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Chapter 21
Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré
Upon arrival at the Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré complex, they split up to cover more ground. Pilar took the Memorial Chapel, Willow went directly to the Basilica and Giles was to check the Museum of Sainte-Anne. They would all meet at the Miraculous Statue of Sainte-Anne in the Basilica when they had completed their tasks.Pilar found nothing of use to them in the Chapel, and was returning to the Basilica when she paused at the Scala Sancta, a replica of the 28 steps Jesus ascended to meet Pontius Pilate. An elderly priest was completing his round of the stations of the cross, which were marked by superb life-size bronze figurines.
“Excúseme, Padre,” she began. “Perdón yo, I have a confusion and I was wondering if you could help me?”
The sweetness of his smile reminded her of Tio Bernardo.
“I'll certainly do what I can. There's a bench, just there.”
They sat together on the bench. The priest turned his face up to the weak sunlight with a sigh of pleasure.
“Now, how can I help you, child?”
“If someone said to you the phrase Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré—but smaller, of what would you think?”
He smiled. “I would first think of the replica built on the grounds of the Convent of Ste. Anne. The Basilica was constructed in 1923. In 1925, a wealthy industrialist paid to construct a small replica of the Great Basilica near his home for the use of the Sisters and the community. Travel was much more difficult then; many villagers never traveled more than 32 km from their homes during their entire lives. The small church never had a priest of its own, but now that I am retired from most of my active duties, I go there most weekends to say mass for the Sisters.”
“Padre, if it would not be too much of a burden, could you come with me to tell this to my friend, Mr. Giles? I think you may have solved the riddle for us. It's very important. We are meeting at the Miraculous Statue.”
**********
“Mr. Giles!” Pilar called, spotting him crossing the street, heading in the direction of the Basilica. He waved, and in a few moments, joined them.
“How do you do? I'm Rupert Giles,” he greeted the priest with Pilar.
“Father Sean O'Malley,” he replied, extending his hand to shake Giles'.
“El Padre knows of the puzzle,” Pilar broke in. “He has agreed to talk with us.”
“Father, would you care to join us for coffee, and perhaps some desert? There's a wonderful restaurant . . .”
“Le Marie Beaupré? They have coconut crème pie that will make you think you've died and gone to heaven.” He made an exaggeratedly blissful face and Giles laughed.
“With a recommendation such as that, how can I resist? Pilar, would you find Willow and tell her that we are taking Father O'Malley for desert and coffee?”
**********
The four had been seated and placed their orders before Father O'Malley began to describe the replica church at the convent. He repeated what he had told Pilar, and then concluded, “And now you have me intrigued. Can you tell me about this puzzle of yours?”
Both Willow and Pilar looked to Giles to answer, unsure as to how much information should be given.
“A dear friend of ours is missing and we are attempting to locate her. A . . . psychic gave us the clue Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré—but smaller, so we began our search at the Basilica.”
“Your friend wouldn't be a small, blonde girl, would she?”
“Yes! She's in her mid-twenties, petite, long blonde hair, hazel eyes—have you seen her?”
A look of sorrow crossed Father O'Malley's face and Giles felt his heart skip a beat.
“She was very badly injured . . . near death. I found her in the church of which we speak. The Sisters of Ste. Anne cared for her and her physical healing was miraculous, but her mind . . .”
Giles gripped the table with both hands and leaned forward. “Yes? What about her mind?”
The food arrived.
Giles and Willow were in an agony of suspense while the coffee was poured and the slices of pie served. Bernard had sensed a fracturing . . .
Father O'Malley thanked the server and then continued. “She sustained a severe blow to the head and she has no memory of her past. We had hoped it was temporary, but it has been some weeks and there has been no change. I fear she may not recognize you or know that you are her friends.”
“But she's okay, otherwise? You've seen her?” Willow asked.
“Oh, yes. She has completely healed from her injuries, with the exception of the amnesia. She has been staying at the Convent of Ste. Anne. She had no identification with her, but she believes her name is Anne—although, that may be because of the association with the saint.”
“No,” Willow said. “Her middle name really is Anne. When can we see her?”
“That would be up to Mother Marie-Claire. We would not want to cause Anne further damage.”
“Naturally not,” Giles agreed. “This convent—is it near?”
“You take 138 south to Quebec City. 138 intersects with 175 north, which will take you right to 73. Take 73 north . . .”
**********
They exited Rte. 73 and Willow handed the directions to Pilar. She was too nervous to concentrate. Pilar guided Giles through the back roads, looking for the landmarks Father O'Malley had given them. Willow fidgeted in the front seat, tapping her fingers on her knee, adjusting her seat belt and opening and closing the window at regular intervals. Giles shot occasional glances at her, but there was nothing he could say—this was something she'd have to work through on her own.
“What if I can't do this!” she suddenly burst out. “Giles, what if I screw up? The last time I tried the Vulcan Mind Meld thingy, I just sort of felt like I knew what to do and that it would work out. I don't know if I have that kind of confidence anymore. And besides, Buffy was still in there—she was just . . . hiding. But this . . . this is different. And if she doesn't know me—doesn't remember me . . . Tara said I violated her mind, and I did, Giles. I really did. I didn't understand at the time, but I don't want to violate anyone ever again!
“When I gave Tara back what Glory had stolen, that was different. I mean, Tara was still right there—in Glory's mind—and I just sort of transferred her back. But, Buffy's memories . . . that's different.”
“Yes, it is different. But Althenea thinks you can do this. She believes in you. As do I. I can only suggest that you talk with Buffy. She may choose to continue as she is now—without her memories. And if that is her choice, we must respect it. But Willow, just the fact that you are concerned about the rightness of this gives me confidence in you. Several years ago, you would not have questioned if you had the right to even attempt a spell of this magnitude. You would have assumed that you knew what was best for Buffy, and just gone ahead and done it. You are no longer that person. You brought her back from the dead, Willow. Retrieving her memories should be—as you would say—a piece of cake.”
They were driving now through a small village. They passed a laundromat and a diner that Willow just knew would have great food. Giles slowed to a stop as the traffic light turned red, and Pilar directed him to turn left. They made the turn and drove two blocks before they saw it. The houses were set farther apart from each other as they left the center of town, and through the open spaces, they glimpsed the church.
Giles pulled over into a gravel lot across from the church and they all got out of the car. Willow wiped her sweaty palms down the sides of her corduroy pants and took a deep breath.
A brick wall extended from the rear of the church, encircling what they assumed was the Convent of Ste. Anne. They approached the ornate wrought-iron gate set into the wall and rang the bell.
Within a few moments, a nun in a long blue cloak came hurrying toward the gate. She smiled serenely at them.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“Is this the convent of Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré?” Giles asked.
“It is.”
“We're . . . that is . . . I'm Rupert Giles, and this is Willow Rosenberg and Pilar Guzman de la Vega. We have reason to believe that a friend of ours is a guest in your convent and we wondered if we might speak with the Mother Superior?”
“Oh course. Would you like to wait in the church while I tell Mother Marie-Claire that you are here? It is much warmer inside and our church is very beautiful.”
“Thank you. We'll do that.”
The three entered the small church. A life-sized stature of Ste. Anne standing in the nave welcomed them. Looking down the length of the church they saw ten rows of pews on either side of the aisle. At the far end was an ornately carved raised pulpit and a large crucifix stood behind the altar.
Within 15 minutes, a door to the right of the pulpit opened and the Mother Superior joined them.
“I am Mother Marie-Claire. Sister Marie-Therese said you wished to see me about Anne?”
They introduced themselves and Giles explained, “We have reason to believe that the young woman you know as Anne is our friend, Buffy Summers. She had been . . . visiting Quebec, but a little over a month ago, we lost contact. Initially, we weren't overly concerned, as Buffy has an extraordinary ability to take care of herself. As time went on and we didn't hear from her, we began to worry. Willow and Pilar flew to my home in England, and when we received a clue as to her whereabouts, we all flew over immediately.”
“And her family?”
Willow said, “She has a younger sister, but she's at boarding school and we didn't want to worry her. We're pretty much her family.”
“I see.”
“May we see her?”
“You'll want to be sure that Anne really is your friend Buffy Summers—”
“Oh!” Willow pulled her wallet from the left pocket of her pants. Flipping it open, she removed a high school-era snapshot of Xander, Buffy and herself. She handed it to Mother Marie-Claire.
“Is this her? Anne, I mean?”
The Mother Superior nodded. “If you will come with me, I will let Anne know you are here to see her, and we can proceed from there.”
**********
Will had read the same paragraph of Harriet's notes three times without comprehension before closing the manila folder. He may as well give up—he wasn't going to get any work done this evening. The cottage that had previously seemed so warm and comfortable, now felt barren and empty without Anne's presence.
The knock on the door caused his heart to skip a beat. He wasn't expecting Anne until tomorrow, but perhaps she had missed him as much as he missed her.
He flung open the door. “I've missed you so mu—”
The night was very dark. A low cloud cover blotted out the moon and stars, but he could see enough to know that the slim brunette in the expensive fur coat wasn't Anne.
“I've missed you, too, my dark prince.”
Will was slightly confused. “Are you from the publishing company, then?”
“I've just come from there!” Dru was delighted that he had figured it out so quickly.
“Well, you'd better come in—it's very cold tonight.”
The woman entered the living room and let her sable slip from her shoulders to the floor.
“It's always cold. There's been no warmth a'tall since Grandmama killed herself for the nasty crying changeling child and Daddy and the Angel Beast went away together and my Spike is all new and shiny.”
Oh, fuck! She was high as a kite! What the bloody hell was he supposed to do with a very stoned strange woman out in the middle of nowhere?
She turned to look at him and her eyes were fathomless pools of sorrow. Did he know her? She looked very familiar . . . his dreams! This was the woman who haunted his dreams.
“I've dreamed about you,” he blurted.
She glided sinuously across the room until she was standing very close to him. He felt uncomfortable—he didn't like people invading his personal space.
She cupped the left side of his face with a long-fingered hand that was cold as ice. He wanted to step back, but he didn't seem to be able to move.
“Of course you did, my darling. I'm your destiny, after all.”
“My destiny? You said that before . . . in my dreams, you said that.”
She clapped her hands with delight. “And I was right, wasn't I, sweet Willie?”
“Er, it's William . . .”
“Yes. You said that when I made you the first time.”
None of this was making any sense, but for some odd reason, he didn't seem to care. He didn't seem to care about anything . . . he was drowning in her large, gray eyes . . .
“Mummy will make it all better. Close your eyes . . .”
He did.
Will felt a searing pain in his neck and began to struggle, but she held him to her with a grip like iron. He was getting weaker . . . his legs were giving out . . . he just wanted to lie down and rest . . . His eyelids fluttered. He looked into her eyes, but they were no longer silvery-gray. They were a sulfurous yellow now.
He sank to his knees and she propped him against the couch as she pulled her raspberry sweater over her head.
She sat on the couch and effortlessly lifted him into her lap. She lifted her hand, and her long fingernail scored a crimson line across her snow-white breast. Droplets of her blood fell on his face as she lifted his head and pressed his mouth to the deep cut in her breast.
His tongue flicked out to lick his dry lips and he tasted warmth . . . life . . . and then he was sucking at her breast like a child, drinking deeply.
She cradled him in her arms and crooned softly.
“Mummy's here. It will soon be all better. Mummy's come to save you . . .”
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