Chapter 15
Author's Notes: A/N: Okay…I know I’m very evil, but you guys can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.
If you’re nice, I might update again this weekend. ^_^ You know…with a chapter that has Buffy and Spike…together. In the resolution-of-cliffhanger sense.
I do love you guys. If I didn’t, I’d wait a lot longer between updates. *grins*
New England, 1701
Elizabeth couldn’t stand doing nothing. She never could. When she was a child, she would occupy empty minutes of her day by doing housework, no matter how tedious. On days when there was no housework, she would retreat to the backyard and practice whatever moves and techniques Kenneth wanted her to perfect. It had been easier when she was young; she’d simply done what she was told without thought to how the outside world operated or the staggering differences in her upbringing versus other children her age.
She’d known she eventually would be selected by the Powers to carry on the Slayer’s noble work, of course. She was inherently different and there was no reason to want for anything.
The change hadn’t come until the day of her actual Calling. When playing slayer versus vampire in the woods became real rather than a child’s pastime. Even then, however, she’d taken her affinity for keeping busy into every aspect of her training. She couldn’t be stationary; she couldn’t be doing nothing when there was evil to defeat.
She couldn’t do
nothing. Kenneth had invaded her home. He’d threatened her mate. He’d come after her.
It wasn’t the sort of thing she could just ignore. The sort of thing she could shove from her mind with the hopes it would eventually disappear. Similarly, Elizabeth understood she couldn’t wait for another nocturnal attack. She wasn’t about to sit idly by as her Watcher plotted the death of her lover, especially for sins which were hers and hers alone. And while she had no idea what she was going to say to him—if she’d have the strength and courage to do exactly what was needed—she refused to do nothing.
She had to do
something. She had to something or she’d go mad.
If anything, the raid on her cottage had assured her that Kenneth’s motives weren’t to harm her. He only meant to commandeer her—take her away from something he felt was out of her grasp. Something she’d stumbled into by mistake. As long as she was alone there was no reason to fear. William was in the cellar of their home, having fallen asleep long after she did. They had listened to the heavy footsteps of the men above, as angry hands tore their happy home to shreds until sleep commanded them and day chased the intruders away. Somehow they hadn’t found the trapdoor to the cellar, and it was that twist of luck which provided Elizabeth with hope.
Kenneth wouldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t. She was the Slayer—his slayer. He was her Watcher.
He couldn’t hurt her.
She wouldn’t let him.
Elizabeth forced her thoughts to happier things as she trekked the familiar path to her former home. William was sleeping in the safety of their cottage cellar. He would be furious when he discovered she made the journey alone, no doubt, but the shield of daylight gave her courage she didn’t have at night. It was the
only advantage sunshine gave her. William couldn’t follow her—couldn’t put himself in the line of fire. He was safe where he was; even if the cellar was discovered, she had faith enough in his monstrosity to pity whoever attempted to take him out.
The only person she feared was Kenneth. And as long as she was with Kenneth, he couldn’t be searching for William.
After this—after
doing something—perhaps her life could take route down a happier path. She didn’t have any delusions of leaving on amiable terms, but some resolution would undeniably be better than none.
She still hadn’t decided whether or not she was going to tell Kenneth this was goodbye. With as much faith as William had placed in her courage, it felt almost a disservice to his love for her to remain silent. At the same time, however, her mate understood her courage was not unreasonably resolute. She feared when fear was appropriate, and while she didn’t believe Kenneth would ever do anything to physically harm her, it didn’t make the threat of his wrath any less terrifying.
This one final hurdle…She could do this. She could. She couldn’t let William coddle her, no matter how tempting it was. No matter how often she felt he wanted to. She was strong; she was her own person. She was stubborn and independent. She wasn’t about to take defeat lying down.
A strange, nervous sense of familiarity settled over her edgy body the second her eyes landed on the entrance of the Travers’ cottage. Elizabeth stopped short and pulled her hair out of her face, a long sigh heaving through her chest, her heart palpitating furiously.
This was something she had to do.
If she didn’t, waiting would surely kill her.
It was beyond bizarre, fearing something she used to do every day. Fearing something as simple as walking through the front door of a place which used to be her home.
Elizabeth inhaled sharply and thought of William.
She could do this. For him she could do this.
There were certain things she didn’t remember—the swing of the entryway door was very squeaky. The echo of her footsteps across the wooden floor could undoubtedly be heard from miles away. The breaths rocking her chest trembled upon every release, and she was sure the reverberation sounded far and wide through the cottage’s solemn walls.
She didn’t remember being so aware of herself before.
“You look mightily like a foreigner trespassing upon unexplored land,” a dark, rough voice observed from the far right corner of the small room. Elizabeth whirled around, her eyes immediately finding Kenneth’s. He was sitting in a wooden chair he’d fashioned for himself years ago, a bottle of wine open at his side, a half-consumed goblet resting in his hands. “Would you like a drink, my dear?”
“It’s early.”
“Not for us, I don’t think. Those who walk with the night adhere to a different set of rules.” He arched a pointed brow, reaching for the unused glass which sat opposite the wine bottle. The silent indication spoke volumes. He’d anticipated her arrival. “Have a drink, Lizzie.”
Elizabeth frowned and fought off an inward shudder. She hated the name. Lizzie was a girl’s name—not befitting a woman of her stature. Lizzie was the name Kenneth had called her when she was a child. She wasn’t Lizzie anymore, and she hadn’t been for a long time. She was Elizabeth the Vampire Slayer.
She was Buffy, the lover and mate of William the Bloody.
There was that and nothing else. She was either Elizabeth or Buffy. There was no in-between.
“Please,” Kenneth prodded, waving the drink at her. “I insist. I didn’t teach you to forget your manners when in the presence of elders.”
“No sir,” she agreed softly, accepting the goblet reluctantly. She hadn’t come here to drink—she hadn’t come here to share anything with her Watcher aside from her illumination. Aside from the freedom awaiting at her doorstep, should she be brave enough to accept it.
“Have a seat, Lizzie,” Kenneth said. “We have much to discuss.”
She found herself obeying before her mind could catch up with her. It was second-nature. “I didn’t come here to—”
“To barter? To plead your case for your vampire lover? To tell me how he whispered poetry in your ear and did sinful things to your body. How he
made you a woman.” Kenneth arched a condescending brow and sipped at his wine, indicating silently that she should do the same. Again, she found herself obeying. She was helpless to do anything else. “Please, Lizzie. Spare an old man the details of your disgusting trysts. I don’t wish to know of it.”
She swallowed hard, tears blurring her vision. “I never meant to displease you.”
“You have an odd way of showing it.” Kenneth sighed heavily and rose to his feet, his hands sliding into his pockets. “I don’t suppose you have given much thought to how this affair of yours has affected me, have you? I raised you as my own, Lizzie. I taught you everything you know. I gave you all the care a father could muster for a daughter…especially knowing the destiny you were to fulfill. Did it never occur to you that I forfeited my own right to happiness for the sake of the duty I vowed to upkeep?”
Elizabeth took another impulsive swig of wine and shook her head.
“There are things greater than us in this world—greater than earthly desires and other such flights of fancy. When priests take their holy vows, do you know what they are asked to sacrifice? Hmm?” Kenneth arched a brow, his fingers tapping the side of his goblet. “Possession, attachment…celibacy and chastity, of course…for they are married to God and God alone. No woman should ever come between the Lord and—”
“But I am not a priest!” Elizabeth protested, leaping to her feet. “And neither are you.”
He took a slow, condescending drink of wine. “Are you implying our mission is not in some way holy? We fight the demons of Hell itself. Nothing should stand between us and the Calling which has been bestowed upon us.”
“Priests
choose their fate, Kenneth,” she argued staunchly. “They are not arbitrarily selected from birth to be summoned for service to God.”
“Does the Lord not put the summons in the hearts of men?”
Her jaw fell slack and words gathered in her throat, but none would come.
“Priests and bishops and all members of the Church are designed to protect the demons of men’s minds and hearts,” Kenneth continued. “We are to protect people from the tangible demons of this world.”
A strangled choke fought her throat for freedom. “I didn’t
choose this,” Elizabeth gasped.
“Nor did I, but you find I honor my calling.”
“Your calling is to sit here and teach me tricks that will save my life most of the time but not
all the time.” She threw her hands up in exasperation and her wine glass went soaring through the air, shattering some distance from them in a hundred pieces. Neither blinked or followed its flight; their eyes were locked on each other. “I will eventually die doing what I do. And then what? An entire life thrown away at the Powers’ choosing—”
“You will die saving the world. All slayers do.”
“Armageddon doesn’t lurk around every corner, Kenneth, no matter what your priests tell you.”
He didn’t flinch. “Even if a slayer doesn’t die averting Armageddon, she still sacrifices her life in the fight against evil. The fight will eventually conclude in the world’s end, child. Surely I have not failed you so much that you don’t realize this?”
There was a slight tingling in her nerves. The air around her head felt monstrously thick, but she fought through it. Her eyes remained locked on Kenneth. She couldn’t allow him the upper ground, no matter how ill the conversation made her. “You haven’t failed me at all.”
He looked slightly taken aback at that—as though any allegation she could have leveled at him was secondary to the insult implied in her short declaration. “And yet you roll in filth every night.”
“William is
not filth.”
“Ah. So the devil has a name, does it?”
Elizabeth stepped forward, though her feet were confused and a wave of dizziness crashed over her head. “William is
not an it,” she practically snarled, her hands blindly searching for a surface on which to maintain her balance. “He’s…he’s…”
“The devil assumes many pleasing forms,” Kenneth mused, almost to himself. “It is easy to see how one might be tempted.”
“William is
not the devil, you callous bastard!”
“Of course he’s not, child. He’s merely the demon who seduced you away from your Calling.”
“I love him.” The words sounded feeble, but they needed to be said. “I don’t care what he is. He’s mine. I love him. You can’t take him from me.”
There was a long silence in which all he did was glare at her. Nothing passed in between. No condemnation. No anger. No righteous outburst on how lost she was—how she was entangled in sin and could never break for freedom. No, there was nothing at all. There was only the cold harshness of his eyes and the whispers of nature outside the cottage walls. Distantly, she thought she heard the loud ticks of a pocket watch, but she could have been mistaken. She didn’t want to betray weakness by looking away. She refused.
“No,” Kenneth said at last, his voice dropping in something almost resembling defeat. “I don’t suppose I can.”
And on those words, the effects of the poison at last claimed her body, and Elizabeth went crashing to the floor. Pain pierced her every inch, spreading through her veins and leaking through her insides, a slow crawling disease which zapped her will and stole her strength. Her vision blurred and her throat ran dry. She tried to scream but her voice had abandoned her. Instead, she was left only with the stoic face of her Watcher, who looked on dispassionately while nursing the rest of his wine.
“The fact remains it would be much easier to take you from him,” he said after a long, haunted pause. “Especially with what you are.”
Elizabeth’s mouth opened and she tried to speak. The air stung with the hoarse cry she produced, and mocked her resiliently in the words it denied her.
Kenneth blinked. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “I haven’t killed you. Even after betraying your Calling, I couldn’t do that. What you’re feeling are the effects of a potent drug Watchers utilize upon every slayer’s eighteenth birthday, mixed and brewed, of course, with my own special ingredients. It’s much better to have you fully incapacitated than merely without your ordinary strength.”
Her eyes went wide, her skin suddenly dry and her body incapable of producing tears.
Kenneth had drugged her? He’d
drugged her?
She glanced to the shattered pieces of her fallen goblet, startled fury seizing her every pore.
“Yes,” he agreed, nodding as though she’d said something. “I’d imagine you’re very angry. I would be, too, were I in your shoes. No matter. I expect you’ll black out before the searing pain kicks in.”
Elizabeth made a sound which would have been a scream had her voice cooperated.
“There is a rumor a witch inhabits the village,” he continued. “A rather nasty witch at that. The rumor was given notice several months ago when Mr. Wells noted the appearance of a boggart in his armoire. He claims a young woman appeared to assist him with the matter, utilizing means well beyond her physical capabilities.”
An angry growl tore at her throat.
Mr. Wells. The boggart.
That had been so long ago. Just three nights after she and William first made love.
“Mr. Wells was naturally quite fearful,” Kenneth continued, his voice adapting a tone only a schoolmaster could duplicate. “He believes the young woman in question bewitched his armoire…as only one of extraordinary power could inflict such a creature in this world, only one of extraordinary power could remove it. The poor chap. His luck has been rather unsavory lately. I don’t suppose you heard all his crops have wilted? And his livestock are growing sicker by the day…”
Kenneth knew she’d never touched magicks in her life. He kept his books in his room—a place she had never entered. Never cared to enter. If Mr. Wells had been cursed, it was at her Watcher’s doing.
She was just a convenient scapegoat.
Which, she supposed, was the point of his theatric monologue.
“It doesn’t help that uncommonly loud, often satanic sounds are heard from that cottage you’re regularly seen entering,” he added. “The one I investigated last night to find woefully empty. And I believe you have similarly been spotted at the graveyard, associating with demons and other creatures that defy the laws of death.”
The Watcher’s eyes met hers and every cell in her body froze.
“I’m afraid I misjudged you, Lizzie,” he said regretfully. “I can’t well have a practicing witch under my roof. The townspeople have taken a vote. No, no. There is no need for a trial, dear. You see…I am considered your guardian. I speak for you in all public affairs. You are a strange, unnatural girl. Never mingle with the youths in town. Never seen but at night. Always lurking about when something mysterious happens. It’s all very vexing.”
Shapes around her began to blur and swirl in a collage of color. Kenneth at once sounded very far away.
Very far…
“Sleep well, Elizabeth. I’m afraid I won’t attend the burning—the thought of watching you die is unbearable.”
Her head shrieked in agony, her throbbing temples pushing her toward dementia as tremors seized her limbs and the ground began to roll beneath her. Her stomach turned and her heart felt close to exploding, and try as she might, she could not scream. She could not call for help.
God, how had she been so blind?
William. Elizabeth’s lips tore apart, a choking sob fighting for freedom.
I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It was the last thought to cross her head before the world turned black.
TBC