Transitory Evils

Part 6 The Demon Drink, part 3


The following evening, once again at Giles’ apartment


The now enlarged group sat around, looking at one another. Wesley was still making notes and inevitably, this led to small talk.

“Perhaps I’m being a little pushy,” Willow began tentatively, “but Giles didn’t tell us why you guys moved here from LA. Do you mind if I ask?”

“Well, sweetie, I certainly don’t,” Lorne answered easily. “First, some of Gunn’s playmates decided to hose down my bar. With automatic weapons. They did a lot of damage before I could get the peace spell lifted. Then … just about when I was ready to re-open--and can I just say here, thank the Gods for insurance--some crazed lunatic rolled arel rel of gas down into the place and lobbed a thermite grenade after it. I decided to try somewhere safer. Like a hellmouth.”

“Why? I mean,” Willow clarified, “why did Gunn’s friends shoot up your bar?”

“Well, I’d like to hear Gunn explain that,” Lorne said, smiling innocently.

Gunn glared at Lorne and sighed. “You’re really gonna make me, ain’t ya?”

Lorne just nodded.

“Well,” Gunn began, obviously feeling somewhat awkward. “The crew I used to run with, killin’ vamps and stuff, looking after the locals, well, after I started working for … Wes, they started to do some dumb stuff. Like deciding all demons are bad. Anyhow … one of the crew found out about ‘Caritas’ and thought that they could do the ‘hood some good by wiping out the ‘demon nest’.”

“Goddess, how horrible!” Willow exclaimed.

“Yeah. And, truth be told, it was as much my fault as anyone’s,” Gunn admitted ruefully. “I got so caught up in working with Angel, and later with Wes, that I lost contact with my people.”

“I’m so sorry,” Willow said, and her voice carried her real sympathy. “But what about the other time? Was that your former friends again Gunn?”

“No, that was …” Gunn’s narrative came to a halt as Wesley looked up.

“Well, I think we’re ready,” Wesley said calmly. “One person performs the actual ritual, but everyone in attendance has to articulate the responses. Aloud. There doesn’t seem to be any stringent requirements on location or position for the ritual. It just has to be in close proximity and visual sight of the demon in its present form.”

“And in English … er American English that the rest of us speak?” Cordelia asked; only to receive glares from both Spike and Giles. “Let’s just forget I said that and have a simple explanation Wes.”

Wesley shook his head. He was well aware that Cordelia was a lot more intelligent that she allowed others too see, his brief and ill fated liaison with her while she was still in high school had taught him that. “All right, in simple terms, we all have to be close together, and close to the demon. Inside the bar itself would be best. That would resolve the line of sight issue perfectly.

“Of course,” Wesley continued, “it’s also likely to make things more dangerous for us when we perform the ritual.”

“Well, what’s the night without some danger?” Spike asked acerbically. “So, what’s the drill?” Spike continued, “You do the ritual, we chant at the right places, and what? Run around intercepting flying pint mugs?”

“Without the sarcasm, yes. That’s pretty much it,” Wesley admitted.

“I think we’ve got a better option than that,” Spike said. He then looked at Willow. “Pet, how long can you keep that barrier in place?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried to keep it up longer than I’ve had to. But when we were barricaded in by the Knights, I had it in place for a while.”

Spike nodded, “That’s what I thought kitten.” He then looked over at Wesley. “Willow can build a magical barrier that can hold for over twelve hours.”

Wesley blinked. “But how strong is it?”

“It kept all of the Knights of Byzantium at bay,” Willow blushed as she answered, almost it seemed, apologetically.

“Ah … well … I’m sure that would be more than sufficient, Miss Rosenberg.”

“Please, Wesley, call me Willow. We’re working together now, as equals.”

“Very well, Willow then.”

“So, can you explain precisely what we have to do during the ritual?” Giles asked.

“It’s quite simple really,” Wesley answered. I will perform the actual ritual. After each line, you will say the simple phrase ‘Retario,’ and yes, I know it’s not even proper vulgate Latin, Mr Giles. It’s what the ritual demands, however.

“As far as I can determine,” he continued, “The ritual should take about fifteen minutes. The conclusion is reached when all the verses have been intoned and the responses made. The final act is the symbolic anointing of all of those present with the blood and hensbane used in the ritual.”

“That’s really really gross Wesley!” Cordelia complained, articulating the unspoken views of almost everyone else there.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no option. It’s mandated by the ritual,” Wesley said clinically.

“Well, we may as well get ready,” Giles interjected. “We can leave in an hour, after closing ... Oh, Willow, a thought, can you move the barrier with us all inside it?”

The little redhead pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “I don’t see why not. If I centre it on me then it’ll move as I do.”

“Can anyone else think of anything?” Wesley asked. “No? Well then, let’s go.”

* * * *

“RETARIO!” The group yelled in unison for the last time. They held their collective breaths as they waited for the spell to work.

With final crash of glass on concrete, the demon shimmered around them and vanished, leaving only an empty lot. The group all looked taken aback by the success of the ritual. “Well,” Giles said, “that was all rather anti-climactic, wasn’t it?”

“Wesley, How long do we have to leave this gross icky stuff on our foreheads for?” Cordelia asked plaintively.

Wesley answered by opening the bag he had carried in with him and distributing alcohol wipes to everyone. As they were all cleaning up, he looked at Giles and smiled. “It was rather slimy wasn't it? Although the barrage of bottles that the creature launched at us … disturbed me.”

“Disturbed you?” Spike almost yelped. “Did you see what it was chucking at us? Laphroaig, Antiquary, Napoleon brandy. All good top shelf stuff. A bloody barbarian, that’s what it was!”

Willow laughed and shook her head. “You really think that’s what was in those bottles, Spike? You should know as well as anyone that they were almost certainly cheap knock-offs.”

Spike sighed. “Yeah pet, good point. But still, it was a bloody dirty trick. And it’s a bit bloody rude when your local vanishes in a puff of smoke!”

“My local what?” Willow asked, confused.

Giles chuckled. “It’s an English term, Willow. It means a bar or pub. Normally the one closest to you.”

Willow shook her head. “Shaw was right,” she said softly.

Spike looked up and grinned. “Good old George Bernard?”

Willow nodded in response.

“Yeah, we really are two people separated by a common language, pet.”

“And, in your case Spike, it’s about as common as can be,” Giles quipped.

“Oi! Who’re you callin’ common, Ripper? Bleedin’ cheek!”

Laughter and complaint mingled good-naturedly as the whole group packed into their cars and drove away.