Taming the Muse Prompt 45, BoaS Part 29, The Anashaman, BtVS, PG

[thismaz]

.
What a week it's been. I am like 200 posts behind on my flist (apart from a few I've gone looking at, out of order, which is a big deal for me, but it's been that kind of week) and I haven't even started looking at all the other Taming stories. But today was just writing. I'll face real-LJ life again tomorrow. All the best to everyone. *hugs all round*

Title: The Anashaman
Part 29 of the Blood on a Sundial series.
Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #45 - Argos.
At: tamingthemuse
Note for non-British readers - Argos is the name of a catalogue shop in the UK. It sells stuff at what could be called 'a very reasonable price'.
Summary: Spike, Xander, AU in Season 2. We are talking slow burn here, people.
Disclaimer: here.
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 3,055



29. The Anashaman

"But, but, that can't be true," Xander said, oblivious to Spike's scowl. "You must be making this up. The Watchers Council are the good guys. They help the slayer. They can't..." he petered out as Black Wind turned back to look at him.

Black wind's expression was bland, unless you were awake to the glint in his eyes. "I am not lying," he explained. "I have no interest in European magic. I had no reason to contact the Watchers Council. No reason to care about what they do. But they came to my shop, to my home, and they threatened me. They have an American slayer and she has some blood in her veins which calls to this land. They want to weaken her links to Our magic, so the other part of her ancestry is all that is left. And that holds to Europe. They want to weaken an aspect of her power, so they have control. I would refuse on those grounds alone. To deliberately weaken someone's essence? That is not what my magic is about."

Obviously still not convinced, Xander's voice took on an edge of sarcasm. "So you're what? Like a good shaman? A white shaman? That's why you come to ask a vampire to kill humans?"

Black Wind smiled reassuringly, but still with an edge. "Black, white, good, evil, these terms mean nothing," he said with a vague wave of his hand. "They are words used to name opposites. It's a European way of thinking. I am not good or evil, child. But I am whole. To make someone less than whole? That would diminish me. It would hollow me out, like a canker in the soul of a tree." He sat back in his seat and for a moment he looked weary. "The slayer line is old. She comes from the source of humanity itself. But she is born in a human body, which is part of the present and the route to it, from the past. This slayer has roots in Europe and in this land." Again he smiled. And this time it was not reassuring. "The Council has never felt comfortable when the slayer is born out of their familiar realm."

The preaching registered on Spike's mind, but he was not really listening, at this however, he looked up sharply. "Are you saying that my first slayer was weakened somehow?"

Black Wind shook his head "I'm not saying anything about her at all. Where were you? How old were you?

"The first was in China, when I was twenty years dead. The second was here in New York, African American bird. What do you know?"

"Nothing, my friend. I know nothing for certain. At twenty, there is no reason you could not have met and killed a slayer at full strength. I have no reason to believe they have tried to do this before. I only know the ones who came to me and asked me to perform abomination."

Spike relaxed, slightly reassured "That's better. Yeah. 'Course she hadn't been tampered with. Was a good fight." He muttered.

*****

After Black Wind left, Spike went downstairs and sent Jimmy out, scouting for information. He was useless in a fight, but he was intelligent enough to ask questions and young enough to look innocent while he did so. With the information Black Wind had supplied, Spike had no doubt Jimmy would locate the council members. He, meanwhile, went to pay a visit on Flavia, leaving Xander at the factory.

*****
The sun had only been down for half an hour when Xander entered the hotel. Spike had roused him out of bed with, "Come on. We're going to pay a visit on a couple of watchers. You want to check the truth? You can join the team."

Xander had blinked up at him. "We have a team?"

"Yeah. You and me. Jimmy stays here. He's no good to man nor beast in a fight. Bring your guns."

So here he was, about to infiltrate the watcher's den. He crossed the marble floor of the foyer, trying to appear confident of his welcome and asked the clerk at the front desk for Roger Wyndam-Pryce. The clerk looked doubtful, but picked up the telephone and dialled. "Mr Wyndam-Pryce, Sir. There is a... young gentleman at reception asking to speak to you." There was a pause as he listened to the voice at the other end. "No, Sir. Yes, Sir. I'll ask, Sir." He looked up at Xander. "Since you don't have an appointment, do you have any identification, please?"

"Just tell him I have a message from Buffy." The clerk looked doubtful. "Buffy. Just tell him... Look, let me talk to him."

Taking a step back from his desk, the clerk shook his head and spoke into the telephone again. "He says he has a message, Sir. From someone called.... Buffy? Yes, Sir. Buffy. I see. Yes, of course. Thank you, Sir." Placing the handset back in its holder he nodded to Xander. "Room 443. Take the elevator to the fourth floor, turn right and it is on your right."

Xander nodded back, feeling a slight glow at the fact that he'd succeeded in getting past the guy. Without the magic 'B' word, he had no doubt the clerk would have taken great pleasure in showing him the door. With a grin he turned away and hurried to the open elevator, before Spike went up without him.

The hallway was plush. That was the only word Xander could use to describe the thick carpet, the real paintings on the walls and the shiny brass fittings on the doors. Room 443 was exactly were the clerk had said and trying not to feel nervous, Xander raised his hand and knocked, while Spike stood out of sight to the side.

The door was opened immediately, but before Xander could open his mouth, Spike pushed past him, and past the man who had opened it, and stalked into the room, taking up a position in the centre of the open space, facing an older man, who was sitting on the sofa, in the act of talking into a telephone.

Xander followed more cautiously, glanced around, taking in the positions of the two occupants and stepped back against the wall, where he could watch them both. The seated man spoke slowly, "I think I may need to call you back, Mr Giles. No, no trouble, I think I may have been mistaken about the nature of my visitor. I'm sure you're right. I have no doubt she is well known in some circles." Keeping his eyes fixed on Spike, he carefully laid the telephone back in its cradle. "William the Bloody," he announced, calmly. Xander saw the younger man blanch. "This is a surprise. Close the door, Wesley."

Spike grinned, "You've heard of me?"

"No. We've met. 1963. My colleagues and I fell upon you slaughtering an orphanage in Vienna. Killed two of my men before you escaped." Standing up, he walked casually to the window and looked out, raising his hand in what, even to Xander's eyes, looked like an unnatural move.

Spike expression sharpened to one of gleeful enjoyment. "Don't bother, Roger," he said. "They're dead too."

A flash of shock crossed Roger Wyndam-Pryce's face, before he was able to control himself and Xander heard a whimper from the younger man, Wesley. "Do be quite, boy!" Roger snapped and it took Xander a moment to realise he was talking to Wesley, not to him. For himself, he was just as thrown as Wesley. Who was dead? Although he had no doubts that Spike intended to kill the watchers, he had agreed that they needed to learn the truth behind Black Wind's accusations and had had some vague idea that if it all turned out to be rubbish, as he very much hoped it would, he could intervene in some way to prevent actual death. And Spike hadn't had time to kill anyone, because he'd followed Xander into the hotel and was already in the elevator when Xander finished speaking to the desk clerk. He had to be bluffing.

Roger Wyndam-Pryce didn't seem so sure, but he shrugged and moved away from the window, back into the room. "What do you want?"

Spike pursed his lips in thought. "What do I want? I don't want nothing. 'Cept maybe blood on demand. Bit o' mayhem 'casonally. What do you want?"

"You really don't need to put on the accent, you know." Roger said with a sneer. "We are quite aware of what you were." Spike growled, but Roger kept speaking as he continued his casual stroll, towards a desk against the far wall. "A bad poet. A mother's boy. A failure as a man, who was turned in an alley by a mad woman." By the time he got to that point he had reached the desk and flipped open the lid of a small wooden box, grabbing something from inside.

Spike roared. "That's it! You are dead, mate," he yelled as he sprang forward.

Roger Wyndam-Pryce lifted his hand, holding up a small stone. "Expositus via, Ego dico vox, terminus veneficus" he shouted.

Spike stopped dead a mere foot from Roger's outstretched hand. He cocked his head, looking at the object Roger held. "That must be the Anashaman," he observed. Before Roger could react, Spike grabbed hold of his wrist and smashed his arm down on his own knee, which he raised to meet it. There was a crack and Roger screamed. The Anashaman fell to the floor and rolled a few feet before coming to rest against the leg of a chair. Roger fell to his knees, hugging his arm to his chest.

Xander noticed movement to his right and dragged one of his colts from the waistband of his jeans. He pointed it at Wesley. "Don't move," he instructed. Wesley cringed back against the wall with another whimper. Xander turned to Spike. "Can we have a little less violence and a bit more calm, please? Before room service, or security, or somebody come to investigate. We have some questions to ask, remember?" He gestured with his gun towards the sofa. "Get him up and sit him down over there," he told Wesley. "And you sit down next to him." Then he turned to Spike. "Please? There's no need to kill anyone. We just want to know what the story is with Black Wind and Buffy. Please?"

With a sigh, Spike nodded. "Spoil my fun. Okay, we'll ask questions, pet." He pursed his lips again. "Got to say, I'm a mite curious myself." He walked over to Roger, staying out of Xander's line of fire, and crouched down next to the arm of the sofa. Raising one eyebrow he said, "Black Wind came to see me. You know Black Wind, don't you?"

Roger was glaring at Xander's steady hand on the gun. "You won't shoot. You'll bring hotel security and the police down on us in moments. You're human, too. I don't know what you're doing with this thing." He sneered as he nodded towards Spike. "But you should know, he's a killer. Help us and I'll make sure you're safe. If you let him kill us, you'll be guilty of murder. You don't want that, do you?"

Xander opened his mouth, but Spike got there first. "He knows exactly what I am. He's with me. Nothing you can do about it." He growled softly. "Now tell us what we want to know. What are you planning to do to the slayer? Black Wind's already told us his story. Let's hear yours."

Wesley was sitting nervously on the edge of his seat, hugging himself and making soft mewling noises. Roger spared him a glance. "Do be quiet, boy. You are disgracing yourself and your vocation." There was a faint crunching sound and Roger gazed up at Spike, seemingly fixated on the suddenly sharp fangs in his demonic face, and as Spike rose and stepped behind him out of his view, he hunched forward over his broken arm. "Alright," he said, attempting to retain some control, even as it slipped further away. "I don't know what that charlatan's told you, but it was nothing that would harm the slayer." He looked up at Xander, pleadingly. "From the first, there've been concerns. She wasn't trained to her task. Her watcher reported her as wilful and insolent, unable to obey orders and reckless of herself and others. There are some in the Council who feel she might have rogue tendencies. Our own observations have shown that she tried to reject her appointed destiny on a number of occasions. We just want to make sure she doesn't do that again. A little bit of pre-emptive action, but I repeat, nothing that will harm her."

Xander lowered his weapon slightly and took the chair opposite the watchers. "Now why don't I believe that?" he asked, rhetorically. "Oh," he went on, allowing his anger to rise, "I know. Maybe it's because you're lying! You wanted Black Wind to tie her to you with magic. You wanted to cripple her and make her into some sort of tool. Buffy's a person. She's a beautiful, brave, wonderful girl. You keep your magical mitts off her."

Spike's hands came down on Roger's shoulder and he started. Leaning over, Spike brought his face down next to Roger's ear, speaking softly he asked, "And what the bloody hell was that palaver with the stone?" Looking across at Xander he added conversationally, "Go pick it up, there's a love? It belongs in that box on the desk."

As Xander stood up to retrieve the stone, Wesley whimpered again and Spike casually clouted him with the back of his left hand, before returning it to Roger's shoulder. Wesley fell sideways under the blow and lay still, shaking his head, then he rolled off the sofa onto his knees on the floor and, shuffling around onto his ass, crab-crawled back a few feet, out of reach. Spike glared at him and he froze. "Father, tell him," he pleaded. "Please?"

"Father, is it?" Spike smirked pushing himself upright, but leaving his hands heavy on Roger's shoulders. "Well, maybe it's you we should be asking, eh? I'm sure you know all about it, being Daddy's boy and all."

Wesley let loose a slightly hysterical giggle. "Oh, yes. Daddy's boy." Somehow he managed to inject his tone with a note of heavy irony, in spite of the chattering of his teeth. "I don't know much. I was just there to fetch and carry."

"Where?"

"In, in Reno, when, when we went to see the shaman. He wouldn't help, so the Council sent over the amulet. It, it's supposed to come from Africa, from the time of the first slayer."

Xander bent down and picked the stone up. It was the size of a walnut and cool to the touch. A crude carving, it was impossible to tell what is was supposed to represent. He leant back against the wall, trying for nonchalant, and tossed it up in the air and caught it again, "It doesn't look like much," he observed.

"Be careful," Wes cried. "It's an ancient artefact. It's been handed down through the Council since before records began. It's priceless. Not some cheap tat from we bought from Argos, you know?"

Xander dropped the stone into the padded box and closed the lid on it. He looked up at Wesley as he slipped the box and it's contents in his jacket pocket and fastened the zip to keep it safe. "Huh?"

But Wesley took no notice. It was as if, now that he had started talking, he couldn't stop. "It's supposed to neutralise magic. Take a shaman's power and turn him into an ordinary person. They say it was made by the first shaman, in case the magic went bad? I don't know. I'm not senior enough to have that knowledge. Please don't hurt us?" He looked at his father and something he saw finally caused him to shut up. "Don't hurt him," he added. "Please?"

"And I'm supposed to believe that claptrap?" Spike observed, leaning back over Roger's shoulder. "You tried to use it against me and nothing happened. Now why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," Roger replied, tightly. "You're a magical creature. It should have killed you."

"You say the sweetest things," Spike said, shifting his hands to Roger's neck, caressing his jaw and cheekbones. Then with a swift twist and another cracking sound, Roger's body toppled forwards onto it's face on the floor as Spike pushed himself back upright.

Wesley let out a gasp and scrambled on hands and knees to Roger's side. He rolled him over and gazed down at him before he lifted his face and caught Xander's eye. "You've killed him," he said. "He's dead."

Xander stared dumbstruck. Slowly his legs gave way and he slumped down the wall until he was sitting in an ungainly heap. He tore his eyes away from Wesley and looked at Spike. "Why did you do that?" he asked.

Spike shrugged. "What do you mean, why? Thought you'd be pleased. He was trying to mess up your little friend. He'd have succeeded too." He gestured to Wesley's hunched form. "Look what a good job he did on this one." Striding over, he grabbed Xander's arm and hauled him to his feet. "Come on. Time to go. Anyway, he insulted Dru. She may have been crazy, but it's not for the likes of him to comment. Let me just kill the son and we'll be off."

"Spike! No! Please. Don't kill him." Seeing the mulish expression forming on Spike's face, he cast around for a reason, any reason. "He might still know stuff. We could take him with us."

Spike nodded. "Good thought. Okay. We take him with us. Easier to only have to carry one body, anyway. Can't leave it here. Police'll find it too quickly." He went over to Wesley and pulled him to his feet too, giving him a shove which sent him stumbling into Xander. He hoisted Roger's body over his shoulder. "Right, pet. Take a look outside, make sure there's no one around and we'll use the service lift. Hop to it."



Footnotes:

One line is taken from the transcript of Angel, episode 5.07 "Lineage" and one from Buffy, 3.14 "Bad Girls"

'Expositus via, ego dico vox, terminus veneficus' is a translation of 'Open the way, I call the power, end the magic' courtesy of the Free Online English to Latin Translator at http://www.translation-guide.com/free_online_translators.php?from=English&to=Latin

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Comments

[thismaz.livejournal.com]

This is just so stunningly good.
I have a great big grin on my face. Thank you. That is a lovely thing to say, and to hear.
Yes, I feel sorry for Wesley too, but not too much, because he's got Xander worrying for him. I am more concerned about Xander. *thinks* Why do I do these things?