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West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge
 
Chapter 18: Palmistry and Prophecies
 
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Author's Notes: Because I’m horribly impatient…I posted Chapter 17 last night, so make sure you’re caught up before you read this one.

We’ve been leading up to this moment for a while now. We’ve done the demons of the week and the hints of the bigger Bad, now it’s time to see what’s coming.

There’s a tiny bit of borrowed canon dialogue in this, but for the most part, we’re firmly AU again.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits: This chapter contains dialogue from the episode "Checkpoint" written by Douglas Petrie and Jane Espenson.

Special thanks to Pika-la-Cynique for her help with French translations.

Betaed by Phuriedae

Banner by Phuriedae







Chapter 18

Palmistry and Prophecies



A few days later, we all gather at the Magic Box for an after-hours Scooby meeting. The place doesn’t look too bad. Xander did a great job repairing what could be repaired, and he’s been working on replacing a couple of other things, despite his broken wrist. Giles, of course, has his resigned-face on.

“Well,” he says, “it’s a magic shop on the Hellmouth. I suppose it could be worse.”

“True,” I tell him. “Nobody’s dead, so that’s good, right?”

“Quite,” he says, looking sadly at a banged up…something, as if he doesn’t quite believe it.

“So,” Xander says, resting his cast on the table like a visible reminder that some people almost were dead. “This purple crystal thingie. What do we got?”

“Well,” Anya says, “I went through the inventory lists and the shipping lists and the order lists. It’s not there. I've checked three times. There aren't any purple crystals listed.”

“And I’m sure it was in the store that day,” Willow says. “I know I don’t own one like that.”

We all stare at the purple crystal sitting in the middle of the table, doing its best to look innocent.

“Someone could have left it,” I point out. “I mean, in a store like this, who’s really going to pay much attention to one purple crystal beside all the other crystals and stuff?”

“So…we’re thinking somebody put it here, hoping Olaf would get released eventually?” Xander says. “Doesn’t sound like too sound of a plan.”

“At the moment,” Giles says, blowing his nose, "it seems it’s the only one we’ve got. W-we could do some research, see if we can trace it, but as old as it is, I’m afraid it will take some time.”

“What about this whole Northern Europe demon thing?” I ask. “Are we talking a tour group on vacation at the Hellmouth, or something more serious?”

“I’m not certain, Buffy,” Giles says. “Three does seem a bit more than a coincidence. But without some further sign—.”

There’s a knock on the door to the Magic Box. “We’re closed!” Anya calls. “Bring your money back tomorrow!” Whoever it is just knocks again.

“I’ll get it,” I say and head for the door. When I open it, I’m half expecting it to be a demon, or Spike trying to horn in on a Scooby meeting. I’m surprised to find a woman, dressed in a tweedy skirt, blazer and overcoat, with her hair pulled up in a sleek twist and a pair of thick-framed glasses perched on her nose. She looks so much like a female version of Giles I figure it out almost before she speaks.

“Hello,” she says, clutching her bag to her chest as if she’s afraid it’s going to be stolen. Her accent is even snootier than Giles’. “I’m looking for Rupert Giles. It’s…a matter of some urgency, I’m afraid.”

“You’re a Watcher,” I say, narrowing my eyes. Even her scarf is tweed.

She blinks. “Well…I…well, yes, I-I suppose I am.”

“Are there more of you? Or just you? Because we’re not so friendly with the Council right now.”

She blinks again, then straightens. “Are all Americans so rude, or is it only because you’re the Slayer?”

With a sigh I open the door wider and let her come in. It’s freezing out there. It snowed a little earlier in the day, but it hasn’t melted yet. Instead it’s just mushy gray sludge. I thought snow was supposed to be pretty.

“Mr. Giles?” the Watcher says, stepping into the shop and looking around curiously.

“Ms. Markham,” Giles says, getting up. Okay, so they know each other. That’s something. But the frown on his face tells me this probably isn’t a…what did Anya call it last year? An orgasm friend? And thank god for that. “To what do we owe this…ah…visit?”

She looks at everyone gathered in the room warily. “It’s…well, perhaps it would be better if I were to…”

“Whatever you have to say to me or Giles you can say in front of them,” I tell her. “They’re on the squad.”

“Squad?” she looks at Giles, a little lost.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry. My manners appear to be misplaced.” He does the introduction thing then returns to our guest. “This is Ms. Lydia Markham. She’s a…member of the Watcher’s Council.”

“Not if they discover that I’m here,” she tells him. He looks at her, surprised. “This isn’t exactly…that is to say that…ah…the Council did not, um…they did not approve…” She looks embarrassed.

Okay. Council rebel. I’m suddenly feeling friendlier.

“Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll fetch us some tea,” Giles says.

Tara offers to help.

“Hot chocolate?” Willow asks.

“All around?” I add. This looks like it’s going to take awhile. Most things that involve the Council do, unfortunately.

Tara and Giles head next door to the Espresso Pump, leaving the rest of us eying the Watcher woman. She fidgets with her bag.

“So…you…you all work together? With, ah…with the Slayer?” she asks.

“Yep,” Xander says, “We’re the backup. Also, moral support, magic, research pals, and comic relief. And I whittle a mean stake.”

“Ah,” she says, clearly lost. She turns to me. “I-I had heard that your methods weren’t…exactly, ah, typical.”

“Typical has never really worked for me,” I tell her. “So the Council doesn’t know you’re here, huh?”

Lydia shifts uncomfortably. “No, they…ah, they believe I’m taking a short sabbatical, to …care for an aging relative.”

“Sick grandmother excuse,” Xander says with a friendly smile. “Classic. And open-ended. This isn’t a quick trip, is it?”

Again with the surprise. “No,” she says. “It’s…well, likely not.”

“Xander is my boyfriend,” Anya chimes in, wrapping her arms around one of his. “We’re together. We have sex.”

“And claim has now been staked,” I say. “You’ll have to excuse Anya, she’s…”

“Acclimating,” Willow says. “New culture.” Anya nods. Lydia looks embarrassed.

***


By the time Giles and Tara return we’re all more than ready to get down to business. Lydia is clutching her tea as if it’s a lifeline.

“You must understand that…that I’m here entirely of my own volition,” she says. “The information I have is…well, not entirely reliable, but there were certain aspects that led me to believe that there might be a very real threat. The Council did not share my opinion, and refused to pass along the information.”

“It was very brave of you to come here,” Giles says and she blushes. “I know that the Council can be quite closed-minded at times.”

“Oh,” she says, waving that off, “it’s…understandable, in this situation. As I said, my research may not quite be reliable.”

“What’ve you got?” I ask. Man, I love Giles, but English people can talk all day and not say anything. She looks startled, then opens her bag and digs out a moldy old book and several file folders. Of course, this is like waving chocolate in front of Giles.

“Is that—pardon me, is that a copy of the Nord de Coeur prophecies?” I can practically see his fingers itching.

“It is,” she says, looking happy that he recognized it. Ah, book geek love. “Turn of the century lore is my specialty, and I’ve been studying these for some time.”

She looks at the rest of us, then goes into teacher mode. Maybe it’s a Watcher thing.

“Sometime during the last part of the nineteenth-century, a madman was discovered wandering alone in the Alps, in the snow. He was taken to a French convent for care, where it was discovered that he was an Englishman. With the help of a local who spoke some English, they learned that the man believed he had talked to an angel of the Lord, and that the angel had saved his life. The local, however, could not write, so the man’s ravings were translated to French, rendering them somewhat …broken. It’s always preferred for prophecies to be written in the same language they are given in, you see.”

Not really, but okay.

“So this crazy guy…he must’ve said something important,” I say.

“Well, as a matter of fact, several times he mentioned Slayers in his ramblings, which is how the prophecies came to be a part of the Watcher’s library in the first place.” She flips the book open to a page marked with a ribbon and covered in tiny print. “This is the part that alarmed me,” she says. “Here he mentions several times that at the beginning of the new millennia, there will come a time when the world will be covered in ice. ‘Froid venant de la bouche de l'enfer’ he calls it.”

“Cold from the mouth of hell. The Hellmouth,” Giles says. “How do you know this is the one he’s referring to? There are several.”

“I couldn’t be certain,” she says, “however the timing is right, you must admit and…this weather isn’t exactly natural. I’ve been following the weather reports here for some time, and it appears that this cold front is…well, concentrated in Sunnydale, and steadily growing worse. However, that’s not what decided me. See here?" She leans over so Giles can have a look. I think I see drool on his chin. "According to the prophet, there is a Woman of Ice or a Cold Demon—he uses them interchangeably—who will attempt to open the door to a ‘frozen hell’ on a date variously termed 'La Nuit de la Tueuse' or 'nuit d'estés". Which, translate to 'Slayer's Night' and ‘summers night' respectively. I believe that in both cases he was referring to you, Miss Summers.”

“Okay,” I say. “Kinda wiggy, but not the first time I've had a prophecy. So…when is this Slayer’s Night?”

She turns back to her books and notes. “Clues in the text seem to point to a date between the spring equinox and the summer solstice, which seemed the most likely candidate for a ‘summers night’ before you were called. Now, however…I’m not so sure. There is also mention of an artifact or weapon of some sort that the demon seeks to acquire in order to gain power. At one point he implies that it is something that will be given into your keeping, something that was meant for you alone.”

“So, not something I’ve already got?” I ask.

She shrugs helplessly. “It’s difficult to say for sure. The translation and the man’s condition…prophets aren’t exactly living in the same time flow as the rest of us. Tenses are…awkward. However, I don’t believe it is something you have already. There are indications that it’s something you will have to…discover on your own.”

Guess that rules out purple crystals and troll hammers.

"Okay, so…let me make sure I've got this: according to your dead crazy guy, we've got some kind of ice demon lady who wants to open the Hellmouth and freeze the world over, and in order to do this she needs something that I have to find…and there's a good chance it's going to happen at a specific time, only we don't know when?"

"Ah…well, yes, that does sum it up, ah, succinctly," Lydia says. "There's more, but…with my limited time and resources I've been unable to work on deciphering the rest of it. I had hoped that…if you felt this was important, that perhaps Mr. Giles might…ah, lend his expertise. He is quite well known as something of an expert on rare and difficult texts."

Giles is blushing?

"Well, yes, I-I think we can safely assume that anything regarding a potential apocalypse here on the Hellmouth is…worthy of investigation."

They even talk the same. I wonder if Watchers are cloned instead of born?

"Will you—will you inform the Council that I'm here?" she asks hesitantly. "They were rather reluctant to pass on this information. The…difficulty of the translation and their…um…previous experiences with-with—"

"Us? You don't have to beat around the bush; we're not exactly buddy-buddy with the Council. As it happens, I don't really like it when people try to have me killed. Twice. Been there, done that, not really eager to do it again," I tell her.

Lydia straightens her glasses. "Y-yes, I, can understand how that might be…unpleasant," she says. "I can assure you Miss Summers that I only have your best interests—and the world's—at heart. If I'm wrong about all of this then I will sincerely apologize for wasting your time, however if I'm right…"

"Then we've got another apocalypse on our hands," I say, sighing. "It was getting to be that time again, anyway."

"Time…again?"

"Apocalypses usually happen in the spring. Something about all that optimism in the air seems to set them off."

And that pretty much wraps up our Scooby meeting. We all agree that telling the Council really isn't in anybody's best interest, and Giles and Ms. Markham discuss her stay in Sunnydale. I'm more interested in finding out about this Slayer's Night and our weird purple crystal. Maybe I'll ask around the usual places and see what I can find out. Who knows? Maybe there's a demon lurking out there with the answers I need.

***


Later, I fill Mr. Gordo in on our new ally and her information after we're done sparring. He can't exactly offer me advice, but he's great as a sounding board.

"So, now I've got weird foreign demons running around town, a mysterious 'ice demon' to be on the lookout for, and some kind of artifact someone's going to give me. Maybe it's a sword, or a really cool axe? And the way she said 'meant for you alone’…I liked that. Something really powerful that'll just be mine? Not that I'm greedy or anything but…it's kinda cool," I say, flopping back on the bed.

He's pretty quiet tonight, I mean…more so than usual. I roll over on my side, facing his direction.

"You alright?" I ask.

Yes.

"Okay. Just…that last punch was pretty hard," I say, frowning. I don't know why it concerns me. I mean, if he were a real vampire, well, I'd have staked him ages ago. But he's kinda become my vampire after all this time. He's not Angel. I mean he's not…like Angel. I don't feel all starry eyed about him or anything, and while he's mysterious in that 'I-can't-see-you' kind of way, in other ways he's totally not. I can almost predict his responses sometimes. And when we're sparring, we totally connect on this weird level where I can almost feel what he's going to do before he does it.

He still surprises me, though. I've got a bruise on my jaw right now to attest to that, though I know it won't be there in the morning. I wish real training came with magically disappearing aches and pains. Not that I get many, during my regular sparring sessions. Lately they've become a lot easier.

I just can't really tell Giles it's because I'm getting a double dose of training every day…er…night…in my sleep.

But Mr. Gordo is awfully quiet, not even panting, which he sometimes does after a heavy session. Suddenly it occurs to me that maybe he doesn't like being beaten on every night by a girl. Riley wouldn't have.

"You…this, with us, the…sparring thing," I say tentatively. "Is…do you mind it?"

No, he answers without even pausing.

"So, you…like sparring with me? Even though I'm kinda stronger than you?" I ask. I am. Not that he's not strong, in fact most of the time we're pretty much equal. But sometimes I can tell I'm just a hair stronger…and he's just a little faster than me.

His fingers touch my hand where it lays on the mattress. Gently, he forms it into a fist.

Yes, he taps on the back of my knuckles, then rubs a thumb over the bruised skin there. His hand is big around mine, but not massive like Riley's were, or Angel's. His fingers are callused, too. I never paid much attention to hands before, but I can tell without even seeing them that Mr. Gordo has totally great hands.

"Good," I say, feeling kind of shy. "I'm glad. I like sparring with you, too."

As I drift off to sleep, it's to the feeling of his thumb gently stroking over my knuckles, and when I wake up, my hand is still clenched in a fist and tingling where he touched my skin.

***


I kinda hate my history professor this semester. He loves to call me out in class over the stupidest things. Is it my fault that I happen to know that there's stuff out there that would totally explain stuff in history like…like how hard it was to kill Rasputin, just as an example. But no, he's got to get all rude and snotty and embarrass me in front of the whole class.

Stupid professor.

And I woke up in such a good mood, too.

Of course, then it slowly turned into the day from hell. First we were out of milk, then when I was straightening up the living room I found one of Riley's sweaters. I was late leaving for class and baldy prof had to be a jerk and now…

Well, now this stupid vampire is just the therapy I need to make my day better.

"Maybe you'd like to teach the class, Professor," I mock as I punch the vampire in the face.

"Are you talking to somebody?" he asks, just before he manages to backhand me hard enough that I spin away. I recover pretty quickly, but suddenly my vamp senses are tingling harder.

"Need some help there, Slayer?" says a voice out of the darkness.

"Nope," I say, "I got it." And I do. When the vamp charges me it's nothing to grab him, flip him and stake him. I was pretty much done playing anyway.

My new source of irritation is lounging on top of a nearby crypt, a cigarette dangling between the fingers of his right hand and a stake idly twirling in his left. His pale face and hair shine like the moon against the dark sky.

"Lookin' a bit off tonight, Slayer," Spike says with a smirk. "Bitey there almost had you."

"I was regrouping," I tell him.

"You were about to be regrouped into separate piles," he tells me. "Why so sloppy?"

I frown. "Bad day," I tell him. "Not that it’s any of your business, and why are you here anyway, Spike? Don't you have, you know, evil stuff to do?"

"Not a thing. I decided to cut back a bit. Heard it's not good for you," he grins like he thinks that's funny, doing some obscene thing with his tongue behind his teeth. "Figured I'd come out here and see if you needed a hand. Any big nasties in town you want to go after? Could do with some rough and tumble."

God, he's irritating. Let him help once or twice and he thinks he's got an in.

"Well, I don't need a hand, and if I did it wouldn't be yours, Spike. Go home," I tell him and turn to leave.

Instead he jumps down easily next to me, his black coat flaring out behind him. Against the light gray tombstones and the white of the softly falling snow he stands out more than usual. He's totally impervious to the below freezing temperatures in his leather coat, jeans, and t-shirt. I feel kind of ridiculous, bundled up in my warmest gear that'll still let me move. Like an Abominable Snow-Buffy. Only in black and pink.

"What are you doing, Spike?" I ask.

"Walkin’," he says, keeping pace at my side. "Free country, innit? Watcher suss out anything on that crystal yet?"

"Why do you care?" I ask. He's way too interested in this crystal thing.

"Don't. I'm bored," he says, as if that's the answer to everything. For Spike, it probably is.

I chew my lip for a minute, debating. Finally I decide to ask. "Have you heard anything about an 'Ice Demon' here in town lately?"

He's quiet for so long I have to look at him. There's an odd expression on his face, but finally he says. "No, don't think so. Gotta description?"

"Not really. Might be female," I say. He's still got that weird look on his face, then he coughs. Vampires cough?

"Nope," he says. "Nothing."

Something about the way he says it and his face…he's not telling me the truth. Or not the whole truth. I could punch him, I suppose, and make him tell me, but that would mean taking my hand out of my pocket, and it's just too damn cold.

"What about a date called 'The Slayer's Night’? Any idea what that might be?" I'm watching him closely now, trying to figure out what he's hiding. This time he shrugs more easily.

"Bank holiday?" he jokes. "Sorry, Slayer. Could go down to Willy's for you and have a listen?"

"Nah," I say. "I got it. Besides, Willy and I have a deal."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"He tells me what I want to know, and I don't break all the bottles in his bar with his head. So far it works pretty well."

He grins nastily. "That's my girl."

"Ugh. In your dreams, Spike. Go home."

***


Willy, as it turns out, is a bust.

"Sorry, Slayer, I got nothin', I swear," he says, cringing a little as if he thinks I'm going to hit him. "Can ask around if you want, but I gotta tell you, there's nada going on. Colder out there than a witch's t-"

"Watch it," I tell him, leaning in. "What about this 'Slayer's Night'? Heard anything?"

"That the night you fly around and deliver presents to all the good little demons?" he asks, then flinches again when I scowl. "Sorry. Dunno. Look, we've been getting’ some new demons in town, but they're mostly keepin’ to themselves. Quiet, like, ya know?"

"Where from?" I ask, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Not sure. Up north, maybe? They don't seem to mind the cold weather." He shrugs and goes back to wiping down a glass with a rag almost as greasy as his personality.

I sigh and look around. The bar is pretty dead tonight. Only one or two vamps in the corner having a beer and watching me carefully for any sign that I'm going to stake them. I know the rules though. I start staking customers and Willy stops being cooperative. They're safe, as long as they're in here and they aren't feeding. Most of the other demons are regulars, and harmless.

Frustrated, I turn to go, then change my mind.

"One more thing, what's Spike up to these days?"

Willy looks startled, "Figured you'd know that better'n me, Slayer. Word is that you've got yourself a new vamp lap dog."

"Word's wrong, Willy," I tell him. "What else have you got?"

"Not much. He comes in for a drink now ‘n’ then. Keeps to himself. Plays poker. Lot of the other demons here won't have anything to do with him since he's switched sides. More'n a few who'd like to take him out back, if you know what I mean?" Willy's talking faster than usual, which means he's nervous. I can't tell if that's because he's afraid of me, or afraid of Spike. Since he's human, of the two of us it's me that he needs to worry the most about.

"You haven't heard anything about him working for anyone?" I ask. Something about Spike's face earlier…

"Just you, Slayer," he says. "Just you."




Author's Postscript: I looked really hard to try to find evidence of Lydia's canon last name... and turned up a lot of fanon but nothing concrete. Since I didn't like her fanon name, I made one up instead. If you don't like it... sorry.



 
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