Chapter Three:
That night he slept with the warmth of furred bodies pressed up against his own. The soft rumble of contented purrs lulled him into sleep – and the return of silence woke him again, lifting him from unsettled dreams into an awareness of tension. Something was creeping through the corridors, bringing with it an aura of chill and a sense of ominous menace. Gold green eyes stared at him in the semi-darkness, the cats having also been roused by the presence that stalked the night.
Jabberwock. Be silent.
Giles didn’t need the advice, but the whisper of the name inside his head knotted his stomach and upped his heart rate. Imagination had painted any number of horrifying shapes for the nightly hunter – but the images the cat conveyed were far worse than any of them. There were glimpses of teeth and claws, of burning eyes and a barbed tongue. Spikes and scales and raking talons decorated expanses of leathery skin, which folded and unfolded around the thing like grotesque wings. Nor was it just the physical imagery that the cat managed to convey; the hints of cold that crept through locked doors were, it seemed, just a taste of the bitter, icy presence that the creature spawned around itself. A chill that would freeze the heart and numb the soul.
His hand crept out across the covers to close around the hilt of his sword, finding comfort in the solid weight, in the certainty of cold steel. Something, somewhere in the back of his mind, murmured words of power – an incantation that memory suggested would add fire and fury to the swing of the blade. Their resonance lanced a spear of pain through his skull, as if even thinking of magic stirred wounds he didn’t know he carried. Despite that, he fought to remember the enchantment, enduring the stabbing effort of recall so that he could extract the words and make them his own. By the time he was certain of them, he was sweating, and shaking almost as badly as the kittens – but the spell was his, and winning it had added a few more pieces of his shattered self to the fragments that lay within his reach.
Watcher. Librarian. Spellcaster …
He didn’t think he could label himself sorcerer, although there was a temptation to do just that; he had a feeling his mastery of magic was uncertain – or perhaps unpracticed. One or the other. Either way, he knew it wasn’t something he relied on as a rule. Nor was it something that came easily, or without price.
Here, that price was a nagging and unpleasant headache – but his sense of quiet triumph far outweighed the persistence of pain. He had another weapon to call on now, a weapon that might give even the lurking jabberwock reason to pause. He had no intention of unlocking the door and leaping out into the corridor to test that theory, of course, but the encounter with the bandersnatch had shaken him badly – and he needed every advantage he could find to survive in this strange and hostile world.
It has moved on. We can rest.
The black and white cat snuggled up against him, rolling over to stretch out languid paws. The tortoiseshell had curled herself back around her kittens, washing each of them in turn in order to settle them. Giles found himself smiling at the domesticity of the scene, despite the way it was lit only by the soft glow from the room’s mirrors. The jabberwock had indeed moved on, and the silence had rolled back over them like a soft blanket. There was comfort in company, no matter how strange – just as there was comfort in the cold metal under his hand and the memory, not just of mystic words, but the faces they helped focus and the emotions that belonged with them. That was his world, and he would find a way back to it, find a way back to the family that waited there, the people that he loved.
Somehow.
Tomorrow we must take the kittens to safety.
The thought was sleepy, and so was he; he nodded a distracted agreement to the idea, his fingers sliding across soft fur to offer a friendly goodnight.
And then I will take you to meet the White Knight.
He hadn’t heard it right.
He decided that as soon as the morning light woke him; he checked and rechecked his recollections of the night before, assured himself that the defensive incantation was safely committed to memory, and re-ran those final, sleep filled thoughts in the hope that they would take on a more sensible shape. They didn’t.
Since they didn’t, he convinced himself that he couldn’t have heard what he thought he had. There wasn’t a chess game being played out in this world behind the looking glass – just a confusing labyrinth of mirror images with a very hostile world lurking at its boundaries. So the cat had meant something else, and he’d been so caught up with thinking about bandersnatch and jabberwocks that he’d let his imagination shape it into something it wasn’t.
Rather like the rest of the half glimpsed reflections really.
His wounded arm still throbbed a little, but the damage didn’t seem to be too bad. He washed the cut again just in case and grimaced at the ruin of his shirt, which made him look even more like a disreputable tramp. Then he made a makeshift sling out of his jacket so he could carry the kittens and still have sensible use of his sword. They spent an infuriating time playing the I’ll climb out as soon as you turn your back to catch my sister game, which only ended when their mother decided to cuff them soundly and led to Giles to rather despairingly christening them Buffy and Dawn rather than his initial impulse to name them Tweedledum and Tweedledee. The kittens didn’t seem to mind either way, since they answered to neither – but it felt reassuring to have something to call them, affirming his role as their adopted protector, no matter how short a time it was going to be.
That lead him to asking- somewhat embarrassedly, since he hadn’t thought of it before – if his guide had a name. The black and white cat gave him a bemused look, considered the question for an inordinately long period of time, washed his left flank, thought a little more, washed the end of his tail, and then announced something that vaguely translated as:
Thinker among the shadows, hunter of things unseen, seeker of new places, one who sleeps where he pleases and walks where he will.
"Oh," Giles reacted, perfectly aware that the complex concept with which the animal had just labeled himself didn’t really have a human translation, no matter what his interpretive understanding of it might be. The cat gave another quick lick to his tail and added, with the hint of a laugh:
But you can call me Ari.
I might answer to that.
"Ah." That one was a little easier to manage. Ari, as in - Aristophenes? Aristotle? Thinker among the shadows … Yes, it fit. "Yes. All right. Thank you, Ari. My name is Rupert. Rupert Emrys Giles – although it seems to be just Giles as a rule …" He tailed off, realizing that that was what his – his family? – called him. Which was a little odd, but strangely comforting. Apposite and right. Ari’s tail flicked, expressing some indefinable emotion, and then he leapt to his feet and started to lead the way out of the hotel room.
Just Giles, he noted, almost in passing. It fits you well.
Which was something of a compliment, given that the cat’s concept behind the just was not the simple adverb use meaning ‘and nothing more’, but closer to the more complex adjective implying ‘of moral excellence’…
He hadn’t been entirely sure about what Ari had meant by ‘taking the kittens to safety’. He’d vaguely imagined some well reflected area, filled with hiding places and little or no direct connection to the world beyond the mirrors’ reach. Maybe a place where there would be other cats, or some other creature capable of offering defence. What he hadn’t expected was a mundane, ordinary sitting room, with a big mirror over the fireplace and another full length one set into an alcove behind a set of shelves. The shelves had all sorts of things scattered along them; a row of books, a few intricate figurines – dragons mostly – an oil burner, a pottery chalice, a white and a black handled knife …
"Good lord," Giles reacted, taking a closer look around the room. Sure enough, the paintings had an occult, pagan theme, the cushions had arcane symbols embroidered on them, and there was a statue of a squat female gargoyle sitting – well, squatting – beside the fireplace.
She’s out.
That was the tortoiseshell cat, moving to peer warily through the bottom of the full-length mirror. Her voice was soft and hard to catch, even in the silences. Ari leapt up onto the arm of the overstuffed armchair with its moon and star patterned throw and from there onto the mantelpiece. He too peered into the real room through the shimmer of the mirror.
Good. There’s time.
The tortoiseshell started to nose at the mirror – then stopped, turning to glare at Giles with sudden hostility.
Go away, she ordered, with unexpected force and volume. She backed the command with an indrawn hiss and a ruffling of her hackles. So imperious was the command that he took a startled step backwards, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.
No.
A black and white panther leapt down from the mantelpiece; Ari’s back was arched and his fur puffed out so that he was once again almost twice his normal size.
It is forbidden, the tortoiseshell insisted. No human may see …
… unless the Way is known, Ari capped forcefully, staring the female down with determination.
"Ah – " Giles wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he had a feeling he’d been about to trespass on something as sacred to the cats as his duty to his Slayer was to him – and, if that was the case, could well understand the tortoiseshell’s discomfort at his presence. He gently placed his jacket – and the kittens – down on the sofa. "I can – always – wait outside," he suggested, waving his hand towards the door they’d used to enter the room and taking a half step in that direction. Quick as lightning, Ari was there before him, filling the doorway with fur and fury.
Stay, he commanded, so fiercely that Giles could swear he heard the primal snarl of leopards echo inside his head.
Go, the tortoiseshell asserted adamantly, jumping onto the arm of the sofa with all her claws extended. You shouldn’t be here.
No, Ari agreed, leaping to the opposite arm. His tail was still fluffed up with anger, and his whiskers bristled as he glared at his fellow feline. He shouldn’t be.
But he is.
The logic of this was inescapable. The tortoiseshell’s indignation instantly subsided, and she covered the potential embarrassment of the moment with a few quick licks to her side.
Maybe, she hedged, concentrating on her wash. But that doesn’t make it right.
Ari padded along the sofa, past the watching kittens, and jumped up to rub his forehead along her shoulder. A thought went between them – something so soft and complex that Giles knew he’d have no chance of catching it, let alone understanding it.
Very well, the tortoiseshell allowed after a moment or two. She turned her head to stare at him, giving him the kind of slow consideration that only a cat can. He should give a life.
He only has one,
Ari laughed with sudden amusement, rolling over – and managing to tumble himself off the sofa’s arm and onto its cushions.
"That’s – uh … very true," Giles acknowledged warily. Had they just made him an honorary cat - or had Ari been arguing that his being here, in this bizarre world behind the mirrors, automatically made him one? "And I’d - um – prefer to hang on to it, really. Given a choice," he added, a little apologetically. He didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but …
Swear on it, then.
Ari had regained his feet and was all dignified business again.
Swear on your life that you will keep the secret of the Way – and that you will honour those who follow it.
This is our gift and our duty – to walk between the worlds, to guard their many doorways and to hunt the darkness that would devour the light.
Giles blinked in surprise. He’d been right. Ari was the feline equivalent of a Slayer – or something like one, anyway. Then he blinked again, his eyes going wide as he realized what the cat had actually said. "You hunt – jabberwocks?" he queried a little faintly. Vampires and demons were bad enough.
But those things …?
Green eyes considered him with amusement. When we have to.
Only if we have to, the tortoiseshell interrupted impatiently. Will you swear?
"Yes – yes, of course." It was an easy oath to offer, almost a reaffirmation of one he’d taken a long time ago. He hesitated for a minute, feeling that there ought to be some kind of ceremony involved, then settled for grounding the point of the sword in the carpet and going down on one knee so that he could look the two cats straight in the eye. They settled side by side on the sofa – the kittens wrestling unnoticed behind them – and waited for him to speak.
"I … uh … Rupert Giles, do hereby solemnly swear to keep the secret of the Way, and to honour those who follow it." He felt oddly self-conscious, offering such a binding promise to a pair of cats in an otherwise empty room – an otherwise empty world in many ways – but he knew it was important, and he knew he had to do it right. "I swear this on my life – and," he added, realizing there was only one way he could make the vow as binding as it needed to be, "on my oath as a Watcher, which demands that I dedicate that life to the defense of the world and the service of my Slayer."
It was Ari’s turn to blink.
You are one who Watches? You serve she who walks in the night, and hunts as we do?
"Yes." Giles nodded, wishing he’d been able to piece together more than tantalizing fragments of recent memory. He knew who and what he was, but the how and the where remained frustratingly out of his reach. He was sure about Buffy, though. She was the one thing he was absolutely certain of. "Yes, I do."
Ari glanced towards the tortoiseshell as if to say ‘I told you so’. She simply stood up and gave herself a little shake.
Then Watch and learn, she said.
He watched her do it twice; once for each kitten, their tiny bodies curled up into a reflexive ball as she grabbed them by the scruff of their neck and took them home.
Through the mirror.
There was nothing spectacular about it. There were no bright lights, no magical incantations, and no dramatic gestures either, unless you counted the flicker of a cat’s tail as it stepped from one world to the next. The surface of the mirror bowed a little as her nose made contact – and then she was slipping through it as if it were water and not glass, her passage creating the barest of ripples that shimmered out from around her body.
The reflected room, Giles noted a little uneasily, rippled in almost exactly the same way.
"Can – every cat do this?" he asked, stepping up beside the shelves to run a wary hand over the chilled surface of the glass. It bowed and flexed a little under his touch, but gave no sign of melting away, or allowing him any kind of passage.
No.
Ari’s answer was confidently succinct.
To walk the Way, you must know the Way.
It comes from the blood.
Giles turned and frowned at him, wondering if he’d understood the answer right. The obvious interpretation was that it was an inherited skill, but the concept had felt much more complicated than that. There was something in there about having the skill to do it, but not being able to do it until you’d already done it at least once. Which didn’t make any sense at all – until the tortoiseshell came back for the second kitten, and the explanation dawned with a sense of quiet chagrin. The ability was probably innate, passed down from mother to child – but it only became active if the cat concerned had been born this side of the mirrors, their first breath taken in reflected air.
Making us truly of two worlds, Ari told him, as if he’d been following the twist and the turn of his thoughts. Perhaps he had. After everything else that had been happening, Giles wouldn’t be at all surprised.
"But you - give up a life to do it," he hazarded slowly, recalling the comment with a sense of unease. Ari was perched on the corner of the mantelpiece; his tailed twitched and his mouth opened with a hint of silent laughter.
Yes.
But you’d have to be a cat to understand that joke …