Roman Diversion
Ethan looked at the retreating figure, threw a last "ciao" in its direction and got one in return. Dear Carlo, or was it Nino, on his way home to his mama for a cappuccino and the freshly ironed shirt she'll have waiting. They're all such home-loving boys.
He stretched amid the rumpled sheets and realized he had to get moving, too. There were things to buy for the shop, and he liked a leisurely coffee before the day began in earnest. He'd catch the tram to do his shopping at the Campo de Fiori. It was more expensive, but it was closer to the shop and there'd be less lugging of bags that way.
Settled in one of the cafes lining the market, he sipped his breakfast, his thoughts wandering. He liked Rome. Fine food, good wine, pretty boys and girls, a place for the man who appreciated sensual delights. And the Romans have a taste for chaos; you only have to look at their traffic to see that. So far the city suited him.
He gazed out at the lively scene of shoppers before with nothing more on his mind than the list of things he needed to buy. Then he realized his focus had sharpened and settled on one golden-haired figure.
He came close to doing an undignified spit take with his coffee. The Slayer. Across the square, choosing among some ripe fruit, beguiling the stall owner with her California smile. The Slayer.
"Well, that's a new twist," Ethan thought. "How the universe unceasingly keeps one on one's toes!" Intriguing possibilities for provoking and teasing his erstwhile enemy to distraction filled his mind. He owed her for that interminable stay among the khaki set, and for his having to devise a new name and identity. But something not too overt or traceable was called for; the Slayer's friends had long arms and sharp teeth.
He studied the situation. She was buying food, and flowers. That probably meant a longer stay than that of a tourist hitting all the popular sites and leaving. She wasn't alone. She had a girl with her, trailing after her and reluctantly holding bags she was handed. A relative? After the pair left, he would speak to the stall owners to see how often they came.
Ethan's Italian was good; he learned from the workers that the blonde American was newly arrived, that the girl was probably her sister and that they lived somewhere in this neighborhood. The girls' Italian was rudimentary. And they usually showed up early in the day, rather than late.
All good to know and it helped him plot a course of watching and planning an approach. The little sister, that was the opening. He must find her alone.
He began to look forward to the morning stalking rituals. Choosing the right place in the right cafe, for maximum viewing and minimum exposure. The wait for prey to appear. He even tried some very discreet trailing, trying to find their lair, though he was never successful.
Eventually his patience was rewarded. The younger girl appeared alone.
She was obviously spinning her market chore out. She ambled about, exchanging a word here and there with the stall keepers, working her way from the edibles toward the wearables. Ethan moved quickly from the cafe where he was, crossed the square, and took a position within listening distance of the conversation the girl was having with a woman selling scarves and blouses.
The girl fingered several garments and finally settled on a silk scarf of muted pastels. She began, in very halting Italian, to negotiate with the seller.
Ethan made his move. He moved slightly closer to the two and spoke, "Excuse the intrusion, but you're being vastly overcharged."
Dawn turned not unfriendly eyes toward him. Ethan went on, "Again, I apologize for stepping in, but I can tell from your accent, you're...English?"
He made the last word a question.
"American."
"Ah. Well, they have a system here. Roman accents pay the least, the rest of Italy pays a little more, and hesitant foreign speakers get soaked. I could, if you permit me, use my slangy Italian to get you your scarf at a more reasonable price. It's always served me well."
Dawn gave him a half-smile. "Ok. I mean, that'd be good."
Ethan turned to the seller and in rapid Italian began to discount the value of her wares, stress the availability of other pretty scarves, and point out the advertising possibilities of a pretty American wearing one of hers. After a minute or two of vibrant exchanges, he turned to Dawn and named a price just a little more than half of what she had been asked before. She quickly dug the money out of her purse, paid the woman, and put the scarf around her neck.
She began rather awkwardly to thank Ethan.
He tried to look unpredatory.
"I know that you think I'm trying to pick you up; let me assure you that I'm only trying to dragoon another customer for my shop." He handed her a business card. It had a line drawing of a teapot. The shop's name, "The Tea Shop" was prominent and in the corner, was the name "Edward Pethetbridge" with a Roman telephone number.
"I'll admit it's not that clever a name for the place, but I thought I'd save the frazzled tourist from having to think."
"You have a real English tea shop with...scones?"
"Baked by an authentic Welsh woman, occasionally given to drink, but never during working hours. I like to think of it as an oasis of calm in the bustle of the city. A place to think your own thoughts. You must drop in sometime. Wear your beautiful scarf."
Dawn tucked the card away in her purse and said, "I'd like to; I'll really try to." She gave him a big smile and walked away.
"Well," Ethan thought, "the seed has been planted. I suppose it would be too much of a giveaway if I said, 'Don't bring the Slayer'. Ah well, leave it in the hands of the Fates. A man who worships Chaos must be comfortable with surprises."
And several days later, she did come to the tea shop. Alone. As she walked in, blinking to adjust her eyes after the bright Roman sun, Ethan went to greet her.
"Ah, my little friend from the market, welcome." He guided her to a table. "Would I be right in assuming it will be tea and scones?'
"I've been thinking of scones for days."
"Then you shall have them." As Ethan headed back to the kitchen, several of the customers tried to catch his eye, to stop him for a chat. But he kept going, just giving a quick nod here and there.
In a few moments he was back, carrying a tray. "Since you came in alone, I took the liberty of bringing an extra cup; I thought you might allow me to join you. You'd save me from" and here he nodded slightly at the other patrons "many discussions about Things Back Home." He waited for her reply, his head tilted slightly.
"Oh, good," she replied," I was worried about just sitting here alone, looking silly. I wanted a few hours to myself, but if a girl goes out here alone, sometimes the boys pester you. Then I thought, an English tea shop would be perfect."
Ethan settled himself across from her. "Yes, it's not as though young gentlemen will be sending pots of Earl Grey over to your table to win your favor."
His sally was rewarded with a giggle from the girl. He went on, as he poured tea in their cups, " So, tell me, who is it you need a few hours away from?"
"Oh, my family, my sister, actually. Buffy. Oh, I never introduced myself. My name is Dawn Summers."
"Miss Summers." Ethan raised his cup in salute.
"We're living in Rome for now. We stayed in England for a while, that's where I developed a taste for scones."
Ethan thought to himself, "Bless the American openness and their conviction that everyone wants to know all about their lives."
Dawn continued, "I really never thought I'd find a place like this, here. It's so pretty, but not, you know, overdone."
"Do you like it? Well, it supports my Roman holiday. I landed here, enjoyed it and had to find a way to pay for my stay. I discovered that English tourists were dying for a strong 'cuppa'. The Italians don't really understand tea. The Americans come because it's 'quaint'. I was lucky enough to find a down-on-her-luck baker who works cheap." Ethan gestured at the waitress, "That's her Welsh-Italian daughter. The combination makes for high drama, but she has a lovely singing voice."
He went on, "You should try the strawberry jam, it's home-made. I'm allergic to strawberries myself, but I'm told it's quite good." He moved the jam dish slightly toward her, smiling as she spooned a goodly portion on her scone.
"It's great," she mumbled, her tongue darting out to catch the crumbs of the scone on her lips.
Soon Ethan, with skillful questioning, learned all sorts of things about the Summers family.
Dawn never mentioned vampires or slaying, but she did fill her listener in on her family history. Parents' divorce, mother's death, the friends she and her sister shared. Since Dawn was young and pretty, she was used to men being enraptured when she spoke, and she continued to rattle on. She found herself talking more about her feelings, her sorrows, her losses, her guilts. She even confided the sad story of Miss Kitty Fantastico, the cat who died before her time.
Ethan took it all in. Already an idea had occurred to him, something oblique and rather amusing. After about an hour or so of chatting, Dawn began to feel light-headed. She said, "Probably I should go. I have some things to do at home, homework, you know."
Ethan smiled. "It's been a lovely visit with you." He deepened and lowered his already sonorous voice, and, looking directly into Dawn's eyes, said, "Yes, you'd want to go straight home now, rest a bit, and tomorrow, you'll probably remember very little of what was said today. If your nosy sister asks about your day, you'd want to keep everything very vague. That would be best. And next week, you might find you have a problem you want to discuss with me. Because you know only I would understand."
Ethan stood and, gently holding Dawn's hand, guided her into standing, too. She gathered up her things, said goodbye to him, and made her way out, thinking what a very, very pleasant day this had been.
Ethan turned to the table, picked up the container of strawberry jam. His own special recipe; it mustn't fall into the wrong hands. It had served its purpose today.
Chapter 2
Dawn fell into bed immediately when she came home from Ethan's. She slept through until morning, feeling bright and energetic when she woke. She and Buffy made passing conversation about their yesterday's activities, but Dawn kept her visit to the tea shop out of it. She felt somehow it was private.
As Dawn grabbed her bookbag and headed out the door to her Italian lesson, she let most of Buffy's fussing about being home on time, they were going out to dinner, don't fill up on junk and gelato talk wash over her, throwing out an occasional "uh-huh" purely to placate her sister.
As she walked past the crumbling Roman Forum on her way to her Italian lesson, she watched the cats that gathered there. So skinny, some battered and scarred, so uncared for except for the women who bring brought them pasta. They stared back at her, as cats do, as though they could judge her and find her wanting, if they wanted to take the bother.
She was almost past the building when one mostly black cat, expertly leaping from stone to stone, landed on the ground in front of her. She swerved around it, murmuring soft words of greeting. The cat began to follow her down the street, keeping close to the walls. When Dawn noticed this, she tried to shoo it away. Giving up when her actions began to attract amused passerby attention, she started walking again, picking up her pace. She'd be inside for her lesson for an hour; the cat would get bored or hungry and move away.
Except it didn't. It was squatting on the cobblestones, just waiting, when she came out. And now it had a friend. A scruffy marmalade sat by its side. Both of them kept pace with Dawn, about ten paces back, on her way home. Dawn didn't think that Buffy would agree to adopt two flea-infested street urchin cats. Dawn had to smile as she imagined Buffy's face if she presented these two. Still, there'd be something in the fridge to feed them. Out on the street.
Instructing the cats to wait for her, she ran up the steps to the apartment. Coming down again, she had a bowl filled with odds and ends, but the cats had gone. Disappointed, Dawn went back in.
But she saw them again. She and Buffy were having dinner as usual at a trattoria. Dawn, only half listening to Buffy, was letting her eyes roam around the square. The evening air was warm, and the lights from the restaurants' windows and the candles they used on the outdoor tables cast soft shadows everywhere. A small reflective glint caught Dawn's eye. The black cat strode out of the dark, sat in a pool of light and stared at her. Something shook her arm.
"What are you looking at?" Buffy said in the tone used for a repeated question.
"Nothing. A cat, I'm trying to decide if it's the one I saw before."
"A cat? In Rome? I didn't know there were so many cats in the world, until I came to Rome."
"But I think I saw this one this morning. It followed me for a while."
"Like a dog?"
"Uh-huh. Then it went away. I thought I saw it in that doorway, over there."
"Where?" Buffy raised herself a little off her chair to look. "I don't see a cat." The two glasses of wine she had drunk made her sit down too hard. And then, tilt a little.
Dawn said, "Never mind, it's gone. You ready to go?"
They gathered their things, debated having a gelato, rejected the temptation and made their way home. All the while, several pairs of feline eyes watched them.
On her way to her class the next day, while she was once again passing the Forum, she scanned the ruins for either of the cats that had trailed her home, but couldn't pick them out. They were, however, sitting placidly in the street when she emerged from her lesson. And several yards away were two more.
When Dawn started to walk home, the cats fell in behind her. Once in a while, one of them would make a meowing sound and invariably a cat face would appear at a window she was passing.
She quickened her pace, almost loping, and ducked into a passageway not wider than the spread of her arms. Moving quickly, she got midway in the alley, stopped and turned around. There were six cats, who stopped as abruptly as she did, awaiting her next move.
"Listen," she said, her eyes scanning her companions, "I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it. I've seen a lot of weird stuff; you're not scaring me. But I want you to know, you and whoever put you up to this, that it's over. Here. Now. I mean it." She ran at them, waving her long arms before her. "Scat, beat it, go on, go on."
She continued running until she burst out of the alleyway onto the main street, startling several pedestrians. The cats had scampered off. She saw no more of them the rest of the day.
Early next morning, Buffy said, "How about a trip to the market?"
"Is that a 'we' trip, or a 'me' trip?"
"You could choose the flowers for the apartment this week. No compromising with me."
Dawn snorted, "Compromising to you means getting what you want. OK, I'm free this morning. I'm not doing a long list, though. I don't want it to take me hours."
"Then don't go over to the jewelry carts. Here's the list. Watch out for pickpockets. "
Dawn sprinted down the steps and across the courtyard in front of the apartment. At the iron gate separating it from the street, she stopped and peered out. With her face pressed up against the gate, she looked up and down the street. No cats to be seen.
She stepped out, thinking, "Never mind pickpockets, how about cats."
The route to the open air market was a ten minute walk through the typical narrow cobblestone streets. Dawn tried to keep her pace brisk and on-important-business-looking to discourage comments from the Italian men. But she began to dawdle as she fell into a daydream of cats trained as pickpockets. Then she heard a noise. Walking for a few more yards and listening closely, it came to her what it was. It was the click of unclipped toenails on cobblestones. She whirled around.
They were back. And there were more of them. At least ten.
"I know people," she said, addressing the furry stalkers, "people who could make your lives, your nine lives, a living hell. Witches, I know powerful witches. They could turn you inside out, like that." She snapped her fingers.
All she got in return to her threats were baleful stares, and complete cat stillness. She felt foolish. "I'm ignoring you from now on," she said, turning on her heels and heading to the market.
She broke into a run and didn't look back. Arriving at the market piazza breathless and sweating, she took a chair at one of the cafes edging the square and ordered a cool drink. She glanced around; no cats to be seen. When her drink arrived, her hand shook as she picked it up.
"Ok," she thought, "I've been in a lot worse situations than this. It's not like any of the furballs have axes, or death rays coming out of their eyes. I have to be calm and think."
She'd have to tell someone. Buffy? That would mean lots of continuous drama in the apartment and questions and talking-tos. Things Dawn would rather avoid. Besides, there was obviously magic behind it all, and Buffy wasn't the person to go to for that. If she wanted the cats slain, that was a different matter…ugh! She squelched that line of thought.
She could go international with her problem, get in touch with Willow in England. The moment she thought it, she knew she never would. It was the Miss Kitty Fantastico thing.
Dawn had killed Willow and Tara's pet in an accident. And as traumatic the event and its aftermath of telling everyone was (Dawn's eyes still filled with tears thinking about it), there was a deeper layer of guilt that Dawn had never shared.
After Tara had died, Dawn came to believe that if Miss Kitty had still been there, that if Willow could have had something of Tara's to cling to, take care of, well, Willow wouldn't have gone crazy and killed Warren or done any of the other things that nearly ruined her life. Dawn always felt as if she had taken the last bit of Tara away from Willow.
There was no way she was going to involve Willow with cats again.
Maybe if she ignored it, it would all go away. It could be that someone was trying to provoke her, get her to react. If she didn't, whoever was doing this might get bored and stop.
The next few days saw Dawn try that approach. The number of cats following her varied; sometimes there were ten, sometimes only two, but they were always there. When she looked out her apartment windows, there was sure to be a neighbor's cat in another window looking back at her. Cat nightmares began to disturb her sleep. Whenever she stopped in an outdoor cafe, cats appeared, lounging in doorways, or prowling the street.
Dawn dreaded going out; she snapped at Buffy, who snapped back. The apartment resounded with slamming doors and very loud music. Suddenly the phrase "oasis of calm" came to her; that tea shop owner had used it. Maybe she needed to go there. Just have a quiet cup of Darjeeling and sort things out.
Chapter 3
After Dawn left the tea shop on her first visit, Ethan thought about her the rest of the day. Getting even with the Slayer through her sister was going to be too great a temptation for him to resist. There would be ramifications. He probably would have to leave Rome, but if there were no lasting damage to the girl he wouldn't be pursued. Perhaps it was time to make inquiries about that Buenos Aires visit he'd always wanted to make.
But first, the Dawn plaguing. Something she said as she poured out her heart snared his imagination. Cats. She had guilt about a cat-related accident and, as Ethan, a perceptive man, saw, it went deeper than she admitted. So, to set this ball rolling, he needed cats.
He spent that early evening in reading and planning. By midnight, he was ready. It would take magic, of course, and spells. First, he called on his god, Janus, as was only polite, and because he would need an element of Chaos, or things turned upside down. But his main invocation was to Sekhmet, Eye of Ra, Cat Goddess. He burned a papyrus prayer, stained with his blood, in supplication. He opened his mind to the goddess and felt her power flow through him. He would have to wait until morning to see if his prayers had been answered.
Ethan was up and out at first light. From his spying on Buffy and Dawn he knew that the younger girl had errands that regularly took her past the Forum, a place renowned for the number of cats making it their home. His idea was to find some accomplices among them for his scheme.
He'd brought containers of food with him, just like the 'gattare', the older women who regularly showed up to feed the animals. Ethan found an isolated spot, squatted down, and opened his treats. It took no time for a semi circle of cats to form around him. He began to speak in low tones to them, so that to an onlooker he seemed no more than the typical endearment-whispering feline lover. His words were, of course, somewhat unusual. "Hello chaps, I'm wondering if any of you are in the mood for a little mischief."
Most of the furry heads remained down in the food bowls, but one or two were raised, and impassive eyes stared at Ethan. He took a snapshot from his shirt pocket and turned it toward the watchers. "This girl, she comes by here almost every day. I want her followed."
One of the cats, almost totally black, stepped gingerly forward, stopped less than a foot from the photograph, and seemed to study it. Ethan, still using his murmuring-to-small creatures' voice, elaborated on his request. He knew he had to be his most persuasive, for although the cats could be commanded to a course by the goddess, their obedience was never a given. He would need to intrigue them. Luckily, annoying humans is their third or fourth favorite thing.
Ethan continued to outline his plans, knowing he'd done much more unseemly things in his time than address a gaggle of cats. After he'd finished he said, "Well?" The black cat stretched, his front paws extended and his rump in the air, then he sat again and made a growling sound in his throat. The other cats were instantly alert, most springing to their feet. "Good," said Ethan, "we understand each other. There are cans of tuna in it for you."
He raised himself from his stooping position, somewhat slower than the cats did. He headed home to await the results of the pact he'd just made.
Chapter 4
It was a much more subdued Dawn who made a second trip to Ethan's tea shop.
His eyes lit up when he saw her. He fussed over her, brought over tea and scones. Remarked that she seemed troubled, his face becoming a tragic masque at the idea. She must share with him what brought her to this low point. Was it an affair of the heart?
"I wish it was just that," Dawn said. "If I told you what it was, you'd think I was crazy."
Again, Ethan was solicitude itself. She should remember that a trouble shared is a trouble halved. He doubted very much if anything she said would shock him, and she should have some strawberry jam on her scone.
Under the warmth of his concern, Dawn began to tell him the story of the stalker cats. And as much as she tried to make it a joke, an amusing story, but the end she was near tears.
Ethan said nothing for a moment. "It must be magic," he said, at last.
Dawn made a sound, something between a giggle and a gasp. "I think so, too. I know it is, but that doesn't sound weird to you?"
Ethan gave her an assessing look. "The last time you were here, you didn't strike me as a paranoid schizophrenic, you sounded very sensible. So if I believe you believe that cats are following you, there must be a reason. And I've earned my charming world weary exterior by seeing many things in this weary world, some of them quite unusual. Like the effects magic can have."
Dawn's body slumped into a relaxed pose, as if strings holding her together were loosened. "But what am I going to do, now? I don't want to involve my sister in this. In any way."
"I think I can help. But I'll need a few days. Come back day after tomorrow. We'll see what we can come up with."
"Really?"
"Absolutely"
Dawn went home, trailed, of course, by several cats, feeling better than she had in days. Ethan felt good, too.
Time passed, as it does. Dawn was counting the hours until she could go back to the cafe. She was still seeing cats everywhere. They trailed her when she went out alone. When others were with her, they lounged in doorways, skulked against walls, disappearing and then popping up in front of her. No one remarked on the cats, but Dawn had reached that stage of hysteria where she knew her enemies were there even if she couldn't see them.
She found it hard to concentrate on anything. At home, she was constantly jumping up from a chair, rushing into another room, beginning a task then leaving it. Finally, after giving her a series of exasperated glances, Buffy said, "What? What's the matter with you? Can't you sit still?"
"It's nothing. I'm just restless, I guess. Maybe I've got spring fever. I should drag everything out of my closet and go through it. Or something."
"Well, if it keeps you from running around here like a wind-up toy," said Buffy. "But you know, that might not be a bad idea for me, too. Have you noticed a smell around here?"
"Smell?"
"Yeah, I get whiffs now and then. I hope something hasn't died in the wall. It's like an animal smell, wet dog, or litter box or cat or something. I did the sniff around the apartment, but I couldn't pinpoint it. It was a little stronger in your room. Didn't you notice?"
Dawn felt herself flush. "No, no cat smell. I didn't smell anything. Did you smell cat? In my room? No cat." She realized she was babbling and pressed her lips tight together.
Buffy looked at her, puzzled at the reaction, and said soothingly, "It's probably nothing. Just heightened Slayer senses. And, really, I'm not saying anything reeks."
"Well, good. No reeking," said Dawn, "I'll just go clean that closet right now." She retreated to her bedroom, not coming out the rest of the night.
The next day she was on the doorstep of the tea shop slightly before opening time. She knocked on the door, giving Ethan a pleading look as he opened. He was all smiles. "Ah, comes the Dawn. I'm sorry; you're probably tired of puns on your name."
"Did you find out anything?" Dawn stopped. "I didn't mean to sound rude. Hello. How are you? Did you find out anything?"
"I can see you're anxious. So, first of all, yes, I'm sure we can do something about your four-legged problem. Let's sit and discuss it."
After they sat, Ethan continued, Dawn leaning forward to catch every word. "I've asked around, and others had heard of curses like this. I can't help you too much on the source of it, but we can get it lifted, and if that works, you would likely be safe from whoever started this for a long while. It would be like a safety bubble, I think."
"I deal with the loser who did this later; now I just want to get rid of the cats."
"Good, then," said Ethan, "let's get to the rituals. It going to be laborious, I'm afraid. Well, we'll do it in stages. Oh, before I forget, secrecy is a must. Most of these rituals must be done by the petitioner alone. Broadcasting the intention will dilute the effect. Will this be a problem? Can you keep a secret?"
A nervous giggle escaped Dawn. "You have no idea of the secrets I can keep."
"Excellent. You're going to have to make a cloak. A green velvet cloak. It has to be finest velvet, and you must make the cloak by hand. Hand-sewn. And then, you'll need to get it blessed. By the Pope. If we were living anywhere but Rome, that wouldn't be necessary. But he is the Bishop of Rome."
The Pope? I have to get an audience with the Pope?"
"Not a private one; I inquired about it very closely. You can be in the crowd at the Sunday blessing he does in St. Peter's Square. But you must be wearing the cloak, and you must walk there from home and back. You are a petitioner, and you must make a pilgrimage."
"I don't live that far from the Vatican. I can do that."
"Yes, well, that's the first part of the procedure for lifting the curse. Why don't you get to work on that and I'll keep looking into the ritual. You have my card; give me a call here at the shop after you have the cloak blessed. The next part is still vague to me. We may have to meet after hours to discuss it."
"I can't thank you enough for your help," Dawn said in an emotional voice. "I know I'm just a stranger and all..." Her voice trailed away.
"I'm just, what do they call it? — Paying it forward. Other people have done for me in the past, and I'm just passing on the good work. Believe me, it's my pleasure."
Dawn left the shop with a sense of purpose and a concrete approach to her problem. One piece of fine velvet coming up.
Ethan went back to serving his customers tea, musing that inventing spurious rituals for de-cursing was satisfyingly creative and immense fun.
Chapter 5
Dawn spent some time tracking down the velvet. It was summer, and the heavy winter stock had been put away in the stores. When she did find some, so soft and lushly green that she wanted to curl up on it, the price astounded her. Next she went about figuring out how to make a cloak.
She watched several hours of the old hobbit movies, making a pattern from what she saw. As she turned the paper pattern this way and that on the material, Xander's voice popped up in her head. 'Measure twice, cut once' she heard him say. A wave of nostalgia for Sunnydale washed over her, and her eyes filled with tears. There'd always been someone to go to there, someone to help her.
Dawn might have shared her problem with Buffy had the Slayer been home at that moment. But she was away on Council business until the next day. When she did return, Dawn kept her secret. "What would I say to her? — 'I see live cats', in a scary voice?' — I can just imagine her expression," thought Dawn.
She sewed her cloak. The stitches were uneven, and her fingers were dotted with needle pricks, but at last it was finished. The next Sunday she would walk to St. Peter's Square, stand in the crowd, and get it blessed. The sooner, the better.
The day of the pilgrimage was hot, with gray-tinged clouds gathering on the horizon. Dawn woke early, just after first light. It could be hours until Buffy stirred, but Dawn wanted no questions about her plans for the day. She ate her breakfast and went, leaving a note saying she'd be back. Then she gathered up the ticket she'd gotten for entrance to St. Peter's Square for the blessing and her water bottle, and, throwing on her cloak, started her walk.
Of course, she had her four-footed groupies. The black one sauntered behind her, openly. Dawn knew him best and called him "Shoulder Holster" to herself, because of the single patch of white fur at the top of his left front leg. A few others that she recognized seemed to know short cuts through the narrow streets because she'd walk past them, only to have them reappear in front of her again.
It was less than two miles to the square. Dawn walked slowly but she was sweating under the heavy cloak by the time she presented her ticket. There were security gates to go through and the guards in their summer uniforms gave her outfit suspicious stares and made her raise her arms and twirl around before they'd let her pass.
There were still at least two hours until the Pope appeared, but the square was filling up. Dawn looked around for an inviting spot. There was no shade, and the air was growing more muggy with each passing minute. She decided to park herself against one of the barriers; at least she wouldn't be completely surrounded by people.
She spent the time while she waited people-watching. She wondered if she were the only non-Catholic in the large crowd. Was going to Rome and catching the Pope's blessing on Sunday something a Baptist would brag about, at home in Georgia? And Dawn had never seen so many nuns. Some were dressed like pictures she'd seen of Mother Teresa others looked like the Flying Nun on TV. She noticed a lot of young people traveling in groups. Dawn began to envision a MTV show about Hot Young Teenagers on Pilgrimage, laughing to herself.
Just as Dawn felt the heat and humidity were growing unbearable, a figure materialized on the balcony. At the same time, something else caught her eye. She hadn't noticed that there were large screens set up below the second floor balcony, but high enough to be visible to the crowd. The priest's appearance was obviously the signal for these to be switched on because the cameras were trained on him.
"The Pope on Jumbotron," mused Dawn.
The crowd became much quieter. Many people held rosaries. The Pope emerged and began to address the gathering in several languages. Then he made the sign of the cross repeatedly, turning in an arc to cover the square in front of him. "I hope that took," Dawn thought.
The Pope retreated into the building; the cameras that had been on him began to roam over the crowd as it slowly emptied the square. The tourists who came together poked each other as familiar faces showed up on the big screens. The camera swept up over the architecture of the colonnades, and suddenly, Dawn saw an old friend. There was "Shoulder Holster" languidly posed at the foot of one of the statues perched atop the colonnade. And Dawn would have sworn that he was smirking.
By the time the multitude had thinned and Dawn could move more freely toward the edge of the square, the clouds in the sky began to empty. First, it was a slow rain but it soon began to pour. The cloak she was wearing became twice as heavy. The bottom dragged on the ground and slapped around her ankles, making her stumble. She arrived home exhausted.
Before she went into the apartment, she slipped off the sodden green garment, bundled it up and tried to make it an inconspicuous package under her arm. She slipped in as quietly as she could. Buffy, of course, heard her and called out. Dawn answered in a mumble something about being soaked and moved quickly to her room. She dumped the sopping cloak on the floor, and her clothes right next to it, crawled under the covers of her bed and slept until dark.
After she woke up, ate, lied to Buffy about how she spent the day, she took her phone into her bedroom and called Ethan. They set up a meeting for the next evening when Ethan would tell her what else she had to do to get rid of the cats. If Dawn had been able to see Ethan's face after he hung up, she might have noticed a similarity in his expression to the one she last saw on Shoulder Holster.
Chapter 6
Ethan let Dawn into the deserted tea room at her knock.
"You look very tired, my dear. This has all been such a strain," Ethan said.
Dawn flopped down on a chair. "It was horrible. My fingers are all cut up from the sewing, I was melting in the cape, and I got caught in the rain. The cape weighed a ton and now it's a mess. And I kept getting pinched while I was in the crowd waiting for the Pope. i In St. Peter's Square. /i " Dawn put her face in her hands; her voice muffled, she said. "I don't even think it's working. They're still there."
"Well, we're not done with the things we need to do, the ritual," Ethan said. "I'm clear on the next step. I went straight to the horse's mouth, so to speak. A Roman witch. It just took some discreet asking around. Once the second part is done, you'll be free of the feline paparazzi."
Dawn looked with hope in her eyes at Ethan. He, in turn, tried to look trustworthy.
"You haven't told anyone about this?" he asked.
"No, I'm handling this on my own. My sister, well, she's the 'take charge' type. I'll tell her when it's over."
"Yes, you can bring her here, and we'll all have a long natter about it. I'd love to see the expression on her face." His tone became more brisk, "First things first, let me tell you what happens next."
He began to outline the things she'd need to bring to complete the lifting of the curse. It would involve a sacrifice, of course, and they'd need to do it at midnight. The witching hour.
They discussed the best day for the event. Dawn was torn between the impatience of wanting to rid herself of the cats as soon as possible and the caution of waiting for a time when she didn't have to explain herself to Buffy. She told Ethan she'd call him as soon as she was sure of a good day. It would be soon. She couldn't stand much more of the cats.
"I'm at your disposal. This is an awful thing for you, my dear. But I must say, I don't see this happening if I had a tea shop in, say, the Cotswolds. It's an interesting problem. I hope that doesn't sound insensitive?"
"No," said Dawn, "you've been very kind to help me. I was lucky to find you."
"And I, you. Now hurry home, you have things to gather and plans to make. Call me anytime." Ethan escorted Dawn to the door. He watched her walk down the street, admiring her youthful, confident stride. "A very attractive girl, so fresh and sure of herself," thought Ethan. "I'm sure she'll be no less appealing as a 'sadder but wiser' girl, too." Ethan smiled at the contemplation. And at the cats following in Dawn's wake.
When Dawn called less than a week later, saying her sister was away for the night, Ethan assured her the timing was perfect. "Come to the shop around ten; bring everything you need for the ritual. You should be cat-free by morning."
Dawn arrived promptly. She had the cloak, no longer a sensuous, lush piece of cloth, thrown over her arm. Its velvet had wrinkled and the nap flattened in the rain and the drying afterward. Seeing Ethan looking askance at it, she said," I didn't know if having it dry-cleaned would wipe the blessing off, so I left it alone."
"Yes, one never knows. Did you bring the other things?"
She unpacked a shopping bag she had with her, laying each item on the table. There were various herbs, a flashlight, candles, matches, kindling wood and incense sticks. There was also a package wrapped in brown paper.
Ethan said in a puzzled tone, "Where's the sacrifice?"
"Here." Dawn put her hand on the brown paper package.
"It's supposed to be a bird."
"It is." She tore at the wrapping, spread it flat, revealing a chicken carcass, unfeathered and cut into pieces.
"It's dead," said Ethan.
"Well, yes." Now Dawn sounded puzzled.
"You were supposed to sacrifice a bird. A live bird."
"You didn't say that. You said I had to offer up a bird. I bought it at the market. You didn't say I had to kill it myself."
Ethan sighed. His voice reeking of patience he said, "I'm sorry I wasn't more specific about it."
"Do we have to start again, on another day?" Dawn asked in a small voice.
"No, no. No help for it, now. We'll work around it." Ethan paused, looked at the chicken, then at Dawn. "You don't really have a feel for this, do you?"
"It's a bird," Dawn muttered, barely audible, eyes downcast. Her mouth was set in a stubborn line.
"Yes, no arguing with that. Well, pack it up and we'll be on our way. Oh, I mustn't forget my contribution." He went to the kitchen and returned with a two foot long piece of iron, narrowed on the end. When Dawn looked a question at him, he smiled and said, "You'll see."
Dawn returned everything to the bag. She took it and the cloak and left the tea shop with Ethan.
There were still many people about as they began their walk, sitting in outdoor restaurants or just strolling up and down, chatting. Dawn followed Ethan as he led her through a dizzying maze of narrow alleys; they saw fewer and fewer people. All the while, he went over the actions she would need to perform once they reached their destination.
"You're sure you've got all this?"
"Yes, yes. I've got it. How much farther?"
"Still some way."
They walked for such a long time that Dawn felt the bag and cloak grow heavy. Then Ethan abruptly stopped.
"What?" said Dawn.
"We're here." said Ethan.
"Where?" Dawn looked around. They were on a deserted street.
"Under this." He pointed downward.
"The manhole cover?"
"It's the entrance to a catacomb. One seldom shown to tourists." Ethan took the iron bar he'd brought with him, and bending down, fitted it into an opening in the cover. He leaned on the tool and lifted the cover; he slipped it onto the cobblestoned street. "You have to go down there."
Dawn leaned over the hole. "You're not coming?"
"No, you have to do the ceremony alone. But I've been down there, and I've made you a map. It's a bit crude, though it's not a complicated layout in the catacomb. You shouldn't have any trouble."
Dawn had taken out her flashlight and she shone it down the hole. She saw a ladder, but little else. "You know, this all sounded fine in theory, but now that I'm here...," her voice trailed away.
"Of course, it's your decision. If you want your little friends accompanying you during your entire Roman stay…" Ethan gestured in a wide arc toward the surrounding street. Dawn followed his moving arm and saw about 15 cats placidly staring at her.
She grabbed the map from Ethan. Picking up the cloak she'd put on the ground, she threw it over her shoulders, slipped the shopping bag on her arm, and started down the ladder slowly. She held the flashlight downwards to illuminate her way.
Chapter 7
On the way down she tested each rung of the ladder with her foot before putting her full weight on it. There was a bigger gap between the last one and the ground than she expected, and she landed with a thump on the catacomb's floor. Straightening up, she started to swing the flashlight around to get her bearings.
"All right down there?" Ethan's voice came from above her.
"Yes, fine, ok."
Dawn thought to herself, "Last time I was in a place like this, I had to fight warriors who came out of the walls. I guess anything short of that will be no sweat."
The air was cool and stale and smelled like dust. The walls were yellowish-brown stone, with the ceiling only about a foot over her head.
Again she heard Ethan above her. "Perhaps we should have synchronized our watches. I have ten minutes until midnight. You'll have to get a move on. Don't forget the incantation is on the back of the map."
"Yes, er, Edward… you won't leave, will you?" Dawn shone her light upward, which gave Ethan's face a Halloween mask look.
"No, certainly not. Trust me, I'll be here."
Dawn turned and started down the tunnel in front of her. Its width was no more than the reach of her arms; she kept switching the flashlight between the map and the corridor. As she walked, her bag of spell supplies banged against the wall, loosening dust into the air.
The corridor bent around and led to another passageway which in turn opened to a wide space that branched off to two doors; one of them was the room she was looking for. It was about twelve feet across, circular, with niches, which once held bodies, carved into the walls. Two other entrances leading to more passageways were opposite the one Dawn had come in.
She hurried to the center of the room and emptied her bag. She began to build a small fire. "The atmosphere is just right, anyway," she thought, "what with the big, old shadows on the wall and the creepy muffled sound." She could almost hear her own heart beating.
She unwrapped the chicken parts, spreading the paper on the ground. At exactly midnight she stood up, and with the herbs she brought in her hand, she circled the fire three times one way and three times in the opposite direction, all the while reading the incantation her friend Edward had given her.
The moment she spoke the last syllable, a roaring gust of frigid wind blew through the room. The fire scattered and went out. Dawn was thrown back several feet, and she twirled helplessly, trying to keep her footing. Her cloak billowed around her. Then, as quickly as it came, the wind stopped. Dawn found herself against the wall, the flashlight on the opposite side of the room. When she recovered it and looked over the room, she realized she had no idea by which door she had come in.
She called out Edward's name, but the sound seemed absorbed by the walls. She peered out one door, but there was nothing distinctive about the long hall she had entered by, and no way to pick it out. "Where's a trail of breadcrumbs when you need it?" she wondered. She hoped Edward had thought to keep a copy of the map for himself. If she didn't come back to the opening, he'd come looking for her, wouldn't he?
Then she heard voices. Like the burst of wind, the voices seemed suddenly to fill the room. They were sibilant whispers, the words not distinct, but the volume grew louder and louder. Dawn flinched and covered her ears. She had to get away from the sound and plunged through one of the doorways, not knowing where she was going. She ran, trying to find a way out; the voices were not as loud as before, but they seemed to be following her. If she stopped, they surrounded her in painful cacophony. She kept shouting Edward's name, hoping to hear him answer.
She kept running, the flashlight beam bouncing here and there over the walls and ground. She was turning blindly into chance corridors now, her sense of direction completely gone. She saw a doorway to a chamber coming up. She burst into the room, and the voices stopped. Her attempt to catch her breath turned into a sob as her mind tried to make sense of what she was seeing.
There were cats. To her, it seemed that there were dozens and dozens of cats. In the niches in the wall and on the floor, cats, lying alone or in piles one on top of another. And they were all dead. They were all motionless, dead still.
Her eye caught a familiar patch of white on one of the bodies. It was Shoulder Holster lying atop a mound of cats. She recognized some others that had followed her.
She flashed the light back and forth, her panic rising. Then the voices were back. They were so loud now that they seemed a physical force against her skin. She turned and pelted down the way she had just come. She had never felt so lost in her life.
Suddenly her eye caught a glimmer of something in the distance. She ran full tilt toward it. As she got closer she saw that the ceiling of the catacomb seemed to have a lighter patch in the dark. It was the entrance where she had come down the ladder. When she reached it, she grabbed the ladder and held on to it fiercely. Her knees felt too weak to climb it.
"How did it go? Everything all right?" Ethan called down to her.
Dawn didn't reply, but just reached up to the rungs and began to pull herself up. She was still gripping the flashlight, and for a moment or two, she couldn't work out what to do with it. Then she let it drop and continued her ascent.
When she reached the manhole opening, Ethan had to help her stand on the cobbled street. "Well," he said, "that seems to have taken a lot out of you, my dear. You look quite pale. I don't suppose you feel like talking about it."
Dawn's head was bent and she whispered, "No."
"Home then, I think. I've called a cab to pick us up. It should be here any second. Perhaps you should sit." Ethan held her arm as she slowly sank in a heap to the pavement.
The cab came and they got in. Dawn huddled in the corner and said nothing during the trip. When they got to her house, Ethan helped her out and asked her if she needed him to accompany her. She just shook her head and went inside.
Ethan felt quite energized by the night's outing and spent the cab ride to his home going over all the things he still needed to do before the morning.
Back in the catacomb, the cats, awakened from their simultaneous naps, prowled through the dusty underground hallways. The more aggressive of them fought over the chicken parts Dawn had left, but eventually all of them abandoned the catacomb through the secret entrances that only the feral would know and rejoined the world above.
Chapter 8
When Buffy came home the next afternoon, she found a feverish Dawn still in bed. Her bright cheeks and restlessness worried Buffy, but Dawn insisted she was only tired. The next morning Dawn was still running a slight temperature and she began to ask her sister to look out the windows to see if she could see any cats. The third time she did this, Buffy sat on the side of Dawn's bed and asked, "Did something happen while I was away? Dawnie, you have to talk to me. Tell me what's the matter."
At first Dawn tried to avoid her sister's eyes, turning away on the bed so that her back was toward her. Buffy was persistent, swallowing her natural impatience and questioning Dawn as gently as she could. Soon, Dawn began crying, making gulping noises as she tried to talk at the same time. Buffy listened closely, but the story was too fragmented to make any sense to her. It was all cats, and catacombs, and tea shops.
Buffy said, " Ok, I'm going to get you a drink of water; you catch your breath. And we'll go over it more slowly, so I can catch up. Ok?"
Dawn nodded and gave a little hiccup.
Just then there was a resounding knock at the front door. Buffy opened it to find a delivery boy almost hidden behind an enormous bouquet of flowers. She signed the receipt and took the flowers. Peeking through the stems to see, she maneuvered across the room and laid them on a table. She looked for a sender's card. There was an envelope the size of a greeting card, with her name on it. Inside were several sheets of writing paper containing a note written in a beautiful hand.
It read:
i Dearest Buffy,
Sorry not be able to deliver this in person, but I'll let the flowers I've sent do the talking for me.
center Rosemary - that's for Remembrance.
Lemon Geranium - Unexpected meeting.
Blue Salvia - I think of you.
Pink Carnations - I'll never forget you.
Witch Hazel - A spell.
Birdsfoot Trefoil - Revenge.
Palm Leaves - Victory.
Cyclamen - Resignation and goodbye. /center
Well, that was entertaining symbolism.
I've never forgotten the time we spent together, and I thought of you often during my sojourn at the military camp. I was so glad when fate handed me an opportunity to return all your kind attentions.
I'm presuming you've spoken to your sister, little Dawn. At least, I hope so; the poor child was so upset the last time I saw her. She'll need a sister's comfort, now.
I'm sorry that urgent business has called me from Rome and I probably won't be returning. But it's a small world, after all, and we may meet again.
My love to Ripper.
Your faithful servant,
Ethan Rayne
p.s. I thought the CAT-acomb was a nice touch, didn't you/i
Buffy put the letter back in the envelope and yelled, "Dawn!"
Then she marched into Dawn's bedroom and questioned her in a more pointed and brisker manner than before.
"This Edward Petherbridge, is he English, like Giles, only a flashier dresser and more. . . smarmy?"
"Well, I guess so. But he was very nice to me." Dawn said.
"I'll bet. Where's this tea shop of his?"
"I have his card in my purse, with the address. I'm not sure what's going on. Are you going there?
Buffy said, "We both are. Get dressed."
When they were outside, Dawn cautiously looked up and down the street. She was glad not to see any cats at all in sight, but then the awful picture of the last time she'd seen them, in the catacomb, flashed through her mind.
"You mean, this was all some kind of joke?" she asked Buffy, as they walked along.
"Ethan Rayne thinks so!" Buffy answered.
When they got to the shop, it was as Buffy expected it to be. Ethan was gone. No one knew where. He'd sold the tea shop to the baker and her daughter, saying he felt a need to see a bit more of the world.
Buffy didn't see any use in tracking Ethan down. She discussed it with Dawn, saying they could ask Giles' and Willow's help, but that would mean endless questions and tsk-tsking about what was essentially a practical joke played on them. Dawn agreed that she'd like the whole subject closed, forever.
So Dawn went back to her regular routine of classes and everyday life. She was a little skittish every time she saw a cat on the street, but none of them ever followed her; the faint odor of animal disappeared from the apartment, and she threw away the green cloak.
For weeks she avoided going past the Forum, walking blocks out her way. She just couldn't face the place where this adventure all started. Then one day she was running very late and decided to take the shortest route to her destination, past the Forum. "It's just a pile of old rocks," she said to herself.
She walked as quickly as she could as she was coming up on the site, her head held high. Out the corner of her eye she saw something that stopped her cold. She turned and looked. There, indolently spread out on one of the stones, was Shoulder Holster. And scattered around on assorted ruins were many of the cats that had followed her before and whom she thought were lying dead in the catacomb.
She stared at them for a full minute before she started walking again.
"Damn Ethan Rayne!" she said as she walked away.
The End.