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Chapter 20
BathGiles leapt to his feet to support Bernard, and half carried the smaller man to the sofa. Bernard sank down between Althenea and Pilar; Althenea handed him a cup of the herb tea. He drank deeply, finishing the tea in only a few swallows. Althenea immediately poured him another. Bernard smiled his thanks and began to speak.
“I've seen . . . Rupert, you and the young witches must get over there immediately. There is a convergence of events that, if unchecked, could spell disaster for us all.”
“You said 'we must stop him',” Giles replied. “Lucien? He's evil, then?” Giles was surprised to find he was strangely disappointed.
Bernard was emphatically shaking his head. “No, not evil. Misguided. In fact, he has the ability to become a champion for good, but he has been searching for his destiny for so long that he may fail to recognize it when it appears. He's aware of Ms. Summers. He feels drawn to her. His soul yearns toward the light, but he has interpreted it as a desire to turn her—to make her his life-mate. This must not be allowed to happen—for both their sakes.”
Willow broke in. “But Buffy could kick his ass, right? She resisted Dracula's thrall—she wouldn't let him turn her, would she?”
Bernard turned to look at her. “Ms. Summers is not herself. I sense a fracturing—a loss of memory. She is re-discovering who she is—and that is a good thing—but she is currently without her usual weapons. The Slayer part of her persona is buried deeply within her, and she is learning to live as a normal human. She was so young when she was called—her identity was not fully formed—and was thus informed by her slayerness. She had always yearned to know who she would have been if she had not been the Slayer. She has been given a chance to find out. However, her slayerness is an integral part of who she is and must be reclaimed for her to be whole.”
Pilar had been trying to follow the conversation. “So, Tio Bernardo, you are saying that Buffy isn't Buffy, but she does not know this; and Lucien isn't evil, but he must be prevented from doing an evil thing so he has a chance to be good. Buffy cannot stop him because she doesn't know who she is, so we are needed to stop Lucien, set him on the correct path and make Buffy whole again?”
Willow grinned and snapped her fingers. “Piece of cake . . . Not!”
Althenea took charge.
“Rupert, you and the girls must go at once. With your permission, Bernard and I will remain here. Willow, Rupert, gather the ingredients and spells that will be needed. Pilar, if you could please pack a bag for yourself and Willow—and remember, it will be much colder in Canada than here, so select your warmest clothes. If you haven't anything appropriate—and I realize it is summer in Buenos Aires—I'll check with the coven. I'm sure we can find things to fit you both.
“I'll make the travel arrangements immediately. Bernard, you just relax, dear, and have another cup of tea. Your contribution has been invaluable and you must recover your strength.”
With a flurry of activity, they all went about their assigned tasks.
Bernard's was to have another cup of tea, but he was sure Althenea wouldn't mind if he added some of those delightful chocolate biscuits from the tin on the table. After all, he had been specifically ordered to recover his strength and chocolate was very . . . restorative.
He helped himself to four of the cookies and leaned back against the sofa cushion. He dipped a biscuit into the tea and nibbled it slowly. Yes, he decided, he had certainly gotten the best assignment of them all.
**********
Althenea was able to book them on an Air Canada flight from Heathrow to Montreal-Trudeau Airport, with a connecting Air Canada Jazz flight from Montreal-Trudeau to Quebec City. She had arranged to hire a Land Rover in Quebec.
Giles and Willow were still closeted in Giles' study, deciding which books would be of most value to take with them.
After performing her duties as travel agent, Althenea had run Pilar over to a friend's house to borrow winter clothes.
Bernard was relaxing in the brief eye in the storm of preparation, but he wished he were able to go along. He hadn't had this much excitement in years, and he thrived on it. He liked being useful and productive, and he felt a warm glow of pride that these lovely people not only found value in his gift, but in himself. Willow had even made him an honorary Scooby. He hoped that they would continue to call on him whenever he could be of service.
The energy of this group was very positive—just look what they had accomplished already! Rupert had been a sad, lonely man, who was now in the process of opening himself to life once again. Willow still feared misuse of her power, but he had a feeling that would soon change. Pilar was good for her, and if Willow could pull off the work required of her in Canada, she would no longer fear her great power—she would be its master, not its slave.
He had also greatly benefited from his connection with the group. He felt more vital and useful than he had in years. He had been put out to pasture, but now he was welcomed back into the barn. And if he couldn't go along to Canada, he and Althenea would stay right here and do their part!
He'd rested, as ordered. He'd finished his tea and biscuits—what was he still doing out here? He was a researcher, by gum; he should be helping Rupert and Willow. He struggled to his feet, his joints stiff after his period of inactivity, and prepared to go back to work.
**********
Quebec
Anne and Will had spent the evening watching the fire. It was soothing, relaxing, hypnotic, and yet exciting—all at the same time, Anne decided. It drew her into its depths, just as Will did. At the very center, the fire burned the exact blue of his eyes. Will was like the fire—warm and welcoming, soothing and hypnotic, but with an inner intensity that caused fluttery feelings in her stomach.
Anne didn't know if she believed in destiny or fate or any of that stuff, but somehow, her relationship with Will felt . . . fated. Like it was meant to be. It felt like they had known each other forever—that they belonged together. Maybe there was something to this past-life stuff, because Will seemed so familiar . . .
The fire spit, startling her, and sparks flew into the air. She wasn't going to worry about the past any longer; she had the future to look forward to—and no matter what had happened in the past, her future included Will.
His strong hands massaged her shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscles on either side of her spine. She leaned back against him with a sigh of bliss. Anne could no longer even imagine a life that didn't include Will, and she was pretty sure he felt the same. She turned her head to look at him, her eyes conveying all the emotion she seemed to have so much trouble expressing.
“It's getting late . . . are you ready to go to bed, yet?”
Will was immediately contrite. “Oh, I didn't realize . . . are you tired?”
Her eyes sparkled and she grinned. “Nope. Not in the slightest. Not tired at all.”
Anne got to her feet and reached for his hands to pull him up from the couch. She slipped her arm around his waist as he draped his over her shoulder. He was the perfect height, she decided. Not too tall, not too big—they fit.
Arms around each other, they retired to the bedroom.
**********
Quebec
Giles mentally reminded himself to keep to the right side of the road. The flight had been uneventful; they had all slept through most of it. He opened the car window, enjoying the cold, fresh air. He disliked the recycled air one was forced to breathe when flying. This was real air!
There had been a message from Bernard upon their arrival at Montreal-Trudeau: Ste.-Anne-de-Beaupré —but smaller. It was a bit cryptic, but Giles knew Bernard would have given them exactly what he had 'seen'. It was up to them to figure out what it meant. So, after collecting the Land Rover Althenea had reserved, they were now traveling north on 138 to Ste.-Anne-de-Beaupré .
“A chapel had been built at the site in 1658, and soon after, those who visited the shrine began reporting miraculous cures. Near the site of the original chapel, a Memorial Chapel was built and then remodeled in 1878. It doesn't say what happened to the original chapel. In 1923, the magnificent Basilique de Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré was erected. The Basilica contains the Miraculous Statue of Sainte Anne and relics of the saint.” Willow put down the brochure she had been skimming and looked at Giles. “Are you sure that's all Bernie said? Ste. Anne—but smaller? The Memorial Chapel is smaller than the Basilica, but it's not the original shrine, and it doesn't house the relics . . . I don't know, Giles. I don't have a clue what he means! I guess we'll just have to poke around when we get there.”
Willow consulted the pamphlet again. “The Basilica is open from 7-6, Oct. through May, so we'll have plenty of time. And, oh look! Restaurant Le Marie Beaupré. It says here it serves 'divine family food, including burgers, salads, rib steaks, club sandwiches, roasted chicken and chicken potpie'. It's near the shrine and we could all use some divine food about now! Oh, wait . . . do you think that means the food's really good, or just that it's blessed or something? 'Cause I'm hoping for the 'really good' definition. I'm starved!”
**********
Quebec
It was early afternoon when Will awakened. He was turning into quite the creature of the night; staying up until the wee hours of the morning, and then sleeping past noon. As usual, he was ravenously hungry. Maybe he could talk Margaret into delivering on a regular basis! As that wasn't a current option, he pulled on his jeans and a sweater and went to see about lunch.
Discovering a box of Bisquick in the cupboard, he thought he could put together a facsimile of Beef Wellington. He browned the ground beef Anne had bought and finely chopped an onion. After draining the beef, he added the onion and let the mixture simmer while he read the Bisquick box. He drained the meat a second time, and added a can of condensed mushroom soup to the warm meat.
He whistled while he rolled out the Bisquick dough, but he had no idea of the source of the tune. The words Anarchy in the UK popped into his mind and he grinned. If the inventor of the superb Beef Wellington could see him now, he was sure Anarchy in Canada would be more appropriate lyrics.
Will spread the cooled meat and soup mixture over the dough and rolled it up, placing it in the oven to bake. A second can of Cream of Mushroom soup, diluted with some milk, would make an acceptable sauce.
A sleepily disheveled Anne appeared in the kitchen, sniffing the aroma from his Wellington.
“Mmmm . . . what is that wonderful smell?”
Will grinned. “A rather bastardized version of Beef Wellington. But it does smell good, doesn't it?”
“More than good! It smells . . .” Anne opened the fridge and got out the tomato juice, poured a glass and added salt and pepper. She stirred the seasonings with her forefinger, then popped the finger into her mouth and licked it clean. “. . . definitely eat-able. Between your mad cooking skills and your mad skills in . . . other areas, I'm seriously considering asking you to marry me!” Anne laughed.
Will didn't. “I'm seriously considering accepting.”
The mushroom soup chose that moment to boil over the sides of the pan. Grabbing a hot pad, Will snatched the soup pan from the stove.
“So much for my mad cooking skills . . .”
Anne slipped her arms around his waist. “But there are still your other skills.”
She batted her eyelashes furiously and Will let out a bark of laughter. He gave her a quick kiss and then turned to take the Wellington from the oven. He nearly dropped it when Anne took advantage of his position to grab his ass.
She laughed and reached for the plates.
Will cut two thick slices and poured the slightly lumpy sauce over them.
Anne closed her eyes in rapture with the first bite, and then went on to consume two additional slices.
When she had finished her third slice, she looked at him regretfully. “I really hate to stick you with the clean-up, after you did all the cooking, but I really need to go back to the convent. Mother Marie-Claire and Sister Bernadette were so nice to me—they took me in, cared for me when I was hurt and I know they'll be worried about me, even if Mrs. Hatcher told them where I was. It's not fair to put them through that when I could go back, let them see I'm fine and explain what's happening. You understand, don't you, Will?”
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek on the top of her hair. “Yes. I do understand. But I'll miss you dreadfully.”
“I'll be back tomorrow. I'm sure you can occupy yourself for one night without me.”
Anne's eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Ohmigod! I didn't mean it like that! I didn't mean 'occupy yourself' you know, by yourself . . . I wasn't implying . . . I mean, I'm sure you have lots of things to do when you're alone . . . and I'm just making it worse, aren't I?”
Will was laughing so hard, he had to sit down before he burst the taping on his ribs.
“Don't worry . . .” he gasped. “I'm sure I can find dozens of things to do that don't involve pleasuring myself!”
“Well, I wasn't telling you not to . . . I mean, if you want to . . . and I've gone way beyond 'making it worse' and am rapidly approaching 'I'll-never-dig-myself-out-of-this' territory. Leaving now!”
Anne threw her cape around her shoulders and was out the door before she could erupt into more insane babbling.
Will grasped his ribs and laughed until he couldn't catch his breath. He stood, gasping for breath, and then began to clean up the kitchen, frequently ambushed by further attacks of the giggles.
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