Well, part 4 was quite a problem with the indents. Only chapter like that
but the italics were a real chore this part too. I am posting this over at
fanfic.net and will probably just finish there instead, despite the
deafening, awkward silence. Thanks for putting up with this experiment.
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THE COVEN
The rise of the greatest Seeyo in History prior to the Natural
re-situation
of Humanity in the Cosmic.
By Binky (binky29AToptonline.net)
Description: Uber. Science Fiction. Mid-21st century.
Spoilers: None. This is 100 percent AU/uber
Pairings: Willow/Other, Willow/Tara.
Rating: Mature
Summary: A woman from the mysterious organization The Coven appears in
Sunnydale to help eight-year-old Willow Rosenberg unlock her latent powers
Warnings: Violence, strong language, moderate to graphic ***ual
language/situations, character death
Feedback: Yes, please, including criticism (the gentle kind)
Distribution: Please email before copying/printing/archiving.
Note 1: *text* denotes italics
Tara and Willow and other characters from the television show *Buffy the
Vampire Slayer* and *Angel* were created by Joss Whedon.
--------------------------------------------------
Prologue: Witch Maclay
Part 5
--------------------------------------------------
*Five weeks later...*
Things are moving too fast, way too fast to convey in just a terse weekly
data transmission. Jenny had to set up a phone line so I could call in at
will. The problem now is there's no way to completely ensure a clean line,
so to normalize it, make it look not too unusual that the calls were
anything but mundane, I'm allowed to call in every few days regardless of
need. Jenny also calls me or returns my calls, but less frequently. Our
cover is old college friends who had recently reconnected after losing
touch
with each other. I was elected the loquacious one, apparently. No surprise
there.
We're very careful during our conversations, often relaying the gist of
the
communication in the preliminary greeting--"How are you doing?" Okay,
fine,
good, great. The im****tant details we keep for the weekly e-letter, so the
rest of the conversation is often pure fluff.
In fact, we're so careful, I'm still not sure what Cylla's reaction was to
this last month's exponential success of my meetings with Willow. Was she
pleased? Angry? Or just indifferent, as normal? Was this welcome progress?
Or did I screw up royally by helping Willow unlock the door to the world
that lies beneath her own? Once opened, it's impossible to close again.
A week after the incident with the faerie lights in my office, Willow had
a
similar episode at her friend Xander's house. Her parents were not aware
that she was with the young man, who evidently they don't quite approve
of.
Sheila was quite surprised when he called her that afternoon, in a full
panic, that her daughter had collapsed and was lying passed out on the
floor
of his basement. Of course, it came to light that she had been visiting
with
me earlier. Much phone calling and accusations and admonishments and,
unfortunately, Snyder involvement later, it was safe to say that I had
made
full contact with the alpha Rosenbergs. When it came to light that I had
actually been sort of tutoring Willow with advanced history lessons since
the standard ones offered by Snyder's school were so insufficient for her,
of course, I was forgiven, though Xander was now firmly on Ira and
Sheila's
****list. Poor kid.
Willow had mentioned him a few times during our conversations before the
incident. The impression I got was that they were strictly Platonic,
comrades in unpopularity--and really, how far can you go in the smoochies
and naughty touching department when you're only eight years old and your
"old man" ten? I know I've been out of the loop way too long to have a
realistic idea about what mud kids are doing these days, but can it be
really very different than what kids in the Coven get up to? Then again...
thank the gods there are so few boys in the Coven for Leda to get all
insane
and teen angsty about.
Or I could just be in denial. I have to admit, don't ask, don't tell has
been my policy since Leda started getting her menses earlier this year.
So,
expert at the younger species? Not exactly.
Which is I guess why I can't really question Sheila for putting Willow in
lockdown with respect to Mr. Harris. Willow looked utterly miserable the
next time she came to visit. Also apologetic that the incident had
uncovered
our unscheduled "tutoring" sessions. Still, true to her word, she hadn't
revealed the actual nature of our meetings. I felt bad about that, about
asking her to keep the whole lessons in witchcraft and alternative
metaphysics thing in her strictest confidence, because I know she's a
naturally open child and not used to secrecy. But everything would go to
hell rather quickly if what we were doing ever came to light. From what
she
told me after things had settled down and our visits got her parents'
official approval, her fainting spell had everything to do with an
impromptu
second visit to the Cosmic. I feel guilty that Xander and his "too intense
and ****ographic" video game bore the brunt of the Rosenbergs' wrath
instead, but I can't risk reaching out to comfort him. I'm sorry, Xander.
The upside of the situation is that I've been invited to dinner at the
Rosenbergs next week. This week, they will be busy enough as Willow and
the
other students of Sunnydale Elementary prepare to take their annual
Regents
exam. This is apparently a Big Deal, as it's a placement test and will
determine the child's educational curriculum and applicable scholar****ps
for
the coming year. Willow seems quite calm about it, and I'm glad that our
sessions have given her confidence that she can perform even better on it
than she has before. To understate the matter, school is very im****tant to
Willow. Ira and Sheila are just as conversely excited--hence, their
gratitude for my tutoring their gifted daughter, who was not nearly
challenged enough even with her already advanced placement within the
California education system.
As far as Willow's unexpected Talent goes, since her fainting spell she's
had a number of additional episodes--many of them in my presence, so at
the
very least I was able to help her manage them while not keeping her
altogether from further exploration, guided or independent. As to what
exactly that Talent is, I still don't have enough knowledge of it to offer
Jenny a hypothesis. It's not easily categorized, like Empathy, Telepathy,
or
Kinesis. From the light show, I know elements of the last are definitely
present, especially given that Willow's faerie lights actually radiated
heat.
As to the first two, I still haven't been able to establish a consistent
connection to Willow to say if her Talent is at all proactively mental. I
get flashes here and there, but I'm still relying mostly on instinct, on
being able to read her open face and expressive eyes. But I've been
*reading* reading since I was 15. Why the hell can't I read her? Quite
obviously there's something there to read-hello, human girl we're dealing
with here, but still, she's mostly a cipher to me, like we're not on the
same page. Perhaps it's me. The Coven is slightly out of sync from this
external world. Perhaps living there for almost eight years has made me
out
of phase, too? I don't believe so. I could scan others--Xander, the bully,
Cordelia, Snyder, Wood--well enough. The logical conclusion is that it's
Willow who's unique. But whatever the reason for her opacity, it's getting
a
bit frustrating that I can't get through it.
On an altogether different note, I'm sorely disappointed I can't use this
new method of communication to widen my contact with Leda. Of course, we
still have the weekly letters, but those were never enough to begin with.
I
have to admit, though, it is good to hear Jenny's voice, a little touch of
home, such as it is. On our last call, I played up to Jenny that Leda was
actually her daughter and inquired after her, ignoring the stab of
jealousy
I felt that Jenny could see and talk to her every day, while I most
definitely can't. Jenny caught on right away, so I know Leda is physically
well and that Jenny is trying to keep her busy with her studies and
preparing for her "debut."
Golly. Do girls still debut these days? It was an honest enough gaffe,
especially since Jenny's been out of the mud even longer than I--virtually
her entire life, as her family is Gypsy, but I just about lost it. I hope
no
one was listening to that conversation, because I was fairly incoherent
with
trying to stop laughing for a solid two minutes. But Leda seems okay,
which
is all I want. Anyway, although I hate to admit it, the issue of how I can
increase my communications with my daughter is truly secondary. Right now,
I
have to focus on Willow. I'll see Leda soon enough.
-------------------------
"Mr. Giles? I think I have something." Andrew's face popped up on the
video-com.
Giles put down the book he had been reading--the Artaggio Journal, in
middle
Italian. He could tell right away from the young man's somewhat annoyingly
smug expression that Andrew's "something" was not something small. "Yes.
Come in, then."
"Actually, sir, it's something we recorded off the feed we're tapping.
Your
terminal isn't set up to play it properly. Can you come to the lab
instead?"
Giles nodded, placed a marker in his book and gathered himself for the
short
trip down the hall to his assistant's laboratory. Although he would not
admit it, he welcomed the break from the tomes he had been reading in his
somewhat dusty old-world style den for the coolness of Andrew's computer
lab. Andrew kept it at a consistent 20 degrees, for the sake of his many
machines. The young man motioned him over. A telephone conversation was
playing softly. "Listen to this!" He triumphantly turned up the speaker
volume.
*"...So, um, how is your daughter? Dana is her name, isn't it?"* That was
Maclay, the field operative.
Brief pause, then Maclay's handler, Calendar: *"She's fine. Doing well, in
fact. Of course, right now, school's her biggest thing, as it should be,
and
the boys..."*
*"Oh really? The boys, huh?"*
*"Well, you know how teenagers can be. All hormones and acne cream."*
There
was an audible smirk in Calendar's voice. Giles enjoyed the sound and
wondered idly if her face was as pretty as her voice. He found himself
having to consciously maintain his detached expression. He had to, as
Andrew
was watching his face for his reaction to what he clearly thought was a
significant discovery. Calendar continued, a little more seriously,
*"She'll
be fourteen in a few months. We've already started preparing for her
debut."*
Pause. *"Her what?"*
*"You know. Her debut. For her fourteenth birthday?"*
Pause. Maclay snorted.
*"What?"* Calendar seemed genuinely confused.
Maclay chuckled.
*"Okay, what?"* There was an annoyed edge in Calendar's voice.
Maclay burst out in a guffaw. It went on for some time. Enough for the
corners of Giles' mouth to start twitching as well.
*"What?!"*
*"S-Sorry,"* Maclay gasped. *"It's nothing... Soooo, I, um, I'd like to
get
her a present, if that's okay with you, for her, um, debut."* Maclay tried
unsuccessfully to suppress another chortle. *"Has she, um, mentioned
anything about what she might like from her Aunt Leigh?"*
*"Oh yeah. A makeup kit. Make sure it has 'Harlot' shade lipstick--she was
pretty specific about that. And purple eyeshadow,"* Calendar said, her
voice
dripping with sarcasm. *"And, oh, she did mention she'd like to start
birth
control. But you know, that's something I'd really like to get her
myself--kind of a mother-daughter thing, you know...?"*
Andrew decreased the volume level as Maclay's belly laugh alternating with
the sounds of her gasping for air began to overwhelm the tiny computer
speaker. He turned to Giles excitedly. "So, what do you think?"
Giles had had to cover his mouth with his hand listening to the
intercepted
conversation. He kept it covered for several seconds as he composed
himself.
Finally, he ventured, "Why don't you tell me what you think?"
-------------------------
*"...Well, it's significant, I'd say. All that codespeak about a debut?
Don't
you think it means that this Rosenberg thing is about to go all atomic?"*
"That's Wells, the research assistant and their systems operator,"
Jonathan
said. He adjusted the volume on the monitor and accidentally glanced at
the
impassive face of his demon lord. He grimaced. He had been trying to avoid
doing that. "Uh, you know. Like me. Except him. For them."
Chaos nodded. The names and titles meant nothing to him.
*"Hmmm... And you think there's no possibility that they were merely
discussing a young lady's... birthday celebration?"*
"And there's Ripper, my old mate, actual name Rupert Giles--Head Watcher,
and pretentious boor--"
Chaos forestalled Ethan's chatter with a raised hand.
*"Zero possibility. I mean, come on, 'debut?' Pretty dead giveaway. Plus
all
that stuff about makeup and birth control...?"* Wells trailed off.
*"Yes?"*
*"I, uh, was hoping you could explain those."*
*"I'm at a complete loss."*
*"Oh."*
*"Miss Rosenberg turned eight in December, did she not?"*
*"Yeah."* Pause. *"Oh. You mean the teenager thing? Well, I figure the
fourteen-year old stuff was part of the code. Maybe they're making their
move on the fourteenth? That's just three weeks away."*
*"Hmmm..."*
*"Think about it. How old is Calendar? 31? 32? On the young side to have a
fourteen year old daughter, don't you think? And we haven't found anything
about a kid on her file."*
*"Still, not impossible... What happened just before that?"*
*"Very little. They said hello, how're things at work? And the school?
Blah
blah blah, that kind of thing. Normalizing the conversation, I'm sure, to
disguise the real stuff. Maclay confirmed what Wood told us, the whole
school's caught up in the upcoming annual state exams. Gods, I remember
those. Terrifying. Honestly, I don't think there was anything there."*
*"Has Wood confirmed if he's detected anything else?"*
*"Nothing yet."*
*"Check with Wood. Let me know right away what he says, what's going on
over
there."*
*"Roger. Will do."*
*"And send me a full transcript. I want to go over it myself."*
*"Sure thing, Mr. Giles. But I really think it's this debut thing we
should
look hard at. Shake the witches down on that--"*
*"Andrew, just write it all up, and send it to me. Email it or whatever it
is you do."*
Jonathan stopped playback. "That's all. Giles left the room and Wells
continued alone." He entered some keystrokes as he began the breakdown of
his laptop. "Don't know how im****tant any of that was, but at least we can
confirm that we've got the Council. Anything Wells finds, we'll know, too.
I'm
feeding it 24/7 to the dataroom on 17. Password P-one-zero."
"Very well," Chaos said. "You may go."
Jonathan left without another word, leaving the demon lord and Ethan in
the
latter's office.
The office was the top floor suite of MirageTech's cor****ate headquarters
in
NYC, New York. It was a real private cor****ation, specializing in
cor****ate
and government data and financial services. It was a lucrative business
and
financed--perfectly legally--Chaos's growing enterprises in the human
realm.
Ethan was its head.
He poured himself a couple of fingers of Scotch from the bottle he kept in
his office pantry. "Well, that was typical Watcher for you. Much hemming
and
hawing and posturing at intellect while delegating the actual work to
lower
level flunkies--"
"There was something to his minion's musings."
Ethan stopped, frowning. "What? Wells? All that about the cotillion or
whatever the hell those two witches were nattering on about?"
"I feel something, tugging at the fabric of the Cosmic. It is the little
female. The minion of your rival is correct. Something will happen soon.
My
window here is closing. It must be coordinated, or this op****tunity will
be
lost. I need the little female, and I cannot wait for your rivals to
uncover
what is occurring. By then it may be too late for this chance and there
are
no signs of another. You must look into this, now."
Ethan paused to let his master's words sink in, before throwing his head
back and downing his drink in one swallow. It burned all the way to the
bottom of his gut. He had feared this. Using the Sight hurt like hell. Or
more specifically, like Qum-ak-atar. Like your brain's on fire, he
thought,
among other more delicate parts. He wanted a better idea of where to look
before he put himself through the pain of a prolonged, blind Seek. He
poured
himself another few fingers, and downed it like the first. Well, as long
as
he remained in the Present, it shouldn't be *too* bad...
"Come here, Ethan." Chaos motioned to the large office chair behind
Ethan's
desk.
Ethan obeyed and dropped into the chair with as much nonchalance as he
could
muster, then braced himself for the demon's touch.
Chaos placed a large hand on his servant's shoulder and squeezed slightly.
Ethan felt a brief flash of pain that soon enough flared sharply to a
constant roar of negative sensation. He gritted his teeth as the demonic
energy penetrated his skin. Very mundane images of a young girl's life
shot
rapid-fire through his brain, raced down his spine, to be expelled through
his very fundament, forced out by the next as his capacity was quickly
reached. Xander, I'm sorry... Yes, Mom, I did it already... What does it
mean? What does it mean? Ms. Mack, what does it mean? Hello, Wood. Hi
Daddy...
"What else do you see? Look deeper. Deeper," Chaos ordered.
Oh gods, I won't be able to walk straight after this as it is... Ethan's
eyes watered as Chaos pushed him forward, into Willow's near future, to
some
type of... standardized school test?
As the images stuttered on the functional MRI dome being lowered over
Willow's
head, it occurred to Ethan that selling his soul to a powerful demon and
acting as its liaison and seeyo to the human world was turning out to be
not
as much fun as he thought it would be.
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end - Witch Maclay, part 5
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