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Chapter 15
BathWillow was pushing through the swinging door when she saw the pen go flying across the room. She 'caught' it, allowing it to hover for a second or two before lowering it to the table.
“Having a fit of pique, are we?” she asked with a grin, handing Giles a cup of hot cocoa.
He smiled sheepishly in return. “I just feel so bloody frustrated! When I think of the books . . . the resources . . . that were so wantonly destroyed along with the Council . . . I haven't a clue where to begin looking for information. There was a monk in Paris named Father Darius, who had quite an extensive library, but he was killed about ten years ago and no one has any idea as to what happened to his collection. There must be other sources that have information on the vampire lines . . .”
Willow sipped her cocoa. “Do you really think the Council had any info? Wouldn't they have told you, being the active Slayer's Watcher and all?”
“Oh, yes, because they were so very forthcoming with information about Glory, hmm? The Council seemed to feel that knowledge gave them power—note the pronoun them—and didn't appear to be in any hurry to share it—especially with operatives actually in the field! So, yes, they could have had quite a lot of information. One would think that the Council would be interested in texts about vampires. Then again, they did record both Angel's and Spike's ages incorrectly and they were under the assumption that Angelus sired Spike, believing Drusilla too weak or mad to do so. Which may be why Spike retained so much of his humanity. Hmmm. Oh, yes, the Council. Angel had a soul for an entire century, of which they showed no awareness, so there may have been several factors at work. They may have had information and didn't know what they had; they may have suppressed the information for their own purposes, or they may have had none at all.”
“What do you need more information about, Giles? Maybe I can help.”
Giles removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“In a word—souls, Willow. As we know from both Angel and Spike, and from the majority of the records the Council kept, the Aurelian-type vampires are created by the introduction of demon essence into the host, via the blood. The soul leaves the body upon death, but appears to remain close enough that it can be retrieved, if needed. The Turok-Han are a primitive race, and most probably do not possess souls at all. Now we come to the Zoroastrian line. I have translated three separate passages that appear to imply that the Zoroastrians retain their souls after being sired.”
“But . . . how is that possible? How can a demon have a soul? And, if they do, what ramifications does that have for the slayage? Why is it not okay to kill humans, but killing souled demons is fine?”
“Apparently, various demons do retain their souls, or are born as souled creatures. As you may remember, Vengeance demons keep their souls after being turned. And there are various demon races that are born souled.”
Giles reached for his yellow pad. “I've noted some I've come across while attempting to research the Zoroastrians. The Phlopi, Brachen, Ana-Movic, and several Pylean clans . . .”
“Spike's best friend was a Phlopi named Clem—sorta ironic that an 'evil vampire' would pick a souled demon to spend his time with when he wasn't with us. Spike was definitely the weirdest vampire I ever . . . Oh, oh! What about your friend? Old prophecy guy from the Cotswolds. If he's still around, he might know something.”
“Bernard Addison, yes. He was quite helpful to me several years ago. He was the best mystical psychic the Council ever had. I'd forgotten about him. He certainly knows about prophecies, and if anyone has come across the Zoroastrian line in research, it would be Bernard Addison. I haven't seen him in three or four years . . . he was nearly a hundred then . . . I don't suppose he's still alive.”
“What will it take to find out?”
“A day's trip to the Cotswolds. You've never been, I believe. Shall we go tomorrow?”
“Yay! A roadtrip!”
**********
Buenos Aires
“Hola, abuela,” Pilar dropped a kiss on the top of her grandmother's head. “Need any help?”
Esperanza was shucking corn and she nudged the basket toward Pilar with her foot. Pilar sat on the bench next to her grandmother in the sunny courtyard and brushed an errant strand of hair from her eyes. “It's hot today! I'll certainly be glad when autumn comes.”
Esperanza smiled. “Autumn has always been my favorite season. Many prefer spring, but for me, autumn has a richness—a maturity—that spring lacks.”
“Do you know how much I love you, Nana?”
“As much as I love you. Now get to work! Dinner won't make itself.”
Pilar shucked the husk from the corn and then handed the ear to her grandmother, who removed the silk that still adhered.
“You miss her, don't you?” Esperanza asked quietly.
“Who?” Pilar was still at the stage where just hearing Willow's name spoken made her happy.
“La bruja roja, of course, who else?”
“The red witch—I like that. And, yes, I do. We haven't known each other very long, but already I feel like she is a part of me. Nana, do you think there is such a thing as soul mates? One person in the world that . . . completes you?”
“No.”
“No?” Pilar felt unreasonably disappointed.
“No. I do not believe there is only one person for each of us. How terrible it would be if we lost that one and had to then spend the rest of our lives without hope. I believe that if one is open to love, it will come in its own time.”
“And Willow . . . do you think she is . . . open?”
“Your Willow has told me of her love for la bruja buena; she is capable of loving deeply, but she must be ready. She is still attempting to atone for past sins, and until she is able to accept herself completely, she will not be able to love anyone else completely. She fears loss of control—she worries about losing herself in strong emotions. Do not push, mi'ja; to everything there is a season.”
“So, what should I do?”
Esperanza smiled. “The first thing I would suggest is to renew your passport. She and her friends will have need of your help—I know this—so best to be prepared.”
“Nana, you are the most amazing woman I have ever known!”
“Yes, I am. But I'll 'amaze' your butt if you let that good corn get all dried out sitting here in the hot sun!”
Pilar laughed and went back to shucking.
**********
Quebec
Will sneezed. A long strand of hair was tickling his nose. It smelled wonderful, but the sneeze hurt like hell, so he carefully brushed it out of the way. The pain of the sneeze was worth it to have Anne here in his arms.She stirred, settling herself closer to him. Will found himself grinning like an idiot. It hurt his eye, but he discovered he couldn't stop—didn't want to stop.
What's the definition of ironic? Having Anne in your arms because you're hurt. Not being able to do anything about having Anne in your arms because you're hurt.
Will breathed in the scent of Anne's hair and drifted back to sleep.
Anne's right hook connected with such force that his head snapped back, but it didn't hurt. This must be a dream, then. He laughed and hit her back, telling her she was 'wrong'. Definitely a dream. He'd never . . .
Anne shoved him and he stumbled back, catching his heel on a broken stoop and falling backwards into an abandoned house. The house was in the last stages of decrepitude, but still boasted a cut glass chandelier, now hazy with a thick film of dust. Anne lunged after him into the house and hit him again, knocking him into the wall. He used the wall as a springboard, launching himself at Anne, punching her in the face. Her head snapped back, but she recovered immediately and hit him again.
“Oh, poor little lost girl. She doesn't fit in anywhere. She's got no one to love.”
“Me? I'm lost? Look at you, you idiot. Poor Spikey. Can't be a human; can't be a vampire. Where the hell do you fit in?”
He jumped and grabbed the chandelier, using the momentum to kick Anne with both feet. She staggered back, but didn't go down.
“I'm in love with you!” he yelled, as she flung him into the fireplace, cracking the stone.
“You're in love with pain. Admit it. You like me because you enjoy getting beat down. So really, who's screwed up?”
“Hello! Vampire! I'm supposed to be treading on the dark side. What's your excuse?”
She blocked his swing, and then he turned his forearm, deflecting her follow-through. He smirked.
“I wasn't planning on hurting you. Much.”
She swept his feet out from under him and he went down hard.
“You haven't even come close to hurting me.”
She hauled him up by the lapels and shoved him against the wall.
“Afraid to give me the chance? You afraid I'm gonna—”
She pinned him against the wall with her body and then she kissed him. Hard and brutal; there was nothing soft and romantic about this kiss. She ground her teeth against his, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, as if to put her claim on him. Not necessary—he was hers already.
He sucked on her tongue, scraping his teeth over it and she thrust her hips painfully against his erection. Their tongues fought for dominance and he gripped her upper arms, turning so that she was pressed against the wall and he was momentarily the aggressor. Not for long.
She shoved him hard and they staggered across the room, without breaking the kiss. He was sure that one would swallow the other whole, if the kiss continued longer. He slammed into the wall and then she bent her knees and pushed off, springing up to wrap her legs around his waist. They were both gasping for air, taking quick breaths before continuing that punishing kiss. Her hand reached down, grasped his zipper and yanked it down, freeing his erection. She hitched up her long leather skirt and his fingers found her lacy panties, pushing them aside. Before he could touch her as he wanted to, she lifted her hips and thrust down on his cock, engulfing him.
He braced his shoulders against the wall and supported her hips as she rode him. She threw back her head, arching her neck. She shoved against the wall and he lost his balance. The floor gave way and they went crashing through. He twisted their bodies in mid-air, landing on his back in the basement, still managing to remain joined through the free-fall.
She braced her hands on his shoulders and began moving to a faster rhythm. He thrust into her as she arched her back, taking him still deeper within. Her muscles tightened around him as she screamed her rage, fury and passion as she came. Two more hard thrusts brought his own release. His breath came in pants that somehow felt very necessary.
“You're right, pet, guess I am beneath you, after all.” He smirked. “At least this time . . .”
***********************************************************************************************"Smashed" dialogue by Drew Z. Greenberg.
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