I don't want you
But I hate to lose you
You've got me in between
The devil and the deep blue sea
I forgive you
'Cause I can't forget you
You've got me in between
The devil and the deep blue sea
I ought to cross you off my list
But when you come a-knocking at my door
Fate seems to give my heart a twist
And I come running back for more
I should hate you
But I guess I love you
You've got me in between
The devil and the deep blue sea
"Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" by Harold Arlen
The phone call had surprised Giles. "I can help you," said the smoky, female voice at the other end. He had been napping, actually dozed off while researching the Hellmouth, a task that had once been of interest but now of pure neccessity.
"Who is this?" He wanted to sound controlled, deliberate. The shakiness of his voice betrayed him.
"My name is Bellona Grimaldi. You know someone named Angel?" she asked. Giles straightened up. Of course he knew Angel. "Well, he seems to think I can help you. I can close the Hellmouth. I can help you save the world."
He scrambled to his feet and gave her the directions to his house. Grimaldi... Grimaldi... Why was that name so familiar? He tried to throw the dishabilled house into some sort of order before Miss... Grimaldi? Where had he heard that name? Before Miss Grimaldi arrived.
It was shortly before two in the afternoon when he heard the doorbell chime. He had just put a kettle on to boil. He could at least have the graciousness to offer her some tea while she was visiting.
When he opened the door, he was surprised by what he saw. From the rich, smokiness of her voice on the phone and the cock-sure attitude with which she had approached him, he wasn't expecting someone so... slight.
"Miss... Grimaldi?" Every time he said the name, thought of it, something in his subconsious tugged at him.
She stood all of 5 feet tall and couldn't have weighed more than a child in grade school. She was in black from head to toe...leather jacket, pants and fitted t-shirt . Her black hair hung down her back, glossier, more radiant than any he'd ever seen. It was thick and lush... the kind of mane you could just bury yourself in and...
He couldn't believe how distracted he was by her physical presence. There was something terribly disconcerting about her.
She pulled her dark sunglasses partially down her nose to reveal jewel- green eyes.
"May I come in?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, of course, of course. Please," he ushered her into his home. "Cup of tea, Miss Grimaldi?" He offered holding out an arm for her jacket. She shook her head and told him she'd rather keep it on.
"I'll take that cup of tea, though. You'll steep the leaves directly in my cup, Mr. Giles." She didn't quite ask as much as direct.
"Of course. Please, come sit," he offered as she followed him into the kitchen.
She sat at his kitchen table as he poured the water into her tea. He seemed worrisome, she thought. Typical, uptight British Watcher. All tweed, tea and that air of arrogance despite the scent which struck her first and foremost. Fear.
"You're afraid of me, Mr. Giles," she said as he placed the tea in front of her. Her eyes met his and although she needn't see his reaction to know his answer, she noticed the tinge of fear darken his blue eyes.
"I'm..." he paused, "I'm unsure of you, Miss Grimaldi. Where have I heard your name before?"
He sat across from her and added a bit of milk and sugar to his tea. She sat motionlessly watching as he rattled the spoon in the cup to stir. After several tedious moments, her hand was suddenly on his. It was cool and dry. She stopped the stirring and held him in her gaze.
"I'm sure that you've come across my people in your studies." Her hand had disappeared and she was now toying with her own tea.
Her... people?
"Oh, I'm sure you've heard the cheesy old chant," she told him. "We'll grant your wishes, grant you your dreams... Daugthers of Juno, Grimaldi Three."
He had lifted the cup to his lips... but never took a sip. He was gobsmacked.
"Thought that might jog your memory," she smiled a slight smile as she took a long draw from her teacup.
She wasn't, she couldn't...
"Yes, Mr. Giles. I am a descendant of the legendary Grimaldi Witches. My mother, Teofania, brought me here from Italy shortly after I was born."
"And your father?" He really needn't have asked. She knew everything he was thinking. One of the perks of being her.
"My... father. Oh, my Mr. Giles," she began with a tinkling laugh. "Trust me, I am the only one, living or dead, who can help you now. But you have to keep an open mind and you have to learn to trust. Can you do that, Mr. Giles? Can you trust me even after you hear all the... ugly... details?"
He had the feeling she was choosing her words and using her language with much care. He thought that she would be much rougher, more urbane than she was coming off at that moment. Maybe to put him at ease before issuing the final blow.
"You see, Mr. Giles, I was told that you needed my help. Angel told me all about you, the Slayer, and the..." she started laughing heartily now. "The witch." She was in full roar now. She found so much humor in calling Willow a witch.
"What I can show you would leave Willow breathless... she has no idea what magick can do," she explained.
Giles sipped his tea through wide eyes. She was unsettling. She knew his thoughts before he spoke them. Was he in her thrall?
This brought on more laughter on her part. She was swirling her cup and watching its contents as they sloshed about.
"Oh, Rupe," she sighed, finding herself relaxing and which put him at ease. "I can really dig you, man. If you were in my thrall... you wouldn't have the wits about you to even think such a thing. No. You are not enthralled. And I don't know why a Watcher with your tenure is acting like such a damned lilly. I'm sure you've seen worse than me."
Worse than her. Yes. But it was the fact that he had no clue what this woman was that had him unnerved. A witch, yes. But something else. She had an unholy beauty to her. Smooth, skin... smooth tanned skin. But it was so translucently thin. It was tight around her muscles, tissues and bones. Her eyes had an eerie, unnatural yet vaguely familiar glow.
"Oh, look!" she exclaimed, tilting her teacup toward him. "Good news... I'm here to stay. And none of us will be dying anytime soon."
"You can see that in the leaves?" he asked, skeptically.
"Nah. I can smell it. And feel it. In the bones. The leaves... they, well... they say that Big Bad isn't too far away."
He wanted her help. And he could feel that she could help him. But he wasn't prone to trust. Trust was a whole other thing. A witch, a powerful witch given her bloodline, could certainly be a boon to the group. What would the others say? Buffy had made it clear that she was calling the shots. He didn't imagine that this one would be one to fall in very easily. And then the issue of her father. Who was that? What was with all the circumlocution?
"Know what, Rupe? I got a man to see about a dog... read all about dead old dad ," she waved her hand in the air and a large manilla envelope appeared, "in here."
He grabbed it from midair where it floated above her fingers. It was thicker than it had looked.
"It's all in there. I'll come by tonight and we can go to Buffy and the others together."