Gift of the Magi, A Fairytale of Christmas, Part 2 Author: Elsa Frohman Rating: PG. Spoilers: A sequel to A Cricket from California. Summary: In A Cricket from California, Buffy visited William, five years
before he died, in a Christmas dream. But what happened to the William
of her dream after she returned to her own world?
William awoke to the sound of the kettle boiling. Dr. Blythe was
preparing another pot of tea. William sat up and rubbed the sleep
from his eyes.
"There you are," Blythe said cheerily. "I was beginning to think
you'd sleep until Boxing Day."
The professor was already dressed in his customary dark suit. His
wispy gray hair was neatly combed, and he had shaved the stubble from
his chin. William touched his own chin and realized he was in need of
some tidying up.
"You'll find water, soap and a towel in the bath," Blythe said, with
a smile, as he handed William a cup of hot tea. "You may use my razor
if you like."
"Thank you."
A little while later, William had improved his appearance as much as
was possible without a fresh shirt or collar to put on. Sleeping in
his clothing hadn't done much for his sartorial status. But his host
came over and did what he could to help, brushing William's suit coat
and straightening his collar.
"There, I believe you're marginally presentable," Blythe said after
giving William a once-over.
"Who is this expert we're going to consult?" William asked
impatiently.
"All in good time, my boy. All good things come to he who waits."
William smiled and finished the verse. "I say these words to make me
glad. But something answers soft and sad. They come, but often too
late."
"I promise you, William, it will not be too late, if there is a way
to make it otherwise. But before we can visit my expert, we have to
find something to take with us as tribute."
William raised an eyebrow. "You make this sound very mysterious," he
said.
Blythe chuckled. "No, not so mysterious. We'll be calling on a lady,
and one cannot pay a visit to a woman on Christmas Day without a
gift, can one?"
"Ah! A gift. Of what sort, may I ask?"
"I'm hoping you can help me select something, my boy. I'm an old man,
and my vision has dimmed. And more important yet, it has been ages
since I called on a lady. Surely your young eyes will be of use to
choose something that will tickle the fancy of a woman of intellect
and discrimination."
"I believe jewelry is usually appropriate," William said
thoughtfully, "if you're well-acquainted with the lady, that is."
"Yes, very well acquainted," Blythe replied, his eyes taking on a
distant glow. "Very good, though we shall have to bargain carefully
to stay within my budget."
They headed out into the bright, morning sunshine. The air was cold,
but the clouds that had brought the night's snow had cleared away,
leaving an intensely blue sky in their wake. The drifts on the
sidewalks and piled against the buildings were sparkling and clean. A
sleigh traveled down the middle of the street, its team of two horses
wearing bells that jingled merrily. The driver waved to them, calling
out "Merry Christmas" as he went past.
A group of youngsters in heavy coats and wool scarves was standing at
the corner. As William and Blythe approached, they straightened up.
The tallest of them, most likely the eldest, stepped out and held up
his hands for the other children to take notice. The boy brought this
hands down, and the children began to sing, their voices not quite in
perfect harmony, but joyful all the same.
"Hark the herald angels sing;
"Glory to the newborn king.
"Peace on Earth and mercy mild;
"God and sinners reconciled.
"Joyful all ye nations arise;
"Join the triumph of the sky;
"With the angelic host proclaim;
"Christ is born in Bethlehem.
"Hark the herald angels sing;
"Glory to the newborn king."
William dug into his pocket and brought out a penny to drop in the
song leader's cup.
"Thanks to you, guv'nor," the boy said. "And a Merry Christmas to
you."
"And to you," William replied.
William sighed as they walked on.
"When I first saw her, she was giving carolers a coin," he said
wistfully. "She gave them a sovereign."
Blythe raised his eyebrows. "Quite a generous gift."
William nodded. "She said she didn't know what the coins were worth."
"Your lady has a giving spirit," Blythe said with a smile.
They visited three jewelry shops before William spotted just the
right gift. Blythe had rejected the mirror in a hand-carved
tortoiseshell frame.
"Our expert is advanced in her years, my boy. She doesn't want to be
reminded of the ravages of time."
At the next shop, an opal ring proved to be too expensive. And at the
next, a broach in the shape of a chrysanthemum made of bright-colored
glass beads was judged too gaudy. They were about to leave when
William saw the ring. The setting was silver, and it featured
concentric rings of garnet chips separated by rings of tiny seed
pearls.
The moment he'd pointed it out, William thought better of it.
"Surely, it's too dear," he said quietly.
"Perhaps, but let us inquire just the same," Blythe replied.
The shop owner's first offer was, indeed, too dear. But the old
professor proved to be a steely negotiator, and in the end, they left
with the ring in a small velvet-lined box tied with a satin ribbon.
Blythe dropped the package into his coat pocket, and they walked back
out into the bright, crisp morning.
The streets were filling up with housewives bringing the family goose
to the baker and husbands searching for a last-minute gift. The air
was rich with the fragrance of roasting fowl. An atmosphere of good
cheer had settled over the sidewalks, and not even the cold slush of
snow melting in the morning sunshine could put a damper on the
festivities.
Blythe found himself humming along with the next group of carolers
they passed. They were singing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," and the
professor couldn't help but feel as if the song was for him alone. He
paused and saw William looking at him, a small smile on his lips.
"It all seems less urgent now, does it not?" Blythe asked casually.
William frowned slightly.
"No, sir, I am as determined as ever. I must find her, Dr. Blythe."
"Ah, yes. I had hoped this lovely, bright day might have reminded you
of the grand life you have, my boy. Is this mysterious girl so
necessary to your happiness?"
"Is that your advice, sir? Accept what I have and stop reaching for
the unattainable?"
Blythe smiled broadly. "Ah, yes. That is the question, is it not?
What if being with your grand lady means leaving all this -- your
studies, your family, your friends?"
William blinked in surprise.
"Do you mean emigrating to America?"
Blythe shook his head. "Much more than that, my boy. Leaving
everything you have ever known."
"I would do so in a moment," William said sincerely. "She is worth
all that and more. I'm certain of it."
The old man nodded, but William could see that his thoughts were now
far away. "You're certain of this after spending but a single evening
with her?"
William nodded. "There is no question in my mind at all."
Blythe raised his eyebrows. "But you're not approaching this with
your mind, my boy. You're thinking with your heart."
"Is that wrong?"
"No, absolutely not. It is your strength, William. You must always
remember that."
"Then you're not trying to dissuade me?"
"No. I merely wished to be certain that this is what you want -- in
the bright light of day."
"It is."
"Then we shall proceed to our consultation. Madame Chagall awaits
us."
"She knows we're coming?"
"I took the liberty of sending a messenger to her before you awoke
this morning."
"What sort of expert is she?"
Blythe smiled enigmatically. "You shall see, my boy. You shall see.
There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your
philosophy."
They turned off the busy shopping street into an alley, which lead to
a mews, which lead to another alley. These passages were in shadow,
mostly sheltered from the snow, and, it seemed, shielded from the
holiday spirit that was so evident everywhere else in town.
They came at last to a weathered wooden door in an otherwise
unremarkable brick wall. Blythe tapped on the door with the head of
his cane.
After a moment, the door opened a crack. William could see a bit of a
nose and an eye in the gloom beyond.
"Clarice?" Blythe asked. "You received my message, did you not?"
Without a word, the person on the other side of the door stepped
back, and they were admitted. It was dark inside, the only
illumination coming from candles placed around the edges of the room.
There was an oppressive fragrance of incense throughout the room. The
person who had let them in, if it was a woman, was all but invisible,
wrapped in a dark woolen cloak with a hood pulled forward to conceal
her face.
The figure gestured for them to seat themselves at the bare wooden
table in the center of the room.
William and Blythe complied.
"You seek one lost to you," the woman said in a low voice. She spoke
barely loud enough to be heard, and William couldn't tell much about
her from her voice.
"Yes," William said, nodding. "She vanished."
"The one you seek is not in this world," the woman said.
"How do you know?" William asked.
"I know."
"Then where is she?"
There was no answer. The cloaked woman turned and went to the mantle,
barely visible in the dim light in the room. She brought back an
earthenware bowl filled with water and set it on the table in front
of William.
"Look," the woman whispered, pointing a gloved finger at the bowl.
William looked, and at first saw nothing but a very slight shimmer to
the surface of the liquid and perhaps the twinkling reflection of a
candle or two. But as he looked, the reflections bent and swirled,
reorganizing into a blurred shape. He couldn't see what it was for a
moment. It was paler than the dark interior of the bowl. Then he saw
that it was a face -- her face. Her hair was different. It was loose
around her shoulders. As he watched, the image seemed to expand, and
he could see that she was wearing trousers and some sort of
close-fitting bodice. She was walking through a graveyard.
For a moment, he was entranced by her fluid movements. She was the
picture of grace, striding along with the purpose and confidence of a
man, but never looking like anything but a woman. He was amazed at
how her clothing clung to her form, revealing every curve of her
body. Yet, even though the costume she wore was terribly immodest by
the standards he knew, she did not look like a trollop to him. To his
surprise, a dark figure hurtled out of the shadows and attacked her.
She whirled to meet her foe and sent him reeling back with a high
kick. She advanced on the creature and plunged a wooden stake into
its breast. To William's surprise, the creature exploded into a cloud
of dust and was no more.
William lifted his hand and was about to touch the surface of the
water, when gloved fingers closed around his and stopped him.
"Look. Don't touch," the woman whispered.
"What sort of black magic is this?" William asked with a frown.
"It is magic," the woman said simply.
"You're a witch."
"Yes," she whispered.
"Enough," William said forcefully. "Where is she?"
The woman was silent for a moment. William had opened his mouth to
demand an answer before she spoke again. He had to strain to hear her
whispered words.
"There are worlds beyond this one," she breathed. "Worlds beyond
count."
"What good does this do me?" William demanded angrily.
"Calm yourself, boy," Blythe said sharply.
William looked up in surprise. He had momentarily forgotten Blythe
was there.
William took a deep breath. "Please..." he said, "you must tell me
how I can go to her."
"First, you must understand," the witch whispered. "What you believe
to be real is not. What you believe to be solid is ephemeral. What
you believe to be true is only a shadow of the truth."
"I don't understand."
"You must."
William looked up at her, perplexed. The witch raised her hand and
held it over the bowl.
"Look," she whispered. "Do you see the reflection of my hand?"
William nodded, straining to see within the deep shadow of her cowl.
If he could see her eyes, he thought, he might understand her words.
"You see another hand, but it is not a real hand. That is what we are
-- reflections. This world is an echo of another world. That world is
where your love has gone."
William tried to grasp what she was saying.
"Are you telling me that I'm not real?"
"Real is a word without meaning."
William shook his head. "Real or not. I must go to her."
"That is easily accomplished."
William grinned. "Let us go then."
"Not so fast, bub," the witch said, unexpectedly speaking in a nearly
normal voice. She seemed to remember herself then, and the next
sentence was whispered again. "I could send you there easily, but you
could stay for only a day."
William's face fell. "One day? I would live bereft for the remainder
of my life," he said glumly. "But if I can have but one day, I would
rather that than to never be with her again."
When the witch spoke again, she still whispered, but William thought
he could hear a note of kindness in her voice.
"There is another way."
"Yes?"
"But there is a cost."
"I am not wealthy," William said. "But all I have you may take."
The witch shook her head. "The price is not money."
"Then what?"
"To cross over and become part of that other world, which is what you
must do if you are to stay there, the Guardian of Portals must be
paid."
"What does this guardian demand?"
"A human soul."
The witch said no more. The room was silent except for the soft sound
of three humans drawing breath.
After a long pause, William sighed. "Then you're saying that if I am
to go to my love, I must give up my soul."
The witch nodded.
William was silent again. He frowned and looked down at the bowl. The
moving pictures were gone. It was just a bowl of water again.
"Are you willing?" the witch asked.
"No," William replied simply.
"No?" the witch repeated in surprise.
William shook his head. "I think that without my soul, I could be of
no use to her. I must go to her as a man, or not at all."
The witch sat silently for a moment. Finally, she shook her head
slightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
William's face was a picture of sorrow.
"Then we will not waste any more of your time, Madame Chagall,"
William sighed. He stood up and pushed his chair back.
"Could you wait for me outside for a moment, William?" Blythe asked.
"I would like a word alone with our hostess."
William let himself out. As the door closed, Blythe turned to the
witch.
"The picture bowl was an interesting demonstration of your power, my
dear. I am impressed. But please tell me, who are you, and what have
you done to Clarice Chagall?"
"It's that obvious?" the witch asked.
"I've known Clarice for forty-five years," Blythe said firmly. "If
there is anything I am certain of, you are not her."
The witch reached up and pushed her cowl back. She was young, a girl
in her early 20s with deep red hair falling straight to her
shoulders.
"Where is Clarice?" Blythe demanded, not distracted by the young
woman's pretty face.
"She is not harmed. I'm simply taking her place for a short while. If
you come back tonight, you'll find her here."
"Why are you here?"
The witch stood up and took the bowl off the table.
"I'm not working against you," the girl said. "I think we want the
same thing."
"And that is?"
"To see that William finds his true love."
"Why?"
"The girl you saw, she is my friend. I did something once --
something very, very wrong. I thought I was doing the right thing,
but I messed up big time. Because of what I did, my friend may never
be happy. I want to change that."
"You believe that William can give her what you took from her..."
The young witch smiled. "Yes. I believe he can."
"But he would not meet the price," Blythe said.
"Oh, that. I wasn't going to take his soul. That was a test. I
thought he'd go for it, and then I could explain to him that he
needed his soul. It was something I thought he needed to know. But,
hey, he surprised me. Funny -- I guess he forgot later."
Blythe wondered what she meant by that, but decided to let it pass.
"Are you saying that the guardian doesn't require payment?"
"No, the payment is as I said. But it doesn't have to be William's
soul."
Blythe took a deep breath. "I see. And whose soul will it be?"
The girl frowned. "That's not important. All that matters is that I'm
going to give you a powder. You must give it to William in a cup of
tea -- or any other appropriate drinkable liquid."
Blythe frowned. "You intend to sacrifice yourself. Why would you want
to do such a thing?"
The girl gave him a wan smile. "That's my business. All you need to
know is that I'm doing what I'm doing voluntarily."
Blythe shook his head. "You're too young."
"Don't worry about me."
"I have a better way."
The witch raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"
"Take me instead."
"Why would you want to make such a sacrifice?"
"It's not much of a sacrifice for me. I'm an old man. I would not
have had use of this soul much longer at any rate."
"Do you understand what giving up your soul means?"
Blythe smiled. "Not eternal damnation, if that's what you're asking.
It has been a long time since I believed the tales of hellfire and
brimstone the vicar told when I was a boy. No, I know what it means.
It means I will cease to exist. That is all it means."
"You would give up your existence to help William reach his goal."
"You intended to do the same, and I'll wager you have a lot more to
give up than I do."
"I can't allow..."
"Listen to me, young lady. I'm old. But I remember what it was to be
young. I even remember what it was like to be in love -- a wonderful
kind of insanity that is. I was in love once. But I was cleverer than
young William. I was a bit too clever. When I had the choice to make,
I chose my studies over my love.
"And now I'm an old man who knows more than anyone has use for. I
know about science, and literature, and philosophy, and even the
black arts. But I have no wife and no son to carry on my name. I'm
not famous, and I'm not wealthy. All I have is my memories of a
lifetime in quest of knowledge that turned out to be less valuable
than I thought it would be and the friendship of a bright young man
with a heart that rules his head.
"If I can help William find his true love, then I will have done
something worthy. I hope you will allow me that."
The young witch considered for a moment. She went to the mantle and
picked up a small pouch.
"This is the powder," she said, pressing the pouch into his hand.
"Give it to William and tell him to take it before he goes to bed
tonight. Tell him to write the name of the one he wants to find on a
piece of paper and leave it beside his pillow when he goes to sleep."
Blythe nodded. "Thank you, my dear. Now, there is one other thing I
must ask of you." He brought the gift box out of his pocket. "Could
you leave this for Clarice? I'd like her to have it."
The young witch took the box. "Was Miss Chagall your ..."
Blythe smiled. "It was a long time ago, my dear. And I would not
betray a lady's confidence."
Outside, William waited in the cold. Blythe stepped out into the
light and took a deep breath. Fresh air was a pleasure after the
thick atmosphere inside.
"What now, Dr. Blythe?" William asked.
Blythe smiled. "I think we should search the baker's shops and find
ourselves a worthy goose, my boy. And a pudding. Will you join me for
Christmas dinner?"
"I would be honored, sir," William said with a sad smile.
"Don't be sad, William. It's Christmas."
"I know, but..."
"Don't give up hope, my boy. There are miracles in the air. I can
feel it."
"Did you believe what she said?" William asked. "About the world not
being real?"
"You believed her, didn't you? I saw it in your eyes."
William sighed. "I saw Buffy in the water and seeing her made me
believe. I can believe anything is possible when I look into her
eyes."
"Come now. Forget your sadness for a few hours. Come with me and
celebrate."
William took the sleeping powder Dr. Blythe gave him before he lay
down to sleep. He wrote the name of his love on the paper as the old
professor told him, thinking he would dream of seeing the beguiling
Miss Summers again.
He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, and when his
eyes opened again, he found himself standing on a street in full
daylight. There had been an overnight snow, and the world around him
was sparkling, white and clean. He looked around and recognized the
place as the town of Bath.
He was standing in front of an old stone house near the edge of town.
As he stood wondering what he should do now, a tall, slender young
woman with long, brown hair burst out of the front door.
"Look! It snowed! Just look at it!" she shouted back to someone
unseen inside the house.
"Come on, get out here! We've got to build a snow man!" she
continued. "It's snow! Real, honest-to-God snow!"
The girl turned and noticed William for the first time. Her eyes
widened in surprise.
William looked down at himself, thinking her surprise must be because
of his appearance or dress. He'd never seen this girl before, so he
couldn't imagine how she could recognize him.
He was wearing a short canvass coat over a pair of blue denim
trousers. The clothing was unfamiliar, but hardly bizarre. He looked
back up at the girl, who was frozen, staring at him with her mouth
hanging open.
Suddenly, the girl broke loose from her shocked paralysis. She ran
toward him shouting.
"Buffy, get out here. It's Spike! Oh, my God! He's alive!"
Another young woman appeared in the doorway. She stopped there and
looked at William in mute surprise.
The brunette reached William and wrapped her arms around him, hugging
him enthusiastically.
"Spike! How can you be here?" the girl babbled. "What happened? Oh,
God, this is the best Christmas ever!"
William couldn't take his eyes off the woman standing in the doorway.
It was Buffy. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.
She was wearing a skirt that stopped above her knees, leaving her
lower legs bare. William had never seen a woman in such a state of
undress, but he hardly noticed. It was Buffy. He had found his way to
her.
"Buffy, why are you just standing there? Can't you see? It's Spike!
He's right here!" the younger girl shouted.
Buffy shook her head. She stepped off the porch and walked slowly
toward her sister and the unexpected guest.
"No," she said. "It's not Spike."
The younger girl stepped back out of Buffy's way.
"It's William," Buffy said quietly, her eyes never leaving his.
She stepped closer, and he took her in his arms.
"If I could grant you one wish, with a kiss..." Buffy said softly.
"I would wish that I could be with you forever," William replied.
They kissed, their lips joining to satisfy a longing that bridged the
distance between universes.
"Never leave me," Buffy said, laying her head against his chest as a
tear spilled down her cheek.
"Never," William replied, resting his cheek against the silky
softness of her hair. "I'm yours forever."