pulling her sunglasses free, she slipped them on and then stepped out into the parking lot. Her truck looked bigger and older next to the sleek black convertible, and she rolled her eyes at the thought of a vampire driving a convertible. Vampires could go out in the daytime, as long as they stayed covered, and he just had to get a car that could send him up in flames. Clearly, they were going to need to have several conversations. (You think a great destiny can be accomplished in a weekend? So much work. Better hope you have enough time.) The inside of her truck wasn't too hot, the sun hadn't been up long enough to cook the inside, and she slid behind the wheel with a smile. She loved this old truck. She hadn't had it for long, but she'd fallen in love the moment she set eyes on the dull green color of the exterior.
As she pulled out of the motel parking lot and pointed the truck towards Sunnydale, she reached over to roll the window down. It was setting up to be a hot day, it was always a hot day in California, but she had driven up from Louisiana. This heat was nothing compared to midday summer picnics under the Louisiana sun, and it definitely couldn't hold a candle to the fire that ran through her veins. Still, it was nice to feel the wind as she drove. It was even better when her mind completely checked out. She could feel the warm breeze against her skin, wisps of hair brushed by her temples and the side of her neck, and the leather of the steering wheel was soft under her hands. Her thoughts were gone. She was driving, stopping at stop signs and obeying speed limits, but she wasn't aware of anything outside of that. For the time being, she was pure sensation. Heat, soft, grass, salt on her lips. The truck stopped, pulling her conscious mind back to the forefront, and she blinked before looking around.
Through the passenger window and her dark sunglasses, she met the eyes of a startled young woman. She knew the woman was startled because she was still slightly bent over, pushing a sign into the grass, and she could see the woman blink rapidly before standing up straight suddenly. There was a small pause, the woman was clearly thinking something through, and then she slowly raised her hand and hesitantly waved. Grace smiled and returned the wave, then she pointed to the sign in a clear question. The woman grinned and started nodding, and Grace pulled her keys from the ignition before slipping out of the truck. She was parked in front of a nice house, flowers were blooming all around, and her smile became more genuine as she rounded the front of the truck and got a better look at the house. It was a lovely house, lit up by the morning sun, and she looked over to see the woman still standing next to the brand-new for sale sign.
"Hello! I'm Lena Kalish," the woman greeted. As she got closer, she could tell that the woman was a little bit younger than her. Mid-twenties instead of late twenties. Standing at ease with her hand outstretched.
"Grace Blackburn," she introduced and grabbed the woman's hand. The handshake was brief, strong and soft, and then they released each other.
"Well, Miss Blackburn, you have excellent timing," Lena said with another bright smile. The sun was shining across her hair, turning some of the black strands golden, and her smile was infectious.
"Call me Grace, please. I was just driving through the area. Never thought I'd get this lucky," she lied. She hadn't meant to drive this far into Sunnydale; her goal had been the mall, and she had first driven into town closer to the mall than to where she was now. Because she knew where she was, and she hadn't planned on coming here. Unless, was this the plan all along? Was this why she had felt the urge to leave the motel so early in the morning?
"I just finished clearing the place out, to get it ready for viewing tours. Would you like to schedule a tour? Or maybe take a look now? I have the time." Lena was a sweet person, shining and genuine, and Grace couldn't help smiling back at the young woman. Especially when she looked so hopeful. Property dealings were strange in Sunnydale. Places were relatively cheap, but it was difficult to sale. Probably had something to do with the town's very high mortality rate. (Come to a place that feels like home.)
"Now would be great! You sure you don't mind?" Grace made herself ask.
"Not at all. Right this way," Lena said and started towards the front of the house.
The grass was so thick and green, trimmed neatly so that it didn't spill onto the narrow walkway, and there were little flower bushes on either side of the few steps leading up to the porch. Fragrant and beautiful. The porch was long, looked like a wraparound possibly, and wasn't that just a lovely image? A nice covered porch overlooking a backyard, with more flowers and soft vibrant grass? Practically picturesque. To her left, there was even a large porch swing. On her right, affixed to the wall next to the door, were large brass numbers. 1628. Such a beautiful place, in a most terrifying town. Town of infinite horrors or not, she still followed Lena inside of the house so that she could get a proper tour. Not that the tour was really necessary. She had been led here, by whatever forces liked to take over her life lately, so she was sure that she was going to get the house. On second thought, getting a tour seemed like a good idea. She wanted to see the layout of her new home.
As she looked at the den (on her left) and the sitting room (on her right), she asked Lena why she was leaving Sunnydale. (They say little Robbie tripped and fell such a horrible accident couldn't have happened to a more beautiful family there's still a tooth under the bricks from the crashing of knuckles don't you know how easily evil hides in smiles—) As they moved around the staircase and through the sitting room, Lena started to talk about her aunt that had lived in the house for over ten years. (She's opening the door with a smile because the horrors only come out at night who would want to kill in the daylight hours let the demon into the sitting room with a smile—) She was led into the kitchen and smiled at the large dining room table, it was the first bit of furniture that she had seen, and she made all the right sympathetic noises as Lena talked about her aunt's unfortunate accident that led to her death. The truth was that Monica Kalish had been a sweet woman, and she had been murdered by a demon who just needed access to the house. Sad but not uncommon for Sunnydale. On the other side of the dining room, there was an empty room that had once been Monica's office and was now just another empty room. (Weapons on the wall are shiny clean and wet with blood so hang 'em in easy reach because you're gonna need 'em—) They circled around until she could see the den once more, empty but the space had potential, and Lena walked towards the stairs as Grace's eyes lingered on the fireplace. Bottom left corner, there was a chip in the bricks. She looked away from the fireplace and followed Lena to the staircase, going up instead of down.
As Grace looked at her scuffed boots on the shiny wooden stairs, Lena talked about the home and fiancé she had waiting for her in Seattle. She was only in town to clear out her aunt's house and sell it, and the look tossed over her shoulder was pleasant and hopeful. She wanted her aunt's house to go to someone who would care for it, but she also wanted the house sold quickly. Because she had her own home to return to, and Sunnydale made her uncomfortable. (Lena didn't say the uncomfortable part. Grace just inferred it.) The upstairs was just as empty as the downstairs, but she could see glimpses of possibilities as they walked into the rooms. Four bedrooms; two of the bedrooms had their own bathroom, while the other two bedrooms had a bathroom and a small utility room between them. Huh, she would only have to cross a hallway to wash her clothes. Convenient.
The master bedroom was gorgeous as well; the windows were on the eastern side, so morning sunlight lit up the vaulted ceilings and turned the exposed wood a beautiful golden color. She wouldn't mind waking up here, in this room. With a bed against one wall, so that the windows wouldn't be blocked at all. (She's bleeding out on the floor a dark christening of the wood of the bones can't you hear the screaming can't you smell the fire please don't leave me here not like this not yet not until I—) Maybe she could get a small bench or something to put under the windows, something to sit on and just feel the sun. She could leave the rest of the space open, no rugs or carpet, and she'd be able to lay on sun-warmed wood whenever she wanted. It was a beautiful future, if it worked out like that. Could go either way. Most likely to go in the opposite direction of beautiful.
Lena led the way out of the master bedroom, which was a good thing because Grace had gotten a glimpse of the bathroom and was already in love with the giant tub she had seen. If the windows hadn't hooked her, the Olympic-sized bathtub and standing shower would have done it. She talked about her home in Louisiana, and she told Lena that she had wanted a change. That she had always wanted to live in California when she was younger, and now seemed like the perfect time. (In all honesty, leaving Louisiana was probably a good idea. Sunnydale was a town of horror shows, but her hometown was filled with ghosts of trauma past. She should have already moved on.) Lena started telling her about how great Sunnydale was; the people were friendly, the beach was nearby, and the weather was always perfect. She didn't mention that the town had twelve cemeteries or that a great number of evil beings prowled the streets at night and sometimes in the daytime, but she was trying to sale the house so it wasn't a surprise that some details about the lovely town were left out. Again, not that it mattered. Because Grace already wanted the house, and she was fairly sure that her destiny was going to give it to her. Who knew destiny came with real estate?
While Grace stood on the back porch and looked out into the backyard, Lena ran to her car to get some forms for Grace to fill out. The backyard was just as beautiful as she had imagined. Thick vibrant grass and flower beds that butted up against the fence that lined the property. A few large trees provided some ample shade, and she wished she had found a place like this anywhere else. She was leaning against the wall next to the back door when Lena returned, and she reluctantly stepped back into the kitchen. (She couldn't see anything in the backyard. There were flashes and whispers throughout the house, but the air outside was surprisingly clear.) The two of them sat down at the kitchen table, and Grace started filling the forms out. The form itself was easy, and her mind wandered as the pen scratched against the thick paper. She filled in the name of her previous landlord, an older man who she had helped out by providing free handiwork for all of his properties, and she was sure that he would give her a glowing reference. The last thing she did was make her offer, and she cheated by using the whispers to know just how much to write down to beat out the competition that would be sniffing around in the coming days. Grace also scribbled down her new cell phone number, just in case Lena needed to call her for anything. (So that Lena could call her with the good news.) She just hoped the brick-like contraption didn't get destroyed during her upcoming mission.
"I'll be in contact soon," Lena promised as they walked out the front door. Grace thanked her again for the tour and said she'd be looking forward to Lena's call, and the woman was still smiling as Grace drove away.
"Next stop, Sunnydale mall."
Perspective: Angel
Arrangements were made for his car to be stored in Los Angeles, using the phone in his room, and his fingers tapped against the table next to the phone. Grace had walked into his room not long after sunrise, and it was now past noon. The sun had already moved from its position directly overhead and was starting its slow descent, but the woman was still gone. She hadn't said a specific time for when she'd be back, but she had said that she'd most likely return by noon and definitely before sunset. He still had questions, a few of them were repeats since she seemed to speak in riddles, and he felt trapped. Stuck in a small room, with nothing to do but think. He should already be in Los Angeles. Starting a new life. Again. He had to stop after hitting her with his car, but why had he brought her back here? Why had he listened to her and agreed to leave with her? Was he feeling that aimless?
"You'll stay cut off from humanity, until you start to lose your own."
She'd said a lot of things last night, but that stood out to him as he looked down at the boxy phone on the small table. Asphyx demons were rare but powerful, but precognition wasn't always reliable. Psychic visions, passed down through powerful witches, weren't perfect. Hadn't he learned that with Drusilla? Her visions had been passed down, had skipped several generations before finding her, and her visions were all riddles. Untangling the true meanings was never a sure thing. Maybe Grace had seen things about him, but she couldn't have seen anything too concrete. Visions could be changed. That brief thought of losing his humanity had been enough to make him pause, to make him listen to everything else she said, and now he was pacing the length of his small room. He couldn't go back to Sunnydale. It had taken all of his strength to leave in the first place, and he was now only just outside of the city limits. He might lose his humanity by leaving. Staying? He was nearly guaranteed to lose his humanity.
With one sharp yank, he pulled the blanket from his bed and wrapped it around his upper body. He made sure that his head and hands were properly covered, listened to make sure that there was no one moving around outside, and then threw open the door to his room. The blanket kept the worst of the sun from touching him, and Grace's door wasn't locked. The knob turned easily in his hand, and the door was being pushed open just as wisps of smoke started rising from the back of his hand. He was inside of Grace's motel room, closed door at his back, in less than ten seconds after stepping out of his own room. Why hadn't she locked her door before leaving? The blanket slipped from his head, got caught on his shoulders, and he shrugged it off onto the ground. The inside of her room was identical to his own, except for the lingering scent of herbs and smoke. Privacy spells. He took one step into the room and looked around, and his gaze was pulled to the bed. Perfectly made, but that wasn't what stood out. There was an open bag at the end of the bed, unzipped and pulled open, and there were items spaced out next to the bag and along the foot of the bed.
A few more steps pulled him up even with the bottom of the bed, and he had to bend down to grab a piece of paper with some kind of handwriting on it. He flipped it over first, a gas receipt from the previous day, and then looked at the quickly written note on the back. The handwriting was slanted and scrawled close together, like she was holding back from writing in full cursive, and his name was at the very top. His name. She hadn't written the note to Angel. Hadn't taunted him with the name Angelus. Was she making a point? That she knew him? Why would she address him by that name? No one used that name. Just looking at those four letters at the top of the receipt made something in his throat tight.
Liam
That name died centuries ago.
I'm going to tell you that I'll be back in a few hours, but that's because I don't know yet. I'll be back right at sundown.
She didn't know yet? The riddles and the way her eyes would sometimes go blank were signs of disassociation. He'd learned the signs while trying to decipher Drusilla. How disconnected was she? Was she aware of her own actions?
Don't give up on me, okay? I'm coming back, and we're going to go on our first roadtrip.
First roadtrip? That would imply that there would be more, but he still wasn't convinced he should go on this one. For the moment, his only reason for going was to stop her if she tried to do anything with his soul.
Feel free to check things out while I'm gone. There's going to be no secrets between us, so there's no need to burden your soul with snooping. You have my permission to snoop.
Items were laid out on the bed, her bag was pulled open, because she wasn't hiding anything from him. Unless she wanted him to believe that. Pretend to be open while keeping the real secrets truly hidden. He didn't know her. He didn't trust her.
Look in the inside pocket of the duffel. I marked our trip, if you want to see where we're going.
He dropped the receipt back onto the bed, skated his fingers across the unzipped teeth of her bag, and looked inside. Clothes were rolled into tight balls and pushed down as flat as possible, and he could see the tab of a zipper partially hidden behind a pair of socks. The zipper sounded loud in the quiet of the room, a continuous ripping sound, until the inner pocket was revealed. The only thing inside was a thickly folded map, and he moved around the side of the bed as he started to unfold it. The map was of the entire country, states clearly defined with main roadways and cities, and the map was already marked up. There was a star sticker over Sunnydale, and a long black line flowed across the entirety of the map and stopped in West Virginia. There was another sticker over the name Hatchetfield, this time the sticker was of a little fire, and he slowly traced the route between the two points. His finger stopped halfway across the map, against a dot that represented one of the many cities that the stark line cut through, and he quickly thought over the pros and cons of his forming plan.
After a moment, he folded the map again and returned it to the inside of her bag. The inside of the bag only had clothes, mostly soft fabrics in dark colors, and he looked over the items that had been left on the bed. There was a smaller bag filled with even smaller clear bags, different herbs that he mostly recognized, and there were a few books with titles that left no doubt that Grace practiced witchcraft. Next to the books, there was a small pile of weapons. A couple of stakes, a switchblade, an ornate dagger, and he counted out seven different lighters next to a small bottle of lighter fluid. Nothing was hidden. The very last item, at the end of the line and settled over the corner of the bed, was a small piece of plastic. He picked it up between two fingers, and his eyes scanned over the information. She'd left her driver's license behind, Louisiana state.
Blackburn, Grace
The family name was almost familiar. She'd said she was an Orion witch, and he'd heard the name before. A long line of witches, born with natural abilities. Orion witches helped keep the balance, if he was remembering correctly. He'd never studied them directly, had only heard rumors. Was that when he'd heard the name?
10-27-1971
Grace was only twenty-eight. She'd looked younger, lit by the headlights of his car and even younger still when his hand had been around her throat. Children born from a human and a full demon parent weren't common, and each mixture was different. Did her demon heritage keep her young? By years or by centuries? How long could Grace keep living?
607 Apollo Lane
Rock Creek, Louisiana
The city, or town, wasn't familiar to him. Why would she leave this behind? There was no benefit to her if he knew her full name or where she was from. Had she left a family behind? No, he doubted that she had any family still living in Rock Creek. She wouldn't have left this here if there was someone that she wanted to protect. Did that mean Grace was alone in the world? Was that why she had decided to seek him out with her riddles? Because she had nothing left to lose?
He dropped the license back onto the bed, right where he had picked it up, and then took several steps away from the bed. Everything had been left in plain sight, and he would leave it that way. He left everything where he had found it, bent to grab his blanket from the floor, and carefully wrapped it around himself so that he could return to his room. He had another call to make, from his own room because Grace's room was missing a phone for some reason, and then he'd return to Grace's room. He would flip through the books, sort through the herbs, empty her bag, and tear through the entire room to see how transparent she had been. Then he'd wait for her to return.
Perspective: Grace
The sun was high in the sky as she walked into the Sunnydale mall, not completely overhead yet, but it was that growing heat of the early morning. Back home, she loved laying out on the back porch at this time of morning. Hours after dawn but not yet noon, when the heat was sticky warm and settled over her like a blanket, that was her happy place. She was blasted with cool air as she stepped into the mall, and she felt her lips drawing down into a pout as she tucked her sunglasses into the front of her tank. Her average body temperature was higher than a human's, and her mother had always been confused over her hatred of cool weather. The truth was that she loved the heat, despite always feeling feverish to others. (She was meant to burn. Born into fire. Consumed by the heat.) The mall was thankfully mostly unpopulated, so no one saw her childish expression before she managed to control herself. It was summer, but she imagined that the mall saw most of its traffic in the afternoons. What teenager was up at nine in the morning when they didn't have to be?
She stopped in a clothing store first, and she smiled politely at the yawning teenager behind the counter. No one else seemed to be working in this store or even browsing the racks, which was just fine with her. She grabbed thick denim jeans for herself first, a thick thermal sweater was hidden in the very back corner of the store, and she found a black leather jacket that was just her size. While she was hidden behind a rack of bathing suits, she closed her eyes and let herself focus on Angel. She had never been good at gauging a person's physicality, so she was happy to let herself fade out and let her other self take over the shopping for a bit. When she checked back in, a second outfit had been added to the clothes draped over her left arm. Thick black jeans, definitely a lot longer than her own, and a black thermal sweater nearly identical to the gray one she had picked out for herself. Except, obviously, the black sweater was bigger. She had even picked up another leather jacket, also black, but this leather jacket had another cotton jacket combined inside of it. It had a hood to it, soft cotton and wide, and it would be perfect for a vampire to hide under. Right then. The last thing she grabbed were boots, two identical pairs in almost comically different sizes, both made of thick leather with actual steel in the toes.
The teenager behind the counter startled upright as she dumped her haul, and she smiled as wide blue eyes gazed back at her in confusion. Like the poor girl hadn't been expecting anyone to actually buy anything quite yet, but Grace was working on a schedule and couldn't give the girl another hour or so to wake up fully. The only upside to the girl's half-asleep state was that Grace didn't have to make smalltalk. Grace was great at smalltalk, she could tell when someone just wanted to be left alone and when they needed a small comment to give them the nudge they needed to unburden themselves to a stranger, and it wasn't because of the dual psychic lineage. Even when she had all of her psychic abilities fully repressed, she was great at smalltalk because she was great at reading people. Right now, this poor kid just wanted to get this exchange over with and then go back to dozing against the counter. Fair enough. Grace watched as her wanna-be biker couple's outfits were rung up and somewhat folded before being dropped into a very large paper bag, and she felt herself wincing as the leather jackets were forcibly folded and then had heavy boots dropped on top of them. It was fine. The clothes were for a mission, not for fashion. (Maybe a little for fashion.) Grace told the sleepy girl to have a nice day, managed not to laugh at the sleepily mumbled reply of the same, and hooked the thin straps of the bag over her elbow as she walked through the store.
As she walked through the mall, she thought over what tools she had in the back of the truck. She was pretty sure she had most of what she needed, so she only needed to pick up a few things. She found the hardware store easily enough, because of course Sunnydale had a hardware store inside its mall. This store was large enough to have a row of carts, and she quickly snagged one and dropped her bag of clothes inside before starting down the aisles. Climbing gear was thankfully abundant throughout the store. Harnesses, sturdy helmets with headlamps, and neat-looking spikes were added to the cart first. Several coils of rope followed, and she swiped a whole row of industrial strength duct tape into the cart as well. In a small section at the back of the store, she found some thick black leather gloves and grabbed two sizes to add to the cart. That should get it. She moved her cart to the end of the aisle to start towards the counter, and an actual yelp slipped out of her throat as the cart crashed into someone. Something bounced against the floor, and Grace abandoned her cart to drop to her knees so she could start picking up…blocks of wood?
"I am so sorry about that, I wasn't paying attention, are you okay?" Grace rushed out. She had several blocks of wood balanced precariously in her hands, and she slowly looked up into eyes that shouldn't be familiar but were anyway. Clear, green, soft as steel.
"No, uh, it's fine. I wasn't looking. Thank you, for, picking these up." Buffy Summers winced a little as the blocks of wood moved from Grace's hands to hers, because Buffy was buying blocks of wood to make stakes and felt exposed. Grace waited for Buffy to look up again, for their eyes to catch and hold, and she let out patented smile number four. Close-lipped so that her teeth weren't bared, hint of a dimple in her left cheek, soft and soothing and almost blank.
"My mother used to do wood carvings. I haven't met anyone else with that hobby," she said quietly and flicked her eyes down at the blocks of wood. Buffy did the same, and her shoulders slumped in obvious relief as she looked up and returned Grace's smile.
"Right, yeah, wood carvings. It's a new thing that I'm trying," she said with a slightly nervous laugh. Grace took the initiative to rise to her feet first, Buffy followed her up, and she was surprised that she was a couple of inches taller than Buffy was. The top of the Slayer's head was even with her brows. In her visions of the Slayer, she had always seemed larger than life. Buffy Summers was human though. A titan in a small package. She was losing track of her thoughts.
"My mom carved animals, mostly. She even managed to carve a dolphin once," Grace said as the two of them started towards the counter. Buffy had looked like she was going to browse some more, probably to get some distance from the stranger that crashed into her and saw her carrying around a bunch of wood, but she relaxed into step beside her as Grace talked. She wasn't even lying either. Her mother had enjoyed whittling and making wood carvings, usually of animals. Grace still had a wood carving of a large bear in storage, one of the few things that had survived the fire. (Don't think of the heat of the burning of the fire crawling up the walls)
"A dolphin sounds complicated. Maybe I can start with something a little easier? Like a snake?" Buffy's laugh wasn't as nervous now, more on the self-deprecating side, which was ridiculous. Buffy was a pro at carving stakes, so she could probably easily carve some little woodland creatures.
"I tried to carve a flower. It was easier than animals," Grace confided. It hadn't been symmetrical or even all that pretty, but her mother had proudly displayed it on the mantle above the fireplace. That carving hadn't survived the fire. (Flames consuming memories and tragedies and love and hate and it's all gone now)
Grace stopped her cart behind a tired mother with a toddler propped on her hip and drooling on her shoulder, and there was an older man at the counter talking quietly with the person manning the register. They sounded friendly, so the transaction was dragging out. In front of her, the toddler started to stir and mumbled against his mother's shirt. The mother promised they would leave soon, and Buffy shifted on her feet in her spot in line behind Grace. She had options here. She could keep quiet, let the little moment they had remain brief and easily forgettable, or she could try for a conversation. She could keep it light, smalltalk like she was great at. She could lie to cause a change, the lie was on the tip of her tongue, but she was going to be close to Buffy. She was going to have to lie to the girl at some point, she already knew that, and she didn't want to start with lies. For the first time, she didn't know what to say to someone who was basically a stranger. Because Buffy wasn't a stranger. She'd seen too much of what the girl had been through, of what she was going to go through, and she felt awkward. It wasn't a good feeling. Suddenly, she wished her other self would take over and navigate the conversation. She waited a moment, but she was still fully in control of herself. Figured. The takeover never happened when she wanted.
"Hey, is it cool if I ask you something?" Grace asked in a near whisper. The man at the front of the line was slowly gathering his bags up, and Grace tapped her fingers against the handle of her cart. To her surprise, Buffy stepped forward until they were standing side-by-side.
"Is everything okay?" Buffy asked in the same quiet tone. Ah, she was in Slayer mode now. Grace didn't need saving, at the moment, but the thought was appreciated. Buffy really was a hero, wasn't she? (Don't you know the heroes suffer? Heroes don't get happy endings.) Grace stopped tapping and managed a smile as she met Buffy's eyes.
"Yeah, it's just, I might be moving to Sunnydale? I'm waiting on a call to see if I've got a place, so it's not set in stone or anything, but I might be moving here. The town is beautiful, but I just don't know. Is there even anything to do in Sunnydale?" Grace heard herself rambling and would have winced if Buffy wasn't staring at her, and she watched as Buffy's expression went carefully blank before brightening.
"We've got a little bit of everything. The woods are good for camping—"
(–beware of full moons and beings made by the arrogant searching for understanding and bloodied innocents stalking prey beware little girl of the deep dark woods–)
"—we're close to the beach—"
(–dragging under the depths can't find the surface can't find the air we're trapped we're lost we'll never be found if we can't find the air to scream–)
"—there's this pretty cool club in town, The Bronze, and the music there is really good—"
(–the melodies are beautiful and haunting and how many times can we be gutted and rebuild ourselves again until we become something else–)
"—and there's a good college here in town, if you're looking for a school?" Buffy ended with a hopeful smile, because the Slayer was actually going to college. Had any of the other Slayers ever gotten a higher education? How many of them survived past high school?
"Thanks for the compliment, but I opted out of college about a decade ago," Grace answered with a quiet laugh. The mother was at the counter now, and the toddler was hiding in his mother's neck as the cashier talked. Next to her, Buffy looked confused.
"Sorry, it's just, you don't look that old," Buffy said after Grace just stared at her in open confusion for a moment. Grace's answering smile was genuine, seemed to put Buffy at ease, until what was being said really sunk in. Thanks to her demon father's genes, Grace had stopped aging around the time that she was twenty. She would still age, but the aging would be extremely slow. Maybe, several centuries from now, she'd be lucky enough to see some gray in her hair. If she managed to keep herself alive for that long.
"Twenty-eight, but you've made my day," Grace told her. Buffy's smile was bright and made her look so much younger, and Grace wished that she could be spared. The young woman standing next to her had already suffered and sacrificed so much, and she deserved peace. She deserved to rest. She didn't deserve (–look away now let's not dwell on this come back later–)
"So, what kind of thing are you looking for in Sunnydale?" Buffy asked. The honest answer was that she wanted to help avoid several different Apocalypses while saving as many lives as possible, all in the name of keeping the balance of this universe, but it wasn't like she could just say that to someone who didn't really know her at ten in the morning in a hardware store smackdab in the middle of a mall.
"Back home, I used to volunteer at the hospital. It'd be nice to do that again," was what Grace said. She didn't mean to say it, she hadn't volunteered inside a hospital in a couple of years, so why did she say that?
"You voluntarily stayed in a hospital? Without getting paid?" Buffy asked with wide eyes. Buffy didn't like hospitals, almost feared them, for a variety of reasons. Grace had never been afraid of hospitals, and she had always loved volunteering. (Had loved being able to help in such a simple way. By just being human.)
"Mostly in the ICU, in what we called the coma ward," she said honestly. Her thoughts finally caught up to her memories, if the visions she'd had counted as memories, and she could see Buffy almost shrinking into herself.
"The coma ward?" Her voice was quiet, even though the mother was laughing loudly with the cashier and wouldn't be able to hear either of them, and Grace started tapping the handle of the cart again.
"A lot of coma patients don't get visitors, even the ones with families. There's theories about whether or not people in comas can hear or take anything in, but I like to think that they can. So I'd do the usual routine, keeping the room clean, but I'd stay and talk too."
(While volunteering, she'd come across a girl that had been in her quite small graduating class. Kelly. She'd been a sophomore in college when she was in a car accident, and the doctors didn't think that she'd ever wake up. One of the fulltime nurses had told Grace during one of their many late-night gossip talks that Kelly's parents and friends had visited regularly to start with, but the visits had slowed and then tapered off after the first year. So Grace had sat next to Kelly almost like she had sat next to her through four years of grueling math classes, years of middle school and complaining about the lunch food and thumb wrestling for who got to go down the slide first at recess, and she had just talked. About the people in town, the little things going on in her life, and sometimes she'd read gossip magazines. Walking into Kelly's room and seeing the bed empty had been like taking a kick to the sternum, and she had cried that night after one of the nurses told her that her parents had decided to let her go. Kelly was buried in Rock Creek, in the small town that she had dreamed of escaping ever since she had seen pictures of pyramids in the back of their history books when they were eight, and Grace had taken Kelly flowers once a week for several years. Her parents had died the year after Kelly, in some kind of freak cruise ship accident, so who would leave flowers for Kelly now that Grace had left town?)
"What, uh, what would you talk about?" Buffy asked. The toddler was now shyly talking to the cashier and holding out something in one pudgy fist, so Grace had time to answer. Had time to give an answer that would make an impact.
"Anything and everything. My life, hometown gossip, magazines, books. I don't think it was the what that mattered, you know? The important part was that there was someone there. Proof that someone cared. That they weren't alone," Grace answered in the same quiet tone. She could tell that Buffy was thinking of Faith, who was lying alone in Sunnydale's own coma ward.
"That sounds like a really nice thing to do for people," Buffy said after a moment. The mother was laughing and starting to walk away, so it was time for Grace to move forward. She'd have time to talk to Buffy later. They would have time to have several conversations, and Grace would be able to be honest about who she was then.
"All I did was sit down and talk for a bit. I just hope I helped them feel less alone," Grace said and shrugged. She pushed her cart ahead and smiled at the cashier as she started to unload her cart, and she glanced over at Buffy as she tossed the leather gloves onto the counter. Her eyes were focused down on the floor, clearly deep in thought, and Grace could hear whispers as she told the cashier that she was having a lovely day.
She kept the cashier focused on himself, on the doghouse that he was currently building, as her items were rung up. Carrying it all was going to be interesting, but she couldn't worry about that while she kept getting flashes of images. Buffy was thinking of Faith, and she was thinking so loudly that Grace was catching the echoes. (Faith sitting on a motel bed, bruise on her jaw, eyes dark. Faith at her back, strength pressing against strength, keeping her safe. Faith in front of her, both of them moving to the same beat, sweat slick against her skin. Faith with blood on her hands and lies on her lips. Faith's blood, on her hands, and falling. You've killed me.) Grace shook her head, like getting out of someone else's thoughts was ever that easy, and laughed at a joke that she hadn't heard as she passed over some money. Her cart was left at the end of the counter as she stacked everything in her arms, and she said her goodbyes and good-days to the cashier before turning around. Buffy was standing behind her, and she looked up as Grace started to walk past.
"Good luck with your wood carvings," Grace told her.
"Good luck with your life?" Buffy's voice raised at the end, like she was asking a question, and Grace smiled despite herself.
"Take care of yourself, kid," Grace said as a final parting statement. She made sure to continue forward quick enough that Buffy wouldn't be able to say anything else, and she hurried her way out of the mall.
Nothing stopped her on her way, no hindrances to be seen, but she didn't breathe easy until she was standing under the sun again. She even dared to pause and take in a long breath, with her head tipped back to feel the warmth against her face. Once she was done basking, she started hurrying her way across the parking lot. Keeping everything balanced was a bit difficult, and she kept shifting her hold as she hurried across the parking lot. As soon as she reached her truck, she opened the toolbox and dropped her haul in. Then she thought over what to do next. Fixing up the truck in the parking lot would work. There was no point in putting it off, not really. Better to get it done and over with. Sunnydale made her tense though, kept her on the edge, and she couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on her. (Watching you, little girl, win or lose. What'll it be?) The motel was barely a five minute drive out of the town limits, but that was good enough for her. She closed the toolbox, slid into the truck, and got ready to leave. She could vamp-proof the truck at the motel, where Angel could sense her and know that she hadn't just run off after spouting riddles at him. Maybe she should talk a little more plain with him. Just, lay it all out on the table. She could do that. She would do that, after she took care of the vamp-proofing.
With a smile starting to spread, she grabbed the door handle and pulled it closed. She was already thinking up speeches as she reversed out of her parking space, and her fingers were tapping against the wheel as she started to drive. She'd keep the speech short, with a kind of brutal honesty. No holds barred. She'd tell Angel the facts, what she knew so far, and let him think on it as they drove in separate vehicles to drop off his car. Then once they were reunited, they'd be able to really talk. Like normal people, even if neither of them were normal or even really categorized as people. Whatever. Labels didn't matter. They could talk honestly, clearly. She stopped at a stop sign, leaned forward into the sunlight coming through the windshield to carefully look both ways, and leaned back to watch the stretching shadows go across the dash.
"Shadows?"
Outside the windshield, the sun was setting. It wouldn't be fully dark for maybe an hour, but it was definitely later in the day. It had barely been ten in the morning, and now sunset wasn't far off. Dirt-caked fingers tapped against the steering wheel as she looked around, because the truck was parked on the side of a street. She couldn't even see her nails because of all the dirt and blood, where did the blood come from why is there blood what did I do, and her eyes darted to the side to look into her rearview mirror. The left side of her face was scraped and bruised, the glamour was gone, and she could taste dirt in her mouth. Her fingers slipped against the door as she struggled to grip the handle, the blood was still fresh and was possibly still flowing out, and she could hear her breathing getting heavier as she fought to get out of the truck. Seconds later, please let it only be seconds, she stumbled out of the truck. Her hands caught her weight against the rough pavement and immediately pushed her upwards again, and her elbow braced against the warm truck as she hurried around the front of it. She was parked next to a cemetery. She could see the iron gate, dark grass, and long shadows stretched behind the headstones. When she looked down, she saw nothing but dirt clinging to her clothes in streaks and clumps.
"What did I do?" she whispered aloud. She closed her eyes as she tried to remember, but she couldn't remember doing anything. She had left the mall and was driving back to the motel, and then she was in the truck parked next to a cemetery. Which cemetery was this? The longer she kept her eyes closed, the louder the silence became. With the silence came the whispers.
(—don't you understand that we have to find it first if we want to stop the world from burning no not the world our world our world will burn if we don't hurry dig your fingers in deep and remember the sandcastles don't you know that you deserve the best don't settle don't let the dirt settle we have to keep going keep going to get out of this place get it somewhere safe don't get caught keep going can't slow down it's almost time we're out of time keep digging—)
Grace screamed into the silence and pulled at her dirty hair with bloodied fingers.
Perspective: Eliot
The screaming started while he was doing his usual pre-dark sweep, because monsters hunted in the daylight, but he didn't move into a run like he usually did when he heard screams. He had been moving through the cemetery, and he could see the cause of the tortured sound. Appeared to be a woman, judging by the hair and silhouette of curves, and she was alone. He also knew, in the same way that he always seemed to just know, that she wasn't human. It wasn't just because she sounded inhuman as she pulled at her hair and screamed up at the heavens. It was this feeling, down in his gut and taking up space in his chest, and he knew that she was something other. He'd barely had the thought when her head dropped, and he went stone still as her eyes turned in his direction.
"More than human," he thought as she continued to look in his direction. He was too far away to see her properly, and he didn't know if she was able to see him. Oh, he was sure that she knew where he was standing and that he had been watching her. He could feel that awareness. He just wasn't sure how much of him that she could see.
Her body seemed to sink on itself, shoulders rounding down as her hands dropped to her sides, but he didn't move as she slowly turned around. The movement of her body was strange as she walked around a parked truck, an older model in a darker color, and his guess was that she was injured in some way. She moved like she had taken a beating. It wasn't long before she slipped inside of the truck, and he leaned his body against the back of a statue as he watched the truck rumble to life and then start to drive away. There was still enough daylight that she didn't have to switch the lights on, but the shadows were long enough that he couldn't see any identifying features on the truck. Not that it mattered. His sweeps were to find actual problems, not inhuman damsels.
Perspective: Angel
The rumbling of the old truck was the first sign that Grace had returned, and Angel stood up from her bed as he heard the creak of the truck door opening. Something was wrong. The door closed, and the footsteps that came closer were slow and shuffling. As weight pressed against the door, he felt himself starting to tense like he was preparing for a fight. The door swung open, but the fading sunlight didn't come anywhere near him. Grace slipped into the room and pressed back against the door to close it, and the scents were overpowering at first. Blood and dirt. She was filthy. Dirt was streaked across her skin and clothes, and he could smell blood on her fingers and caught in her hair. When she looked up and across the room at him, the scrape on her cheek and the dark ring of bruises around her throat were visible. She'd used a glamour to hide her injuries from the night before, but he wanted to know what had happened today to cause her to look like she'd just crawled out of a grave.
"Oh, good, you gave the room a thorough comb over. I didn't hide anything." Her voice was rough, vocal cords strained from screaming, and he quickly glanced around the room. He had torn the place apart, looked into every little crevice, but he had set the room to rights when he was done. Had left everything exactly as she had.
"What happened to you?" Her stare was blank, like she couldn't see him or anything else in the room, and her feet dragged across the thin carpet as she shuffled forward. She moved like she was going to walk right past him, and he reached out to grab her arm. His fingers met around the hard press of her bicep, dirt grated between his palm and the soft cotton of her shirt, and she slowly tipped her head back to look at him with flat eyes. "What happened?"
"Are you asking because you care about my wellbeing, because you're worried about what I did, or just general curiosity?" There was dirt on her lips. When she blinked, dirt fell from her lashes and dusted across her cheeks. She was a stranger that claimed she wanted to help him, she hadn't hidden anything from him as far as he could tell, and she hadn't tried to harm him. Not yet.
"All of them?" he asked when he couldn't decide. Seeing her smile with her eyes so empty caused something in him to react, he wanted to bare his teeth and force her away, but he kept his hold on her arm instead.
"I don't know what happened." An accusation lingered on his tongue, the urge to call her a liar and demand the truth, but something sparked in her eyes. Not the green light of her demon. The black of her pupils had shuddered, like an animal quivering in fear, and her hand was suddenly gripping his wrist. Keeping them connected.
"You don't remember," he realized. When she had spoken to him that morning, she hadn't known how long she'd be gone. Despite that, she'd written a note before leaving her room telling him that she'd be back right before sundown. (That she'd be back now.) He knew it wasn't a trick because he'd heard her truck leave the motel parking lot after she left his room, she hadn't gone back to her room, and there were times when she wasn't aware of her actions.
"I don't remember," she confirmed in a whisper. Drusilla had visions and sometimes got lost in her thoughts, but Drusilla had never blacked out. Not like this.
"That happen often?" If he was going to do this, was going to go with her, he needed to know how likely she was to completely check out.
"A few times as a kid. Been getting a little more frequent here lately," she admitted. There was more life in her expression now, and he recognized the fear in her dark eyes. Whatever was happening to her, it terrified her.
"What—" He was stopped from speaking as her other hand raised to slap over his mouth, he could taste dirt and smell blood, and her eyes were wide as she looked up at him.
"Don't ask, not yet." She shook her head slowly, dark hair shifted around her face at the move, and she held his eyes the entire time. "Not yet, okay?"
Since he couldn't answer with how tightly her hand was pressed against his mouth, he carefully nodded. It must have been taken as an acceptable answer, because she removed her hand from his mouth. She even let go of his wrist and slipped out of his loosened hold on her arm, and he turned his head to watch as she moved around the room. She plucked clothes out of the open bag on the end of her bed, and she was talking the entire time. Telling him that she was just going to take a quick shower, get herself all cleaned up, and then they'd be cleared to go. That they could drop his car off, and she said something about proofing her truck while he got his car squared away. She was still talking as she disappeared into the bathroom, and the sound of her voice didn't cut off until she stepped under the falling water. He sat down on her bed to wait, and all he could think of was the question that she hadn't let him ask.
"What takes over when you go away?"
Ending Note From Raith: So, fun fact, this chapter was supposed to be the start of Grace and Angel going on their epic roadtrip. I got caught up on all of the other things. Bonus points go to anyone who can guess where Grace's new house is and where the name Hatchetfield came from.
If anything was confusing or if anyone wants clarification about something, feel free to ask. Grace and her visions can be confusing, usually on purpose but not always. Ask in a review, send me a message, or message me on tumblr: raith-way
Thank you for reading!
xarcadiax: Thank you for the review! If you do decide to write a Buffy story, please let me know because I would love to read it! I've sent you a message with the pairings, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
bexyrogers41: It took me a little while, but I managed to update. Thank you for the review!
ocfairygodmother: Don't worry, I think we all ran around pretending to be some kind of OC. (Pretty sure I pretended to be in the Charmed fandom as a kid.) I'm so glad you liked Grace! She's a bit of a mess, but writing her thought process is fun for me. Oh, I love that you picked up on the detail of Angel comparing Grace's height to Buffy! Because I think, for a while at least, Angel compares every woman to Buffy. Thank you for the review!
Ridea: Thank you for the review! (Thank you for all of your help!) I always thought it'd be interesting to see what would have happened if Angel stayed in Sunnydale, so this is my way of figuring it out. I love Olivia Scott Welch. If I hadn't already changed her face claim, I'd seriously consider it. Thanks again!