Author's Note A:  There be swearing below.  Multinational swearing, yet.  If this will
offend you, please turn back now.

Author's Note B:  I don't know where this idea came from, but it interrupted an essay and
wouldn't go away until I wrote it.  It's the closest you'll get to a direct admission of
insanity from me.  (I can't believe I actually entertained Ethan in my brain for a
*week*...)

PAST LIFE TRANSGRESSIONS  by Jayne Leitch
C. 2001

     Ethan walked into his squalid East End apartment, slammed the door behind him,
glared at the stack of records on his table and said, "Fuck."

     It had finally happened.  Ripper had decided he was through with his little rebellion,
and was going back to the Watchers.  He probably felt guilty enough to tell them
everything, which meant that Ethan had to get out of town fast, or there was going to be
hell to pay.  Quite literally.

     To make matters worse, Rupert had left some of his best records right there on the
table.  It was a criminally unfair reminder of just how much he had trusted Ethan--well,
before Randall died.  It hadn't taken very long at all for things to go careening out of
control after that...

     He couldn't stop staring at the records.  Forty-fives, mostly: 'I Don't Even Know
Myself', 'Eagles Fly', 'White Rabbit'...Ripper had actually trusted him with some of his
favourite music.  Maybe it wasn't such a wonder--after all, if you can't trust the people
you spend your hours conjuring, tripping and sleeping with, who can you trust?--but there
it was: an expectation of honour.  Trust.

     Bugger that.  His eyes glittered for a moment as he outlined a sigil with his fingers,
and the stack of albums began to warp under a sudden green-tinged flame.  Ethan
watched the vinyls melt for a few satisfying moments before snapping his fingers and
extinguishing the fire.  Then he swept up the entire pile, his fingers tingling from the
magical residue, and dumped them into the hallway, hoping like hell that Rupert would
come by personally before the Council sent a containment unit to clean the place up.

     As if Ripper'd actually thought he could betray a man who worshipped Chaos and still
trust him with his possessions.  It was enough to make Ethan laugh.  And yet...

     No.  No bloody "and yet".  He had to pack, he had to arrange a way out of London, he
had to figure out who owed him money or amulets or supplies and make the collection
rounds, and he had to do it all tonight.  And he had to make sure he took care of
everything without alerting the Watchers.  He did not have time for "and yet"...

     ...Which is why, when he realized he'd been standing over his suitcase for fifteen
minutes looking at the way one of Rupert's socks was bunched on the floor, he
enunciated very clearly in saying "FUCK."

     It was the vilest curse he could find in his repertoire, which wasn't very surprising
when he remembered how many of the things he'd thrown at the door of Diedre's flat
after Rupert closed it behind him; after all, those really vile curses needed time to
recharge themselves between hurlings.  Still, as he hurried around his apartment
gathering clothes and spellbooks and idols and jamming them into satchels, Ethan
scrounged through his brain for something, anything he could say to express just how
violently he hated Rupert Giles.

     Something he hadn't already said to Rupert's face, anyway.  Disillusionment was no
excuse for repetition.

     It took some time, but while he was tucking a Sphere of Eris into a nest of the softest
clothes in his suitcase, he was drawn up short by a name.  A name, and a
half-remembered purpose...he bunched another t-shirt around the Sphere, then paused
when he realized what he was considering.  He hadn't paid much attention when Diedre
and her friend Sharon had been laughing over the notes in one of the books, but he was
fairly certain he had come across the rites and dictates in his own readings, and they
hadn't seemed difficult...maybe not something he should normally attempt on his own
behalf, really, but...hell, look at it a certain way and it was actually kind of appropriate.
It couldn't hurt to do one more summoning before he left, could it?  Especially if he made
sure to ward himself properly beforehand...

     When he checked, he discovered he was almost out of salt.  It figured.  He used garlic
and dragon's wort instead.

     He cast the summoning spell from inside the safety of his circle, which he'd outlined
haphazardly so he could move between the dresser and his suitcase for the duration.  He
had some time to spare, but it wouldn't hurt to be able to keep packing while he
negotiated.

     Brushing the last crumbs of marnox root from his fingers, Ethan glanced around him
expectantly.  The shadows in the corners of his room were too dark, and the smoke from
the offering bowl was diffusing through the air, making things hazy.  It was too quiet, but
if he concentrated, there was something...  "You know, it's generally not nice to sneak up
on people."

     A demon he assumed was Anyanka *appeared* from the shadows of a corner and
made her way to the edge of the circle.  She wore a long, shapeless, ancient-style dress; it
was woven with power symbols and what appeared to be miniature tapestries
depicting...Ethan decided he didn't really want to recognize what they were depicting.
Her skin was mottled with distended veins and scar-like markings; her eyes were dark,
but burned furiously at him in the low light.  "You are a man!" she said accusingly, her
voice raspy and hateful.

     The sound vibrated weirdly through Ethan's skull, and he had to fight an urge to back
into the centre of the circle.  "Apparently.  Will that be a problem?"

     The demon hissed.  "Fool.  I exist to punish men for their transgressions against
women.  You dare summon me?  You *man*?"  At the base of her sunken throat, a small
green light glowed angrily against her skin.

     Ethan pursed his lips, considering the situation.  Then, very deliberately, he relaxed
into one of his patented wicked smiles.  "Come now, darling.  It's the sexual revolution;
shouldn't you be considering updating your clientele?"

     Anyanka's eyes widened, and the green glow burned even sharper.  "It has been thus
for a thousand years, mortal," she sneered, her voice carrying the disdain of a
millennium's worth of scorned women.  "The affairs of mankind have no bearing on the
course of due vengeance!"  She raised her hands to the edge of the circle's barrier and
pressed against the invisible force with clawed fingernails, making the air between them
quake and distort.  "You guard yourself against my power because you know my purpose
against those of your sex; still you summon me and expect I'll do your bidding.  You
follow in the arrogance of your kind, and were I not bound--"

     "Yes yes, we're all feminists here."  Waving in a vaguely placating manner, Ethan
smothered another wicked grin as the demon's face expressed genuine shock at the
interruption.  "Look, I'm sympathetic to the cause, injustice of male oppression and so on,
all for emancipating the ladies of their brassieres in this corner--but I am on a bit of a
tight schedule tonight.  And our agendas really do match up..."

     This caught her attention.  Dropping her hands from the barrier, Anyanka said, "You
seek vengeance against a man?"

     Ethan nodded, and smiled again.  "If it's not too much trouble."

     "A man who wronged you...romantically?"

     The smile froze.  His eyebrow arched.  "Well, I wouldn't put it exactly like that.  But if
you want to get technical about it..."

     She blinked.  Then her eyes slowly narrowed into slits, and the green gem at her throat
began to pulse.  "You're deceiving me."

     Inside the circle, Ethan spread his hands before him, hoping like hell he looked
beseeching.  "You're the patron saint of scorned women.  I haven't provided you with any
business in the twenty years I've been on this planet, as far as I know; can't we work on a
little good faith?  A little reciprocal consideration?"  When Anyanka simply growled at
him, he dropped his hands--and his act--and rolled his eyes.  "Oh, all right.  We were
*together*.  We practised the dark arts with a few others, invoked demons for pleasure,
and occasionally had mindblowingly fantastic sex in the context of diabolically-induced
orgies.  I liked him, he liked me, we trusted each other with our lives until one of the
pleasure demons we summoned got out of control and killed one of our mates.  And now
he's decided he feels guilty enough to leave me--and the rest of our group, which does
include a couple of girls, if that helps--to go off and turn into his Dad and become a
Watcher.  A bloody *Watcher*, for chrissake, when he *knows* how suffocated he'll be
living under the Council's thumb after everything he's been able to do with us, but he
doesn't *listen* to--what??"

     Across the line of the circle, Anyanka was watching him appraisingly.  The green light
at her throat had faded to a gentle gleam, and when she spoke, she sounded--God help
him--amused.  "Do you love this man?"

     Ethan glared.  He realized he'd lost control of his mouth during the explanation, and
remembered belatedly that some of the herbs he'd used in the summoning were also key
ingredients in truth spells.  Fuck.  "Do I *love* him?" he repeated incredulously.

     The demon's lips curved, and she let out a rasping breath that might have been a
laugh.  "You speak with rage of how this man betrayed you, yet you also express concern
for him.  Are you simply angry at his disloyalty, or are you--" her lip curled in distaste
"--heartbroken?"

     Ethan clenched his jaw.  This was just perfect.  "I worship Chaos, Anyanka," he told
her pointedly.  "It's one of the things Rupert's decided he hates about me.  If I were
heartbroken, I'd be channelling the hurt to It in the hopes that something interestingly
irresponsible would happen to make me feel better.  Something *fun*.  Something
Ripper would thoroughly disapprove of."  He paused, and sighed when Anyanka did
nothing but quirk an eyebrow.  "What does it matter, anyway?  He's betraying me, I'm
slagged at him, I call you, you liquefy his prostate or something and make me feel better,
isn't that how this is supposed to work?"

     The demon gave a slow shake of her head, and Ethan decided that she was stringing
him along--and enjoying doing so far more than was strictly necessary.  "I wield the
power of the Wish for those who have been scorned in *love*," she pointed out,
infuriatingly practical.  "You have already encouraged me to flaunt tradition by merely
*considering* an appeal from a man; should I risk my own standing in Arashmahaar by
granting the wishes of those whose emotions are not true?  Chaos cannot have a hand in
everything," she added archly, apparently reading his mind as he opened his mouth to
object.  "Despite the will of Its disciples."

     "Oh, bloody hell."  Turning away from Anyanka's wicked smile, Ethan grabbed at a
shirt sticking out of his dresser and spent an angry minute folding it into his suitcase.
How the hell had she managed to twist it all around on him like this?  All he'd wanted
was a little poetic justice, something to make him feel--not better, exactly, but close--in
the aftershocks of the vicious row that had preceded Rupert's departure.  Upon reflection,
he realized that he probably should have stuck with vile curses.  As it was, he now had to
say *something* to get this bloody demon to stop grinning...  "I don't suppose you'd take
platonic sexual attraction?"

     Anyanka's green gem burned merrily, and as she opened her mouth to reply--

     --Ethan heard something from the hallway outside.  Without thinking, he held up a
hand and shushed the demon; then, too preoccupied to be surprised when she complied,
he strained to decipher the noise.  When he heard the faint scratching of a key turning in
the lock, Ethan's eyes widened, and he mentally turned his entire store of rejuvenated
curses on himself.  "Oh, bugger *me*--it's Ripper.  You have to go," he said, jabbing a
finger at Anyanka and trying to sound commanding.  "He's already cross; if he finds me
with a demon--"

     "Ethan?"  The door to the flat opened and closed, and Ethan half-glared, half-gazed
imploringly at his visitor as Rupert's step tapped slowly through the flat.  "I know you're
here, I found the records.  I want to talk to you..."

     "Anyanka, *begone*!"  The demon made a rude noise in response to the archaic
banishment, and Ethan felt like ramming his head into the wall.  Meeting her eyes as
steadily as he could, he tried, quickly and quietly, to wheedle.  "Look, this isn't going to
work.  Ripper is going to *kill* me if he finds me with a demon--" he paused for a bare
instant as he realized what the room looked like, strewn with packets of ingredients for
the summoning--and his circle--and swallowed a nervous giggle "--or he might just kill
me anyway.  Really, you don't have to be here for that.  Our business is done; just
*leave*, will you?"

     Anyanka cocked her head to the side, an unreadable yet distinctly amused expression
on her face.  "Our business is *not* done.  You summoned me to grant vengeance against
the man who betrayed you; the matter has not been settled, yet you are trying to banish
me.  Have you decided to refuse the Wish?"

     Ethan was only half-listening; he was too absorbed in tracking the sound of Rupert's
footsteps as they drew up to the door to the bedroom.  "What?  Wish?  Oh, bloody hell,
woman--I *wish* you'd go *away*!"

     His words rang in the air between him and the demon, whose mouth was curving into
an evil grin.  Then, with a flash of light that made spots swim in front of Ethan's eyes,
Anyanka disappeared.

     Ethan blinked.  His mouth framed another curse--more in surprise than anger--but
before he could speak, the door opened.

     "Ethan?"  Rupert ducked his head around the jamb, and in the split second before he
realized what he was seeing, he looked almost apologetic.  Then, as his eyes rested first
on the ingredients of the spell, then on the line of the protective circle, and finally on the
look that must have been on Ethan's face, his expression hardened.  Slamming the door
wide open, Ripper stalked the few steps his long stride could take him into the room, and
came to a vibratingly furious stop directly across the line of the circle.  "You bleeding
*pillock*, Ethan!" he hissed, oblivious to the fact that he was standing right where
Anyanka had been mere seconds ago.  "What do you think you're *doing*?"

     "Ripper, I--"  Still blinking against the afterimages of the light, Ethan tried to figure
out what the hell was going on.  "It's not what it looks like--"

     "Oh, really?  Because it looks very much like you've been summoning more fucking
demons!"  Rupert glared at him, then gestured sharply at the circle.  "Dangerous ones!
Ethan, you *stupid* prat..."

     He was safe as long as he stayed in the circle.  Ethan tried very hard to believe in that
fact, and stayed where he was as Ripper paced and ranted around the room.  Whatever
Rupert assumed had happened, Ethan was glad that he hadn't seen Anyanka; because of
his Watcher studies, Rupert knew the pantheon of Lesser Beings better than Ethan
himself did, and if he had recognized her for what she did...

["I wield the power of the Wish for those who have been scorned in *love*..."]
["Oh, bloody hell, woman--I *wish* you'd go *away*!"]

     Ethan froze.  He felt his face flush, and hoped like hell that Ripper was too angry to
notice.

     *Fuck.*

End.

Back to Buffy Fic.