![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indriSUMMARY: Giles and Ethan, the electric Kool-Aid funky Satan groove year, in the early seventies. Rated M. Spoilers to Band Candy. Acknowledgements and disclaimers.
67.
Ethan took Mr Grey's box to a churchyard south of the river. It was quite a picturesque place, with overgrown and leaning headstones gathered under trees. He scattered the beetles around with a quick underhand motion and, whenever the church warden approached, he pretended to be terribly interested in the worn inscriptions on the graves. Some of the inscriptions were even worth reading: Here lies the Love family, Jane, James, William and Montgomery. He could think of too many bad jokes from that stone all on its own.
As he worked, he wondered about Rupert. What was it that so
fascinated him about the Eyghon spell? The experience at Stonehenge?
But the whole tattoo thing was absurd.
He also wondered about the spell which required the churchyard beetles. Some of the other spells Ethan had assisted Mr Grey with had been easy to work out, such as a protection spell for a building, or a tracking spell for a car. Other times he'd been sent to collect soil or fragments of stone and post them to Mr Grey, and he hadn't yet worked out what those were for. And the beetles? Who knew? It wasn't covered in any of the books Ethan had.
He got home at pretty much the same time Adrienne did. She waved him over near the gate.
She said, "The job's on. Next month. You can decide whether to bring Ripper into it or not."
"What do you need?"
"I need you to distract some people at a ferry terminal. There's a hundred pounds up front and another two hundred if it all goes well."
"Bloody hell," said Ethan. "Why is it so much money?"
"We have some generous donors."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Not if it works."
"And can you tell me what you're smuggling in?"
"Of course not," she said.
He thought about what three hundred pounds would feel like in his hands. Did Terry even have any books that cost that much? "Can you get me a plan of the terminal?"
"Of course," she said. "I'll bring you one as soon as I can."
He got as far as the half-landing before he found Rupert, stinking drunk and leaning against one of Randall's more grandiose paintings of hell.
"You do know," said Ethan, "that it's only the middle of the afternoon?"
Rupert held out his arm, exposing puckered and coloured flesh. "It bloody hurts," said Rupert.
Ethan sat down next to him to get a better look. Rupert's hand clutched him rather painfully. "Well, you're dedicated to magic now," said Ethan, "in a couple of senses." He found himself moved that Rupert was willing to go through all that for the sake of a single spell.
He heard a noise from the landing: Randall and Diedre were both looking down the stairwell from the first floor.
"Can you come and watch me tattoo Diedre?" Randall asked Ethan. "I want you to do mine next."
"Because Rupert's too drunk?"
"Because he can't draw," said Randall.
"All right. I'll be up in a minute. I'm just going to fetch some of Stan's painkillers."
Stan kept a stash of prescription meds inside a biscuit tin in the kitchen. Some of them were even things he'd been prescribed, so Ethan sorted out the anti-depressants and the anti-epilepsy medication before hunting through for the extra-strength analgesics. Then he went back to Rupert, half-carrying him upstairs to the drawing room, to keep an eye on him in case he passed out or threw up. He got Rupert to take a couple of the pills and then took two to Diedre. Randall was drawing the symbol on her upper arm with a felt-tip.
"I can't go back to my old life after this," she said. Her expression was defiant, and perhps a little plucky. "A tattoo isn't going to go well at a white wedding."
"I like it," said Randall. "It'll be a permanent symbol of our group."
"Of our little coven," said Diedre. Then the needle went in and she couldn't repress a short squeal.
Ethan watched. After a while he realised, with some misgivings, that he really was going to go through this himself.
68.
At midnight, Rupert sat down next to a makeshift altar of patterned cloth placed over a cardboard box. It was just the four of them, as Ethan had chased Tom and Stan out of the room as he didn't want bystanders for the first casting. Randall and Diedre had dressed specially, in what Rupert thought of as their mock-Renaissance clothes, plus Randall was wearing a headband. Ethan was just in his usual trousers and patterned shirt. He looked calm in the candlelight, but Rupert could spot just a few small flickers of nervousness as he set up the altar and lit the candles.
"Open your shirt," Ethan told him. "We need skin contact for the spell."
Rupert did so, but he had a t-shirt on underneath, so in the end he just pulled off everything above the waist, sitting there cross-legged in just his jeans. He had to lie back, still with his legs crossed, so that Ethan could draw a chalk circle around him. Rupert watched, to check that the circle was correct. It was a cool night and his back felt cold against the bare wood. Plus his arm still hurt like the blazes and he was terribly hungover.
Randall and Diedre were triple- and quadruple- checking the circle. They nodded their heads in approval.
"Sit up again," said Ethan. "I think we're ready to start."
Diedre lit the candles. Ethan drummed his fingers on the floor and then reached over to kiss Rupert inside the circle, resting his hands on Rupert's knees so as not to smudge the chalk. "Ready?"
"Yes," Rupert said.
They stretched their hands over the altar and began the incantations. Ethan, Diedre and Randall gave themselves tiny cuts on each palm as Rupert laid himself once more on his back. Their hands felt very warm on his chest.
"One," said Ethan, "two, three..."
And then Rupert must have fallen asleep. They told him afterwards that he'd lain there for twenty minutes as they'd repeated the chant until they got it absolutely right. The four of them formed a circle, left-hand palms pressed to each other's right-arm tattoos. ("Rather painful," Diedre admitted.)
And then he woke up and it was the most fantastic thing he had ever felt. Eyghon was within him, through him, permeating, diffused. He felt strong and unbounded, one for whom rules were irrelevant and unknown. Unleashed, untamed, unrepentant.
And best of all, just as he'd hoped and wanted, during the whole spell and for several hours afterwards, he felt no guilt at all.
67.
Ethan took Mr Grey's box to a churchyard south of the river. It was quite a picturesque place, with overgrown and leaning headstones gathered under trees. He scattered the beetles around with a quick underhand motion and, whenever the church warden approached, he pretended to be terribly interested in the worn inscriptions on the graves. Some of the inscriptions were even worth reading: Here lies the Love family, Jane, James, William and Montgomery. He could think of too many bad jokes from that stone all on its own.
As he worked, he wondered about Rupert. What was it that so
fascinated him about the Eyghon spell? The experience at Stonehenge?
But the whole tattoo thing was absurd.
He also wondered about the spell which required the churchyard beetles. Some of the other spells Ethan had assisted Mr Grey with had been easy to work out, such as a protection spell for a building, or a tracking spell for a car. Other times he'd been sent to collect soil or fragments of stone and post them to Mr Grey, and he hadn't yet worked out what those were for. And the beetles? Who knew? It wasn't covered in any of the books Ethan had.
He got home at pretty much the same time Adrienne did. She waved him over near the gate.
She said, "The job's on. Next month. You can decide whether to bring Ripper into it or not."
"What do you need?"
"I need you to distract some people at a ferry terminal. There's a hundred pounds up front and another two hundred if it all goes well."
"Bloody hell," said Ethan. "Why is it so much money?"
"We have some generous donors."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Not if it works."
"And can you tell me what you're smuggling in?"
"Of course not," she said.
He thought about what three hundred pounds would feel like in his hands. Did Terry even have any books that cost that much? "Can you get me a plan of the terminal?"
"Of course," she said. "I'll bring you one as soon as I can."
He got as far as the half-landing before he found Rupert, stinking drunk and leaning against one of Randall's more grandiose paintings of hell.
"You do know," said Ethan, "that it's only the middle of the afternoon?"
Rupert held out his arm, exposing puckered and coloured flesh. "It bloody hurts," said Rupert.
Ethan sat down next to him to get a better look. Rupert's hand clutched him rather painfully. "Well, you're dedicated to magic now," said Ethan, "in a couple of senses." He found himself moved that Rupert was willing to go through all that for the sake of a single spell.
He heard a noise from the landing: Randall and Diedre were both looking down the stairwell from the first floor.
"Can you come and watch me tattoo Diedre?" Randall asked Ethan. "I want you to do mine next."
"Because Rupert's too drunk?"
"Because he can't draw," said Randall.
"All right. I'll be up in a minute. I'm just going to fetch some of Stan's painkillers."
Stan kept a stash of prescription meds inside a biscuit tin in the kitchen. Some of them were even things he'd been prescribed, so Ethan sorted out the anti-depressants and the anti-epilepsy medication before hunting through for the extra-strength analgesics. Then he went back to Rupert, half-carrying him upstairs to the drawing room, to keep an eye on him in case he passed out or threw up. He got Rupert to take a couple of the pills and then took two to Diedre. Randall was drawing the symbol on her upper arm with a felt-tip.
"I can't go back to my old life after this," she said. Her expression was defiant, and perhps a little plucky. "A tattoo isn't going to go well at a white wedding."
"I like it," said Randall. "It'll be a permanent symbol of our group."
"Of our little coven," said Diedre. Then the needle went in and she couldn't repress a short squeal.
Ethan watched. After a while he realised, with some misgivings, that he really was going to go through this himself.
68.
At midnight, Rupert sat down next to a makeshift altar of patterned cloth placed over a cardboard box. It was just the four of them, as Ethan had chased Tom and Stan out of the room as he didn't want bystanders for the first casting. Randall and Diedre had dressed specially, in what Rupert thought of as their mock-Renaissance clothes, plus Randall was wearing a headband. Ethan was just in his usual trousers and patterned shirt. He looked calm in the candlelight, but Rupert could spot just a few small flickers of nervousness as he set up the altar and lit the candles.
"Open your shirt," Ethan told him. "We need skin contact for the spell."
Rupert did so, but he had a t-shirt on underneath, so in the end he just pulled off everything above the waist, sitting there cross-legged in just his jeans. He had to lie back, still with his legs crossed, so that Ethan could draw a chalk circle around him. Rupert watched, to check that the circle was correct. It was a cool night and his back felt cold against the bare wood. Plus his arm still hurt like the blazes and he was terribly hungover.
Randall and Diedre were triple- and quadruple- checking the circle. They nodded their heads in approval.
"Sit up again," said Ethan. "I think we're ready to start."
Diedre lit the candles. Ethan drummed his fingers on the floor and then reached over to kiss Rupert inside the circle, resting his hands on Rupert's knees so as not to smudge the chalk. "Ready?"
"Yes," Rupert said.
They stretched their hands over the altar and began the incantations. Ethan, Diedre and Randall gave themselves tiny cuts on each palm as Rupert laid himself once more on his back. Their hands felt very warm on his chest.
"One," said Ethan, "two, three..."
And then Rupert must have fallen asleep. They told him afterwards that he'd lain there for twenty minutes as they'd repeated the chant until they got it absolutely right. The four of them formed a circle, left-hand palms pressed to each other's right-arm tattoos. ("Rather painful," Diedre admitted.)
And then he woke up and it was the most fantastic thing he had ever felt. Eyghon was within him, through him, permeating, diffused. He felt strong and unbounded, one for whom rules were irrelevant and unknown. Unleashed, untamed, unrepentant.
And best of all, just as he'd hoped and wanted, during the whole spell and for several hours afterwards, he felt no guilt at all.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-11 07:41 pm (UTC)Hmm! No doubt that's rattling around in Giles' head as well. And I loved Ethan's reaction toward the idea of a big payday.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-12 03:06 pm (UTC)