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Healing Wounds	By : Sylver Category: Anita Blake > Crossovers > AB/BtVS Views: 5402 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Anita Blake series, nor BtVS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Willow was pulled from her slumber by a hand gently shaking her shoulder. She peeled back one eye and saw Asher’s face, like some sort of wonderful dream smiling down at her. Then as her mind cleared a bit more she realized his expression was one of concern. Suddenly self-conscious of Jason’s naked body draped half across her own, she tugged at the blankets trying to cover herself.

“Non, petite sorciere, I am not concerned about your current state of undress with the young wolf. He is Jean-Claude’s pomme de sang, it is a great honor for him to permit Jason to share your bed.”

“Excuse me? Are you saying he asked Jean-Claude for permission to sleep with me?” Willow squeaked, unable to hide the disgust in her voice.

Jason stirred next to her, placing a light kiss on her shoulder. “No, I didn’t ask permission to have sex with you, it was my choiJeanJean-Claude simply pointed out after you healed Asher that it was okay to be with you if it came up.”

“What?! If it came up?!” Willow scooted away from him, suddenly feeling dirty. “What were you, like some kind of payment for healing Asher?”

Jason moved forward to reassure her, but Willow moved farther away. “No, nothing like that, I swear. I’m free to do what I want, but Jean-Claude has some restrictions against his people becoming intimately involved with anyone he perceives to be a possible threat.”

Suddenly Willow was up out of the bed, taking the covers with her as she went. “So now I’m a possible threat?!”

“Non, cherie,” Asher interjected. “It was necessary before for Jean-Claude to take precautions. We have had our people hurt in the past by our enemies. He needed to be sure he could trust you with someone so valued as Jason. Please do not take offense. I did not come here to upset you.”

“Why did you come here?” she asked, trying to cool her temper.

“Jean-Claude is requesting your presence; I believe the time is drawing near,” he answered her cryptically.

@@@@@@@@@@

“Yes, Bert, I heard you. Army of dead, yes, popping up like corks, I GOT IT!!! Jesus, Bert, I’m on my fucking way, hold your horses!” Anita was yelling into her cell phone as Willow and Asher entered the white and gold sitting room.

The hairs on the back of Willow’s neck instantly stood on end at the magic in the room. She always got a little vibe from Jean-Claude, Asher, and Anita, but when you added to it Richard’s power and that of the three strangers standing before her, the effect was a bit overwhelming. “The Council members, I presume,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as possible.

A handsome man with dark, haunted eyes stepped forward, a careful smile playing across his mouth. “You are correct, child. And you are the great and powerful witch that healed our fair Asher?” he asked, speaking over Anita who continued to argue with her boss in the background.

“I am,” she nodded.

“Well, then you have the gratitude of the council for returning one of our most valued members of society to his full glory.” He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes, making his words ring insincere.

“You’re welcome, Mister…sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“You may call me the Traveler.”

The pleading look in his eyes along with the name clicked in her head. When the Council members first announced their intention to come to St. Louis, Jean-Claude had briefed her and Spike a little on the various members. All of them had impressive abilities, but the Traveler was the most intriguing. Almost like a parasite, he could infect other vampires with his essence and control their bodies for a while. Unfortunately the former owner was completely aware the entire time, but unable to control any of their actions until the Traveler moved on to another host. The panicked look in his eyes was the original occupant, peeking out, helplessly trapped within. Willow shuddered at the thought. She turned her attention then to the other two in the room. “And you are?”

Jean-Claude stepped forward, sweeping his arm in a graceful gesture, indicating the other two. “Mon dieu, you must forgive my manners, so much has happened this evening. You have already met the Traveler; allow me to introduce Morte D’Amore.” He indicated the tall man in the corner with pale blonde hair and stormy grey eyes.

She nodded at the man, and he nodded back. “Morte D’Amore, ‘lover of death’?” He nodded again. She had heard of this one also. Vampires of his line could ‘rot’ their bodies at will; no wonder Jason hadn’t wanted to join them for this meeting. She wasn’t sure of the details, but the young werewolf had once mentioned a couple of incidents in the past involving vampires rotting all over him and it had left him with a bit of a phobia.

At this point Anita became so flustered in her phone conversation that she began screaming all sorts of obscenities at her boss and threatened to quit. Jean-Claude shot her a dangerous look and rolling her eyes in return, she stepped out of the room. “Finally, it is my privilege to introduce the head of the Council, Dame D’Cauchemar, the Queen of Nightmares.”

The woman’s hair was so dark it was almost blue, her skin a shininite.ite. The eyes, however, were a flat black that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Practically since her arrival in this realm, Willow had developed an immunity to the bespelling quality of a vampire’s gaze, but as she looked into the dark pools of this creature’s eyes, she felt herself spiraling into a deep black well. The imposing figure stepped forward. Willow wanted to scream, to run and hide from this woman, but her feet seemed to be glued to the floor. An impenetrable cloud of dread flooded her mind. Just when she began to lose all hope of ever being free, her own magic flared to life like a hot wind rushing against her skin, blowing her hair out from her face in a fan of flame colored locks. When she focused her gaze back on the powerful vampire before her, her own eyes had gone inky black as well.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Willow said with deadly calm.

The angry witch slammed her power forward, not enough to injure, but enough for a warning. The Queen of Nightmares staggered back an involuntary step, before she caught herself and held her ground. Willow expected her response to be one of anger, but instead the woman gave her a cold, almost amused, smile.

“They told me you were powerful,” she addressed Willow as if she were talking to a small child. “They weren’t wrong. Sloppy, but definitely potent. You may be of some use to us, child.”

Willow opened her mouth to say something snide in return, but never got the chance, because just then Anita came storming back in.

“I have to go. Apparently every corpse in the city has decided to wake up and go for a little walk. Bert even had the nerve to accuse me of having a hand in it! I told him it was impossible, nothing could be powerful enough to wake every body in town without sending out a hell of a lot of energy to do it, and I would have felt it if they had. I’m not sure what’s going on, but the local police have contacted every animating agency in the area to ask us to help get these people back in the ground before they cause very much damage.”

All eyes were on Anita, trying to digest what she had just said, but it was the Queen of Nightmares who spoke first. “It is the Dark Mother; she has the power to do what you speak of.”

Anita shook her head. “No way. If it was one person, monster, whatever, that had done this, I would have felt it, like a supernatural bat-signal.”

“Non, ma petite, she may be right,” Jean-Claude countered. “In some of our older traditions, it tells of an army of the dead traveling before the Sweet Mother. Many have assumed this meant other vampires, or possibly plague, but it could also mean zombies. Perhaps her influence is natural rather than intended and therefore you did not feel it.”

Anita went very pale. “But that would mean that, that…”

“…That she is almost here,” Jean-Claude finished.

“Fuck,” Anita swore, but it lacked the conviction her expletives usually had. Then, a light seemed to go on in her eyes. She hunted around in her purse and finally fished out a battered old business card with a smile of triumph. “I need to make another phone call.”

To be continued…
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Healing Wounds