Solitude1056 | Buffy checked her watch, jumping up as she realized the time. "Dawn had better be home," she muttered to no one in particular as she dialed. "I left her a huge pile of laundry to fold." No one said anything as Buffy paced, waiting for Dawn to answer. She scowled when the answering machine picked up instead, and hung up the phone. Tara looked up from her book. "I saw her at the library," she told Buffy. "Sh-she was hanging out with a friend." Buffy's head swung around, her expression thunderous, and Tara shrunk back beside Willow. "Th-th-they were just talking," Tara added, and looked back down at her book. "A boy, dark hair, lanky?" Spike was immediately on edge. Buffy turned to Spike, angry. "I thought you didn't see him." "No, but she told me -" Spike halted as Buffy put her hands on her hips. He shrugged and tried to appear unconcerned. "Well, if you'd listened to her rather than bawling her out for -" "I did not bawl her anything. I grounded her, and I'm the adult here. That's what I do." Buffy noticed Willow staring at her, one eyebrow raised, and Buffy turned to her, clearly flustered. "I mean, here I am being parental-like, and she went to a rave." "Oh, I've heard they're lots of fun." Tara stopped at Buffy's glare, glancing sideways at Willow with wide eyes before ducking her head again. "No, I saw a TV show about it," Anya announced. "They have drugs, and smoking, and sometimes, there's illicit sex, but you don't remember it because of these pills -" "I don't want to hear it," Buffy snapped as she grabbed her coat. "Find out whatever you can about these rituals, and what we can do about them. I'll either be at the library finding Dawn, or at home counting my pennies for a girls-only boarding school." The windows rattled as Buffy slammed the door behind her. "Didn't take that very well," Willow finally offered, to no one in particular. "It's Niblet, remember." Spike sighed. "Buffy doesn't take much well when it comes to being a parent." |
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"Here's a reversal spell for animal transformation." Xander called out to Willow, holding up his book. "I know that book. That spell didn't even work on Amy," Willow replied. Xander flipped the book shut as his stomach grumbled for the third time. "How about a dinner break, Warden. I'm starved." "Best idea I've heard, Harris. You do show potential, after all." Spike smirked, hopping up from Giles' easy chair where he had planted himself. "You too tired to do a bit of patrolling later? Meet me at my crypt." As the women stood up, Marcus instinctively stood up as well, and Willow frowned at his grimace of pain. "Tara and I have dinner planned with some friends, so we've got to be going soon." She started gathering her notes for Giles. "But first, we have wards for everyone to d-d-disperse," Tara told the group. She finished digging in her bag and pulled out a shoebox. When she opened it, Anya leaned over to investigate. "Little presents," Anya exclaimed. Tara smiled. The bundles were red felt-wrapped balls, about the size of a quarter in diameter, with white string tying each one off to leave a little burst of felt. Soft and warm, the bundles weighed no more than a crumpled wad of paper. Xander handed Anya her coat as Tara started handing one to each. "What's this," he asked, perplexed by the little object. "And what do I do with it?" "It's the opposite of the wards we put up this morning, which cloak Marcus." Tara handed a bundle to each person except Marcus and Giles, who watched curiously. "These d-d-duplicate his energy, and will make it seem like he's in, in, twenty places at once." Satisfied, she closed the box lid over the rest of the bundles and placed the box out of the way on the desk. "We came up with this idea ourselves," Willow added proudly. Tara and Willow shared a quick smile. "We need to put them all around town. That will mislead th-th-" Tara stopped, and looked away from Marcus, embarrassed. "Bad guys?" Anya had on her serious face. "R-right," Tara continued. "It'll confuse them." Spike sniffed his bundle, suspicious, then made a face. "It smells like -" "Like what?" Xander asked, still wary. Willow jerked her head in Marcus's direction. "His blood, probably. Giles gave Tara the used bandages as the basis for the wards." Xander regarded the bundle in his hand with disgust, then Anya took it and tucked it into his pocket. "Blood's the oldest type of ward," she told him brusquely. "It won't hurt you. And I'm hungry. Let's go." "Wait," Xander said, and turned to Giles. "Got any masking tape?" "Top drawer of the desk." Giles looked confused. Xander yanked the drawer open and dug through it until he found the tape. Holding it up with a mischievous look, he asked Tara for three more bundles. He unrolled the tape and laid it on the desk, sticky side facing up. Pulling the first bundle out of his pocket, he stuck it to the tape, and stuck the other three next to it. Ripping off the tape and putting it back in the drawer, he stuck his thumbs on the ends of the tape and held them up. "You're making one big one?" Spike asked, dubious. "No, Einstein," Xander replied. "I'm gonna tape these puppies to the back of a cab." Anya rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her fiancé as she followed him, Spike, and Willow out the door. Tara paused as she pulled on her coat. "Mr. Giles, we can come back after dinner, if you need us." "No, I think we'll be okay. I'll call if we need you." Giles turned back to the diary pages he was reading. Marcus looked up once from his book, and went back to reading. Tara looked at the two men, and quietly shut the door behind her. |
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Buffy walked up quietly behind Dawn and whoever it was. At least they're not kissing, she thought. She cleared her throat and was gratified when they sprang apart in shock. "So, doing research for your paper? Let me guess, Teenage Mating Habits? Or, Lying to your Sister and How to Get Away With It?" "Buffy, hi. Um, how's Giles? Have you met Simon yet? Simon, Buffy. Buffy, Simon. Oww, quit it!" Buffy dragged Dawn to the other side of the library steps where they could have a little privacy. "Who is he?" Buffy jerked her head in Simon's direction. "I told you already, his name is Simon." "Not his name, who he is. Why is he here?" "He's here because he likes me. Me, not you! Not everything has to be about you. Well, it started out as about you, but now it's about me. And him. And not you." "Got the not-me part, but go over it again. Slowly. It's been a hard day." "Do you remember when you ran away to LA? And rescued all those kids from Hell? Simon was one of them." Buffy turned and looked at Simon for a minute. A fuzzy scrap of memory came back to her. Dawn continued, a hopeful note entering her voice, "he's been looking for you for a long time." "And now he's found me. Why was he looking anyway?" "He says he wanted to thank you 'n stuff." Buffy looked over at Simon again. He smiled nervously and ducked his head. "He's a little young to be running around by himself, isn't he?" She stared at him, her eyes narrowed. Or is he? If he was in Hell, there's no telling how old... She shook herself, realizing Dawn was still speaking. "Buffy, can we ask him to dinner?" "Dinner?" "You know, that thing we do with food in an hour? Please? I think you'll really like him." "Dawn, you don't even know him. He shows up here with this... story, and -" "I do know him! I can't explain it, but we know each other somehow." "C'mon, Dawn, this is ridiculous. Say goodbye and let's go!" "No! You're not listening to me. He's... good." Buffy rolled her eyes. "Right. And we all know that bad things walk around in pretty packaging." "Like Angel?" The name brought Buffy up short. "You had Angel napping on your floor when you were sixteen. I'm fifteen, and I just want to feed him dinner. " "Angel and I were different." "Why? Because you're the Slayer? The Chosen One? Or because Angel had a soul?" "I guess, um-" "Buffy, please! You've got to believe me!" Buffy looked at the tears in her sister's eyes and sighed. She thought about it for a minute, and relented. "All right, go ask him to dinner." The responding abrupt hug made her gasp, and she was still blinking as Dawn headed back to Simon. Buffy watched her sister talking excitedly to Simon for a minute before walking over to join them. |
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Marcus flipped through the translated printouts, his eyes repeatedly drawn to the top of each entry. Each began with a set of symbols and numbers, but Giles' complex decryption had reduced the lines to just as much nonsense as the original form. Marcus furrowed his brow as he laid out the pages so he could only see the single, untranslated lines. "What is it," Giles asked from his side of the table. The tea cups sat empty on various sheets, marking the piles of translated and untranslated texts, sorted into Charles' lengthy description of the rituals and another for Charles' speculations on purposes and cures. "The parts we haven't translated, at the top of each entry," Marcus replied softly as he stared at the series of symbols and numbers. Glancing at the books on the table, he noticed the astronomical almanac sitting under the pile, and suddenly, he understood. "Of course. Those symbols don't stand for anything but what they are, and the numbers aren't part of the code. This is the symbol for the sun followed by the astrological symbol designating the month, and the symbol for the moon indicating the phase. These next two numbers must correspond to my age, since his comments" - he flipped through a few more papers and nodded - "here, about my 18th birthday, all say eighteen in this set, and this last symbol is for Mars, which I think is the day of the week." He tossed some of the sheets aside and scrambled for a handful more, to double-check. "Yes, here's the sun, for Sunday, and the symbol for Saturn, which would be..." "...Saturday," Giles finished for him. The young man was staring at the papers, stunned. "The journals weren't numbered chronologically after all. That means the first entry is actually..." He grabbed the almanac, barely keeping the rest of the books from tumbling everywhere, and flipped it open, running his finger down the tables of the moon's position. Flipping through a few more pages, he found the sun and moon positions for the year he turned fifteen. The year my father began insisting on regular holidays together, he thought. Marcus took a deep breath and dug through the papers again, looking for a journal entry with the lowest number indicating his age. He found it in the untranslated pile: sun in Aries, the moon in the third quarter, a Wednesday. Bending over the paper, he translated carefully as Giles began to mark dates on the rest of the papers. |
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All that time, the journal began... She thought I hadn't known, she thought I was asleep. Algara would putter around the kitchen of our villa late at night. I'd seen her bring in various herbs, and knew their purposes to improve second sight. I saw their residue in her mortar and pestle, and I crouched on the stairs, silent, as she'd take a large, shallow bowl from the cupboard, fill it with water and add three drops of olive oil. Then she'd sprinkle a handful of the ground herbs into the basin. She never realized I was watching, that I was aware enough to wake up when she left our bed. And she didn't realize I'd learned more from her than I let on. From where I hid, I could sometimes see the oil and herbs swirling across the surface of the water, I could see voids appear and subsume. Her eyes would turn completely black as she watched, staring into its depths for several minutes before breaking her concentration. She'd stir the water with her hand to end the spell, and leave the house. Returning to our bedroom, I'd watch her take the bowl out to the courtyard and poured its contents under her favorite fig tree. Lying in bed again, I'd hear the water running. I presumed she was washing and drying the bowl, for it'd be in its proper place, and clean, the next morning. Applying my own concentration, I'd be nearly asleep - or apparently so - when she joined me in bed.
Marcus flipped through the printouts, trying to find the next entry in the series. The first one he found was dated only three days later. Her letters go back to the beginning, the journal continued... She writes me of arguments in her parents' kitchen, standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at her brother. She knew he wasn't telling her everything - she knew him too well. But Algara couldn't begin to separate the truth from his lies from simple misdirection. "You will do this, Algara. For the family," her brother had insisted, ignoring her angry posture. Algara had shaken her head. "Charles and Marcus are my family now." "You have a duty to the entire Marcul clan, not just to your family." By the way he had said the word, Algara told me, she knew it didn't include me. Her brother had always known how to push her buttons. Algara might turn her back on me, and eventually on her brother, but she never could shirk her duty to the clan. Marcus frowned, confused, and remembered a long-forgotten night, when his mother had taken him to visit her family. It was shortly before his parents had divorced, he recalled. He'd stirred in his bed, awakened by something in the night. Had it been a dream? At first, he was too sleep-addled to understand what might have wakened him. His mind touched on the simplest things first, the things of the utmost importance to a seven-year-old boy. Giancarlo, such a pretentious name for a bedraggled teddy bear, huddled with him on the pillow. The nightlight on the opposite wall still glowed, a bright spot of security in the dark night. His stomach was a tiny bit queasy, but that might be from the chocolate milk he'd had right before going to bed. Mama had warned him that could happen before she had given in to his pleading for the treat. But it hadn't been an upset stomach that woke him. There were voices, loud voices, coming from the kitchen. He recognized Mama's voice and that of his uncle. They were shouting angrily at each other in a language Marcus didn't understand, although it sounded a little like the Italian Mama was teaching him when they went to the marketplace. Their voices rose high enough that Marcus hear individual words even though he didn't understand what they were saying. "Ignare!" shouted his uncle. "Amentis!" Mama retorted. "Stultissime!" "Impurae matris prolapsus ab alvo!" "Oblatratrix!" "Ferox raptor!" The knot in Marcus' stomach got a little harder. Dragging Giancarlo with him, he burrowed under the covers. The boy whispered his fear into the bear's ear until he fell asleep again. A single tear squeezed out between Marcus' lashes and slid down his cheek to be absorbed by the stuffed animal's worn fur. Giancarlo accepted it all with stoic good grace.
Marcus set aside his memories of overheard arguments and returned to translating. She had finally agreed, his father wrote, to her brother's demands, after so many years of resisting. The fight had gone out of her. Her brother had been overjoyed when she acknowledged defeat. Algara's letter mentioned she still recalled being repulsed at his smile, a faintly reptilian gesture on his otherwise human face. He'd told her that all she needed to do was prepare the boy for the later rituals, perform the purification spells, before it was too late. Algara's letters assured me that she'd asked repeatedly that these rituals wouldn't hurt our son, and her brother's only reply was: "Would I harm my only nephew?" I shudder, even now, at her recollection of her brother's non-answer. I know his ambitious nature, as did Algara. In her letter, she admitted that her intuition told her there was more than he said, but she agreed, out of responsibility to the clan. And her brother insisted that she not tell Marcus, or me, but her letters are clear that she never promised either way. She fully intended that our son never know - she would protect Marcus as well as she was able. But she would tell me what her clan intended, the journal entry concluded, in hopes that I could find a way to counteract the rituals, and protect Marcus in the meantime. |
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The floral scent of the bathroom soap on his hands seemed to grow stronger, expanding to form an invisible cloud around Simon's body as he walked down the hallway. As he passed the last room on the left, his knees locked and his vision blazed into white as if a firecracker had been ignited in his face. In the corner of his eye he saw movement, and with a concentrated effort, he turned his head to see Dawn's bedroom. He was immediately struck with searing pain, moving across his mid-section, enough to make him almost double over. What the hell was that? Simon was puzzled, and realized he was holding his breath as the phantom pain subsided. From the stairwell, he heard a voice calling his name. "Simon? Simon!" Snap out of it, he rebuked himself. "Earth to Simon," Dawn's voice solidified and became reality in his head. He winced with a twinge of pain, blinked, and quickly turned his head in her direction. "Woah. Where were you just then?" Dawn asked with a nervous laugh. "Sorry, total Zonezilla here. Back from the land of Dr. Mesmer now," Simon mumbled with a shake of his head and a relieved exhale. "Zonezilla. That's a new one," Dawn chuckled, relief in her voice. "You know there really was a Dr. Mesmer. That's where the word mesmer..." "I know," Simon cut her off. "I read, too, you know," he said indignantly. He sighed and shook his head, smiling apologetically. "Libraries are great all-day shelter when it rains." "Right. Well, dinner's ready," Dawn said. "You lead and I'll follow," Simon replied and followed her down the stairs. His memories of the waking dream were already fading, leaving only an uneasy feeling. |
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"Oh!" Anya smiled coyly as she folded up her napkin and laid it neatly next to her empty plate. "This time, can we do it on the kitchen countertop?" |
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Giles handed Marcus the last of the translated pages. "I believe this was meant for you," he said gently. The young man took the proffered pages and began to read. My dearest Marcus, The lines on the pages blurred as Marcus' eyes filled with tears at his father's final words to him. He wiped at his eyes, angry at himself for showing emotion and angrier still that he'd never realized his father had known for so long. After a second, Marcus gave up, and just let the tears come. |
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