I smiled as they left and closed the door behind them. I turned and sank to the floor. How could all of this be happening? I had felt reasonably secure here. My identity as an Immortal was unknown except by a chosen few. I was, in fact, out of the Game. No one had come for my head since I moved here. I had felt at peace, secure.
And then came Angelus. I did not honestly know if I could kill him if it became necessary. It was so hard for me to separate m Angel from this evil incarnation, even after the attack.
What really bothered me was that I let it happen. I had not trusted my senses and I had almost died for it.
I felt sick and disgusted with myself. I had acted like I was on "Dawson's Creek". Why did I invite him in? Why didn't I realize? I am Kyra the Sorceress - the greatest to ever walk this world. I'm not supposed to fail - am I?
I started crying, consumed with guilt and anger. Every single part of me seemed flawed, an imperfection that must die so that others will not be affected by this taint. Some small rational part of me knew that this just a reaction to the events that had passed, but I still felt trapped in a nightmare with no chance of escape.
"Kyra? Are you alright? Please talk to me!" a voice cried out. Startled, I looked up. It was Hope, back from her house. "I should have stayed with you, I..."
"It's okay," I interrupted. I'm fine now. It was just a reaction, that's all." I stood up and rubbed my face. "We have work to do."
I helped Hope and Jarod take their collection of books down to my "holy ground". I had discovered a secret passage in my basement which led to a medium-sized room underground. The room had become my sanctuary, the place where I kept my books and relics of my homeland.
The room was decorated simply and functionally. Bookcases filled to the brim with books, relics and other things were attached to the walls. A thin rug covered the floor. In the center was my desk and chair from my Tower.
"Your desk!" Hope exclaimed.
"Yep," I grinned. "You'll never believe how I found it. A few weeks before I left Mystica, I had sent the desk over to England to be repaired. That battle with what's-his-face..." I stopped, unable to remember the perpetrator's name. "That jerk, the one with the blond hair?"
Hope looked confused and shrugged her shoulders. "What guy?"
"Him," I said. "You know, that guy!"
"Oh yeah, that guy." Hope exclaimed sarcastically but with a smile.
"Oh, shush. I know you know who that guy is. Uh, uh, Cecil Farringway!"
"Oh yeah! Didn't he set your desk because you wouldn't tell him the true story about Serenity's death?"
"What do you mean, 'true story about Serenity's death'? THAT was the true unvarnished story."
"Sure, it was."
"Well, it was." I pouted.
Jarod sighed. "Could we get to work now?"
"Sure, no problem," I answered, sticking my tongue out at Hope.
"That wasn't the true story," she whispered.
"Yes, it was," I whispered back. "Anyway," I said normally. Why don't we divide the books? Jarod, you take the east bookcase, Hope gets the north bookcase and I'll take the last one."
Hope remarked, "Why don't we divide up my books as well? It'll save us some time."
We did so then set to work. A few minutes passed, punctuated by the sound of turning pages and the occasional muttered curse.
"I can't read any of these books," Jarod said unhappily.
I walked over and peered at the book in his lap. I mentally kicked myself and tried to comfort him. "It's not your fault, Jarod. Not too many people know Elvish anymore."
Hope snickered. "Kyra, I doubt if anyone knows Elvish anymore. Asides from us, of course."
I thought carefully. There was an awful lot of books and... Wait! An idea! I ran over to my desk and started rumaging through the drawers. Papers, letters and writing utensils started flying out. "I know it's here," I muttered. I found what I was looking for and triumphantly held it up. It was quite battered, but still serviceable. I handed it to Jarod. "How long do you think it will take you to learn the Elvish language?"
He looked at the book. "An Elvish dictionary?"
"You got it."
His eyes gleamed as he answered, "Not long."
I smiled and went back to work. It was discouraging. Nothing I looked at seemed helpful. From the digusted sighs of the others, I knew they were having just as much luck as I.
"Returning souls," I sighed, annoyed. "Why is that so difficult for you to understand?"
"Devil take ye!" Hope screamed and threw a book across the room.
"Wh..." I asked surprised, turning to face her.
"This stupid book!" she cursed. "It mentions soul restoration but it just says that the target must be held in thrall."
"Well," I remarked, trying to calm her. "It helps a little."
"Hey, I found another clue," Jarod exclaimed, looking up from the book he was reading.
"Yes?"
He cleared his throat and read out loud. "The being who is the target of the soul restoration must imbibe a Potion of Release. This potion will wipe away all traces of evil and prepare the body to accept the soul. Next, the Soul Restoration Spell must be chanted quickly while the potion makes its way through the body. Note: The 46th Council of Wizards for World-wide Web of Knowledge (WWW) have determined that a call to a Deity of the castor's choice is necessary for optimum success."
"Is that it?" Hope remarked, dissapointed.
"There's a recipe for the potion, but the spell seems to be obliterated."
I sighed, frustrated. To be so close and yet be so far away. "The spell's got to be somewhere," I said a little less than hopefully.
"We've looked through practically every book," Hope pointed out. "Where else can we look?"
"I don't know, but if we don't find it, we're screwed," I said bluntly. I held up my book. "I haven't finished looking at this one yet. The spell may be there - or at least a similiar one."
"How will it help if it's a similiar spell," Jarod asked.
"If it's similiar, than I can tinker with it to meet the requirements called for."
"Won't that lessen the chance of success?" Hope asked.
I shrugged. "Any spell has the chance of failure. The right spell will have a lesser chance of failure."
Hope nodded, still unconvinced. "If you say so."
"We have to try something! If we can't decipher that spell, than finding a similiar one or just making one up will be my only chance."
"What if it fails?" Jarod asked quietly.
"Then it fails. Kyra as you know her will be gone." I took a deep breath and looked into Hope's eyes. "My oldest and dearest friend, promise me something. Promise me on the grave of our King that you will stake me if the spell fails."
"You're talking like you have the spell," Hope protested.
"I will have it - one way or another. Now, promise me!"
Trembling, Hope spoke, "I swear on the grave of King Jamie that I will do it," She grinned uneasily. "But I won't have to stake you because the spell won't fail."
I grinned back and hugged her. "Thank you my friend."
"All right!" Jarod exclaimed happily. "I'm making a few words out on the spell."
I grinned happily. "Now we're getting somewhere."
"I just thought of a problem," Hope called out.
"What's that?" I asked, concerned.
"If Buffy, for some strange reason, decides to show up and the spell fails, I'll have a hard time deciding who to kill first."
"Hope," I laughed. "That was so rude, but it was funny."
She chuckled back, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Seriously though, I would."
"Well, I'd rather die at the hands of an friend then at the hands of a... slut."
"Good point."
I started rumaging through my ingredient drawer. "Hope, do me a favor and read off the ingredients for the potion."
"Okay. We need elder, passion vine, feverfew and comfrey."
"Wow, I actually have all those herbs."
"There's a shocker," Hope remarked.
"I know - I guess Fate was kind for once."
"Fate's dead," Hope giggled.
"Thank the gods for that," I declared passionately.
"What? What are you talking about?" Jarod inquired, puzzled.
"Long story," I answered flatly. "Hope, shall we get started on the potion?"
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