TITLE: WARLOCK 8/14
AUTHOR: vatwoman
DISCLAIMER: JOSS WHEDON, MUTANT ENEMY AND FOX/UPN OWN EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE ‘BUFFY.’ NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. THE CHARACTER OF KOVACS IS MINE.
FEEDBACK: YES PLEASE, TO VATWOMAN@Y...

CHAPTER NOTE: There's some Latin in this part - please don't sue me if it's wrong!

The candle flames settled into perfect stillness. His breathing was slow and steady and deep and his heart pounded in his chest, keeping time with each indrawn breath. His blood sang in his ears and his skin prickled with tiny shocks of spell-induced static.

He stared at the thin, beaten, strip of lead that was the tablet. The echo of Kovacs’s magick still clung to it, reluctant to depart and it welcomed him with eager happiness. He reached out and caught the tablet in his grasp and the magick shivered in its pleasure, as if it had a life of its own.

He felt sick to his stomach … entranced and appalled in equal measure. God, he’d forgotten this. This addiction. The surface gloss. The brightness. The incredible highs. This was what he’d once lived for in those years when he’d run with Ethan Rayne. They’d cut a swathe of hell through London and beyond … magicks, drugs, booze, sex. They had done anything they’d pleased. And the lows? Who’d given a flying fuck about the lows.

He shuddered and forced himself to peel away the brightness to find the darkness underneath. It fought him - as it had always done - but he’d long since been the master of this magick. He remembered that Ethan had been its acolyte, prepared to submit himself to its whims for the borrowing of a moment of its strength. He, Giles, had never been interested in just having the borrowing of it - he’d wanted it as his for his keeping. So he had taken it - Chaos magick - the magick that fed on blood and cum: the precious life-giving fluids of the living body.

Blood play.

The magicks thrumming through the tablet ran with it. The iron blood tang was in his mouth and the salty aftertaste of something else. Blood for the binding. Cum for the offering. Sex magick … and Kovacs wanted Jenny, wanted her with his own twisted little addiction. Blood. Even in the fading echoes there was so much blood …

The strength of his grip crushed the thin metal causing the edges to curl over into his flesh. Jagged cuts creased across his fingers and palm. Smiling grimly, he closed his fist squeezing as tightly as he could. He wrapped his right hand around his left and pressed ever tighter. Closed his eyes as the power washed over him … and drifted …

>>> The sun was hanging low on the horizon, the heat dissipating at the end of day. The house before him shone golden in the waning sunlight, clouds of insects spiralling into the darkening sky.

The man was seated on the rocker on the porch, gently tipping the seat backwards and forwards. He smiled gently at Giles, rocking still, eyes half closed in pleasure at the rhythm. He looked to be in his mid-forties, Giles’s own age, but his eyes spoke of a much greater age than that.

Giles walked up the short path to the bottom of the stairs, stopped, and smiled at the man.

“Good evening.”

“Evenin.’ “

“Could you please tell me, where is this place?”

“Here.”

“And what’s down this road?” Giles pointed left, to the long straight road that arrowed off into the distance.

“There.”

“And ‘there’ is?”

The man shrugged. “There.”

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“You’ve lost something.”

Giles frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“Sure you have, else you wouldn’t be here. People here? We’ve all lost something.”

“People? I don’t see any other people.”

“They’re around. Be out looking out looking for their lost things.”

“What sort of things?”

”All sorts.”

“What’ve you lost?”

“My place.”

“I don’t understand.”

The man laughed. “ ‘Course you don’t.” His face clouded. “I lost my place on my list.” Off Giles’s puzzled look, the man reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. He handed it to Giles. “I lost my place on my list.” He repeated.

Giles took the paper and unfolded it. The words, in a heavy, black, flowery script, danced on the page.

Matthew McDonald: Life List

1. Graduate high school 2. Graduate Harvard 3. Become hot-shot lawyer 4. Get really rich 5. Retire at 40 7. Die

Signed Matthew McDonald Aged 16

Giles looked up again to find Matthew McDonald smiling at him.

“Took my eye off the list, just for a second, you know? Sort of lost a step: number 6.” He grimaced. “Had the money. Had the toys. Had the girls. Then I up and died. Bummer.”

A frisson of fear ran through Giles. “Then this is what … heaven?”

“No. This is the land of lost things.”

“But I haven’t lost anything!”

“You sure? Where’s your list?”

“List? I don’t think I have a list …” He started patting himself down. There was a crackle of paper as he brushed his hand over the pocket of his trousers. “Wait … here …” He pulled out a curled up piece of paper, brown with age and ragged at the edges. “… I don’t remember …”

He uncurled it and held it stretched out in both hands. Memories came flooding back; his tenth birthday, his father telling him of his birthright, his duty, what a Watcher needs … and here it was, the list. He’d earnestly written it down in the hand of the child he’d been, on a page torn from his English exercise book.

What a Watcher Needs

1. Languages 2. Fighting skills 3. Knowledge of demons 4. Lots of books about demons 5. Magical powers

Giles looked up. “How can this be here? I burned this more than twenty years ago!”

The man shook his head. “You make a list, it’s there forever.”

“But it’s exactly as I wrote it. There’s nothing missing from it.”

“You certain?”

“Yes! Look!” Giles held the paper up and pointed to the writing. “Numbers 1 to 5. Exactly as I wrote …” As his eyes returned to the paper, his voice trailed off into a terrible silence. “What happened?” He charged up the stairs and pulled the man out of his seat. “What happened? What happened? It’s gone! Number 5 has gone!”

The man’s shoulders moved under Giles’s hands. “Of course it has - you took your eyes off the list, didn’t you? What did you think would happen?”

Giles gripped the man tighter and stepped up into his face. “Where did it go?”

“Don’t know.” The man smiled gently.

“How do I get it back?”

“Don’t know. Been lookin’ for mine a while now. Ain’t seen any sign of it. ” The face softened and he tossed his head slightly, indicating something out of Giles’s sight. “Take a seat …” Giles turned and saw that a second rocking chair had appeared. “… maybe somebody’ll come past. They might’ve seen it.”

Giles, horrified, abruptly stepped away and stumbled backwards down the porch steps. “No!”

The man that had been Matthew McDonald, shrugged again and sat back down in his seat. “Suit yourself.” He started rocking again, like the turning of the ages.

Slackmouthed, Giles found he couldn’t move, hypnotised by the rocking motion of the chair. “No.” He fought its pull. “No. No! No! No! NO!”<<<

… “NO!” He came out of it with the scream echoing around him. “Oh god, no.” His hands were shaking suddenly, with anger, with fear. This was what he’d hoped would never happen. What he’d hoped Kovacs, or anyone else, would never see and would never understand. What he’d hoped that Kovacs would never want - his magicks.

Forcing his eyes open, he sought the circle of crystals that he’d used as his point of focus, and gasped air into his aching lungs. And pushed. Into the magicks, seeking the pathways Kovacs had used … tracing them back … spreading with them as he found the delicate tendrils of power. Felt them wrap themselves around his power – fighting him still. Trying to pull him in … even as he pushed. Gathered his energies in and pushed. Spoke the words in Latin. <You do not control me. You cannot have this> His mouth dropped open as he sought to suck in more air. <This power is mine. You cannot have this > His body started to shake, his arms and hands quivering with the strain. <You cannot have this … I defy you. You cannot have this … this … >

The pressure of the magick he was forcing back through the tablet erupted out across the apartment. The candle flames roared and then went out, the candles themselves scattered and toppled onto the floor. The crystals flew across the room and shattered against the hearth. Answering magick, like a shockwave, came back at him from his books and talismans and threw him against the sofa. He dropped the tablet onto the table.

There was blood everywhere, his flesh and clothes were covered in it. His left hand was dripping, a pool collecting on the coffee table beneath it, trails running down his arm. The pain in his hand was blinding. He let his mind drift knowing that he was still minutes away from gaining enough control over his body to see to his wounds … and the steady drip of the blood calmed him. Strange that it would do that ... but then it always had done.

And this, too, was an addiction.

Eventually he found the strength to move and stood up. The room whirled but he forced himself to walk through it and made it to the bathroom. Cuts cleaned and taped, he came back into the main room and cleared away the detritus of his casting. He returned for the tablet, picked it up, carried it into the kitchen and contemptuously threw it in the trash. “This power is mine!” <As is Jenny> But he knew that the tablet was merely a means to an end. Kovacs was working with more than just charmed pieces of lead.

He climbed the stairs to his bedroom, quietly stripped off his bloody clothes, and tossed them in the laundry basket before throwing on his robe. She was still asleep. He sat on the floor next to the bed for a long time, just looking at her, until unable to resist touching her, he reached out and stroked her upper arm and the point of her shoulder.

“Mmm.” The soft moan made him draw back. Blindly, she stretched out an arm, connected with his chest and pushed him away. “Don’t.” He smiled slightly at the sleepy order and leaned in to nuzzle at her face. Again she pushed at him. “No, don’t want …” and she was suddenly awake and sitting upright, eyes wide, heart pounding.

He was beside her in a heartbeat and gently clasped her face in his hands. “Jenny? Jenny, look at me.” She licked her lips and blinked, trying to focus her eyes. “Jenny?” Their locked gazes and he smiled gently. “Hello.”

“Uhm … hi?” She tried a shaky laugh. “Sooo, that would be the ‘getting wiped’ part of the spell, huh?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Ok, for future reference? Not such a good idea!”

“It worked though.” He kissed her. “Thank you.”

“The tablet - it was in the photo.” She glanced across at the bedside cabinet. “Where is it?”

“In the trash.”

“Ok, I’ve missed something really crucial, haven’t I? ‘Cos just throwing it in the trash is not the answer, is it?”

“No, no it’s not.”

“Hold me?” He wrapped her up in his embrace and she pressed herself against him seeking his solidity. “Hi.”

“Mmm.” He dropped a kiss on her head. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

She crawled onto his lap happy to be held and rocked and warmed by him. Then she realised how quiet it was. “What’s the time?”

He twisted around so he could see the clock. “A little after 1 a.m. You’ve been out for about seven hours. Wait a minute …” He turned all the way around and lay down, half propped up against the headboard, rearranging her beside him. “Better?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She wrapped an arm across his chest and snuggled into his shoulder. “Where are the kids? Grave-robbing?”

“I prefer the term ‘excavating.’”

“Be sure and tell the police that when they’re writing up the rap sheets.”

“ The Sunnydale Police Department,” Giles snorted, “Could not organise a piss-up in a brewery much less the sort of effective police presence that any of us would have to worry about!”

“They’re not really equipped for fighting demons and magick.” Jenny demurred.

“But they are equipped to investigate robberies, rapes and assaults. They still happen here!”

“Rupert?” She leaned back so she could see his face. Stretching up, she stroked her fingertips across the deep lines on his forehead. “What?”

Giles shook his head, feeling suddenly so very tired of everything. “I’m sorry. Pet irritant. Ignore me.”

“Sure?”

“I’m sure.” He pulled her close for a second and then loosened his hold. He slid down the bed a little so that his face was on a level with hers, seeking the calm of her eyes. They lay quietly for a time, both starting to doze again, content with the silence and each other’s company before he stirred, knowing that Buffy and the others would be back soon. “Food?”

“Hmm … yes, something light? Eggs, maybe?” She forced her eyes open and smiled sleepily at him. “Or I could just lie here with you?”

“They’re coming back once they’ve found the other tablet.”

She nodded. “Ok.” <I guess I knew that> The next breath was deep, intended to prepare her for getting out of the warm cocoon of the bed. “What did you do with the one in the photo?”

“I overloaded it. Destroyed it – with magick.” He held up his hand so she could see the tapes on his fingers. “Ugly but not deep. Bled like buggers, though.”

She heard what he’d said but could only focus on one word. “Magick?”

“Yes.” There was a hard edge to his voice.

He slipped from her arms and moved to get out of bed. She caught him as he was about to stand and pulled him back. He sat down on the edge of the bed and felt her behind him.

“What is this taking out of you, Rupert?”

“I’m alright.”

“That’s not what I asked ... and I know you’re not.” He turned around to face her. His frown brought deep furrows to his brow. She took his hands in hers. “Tell me?”

He was silent so long that she thought he intended to leave her question unanswered. His sigh broke the tension around them and brought his response. “It’s mostly the sheer exhaustion …”

“… but?”

“But underneath that there’s … I … I’m not sure how to describe it ... I’m having to fight against being dragged into the darkness.”

“You’ve never said …” Her hands gripped his more tightly. “We … I … can’t help you if you don’t tell us things.”

“I …” He stopped and drew in a deep breath. “This …” He touched the quartz crystal around his neck. “… is helping … it’s diluting the effects of the attacks. I’m tired but I can function. The rest? Well …” He laughed hollowly. “… we’ll see.”

“I don’t understand what that means.” He turned his head away and said nothing. “Giles?”

“I could kill him with a single word, did you know that?” The tone of his voice was light, almost amused. “And there was a time when I would have done exactly that.” He moved to look at her again and his eyes had taken on the pale silver that she’d seen a few days before – so long ago. He got up and moved across the room to settle in the chair by the bed. “I’ve spent a long time blaming Ethan Rayne for the utter wrongness of much of my life. Truth is that there was nothing he did that I didn’t multiply a thousand-fold. There was no depravity I wouldn’t sink to. No hurt that I wouldn’t visit on those people stupid enough to cross me.” He stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at his ankles. Leaning an elbow on the am of the chair, he rested his cheek on his fist. “The nickname’s well deserved.”

“Are you saying that’s who you are now?”

“It’s part of who I am now.”

“I know that …” She abruptly stopped talking. Her eyes rounded out as she realised what he was saying to her. “No …”

He nodded. “He must have felt my magicks through his. It’s pulling me in and he knows it. Power calls to power.”

“So now what?” They both realised suddenly that she was furiously angry with him. “We get ringside seats at a pissing contest with magicks?”

He was silent again but this time there was purpose to it, something she could almost feel, as if he was concentrating himself and his strength. She started slightly as he spoke.

“Stella,” and into his outstretched hand fell a spinning ball of bright, golden, starstuff.

Her mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ of astonishment. The ball looked for all the world like a Christmas tree bauble except that it radiated a heat she could feel from feet away. Her eyes locked with his and saw his face was set like stone.

Without breaking her gaze he brought his hand to his face. “Discedo,” he ordered, blowing gently. As light as a feather, the orb shivered in the push of air across his palm, gathered itself and disappeared in an eye-dazzling burst of light.

“What the hell was that?” Jenny whispered, not quite believing what she’d just seen him do.

“A single word.”

She pulled her legs up and hugged them to her chest. <Oh, goddess, what do I say? This is so far beyond anything I know ….> “This magick? This power? Where is it coming from?”

“Inside me.”

Torn between wanting, needing, him to say more and fearing what exactly it was he would say, she waited for him to continue, but he wasn’t playing the game and he fell silent again, forcing her to keep asking the questions she really wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

“What is it?”

“Chaos.” He watched her shiver, made cold by the tone of his voice. “I had this buried …”

“… and he’s found it …” she realised.

“… and he’s pulling it from me …”

“… magick calls to magick.”

“It’s so close …” he whispered. He stretched out his left hand once more and with only the slightest of efforts formed the air above it into a swirling pattern of light – a tiny galaxy of stars held cradled in his palm.

“But you can control it …”

“… I could control it.”

<Of course> And that was when she realised that what she’d thought had been anger deadening his voice, had been fear. For everyone around him. For himself. More than fearing his death, he feared losing control of this power.

“All magick demands a price from the practitioner.” He willed away the spell. “Natural magick, chaos magick, demands the heaviest price of all. I’ve spent years trying to find some measure of discipline …”

“You don’t need the spell-books, do you?” <’No’> It was like hearing his voice in her head, answering her, as if they were still connected.

“To perform the spells?” He shook his head. “No. Discipline again. The ritual of following the written form focuses my control.”

“And without that control?” <Say something good … something safe … something to make me feel safe … please …>

“People will die.”

He stood up and took the steps that crossed the distance between them. Looking down at her she seemed curled in on herself, both physically and emotionally. He wondered how much longer it would be before his revelations about himself drove her away from him forever. The hand he dropped onto her head was gentle, soaking up the heat he felt within her. The kiss he placed on her cheek almost felt like a goodbye. “I’ll go and make you some supper.”

………………………………………..

The second hand described another perfect circle around the face of the clock. She was almost beyond exhaustion; being unconscious for the best part of seven hours had done little to protect her against the ravages of another night without sleep. And she was cold – a bone deep, strength sapping cold.

She blinked and in her mind’s eye saw again the glowing ball of light that he’d held so carefully in his hand. He’d called it to him as if it had been his right and the power in that one gesture had stupefied her. In that moment she’d felt her anger at him disappear and into the vacuum it had left within her had fallen something else … an emotion even darker than her anger had been: fear.

Had it only been yesterday that she’d told him that she could never be afraid of him? And now? Now, she had no idea what was more terrible, the thought that she’d made herself a liar to her own words … or that she hadn’t, and in accepting that her fears were for him rather than of him, she’d somehow accepted the fact that he’d killed.

There were tiny holes in the wood of the bedside cabinet: insect-made, when the tree was still alive. Seventeen of them. She’d counted them. Re-counted them. Counting holes, counting sheep. And she had no warmth in her body.

He’d held whole worlds in his hand and his eyes had been the mirror-like silver she’d lately come to hate. He’d been as silver in the spell he’d worked through her and she’d thought it beautiful, but she’d been mistaken: silver casts a hard and brittle glow.

He lay behind her, awake. Even after so few nights together she knew how he slept – on his back and silently. On his side, with his chest pressed into her back pushing at her with each small sigh, and with his arms encircling her, she knew he was awake. The leg bent across hers completed the envelopment.

A safe haven. She wondered if, after all, she’d simply wanted it too much.

With her back pressed into his chest she knew she should have felt warm.
<Oh, goddess, why is it so cold?>

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