fandomtownies | Azriphale's bookshop: near sunset [NFB - open to Phale, Crowley, Angela, Marty

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Azriphale's bookshop: near sunset [NFB - open to Phale, Crowley, Angela, Marty

Eight hours later, and Parker's eyes were starting to cross. For every book that they'd found with Romanian in it, or Kalderash on the cover, there had been none with the spell.

"It's got to be here. Somewhere. Somehow...."

One last time, Parker went over the shelves, knowing that Marty had said it was there.

You could come back tomorrow, whispered her own exhaustion. What's the rush? He's gone. You can't stop him from doing anything this minute. One more night won't matter....

It might. To another Kitty. To someone else. Shut up. Where's the damn book? Parker tapped her fingers across the shelves, A to B, B to C, C to D....

A dark bound book, just like all the others. Small. Without enthusiasm, she pulled it out to check it. The title was in a language she didn't know; a small, inked note was included with it:

Being an inventorie of various spells, among the Gypsies known as Kalderash, Lakaush, and Dembeschti.

Oh. Oh, please....

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Something tickled at the back of Drusilla's neck. She shifted restlessly in her sleep. This feeling was familiar, aching and painful and unwanted, but the more she reached for it, the farther away it retreated. Dark nights and flaming torches reached for her from her dreams.

Parker closed her eyes, held her breath, and opened the book. The top half of each page was in Romanian, Marty had gotten that right-- and the bottom of each was in English.

Looks like the Watcher's Council was good for something.

... this collection of the curses, cantrips, and cures of the Gypsie clans of Eastern Europe, after several years spent in close proximity....

... much research into their darker legends, and among their darkest is the one designed for the demon Angelus...

...sole survivor, dictated to me before she died....

Parker's finger traced the words along the page, and then she began to smile. And slowly speak the words aloud.

"Reda trupului ce separa omul de animal.
Quod perditum est, invenietur."

[He leans against the shelf, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.]

Hello, Parker. Is that glee I sense?

Parker doesn't look up, but the smile is incandescent.

"Oh yes. Oh yes it is. Listen to what I've found, Mr. Crowley."

She continues on.

Drusilla's eyes snapped open.

Latin. Chanting, droning of priests and incense making her dizzy, causing her to speak in tongues, demons, the devil coming forth from her mouth to call down prophesy upon the faithful.

Drusilla tilted her head and listened with all her senses. Someone was calling out to the heavens.

Parker felt the words trip off her tongue with delight, with relief, and cuddled the book closer as she leaned her back against one of the book cases.

"Praeses quicumque substantia corporeus,
quicumque substantia viscera,
quicumque substantia animus."

It was so clear now. All the pieces, coming together....

Shush, pet. [He looks up, sniffing the air. Purposefully, he walks to the shop door and closes it, holding his hand against it for a moment.]

Clouds were gathering. Lightning in the sky.

She knew those words. She thought they'd killed them all, made them lost to time and forgotten by everyone.

"Kalderash," breathed Drusilla.

Parker lowered her voice, but didn't stop.

"Te implor Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte.
Nici mort, nici al fiintei..."

She had no pretensions toward magic; these words could do nothing now, without an Orb of Thesulah, or the correct preparations.

But that wasn't the point. Because finally, Parker had it in her hands, the weapon that could make the difference.

Hollow words. Hollow words, but with thought and meaning and intent behind them.

And hatred. Righteous anger and need for vengeance, burning fire in her heart, twisting and shaping until nothing was left but the urge to hurt in the guise of protecting.

"Pretty little dolly," murmured Drusilla, her eyes narrowing. "When I find out who you are, we're going to have tea."

It had to make the difference. Angelus had to have lied, when he said that he and the other were the same. The essence of the soul had to be humane, sane, God, please. This had to change things. Or it was all worthless. All that work, all that effort wasted, if Angel was just as dangerous, just as evil, as the demon.

Parker read on, speeding up, willing something, anything, to listen. For this to work.

"Te invoc, spirit al trecerii!
Lasa orbita as fie vasul care-i
va transporta sufleutul la el."

The ringing was louder in her ears, more strident and painful and the words hurt her so. Choirs of angels sang in her head. She wasn't an angel, their songs ripped and tore at the demon within her.

She didn't have a soul. She didn't need a soul. None of them did.

They would bleed for trying to give him one. Bleed and break and hurt so wonderfully.

"Excito, recidivus, recidivus,
lasa orbita excito, ardens animus
Asa sa fie.
Asa sa fie.
Acum.
Acum...."

That was it. She was going to make a dozen copies of this, a thousand, so it couldn't be lost again. Hide them everywhere. Tell everyone she knew about it, if it worked.

It had to work.

Parker turned the page, and began to read the translation, to get a sense of the intent behind the magic. Put herself in the place of that far-off Gypsy who'd shaped this revenge.

Parker asks Crowley a question (http://www.livejournal.com/community/fandomtownies/351818.html?thread=14231626#t14231626)

Strong magic. Anger, fear, pain, revenge.

Revenge.

Little teenage girls knew nothing--nothing at all--about revenge.

Not the way she knew. They way she'd learned at Daddy's feet, under his hands, in his bed. Taken, broken, reshaped. Made stronger.

She'd kill a dozen. She'd kill a thousand. She'd find every copy and burn it in cleansing fire, and she'd kill everyone involved again. Little teenage girls should know that when they play with fire, fire leaps out and licks its little tongues on their skin and turns it black as night.

The stars don't come out during a fire.

"Return to the body
what distinguishes Man from the beast.
What is lost, return."

Could they do this to other vampires? If that vampire Darla came back, could they change her too? Would they all be safe then, if they changed them all?

Crawley and Azriphale said they'd had to look for Angelus's soul, and it hadn't been easy. Dream said this was a soft place, in between worlds.

Maybe, maybe not. Maybe...

The prophecy only mentioned one. One vampire with a soul.

Her Spike,her beautiful Spike, who was cold and ruthless and cunning, had fought a demon in Africa and won himself a soul. She'd woken screaming as the sun rose in his eyes. Her sweet Darla, deadly and vicious and lovely, had borrowed a soul. Drusilla had woken screaming again as her ashes washed down the gutter of a back alley.

But prophecies could be broken. Souls could be gained or lost at the universe's whim. Give her Angelus a soul, and eventually the tides of darkness and the moon would pull this way and that, and then what would become of them all?

And little girls that played with toys that were too strong for them found themselves devoured by monsters that lived in the dark places under their beds. Who? Where? When? She'd dance around the bonfire she made of their corpses.

"Preserve every essence of the flesh,
every essence of the body,
every essence of the heart."

Liam Whoever-he-was would evidently come back to his corpse again, aware, sane, able to feel and distinguish right from wrong. If this worked, they'd put a human conscience inside a walking corpse.

Whoever had thought this up... they'd wanted him to suffer. Both sides, demon and human.

Did they have to put in that escape clause? Feel one moment of happiness, forget pain, and set the demon free? Make the essence of the soul subject and bound to hope and joy, just to make the spell work?

Any other reason was just cruelty. Parker understood cruel, but this was... this was something else.

Hurt, pain, revenge. The Kalderash understood them almost as well as Drusilla did. But she'd made them scream as they died, and no one painted death as prettily as her little family.

They were dead. Dark-eyed little computer teacher. Uncle. Salesman. All dead. Gone and dead and the Orb shattered and broken on the classroom floor, but nothing stopped them. New gypsies found their way to the caravans and took the books and mended the glass to make it whole.

She would stop them this time. Stop them and take their eyes so they could never see the path again.

She couldn't let that matter. She couldn't. This went beyond revenge. They couldn't find the bastard, and had no sure way of killing him if they did. Even if the Slayers finally did attempt to kill him, how many would die in that attempt?

"I implore you Lord, do not ignore this request.
Neither dead, nor of the living..."

Parker shivered. God wouldn't allow this, if it were an abomination. If this were an obscenity invoked in his name, it wouldn't effect Angelus the way it should.

That couldn't happen. Wouldn't happen.

Death. Death would happen, in all its beautiful, bloody glory.

"Daddy's not the only one who likes to play games."

Find a soul in the heavens? Her soul wouldn't come back. Taken, gone, whisked away from her and never to return to her unclean, unwholesome, shell.

"God doesn't care what happens to a vampire." They weren't under His watchful eye. They weren't part of His master plan. Hiding in the dark, defiled and impure, the blood that dripped out of them kept them from grace, from light, from hope and peace.

There would be no peace.

Marty or Angela would find a witch, or a magician, to implement the spell. She'd call around, find the herbs and materials, get them here-- and as soon as those arrived, they would contact the spellcaster, and do it. No delay. If she'd found this sooner--

Enough. Kitty Pryde was dead, and Angelus alone knew who else. The past was the past. From now on, the future would change. And there was nothing that could stop it.

"I invoke you, spirits of the interregnum--
Let this orb be the vessel
that will carry his soul to him...."

The stars were shifting and aligning. The heavens were clouding over, and lightning forked across the sky. Blood dripped upon the ground, and her roses would grow wild and untamed.

"Come forth now,
return, return,
as the orb beckons, let life burn.
So it shall be.
So it shall be.
Now.
Now...."

So simple. But without magic, worthless.

Then again, magic without this knowledge couldn't change souls and the future either.

"Thank you, elders of the Kalderash," Parker whispered, closing the book. "Thank you, WWP for the notes, and the Watchers who actually do more than watch, and Mr. Azriphale."

Climbing to her feet, Parker clutched her prize tightly. Must make a list of the herbs. Make copies. Phone calls. Best to leave this here, for now; Mr. Phale can keep it safe....

She had the momentary, paranoid thought that she ought to sleep in the shop until the spell was done, just to be sure-- then dismissed it.

Marty and Angela would know, and no one else. It would be okay.

It has to be. It will be, damnit.

"Mr. Crowley?" Parker places the book on the desk, and studies it carefully. "May I ask your opinion on a matter of supernatural significance?"

Always, Parker. I live to answer to you. [He's only a little snide.]

She rolls her eyes, but refrains from her usual comebacks. "What is it that makes curses... curses?" She pauses, thinking. "I mean, what is it that makes them different from other spells?"

Because when you curse someone you are intentionally stripping them of their free will, precious. Spells and blessings do something for the benefit of the recipient, whereas a curse...benefits the caster.

"Oh. I should have guessed." Parker stares at the book, her fingers tracing the title. "I don't have a problem with what we're doing to Angelus, but... Liam. He suffers too. Doesn't he?"

Yes, precious. If you accomplish your task, the soul that will live in the undead shell of the vampire will suffer torment, pain, and guilt until it returns from whence it came.

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Last stanza (unlocked to invited, after this)

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