William's Muse

Belles Lettres

AUTHOR: perletwo SUMMARY: William the Bloody Awful Poet comes into possession of an enchanted journal. SPOILERS: Umm. The William eps obviously. Seasons 4-5 or thereabouts maybe, in the vaguest possible ways. RATING: PG for Poetry of William. DISCLAIMERS: Joss is God! Mutant Enemy *rocks*! Grr, arrgh! (please don't sue me, 'k?)

"Quickly, Mother. Inside!" William hustled Anne in the musty shop's
door as quickly as he could, cursing the clatter the bell made. As
discreetly as possible, he sneaked a glance through the bead-string
curtain at the carriage across the street, ignoring Anne's indignant
clucking.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him, however, was impossible to
ignore.

"Ah! My good woman - Paper, I need -" William looked about wildly,
and pushed Anne toward a table in the corner of the window. The
elderly woman already seated there raised an eyebrow at him over her
teacup. "Your pardon, mum - may I - Mother - " At her nod, he settled
Anne in the opposite chair and rushed to the counter, where the dark-
haired, olive-skinned shop-girl stood frowning, arms crossed over her
chest. "Now then. Paper. I must have - a few sheets, a notebook -
anything - "

"Ah yes. Of course. I've just the thing," the woman said with a faint
Eastern European accent, smiling coolly. She reached down under the
counter and produced a leather-bound journal.

"Ah-HAA!" William grabbed joyfully at the book, but the shop girl
snatched it back.

Anne and her tablemate watched with amusement. "Excitable lad, isn't
he?" the woman asked, in a heavier version of the shop girl's accent.

"He's at that age," Anne sighed.

"Mmm. Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-six, eight months and five days. But who's counting?" They
exchanged sly grins of motherly understanding. The old woman poured
Anne a cup of tea from the cart beside her, and Anne waved down the
proffered creamer and sugar bowl.

"Not so fast, m'lud. This book is *special.* It is enchanted - it is
said -"

"Never *mind* about that, woman! I don't care if it's pressed from
the last leaves of an extinct species of plant, I just need *paper!*
My Muse is upon me!" he snapped.

Anne leaned in a bit closer across the table. "She seems to come upon
him whenever he spots a certain someone of our acquaintance, I
notice," she whispered.

Her companion peeked out the window. "Her?" Anne glanced along the
line of the woman's pointing finger, saw Cecily Addams and
nodded. "Hmmph. Wonder she can get shoes on proper with her nose
fixed so high in the air..." Anne bit back a yelp of laughter,
covering it with a cough, and waved William back to his business when
he turned to check on her.

"Sir, I don't believe you've quite grasped the point of this
establishment," the shop girl said frostily.

"Yes, yes. Gypsy fortune-telling, herbal remedies, love potions et
cetera." He waved a dismissive hand at the shelves of charms and
bottles of herbs around him. "But I don't *need* any of that, all I
need is some paper!"

"Well, this is what you're going to get. With full explanations, no
surprises. The book is enchanted. It is said it will show you the
heart of your soul mate."

William snorted. "At three times the going price, I'm sure!"

The girl's smile grew several degrees frostier. "It's what I've got.
Now do you want the book or not? Fifteen pounds."

William sucked in his breath, glanced at the door and saw Cecily
through the window. He nodded and reached in his jacket for his
pocket-book. They concluded the transaction quickly and he snatched
the journal from her hands, beaming as he riffled the pages through
his fingers.

"Erm-hmm. Hmm." The shop girl looked up. "Have you got a pen, by any
chance?"

The young woman crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him.

"Oh, all *right.*" William sighed and reached for his pocket-book
again, and she smiled and produced a bottle of ink and dip-pen from a
shelf behind her.

"Pleasure doing business with you, guv'nor..."
****
Ten minutes later, the shop girl ambled by the table with a feather
duster and leaned over William's chair to give the crystal-ball
centerpiece a desultory flick or two.

"*Do* you mind?" he gasped, closing the book over his writing
hand. "I-it's not *ready,* and in any case it-it's none of your
business!"

She sniffed and turned away. "Meter's off, anyway. And why is she
wearing mint on her head?" William just glared.

The old woman cackled. "Now now, don't you fret over Mary Magdalene,
my boy," she said, patting his free hand. "Interested in the human
condition, my Magda is. But she'll mind me right enough."

William smiled gratefully at her, reopened the book and went back to
his writing.

/Her hair wreathes her face
/like a new minten crown
/Every strand set in place
/As she takes to the town
/Clad in linen and lace

Anne's eyes flickered from the page to the window, and then up to her
son's face. "William? Isn't that Cecily Addams across the lane there?"

His head jerked up, and his pen skittered across the page, dragging
the final 'e' in 'lace' halfway out to the margin. "Wha-? Ohh. Oh!
Yes - yes, Mother, I believe it might *be* Miss Addams at that..."

Her eyes darted over to her new friend in a triumphant, and the old
woman choked down a laugh.

"Well, dear. Perhaps we should drink up our tea and head over there,
don't you think? Just to say hello," Anne said sweetly.

"W-well I-I'm not *quite* done here, I just need a *few* more
minutes - just to make sure I get it all down before my Muse deserts
me," he stammered. "You understand."

"Of course, dear." She took another sip of tea to hide her smile as
William scribbled even more frantically in the notebook and pretended
not to check the window.

"There! There, I believe that should do it...Oh. Well. It seems we've
missed Miss Addams, Mother. I am sorry, I know how well you like
her." Their table-mate snorted, but Anne just smiled.

"Of course, dear. Shall we?" She rose, and William jumped up hastily
to steady her. "It's been a pleasure, Mrs. - "

"Graciela, mum, just Graciela, and the pleasure's been all mine. It's
not often there's someone my own age to chat with, you wouldn't
believe some of the silly Bright Young Things we get in here!"

"I've seen some of the Bright Young Things in my William's circles,
Graciela, so I'm sure I would. I've enjoyed our visit too - I-I've
been under the weather lately, and I don't get out of the house as
much as I used to," she replied wanly.

"Well, stop back in and there'll be a cuppa ready for you anytime,"
she said. "I suppose that goes for you too, young man."

Her daughter nudged William aside to drag his chair back to its
proper place. "Bring your purse," she snapped. He sniffed and took
Anne off in a huff, the bell dancing on its chain when he slammed the
door behind them.
****
Once their carriage was safely down the street, Magda settled down in
William's chair and poured herself some tea. "Well. That was quite
something, wasn't it."

"Hmmph. Told you today'd be interesting." Graciela took the pot from
her and refreshed her own cup. "You handled the business end nicely,
I thought."

"You didn't tell me they'd be such *nice* people," she accused. "I've
always said I wished I could do what you do...Maybe then I'd have
some clue as to what I'd just done."

"Stuff 'n nonsense. Trust me, my dear, you do *not* want the Eye. You
just keep right on with your good business sense an' your good hands
with the healing plants an' leave the seein' things to me. Always
thought you'd make a good apothecary..."

"Not in this lifetime, anyway," Magda sighed. "Well, it's done,
anyway. You told me to give the book to the next people who came in
and I did. Just...I wish I could know if I've done them a good turn
or ill, Mama. Is everything going to turn out all right for them?"

Graciela leaned across the table for Anne's teacup, sloshed the
backwash about and glanced inside before setting the cup back on the
teacart. "No. No, I'm afraid it's all going to end rather awfully for
them, dear," she sighed. "Still. We've given them the book, at least."

"Will that change anything, though?"

Her mother snorted. "See? That's why you should leave these things
for me to worry about, child. The book isn't supposed to *change*
their fates - it's just a *part* of it. All we can do is put it in
their path and hope it gets them where they're meant to go."

"Even if it's a bad end?"

She turned a piercing eye on her daughter. "The path can have a good
end even if the people on it end badly, dear," she said.

"I don't understand."

"My point exactly."
****
On the University of Sunnydale campus, Willow bustled around the room
collecting her books and checking her watch every few seconds until
her roommate wandered in.

"Finally! I'm gonna be late for class! Listen, there's Diet Coke and
organic bean sprouts in the fridge if you get all nosh-y -" Buffy
wrinkled her nose, and Willow slapped at her with a cardboard report
cover. "- you need to call your mom, that guy Riley stopped by, he's
sorry he missed you, and there's e-mail and IMs for you on the
laptop." She gave Buffy a quick hug and scurried out the door,
leaving the blonde with her mouth hanging open.

"Good seeing you too, Willow," she sighed to the empty air. "I was
thinking we could hang tonight..." She dropped her books and handbag
on the desk and flopped flat on her back onto her bed.

"Welcome to the madcap whirl of freshman life!" she said, just to
hear herself speak. Then she sighed, put on the radio and made her
way to the desk.

She flipped up the lid of the laptop and opened the word processor,
reading and re-reading the six completed paragraphs of her psychology
paper and waited for inspiration to strike.

"C'mon, Inspiration," she beckoned out loud. "Strike!"
Nothing. "Phooey..."

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the little Instant Messenger
icon blinking steadily in the system tray, and clicked on it.

The small window popped open, with a single message, from user W_t_B.
It read "Go Here" with a Web address underneath. Intrigued, Buffy
highlighted and copied, and opened up her Web browser.

"Hope it's not porn..." she said. "Then again, if it's *free*
porn...."

The page took her to a weblog, and a very new one from the looks of
it. Pretty, though; entry windows had a parchment texture to them, on
a brown leather-look background.

There was only one entry so far:

/Of her the merest sight
/My heart it does take flight
/Like the sun she shines
/Beauty flows in glowing lines
/Her hair wreathes her face
/like a new minten crown
/Every strand set in place
/As she takes to the town
/Clad in linen and lace
/A glimpse alone makes me blind
/What then if she took my hand?

Buffy sat and stared at the screen, head tilted over to rest against
her fist.

Okay, so maybe she wasn't so good with the French, but she'd got
through English class in high school just fine, thanks. She'd read
her Frost and Shakespeare and Dickenson and Plath and Whitman like a
good little Slayer and had even enjoyed them, sometimes.

So she knew the poem before her in a flowing black cursive font was
wrong on many, many levels. She knew it was on the level of most
seventh-grade girls' writing. She knew she shouldn't like it.

And yet....there was something about it that touched her, way down in
the back of her mind and heart and gut - something sincere and
unselfconscious and - the word popped into her mind before she could
push out the recognition of it in herself - *lonely.*

And wasn't that what her old English teachers always used to say good
poetry was really all about?

Dreamily she moused over and clicked the Reply button, and began to
type.

Once she was done, she reviewed her typing, clicked on Submit and sat
up straight, feeling unaccountably perky all of a sudden. She turned
her attention back to the psych paper and got it up to a whole 15
paragraphs before she ran out of steam.
****
The shop door burst open with a clatter of bell-ringing. "Where is
she?!"

"Who, Magda?" William spun around. Graziela was still planted at her
seat at the window table, sipping tea. "She's gone in to market to
pick us up some lunch. Care to wait?"

"I most certainly *do* care to wait! This - she - the notebook - she
sold me -" He stopped and gulped for air.

"Aww, c'mon, son, can't be that bad. Sit down, have a cuppa with an
old lady." She gestured to the open table before her, and he nodded.

"Of course. Of course. Bloody rude of me, don't know what I was
thinking." He jerked the spare chair out of its corner and sat down
heavily beside her, reaching for the teapot as he did.

"Now then. Anything I can help you with?" Graziela smiled and
fluttered her lashes.

William gulped and glanced at her through narrowed eyes. "I - you'll
think I've gone mad."

"Try me," she purred. "You'd be surprised."

"I - well. It's this journal." He put it up between them on the table
and opened it to the first page.

"Huh." Graziela leaned in and squinted at his flowery
handwriting. "Well. It certainly does *rhyme,* doesn't it."

"No, no, not *that!*" he snapped. "Look. Look down here."

Her eyes followed his trailing finger to the right line, and read.

'This is really pretty. I like the flows in glowing lines thing. You
should keep writing. - B'

"Yes?"

"Don't you see? I. Didn't. Write. That. It-it just *appeared* there,
on its own, while the book was closed!" William's voice rose to a
sharp pitch during this speech, and chimed discordantly with the
doorbell.

"Oh, it's *you.* Listen, guv - no exchanges, no refunds, no returns,
you hear me? All. Sales. *Final.*" Magda set her net shopping bag
down on the counter with a thump.

"You! What is this thing you sold me, you - you - "

"Gypsy? Is that what you're looking for?" She stared him down until
two spots of color rose high on his cheeks. "Look. You got what you
paid for, I don't know what you're complaining about. I *told* you,
the journal's supposed to reveal your soul mate to you. Didn't I?"

"Yes, but - I mean - that's just a lot of bosh - all I wanted was
some *paper!*" William looked frantically from one to the other in
hope of some sympathy.

"Settle down, dearie," Graziela soothed. "This B seems nice, at any
rate - why not just enjoy it?"

William sighed and slumped over the table. "But - it's not - that is,
I don't *know* anyone that would be a B..."

Magda thumped his shoulder unsympathetically. "Well, of *course* -
you wouldn't need the book if you already *knew* your soul mate, now
would you?"

"I don't need this at all!" he pulled himself up straighter. "I-I
demand that you take this back. Right now."

Magda shook her head, a combative gleam in her eye, and Graciela
pulled his teacup and patted his hand. "Dearie, trust one who's been
around a lot longer than you. Enchanted objects choose their own
paths in the world. They find their way to the people that are meant
to have them. This one found its way to you. I don't think you'd be
able to get rid of it even if you really wanted to."

"But - I - that is - "

Magda turned her attention back from the shopping bag she'd been
fussing with. "You're a little bit intrigued by this thing, aren't
you? Come now, guv. Admit it. We're all friends here."

"I - This was a mistake." William stood so quickly he almost knocked
over his tea. "I don't know why I thought I'd get any assistance from
this quarter." He nodded to Graciela. "Good day, madam."

Turning his back pointedly on Magda, he left the shop, book still in
his hand.

Magda pulled up a chair and sank into it, letting out the breath
she'd been holding. They both watched him make his shambling way down
the street until he turned the corner.

"Mama? Is he going to be all right?"

Graciela pulled his teacup over to her, glanced into it and paled.
When she looked up again her usually-lively face seemed to tell its
true age.

"No, dearie," she said in a low voice. "He's not going to be all
right at all..."

*****

William sat at his writing desk with his old journal open to a fresh
page in front of him. He drummed his fingers against the desk and
tried to force himself to concentrate harder, make the words go into
his hand as he heard them in his head.

Every so often he'd shoot a glance over to the bookcase in the
corner, atop which sat the enchanted journal. Then he'd shake his
head and fix his gaze firmly on the page in front of him.

Which was, unfortunately, still blank.

{{Well, it certainly can't do any worse than this one,}} he thought,
and pushed away from the desk to retrieve the new journal quickly,
before he could change his mind.

/she floats on gossamer wings
/a delight to behold, my heart sings
/I reach to touch those fragile things
/she floats ever higher, above life's stings

He slammed the book shut, heart pounding. If some...strange
person...were really reading his poetry....

He rifled the pages indecisively for a moment, trying to decide what
to do. Then he slowly opened the book.
****
"Maybe Parker and I could still work it out," Buffy said. "Do you
think we could still work it out?"

"I think you're missing something about the whole 'poophead'
principle," Willow replied as they reached the steps to Stevenson
Hall.

"I think I'm gonna take a walk," Buffy told her friend. "You go on
ahead."

Buffy strolled along the campus paths alone, head down, lost in
thought. She replayed every second of her 'relationship' with Parker
Abrams, looking for where she'd made her mistake. Had she misread a
cue somewhere that should have told her he was looking for a quickie?
She was pretty sure he'd smoothly led her to think he wanted a
romance, but...

The head-on collision derailed her train of thought.

"Ohmigosh! I'm so sorry - "

"Buffy?"

"Oh. Oh my. Riley? You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, just a mild concussion," he said, leaning on her arm and
clambering to his feet. "Nobody'll be able to tell the difference,
really..."

Buffy laughed, a little too heartily, and Riley joined in. It gave
him a welcome excuse to stare at her.

"So, can I walk you home?" he asked, scuffing the toe of a tasseled
loafer in the dirt.

"Umm, yeah, I-I guess so," she said, and they started back in the
direction of the dorms.

"Riley? Ask you a question?" At his nod, she took a deep breath. "Am
I repulsive? I mean, you'd tell me the truth, right? 'Cause I, like,
really need to know."

Riley stopped dead, and Buffy had to turn back to face him. "Where
the *hell* did *that* come from?"

"That's not really an answer, y'know."

"Buffy. You are. Most emphatically. NOT repulsive." She still looked
skeptical. "In fact, you are one of the least repulsive women I've
ever seen in my life."

She snorted and started walking again. "Don't get out much, do you?"
Riley jogged a bit to catch up, then fell into step beside her again.

"As a matter of fact, I was, umm, kind of thinking of asking you out.
I mean, if you're not...umm..." He stopped again, and Buffy turned
back and stared at him, waiting for the pieces to fall into place in
her head.

"Oh. Oh. Umm. No, no, I'm not, ummm... whatever. But, ah, thanks for
the compliment but, umm..."

"Oh. Okay." He scuffed the ground again, staring at his shoes. "It's
the tassels, isn't it? I never shoulda listened to Forrest..."

"No! No, the tassels are...well, no. It-it's me. I don't...really
think I'm...up for, like...dating...yet."

"Yet?" He looked up. "Does that mean, someday? Maybe?"

"Maybe. If by 'someday' you mean, like, old age..."

"Oh." They started walking again, Buffy looking at the ground, Riley
looking up at the stars, determinedly not looking at each other.
****
"Willow?" Buffy whispered as she came in the door, and sighed with
relief and snapped on the light when her friend sat up.

"Hey. Nice walk?" she asked, squinting at the sudden change of light.

"Yeah. Didn't wake you, did I?" At her shake of the head, Buffy
started pulling things out of her bureau drawer. "I'm gonna take a
shower and get into PJs, but I'm gonna sit up at the desk and work on
that stupid psych paper awhile, okay?"

"No problem - I grew up with two college professors for parents, to
me keyboarding is just like the music of the night," Willow said with
a smile. "Hey, if you need help, just gimme a shove over here, 'k?"

"Yeah. Sure thing." Buffy turned out the light on her way out the
door.
****
William opened the book, and before his eyes letters began to form on
the page, in a loopy feminine scrawl.

"Pretty. Did you want that floats in there twice? She's lucky to have
somebody who admires her so much. Wish I did. - B"

William gasped and shut the book. Until that moment he hadn't quite
truly believed the 'magic' component of the story - in the back of
his mind, he still entertained wild theories about his mother or one
of the maids sneaking in to write the "B" lines.

He shook his head and reopened the book, rereading the poem and B's
answer. Then he took up his pen again.

"I'm changing it to 'drifts' in the fourth line, thank you. And thank
you for being so kind about it. Most who read my poor efforts are not
so obliging," he wrote.

A moment later, letters began appearing underneath his last line
again.

"Hey, when it comes to poetry I'm easily impressed. I don't read
enough of it to tell the good stuff from the bad. To me just the fact
that you do it at all is impressive enough. - B"

William nibbled at the end of his pen, then began to write again.

"I suspect the object of my poetry would disagree most emphatically
with your assessment."

"Yeesh, everyone's a critic! The poem's not that bad! - B" As he
watched, the word 'that' underlined itself, and he smiled.

"I meant your assessment that she is lucky to have me for an admirer.
She is - well, she is beautiful and wealthy and a great success
socially, and she belongs with a dashing, handsome hero from a novel,
not - a poet."

"Umm. Wasn't Lord Byron kind of a romance novel type? - B"

"Yes, but - there are two types of poets, the Byron type and the
Petrarch type. I'm the Petrarch type, I'm afraid. And nobody else is
reading this, I think you needn't keep signing every note you write."

"Petrarch. I don't think we study him much over here."

"Over here? Where is over here?"

"America. And you're British, right? I can tell."

"Yes. I never imagined I'd hear from someone so far away. I do hope
you'll not hold my nationality against me."

"That's the way this thing works! And some of my best friends are
British. Well, except this one British guy I know who always makes me
want to kill him every time we meet. But he gets on my other British
friends' nerves too so I think it's just him. Anyway, Petrarch. I've
been looking him up while we talked. Sonnet Boy, right? The one that
never even talked to the great love of his life?"

"That would be the one. 'Feeling ashamed that I still seem to pass/
Over your beauty, Lady, in my rhyme,/ I remember when I for the first
time /Saw you, made for my love as no one was.' But Petrarchs are not
much in fashion these days, the ladies would much rather have a
Byron."

"I don't know. I just tangled with one of those romance novel types.
He's a real prize, all the girls swoon over him. And I got burned so
bad it's not even funny."

"Byrons always do, I suspect. But it's like moths to a flame, the
ladies can't stay away from them. Or notice other moths, I suppose."

"I stand by my statement. I still wish I had somebody who admires me
the way you admire your lady friend."

"Are you quite sure there's no one? I find that difficult to believe.
Remember, we Petrarchs do tend to blend in to the wallpaper. Nobody?"

"Nobody."

While William was framing his reply to this in his mind, another
comment began to form beneath that stark one-word answer.

"Well...maybe this one guy. He seems nice. He even asked me out once.
But I think he just felt sorry for me coz I look like such a clumsy
idiot girl. It's a new place for me and I'm having a hard time
fitting in, and somehow this guy always seems to catch me looking my
dumbest."

"Perhaps you should look closer. If he is a Petrarch type, perhaps
there are depths to his emotions he is concealing."

"Like you do? How do you know your lady friend wouldn't want you?"

"You are changing the subject."

"You betcha. Answer the question please?"

"I know because I watch her. I have seen the kinds of men she is
drawn to. I have nothing to compete with such swains."

"Nothing except, like, total devotion. Goodness knows none of us
girls would ever want that!"

"Now you're mocking me?"

"Maybe. But I think she'd be flattered if she knew she'd made
somebody fall so much in love with her without her even trying. I
know I would, and I used to be all beautiful and popular and shallow
like that. Really."

"I think you are mistaken. But you are certainly entitled to your
opinion, and I thank you for turning the situation to cast such a
favorable light on me."

"How about we make a deal?"

"What deal?"

"How about if, I promise to give my guy a chance if you'll promise to
take a shot at winning your lady's heart. You think he'll surprise
me, I think she'll surprise you. Won't know unless we try, right?"

"I fear I know only too well. However, I think you should not let
your bad experience with a Byron stop you from finding a beau,
perhaps even a husband if I know my Petrarchs. If it will get you to
take a chance on happiness, then I will promise to make my affections
known to the light of my heart."

"Okay, it's a deal. I've got to go to this Halloween party in a
couple of days and I think the guy I was talking about will probably
be there. I hereby solemnly swear that if he tries to talk to me I'll
give him the benefit of every possible doubt. How's that?"

"That will do very well. And I expect to see my lady fair at a salon
tomorrow night. I shall prepare a poem for her, the best I can make,
to bare my soul to her. And we shall see what she says."

"Great! I feel really good about this. After all, what's the worst
that could happen?"

William looked up, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was
surprised to see the first strains of daybreak through the curtains.

"It seems I have a poem to create. I must rest now, and let my
imagination wander and find some just the very words."

"And I'm supposed to be writing something else right now. Oh well, I
did get some done in between writing to you. And this was so much
more fun! Goodnight!"

William closed the book, shaking his head and smiling. Then he pulled
over a few loose sheets of paper and dipped his pen in the inkwell
again. He closed his eyes and hummed a low note, looking for the
perfectly perfect words to describe how he felt at exactly that
moment.

"My heart expands
/'tis grown -"

"Grown *what*?" he mumbled to himself.

Soul mate indeed. Much good it did him when she was half a world away.
And still, there was Cecily, his starlight, his angel. He had a whole
24 hours. Surely he could find the words to show Cecily his truest
love by then. After all, he had a promise to keep. And, as the lady
had said, what was the worst that could happen?

******
The bell above the magic shop door broke the stillness within. Anne entered, smiled and nodded at Magda, and accepted Graciela's invitation to sit with her. "Have some tea, dearie, it'll make you feel better. I can see you're upset," Graciela said as she poured. "You take it straight, right?" "I do. And I'd like to take something else straight, if I might." She took the cup and sipped at the hot liquid, her eyes never leaving the Gypsy's. "You - tell fortunes, don't you?" "Yes. But I don't like doing it for friends. My feelings get in the way." Anne put down her teacup. "I don't want you to read my fortune. I already know it." She paused for breath, a hand fluttering at her throat. "I know I am dying, and probably very soon. I have accepted it...more or less. All I wish now is to know that my William is going to be all right." "I hardly see why he wouldn't." Graciela raised her eyebrows. "Nice boy like that. He's bound to find himself a wife and make his way in the world." "He could, if he'd only look in the right places. But I fear where he's looking he'll find only trouble," Anne said. "If he hasn't already. He - he didn't come home last night." The raised eyebrows wiggled salaciously. "That could be a *good* sign, y'know." Anne shot her a frosty look. "Again. Miss Addams. With her nose in the air?" Graciela groaned disappointedly. "I may not be - gifted - but I can see only too well how it will have gone if my boy decided to press his suit with her. But...after that... And he didn't come home last night." Magda came round the table with a fresh pot of tea. "He could just be picking himself up off the floor of the pub, mum," she suggested. "Yes, that would be appropriate," Anne murmured. "Most unlike him, but - appropriate. But - if he *isn't* - " She swallowed. "We have no family left; I've no one else to turn to. If he needs help, there is none but me to provide it. So..." Graciela sighed. "Drink up your tea, dearie." Anne complied, and she took the cup from her hand and peered into it solemnly. "He will return home to you of his own power two midnights hence." She looked up into Anne's eyes. "And the best thing you can do is go there and wait for him, dear." Anne sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Thank you." Magda came around the counter to the table again and set a flask of elixir in front of her. "Here you go. Chamomile for nerves, coltsfoot and comfrey for the cough - I can hear it in your voice - damiana and devil's claw for pain. Just put a few drops into your teapot." "oh! Thank you - what do I - " Anne reached for her purse, but Magda waved her away. "It's a gift." **** "Okay, yes, I have been known to do a little prep work before our conversations," Riley said coyly. "It's not easy, y'know, talking to you sometimes. It's like an oral exam." Buffy smiled wryly. "Boy, *that's* just what every girl longs to hear!" "Well, you're tricky!" "Like an *exam?*" Riley shuffled embarrassedly. "I never know how you're going to react to something. That's why I like you so much - you're a mystery." He shrugged. "Probably every beautiful girl in the world has some jerk telling her she's a mystery, but I swear, you really are. There's a lot about you that needs puzzling out." He looked up, realized she was staring blankly at him. "I lose you somewhere?" "Right around...beautiful," she replied, and a grin as big as an Iowa cornfield split his face. "Hey - don't you just love a picnic?" **** "DRUSILLA!" William bellowed, and her dark head popped around the parlor doorway, blood trailing from the corners of her mouth. "You rang, maaaa-ster?" she giggled, drifting over to him. William just continued knifing pages out of the journal he was holding open on the mantel. She shook her head and tut-tutted gleefully at the vampire-sized pile of dust beside him. When she looked back, he had set the loose pages ablaze with a candle. "Take this," he said, kicking a decorative trunk over to her. "Take whatever strikes your fancy from this house. We're leaving here for good." He held the journal by one corner over the candle, and Drusilla let out a muffled shriek and snatched it out of his hands. "Power," she growled, eyes wide, caressing the soft leather of the cover. He sighed. "All right, Dru, you can have it. Just never let me see it again." She squealed and spun around happily, hugging the book to her chest. Then she dropped it in the trunk and began dragging the trunk out the door with her. **** Back in her dorm room, Buffy booted up the laptop, opened a Web browser and scrolled through her bookmarks. Grinning to herself, she clicked on one and waited for the web journal to load onto the page. Finally she had good things to tell her poetry-mangling friend! To her horror, the laptop emitted a steady, high-pitched squeal and crashed with a *pop* and a few sparks jumping from the keyboard. She yanked the plug quickly and opened a window to clear out the smoke. "Jeez! A simple 404 Not Found woulda done it!" she shouted at the dark screen. Just then the door opened, and Buffy jumped and slammed the lid of the laptop down. "Hi Buffy," Willow sighed, and started to trudge across to her bed. Then she stopped and looked at the arms Buffy had crossed over the desk, and noticed the wisps of smoke still coming out of the computer. Buffy wouldn't've thought it possible for Willow's face to fall any farther than it already had been, but it did. "You broke my laptop?" "No! I-I mean - all I did was open up a Web page, Wil, and all of a sudden POOF!" Willow sat down on the edge of Buffy's bed and took the computer from her. "Oh. No. I didn't mean - I mean, I know *you* didn't break my laptop, Buff, but - you *broke* my *laptop*?" she whined mournfully, caressing the lid. Buffy sighed. "Maybe you can fix it? And if you can't, I'll get my Mom to get us a new one. I really need a separate one anyway..." "Okay..." Willow shuffled off to flop on her bed, still clutching the laptop to her chest. Buffy rubbed her temples. It was gonna be a long day. **** Magda and Graciela bustled around the shelves, gathering items and trying to ignore the pounding at the shop door. "Haven't you got everything yet?" Graciela said, glancing nervously at the door. "Just a few more herbs," Magda replied, trying to focus on her work. "OH LADIES!" William bellowed through the door, pounding away. "GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU!" "WE'RE CLOSED!" Graciela shouted back, stuffing personal belongings into a carpetbag. "Quickly - the cellar - " Magda gathered her supplies and headed to the cellar door. Just then William smashed down the door. "Go!" Graciela hissed to her daughter. Magda spared a last look at the fledgling vampire, in game face with clothes disheveled and a deranged look twisting his features, and ran. Laughing, William started in, only to be repelled by an invisible barrier. "Oh Graci-elll-laaaa..." he singsonged. "Do let me in. Got a business matter to discuss with you and your lovely daughter. Sold me defective goods, you did." "No receipt, no returns." The old woman stood firm. "As you see, we live here as well as do business here. And you are most emphatically NOT invited in." Hovering behind William, Drusilla tittered. Graciela returned to packing her carpetbag, and with a final snap of the closure, started for the cellar. "Well I never!" William giggled. "More'n one way to get in there though." He pulled a nearly-full bottle of whisky from his pocket, stuffed a handkerchief into it and set the cloth on fire. He lobbed the improvised firebomb into the store just as the cellar door shut behind Graciela. "No barrier if there's no residence left to enter..." The shop, built of wood and filled with shelves and dried plants, caught like tinder and the walls were engulfed in only a few minutes. William strode in, defying the flames, Drusilla pirouetting behind him. "Is everything set?" Graciela hovered at her daughter's side. She looked up at the sound of pounding on the floorboards; someone was jumping on the cellar 'ceiling'. "Got it!" Magda gathered up their baggage and pulled her mother close into her arms, muttering incantations. A moment later William crashed through the floor into the cellar, but found only the charred circle of herbs from a teleportation spell. "FILTHY GYPSY BITCHES!" he raged, and threw back his head and howled. Above him, Drucilla danced among the flames, her hysterical laughter rising around him. **** Spike lay a few yards from the mouth of the cave, staring at the shaft of light from the powerful African sun just beyond him. He didn't know how long it had taken him just to drag himself that far from the depths of the cave. Hours? Days? The concepts had lost all meaning for him. Between his injuries and the constant tormented screaming of his soul, his world had shrunk to the size of the concept of "pain." His stubborn streak was reasserting itself, he found. If he could just haul his weight a few feet further, he could reach that shaft of light and take his final sunbathe. It would end the agony, his demon told him. It would be far less than he deserved, said his soul. Nevertheless, he simply lay there staring at the sun, letting his demon and soul argue the point. The sun would still be there when they settled it, and he was so very tired. Vaguely he registered the sounds of a commotion from beyond the mouth of the cave, and lifted his head to look. The villagers were thronged alongside the path to the cave, chattering to each other in excited tones. The same man who'd tried to bar Spike's way was on the path speaking forcefully to a new arrival - a woman in a long dress with a crone's stoop whom he could see only in silhouette. She brushed off the man's protests and entered the cave, seating herself in the shaft of sun and opening a carpetbag. Though dark-complexioned, the old woman was definitely European, he realized. No wonder the villagers seemed so surprised. "Sorry I'm late, m'lud," she said. "Got held up in traffic." Spike just looked up at her dazedly. "You're dead. I'm dreaming." "'Fraid not. See?" She gave him a poke in the shoulder, and he moaned. "I've been at some pains to stay alive long enough to see you through to the destiny Mama foresaw for you. She wrote it all out for me, and taught me spells to see the future since I don't have the eye, and I learned every trick I could to extend my lifespan," Magda replied, pulling a pottery bowl from the bag. "No thanks to you, however." "I'm sorry," he whispered, and she laughed drily. "For what? Burning us out? We were Gypsies roaming the cities of Europe. You were neither the first nor the last. I do wish you'd hurry up and make up your mind to make it all worth it for us, though, because I'm so tired. I've lived a good thirty years past when I should have to see this through and I'm so very tired, William." "No, I meant...I'm sorry...for..." He managed to raise a hand and wave it expansively. "I'm ready...to pay the price..." "No, you're not. Not yet. Just rest. You need to get better." "Your bag is moving," he mumbled, and she nodded. Reaching inside, she pulled out a pair of kittens by the scruffs of their necks in one hand, and snapped the necks in one deft motion. Then she pulled a knife from the bag, slit open the cats' throats and drained their blood into the bowl. Spike just gaped at her while she discarded the kittens' bodies and added dried herbs to the blood, and warmed it over a candle. "Drink." "Why?" "To get your strength back -" "No. No. Why would you do this? Knowing what I - what I am?" Magda sighed. "You drink. I talk. Yes? No?" He took the bowl from her and tipped it into his mouth. "Now then. You have a destiny. Mama saw it the first time she met you. You've done horrible things, but as Mama saw it they were all steps on the road to getting you there." Spike put the empty bowl down and stared up at her, dazed. "Meeting your soulmate is part of it. Reclaiming your soul is part of it. But they're not the whole of it. You'll see - I can't say much more than that, because the choices have to be yours alone. But you're so close to meeting your destiny, guv'nor. You've got a powerful weapon inside you, now - " she tapped his chest, where the demon had stuffed the soul in. " - as powerful as the vampire, believe it or not. But you've got to get well, and you've got to go back where you came from, so you can meet the challenges that'll come your way." "Don't deserve a Destiny," he mumbled, dropping his head again. Magda laughed. "Oh m'dear. Think you deserve to suffer? Trust your Seer. There's plenty of *that* in your future - beyond the wildest dreams of any masochist. But there's a reason you had to know your soulmate, William. She's going to need you." Feeling the strength from the blood course through him, Spike pulled himself into a sitting position. "What do I have to do?" "Just sit there." Magda pulled herbs and a spellbook from the carpetbag, and set them up. She began her incantations, and a portal opened up around Spike. A moment later, he was gone. Magda sighed and shook her head. She repacked her carpetbag, gave the kittens' corpses to the villagers, and trudged off into the desert. **** Crouched over the open trunk, Spike registered a presence behind him on the stairs to the basement. "Comin' in, Rupert, or you just gonna stand there an' admire the view?" he called without looking up. Giles cleared his throat and descended the staircase. "If that's a stake in your pocket, you'll be dead before you get close enough to reach it, y'know," he added, still not looking up. Giles cleared his throat. "I'll not say that I'm sorry, Spike." "Never thought you would." He pulled a dress and a cracked teacup out of the bottom of the trunk. "I stand by my original opinion. And if I judge that you're creating a liability for Buffy in the future, I will try again." Giles rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "What I figured. An' I stand by my statement." He arranged the items he'd taken from the trunk into neater piles on the floor. "Not gonna happen, though. Thanks to your little murder plot, the trigger's all gone. I got some old crap out of my head, an' I feel just fine, thanks." He grinned at a cache of framed photographs he found in the trunk, and turned to show them to Giles. "Mum 'n dad's wedding picture. Clem stuffed a bunch of my stuff on top'a the old stuff in this trunk an' brought it to Buffy to store while I was gone. 'E di'n' know Dru'd put a lot'a stuff from my mum's house in here before we left it. Never felt like goin' through it all 'til now..." "Y-yes, well, I-I'm - that's very - ahem." "Thanks, Rupes. You're all heart." Spike sat back on his heels, looking at the last thing in the trunk. He took it out and ran his hand over it, then threw it over his shoulder to Giles. "Catch." Giles just barely got his hands up in time to keep the book from hitting him. Reflexively he opened the leather cover and flipped the pages. "It's blank." "Yeah, 's a journal. Figured you could use it. It's s'posed t'be magic. Thought maybe you could make it work, or Red could suck the power out of it like the Magic Box library." "There are pages missing," Giles noted, running his finger over the ragged edges at the spine. "Yeah. I thought it didn't work for me, got pissed off with it." Giles' eyes narrowed. "If this book has magickal powers, why aren't you keeping it to use yourself?" Spike turned his head, saw Buffy standing at the top of the staircase watching them. Her arms were folded over her chest and she was leaning back slightly, wearing the bemused and almost satisfied smile she often seemed to have lately when they were together. Her eyes were clear and, as seemed to happen more and more these days, Spike almost thought he could see through them to her soul. "I don't think I'll be needing it anymore."

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