Disclaimer and Notes: As usual, not mine, just playing in the sandbox. Written for the Nursery Rhymes X-Files Lyric Wheel. Rhyme courtesy of Lady Midath.
As White as Milk
By Raine Wynd
Cold rain poured steadily down in a not-quite-drizzle that was more than enough to soak the skin, not nearly enough to warrant an umbrella. Although it was only seven PM, the waterfront market was deserted of all but those who had nowhere else to go. Ignoring the rain and the faint but unmistakable feel of a place haunted by ghosts and the demon-like thirst of business, Mulder moved steadily through the winter darkness and towards the restaurant just off the west end of the market. He was glad of the directions his contact had provided; they’d been more than clear. He’d been to Seattle before, but not this part of town. He was seeking information about a town in California that had suddenly disappeared off the map, and his contact had suggested they meet in person, claiming the evidence was better seen than sent via the Internet.
He was nearly to the restaurant when something made him turn. As black as soot and not soot, but made of materials he couldn’t identify fast enough, it slithered on the edge of his mind in the same manner as he would see something out of the corner of his eye. He heard laughter the sound of nails on a chalkboard and felt his soul freeze, then shudder with pain as if something was trying to scrub it clean. Stumbling, he fell to his knees in the middle of the cobblestone street. Stars danced before his eyes and he shut them, hoping it would clear his vision.
“Damn it,” a young woman’s voice cursed as if from far away. Then she said, “Demon van roet en krijt, is gegaan en verlaat deze geslagen menselijke ziel alleen. Hij is niet waardig van uw fijne marteling. Ga elders vanavond vondst een maaltijd.”
“Heks,” the creature hissed/screamed.
“Yes, I’m a witch, and lesbian, too,” the woman said cheerfully. She spoke again, this time in a language full of guttural consonants, and more firmly than the first time, and added, “Don’t make me tell you to leave again in Cebuano, because I know you would rather I not send you back to Purgatory. Go away and leave this man and mine alone.”
Mulder abruptly found his feet and saw a young woman with white hair glowing with unnatural light an arms’ length or so away from him as she stood on the sidewalk. An inky cloud hung before her as if suspended from the sky, remarkable more for its absence of shape and the way it sucked everything into it as if it was a black star fallen to earth.
The creature reached out to her. Though she touched nothing Mulder could see, she slapped the creature back, the motion making an audible sound like a newspaper hitting a table to kill a fly.
“You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?” she sighed. She spoke again. From the tone, Mulder guessed she was repeating the same words she’d said before in the other languages. An educated guess told him the words were that of banishment.
With a gunshot-like pop, the creature vanished. The unnatural glow faded from the woman, and she was suddenly nothing more than a pretty redhead in a long purple coat and dark-colored boots.
The woman sighed in relief, and then turned to Mulder, who was wincing. “You okay? Soul-sucking demons like Vasli tend to feel like they’ve scraped you clean with steel wool.”
“I’m fine,” Mulder reassured her as he moved to the sidewalk and tried not to think too much about how accurate her description was.
“Oh, good,” she said. “I’m Willow. You’re Mulder, I hope?”
He nodded as they shook hands.
“I’ve a table in the back waiting for us. Come on, I’ll explain everything.”
A few minutes later, they were seated in a booth. Coffee and, at Willow’s insistence, a platter of crab cakes and cheese sticks, had been ordered and delivered. Mulder didn’t feel much like eating, but she’d said she was hungry, so he didn’t argue.
“First,” she said after having taken a bite of crab cake, “the answer is no, I didn’t stage that little demonstration of power for your benefit.”
“What makes you think I thought you’d staged that?” Mulder asked.
She shrugged. “I’d think that, were I in your shoes. Had I known this area had Valsi demons, I would’ve chosen somewhere else.”
“You say ‘Valsi demons’ as if they’re everywhere.”
“If I tell you yes, you’ll think I’m making this shit up,” Willow pointed out bluntly. “So I’ll just say that there is an entire section devoted to them in the infinite-volume, inter-dimensional encyclopedia of demon races.” She shrugged, ate some more, and added, “But you came here wanting to know about Sunnydale.”
Mulder wanted to know more about demons, but the look on her face said the subject was closed. Accepting what he couldn't change, he began to speak.
“Two years ago, the town of Sunnydale imploded. Most of the residents were evacuated to neighboring Mill Valley with no official, consistent explanation. Some were told there was an epidemic; some were told it was faulty gas lines; others were told all the houses and buildings had been condemned by the government. The government has no record of ordering such a condemnation, and there are no records to indicate anything unusual would be the cause of implosion.
“Oddly, none of the residents seem inclined to move back, even if they could. No one has been allowed to rebuild on the land, and ownership of all the land that was Sunnydale has been transferred to a holding company based in London. Trace the company officers and you’ll find that none of them have a recent address or phone number. If their names are associated with cell phones, the addresses all trace back to the holding company. Five of the twelve officers are dead, including at least one who’s been dead for centuries. Four have been reported missing. The other three have been very, very good at hiding their tracks. Including you, Willow Rosenberg.”
Willow didn’t seem shocked by this revelation. She sipped coffee. “Are you going to eat the cheese sticks?”
“No.” He was hungrier for the truth than food. “Why implode a town?”
She bit into a cheese stick, then pointed it at him. “Ever hear about the girl who blew up a gym to get rid of the vampires?”
Intrigued, Mulder leaned forward. The Lone Gunmen had passed on that story some years back, but he’d been caught up in other cases and hadn’t attached much significance to it. “I figured she was just upset her date stood her up.” Willow started to chuckle, and Mulder realized she was serious. “So the same girl who blew up a gym imploded a town to get rid of the vampires?”
“Not just the vampires. See, Sunnydale was built on a portal to Hell, and everything evil liked to use it as a gateway. We – that is, my friends and I – just made sure it was not going to open again any time soon.”
Mulder had talked to crazy people before; his gut instinct told him Willow might be speaking casually, if not flippantly, but she was not crazy, deranged, or mentally ill. She had power; even now, she projected an aura that went beyond self-confidence. It was the same sort of power he’d seen shamans wield, and that power was something he couldn’t explain, but trusted implicitly. Still, he was wary; as much as he sought and treasured the truth, he didn’t always believe every story he heard.
She seemed to sense his hesitation. From a bag she’d tucked beside her, she pulled out a small dagger. “A friend of a friend told me you used to be a profiler,” she said, then smiled at his surprise. “You’re not the only one who can research who they meet, Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI.” She motioned to the dagger. “Go ahead, take it. Tell me what you see.”
He touched it and instantly drowned in sensation.
Girls screaming defiance at horrific creatures as they fought them with sword and heart.
Evil so pure it nearly transcended Good.
Willow, chanting.
Walls falling.
Friends dying, not nearly enough time.
Goddamn vampires everywhere, need a hero, need a savior, need more light –!
“Let go,” he heard a voice say. “I think you’ve seen enough.”
The dagger was wrenched from his grasp. Gasping, he reached for the water glass, feeling as if he’d been in a desert for days. He gulped half the glass down, shuddered, and took a deep breath.
“How many died? How many girls did you murder?”
“The First Evil killed more than we will ever know. We had sixty when we charged the Hellmouth.” Willow’s voice held an edge, the same kind that war pilots used when recounting tragedy. “We had fifteen when we got the Hellmouth closed, but there was only one person I ever murdered, and he killed my girlfriend. The girls we had with us had a choice: they could die fighting or they could walk away. Either way they would’ve probably died. But we saved a town of ten thousand. Don’t tell me about murder. If I really was a murderer, I would’ve let that Vasli demon suck your soul dry and killed your sorry husk when it was done – if I’d let it get that far. You weren’t there in Sunnydale that day; you have no right to judge.”
Her eyes had gone unnaturally dark, and she was gripping the table with such effort her knuckles had turned white. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was fighting for control. Not wanting to risk seeing what she could do with magic when she was mad, Mulder moved to defuse the situation.
“Look, I don’t have to be happy with the answers if it’s the truth. I’m not looking for that. I’m sorry. I just…saw so much death.”
Willow took a deep breath and loosened her grip on the table. “We all did,” she said softly. “Sunnydale was not a city to live in; it was a place to die in.” She sighed. “I know you’re looking for answers. I can’t explain them without making it all sound like something supernatural, because, well, a lot of it was. Is.” She gestured to the dagger. “That belonged to a friend of mine who died. She blamed me for what happened. Anya was right: if I hadn’t raised the dead, the balance wouldn’t have been upset. That’s probably why you think I’m responsible for all those deaths.”
“You raised the dead? That can be done?”
“Not without grave consequences and I’m not trying to be punny, either.” She shrugged self-consciously. “I didn’t read the Ferengi print. There was a time when I thought all I needed to do was recite the spell and mix the ingredients and something good and sparkly would happen. You know, like baking cupcakes.”
“I’ve never heard magic compared to that.”
“Well, that’s because it is and it isn’t.” She started to reach for the last cheese stick, and then stopped. Looking directly at Mulder, Willow said, “It’s like looking for the truth in a story: there are more parts to it than you can ever say or hear or read, and I can show you, and you’d still not know until you did it yourself, and maybe you’ll never know because you can’t have that experience. It’s never going to be your story; it will always be someone else’s.”
More softly, she continued, “I’m sorry for showing you something I can’t explain, but I’m not going to apologize for what I’ve done. I’ve done enough apologizing to those who care.” She took the dagger off the table and put it away.
Something told Mulder she was going to walk if he didn’t ask the right questions quickly. “You said Sunnydale was built on a portal to Hell. Are there others?”
Just then, her pager beeped. She seemed to know what the signal meant, for she pulled out a wallet from her bag, dropped money on the table, and stood. “Stay away from Cleveland unless you want to know what else is out there besides vampires and Vasli demons.”
“And if I don’t stay away?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, and don’t go expecting to be rescued. Good night, Agent Mulder. Take a taxi back to the airport and go back to D.C.; you’re safer that way.”
For several minutes afterward, Mulder stayed where he was. He had answers, but even more riddles. Status quo for an X-file, he thought, and then chuckled; fully aware he’d hoped for more but hadn’t expected any less. Checking the amount of money Willow had left behind, he added in his share, and then went to see about getting a cab.
– Finis –
Nursery Rhyme used:
As white as milk,
And not milk;
As green as grass,
And not grass;
As red as blood,
And not blood;
As black as soot,
And not soot.
1/23/05
Language spoken by the demon and Willow: Badly translated Dutch; blame Altavista for it. :-) In English: Demon of fire and soot, leave this battered human soul alone. He is not worthy of your fine torment. Go elsewhere and find food. The demon calls her a “witch.”