Addendum to the author's note: Actually, I don't really have much to say. Just seemed like tradition.
But while I'm here, I'll just let you all know that though it didn't win, "Roads Less Traveled" DID get nominated for the Walk With Heroes awards! Wheeeeee! Thanks for anyone who voted, and thanks for all you feedbackers, you all rock my world so hardcore.
In other news, I got bored and blocked (in a writerly kind of way) and so set about making some title images for each of the stories in RLT. So if you head your way down to , you can check those out.
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 7: Foresta
Part three
Down in the stairwell, the old broken grandfather clock continued to chime. In the exhibit room, time seemed to almost stand still, as Foresta stared, open mouthed, at her ghostly namesake, and Dawn and Xander watched Foresta.
The ghost hovered in the doorway, not seeming to be looking at any of them. As the clock completed its twelfth chime, she jerked back into motion, fleeing toward the neighboring bedroom. Dawn and Xander immediately followed after it, while Foresta moved more hesitantly.
The ghost swept through the bedroom to a doorway on the opposite side, down a couple steps, and then into the smaller, back hallway, toward the slave quarters. She drifted through the velvet rope that blocked the entrance to the tiny room, through the black stuffed manikin at the spinning wheel, then finally stopped by the small fireplace, staring at the wall.
Dawn, in the lead, leaped over the barrier and skidded to a stop at the spinning wheel, leaving Xander and Foresta to slam lightly into her. Xander mentally rolled his eyes for a moment at the completely Scooby Doo-y accident, then stepped forward to stand at Dawn's side, his hand seeking out Foresta's.
"What do we do now?" Foresta leaned in close to Xander, squeezing his hand. "Perform an exorcism?"
Xander shook his head. "That's too dangerous without proper training. We need to figure out what her pattern is. Usually ghosts relive the moment of their death, trying to resolve whatever problem is keeping them from rest."
"Problem?"
"Sometimes they need forgiveness, or to avenge their killer. We'll need more information on her."
"There isn't any. Just the portrait, a wedding announcement, and stories people tell."
"That. . . might make things more difficult."
"Are we in any danger?"
Dawn glanced quickly toward the frightened slayer, and smiled stiffly. "Probably not? She hasn't been said to have any violent tendencies, has she?"
Foresta shrugged.
Xander frowned. "She has?"
"Um, no, but I was afraid saying that would jinx us again."
As though she'd heard them, the ghost turned back toward the doorway. All three of them stiffened, and moved into battle positions. For Foresta, this meant bending her knees and gripping Xander's arm in an effort not to fall over.
Xander winced. Foresta obviously wasn't used to her slayer strength yet. He was definitely going to be bruised.
The ghost's mouth moved in a silent denial, and her hand raised to her chest. She seemed to gag for a moment, then faded from sight. Foresta's grip relaxed, and Xander rubbed his arm.
"Oh." Foresta blushed. "Sorry about that."
"I've had worse." Xander walked to the fireplace, running his hand over the wall where Foresta had been peering. "This was the slaves' room?"
"Servants', after the abolition."
"Why would Foresta come here?"
The slayer shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she was running away from something?"
"Or to something," Dawn moved to stand next to Xander. "What's on the other side of this wall?"
Foresta shrugged. "The outside, I think. We're on the second floor, I'm not sure of how the rooms fit together."
Xander peered closer at the wall. "Do you have a flashlight?"
Foresta nodded. "In my house. But there might be one downstairs." She turned toward the door. "I'll go get it."
"I'll go with you." Dawn followed Foresta toward the door. "You probably shouldn't be wandering around alone."
Foresta paused. "But what about Xander?" She turned to him. "You're going to stay up here, after that?"
Xander shrugged. "I've handled ghosts before," He puffed his chest in almost-real bravado. "This one hasn't tried to yank me into a locker or shoot Dawn, so I think I'm probably safe." He smiled softly at Foresta. "But you're creeped out. Dawn's right, you probably shouldn't wander around alone."
Foresta's eyes narrowed. "I'm a slayer, right? That means I'm supposed to be able to handle this."
"And I'm sure you can." Xander raised his hands. "It's up to you, I could probably use Dawn's help checking this wall."
"Right then." Foresta turned and stalked out of the room.
"Oooooh," Dawn smiled. "Faux pas. Made her feel like a swooning lady."
Xander grimaced. "She's new to this. I didn't mean to imply she wasn't an independent woman."
"Well, I'm going to have to officially revoke your status as a lady killer." Dawn tapped lightly on the wall. "What are we looking for?"
"I don't know. Anything." Xander ran his hands over the spot where the ghost had been looking again. "The texture of the paint changes here, like it was redone at some point. In Buffy's house, I'd say that meant someone put a fist through the wall, and I had to spackle it. But I'm pretty sure this house predates spackle."
Dawn tapped again, her knuckles echoing a solid clack against the wood. She kept tapping, letting her hand drift closer and closer to where Xander's rested. Xander lifted his hand, and Dawn's knuckles thunked down on the spot.
They exchanged a look.
"Well, it's definitely hollow, here. . . ." Xander started tapping to the other side of the spot, making a mental note of where the hollow sound gave way to wood again. He tapped up and down. "About a foot and a half square." He tapped the wall near the window, picking new spots at random. "This isn't drywall, either. It's mostly solid wood."
"Secret compartment?"
"Wouldn't surprise me."
Light suddenly slammed into Xander's eyes as Foresta clicked on the flashlight. "Found it!"
"Oh, good." Xander grimaced, shielding her eyes. "Come shine it on the wall over here."
Foresta marched over, a smug look on her face. "You two okay up here alone?"
"Well, Xander got a little weepy, but. . . ." Dawn smiled. "We're fine. No more ghosts."
Foresta relaxed infinitesimally. "Well, good then." She aimed the flashlight at the wall, where Xander was gesturing. He outlined the hollow space with his finger, then directed her to aim it from an angle. He frowned, then indicated the opposite angle.
A tiny crack became visible.
"Here we go." Xander pressed on the wall, looking for the catch. "You guys ever find any secret hiding places in here?"
"We haven't really looked, as far as I know." Foresta frowned. "You think that's what the ghost was looking for?"
"I think we found one, anyway." Xander continued pressing for a moment. "Dawn, check the fireplace. See if the catch is over there somewhere."
Dawn moved to obey.
Foresta, not having a duty at the moment, leaned against the wall next to the window, occasionally flicking the flashlight to the doorway as she kept an eye out for spooks. She rested her head against the wall, then began tapping her fingers in a nervous rhythm against it.
Her index finger met with something soft.
A foot and a half square panel opened up with a creak of its hidden hinges, catching Xander in the temple.
"Ow," He stepped back, then peered into the small square of darkness. "There's something in there." He reached out for the small shape.
Foresta grabbed his hand. "Don't."
"I'm sure it's fine. I think she wanted us to find it."
"Be that as it may," Foresta kept a hold of his hand. "When is the last time you washed your hands?"
"Um, after dinner?"
Foresta nodded. "Whatever's in there is old. I don't want your dirty hands damaging it. I just washed mine downstairs, I'LL pull it out."
Xander stepped back. "By all means."
Foresta nodded, again, took a deep breath, and reached into the hole. She pulled out a small leather journal. She frowned.
"Fine, not that old, then." She opened the book delicately, scanning the first page. Her eyes widened. "Oh. 1843." She turned the book over in her hands. "This is remarkably well-preserved, I wouldn't have said it was any older than about twenty years."
Dawn leaned over. "Well, it doesn't smell like any of Giles' old books,"
Foresta turned a few more pages. "It's definitely a journal. Looks like it might have been Foresta's father's. The dates are right, and he's talking about her getting ready for her wedding."
Xander peered over her shoulder. "At least now we can get a better idea of what the ghost is doing here."
Foresta nodded without looking up. "I'm going to have to read this."
Dawn yawned. "You do that. I, however, want to go to bed."
Foresta nodded again.
"Hold on a minute," Xander peered back into the space. "There's something else in here."
Foresta nodded again.
"It looks like a box."
Nod.
Xander glanced at her. "I'll have to sully it with my dirty, oily hands."
Nod.
Xander shrugged. Foresta was obviously deeply absorbed in her book. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.
"Oh!" Foresta started back slightly. "What?"
"Something else in the hole."
Foresta raised her eyebrows. She tucked the book under one arm and reached back into the space with the other. She pulled out a small, coffin-shaped wooden box, sealed with bees-wax. Dawn gently took the flashlight from her, and aimed it at the box. It had a glass window on the top of it, through which they could see a lacy, beige material.
Xander blinked. "What the hell?"
"It's an embalmed dress." Foresta's eyebrows drew together. She pointed to a bit of engraving. "Look, it was Foresta's. Her wedding dress."
"They embalmed dresses?" Dawn's nose wrinkled. "Like they do with dead people?"
"Sort of. It's a rare tradition, helps keep the dress in good condition as a keepsake. See, there's her name, and the date of her wedding."
Xander looked closer. "They usually post dire warnings on embalmed dresses?" He pointed to a second engraving.
"For personal safety, it is best not to open this box."
Foresta shrugged. "Some of the chemicals they use can be harmful if inhaled. I didn't know they did this back then."
"Maybe someone embalmed it for her later?" Dawn poked at the box.
"After she died?" Xander frowned.
"Who knows?"
"Oh." Foresta turned the box slightly in her hands. "Crap."
"What?" Xander stiffened.
"I broke the seal." Foresta pointed to a small crack, where the beeswax had flaked off.
Xander shivered as a small cold draft drifted through the room. "Let's, um, put that back." He took the box from Foresta's hands, holding it out at arm's length. "Just in case. We should all probably go to bed."
Foresta blinked. She clutched the small journal tighter. "Yeah. Good idea."
Tbc. . . .
Addendum to the author's note: Yes, people really do embalm dresses, and yes, the boxes really do have warnings on them. I have no idea when this tradition might have started, but it's so bizarrely macabre that I had to include it.
Addendum to the author's note: Yeah, so it's been like (er, let's see....), fourteen years since I've been to the Stonestreet Doctor's Office exhibit at the Montgomery County Historical Society. The description of it here is based on my fourth grade memory of it, and a whole heck of a lot of artistic licence. Just so you know.
I struggled a bit with what I wanted to happen by this point in the story. I've got a couple threads going here, the ever-present Xander/Dawn friendship, the growing Xander/Foresta flirting, and the ghost. And, of course, though I knew when I started writing where I wanted this story to go, the characters are saying "nope", so I'm having to wing it again. We'll see where we end up.
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 7: Foresta
Part four
Xander held the door to the Beall-Dawson house open for Foresta. "Are you sure you're going to be okay alone tonight?"
"Er, yeah." Foresta seemed torn between being indignant that Xander was treating her like she was fragile, and being flattered that he was treating her like a lady. "You said she wasn't violent, right?"
"Of course not." Xander smiled reassuringly at her. Then he grimaced. "Yet. It's hard to tell with ghosts, you never know what's going to set them off. "You'll call us if anything out of the ordinary happens?"
"Yeah."
"Good." Xander and Foresta stood staring at each other awkwardly for a moment longer. Dawn, who was hanging back toward the parking lot, cleared her throat. "Well. Good-night."
Foresta leaned forward. "Yeah. Good-night."
They stared at each other again. Xander leaned forward. Foresta grabbed his hand.
Dawn tripped over a crack in the sidewalk on her way to the car.
Xander jerked back about an inch. "Yeah."
"Yeah."
Foresta turned and walked back toward her house. Xander hesitated, still staring at the spot where she'd been, then turned back toward Dawn, who hit him in the shoulder.
"You totally should have kissed her."
Xander groaned. "What does it matter to you?"
"We're looking for slayers. Therefore girls. Therefore not love interests for me. Therefore, I must live vicariously through you. Plus, we know for sure she's not a demon!"
"Well, there is that. . . ." Xander grinned. "She is–"
Dawn's phone rang. She flipped it open, then turned to look back toward the Beall-Dawson house. Xander turned.
Foresta, stopped in the path halfway back to her house, waved sheepishly and pointed to the door to the Stonestreet Doctor's Exhibit. The open door to the exhibit.
"Does this count as something out of the ordinary?"
Fortunately, Foresta had not yet let go of her flashlight. She aimed it into the darkened doctor's office, the beam shimmering up and down as her hand shook. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it.
Xander straightened his shoulders, his hand clenching around the battle axe he'd grabbed from the car. "I'll go in first, just in case. It might just be an ordinary burglar."
"But it probably isn't," Dawn clutched at a small charm around her neck. Xander wore one too, and they'd given one to Foresta. "Be careful."
"Alright." Xander hovered on the door step a moment longer. He glanced at Foresta. "Did you put the charm on?"
Foresta nodded. "Will it really keep away the ghosts?"
"Um, maybe." Xander shrugged. "It's a basic protection charm, from magic mostly, but it SHOULD work on ghosts, too. At least, that's what they tell me."
"You're a real optimist, aren't you."
"Actually, yes." Xander stepped forward. "Stick close. . . ." He edged his way into the small front office. "There's no telling what might happen–"
As soon as both his feet crossed the threshold, he was jerked forward to the center of the room. He could hear Dawn and Foresta calling to him as the flashlight went out, and the door slammed shut.
"Crap!" Xander moved back to the door, trying the handle. "Dawn! Foresta!"
"Xander!" The door shuddered. "Xander, it's locked!"
"I know!" Xander continued cursing to himself as he shoved his shoulder into the door, then belatedly remembered that it opened inward. "I'm going to have to break it down!"
"That's an antique door!"
"Priorities!" Xander raised his axe. "Back up!"
The door stopped shuddering as Xander shouldered the axe, preparing to swing. He was jerked backward again, and the axe slid across the wooden floor out of arm's reach.
Xander blinked into the darkness. "Crap!"
"Oh god," Dawn's voice was low, but broke slightly as she yelled through the door. "Xander, what happened?"
"I lost the axe." Xander squinted his eyes, but couldn't make out more than the vague shape of a table somewhere in front of him. "I'm thinking we can definitely rule out the ordinary burglar."
Silence came from the other side of the door.
"Um, Dawn?!"
No one answered. Xander shoved himself to his feet and ran at the door. Something blocked him about a foot away from it, slamming him onto his back. "Dawn!"
"Xander!"
Xander pushed himself up. Dawn sounded scared. Not just "oh great, here we go again," scared, but "the Hellmouth is open, Angel is bad again, demons are taking over the government and the First ate my homework" scared. He had to get back out there.
As he reached his feet, something grabbed onto his shirt, dragging him backward into a rickety chair. He heard the sound of something dragging across the surface of the table, and felt something bite into his leg.
He caught a glimpse of a decaying, antique blade, then threw his head back and screamed.
Outside the doctor's office, Foresta was having a panic attack. Dawn held her shoulders, trying to think of something reassuring to say.
She heard something thump inside, then Xander's curse. "Oh god, Xander, what happened?"
"I lost the axe!" More shuffling around inside. Dawn glanced around for something she could use on the door. She turned to run for the car, and the morningstar of needless bloodshed, when Foresta's panic attack turned into a coughing fit.
"Foresta?"
The slayer clutched at her throat, doubling over. Dawn watched in horror as something pushed at the skin from the inside.
"Xander!"
Foresta dropped to the ground, her mouth falling open as she gagged. A very long, very hairy insect leg reached out of her mouth.
Dawn stepped back, her hand going to her charm again.
And Xander started to scream.
"Shit!" Dawn grabbed Foresta's arm as an enormous tarantula began to crawl out of her mouth. "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit!" The spider leaped to the ground, crawling toward her. "Ew!" Dawn stopped down on it, leaving a messy green smear across the sidewalk.
"Oh my god." Foresta stared at the smear, her voice hoarse. She didn't even seem to hear the shouting from inside the doctor's office. "Oh my god." Her eyes were wide and glassy. "Oh my god, we're going to die."
"We're not going to die." Dawn pulled out her cellphone, hitting the speed dial for the Helsing Institute. "We're going to get help, we're going to stop the ghost, and we're going to rescue Xander. Then we're going to finish the exhibit."
"I don't want to be a slayer." Foresta began rocking back and forth, her hand clutched around the old journal. "I don't wanna fight the darkness. I'm an anthropologist, not a ghostbuster! I don't want to be a slayer anymore!" She grabbed Dawn's arm. "Take it back! Damn it, take it all back!"
"I can't!" Dawn's breath hissed as she listened to the ringing of the Institute phone. "You're a slayer. You CAN handle this."
"No, I can't–"
Xander's screams cut short, and Dawn swallowed.
"Helsing Institute, this is Rona,"
"Rona!" Dawn pressed the phone tighter against her ear. "This is Dawn. I need to talk to Giles NOW."
"Got it!" The phone went silent.
Foresta began to shiver and started coughing again.
"Come on, come on, come on,"
"Dawn!"
Dawn's shoulders relaxed. "Giles! Thank god!"
"What the hell is going on, Dawn? What's happened?"
"We're in Rockville. Um, Maryland. There's a ghost. Maybe more than one. It's locked Xander in a doctor's office, and our slayer is coughing up spiders."
"Bloody–" She heard Giles take a breath. "Okay. Calm down. Do you have the charms we gave you?"
"Yes, and they're doing JACKSHIT, Giles. Xander was screaming!"
"Good lord, is he okay?"
"I DON'T KNOW, HE'S LOCKED IN A DOCTOR'S OFFICE!"
"Okay, tell me what you know about this ghost."
Dawn related all that they had found out about Foresta's namesake, bouncing on her toes as Foresta started to gasp for breath. She glanced repeatedly at the unchanging door to the doctor's exhibit.
"Do you have any more information?"
"If I did I would have told you already. That's it, wedding, TB, old dress, dead. Oh, and the journal."
"You have her journal?"
"Her dad's. Here," Dawn knelt down in front of Foresta, who seemed to be recovering slightly. She noticed blood on the slayer's lips and winced. "Foresta, I need the journal."
"We're gonna die,"
"NO, we're NOT. Not if you give me the journal."
Foresta handed her the book.
"Giles, Foresta's not good. She's coughing up blood, I don't think she can breath right. And. . . ." Tears stung her eyes. "And I don't know if Xander's even alive."
Giles took a deep breath. "I'm certain he's fine, Dawn. He's been through worse than this." He paused, and she pictured him cleaning the glasses he no longer wore. It made her feel slightly better. "Do you have the book?"
"Yes."
"See if you can find the entry about the girl's death."
Dawn flipped the pages rapidly. Some of them seemed to stick together, so she picked at them with her fingernail, terrified that she'd somehow miss the information they needed. One of the entries caught her eye.
"What is it?"
Dawn blinked, then realized she'd let out a breath. "There's something in here about the doctor the girl was seeing. A Dr. Stonestreet. Giles, that's the name of the doctor's exhibit."
"What does it say?"
"It says that the doctor thinks Foresta has 'consumption'. Guess that wasn't so–wait, here! The doctor' assistant! He was in love with Foresta!"
"He was her fiancé?"
"No, her fiance was a soldier. Wait, do you think–"
"While tuberculosis is a lingering, horrible way to die, I don't believe it would cause a haunting of this caliber. Could it be she was poisoned?"
"Stonestreet was the family doctor. You think he killed her for marrying someone else?"
"It wouldn't surprise me. Quickly now, find the entry for her death."
Dawn went back to flipping through the book. Foresta was lying on her side now, gagging softly. The doctor's office remained silent.
"Oh, crap, I went too far." Dawn stared down at the last page. "Wait. . . . Her fiance was a soldier."
"Yes, you said that."
"No, but he was in the war. The civil war, I guess. Or battles, or something. He stayed close to the family after Foresta died. Wait, the date's too early."
"What does it say, Dawn?"
"The fiance. He was shot in the leg. The assistant was the only one here to take care of him, Dr. Stonestreet was . . . whatever the hell Foresta's dad means by 'indisposed'. . . . Giles, Victorians were almost as stuffy as British people!"
"I'm sure you realize how that statement–"
"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, the assistant, he. . . . Oh. He had to cut of the fiance's leg. Jesus."
"Medical practices were not nearly as advanced, then, Dawn,"
"I know, I know, but do you think he did that because he was still mad about the fiance winning Foresta?"
"I'm sure I don't know. The plot does seem to be thickening, though."
"Right." Dawn glanced down at Foresta. "I'm looking Giles, but what can we do NOW? Foresta and Xander are in trouble!"
"Yes, of course. You'll have to exorcize the spirit."
"We are WAY too close to the Exorcist Steps for me to feel comfortable doing that."
"That's ridiculous. While exorcisms in the catholic tradition have a tendency to be brutal, there are many pagan methods that are simpler. And the Exorcist was just a movie."
"Based on a true story. That happened in this area."
"Dawn,"
Foresta stopped breathing.
"Giles, no time. Hold on," Dawn dropped the phone into the grass, lunging for the fallen slayer. She rolled her over onto her back, her fingers pressing into the woman's neck. A thin pulse pressed against her fingertips. "Oh thank god." She tilted Foresta's hair back and lifted her jaw. "I hope you know, I was rather thinking Xander would be kissing you, NOT me."
As Dawn began artificial respiration, she could hear Giles calling to her over the connection.
"You need candles! And Earth power symbol! The charm should work!"
Dawn sat back up, grabbing at the phone. "How about road flares?!" She leaned over the slayer again, praying she'd start to breathe soon. Tears ran freely down her face.
"Is that all you have?! I thought we sent you two out well prepared. . . ."
"Giles!"
"Light the candles, flares, whatever, and say 'spirit, I bid thee to move from this plane. I bid thee back to the air. By the power of the Earth and Air, I bid thee leave.' Repeat this chant, as many times as you need to. You, er, should know if it works."
"Great." Dawn sat back up. Her words were breathy as she gasped. "How long can the human brain survive without oxygen?"
"Oh dear."
"Yeah."
"The chant, Dawn. Whatever's happened should be undone once the spirit is gone. Just repeat the chant."
Dawn nodded. She closed the phone and ran for the car.
Xander bit down on his lip hard enough to make it bleed. The knife pressed and slid against his jeans, ripping apart the tough fibers and slashing at his skin. He grabbed at it, trying to force it away from his body, and something slammed into his head.
"Hold still,"
The voice was deep and graveled. It echoed through the room, impossible to locate.
"Fuck you," Xander shoved at the blade again. Something wrapped around his hands and squeezed. He gasped.
"This surgery is very delicate, Michael."
"I'm NOT Michael!" Xander shook his head. The blade and the force on his hands pressed down harder. "Fine, Michael, whatever, what about anaesthesia?"
"I have to get the bullet out before it poisons your blood, Michael." Something leather pressed against Xander's lips. "This will keep you from biting your tongue."
"Or screaming?" Xander swung his head away from the leather strap, but it followed him. He clamped his bleeding lips shut.
"You would dishonor Foresta like that?" The voice's anger grew. "You filthy pig. She was a treasure!"
Xander whimpered as the blade broke through the last of the denim over his thigh and bit deeper into his leg. "Foresta?! Dawn!" The leather strap slid into his mouth, pressing his head back. Xander screamed into it.
"I loved her, Michael. You know that." The blade lifted. "Perhaps it is time we two had a talk."
Xander grunted. His eyes rolled as he searched the room.
"You are a cad, Michael, and you're an idiot. She loved you, but you never deserved it."
The blood soaked into Xander's jeans and ran in rivulets down his leg. Xander screamed into the gag as the blade returned. He could feel bits of rust flaking off into his muscles.
"We were friends, weren't we. We were friends until you were rejected from Georgetown. Until you joined the army. You courted Foresta to take her from me. Admit it!"
The blade jerked, and Xander gasped.
"We knew she was sick. We told you to postpone the wedding, that she needed to go to a hospital. But you insisted. And she loved you, so she agreed."
The blade lifted again, briefly, then thrust in, striking the bone. "You killed her, Michael!"
Xander's breath tore through his flaring nostrils. He grabbed at the knife, ignoring the increasing pressure.
"You killed her!"
A stiff wind thrust itself through the office. The pressure vanished from his hands, and Xander ripped the blade away from his leg, spitting out the leather strap. He clutched at the wound, spitting blood as he tried to gather his breath to talk.
"I'm not Michael."
The spirit was silent. The wind increased.
"I'm not Michael. Michael has been dead for more than a century. So have you."
"Liar."
"No."
The wind blew harder, and Xander could just make out the sound of Dawn's voice rising on it. He caught a few of the words, shaking his head as he clutched at his leg harder.
"I bid thee. . . ." He tried to stand, gazing into the darkness. He gasped as pain shot through his leg, sending him back to the chair. "I bid thee. . . ."
"Shut up!"
"I BID THEE. . . ."
"NO! YOU KILLED HER, YOU BASTARD, YOU KILLED–"
"I BID THEE" Xander's voice joined with Dawn's which was reaching a crescendo with the wind "LEAVE!!!"
A soft howl swept into the small space as the wind struck Xander with a solid force, sending him and the chair to the floor. Xander clenched his eyes shut and gripped his leg. He shouted into the gale, but it took his words away with it. The howl increased in volume. Xander repeated the four words to himself over and over again, his hands finally leaving his leg to clutch at his ears as the howl and the wind shook the building. The wood floor heaved three times, then everything fell still.
The flashlight, lying by the door, came back on with a hum, shining directly into Xander's eyes. He took a shaky breath, locating the battle axe. He crawled toward it, favoring his aching leg, only to pause as he realized the gaping wound was gone. The hole in his jeans showed clean, unbroken skin, though blood still stained his pant leg.
He wiped at his mouth, then winced. His lip was still split. He staggered to his feet, leaning on the axe handle.
All of the exhibit cases, showing aged, violent looking doctor's tools, were locked and undisturbed. The rusted knife was nowhere to be seen. Xander tensed as the door slammed open.
"Xander!" Dawn, her hair hanging into her eyes, her shirt sweat stained, leaned heavily against the doorframe. "Xander, I need your help!"
Xander stumbled forward.
Foresta had awoken again by the time the emergency services arrived. She agreed readily with Xander and Dawn's story about the burglar in the exhibit ("He was average height really." "Build? Mediumish." "We couldn't see his face. I tackled him, ripped my jeans. I think the blood must have been his. . . . He was limping. . . ."), and her own fainting spell. The paramedics loaded the shaky, pale slayer into the ambulance as the police questioned Xander and Dawn. Finally, they let them go to see their friend at Shady Grove hospital.
"My dad's family has a history of heart disease," Foresta leaned against the pillows, looking much calmer. They're attributing the cardiac arrest to that." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. . . . I really don't think I'm ready to be a slayer."
Xander opened his mouth to protest, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches in his lower lip. Dawn spoke before he could recover.
"No, you're not."
Foresta blushed.
"But that's why we have the Helsing Institute. Giles and Buffy can help you. We've been doing this for almost eight years."
Xander nodded. "She's right. If you stay here, you could get hurt again. Go to the Institute, learn how to be a real slayer, and then you can come back."
Foresta opened her eyes. "So it was the doctor's assistant? But what about the ghost in the Beall-Dawson house? We saw Foresta."
Dawn and Xander exchanged a look. Dawn shrugged.
"I asked Giles about that while you and Xander were getting fixed up. And I read the journal. Foresta's harmless, just a restless spirit. Some ghosts just stick around." Dawn looked aside. "Um, that's not all we found. Andrew checked it out on the web. Do you know how many genealogy pages there are for that entire family?"
Foresta shrugged. "They're one of the founding families of Rockville. It makes sense."
"Yeah. Foresta had a niece, also named Foresta. She died when she was two." Dawn took a deep breath. "Her great-grandmother was a Foresta. She died in childbirth, her second kid. Three generations ago, the family had another Foresta. She died in a car crash when she was eight."
Foresta paled. "What are you saying?"
Dawn closed her eyes. "We couldn't find a single Foresta in that family that didn't die young." She held up the journal. "Her father had a theory about it. He talked to some local historians, and when that didn't turn up anything, to a local 'witch'. He thinks the name itself is cursed."
"Oh god."
Xander stared at Dawn, his mouth opened in horror. "But, only in that family, right?"
Dawn shrugged. "It's hard to say. There's not enough information." She looked sympathetically at Foresta. "Probably though. And you're a slayer now, and if growing up with Buffy has taught me anything, its that curses were meant to be broken."
Xander grimaced. "That was terrible, Dawn."
She grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, it was." She turned back to Foresta. "So, will you go to Cleveland?"
Foresta sighed. "I don't know. Probably. I went to school in the Midwest, maybe I can look up some of my friends."
"Sounds like a plan." Xander stepped up to take her hand. "I hope I'll see you there, when I'm done finding slayers."
Foresta blushed again, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good."
Xander grinned. "Great! You're not a demon, right?"
Dawn laughed, and Foresta grinned. "Not that I know of."
"Excellent." Xander leaned down and placed a very gentle kiss on her forehead. "Sorry, you can't get more than that. My lip hurts, and the doctors said we shouldn't do anything to get your heart rate up."
"No problem."
They said their good-byes, and Xander and Dawn turned toward the door.
"Oh, one more thing," Dawn turned in the doorway, her face betraying her lack of seriousness. "The lesson we learned tonight?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't name your daughter Foresta."
The end
to be continued in "Leeds Devil"
post-fic notes: Yeah, all of the Foresta family history here is made up completely, except one thing: Foresta really did have a niece of the same name, who died at age two. The tag line is really my sister's, its what she says every time she explains the portrait.
Thanks for reading. I'm on a bit of a roll, so hopefully "Leeds Devil" won't be too long in coming.
Oh, and one last thing: Thanks to everyone who really did offer job advice! I'm temping now, and I have a low-paying part time gig with theater downtown, so things are looking up. Thanks again!
Casix
But while I'm here, I'll just let you all know that though it didn't win, "Roads Less Traveled" DID get nominated for the Walk With Heroes awards! Wheeeeee! Thanks for anyone who voted, and thanks for all you feedbackers, you all rock my world so hardcore.
In other news, I got bored and blocked (in a writerly kind of way) and so set about making some title images for each of the stories in RLT. So if you head your way down to , you can check those out.
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 7: Foresta
Part three
Down in the stairwell, the old broken grandfather clock continued to chime. In the exhibit room, time seemed to almost stand still, as Foresta stared, open mouthed, at her ghostly namesake, and Dawn and Xander watched Foresta.
The ghost hovered in the doorway, not seeming to be looking at any of them. As the clock completed its twelfth chime, she jerked back into motion, fleeing toward the neighboring bedroom. Dawn and Xander immediately followed after it, while Foresta moved more hesitantly.
The ghost swept through the bedroom to a doorway on the opposite side, down a couple steps, and then into the smaller, back hallway, toward the slave quarters. She drifted through the velvet rope that blocked the entrance to the tiny room, through the black stuffed manikin at the spinning wheel, then finally stopped by the small fireplace, staring at the wall.
Dawn, in the lead, leaped over the barrier and skidded to a stop at the spinning wheel, leaving Xander and Foresta to slam lightly into her. Xander mentally rolled his eyes for a moment at the completely Scooby Doo-y accident, then stepped forward to stand at Dawn's side, his hand seeking out Foresta's.
"What do we do now?" Foresta leaned in close to Xander, squeezing his hand. "Perform an exorcism?"
Xander shook his head. "That's too dangerous without proper training. We need to figure out what her pattern is. Usually ghosts relive the moment of their death, trying to resolve whatever problem is keeping them from rest."
"Problem?"
"Sometimes they need forgiveness, or to avenge their killer. We'll need more information on her."
"There isn't any. Just the portrait, a wedding announcement, and stories people tell."
"That. . . might make things more difficult."
"Are we in any danger?"
Dawn glanced quickly toward the frightened slayer, and smiled stiffly. "Probably not? She hasn't been said to have any violent tendencies, has she?"
Foresta shrugged.
Xander frowned. "She has?"
"Um, no, but I was afraid saying that would jinx us again."
As though she'd heard them, the ghost turned back toward the doorway. All three of them stiffened, and moved into battle positions. For Foresta, this meant bending her knees and gripping Xander's arm in an effort not to fall over.
Xander winced. Foresta obviously wasn't used to her slayer strength yet. He was definitely going to be bruised.
The ghost's mouth moved in a silent denial, and her hand raised to her chest. She seemed to gag for a moment, then faded from sight. Foresta's grip relaxed, and Xander rubbed his arm.
"Oh." Foresta blushed. "Sorry about that."
"I've had worse." Xander walked to the fireplace, running his hand over the wall where Foresta had been peering. "This was the slaves' room?"
"Servants', after the abolition."
"Why would Foresta come here?"
The slayer shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she was running away from something?"
"Or to something," Dawn moved to stand next to Xander. "What's on the other side of this wall?"
Foresta shrugged. "The outside, I think. We're on the second floor, I'm not sure of how the rooms fit together."
Xander peered closer at the wall. "Do you have a flashlight?"
Foresta nodded. "In my house. But there might be one downstairs." She turned toward the door. "I'll go get it."
"I'll go with you." Dawn followed Foresta toward the door. "You probably shouldn't be wandering around alone."
Foresta paused. "But what about Xander?" She turned to him. "You're going to stay up here, after that?"
Xander shrugged. "I've handled ghosts before," He puffed his chest in almost-real bravado. "This one hasn't tried to yank me into a locker or shoot Dawn, so I think I'm probably safe." He smiled softly at Foresta. "But you're creeped out. Dawn's right, you probably shouldn't wander around alone."
Foresta's eyes narrowed. "I'm a slayer, right? That means I'm supposed to be able to handle this."
"And I'm sure you can." Xander raised his hands. "It's up to you, I could probably use Dawn's help checking this wall."
"Right then." Foresta turned and stalked out of the room.
"Oooooh," Dawn smiled. "Faux pas. Made her feel like a swooning lady."
Xander grimaced. "She's new to this. I didn't mean to imply she wasn't an independent woman."
"Well, I'm going to have to officially revoke your status as a lady killer." Dawn tapped lightly on the wall. "What are we looking for?"
"I don't know. Anything." Xander ran his hands over the spot where the ghost had been looking again. "The texture of the paint changes here, like it was redone at some point. In Buffy's house, I'd say that meant someone put a fist through the wall, and I had to spackle it. But I'm pretty sure this house predates spackle."
Dawn tapped again, her knuckles echoing a solid clack against the wood. She kept tapping, letting her hand drift closer and closer to where Xander's rested. Xander lifted his hand, and Dawn's knuckles thunked down on the spot.
They exchanged a look.
"Well, it's definitely hollow, here. . . ." Xander started tapping to the other side of the spot, making a mental note of where the hollow sound gave way to wood again. He tapped up and down. "About a foot and a half square." He tapped the wall near the window, picking new spots at random. "This isn't drywall, either. It's mostly solid wood."
"Secret compartment?"
"Wouldn't surprise me."
Light suddenly slammed into Xander's eyes as Foresta clicked on the flashlight. "Found it!"
"Oh, good." Xander grimaced, shielding her eyes. "Come shine it on the wall over here."
Foresta marched over, a smug look on her face. "You two okay up here alone?"
"Well, Xander got a little weepy, but. . . ." Dawn smiled. "We're fine. No more ghosts."
Foresta relaxed infinitesimally. "Well, good then." She aimed the flashlight at the wall, where Xander was gesturing. He outlined the hollow space with his finger, then directed her to aim it from an angle. He frowned, then indicated the opposite angle.
A tiny crack became visible.
"Here we go." Xander pressed on the wall, looking for the catch. "You guys ever find any secret hiding places in here?"
"We haven't really looked, as far as I know." Foresta frowned. "You think that's what the ghost was looking for?"
"I think we found one, anyway." Xander continued pressing for a moment. "Dawn, check the fireplace. See if the catch is over there somewhere."
Dawn moved to obey.
Foresta, not having a duty at the moment, leaned against the wall next to the window, occasionally flicking the flashlight to the doorway as she kept an eye out for spooks. She rested her head against the wall, then began tapping her fingers in a nervous rhythm against it.
Her index finger met with something soft.
A foot and a half square panel opened up with a creak of its hidden hinges, catching Xander in the temple.
"Ow," He stepped back, then peered into the small square of darkness. "There's something in there." He reached out for the small shape.
Foresta grabbed his hand. "Don't."
"I'm sure it's fine. I think she wanted us to find it."
"Be that as it may," Foresta kept a hold of his hand. "When is the last time you washed your hands?"
"Um, after dinner?"
Foresta nodded. "Whatever's in there is old. I don't want your dirty hands damaging it. I just washed mine downstairs, I'LL pull it out."
Xander stepped back. "By all means."
Foresta nodded, again, took a deep breath, and reached into the hole. She pulled out a small leather journal. She frowned.
"Fine, not that old, then." She opened the book delicately, scanning the first page. Her eyes widened. "Oh. 1843." She turned the book over in her hands. "This is remarkably well-preserved, I wouldn't have said it was any older than about twenty years."
Dawn leaned over. "Well, it doesn't smell like any of Giles' old books,"
Foresta turned a few more pages. "It's definitely a journal. Looks like it might have been Foresta's father's. The dates are right, and he's talking about her getting ready for her wedding."
Xander peered over her shoulder. "At least now we can get a better idea of what the ghost is doing here."
Foresta nodded without looking up. "I'm going to have to read this."
Dawn yawned. "You do that. I, however, want to go to bed."
Foresta nodded again.
"Hold on a minute," Xander peered back into the space. "There's something else in here."
Foresta nodded again.
"It looks like a box."
Nod.
Xander glanced at her. "I'll have to sully it with my dirty, oily hands."
Nod.
Xander shrugged. Foresta was obviously deeply absorbed in her book. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.
"Oh!" Foresta started back slightly. "What?"
"Something else in the hole."
Foresta raised her eyebrows. She tucked the book under one arm and reached back into the space with the other. She pulled out a small, coffin-shaped wooden box, sealed with bees-wax. Dawn gently took the flashlight from her, and aimed it at the box. It had a glass window on the top of it, through which they could see a lacy, beige material.
Xander blinked. "What the hell?"
"It's an embalmed dress." Foresta's eyebrows drew together. She pointed to a bit of engraving. "Look, it was Foresta's. Her wedding dress."
"They embalmed dresses?" Dawn's nose wrinkled. "Like they do with dead people?"
"Sort of. It's a rare tradition, helps keep the dress in good condition as a keepsake. See, there's her name, and the date of her wedding."
Xander looked closer. "They usually post dire warnings on embalmed dresses?" He pointed to a second engraving.
"For personal safety, it is best not to open this box."
Foresta shrugged. "Some of the chemicals they use can be harmful if inhaled. I didn't know they did this back then."
"Maybe someone embalmed it for her later?" Dawn poked at the box.
"After she died?" Xander frowned.
"Who knows?"
"Oh." Foresta turned the box slightly in her hands. "Crap."
"What?" Xander stiffened.
"I broke the seal." Foresta pointed to a small crack, where the beeswax had flaked off.
Xander shivered as a small cold draft drifted through the room. "Let's, um, put that back." He took the box from Foresta's hands, holding it out at arm's length. "Just in case. We should all probably go to bed."
Foresta blinked. She clutched the small journal tighter. "Yeah. Good idea."
Tbc. . . .
Addendum to the author's note: Yes, people really do embalm dresses, and yes, the boxes really do have warnings on them. I have no idea when this tradition might have started, but it's so bizarrely macabre that I had to include it.
Addendum to the author's note: Yeah, so it's been like (er, let's see....), fourteen years since I've been to the Stonestreet Doctor's Office exhibit at the Montgomery County Historical Society. The description of it here is based on my fourth grade memory of it, and a whole heck of a lot of artistic licence. Just so you know.
I struggled a bit with what I wanted to happen by this point in the story. I've got a couple threads going here, the ever-present Xander/Dawn friendship, the growing Xander/Foresta flirting, and the ghost. And, of course, though I knew when I started writing where I wanted this story to go, the characters are saying "nope", so I'm having to wing it again. We'll see where we end up.
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 7: Foresta
Part four
Xander held the door to the Beall-Dawson house open for Foresta. "Are you sure you're going to be okay alone tonight?"
"Er, yeah." Foresta seemed torn between being indignant that Xander was treating her like she was fragile, and being flattered that he was treating her like a lady. "You said she wasn't violent, right?"
"Of course not." Xander smiled reassuringly at her. Then he grimaced. "Yet. It's hard to tell with ghosts, you never know what's going to set them off. "You'll call us if anything out of the ordinary happens?"
"Yeah."
"Good." Xander and Foresta stood staring at each other awkwardly for a moment longer. Dawn, who was hanging back toward the parking lot, cleared her throat. "Well. Good-night."
Foresta leaned forward. "Yeah. Good-night."
They stared at each other again. Xander leaned forward. Foresta grabbed his hand.
Dawn tripped over a crack in the sidewalk on her way to the car.
Xander jerked back about an inch. "Yeah."
"Yeah."
Foresta turned and walked back toward her house. Xander hesitated, still staring at the spot where she'd been, then turned back toward Dawn, who hit him in the shoulder.
"You totally should have kissed her."
Xander groaned. "What does it matter to you?"
"We're looking for slayers. Therefore girls. Therefore not love interests for me. Therefore, I must live vicariously through you. Plus, we know for sure she's not a demon!"
"Well, there is that. . . ." Xander grinned. "She is–"
Dawn's phone rang. She flipped it open, then turned to look back toward the Beall-Dawson house. Xander turned.
Foresta, stopped in the path halfway back to her house, waved sheepishly and pointed to the door to the Stonestreet Doctor's Exhibit. The open door to the exhibit.
"Does this count as something out of the ordinary?"
Fortunately, Foresta had not yet let go of her flashlight. She aimed it into the darkened doctor's office, the beam shimmering up and down as her hand shook. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it.
Xander straightened his shoulders, his hand clenching around the battle axe he'd grabbed from the car. "I'll go in first, just in case. It might just be an ordinary burglar."
"But it probably isn't," Dawn clutched at a small charm around her neck. Xander wore one too, and they'd given one to Foresta. "Be careful."
"Alright." Xander hovered on the door step a moment longer. He glanced at Foresta. "Did you put the charm on?"
Foresta nodded. "Will it really keep away the ghosts?"
"Um, maybe." Xander shrugged. "It's a basic protection charm, from magic mostly, but it SHOULD work on ghosts, too. At least, that's what they tell me."
"You're a real optimist, aren't you."
"Actually, yes." Xander stepped forward. "Stick close. . . ." He edged his way into the small front office. "There's no telling what might happen–"
As soon as both his feet crossed the threshold, he was jerked forward to the center of the room. He could hear Dawn and Foresta calling to him as the flashlight went out, and the door slammed shut.
"Crap!" Xander moved back to the door, trying the handle. "Dawn! Foresta!"
"Xander!" The door shuddered. "Xander, it's locked!"
"I know!" Xander continued cursing to himself as he shoved his shoulder into the door, then belatedly remembered that it opened inward. "I'm going to have to break it down!"
"That's an antique door!"
"Priorities!" Xander raised his axe. "Back up!"
The door stopped shuddering as Xander shouldered the axe, preparing to swing. He was jerked backward again, and the axe slid across the wooden floor out of arm's reach.
Xander blinked into the darkness. "Crap!"
"Oh god," Dawn's voice was low, but broke slightly as she yelled through the door. "Xander, what happened?"
"I lost the axe." Xander squinted his eyes, but couldn't make out more than the vague shape of a table somewhere in front of him. "I'm thinking we can definitely rule out the ordinary burglar."
Silence came from the other side of the door.
"Um, Dawn?!"
No one answered. Xander shoved himself to his feet and ran at the door. Something blocked him about a foot away from it, slamming him onto his back. "Dawn!"
"Xander!"
Xander pushed himself up. Dawn sounded scared. Not just "oh great, here we go again," scared, but "the Hellmouth is open, Angel is bad again, demons are taking over the government and the First ate my homework" scared. He had to get back out there.
As he reached his feet, something grabbed onto his shirt, dragging him backward into a rickety chair. He heard the sound of something dragging across the surface of the table, and felt something bite into his leg.
He caught a glimpse of a decaying, antique blade, then threw his head back and screamed.
Outside the doctor's office, Foresta was having a panic attack. Dawn held her shoulders, trying to think of something reassuring to say.
She heard something thump inside, then Xander's curse. "Oh god, Xander, what happened?"
"I lost the axe!" More shuffling around inside. Dawn glanced around for something she could use on the door. She turned to run for the car, and the morningstar of needless bloodshed, when Foresta's panic attack turned into a coughing fit.
"Foresta?"
The slayer clutched at her throat, doubling over. Dawn watched in horror as something pushed at the skin from the inside.
"Xander!"
Foresta dropped to the ground, her mouth falling open as she gagged. A very long, very hairy insect leg reached out of her mouth.
Dawn stepped back, her hand going to her charm again.
And Xander started to scream.
"Shit!" Dawn grabbed Foresta's arm as an enormous tarantula began to crawl out of her mouth. "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit!" The spider leaped to the ground, crawling toward her. "Ew!" Dawn stopped down on it, leaving a messy green smear across the sidewalk.
"Oh my god." Foresta stared at the smear, her voice hoarse. She didn't even seem to hear the shouting from inside the doctor's office. "Oh my god." Her eyes were wide and glassy. "Oh my god, we're going to die."
"We're not going to die." Dawn pulled out her cellphone, hitting the speed dial for the Helsing Institute. "We're going to get help, we're going to stop the ghost, and we're going to rescue Xander. Then we're going to finish the exhibit."
"I don't want to be a slayer." Foresta began rocking back and forth, her hand clutched around the old journal. "I don't wanna fight the darkness. I'm an anthropologist, not a ghostbuster! I don't want to be a slayer anymore!" She grabbed Dawn's arm. "Take it back! Damn it, take it all back!"
"I can't!" Dawn's breath hissed as she listened to the ringing of the Institute phone. "You're a slayer. You CAN handle this."
"No, I can't–"
Xander's screams cut short, and Dawn swallowed.
"Helsing Institute, this is Rona,"
"Rona!" Dawn pressed the phone tighter against her ear. "This is Dawn. I need to talk to Giles NOW."
"Got it!" The phone went silent.
Foresta began to shiver and started coughing again.
"Come on, come on, come on,"
"Dawn!"
Dawn's shoulders relaxed. "Giles! Thank god!"
"What the hell is going on, Dawn? What's happened?"
"We're in Rockville. Um, Maryland. There's a ghost. Maybe more than one. It's locked Xander in a doctor's office, and our slayer is coughing up spiders."
"Bloody–" She heard Giles take a breath. "Okay. Calm down. Do you have the charms we gave you?"
"Yes, and they're doing JACKSHIT, Giles. Xander was screaming!"
"Good lord, is he okay?"
"I DON'T KNOW, HE'S LOCKED IN A DOCTOR'S OFFICE!"
"Okay, tell me what you know about this ghost."
Dawn related all that they had found out about Foresta's namesake, bouncing on her toes as Foresta started to gasp for breath. She glanced repeatedly at the unchanging door to the doctor's exhibit.
"Do you have any more information?"
"If I did I would have told you already. That's it, wedding, TB, old dress, dead. Oh, and the journal."
"You have her journal?"
"Her dad's. Here," Dawn knelt down in front of Foresta, who seemed to be recovering slightly. She noticed blood on the slayer's lips and winced. "Foresta, I need the journal."
"We're gonna die,"
"NO, we're NOT. Not if you give me the journal."
Foresta handed her the book.
"Giles, Foresta's not good. She's coughing up blood, I don't think she can breath right. And. . . ." Tears stung her eyes. "And I don't know if Xander's even alive."
Giles took a deep breath. "I'm certain he's fine, Dawn. He's been through worse than this." He paused, and she pictured him cleaning the glasses he no longer wore. It made her feel slightly better. "Do you have the book?"
"Yes."
"See if you can find the entry about the girl's death."
Dawn flipped the pages rapidly. Some of them seemed to stick together, so she picked at them with her fingernail, terrified that she'd somehow miss the information they needed. One of the entries caught her eye.
"What is it?"
Dawn blinked, then realized she'd let out a breath. "There's something in here about the doctor the girl was seeing. A Dr. Stonestreet. Giles, that's the name of the doctor's exhibit."
"What does it say?"
"It says that the doctor thinks Foresta has 'consumption'. Guess that wasn't so–wait, here! The doctor' assistant! He was in love with Foresta!"
"He was her fiancé?"
"No, her fiance was a soldier. Wait, do you think–"
"While tuberculosis is a lingering, horrible way to die, I don't believe it would cause a haunting of this caliber. Could it be she was poisoned?"
"Stonestreet was the family doctor. You think he killed her for marrying someone else?"
"It wouldn't surprise me. Quickly now, find the entry for her death."
Dawn went back to flipping through the book. Foresta was lying on her side now, gagging softly. The doctor's office remained silent.
"Oh, crap, I went too far." Dawn stared down at the last page. "Wait. . . . Her fiance was a soldier."
"Yes, you said that."
"No, but he was in the war. The civil war, I guess. Or battles, or something. He stayed close to the family after Foresta died. Wait, the date's too early."
"What does it say, Dawn?"
"The fiance. He was shot in the leg. The assistant was the only one here to take care of him, Dr. Stonestreet was . . . whatever the hell Foresta's dad means by 'indisposed'. . . . Giles, Victorians were almost as stuffy as British people!"
"I'm sure you realize how that statement–"
"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, the assistant, he. . . . Oh. He had to cut of the fiance's leg. Jesus."
"Medical practices were not nearly as advanced, then, Dawn,"
"I know, I know, but do you think he did that because he was still mad about the fiance winning Foresta?"
"I'm sure I don't know. The plot does seem to be thickening, though."
"Right." Dawn glanced down at Foresta. "I'm looking Giles, but what can we do NOW? Foresta and Xander are in trouble!"
"Yes, of course. You'll have to exorcize the spirit."
"We are WAY too close to the Exorcist Steps for me to feel comfortable doing that."
"That's ridiculous. While exorcisms in the catholic tradition have a tendency to be brutal, there are many pagan methods that are simpler. And the Exorcist was just a movie."
"Based on a true story. That happened in this area."
"Dawn,"
Foresta stopped breathing.
"Giles, no time. Hold on," Dawn dropped the phone into the grass, lunging for the fallen slayer. She rolled her over onto her back, her fingers pressing into the woman's neck. A thin pulse pressed against her fingertips. "Oh thank god." She tilted Foresta's hair back and lifted her jaw. "I hope you know, I was rather thinking Xander would be kissing you, NOT me."
As Dawn began artificial respiration, she could hear Giles calling to her over the connection.
"You need candles! And Earth power symbol! The charm should work!"
Dawn sat back up, grabbing at the phone. "How about road flares?!" She leaned over the slayer again, praying she'd start to breathe soon. Tears ran freely down her face.
"Is that all you have?! I thought we sent you two out well prepared. . . ."
"Giles!"
"Light the candles, flares, whatever, and say 'spirit, I bid thee to move from this plane. I bid thee back to the air. By the power of the Earth and Air, I bid thee leave.' Repeat this chant, as many times as you need to. You, er, should know if it works."
"Great." Dawn sat back up. Her words were breathy as she gasped. "How long can the human brain survive without oxygen?"
"Oh dear."
"Yeah."
"The chant, Dawn. Whatever's happened should be undone once the spirit is gone. Just repeat the chant."
Dawn nodded. She closed the phone and ran for the car.
Xander bit down on his lip hard enough to make it bleed. The knife pressed and slid against his jeans, ripping apart the tough fibers and slashing at his skin. He grabbed at it, trying to force it away from his body, and something slammed into his head.
"Hold still,"
The voice was deep and graveled. It echoed through the room, impossible to locate.
"Fuck you," Xander shoved at the blade again. Something wrapped around his hands and squeezed. He gasped.
"This surgery is very delicate, Michael."
"I'm NOT Michael!" Xander shook his head. The blade and the force on his hands pressed down harder. "Fine, Michael, whatever, what about anaesthesia?"
"I have to get the bullet out before it poisons your blood, Michael." Something leather pressed against Xander's lips. "This will keep you from biting your tongue."
"Or screaming?" Xander swung his head away from the leather strap, but it followed him. He clamped his bleeding lips shut.
"You would dishonor Foresta like that?" The voice's anger grew. "You filthy pig. She was a treasure!"
Xander whimpered as the blade broke through the last of the denim over his thigh and bit deeper into his leg. "Foresta?! Dawn!" The leather strap slid into his mouth, pressing his head back. Xander screamed into it.
"I loved her, Michael. You know that." The blade lifted. "Perhaps it is time we two had a talk."
Xander grunted. His eyes rolled as he searched the room.
"You are a cad, Michael, and you're an idiot. She loved you, but you never deserved it."
The blood soaked into Xander's jeans and ran in rivulets down his leg. Xander screamed into the gag as the blade returned. He could feel bits of rust flaking off into his muscles.
"We were friends, weren't we. We were friends until you were rejected from Georgetown. Until you joined the army. You courted Foresta to take her from me. Admit it!"
The blade jerked, and Xander gasped.
"We knew she was sick. We told you to postpone the wedding, that she needed to go to a hospital. But you insisted. And she loved you, so she agreed."
The blade lifted again, briefly, then thrust in, striking the bone. "You killed her, Michael!"
Xander's breath tore through his flaring nostrils. He grabbed at the knife, ignoring the increasing pressure.
"You killed her!"
A stiff wind thrust itself through the office. The pressure vanished from his hands, and Xander ripped the blade away from his leg, spitting out the leather strap. He clutched at the wound, spitting blood as he tried to gather his breath to talk.
"I'm not Michael."
The spirit was silent. The wind increased.
"I'm not Michael. Michael has been dead for more than a century. So have you."
"Liar."
"No."
The wind blew harder, and Xander could just make out the sound of Dawn's voice rising on it. He caught a few of the words, shaking his head as he clutched at his leg harder.
"I bid thee. . . ." He tried to stand, gazing into the darkness. He gasped as pain shot through his leg, sending him back to the chair. "I bid thee. . . ."
"Shut up!"
"I BID THEE. . . ."
"NO! YOU KILLED HER, YOU BASTARD, YOU KILLED–"
"I BID THEE" Xander's voice joined with Dawn's which was reaching a crescendo with the wind "LEAVE!!!"
A soft howl swept into the small space as the wind struck Xander with a solid force, sending him and the chair to the floor. Xander clenched his eyes shut and gripped his leg. He shouted into the gale, but it took his words away with it. The howl increased in volume. Xander repeated the four words to himself over and over again, his hands finally leaving his leg to clutch at his ears as the howl and the wind shook the building. The wood floor heaved three times, then everything fell still.
The flashlight, lying by the door, came back on with a hum, shining directly into Xander's eyes. He took a shaky breath, locating the battle axe. He crawled toward it, favoring his aching leg, only to pause as he realized the gaping wound was gone. The hole in his jeans showed clean, unbroken skin, though blood still stained his pant leg.
He wiped at his mouth, then winced. His lip was still split. He staggered to his feet, leaning on the axe handle.
All of the exhibit cases, showing aged, violent looking doctor's tools, were locked and undisturbed. The rusted knife was nowhere to be seen. Xander tensed as the door slammed open.
"Xander!" Dawn, her hair hanging into her eyes, her shirt sweat stained, leaned heavily against the doorframe. "Xander, I need your help!"
Xander stumbled forward.
Foresta had awoken again by the time the emergency services arrived. She agreed readily with Xander and Dawn's story about the burglar in the exhibit ("He was average height really." "Build? Mediumish." "We couldn't see his face. I tackled him, ripped my jeans. I think the blood must have been his. . . . He was limping. . . ."), and her own fainting spell. The paramedics loaded the shaky, pale slayer into the ambulance as the police questioned Xander and Dawn. Finally, they let them go to see their friend at Shady Grove hospital.
"My dad's family has a history of heart disease," Foresta leaned against the pillows, looking much calmer. They're attributing the cardiac arrest to that." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. . . . I really don't think I'm ready to be a slayer."
Xander opened his mouth to protest, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches in his lower lip. Dawn spoke before he could recover.
"No, you're not."
Foresta blushed.
"But that's why we have the Helsing Institute. Giles and Buffy can help you. We've been doing this for almost eight years."
Xander nodded. "She's right. If you stay here, you could get hurt again. Go to the Institute, learn how to be a real slayer, and then you can come back."
Foresta opened her eyes. "So it was the doctor's assistant? But what about the ghost in the Beall-Dawson house? We saw Foresta."
Dawn and Xander exchanged a look. Dawn shrugged.
"I asked Giles about that while you and Xander were getting fixed up. And I read the journal. Foresta's harmless, just a restless spirit. Some ghosts just stick around." Dawn looked aside. "Um, that's not all we found. Andrew checked it out on the web. Do you know how many genealogy pages there are for that entire family?"
Foresta shrugged. "They're one of the founding families of Rockville. It makes sense."
"Yeah. Foresta had a niece, also named Foresta. She died when she was two." Dawn took a deep breath. "Her great-grandmother was a Foresta. She died in childbirth, her second kid. Three generations ago, the family had another Foresta. She died in a car crash when she was eight."
Foresta paled. "What are you saying?"
Dawn closed her eyes. "We couldn't find a single Foresta in that family that didn't die young." She held up the journal. "Her father had a theory about it. He talked to some local historians, and when that didn't turn up anything, to a local 'witch'. He thinks the name itself is cursed."
"Oh god."
Xander stared at Dawn, his mouth opened in horror. "But, only in that family, right?"
Dawn shrugged. "It's hard to say. There's not enough information." She looked sympathetically at Foresta. "Probably though. And you're a slayer now, and if growing up with Buffy has taught me anything, its that curses were meant to be broken."
Xander grimaced. "That was terrible, Dawn."
She grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, it was." She turned back to Foresta. "So, will you go to Cleveland?"
Foresta sighed. "I don't know. Probably. I went to school in the Midwest, maybe I can look up some of my friends."
"Sounds like a plan." Xander stepped up to take her hand. "I hope I'll see you there, when I'm done finding slayers."
Foresta blushed again, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good."
Xander grinned. "Great! You're not a demon, right?"
Dawn laughed, and Foresta grinned. "Not that I know of."
"Excellent." Xander leaned down and placed a very gentle kiss on her forehead. "Sorry, you can't get more than that. My lip hurts, and the doctors said we shouldn't do anything to get your heart rate up."
"No problem."
They said their good-byes, and Xander and Dawn turned toward the door.
"Oh, one more thing," Dawn turned in the doorway, her face betraying her lack of seriousness. "The lesson we learned tonight?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't name your daughter Foresta."
The end
to be continued in "Leeds Devil"
post-fic notes: Yeah, all of the Foresta family history here is made up completely, except one thing: Foresta really did have a niece of the same name, who died at age two. The tag line is really my sister's, its what she says every time she explains the portrait.
Thanks for reading. I'm on a bit of a roll, so hopefully "Leeds Devil" won't be too long in coming.
Oh, and one last thing: Thanks to everyone who really did offer job advice! I'm temping now, and I have a low-paying part time gig with theater downtown, so things are looking up. Thanks again!
Casix