Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, Murron lay in bed longer than usual. She'd since awakened, but had found little motivation to rise. Instead, she lay curled up on her side, hands tucked beneath the pillow, her mind a jumble of thoughts. There had been something in Crowley's eyes the night before, something that suggested he might have said something affecting. She dwelled on it, turning the memory over and over as if looking for that hidden meaning that she had no choice but to second guess. She hated assuming so much, reading between lines that could have very well never existed. Worse still, she hated having to go downstairs and look into his face and see nothing of the shadow of yesterday written there. She wished she could forget things so easily. But it was impossible. It was growing more and more difficult to hold herself back.

She rolled over onto her back with a heavy sigh. Why was she holding back again? She couldn't even really recall. There had been something more in that last kiss, teasing her with the possibility of it someday becoming more than just a business transaction. She groaned, covering her face with both hands. She was thinking like a love-crazed teenager! If she didn't have something in the works to distract her, she surely would have gone mad by week's end.

The memory of Patience and her spooky daughter pushed Crowley further into the back of her mind, allowing her to sit up and think on her next move. Victor had been gone barely a day and there was no telling how long something like this would take. What if no solution presented itself? What if she'd never manage to finish this?

She shook her head. There was no point in jumping to conclusions. Everything could die, she knew this, including angels. It was just a matter of figuring out how. And unfortunately she couldn't do that still in bed.

Sighing again, Murron threw the covers aside and got dressed. She couldn't avoid Crowley forever, nor did she want to. It was also very possible he wasn't even home. He most likely returned to Hell to finish his business. Just as well. She felt she'd be a bit of a mess if she had to face him now.

The house was silent as she made her way down, bunning her hair as she did so. She looked about idly, as if some sign of Crowley's whereabouts would be revealed to her. The only usual sign was his glass and bottle of Craig on the reading table. Funyn how that habit had carried over, she thought absently as she went into the kitchen. Just as she was about to draw the box of teabags down, the scent of sulfur filled the kitchen and she turned.

"Victor!" she cried, surprised. "Have you found something already?"

"I have," the demon replied, beside himself with excitement. "There's a man calling himself...Balthazar or something like that, who has access to all kinds of supernatural weapons. He's agreed to see you. He thinks he might have something for you."

"That's excellent! And so fast!" Murron exclaimed, all thoughts of her morning tea forgotten. "Where am I to meet him?"

"I can take you to him if you're ready. I only have coordinates, not an actual set destination. I mean, I don't know where we'll land exactly."

"Yes, of course I'm ready. I want to get this taken care of as much as you do! Assuming you do, that is," Murron added hastily, not wanting to speak for him. Victor shrugged.

"He seemed on the up and up. Little weird, though, just a warning," Victor said, reaching out to touch Murron's shoulder. In another moment they were standing in the middle of a large, sprawling lawn. Before them was something that could only be described as a personal villa. Murron stared up at it with wide eyes, not bothering to hide her astonishment.

Victor led her round the back of the manor, stopping at a door inlaid with gilt embellishments. "He didn't want me going inside for some reason. I think he knows I'm a demon. I just know he wants to speak to you and only you."

"That doesn't sound shady at all," Murron remarked as lightly as she could. "You'll be nearby? Just in case?"

"Of course."

Somewhat comforted by that, Murron lifted a hand to knock on the door. She glanced back at Victor, who shrugged. She mimed the shrug and rapped on the door a few times. The sound echoed back at her from within, but no footsteps approached the door. She was beginning to doubt the validity of this guy's claim to help her when the door creaked open of its own accord and a smooth, accented voice called out.

"Entrer!"

Murron started. French? It was quickly becoming clear this would be a very unique encounter. She cast Victor another puzzled look, then crossed into the house. The door shut behind her, blocking Victor's curious face from view.

The door was attached to a kind of day room populated by elegant chaise lounges and low wing-backed chairs. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth across the way, the orange of its flames matching the clementine of the stucco walls. In the center of this stood a slender man, his back to Murron, a long-stemmed champange glass balanced between two fingers on his right hand. His posture was graceful, but also careless, as he pivoted on one foot and beamed the most brilliant and charming smile she'd ever seen at her.

"Hello, my dear, hello!" he trilled, his voice oddly musical. "Can I interest you in a libation or ten? I've plenty here." He winked, gesturing with his glass to the bottle cooling in an ice bucket on a nearby sidebar. He sauntered over to it, retrieved a second glass and filled it with the bubbly citrine liquid. This he passed to her, which she took without recollecting if she'd consented to a drink or not. "So," he began conversationally, walking in a slow circle around her. "You're here to see about killing an angel, am I right?"

"You would be, yes," Murron replied uncertainly, watching his lazy orbiting with wary eyes. "Can you help me or not?"

"Tch, darling, where's the fun in cutting straight to the chase?" he chided with mock hurt. "I much prefer the drawn-out foreplay before we 'seal the deal'." He laughed low, the sound oddly seductive in her ears. She shook her head as if to clear it, then set the glass of champange on the sidebar with a finality that made him pause. "Or we could talk shop. Whatever you like."

He swung about and leaned against the sidebar, glass held loose and dangling from his hand. "Might I ask why you need to kill an angel?" he asked, suddenly businesslike despite his relaxed posture.

"Would it affect things if you knew the reason?"

He stared at her thoughtfully, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth and bottom lip. "It might. Who are you looking to kill?"

"Not that I think it matters, but an angel called Puriel," Murron replied, perplexed. "Why?"

"Simply looking for classification," he replied casually, waving a hand. "It alters what kind of weapon you'll need, you see. Fortunately for you, I happen to have just such a weapon right. Here." He reached behind him and withdrew what appeared to be a silver blade. The hilt was the barest hint of a hexagonal shape, the handle smooth and wandlike. He wiggled it in the air slightly, then looked up at it with satisfied eyes.

"Is that a special angel-killing sword or something?" Murron asked, reaching for it. He whipped it away from her, tucking it behind him once more. "Right. The cost. How much?"

Here he left the sidebar and resumed his lazy circle around her, only this time he appeared to be looking for something. He sniffed lightly at her shoulder, balked a bit, then grimaced. "You've already given away the only thing that could pay for this," he informed her, stepping away. "I'm afraid there can be no further business between us, my dear."

Murron frowned. "You deal in souls?"

"Only thing worth dealing in. Next to sexual favors," he added with a melodic chuckle. When Murron didn't react to his little quip, he cleared his throat. "However, I can see you're quite serious about this so I'll make an exception."

"Why?"

"I'm wondering how far you'll go to get this," he replied, removing the blade again and giving it another little tantalizing wiggle. "And I know who it is you've sold your soul to. And why." He said that last bit purposefully, his blue eyes suddenly very serious. "Really, darling, is that wise? Giving your heart and soul to a demon?"

"I think that's up to me, don't you?" Murron countered. "What else can I give you for that?"

"The sword that killed Baal."

Murron stared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," he rejoined swiftly, secreting the blade away once more. "The would-be King of Hades isn't the most forthcoming of lovers, is he?"

"I never said he was my lover."

"No, but you'd like to. Don't play dumb with me, darling, it just makes you look like a fool. He knows by now, doesn't he?" Murron's silence was his answer. He sighed somewhat impatiently, though she could detect a note of sympathy beneath it. "I suppose one would have to be a fool to fall in love in the first place," he conceded after a moment. Murron averted her gaze.

"If I can get you this sword you seem to think I have, will you give me the weapon?" she asked, seeking to divert his attention away from her relationship with Crowley. "He did return with a bloody sword, a scimitar, I think. Is that it?"

"Does he frequently bring such things home?"

Murron ignored the suggestion in his tone and shook her head. "I'll get the sword, then." She made to join Victor outside when she paused and looked back at him. "You never said your name. I want to know who I'm dealing with."

"Balthazar," he replied with a soft smile. "Better to not mention that to your little boyfriend, however. It might not go over well."

Murron eyed him curiously. "Why do you even have that sword?"

"The angel blade?" Balthazar prompted. She nodded. He shrugged and took a drink from his glass, despite the fact the champange had since lost its fizz. It seemed more like an evasive gesture; whatever the reason, he wasn't going to tell her easily. "I just happen across things here and there."

She suspected that was the best she'd get out of him. "I'll be back with the sword, then. Balthazar."

"I'll be here. Ciao, darling." Balthazar saluted her with his half-empty glass, turning away when she did. Murron departed in silence, found Victor in the yard, and the two returned to the cottage.

Knowing it would be foolish to waste a rare gift, Murron carefully collected the blood from the scimitar before bringing it back to Balthazar's villa. It had been the blood that Crowley wanted her to have, not the sword itself. The blade itself was fairly nondescript and thus, potentially worthless. Still, if it got her that special angel-killing sword, she'd view it as the most valuable thing in the world.

Victor waited outside again as Murron went to confer with Balthazar. The supernatural arms dealer was lounging in one of the wing-backed chairs when she came in. He tossed her a quick smile and rose to meet her halfway.

"Have you got the sword?" he asked, perhaps a little too eagerly. Murron, the sword tucked away in one of her larger shoulder bags, stared at him for a moment before slowly revealing the blade's pommel and nothing else.

"Got the angel killer?" she countered with a pleasant smile. Balthazar cast her a pinched smile, then produced the angel sword again. He held his hand out, keeping the other held slightly aloft out of her reach.

"I've shown you mine, now show me yours," he quipped, though the humor had left his voice. Murron obliged and pulled the scimitar out completely. She held it out to him by the blade, her hand out as well. They passed each other the swords in silence. Once Balthazar had hold of the scimitar, he inspected it carefully. At his frown, Murron blinked.

"Is there a problem?"

"You've washed the blood off, haven't you?" he asked, disappointed. He sniffed at the blade, then drew back with a surprised grin. "Oh, nevermind the blood, darling, you've got something far more interesting!"

"It's just a sword," Murron insisted, thoroughly confused by his enthusiasm. Balthazar levelled her with a sarcastic look.

"Must be hard being a witch and so narrow in the imagination," he remarked dryly. He admired the scimitar a moment more, then secreted it away. "You have your angel sword. Now never come to me for anything again. I'll not have truck with the King of Hell or his consorts."

Murron balked, taken completely aback by his sudden change in attitude. The business over, Balthazar turned and walked away from her. She watched him exit the room, remained still for a painfully awkward pause, then went back outside to join Victor.

Victor didn't linger after he brought Murron back to the cottage; it was just as well. Murron wanted a moment to examine her recent purchase.

She brought the curious sword into the cellar and set it atop the scrying table, sitting down to stare at it. There was nothing about angel swords in Crowley's grimoire; she'd have to make an entry for it. It didn't seem like much. If anything, it resembled a cheesy fantasy movie prop. She picked it up and tested its weight in her hand. It was remarkably light, almost too light. Would it really kill Puriel? Could she even get close enough to try? She was no swordswoman and could barely play through a game of pool without firing one of the balls at someone. Weapons were quite beyond her. Still, how hard would it be to just stab someone? Was aim really all that important? Of course it was, she chided herself, putting the sword back down and sighing. She'd have to play around with it for a bit, get the feel for it in her grip. Maybe she'd be a natural?

And maybe you're dreaming, Murron. she thought, smirking. She continued to think she was in way over her head. Victor was her only real 'companion' in this and he was probably too afraid of Puriel to even try to fight. She'd have to be clever to defeat Patience, she knew that. Angelica hadn't exhibited any magical abilities, but she couldn't afford to assume the girl wasn't a threat. If anything, the child could be used to weaken Patience's stance, maybe get her to back down. She doubted Patience would let her daughter come to harm and as much as it galled Murron to even think about putting a child in danger, that 'child' had taken her original magic coin. And had been willing to help her mother with torture. Yeah, screw that 'children are innocent angels' crap: that kid was no better than her psychotic mother.

"Busy day?" Crowley's voice cut into her thoughts. Murron bounced on her stool with a sharp gasp. "Sorry."

"Of course you are," Murron managed, twisting round to look at the demon king. "When did you get home?"

"Moment ago. What's that you've got there?" Crowley wiggled a finger towards the angel sword. Murron reached behind her and offered it to him. He accepted it and turned it in his hands carefully. "What is this?"

"It's supposed to kill angels. I got it from weapons dealer who specializes in supernatural stuff."

"I see. That was your lead, then?" Crowley took an experimental swipe at the air with the blade. Murron nodded. "And you think you can get close enough to kill the angel?"

"Yes and no. I'm still figuring that part out."

"Have you looked in the book?"

"Not yet. I think I saw something about a binding spell in Enochian. I'll have to doublecheck. You don't know anything about killing angels?" Murron added hopefully. Crowley shrugged, still toying with the sword. "Come on. Not anything?"

"I know they can die. That's been good enough for me so far."

"Thanks. You've been a huge help." Murron spun back around and leaned against the scrying table, head in her hands. "I am so in over my head."

"What about the others?" Crowley pressed. Murron shrugged. "If the angel is with Patience and her brat, try going after the other three. Patience seems to be the head honcho in this coven; worth a shot to try and work your way up the totem pole."

Murron glanced at him over her shoulder, pondering that. It would be worth a try, she had to admit. No way could all of them have an angel on their side. She rose from the stool in silence, moving to the grimoire's lecturn where she kept the list Crowley had given her tucked between its pages. As Crowley continued to mess about with the blade like a kid in a toy store, Murron reviewed the list, then shuffled through the tome for offensive spells. As she read, she heard something fall, followed by Crowley's hissed 'Bollocks'. She smiled despite herself. It was amazing how ridiculous he could be sometimes. Whatever he'd managed to do had put him in fine humor, of which she was thankful. He'd been entirely too sullen lately.

She heard Crowley put the sword back on the scrying table, looking up when he appeared at her side. He leaned his elbow on the lecturn casually. "Anything?"

"Few things. But I think I'd be better off just going in already on the offensive," Murron replied. "I was kind of trying for a dramatic entrance last time." Crowley snorted. "Yeah, it was pretty ridiculous. It also almost got me killed."

"Best to save the dramatics for when you know you're going to win," Crowley advised. "Or if you have a reputation for winning. Either works."

"Well, I have neither at the moment, so I'll just opt for what I can do. Can the dramatics and just burn the place down around her ears."

"Sexy."

"I'm not giving them the chance to put up a defense. How do I know they don't all have torture dungeons in their basements? Better to shoot first and poke through the remains later."

"Again. Very sexy," Crowley grinned, creating lazy circles with his fingertip on the lecturn's surface. Murron chuckled. "Whatever works for you, darling, you do it."

"It's funny," Murron began thoughtfully, closing the grimoire and resting her arms over it, "I never would have imagined talking about killing people before. But things change, I guess. They changed the night I offered myself to you." She eyed Crowley with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. She used to be a good person. Though, these days, good and bad had become entirely subjective. At least she never tortured anyone. For white witches, they sure had some dark methods.

"Regretting it, then?" Crowley asked, his smile turning solemn. Murron shook her head empatically. "Good."

"Just strange, that's all. But I guess strange is the new normal around here, eh?" Murron smiled. They held each other's gaze for a long time, the first moment of peace in quite awhile.