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punch_kicker15Chapter: 4/4
Author: punch_kicker15
Rating: NC-17 (entire work, this chapter is PG-13)
Genre: Angst, smut
Characters/Relationships: Willow/Giles, background Oz/Willow
Summary: Set in an AU in which Giles never summoned Eyghon or returned to the Watcher’s Council. During the events of Wild at Heart, Willow makes an intense connection with the new magic shop owner.
Chapter 4: Willow and Rupert perform the spell, with some unexpected results.
Word count: 2055
In the living room, Rupert grabbed a map from the wall and handed Willow a spellbook.
She flipped through the book to the demon location spell. It sounded really cool. They would each get a potion to blow on the square during the incantation. The potions would combine in a mist over the map where the demons were, and the colors of the mist would indicate the demon breed.
She watched him mix one the potions in a mortar. “I have, um, a million questions.”
He smiled indulgently at her. “Let’s start with the first one.” He handed her another mortar.
She took one of the mortars from him and started grinding jasmine flowers. “Why does your potion use dandelion instead of heliotrope?”
“Heliotrope can be associated with invisibility as well as divination. Accidentally introducing invisibility into this kind of spell—“
“—would defeat the purpose of it, I get it now. Next question: it says you can use either camphor or jasmine for the first potion. Why’d you pick jasmine?”
“The smell,” he said.
“Really?” Was there some connection with an ingredient’s fragrance and its efficacy? She hadn’t read about it her magic books, but maybe it was a major factor she’d been missing. Maybe that was why her spells had unpredictable results.”
“Yes, the smell. I’ve had to use some foul-smelling ingredients sometimes. But given a choice, I’d rather have this place smell like jasmine for a week instead of reeking of camphor for months.”
She laughed for a moment, and then her curiosity prompted her to the next question. “Why are we invoking Thespia for this?”
“Good question. It’s a long story.” He pulled down a volume from one of the bookshelves. “Anthea Costa’s compendium of deities is the best place to start.”
They sat down together at the kitchen table, and started discussing Thespia’s historical associations with demons. That led to more questions about the origins of the Thespia cult, and the development of demon-scrying magic over time.
After consulting several dozen texts, and asking too many questions to count, she said, “I think that answered everything. I’m ready to try it now.”
They settled down on the floor, the map between them. He handed her the mortar or green powder.
She closed her eyes and chanted, “Thespia, we walk in shadow, walk in blindness. You are the protector of the night.”
He picked up his part of the incantation, “Thespia, goddess, ruler of all darkness, we implore you, open a window to the world of the underbeing.”
She sent the powder off with a quick puff of air. Her skin prickled all over as her magic touched his. It felt light and bracing, like an ocean breeze.
With a slight tremor in his voice, he finished, “With your knowledge may we go in safety. With your grace may we speak of your benevolence.”
She opened her eyes. “Oh, hey! Mist! Wow, that's a lot of demons on the map. Guess we didn’t really need to do the spell to figure that out.”
Rupert looked a bit flushed. “Gods, you’re powerful.” He touched her hand, and the connection between their magic intensified. Her hand grew warmer, and the warmth climbed up her arm. This was a new kind of intimacy for her. From the wicked grin on his face, she guessed that this wasn’t new for him. As he pulled her closer to him, she thought maybe she was ready for Round Two now.
She looked back at the map, fascinated by the way their magic flowed together into the points of light. And then she noticed something a bit odd. “Is one of those lights getting—bigger?”
“That means something is very close.” He scrambled to his feet.
There was a scraping noise at the door. Willow’s heart pounded hard. Had they inadvertently summoned a demon with the spell?
The door swung open. Willow braced herself for something really dangerous, and almost laughed when Veruca lurched through. An unwelcome and annoying demon invasion was better than a murderous one.
Veruca fixed a cold stare on Willow and snickered. “Wow, you’re even more pathetic than I thought. This dried-up fossil is your idea of revenge?”
“I take it this is Veruca?” Rupert asked. “You were far too kind when you described her. She does have the voice of an albatross. But with that hunched neck of hers, I’d say a vulture is a more apt comparison.”
Veruca sneered. “Yeah, go ahead and talk, Grandpa. That’s all you can do—“
He lifted a hand. “Silencio!”
Veruca’s mouth kept moving, but no sound came out. He smirked. “That’s more than you can do now.”
She opened her mouth wider, and when no sound came out, she looked a bit rattled. It was about time someone knocked some of that smug superiority out of her. Willow couldn’t find it in herself to feel the least bit sorry.
But there was something about how casually he’d come up with a silencing spell, and the hard look on his face. It was kind of freaky. She never wanted to get on his bad side.
Then something subtle—a flash of teeth, perhaps, or just a look in Veruca’s eyes—made Willow flinch. Veruca lunged at her, and Willow’s legs felt rooted in space. Instead of thinking of some sort of defensive spell or finding a weapon, her stupid brain was fixated on trying to figure out why this was happening.
“Vincire!” Rupert shouted. Willow yelped as cold blast of magic brushed past her skin.
The magic coiled around Veruca. She pushed and kicked against the bonds, but they held firm.
He grabbed Willow’s arm and pulled her away. Veruca continued thrashing against the magic.
“I don’t understand,” Willow muttered.
“She lost her ability to attack with words, so she switched to good old-fashioned violence instead.”
That still didn’t make any sense. “Why would she want to? She’s already won.”
“Maybe she sees you as more of a threat than you think,” he said, and it seemed like he was about to say more. Then there was a small, almost imperceptible noise, and he flinched, looking towards the door. “Get behind me,” he hissed.
The noise got a little louder, until she recognized it as the stairs creaking. Oz raced into the apartment, stumbling in his haste. He spotted Willow, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed.
The he took a breath, and turned his gaze on Rupert, and then back at her. Oz’s jaw clenched slightly. She’d learned to read the small changes in his expressions, and while he might look stoic to anyone else, she could see that he was hurt.
She had a petty little moment of triumph. He wouldn’t be hurt if she didn’t matter to him. Then a wave of completely illogical guilt crashed through her. She felt sympathetic tears well up at the sight of the wounded look in his eyes. Her head wanted to be done caring about Oz’s feelings, but part of her heart still hurt when he hurt. Why couldn’t she stop feeling something when she wanted to?
The look in Oz’s eyes shifted from wounded to predatory, and Willow’s heart pounded as she remembered that tonight was the third wolf night. She’d lost track of time while discussing the spell. The sun was about to set.
Willow screamed, “Look out!” as Oz leapt at Rupert.
With another shout of “Vincire!” magic encircled Oz. His hair had grown longer, and his face was morphing from human to lupine.
Willow glanced away from Oz and towards Veruca, who was also wolfing out. She had to know that she was about to transform.
“If I’d been alone, instead of coming here—“ she whispered to Rupert. Her voice wobbled as the motive for Veruca’s visit became clear. “She would have killed me.” She dissolved into a flood of tears.
He wrapped his arms around her. She clutched at him, needing something solid to hang onto just to keep standing upright. She’d faced death before, but there was a difference between a vampire looking for food, and someone deliberately setting out to murder her. He gently touched her hair as she sobbed uncontrollably.
More creaking on the stairs. What was next? A zombie invasion force? This day couldn’t get any more traumatic.
The universe apparently had a sense of humor, because it proved her wrong a moment later: Buffy ran through the door, holding a tranq gun. That shocked Willow out of her crying jag. She suddenly felt like the world’s biggest skank. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done, but without context, it looked bad, like Parker-level bad. She put a little distance between herself and Rupert.
Buffy took in Willow’s tear-stained face, and their clothes, or really the lack of clothes. Her face took on that severe look she got for people who disgusted her. She dropped the tranq gun, and punched Rupert in the stomach, hard.
He fell to the ground, wheezing, and Buffy wound up for another punch.
Willow darted between them. “Buffy, stop!” she pleaded. “He saved my life!”
Thank goodness for Buffy’s quick reflexes. She stopped her arm, but she continued glaring at Rupert with anger and revulsion. “What did you to her? Some kind of sex spell? You better reverse it right now!”
At some point, Willow might be able to explain what had happened, in a way that Buffy might understand. But right now Buffy had worked up a lot of righteous indignation, and Willow needed to defuse it, fast. “Nothing happened! We were just practicing a spell.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “A pantsless spell?”
Crud. Think of a reasonable explanation, she told herself. A sky-clad spell? No, that’ll make Buffy think it was all some plan to get me naked.
“A teleportation spell,” Rupert gasped out. “We needed to change into ceremonial robes to perform it. The werewolves broke in while we were changing.” He pushed himself up, moving a bit gingerly. “Changing in separate rooms,” he clarified.
“Ceremonial robes, yeah right,” Buffy muttered, but her expression turned slightly less murder-y.
He caught his breath. “If you prefer, in the future I’ll prioritize my attire over Willow’s safety.” He pointed at the werewolves. “Those bonds won’t hold them forever. I suggest you find a more permanent confinement solution soon.”
“Fine,” Buffy snapped. “But if I find out you hurt her, I will beat that sarcasm out of you with a shovel. C’mon, Willow.”
Willow hesitated. Going back with Buffy would mean filling Merrick and Xander on the humiliating Veruca story. There would be a bunch of lectures about going over to strange men’s houses and practicing magic with people she didn’t know. And trying to figure out, what, if anything, she should do about Oz. Her head ached just thinking about it.
“Willow!” Buffy hissed. “Why are you just standing there? Is he hexing you right now?”
“No, I’m just trying to remember where my pants are.” As much as she wanted to stay, that would only strengthen Buffy’s suspicion of mind-control spells. The only way to disprove it was to demonstrate that she could leave of her own free will.
“They’re in the spare bedroom. I’ll fetch them for you,” Rupert said.
He returned with her pants and shoes. She dressed quickly. Buffy had already heaved the werewolves onto her back and was waiting impatiently at the door.
She sighed. A goodbye kiss was out of the question. “Thanks for showing me that spell, and for saving me from Veruca,” she said, hoping her voice had the right tone. Too familiar and Buffy might get worked up on her behalf. Too impersonal, and he might think that she blamed him for the way things had spiraled out of control in the last ten minutes. Her voice sounded artificially cheery to her ears, but no one said anything about it.
As she and Buffy walked down the stairs, Buffy staggering a little under the weight of the werewolves, Willow noticed a lump in one of pockets. She reached inside and found the bloodstone crystal she’d used at the shop, wrapped in notepaper. The paper read, Willow, feel free to drop by anytime you’d like to learn self-defence spells.
She crammed the note and the crystal back into her pocket, and smiled.
Back to Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3