Chapter 10

The Magic and the Pain

Thursday, 11:03 AM

            Sir Radcliffe absorbed the news, the gravity around him seeming to shift into overdrive. Everything felt as if it weighed twice as much, the dust, the air, and even the sunshine streaming through the window seemed to bend a bit under the immensity of what Rupert Giles had just said. It seemed for a moment as if Sir Radcliffe had even stopped breathing, so intense was his far away gaze.

            A witch! Not just any witch, but the witch. Willow Rosenberg, who had broken the power of the Ring of Arinoth, was now within its reach. In the battle with Madame LaFusce, Willow had dealt the Seventh Speaker of the Ring a mortal blow. Arinoth had not replaced her.

            Sir Radcliffe had considered it odd, at first. Arinoth had come so close and seemed to still have the opportunity to fulfill his aim of taking control of the Slayer line. He could have replaced the Seventh and went on with another plan. Even though Faith and her guardians were now forewarned, they had barely survived the first attempt to take control. In fact, it would have been a more straightforward process to simply kill Faith and take control of the next Slayer, one who was undoubtedly not so well protected. That would have meant a loss of only one Slayer in the army, an acceptable loss, all things considered.

            But Arinoth had not rushed to replace the Seventh Speaker. He had not attempted to take control of the Slayer line after the attempt on Faith. He had used a substitute for the Seventh Speaker for that operation in order to cast the visions into Faith's amulet. But that had been temporary – decidedly so for the substitute warlock, who was dispatched subsequent to the mission's failure.

            No, Arinoth had another plan in mind. It was suddenly clear to Sir Radcliffe what that plan was – what it had been ever since that dark night in Sunnydale. Oh, he hadn't abandoned his plan to get the Slayer line, not with there being a good chance of success and the plans already being in motion. He had played that gambit and lost, but even with that, new plans were already in motion.

            He had been planning to get Willow – to make her part of the Ring.

            Sir Radcliffe could visualize the fire in Arinoth's eyes – the fever. He had witnessed the young woman's power. Undoubtedly he had read Madame LaFusce's memories of the encounter before she'd died. He would have seen the raw, natural ability in the girl. He would have seen how she grasped the very essence of the magic she commanded, how naturally it came to her. Like a savant that could do factoring of ten digit numbers instantly, but couldn't explain to you how she did it.

            MacKenzie's recounting of the battle between the witches had been sparse – he had been going one on one with Sheffield at the time. But Sir Radcliffe had inferred much. He knew Madame LaFusce, by reputation, at least. He had detailed dossier's on all of Arinoth's people that he could identify. He could surmise how powerful the girl was, knowing what he knew about her opponent. But that was just surmise.

            The details he had received from Straznikof had filled out the perception. The tales had been whispered throughout the underlings in Arinoth's organization of how they had been defeated, by whom, and every detail of the battle. Of course, much of that was rumor, grown out of control as rumors will. But there was enough of the truth in it to gain some perception of what might have happened. There was enough consistency in the story to get an idea of the power involved.

            And now this – Ripper declaring her, "The most powerful witch on the planet." Quite an assessment! Not an exaggerated one, though; not from Ripper. Oh, he might be slightly self-deluded about her potential, but he wouldn't outright stretch the truth of it. Besides, he hadn't met every other witch on the entire planet, so it was impossible for him to be absolutely sure that she was it. But Ripper knew enough, and in making that statement it was a surety that if she wasn't the most powerful witch, she was definitely in the top three.

            For most that would have settled the discussion then and there. But there was one more piece of evidence to consider, one that to Sir Radcliffe was far more telling. Arinoth wanted her. He had changed his plans for the Slayer line – if not abandoning them, then at least putting them on hold – in order to go after this girl. He had left a place at the very top of his organization for her. He had laid his plans very, very carefully so that he could gain control of her, and through her the world. It was that, more than anything, that convinced Sir Radcliffe that she was quite possibly as powerful as Ripper said.

            Perhaps, though, Arinoth had not planned carefully enough. The more Sir Radcliffe thought through it, the more it became apparent. Arinoth would have begun building plots and webs designed to bring her to him, designed to draw her into his control before anyone knew what was happening. And those plots would have involved knowing where she was and what she was up to.

            No, he would not have relied on mercenaries trying to electronically bug Ripper's apartment in hopes of finding out where she had been hidden away. If things were going according to Arinoth's plans, Ripper could have never hidden her away. But he had, and Arinoth had no idea where she might be.

            Obviously, something had happened. Something had changed Arinoth's plans, thrown them all 'out the window', and now he was reacting. His actions were rash, almost desperate. He was trying to salvage what he wanted, as if the opportunity to control her might be completely lost if he did not get hold of her now. That was likely, considering that Ripper had not just brought her to England, but had hidden her away and taken steps to make sure that she stayed that way.

            That brought up the next obvious question: what had happened? Sir Radcliffe took a very deep, shuddering breath and refocused his attention on the other two men in the room. The very act seemed to lift much of the gravity, as if in releasing his own mind from its revelry he somehow released the world around him from its own. He cocked his head a moment, thinking of how to ask the question; it took only a moment to realize that they didn't have time for political correctness. "What happened to the girl?"

            Ripper was stunned for a moment, taken off guard. That Sir Radcliffe had surmised that something had happened was testament to his astuteness. However, given the rest of the revelations of the last twenty-four hours, he hadn't really had time to adjust his expectations. The look of surprise on his face was undeniable.

            Sir Radcliffe smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling. "It's obvious that it was something significant. Arinoth is rushing his plans, which he hasn't done in a thousand years, and you have her hidden away. Knowing what it was, and why she is here, may help us understand what our enemy is up to, and what we can do about it."

            Ripper cocked his head, considering. At this point he had little to lose by revealing more. "It was quite tragic, actually. She was in love with another young woman, named Tara. I suppose you knew that, though, from MacKenzie's reports. They went through some very hard times, but managed to patch things up. They were, it seemed, destined to be together."

            "But something happened," Sir Radcliffe filled in. "Not to her – but to Tara."

            "She was killed, quite accidentally, by a stray bullet in a shooting." He took a deep breath, the pain of the loss still stinging. He'd always liked Tara, more so for how good she was for Willow. "What happened next was … extraordinary. She was fueled by grief. Grief and anger – or rage, actually. She completely gave into her power, it was the tap that brought forth the geyser. We had no idea how much power she had below the surface, and when it was finally let go it came out with no control, and only the darkest of emotions to direct it."

            Willow had been unstoppable … and totally dark. She had been everything in Ripper's nightmare from the day before (had it only been a day?) and so much more. She had walked into The Magic Box and simply absorbed every spell, every bit of knowledge, from every book in the place.

            And then she'd gone out to hunt.

            She'd hunted down Warren, the one who had fired the fatal shot, and had extracted her revenge. She had hunted down his compatriots, Jonathan and Andrew, as well, but had been stopped from savaging them the way she had Warren. In the end, she had summoned up from the depths of Sunnydale's foothills a demonic temple, buried for ages, and had attempted to use it as a means of annihilating the entire planet. She had nearly succeeded, as well.

            "So why bring her here?" MacKenzie asked that question, one of the few times he had spoken during the entire interview.

            "To learn control," Ripper replied. "At that point, the power was loose within her. We had no choice, really, she had to be taught to harness it, to direct it, and to control it without letting it control her." He shrugged, indicating the obviousness of the situation. "She's been hidden away with a coven I know, to be instructed on the use of her magic."

            Sir Radcliffe nodded, his eyes alight with understanding. "Yes," he said slowly, assembling the last of the pieces in his own mind. "Let me ask, was this the only choice?"

            Ripper looked at him for a long moment, and then shook his head. "We debated stripping her of her powers, but we decided that was too risky."

            "Of course, of course." Sir Radcliffe was sure, now. "Arinoth would have known, and he is not about to let you destroy such a source of power. He would have acted to prevent that, there's no question. But having her learn control would, in many ways, be even worse for him. He needs her vulnerable, uneducated. He probably hoped that he would be the one to tap that wellspring within her. And then he would be her guide, her mentor, her teacher." His head bobbed up eagerly in the recitation. It made sense, so much sense. "He's reacting now, completely out of control. He's being rash, and he's tipped his hand. He's exposed himself to MI-5, and they are not nearly the pawns he believes they are. I cannot begin to estimate how long this advantage will last, but I don't imagine it will be much longer."

            He looked up at MacKenzie, who met his gaze. Something unspoken passed between them – not magic, just understanding. Two experts, thinking along the same lines, and giving each other enough non-verbal clues to confirm their mutual understanding of the situation and what was to be done.

            The moment ended, and MacKenzie rolled his neck, several pops emanating from it. He was loosening up, getting ready for action. It gave Ripper the sudden image of a large jungle cat stretching out, getting ready for its hunt. "Once we get her, where do we bring her? Here?"

            Sir Radcliffe thought for a moment. "No," he said. "Find a safe place using the old network, in London I think. There are many there, and it is easy to hide. I will make other plans and contact you when I can."

            "And MI-5?" MacKenzie wanted to know whether or not to go it alone, or to rely on potential allies.

            "Use your judgment," Sir Radcliffe replied. "But the safety of the girl is our highest priority."

            "Understood."

* * *

            "Finding that girl is our highest priority." Jonathan Trimble spoke quietly as he walked down one of the back corridors of Thames House. Jerome nodded. He had provided the information that Miles Winthrop had found. He'd also let Jonathan know that they had taken Miles hostage as the only means of keeping the information secret. "Unfortunately, I just got a call from Eric. He found the contact message – it's at Charing Cross Station at eleven-thirty. I imagine Sir Blackwell will be there himself."

            "How do you want to play it?" Jerome asked. He was completely at Jonathan's disposal.

            "Sir Blackwell knows you, so I think you need to be the one to make the Charing Cross appointment." Jonathan thought through the rest of the team, thinking of what he might possibly be able to accomplish with the resources he had. "Have Alicia take Mr. Winthrop to Eric's place; Eric can meet her there and baby-sit Miles while he continues to look for messages. He needs to do an archive search and find everything that has passed between Sir Blackwell and Straznikof." Jerome nodded. It was obvious that they couldn't continue to hold a hostage in the MI-5 records room.

            "After that, I want Alicia to back you up with Blackwell and Straznikof. I don't trust them yet." Jerome quirked a lip, considering. He wasn't debating whether or not to do as he was asked, he was establishing the best way to utilize the resource.

            "I'll keep her on Sir Blackwell," he said. "I'll stick with Straznikof as soon as I can make him."

            "Sounds good," Jonathan concurred. "Keep Darla here as long as possible, keeping an eye on Jen and her project. I'm headed to Worcester." They had reached the car park and Jonathan was climbing into a black BMW. "It's two and half hours there, so I need this kept quiet for at least that much time."

            "Can do," Jerome replied. "I think we know what can go wrong, and we've got it covered."

            "It's the things that we don't know about that can go wrong that I'm worried about." Jonathan sped off.

* * *

            Ethan Rayne smiled. There were definite advantages to house arrest. In prison, his options had been so limited. He couldn't order in spell ingredients, for instance. That would've been very, very frowned upon. But under house arrest, he simply had to make a few phone calls.

            It had taken a while to find the right spell. He knew translocation spells, several of them, in fact. They all had a similar problem, though. While they teleported you from one place to another, they also transported everything attached to you. Your clothes, jewelry, eyeglasses … and electronic devices locked to your ankle. What he needed was something that would transport just him, and nothing else.

            It had taken quite some time to work out the construct, but in the end it proved to be simplicity itself. He simply had to transport himself dimensionally, not in space. There were any number of dimensions where the portal between them could only support the human being, not any of its earthly accoutrements. The problem with those, though, was that they tended to be one way tickets. Such locations were generally quite inhospitable, and perhaps more importantly, contained creatures who delighted in torturing humans, especially uninvited ones.

            So, he needed to first set up the way back. In order to do that, he needed a method of triggering it. Since he couldn't bring anything with him, that could prove a problem. But then he realized that the rule only applied to objects from earth. If he had an object that was originally from that dimension in the first place, it would traverse the portal quite easily.

            That is how he decided to 'borrow' a L'Korsunth stone. The bright yellow crystal could be used as a catalyst for spells – but only in the L'Kor dimension of hell. Here on Earth they made very nice paper weights, unless you were trying to bind a L'Korsunth demon, which was something that, in general, only morons attempted to do. However, Ethan knew just such a moron. Once he had acquired the stone, inscribed all the proper symbols on it and prepared his receiving place, he had his ticket home.

            The first spell had transported him through a twirling, mind bending wormhole to a cavern filled with sulfurous gas and heat like a blast oven. It was, to all observations, the very model that had been used to come up with all of the Biblical descriptions of Hell. It was also populated by a particularly nasty little species of demons, who reacted to his presence there instantly. As soon as he dropped into the darkened cavern, they were howling and screeching, poking him with small, barbed sticks.

            He had, though, pre-staged the return spell, and it took only a moment through gasps of pain to utter the final sequence of words, and, upon shattering the crystal on the ground, to be transported back through another dizzying pan-dimensional flight to his receiving point – just three feet from where he had started.

            He lay there, panting, sweating, and bleeding … but smiling. He lay naked on the floor of his ramshackle apartment, but three feet away, in the center of another pentagram, was a pile of his clothes … and his ankle bracelet.

            He was free of MacKenzie's threat, and now he would get his revenge.

* * *

            MacKenzie loaded up the Jeep with their bags and turned to say goodbye to his employer, who had grown into his friend. "Take care, old man," he said gruffly.

            Sir Radcliffe returned his smile, and his handshake. "Take this," he said, handing them each an envelope embossed with a heavy wax seal. "In case something happens, you'll need it." He shrugged. "I decided to take a lesson from Dumas." The statement was mysterious, but offered no opportunity for comment. They climbed into the Jeep, and as an afterthought he added, "Don't forget to wear your disguises."

            Ripper and MacKenzie put the enchanted keys over their necks and slipped them down into their shirts. It was time to go get Willow.