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Chapter 16
The CotswoldsThere was smoke coming from the chimney of the small house as Giles and Willow pulled up in front.
“Looks like someone lives here,” Willow commented. “Let's hope it's still Mr. Addison.”
The door was opened by an elderly man. His eyes were milky with cataracts and he used a cane, but Willow would have guessed his age at around 75, rather than a quarter century more.
“It's Rupert Giles, Bernard. I've brought a friend to visit, if we're not disturbing you.”
“Come in, come in.” He squinted at Willow, trying to better make out the details of her appearance. “Always did have a thing for redheads, young lady. The older I get, the more I like 'em. Can't tell the difference between blonde, white and gray any longer, and every other color is just 'dark' to me, so a redhead's a treat.”
“Thank you” didn't seem adequate, but Willow wasn't sure what else to say.
“Shame about the Council, wasn't it? Though I hear you're reforming it, Rupert.”
“Yes, I am. And somehow, I'm not at all surprised that you're up on the latest. Though I'm never sure if it's because you've got your ear to the ground or if a mystical 'little bird' tells you,” Giles joked.
“A bit of both, I dare say. Sit down, both of you—or better yet, why don't you make us a pot of tea, Rupert, and let me get to know this charming redhead?”
Bernard took her hand, holding it between both of his. His hands were dry and papery, with a slight tremor, but his grip was strong. He closed his eyes for a brief period and then smiled.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rosenberg. And please give my regards to my old friend Althenea, when next you see her.”
Willow was startled, but she felt only good-will emanating from him. She squeezed his hand before reclaiming hers. She wasn't sure how she felt about a total stranger knowing all her deep, dark secrets, but it was done now. It was also freeing, in a weird way. There was no awkward attempting to make conversation with someone who knew all about you and apparently accepted and liked you anyway.
“You told me he was good, Giles, but I had no idea he'd be this good!”
“Oh, 'best mystical psychic the Council's ever had' didn't quite cover it, then?” Giles called from the kitchen.
Bernard laughed. “You know why I've always like you, Rupert? On a purely personal basis? It's because you've always treated me like a regular human being. During my tenure with the Council, I seemed to elicit either obsequious awe or terror resulting in avoidance, rarely anything in between. It was rather a lonely life.”
He smiled as Giles came in carrying a tray with cups, saucers, cream and sugar.
“Oh, well, water under the bridge and all that. I've seldom regretted my gift because it's allowed me to live a long, productive life. I've done my part in 'world savage' as Ms. Rosenberg's friend termed it. I like that! And I'm very glad you were her Watcher, Rupert. You allowed her a growth and development not possible with any other on the roster at the time. But, oh, she led Quentin a merry chase, didn't she?”
Bernard began to wheeze with laughter.
Giles handed him the glass of water from the table next to him. Bernard nodded and took several sips.
“Thank you, Rupert. It seems laughter must be practiced frequently to stay in shape. I haven't found much to laugh about recently. Thank you both for bringing it back to me. Where was I? Oh, Ms. Summers. She came right out of nowhere. No one expected her at all.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Giles. “Merrick and Quentin were locked in a power struggle about something or other—those two were always butting heads—so he sent Merrick off to Watch her. A southern California cheerleader with no knowledge and no prior training? Quentin figured she would last three months, tops. That would give him enough time to foster support for his position while Merrick was gone. The best laid plans of mice and men . . .”
The kettle whistled and Giles went to make the tea. He brought the pot and set it on the tray. Allowing the tea to steep, Bernard continued his narrative. He didn't often have visitors that did more than pop in and out, bringing him dinner, offering to take him shopping or to do his laundry.
The villagers had taken him in and were wonderful to him, and he was very appreciative, but he didn't get much chance to converse. He was determined to take full advantage of this opportunity while it lasted.
“Well, the three months ended and Merrick was dead, and your resourceful Buffy decided to 'quit'. You should have seen Quentin. I thought the man was going to have apoplexy! Quit? She's decided to quit? Does she think we're employing her?” Bernard leaned close to Willow and spoke directly to her. “Rupert was sitting next to me and he whispered, 'I'm sure she knows we're not employing her as we don't bother to pay the Slayers a salary.' I knew at that point he'd be the perfect man for the job. Will you pour, Ms. Rosenberg?”
“Only if you call me 'Willow'. And you know Althenea?”
His eyes twinkled. “Quite well. Lovely woman. I'm very much enjoying this visit and I could go nattering on for days, but I presume there is a specific reason for your visit, beyond cheering up an old man?”
Both Giles and Willow felt a flash of guilt.
Giles answered, “You're right, Bernard. I only come to see you when I want something. I beg your pardon.”
“No need. That wasn't quite sporting of me. I meant to express my pleasure in your visit—not chastise you for failing to visit more often. The world moves on and those with a more active part to play must do so. Please, feel free to make what use of me you will. I'm glad to occasionally be of service. Now, what are you looking for?”
**********
Bernard sat forward in his chair, eyes gleaming. There was awe in his voice when he spoke. “The Solomon Codex! It exists? And you own it? What I wouldn't give to see that . . .”
Willow jumped in without thinking. “Why don't you come stay with us for a few days? You could see the Codex, maybe get a chance to visit Althenea and fill us in on any info you might have about the Zoroastrians . . .”
Bernard's eyes went dark—but not in that hopped-up-uberwitch-about-to-destroy-the-world kind of way. It was more like the milkiness that clouded his everyday vision disappeared, and he could see, Willow decided.
“The Zoroastrian line . . . created by the demon Ahriman . . . rather like the Slayer, they are imbued with demon essence, but retain free will . . . few in number, each one unique . . . they can be forces for good or evil or remain neutral . . .” The milkiness began to cover his eyes like a cloud passing over the sun. “I'm sorry, Rupert. That's all I've seen for now, but you say the Codex mentions them? Perhaps if I could touch it . . .”
Giles added his invitation to Willow's. “What do you say to a few days in Bath, Bernard?”
His seamed face lit up. “I'd say, let's get cracking!”
**********
Quebec
Will's eyes flew open. He'd had one of those bloody dreams again. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and found it was less painful than he had anticipated. He still hurt, but he could move a bit better and his eye felt less swollen. He could actually see a sliver of light when he closed his good eye.Anne's scent was on the bedclothes, so he knew he hadn't dreamed her being with him last night—but where was she now? Will felt a flash of fear that he had done something to drive her away.
He knocked on the bathroom door. There was no answer, so he tried the knob. Unlocked. He went in and looked at himself in the mirror. The eye wasn't quite as purple as he remembered it being—and was that a hint of yellow-green at the edges? Definitely doing better. He decided to take a shower; one always felt better being clean.
Will dried off and dressed quickly in another flannel shirt and soft, well-worn jeans, then headed toward the kitchen. The coal stove had gone out and he shivered. He threw on his parka to keep warm as he laid the kindling and carefully spread a thin layer of coal on top. He was looking for an old newspaper when he saw the note.
Dear Will,
I borrowed your skis—you were out of almost everything so I went to the grocery store. Do you know how to cook? I don't think I do, so I'll get easy stuff, just in case. See you later,
Anne
Will pulled out a chair and dropped heavily into it. He hadn't been aware of how frightened he'd been that she'd gone for good until he saw the note. In just a short time, she had come to mean . . . everything to him. He felt like he had known her always. She'd toss her head or put her hands on her hips and he felt he'd seen her do those very things many times before. Just being in the same room with Anne brought a strong sense of deja vu.
Will got up and finished starting the fire in the kitchen stove. When he was sure it was drawing properly, he went into the living room to build up the fire there. There was something primitive and elemental about depending on fire as one's only source of heat. Maybe that was affecting him—turning him into a sort of neo-caveman. How else to explain his caveman like behavior in his dream last night?
If cavemen and astronauts got into a fight, who would win?
Will vaguely remembered having that discussion with friends. He had initially thought it would be the astronauts—their ability to plan and reason things out along with their evolved creativity would allow them to MacGyver themselves out of any situation.
Now, he decided that it would be the cavemen who won. Singlemindedly fighting for survival, primitive, not distracted by the ability to plan and reason things out . . . of course it would be the cavemen. They wanted it more.
Will dragged the cushion from the couch and put it on the floor. He lay down in front of the fire and watched it burn.
The chill of the room receded before the spreading warmth. The cold was not vanquished; it lurked just beyond the area claimed by the fire, biding its time until the fire went out. But the fire could return again and again. As many times as necessary. All it took was the desire and the will and the ability to rekindle it . . . one could always have the fire back.
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