Purplegrrl | Giles skimmed his university journals to find the entry that detailed the key to the secret language. Finding it at last, he quickly copied the key onto a piece of paper and handed it to Marcus. He and the young man then got down to the business of deciphering the entries in Charles Siefer's diaries. "I read the letter your father left for me," Giles told Marcus quietly. The young man looked at him. Marcus' eyes reflected hope, fear, and innumerable questions. "Yes?" "The letter was a request for me to help you. He seemed to know that you would need it." "Do you think you can? Help me, that is." Giles took off his glasses, cleaned them on his handkerchief, and put them back on before answering. "I don't know yet. I'm hoping the diaries will have the answers, but there may be other questions you will have to answer." "I'll do what I can," replied Marcus. The ex-Watcher looked at Marcus for a long moment before getting back to the work at hand. |
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Buffy braced herself for the waves of teenage angst she felt coming down the stairs ahead of Dawn. Remember, you are the grown-up. You are in charge. She turned as Dawn walked into the kitchen. "You slept late. How're you feeling?" Slam! Cupboard door closed. Crash! Cereal bowl on the table. Slosh! Milk in the cereal bowl. "Look, Dawn, about last night..." "I don't want to talk about it." "Why don't you tell me what happened -" "I said, I don't want to talk about it!" Dawn picked up her bowl and flopped down on the couch. MTV came on at a level guaranteed to drive adults insane. Buffy picked up the remote and clicked the TV off. "Hey! I was watching that!" "We need to talk." "We don't need to do anything. I need to go to the library today." "Library?" "You know, big building, books in it. Non-demon information type books. I've got a report to do." Buffy checked her watch. "Well, I can take you over, but I can only stay for an hour or so." "No, no staying. I'll go by myself." "Like I'm going to trust you out alone after last night?" Dawn's eyes rolled so far back into her head, Buffy wasn't sure if they were going to come back. "It's broad daylight and I'm going to the library. Ooh, another occasion for Dawn to go wild. There might be boys there, whatever will I do?" "It's just that with all this weird stuff..." "There's always weird stuff. If there wasn't weird stuff, that would be weird. I'm going to the library now." "No, you are not. We are going to talk about what happened last night." "I went out! Other people do it all the time. You do it all the time! I. Went. Out. With. My. Friends. Okay, so there wasn't much fun-having, but still." "Dawn, you went to a rave! Without telling anyone, I might add. Thank God for Spike, oh, that did not just come out of my mouth - and don't you tell him that, either!" "I'm going!" Dawn grabbed her stuff and was out the door. Buffy yelled down the street after her, "If I didn't have something very important to do, you'd be in so much trouble! " She slammed the door. "Dammit." Buffy leaned against the door. I miss you, Mom. |
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The morning wore on. More tea was made and consumed. Conversation was kept to a minimum except to ask or answer questions pertinent to the deciphering or to request the next CD in the series. Gradually, translations of strange rituals began to fill the previously blank sheets. Periodically Willow interrupted her monotonous retrieval and printing task to take another stack of printed sheets to the two men on the couch. Around noon she persuaded Giles to call the local pizza parlor and have lunch delivered. As Giles paid the delivery boy, Marcus threw his pencil down in annoyance. The young man began stalking the living room like a caged animal, his hands folded on his chest. Pain shot through him, which only made him more frustrated. "What is it?" asked Giles, turning from the door. "This is taking too bloody long!" Marcus exclaimed, throwing up his hands. Giles set the pizza box on the kitchen pass-through and took off his glasses. "I know it can be frustrating, but I think we've made real progress here this morning. We've translated one complete ritual and most of another. Once we decipher all your father's diaries, we'll know what he was trying to keep secret." Marcus shook his head. "Why don't you take a break, have some food?" recommended Giles. "I think we could all use a break." He and Marcus locked eyes. Sensitive to the tension between the two men, Willow figured silence was the better part of not getting snapped at. She got glasses from the kitchen cupboard and filled them with ice for the soda. From another cupboard she took three plates and put them on the pass-through. Unable to contain her hunger any longer, Willow opened the box and took two slices of pizza for herself. "Mmm, cheese and mushroom. My favorite," Willow enthused as she poured herself a glass of soda. Marcus broke eye contact first, suddenly embarrassed by his outburst at the man who was trying to help him. "I'll take some of that pizza, Willow." Biting his lip, he sank down on the nearest chair as his injuries continued complaining about the sudden movement. He was trying to figure out a polite way to make sure the bandages were still intact when the red-haired witch handed him a plate and a glass of soda. "Is there anything I can help with?" she asked. "You know, rituals, magick stuff? Tara should be here soon if we need backup." Giles put his glasses back on and helped himself to some pizza. "Perhaps there is. You could look over the ritual we've already translated and see what you make of it." "Sure," replied Willow, glad to get off the computer for a little while and put her witchy skills to use. She took the pages Giles handed her and began reading through the ritual as she slowly munched on her pizza. After several minutes of reading the spell's ritualized language, Willow looked up. "It seems to be a cleansing ritual." "An exorcism?" asked Giles. Willow shook her head. "No, like to purify someone. Like an initiation of some kind. To prepare them for what is to come next. Whatever that is. But it's sympathetic magick." "Meaning what, exactly?" "That the ritual isn't performed directly on the person to be cleansed or purified. It can even be done without their knowledge." "If I understand this correctly," Willow continued, "while burning St. John's wort in an incense burner, create a circle of daffodil bulbs and white candles. In the center of the circle, chrysanthemum petals, birch bark, and bay leaves are sprinkled in a basin of water. A mandrake root, with a symbol or initial carved into it representing the person to be purified, is washed in the water and allowed to dry." Willow paused to take a drink and turned the page. "Then a key, a white rose, and a white silk bag filled with wormwood, milfoil, white birch leaves, centaury, peppermint, and pansy are tied to the mandrake root. Oh! And a blown-out hen's egg, that's in the bag, too." "Hmm," Giles contemplated. "It seems to be more than a standard cleansing ritual. The key represents the unlocking of the spirit. The hollow egg symbolizes the creation of a new vessel. But a vessel for what?" Marcus wasn't certain it was the same ritual, nor could he be certain of its purpose. Maybe my cousins were telling the truth, he thought, uncomfortable with the idea. "You said you had part of another ritual translated? Maybe that'll tell us what the vessel is for," she said. "Perhaps you're right," replied Giles. "Marcus, would you hand me what we have so far on the second ritual?" "Yes, sir," said Marcus as he handed Mr. Giles the pages. He quickly folded his arms, hoping the others hadn't noticed his trembling. The young witch and the ex-Watcher huddled together over the pages of translation. Neither of them noticed Marcus' increased agitation. Giles ran his finger under the lines of handwritten text as Willow read parts of them aloud and he described their use. "A circle of willow branches," Willow began. "Aids in the transference of energies," Giles replied. "The shed skin of a lizard -" "- representing regeneration -" "- ginseng -" "- to provide a link to the spirit world -" "- carline thistle -" "- to draw strength from others -" "- a double-edged knife -" "- for cutting or severing one thing from another," Giles concluded. Willow looked up at Giles. "But transferring what? And to whom?" "Me," said Marcus before the older man could speak. Willow and Giles looked at Marcus as if they had momentarily forgotten he was in the room. "I mean," he tried again. "the rituals were done to me. I'm the vessel." Willow looked at him in wide-eyed astonishment, while Giles flashed him a look of both amazement and anger. "Then you know what's in your father's diaries," Giles said harshly. "No," replied Marcus. "Not really." Giles shot him another hard look. "I'm beginning to think that Buffy may have had the right idea - to beat the truth out of you." "I suppose I deserve that," Marcus said wryly. "I've had to be secretive for so long it's hard to tell anymore who to trust... and I don't know all the details, only what I've been told... And what I remember." Giles' expression grew serious as he noted the catch in Marcus' voice. Willow, unwilling to miss a thing, came around the sofa and took a seat in the other chair. "Tell us," said Giles. "When I was very young my mother would perform divinations on me. As I grew older, she performed ritual cleansings on me, each one different than the last." "Cleansings? As in plural?" Willow interrupted, curious that more than one would be performed on a single person. "Yes," replied Marcus. "Some of them were sympathetic magick, as you have noted. Others used more... direct methods." Willow shuddered at the underlying pain in Marcus' voice. Even Giles looked a little unsettled. "I didn't think my father knew or even suspected what my mother was doing. I wasn't supposed to tell him, and I didn't," Marcus continued. "After... my 12th birthday, my mother began doing different rituals on me. One every three to six months up to a month before she died. The second kind of ritual you described is one of those later rituals, I think." "What was she trying to transfer into you?" asked Willow. "Life." Giles looked at Marcus, clearly confused. |
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"But your cousins," Giles prompted the young man, after a long silence. "They said she lied, that I'd never been ill, that the rituals weren't a cure." Marcus' voice cracked, finally, and he struggled for several breaths. "They said the rituals were to increase my agility, my strength. They said the rituals have killed others who've tried, and that the fact that I survived meant I would be the one to fulfill the prophecy." "Prophecy?" Willow glanced at Giles, her eyebrows raised. "I don't know," Marcus said. His shoulders slumped and despite Tara's medicine, his chest was on fire. "Something to do with my clan, with making them strong again. I don't know," he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "So many people want me to do things, and no one's told me what's going on, or why." Marcus was silent a moment, then laughed, a bitter soft sound. "The irony is that my cousins told me that if the last ritual isn't completed, I really will die. My body can't handle the incomplete conjunction with the energy. And they say, the choice is simple: let them finish it, or deal with the fact that I'll be buried with my parents far sooner..." |
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Finally Giles broke the stillness. "So these rituals that are described in your father's diaries, are they the ones your mother performed on you?" "I don't know," whispered Marcus. "I doubt my father was privy to everything that Mother did, and I don't recall the specifics of each ritual very well." Marcus paused, staring at his hands, before saying, almost to himself, "there were so many of them." Giles and Willow waited patiently while Marcus regained his self-control. "I didn't discover until just before my father died that he had some sort of protection over me. And I don't know how much he knew, or how. My mother told me never to tell anyone... and I didn't understand the rituals. I only knew that they became more complex, and more... difficult, as I got older." Marcus chewed on his lower lip for a minute, then continued. "My cousins told me the final ritual will permanently bind the energy to me... And I'll live." Marcus glanced at Willow, then Giles, from under his lashes, the frightened expression of a cornered child. Willow smiled in response, hoping to reassure him, but was startled as Marcus suddenly stood up, his face pale. Giles came to his own feet immediately, one hand out to Marcus, but the young man shook his head. "Please," Marcus whispered, his eyes unfocused as pain whistled through his veins, "I'd like to help some more, I want to know... but I need to lay down." Giles stared at him for a second, then nodded his head and stepped aside. Willow waited until the bedroom door had shut behind Marcus, before she turned to Giles. "Can we reverse the process?" "I don't know," admitted Giles. "The question isn't can we, but should we." |
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The door slammed, and Aeralyus hid a smile as he finished pouring himself a drink. The glass vibrated as Talia stormed into the hotel suite. If I could get my hands around his throat just once..! Come here, that looks nasty. Mr. High and Mighty has more important things to do than spend a few quality minutes with his only daughter. Told you he probably wouldn't help. Hey! Talia scowled at her brother as he forced her to sit down on the edge of the bed so he could inspect her injuries. What are you trying to do, rip my ear off? Anyway, he owes us. Yeah, right. Anyway, I don't want to talk about the old man. We don't need his help anyway. Hold still, damn it. Aeralyus finished licking Talia's wound clean, and sat back with a smug expression. I found him. You found him? Where? Lemme up! You're not going anywhere until you get some rest. Don't worry about Marcus. He's out of commission for the time being. Aeralyus reached for his glass and leaned back against the headboard, pleased. Ripped him a new attitude. He was feisty, but he's reconsidering now. I don't give a good goddamn anymore. Talia laid down and rolled over on her back, staring balefully at the ceiling. I just want out of this hellhole. We don't need him any more than we need Father. We've got the rituals. We can start over, from the beginning. Getting pregnant is easy. Yeah, easy. It's the rest of it. Aeralyus put down his glass, his expression dark as he glanced at his sister. Aunt Algara died because of those rituals. I won't lose you. Aunt Algara was a fool. She didn't prepare for the change properly. Talia made a contemptuous sound and rolled over on her stomach. Lay down with me for a while? I suppose I could, for a minute. Rub my back? Talia reached behind her for the dress zipper, and Aeralyus took the hint, zipping the dress open completely. By the Gods, Father - and our cousin - did a number on you. Black and blue is definitely not your color. Shut up and rub. |
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Marcus lay on the guest bed, his shirt off, and his hands poised lightly over his bandaged chest as he struggled to remember the words to his mother's healing meditation. After several rephrases, he felt his skin begin to grow cold and allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction. Repeating the Sumerian phrase exactly, he focused on the words and allowed his hands to flicker in and out, letting his demon nature probe the depth of the wounds. This should do it, he thought, then winced as the pain returned in a burst. Gritting his teeth, he focused on the meditation, relaxing slowly as the pain receded and the numbness returned. Then another bath, and... Marcus continued to repeat the meditation as he drifted at the edge of sleep. At first, the vision was shadowy, and the strange syllables of the meditation continued to weave themselves through his images. Eventually the meditation faded, and he was left standing in a room, watching the figures of two young women, an imposing brunette and a slightly smaller blonde facing each other. He squinted, and the image flickered. He was back on the bed of his motel room on his first night in Sunnydale. Rolling over, Marcus saw the word scratched in the wall. He extended his arm towards the letters, tracing them with his index and middle fingers. F - A - I - T - H ... A paralyzing shock ran through his body. He saw the same fair-skinned woman with dark tousled hair, even darker eyes, all muscles and cleavage in a white tank top, lying stretched out on a bed. It was the same bed he was lying on now, and she was reaching out at the wall just like he was, but with that lethal knife chipping away at the yellowing paint. Her mouth turned up in a sly smile and she mouthed something, a provocative whisper. Then she clutched her abdomen and looked down. There was blood pouring from a large gash and Marcus could feel the warmth, the pain, and the shock as if the wound was his own. Even as the visions unfolded, he was fully aware that he was actually still in Mr. Giles' spare bedroom. He turned his head away from the gaping wound to face a pitch black sky. An aboriginal female form descended, tribal war paint and wild hair, wielding a jagged bone-hewn blade. He cringed as he heard a shriek: the most primitive of pain cries. He turned away, and found himself before another girl, young and beautiful, light brown skin and ebony eyes that darkened as the last flicker of life escaped. She clutched her throat as blood poured from a razor thin slit. His neck was numb and he couldn't inhale. It felt as though his airway was severed, and even to gasp was impossible. Before he could react, the primitive warrior blocked his way, teeth bared. He retreated a step, and roaring filled his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a raging bonfire reaching to the sky. The warrior was silhouetted, concealed within the flames. With a terrified gasp, Marcus sat straight up in bed, wide awake. Never this intense, he thought in terror. Panting, he tried to move, and felt a sudden stab of pain shooting through his body. Fearing the wounds from his dream had become real, he glanced down to see blood slowly seeping through the bandages. Swearing softly, he reached for the package of bandages and prepared to replace the bloodied ones with fresh, and to start the meditation again. Now I know who it is, he thought, amazed. And that means she's dead. I was a fool, to hope otherwise... Unable to face dealing with that disappointment, too, he forced the vision away. Taking a deep breath, he began the meditation again. |
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Tara had been working some time on her report paper in the University's Library when she became aware of someone standing at her side. Looking up, she saw it was Dawn, and smiled. "Hey Dawn," she said. "What's up?" Dawn pulled out a chair as she did her best tortured teenager sigh to make it plain that she was not Miss Cheerful of Sunnydale. Viewing Dawn's sulky expression, Tara set her pencil down. "I thought maybe you or Willow'd be here. Me'n Buffy had a fight. Again. Gee, ya can't do anything around here without big sister being in your face. Do this, do that, don't do this, don't do that." Tara raised a quizzical eyebrow. Dawn continued, defensively, "I only went to a little party. Not like I drank alcohol or did drugs! And I only fainted because of the heat or something, it didn't have anything to do with any cute guy, and if it did, it wasn't my fault, was it? I didn't talk to him or anything, and anyway Spike was there and he didn't think it was so bad, and it's mostly him who's been around lately, since Buffy -" Dawn came to an abrupt halt, and Tara leaned across to put a comforting hand over Dawn's, which had fisted on the tabletop. "Its okay, sweetie. It's hard to think about. It happened, but now she's back. You don't have to be angry any more." Dawn looked up, surprised. "You understand. Spike does, too, but that's because he... knows stuff, you know? How come Buffy doesn't? She's always getting on my case." Tara smiled sympathetically. "It'll take more time. It's a big adjustment for her, too, you know. It'll come. And you know, there's this business with Marcus..." "Marcus?" said Dawn, frowning. "The guy at the Magic Box yesterday – oh, I guess you'd left before all that happened." "Before all what happened? Buffy never tells me anything!" Dawn flounced back in her chair, her sense of injustice growing. Tara sighed, and explain what happened after Buffy had sent Dawn home. Tara censored the late-night attack, though, as well as the morning's conversation. Dawn caught the hesitation. "Is this like the playing checkers explanation?" Dawn asked skeptically. Tara smiled, then grew serious again, shaking her head. "Last night, he was attacked again, and hurt... pretty badly." Dawn nodded as she saw Tara's expression grow anxious and a little fearful. There was silence for some time, as both girls thought their own thoughts. "Sorry." Dawn sighed and stood up. "You, uh, do study stuff, and I'm, uh, gonna go do that English thing, now." Well, thought Tara, slightly surprised at Dawn's departure. What was that all about? |
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Dawn seated herself at the computer and put in a few search terms. Just like Buffy to have more troubles with strange guys, and then go and take it out on me. Why can't she be reasonable? she thought as she typed. I'm not the one with the funky dating record. It wasn't like I was sleeping with a vampire. Although Spike's ... naw, he's totally strung out on Buffy. She printed out a list of books and headed off for the stacks. That boy last night was kind of cute. Never seen him around before... ah, here we go. Dawn pulled her choices off the shelf and sat down at a table, soon engrossed in her research. So engrossed, she didn't notice the slender boy peeking around a shelf at her. Is that her? It is her, Simon thought, a rush of excitement making his stomach flip-flop. Now that he could get a proper look at her, he realized she was more than just cute. He looked around for her blond chaperone, but didn't see him. No sign of that guy. Good. Simon sidled around the corner of the stacks, studying the girl intently. She had checked her printout and was getting up again. Simon quickly ducked back around the corner and grabbed a book at random. After a second, he peeked over the book. The girl was nowhere in sight. He took a step backwards, while Dawn was scanning the shelves so intently that she took a step forwards and walked right into someone. The two sprang apart, both surprised and embarrassed. After a pause, Dawn seemed to shake herself, and smiled timidly at him. "Um, hi. Uh, I mean, sorry." She mentally smacked herself in the head. Oh, real smooth, Dawn. The slender young man stared at his feet for a minute, then his green eyes shyly looked back at Dawn. "You just need blinkers, right?" Simon raised his eyebrows, teasing. Dawn paused, then looked at him a second time, and laughed. "Hey! I remember you now," she said, and looked over at the shelf again, pulling down the book she needed. "Um, here for school stuff?" Simon glanced at the book. I'm an idiot. Might as well ask her what's her sign. She nodded. "Got an English report due. Seemed like the logical place, English, words, books. You know." "Yeah." He grinned. "Um, mind if I sit with you?" Dawn's heart started pounding nervously. A boy wants to sit with me... A cute boy. "Sure, ok. But my sister'll kill me if I don't get some work done." He walked her back to the table. "No problem, I'll just read this -" he glanced at the book in his hand, "fascinating volume on Ernest Hemingway. I'm Simon, by the way." "Dawn." He sat down across from her. After a few minutes of alternately peeking at him and trying to read, she settled down.
"Macbeth. I had this really cool idea for a paper talking about the usage of opposite imagery. 'Fair is foul, and foul is fair', stuff like that. If I can pull it off, I know I'll get an A for the semester." He had no idea what she was talking about, but he loved the way her face lit up when she talked. He propped his head on his hand and let her excited words flow over him.
Simon dug the last of his change out of his pocket and slotted it into the soda machine. "Orange or root beer?" After an hour of sitting with her and watching her work, he was at ease with her in a way he'd never experienced before. "Root beer, thanks." She took the can from him and blushed as their fingers brushed slightly. They sat outside the library and sipped their drinks in silence. Hesitantly, Simon reached out and twined his fingers with hers. He swallowed hard. "Dawn, I've got something to tell you and you're probably going to think I'm completely crazy -" "Not after some of the stuff I've seen," she said quickly. He smiled at her. "I just feel like I have to tell you why I'm here, what I'm looking for." Dawn smiled, trying to give as much comfort as she could through the touch of her hand. |
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