Never The Twain

By Zahir

Tied up and held prisoner by minions of evil, Willow tried to look on the bright side. Actually, this proved easier than expected. For one thing, the chair was comfortable. She'd been kidnapped enough to appreciate this. And the room where she was held was dry, well-lit, and had central air. The Mayor of Sunnydale might be a very, very evil sorcerer (or whatever) who had demons on the payroll, but at least he had a nice house. Willow had been in plenty of lairs before, and this was by far the most pleasing.

Of course the vampires watching her hungrily from the door interfered with her appreciation. But she was kinda getting used to them as well. If they hadn't drained her dry in the last hour odds were against them doing it anytime soon.

When the door opened she briefly hoped to see her friends rescue her. But it swung open at far too leisurely a pace. Rescues were never slow. They happened frantically, with speed all-important, depending on the sowing of the confusion and the distracting of the minions. Sure enough, it was the Mayor himself who entered, his chief Lieutenant by his side--a girl barely older than Willow herself. At least she looked little older. With vampires it was hard to tell.

"Miss Rosenberg!" The Mayor's voice was like the ultimate self-help guru. It matched his smile--warm and friendly, like Mr. Rogers in an Armani suit. "I'd like to welcome you to my little abode, but that would be a bit hypocritical, don't you think? Must provide an honest role model!"

"Okay. How about you tell folks how you're really a hundred years old and have been feeding them to demons all this time?" Willow was actually rather proud of this retort. She hadn't delivered it with much venom, of course. In fact, her voice had wavered, even cracked.

Still, the Mayor seemed to appreciate it. He chuckled. Willow found the sound a little disturbing. That the vampire guards looked nervous was even more disturbing, since they presumably knew their boss.

"Clever girl! But then, I expected no less. You know, if I didn't need you to trade for the Box of Abraxas your friends stole, I'd might try and recruit you. Some people have been known to call me a headhunter--and a pretty good one if I say so myself!" Again with the diabolically hearty chuckle.

"I won't be here long."

"Let's hope not." He nodded. "Well, see you later. So many atrocities, so little time and all that." He turned to go, stopping only as he realized his Lieutenant hadn't moved.

"Tara? Aren't you coming?"

"I'd like to stay here for awhile."

The Mayor shrugged. As ever, he seemed both purposeful and cheerful. "As you wish. Just remember our guest is still underage--and we need her intact for the exchange." With that he was gone.

Willow made herself remain still as the blonde vampire approached. Tara--so that was her name. Buffy and the others had taken to calling her Little Miss Cyclops because of the eyepatch. Now at least Willow knew her name. And the exact shade of blue in her remaining eye as it raked over her.

Tara gestured to the minions without turning around. Her fellow vampires obediantly stepped outside the room. Now they were alone. Tara, or Little Miss Cyclops, clearly wanted it that way. Exactly why was the question.

"You're pretty."

"Uh...thank you?" How to respond to a compliment from a vampire.

"Don't be afraid."

"Yeah, well, I'd like not to be--but this whole getting kidnapped and tied up then having a vampire stare at me--not that you don't stare well, 'cause you do--it's all kinda a little bit nerve-wracking. You know?" Conversation. That might be the ticket. Keep her distracted and whatever you do don't mention food or eating or especially drinking.

"Yes. I do know."

"Really?

"Before I was turned, my Sire kidnapped me. He chained me in a cave, fed me, talked to me for hours on end."

"Wow. That's...well...different. I guess. Anybody I know?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Great! With her luck that means Tara's Sire was one of the vampires Buffy had killed. Still, who' s to say that Sire and Childe got along? Maybe this wasn't going to be too bad.

The vampire kissed her. Willow could feel her eyes almost bulge out of their sockets at this unexpected bit of whatever. She fully expected to feel fangs erupt from the blonde girl's mouth as it grazed her own. But no, it was simply a kiss. And on a completely physical level, not an unpleasant one. More than a peck but far less than a passionate liplock. The whole thing lasted an eternal two seconds.

After that, the Vampire Tara turned around and left.

***

Later that same night, Tara hovered outside a seedy motel. This wasn't one of her usual haunts. One reason why happened after she'd been waiting nearly half an hour. Some stranger--drunk, most likely--thought he knew what a teenage girl would be doing in this part of town. He decided to take her up on what he assumed she was selling. Tara let him live. For one thing, his blood tasted foul--alcohol, nicotine, fat. And besides, she disliked as a rule killing her prey. It was short-sighted in a host of ways, not the least because it attracted attention.

Her would-be customer soon lay unconscious behind a dumpster, weakened by likely to survive. Tara paid him no more mind. Inside another ten minutes the person she wanted to see came in view...

Slender like a blade. Hair dark as raven's wings. Skin white as pearl. Every syllable of body language conveying what she so clearly was--a hunter. A killer. Not unlike Tara herself.

Faith. A vampire slayer. One of the Chosen.

"Good evening, Slayer." Tara's voice carried just far enough for the dark-haired girl to hear. And to respond by spinning into a defensive stance. "I didn't come here to fight." Tara stepped out of the shadows. letting the Slayer see her. She actually walked further into the light, cutting herself off from any possible backup. Faith, far too battlewise (even at seventeen) not to realize this, hesitated. Besides, she knew who this was--Little Miss Cyclops.

"You wanna die, you just keep coming."

Tara stopped. "Alright. I have a message. Two actually."

"Okay, I'm listening."

"The Mayor has your friend Willow Rosenberg. He intends to kill her unless you and the others return to him what you stole--the Box of Abraxas. What he wants to do is an exchange. The Box for your friend."

Faith continued to hesitate. Tara could almost see the wheels spinning in her mind. Attack now? Or agree? Or go get her allies? Or--yes, she had been paying attention. "You said two messages."

"Yes. The first was what I just told you. From the Mayor. The second is from me."

"Go on."

"You don't have to trade. Personally, I'd prefer it if you didn't. With a little bit of inside knowledge, you should be able to break into the Mayor's mansion and rescue Willow. The Mayor might keep his word and return her. Its even likely. But don't believe for a second he would hesitate to kill her just to be safe. Better if you don't trust to his good will."

Faith had listened to all this very carefully. "I thought you and the Mayor were tight? Best buds and all since Mr. Trick got dusted."

"He pays me. That doesn't mean I like the man. What I want is what's best for me, not whatever plan he has going."

Now all Tara could do was wait. Wait and see how the Slayer responded. They were in something of a standoff, and both knew it. But Tara had deliberately put the decision with Faith. She waited for a full minute. Then another.

"Okay," the dark-haired girl finally replied, "lets hear what you've got planned."

***

By sunset of the next day, Willow was thinking about parallel times. She was a prodigy, even sometimes teaching computer classes in her high school (which should have been illegal but never mind that). So she'd long ago learned about how the universe on a quantum level was in a state of flux, fixed into a specific state by the act of observation. In other words, looking at something determined what it was. Which brought up the intriguing possibility of other observers, i.e. alternate realities existing parallel to our own simply because the observers there perceived things a little differently. In theory, almost any possibility could exist.

Only Willow knew this was more than theory. A magic spell had let her meet an alternate Willow, one native to a Sunnydale wherein no Slayer had ever come. Details remained sketchy, but at least one stood out like a pillar of fire. That Willow had been a vampire--and more than a little interested in her twin. Interested in a sexual way. A very sexual way.

So Willow had been kissed by a vampire before. Another female vampire.

Yet this one's kiss had been different. Little Miss Cyclops--or Tara--hadn't been threatening. She hadn't hinted at rape or feeding or turning Willow into some kind of playmate. She simply kissed her. Then walked away.

I wonder why she walked away? Then Willow asked herself the next obvious question--why am I wondering why she walked away?

These questions distracted her enough she didn't even notice the crashing and banging that was going on outside the room. When the doors burst open, she was genuinely surprised at seeing Buffy and Faith, backed up by Xander and Oz. It even took her a split second to realize the truth--she was being rescued!

***

The vampire named Tara handed the Box to her boss, the Mayor of Sunnydale. His was a genuine smile at receiving it, like a local attorney getting that golfing trophy he'd dreamt-of for years.

"Well, Tara, you certainly deliver! And color me impressed with some highlights of grateful!" This time his chuckle was quieter, somehow more intense. "Did you have to kill anyone to get it?" he asked offhandedly.

"No. The Slayers and their strongest were rescuing their friend. Meanwhile, the others had relaxed, believing we had accepted a trade."

"Hm. I'll a little surprised you didn't take the opportunity to feed."

"I believe in self control."

"Good for you! Yes indeedy--good for you! And that's why I made you my number two after the loss of the lamented Mr. Trick. I think you've got what it takes for what we used to call The Long Haul."

Tara didn't say anything to that. She wasn't the type to talk that much. Besides, she had her own agenda.

"Oh, and Tara?"

"Yes?"

"I've got a little gift for you in the next room. Call it a bonus for service above and beyond." With that the cheerful infernalist took his box and left the room, humming "God Bless America." Tara waited until he'd gone before approaching the door where here Bonus waited. She was by nature cautious, but the fact is she couldn't see any reason to be nervous. Experience told her the Mayor was quite capable of generosity. He was also perfectly willing to destroy anyone or anything in his way. Yet it wasn't his way to be deviously cruel. If this was a trap, the style was not that of the Mayor.

She opened the door.

Her brother Donnie was trussed up on the wall. As she entered his gagged mouth cried out, while eyes pleaded (and ordered) her to help him.

Donnie had never been that bright. After tormenting her for eighteen years did he really expect her to be on his side? When she was nine he'd drowned her cat. At age seven she'd awakened to find her hair glued to pillow. In order to get Tara to do his chores Donnie had given her more bruises that she could count. Of course, all that had been Before. Before she'd become a being utterly at odds with the naive girl once called Tara Maclay.

Yet she still remembered every little torture her brother had so cheerfully inflicted. Donnie's struggles were growing now as she watched him and made no move to help. He tried to make himself understood through the gag. Tara thought she made out "Do something!"

With a smile, she allowed the demon to show in her face. Donnie's eyes bulged. They were still bulging as his sister drove her fangs into his throat...

***
Even Tara found the presence of her sire a little unnerving. He sat enthroned in an impressive library, surrounded by a wealth of occult knowledge, listening to her every word. She was still young enough to be impressed at how quietly an elder vampire could do that. But then, Tara found her sire just impressive, period. Most people did.

"You're certain the Mayor is no more?"

"Beyond doubt."

"In an explosion. How…scenic."

Off in the corner, the half-human Doyle took another swig from a bottle. Tara had noticed how squeamish he tended to be. But then, he was only half-demon. And her sire's personality had, she understood, grown only more intense by a few years spent in one of many actual hells. She felt a vague sympathy for Doyle. For his discomfort.

"Not exactly the work of the Lord, yer doin" he mumbled. "All this death and destruction."

"Oh, I don't know," began her sire. "It the Powers That Be wanted a healer, they'd surely have chosen another. Certainly not a vampire. As it happens, I have a perfectly reliable motivation. Wouldn't you agree?"

Doyle said nothing, merely returning to his bottle. Tara's sire gazed once more upon his favorite. She continued.

"The Slayers had armed the students beforehand. Once the Ascension began, I made sure the Mayor saw me fighting alongside them. He followed us into the school, then into the library. That's where the explosives were waiting."

Her sire chuckled in appreciation. "Good, good. Until now I've only vanquished pawns of mine enemies. Paltry younglings, minor predatory demons. With the Mayor, I at last remove a Knight."

"Yeah, well, you must be very happy." Doyle's voice was a tad more defiant this time. No doubt from the ale.

"Moderately pleased," murmured the once-dead vampire. "But I have time. My war has but begun."

* * *

Willow and Buffy enjoyed the sunshine as they strolled along downtown Sunnydale. The battle that had been graduation was behind them, with the vacation that was summer before. Each had slept in for five days straight, recovering from an exhaustion that seemed always to follow a near-Apocalypse. Now they meandered towards a late brunch to celebrate Wesley's release from the hospital.

"So, have you decided what to do about Tara…er, Little Miss Cyclops?" Willow wanted to know.

"With luck, I won't have to. She's probably skipped town."

"Probably," Willow nodded. "What if she didn't?"

Silence followed for a few moments, long enough for Willow to wonder if maybe her best friend hadn't heard her.

"I think" said Buffy at last, "I'm supposed to cut her some slack. For some reason."

Willow didn't quite know how to take this. Even stranger was her own reaction, which mingled relief with a few tingles of fear-not fear of death-or-dismemberment but something else. Something she couldn't identify. Yet.

"Um, mind if I ask why? Not that I'm questioning your decisions or anything…"

"I had this dream."

"Like a daydream? Or a sleepy time dream? Or was it one of those prophecy, gotta-pay-attention-like dreams?"

"Definitely pay-attention-like." replied Buffy. Then she stopped in her tracks. "Oh."

"What?" Willow looked at where her friend was staring. Then she joined in."

Coming up the main street towards them was a middle-aged man. He didn't seem extraordinary at all. Brown hair. Clean-shaven. Average height and build. In his hands were a stack of flyers and a tape gun. He methodically taped flyers to every streetlamp as he walked. They were the type of flyer both Buffy and Willow (along with countless others) immediately recognized. Each showed a grainy picture of a teenage girl, with the words "Missing" above and "Reward" below. A distressing number of such were already posted, each with a unique face, a different name, a separate set of details. These flyers caught the attention for one reason only. Because of the missing girl's face. Round and pretty, with simple blonde hair parted in the middle and reaching past the collar. Whoever had taken the photo had caught her smiling. To Willow, it seemed she had never smiled enough.

Both knew her at once. Little Miss Cyclops. Tara. The one-eyed vampire who'd betrayed the Mayor and so saved Sunnydale. Only in these pictures, she had two eyes. Willow found herself intensely curious about how the blonde had lost her eye.

The man posting the flyers noticed their reaction. He looked at them with an odd expression. A stern, tired mix of politeness and hope. One hand stretched out, a flyer offered to them.

"Excuse me," he said, "have you seen this girl?"

Willow's mouth moved, but said nothing. She shot a panicky glance at Buffy, then took the flyer to gaze at it. Maclay. Her name was Tara Maclay.

"She looks, well, a little familiar," Buffy lied. She hesitated before continuing. "Your daughter?"

H barely nodded. "Going to school at the University. What about you?"

"No. We just graduated from Sunnydale High."

"Ah." The slight reaction told Willow Mr. Maclay had heard something about the graduation ceremony, about the "street gang" and a "gas main explosion." He just nodded in sympathy, his attention obviously elsewhere.

"We've been visiting UCS campus, though." Willow piped in. "But...I don't remember seeing her. Exactly."

Mr. Maclay accepted this. Perhaps he already believed his daughter dead. Maybe he was one of those who can't bring themselves to hope, only go through the motions as if they did.

"Didn't belong down here," he sighed. "Shouldn't have let her come. But after everything, and when'd she get another chance?" For a moment his eyes burned, staring at some situation neither Willow nor Buffy could guess at. Moments later, he nodded politely and moved on. He easily had enough flyers to canvas the entire town.

They waited until he was out of earshot.

"Its not something we think too much about."

"What, Wil?"

"Vampires. Who they were before they became vampires. How much is left."

"Nothing." Buffy's reply was more than firm. It was tight, flat, even forced. Willow was immediately sorry she'd brought up the subject. Even after a year, Angel's fate obviously still hurt. More than hurt. When Angel lost his soul, it had torn Buffy apart and those wounds clearly still bled.

"So," she tried to banish away the memories with a cheerful tone, "you were talking about a dream?"

"Yeah," said Buffy, resuming her walk. "I was fighting like this whole battalion of vampires when the sun began to come up. They all ran towards this big mausoleum with a clock built in. Don't ask me why it had a clock, it just did."

"What time was it?"

"Seven thirty. In the morning, obviously. Anyway, Little Miss Cyclops" Tara Maclay, Willow nearly said, but didn't "was just waiting at the door. And when they saw her, all they did was stop and go poof in the sun. Except she didn't. Just watched the dawn, turned around, went inside. I tried to follow but the door was locked."

"Kinda weird."

"You're telling me."

"Um...maybe the seven thirty is a date? July thirtieth? Do you think?"

"Maybe."

Another five minutes and they reached the coffee shop where Xander, Oz, Giles and a slightly haggard Wesley were listening to Faith.

"Hi guys!"

"Shhhhh" insisted Wesley. "Faith is telling us about her dream. A prophetic dream, evidently."

Buffy and Willow looked at each other.

"Anyway," said Faith, evidently ending her story, "there's Little Miss Cyclops just looking at me after I dusted all these vamps, calm as anything. Just watching. Then she turns 'round and goes into the great big tomb. Locked the door behind her, too."

"That's the problem with dreams," quipped Xander, "never a key when you need one."

"Yes, quite," Giles dismissed Xander's crack with long practice. He turned his attention once more to the dark-haired Slayer. "Any other detail you care to mention? Something that struck you as odd, or stood out in some way?"

"Like a clock build into the mausoleum?" tossed in Buffy.

"Nope. No clock," said Faith. "Just these big letters spelling out The Apostraphe."

Everyone blinked.

"The...Apostraphe?" Giles was now blinking more than anyone else.

"Or something like that."

Wesley suddenly sat up straighter. "The Apostate?" Seeing Faith didn't know the word, he spelled it. She thought for a moment.

"Yeah, that's probably right."

"Is that a light bulb above your head, Mr. Wyndham-Price, or have I had too much coffee?" Xander actually spoke for everyone. Wesley's mind was clearly going a mile a minute. He only noticed everyone's expectant faces after a moment.

"You see," he began, "the Watcher's Council has been hearing rumors for the past few months of a vampire called The Apostate. He--or she, the stories aren't consistent on that point--is supposed to be very old and to have declared some kind of personal vendetta against demon-kind in general."

"Perhaps our former ally," said Giles "Tara, may be this Apostate."

"Not if she's supposed to be old," said Buffy. Willow put the flyer Maclay had given her on the table so everyone could see. Giles was the first to read it.

"According to this, she must have been turned less than a year ago."

Wesley shook his head. "On this point every whisper we've heard agrees. The Apostate is old. Centuries old. With the power and cunning that comes with it."

After a few moments of silence, it was Willow who voiced the theory nearly everyone had already arrived at.

"So maybe The Apostate is Tara's sire?"

***

"You want me to steal a piece of paper?" Faith's eyebrows lifted as she asked.

Tara nodded. She was pleased at the Slayer's reaction, how she reacted not to the idea of theft, but to the target. Much more likely to agree, then.

"Yes."

"What is it, a copy of the Pope's diary?"

"Actually, its a lost scroll inside the high security vault of a Los Angeles law firm."

Faith seemed to take this in calmly. "Why don't you steal it?"

"Their security is geared towards magic. Vampires in particular are detected instantly. I have lots more information if you take the job."

"Okay. And why should I do that?"

Silence stretched for several seconds between the two young women. Around them, the last patrons that night of the Bronze danced and chatted. For the first time in hours, nobody was playing pool. No band had been scheduled that night but even if they were it wouldn't be playing. Too late. Barely an hour before sunrise. One of the conditions for Faith to meet with a vampire.

"You owe me," Tara finally said. "Without my help you would very likely be dead. along with much of this town, including your friends."

"I'm not coming after you with any sharp pieces of wood, am I?"

" Plus you'll be paid."

"How much?"

"Five thousand dollars. And one other thing."

"Go on."

Again, Tara paused. When she spoke, there was a slight but real intensity to her voice. "Instead of you owing me--I will owe you." She leaned back, gauging the dark-haired girl's reaction. Faith herself took a sip of beer, thinking. Not rejecting out of hand. Good. Odds were good she'd agree. More than good. Excellent. Time to let her think it through completely.

"You know how to contact me." Tara stood. She weaved her way through the thinning crowd, headed for the back. Dawn wasn't that far away. She wanted to take no chances.

***

Tunnels criss-crossed the underbelly of Sunnydale to a startling degree. Old maintenance systems, abandoned fallout shelters, the occasional secret escape for old bootlegger. Tara knew them well. Most local vampires did. In fact, they acted as something of a Nosferatu highway. Usually, Tara used a different route to her lair each night. She'd been taught security by someone much older and more cunning. Tonight she made a very deliberate detour.

It was moments after sunrise when she got to her destination. Above her, the Mausoleum had been modified by someone she knew. It contained a wrought-iron cage for use three times a month. Each full moon. Like last night. Oz would be waking back to himself by now and then his girlfriend Willow would arrive to unlock him. Tara knew exactly where to stand. Closing her remaining eye, she focused all her now-inhuman senses.

Something was wrong. Not one but two heartbeats at rest drummed faintly in her ears from above. Tara took a deep breath, picking up the telltale but extremely faint order of intercourse. Yet the sun had only just risen. Oz alone had reason to be locked up last night, when the moon would change him into a mindless beast. Whoever was with him was indeed with him, inside the cage. Their heartbeats were so close Tara had trouble telling them apart. Another werewolf?

Willow. She and Oz were intimate. The curse was usually spread by a bite, but perhaps other acts could have the same effect. Or not. Love-making hardly seemed to involve self control. In a moment of passion, might Oz have bitten his lover? And this be the result? It made a kind of sense, in a way. The possibility even smacked of romance, sharing a fate and all. For that reason Tara herself had made a point of meeting every female vampire in the area. No one, after all, wanted to be alone forever. At least no one with any trace, however faint, of humanity. Tara's own efforts had been anything but successful--Sunday's sophistication had proven little more than a mask for her own unrestrained instincts. Like most vampires. Tara increasingly believed that creatures such as herself and her sire--perceivers of the world as something more than a larder--were extremely rare.

So. Perhaps for Willow and her Oz there would be a real future. This was good. If for no other reason than it meant Tara herself was not without hope of finding someone. Curious, she lingered for a few moments. What would they say to one another? She imagined for a moment what the redhead's voice would be like now, in the morning after such a night? Husky? A little girl whisper? Maybe a languid version of her regular voice?

Footsteps. Approaching. Of course--someone to let them out of their cage. But something seemed wrong...

Voices. By concentrating, Tara could hear each word.

"Willow..." That was Oz.

"Oh my God...Oh my God..." Willow. But she wasn't in the cage with Oz. Then who was?

"I know what you saw," Oz was upset. "It was...I had to--I had to lock her up with me." Oz was never upset. Until now.

Willow's voice was shaking. "I bet!"

Tara almost knew what Oz was going to say next. She was right. "She's like me. A wolf."

Of course. Oz had found another werewolf, a female. He hadn't been careless around Willow, merely...lucky? Or unlucky? For some reason Tara found her mind racing over what this might mean. Did Oz desire to mate with this other? Or now that he'd tasted union with his own kind, would he try to convert Willow? Might Willow accept or resist? Then again, perhaps they'd try to reestablish some kind of balance?

So engrossed was she with possibilities, Tara missed much of what was said.

"Girl's got a point." Who was that? Ah, the female.

"Leave." That was Oz.

"I was just saying--"

"Now." Oz very nearly growled at...Veruca. Tara recognized her voice now. The singer. Yes, that made some kind of sense. She could hear the singer leave. After a moment, Tara made a decision. She left as well, winding her way through the tunnels towards her lair.

***

Hours and hours later, Tara woke.

In the room below the clock tower of ruined Sunnydale High, she pushed on a lever and emerged from the secret compartment in the wall. Layers of curtains surrounded her on all sides, shielding out the sun. A dim glow was visible, but not enough to be anything of a threat. Tara headed down the ladder to the tunnels.

Tonight was another night of the full moon. last for a month. It would be tonight. Predators understood each other. Yes. Tonight. Reaching out with her senses, Tara sped through the catacombs. She headed for university campus, focusing on finding one of two heartbeats. Which didn't really matter since one would lead to the other. But she needed to do so before sunset. Otherwise, a priceless opportunity would be lost. Tara was not one to let such slip away. And unlike most vampires, she had a keen sense of the future. Precisely why so few potential immortals thought in such terms puzzled her, but she'd long since recognized that fact.

She stopped. Closing her eye, she focused. Yes. The tread of someone not quite human. A tread she'd heard before. Heading...where? Interestingly, she seemed to be crisscrossing the campus herself. A search pattern. No, a hunt. Which was all the confirmation Tara needed.

***

Trembling with an icy rage, Willow concentrated on her spell. Flames rose with her words, lending an eerie atmosphere to the deserted lab.

"I conjure thee, by Barabbas, by Satanas, and the Devil...As thou art burning, let Oz' and Veruca's deceitful hearts be broken."

Early in life, the red-haired girl had learned to allow few inside her heart. That way lay pain, and misery, and shattered hopes. By the time she'd been ten, a certain logic had made itself clear. Controlling others was not an option. She couldn't make others value intelligence over beauty or honesty over style. The only control she had was over herself.

"I conjure thee by the Saracen Queen, by the name of hell. Let them know no love or solace, let them find no peace as well."

Willow would have preferred to simply be incapable of feeling negative things like loneliness or disappointment. Since she could, the best option was to be choosy. To select only a small number allowed past emotional walls. None had gone deeper than Oz. So no one had the power to hurt her as much.

Already the magicks were infusing her system. She could feel it, like a pleasant fever. Or was it more like an itch, demanding to be scratched? No matter. Resolute, she lifted a picture of Oz.

Sweet Oz. Funny Oz. Betraying, hurting Oz.

"Let this image seal his fate, not to love--only hate..."

The picture headed for the flames. Once consumed, the curse would be cast. Her boyfriend (lover, friend, beloved companion) would feel at long last the full measure of her wrath. All she had to do was burn the picture. Toss it into the flames. Merely flick her wrist and release the energies building all around her. Let her hate take form.

Simply let him burn.

And suffer. Like her. Now.

Now!

Done! She deliberately put the picture aside, away from the flames. Power drained out of her. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Wow." A sarcastic voice invaded the room. "For a minute there I though you might actually play rough." Willow turned to see Veruca at the door. Shutting it.

"Sometimes you have to, you know. To keep what's yours." A feral glint shone from the blonde's eyes. "Sometimes you have to kill." With that she locked the door. Then she smiled an unpleasant smile, glancing at the window. "Well what do you know? Sun's almost down." Another smile, this one even less pleasant. Veruca looked hungry, and cruel.

The two almost circled each other for a moment. "Can't say I'm surprised you didn't go through with your little hex," Veruca sneered. The sun was fading, Willow noticed. Soon her enemy would change, become one of the most dangerous creatures on earth. A werewolf. Not even an animal. Because animals only killed to eat or defend themselves.

Or their territory.

Veruca knew it too, of course. Looked forward to it, obviously. "You" the blonde whispered, nearing Willow, "don't have the teeth!"

C-R-A-A-A-C-C-K!

The door burst open. Locks and hinges flew off. In the shadows of the hallway was a shape. A woman's shape with long blonde hair. Tara?

"Funny you should mention teeth," Tara said in a surprisingly quiet voice. She took a single step into the lab, stopping short of the sunbeams now fading across the floor.

Veruca looked at the new arrival, puzzled. Willow could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

"Hmm. Someone new to the dance?" A speculative look from Willow to Tara and back. "Looks like maybe I'm on Oz' side in more ways than one. And you're not as sweet as you pretend."

"Leave." This time it was Tara's voice that growled. Literally. Veruca nearly did a take. Then, she grinned.

"Hey, I like it rough. Gotta a feeling you do, too." The sun was fading more. Shadows increasing. Willow had no idea who would win in a fight between them. Once the sun set, both would be superhuman. Or inhuman. Weirdly, she found herself quietly cheering on the vampire. Or, given the circumstances, not so weird. Tara had never seemed interested in hurting her, not exactly.

Now the sun was gone. Veruca took a deep breath. She grinned as her teeth began to grow. Her eyes changed, going dark. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with something like glee.

"You smell funny," she growled.

Tara's face shifted, her one eye shifting from sapphire to gold. Brows furrowed, fangs erupted. "So do you."

With mutual snarls, the two demons leapt at each other.

***

Tara waited with Faith outside the Bronze. Neither said much. Both simply waited.

"Just for record," Faith finally said, "I do owe you. After last night."

"No."

"Uh...yeah! Its not like I got so many friends I wouldn't miss one."

"That's not why I did it."

Faith stopped. She looked at the vampire for what seemed like minutes. Before she could say anything a van drove up. They silently gathered their gear and got inside. The driver said nothing, simply waiting. Soon all three of them had seats. They were ready.

"Next stop, Los Angeles," muttered Oz as he headed for the freeway.

* * *

"How's that hangover coming?"

"Fine," mumbled Willow. "Going along its merry, nerve-shredding way. I'm not doing too good, though."

"Oh, Wil," Buffy murmured to her best friend.

"No, its okay. Really. The parade is winding down. People'll be by to clean up the mess any day now." The red-haired witch didn't, quite, whisper. But using her full voice was still a daunting prospect.

"Well," Buffy said, "at least you've learned that method of drowning only works on brain cells." She said this in a tone that experience said would earn a smile. But her friend didn't even react. Just stared into nowhere. Saying nothing for nearly a minute.

"I just wanted," Willow said at last, "the pain to go away. You know?"

"Yeah," said the Slayer. Memories flickered across her face for a moment. "I do."

At that, Willow looked up. "Was it like this when you had to...I mean...when Angel, or Angelus--"

"I think so."

The awkward silence that followed was broken by the phone. Although the dorm room belonged to both girls (for this semester, anyway), Buffy answered. Her roommate didn't even try. Buffy's "hello?" was soon followed by "Hey, Giles. What's up?" Willow barely noticed how the blonde's posture changed as she listened. What she did catch were Buffy's last words.

"I'll be right over."

"What?" She didn't say it, really. More like bleated the word. "Where're you going?" The Slayer was already slipping on a jacket.

"Faith is back. And no--" Buffy saw an idea spring into Willow's mind, "Oz isn't with her. Turns out she was on some kind of errand, and brought something back for Wesley and Giles. Anyway, I really have to go." She was already backing up towards the door.

"But do you have to go right now? Right this minute?"

Buffy didn't look her in the eye. "I'll call Xander to come over and keep you company."

"No." Willow's expression had gone from upset to sullen. "Don't bother."

"You sure?"

"Positive. I'll go over there myself." After another moment's hesitation, Buffy left.

* * *

"She ran off the first chance she got! Just ran!" Willow wasn't yelling but her voice still echoed in Xander's basement apartment. Both Xander and his girlfriend, Anya, flinched. "Like I was the dishes that can get washed tomorrow when there's time!"

"Wil," said Xander, "don't take this the wrong way..." He hesitated at the look she gave him. Then, "The last few days, you've basically been repeating yourself. After a certain point, well, what's Buffy supposed to do?"

"Be there for me! Listen to me!"

"Hasn't she? On both counts?"

"Xander..." whatever dangerous words Willow had been about to say were stopped when Anya interrupted.

"Faith's back, you said?" Anya, oblivious of many (well, most) social nuances, asked this in a very chipper tone. She took Willow's silence as agreement, missing the warning look from her boyfriend. "She's probably really really glad to have another Slayer around," she said, nodding as if this explained all. "Cause Faith's been gone awhile. Buffy's missed her."

"Yeah," Willow sneered. Xander did a take. Willow almost never sneered. "Those two should get married."

Neither Xander nor Anya noticed Willow's eyes as she spoke those words. How they literally glowed for the briefest of moments.

"Maybe!" Anya seemed to be taking this idea seriously. Willow nearly gagged, as usual annoyed at Xander's girlfriend but now seething. Unfortunately, the redhead knew her well enough to be cruel.

"Anya, you know what Xander should do for you?" Even Anya caught the venom in her voice this time. She looked nonplussed. "Buy you a pet. A pretty, little, cute, adorable...bunny." For some reason nobody understood Anya was terrified of rabbits. Her reaction was pretty much what Willow expected--her face lost every trace of color and and she stepped back, aghast.

"That's not funny." Anya shuddered. "Xander, tell her not to threaten me like that! Xander?"

He was shutting the door behind him, on the way out. "Xander!"

Anya looked back at Willow. "See what you made him do!"

"Me?!"

Further warfare was prevented by the phone ringing. "Probably Giles," muttered Willow as she rushed to answer it, beating Anya by about half a second. "Hello?"

"Ah, Willow."

"Hello Giles." Of course.

"I was trying to reach Xander."

"Out."

"Oh. Well, I was going to call you as well."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"Yes. Well, Faith, you see--well, she is back--and---and--well, I think you should come over here. Xander, too, if you see him. And Anya, I suppose."

Willow let out a long, exasperated sigh. "All right."

* * *

During the long walk from Xander's parents' house to Giles' apartment, Willow's mood mellowed. Even the presence of Anya (who'd taken far too long in writing a letter for when Xander got back) couldn't nudge her out of a funk. Anya wasn't blind. She realized her boyfriend's best chum was sad. The reason why was obvious as well. But all she could do was make what she believed were sympathetic replies.

Some of them even were.

"I know what you mean, Willow." Anya nodded sagely. She tended to do that on the subject of failed love affairs. "One minute he's the center of your universe, the next he's treating you like toilet paper."

"Actually..."

"Used toilet paper."

"Thanks for the image."

"You're welcome."

"But that's not what's getting me. Its--I don't know. Yes I do."

Anya listened. She really didn't have anything to say in reply.

"Okay, Anya. You have Xander. Between you there's the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. Buffy and Faith are both Slayers. Now that she's back Buffy'll spend more time with her. Plus maybe Buffy'll get her own boyfriend. Giles is...well, he's Giles. The point is, I don't have anybody who'd just there for me. Somebody who's mine, you know? That's what I want right now. Someone for me!" Neither noticed the slight glow in her eyes as she said this last.

They nearly walked into the figure before them, as if she hadn't been there one fraction of a second before. Willow did a take as she recognized the face of Tara Maclay.

"Oh!" said Willow.

"Uh, hi." said Anya.

"How did I get here?" asked Tara.

Willow and Anya looked at each other for a moment before the former tried an answer. "Plane?"

For the first time, Willow saw Tara smile. Hers was surprisingly pretty, if sedate. "I don't think so," she answered quietly. "Five seconds ago I was in Los Angeles."

Everybody took that in for a moment. The first one to think of something to say was Anya. "Weird." Followed by more silence. At last Willow decided to say something.

"Uh...I like your glasses."

Tara wasn't wearing her eyepatch. Instead, a stylish set of sunglasses--tinted ovals in gold frames--perched on her nose. The blonde vampire shrugged. "Less conspicuous this way."

"Guess so."

"How are you, Willow?"

"Fine!"

"Truly?"

"Well, not really. Fact is, I've been really down since Oz left, and--Thanks, by the way, for saving my life." Willow noticed Anya's unsuccessful attempts to subtly pull her to the side. "Excuse me..."

Anya pulled her over three yards away and whispered frantically. "Do you really think you should be talking to a vampire on a deserted street in the middle of the night?"

"Early evening," Tara called out to them. Anya's expression brought a grin to Willow's lips. She'd forgotten how good a vampire's senses were.

"If Tara wanted to drain me, she's had plenty of opportunity."

Anya didn't look placated. "What about me?"

Willow looked back at Tara, who actually cut quite a figure with her dark green trenchcoat under the street lamp. "Um, Tara?"

"Yes?"

"Promise not to bite Anya?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Thanks." Willow headed back to under the street lamp. Anya followed, albeit reluctantly. But once there, neither seemed to know what they should say. Tara herself had no such qualms.

"Either of you know how I was teleported back to Sunnydale?"

Two heads shaking as one.

"Any random magical spells occurring?"

Identically, they shook their heads again.

"But," said Willow, "we're on our way over to Giles. Maybe he's heard something, or has an idea, maybe?"

Tara nodded. "I don't mind."

"Of course there are a couple of vampire slayers there," piped in Anya, "but if that doesn't bother you."

"Faith got back alright?"

Willow found herself bridling a little at the question. "Evidently."

"Good."

"So--you and Faith are together? Were--were together?"

"Faith did me a favor." Willow took this in. She took it in for several minutes as the three young women--two living, one undead--made their way across Sunnydale. As they neared Giles' apartment, Willow started to speak again.

"Just so you'll know," she began, "Buffy thinks maybe you're a special case or something. For a vampire, I mean. What with you helping us and all, and because you saved my life. Thanks again, by the way."

"You're welcome."

"Why did you?" Anya asked.

"Anya...!" Willow hissed.

"I'd like to know!"

Willow looked back at the vampire. "You don't have to..."

Tara seemed to ponder the question seriously. "Actually, that's a good question. You're only human. A friend of a Slayer, no less. On the other hand, I'm a demon who drinks human blood to survive. Plus I'm exactly the kind of demon the Slayer, slays."

"Maybe," Anya suggested, "you were preserving a food supply? Like protecting cattle from stray wolves?" She smiled at coming up with this analogy. Willow stared at her. Hard.

"I suppose that might be it."

"Getting rid of poachers."

Tara shrugged.

"Maintaining your herd."

"I think," interrupted Willow, "that's enough."

"Of course," said Tara, "there's more to it than that."

"Really?" asked Willow. She looked expectantly at the vampire, waiting for an elaboration. Tara in turn looked at her.

"Aren't you going to knock?"

"Hm?" Belatedly, Willow realized they had reached Giles' apartment. With a nervous laugh, she rang the doorbell. A silence-filled moment later, Giles himself opened the door--and stared at their companion.

"Hi Giles!"

"Yes. Hello, Willow. And Anya. I...I didn't expect you to bring...anyone else." The Watcher actually looked more frazzled than usual, even more than Willow thought he might under the circumstances.

"My being here is a mystery to me as well," said Tara calmly. "Ten minutes ago I was in Los Angeles. Suddenly, I'm back here."

"Yes, that is certainly mysterious."

"WILLOW? IS THAT YOU?" Buffy's voice called from inside. If anything, Giles now looked even more distracted. The blonde Slayer's voice sounded giddy. She stepped--or rather, ran, into view. Next to her--hand in hand--ran Faith. And both girls were grinning ear to ear.

"Uh, hi Buffy."

"I've got news!" Buffy nearly bounced up and down. Willow noticed how Giles hastily plastered a smile on his face once Buffy approached. What was going on? In reply to her unanswered question, Buffy looked at Faith. They each wore mutual expressions of worship and joy. Faith was the one who spoke.

"WE'RE GETTING MARRIED!"

* * *

Tara watched the people around her feeling something she often didn't--amusement.

Over five minutes had passed since Faith's happy announcement and the confusion that followed. Giles hadn't wanted to invite her into his home, but Willow had insisted. He'd then done his best to be a polite if unenthusiastic host. This particular chair was quite comfortable. And it let her see Willow, whose ever-growing eyes simply would not leave the figures of Buffy and Faith. Both Slayers shared the same seat, and very nearly the same space. Their snuggling was enthusiastic enough to rouse a touch of jealousy in Tara. Anya watched them as she might a pair of interesting, colorful insects building a nest. Off in the corner, Wesley was pouring over a small hill of old books.

"So," asked Giles, "a teleportation spell, you say?"

"Presumably," answered Tara. "At least that would account for how I got here."

"Typically, that is a rather advanced form of magic."

"I know."

Giles stole a glance at Willow, who tore her eyes away from the nuzzling Slayers long enough to look indignant. "Not me! I haven't been doing anything to do with teleportation. Honest!"

"Yes, alright." Giles pondered this for a few moments. "Well, I suppose one question to ask is--what did whoever-did-this expect to accomplish? What does he or she gain from sending you here?" Tara shrugged. "Perhaps a better question--what were you doing just before you...arrived?"

"Feeding."

"Oh." The temperature in the room dropped.

"There are places you can go where humans gather who actually want to be bitten. Goths, mostly. A few masochists here and there. Its a way to feed without leaving piles of corpses lying around. Handy."

Buffy and Faith stared at her, apparently startled out of their spooning by this revelation. "That's kinda icky," declared Buffy. "Hey," said her raven-haired companion, "whatever floats yer boat." Buffy looked dubious.

"Yes, well--was there anything out the ordinary about your...this event?"

Tara thought about it. "No."

"What about your victim?"

"They prefer to be called donors."

"What do you call them?" asked Willow, an interested look on her face.

"Vampires have all sorts of names for them. 'Trick' and 'Slurpie' usually, but 'Cow' is getting to be common."

"How interesting," Giles said hurriedly, "but perhaps the specific...er, Cow..."

"Donor"

"Donor...in question might provide a clue?"

Tara thought about it. "Just a bored rich kid with bit of a blood fetish." She nearly gave a description of her Meal--slender, short red hair, maybe an inch shorter than herself--but decided against it. "A regular, actually."

"YES!" cried out Wesley from the table of books in back. "Confirmed! Giles--do you know what this is?" The younger Englishman looked as excited as Tara had ever seen him. In one hand he held a familiar-looking scroll. Good. All was going according to plan, then. Everybody looked as Wesley joined them, eyes ablaze.

"This," he said dramatically, "is the Prophecies of Abergion!" Mostly what he got back were blank looks. "They've been lost for centuries" he added plaintively.

"Good for you, Wesley," said Willow at last, "but we're on something else right now."

"I don't think you understand..."

"Wesley," Giles tried to intervene.

"...these prophecies are among the most important ever recorded. Armies have marched, kingdoms been destroyed over rumors of its location! I am having a bit of trouble with the translation, since its been transcribed from several extinct languages, some of them not even human, but with time..."

"That's good, Wesley," said Willow. "And you know, I'll be glad to help out. Later. But right now..."

"Not needed" interrupted Wesley with a smile. A condescending smile. One which did nothing for Willow's mood as far as Tara could see. "In fact, you probably aren't yet qualified to help with this level of translation. Given some time, and the proper assistance, I'm positive we'll have what it says soon."

"Fine." Willow didn't snap. Not quite. Tara managed not to smile. "But right now we've got a mystery to solve."

"Such as," the younger Watcher seemed to notice Tara for the first time, "why there's a vampire in the room?"

"Kinda."

"And why no one's killing it?"

"Wesley!" The redhead stood and glared at him. She was clearly furious, and clearly didn't really know how to be. "You--just--ZIP IT!" And then pounced back down to her chair. Privately, Tara thought she'd never looked cuter, all resolutely peeved and sorry but not sorry for it at the same time. Then, Willow's face changed. She looked shocked, horrified.

Tara looked to see what Willow and everyone else was staring it--Wesley. Specifically, his mouth. Even Wesley himself was nearly cross-eyed as he tried to get a better look at what just happened.

Instead of lips, he now had a zipper. A very firmly shut zipper. From behind it, a muffled whimper. He tentatively touched the metal weirdness where his mouth used to be. Then, he looked at Willow.

So did everyone else.

* * *

Wesley tried to talk and couldn't, then both Buffy and Faith tried to unzip his "mouth." They found out the hard way that...hurt. A lot. So Giles suggested aspirin, then quickly followed that idea with ice.

And Willow watched, quietly panicking inside. Tara sat beside her.

"Hey!" Anya's raised voiced got everybody's attention. "Don't any of you realize what this means?" She sounded almost terrified. Nobody answered, so she stamped her foot. "Willow did some kind of spell so everything she said is happening!"

"No I didn't! And, and even if I did--which I didn't--I don't have the power to do something like that. I don't think. Which I wasn't trying to do anyway besides its not like I go around wishing bad things on people. As a rule. Hardly ever. Really."

"Actually," said Tara, "it looks as if you are the one triggering the magic that's been happening." Her eyes gestured around the room, at the zippered Watcher as well as the two Slayers practically joined at the hip. "Maybe an unintended side effect of a spell you might not even have believed did anything."

"Oh."

"In which case, only you can undo it."

There was a knock on the door. Anya jumped. "No," she whimpered. "Don't answer it!"

Giles waved a placating hand at her while heading for the front door. "Noooooooo...!"

The front door swung open to reveal Xander, all smiles and holding something behind his back. "Guess what I got my favorite girlfriend?" With a terrible chill, Willow suddenly knew what he'd done. Just as Anya obviously also knew. He'd obeyed Willow's will. To the letter.

From behind his back Xander brought forth a small cage containing a cute white bunny. It wiggled its nose at the room.

Anya started screaming in terror.

Willow started chanting.

***

For what seemed like the thousandth consecutive night, Willow was alone. She didn't like it. The dorm room she shared with Buffy was comfortable enough, but at heart it was just a room. Temporarily hers. Right now unoccupied save for her lonesome. Don't do this, Willow nagged herself. You were invited to the party. Okay, maybe just because you're Buffy's friend although Riley likes you just fine and you could have gone. Xander is going. Even Anya is going. It being a party, of course Faith is going. So, why aren't you? Willow got up to get dressed. Then sat down. She'd done this three times in the last hour.

A knock on the door broke her mood. Who might this be? Someone looking for Buffy, most likely.

She swung open the door to a surprise. Tara. The vampire.

"Uh..." what to say what to say "Hi!"

"Hello."

"Buffy's not here."

"I know. May I come in?"

"You see, I don't know about that. Buffy, she'd get upset if I invited a...well, you know...into her home because, with the whole needing to be invited thing and all..."

Tara easily stepped inside the dorm room.

"Hey! How can you do that?"

"Dorms are public places, not homes. Like hotels."

"Oh." So here she was, alone with a vampire. No Slayer in sight. No cross or stake or... But Tara made no move to attack. Then again, she never had before. "Sit?"

The blonde literally sank to the floor, crossing both legs under her in a catlike motion. More awkwardly, Willow sat as well, facing her. The following silence seemed much much longer than it was.

"Welcome back to Sunnydale."

"Thank you. How're things?"

"Well, Buffy has a boyfriend now. His name's Riley."

Tara smiled slightly. "She and Faith didn't...?"

"No!" Willow felt her eyes pop open in embarrassed memory. "That was the spell and once it was gone, they went back to normal--or the way they were. Well, not exactly the way they were. Actually, they've been kinda avoiding each other. Some. I...I made everybody cookies." She said this last with an almost-firm nod. "Would you like some?

"Please."

It took a little of scrambling for Willow, eager to play hostess, to dig out the cookie tin. But when she did, Tara accepted the cookie with good grace, even complimenting her on it.

"So you eat food?"

"I can. I just don't derive any nourishment from food. Still, I can appreciate the taste."

"And you've already...eaten?"

Tara paused before saying anything. "Vampires don't need blood every day. We like it, but one of the reasons so few last is they can't control their hunger. Sorta like an impulse control problem. Of course, we're never more hungry than when we first rise, but that tapers off fairly quickly."

"Really," Willow tried her best to seem nonchalant about this. She succeeded far more than she believed.

"And there's the snob factor."

"What kind of factor?"

"Most vampires look down on animal blood, even though its a lot safer to get. Then again, maybe its a matter of taste."

"You like animal blood?"

"Sometimes. What would be a good analogy--its like comparing hamburger to porterhouse steak. You don't want to have one thing all the time. I don't anyway." This last was said in a lower voice. Willow was reminded of herself for a moment, of trying to explain to fellow students how study could be fun, or the interesting possibilities of certain softwares. She wondered if the society of vampires were really that different from high school? Do they have "in" crowds who are considered "cool?" If so, was Tara the equivalent of a spaz?

Was she like Willow?

Her musing were interrupting by the phone ringing. She picked it up and was anything but surprised at hearing Wesley ask for Buffy.

"Sorry, she's not here."

"Dear God, she hasn't gone to that gathering at Lowry House has she?"

"The party, yeah. C'mon Wesley, she deserves some time off. We all do."

"Unfortunately that isn't the point! Listen. I've been doing some research on the history of the campus and came across something that, well, is rather disturbing."

"Disturbing? How disturbing?"

"Lowry House used to be the equivalent of a private orphanage. Quite above board in its way, but just to be thorough I checked on the lives of those who'd been raised there. They numbered nearly two hundred. Forty had committed suicide, twice that number tried. Approximately half have been hospitalized in mental institutions for various lengths of time. Thirty three have had their children removed from their care by social services. Only twelve marriages have not ended in divorce."

"Uh, Wesley, that's plenty icky but I don't see..."

"Listen to this, then! One is in prison for nine counts of attempted rape. Attempted, because he found himself unable to--well, perform. Another tried to become a Nun, but never made it through her novitiate because she thought the convent too licentious an environment! They had to get a restraining order to keep her away. Over a dozen of the girls drifted into pornography, mostly of the sadomasochistic kind."

"Statistically, that is odd. Very odd." Willow's mind was racing, the pattern Wesley described taking an ugly shape.

"Then there's the manner of suicide. One housewife locked herself in a sensory deprivation tank to starve. And one of the men cut off his own genitalia."

"Oh my god!"

"Plus there's a remarkably high incidence of abuse, both receiving and giving. And that's merely the public record! Something happened in that house, something that warped the souls of those who lived there."

"Wesley? Isn't this the Night of Dislitu?"

"The demon of frustrated desires, exactly! A frat party, in that house, on this night, so close to the Hellmouth..."

"I'll get over there and warn her." Willow hung up and instantly grabbed her coat. She looked at Tara. "You heard?"

The vampire nodded. "I'm going with you. Lets just hope no one's having sex."

"Why?" Willow was startled enough to actually stop mid-stride.

"Sexual energy can be tapped as magical energy. It can even act as a lens, focusing and making stronger something that's already present."

That took about a quarter of a second to sink in.

"Lets go!"

* * *

Tara really didn't think she was being wise. From what she'd gathered, she and Willow were headed into what could easily be a supernatural disaster area. And as they neared the fraternity, she stopped having any doubts. Yes, this was a danger zone. And no, this was not wise.

Vines sheathed the house, choking every window and door. A few party-goers were still running away. As the vampire and the witch approached, a pulsing heat seemed to emanate from the house.

"Do you feel that?" asked Willow.

"Like a drumbeat on the inside of your skin," Tara nodded. She concentrated her senses for a moment. "Willow? Its growing."

"Great." Tara briefly wondered if Willow might be persuaded to flee from danger. She doubted it. "But, if its growing, that means something is feeding it, right?" Willow went on as Tara nodded in agreement. "And that something is probably...well..."

"Sex."

"Yeah. What happens if we--interrupt?"

Tara considered this. "Assuming we survive, that should break the circuit. Of course, the house probably knows that, or senses it on some level, and would try to stop us."

"Uh huh. I was afraid you were going to say that." Willow was nearly hyperventilating. But she hardly hesitated before heading for the front door.

I should let her go, thought Tara. Let her walk into the flames alone if that's what she really wants. Willow wasn't even a demon, much less a fellow vampire. Just human. But then, The Apostate had plans. And his plans needed the witch or at least might need her if the Prophecies said what he believed they did. Letting her die could not be an option then.

She caught up with her at the front door. The vines were not giving way, so Tara lent a hand--one with superhuman strength. Which seemed to work. Barely. At least she managed to create enough of an opening for them to squeeze inside.

The interior of the Lowry House looked...bizarre. Remnants of the party were scattered everywhere, but vines reached like tendrils over the floor, wall and ceiling. Half-muffled moans (or were they sobs?) echoed from all directions at once. Tara wondered if Willow could hear them? And the lights continued to flicker.

"Okay. Now what?" Willow sounded terrified.

"We find whoever's powering all this. Probably in one of the private rooms upstairs."

"Any idea about which room?"

"I think I might be able to tell." Willow obviously wanted to ask how, but didn't. The vampire headed upstairs, the witch behind her. Each step was deliberate, slow. Both kept checking for anything--literally. It would be nice to think the house hadn't noticed them yet. Tara didn't expect anything like that kind of luck.

"Thank you."

"Hm?"

"For coming in with me. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"Okay. For now. I'll tell Buffy and the others later, though. Hope you don't mind."

"Knock yourself out."

Tara barely had time to register the feel of the vine around her ankles when they began to tug. Swept off her feet, she tumbled down the stairs! A rib broke on the way down. Vaguely, Tara realized she'd nearly knocked over Willow. But then her attention was elsewhere. At the foot of the stairs, a dozen vines or so snaked towards Tara. Each moved surprisingly fast. Tara was faster. Unfortunately, there were more vines than she had arms.

Willow began pulling the vines off Tara. Must have run down after me, the vampire thought to herself. I wonder why? Not that she had much time to think of such as still more vines writhed their way towards her.

Now they were grabbing Willow. Damn!

Even thrashing with all her might, Tara couldn't prevent herself from becoming wrapped up in the ropelike vines. As they began to lift her off the floor, she saw Willow was already aloft, one arm and both legs bound with what looked like green tentacles. Tara let her demon face show and went into a frenzy. The vines snapped. Some of them, anyway. Not enough.

Snarling, Tara was raised up, left dangling less than a yard from Willow. But she didn't stop struggling.

* * *

Willow managed to control her own panic by watching Tara's struggles. They were titanic. In fact, more and more vines in the room were needed to hold the vampire at bay. Meanwhile, Willow noticed the vines were no longer tightening over her. Likewise, there was no effort to bind up her other arm.

She had an idea.

Perhaps not an idea so much as a guess. But it felt right. Very right. Now if she could just find a way to make it work.

"Tara!" Although no longer squeezing, the vines still held Willow tight. She couldn't raise her voice very loudly. "Tara," she called again.

At last the vampire responded. She looked across at Willow, who was extended her hand.

"Your...hand...now" she gasped. "Hurry."

For a terrible few moments, Willow feared Tara hadn't understood. Or worse, thought Willow was crazy. Then, she began using her strength to free one arm. The arm nearest Willow.

It took nearly a minute. But once done, she reached out with no hesitation. Willow did the same. Their hands met. Fingers intertwined.

Willow concentrated. She'd been filling the long lonely nights since Oz left with study. Classwork took too little of her energies so she'd redoubled her efforts at witchcraft. Now, for the first time, she hoped to put them to effective use. Months before, she'd managed to rewrite reality on a small but impressive scale. That had been by accident.

This wasn't.

She could feel Tara's support for her, a willingness to trust and aid. Unexpected in a vampire, but then Tara was an unusual example of her kind.

Energy flowed. In her mind's eye, Willow could nearly see it. From herself, a river of blue. Tara's was red, a deep and dark red. Logical. More importantly, their rivers met and merged. Like two floods meeting to create a tidal wave. And that was exactly what it felt like--a slow motion tidal wave taking place somewhere deep. Willow floated on the purple waters. She was a ship, a schooner upon the waves. And she was not alone. Beside her sailed another ship, a blood-red one. And Tara stoop upon the deck, looking at Willow. Energies swirled around them, as if they were inside an aurora borealis. Yet she could feel the light like a caress. Aching loneliness rose up for a moment, a sudden swell that threatened to swamp her ship. It hurt. Memories--of years spent alone, hoping for love that never came. Then hope rewarded, betrayed, dashed. Night after night of even more aching loneliness, that of love lost.

But Tara's hand clasped hers, not letting go. The vampire's hand was warm, even though she herself was cold. And the feel of her touch was an anchor to Willow. It allowed her to concentrate on the dark cloud that surrounded them. Bolts of lightning crowned that darkness, while emitting thunder. The thunder sounded like wailing. Willow gazed into that maelstrom and felt a pang of recognition.

Loneliness. Hunger. Anger. Pain.

Willow knew these emotions. She understood them. And so, she sensed, did Tara.

YOU...

A voice make up of voices, dozens, hundreds. Children's voices.

...YOU...UNDERSTAND...

They pressed against Willow like heavy winds. Whispers louder than screams.

...HELP...US...

"What do you want?

...GIVE...US...

"What? Give you what?"

The darkness creped closer and closer, like fog. A living fog. Or was it alive? It didn't feel alive, really. More like remnants.

...WE...NEED...WE...WANT...GIVE...

*Willow* It was Tara. Out of the fog her single eye shone. Somehow she reached out to touch Willow's mind. *Willow*

"Tara?"

*Listen to me* Her voice was firm. *These are echoes* Echoes? *Shadows of what happened here.* Interesting. Tara seemed able--at least here--to read her thoughts. *Yes* Oddly, she didn't feel threatened by this. *They have no will* No will? Of course--if the shadow was nothing but a reaction. *We need to focus*

Willow nodded.

...WE ...NEED... WE...MUST...HAVE...GIVE...US...

Together the witch and the vampire concentrated. All around them the darkness tried to close in. Yet a strange light emanated from the pair--a glow that proved fierce in the face of the hunger that surrounded them. The darkness didn't act like simple shadows. It seemed to drink the light, sucking at it as if parched and the light was water. Brighter and brighter they glowed, and the darkness drank deep.

Too deep.

* * *

With effort Tara picked herself off the floor and checked for Willow. The redhead lay sprawled next to her, groaning slightly. Tara sniffed. No blood. She placed her fingers against Willow's carotid artery. Good. Her pulse was steady if a little low.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Tara looked up to see Buffy racing down the stairs--axe in hand. She hastily stood.

"Checking her pulse. She seems fine."

The slayer's eyes were full of threats as she neared. "If you did so much as..." she growled. Tara didn't dream of interfering as she knelt to check on her friend. Soon enough she seemed satisfied as Willow stirred, eyes flickering open.

"...Tara?" Odd. How her own name became music when the right voice spoke it. Willow glanced around, seemingly focusing on her surroundings again.

"Wil? Are you okay? What happened?"

"Buffy...we came here after Wesley called. How did you get out?"

Riley joined them from the stairs. His clothes, ripped and stained green, matched those of Buffy. The machete in his hand was mostly relaxed. Interesting--he didn't know what she was. Tara's sire had become aware of the Initiative, which Riley belonged to--a government effort to control demons. Had he known what she was, he'd be far more alert. Indeed, everything about both Buffy and Riley (her boyfriend?) suggested the aftermath of a battle.

Tara wondered how long before either learned they'd had allies distracting the force inside the house?

"We ran about the time the weirdness started," Riley explained. "After a quick consult with Wesley and Giles, we headed back here."

"Yeah," echoed a woman's voice from above. Tara glanced up. Faith, the other slayer, was headed down. She was also in the last stages of putting her clothes back on. Well. One half of the house's sex battery identified. "I'm still not sure if I should thank you or not."

"Faith," said Buffy, "you might have died."

"But what a way to go!"

Also from above, a well-muscled young black man emerged, slipping on a t-shirt. Like Faith, he wore no shoes.

"Maybe," said the newcomer, "but I think I'd prefer lots of practice first."

Faith laughed. Riley grinned. Buffy looked tolerant, probably pleased that the house seemed quiet now. Tara noticed, however, the flash of pain across Willow's face as she listened. Yes. Being alone in a crowd is in many ways worse than being just alone.

Then, the redhead's eyes met Tara's. For a moment the memories of hands clasped and searing energies of joy eclipsed all others in the room. But only for a moment.

"I'm glad you're alright, Willow."

"Yeah, me too. I mean, I'm glad you're alright too."

"Excuse me," interrupted Buffy. "Anybody gonna tell me what happened with you two?"

As loaded a question as ever Tara had heard. She looked at Willow again, saw all kinds of things going on behind those eyes. But what she didn't see was what she found herself fearing--disgust.

"I think" said Tara "Willow can best explain. Meanwhile, I need to be going."

Without another word, the vampire named Tara Maclay headed away. She fancied she could feel Willow Rosenberg's eyes on her back, but was just a little too nervous to check.

After all, what if she was wrong?

* * *
"So what's going on? Do you know?"

Tara wasn't the kind to sigh in exasperation. She very nearly did anyway.

"I mean, something is up, right?"

"Probably." Tara had learned the hard way that she didn't have what it takes to banter with Harmony. Maybe if the other blonde wasn't all but disarmed in any battle of wits--but regret was pointless. She had only herself to blame. Harmony had been cute, and Tara feeling lonesome as well as hungry.

Now the former cheerleader (what was I thinking, Tara mused) was pacing a groove into the floor outside the Apostate's library. Tara herself simply stood, waiting. In truth, she was more nervous than Harmony seemed. But she never let such things show.

Just as she barely reacted when the door to her sire's library opened.

"Tara. Come in here." His voice, as ever, hummed with menace. Even Harmony could sense that. She backed up, trying as quietly as possible to leave the scene. Tara hardly paid her heed. Into the darkened room she walked...

She passed The Apostate (she knew no other name for him) going in. With something like courtesy he closed the door after her, then escorted her to the waiting desk. Seated beside it was a bizarre figure. His general shape was of a slender but muscular man. A few parts even looked like that's what he had once been. But roughly half of the rest showed a truly demonic heritage--scales for a start. The rest of him looked remarkably high-tech, as if one of his parents had literally been some kind of computer or robot. In short, he was a grotesque patchwork of man, demon and machinery--a fact made more obvious by the fiber optic cables running from his arms into a laptop on the Apostate's desk. As bizarre as her sire's visitor was, Tara found the images moving on the laptop's screen.

Willow.

At the Bronze. In the university library. Walking with her friends.

Talking with Tara.

Her sire's visitor gazed at Tara with unblinking eyes. "I've been thinking," it said, "about witches." Now it rose up, standing. She half-expected to hear hydraulics at the movement. "Witches," it continued, "are human, yet more. They are normal. At the same time, they partake of the paranormal. Like vampires, they are of two worlds."

On the screen, a new image suddenly appeared, this time with sound. Tara recognized the location--Willow and Buffy's dorm room. Evidently this had been taken with some kind of telephoto lens and sound enhancement. Willow's voice as well as the Slayer's were distorted by white noise.

"...go around freaking every time Faith comes near you. I mean, won't that interfere with the slaying and the working as a team?"

"Its not just me. Faith feels it too."

"Yeah, well, somebody's got to get over it first."

"How did you?"

"What?"

"Your vampire version--you said she was kinda gay. I assume she wasn't trying to get you to subscribe to Girlfriends magazine."

"No, she tried, or at least suggested--hard--that we could...anyway. What was your question again?"

"How did you handle it?"

Willow paused. "Honestly? I just didn't think about it at first. Then later, I thought about it a lot. Especially after Oz left."

"And?"

"And--I'm still thinking about it. Seriously."

So that's what Buffy looks like when shocked, Tara thought. "Wow, Wil. Just--wow."

"I haven't done anything about it yet..."

"That's--good! I guess? Or, is there someone you--never mind. I didn't ask that."

"Not exactly. There is someone, I think. But whether she even..."

"You don't have to go into details! Really!"

The screen turned an abrupt black, Willow's words ringing in Tara's ears. She did not, however, let that show in her face. While the...Demon Cyborg?...retracted its cables, Tara's Sire took his seat at the desk. Like most of his, the chair looked rather like a throne. Both creatures looked at Tara.

"You see, my dear," began the Apostate, "my guest has a plan that, frankly, intrigues me. But it depends on a certain logistical problem."

"The Slayer," said the Demon Cyborg.

"Yes. The Slayer." Whenever her sire mentioned that person, Tara noticed how volumes were going unsaid. This was no exception. "When the battle begins, the Slayer needs to be in the right place."

"Otherwise the battle will be too one-sided," agreed the Demon Cyborg. "What is needed is stalemate, an equal balance of forces. The problem is in placing her in the most advantageous location and at the appropriate time."

Every syllable Tara heard carried loads of meaning. She noticed how neither one of them were revealing what this plan actually entailed. Nor what the object of said plan might be. Precisely why equal forces were desirable also remained unsaid. But mostly Tara recognized a word that was very much at the heart of this plan. No one said it, of course, not yet. But the recording of Willow led Tara to guess precisely which word no one was saying, and in what way it related to her.

"What's needed," began the Apostate (Tara knew what he was about to say already), "is bait."

* * *

"Tara Maclay," said Wesley.

All those assembled around the young scholar listened to him, with varying degrees of tolerance. Over the past few year or so they'd gotten used to his stuffiness, as well as the arrogance that seemed part of the national heritage. They knew his heart was in the right place. And he was a genuine expert in the esoteric and occult. So now, as he proceeded to address them with an ancient scroll before him, they were prepared to listen.

Most were even willing to be polite. Certainly Willow was.

"Wesley," began Willow after several seconds obviously intended for dramatic effect. "Did you want to talk to us about anything in particular?"

"Yes. Tara Maclay."

"What about her?" Faith asked. Her tone wasn't even neutral. It conveyed all kinds of what-overblown-nonsense-are-you-going-on-about vibes. Not that Willow was entirely sorry about that.

"As...as you all know, I've been translating the Prophecies of Aubergion..."

"The scroll thingies Faith brought back from LA?" asked Xander.

"Who was O'Bergerac anyway?" added Buffy.

"Au-ber-gi-on."

"Right. So who was he?"

"It, actually," answered Giles. "A half-breed, whose father was a demon. Aubergion was born without genitalia of any kind, raised by a contemplative order of nuns in Southern France. It had a tendency to speak in tongues, which the Sisters jotted down."

"Precisely," said Wesley, trying to re-seize control of the briefing. "When Aubergion was twenty, demons attacked the convent. Only a single nun survived--the sister who'd been tasked with writing down Aubergion's visions. She recognized one of them as fortelling the convent's destruction." Xander raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Harris?"

"This Aubergion--he had no sex organs at all?"

Wesley and Giles just looked at each other for a moment, for once sharing an identical reaction. Then Wesley continued, "Aubergion's visions speak of a series of disasters or threats twenty centuries after the birth of the Crucified One. I think all of us can discern what is meant by that. Beasts, plagues and other dangers are mentioned, many occurring 'far to the west, beside the vast ocean of peace.' Which I take to mean the Pacific."

"So we're talking about ground zero being in this neighborhood," said Buffy.

"Exactly."

Willow spoke up. "But what has Tara got to do with this?"

"Good question. And I'll admit that what I have to say on that subject is rather speculative. Yet the prophecies mention one figure over and over again, someone who will smite the beasts and defeat the legions of plague, and so on." He paused for dramatic effect. "The Vampire With A Soul."

The room went utterly silent. Everyone waited for Buffy to say something. When she did, no one was surprised.

"Angel," she whispered.

"Perhaps," said Giles. "Or perhaps not. Remember Angel lost his soul, and had to be--well, the prophecy no longer seems to refer to him."

"Why not?"

"Because of the reward," answered Wesley. "According to the prophecies, the Vampire With A Soul will eventually be given back his or her humanity. That didn't happen with Angel."

"So you're saying," asked Willow "that Tara might have a soul?" She could feel her eyes getting huge but she couldn't help it.

"That would explain her rather untypical behavior. Helping the Slayers, saving you, the business with Lowry House. Not to mention the fact she's never taken any opportunity to attack us."

"Of which she has had...well, plenty," finished Giles. "Especially with Willow."

"How does a vampire get a soul?" This was from Faith.

"A spell?" Anya piped in. "Isn't that how Angel got his?"

Giles nodded, "The gypsies cursed him in revenge for killing one of their own. But that curse has been lost."

Willow spoke again. "Jenny thought she'd reconstructed it."

"It didn't work." Buffy's voice was very controlled. No, she did not like this conversation at all.

"Ah!" said Wesley, "but Willow was the merest of novices when she tried invoking it. For all we know she simply lacked the raw power with which to complete the spell."

"Or maybe," added Anya, "her aim was off. Instead of giving Angel his soul, she accidentally gave it to Tara."

"No." Willow shook her head. For Buffy's sake at least she had to nip this idea in the bud. "That spell didn't work. I know. Besides, Tara showed up at Sunnydale the next fall. She enrolled in classes, moved into a dorm, was seen in daylight. She didn't disappear until later." Aware she was getting some speculative looks, Willow added "I did some research after we saw her Dad putting up posters."

"Is there any other way she could've gotten her soul back?" asked Faith. Giles and Wesley looked at each other. "You don't know."

"More accurately, we are not sure. At present." Wesley did his best to make this sound authoritative. He succeeded rather better than Willow expected.

"The point is, according to the prophecies there is--or will be--a vampire with a soul," added Giles.

"And there aren't any better candidates," finished Xander.

"Precisely."

An uncomfortable pause followed, broken by a knocking at Giles' front door. He went to answer it. Soon, Willow heard a voice she hadn't in nearly a year. Frankly she'd hoped never to hear it again.

"Is the Slayer here?"

"How did you--that is, yes. But why would you...?"

The all-too-familiar voice interrupted. "I've got to tell her something. Right now! It's way important!"

Buffy was already on her way to the front door, followed by Faith and Willow. None had any idea how Harmony of all people would know what a Slayer was--much less want one. Yet there she was, looking arrogant and lost at the same time. Some things just didn't change.

"Buffy!"

"Harmony, what do you want?"

"Oh, and Willow! Good!" The irritating blonde dug something out of her purse. A computer diskette. "She said I was supposed to get this to you."

"Who?" This from Buffy.

"To Willow, not you," Harmony sniffed. "Tara said you'd need this."

"You know Tara?" Willow blinked.

"Of course! In fact, she madly in love with me. That's why she trusted me with this very important errand. Unless I heard otherwise I was get this disk to Willow Rosenberg as soon as I could tonight." Harmony smiled with pride at a job well done. It took her nearly five whole seconds to remember she still had the disk in hand, then quickly hand it over.

"So why were you looking for Bee?"

Harmony looked down her nose at Faith (which took something like skill, seeing as she was the shorter). "Duh. They are roommates. Among other things."

Buffy's jaw dropped. So did Willow's. They started talking together.

"You think me and Wil?"

"Tara's in love with you?"

Harmony looked very confused. Willow recognized that look. The ex-cheerleader had worn the same expression in most classes for four years in high school. "You're confusing me," she whined. "Besides, there was something else."

Everyone waited. Harmony said nothing. Finally she cringed under the stares of the three young women and one man. "Yeah, Tara said you should know some guy named Riley was nabbed by someone named Adam."

* * *

Tara was nearly insane with hunger. One of the other vampires, in a cell across from hers, had gone all the way. He'd nearly gnawed off his own hands in an effort to drink his own blood. After he'd passed out, Tara stopped her pacing and crouched in a corner. She marshaled every drop of willpower to hold on. For the thousandth time she crushed the idle wish that she'd fed before being captured. Unfortunately she had not, and now the starvation was eating away at her mind.

She was no longer completely sure her name was Tara. It might be Willow. That felt right but not, somehow. Just as she was fairly certain there had been a plan. But what was it. The unconscious vampire across from her twitched. She wrestled with the urge to hurl herself in his direction, to satiate her thirst with his blood. Only the knowledge that not one but two walls lay between them stopped her. For now. Remembering the walls were there took effort. She focused on her initial efforts to break them. How utterly she'd failed.

Now she waited. For something. Anything. Conserving her blood for as long as possible while the hunger grew. She didn't know if the decor--white and sterile with fluorescent lighting--was intended to torture. Perhaps not. Still, it resembled day too much for any vampire to be comfortable. Especially a vampire on the verge of losing it.

How long she waited was impossible to say. Each second seemed to last weeks. Yet nothing changed. Nothing.

Nothing.

NOTHING!

Trembling, the vampire named Tara (or was it Willow?) forced herself back into the crouching position. Wait. Must wait. Why? Because...that's the only chance. The only hope. Hope. What was that? Where was it? Not here, certainly. Or was it?

Like an animal, Tara knew instantly when something changed. The mildest sound, like a muffled click, awoke her senses. Sure enough, the walls of her prison--began to move. And not just hers! Already her demon face had emerged, while Tara launched herself to the wall. It was rising slowly. Down the hall, she could see other walls rising, and weird shapes practically jumping up and down behind the glass. Red lights began flashing along the corridor.

Soldiers began pouring into the corridor. Only a few. All Tara could see were walking bags of sweet blood. One of them got to close to rising wall. A barbed tentacle reached out to seized him by the leg, dragging him towards other waiting tentacles. The soldiers opened fire, trying to save their own.

A mistake.

The other walls were soon high enough for all the prisoners to get out. Including Tara. She joined a small wave of creatures--claws and scales, hooves and forked tongues--racing towards the badly out-numbered soldiers. Most probably wanted escape with a little bit of revenge on the way. Not Tara.

Bullets ripped into her.

They felt like bee stings. Both she and another demon--some distant part of her mind identified it as a marrow-sucker--literally tore a weapon from one soldier. He tried to fight them. But the other twisted his head off. A gusher erupted from his neck. Tara caught the blood in her open mouth and drank. Delirious with the taste, she let herself be pushed aside as others copied her, and marrow-sucker began dismembering the limbs.

One look told her the other soldiers were retreating. Snarling, she followed. Nor was she alone.

She and two other vampires grabbed one soldier. Three sets of fangs tore into his veins. When Tara finally stopped drinking, it was because the man's body was a dried husk. But at last, at long last, her hunger was under control. She knew who she was once more. And why she'd been sent here.

The underground complex had clearly been built into natural caves. A central cavern was where most of the fighting was. Tara moved from one defended position to another, aiming herself for a specific goal. Halfway there, she found a scientist (well, she was wearing a lab coat) cowering and hiding. Unlucky for her. Tara needed all the strength she could get. Once her victim died, Tara tossed the corpse in the direction of main fighting. No doubt some of her fellow demons would be just as hungry as herself and find a use for all that flesh and bone. Besides, it was a good distraction.

She resumed looking.

There. Just as her Sire had noted. A door which led to the another door which led to the secret lab. Heading through it right now were the very people she'd expected. Both slayers, Giles, Xander--and Willow. Of course they were fighting they way to that door, Buffy and Faith leading.

A familiar-looking insectoid shape was approaching them from the side. The slayers, each wrestling with another demon, were distracted. So Tara looked around. A severed arm, hand still clutched a pistol, lay nearby. She snatched it up and ran.

Less than five yards from Willow, Tara yelled "Down! Get Down!"

Willow at least did exactly as she said. Giles and Xander, to give them credit, copied her almost immediately. Faith and Buffy finished their own fights just in time to see Tara empty a magazine into the She-Mantis. It shrieked before collapsing.

Curiously, Xander mumbled something about "Again?" Tara didn't have time to try and puzzle that one out.

"Are you alright?" Willow nodded as Tara helped her to her feet. The others were giving Tara looks that were mixed to say the least. But Buffy and Faith refocused quickly.

"This way!"

All six of them made it to the door without much more trouble. Once inside, Giles insisted the door be baracaded. Tara helped.

"You do have a plan, I hope?"

"As a matter of fact, we do, yes."

In moments nearly every piece of furniture lay blocking the door. Sounds of combat--gunfire, screaming, growling, a few impossible to identify--were muffled. But Faith and Buffy were already headed for the secret door. Willow, along with Giles and Xander, began to prepare for what Tara recognized as some kind of spell.

"Tara?" Buffy's expression was even more deadly serious than it had been. "Are you with us?"

"Look at where I am."

"Good enough. Here's a job for you--protect Willow and the others."

"Done."

"Okay." With that the two Slayers headed into the secret lab. Silently Tara wished them luck. Turning back, she noticed Willow's eyes on her.

"Um, can I ask a question?"

"Go ahead."

"Are you really in love with Harmony?"

Giles looked distinctly annoyed at Willow for asking this. Even Xander did a take. Tara herself was shocked.

"Where would you get THAT idea?" Her tone made the answer obvious. Willow just shook her head as if to dismiss the whole idea.

"Never mind." She returned to her spell.

And Tara took her place as guard.

* * *

From the shadow of the trees, Tara watched as Riley left the house, the Summers home. Not surprisingly, those parting from him at the door were Buffy Summers and her mother. She waited as the soldier (ex-soldier?) went to his car. One minute later, he was gone. And Tara herself had edged near enough to the front window for her to listen.

In the living room was what Tara thought of as The Core Group. Buffy herself, with Xander and Giles. And Willow. Buffy's mother was headed upstairs, obviously tired. Faith, looking exhausted, went ahead of her.

Neither Wesley nor Anya were anywhere to be seen. Somewhat amazingly, all of the Core Group appeared jazzed. They might have just awakened after a week's sleep instead of returning from a no-holds-barred combat with dozens of hellish monsters. Xander was even loading a video tape for them to watch--the first of a small pile. Clearly, none of them planned to sleep anytime soon. Indeed, all were settling down with popcorn.

Tara left them to their movie-fest. Winding her way through the (mostly) deserted streets of Sunnydale, she pondered her own behavior. She clearly found Willow attractive. Alright. There was no threat in admitting that. But more than attractive? Yes, that held several dangers. For one thing, demons and humans rarely mixed well. When they did, the demons in question were almost never her own type--predators who fed on something inherent in human flesh. In her case, blood. Beyond all the problems inherent in theoretical human/vampire relations, there were the difficulties involving this specific human and this equally specific vampire.

Willow was a friend to not one but two Slayers. Plus she showed signs of being a powerful witch.

Meanwhile, Tara herself was not simply a vampire. She too had some skills in magic, but more importantly she was the favored get of an ancient and powerful being with definite plans for her. Mentally comparing Willow to her sire made Tara shudder inside, at least slightly. The Apostate was--awesome. And evil.

It added up to making any fascination she felt for the red-haired witch a terrifically dangerous complication.

As Tara walked in the night that was her home, her ally and her feeding grounds, she pondered complications. What they might portend. Their costs. And what might--might--make such costs a worthwhile price she'd be willing to pay. Her walk back to the Apostate's lair took far longer than usual.

* * *

"Doesn't it seem kinda--too much?" Willow tried to relax in the seemingly vast space in the back of the limo. She nearly succeeded.

"C'mon, Red. Relax, already!" Faith and Buffy were seated across from her. Weirdly, both wore identical military fatigues. The ponytails (since when did Faith wear ponytails?) were a another touch that just seemed wrong.

"Yeah, you don't want to be late for class," added Buffy.

True. But Willow found it hard to concentrate on Film History. For one thing, was a limo really the way she wanted to show up on the first day? And for another, the tinted glass was more like shiny black marble. Nothing at all was visible through it, making the interior of the limo somehow more unworldy. So she cracked open a window for a peek.

Glare. Near-blinding white light. Only a few details to be made out before she rolled the window up again.

"Uh...guys?"

Both Slayers looked at her, each identically cocking her head to the right.

"Any reason we're going to class via Death Valley?"

Faith looked at Buffy. Then Buffy looked at Faith. "We don't know yet," they said in unison. Both resuming looking at Willow.

To her horror, Willow was late to class. She tried to sneak in, which wasn't too hard since the lights were out and the projector running. On the far wall flickering images of a movie were visible. That made sense.

If only the movie did.

A black and white image of Adam was in what looked like an equally black and white castle, surrounded by cheesy lab equipment. Wesley and Riley, in lab coats, stood to one side. The latter held Buffy in his arms. She was wearing a long elegant negligee.

"You go," grunted Adam on the screen, gesturing to Buffy and Riley. They made their way out. "You stay." He pointed to Wesley and another figure--a woman in long robes and weirdly high hair, tiny bolts sticking out of either side of her neck. Somehow the fact this woman was her mother didn't upset Willow so much as the fact she hissed.

"We belong dead," grunted Adam, throwing a switch and blowing up the castle.

Then the light came up. Willow blinked, certain she'd seen something scurry from behind the screen just as the credits had begun to roll. But then the nature of classroom registered, taking all of her attention for now.

She was on a soundstage, with a set in one corner and the rest filled with lights, cables, cameras, etc. The school desks of course didn't belong. But strutting in front of them all was Giles, in cavalry boots and a beret. "Right everybody! Enough homework. Time to shoot the climax of our film! If we get it right the very first time, then we'll be able to secure funding for the rest. If not, I'm afraid you'll all have to sell your kidneys on the black market. Any questions?"

Oz lifted his hand for recognition. "No, Mr. Osbourne we are not going to do THE WOLF MAN." Oz put his hand down. "Right! Then lets prepare. Everybody hide. Save for our star, of course. And the make up and costume people. Ladies and Gentlemen, a big hand for the lady upon whom all our hopes and dreams of happiness rest--Willow Rosenstein!"

Everyone burst into applause.

"Uh...that's Rosenberg...guys?" At a gesture from Giles with his riding crop, Harmony and Cordelia picked up Willow's chair and carried it over to the makeup area, with Willow in it.

"Do you think she's up to it?" inquired Harmony.

"Of course not," answered Cordelia as she put a sheet up to Willow's neck. "She's just pretending like always."

"Maybe that'll be enough." Harmony was now applying foundation to Willow's cheeks.

"It had better be. We'll all die if she screws up even the tiniest little bit."

Willow was speechless at this last. She tried to talk but couldn't. And she could feel her eyes getting bigger.

"So one flub of one line..." asked Harmony.

"...and thousands of innocent people suffer horribly." Cordelia nodded.

"But, but...Why?" Willow finally found her voice. "I mean, if so much is riding on this, shouldn't you be showing me a script?"

Cordelia and Harmony looked at Willow as they might a pair of not-quite-right shoes.

"Okay," said Harmony. "One hint."

"You're the lead in a great and wonderful love story."

"The kind of love that overcomes all obstacles."

"And neither of you so much as breathes in the direction of anybody else."

"You can that, right?"

Willow knew what to do now. Panic. In fact, she was just about to try fainting when Cordelia and Harmony pulled off the sheet and stepped away so she could see herself in the makeup mirror.

She was sheathed in black and red, including a far-too-tight corset that managed to create quite a bit of cleavage. This was an outfit she'd seen--in fact, worn--once before. Likewise they'd paled her skin and attached some kind of prosthetic to her forehead. Willow couldn't remember them doing that. But they must have. Just as they must have put in yellow contact lenses in her eyes and slipped fangs into her mouth. Otherwise, why would she look like a vampire?

"PLACES!" bellowed Giles.

Anya scurried up, Xander in tow. "Gotta get our star to the set!" said Xander happily.

"I could've played the lead, if only you hadn't slept with the director" hissed Anya.

"Wait! I didn't! Did I?" Willow was pulled along to what looked like a Victorian-era bedroom. The huge four poster had translucent red curtains. Buffy and Faith were escorting someone else onto the set. Tara. Only Tara was in a remarkably sheer white nightgown. Remarkably sheer. Able-to-be-remarked-about enough Willow could almost see her... No, she actually COULD see...

Giles put his arm around Willow.

"Ah! The star at last!"

"Giles? Anya just said something. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't true."

He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You know, you can't possibly hide forever. Everyone already knows." Then he turned to everyone else and started speaking through a megaphone. "All right, everybody! This is it! Our long-awaited remake of the 'The Wizard of Oz' is about to begin." Willow gaped at him. "I personally think all the added gore and explicit sex scenes will make it irresistible as a family picture. Let's get rolling."

"Giles!" begged Willow. "I haven't even seen a script!"

"Don't worry it'll all come to you," he said without focusing on her. "Just slink your way over to the bed, and bite your willing victim who even now eagerly awaits her demon lover."

"Oh. So I don't have any lines?"

"Not in this scene. But you have all of them in all the others. Hop to it!" As he was saying this, Giles placed Willow in a specific spot on the set, aiming her towards the bed. He then hurried off to check with Xander, operating the camera, and Oz doing sound.

Willow waited. She looked at the bed, and waited. After a moment or two, she began thinking about the scene and what she'd do. How to part the curtain. What Tara might look like, strewn across the sheets. Nightgown open at the neck. She allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to see desire in the vampire's face. Desire for her. Of course, for the purposes of the movie it was Willow who was the vampire.

"LIGHTS! CAMERA! ACTION!" Giles commanded.

Okay. This was it. Willow did her best attempt at slinking. In fact what she did was pretend to be her vampire self. Not too hard. The distance to the bed was not great, but every step seemed a mile at least. She hesitated at the curtains. Through them she could make out a shape, reclining on the bed. Tara. Waiting for her. For Willow. Her demon lover who would feed from her. Willow put one hand on the curtain, feeling the texture, its weight. Allowing herself a few moments to dwell on the fantasy, Willow imagined what it would be like, to pull Tara into her arms, to leap onto that body. Running her fingers along the curtain, she found the opening. Waiting for me, waiting for me, she thought to herself. Her hand gripped the curtain's edge. A tiny moan. From where? The bed.

Waiting for me.

In one tug, Willow pushed aside the curtain.

Tara's dead body lay sprawled on the sheets, a wooden stake protruding from between her breasts. It looked obscene.

Some kind of dark, ragged figure leapt at Willow.

"Guy! Help me! Help!" she managed to gasp out as the strong figure pinned her down. It bit into her neck. And from that point a weary coldness spread through her body. Willow felt as if she was aging, withering, losing all of...what? Something important, that was certain. As she ceased struggling, faint echoes of despair were in her mind.

From a distance, she heard Giles say "Cut! Print!"

* * *

Tara watched Willow. She seemed distracted. The Slayers and their Watchers were off in the corner of the Bronze, talking with Doyle. Although they didn't really trust Tara, she realized they were willing to listen to her. So maybe her introduction wouldn't compromise the halfbreed with them. But Willow, getting a drink, wasn't looking at them. Her eyes were on Xander and Anya, dancing.

"Are you alright?" Willow almost jumped. Tara hadn't meant to startle her.

"Oh! Yeah. Pretty much. I'm okay. Just..."

"What?"

"I had a really, really weird dream."

"Was I in it?" Tara nearly kicked herself for saying the first thing that came to mind.

"You were, yeah. I was a vampire and you were my victim. Only it wasn't realistic. All Hammer Horror-ish with the cleavage and stuff."

"Cleavage?"

"Yeah. There was cleavage."

Tara could feel the ghost of a smile on her lips. She changed subjects. "Any idea when Buffy's boyfriend will be back?"

Willow nodded. "Tomorrow."

"Good."

"So I guess me and Faith'll be spending more time together. We're the unattached ones. Except Faith's kinda a loner. And she doesn't really get the stuff I like."

"Like witchcraft."

"For instance." She made no move to leave Tara's side.

After another few moments, Tara got up the nerve to ask "Would you like to dance?"

* * *

Garbage dumps were one reason Tara was glad she didn't have to breathe. Like this one. Unfortunately, talking did require her to inhale so she remained silent. And hoped no one asked her any questions.

"No offense, Buffy," whispered Riley from several yards away, "but why is she here?" Being a vampire, Tara had little difficulty hearing this exchange. Also, little trouble figuring out who She was.

"Weird, I know, but she keeps helping out."

"For how long?"

"Good question."

"So...?"

"We keep an eye on her. Besides. Wesley and Giles have this theory. I'll get them to explain later."

Tara thought to herself she'd try and eavesdrop on that conversation as well. Meanwhile, she circled another small hill of refuse. Mostly what she found was rats. Lots and lots of rats. Good to know if she was ever really hard up for blood. Really, really hard up. By now she was nearing another group in the party. Xander and his girlfriend Anya. Their whispers were just as easy to overhear from the darkness.

"Oh, yeah," Anya was going on, "blood sucking demons always hang out around Slayers, saving their lives even." Is anybody thinking about the demon that attacked Giles, Tara thought to herself? Isn't that why we're here?

"Like I said, she's got some kind of agenda. A secret plan. And I'm sure Buffy realizes that and is just biding her time." Not for the first time, Tara mused how Xander was much more intelligent than he let on. His theory was even right, as far as it went.

"Xander."

"What?"

"Willow."

"Yeah? What about her?"

"She's the reason Tara is always hovering. Tara likes Willow.

"Everybody likes Willow."

"Xander--she wants to have sex with her."

It was uncomfortable to hear that spoken so nakedly. Still, Tara got a little bit of a distracting pleasure as Xander tripped and fell. Anya of course helped him up again, amid various "ow's" over the pain and "ick's" over what he'd fallen into. Given that Anya's own arm was in a sling she did a good job.

"Are you okay, Xander?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Ankle needs some R & R but the rest of me is fine."

Anya's hugging of him ended as she pulled away, wrinkling her nose. "You stink."

"Here, how can you tell?"

"DEEEEEMON!" Willow's voice echoed. Xander and Anya forgotten, Tara ran in that direction. Never mind going around the piles of garbage. Using supernatural strength she scrambled over them. There! Willow was running from a bald robed figure. He looked the color of charred wood, with with eyes and veins like lava. And in one hand was something like a staff, or maybe a wand. The staff rose and pointed at Willow, now racing in the direction of Buffy.

Tara was closer. She sprang into the space between the demon's staff and Willow. Just in time.

* * *

Willow expected to feel something all burning or maybe lightning-like, or both, especially after hearing the thunder-like discharge from the demon's staff. Behind her there was a flash of eldritch light. Yet nothing happened. The expressions on Buffy and Riley's faces coming up on her looked...odd.

She turned around.

Two figures were getting up off the ground. One she recognized easily enough as Tara. But she'd never seen Tara move so tentatively, to look around her so lost. The vampire looked at her hands and began to tremble. Willow took a step towards her then stopped as a strange sound came from Tara's mouth. It seemed to be a...sob?

Meanwhile the Other figure had launched itself at the demon with the staff. It was as if a bodybuilder had a rabid leopard jump on him. Snarling, the Other literally tore open the robed demon's throat. The slurping noises that followed were disgusting.

Watching this, Tara actually whimpered. Willow stared. Since when did vampires whimper?

Now the Other looked at them full on for the first time. Not a pleasant sight. Leathery dark skin with a v-shape of jagged horns along the forehead. A snout-like nose above a befanged mouth, now dripping with gore. Pointed ears that drooped slightly in a distinctly bestial way. Only the eyes seemed even a little familiar. They were the feral yellow of a vampire.

Standing over the body, this new demon looked at them for perhaps two whole seconds. Then it raced away into the night. Riley and Buffy wasted no time running after it.

Willow approached Tara slowly. She did not seem herself.

Xander hissed at her "Willow! Be careful!"

Then, Tara turned in Willow's direction. Her expression was shocking. Frightened, for one thing. Willow had never seen Tara frightened. Not even once. More, she moved nervously, almost as if each movement was a shy jerk. She pulled her jacket closer in for warmth. That's not right, Willow thought.

Then she noticed something else. She could see Tara's breath in the cold.

Vampires have no body heat.

Willow reached out and touched Tara's hand. Warm. Her hand was warm! And Tara herself looked on the verge of tears.

In one motion Willow brought Tara into her arms, holding her tight as the girl began to silently--then not so silently--weep.

"Shhh. Its alright. I'm here..."

* * *

Danger. Run. Run faster. Run faster.

Those Who Follow must be lost. Yes. Danger in them. For now. So run. Fast. Faster. Faster still. Hide in the shadows. Run in them. This is night. My time. Shadows everywhere. Run but run silently.

Where?

To the nest. To the Parent. Yes. But not straight. No, that is how prey think. I am not prey. Stay within the shadows. And run as silent as I can. Keep the senses alert for danger. And for food.

Hungry. But not too hungry. Is there danger? No. Listen hard for any other running, for heartbeats racing because they had been running.

Nothing. No thing.

But there!

Prey! In silly loose clothes and soft shoes, running but running in a straight line and very slow.

The prey pays no heed as it passes the shadows of a tree. Stupid prey. But moments to grab it and pull it into the shadows. Fangs find where the food flows, ripping through flesh. Catch the food as it gushes. In moments the prey stops squirming. But then the food stops flowing. Must suck. Hard. Harder.

Leave the prey under leaves. That covers the trail. Enough.

Now to double back through the shadows, winding a tricky way back to the nest before the sun comes back.

Back to the nest.

And the Parent.

* * *

Giles was doing his best with a really weird situation, Willow thought to herself. Understandably he stared at Tara--how often did a Watcher get to see an ex-vampire, after all?--but he kept it to a minimum. Xander and Anya, on the other hand--their eyes were glued to the blonde. Only Willow's protective hovering kept them from asking all sorts of questions.

Tara herself was in an upright fetal position on the sofa. Willow sat alongside her, one arm around her shoulders. She'd managed to get the (now human) girl to sip some chicken soup. Other than that, Tara barely reacted to her environment at all. Now and then she fixed her eyes on Willow, but that was all.

"I believe," said Giles in a low voice, "I now know what has happened." He'd been pouring over several books for hours.

"This has gotta be good," muttered Xander under his breath. Willow shushed him with a gesture.

"Well, Toth--that's the demon who used the staff you described--his intended target was Buffy. In effect he was using magic to split her into two component parts. One would have been the Slayer, with the heritage and the strength. The other would be simply--Buffy. No more or less."

"Uh, Giles?" Xander didn't quite raise his hand. "Wouldn't that mean he'd be up against Super Slayer. Like industrial strength?"

"Indeed. But the Buffy half would be much more vulnerable. And if either one dies, they both do."

Willow took this in for a moment.

"But he hit Tara instead."

"Precisely. This is the Tara Maclay stripped, or freed, of her vampiric nature. And the other, who escaped, is the vampiric demon in its purest form. All instinct and blood lust, without even a remnant of the host's personality."

"But...But Buffy and Riley are out trying to slay it! And from you say..." Willow hugged Tara closer.

"If they succeed," Giles finished for her, "this Tara also dies."

No one spoke for nearly a minute that lasted hours. Then the front door opened. Buffy and Riley wearily stepped inside.

"We lost it," declared Riley.

"That thing was unbelievably fast," added Buffy. "I'm glad I don't have to fight what-ever-it-is too often."

"According to Giles, actually, you've been doing exactly that for years" said Xander.

"What do you mean."

"Buffy," began Willow, "what you were chasing was a vampire."

"Like no vampire I've ever seen."

"Well, both yes and no," said Giles. "That was the vampire separated from any trace of humanity. I think the idea was to use this magic on you, splitting you into Buffy and Slayer. But you weren't the one hit."

Buffy took all this in. She especially noticed Willow's arm around the form of Tara--a breathing and crying Tara.

"Oh. My. God."

"Buffy," said Willow, "this is the real Tara."

* * *

The Parent seemed pleased. He smiled. And he led the way to a room very deep and dark. The sun was rising soon. Yes. Here was a safe place. The safest part of the nest.

Sleep would come soon.

"Ah my dear Tara," whispered the Parent. What did these words mean? Or any words? It probably did not matter. "What has happened, I wonder? Such metamorphosis usually only occurs with great age. Very great age indeed. Has someone been playing with temporal magicks, perhaps? Or is it something else? I'd hate to lose such an ideal novice."

Sleep. Sleep was coming. With the sun.

Tara lay down on the stone floor to rest. She barely noticed her Sire locking the door behind him as he left.

* * *

Tara woke in warmth. Delicious warmth out of her sweetest dreams. Her eyes snapped open, a part of her flinching at the sunlight beaming through the dorm windows. It took her barely two seconds to realize where she was. With Willow.

Last night, Willow had insisted on taking care of her. Vivid as memory, but not, Tara knew who Willow was. Knew her as a beautiful young redhead who studied witchcraft. As an object of fascinated lust that was her own and yet someone else's. Willow the lovely. Willow the brave. Willow the wise. Turning, she could see Willow's face beside her in the bed. Like Tara, she was still dressed.

Willow's eyes opened.

They outshone the sun.

"Tara?" Goddess. Her voice. "How are you feeling?"

In love. "I..don't know. I'm me, but not. Does that make any sense?"

Willow nodded, whether it did or did not. "How much do you remember?"

"Everything." Too much. "But its like it was someone else. Yet it was me. Me. A monster. A demon."

"Not just that," Willow said firmly. "I know. You saved my life more than once. And helped out lots of times. Buffy's been going crazy trying to figure out why. I think I already know."

Tara could listen to her talk for hours. For decades. "Go on," she whispered.

"It was you. The part of you that isn't a demon. The human half."

Listening to this, Tara wanted so much to agree. But she couldn't. "You don't understand," she said. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I was under orders to do all that. My sire, the vampire who made me, he has plans. He wanted me to be useful to the Slayer and her friends, all part of some plan."

Willow's distress at these words nearly tore Tara's heart out. But better this than a lie. Wasn't it?

Her next words were a whisper. "Tara?"

"Yes?"

"If you were just obeying orders--that time the Mayor kept me prisoner, and we were alone?

"I remember."

"Why did you kiss me?"

Tara didn't answer that question. She'd learned to fear too much hope, and to avoid it as a ship avoids underwater rocks. But Willow's brilliant green eyes never left hers. The question hung between them. Soon, so did Tara's unvoiced answer:

Because I wanted to.

This time it was Willow who kissed Tara. Nothing more than a pressing of lips. But Tara welcomed it with a fierce, terrified hunger. She dared not take it further, exerting every drop of willpower to stop herself melting into the redhead's embrace. Not that it mattered. Willow wrapped her arms around Tara, kissing her again. A tiny moan escaped Tara. Then Willow gently traced her tongue against Tara's lips.

Defenses against pain began to crumble now. Simple kisses grew deeper. Hands and fingers began to wander, slowly at first but with greater courage each passing minute. Neither girl rushed. Fully half an hour passed between the first kiss and the first hand to tentatively slip underneath a shirt.

Although never fast, the pace did quicken.

Kissing of mouths was followed by that of throats, then ears. hands and wrists. Buttons were undone, things pulled up and over heads, so kissing could explore ribcages and navels. Later nipples were traced with lips and tongue and teeth. Nor were hands ignored as they too traced and felt and cupped. The sight of each other had always intoxicated. Now they found the smell of hair and skin no less dizzying. Yet they savored. Another half hour passed before pants joined sweaters and bras on the bedroom floor. Still another was nearly gone when the last of their garments was discarded. By then taste was the only sensation not yet fully explored. They did so with enthusiastic and mounting joy. And Tara's tears were of pleasure for a change, while with a searing pride she knew Willow's were the same.

Their afterglow was blinding.

Of course that's when Buffy walked in.

* * *

Tara felt a kinship with the creatures staring at her. She didn't know what kind of kinship. In fact, she lacked the means to even think of the concept. But the blonde ugly female and the tall handsome male were her own kind, and part of her recognized that fact.

"You're kidding? That...thing...is Tara?" The ugly blonde spoke. Her words almost meant something.

"Exactly so," answered the handsome male. His voice was lovely, like a snake's. On some level Tara knew this creature as her parent.

"But...how?"

"It has taken me some time to figure this out myself. At first I assumed this to be some kind of temporal spell, perhaps an act of malice on the part of an enemy. Or a mere mistake. But I think not."

"So what happened to her?"

"Our Tara has been riven. Split into two halves, as it were. What you see before you is the vampiric demon which makes up half of her nature. Half of ours as well."

"You mean--I've got that in me?"

Even to Tara, the pause before her parent answered was full of threat. The ugly blonde took a step back. "In a very real sense," he whispered, "that is what you and I have in place of a soul." His yellow eyes looked again at Tara behind the bars of her cage. "Pure predatory instinct. The hunger for blood and everything that goes with it. The cunning of the hunt, the pleasure that goes with it, and an intuitive understanding of the limitations you and I know only consciously. As a pure demon, Tara need never be told to avoid sunlight. She already knows. Just as she understands when she has been invited into a home, and when she has not." The approval in her parent's eyes was clear.

After a long silence, the blonde asked "So what are you going to do?"

* * *

"Oh! My! God!" It was the tenth time Buffy had said those words in the last thirty seconds. "Oh! My! God!"

"Buffy, you need to breathe," Willow told her best friend.

The Slayer looked at Willow, who was half-dressed by now, then at the bed where a clearly-naked Tara clutched the sheets around her. For a moment it looked as if Buffy was listening. Her eyes, huger than Willow had ever seen them, went back and forth from Willow to the bed and back again.

"Buffy?"

She said nothing. The eyes moved and nothing else. Willow had no idea how this was going to turn, and was more than a little nervous about finding out. Buffy, for once, seemed paralyzed. She's stopped with the oh-my-god-ing, but her jaw still moved. All in all, it was as impressive an example of wigging as Willow had ever seen

Riley stepped in from the dorm hall. Buffy spun in his direction. "Riley!"

"Yeah?" The ex-soldier knew at once something was wrong. Fortunately, all his attention went to Buffy. For now, anyway.

Buffy moved her lips, but what came out was sounds, not words. In desperation, she pointed at Willow, then Tara in the bed.

"Willow! Tara! Last night! Here!" Ah. Speech restored. Willow hurriedly pulled on the last her clothes, watching Riley take in the whole scene. She very nearly saw the light bulb appear over his head. Just as Buffy did. "Them! Together! Willow! And Tara!"

Riley put his hands on Buffy's arms. He stooped slightly and looked her right in the eyes. Okay, this might be good. Emphasis on might.

"I understand." He spoke just a little slowly. Probably unnecessary, really, but why take chances?

"You do?" Buffy sounded a little less hysterical. A little.

Riley nodded. "Tara is human now." Willow silently cheered Riley for starting with this. She looked at Tara to give a quick look of reassurance. "And last night, Willow and Tara spent the night together."

"That's right," Buffy nodded. "And they had sex!"

"Yeah, I got that."

"Willow had sex--with a vampire!"

"No...!" He said this soothingly.

"Okay, well maybe not a vampire now. But a vampire then and that counts for something!"

"Buffy" Willow decided it was time to intervene. Tara's nerves were visibly shredding. Buffy looked at Willow. "Tara is a human. Look--sunlight." She pointed to the window. "And look at this." Willow picked up a mirror and set it next to Tara. Her nervous face reflected.

After several more seconds, Buffy seemed to calm. Riley carefully let go of her. Her eyes still looked like they might pop out of her head, but at least her breathing was returning to normal. At last she spoke. "Sorry. I was--surprised. I'll...I'll let you get dressed." Then she deliberately stepped out of the room.

Riley followed.

Willow looked Tara. Her honey-blonde hair was all over the place. Somehow she'd managed to turn herself into a ball while keeping the sheets wrapped around her. The angle of her head hid her one remaining eye. Willow lifted Tara's chin.

"There," she whispered, "that wasn't too bad, was it?"

* * *

All the Scoobies met in The Magic Shoppe. Willow almost defiantly sat next to Tara, refusing to let go of her hand. Giles did his best to both look at them while not doing so. Giles kept doing little takes at the sight of them as a couple. Buffy was pacing, while Riley hovered nearby.

"Y-y-you need to know," the newly mortal Tara began. She hesitated before speaking again.

"Out with it." Buffy was in full command mode. The feel of Willow's hand gave Tara strength she desperately needed.

"M-m-my sire, the one who made m-m-me. He's called Th-th-the Apostate." Out of the corner of her eye, Tara noticed Giles nod at this news. "He's evil."

"We've heard of The Apostate," said Giles. To Tara's immense relief he sounded calm, civilized, and non-judgmental. "And from what we've heard, he wages a private war on demonkind."

Tara nodded. "He's been like th-th-th-that ever since he got back from hell."

Buffy stopped pacing.

"I d-d-don't know all the details. But he was sent to hell and he somehow got out. I th-th-think he had some kind of help. S-s-so now he want revenge on the ones who tortured him. But he's still evil. Horribly evil."

"Tara?" Willow's voice. Music to Tara. "Is he the one who took your eye?"

She nodded. "T-t-to teach me control, he said."

Willow put her arm around her. For a moment, Tara let herself fall into that embrace. Not very much, but a little. Here was all she'd hoped for.

Buffy's voice broke into her thoughts. "Describe him. What does this Apostate look like?"

Everyone was looking at Buffy now, with the same worried look on their faces. The only exception was Riley, who looked puzzled at the intensity of Buffy's question.

"He's ugly," answered Tara. "M-m-maybe he's always been that way. Or maybe it was all the time he spent in hell. But he looks..." she struggled for the right words. "He looks like a vampire looks when they change, but w-w-with less humanity."

Now Buffy kneeled to look face-to-face with Tara. "Does he ever look different than that?"

"N-n-no."

"What about details? Does he ever mention his real name? Or maybe just another name he used to use? I mean, he wasn't always known as the Apostate, was he?" Her voice was rising.

"Buffy!" Willow interrupted the Slayer. They looked at each other for a moment. Buffy relaxed slightly.

"Sorry." Her voice was almost a whisper.

Riley was looking at everyone else's reaction. "Excuse me. What's going on here that I don't know about?"

Silence. Anya opened her mouth but shut it again at a gesture from Xander. Giles cleared his throat. "It is rather a long story, Riley. Might I suggest we table any explanations until later? Now, Tara," he sat across from her. "You say the Apostate ordered you to help us?"

Tara nodded.

"Do you have any idea why?"

"S-s-some. He wanted you to have that scroll Faith got from Los Angeles. B-b-because of the prophecy about a Vampire With A Soul."

"What about it?"

"He w-w-w-wants Willow to use the Soul Restoration Spell on him." Beside her, Tara could almost feel the red-haired witch's shock. She could see it in the face of the everyone else. "He wants his soul b-b-back."

* * *

Even deep underground, Tara could sense the sun was nearly down. She greeted that fact with a terrible glee. Her parent paced nearby, the key to her prison in his hand.

"The essential fact," he was saying, "is that the two of you are one. Magic may have riven you apart, but every instinct and intuition in both you longs for reunification. Anything else is unnatural."

He neared the door. Darkness was soon. Soon. Very soon.

"Which means my dilemma is about to solve itself." He smiled. Any human would find the sight disturbing. "And so my covert preparations against Glory may soon continue. The Slayer should thank me. She really should. But somehow, I doubt she will."

Not until the sun had actually set did he turn the key and open the door. All the other doors to the surface were already open.

* * *

Off in the corner, Tara sat and stared at setting sun through the window. She'd loved to watch sunsets once. Before her rebirth.

Willow came away from the others. "Hey."

Unbidden, a smile came to Tara's lips. "Hi."

"They're still trying to figure things out." Willow tilted her head to the back of the store, where all the scoobies were in deep talk. Or argument. "You know--what's going to happen next, the kind of things we have to prepare for, and so on."

"Whether to trust me."

"Yeah. That too." Even embarrassed, she was almost too beautiful to look on. Tara didn't understand why she had an urge to look back outside at the night.

"One other thing."

"What's that?"

"Two things, really. First, the Apostate said that someone extremely dangerous was coming here to Sunnydale. Someone he fears, and he thinks Buffy will need his help to defeat her. But I don't know any details."

Willow took this in. "And the second thing?"

"I love you."

A grin broke across Willow's face. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Giles called her name. "Be right back," she promised before heading back towards the Watcher.

I love you, thought Tara. Even as a monster, I love you.

* * *

Tara's words ringing in her ears, Willow came back to the circle of Giles and the others.

"Do you still have Jenny's notes about Soul Restoration?" The Watcher asked without preamble.

"Yes, of course."

"And do you think you might try it again, if such proved absolutely necessary."

"I...I don't know. I mean, sure I've gotten better since then but that's a really advanced spell. Not that I wouldn't try if it we really needed it, but do we? Need it, I mean?"

"The Prophecies say there has to be a Vampire With a Soul" Buffy said, her voice matter-of-fact.

"But," noted Giles, "that person's role in the forthcoming crisis is ambiguous at best."

"Which is why we've got to control who that is!"

"Buffy..."

"What?"

"Doesn't that kinda depend on who the vampire is?" There. She'd said as much as she could without actually explaining everything to Riley. Or setting off too many alarms. A quick glance at Riley left Willow uneasy about her success on the latter. He knew. Not what was going on, but that something was going on, definitely.

"Of course, Wil. That's why you have to do the spell. No one else."

Xander joined in. "Well, let's first find out all we can about this Apostate guy. Tara, is there anything more you can tell us about him?" They all looked in the direction where Tara had been waiting.

She was gone.

* * *

Tara ran into the night. She didn't know why she was doing this. More than most, she knew what sort of horrors stalked the darkness, especially in Sunnydale.

After all, she'd been one of them.

But what she'd come to think of as her witch's sense brooked no refusal. She didn't even know where she was headed. Nor how long she'd been running, until breathing began to hurt, forcing her to stop.

Looking around, she saw one of Sunnydale's many graveyards. Of course. And in the darkness, she knew something was moving towards her.

Something familiar.

* * *

Willow paced. She had been researching, but now she took a break and paced.

"I should be out there helping."

"You are helping," noted Giles, not looking up from his book.

Anya did look up. "Giles is right."

"Thank you."

"Still, I should be helping find Tara."

"What good will that do without the right spell?" Both Willow and Giles had to stop and just look at Anya for saying that. They sometimes forgot how...well...logical she could be. "That is what we're doing here, right?"

Willow sat. "You're right." She cracked open another book.

"You see," said Giles, partially to soothe her, "Tara hasn't been turned back into a human being. Not really. She's still a vampire, but divided into her different components if you will. What we have to do is find a way to use this unique opportunity and create a genuine cure for her."

All three poured over books. Of necessity they had to skim, looking for clues to what might not even be possible. But they had to try. Willow realized this is where she could do the most good. Buffy and Riley were the strong ones. Xander had that military training he'd gotten a few years back. They were the ones best suited to finding Tara. Both Taras.

"But why did she run away?" Willow said that under her breath.

"Instinct." Anya piped in.

"What?"

"Instinct" Anya nodded, clearly sure of herself. "You divide someone in two, the two parts are gonna be drawn together. Its where they belong, after all."

"But..." Willow could feel her eyes growing huge again but couldn't help it. "Tara's other half is a demon! It'll kill her!" She started to rise.

Giles firmly took her wrist. "None of us is a match for Tara's demon self. Trust the others to do their job, while you do yours--making a spell to cure Tara permanently."

After hesitating, Willow sat again. Giles was right. Her place was here. Readiness was everything and all that. Even though Willow longed to run into the night, screaming the other girl's name--Tara. Her beloved. Strange that amid all the disruptions going on right now that fact--which should have been some kind of major tremor--was a steady place surrounded by earthquakes. But denying it was impossible. Willow loved Tara, even more than she'd loved Oz. Even a few days ago she'd have denied that was possible. Now it was the obvious of truths.

Her meditations were broken by the phone ringing. Giles picked it up. "Hello?" Almost immediately the man's face grew intense. Whatever he was hearing was at least not good news. Or maybe profoundly mixed. But a widening of the eyes meant he was also surprised. Only by an act of will did Willow keep from yelling for news. "Yes," said Giles at last, "I understand. We'll be over at once." He hung up and looked at both Willow and Anya.

"Tara's in the hospital. So's Riley."

* * *

Exhausted. Tara had never felt so tired. No. Not true. She'd felt almost precisely this exhausted once before. Exactly once before. But this time, as she lifted her leaden eyes, she thought to herself I must have survived.

With difficulty, she looked around her. Hospital room. A plastic bag of familiar red liquid was dripping into her arm. Her throat ached, with a barely-remembered pain. There was a man (he wore a white coat--a doctor). Young. Good looking, she supposed. He was taking her blood pressure. And now he noticed she was awake.

"Hello."

"Hi." Her voice sounded too weak to be heard. The doctor evidently did, though. He nodded in acknowledgement.

"Good to see you conscious. We were worried. Good thing we had your type on hand." From his gesture he must mean her blood type. What did that matter? She didn't care what type of blood she drank. Then she remembered. I'm not a vampire. Not anymore. But where was her other self? Did he know?

"...who...?"

"Brought you in?" She managed to nod. "Girl named Buffy Summers. She's been around here a lot, lately, what with her Mom having tests and all. You two are friends, I take it?"

"Kinda."

"What about her boyfriend? Riley?"

"What?"

"Are the two of you close?"

Odd question. "We...know each other." Why?

The doctor finished making some notes on her chart. Changing the subject, he put it away and gave a little smile. "My name's Ben, by the way. And Buffy tells me you're Tara Maclay? Is there anyone else I should be contacting? Mother? Father?"

"...no. Thank you."

"Well, I'll check in on you later. And I'll let Buffy know you're awake."

"Time?"

"Hm? Oh, its nearly midnight. You try to get some rest." And with that he left her.

Nearly midnight. Her other self was still out there. Somewhere. By concentrating, Tara dimly recalled the demonic face near hers, fangs tearing into her throat before someone calling out her name. Then, a struggle. Details, if ever she knew them, were gone. At least for now. But since she lived, clearly so to did the Vampire that until recently she'd been. And this was a public place. No need to get an invitation. Plus no discipline, no sense of self-restraint. Her Vampire--Tara knew what it, or she, wanted. To be one again. She felt it herself, not unlike a kind of emotional itch. If only it were that easy! Undistracted by anything in the dim light of her hospital room, Tara contemplated the situation with surprising ease.

Without her humanity for balance, the Vampire would run amok. It had nearly no self-control. As long as it remained at large every single human in range was in danger. For that matter, so was Tara. And should the Vampire be destroyed--a very likely event in a city where a Slayer lived--then Tara would die at the same instant.

Two solutions presented themselves. First, die. The magic worked both ways. Kill Tara, and the Vampire stops. Or--reunion. She could return to what she had been. Both possibilities were attractive in odd ways. Tara was disturbed to realize she remembered with fondness the raw power of being a demon, of walking the world as a predator. It even allowed her moments of real fulfillment, the kind of pleasures she'd nearly always denied herself. Like Harmony? With a little shudder Tara remembered that mistake. Still, the blonde girl was pretty and had been devoted, even skilled, in her way. She didn't really regret taking the ex-cheerleader to bed, just making her such a fantastically incompetent nosferatu. No less deadly for all that. And without Tara's mitigating influence--doomed as well as dangerous.

More, there was the Apostate. Her sire. Easily the most evil being she'd ever imagined meeting, yet strangely enough on the side of the angels. Not for any noble motive. The Apostate made no pretense towards virtue. He lusted for revenge against those who'd tormented him, the demons amused themselves with his torture. Until he'd escaped Hell, somehow. And she knew his plans in some sense centered on her.

But.

Willow.

She'd never actually made love before today. Tara had had sex. Even as a human she'd found that pleasure. Only a few times, and that with a fumbling fellow teenager who later moved away. Later, Tara as a vampire had managed to seduced several attractive young women. More than a couple had willingly bled themselves for her. And she'd enjoyed the favors of two vampiresses. But only with Willow had she found out why precisely it was called Making Love. And the thought of losing her--either from death (which suddenly seemed much more terrifying) or from returning to what she had been--was a horror to Tara now.

But she could see no way out.

* * *

Willow arrived at the hospital with Anya and Giles. She found Buffy in the waiting area, looking ragged.

"Buffy?" Giles managed to convey nearly every variation of How Are You in that one word.

The Slayer smiled slightly. "I'm alright. Tara and Riley are under observation."

"What happened?" Privately, Willow was please to note she didn't scream that question.

"Tara was being attacked just as we got there. Her demon--well, it's really strong. I mean, really."

"No human weaknesses," noted Anya.

"I guess so. Anyway, Riley insisted on fighting it. He got hurt. That thing bit his arm, and clawed him. But thanks to Mr. Andrenolyne he just kept going while I brought Tara here. He followed. Said he couldn't feel his wounds but I got him to let the doctor take a look."

As if on cue a good-looking young doctor approached them. "Buffy, I've got to ask you some questions."

"Go ahead."

"First," Willow couldn't hold back. "How's Tara?"

"She's fine. Got a bandage on her neck and a couple of units of blood pumped into her. The only real problem would seem to be shock, and to be honest she seems to be coping with that just fine. Are you her sister?"

"No. But I'm...we're close. Can I see her?"

"Well, that's not strictly policy. But I'll see what I can do." He turned to Buffy again. "To your knowledge, does Riley Finn take any kind of prescription medicine? Or any other type of really powerful drug, legal or otherwise?"

"No, no, and I'd bet lots of money no."

"Have you noticed any powerful mood swings of late?"

"Same answer--no. Why?" The doctor hesitated. He looked at the others around Buffy. "I don't keep secrets from my friends, Doctor."

"This may not be your secret to keep. But--Riley's wounds themselves were superficial. Little more than some deep cuts, and healing remarkably fast. But--well..."

"You said but already. That's your second but! What's wrong?"

"His heartbeat is fast, Buffy. Very fast. Reflexes are way, way above normal. A cursory glance at his blood chemistry found what I can only call oddities while x-rays revealed what seems to be an implant in his chest. Frankly, when he said he didn't feel his wounds I at first took that as nothing but bravado. Now, I'm not so sure."

Willow could see Buffy shifting into control mode. Her most basic reaction to some kinds of crisis. She swallowed. "What are you going to do?"

"More tests, at least for now."

* * *

She was here. The other one. But Tara knew better now than to simply go and attack. Some of the prey were too strong, too fast. Better to avoid them. And any other like them.

It didn't occur to Tara to try and think why she needed to find the other. Self-awareness was not something she had in abundance. But the need was there. Not as great as that of blood, but ever-present.

There had to be a way inside this building without attracting notice.

She began to search. Carefully. Very carefully.

* * *

Willow very rarely broke the rules. It was part of what made her...her. The fact that the few times she actually had broken them tended to result in crashing disasters complete with lowered real estate values and large cleanup bills only added to her natural reluctance.

But now she was most definitely Breaking The Rules.

This late at night, the hospital hallways were sparsely populated. Actually, this made things harder. No crowd or traffic with which to blend. On the plus side, the nurses on station weren't exactly super alert right now either. As long as she was quiet, and stayed to the shadows, Willow found it not too hard to sneak towards her goal.

Tara's room. More specifically, Tara.

She slid through the door as quietly as she could, her heart pounding in her ears. And not simply because of Breaking The Rules. Goddess! How did this happen? And would she change things if she could? One look at the slumbering blonde on the bed, pale and helpless, and the question became pointless.

After an eternal moment, Tara's one eye flickered open. When her gaze met Willow's it felt like a lightning strike. Then, in less than a second, Willow was beside her bed.

"Willow," her voice was weak.

"Tara," Willow breathed back. There hardly seemed a need to say more. Everything she wanted to say--you're everything to me, I love you, I'd saw off my own legs to see you smile--came out in the girl's name. Just as, to her unsurpassed and unexpected joy, her own name seemed to say the same.

Slowly, partly because she seemed so fragile, but mostly for the sake of savoring the moment, Willow reached down and placed her lips on Tara's own. Exactly who moaned at that moment she could never figure out. Nor did she care.

Even in the dim light, Tara's eye seemed to glow looking at her. How is that possible, Willow thought? That anyone should look at me like that? It was intoxicating.

"The other one is close."

At first Willow didn't know what Tara meant. Then she felt terror. "I'll get Buffy!" But Tara's hand suddenly squeezed hers. Willow stopped, puzzled. And afraid.

"You can't."

"But...why?"

Tara swallowed. Speaking obviously was costing her a lot, and seeing it ripped into Willow. She resolutely refused to let it show on her face.

"Listen." For the rest of time. And beyond. Give me the chance? "You're all in danger. And I'm going to be selfish." Willow felt another stab of fear. She could nearly feel herself bleeding, already half-certain what Tara was going to say. "There's only one way I can help protect you."

"That's not true!" Panicky, the words burst from Willow.

"Yes. Only. One. Way."

Volumes were exchanged in those few words. Every argument Willow might make was answered, every plea ruthlessly deflected. Is this what it means to have a soulmate? So we hardly even have to speak anymore? And how can I give this up? I cannot! I won't! No one can make me!

Liar. One person could.

Only one.

Eyes springing tears, Willow leaned down to kiss her Tara again. As long a kiss as she could manage. Only a small gasp from Tara brought it to an end. Tara's worried gaze aimed at the door, then at Willow again.

"Even as a demon," she said, barely audible, "I couldn't help but love you."

Willow began to sob. She locked her own eyes into Tara's one. Dimly, she heard the door behind her swing open. A barely audible growl echoed in the silence. Tara reached out with her other hand, now clasping hers in one. Out of some reserve of strength Willow never knew she'd possessed she somehow managed to speak the words.

Magic passed through them like a hot flash. She felt it like a wind that somehow reached into her organs and rocked them gently. Her entire form trembled. But the real shock came as she felt the heat leave Tara's hands, and most of the color leave her face.

* * *

The next night, Tara hid outside the Summers home and listened. Buffy was trying not to pace, under the worried gaze of her mother and sister. Willow sat in a chair, curled up yet head erect.

"I can't believe you did that." Buffy sounded full of horror, but it wasn't a focused horror. She clearly hadn't made up her mind yet. Too much going on to make clear decisions, was Tara's guess.

"What was the alternative?"

"Gee, I don't know, Wil! Maybe not turning her back into a vampire? Sounds like a plan to me!"

"Buffy..." Mrs. Summers' voice was soothing, warning. It reminded Tara in some small way of the human woman who had been her own mother.

After a pause, Willow answered. "It was either that, or kill her. They were two parts of the same person."

"She'll kill again."

"Maybe."

"Maybe? What do you mean Maybe? She's a vampire, Wil!"

"Okay, then Yes! She will kill. And so will you."

Tara could almost hear Buffy's stare at her best friend. "That's different."

"Says who? And anyway, just 'cause you're so down with the killing and the slaying and everything doesn't mean I can be. I couldn't kill her, Buffy. I just...couldn't."

Now would be a good time to leave, Tara decided. As she made her silent way, she pondered that little would be settled tonight. Or tomorrow. She was pleased in an abstract way that Buffy's boyfriend was going to be alright, even if...reduced seemed the right word. Evidently the experiments by the Initiative weren't going to have too many permanent side effects. Too bad he was a mere human again. Keeping up was going to be hard for him. Meanwhile, the Slayer and all her friends now knew a good deal more about the Apostate. He didn't seem to mind that much. Which was good. Matters were coming to a head, he'd hinted.

But now there was something between her and Willow. Truthfully, there'd been something before but now...it was more. Much more. And Tara had never felt more a freak. Vampires weren't supposed to fall for humans. It was like a wolf trying to mate with a caribou. A funny if wholly inappropriate image came unbidden to Tara's mind at that simile, but she managed to smother a giggle. Just as suddenly her mind went to memories of her day as a human. Of kisses searing hot and touches somehow deeper than skin or even bone.

Willow. By all the gods and goddesses, what was she going to do?

Her meditations were broken by the shambling figure on the sidewalk. A familiar one. Xander. Willow's best friend. But there was something wrong about the way he walked. Inching nearer, she realizing he was mumbling to himself.

"This isn't the wrong place," he was saying "I'm not supposed to be in the right or wrong place. Was I? And who turned on the stars anyway? Damn stars--always snickering, lying to the squirrels about me."

Tara suddenly knew what had happened. She headed back to her sire's lair at the best speed she could manage. The Apostate needed to know.

Glory. The nightmare was here.

* * *

Willow sat down, exhausted. More in spirit than body. Across from her sat Anya, looking more of both.

"He's asleep?"

Anya nodded. "The tranquilizers helped."

Now Willow nodded. She felt weirdly uncomfortable, yet relieved. Xander's girlfriend had always gotten on her nerves. And still did. More, she'd been frightened on behalf of her oldest friend. Anya had a dark side. That had been proven beyond doubt. Yet she also seemed utterly devoted to Xander, and was proving right now.

"I just wanted to say..." the pause in Willow's speech became a silence.

"What?"

"That, I'm glad you're taking care of Xander." There. She'd said it.

But the dark-haired girl's face frowned. "Why wouldn't I be taking care of Xander? I love Xander!"

"No! I mean--I'm glad you're the one doing it! That someone who cares went ahead and...and...and..." The need to defend herself sputtered away as she saw Anya's hostility fade. Not vanish completely, but shrink. And certainly its aim was no longer directed at Willow.

"Its not like his parents" in Anya's mouth those words were expletives "were going to do anything. Just let him rot in the county psych ward was their plan." Even in exhaustion, Anya's fury was crystal clear. "What kind of parents are those?" This last was lower, tiredness taking the place of rage. Willow found herself warming to Anya.

No one--not even Giles--could figure out what had happened to Xander last week. He'd been found wandering the streets of Sunnydale, eyes vacant and talking nonsense. Since then, he'd only responded to Anya, and then sometimes. Willow tried not to think of how Xander had flailed at first, and how he'd broken down crying about seagulls attacking him, curling into a ball at Anya's feet while his girlfriend tried
not to weep--and failed. Anya had wasted little time bullying Xander's parents into letting her take him to her apartment. Since then she'd barely gotten any sleep. And only later in a moment of guilt did Willow admit to feeling anything other than sympathy. Envy. How Willow longed to feel that kind of devotion! Or to receive it!

The doorbell rang. Waving Anya to stay seated, Willow headed to answer it herself.

And saw Tara waiting outside.

She waited nearly twenty seconds before opening the door. Tara (how much remained of her Tara?) gazed levelly back at her. Lacking an invitation, the vampire made no effort to cross the threshold.

"Hello Willow." Simple enough words. In truth, they'd exchanged the same countless times. Now, Willow said nothing. But neither did (could) she look away.

"I was sorry to hear about Xander," Tara finally said.

"Thanks." No harm in that.

"You need to know something. Xander isn't alone." Tara waited after saying this. And waited.

"What do you mean?"

"Other people are being found in the same condition. And that's not a coincidence." The vampire paused for effect. "My sire knows a great deal about what's happening. But he won't help the Slayer for nothing. He has a price. You already know what that is." Her manner was very cold, matter of fact.

Anya appeared behind Willow. "You know what happened to Xander?"

Tara didn't stop looking at Willow. "Basically."

"But can you reverse it? Make him better again?" Willow cringed at the abjectness in Anya's voice. Disturbingly, Tara barely flinched. She merely stared at Willow, then turned and left.

Willow shut the door, putting her arm around Anya. "Did I tell you," she asked, "that Xander had just gotten promoted at work?"

"Yeah," Willow tried to smile. She hoped she was succeeding. "You did."

* * *

Is it wise to try and deny your own nature? Tara had been thinking about that for what seemed like forever. Of course the answer would appear to be a resounding "NO!" But what her nature was remained the mystery.

So here she was, a vampire in fascination (maybe even love) with a human being. Following said human being (Willow lovely name Willow) through the night towards the home of a skilled killer of vampires. Madness? Well, no. Madness would have been to disobey her Sire's commands. But as a general rule this hardly seemed a smart thing to do. Tara was herself very smart, so she could tell. What really amazed her, though, was the self-knowledge that even if she hadn't been ordered to follow the red-haired witch by the most terrifying creature she'd ever met--she'd still do it.

Does that make me a fool?

Probably.

Not foolish enough to get close to the Slayer's house, however. Until she had to. From across the street, in the shadows, Tara watched Willow go inside Buffy Summers' home. And waited. Lately, the Slayer had been especially fierce in her duties. No reason to antagonize her.

Tara waited for over an hour across the street. At last she became distracted at seeing a window open on the second floor of the Summers home. Focusing, she was bit surprised to see Dawn, the Slayer's sister, inch her way onto the roof, then down a tree to street level. Making as little sound as possible, the girl headed up the street.

"Notice anything?"

Vampires are rarely surprised. For one thing, their senses are incredibly sharp. And for another, when they are surprised, they tend to do exactly what Tara did--morph into their demon face and snarl at the surpriser.

He didn't react at all, this vastly ordinary looking guy in jeans, T-Shirt and flannel shirt. Just squint at her, then at the moving Dawn. "Well?"

"Who the hell are you?" Tara didn't quite growl.

"Funny you should put it like that. Whistler's the name. And we've got some stuff in common. Like the fact we're demons."

She looked him over. "You don't look like a demon."

"Neither do you. Most of the time. Anyway, notice something odd about Buffy's kid sister?"

An intuition led Tara to contemplate this. She looked for a long time at the retreating figure. "Odd? Well, she is going out unescorted in Sunnydale. Almost anybody knows better than to do that. Or they don't live that long."

"Good point. We should probably follow her then." Whistler--if that was his name--set out at once. After a moment's hesitation, Tara followed. The so-called demon went on talking as if there'd been no doubt. "But that wasn't what I meant. Notice what she was wearing?"

"Jeans. Sneakers. Blouse. Scarf. Pullover sweater.

"Hey, you get the gold star! Any part of that ensemble seem out-of-character?"

By now Tara wondered if maybe she was getting lured by one of the Minions of the Beast, Glory. But from everything the Apostate said, Glory tended to use more fawning-type creatures. Still, she remained on her guard.

"I don't notice clothes that closely."

"Buffy does. Weird thing is, it actually helps her slaying. Girl can spot a vampire whose fashion sense is years out of date without half thinking about it. Useful."

"Yeah, I can see how that could be."

"I'm nowhere in her league." Had Whistler been human, he'd be out of breath by now, so rapid was his pace. Yet he continued without a pause. Tara, of course, had no such problem. "And yet--here's a tidbit. When was the last time you saw a girl her age wear a scarf?"

Now they turned a corner, following Dawn--who was busy entering a private house without knocking. Interestingly, there were no lights on, nor did any car lie in the driveway. The front lawn was in fair condition, but the homeowner was clearly no gardener. Whistler didn't even hesitate. He made straight for the mailbox in front. But he was careful to open it as silently as possible. Dozens of envelopes were stuffed inside.

"Hm. Doesn't check her mail, do she?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Take a look for yourself," offered Whistler, handing her some mail. "Junk mail really does treat everybody the same, huh?"

Tara took a glance at the names on the letters--all of them solicitations in one way or another. Each had the same name on them, although some were misspelled. Something like a ping went off in her brain.

"Ah! Do you see it?"

"I'm not sure."

"Bet you I can tell you someone who can figure it out if you can't..."

* * *

Willow couldn't tell who was more startled at seeing Tara at The Magic Shoppe--Buffy or herself. But there the blond vampire was, pouring over books with Giles.

"Giles!" Buffy's voice was on edge. As was she. "What. Are. You. Doing?"

"Buffy, where is Dawn, do you know?" Giles looked worried. Very worried. This was bad, of that Willow had no doubt. But what did Tara have to do with all this?

"She's back at the house, asleep."

"No she isn't," Tara didn't even look up from her skimming of a thick tome. Willow recognized it as a work on the Qabala.

Buffy nearly bared her teeth. "If you've so much as touched my sister..."

"Stop it!" This time it was Giles who snapped. "This is important! Tara believes Dawn may be in great danger, although she's not sure why. For some reason, I agree with her. But neither of us is sure precisely what it is..." The watcher looked frustrated, as if he'd been trying to invent a new color or something. At the table, Tara picked up another book. Giles picked up one of a handful of what looked like...junkmail?

"Do you know this name--Marcilla Karsten?"

"Marcie? Yeah, she's one of Dawn's friends."

Willow took one of the envelopes and looked at it. "Since when does a schoolgirl get letters from investment firms?"

Buffy took this in. "Must be for her mother," she said.

"Perhaps." Giles looked unsure. "But there's something that doesn't feel right."

"Oh my god." Tara looked up at Giles. "Look at this." And handed the book she had to him.

Giles put on his glasses, and read aloud. "The Karnsteins were the most notorious of all Austrian noble houses. For centuries they were reviled as demon-worshippers. Even their name is an anagram of the demon lord s'K'ran. Although most Karnsteins were killed during the first World War, it is commonly believed that one of their number--a Countess Mircalla--preserved them as her human servants. This fiend was transformed into a vampire during the seventeenth century, and has stalked the night ever since. Unusually, she prefers to drink from only one type of victim--young girls approximately the same age she was herself when reborn into darkness."

Silence.

Then Tara spoke.

"Mircalla. Marcilla." She looked directly at Buffy. "An anagram."

"Giles," asked Willow, "how old was Mircalla when she died?"

"Fifteen."

"And I spotted Dawn," added Tara, "sneaking out of her house earlier this evening. She went into a nearby house. This one." She lifted one of the letters. "That name! There was something about that name..."

Buffy's face looked more and more horror-stricken listening to all this. She tore out of the shop in less than a second.

* * *

In the rush to the house where (presumably) Mircalla Karnstein was, Tara managed to join without much dissent from Buffy. All four somehow fit into Giles' sportscar. But of course things changed soon enough. Buffy looked behind her into the back seat, where Tara and Willow sat side by side.

"Just to make things clear," she began, "if I get so much as a hint, the slightest clue, if I find myself seriously suspecting for one single instant this is a setup--"

"You kill me."

Buffy's face defined grim. "No. I make you wish I had."

Tara didn't doubt that for an instant. Strangely, the fear she should be feeling right now didn't seem real. And the reason was just too, too obvious. She was seated next to Tara. Making Tara forget how much danger she was in right now. Not good. Foolish, in fact. Terribly foolish.

Willow glanced at Tara. And the vampire felt glad to be in the world.

This simply cannot continue. It cannot. Must not.

But what to do?

* * *

Willow braced herself for the worst as the four of them made their way around the house where "Marcie" lived. But a tiny voice deep inside wondered what the Worst would be. To have to rescue Dawn? Or not having to, because this was all a ruse by the vampire remnant of a girl Willow had fallen in love with?

Tara herself quickly solved one question. She calmly walked up to the front door and opened it, walking in. The owner of this house was either dead--or not human.

Once inside, the bareness of the front room was ominous. Buffy pulled out her favorite stake, Mr. Pointy.

All of them fanned out. Secretly Willow followed Tara, who headed to the left. The room they found was--odd. It was bare except for one chair, that chair very low yet wide and strewn with pillows. Across, facing the chair were dozens of framed portraits, daguerreotypes, a few pen and ink drawings, plus at least one professional (and recent) photograph. Each had the same subject. Dark hair, blue eyes and a round, pale face.

"Pretty," remarked Tara.

"Is that..."

The vampire nodded. Without another word, she headed back to the main room. And Willow followed her. She wasn't sure why.

* * *

Upstairs they found Them.

In a forward room upstairs Buffy, with Giles and Tara and Willow behind her, heard something like a muffled groan. She did a take at the sound, then headed straight for the door. She wasted no time but kicked it in. Tara was immediately behind.

Dawn was on a chaise lounge, gasping for breath. Kneeling beside her, mouth fastened to Dawn's throat, was the same black-haired girl as in the portraits downstairs. At the sound of the breaking door, she lifted her head. Blood dripped from her lips. But oddly, her face showed none of the demonic visage other vampires did when feeding. Yet fangs protruded from her lips.

Buffy howled as she leapt across the room. Mr. Pointy was in her hand and she landed on the vampire, forcing the creature onto the floor. In one swift, practiced blow she drove the stake directly into Mircalla's heart. Then she gaped. Not only did the vampire not dissolve into dust, she laughed. A nasty, leering laugh.

"Mine, Slayer," she whispered loud enough for them all to hear. "She's mine now!"

"...Buffy..." Dawn's voice was weak.

Mircalla's hand went to one side, then across Buffy's face with enough force to send her backwards. Rising, she almost contemptuously pulled the stake from her chest. Tara had no idea how she could still be alive. But keeping her from Dawn was a priority. Moving with the supernatural speed of her kind, Tara raced to Dawn's side and picked her up.

"...help...Buffy..." Another oddity. Mircalla must be one of those who like to drink slowly. But something to be thankful for. Dawn's eyes flickered open, saw Tara, was frightened. But Willow reached across (her touch! Willow's touch!) and put her hand on Dawn's shoulder. "...ring..." breathed the Slayer's sister.

Willow and Tara looked at each other. Tara didn't know what Dawn meant. Willow, glancing over to where Buffy and Mircalla were trading blows, did.

"Buffy! She has the Ring of Amara!" Willow yelled.

The Slayer clearly heard. She focused on Mircalla's hand. Tara could see a ring. A magic talisman? Buffy's efforts to fight the small vampire were renewed. Yet she didn't seem to be winning. Tara reached out and took Willow's hand.

"Concentrate!" Tara told her. Willow did as she was told, joining her will with Tara's. And as their minds met--not thoughts but feelings and senses of selves--they reached out to affect the world about them. Changing the world. Moving what they willed.

Moving the ring off Mircalla's finger.

In time for Buffy to drive Mr. Pointy right into her heart!

* * *

Willow met Tara at the Bronze. The place was crowded, as usual. But she had no trouble finding the blonde vampire. In truth, she was so beautiful. Far too beautiful.

"Hello, Willow."

"Hello, Tara."

"I wanted to tell you..." She hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Two things. Actually."

She waited.

"I like you."

Tara blinked. And continued to listen.

"And...I'll do the spell. Give your sire back his soul. But I'm not sure how."

* * *

Tara's reaction was instant. Before Willow could finish screaming Xander's name, she had her saber out and was running.

Amid the trees she saw movement. One was clearly Willow's childhood chum. He was falling, hitting the ground. Tara reached the clearing in time to see what had pulled him down. It was...ugly. Remarkably ugly. Like a hybrid of monkey and cockroach, and crawling with unlikely speed towards Xander's face. Tara reached it first, slashing with her sword. With a jerking shudder, it collapsed, spewing brown liquid.

Xander scampered away from the mess on top of him. She hardly blamed him. "Muskrats! Too many muskrats!" he babbled. "I'll never get my merit badge! Never! NEVER!" This last was said with a note of terrible despair. He stopped squirming, eyes bulging in some vision of horror only he could see. "Never, never, never, never..." Xander whispered.

Coming up from behind, Tara sensed two others approaching. One--Anya, of course--rushed past towards her now brain-wrecked boyfriend. "Xander!" she cried out, crouching to his side and looking for wounds. He let her, barely noticing anyone was there.

Willow stopped next to Tara.

After several moments, Tara looked at the redhead. "What was that? Do you know?"

She nodded, not so much looking at Tara as peeking at her. Or was that Tara's wishful thinking? "A qweller demon."

"Do they come in groups?"

"I...don't think so."

"Good." Now what to say? What to do? Tara carefully cleaned the edge of her blade against the grass. She gave Willow a direct look in the face before leaving. It took more to do that than she would have guessed. Willow looked back. And nodded before going to help Anya, who was rocking Xander gently in her arms.

Tara didn't look back. She knew a lot was going on amongst the Slayer's inner circle. Willow would let her know how things were progressing.

* * *

A few nights later Willow sat next to Anya at the Magic Shoppe. They'd been preparing for tonight, both realizing it wasn't going to be pleasant. Giles was pacing. He'd had less time to prepare, but in many ways this was going to be worse for him. But he was on Willow's side, albeit reluctantly.

Buffy arrived looking exhausted. Small wonder. Riley and Dawn trailed beside her, the latter seeming much improved. At least there was color in her cheeks again and the bandage on her throat was smaller. Riley was...Riley. Supportive, bearing up, and still a little out of his depth. Buffy herself took one look and seemed to know Something Was Up.

"Okay," she said, giving the work about six syllables. "Anything to report."

"First things first," replied Giles. "How is your mother?"

"Comfortable," said Buffy. "For now. We'll know more later."

"Good," he said. Nodding, he took off his glasses. Then put them back on again. "Good," he repeated.

"Buffy," Willow finally said.

"Wil?"

"You need help." There she'd said it. Or at least begun to say it. Or begun to begin.

"Thanks, Wil, but I think we've got everything covered. If we need an extra hand or something, don't worry--you're on my list."

Giles coughed. "She meant about Glory."

Buffy's face shifted slightly. Like a wall slamming into place. "I can handle it."

"How?" Anya piped in. Ever the diplomatic one. "She's wiped the floor with you every time you've met. If you hadn't run away she'd've killed you. At least twice."

"I'll handle it," Buffy said. Her teeth didn't clench, but the effect was the same.

"With respect, Buffy," Giles said, "that is looking less and less likely. From everything we've been able to gather, this Glory is nothing less than a god. What demons are to most ordinary human beings, this entity is to demons. Quite simply, she's out of your league--at least as far as raw strength is concerned." He coughed nervously again, waiting for her reaction. Willow swore she could almost hear her best friend counting to ten. At last she took a breath. Which meant so could Willow.

"You have any suggestions?"

Giles shared a quick glance with Anya and Willow. "Yes. A few actually. One is to contact Faith and Wesley in Los Angeles. Perhaps two Slayers can accomplish more against this specific threat than one." He waited.

Buffy didn't react. "What else?"

Now Giles looked at Willow. So did Buffy. And Riley. Along with Dawn.

Taking a deep breath, Willow made the plunge. "I want to give the Apostate what he wants." Silence. "Anya and I have been going over Jenny's notes. Together, we believe we can make the spell work. We think we should try." Even before Willow had finished Buffy was shaking her head.

"It doesn't work."

"Actually," pointed out Giles, "we know it did. At once time, at least. Certainly Willow has grown stronger and more skilled since her last attempt."

"That's not the point!"

"What is, then?" Although she knew this was where the danger area lay, Willow didn't back down. "The Apostate is powerful. He's willing to help against Glory."

"Only according to a vampire. I'm sorry, Willow, but someone's got to say this--Tara is a vampire. We can't trust her."

"She was human when she told us what the Apostate wants."

"Even if that's true, you know what he wants his soul back for. Not to be better, or to help out! He wants his soul so he'll be the person in those prophecies Faith brought back--ones he and Tara conned her into stealing!"

"And how does that make it a bad thing to do? Giving a vampire back his soul?"

Buffy and Willow stared at each other. Lots was going unsaid right now. Would it stay that way? Should it? The moments stretched and stretched.

"Um...I don't get it." Riley spoke up.

His girlfriend looked at him.

"This spell, restoring a vampire's soul," he said, "it'll either work or it won't, right? I mean--what's the worst that could happen?"

Nothing was said for what seemed like five minutes. Finally, Buffy spoke. "That's not what's going on here. Willow...she has ulterior motives."

Before Willow could say anything (and what can I say, actually?), Riley said something first. "You mean she hopes the spell will work on Tara?"

"Well," Buffy did a take. "Yeah."

"Still don't get it. Okay, she might get hurt but that's her call, isn't it?"

"You don't understand."

"Explain it to me, then." Riley looked around the room. Willow could see suspicion rising in his face. "Somebody explain it. Please? Cause there is something to explain, isn't there?" Nobody said anything in reply. Everyone instead looked at Buffy. Who did her best imitation of a statue. Riley, meanwhile, began to look more than just suspicious. He began to look extremely wary, as if he'd just found what might be a poisonous snake in his bedroom.

"Angel."

"Giles!" Buffy hissed.

"He needs to know," the Watcher replied. "And the subject needs airing. Sit down, Riley."

"I'd rather stand."

"No you don't," said Anya. He gave her a look, then slowly took a seat.

This time it was Buffy and Giles in a staring contest. And it was Giles who won, with a simple question. "Shouldn't you be the one explaining?" Deflating a little, Buffy took a seat opposite Riley. Before she could say anything, Giles gestured to everyone. Willow joined him with Dawn and Anya in the back room. Clearly, Buffy had a lot to tell her boyfriend. Telling him would be tons easier without witnesses.

No one said anything for the longest time. Five minutes at least. It felt longer. At last Dawn looked at Willow and whispered just loud enough for her to hear...

"Is it true? Are you in love with Tara?"

* * *

The Apostate wore a hood for this meeting. Personally, Tara found herself wishing he wore it more often. It completely hid his features in shadow. He'd chuckled putting in on. Sensitivity on his part? Or making a virtue (or something) of necessity? Tara felt she knew the Apostate as well as any, but she couldn't guess what was going on in his mind now.

Midnight was nearing by the time they were halfway there. Neither said anything.

Both vampires arrived last at the ruins of the high school. It was the nearest thing to neutral territory all could agree upon. And understandably the Slayer and her friends were wary of this meeting. Tara held no ill towards any of them. One in particular. But they were wise, in her opinion, not to trust the Apostate. Nor did he expect them to.

Anya and Willow had all the magical implements needed for the ritual. They stood to one side. Buffy and Giles were watching them, clearly at the ready should anything go wrong. Riley was nowhere to be seen. Probably watching over Dawn and Mrs. Summers. Or Xander. Just as well. Since her own imprisonment by the Initiative, Tara had always found herself uncomfortable around the ex-soldier.

Not a word was spoken. The Apostate took his place in the center of the room. Buffy stared at the hooded figure, as did Giles. Beautiful Willow and Anya faced him. One carried a parchment, the other a crystal orb. A circle was already written on the floor. Both witches entered it, then sealed it behind them. No waiting then. No hesitation before reshaping Tara's world.

They each began to chant.

"Reda trupului ce separa omul de animal!
Te implor Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte."

Attuned as she was to magic, Tara felt a marshalling of forces as the words of the spell were spoken. Return to the body what distinguishes Man from the beast! I implore you Lord, do not ignore this request.

"Nici mort, nici al fiintei, te invoc, spirit al trecerii!
Lasa orbita as fie vasul care-i va transporta sufleutul la el."

Neither dead, nor of the living, I invoke you, spirit of the passing! Let this orb be the vessel that will carry his soul to him. Each word echoed in the ruined building. The orb itself began to glow. As did the eyes of the two witches. Power crackled with every word.

"Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie!"

Willow had begun shouting now. Her voice pierced Tara, like a knife.

"Acum!"

Tara felt the release like a thunderclap. She nearly saw it, like multihued lightning just beyond the visual range. Willow and Anya looked incandescent, their joined voices searing the air...

"ACUM!"

Everyone in the room was knocked over, as if by a sudden wind.

* * *

Willow looked up at the hooded man sprawled across the floor. She glanced at Anya, who nodded that she was alright. Tara, meanwhile, was rising up on unsteady feet. She even swayed a little. Dizzy? Frightened? Willow watched her anxiously for any sign of change, any hint that she'd been affected.

No one said anything for the longest time. Until Buffy gasped.

The Apostate had sat up. His hood was thrown back, revealing his face. Willow recognized it. He had changed, but not that much.

Bald. Feral, golden eyes. Pointed ears. A nose that was more a snout than anything else above a horribly befanged mouth. Only...the expression on his face didn't seem to match. Not at all. It was one of curiosity, puzzlement, blended with something else. Innocence? Of all people--innocence in him?

It was Buffy who said it. She barely breathed the name, but Willow heard it anyway.

"The Master...!"

Tara approached her sire. He looked at her with no recognition. "My child?" he asked in tones totally at odds with his looks. "What ails you, child?"

"How are you feeling?" Tara asked, her voice neutral.

"I...don't know" the ancient vampire replied. "Strange. Terribly strange. Methinks...where be this place?" His eyes took in the room around him, the people. Did he not remember who he was? If so, what era might last feel natural for this creature? Willow almost didn't want to guess.

"Sunnydale" spoke up Giles. "In California."

"Cal-i-for-nia?" His accent was odd. The r was very slightly trilled, for example. "I know not a land called California. Be we in the Holy Land? Or perhaps far Cathay?"

"Nearly halfway to the latter, I should say."

"And how came I here?" Weirdly, every phrase out of his mouth seemed...what was a good word? Straightforward? Kindly?

Buffy had been inching closer and closer to him. Every muscle was rigid as she asked "What's the last thing you remember?"

The Apostate considered this. "I was on a trip to market. And took shelter for the night in an abandoned farm."

Next Tara spoke up. "What is your name?"

"Jacob." He pronounced the j as a y. And for the first time glanced at his own hand--or rather, claw. Lifting it up, he stared at it with frightened eyes. "This...what hath become of me?" He looked at the others. "I beg of you--tell what has transpired!"

Tara looked to Willow. But what could she say? What could any of them say?

Giles approached him, not quickly but faster than anyone else. "Listen to me," he said. "Listen!" The Apostate tore his eyes away from the taloned hand that had to be his, gazing at Giles as Willow might at...well, Giles. "You were the victim of a vampire."

"Vampire? What is that?"

"A demon who feeds on the blood of the living. These creatures reproduce by mixing their own blood with that of their victims. Which is what happened to you. You--or rather, your body--has been the host of a vampire."

"I have been possessed?"

"Precisely. Until just a few moments ago."

He nodded, seeming to take all this in. But as his gaze swept the room, taking in the strange architecture, the bizarre (to him) clothes, implications were almost visibly trickling into his face. The resemblance to Riley for a moment was uncanny. And Willow had a horrid feeling things were about to go wrong. The Apostate looked at Giles again, this time his eyes focused and his voice strong.

"How long?"

"We don't know precisely."

"Not precisely? Methinks then you have some notion. Tell me." Giles hesitated. "In the name of almighty God," the vampire whispered, "I beg of you. How long?"

"At least eight hundred years."

Willow nearly moaned in sympathy at the expression on the Apostate's face at this news. She wanted to turn away. And the impulse to do so grew stronger as his face changed again. He had appeared puzzled but terrified. Now, he had a different emotion showing. One quickly eclipsing all others, drowning them.

Horror.

"...no..." he groaned the word "...no...please..." tears began to well in his eyes. "God in heaven! Please...no...!"

"Jacob!" Giles raised his voice. The vampire didn't seem to respond. "Jacob, it was not you! The demon left you its memories but you did not do those things..."

He didn't have a chance to finish. With a shove, the Apostate (former the Master, and before that evidently a good man named Jacob) sent Giles flying. Buffy caught him, collapsing under his weight with a thud. Yet both were soon up again.

Up in time to see the oldest vampire on earth weeping . His mouth was frozen in an open grimace, eyes bulging upward. To heaven? To god? Begging forgiveness? Or maybe demanding what he'd done to deserve such cruelty? Perhaps all of the above, and more. Willow was awestruck by the suffering on his face.

Then, without hardly a warning, he moved with lightning swiftness. His hands, ending in those horrible talons, swung inward with terrible aim. One took less than a second to gauge its way across his face, shredding an eye en route. At last his scream became audible--a hideous sound like someone condemned to eternal damnation. Which, she supposed, is precisely what it was.

But the scream didn't last. His other taloned hand dove below the ribs, ripping into undead flesh without mercy. Clearly, now that he could feel mercy he felt none for himself. The strangled scream ended abruptly as the Apostate tore the heart from his chest.

And he collapsed into dust and bones. Dead. Again.

Willow hoped at peace. She found herself praying he was at peace.

* * *

Willow gaped.

And that surprised her. She'd had plenty of experience with the strange and bizarre over the last few years. Vampires. Demons. Monsters of one stripe or another. Several would-be apocalypses. This, though...this was beyond any of that.

"Like a WUR-gin," the Thing-On-Stage crooned, "Touched for the WUR-ry first time..."

He had leathery purple skin. And a beak. The tentacles he had instead of fingers held a drink, which sported a small umbrella.

"Like WUR-ur-UR-ur-gin..."

Plus the leisure suit. That was maybe the worst part.

By an effort of will, she managed to very nearly ignore the singer. It helped to not look. She turned instead to her companions, who took in the environment with a nonchalance Willow could not but envy. Faith, the dark-haired slayer, actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Of course, some of that was probably pleasure at Willow's reaction. Wesley, the Watcher, managed to seem calm enough. So too did their companion, a handsome black man named Gunn (though Willow believed she'd caught him staring now and then). Riley had a phony grin on his face, trying to be polite. He seemed to be succeeding, mostly.

"So, does this go on much" asked Willow?

Wesley nodded. "Pretty much."

"The place is open every night till two," added Faith.

"Okay," said Willow. She snuck a peak at the stage again. "And why do they sing karaoke again?"

Gunn pointed at the a green demon with red eyes and black horns (wearing a rather nice tangerine tuxedo) sitting at the bar. "The Host there," he explained, "he gets visions about folks when they sing. So he sets up shop in this place."

"Yes, the Caritas is neutral territory," Wesley said. "No one hurts anybody here. So its a safe place to meet."

"That makes sense," said Riley. "I guess."

"So, Red," piped up Faith, turning to Willow, "what's up with Bee? What brings you and Beefcake down to LA?"

Willow took a deep breath. "Buffy needs help..."

* * *

Tara didn't mind the sports car. Lindsay's mild flirting with her annoyed at first, but he was smart enough to stop. What puzzled her though was why he insisted on coming to this place. It took her less than two seconds after arriving to realize he was very much in the minority--a mere human. On the other hand, he was a Lawyer. Maybe that made him an honorary monster.

He led her to a seat in a shadowed part of the bar. She lost what he was saying as her attention suddenly whipped across the room to a collection of mostly-familiar faces. One in particular.

"Tara? Are you alright?"

"I'm...fine. Just distracted a little is all."

Lindsay did a very good reassuring smile. She nearly believed it. "I understand. My jaw scraped the floor my first time." Interestingly, his own gaze did a take as he swept the room. Even more interestingly was the direction in which he reacted.

"Someone you know?" That would make for a wild coincidence.

"An almost girlfriend. Maybe a future one." He gestured towards the same table. Oh goddess. This could not be happening.

"The redhead?"

He shook his head. "Brunette. We're in an adversary situation at present, but circumstances are subject to change."

"So are you saying There's Hope?"

The smile again. She'd swear this one was genuine. Interesting. The mask does slip. "Faith, actually." With that pun (which he probably didn't know she got) Lindsay handed her a menu of songs. Although she had no plans to sing, Tara dutifully looked over the selections. It provided her the opportunity to stealthily observe Willow.

* * *

"Hi! Refresh anybody's drinks?" The waitress was just one more reason Willow had to try and not stare. As demons (demonesses?) she was cute--short blonde hair with blue highlights, pointed ears and catlike eyes. The plastic name tag read 'Jocelyn.' Odd name for a demon.

"Uh..no, thanks. Not right now."

"Check with ya later!" She actually winked as she headed back to the bar. Willow couldn't help but react as she noticed that Jocelyn had a rather long tail. It carried a bottle at roughly waist level.

Riley coughed. "Well. That's different."

"Hey, she's alright," commented Gunn. "Couple of months back we saved her from some really nasty dudes."

"You save demons?" Riley's eyebrows shot up at that one. Willow could sympathize.

"Special case," said Wesley. "Jocelyn's a half breed. As were her parents, I understand. Sunnydale tends to attract malevolent beings because of the Hellmouth, but there are many such creatures with no specific negative tendencies."

"Okay, so she's a not-evil demon?"

"Pretty much," agreed Faith. "Group of nazi-clones called the Scourge were going around hunting all the half-breeds they could find. Didn't care who got in the way. We stopped them. Then Jocelyn started working here."

Willow digested this. She shared a look with Riley. "Life in the big city," she ventured.

He shrugged. "Guess so."

Gunn lifted his beer. "Hey. Next victim is up."

Sure enough, the Host had led the scattered applause for the beaked and tentacled Madonna fan. He was now introducing the next person up--something about a newcomer to the City of Angels. Willow resolutely decided to be polite and not squirm. After all, why should all demons be evil? Were all human beings good? Of course not. So what if she hadn't met many? Giving a people a chance was the right thing to do.

Tara stepped on stage.

Willow nearly forgot to breathe.

Although a couple of dozen questions immediately came to mind, the one that bubbled up to her mind first was perhaps the strangest. Or most normal. Depended how you looked at it. What was she going to sing?

The music began. A ballad. It sounded familiar. Tara lifted the microphone and started to sing.

"Some say love, it is a river" she began, "that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed."

Her voice was strong yet gentle. It nearly spoke rather than sang. Yet she didn't falter, nor did her voice crack. And to Willow, each note sent an odd vibration through her.

"It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance."

Tara's gaze seemed fixed somewhere else. As if she sang to someone she could not see. Or was afraid to.

"It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live."

Dimly, Willow noticed she wasn't the only one who'd fallen silent. The entire bar was listening, intent. Yet Tara's voice wasn't really that good. Far from bad, but to gather this much attention? Could it be she wasn't the only one hearing something personal in those words? If so, didn't that mean she wasn't imagining it? The music picked up, and Tara looked at the audience for the first time.

At Willow.

"When the night has been too lonely," she sang,
"And the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,"

Willow held her breath.

"Just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose."

For one moment, as the music faded, there was silence. Then, a shaggy-looking man nearly seven feet tall stood up. He had long drooping ears and a snout. His red eyes gleamed. And he brought his hands together like a thunderclap, again and again. Less than a second later the entire club seemed to be joining in his applause. Willow snuck a look out the corner of his eye, saw Faith and her companions with stunned expressions joining in. Even Riley clapped his hands.

Tara was a hit. But she barely acknowledged the accolades. At her side, the behorned Host swept in, grinning and adding his own applause.

"How about that, folks? The vampire with a bleeding heart!"

She headed off the stage. Willow couldn't tell if the last look she gave the audience was aimed at her or not. But she had to admit--she was hoping it had been.

* * *

Tara paced, waiting for the Host. Lindsay hovered.

"Wow. You'd be a real treat at the office talent show. Give me a run for my money." Again, the calculated smile. Well, he was trying to recruit her, after all. Did he even know she was behind the theft of his precious prophecy? Would it matter?

At last the Host approached. "You know," he said beaming, "the undead are usually associated with bats. Keep it up, sweetheart, and they'll think of vampire along with nightingale!" It was a nice enough compliment. Were she in another mood, Tara might well have thanked him. Of course, if she were in another mood, she wouldn't have sung at all.

"So now you read my destiny, is that it?"

"That's the way it works, angel. Or should I say--fallen angel?" Silence. Then...

"Nice turn of phrase."

"I try."

"But I need to know..."

"What to do with yourself? Now that your sire is dead, no longer directing your destiny? How should you spend eternity now that his fanatical purpose no longer pushes you?"

"Yes."

The Host raised one eyebrow. "It has been written," he said with the ghost of smile.

"And that means what?"

"Your destiny. It has been written. For centuries. The second you began singing I could sense it. With the first note I saw the basics. By the time you got to the second verse I pretty much had the picture. You, my dear Tara, are a creature of legend. Even among our kind. Something of a messiah, even. And in a deeply, deeply ironic kind of way." He took this opportunity to have the waitress bring him a drink. "You see," he continued after a sip, "there's this prophecy, which you pretty much know about already. In fact, the late unlamented--although somewhat lamented, come to think of it--well, the late Apostate was indeed a figure of destiny as he suspected. The Powers That Be did indeed pull him out of hell just to create the Vampire With A Soul. But he got one little detail wrong. That creature, the Vampire With A Soul, was never meant to be him. It's you."

Lindsay did a take. Tara knew how he felt. Only she realized something.

"That's not possible."

"Wrong, doll. Its a certainty."

"I remember what it was like to be human," she insisted, "very well. So I remember what having a soul was like. And trust me, my soul isn't here. What you're looking at is a vampire. Period."

"Semi-colon, actually. And you're right as far as that goes. But you do have a soul."

Tara stepped closer to him. "If I had a soul, then I wouldn't even consider working for Wolfram and Hart. With a soul, I'd feel guilty about ripping my brother's throat out and sucking up all his blood. But I don't. Truth is, the memory of that moment makes me feel a little warm inside. Because I don't have a soul, I killed one of my lovers and turned her into a demon like me. So don't tell me I have a soul. I don't!"

"Ah, darling, you don't understand."

"She's not the only one," added Lindsay, brow furrowed and eyes piercing. He's shifted to business mode now. Oddly reassuring, that.

"Then let me explain," the Host continued. He looked directly into Tara's face. "I never said you had your original soul. Nor did I say your soul was in physical residence. But believe me--you have a soul." Every word was said with such utter calm certainty that Tara felt confused. It didn't help that the Host appeared slightly amused, as if sharing a secret joke.

Now he gestured slightly to the stage. "In fact, your soul is getting up to sing right now."

She turned. And stared. The world stopped for a moment.

Looking nervous as hell, but smiling with an unbearably cute courage, Willow was bringing the microphone up to her mouth. The music began, and after the opening riff, she began to sing. Her voice was unsteady but the determination was there and it compensated for a lot.

"Its not unusual to be loved by anyone," the red haired witch sang.

Tara had never felt so terrified. Or exhilarated. She just watched and listened to the beautiful Willow, forgetting the rest of creation for as long as the long-song lasted.

* * *

Willow tried, but couldn't become invisible as Giles and Buffy stared. Behind her, Riley reached out and touched her shoulder. She was grateful for the support.

"Okay," said the slayer, with deliberate patience, "why did you bring her here again?"

"The host said to."

"And this host is...?"

"He's a psychic demon who runs a karaoke bar."

They looked at her. They they looked at Riley. He nodded. "Yep."

Giles and Buffy exchanged a glance. It was Giles who spoke next. "Willow," he said, taking off his glasses, "you went to Los Angeles to recruit Faith. And you brought back..." The glance he aimed at the other side of the Shoppe spoke volumes, none of them reassuring.

"You brought a demon back because another demon told you to?" Buffy wasn't blinking. Not a good sign.

"Faith and Wesley seemed to think it was a good idea," offered Riley.

Now they all looked at their visitor, all five foot four inches of her with pale blue skin, pointed ears and prehensile tail. Jocelyn's feather-like hair was taking in the Magic Shoppe like a kid in a candy factory. Catlike eyes darted from one item to the next, and then the next. Then she noticed their staring. Grinning, she approached them.

"Wow!" proclaimed the half-breed. "This place is sooooooo...wow."

"Thank you," murmured Giles.

"And you run the place?"

"In theory."

"Need some help? I'll be needing a job."

"Ah. Well. You see..." Giles put his glasses back on. Again. "Even in a shop devoted to the supernatural, the clientele have limits to what they will accept." He actually looked embarrassed.

Jocelyn didn't. "You mean the way I look," she said. Closing her eyes, she concentrated. The transformation took a little over one second. Ears changed shape. Her tail retracted (where? Willow couldn't help but wonder). The blue turned pink while the white feather-like mane became cropped blonde hair. The eyes that opened again looked a normal hazel. "What do you think?" She did a pirouette.

Giles coughed. "Impressive," he conceded.

"She's only half demon," Willow pointed out. "Like her parents."

Buffy met Giles' gaze. "I could use some help," he said "what with Anya taking care of Xander." Another great sigh. Willow relaxed. She knew what was coming. "Very well," Giles finally intoned.

Jocelyn jumped up and down.

* * *

Tara stared at Xander. He hardly seemed to notice her. Arms wrapped around knees, crouching in the over-sized chair of Anya's, he kept looking from one corner of the room to the next. It made for a weird, even fascinating pattern. "Wind," he muttered. "Wind always trying to get in." Sometimes he ranted since having so much of his mind ripped away. Other times he'd remain silent for hours, emitting little more than random words. Tonight oracle-like musings came from him, a stream of consciousness said with great purpose--although one no one could understand. "The question is why. Why trying to get in? Something they want here? Or trying to get away from something else, eh? Answer me that, if you can. But only if you know. Not suspect. Know." He started to repeat this last word over and over, in a sing song voice.

Anya loved this man. She didn't really care all that much about anything else, Tara had noticed, but she was willing to do anything for Xander. Even in this state, she refused to leave him. Refused to give in, even to moments of despair and sadness, when her own tears set off Xander's hysterical sobs.

If this happened to Willow, would I take care of her?

Yes.

But the mere thought of Willow reduced in this way terrified her. Apart from any other concern, that danger alone would have brought her back to Sunnydale. Glory was here. Banished Hellgod who did...this...to her victims because she didn't belong in this reality and would go mad herself without their stolen sanity. More, Willow was here. Willow dwelt in this creature's stalking grounds, and wasn't going to leave. So neither would Tara.

Anya stepped back into the room, looking better after some sleep. She fixed her gaze on Xander, noted the lack of change, then gave a nod to Tara.

"Nothing much to report," she told the ex-demon. "He's been quiet."

"Thanks," said Anya, settling in to watch over her boyfriend. After a few moments she looked back at the vampire. "What?"

"You're not checking him for bite marks. I just wanted to thank you for that." Not waiting for a reply, Tara left the apartment. What was there to say, after all?

* * *

Willow left the Magic Shoppe late. She'd spent literally hours researching every single magical aspect of insanity she could find. It made for a daunting task. Yet, despite her tiredness, she immediately recognized the figure lurking in the shadows.

"Hello, Willow" said Tara.

"Hi." Something seemed different. What? "I thought...aren't you living in LA now? Well, not living but kinda undying? Is that the word?"

"It might be. But--no."

"Oh."

"Let me walk you home. This isn't a safe town to walk alone at night."

Left unsaid of course was the main reason Sunnydale was so dangerous--namely, vampires. Vampires like Tara herself. By most standards, this was an ironic offer at least. At worst, it was dangerously insane.

"Okay." She barely hesitated. The two of them made their way through the half-deserted streets. Neither felt any need for hurry.

"I've been thinking about that spell I did," ventured Willow after several minutes.

"Which one?"

"To have my will done? It made Faith and Buffy get engaged for an hour or two there?"

Tara smiled. Willow still felt embarrassed about that incident, but the blonde vampire's smile nearly banished those feelings. She was too tired to deny that. And after all, why should she, really?

"I remember."

"You suddenly appeared. Out of nowhere."

Silence. Tara watched her. In this dim light no doubt she was getting a far better idea of Willow's expression than Willow got of hers.

"Did you ever wonder why?

"Why what?

"I mean--why you showed up? Right then? There?"

"Yes." Her voice was low saying this. For a moment, Willow felt an aching memory of the human Tara, the quiet girl she'd found irresistible in the few hours they'd shared. They were so different. Yet almost painfully similar as well. That Tara had her moments of silence as well, silences filled with meaning and possibilities.

"It...was something I said." More silence. Taking a deep breath, Willow plunged ahead. "I wished for someone who'd be there for me. Just me. No one else." She waited for a reply. Any reply.

The wait lasted nearly an entire minute. "That wish came true." Willow could barely hear her.

"Guess so."

"It still is." Those three words didn't really echo into the night, reverberating back and forth across the night sky so that all the gods and goddesses could hear. Instead, Tara spoke in the same quiet voice she had before. But to Willow, they rocked her like an earthquake. For me. Mine.

Mine.

Her reverie was broken as Tara suddenly stopped, her posture abruptly changing. With a sliding sound, she took the sabre from her back. The vampire looked ready for a fight. But Willow heard nothing. Until...there! Metal clanging against metal, again and again but in the rhythm by now very familiar. Battle. Someone was fighting. With...swords?

Both young women broke out into a run. Less that two blocks away, they followed the sounds to an alley. There, Buffy was driving away a small cluster of heavily armed man-shapes. Weirdly, each was garbed in chain mail. And each wore a mask. Buffy herself was holding her own, face twisted into a grimace of rage. Two of the armored shapes were approaching her from behind. Willow focused her will. The top of a garbage can flew into the back of one shape, making him trip and alerting Buffy to his presence. She spun around, meeting the sweep of his blade with one of her own. Borrowed, presumably, from one of the fallen Shapes.

Tara used her own sword, using less skill (or so it seemed to Willow's eye) but fortified with superhuman strength, speed and endurance. Besides, short of decapitation, a sword couldn't hurt her. And switching to her demon face had a good psychological effect--most of them took off.

All but one.

Buffy had him on the ground, sword at his throat. "Lets see what you are," she murmured. Then she yanked off his mask.

He looked--human. Not bad looking, in fact. The weird tattoo on his forehead was distracting, though.

"Who are you?" asked the Slayer.

"One of a vast army!" His eyes took in the two young women nearing, on either side of Buffy. At Tara, he actually recoiled a little. Willow realized she still wore her demon face. "It doesn't matter," he snarled, "how many allies you may have! We shall send as many as are needed! The Beast shall not prevail!"

Buffy looked at Willow. Then Willow looked at Tara, who looked at Buffy. Now Buffy noticed Tara for the first time. She looked at the two of them. Together.

"Now," she muttered under her breath, "what?"

* * *

In the end Buffy let the soldier go.

Eventually, she let Willow and Tara go as well--not without lots of explanations, though. She did agree that Sunnydale was dangerous, and yes, Tara had protected her best friend before now, but on the other hand Tara was a vampire--and so on. Buffy only backed off after Willow had put on what Tara could only call a resolve-face. At least it defeated Buffy's indignation.

Now they'd walked for another hour or more without a word. Exactly where they went wasn't clear. At least not at first. But Tara gently directed the red-haired witch. She wanted to show her something.

"So..."

"Yes?" Whatever it was, Tara didn't want to press her.

"What's it like?" She glanced nervously at Tara. "Being a vampire?"

Oh. Dear. God.

"Hard to explain." That sounded lame. Worse, it meant nothing. And worse still, it was true. "Its like--the brakes are gone. Everything is increased. Speed and strength, you know about that. But what you lose is what's most interesting."

"Your soul."

"I suppose. But what seems missing to me are all the inhibitions, the little cowardices, the self-imposed limits. Gone. And that is so very, very addictive." Willow was listening. She seemed interested. A good sign. "I think that must be what it'd be like to get drunk. Or really high on drugs. Most of us--I've noticed--get swept up in the sensation. They find the high and do everything they can to stay there."

"But you didn't."

"Oh, yes I did. The first time I killed--you can't imagine what that was like. Being born couldn't have meant more. If someone had disemboweled me, it couldn't have hurt as much. Yet a thousand orgasms couldn't match it. No other kill is ever quite like it. Not that I didn't try." She could tell this frightened Willow. But didn't terrify her.

"What changed?"

"The Apostate."

"Your sire." Tara nodded. "Is that why he took your eye?"

"He wanted to get my attention. It worked. Honestly, I'm not sure anything less...drastic...would have."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

After another eternal ten minutes, Tara stopped. With a glance, she indicated they'd reached where she was headed. Two stories of moldy bricks and boarded-up windows. She went inside. Barely hesitating, Willow followed. Tara entered through a side door, padlocked several times on the outside as well--it turned out--as inside. One stark lightbulb was the only source of illumination, showing dust and clutter. A surprising amount of time and effort had gone into creating this effect. Four carefully placed mannequins, for example, helped create an atmosphere both unsettling and profoundly abandoned.

Tara made her way to a large wardrobe. Pulling aside the door, she then pushed the mildewed clothes hanging there. One carefully placed push of her hand then revealed the ladder.

"You coming?"

Willow's eyes were huge. Not as huge as they could've been, but...big. Still, she gamely followed Tara. The ladder's rungs were steel, and built into the reinforced concrete. Down. Further down. Nearly fifty feet down.

At the bottom, Willow turned around and stared. Tara couldn't help but giggle at the shock on her face.

"Wow."

"Used to be a bomb shelter," noted Tara as she switched on the extra lights. An affectation it might be, but she was almost childishly pleased at the effect of nearly a hundred candelabra light bulbs flickering from all over the room. Curtains hung everywhere, some of them draped over various pieces of furniture. Well, the couches hadn't matched. Besides, they were ugly. The bookcases and desk had been nice though. Now they overflowed with books.

Books Willow headed for like a vampire to blood. Her excitement grew as she scanned some of the titles.

"You...how...Tara, this library...Giles would fall in love with you!" The second she said it Willow did a take.

Tara decided to be nonchalant. Or to try, anyway. "My sire's legacy. There was no one else with any claim to his things, so..." She shrugged. "You are welcome here."

"Thank you."

"Not just to study."

Another long silence. Finally, "What about Harmony?"

"Gone. Joined a self-help group for vampires, if you can believe it. She was a mistake, anyway."

"Why did you make her?"

"Loneliness. She was pretty. Different. I got careless, took too much. So instead of letting her die, I brought her across. Do you mind if we don't talk about her?"

"Fine."

How long the silence then lasted Tara couldn't possibly have guessed. It felt like a million years. And for the first eon or so, neither she nor Willow did more than look at each other. Then, Willow took a tiny step. Forward. Not back. Closer to Tara. Then another.

Tara seized her.

Lightning fast, her hands reached out to each side of Willow's face, bringing their mouths together in one hungry movement. Somebody whimpered. Who? Did it matter? Or as long as they were at long, long last where they should be--touching, feeling each other, holding each other tight, tighter, tighter still--while this was true, what else could concern them? Details--never mind details.

When the kiss ended, it didn't, really. At least, it didn't feel so much an end as a pause. Both of them gasped. Willow had to. Tara simply did so from habit, perhaps. Now they looked at each other. Just looked.

"You're so warm," whispered Tara. "Like blood. Like life." Her voice sank, nearly inaudible. "Am I cold?"

"Cool," hushed Willow back to her. "Like a glass of water in the desert."

Their next kiss lasted even longer. As did the next. Later, neither could recall precisely when they fell to the pillowed floor--though both could not forget the feeling as limbs entwined and hands, then fingers, began to explore. It was sweet beyond words, and bittersweet because each remembered doing the same. Then, one of them had been different. Yet in some ways identical. So this dance of flesh and nerve tip was all mixed up with regrets and confusions, coupled and coupling with joyous abandon. It took a lot of courage to shed their pasts along with their clothes. Yet they did it.

And they met together in pleasure more than merely physical, blinding though that part of it was.

Mine, they thought as one.

Yours.

Never again alone. Forever bound. Heat and cold. Living and undead. Mortal and hellspawn. Yet--alike in their hearts, beating or not.

Hours later, when Willow offered her throat, she felt no fear. And Tara felt no shame. She bit deeply. She drank. Her lover moaned, but did not die. Nor would she, vowed the young vampire with all the raw might of her will.

Nor would she.

* * *

"Uh...thanks."

The expression on Buffy's face was a very fixed smile. Very. As in artificial. Fake. Willow stole a quick glance at Riley, anxious he was going to feel hurt. But no--he looked as genuinely pleased as a child winning a checkers. Meanwhile, Buffy looked down at all the weapons manuals she'd just removed from the wrapped box. The wrapping paper was mismatched pastels.

"Happy Birthday!" Riley was grinning as he said it.

Willow stole at glance at everyone else at the party. Joyce was smiling with what seemed like warmth. Giles was nearly as good. Xander, drugged into quietness, just stared at the colors. Only Anya, holding his hand, tilted her head in honest confusion.

"Why did you get her manuals for weapons she doesn't have?"

(Note to self, thought Willow, don't keep wearing turtlenecks around Anya once the weather warms up.)

Riley looked at her as if she'd just admitted to getting polka-dot tattoos. He didn't say anything. Which seemed wrong, somehow.

"For future reference," stated Buffy. "Thanks, honey," she said, adding a loud smooch on her boyfriend's cheek. His smile was entirely too cartoonish for Willow's taste.

"Prezzies! More prezzies!"

Willow nearly handed hers to the birthday girl, but Giles beat her to it. Giles? I must be more tired than I thought. Must remember to take those vitamins and follow the doctor's diet. At the same time, not let her best friend and roommate notice anything was different. So far, not too difficult. Enough travails were wandering around in Buffy's life right now--specifically, a bleached-blonde hellgod looking to find her little sister for Who-Knows-What-Purpose-But-Odds-Are-Something-Evil. So Buffy was distracted. It hadn't really registered on her that Willow was spending a lot of every night away from their dorm room. Or that she was weaker than usual. Yet Buffy was smart enough that if one word of Willow's "anemia" came to her attention, she'd remember how her best friend had managed not to let anyone see her neck in over a week. And the violence would ensue.

She couldn't let that happen.

"Where's Dawnie?" she asked.

"Upstairs," shrugged Buffy. "The angst of the newly minted teen at someone else's birthday."

"All shiny," muttered Xander, "and bright and pretty. Like a doubloon in the pirate's treasure."

Everyone was silent for a moment. United in discomfort. Everybody looked at their good friend, now a wasted remnant of what he'd been. His eyes continued to be vacant, with the occasional twitches in each limb. Anya brought him to her in a comforting hug. Xander mewled. Willow was reminded how she and Tara had been doing some research into maybe healing her oldest friend. Had his insanity been natural, it would have been far too dangerous. But this condition had been caused by magic. Magic, at least in theory, could undo what had been done.

So she hoped.

* * *

"What are you doing out?"

Dawn spun around at the sound of Tara's voice. For the barest of seconds, she had the look of a kitten caught in headlights. But she recovered quickly.

"I can ask you the same question!"

"Fair enough," answered Tara. She emerged from the shadows of the tree outside the Summers' house. Dawn did a little take.

"Your eye..."

Tara touched her face. "Its glass. Pretty good, don't you think? I can't see the effect, myself."

Dawn stepped closer to get a better look. Privately, Tara was pleased to think the Slayer's sister wasn't afraid to get this close to her. The teenager peered into the vampire's face.

"They look alike. Pretty much, anyway. The same color blue." Dawn nodded. "How does it feel?"

"Kinda like a bandage."

"Oh." She clearly didn't know how to respond to this.

"Now, about that deal."

"What deal?"

"You tell me what you're doing out here. And I tell you what I'm doing."

Dawn pondered this for a bit. Then she gestured. "Not here. Let's get out of big sister range."

The teenager led the vampire away, to somewhere they could talk. As they left, Tara took a quick look back at the house where Willow was. She shouldn't feel anxious, she knew that. Later tonight, they'd be together. But this was one of the symptoms of love, she supposed. No way she could get enough of the sight of her beautiful red-haired witch.

* * *

The party continued, quiet in its way but also slightly manic. Willow thought everyone's reaction to cake was just a little over the top. Even her own. Joyce offered a slice to Giles in a decidedly flirtatious way. Buffy glared at them hard enough they parted ways. Riley just would not sit down half the time, insisted on remaining at parade rest. Weird. And the way Buffy insisted on playing Monopoly! It was...odd. Especially as Buffy would cackle everytime she got to buy something or any player had to pay her rent. Stranger--and more disturbing still--were the cracks about beating up anyone who insisted she pay up when landing on their properties. After a while, the way she kept getting out the weapons manuals Riley got her, flipping through the pages and muttering "See, with this one no one could get out alive" really got on Willow's nerves.

Willow found herself off in the sidelines with Anya.

"Does all this seem strange to you?"

"You mean, how Buffy's acting crazy?"

"Well, yeah. Kinda."

"I'm putting it down to stress. Her mom getting sick. Glory the hellgod wanting to grab her sister. After a vampire tried to drain said sister."

"Plus...you know."

The deliberate cheerfulness in Anya's face faltered. "Xander." She looked so sad for a moment, so devastated, Willow decided to be a little reckless.

"We might have found something," she whispered to Anya.

Anya looked at her, baffled. "We?"

"Tara and me. Don't tell Buffy." Willow's voice sank even lower.

"I can't hear you."

Carefully, Willow raised the volume of her voice. "Me and Tara." She shot a quick glance at Buffy, who was far too cheerfully demanding her mother pay up or face the wrath of the chosen one. "She has these amazing books on demonology and magic. Besides, she knows more about Glory than anyone, because of what the Apostate told her. Anyway, there're these references to various healing demons."

"I thought of that," Anya interrupted. "Remember, I used to be one?"

"A healing demon?"

"No. I was a vengeance demon. But I got to know a lot of other types of demons over the centuries."

"Oh. But I thought most demons only stick around their own kind."

"They usually do. But sometimes they act in concert for a common goal. Like when they belong to the same cult. Or a moon demon hunt. Plus sometimes there's a big ceremony where everybody who's anybody has to show up, bring sacrifices, that kind of thing."

"I guess that makes sense. So you know about healing demons?"

"Yep." This was not said with anything like optimism. "As a rule, they're mercenaries of a type. You have to pay them to get their help--usually in pain or body parts." She sighed. "Not that they'd help any friend of a slayer, anyway."

Willow wished she could dispute any of this. Unfortunately, Anya was the expert here, and she had the fiercest motivation for healing Xander. She'd practically put herself in orbit around him.

"We'll keep looking anyway," she whispered to Anya.

"Thanks." Anya's reply was very, very quiet.

* * *

"We could simply break the door, you know."

Tara sighed. She didn't need to, being dead and all. But habits were habits.

"Do you want Giles to know somebody's been going through his things?"

Dawn considered this. "But the shop's getting broken into all the time, anyway."

"No reason to get sloppy." Tara's voice was firm. Dawn subsided, waiting as patiently as a 14-year-old can while Tara tried to pick the magic store's lock. Not very successfully.

"So you're in love with Willow?"

"That's right."

"I thought vampires couldn't love."

"Not exactly." Tara nearly welcomed the distraction. For one thing, she preferred intelligent inquiry to adolescent nagging any night. Besides, she'd been trying to articulate this very thing for a long time. "Vampires are demons. Demons are predators, and we have all of a predator's instincts."

"But no soul."

"Right. I think humans use their soul to feel some emotions. For us, though, the potential is there but atrophied. Most vampires just ride wherever their instincts take them."

"How come that isn't true for you?"

"Don't know."

The teenager pondered this. "So were you always gay?"

"Yes."

"So that doesn't change, then?"

"I don't think so."

"What about Willow?"

Tara stopped. She looked at Dawn. "What about her?"

Both teenager and vampire jumped as the door to the magic shop suddenly swung open. Jocelyn--in full demon face--peeked her head out, taking them in.

"Hey guys! Why didn't ya knock?"

Silence.

Dawn finally spoke. "We didn't know anybody was here."

"And," continued Tara, "we didn't want to bother Giles."

"Okay-dokey. Come on in!"

* * *

"Where're ya goin' Wil?"

"Just for a walk, Buffy. My stomach's upset."

"Too much cake?"

"Yeah. Some fresh air'll do me good."

Buffy nodded in a very control-mode kind of way. Oh dear. Willow felt less than thrilled as her best friend turned to Riley with the air of an officer giving orders. "Willow's going for a walk," she said, "go with her."

"I don't need..."

"Wil, Sunnydale's dangerous enough and now Glory's out there. You're a lot safer with an escort."

Riley was very nearly at attention. What was it with people lately? Giving in to the inevitable, Willow nodded. At least Riley seemed pleased--give the boy a job, any job, and he felt the better for it. Okay. But before she could even take another full step towards the front door, Willow noticed Joyce coming from upstairs, looking distressed.

"Buffy! Dawn--she's missing."

Everybody (except Xander) instantly went on the alert. Buffy turned to Willow. "Could anybody have gotten past that warding spell without you knowing it?"

"No! No way. I mean--it wouldn't do more than slow anybody down, but it's make plenty of sound is anything demonic or even supernatural broke the circle."

"She's probably gone off on her own," ventured Giles.

"In Sunnydale?" Buffy's voice was furious, indignant.

"C'mon," said Willow, "she's only fourteen."

The slayer's face drained of any emotion, gaining that focus Willow knew by now meant she was going to put up with nothing that even smacked of nonsense. Or dissent. "Riley. Willow. Do a circuit around the neighborhood. Anya, you and Giles head for the Magic Shoppe."

"Buffy!"

She looked at Willow. "What?"

Willow gestured towards Xander, rocking on the sofa, Anya's arms protectively around his shoulders, her expression a mix of appalled and defiant.

"Anya needs to stay with Xander," Willow said to Buffy's puzzled expression. Rather more slowly than it should have, Buffy's face registered what she'd said. She looked around.

"Mom? You stay here. Dawn might simply come back on her own. I'll go with Giles."

"Alright, honey."

"Let's go people!"

* * *

Jocelyn proved more than cooperative. When Dawn (rather brazenly, in Tara's opinion) asked to see Giles' most recent journal, the half-demon picked the drawer's lock with no trouble and presented the book to her with a flourish. Now she crouched atop the counter, tail flicking back and forth while Dawn read.

Tara herself looked around the shop, quietly noting how a few books and amulets had been rearranged since she was here last. Nothing very obvious. But something tickled at the back of her mind. Some little detail. A clue?

"The monks," read Dawn aloud, "had to make sure the Slayer would protect the Key with her life. So they gave it human form." She said these last words with no inflection. Then stopped. For what seemed like forever.

"Wow," said Jocelyn at last. "So none of us in this room is completely human!"

"I wouldn't put it that way," answered Tara deliberately. She watched the unmoving Dawn while she spoke. "From what Giles says, Dawn is completely human. She's even Buffy's sister. They altered reality to give the Key a form, but that form is just as real as anything else."

"Still," insisted Jocelyn cheerfully, "its not like she's really fourteen. Or like Mrs. Summers is really her mother."

"Of course she is."

"Noooooooo...!" She shook her head like a clown.

"Yes!" Tara was a little startled at how forcefully she said this. "If I did a spell, for example, that shrimp no longer existed, then I would have changed reality. Shrimp wouldn't pretend not to exist, they really wouldn't. And if I did it right, shrimp would never have existed and no one would remember them. The world wouldn't be full of invisible shrimp nobody could remember! I'd've created a different, but true reality."

"C'mon, that's not the same thing."

"Its exactly the same thing!" Still no reaction from Dawn. This was not good. "If Dawn really is this Key, then she's real. Even if somebody magically created the form she's in now, that doesn't change the fact her form is real. Its kind of like finding out you were reincarnated. Only with some bells and whistles."

Jocelyn looked skeptical. "I think you're stretching, girlfriend."

Tara fumed. "I am not your..." She stopped herself. "Anyway, the whole point is that Dawn is human. However she got that way, she's human now. And she's who she is, even if how she got here is rather...exotic."

"Exotic?" Dawn's voice was so low Tara might not have heard it if she wasn't a vampire. From Jocelyn's turn of head, clearly she heard it as well. "Exotic means weird. Unusual. Freakish."

Silence followed. Cut into suddenly by Tara. "Unique. Individual. Extraordinary. And exotic also means pretty, valuable, rare."

"Alone." If anything, Dawn's voice went even lower.

Tara strode over to where Dawn sat, hunched in and looking at no one. She sat beside her, putting one arm around her. Each shoulder felt like steel, she was so tense. But she didn't react to Tara's presence at all. Memories of her human mother's death came unbidden to Tara.

"Dawn."

No answer.

"Dawn," Tara repeated. "How do you know we aren't all Keys? Or something else? Maybe that's all the universe is, a place for magical some things to have form. Remember last year, when everybody thought Jonathan invented the internet and starred in The Matrix?"

"I wasn't there."

"You don't know that."

"I. Wasn't. There."

Tara paused. "For all any of us know, the world began five seconds ago, complete with a bunch of memories created along with the trees and iguanas and pizza parlors and everything."

Atop the counter, Jocelyn cocked her head. "I like that idea," she almost hissed.

Ignoring her, Tara leaned in closer to Dawn. Pitching her voice low, she spoke with an surprising intensity. At least surprising to her. "Listen to me. This is something I know--it doesn't matter. Not in any way that counts. Whether you're a Key, or a changeling left by fairies, or a vampire or a clone, or simply a little girl whose sister happens to be the Slayer--you are what you think, and do, and feel. That's why people care. And in the end, that's why they love."

Dawn trembled. Only for a moment, and only slightly but Tara felt it. Maybe she was getting through to her? She could hope.

"You," began Dawn, "really believe that?" A deep, almost shuddering breath. "How can you?"

"I do more than believe. By now, I know."

Now Dawn looked at Tara. "Because of Willow? Because she loves you?"

Tara nodded. She could feel the girl's stare boring into her. On an impulse, she hugged her. After a moment or two, Dawn hugged back. Tara rocked the girl gently, feeling the first few deep breaths that came before crying. In some part of her mind, Tara was surprised she still recognized all this. Perhaps she hadn't lost as much as she thought when the Apostate had sired her. Or when she and Willow together had reunited the demon and the human. This was a subtle pleasure, to be sure. Delicate even, giving comfort to a confused and horrified young woman. Yet she welcomed it.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY SISTER!"

Buffy stood in the front door, teeth bared, her entire body ready to spring. The axe in her hand only added to the effect.

Dawn pulled away from Tara. Her eyes were red, puzzled, angry. Hurt. She stared at her sister.

Buffy spoke through clenched teeth. "Dawn! Come to me!" The girl hesitated. "NOW!"

"You," said Dawn sullenly, "aren't my sister." Buffy's eyes widened. "I don't have to obey you."

"Do what she says," whispered Tara. "The truth is--she loves you." Dawn took this in reluctantly. With a certain awkward grace, she stood and headed towards Buffy. It took her longer than it should have. But when she got there, she looked the Slayer straight in the eye.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The indignation in Dawn's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. "Why?"

At first, Buffy didn't answer. "I was afraid of telling anyone."

"She was trying to protect you," added Tara from across the room. "In her heart--where it counts--you are her sister."

Now Buffy snarled. She stepped past Dawn, almost ignoring her. From the counter top, Jocelyn watched with fascination. Buffy looked on the verge of a berserk rage.

"Willow's in the hospital," she intoned.

Tara stood. "Why? What happened?"

"You already know." Buffy advanced in a murderous frenzy. "Bunch of Glory's minions tried grabbing her and Riley. In the fight, Willow fainted. Riley administered first aid." By now her eyes nearly glowed. "Guess what he found on her throat?"

What happened next very nearly seemed to be in slow motion. Buffy's axe swept in an arc towards Tara's neck. The vampire managed to duck only barely, then rolled away as fast as she could manage. She was only just fast enough as the axe's blade sliced through a part of her coat and imbedded itself in the floor. Dawn was screaming her sister's name. Jocelyn had stood up, her tail now swinging back and forth like a whip. Tara herself jumped beneath a table, putting its solid bulk between herself and the slayer. It wouldn't work for long, but she needed these few moments. She reached into her blouse as fast as she could, then dashed out towards the back door.

Buffy did something superhuman. She jumped over Tara and landed at the door before her. One spinning kick sent the blonde demon flying to the floor. Without a pause Buffy had her wooden stake out. She leapt with unerring aim, driving it deep into Tara's heart! It went all the way through and its tip hit the shop's floor.

And Tara looked up at Buffy, unharmed.

The slayer's eyes went huge. After that, they quickly went to each of Tara's hands. What she was looking for was on the left--the Ring of Amara. Rendering any vampire who wears it immune to the sun or the stake.

"That's why you seduced Willow," she hissed!

"Wrong!" Tara focused her will. With a word, she pushed Buffy off her and into the air. She landed with a thud. Tara herself jump up, and quickly pulled out the stake. In one movement, she raced towards the front door, tossing the stake at Dawn as she did.

* * *

Once into the night, she fled into the shadows where she knew the slayer could not find her. From alleyway to rooftop, via parking lot and even through a few abandoned buildings, she carefully avoided leaving a trail. She did not stop moving for at least an hour. When she did, she found herself at a motel. The parking area was filled with people, almost all of them her own age. Loud music blared. Pictures were projected onto the wall. Nearly everyone's clothes were...well, odd. One whiff told her that pot as well as crack was being smoked, along with the more usual tobacco. A rave. It must be. Good. The kind of place even a berserk slayer would not turn into a battle zone. Assuming, of course, she even managed to trace Tara here. Wait for an hour or two. Perhaps find somebody in a wacked-up enough mood from whom to feed. Then, back to her hidden lair. Only Willow knew where that was.

Willow. Thoughts of the redhead made Tara pause. Freeze, actually. With fear. Not of death, for in truth she'd died once and since then she'd found a surprising courage. Perhaps a legacy of her demon. But fear of losing Willow.

The tap on her shoulder brought her out of that mood. She turned to see an impossibly perky young lady smiling at her. For a moment, Tara didn't recognize her. When she did, it was all she could do not to drop her jaw.

"Britney Spears?"

"No," said the girl, a shade too precisely. "My name is April. Have you seen Warren?"

* * *

Willow moped. The locale had something to do with this, being a hospital and all. And the gown they made her wear did nothing for dignity or comfort. But the fight she'd had last night weighed her down in very many ways.

Ultimate evidence of that fight was seated next to the door. Giles sat there, obviously standing guard. Against Tara, of course. He wouldn't listen to her, of course. That much had been made excessively clear. Goddess forbid anyone imagine for one instant she might know what she was doing. Or that the risks of her relationship might be something she'd thought through and accepted. Funny how nobody freaked this way when she dated a werewolf. And Buffy herself had dated a vampire. So it wasn't as if she was breaking really new ground here.

A sigh brought Giles suddenly to her side. "Willow? Are you alright?"

"Yes, Giles, I'm fine."

The weary anger in her voice must have penetrated. He took off his glasses. "You have friends who love you, Willow."

"Be kinda nice if they trusted me, too."

"It isn't your fault," he said in what was probably meant as a soothing voice. It didn't soothe. "Whatever sorcery or the like this Tara creature used, we'll discover."

"Giles."

"Yes, Willow." He looked so eager. She was so angry.

"I love her."

The patient look on his face made Willow want to slap him. "You believe you do."

"Just like you believe you care about Buffy? After all, maybe that just some magic that's part of being a slayer. Their watchers just start caring for them more and more and more--but maybe its not real. Maybe its just magic."

"Don't be silly."

"Prove it. Prove anything you've ever felt was real. I'm betting you can't."

He wasn't going to listen. She could talk from now until doomsday (which, in Sunnydale, might be next Thursday so that might be the wrong homile to use but anyway) but that alone would never let him believe himself wrong. Not about this. And one really nasty thought came to Willow as she watched Giles patiently take his seat again by the door. Would he be reacting this way if Tara had been a boy? For that matter, would any of them? Because Buffy and Riley in particular had been acting...well...kinda crazy about the whole thing. And not just about that.

Giles snapped to attention as the door opened. The fact it was day no longer made any difference in his mind, obviously. Well, what did anyone expect? Did they really believe Willow wouldn't try everything she could to protect her girlfriend? Okay, maybe she shouldn't have stolen it, but...

Willow did a take. The person who walked into her hospital room could not be walking into her hospital room.

"Hello," said Britney Spears. "You must be Willow. My name is April."

"Uh...hi." Something about the way this girl talked seemed...familiar. And not in a Britney-Spears-kinda-way. "This is my friend, Rupert Giles."

"Hello Rupert Giles," the precisely perky blonde said.

"Yes. Well. Good morning."

"Do I know you?" ventured Willow.

"No. But we have a mutual friend. Someone from Los Angeles. Her name is Rose." She said all this with the identical smile throughout. And much the same intonation. But--much more importantly, she was from Tara. The bit about LA and "The Rose" was a dead (or undead) giveaway.

"Oh!" Willow said, she hoped not too enthusiastically. "How is Rose?"

"She said to tell you she is fine. And she said I was to ask how you were." Again with the cheerfulness.

"Just a bit of anemia. You know--college student, not eating right, that kinda thing."

April nodded vigorously. "Good nutrition is terribly important. So will you be in this hospital for long?"

Willow eyed Giles, who looked equally puzzled and titillated. "I checking out today. Then I'll be hanging around as usual."

"Oh good! Then maybe Rose can come over for a visit. I think she would like that."

"That'd be nice." Where did Tara find this girl?

"Well, I will be going now. Perhaps we will see each other again?"

"Maybe."

"Bye-bye!" And with that, April turned and left.

Giles stared after her. Then stared at Willow. She did her best to appear innocent.

* * *

Although she hadn't been a vampire that long, Tara still found the sunlight disorienting. She wondered if this was a permanent response of her demon to something that was normally fatal--Ring of Amara or no. But then she saw her target and banished such thoughts.

Tara made it to his car before Ben did. He looked a little startled, then relaxed in recognition. "Miss Maclay. Hi."

"Hi. I've got to ask you something."

"About the glass eye? Is there some irritation?"

"No, that's fine. But a friend of mine has been looking for someone, and I have an idea you might know where he is."

"Well," Ben looked puzzled. "If I can help--sure."

She took a snapshot out of her pocket, handing it to him. "His name is Warren." Ben took a long, hard look. Before he said anything, Tara already knew.

"He was admitted a couple of days ago."

"For what?"

"Psych ward. Had a sudden and unexplained mental collapse. There's been a lot of that going around." He looked anything but happy about that. "Do you want to see him."

"No. But I think I'd better." With a shrug, he motioned her back towards the hospital. "I should mention," Tara said as she started walking, "there're some people hanging around the hospital I don't want to see me. Nothing illegal, just--awkward."

"Hey, we've all got secrets."

* * *

Willow felt better now that she was in her own clothes. And almost free--of this room, anyway.

"So where's Buffy?"

Anya answered before Giles. "On patrol with Riley. Looking for Tara, I think." Willow's look of alarm brought a reaction from her. "But I don't think they'll find her."

"They certainly have had no luck so far," murmured Giles.

"Good," said Willow. She stared at Giles without flinching. He looked away.

"I for one hope they don't find her. Tara has been really nice, helping out with Xander and everything."

"Anya," said Giles, "did it never occur to you to ask why she was being so helpful."

"No. Just to wonder why the rest of you weren't. Except Willow." Giles sighed. In exasperation. And maybe some guilt. Willow liked to think he felt some guilt. "Anyway, its not like Tara hurt anybody."

"May I remind you this is a vampire we're talking about? One who fed from Willow?"

"I asked her to," offered Willow.

"That," said Giles after a moment or two, "was hardly the sanest act you've ever committed."

"Could have been worse," she answered. "For example, I could have gotten together with a bunch of Satanists and raised a death-worshipping demon to go around possessing people to kill us all off." Giles twitched. That hit home. Anya looked between them, sure she was missing something--quite rightly. She waited for someone to explain. When no one did, she make a little sound and looked at Willow.

"You ready to go?"

"Sure."

Giles followed them out.

* * *

Tara hadn't expected the Psych Ward to be so...full.

"We don't know what's causing it," said Ben, "but the number of admissions for mental disturbances has been a steady flood for months. Something in the water, maybe. Then, about a week or so ago, things got worse. A lot worse."

"More admissions?"

"Nope. They all got worse. Crazier."

Every single bed held a patient, twitching and moaning (in some cases snarling) against heavy restraints. More than a few erupted into peals of laughter, while one seemed to be mooing like a cow. The din was a terrible thing to hear, like what Tara imagined hell might be like. She gazed at every face in the room, over three dozen in all. Not one focused back at her.

"The quiet ones get sent home, of course," said Ben in a monotone.

"And this acceleration--its recent?"

"Very." For some reason Ben's puzzlement seemed to grow over this. "And sudden. I've never seen anything like this."

"Its as if whatever caused this first wave of madness had something added to it," mused Tara.

"Guess so."

There! Warren, the builder of April, was whimpering against sweat-soaked sheets, not so much struggling against his restraints as pulling away from them.

"No...no...she'll get me, she'll find me...got to get away..." His voice came out in ragged gasps.

"He sounds terrified of something," offered Ben.

"Yeah. But he knows better than anyone..." Tara stopped herself before going any further. She abruptly turned to go. "There's something else going on here," she said in a low voice.

"Something else?" Ben followed her. "Like what?"

"If you're lucky, maybe you'll never find out."

Tara did not wait for him to catch up.

* * *

After two full days of having people hover over her Willow was ready to scream. To distract herself she dove into what research she could find about Glory. Fortunately, this proved to be absorbing and she managed after a few hours to dull the ache of not seeing Tara. Of course the good news--that Buffy hadn't managed to find her--helped. What didn't was the blasé assumption on the parts of Buffy, Riley and Giles that she was a victim. Poor lonely Willow, so down in the dumps she fell for the first sweet-talking vampire to come along and ask for the Ring of Amara. None of them used those words exactly, but where they got the notion she was this stupid baffled her. Like she couldn't figure this out? The only thing keeping her from tossing a few spells around in frustration was hope they'd eventually come around. Plus she tried to give them credit. Last time any of them had trusted a vampire it had very much ended in tears. So she waited. Impatiently.

"Find out anything new?" asked Anya as she landed next to Willow at the back of the magic shop.

"Nope." Willow took a cursory glance at her notes, all color coded for cross-indexing. "Glory. Also known as Glorificus. One of three hellgods who rule a demon realm, blah blah blah, banished to Earth, etcetera, needs to consume human mental energy in order to stay this side of sane." Remembering again what had happened to Xander, Willow stopped. "Sorry. Its just there doesn't seem to be anything more specific in here about anything. And I get frustrated."

"That's okay." Anya nodded. Her attention didn't seem to be on what Willow was saying. Instead her gaze swept the store. Willow looked as well. Jocelyn was selling another crystal ball. Several local blessed-wannabes from campus were gazing at the herb racks. Anya cocked her head. "Something's missing." Rising, she headed for the bottles of tinctures, herbs and salves. "Hey," she called to Jocelyn, "did you know you're out of frog's breath oil?"

Jocelyn finishing ringing up a sale before answering. "Yeah. This odd couple bought all we had a couple of days ago."

"All of it? What for?"

The half-demon shrugged using only her eyebrows. "Pretty young blonde with an old guy. Coke bottle glasses, you know?"

Anya looked puzzled. "Yeah, but what would they use it for? I mean, frog's breath oil doesn't have many uses. It doesn't go in any potions. The only ritual that requires it takes place on the summer solstice. Other than that..."

"Hello, my name is April." She was back. And exactly as precisely cheerful as before. Willow's heart skipped a beat. A message from Tara?

"Uh...hi." Anya managed a smile.

"Are you a friend of Willow? Because I am looking for her."

Willow raised her hand. "Right over here, April."

The blonde turned prettily and headed for Willow. Anya trailed, intrigued. "Since I am new in Sunnydale," April recounted, "and I only know you, I was hoping you would be willing to show me a good place to shop for shoes." She nodded as she finished.

In the corner of her eye, Willow saw Giles taking all this in. He looked suspicious. Damn.

"Actually, I know more about shoe outlets than Willow," offered Anya.

"You do? Hello."

"I'm Anya."

"Hello Anya. You are very pretty."

"Thanks. I think."

"But I made my offer first to Willow. It would be rude for me to withdraw my invitation."

"Who says you have to? Willow, you could use a break. The three of us can make an outing of it for a few hours?" Anya looked at Willow as she said this. Privately, the red-haired witch squirmed. She wanted to be alone with April, find out what message Tara might have for her (and find out who this April was, anyway). On the other hand, she could probably find some time alone with the blonde during the shopping trip, right? And with Anya along, Giles and company were less likely to be suspicious.

At that thought, Willow suddenly noticed the look Anya was giving her. Not a come-along-and-have-fun look, no. This was a read-my-mind-because-we-can't-talk-here look. Willow felt her eyes grow big.

"Okay. Yeah, that sounds like fun." Goddess, Willow hoped that didn't sound as fake as it felt. "And--it might help me recharge the old research batteries, too." Careful not to move too quickly, she gathered up her coat and purse. "Giles?" The Watcher came closer, still plainly concerned. "I'm going shopping."

"Shopping."

"Yeah. Its something we female types do from time to time. Not so much me, usually, but I think maybe this'd be a good time. Don't you worry--here're not one but two escorts for me." She smiled. Deliberately. And so did Anya. Between them, so did April. Did she ever not smile?

Giles took off his glasses. Then put them back on. At last he nodded. "Enjoy yourselves."

"Thanks," exclaimed Anya, "we will!"

With that, the three of them left the magic shop.

* * *

If Tara's heart beat, which it didn't, it would have skipped a couple as the door to Anya apartment opened. Of course Anya was the first to come in. It was her apartment, after all. Then came the robot April.

"Hello Tara, how are you?"

"Fine, April." She held up a bag. "Here're the shoes I bought you."

"Thank you." April obediently took the bag and sat on the sofa to see what Tara had chosen. She needed to know the prices and location of the shoe store for later reference. Not that Buffy and the others were likely to get that suspicious, but better to be safe. All these thoughts flowed through Tara's mind like quicksilver, then ended abruptly as She came into the room.

For one moment, Willow looked at her. One long, fleeting moment.

And then, they were in each others' arms.

* * *

From the front room of the apartment, Willow heard a door open and people come in. She also heard voices. Reassuringly, they were Anya and the robot April.

"It still does seem wrong, somehow. Your boyfriend is the one who should be taking care of you."

"Yeah, well, life's like that sometimes."

Willow turned to look at her beloved. Tara's breasts grazed her back and her arms wrapped around her middle. One hand was lazily circled her navel, almost making Willow want to giggle. "Time to get dressed" she whispered.

"Must we?" whispered back the vampire. At Willow's reluctant nod, Tara mockingly pouted. "Ruthless."

It didn't take long for them to get dressed, even interrupting each other as they did for mutual kisses. Willow would have willingly offered her throat to Tara. She trusted her lover absolutely, and knew she'd not take too much blood. But with the others so paranoid right now fresh wounds were the last thing she wanted anyone to find on her person. And Tara herself hadn't pressed. She didn't feed from Willow for food. They both knew that.

Several minutes later, they emerged from the bedroom and found April cleaning. Anya watched with a curiously satisfied expression on her face, as she sat on her boyfriend's lap. Xander himself seemed vacant, but pleased in an abstract kind of way. Happy perhaps that Anya was there, although not completely aware of the fact? Seeing him like this dampened Willow's happiness. That, and the fact nearly all her friends were trying to hunt down and kill her beloved.

"Hello Willow. Hello Tara. Did you enjoy your sex together."

"Uh..."

"Yes," Tara answered for both of them.

"That is good." She nodded cheerfully as she continued to clean. Willow shot a look at Anya.

"What? She offered!"

After less than a moment's thought, Willow decided to let that go. The robot seemed happy to be doing it, and who was she to judge how other...beings...found joy? As long as they didn't hurt anybody.

"I was doing some research back at my lair," began Tara, "about different kinds of madness, and their causes?"

"But we know what's making people go crazy," said Anya. "Glory."

"Yes. But there seems to be something else at work here. The people at the psych ward, they've been getting worse. Or some of them have. And besides, there's something else."

"What?" asked Willow.

"Buffy," said Tara. "Along with Riley and Giles. Okay, I'm a vampire so maybe my expectations are a little skewed, but don't you think they're overreacting just a little?"

"Hmmm. Well, I think Riley still hasn't gotten over finding out about Angel."

"Its gotta suck," added Anya, "finding out your significant other lost hers to a bloodsucking demon spawn. No offense."

Tara shrugged. "Still, you'd think Buffy would at least listen to you. Or Giles."

Willow thought about it for a few moments. "So you're saying something's affecting them?"

"Maybe. And there was something else. The other night, when I was with Dawn at the Magic Shoppe, there was something different about it. I can't quite remember what, but something."

"Oh! I noticed something!" Anya piped in. Everyone looked at her. "The frogs breath oil. Jocelyn said somebody bought it all."

"Why?" Tara sounded baffled. "Its nearly useless."

"I know!"

April stepped forward. "Logically, there is but one thing to do."

"Go on, April," said Willow after a few moments' silence.

"List each use this frog's breath oil has. Then correlate that data with observed phenomena to see if there is any potential cause and effect. From there, you look for any similar facts to corroborate the initial hypothesis." She smiled.

Everybody else (except Xander) looked at each other. "Sounds like a good idea," said Anya.

"Thank you. I try to help!"

"So...what does frog's breath oil do?" asked Willow.

"Consecrates the Summer Solstice sacrifice for the demon Gl'hrrgh," offered Anya.

"Oh, dear--that sounds..."

Anya interrupted "He only accepts rabbits in sacrifice. So that's all good." She seemed very satisfied.

"Its rumored to be some kind of aphrodisiac for werefoxes," said Tara, "but they're native to Japan. And its only a rumor, anyway."

"And some people use it as a part of a warding spell against Baba Yaga!" said Anya.

"Who's Baba Yaga?"

"Old, old evil witch in Russian folklore. Trouble is, that warding spell doesn't work. Not that it needs to, anymore. She's been dead for centuries. Still, that's why people usually buy the stuff."

"Fine," said Willow, "but that doesn't sound useful to our situation right now. Is there any other reason somebody might buy frog's breath oil you can think of? Have you ever used it?"

Anya shrugged, "A bunch of us whipped some up five hundred years ago. Back when I was a demon." It took her a moment to register the looks she was getting from Willow and Tara. "Oh. That was the last time anyone had a Moon Demon Hunt. Frog's breath oil is poisonous to them."

Tara pondered. "Moon Demon? I don't know that species."

"Its not so much a species as a disease. Kind of like diabetes. Wiped out centuries ago. Used to afflict any type of demon. Moon Demons become living embodiments of insanity, preying on humans and demons alike. But like I said, they're all gone now. Too bad, really."

"Okay, I'll ask," said Willow. "Why?"

"The heart of a Moon Demon cures all forms of madness."

Now even April was staring at Anya.

"What?"

* * *

Even though Tara could walk in the day, she still found nighttime more comfortable. It just felt more natural. And in this case, it certainly seemed a better environment for the mission at hand. Following Jocelyn. The Magic Shoppe was closed, and the half-breed demon girl was wandering through downtown Sunnydale. Fortunately, the terrain made it easy enough for Tara to remain unseen. Plenty of shadows and alleys. Or, in this case, rooftops.

What she saw was a little disturbing.

First was the elderly couple that started fighting next to Jocelyn at the coffee shop. Loudly. Then they left separately in a huff. Coincidence? Possible. Just like the graffiti artist who resisted arrest and went into hysterics. Nothing too unusual in that. But when that vampire tried to bite what was obviously a priest--complete with crucifix--the pattern seemed to be fairly clear. Each incident happened within fifty feet of Jocelyn. And now she was headed towards the same park where Buffy had had to kill a snake creature months before--said creature a thing of Glory's. It had been on its way to tell Glory where to find the Key. So Glory almost certainly lived somewhere in the vicinity.

And Jocelyn knew Dawn was the Key.

Tara quietly drew her sword. If need be, she'd act. Ruthlessly. But first, she had to be sure. Left to her own devices, Tara thought simply killing Jocelyn right now had a certain safe logic. But Willow and Anya would be upset. And she needed to know if Jocelyn actually was a Moon Demon before going to all the trouble of cutting out her heart.

Jocelyn went into a bar. Tara headed for a fire escape to go to street level. Hiding her sword within the long coat, she also stepped inside the bar. The fact no one reacted to her apparent youth said volumes. But maybe they couldn't tell. Shadows blanketed the room. Without heightened senses, Tara doubted she could have found Jocelyn--who had parked herself in a booth. More interestingly, she'd reverted to her demon form. Pale blue skin, prehensile tail, etc. A quick glance around the bar revealed she wasn't the only non-human. So maybe it wasn't so odd they hadn't checked her ID...

She sat in the booth next to Jocelyn. A waitress came up. "We have bottled blood for a reasonable price," she offered.

"Thanks. A glass, please."

"Coming up!"

Tara listened. She was aware somebody had joined Jocelyn.

"Joculatrix, isn't it?" That voice--Ben? What was Ben doing here?

"Yep, pretty boy. Long time no see."

"Not long enough."

"So...how's the Glorious One?" Tara nearly gasped out of habit. She gripped the handle of her sword. If need be, this place was about to become the site of a massacre.

"Bitchy."

Jocelyn laughed. "Ain't she always?"

Ben sighed. A very tired sigh. With an undercurrent of anger. "What do you want?"

"Thought maybe Glory might like to chat. You know, swap stories, share a few jokes."

Silence. "You're kidding."

"Yep." Laughter. Something wrong with it.

The waitress brought a wineglass to Tara, over two-thirds filled with blood. She paid and took a sip. Not bad. Some preservative but it had clearly been microwaved in an attempt to bring it up to body temperature. Not quite there, but still.

"So why'd you want to talk to me?"

"Just saying hi, like I said."

While sipping, Tara pondered the seeming innocence of the conversation she was listening to. All kinds of silent alarms were going off in her head. Clearly, this Ben--the doctor--he was a messenger between Jocelyn (or "Joculatrix") and Glory. Maybe they were talking in code? Yes, that could easily be it...

"I don't believe you."

"Hey! Can't a girl look up old friends?"

"You and I aren't friends. Neither are you and Glory. She has worshippers and enemies, not friends."

Tara readied her sword. She was carefully laying out her next moves. By going all out, she was sure killing Ben would be no problem. There was not way anyone short of a Slayer could match her speed. The problem was--how many other minions might Glory have here? Following Ben? As backup, or just insurance.

Safer to kill them all, really.

"But you and I are friends, aren't we Benny?"

"Don't call me Benny. And no, we're not."

If only I'd thought to bring some hand grenades, thought Tara. As it was, all she could think to do was set fire to the bar after locking all the exits. Waiting outside, she could behead everyone leaving, one by one. But how best to manage it?

"C'mon!"

"You're just intrigued because your powers never work on me."

"Friendships have to grow from somewhere."

"Not from that!" He got up to leave. Damn! Tara realized she'd have to follow him. She moved as stealthily as she could. En route to the door where Ben was headed, though, a clawed hand reached out and touched her arm.

"Don't I know you?" The face that said it looked equal parts goat and warthog.

"No. Good night."

"Hey! You were with us when we broke out of that army base, weren't'cha?"

"The Initiative? Yeah. Nice to see you got out alive. See you later." Ben was getting away! Tara nearly ran out the door.

* * *

Willow gasped as Anya finished telling her what happened.

"She was actually going to kill the entire bar?"

Anya took a quick look around. They were having a picnic in the middle of the UCS quad. She nodded. "But she changed her mind soon after."

"Guess that makes it definite. Jocelyn must be a Moon Demon."

"Joculatrix. That's her real name. And that does explain why Tara got so willing-to-do-violence all of a sudden."

"But that leaves us with another problem."

"How to fight her?"

"Yeah! I mean, she drives people crazy just by being near them! How do you attack somebody like that?"

"In the old days we used build golems to do the work for us. Arm them with arrows dipped in frog's breath oil."

"Do you know how to make a golem."

"It wasn't my job."

"So, still have the same problem here."

The ensuing silence seemed a lot longer than it was. Anya finally said "Tara has an idea."

* * *

Willow and Anya watched and listened. It occurred to Willow this was a very odd situations--having a vampire explain things to a robot. But then, this was Sunnydale.

"You are saying that Warren has been hurt by demons?" April had stopped smiling. For the first time in days. Possibly ever.

"Exactly."

"Define hurt, please."

"Warren has been driven insane. He doesn't recognize anything around him. The fact is, he's in worse shape that Xander.
Anya's boyfriend?"

The robot blinked. "Warren is like Xander?"

"He's worse."

April rose instantly. "I must protect him."

"No!"

"Yes--that is what I must do!"

"What you need to do," interrupted Tara, "is help us cure him. That way, he won't be in any danger any more. And he'll know who you are."

Even though she was sure it was her imagination, Willow swore she could hear circuits blowing out inside April's head. In fact, she was sure the robot simply remained still while processing this. Yet the pause had the same effect. Evidently, this wasn't a scenario Warren had installed in her behavior parameters. Not surprisingly.

"I think you are correct," said April. "I must help cure Warren. Do you know a way I can help cure Warren?"

"We think so," said Tara. "But it will be difficult. And unpleasant."

"Warren loves me," was the robot's answer. "And I love Warren. I must do whatever I must."

Tara nodded. She glanced at Willow, who smiled back. Now came the ugly part. The only cure they were sure of for both Xander and Warren was to feed them the heart of a Moon Demon. Part of her was glad to have discovered that Jocelyn, the halfbreed she'd brought from Los Angeles, was one. In fact, it made a kind of sense. The Caritas Host had said she had to bring Jocelyn--or Joculatrix--back to Sunnydale. At the time she'd wondered why. Now, it made a kind of sense. But it made an icky, terrible sense. She knew this demon, had enjoyed her company. Plus, her attitude towards demons had undergone a radical change after falling in love with Tara.

Now it was Tara who reached out to touch Willow's hand. "Its not just for Xander and Warren," she reminded Willow. "Jocelyn knows about the Key. And she wanted to talk to Glory."

"I know."

"Personally," piped in Anya, "I have no trouble with doing this."

"Doing what? What do I have to do?" inquired April. Before anyone could answer the phone rang. Anya immediately sprang across the room, reaching it before the second ring had finished.

"Hello" she said. "Yes, Willow's here." She looked at the others and mouthed the name Giles. Then the expression on her face froze. In shock? Fear? Both? Anya's jaw moved, as if she was trying to find something to say but could think of nothing. What had happened? For a terrible moment Willow feared something had happened to Dawn. Then Anya pinned Willow with her eyes, holding the phone out to her. Clearly, whatever the news she'd heard had struck her dumb.

Refusing to let go of Tara's hand, Willow crossed the room and took the phone in hand.

"Hello?"

"Willow?" Giles sounded exhausted.

"Yeah. Giles, what's happened?"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but...its Joyce." The silence stretched long enough for Willow to know what was coming next. "She's dead. Buffy found her."

A sound made Willow turn around. There was Anya, seated on the sofa, and emitting another nearly-inaudible sob.

"What is wrong?" asked April.

And Willow discovered she had no words.

* * *

Later.

After the tears and the silences and Anya babbling about how life didn't make sense. Sensing her distress Xander had become hysterical, until Tara managed to get him to swallow some medication. In the end, she'd gotten Anya to take a sleeping pill.

Then came the funeral, which Tara heard about second hand. Buffy had gone strongly silent. Riley wouldn't leave her side. Giles was drinking. And Dawn, poor Dawn. Coming apart one moment, the next withdrawn to untouchability. She, at least, was snapping back to something like normal. Unless that was a symptom of something worse.

Willow still found herself weeping at odd moments. That's when Tara felt her unbeating heart, as it seemed torn out of her chest. Having lost her own mother, Tara recalled too well how it hurt. Joyce Summers had clearly been something of a mother to all the Scoobies. Including Willow.

Somewhere in this neighborhood, muttered Tara to herself like a mantra. This was the area of Sunnydale where Buffy killed the snake creature. And here was where Jocelyn met Ben. Glory's home must be somewhere here. Buffy had described Glory's minions as "hobbits with leprosy," according to Willow. So Tara scanned carefully for hobbits.

Or Ben the friendly intern. Tara was prepared to search all night, even well into the day if need be (thanks to the Ring of Amara). Unfortunately, the plan to take out Jocelyn had to take a back seat right now. Once they were sure Glory hadn't heard about Dawn being the Key, then they could act. Not until. So here she was, scouting this part of Sunnydale for the third time in as many days since Buffy and Dawn's mother died.

Nothing. So far.

But...wait. What was that? A hooded figure, short, scurrying in the shadows towards a rather nice condominium. Only because she was a vampire could Tara see his face. Like an elf molded from meat going bad. Or a hobbit. He was leading someone--a little man with short white hair. More than anything else he reminded Tara of a friendly grandfather. She hadn't had one of those, as it happened, but the archetype was pretty much universal. The slight crinkle of lips, coupled with an abstracted glance around his surroundings, plus the shuffle of his steps. Oh yes, the image was perfect. And Tara would bet image was all this was.

They entered the condo. And Tara settled in to wait. She couldn't take Glory by herself, so she'd have to focus on getting information. After an hour or so, she noticed someone else searching the same area. Three men, scanning the area with a military precision. More, she noticed an interesting detail.

All three had a distinctive, identical tattoos on their faces.

* * *

Willow thought maybe her head was going to explode. It was too much. Having to deal with Joyce's death was horrible, but carrying on a secret love affair her friends were all (or almost all, remembering Anya) convinced was akin to heroin addiction fairly shredded her nerves. Plus having to protect the Key. And being one of the few to realize Jocelyn was driving everyone around her mad.

Still, Willow managed not to show it as she arrived (with Riley as over-protective escort) to the Magic Shoppe for the meeting. The reason for this meeting remained a secret, so she had a sinking feeling the reason involved her.

Inside, a large assortment of weapons was laid out on the table. Axes, swords, a mace. Buffy, Dawn and Giles all wore simple, rugged clothes. They also pretty much radiated purpose. Giles had been pacing. Seconds after Willow entered, she was pinned by Buffy's stare.

"Willow."

"Uh, hi Buffy. How're you doing?"

"Better. And I'll be better yet." The smile that went with those words did anything but reassure. Visions of medical experiments came to Willow looking at that smile. Dawn, seated, looked up at her sister adoringly. This. Was. Bad. "Wil," said Buffy as she neared her best friend, "I've been doing some research."

"Oh, that's good. Isn't it?" Her voice almost didn't tremble.

"Have you ever heard of a Ghora?"

"Ghora? I think...that's some kind of demon, isn't it?" Seemed like a safe bet.

At that moment, Giles gave Willow a hearty slap on the back. "Good girl!"

"We know where to find one," added Riley conspiratorially.

"Do we want to find one?"

"Yes!" said Buffy.

"Absolutely!" added Dawn.

"It is the only way" said Giles, nodding.

Buffy began picking up the weapons and passing them out. She handed a battleaxe to Willow, who looked at it with more than a little worry. Whatever her insane friends had planned, it certainly looked unpleasant.

"You see," said Giles, testing the heft of a broadsword, "the egg of a Ghora is the essential ingredient in the resurrection spell."

"Resurrection spell?"

"Exactly!" Giles seemed absurdly pleased at Willow's repeating his words. He even grinned.

"We're bringing back Mom!" yelled Dawn.

Buffy smiled at her sister, the both of them aglow. "That's right, Dawn," she said encouragingly, "we're bringing her back."

"That's...I mean...isn't that a really, really tricky kind of spell to be trying, Buffy? I mean, think of all the things that could go wrong!"

"I am thinking of that Wil. That's why we need you to actually do the spell itself."

"M-M-M-M-EEEE?"

"Of course! You're the only one around here with that kind of experience."

"B-b-b-ut, what about Anya?"

"She needs to take care of Xander."

Willow looked at the four sets of eyes, each aimed at her full of confident hope, and wanted very much to run away. Fast. Or, maybe turn invisible.

"I don't know if I can," she offered, hopefully.

"The spell itself," offered Giles, "is surprisingly simple. All that's truly, truly difficult is getting the ingredients. Hence," he indicated his broadsword. "Oh! It might interest you to know that the Ghora demon may be the basis for legends of Cerberus, the three headed hound said to guard the underworld."

"So this Ghora, its kinda like a great big dog?"

"No. It has three heads!"

* * *

Xander wailed. There was no other word for it. He made a sound halfway between a sob and a scream--or maybe simply a mix of the two. Anya's heart bled hearing him. She might have cried, if she weren't so busy struggling with her insane boyfriend as he thrashed. His arms flailed in nearly every direction they could. Meanwhile his eyes bulged, frightened by a vision only he could see.

And he was stronger than Anya. Only the fact he was uncoordinated gave her a chance of keeping Xander from harming himself.

"Monkeys! Flying monkees everywhere!"

"No, Xander--no damn flying monkees!"

His only answer was another wail.

That the front door was opening, then shut, barely registered with Anya as she struggled with Xander. Until Tara reached over and held Xander down. Her vampiric strength (plus his own tiredness from exerting against Anya) did the trick. Anya wasted no time. She worked the tranquilizer in between his teeth, then put the cup of orange juice to his lips.

"Shhhh...drink...that's right....drink..."

Maybe because he was now tired, Xander didn't put up any struggle. He just swallowed, his eyes never once leaving Anya's. For a moment or two, Tara thought he resembled a beaten puppy. Quietly, he just lay there, doing nothing but stare at Anya. Once she noticed, Anya herself could hardly take her eyes off his. Tara felt something of a voyeur, seeing that look.

At last, Xander visibly relaxed. Horribly, it looked halfway between death and a puppet having its string cut. Both eyes unfocussed, every limb went slack. Tara let Xander go. After a moment, she quietly grabbed a tissue from the box on the side of the bed, using it to wipe away a touch of drool.

When she looked back at Anya, she saw a lone tear dropping from one eye. Tara wiped that away as well.

* * *

Willow felt as if everyone in the room had x-ray eyes directed right at her. The fact everyone--even fourteen-year-old Dawn--had a weapon in hand only made it worse. So she did her best to appear cheerful. On their side.

"Okay, that wasn't too hard," she offered.

Buffy nodded. She'd done the brunt of the fighting, although nearly everybody had gotten splattered in blood. Well, the Ghora had been protecting its eggs. Willow privately thought a smaller party would have had better luck. An assault by no less than five heavily armed people on the demon's nest was bound to set off every defensive instinct the creature had.

No wonder almost all the eggs had gotten crushed in the process.

Almost all. Willow had the last intact Ghora egg in her hands. She wanted to drop it, but by now she was fully convinced all her friends were insane. Their reaction to such was not something she chose to risk right now.

"I was just a tad worried," offered up Giles, "when Riley cut off the first head. It was just barely possible another would have grown in its place. Perhaps more than one."

"You didn't mention that was a possibility," noted Riley.

"Well. Didn't seem at all likely."

Dawn by now had rushed upstairs. To her room, presumably.

"Any idea where I should put this?" asked Willow, holding out the Ghora egg. It was roughly the size of a basketball. Giles immediately took it off her hands.

"Must be especially careful," he muttered, "no telling when another Ghora might show up."

"Yeah, no telling." Willow tried to sound enthusiastic.

"Hey, Wil!" Buffy looked at her best friend with a strange intensity.

"Um. What?"

"Thanks. For doing this. It means a whole lot to Dawn and me."

"Okay, but you see, I haven't actually done anything yet..."

"Just think of the possibilities this offers up." Buffy spoke as if Willow hadn't said anything.

"Possibilities?"

"Aren't they obvious?" asked Riley. He looked jazzed. Willow shrugged in puzzlement.

"Kendra," said Buffy, as if that explained everything. Which, after a moment, Willow realized it did. To her horror.

"You want me to resurrect Kendra?" Breathe, Willow said to herself quietly. Breathe!

"Not just her!" Oh no. "In theory we can bring back all the Slayers. And why should we stop with them? Think, Willow, about all the people we've lost. Jesse. Larry. Forrest."

"Jenny," said Giles, voice low.

Buffy looked at Giles fondly. She reached out and touched his hand. "Yeah," she said quietly, "Jenny." Then Buffy looked right at Willow. "You do see now, don't you? If this works, how much good we can do?" She looked so earnest.

Willow felt so terrified. And she didn't dare show it. "That kinda depends, doesn't it?" she offered weakly.

The Slayer blinked. "On what?"

"On whether it works, for one thing! Then, you know, to do this again we need to go get some more of those Ghora eggs! Major operation there, I think! I mean, even finding those things is gonna take plenty of time and effort! Yessir--lots of effort!" She shut up as Buffy stood and got practically nose-to-nose.

"I believe in you, Wil."

"Th--th-thanks."

Dawn came bounding down the stairs. She had large cooking bowl in her arms, full of stuff. Under one arm was a picture of her mother. "We have ingredients!" Willow couldn't decide if her grin was madness or typical puberty-driven energy. Or both.

"Goody," Willow said.

* * *

"We have to do something," Anya said wearily.

"I know. But what? Joculatrix is a Moon Demon. If we kill her, then her heart can cure Xander's insanity as well as Warren's. Maybe some other people's too. Guess that depends on how much of the heart needs to be eaten." Tara looked at her hostess inquiringly. Anya thought about it for a moment.

"One good bite-sized chunk should do it," she offered.

"Then we have to figure out if she's told Glory about Dawn being the Key. She certainly was talking to Ben--and we know he's somehow involved with Glory. I wish I knew how."

"Me too," agreed Anya. "But if we don't kill Joculatrix, doesn't that increase the odds she'll tell Glory?"

Tara thought about that one for a few moments. "Yes," she finally said. "Where's April? She's the only one who can get close to a Moon Demon without going crazy."

"I don't know. She was supposed to be here to help me with Xander." There wasn't nearly as much spit and fire in Anya's voice as Tara was used to hearing. Even her complaints lacked the energy they usually had. More evidence, if such were needed, of how draining her taking care of Xander had been. Proof, too, of how much he meant to her. "Souped up Barbie Doll," she grumbled, "what's the use of having superstrength if you don't use it to help out?"

April walked in the front door. Well, thought Tara, maybe the gods have a sense of humor after all. Or timing, anyway. The pretty robot had a neat package in hand, roughly the size of a shoe box. She smiled--but then, April almost always smiled.

"Shoes?" growled Anya. "You were shopping?" Exhausted as she was, Anya clearly was building up towards an explosion.

"Hello, Anya," replied April. "No, I have not been shopping. If I had, I would have asked if you wanted me to get you something." Of course, she spoke with such a precise sincerity it seemed fake. In fact, her sincerity was utterly real. April herself was fake. Or, at least, artificial. Tara wasn't sure what the precise difference was.

"Then..." sputtered Anya, "what have you got there?" She pointed at the box.

"Jocelyn's heart," the robot said cheerfully.

"Say what?" asked Tara.

April repeated herself. "Jocelyn's heart." She even handed it to Tara--who could indeed detect the distinct coppery scent of blood. Carefully, she put the box on the kitchen counter and opened it. Inside was...something...wrapped in butcher's paper.

"Looks about the right size," offered Anya, pearing over Tara's shoulder.

"But--what about the rest of her?" They looked at April.

"I put her body in a cave near the campus. There were plenty of rats." Her smile was unaffected by this, or its implications. Tara was impressed. She shouldn't have been, she realized. Computers (and that's what April was, really) were nothing if not practical. Or so she'd been given to understand.

"Just to make sure I understand," began Anya, "you did kill Joculatrix--or, Jocelyn. Right?"

"Yes, I killed her."

"How?"

"By breaking the bones of her upper vertebrae, severing her spine from the cerebellum." Again, the cheerful smile. Tara felt a little one of her own growing. "Then I used a knife to remove her heart, hid her body, and brought the heart back here so you can use it to help Warren."

"Wow." Anya shared a look with Tara. "And she didn't even muss up her nails." Tara looked. Anya was right.

"A good girlfriend is a clean girlfriend," April recited.

"For the record," said Tara, "I think you make a terrific girlfriend."

"Thank you. But I am Warren's girlfriend, Tara. So I cannot be yours."

With a shrug, Tara smiled. "I prefer redheads, anyway." She looked back at Anya. This was her apartment, after all. "So..."

Anya was already checking a small bookshelf next to the refrigerator. "I think there's a recipe for stew in one of these..."

* * *

"So how long do we wait?" asked Riley.

Giles shrugged. "As long as it takes, I suppose."

"Any ideas on how long that'll be?" This from Buffy. Her sister, curled up beside her on the coach, asked the same question with her eyes.

"Uh...well...not long." He said this with such certitude Willow knew he was lying. It didn't help that all of them now looked at her.

"I don't know! I've never raised the dead before! How long has it been?"

Riley checked his watch. "Nearly an hour."

Willow still felt everyone was looking at her. She continued to wait. And worry.

* * *

Tara was a little surprised to find out Anya could cook. Not with any great skill, as it turned out, but adequately. She also had help, in the form of April who (predictably) was programmed with all the skills of a master chef. It took them nearly an hour to prepare the meat, the herbs and vegetables, then to simmer them in a mushroom and wine sauce.

"The stew really should simmer for another hour," advised April as Anya readied a small bowl.

"Fine," said Anya. "I'll remember that when I want stew to just taste good. Right now, I want Xander back." And with that she carried the cupfull of stew into the bedroom. Tara and April followed.

Xander sat, eyes unfocused, atop the bed he and Anya shared. He was humming a tune, or maybe two--he seemed to shift back and forth randomly. Anya took a seat in front of him.

"Xander?" Her voice sounded unusually childlike. It was almost startling. But as Tara considered how she herself reacted to Willow, she wasn't surprised.

"Honey?" Anya tried to get Xander's attention. He lifted his head, looking at her with something like pleasure. At least he stopped humming and a tiny smile creased his face. Just a shadow of one, but real. Anya smiled in return and used a fork to pick up a steaming slice of meat from the stew. "C'mon, Xander. Num num. Really." For a moment it looked as if Xander couldn't remember how to open his mouth. Then his jaw moved and he managed to aim his mouth at the fork. He chewed slowly, eyes never leaving Anya's, as if looking for approval. Or maybe she had become his anchor in a world that made no sense. Tara hoped never to find out. Chewing took longer than normal, but at last he swallowed.

"Good," said Anya. "Here, have another." Again, the same routine, like feeding a child--vaguely hideous for an adult. Some gravy remained on his lips, though. With practiced skill, Anya made a gesture and Xander licked his lips. She nodded approval. And he nodded back.

"Not right." It was the first words out of Xander's mouth since taking his meds.

"What's wrong Xander?" Anya put the next forkfull down.

"Can't be right," he said, looking around the room. His sunken eyes took in Tara, then April, then Tara again and one more time at April. "Can't be," he muttered.

They all waited.

"Anya?" He almost whispered, then took time to swallow some morsel still in his mouth. "Anya," he asked when done.

"Yes, Xander?"

"Am I...crazy?" His eyes looked unusually bright. Feverish, even. "Or...is Britney Spears really in your apartment?"

* * *

Okay, she wasn't imagining it. Willow knew everybody was looking at her. Staring, really. Hard. After two and a half hours, there was still no sign of the resurrected Joyce. She had performed the ritual. They were going to blame her. No, were already doing so.

When the phone rang, Willow felt relief. Dawn was the one who reached it, picking up the receiver. "Hello?" she said, impatiently. "Oh, okay Anya." She looked at Willow. "For you."

She took the phone with some feeling of relief. "Hi?"

"Good. Listen. You need to get everybody and go to the cemetery."

"The cemetery? Which one?" Out of the corner of her eye, Willow noted Buffy and the others perk up.

"I don't know."

"Anya--not making a lot of sense."

Over the phone, she heard the receiver change hands. The next voice she heard was a man's. "Willow?"

Willow felt her jaw drop, and her eyes pop. "Xander?" All around her, alertness shot up as everyone realized to whom she was speaking.

"Yeah, I'm better. Lots."

"But, but how? And for that matter, when?"

"Just now." He sounded very matter-of-fact. "As for how--well, lets just say that can wait. What can't is getting everybody to the Restful Acres cemetery as soon as possible, maybe sooner."

"You haven't told me why, though."

Xander paused. His voice had a different timbre in his voice as he answered this time. "I can't tell you how I know this. Because, truth is, I don't really understand. But this much is certain--that place is calling me for some reason. And Wil--its calling for help."

"Uh, how much has Anya told you about what's been going on?" In Willow's mind, a terrible thought had taken root.

"I know all about the Moon Demon."

"No, that's not what I mean. Did...did Anya tell you what happened with Buffy's mom?" Every single person in the room was staring at Willow again, but this time more thoughtfully, less maniacally. "Xander," she said slowly, "that's where she's buried."

Silence. Willow strained to even hear Xander breathe. Nothing. Then, one word. "Hurry."

* * *

All in all, Tara was impressed with how quickly Xander was coping. Over one month of insanity had left him out of touch with all sorts of events. Joyce Summers' death clearly hit him like a cannonball. And finding a Britney Spears-lookalike robot responsible for his recovery by cutting out and feeding him the heart of a Moon Demon was at the very least confusing. Plus learning he now had to trust a vampire, one who was sleeping with his oldest friend, made for a lot to handle. Tara suspected he was blinking rather more than needed. But all in all, his reaction to all this had been impressively calm.

Even more impressive--and unexpected--was the strange certainty he had something was Terribly Wrong at the cemetery. She found herself believing him. Hence she and Anya joined him in heading there. Fortunately, he could drive. Which helped in terms of speed.

"So what you're saying is that Buffy and Riley and Giles are all crazy?"

"Pretty much" agreed Anya.

"Okay." Xander sounded skeptical.

"Dawn, too."

"They haven't been catatonic or raving at all," added Tara, "but they have behaved strangely. Extremely so."

"Well, sounds like they've been through a lot. I mean, a lot! Couldn't it just be stress?"

Anya shook her head. "Nope. It was a Moon Demon. Tara felt it too."

"True," said Tara. "At one point I nearly set fire to a bar, just out of paranoia."

"No offense, Tara, but you are a vampire."

"But not a pyromaniac." Xander had to nod at this. He really was a bright person, despite the sometimes-silly demeanor.

"If she wasn't a Moon Demon," pointed out Anya, "then eating her heart wouldn't have cured you."

Xander looked a little sick. "Yeah. Thanks for reminding me."

"You're welcome," replied Anya happily, hugging his arm, clearly oblivious to his discomfort but wildly happy to have him back. Tara quietly smiled at the sight. Xander himself relaxed slightly at Anya's touch. But he didn't slow down in his driving.

The sign at the graveyard was wrought-iron, a fairly wide arch above a two-lane road. Xander pulled in and parked as close as he could to the cemetery's center, in a circular area designed for funerals. All three of them popped out, Tara drawing her sword. Xander took the lead, headed straight for the northwest corner. Neither Tara nor Anya mentioned that was where Joyce Summers had been buried. They also didn't ask how he knew to go there. Tara in particular paid attention to every shadow, every sound.

Mrs. Summers' grave was simple. A plain headstone above plain grass, with flowers laid in memory by various visitors. Tara herself had left a bouquet of white roses the previous night. Now, those roses were scattered, along with the remnants of other flowers. Likewise, the grass was ripped up, revealing a gaping maw in the earth.

Slowly, the three of them approached. Even Tara found it uneasy looking directly into the violated grave. The casket lay open. And empty.

"Okay, this is the opposite of good," muttered Xander.

Tara hopped down into the casket. "Ah...Tara...?" Xander began.

"We need to find out something." She examined the lid and interior. Unlike the others, she didn't need a flashlight. "This was opened from the outside."

"Not exactly a surprise," offered Xander.

"But," Tara added, "the lining has been torn. By someone lying inside the coffin." She looked up at the couple standing above her.

"So what're you saying?" Xander asked after a moment, more than a little hesitant. Anya beside him looked less puzzled, but only slightly less upset.

"Mrs. Summers. She wasn't dead anymore when somebody dug her out."

It was Buffy's voice--icecold and furious--that replied. "And what do you know about that, I wonder?" Xander and Anya looked away from the grave, starting at the sound of the Slayer's voice.

"Hey!" said Anya. "This is how we found your mother's grave!"

"She's right, Buffy," offered Xander.

With a powerful leap, Tara reached ground level. She landed to see Buffy, Riley and Giles all armed to the teeth less than forty feet away. Dawn and lovely Willow were bringing up the rear. Tara deliberately sheathed her sword. What was needed right now--desperately--was listening and thinking, not fighting. She instantly resolved to go one step further. The Slayer was already approaching, stake in hand. Tara held up her gloved hands. As slowly as she dared, she pulled off the right glove, then removed the Ring of Amara. Everyone here knew that as long as she wore it, neither stake nor sunlight nor pretty much anything else could physically harm her. Deliberately, she tossed it to Buffy.

That certainly got her attention. Buffy stopped. She waited, long enough for Tara to pull off her other glove, revealing no rings on either hand. Now she knew--even if the one she'd tossed was a copy, Tara was not wearing the Ring of Amara. And she'd just made sure the Slayer knew it.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull," began Buffy.

"Never mind about me," interrupted Tara. "You need to find out what happened to your mother."

"She's gone, right?" said Dawn to Willow. "That means it worked?"

"Maybe..." said Willow.

"What worked?" asked Tara, suddenly alarmed.

"The resurrection spell," answered Willow. "Buffy and the others, they made me perform a spell to bring Mrs. Summers back."

"Made?" Buffy looked outraged. "We made you? Made you?"

"You seemed to think it a good idea at the time," added Giles.

"I thought not disagreeing with all of you was a good idea! None of you saw the looks in your eyes!"

Nobody said anything for the longest time. Tara recognized a standoff when she saw one--conflicting desires, plans, options all leading to a tension-laden pause where no one did anything. She herself didn't dare be the one to break it. Only Anya or Willow really were wiling to listen to anything she might say. Waiting was the only option Tara had.

Xander finally broke the silence. "Buffy, you wanted to use magic to bring your Mom back to life?"

"And why not?"

"Then you insisted Willow help?"

"I asked! That's all--asked?"

"Let me guess--you asked in full Slayer mode, am I right? As in I'm-asking-but-this-is-really-an-order?"

Buffy's face went still. Dangerously. "I. Don't. Do. That."

"HA!" Everyone glanced at Anya. "Sorry. I just couldn't help it." She didn't look sorry.

"You know, Buffy," ventured Riley after a moment, "you do lean kinda hard on folks sometimes."

"That doesn't mean I made Willow do anything she didn't want to," huffed Buffy.

"She says you did," he pointed out. "Wouldn't she know? Better than you?"

Now Buffy turned to Willow. It actually hurt Tara to see how Willow reacted as if she'd been slapped. But for all their sakes, she didn't dare intervene. She repeated that thought to herself like a mantra.

"You didn't want to bring my mother back to me?" whispered Buffy.

"I didn't want to raise the dead," said Willow. "But the way you were acting, I was afraid not to."

"Afraid of what?" She took a step towards Willow, who flinched and stepped back. "Of what?" Then, she noticed what had just happened. Her face softened, clearly upset. "Of me?"

Silence stretched again. This time it seemed to last even longer. After a minute or two, or maybe forty, Buffy shifted weight. She dropped the wooden stake in her hand. Her eyes shot between Willow, then Dawn (looking paler than ever), then nearly everyone else. But she did nothing but look.

Riley, dropping his battle axe, went to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Soon, the sound of muffled sobs were heard coming from his chest, where Buffy had buried her face. Gently Riley stroked her hair.

Tara and Willow met each others' eyes, understanding too well.

* * *

Life, Willow pondered, was aided a surprising amount by lots and lots of little rituals. They gave people shape, she decided. And some kind of purpose. Not really big, grand purpose, of course. At least not the little rituals. But purpose, all the same. Like dinner.

Willow decided Xander was showing uncommon sense in having everybody sit down at the Summers dinner table and share a meal. It was very civilized. And it reminded everybody to be civilized--something she thought her friends had lost track of lately. She could understand why, sympathize even. But all in all, it was better when they remembered. Dawn looked better seated in her regular chair, between Giles and Buffy. The Slayer herself seemed calmer. Riley next to her helped, she guessed. Willow sat on the other side, with Anya and Xander.

And Tara. Joyce's seat at the head of the table remained empty.

The only thing she wasn't quite sure of was having Anya serve everybody dinner--her own effort. No, Willow thought, she shouldn't complain. Anya's stew wasn't bad, really. Maybe a bit gamey, but better than cafeteria food by any measure. Besides, it felt good to just sit down with everybody and talk.

Not that Xander was letting anybody do anything until they did.

"Buffy," said Willow, "do you still want me to go around raising more dead people?"

"Nope." Buffy smiled a little at Willow's obvious relief. "Guess that wasn't the brightest notion ever."

"Yes, well..." began Giles, but he didn't finish. Just took another bite of stew.

"Still," began Riley, "having a love affair with a vampire." Although critical, his expression was mild. He questioned her. But he didn't condemn.

Willow shrugged. "She saved you life. My life. Buffy's life. Dawn's life. I think she's earned some trust from all of us."

"Trusting her is one thing," said Giles. "Accepting your relationship with a demon is another." He didn't say this with anger, though.

Neither did Tara reply with anger. "Don't you trust Willow?" Which brought on some more silence. At least this time the silence wasn't so much angry as embarrassed. For a full minute or more no one said a thing.

"How come you're all better now?" Dawn asked.

Xander coughed. "I'll tell you later." Anya started to open her mouth, but Xander stopped her with a shake of his head. "Later" he repeated firmly. Dawn furrowed her brow, annoyed at the eternal adult conspiracy to keep her uninformed. Willow remembered it well. Interestingly, she caught her sneaking a peak at Tara--who didn't actually wink back. Not quite, anyway. One more secret ally on our side, thought Willow to herself.

"Can we agree on a truce for now? At least in regards to me?" Tara directed this directly at Buffy, who reluctantly nodded. "Good. Because I need to know--where did you find out how to raise your mother?"

Buffy waited a beat before answering. "What, you're against coming back from the dead?"

"I'm a vampire, not a hypocrite. From what I've read, those magicks tend to get mixed results, but if you're willing to take the risk, fine."

"So what's with the third degree?"

Tara's eyebrows rose slightly. "Somebody knew to dig her up. All of you were together. Who else knew you were going to try?"

Willow enjoyed Buffy's reaction just a little too much. She had the same look Willow had seen on dozens of students in years-worth of classes--usually right after confidently giving an answer that turned out nowhere in the vicinity of correct. Kinda like getting a psychological tennis ball right between the eyes.

"Oh."

* * *

An hour and a half later, Tara was glancing over her personal occult library. "I give up."

"No, don't do that," Willow urged her from the desk on the other side of the subterranean room. "The answer's here. Well, it might be."

Tara shook her head. "Buffy didn't know enough about this Doc person for me to do much more than guess what he is. I saw him visiting Glory, so odds are he isn't human, but that's all."

"Maybe they'll find something at his place." She smiled hopefully. Riley and Buffy had loaded up on weapons before heading to the place where she'd met Doc. Upon learning he'd been hanging around Glory's minions, Buffy had been especially eager. Giles, Xander and Anya were researching over at the Magic Shoppe. The sun would be up fairly soon, so Tara headed here. Willow had insisted on coming with, and despite some odd looks, no one said anything. Nice to know something had been salvaged from the recent disasters.

"If I were him, I'd've already relocated. He's got to realize she'll suspect him."

Willow wilted a little at this line of reasoning. But she didn't argue. Looking at her, Tara found herself drawn to the lovely witch's side. She quietly stroked her cheek, the warmth tingling in Tara's fingers. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't." Her hand came up, pressing Tara's and leaning into it. "I should be looking at the bright side."

"Xander's sane again."

"Yeah..."

"And we know more about Glory now."

"No denying that." The slightest of piercing smiles graced Willow's lips. "Then there's the bestest news so far."

My heart didn't really skip a beat, thought Tara to herself. After all, it doesn't beat. Feels like it did, though. "You mean," she asked, "now April will get Warren back?"

Willow blinked. "She will? How?"

Goddess. "We...found a cure for the madness Glory inflicts. But there wasn't enough for all her victims."

"Really!" Now her eyes were getting big again. And her jaw dropped. The whole picture was too, too adorable. "Can you make more?"

"No. One of the ingredients was...is...really, really rare."

"Oh. Too bad."

"Actually, that's good news."

Her puzzled expression was interrupted by a movement from the corner of the room. Both of them turned and saw the source. Only Tara was not surprised. Padding out from behind a bookcase was a black and tan kitten, nearly eleven weeks old. Huge green eyes framed by big pointed ears and a pink nose took in the scene. Willow's expression was transformed, to Tara's delight. She'd hoped, believed Willow would like this revelation.

"Who's this?" From her voice, Willow's reaction was all Tara could have hoped.

"My kitty." Reaching down, Tara twitched her fingers and the kitten came over to receive the scratch she'd learned to expect. "Not a familiar, you understand. Just a pet." A pet who acquiesced to being picked up and deposited on the desk. Sensing a cat person, she took a step towards Willow and cocked her head. The tiny yelp she made was deliberately plaintive.

Willow began petting her, of course. "Have you named her?"

"Yes. For sentimental reasons."

"What sentimental reasons?" Even entranced as she was by the furry sphere of cuteness, Willow clearly wanted to know more about Tara's past. This fact made Tara want to explain all she could.

"My dad--he wouldn't let me have a kitten growing up. Called them the devil's beasts. But there was a girl at school--a very special friend...."

"A girlfriend?"

"No. But I wouldn't have minded if she had been. I had an awesome crush on her. And she let me play with her cat."

"Soooooo?" By now the kitten was busy, having successfully stalked and captured Willow's hand. Now her forepaws held it firmly while her hindlegs went through the motions of disemboweling her prey. She even gnawed at the young woman's wrist with tiny, pin-like teeth.

"So--I named my kitten after her. My first real crush. Never even got to kiss her."

"But you thought about it?"

"Every day for over a year. Then she moved away. And I cried for a solid week. Dad thought--I never knew what he thought. But my brother stopped picking on me for a couple of months after that."

Slowly, Willow reached out and turned Tara's chin to face her. The two of them looked at each other for a long moment. "What was her name?" Willow whispered.

Tara leaned forward, brushed her lips against those of her love. She spoke in a low voice, so low Willow would not have heard her if she'd been even another inch away.

"Xita," said Tara. "My kitty is named Xita."

"And you never got to kiss her?"

"No."

"Well," breathed Willow, "that's probably just as well." She grinned. "I get jealous."

Tara didn't have anything to say to that. Neither did Willow. For several hours.

* * *

"Xander?"

"Yeah, Wil?"

"Wanna stop staring at my neck?"

From the driver's seat, Xander chuckled. He also had the good grace to look embarrassed. A little, anyway. "C'mon, Wil. Its a time honored tradition--checking out your female friends for hickies after a date."

"I don't have any hickies thank-you-very-much."

"That's not what I heard."

Willow hit him. Not hard, just playful punch in the arm--to which he responded by mock screaming. They continued on for a few minutes before she spoke up again. "Aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask what?

"How could I get involved with Tara? Everybody else keeps asking." She said this as lightly as she could manage.

"Nah, I'm too dazzled with the thought of chick-on-chick action to give it much thought." Which earned him another hit. "Hey!"

"Deserved it."

"Seriously," Xander said after a moment, "my girlfriend used to be demon. Your girlfriend still is one. I figure we've got the makings of one wacky self-help group here. Given this is Sunnydale, we should do a booming business. And besides--are you happy."

"Yes." Willow heard the wistful surprise in her own voice saying it.

"Good enough for me."

At that, Willow felt a grin coming. She let it arrive, and despite everything enjoyed the ride all the way to the Magic Shoppe. Privately, she noted a major shift in her internal clock on the way. Ever since finding out about vampires and the Hellmouth and everything, dusk had been a scary time. No longer. The setting sun now meant Tara could go out without fear of burning. Go out and come to her. Willow's grin broadened. She watched the horizon go red and sky an ever darker blue. Each color so entranced her she didn't even notice when Xander parked.

When she finally did notice, she also noted the look of worried shock on Xander's face. Looking in the direction he was staring soon revealed the reason.

"Oh my god," said Xander.

* * *

"I will never tell you anything! My lips are sealed in the service of my god! You cannot make me talk no matter what you threaten!"

"Shut up!" Tara's general good mood was evaporating as the robed minion of Glory's went babbling on about how silent he was going to be. Not, she reflected, a situation without some irony. But very, very annoying. "You haven't stopped talking since I nabbed you."

For some reason this penetrated the minion's brain. His beady little eyes blinked in his withered, unhuman face. Now he took a quick look around the alleyway. It was, of course, empty. At least for now. Tara wasn't stupid enough to swipe one of these creatures and interrogate it in an alley where people were likely to wander across them.

"Well..." the minion began, "I won't say anything that will impede the mighty Glorificus!"

"Bet?"

"You have no means that could make me say one word that might so much as inconvenience...AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Tara had ripped half of one overlong, pointed ear from his head and tossed it to the ground. "I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING!"

"About time," Tara mumbled under her breath. Before she could say anything else, though, a familiar sound echoed slightly behind her. A not unpleasant sound in and of itself, but one that could hardly mean anything good in current circumstances. Especially since the sound was followed two more identical to it--the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

No time to waste. Using all her vampiric strength, Tara spun and tossed the minion towards whoever-it-was behind her. Three tall, muscular men in chain mail stood there. The nearest wasted no time but gutted the minion in midair.

"Just when he was bout to say something useful."

"His death does not matter, Creature of Evil" said the Knight in the lead. He was the shortest of them, with a neatly trimmed beard. The other two were white, while he was black. "None of the Beast's minions shall be given succor."

"And you couldn't wait five minutes to see if he knew anything handy first?"

"Plots among the Beast's minions for her favor are no concern to us." All three of the Knights began to advance.

"Who're you calling a minion?" Tara drew her own sword. "I was trying to interfere with Glory's plans. Not that you're likely to care." Each continued to advance, forming a circle. "Thought not. I could guess from your choice of weaponry the idea of actually thinking before attacking is too advanced for you to manage."

"Think not to deceive us, Demon."

"Perish the thought," replied Tara. Self-righteous idiots. For a moment she felt a wave of deja vu and remembered her family. Well, at least no one could complain if she fed once these three were disposed of. Looking at how expertly they were handling their swords, she amended her thoughts to "if."

Just before any of them could strike the first blow, the middle Knight suddenly collapsed as if struck from behind. Which, it turned out, he had been. The striker stood--or rather posed--for all to see. She almost negligently picked up the fallen Knight's sword. Hefting it, she tested its weight and balance.

"Wicked," noted Faith. "I think I'll keep it."

* * *

INTERLUDE

"I don't mean to be rude..."

"Oh, not at all! You're my guest, after all."

"Very well."

"Yes?"

"Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe."

"Really?"

"Of course. Don't you feel safe?"

"Well..."

"Oh dear. I fear my hosting duties are ending up neglected. One of the perils of bachelorhood, I fear. Can I get you anything? Some tea? Cocoa? Perhaps some homemade cookies? I have some..."

"No, that's all right."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Later maybe."

"A rain check."

"Exactly."

"I'll hold you to that."

A very pregnant pause.

"May I ask another question?"

"Well, why not?"

"Who are you? And--I know this is a second question, but still--who am I?"

"That's alright. My name doesn't matter, really. I'm one of those people who's pretty much his job and not much else. Its been ages since anybody has called me anything else. Truth to tell, I think I've forgotten my name." Chuckling. "But you can call me Doc. Everybody does."

"Alright, Doc. And what's my name?"

"Joyce. Your name is Joyce."

END OF INTERLUDE

* * *

Willow followed Xander into the Magic Shoppe reluctantly. Despite everything, this was one place she did not want to be right this second. It was too much. Not that the universe cared, of course.

Even expecting it, seeing him was a shock. Curiously enough, the shock was cushioned by some others. He's wasn't alone.

"Hi, Oz."

"Hey." Willow's first boyfriend almost smiled as he turned and saw her. Gunn and Wesley, sitting nearby, said nothing. Perhaps sensing this was something private? And what were they doing here anyway?

"Ah, Willow," said Giles, coming from the back room with Buffy and Dawn in tow. "You're here. Excellent."

"I'm here," agreed Willow, "and Xander and Buffy and--oh yeah, Oz! Along with Wesley and Gunn. Why not?"

"Faith insisted on going on a patrol," added Wesley. "In case you were wondering."

"Truthfully?" She paused for effect. "Yeah. I was."

"But what the hell are all of us doin' here, is that it?" offered Gunn. "Faith, she gets this dream she's needed back at the Hellmouth. We're her backup."

"Okay." She turned to Oz. "And how long have you been hanging out with Faith?"

"Don't," he said. "Went to this karaoke bar in LA. This psychic told me to come here."

"Green?"

"Yup."

"Horns? Red eyes?"

"That's him. Snappy dresser."

Willow sat down. She needed to sit down. Needed it real bad. "You see," continued Giles, "it seems we've been given aid at what I assume is a crucial time in our struggle against Glory."

Buffy was looking grim. "There was no sign of Mom at Doc's place."

"I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as he's going to be." If anything, Buffy managed to look grimmer. Silence followed for a moment, then the telephone rang. Giles went to pick it up. He spoke in a low voice.

"What are we going to do now?" asked Dawn. She'd obviously been trying not to cry. "Where's Mom?" Her sister put her arm around her.

"From what Giles has been telling me," began Wesley, "the Powers That Be certainly take a dim view of Glory achieving her objective. Unfortunately, as things stand at present, someone close to Buffy is in all likelihood being held by her--or her worshippers. Quite honestly, I fear what that may portend."

"Talk English!" Dawn almost yelled. Her voice cracked, and she turned, hiding her face against Buffy's chest.

Wesley looked abashed. He spoke again only after several seconds of uncomfortable silence. "Glory or her people have your mother. They can force her to get them things. Or threaten her to get Buffy to do the same." Nobody wanted say anything after that. Willow could see why. She couldn't imagine one word to make things better. But worse--that was easy. One thing in particular came to mind. A horrible, maybe supremely needful thing if they were to save Dawn. But Willow couldn't bring it up. Not now.

Giles came back from the phone. "Willow," he said. "Anya is at the hospital with your friend April. She said to tell you that Warren Is Himself Again. I trust you understand what that means?"

"Yeah, Giles, I do. Thanks."

Just then, Riley entered through the front door. "Hi everybody," he said before stopping short. "And I do mean everybody," he finished, taking everyone in at a glance. "Or nearly. Where's Faith and Tara?"

"On patrol," offered Gunn.

"Tara said she was going to try and get information from one of Glory's minions. She knows roughly where in town she might find one."

Willow felt rather than saw Oz's eyes on her. "She said that?"

"Yeah." She felt just self-conscious enough to let her hand stray to her collar. Good. That'll keep him from looking at your throat. Just wave your hand in that vicinity and Oz'll be sure to ignore that.

"Not to be too much of a downer," said Riley, "I've got some bad news. But there's some good news on top of that."

"Go ahead," said Buffy. "We could use some."

"I checked with some guys I know in the SPD. Seems over a dozen citizens have spotted bands of men wearing chain mail wandering in alleys, parks, cemeteries over the last forty eight hours."

"The Knights of Byzantium," breathed Giles.

"Who're they?" asked Oz.

"Religious fanatics," answered Wesley, "among other things devoted to defeating Glorificus and all her minions."

"This is bad?" said Gunn. Wesley, in an eerie echo of Giles, took of his glasses before replying.

"Unfortunately, yes. You see, as far as they're concerned, the Knights alone have the purity and even the right to combat evil. Everyone else is either a dupe, a victim, or evil themselves."

"Gotta love those wacky conservatives," muttered Xander. "Especially the ones still trying to stomp out this printing press fad."

Almost despite himself, Giles nodded. "Quite."

"Plus the fact they want to destroy the Key," added Buffy between her teeth. She looked at Riley. "You said you had good news?"

"Kinda," he replied. "I called in a favor. Within one week an X-Ops Team will be here for the express purpose of dealing with Glory and her followers."

"Wow. How did you manage that?"

Riley shrugged. "The government knows demons and things like them exist. And that Sunnydale is a hotbed. Glory's been preying on ordinary citizens plus she's been amassing what looks like a small army right on the Hellmouth. It wasn't too hard a sell."

"Unfortunately," noted Giles, "her power is enough to take on a small army."

"Well, a small army is what's on the way. I figure with all of us as backup that should increase our odds at least some."

Dawn was looking at everyone again. "What about Mom?"

* * *

Tara hurt. She hurt more than she had since dying, and that had hurt plenty. Of course this time she wasn't going to die, but in some ways that didn't help. What did help was the knowledge that she'd heal faster now that she was a vampire.

And towards that end she did what she had to. Sunnydale wasn't a large city. The alleys and back streets she traveled by were not rat-infested. In nearly half a mile she'd only caught five, draining each one dry. Disturbingly, three had gotten away. At last she'd done something that bordered on treacherous. Next to a dumpster near campus she found another vampire feeding. He looked like he might have been an athlete in life--built like a barrel, broad shoulders, the like. The woman in his arms was already dead, but he was still drinking, sucking the blood from her neck with slurping sounds.

Slowly, carefully (in part because of her still-healing broken hand) Tara drew her sword. Its tip was snapped off. A pity. Not that it mattered for her purposes. With skill, she approached the other vampire from behind. Deliberately, she made a noise.

He looked up. Faster than any human (although slower than usual) she swung and took his head. Dust sprayed in every direction as he died.

Wasting no time, Tara fastened her own mouth onto the dead woman's gaping throat wound. And drank. It took her a surprising amount of time before she was full. By then, she found her hunger no longer pounding in her ears or tempting her to bite into her own arms to drink.

Limping, she made fairly good time to the Magic Shoppe. The front door seemed heavier now, or at least turning it required more effort. Lights inside disoriented her for a moment, but she heard the sounds of people. Gasps, chairs moving, a smothered curse. Hopefully, those weren't customers.

Then...Willow.

"Tara!" Like some kind of guardian spirit she was there, eyes full of worry. And love. Enough to rekindle anyone's will to live. Or so it seemed to Tara.

"Willow..." Was that her voice? It sounded like a raspy frog. "Danger," she managed to get out. After that, she was dizzy. Falling, or did it just feel like falling? No, it was indeed falling--or would have been but for Willow catching her.

She didn't even mind feeling her broken bones grind together, if that was the price of being in Willow's arms. I must be delirious, thought Tara to herself. Otherwise, I really should try writing romance novels...

* * *

INTERLUDE

"So I'm a mother, you say?"

"Precisely. You have two fine daughters. Lovely girls, really."

"Can I see them?"

"Eventually, of course. The only reason you can't right this moment is because we're trying to get your memory back. Not having them here helps."

"How can that be?"

"They would be a distraction."

"I'd've thought they'd be a kind of support."

"Well, that too. But there is another possibility. We can use your understandable desire to see them as a tool, a device for helping recover your memories. Do you understand?"

"Maybe."

"How about a demonstration?"

"Alright."

"Here are a series of photographs. As you can see, they are all the identical size. Roughly half of them show things which are important to your past and to your memories. The others have nothing to do with you at all. What we need is for you to choose the ones who do have meaning for you."

"But...I don't remember."

"Ah, your conscious mind doesn't remember, that's true. But your unconscious most certainly does. This exercise is to help you access those memories. Are you ready?"

"I suppose so."

"Then choose."

Five minutes later...

"Let me see."

"I'm not finished yet. Almost, though."

"Well, let's see what you've done so far."

"Very well. I can't say why but these pictures of an axe, a sunrise and a crucifix just drew me somehow."

"That's very good. It means the process is working. And I can tell you this much--all these choices do indeed reflect things from your past?"

"Really? The one that puzzled me was the axe. Was I a lumberjack?"

"Now, now--no hints. That would be counterproductive. You've one more choice to make. Which picture?"

Another half-minute.

"I think...this one."

"You're sure?"

"Is that right? No--I know. No hints."

"But this is your choice, then?"

"Maybe...yes. For some reason, I'm sure. But what would be so special about a picture of a key?"

"Well, we'll just have to find out, won't we?"

END OF INTERLUDE

* * *

Willow paced. It wasn't something she usually did, but she'd found a hidden talent at it now. And so she paced.

She also listened. Riley was speaking. "Okay, I gave her a transfusion of blood."

"Thanks, everyone," said Willow. A small chorus of 'you're welcomes' echoed her words.

"Fortunately, my basic first aid training was sufficient. I couldn't really kill her with an air bubble or anything, Tara being a vampire and all. Plus that eliminated the need to do any type-matching." Riley took a deep breath. "I'm kinda amazed at her condition, though. What could have done that to her?"

"I think we already know the answer to that question," ventured Wesley.

Buffy nodded. "Glory. Had to be." Which made sense. Anyone who could wipe the floor with a Slayer would have no trouble pounding a relatively young vampire into a pulp. The image made Willow's stomach ache.

"Yeah, but why?" asked Riley.

"Willow said she was going to try and gain information from some of Glory's minions." Giles looked at Willow. So did everybody else. Willow nodded.

"Uh-huh," added Gunn, "then why'd she not kill the girl while she was at it?"

"Sending us a message, I fear," replied Giles.

"You are helpless," agreed Buffy. "Give me what I want. Or else."

"Exactly," said Giles.

"Not to go all obvious or nothing," asked Gunn, "but what does this hellgod want?"

* * *

Tara opened her bruised eyes and saw Dawn. She was out of focus. But definitely Dawn.

"Hi," she managed to croak.

Dawn inched a little closer to the prone vampire. She was clearer now--her young face slack with worry and guilt. Her eyes red from tears.

"Are you alright?" she whispered to Tara.

"Not...really," Tara answered. "But...I will be." She looked at Dawn, who clearly wanted to tear her gaze away from Tara's but couldn't bring herself to. Oh dear. Didn't know it was that bad. "Probably looks worse than it feels."

"Then you must feel unbelievably awful."

"Well...yeah." Tara smiled. It hurt. "But remember? I'm immortal. Give me time and I'll be dancing." Dawn didn't actually smile in response, but she did seem to relax a little. Good.

"Can you remember who did this to you?"

"Yep."

"And...?"

"Glory."

"I knew it." The bitterness in her voice was tangible. By an effort of will, Tara made her eye stay open and focus on Dawn. "Because of me. She did this to you to find out about me, didn't she?"

No point in lying. "Yeah." Dawn turned away. The shudder in her frame was very, very slight. But Tara caught it. Just as she knew what kind of savagely stifled sobs caused it. "Not your fault, you know."

"Yes it is," Dawn both whispered and wailed.

"Bull!" Something in the delivery made Dawn turn back to Tara. "What, didn't you hear me?"

"You got hurt for my sake."

"Hey--word to the wise." Tara wet her lips. "No, from the wise. Right now you're being silly. If somebody kidnapped you to get at your sister--would you blame Buffy?"

Dawn was smart enough not to fall into that kind of verbal trap, of course. "No. I guess not." Unless she wanted to, of course. Evidently she did.

"So don't blame yourself."

"But if people get hurt because of me..."

"Dawn. I know exactly whose fists did this." She made a gesture towards the bruises she was sure decorated her face. "And it wasn't you. So...stop it with the delusions of grandeur, okay? You didn't hurt me. Not to be crude--you can't. Okay?"

The teenager didn't say anything. Hopefully, that meant she couldn't find any way to argue.

Buffy and Willow stepped inside the workout room. The concern in the latter's eyes, and how she rushed to Tara's side on the stacked floormats, stirred weird thoughts of gratitude for the beating if she got this response. Very, very weird thoughts. Still, it was pleasant to feel the redhead's hand in hers.

"Honey," breathed Willow, "how do you feel? Are you better?"

"Not really," answered Dawn for her, "but she will be."

Tara smiled at little at this. Gently, she squeezed Willow's hand. "Smart kid."

"Dawn," said Buffy, "go into the next room."

"But Tara and I were having a good talk..." began Dawn.

"True enough," offered the vampire.

"Now," insisted Buffy. Dawn did so with only a little pouting. Buffy didn't say anything more until the door closed behind her sister. "What happened?" She knelt beside Tara.

"Knights of Byzantium interrupted me. I was questioning a minion. Then Faith interrupted them."

"Faith! Did she do this?"

Tara shook her head, which made her a little dizzy. "She and I were interrupted again."

"By Glory?"

"Yes. She beat us both. Didn't even work up a sweat. Faith ended up wrapped in chains and carted off. Me, she let go with a message."

Buffy's face had never looked more frightened, at least not to Tara. The fact her features weren't moving was worrying enough. That she wasn't blinking was, frankly, worse. "What shape was Faith in?"

"Not too bad. Knocked out. So was I, for that matter. Glory woke me up to finish...well, this."

"Punctuating her message."

"I think so, yeah."

Buffy took a deep breath before her next question. And another. This was so not going to be pretty. "What's the message?"

"Pretty much what you expect. Give her the key or else."

"Details. They could be important."

"You sure?"

"No. Give'em anyway."

"Glory said: You can't take her. None of us can. She knows the key is someone you know. If you don't hand it over, Glory will go to everyone you know and make what she did to me look like a pedicure. Right now, she's got Faith. Tomorrow, Faith gets her heart ripped out."

Silence. And again, not a flicker of an expression on Buffy's face. Fury, even weeping, would be better somehow. But...nothing. Instead, Buffy just stood up. "Thanks," she said. Then she headed out the door.

Willow watched her go, then turned all her attention to Tara. Gently, she pressed her lips against Tara's own. "What do you need?" she whispered.

"Time, mostly."

"And blood?"

"Riley gave me a transfusion..."

"I know. And I know you still need to heal. We need you." Her eyes seemed to shine. No, not really. There were tears there, ready to flow. "I need you." Deliberately, Willow undid the first few buttons to her blouse. She pulled back the collar, revealing the mostly-healed scar there.

"Not now..." Tara was tempted, achingly so. But here?

"Yes," was Willow's answer. "Because more than you need blood, I need something." A beat. Her voice sank lower, but fiercer. "I need to know it is me who helps you heal. To feel my strength go into you. I need this, Tara. My love." Willow cupped the back of Tara's head with one hand, bringing her throat to Tara's mouth. Unplanned, Tara felt her face alter, brow becoming furrowed, teeth stretching into fangs.

Please. Did Willow actually say this? Or did she think it?

"Please," said someone. Willow? Tara? Did it really matter?

Fangs pierced. Blood flowed. Tara placed her mouth over a wound as small as she could manage, then began to suckle like a child. Willow moaned, holding her tight.

* * *

INTERLUDE

"Your Magnificence?"

"Hey! I don't like interruptions!"

"A thousand thousand pardons, Most Worshipful One."

"Never mind. This one's a little too fragile, anyway. And what good is she if she's broken?"

"Wisdom incarnate, Vast Excellency."

"Vast? Whadda'ya'mean vast? Are. You. Saying. Something. About. My. HIPS?"

"Hips such as yours deserve nothing save praise, O Reason For My Every Breath. By 'vast' I referred only to your excellence, which eclipses all others that ever have been or ever might be. This unworthy servant begs forgiveness."

"Okay. Yo! Minions! Take this down and let it rest. Guess I'll have to wait till it heals before asking anything else, the rude bitch. What is it you wanted again?"

"I bring news, Your Sublime Awesomeness."

"Spit it out."

"The Summers woman certainly knew the location of the Key. Her memories are returning, and at a good rate. Within one day, no later, I should be able to identify the Key."

"About bloody time!"

"One detail, Most Delightful To Behold, has emerged. The Key is in human form."

"Doc! Doc, you withered little wizard you! If I gave Christmas bonuses you just earned yours!"

"Praise from you is better than life, Supreme Wondrousness."

"Up till now, the Key could've been anything! A cup, a shovel, the shoebox some kid keeps his baseball cars in! Now we can narrow it down!"

"The name, as I promised Your Splendidness, shall be revealed soon as well."

"Whatever, go ahead. Don't think I'll wait all that long, though."

"I don't...please enlighten your unworthy servant, Most Supremely Awe-worthy?"

"Gonna do some checking on my own. That doesn't let you off the hook."

"Of course not, Highest of the Most High."

"Scoot! Back to the zombie!"

"Without delay, She-Who-Makes-All-Tremble."

END OF INTERLUDE

* * *

When Willow came back into the main shop, she noted Anya had arrived. Xander's girlfriend sat beside him, clutching his arm in relieved and possessive style. They were part of what could be called a council of war. Right now, Wesley was speaking. Or maybe droning was a better word. No one seemed to like what he was saying.

"True, we don't know precisely what Glory's ultimate intentions are, yet presuming them to be anything other than malevolent in the extreme would be the depth of folly."

Xander raised his hand. "Wouldn't that be the height of folly?"

"That's what I usually hear," offered Willow, sitting down.

"My preference in metaphors is hardly the issue," said Wesley in an icy tone.

"Quite right," said Giles. Nearly everyone looked at him in surprise. After all, the two Watchers didn't exactly get along. "We need to face the consequences of our actions. The fact is, we dabbled in extremely dark magicks and as a result Dawn is in far greater danger than she was before. Faith is missing. Tara has been badly wounded. And Joyce," he faltered for a moment. Then he looked directly in at Buffy and Dawn. "And Joyce is almost certainly resurrected, but in the clutches of Glory. I shudder to think of the implications."

No one said anything after that. Although each managed to etch their own version of misery into their faces. Poor Dawn looked cried out, while Buffy had that utter stillness that meant she was trying not to feel anything. Riley was watching her, of course, but sensed she didn't want any contact. Xander was frowning, he and Anya clearly taking some comfort in each other. Giles looked devastated, at least to Willow's eyes. Gunn and Wesley seemed about as uncomfortable as humanly possible without bleeding.

"I..." Wesley began. Then coughed. Clearly, he didn't need to. "I take it we are all agreed on our objectives?"

Buffy nodded. "Get back Faith and Mom."

"What about Dawn?" asked Wesley pointedly.

"Protecting her is a given."

"Good. I agree. However, those are no less than three goals. Am I right in believing that the protection of Dawn has first priority?"

"No!" said Dawn. "Mom comes first!"

Giles spoke before Buffy could open her mouth. "Dawn," he said, "that isn't the decision your mother would have made. And besides, we don't know what...condition...your mother is in at the moment. Whether she even is your mother." H went on inexorably, despite the near-total lack of color in the girl's face. She was listening. In horror. "The ultimate test of such is this--what would your mother want?"

"You don't know," Dawn said, a little desperately.

"Perhaps. But you do." Giles spoke quietly. Intensely. "The only question is whether you'll admit it."

At this, Buffy slowly stood up. She made her way over to a knapsack she'd dropped earlier. It was in the corner, next to Anya's purse as well as Dawn's backpack and Willow's own canvas bag full of homework. Buffy took something out of the bag. An envelope. One that Willow recognized, so she wasn't surprised in one way when Buffy took out the photograph of her mother. In another way Willow was shocked.

"No, Buffy," she said.

"There's no other way." Buffy wasn't looking at anything really.

"Maybe," said a voice from the back of the store, "but you shouldn't have to do it." Tara, still limping and bruised but much better than she had been, took a few steps into the room. "You know where Glory is now. Go. All of you. Rescue Faith while you still can. I can hide Dawn. Willow knows where."

"What about Mrs. Summers?" asked Gunn.

"Maybe you can rescue her, too." Tara shrugged. And winced. "But if you can't..." She reached over and took the photo from Buffy's hands.

* * *

Tara had trouble getting down the ladder, but not too much. Oz preceded her, and was ready if catching a falling vampire proved necessary. But it didn't. Both of them were ready as Dawn came down as well. But it was Tara who could turn on the lights. For one thing, she could still see in the dark. And for another, she knew where the switch was.

Hundreds of tiny candelabra lights flickered. Dawn's eyes blinked, hopefully not just from the sudden light. A faint smile seemed to promise this was the case. Oz...took it all in quietly enough. So far that's how he seemed to take everything.

So far.

"Wow," Dawn was saying. "This might be the nicest vampire's lair I've ever been in. And I've been in a bunch." She stopped. "Proof, if anyone's listening, that I don't have a life." Scowling, she parked herself on a sofa and took another look around. "No TV?"

Easing into another chair, Tara answered. "Sorry. Lots of books, though."

"Just what I need. More homework."

Although she felt sympathy for Dawn, Tara's attention was on Oz. He sank to the floor, taking a seat there with no fanfare. Nor words. He took in the room with a simple glance of the area--exactly as she would, Tara realized. As a predator. Nearly a year ago he'd returned to Sunnydale, borderline ecstatic upon having found a way to control the wolf. Everyone had welcomed him home, forgiven him his trespasses and celebrated the success of his quest. Tara had watched from afar. She'd noticed how things remained tense between Oz and his former paramour Willow. Understandable. Maybe even inevitable. And she'd been there when it all came to an explosive collapse--Oz losing his temper, his own shocked terror as what was happening became obvious. His voice screaming to Willow "Run!" had quickly descended into a growl. Then the calm, almost zenlike musician had changed, morphed into a beast, while loathing twisted his face even more. Tara was honest enough with herself to think at the time she had killed a werewolf once before. Not that it had been necessary. Following him, she'd seen the Initiative soldiers capture the creature. Later, she'd been the one to tell Willow what had happened, although the rescue operation that followed had happened without her aid. The Apostate had wondered why she'd gone even that far. Her motive, so she'd claimed, was to win the Slayer's trust.

At the time, she'd even believed it herself. Had her Sire? She'd never know.

Now, Oz crouched in her lair, hidden behind dark eyes and a kind of rigid self-control she recognized. What to say? Or, was there anything to say? Did he know? Given his own powers, the answer to that was almost certainly positive. More importantly, what would he do?

"Oh!" exclaimed Dawn, suddenly. "A kitty!"

Sure enough, Xita had made an entrance. Black and tan, she approached the fascinated teenage girl on the sofa that was usually hers. Dawn did nothing but wait, and watch the sleek kitten. She sniffed at Dawn's shoes, before uttering a trilling sound halfway between a growl and a plea. Then she made the same sound again, insistently.

"Her name is Xita."

"Maybe she's hungry?"

"There're some treats in the drawer next to you."

Dawn reached for said drawer, under an attentive feline's gaze. Xita's tail began to twitch. As the box of kitty treats came out, she began to pace, her eyes never leaving the box and uttering several more trills.

"You want this?" cooed Dawn. "Here ya'go." She held out her hand with three or four of the morsels in it. Xita stared at her. Then trilled. Dawn looked at Tara.

"Put them on the floor. She's not used to you yet."

Obediently, Dawn did so. The kitten inched closer, quickly snagging one piece with her teeth then retreating a full five inches to munch down. Dawn, along with Tara and Oz, watched. Soon, Xita swallowed and began inching back for another treat.

"So. Why a cat?" Oz finally spoke.

Tara shrugged. "I like cats."

Oz nodded. "Huh." Whatever that meant. Or didn't.

* * *

Willow braced herself. After all, she was probably as safe as possible. Riley and Xander were both strong and muscly. Buffy was here in all her slayer-ness. Plus Giles, who really understood all kind of weapons when you came right down to it. Anya was no slouch either. Not terribly skilled but enthusiastic and anything but clumsy. So it followed logically that Willow was as safe as she could probably be--under the assaulting-the-stronghold-of-a-god circumstances.

So they made their way into the lobby of what looked like a rather nice condo. Buffy was in the lead, battleaxe in hand. Willow herself almost nervously repeated to herself the spell she'd been practicing. Not really practicing, really. Not in a real way. As in really casting the spell. But she'd gone over it in so many ways and she was pretty sure it would work. Probably.

"The stairs," said Buffy. "Let's not get trapped in the elevator."

Everyone nodded. They headed to the stairwell. Just in time, it turned out, as the elevator doors began to open. Everybody managed to get around the corner with relatively little noise. Willow herself was one of those peaking around the corner.

A man emerged from the elevator. Short, a bit wizened, in a nice black suit. From Buffy's description she thought this must be Doc, and glancing at Buffy's face as she looked at him pretty much confirmed it. The two robed minions flanking him made for pretty good clues as well.

"Her Worshipfulness," a minion was saying, "shall no doubt reward those most loyal to her."

"No doubt at all" the other minion piped in. Doc stopped to listen.

"Few could doubt, of course, and those who did would be fools indeed, your own great loyalty to the wonder that is Glory."

"Go on," Doc urged. His face had a kindly, patient expression. The minions cowered at it.

"W-w-w--we h-h-h-hoped you m-m-might..." the first minion's words trailed off.

"Put in a good word for us?" blurted out his compatriot. Before wilting as Doc fixed his gaze on the creature. Then, smiled.

"Her Glory will do as pleases her," he said mildly.

"YES!" cried out one of minions.

"OF COURSE!" echoed the other.

"I suggest," said the old man in a low voice, causing the others to go utterly silent, "you prepare for the rescue mission the Slayer and her friends are undoubtedly planning. Secure the brunette. Guard her."

"Even now, she awaits the Splendid Curvy One's return!" offered one minion in a rush.

"You interrupted me," Doc pointed out gently. The minion sank to his knees, weeping. "Never mind. Just get upstairs while I continue working with the woman. Go now." The two of them nearly tripped over each other heading back into the elevator. Doc, almost serenely, headed outdoors into the night.

Fully six seconds after he'd left the lobby, Buffy turned to everyone else. "Anya, Willow--you're the ones Doc hasn't seen. Follow him to where ever he's got my mom. We'll go up and rescue Faith."

"But...you'll need us..."

"You heard what he said. Glory's not here. If we hurry, we can get Faith out before she gets back. Willow," Buffy said intensely, "I'm counting on you." And with that she headed up the stairs. Riley and Giles followed. Xander was the last, sharing a quick kiss with Anya then a thumbs-up sign to Willow.

Anya looked at Willow. "C'mon. We'd better hurry." Business like as ever.

"Okay." Willow made a quick pace out of the lobby and onto the street. Doc, it turned out, wasn't far. They followed him. "I just wish Tara was here."

"I'm sure she's healing. Be out stalking the night again in no time."

Doc picked up speed. Anya and Willow did as well.

* * *

"Thanks for the ride," said Tara at last. She'd been thinking what to say to Oz for what seemed like forever. Probably two whole minutes.

"Don't mention it."

Which effectively cut off the next thing she was going to say. Not an easy thing, this talking with Oz. A year and a half ago, when he'd driven her and Faith to Los Angeles, it had been easier. Or had it? Yes, it had. They'd all had a goal, and had understood enough that silence came easily, comfortably. None of them had really wanted to talk.

Actually, Tara didn't really want to talk now. Just felt she should.

"Your kitty," Dawn suddenly spoke up. "She really is just a pet, right? Not some kind of snack?" The girl looked worried.

"Just a pet," Tara nodded.

"Good," proclaimed Dawn and went back to petting Xita. The kitten, meanwhile, realized she'd found a soft touch and was milking the situation for all the scratching and tasty treats she could get. Clever creature. "Has she ever brought you a mouse or a bird or anything?"

"A couple of rats."

"You didn't...feed on them, did you?"

"No." Why bother the girl with the truth after all? Blood is blood. Dawn's little sigh of relief told Tara she'd done the right thing.

Several more minutes of playing with the kitten were followed by an offhand remark. "Don't suppose kitty wants to get too close to you," Dawn said to Oz. "Dogs and cats, you know."

Oz just nodded. "You got a point."

"Doesn't know what she's missing," Dawn pronounced. Oz slightly (very slightly) smiled in response.

Tara suddenly had a thought. She'd grown up, learning from childhood the women of her family were demons in desperate need of control. Not as far back as she could remember had she once doubted this. Her sojourn to Sunnydale had only been a temporary respite before her destiny. Or so she'd believed. In fact, soon after arriving Tara had met a demon--The Apostate--who'd made her into what he was, a vampire. And then she'd discovered something. Until awakening the next night, Tara had believed herself part demon. Once she actually became part demon, the truth was viciously obvious. She'd been human. Completely. Obviously. Without doubt. The temptation to go home and have her entire family for dinner had been considerable.

Now, another lie clarified in her mind. Here she was, a demon. And she was in love. More, she was loved. In the room with her was a werewolf. Together they were protecting a little girl--not for hope of using her themselves but out of a genuine desire to protect. Not the behavior she'd learned to expect from demons. Her father had been wrong. No, both of them. For the Apostate had been just as blindly certain of his "truth" as Ezekiel Maclay.

"Tara?"

"Hmmm? What is it, Dawn?"

"Are you alright? You look...kinda intense."

Less than two yards from Tara, Oz was staring at her also. Both he and Dawn seemed very alert. Worried. Xita Kitty hissed, jumping off of Dawn's lap and scurrying under the desk. Not for another few moments did Tara realize why. Reaching up, she touched her now-furrowed brows. Running her tongue along her lips, she felt fangs. With an effort of will, she returned her face to its human visage.

"Sorry." Her voice was quiet. "I was...thinking about something. Remembering, actually."

"It wasn't anything I did, was it?" Dawn tried to smile as she made the joke. She almost made it. The grin wasn't quite right, and her eyes tried to laugh but failed.

"No. Not you." Tara leaned back, closing her eyes. "Somebody...else."

"Wanna talk about it?" An interesting question, especially coming from Oz.

"Not right now," replied the vampire. "But later. Yes."

"If there is a later," muttered Dawn.

* * *

Willow and Anya followed Doc for nearly an hour. He made his way through downtown Sunnydale, eventually ending up outside a half-empty office building. Doc went inside, forcing both young women to be more careful. Fortunately, he made his way to the second floor with little enough trouble. They watched him, first from the street, then the stairwell. Upstairs, a long hallway was empty.

"Now what do we do?" whispered Anya.

"Listen to the doors," said Willow.

Nodding, Anya did so. Willow herself followed suit. The first had no sounds behind it. For that matter, neither did the second or third or fourth. She stole a glance at Anya, whose disgusted look on her face showed the same results. Both put their ears to the next doors.

"Hey!" suddenly said Anya, "hey hey hey...!"

"Shhhhhhh..." hissed Willow. "Not so loud!"

Anya motioned for Willow to approach. She did so. They each pressed their ears to the door, listening with all their might.

"...which ones?" Doc's muffled voice was difficult to hear. And harder to make out.

But the voice that answered was female. Worse (or better) it was also achingly familiar, even if neither could make out a single word. She seemed to be explaining something at length though. Whatever it was, she ended it with a question.

"Excellent," murmured Doc from behind the door. Steps. Not many. The woman's voice asking something. And asking again. He didn't reply. Instead, he spoke to someone else. With a little shock, both Willow and Anya recognized the quality of his voice with the first words he spoke. He was on the phone.

"Hello?" he was saying. "Has Glory returned?"

As one, Willow and Anya stared at each other in horror. In sync, they tried the door. Locked. Then they began pushing at it, kicking. It held. Behind the door, they heard Doc raising his voice. "Tell her Magnificence that the Key is in the form..."

"CONFIGRERE!" Willow shouted, focusing her will. The door shattered inward! Both women rushed inside!

"...of the Slayer's sister Dawn!"

Doc was at an old, battered desk, a phone receiver in one hand. He looked up, his face clearly visible in the light from the streetlamp outside. Other than this, only a reading lamp on the desk provided any illumination. As Doc looked at them, both eyes went pitch black. With what was probably supposed to be a battle cry, Anya rushed at him, raising her mace as if to strike.

A tongue shot out of Doc's mouth--six feet worth. It struck Anya, sending her flying across the room into the wall. Then Doc turned to Willow.

Willow had taken out a handful of herbs and some consecrated dust. Her actions seemed in slow motion, at least to her. So do did those of the creature before her. Slowly, he braced himself in the direction of the red haired witch. Willow drew her arm back. Doc lowered his lower jaw, exactly as he had moments before when striking out at Anya. And Willow threw her arm forward, releasing the herbs and dust, which flew across the room in Doc's direction. Inside Doc's mouth, a tongue seemed to undulate and coil as the the herbs and dust made their way in a scattered arc in the air. Then, the tongue began to emerge--even as the dust and herbs struck its owner.

"APAGE TE! RELEGARE!"

Doc vanished. Willow had just enough time to realize blood was gushing from her nose before a thousand migraines pounded her into unconsciousness.

* * *

The world throbbed.

Oh no. That wasn't the world. Just seemed like it because all the pain and throbbing the entire world was supposed to contain had somehow ended up inside her head. How had that happened?

"Willow?"

And now Anya was screaming at her. Okay, whispering. But it felt like screaming.

"Willow?"

"Stop...just...quiet, okay?" Every word out of her own lips echoed against Willow's skull. She opened her eyes to blinding light. Not enough to see much, but still--blinding. Somehow, she lifted all forty tons of her hand, reaching her face in just over seven hours. Or half a second. She wasn't sure there was a difference right now. Sticky. Her hand was sticky now. With deep red stuff.

Blood.

"Willow...?" Anya ventured again, at what must be the lowest decibel level possible for anything human. "You need to wake up."

Damn. Why did that have to be true? But it was. She began to move her limbs, which set off a dozen new explosions behind her eyes and made her groan. Hands--Anya's presumably--helped her sit up. The impulse to vomit was great, but controllable. Barely. No more teleportation spells, Willow vowed. She peered around the dim room. "Doc" she asked?

"Gone. Went poof. Too late to keep him from telling about Dawn, as it turns out, but the spell worked just fine."

"Uh...thanks."

"What about Dawn?" said a woman's voice from the shadows. It was a pleasant contralto, kindly in tone. But there was something in the sound of that voice Willow didn't like. A liquid something. She knew that voice, had known it for years. Nothing liquid had belonged to it before. Of course, that voice's owner hadn't died before then. She gazed at the direction of the voice--managing to spot a blurry shape in the shadows.

"Mrs. Summers? Is that you?"

"Why...yes. I believe so." She remained seated on what Willow presumed was a sofa. Probably fairly beaten up if it matched the rest of the furniture. "Do I know you?" The shape of the head tilted.

"Yeah. Willow. Remember?"

The silence that followed set off all sorts of tiny alarms in Willow. A quick look at Anya set off some more--she looked queasy. Anya wasn't one to turn queasy. "Wil. Low." Joyce Summers voice repeated. "Willow. Are you my daughter?"

"No! But...she and I are friends. Best friends!" Willow found herself rapidly, a little desperately, nurturing a hope that the only thing wrong with the resurrected Mrs. Summers was a touch of amnesia.

Just a shade too slow, the shadowy figure turned to Anya. "Then you're my daughter?"

"Sorry," Anya shook her head.

"No?"

"Positive."

"Oh. Dear." But now the figure lapsed into another silence. Willow stood up. It still set her brain sloshing around inside her skull cavity but by gritting her teeth she managed. She took a couple of unsteady steps to the door. Towards the light switch. As her hand reached for it, Anya's voice piped up.

"You might not want to do that."

Willow hesitated. She suspected Anya was right. But there was an awful decision that might have to be made, and she'd have to make it. The switch moved, flooding the little office with light. Then Willow turned around.

It was the eyes that were the worst. Joyce Summers had had very nice eyes--kind, clear, intelligent. These were unfocused, but worse, they were nearly colorless. Each iris was grey, a pale grey that seemed almost white. A latticework of red veins surrounded them, while each pupil was no more than a tiny black pinprick. On closer observation, though, her skin wasn't much better. Pale lips were the most noticeable, making the polite smile she aimed now at Willow somehow ghastly. Oh yeah, the teeth. Yellow. Or brown? No, both.

"Do you know where my daughter can be found?" the shape of Joyce Summers asked. Willow just kept staring. Against her will, but without pause. Very faint mottling marred the surface. Right now she was as pale as Tare, but vampires don't have bruise-like purple splotches. That liquid quality in her voice hadn't really grown worse, had it? "I know she's the key to...something. That's what I told my doctor."

Anya and Willow exchanged a look.

* * *

At the hospital, Tara and Oz escorted Dawn into the Waiting Area. They were met by Buffy, Giles, Riley and Xander.

"How's Faith?" asked Oz.

"Bad," answered Buffy in a flat voice. "They're going over her now. She's got broken bones, and probably a concussion." Her voice cracked a little at this last. Riley quietly took her hand and squeezed. She took a deep breath before going on. "But she'll be alright. She's a slayer. We're tough. Any word from Anya and Willow?"

"Not yet," said Tara.

"What about Mom?" said Dawn in a small voice.

Buffy looked at her sister. "No sign of her at Glory's." The two of them hugged.

Giles coughed after a few moments, breaking the awkward silence. "So Tara," he said, "you seem fully recovered."

"Nearly," Tara agreed. "And a good thing, too. You're likely to be needing me. Is there any word from Gunn or Wesley?"

"Actually, they checked in a little while ago," said Riley. "Got the Knights of Byzantium staked out, but nothing further to report."

"Gotta love three-sided apocalyptic battles," muttered Xander. "I mean, it just gets too easy good guys versus bad guys." Which earned him a little smile from both Buffy and Dawn.

Now a familiar-looking Doctor approached them all. Tara felt every sense go alert as she recognized him. Ben. He looked very concerned, terribly sincere, but Tara knew he was somehow connected with Glory. And his being here could not be good.

"Ah...Miss Summers?" He took a step back as the entire party glared at him. Each had a different level, but in unison they were all anything but friendly. Tara hoped he was most frightened by her, but wasn't quite upset enough to shift her features and make sure. "Oh. Kay," the intern began, "I just wanted to come and give you a report on your friend." He took another little step backward. Then plunged ahead. "She has multiple fractures in one leg, a compound fracture in an arm, and a broken collarbone. You were right, by the way, there is a concussion but not too serious. Evidently. In fact, she seems quite a bit healthier than she should be. All things considered." As one, Buffy and her friends continued to stare. "Well. The lacerations and bruises are pretty superficial, although they probably sting like hell. And--this isn't too horrible but she probably needs to see a dentist--Faith has lost a molar. It seems to have been yanked out. Anyway, she's under observation right now so there's no reason..."

"I don't want you treating her." Buffy's voice was icy.

"Uh..."

"Do you understand?"

"No. I don't. Why don't you..."

"Whether you get the reasons or not, I don't care. Do you understand my orders?"

Ben looked like he was about to argue, then thought better of it. "I'll tell someone. Trade off for another case. Okay?" When Buffy didn't say anything, he scampered off.

"Should we follow him," asked Riley.

"No," said Buffy, "we need to stay together."

That was when Willow walked in. Against her will, Tara felt herself react to her presence. Some muscles automatically relaxed, while her senses sharpened just a little bit. And when the redhead's eyes pierced her, she felt worse and better at the same time. Oh how I fear that anything might happen to you, thought the vampire to herself. How mightily you shape my life now. You look hurt, exhausted and unwell. Did someone cause this? How can I keep myself from slaughtering whoever was responsible...? Because you would not approve. Tara trembled in self control.

Everybody else moved to meet the worn-looking Willow.

"What happened?" This from Dawn, clearly appalled at Willow's appearance. She was visibly pale, and holding a paper towel stained with blood against her nose.

"Oh, just some magic that really was too much to handle. Almost. Uh, Guys? Can I talk to Oz and Tara please? Alone?"

Like the red sea, everybody parted and looked at the werewolf and the vampire in the rear--the two who hadn't moved. Tara realized in a flash that Oz had had the identical reaction as herself. And now they acted in unison again. Each walked up to Willow and joined her around the corner in a hallway...

* * *

An hour later, Willow was (still!) waiting for the migraine medicine she'd taken to kick in. And it didn't help that she simply could not afford to lie down right now. If Glory didn't know Dawn was the Key, she would soon. Eager to get Faith to the hospital, Buffy simply hadn't had time to deal with every single minion in the condo. Some of them were bound to have gotten Doc's message.

"Soooooo..." said Buffy, obviously antsy. Her most basic reaction to stress was to seize control, and now even letting Giles drive Oz's van was eating away at her. "What happened to Doc, exactly?"

"Told you," Willow said wearily. "I said the words and he disappeared."

"But where is he now?"

"Don't know."

Everybody was listening to their conversation. Not that they could help it. The van wasn't small, but it wasn't that big either and carrying six people didn't exactly discourage crowding. Or eavesdropping.

"Willow?" Dawn's voice sounded fragile. Her look was steel. "Did you see any sign of Mom?"

Okay here it was. Breathe normally. She needs to believe you. Buffy, too. Its for the best no matter how you look at it. As Willow creaked open her eyes, she caught both Summers girls pleading with their looks.

"Just before Anya and I broke into the office, we heard Doc say some words. I'm pretty sure they were part of a spell. And it sounded like some kind of banishment. He said 'reverti' at least three times. That's Latin for 'return.' I think...maybe he sent her back once he got what he wanted from her."

The van was suddenly very loudly silent. For a full minute.

"Mom told him?" Dawn looked in shock.

"Oh, Dawnie--I think it wasn't really your mother. Just part of her. The room, it kinda smelled...well, bad. Like, dead." Willow squirmed as she said this. The discomfort was real. Only the full cause of it was a lie. But she had to tell this lie. She had to.

Dawn put her head on her arms, hiding her face. Buffy gently stroked her hair, offering a comfort in something other than words. The sight made Willow long for Tara.

Now Giles brought the van to a stop. Gunn and Wesley were waiting for them at the corner, and they managed to fit everybody inside after only three minutes of groaning and squeezing. In the midst of it all, Giles managed to brief them on where things stood.

"Well," he'd begun, "the good news is that Faith is alive and in a doctor's care. The bad is that Glory knows Dawn is the Key. Oz, Tara and Anya will be meeting us with some alternate transportation."

Gunn did a take at this. "What kind of alternate transportation?"

The Watcher shrugged. "Something large enough for us all. Hopefully, fast as well."

"Fast? Why fast?"

"Because Glory knows," said Buffy. "And she's too powerful. Now that she knows, we have to get out of here. Fast."

Willow could feel how uncomfortable everyone was at this. In fact, Gunn and Xander both looked something akin to shocked. But Willow saw how utterly desperately certain Buffy was. She also saw something else--the ragged tatters events had left of her nerves. Flight might be the right choice. Maybe it was the only choice. Probably, it was. Yet there was only one possible reason Buffy would plan on running away so quickly and without argument.

She believed she was going to lose. What had happened to Faith must have been the final straw.

No one said anything as they headed out to the old factory.

* * *

Anya looked worn as Tara entered the office, followed by Oz. She immediately noticed something else--that Anya was standing in the corner of the office, as far away as possible from what had been Joyce Summers.

"Am I glad to see you two," said Anya, all but sighing in relief. "What took you so long?"

"I had to stop by my lair."

"Hello," said the colorless thing with Joyce Summers' shape. It was dead. Tara knew what was alive and what wasn't. After all, she was both. This was dead. Animate, yes. But far from alive. "Are you my daughter? I seem to remember my daughter is a blonde." The timbre of voice was a good imitation of kindliness. But that's all it was, the mystic equivalent of muscle memory. Neither compassionate nor cruel, this...thing...pretended to listen.

Now Tare looked at Anya, who wouldn't meet her gaze. It must have been uncomfortable in the extreme for her to react this way. But then, Anya was curiously fragile when it came to genuine emotion. And passionate. She had liked Joyce Summers very much. The past hour must have been subtle torture for her.

"My name is Tara," she said. The dead thing didn't blink at this. It didn't' blink at all. Nor did it react. Yeah, this could get unnerving real fast.

"Are you comfortable?"

It cocked its head, considering. "Not...uncomfortable."

"Good."

"Tara? Oz?" Anya spoke up. She had a box in her hand. "I searched the desk and found this. Had to break a couple of locks to do it. That much security probably means they're important." The top of the box flipped open.

Inside the box were scrolls. Tara was tempted to read them now, but she had a clear set of priorities. "Thanks, Anya," she said. "You're probably right." She took out an envelope. With a glance at the unblinking thing on the sofa (still in the same polite position it had before), Tara removed the picture inside. It was a nice photograph. Handsome even. And a couple of dozen times more alive than the creature that had the same face.

Oz's hand grabbed her wrist.

"What?"

"I'll do it."

Tara didn't--quite--do a take. "Hey, I'm the killer."

"But you and Willow..." He left that hanging. So. Oz knew. "This shouldn't lie between you." Deliberately, he took the photo from her hands. Some part of Tara thought she shouldn't let him do this. But the larger part realized his wisdom. Were our positions reversed, she wondered if she'd have done the same. Tara continued to wonder this as the photo left her touch, and he held it with two hands. He didn't hesitate more than a fraction of a second.

Oz ripped the photo in half.

And the thing with Joyce Summers' shape vanished.

* * *

Scrambling, Willow and her friends managed to get out of the overturned mobile home. The sun blazed above them. More importantly, over two dozen soldiers in chain mail were descending. Buffy met them head on. Riley, Gunn, Oz, Wesley and Tara were at her back--the last (thank god) wearing the Ring of Amara. Not only was Tara immune to the usually-fatal rays of the sun, she was practically invulnerable. The Knights of Byzantium didn't know that.

There was a deserted gas station across the road. Willow, along with Xander and Anya and Giles, formed a protective ring around Dawn. All of them headed for the station.

Buffy and the others backed up after them.

Axes and swords were swinging in the melee. Curiously, the Knights' greater numbers weren't having as great an effect as Willow would have expected. One part of her mind wondered if perhaps they were too rigid in their tactics to deal with such a diverse foe. Then again, three of those they battled were more than human. Buffy was the Slayer. Oz was a werewolf. And Tara--her Tara--was a vampire. Knowing her love was rendered invulnerable by the talisman she wore didn't ease Willow's nerves as much as she'd expected. Hearing the twang of arrows couldn't help but make her flinch. And turn around. No less than three arrows shuddered as they struck Tara's chest. It made little difference, and the Knights at last reacted to the threat she represented. More hurled themselves at Tara, whose face melted into its fierce demon-form, accepting battle.

Once inside the station, Willow began to chant. She could feel the power begin to flow, her blood tingling against her bones. Would this work? Even now, after furious study and practice, she wasn't sure. But she raised her voice, wielding the arcane words.

"Buffy!" Giles called out. "In the station!"

Almost immediately, Buffy responded. She--and those fighting at her side--broke contact with the fanatics. They ran for the gas station, as Willow chanted faster.

What happened next must have taken less than a second. Yet it seemed to last an hour at least...

She was completing the spell. Barely a word remained to be intoned. Meanwhile, Buffy and the others were racing at full speed to the safety of what would soon be a stronghold. The Knights were poised to race after them, but one man gave an order, making them hesitate, then stop. At their rear, five men aimed their crossbows.

The last word of the incantation finished just as the crossbows fired. A mystical barrier immediately began to form around the abandoned gas station. But it did not form instantly. Three crossbow bolts struck the newborn barrier and bounced off. One was slowed, then cut in half, in a fluke caught precisely between the two sides of the barrier. But the fifth and last bolt had crossed before the barrier was up. It flew straight and furious, piercing its target.

Riley coughed blood as he fell. And Buffy, hearing that, turned. She was by his side almost instantly.

The bolt had gone all the way through, its gory point sticking out of Riley's chest. His eyes met Buffy's, refusing to look elsewhere as the light in them fade to nothing.

Willow fainted.

* * *

As the sun began to set later that day, Tara held the still-unconscious Willow in her lap. Her barrier still held. Buffy kept vacillating between nervous pacing and hugging her sister. Gunn and Oz had brought Riley's body inside, covering it with a sheet of canvas. Xander and Anya were holding each other. Tara could relate. Meanwhile, Giles and Wesley were reading the scrolls brought from Doc's office.

"Tara? What's wrong with Willow?" Dawn asked this with hardly any change of inflection. Not a good sign.

"Creating the barrier exhausted her. She needs to rest."

Dawn nodded, accepting this, then wandered off. Tara kept her own gaze on Giles and Wesley as they continued reading. She had skimmed them already, and knew what they contained. And had chosen not to tell the more disturbing details. Buffy's sharp looks in her direction confirmed that instinct, as far as she was concerned. Not that she blamed the Slayer. Especially now. For a horrible moment, Tara imagined how she would have felt if that crossbow bolt had slain Willow. For a moment, the word "hell" took on a terrible meaning--to see Willow die. Slowly, firmly, not wanting to wake her beloved, Tara bent down to press her lips against Willow's brow.

"Find anything?" Buffy's voice was ragged as she approached the two Watchers. They looked up, guiltily thought Tara. But then, she knew.

"Yes," answered Giles at last. "The good news is that Glory is most definitely working against a time table. If she fails to seize Dawn by a specific hour, even a specific moment, then Dawn will be safe." He paused.

"Well," said Anya in the silence that followed, "that is good news. Isn't it?"

"Yeah," Buffy said. "That is. What else?"

"We've calculated the precise day," added Wesley, "and it seems sure that Glory needs to have Dawn by..."

"The day after tomorrow," finished Xander. Everyone looked at him. A lot. "When the new moon is parallel to Sirius and Betelgeuse."

"Y-y-yes," said Wesley. He removed his glasses, staring at Xander.

"Extraordinary," breathed Giles, putting his glasses on.

"And how the hell did you know that?" demanded Buffy.

"Don't know," Xander replied. He blinked. "Just...came to me."

"The exact equation that a hellgod needs in order to accomplish her goals" asked Wesley incredulously, "just...came to you?"

Xander wilted a little under their combined stare. "Yeah?"

"Makes sense," said Gunn. Now everyone looked at him. "The X-man had his brain sucked by this Glory-chick, right? Till you found a way to cure him?"

"That's right," answered Tara. She thought maybe she could see where Gunn was going with this.

"Of course!" uttered Wesley suddenly.

"Makes sense that maybe Xander sees things different now," finished Gunn with a shrug.

"This could prove extraordinarily useful," said Giles, his eyes almost aglow. "Xander--do you have any more insights to offer?"

"Sorry."

"What about you?" asked Buffy. "You two've been oggling these scrolls. What else do they say? Anything else about what Glory wants with my sister? What she's trying to do? Why these Knights want to stop her? Why Riley had to..." Trembling, Buffy stopped herself from saying anything more. She tilted back her head, all too clearly to keep tears from starting to flow. Deep breaths followed. Very deep ones, for nearly a minute. At last, she slowly lowered her head and drilled into the Watchers with bright, hurting eyes. "What" she whispered, "do those damn scrolls say?"

Tara didn't know either Giles or Wesley terribly well, but their discomfort at that question was achingly obvious. Especially Giles. And these were Willow's friends. Her dearest friends, ripping at each others open wounds because they couldn't help it.

"Glory wants to go home, to the hell dimension from which she was exiled. That's why she wants the Key, to open a portal between this world and her own. But to do that, she needs Dawn's blood. She needs to shed it, using Dawn's life to rip open a door. What she can't control is which door will open, so she intends to open them all. Thousands and thousands of dark realms and hells touch this reality in some way. Glory will hurl open all those gates. Chaos will build on chaos as other realities pour into this one while Glory makes her escape. And the Earth dissolves. Until the blood of the Key flows no more, which won't happen until Dawn herself dies. That's what the scrolls say." Tara had spoken slowly, deliberately. It was vital Buffy understand precisely what was at stake. More, she had to take that ugly task away from Buffy's and sweet Willow's friends. That, at the least, she could do.

Buffy looked at Giles for confirmation. He reluctantly nodded. So too did Wesley, meeting the Slayer's eyes unflinching.

Dawn had gone pale. Tara had a flash of deja vu and spoke up again. "Dawn? Anyone can kill. Everybody has the power to torture."

"Not like me."

"But we all have it. What matters is what we do, not what we might do." Should she go further? Explain how as a human she'd been told she was destined to become a demon, that she'd do terrible crimes because it was her irrevocable nature. And that, as a genuine demon (which was an ironic fluke, really, since her family had lied), she learned even then such acts were far from inevitable? No, let her digest what she could for now. Too much and she'd react even worse. Let the truth live in her. For a time.

"Are you telling me," said Buffy in a dangerous voice, "to kill my sister?"

"No!" piped in Anya. "What she's saying is you've gotta keep her out of Glory's clutches for another couple of days!"

"That would, of course, be best," said Giles.

"Ideal," Wesley echoed.

"We know what we've gotta do, then," Xander exclaimed. "Just protect Dawn for another two days. And we're home free." His deliberately cheerful tone faded as he looked at Dawn's eyes.

"Protect me?" she whispered. "Like Faith did? Like Riley?"

No one answered.

* * *

Willow woke to a gentle rocking sensation. It very nearly hurt, her brain feeling bruised and all. But because she knew without opening her eyes whose arms wrapped and swayed and protected her, the pleasure eclipsed any discomfort.

"Hey, you" she whispered, eyes closed. Cool lips pressed against her forehead, feeling good. "Sorry about going all girly and fainting."

"Shhhhhh..." Tara said. "Rest some more. You need it."

"Nope." Deliberately (and reluctantly) Willow sat up. "Ow."

"Your head?"

"Uh-huh. And my guts. Plus there's this weird tendency for my teeth to go all rubbery. No," she resisted Tara's attempts to make her lie down, "time to get up." She nearly regretted this as she peaked out from behind eyelids at a spinning world.

"Sure?"

"No. But its too late now." Willow concentrated. The sun had set, for no light peaked through the windows. Buffy was near the front door, standing towards it, back to everyone else. Nearly everyone was lying down, a few low snores confirming their sleep. Anya and Xander were coiled up together, while Dawn managed to curl her lanky frame into an abandoned back seat of a car. Willow took another sweep of the room. Then another. She looked back at Tara. "Riley?"

Tara shook her head. Willow couldn't be surprised. The image of Buffy's boyfriend's chest with a crossbow bolt emerging from it was only too vivid. Hard to forget. Difficult not think of with horror--especially given the little detail that Willow herself was in love with a vampire. Wooden weapons piercing chests and hearts had become a special terror. Her hand reached to Tara's, almost instinctually checking that her love yet wore the protective Ring of Amara.

No need for words. Their hands held each other tight.

"Some news," began Tara after another minute or two. She kept her voice low. "Giles and Wesley finished reading the scrolls. Everything was pretty much what I thought--although they've worked out the precise time for Glory's ritual. The night after tomorrow. Buffy...didn't react very well. All she can think of what can go wrong."

Willow nodded. Understandable. Two boyfriends in a row killed right in front of her--how can anyone cope well with that? "Any other good news?" She smiled wanly.

"Actually, yes." Tara's reply surprised Willow. "Seems Xander has some kind of psychic power now, so he knows things about Glory, about what she needs. In the morning we're going to do some testing, see how much we can find out."

Too tired to do more than nod at this, Willow leaned up against Tara, who shifted to accomdate her. "Not a good place we're at right now," she quietly said.

"Oh, it could be worse."

"Yeah, we could be up to your eyebrows in poisonous scorpions."

She felt rather than saw Tara smile. "As opposed to non-poisonous ones."

"Or Glory might not have been an invulnerable hellgod."

"What else could she have been?"

"Something worse."

"Like?"

"An insurance salesman."

This time the smile showed in Tara's voice. "A telemarketer insurance salesman.!"

"Maybe a Jehovah's Witness telemarketer insurance salesman!"

"A Jehovah's Witness telemarketer insurance salesman who works part-time for the IRS!"

"No," finished Willow "what would have been really bad--if she was all of that plus she was a televangelist!"

Strange, thought Willow to herself, how little I've heard Tara giggle. Not that hers was a loud giggle--more like a galloping shudder along the length of her body. Punctuated, as it turned out, but tiny snorting sounds. It was really odd. And utterly charming. Willow let herself enjoy the experience for a little bit.

"What are you two laughing at?" Buffy's voice wasn't (quite) a dash of cold water. She did, however, dampen their reactions as she loomed over them suddenly. Unlike either Willow or Tara, she made no attempt to lower her voice. All around the room, people were shaking themselves awake.

"How? Where? What?" mumbled Xander, flickering his eyes open.

"Buffy? Has something happened?" Giles had awakened almost instantly.

"Willow and Tara," the Slayer said in earnest indignation, "were laughing." She looked at everyone as if daring them not to share in condemning them. No one else uttered a word. At first. Then...

"Buffy." Dawn's eyes grabbed her sister. "I say--anyone who finds any reason to smile in all this," she said "let them." It took a moment, but the Slayer began to relax. It wasn't like deflating, more like a letting go. All the battle-ready tension that had made her seem like a spring just vanished. One moment she'd looked ready to attack her best friend's vampire lover. The next, she was walking over to her sister, and hugging her.

"You're only fourteen," she muttered in mock crankiness. "You're not supposed to be wise. Stop it."

Dawn hugged back. "You first."

* * *

Tara heard it first. What sounded like wind--or maybe a stampede, but with only one horse. It was the silence as Dawn and Buffy comforted each other that let her hear it.

Next was Xander. His head whipped in the direction of the dirty windows. Being closer, he got to them first, and looked out.

"Uh...People? Trouble!"

Moments later, everyone was up against the grimy glass. It was night, and the glass was caked with dirt. Plus there was the mystical barrier which distorted everything beyond. Yet certain details were clear. And nothing interfered with the sounds coming from the encamped Knights of Byzantium. Yells were the least of it. The clash of weapons made up much of the noise, along with an occasional scream for punctuation. Meanwhile, a cloud of dust literally made its way through the camp--like a tiny dust storm.

"Dawn," said Buffy, "go and hide." The dust cloud was getting closer. "Now!"

Amid all the tumult outside, a red figure was now very obvious. She was wearing a tight red dress, a mini in fact, with matching pumps. Her golden hair was done up nicely, probably having killed half a can of hairspray to create the effect. Right now, she was moving just slow enough to make out her actions--twisting blades back into their wielders' bodies, kicking armored figures twenty or thirty feet, punching through chain-mail-guarded torsos with all the apparent effort of someone wading through really heavy grass.

Glory finally reached the mystic barrier, only to find herself blocked by a middle-aged man in better armor than the others. She blinked, and grinned. "Gregor!" she exclaimed before picking him up with one hand "Have I thanked you yet for leading me to the Key?"

Then she yanked his head off his neck with one, brutal twist.

Her next blow was against the mystic barrier. It collapsed with a thunderclap. Less than a quarter of a second later--too fast for anyone inside to respond--she ripped open the wall of the abandoned gas station.

Tara raced towards Glory as fast as she could. Buffy of course beat her there, only to be picked up by the Hellgod with a sneer. "Get serious," she said, then tossed Buffy to the other side of the room. Tara landed no less than three kicks to her knee, making Glory stumble but only for a moment. "Hey! Don't I know you?" Glory reached down to pick up a piece of wood. Then she closed one hand on Tara's shoulder before driving it into Tara's heart. Even she looked surprised as her vampiric foe didn't turn to dust but punched her in the jaw. Hard. Twice. "Neat trick," smiled Glory. "Wanna see one of mine?" Bracing herself, she lifted Tara by the wood in her chest and threw the vampire behind her.

Although the wood through her heart couldn't kill Tara, it was big enough (along with the hard landing) to hurt. She barely heard Anya's frantic shriek of "Xander!" When she did, she looked up to see an amazing sight.

Xander was trading blows with Glory. Or something like that, because not one of Glory's fists was ever coming into contact with him. Each time she swung, he perfectly dodged the blow. A good thing, too, since one that missed punched a hole in the concrete wall behind him.

Unfortunately, not of his own blows were doing anything to slow Glory down.

It was at this moment that Dawn tried to run. Glory turned away from Xander.

Buffy hurled herself at Glory, only to be tossed aside. Dawn got barely two steps after that before Glory had one arm around her waist.

Then, with what sounded like a cackle, Glory ran fast enough to leave a cloud of dust in her wake.

As the dust settled, not even Tara's vision could detect a sign of them.

* * *

Tara wasn't used to trust. Neither as a verb nor a noun. Her life had seen it betrayed far too often, sometimes with terrific ruthlessness. The oh-so-wonderful Maclay clan to start with. Having the oldest, probably most evil vampire in existence as a sire did nothing to change this. She was also honest enough to realize she'd betrayed Buffy's trust--what little trust the Slayer might have had for her. Nor did she regret it. Which left her feeling no more inclined to believe without proof than before. Yet now, she was leaving a great deal to trust. Nothing less than survival, not simply her own but Willow's.

And she didn't like it.

For nearly three hours now Tara and the others had been making their way back to Sunnydale. Fortunately, the late Knights of Byzantium had been survived by their horses. Wesley, herself and Anya had all proved able riders. Xander, Gunn and Oz all managed, the latter surprisingly well for his first time. Or not. Willow rode with Tara, an arrangement made workable (as well as desirable) by their relative sizes.

Bouncing along on still-skittish beasts had done nothing to further conversation. Still, Tara could tell--from the way she held on, from her breathing, from a thousand little details--Willow knew Tara was more unhappy than she'd let on. Yet they couldn't talk about it. Not yet. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea yet anyway.

Now the motley (very, Tara thought to herself) group approached their goal. The Stephenson horse ranch. Xander, it turned out, knew Old Man Stephenson (he said it that way, with the capitals) and was sure he'd give them all a ride back to Sunnydale. This wasn't as straightforward as any of them would like, simply because Xander had trouble dismounting. Walking proved difficult as well. He was now officially limping with both legs. To be expected under the circumstances. Still, it delayed them. Xander headed up to the main house, while everyone else (other than Anya, who went with her boyfriend) waited. Gunn complained about his own legs, profanely if not loudly. Oz said nothing, just nodded in sympathy. Tara stared at them all. Herself, a vampire. A witch, the lovely and even more worried than she seemed Willow. A Los Angeles "homey" (was that the word?) who specialized in fighting demons. Oz the werewolf. Plus the prissy Englishman who represented an age-old secret society dedicated to helping teenage girls fight the forces of darkness.

Motley. Yes. Without doubt. The ex-demon and her now-psychic boyfriend headed up the hill certainly fit in.

Tara wandered over to a large tree, parking herself against the trunk, in the deepest shade. She realized the Ring of Amara made her immune to sunlight. Habits, however, were hard to break. And right now, she didn't have the strength to fight those habits. But at least she wasn't hungry. They had left several horses behind them, all but two now wounded slightly and left a little weaker for loss of blood. Animal blood. The equivalent of bread and water. But at least it had been warm, alive. Everyone turning away so as not to watch did little for her mood, though.

Now Willow approached. Tara hoped (oh so much) that her beloved would simply sit beside her and say nothing. Please, she said to herself, please.

Willow sat in front of Tara, her eyes huge and concerned. "Tara? Please talk to me?"

"I'll be alright." No need to add to her burdens.

"Still. Please?"

Tara didn't say anything for an eternal ten seconds or so. When she did, there was an undercurrent of bitterness. Faint, but very much there. "You are going to die. And I can't stop it."

Now Willow reached out and took Tara's hands in her own. "Not yet."

"Tonight."

"Maybe not even then."

"I don't believe that. Gods, how I wish...but...."

Trust me, Giles had said. He hadn't given a lot of details this morning. Barely any at all. Wesley had seemed to know what he was talking about, and after what seemed like a thousand pleas for trust Buffy had finally agreed. She had been nearly catatonic. To Tara, it seemed like she was an underground well full of tears, ready to erupt like a geyser but not yet, not yet. Her mother was dead. Riley had been killed in front of her. Now Dawn was in Glory's clutches. And no one, not even Buffy, had any idea how to stop her from bleeding the little girl to death, and in the process turning Earth into a chaotic version of Dante's Inferno. Exactly what Giles thought this ritual was going to do had been unclear. But he had insisted, begged, nagged. And she'd agreed. Eventually.

When Tara and Willow and the others had headed back to Sunnydale, Giles and Buffy had gone deeper into the desert.

Saying nothing, Willow brushed her lips against Tara's fingers. As a vampire, Tara's body was room temperature, in this case that of a warm summer day. Willow's lips were warmer still. A slightly moist warmth, that penetrated far deeper than the skin. She kept kissing her fingers, and each kiss reached deeper. Tara felt herself relax slightly. Willow must have felt it as well, for she looked up just then. Her eyes pierced Tara deeper than any kiss.

But Tara still believed she was going to see Willow die.

* * *

Willow met with no trouble at the hospital. She already knew in which room to find Faith, although the dark-haired girl's appearance startled her. Nearly half her face was bruised, with a noticeable swollen lip. Plus there was a cast on her arm.

Most of all she looked exhausted.

"Hey, Red. Was wondering when any of you guys would show up."

"Yeah, well...things have been pretty crazy."

"Tell me."

"No how are you? Okay? Well, I mean, you're obviously not okay but that can be a relative term..."

"Red?"

"Uh...yes?"

"Tell me."

So Willow did. She didn't limit herself to just what had happened since Faith had ended up in intensive care. First, she sketched in general terms what had been going on since since Willow had visited Los Angeles. Then what had occurred over the last few days, as well as the various aftermaths. About how they'd fled into the desert, hoping to lose Glory now that she'd learned Dawn was the Key. But the Knights of Byzantium somehow followed, driving the mobile home off the road. How they took refuge in an abandoned gas station, but not before Riley was killed. Faith's eyes grew more intense at this news. Willow didn't think that possible. She went on to explain how Glory herself tracked down the Knights, killing every one of them before snatching Dawn.

"What about Bee? How's she holding up?"

"Its like...if she was a puppet, a marionette...as if somebody cut her strings, you know?"

Faith nodded. "Yeah" she breathed.

"Giles insisted they do a kind of ritual, something about renewing her soul's strength. He didn't say when they'd be back."

"From what you say, if its not by tonight then so what? Good-bye universe?"

"Pretty much. But we're putting together everything we can. There's the Dagon's Sphere. Plus April--that's the robot I told you about. She's really strong. Xander's pretty sure he knows where Glory'll be. And Riley said some Initiative-type guys were on their way."

"Uh huh. What about you and Tara?"

"Tara...she's got the Ring."

"You told me."

"So, she should be safe. And she's made a suggestion I haven't told anybody else about."

"But you're gonna tell me? Just how edgy is it?"

"Well, you know I've been getting better and better at magic? But doing anything big takes a lot out of me. I mean a lot! Tara thought that if we worked together, our control would be better. Plus we'd be able to access that much more."

"Makes sense."

"Yeah. But..."

"But...?"

"We've only got one shot at this. All or nothing. No second chances--no we'll-get-it-right-next time because there isn't going to be a next time unless we get it right this time! Which means, we don't have the luxury of playing it safe." She looked at Faith.

"Just what're you talkin about Red?"

At first, Willow said nothing. Then, "Dark magic."

"How dark?"

"Really, really dark. Like summoning the Elder Gods and letting them do their will. Its very dangerous, especially if we lose control."

"Okay." Faith took this in stride. "Very dangerous. Which means what?"

"If an Elder God's powers were simply...let go...a chunk of the city might go all liquidy. Before boiling. Then evaporating away poof. Not too big a chunk, but...maybe a dozen square miles or so. Maybe."

"Is that all?"

"Uh...yeah. That's it. Pretty much."

Faith nodded. "Sounds like you could use a Slayer that's fully operational."

"Giles said that he and Buffy..."

"I mean me."

"But...but your arm! Plus with the bruising, and everything else, and..." She let her eyes take in Faith's ravaged form. But still, this was Faith and there was steel in her eyes. "Promise you'll be careful."

"Promise."

Faith reached out, and Willow helped her out of bed.

* * *

Tara had always had an excellent memory. Plus what most people took as an odd sensibility. Fewer realized just how both of these were augmented by a really first-class mind. Such were the truths she'd lived with for two decades, eventually learning them to be truths and wearing them as something like badges of pride.

Now, all these fit together in a scavenging expedition. The ruins of Sunnydale High crawled with vermin. Once she'd been squeamish and would have minded them. No more.

Up in what had once been a bell tower was a room. She'd spent many a night meditating there, sometimes fighting the Hunger. Other times she'd simply read. And in her odd/individual way, she'd decorated this room. Maybe it was coincidence, or karma, or whatever, that led her to take one particular item as an ornament. Were circumstances less dire, she might have contemplated the string of factors that led here.

Not today.

Climbing the ladder was no problem. That it was a new, different ladder might be. Someone had been here. Or was here. Recently. Now?

At the level of what had been her former lair, Tara crouched. She extended her senses. Yes. There was an intruder. More, another vampire. Secure in her own power, she deliberately stood. One foot rose--then descended on the half-crushed beer can. It made a satisfying crunch sound. Like an enemy's bones snapping in a quick press. Tara welcomed her rage, hoping for the chance to lash out. Self-control had been a long, long habit. And she was tired.

The sound of the can brought forth a stirring from the pile of rags in the corner. Farthest from any hint of light. Of course. From its sheath, Tara slid out a curved blade the length of her forearm. She felt her face shift, preparing for combat.

But the vampiress that rose up out of the rags bore no weapon. More, she was painfully thin, even for one of the undead. Hollow cheeked, with sunken eyes and unwashed black hair. Her bare arms looked like sticks. It took Tara seconds to realize here was one of the timid ones, those who lacked the fierceness to hunt regularly or the sophistication with which to seduce. Such rarely lasted. They were sloppy, or careless, or simply unlucky.

And this one looked familiar.

"Michelle?" The gaunt female reacted with what might have been a jerk if done instantly or at normal speed. She blinked. "Is that your name?" After another blink, she slowly shrugged. Did she not care? Or not remember? Which was more disturbing?

"Do you" the poor creature's voice was ragged "want to sleep?" Her eyes weren't quite focused.

"I'm Tara. Do you remember me?" Tara doubted it.

"Tar. Ra." She had trouble saying the word around fangs. Her expression didn't quite add up to recognition, though.

"Yes. Tara. And you're Michelle. You were at a bus stop, reading a romance novel. I came up to you, introduced myself. Remember?"

The expression on her face didn't change. Was she even listening? Could she anymore? Tara stared intensely, trying to spot a glimmer of the shy girl who'd been thrilled to have a blonde stranger flirt with her--thrilled but terrified. Later, as Tara had seized her, she'd been simply terrified, feeling her throat ripped open and her blood eagerly lapped up. At the time, Tara had been in a strange mood. Having taken far too much, Tara decided to be merciful and pressed her fresh-bleeding wrist to her victim's mouth. One swallow had been enough. But Tara hadn't stayed.

Now, nearly a year later, this was what Michelle had become. Gaunt, starved, brains half-addled by the blending of human with demon. The floor was strewn with the decaying remnants of rats, squirrels, even stray dogs. Each was desiccated. Many had been dead for days, if not weeks.

Michelle made a mewling sound, clearly tired and afraid. Of Tara? Or sunlight? Both?

"Go back to bed. I'll be leaving soon." Tara tried to make her voice soothing. Whether she succeeded or not was open to question, but at least Michelle (or what used to be Michelle) didn't bolt or attack. Slowly, Tara headed for the uppermost level. The stairs were mostly intact. As she headed for them, the gaunt creature behind scrambled underneath her rags.

Here was the other extreme of vampirism. Most of those transformed became vicious children with superhuman strength, with all the enthusiasm and lack of forethought that characterized the very young. In fact, the vast majority of vampires fit that description. Even the more intelligent Nosferatu were nearly always governed by raw hunger, a veneer of civilization simply serving that need. Others, like Michelle, became animals with little skill at pretending to be anything else. In her case, she was probably a scavenger, drinking from other vampires' kills. If lucky, some stronger undead would notice and take her as a pet, allowing scraps in return for sexual performance. Or, without such, she'd be forced to hunt tiny animals in every greater quantities, becoming more and more like the vermin she devoured.

Am I lucky to be different, wondered Tara? So different I fell in love? Different enough to meddle with horrors than face Willow's likely death. Does that make me wise? Enlightened? Or just more subtly cursed? Will my suffering be worse than Michelle's, simply because I retain the ability to feel more?

Tara didn't know.

Nor, as she found the piece of metal she'd expected, did she feel remotely close to an answer. But at least she had resolved to do what could be done. One hand closed over the object of her quest, and she gently headed back down. She did so quietly, hoping not to wake the monster she'd made from an innocent girl.

* * *

Hours later, Willow finished drawing the circle. A pentagram was within, and candles at each point. The pillow in the very center of the circle held the object of the spell. She found herself breathing hard. Praying, maybe? That this would work? Or for another failure?

Anya hesitated before lighting the candles. "This is probably a bad idea."

"Maybe," agreed Willow, "but we need to take some real chances now. End of the world and all."

"I know," said Anya. "But if anything goes wrong, we won't need any apocalypse to get hurt."

"True," said Tara. She stood to the side, the most important prop for the ritual in her hand. Even without her game face, she radiated unhuman intensity. Willow found this both frightening and exciting. "But we've had a lot of experience by now. And we're all in enough danger no matter what we do, this will only help."

"Yeah, okay." Anya resumed lighting the candles.

Willow finished the magic circle, then got out the book with the incantation. She waited for Anya to finish. Once she had, Anya stepped to her friend's side and took her hand. Both took very deep breaths. Several in fact. Oxygenating blood seemed a good idea before using your own body as a lens through which to focus eldritch energies. Couldn't hurt, anyway. Willow looked at Tara, who nodded.

So Willow began her chant.

"Dionysus, lord of transformations, hear now our plea!
Render shape once more onto its proper vessel!
Lend your will onto our own!"

She traced a magical rune in the air, which glowed green. A whiff of ozone followed. And the second part of the incantation followed.

"Loki, master of trickery, unleash now your power!
Make this unworthy one again what she was!
Ignite now your godly might!"

Another rune traced in the air, burning red this time. With a faint odor of brimstone.

Tara raised the object in both hands. Green and red reflected from its once-polished surface. Willow meanwhile, felt her nerves begin to shudder, while Anya beside her trembled. Taking several more breaths, Willow managed to speak again, but with difficulty.

"Ravana! King of devourers! Wielder of powers!
Accept this sacrifice of blood for blood!
Let DEATH mold flesh into new flesh!"

Hand shaking, Willow barely could force her fingers to take the needed position. She blinked. In an instant, she saw the world differently. Rather than light and dark, energies of magic rippled around her. Four souls glimmered in the room, like rainbow flames. Directly across from her, the red demon of Tara coiled within the fleshy shape. Willow pointed above her, at the bronze object.

"Transform!"

Each word had to be gasped out.

"Transform!"

Willow barely recognized her own voice. It seemed more liquid than ever before. Resonant as well.

"TRANSFORM!"

Pain cascaded from her hand as the power released, and Willow screamed. Dimly, she could feel a whirlwind gather, pulling the air from her lungs. Something clawed at her eyes from behind, while dozens of bells echoed in each ear discordantly. In a weird way, the thudding ache as her knees struck the floor was welcome.

Dizzy, she fell into darkness.

* * *

"WILLOW!"

Tara's own hands felt scalded from shattering the red hot metal sculpture. But she reached her love's side in less than a quarter second, looking into her face, aiming all her preternatural senses.

Alive. Thank all the gods, light and dark, Willow was yet alive.

Her glorious eyes flickered open.

"...Tara...?"

"Shhhh. I'm here. How do you feel?"

"...I'm...could be better." She licked her lips. "I think...maybe...a couple of thousand elves have decided to mine my nervous system for precious jewels." Eyes closed, she sighed. "That's what it feels like, kinda."

"Don't see any elves."

"Oh. Okay. Good."

Anya knelt beside them both. "Guys?"

Willow's eyes half-opened. Exhausted, yes. But more than alive, she was alert. Tara felt her own tension bleed away at that, at least. For a few more hours, Willow lived.

"Did it work?" asked Willow in faint voice.

Tara looked towards the circle. "Yeah," she said simply.

Anya took several steps, and extended her hand. The long-haired nude girl standing in the center of the circle took it, with some air of puzzlement. She also looked around the room, at the red-haired girl on the floor in the arms of a one-eyed blonde vampire. The walls around her were a disaster, the remnants of the once-comfortable Sunnydale High School Library. Now an overgrown ruin. Smoking, the pieces of a cheerleading trophy lay on the floor.

"Amy Madison, I presume," said Anya. "I'm Anya. Can you help us save the world?"

* * *

Wesley cleared his throat, lifting one eyebrow and staring at those who'd gathered in the back of the Magic Shoppe. Privately, Tara thought his attempts to be serious either fell flat or succeeded magnificently. Usually, this depended on how much he was trying. Now, he wasn't trying but simply was.

And he came across as very serious indeed. With plenty of reason.

"I wont pretend we're not asking a great deal of you," he said. His eyes met those of the newest member of the group. Met and held them. His voice was low but piercing. "More, in fact, than is remotely fair. But the only other choice we have is to risk suffering and death for the entire world." Now he sat down across from her. "We don't even dare give you the time you need to adjust. Quite simply, too much is at stake. And we do need you. In just a few hours, we'll be going into combat against a being of terrifying power who intends to rip this entire reality into tatters. She'll do it simply because we're in the way." He paused.

Sensing all the eyes upon her, Amy managed not to wilt. Just pulled the coat Tara had lent her a bit tighter. Probably the strangers--like Gunn and Wesley--were easier to bear. Willow and Oz and Xander, whom she'd known before and now looked so much older probably were disorienting on a visceral level.

A part of Tara felt sorry for her. This had been her own idea, after all. It had been Tara who'd noticed the strange aura of the cheerleading trophy, then realized its significance after hearing the story from Willow about Amy's mother, a powerful and evil witch. Amy showed the same kind of power, but with an awkwardness that led to unforseen consequences. Like changing herself into a rat. No doubt that had seemed a good idea at the time. From what Tara understood, it probably was. Amy had been tied to a wooden stake and surrounded by kindling wood. Becoming a rat had allowed her to escape. Changing back had proven far, far more difficult. Until Tara realized the sacrifice of her mother would power magic enough to transform Amy back. Dark magic. Extremely dark. Mrs. Madison had been a captive and unwilling sacrifice. Forces willing accept such were extremely dangerous. Tara wouldn't even consider allowing Willow actually kill Amy's mother. Bad enough for her to work the ritual.

Yet even the result--a fourth witch of considerable power to help take on Glory--wasn't going to be enough to save Willow. Neither was the addition of Faith, weakened as she was from her wounds.

Willow was going to die.

And although Tara wracked her brain, she couldn't imagine a way to keep that from happening. She'd keep trying, adding to their forces every way she could. But in her unbeating heart, she didn't believe there was any real hope.

"Do you understand?" Wesley asked Amy.

She nodded.

"Will you help us?

"Yes." She looked very grave, very serious and very unhappy. Tara could relate.

* * *

"Tara?"

"Yes?"

"What's wrong? I mean--I know what's wrong because we all know what's wrong and we've been going on about it, but...there's something more wrong, isn't there?"

In a part of Willow's mind, she wondered at how her lover sighed at this. Not the reason for the sigh. Any or all of a dozen reasons for sighing came to mind, quite good ones when you come to think of it. If the end of the world wasn't a reason for sighing then what was? But a little voice in Willow reminded her that Tara didn't need to breathe. So why sigh? Habit, most likely.

"You're going to tell me, you know." Willow didn't raise her voice, so the others on the other side of the store couldn't hear her. But the timbre of her voice did. "So make with the telling, if you know what's good for you."

Tara paused before saying anything. In fact, Willow was preparing another needling plea when Tara fixed her one eye onto Willow's face and spoke. "I saw a vampire."

"Oh?" She tried to encourage details.

"A vampire I made."

"Oh." Awkwardness central now. Then, a flash of jealousy. "Was it Harmony?"

"No!" Her reaction was just a tiny bit panicked at that. A good thing? "I haven't seen Harmony for months."

"Oh." Vast with the vocabulary today. Wait a minute..."I didn't know you'd made any other vampires."

Tara nodded, her features grave. "One other. Her name was...is...maybe was...Michelle." Silence again. "After The Apostate killed himself, I didn't know what to do. He was--well, father and teacher and maybe even god for as long as I had existed. Plus there was you--someone who fascinated and drew me in, but human. I'm a vampire. Humans are my prey. What was worse, you were the friend of not one but two Slayers!"

"And you went to Los Angeles." Willow hadn't heard this before. Tara's voice was a subtle instrument, and its music was one she'd learned to read very well. She loved Tara's voice. But now that voice carried tones of past confusion and anguish, as well as current guilt. It was compelling but also uncomfortable. Tara's pain was her own now.

"Eventually. But the night before I left..." She hesitated. "Her name was Michelle." Silence followed. "A pretty girl at a bus stop, her nose buried in a book. I'd noticed her looking at me, sneaking an occasional peak. So I sat down, introduced myself, got her to relax. Then, I fed on her."

"You killed her." Willow had meant that to come out as a question.

"The Apostate didn't approve of killing prey. Foolish waste he called it. And too conspicuous. I'd kinda gotten used to being hungry. But after the blood touched my tongue, the thought came to me. My Sire is gone. I don't have to obey him. He won't, he can't punish me. So I drank and drank and drank. Why not kill her, I thought? Why not?" She gave a little shrug. "Should have been a sign. I couldn't just kill her. At the very end, I cut my wrist and put it against her mouth. She drank. Not much, though. Enough."

Silence again. Willow found this story unsettling, but she was sure it wasn't over. Uncertain how to respond or what to say, she waited for Tara to continue in her own way.

"After," Tara finally said, "I put her body underground. Then I left Sunnydale. Forever, I thought. Earlier today, I went back to my old lair where the trophy was, in the ruins of Sunnydale High. And Michelle was there."

"How is she?" Willow was sure the smile she tried right then was all wrong for all sorts of reasons but she couldn't help herself.

"Terrible." Her lover suddenly looked quietly afraid. "She didn't recognize me. I'm not sure how much language she still has, or even if she remembers her old name. That sometimes happens when a vampire is made--they rise weak, even feeble-minded. No one knows why. Michelle is one of those. She's been so reduced all the blood she can get is that of vermin. Rat carcasses were all over the floor. She wore rags. And she'd lost so much weight! Once she was pretty girl. Now she's a scarecrow." Distressed, Tara shook her head.

"You couldn't have known..."

"Look what I'm doing to you!" Tara interrupted. The almost non sequitur brought Willow up cold. "You used to be a Wiccan. Now, you're practicing black magic. Human sacrifice, even!"

Suddenly what was haunting Tara seemed clear. "No. Its not you."

"Who else?"

"Not even a little bit" Willow nearly hissed! "Don't you dare go on like that. Tara, look at me. Look at me!" Keeping her voice still down, Willow pulled Tara's chin to face her own. "Before you, I don't think I even knew what it was like to be alive. Whatever else you are--a vampire, a demon, a dark witch, whatever--you're my girl. Mine. All mine." Without any conscious thought, they embraced. Her words whispered in Tara's ear. "The only thing that really, really scares me," she said, "is that maybe we'll save the world, but not you. Because you're my world now. Forever and ever."

In Tara's limbs she could feel reluctance, drawing away, even fear. But hunger as well. Equal to her own? Maybe. Willow didn't let go, refused to. Weird though it was, unlikely and maybe against somebody's rules somewhere, she'd made her choice. Or her heart had.

Cool hands pressed against Willow's back, pulling her closer. "Mine," she heard at last.

"Yours," Willow agreed.

Forever.

* * *

Tara didn't want that embrace to end. She willed herself not to consider how brief this moment had to be. Or what would soon follow. Better, far better, to dwell in this warm and loving NOW. Pretend it was forever. That it could be.

"Hello!" A familiar voice piped into their moment. Without willing it, Tara's face shifted for a moment as she stared at the one who dared interrupt. And shifted back as she saw who (or what) stood at the front door of the shop.

April smiled, as she nearly always smiled. She smiled because her creator had programmed her that way and she obeyed her programming with the precision of a computer. Because that's what she was. Or at least, that's what she had instead of a mind. "Hello Anya," she chirped to the woman at a nonplussed Xander's side. "Hello, Xander. I am happy you are better now."

'Uh...thanks." Xander blinked. Well, he hadn't had a chance to get used to her. And a robot that looked like Britney Spears did take some getting used to, after all.

"Hello to you as well, Tara and Willow." Again, the precise and perfect smile. Too perfect to be real. "I do not know these others. Will you please introduce me to them?"

"Okay," Willow said. She gave a last hug to Tara then stepped away. A part of Tara wanted to scream Come Back.

"April," her love began, "this is Faith, who's a Slayer."

"Like Buffy?"

"Right."

"Hello Faith the Slayer like Buffy." Faith looked nonplussed at the blonde girl reaching out to shake her hand.

"Yeah, hi. Nice to meet ya."

"April" explained Willow, "is a robot. She was built by a guy named Warren. One of Glory's victims. But he's been healed and Tara asked him if April could help us. She's way strong."

"A robot, huh?" The dark-haired Slayer looked April up and down. "Cool."

"Thank you, Faith."

"Over here are Gunn and Wesley. They're friends of Faith's."

Gunn was staring. "Hey" he finally said.

"Hey as well," the robot cheerily answered.

"Pleased to meet you, I suppose," mumbled Wesley.

"And I am pleased to make your acquaintance!"

"She always like that?" asked Gunn not quite under his breath.

"Mostly," murmured Willow. Then, she spoke to April again. "Finally, these are Oz and Amy."

"Hi," said a slightly dazed Amy, eyes huge.

"Hi," said a stoic Oz, not blinking. But then, did he ever?

"Hi yourselves, Oz and Amy. Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?" The two of them looked at each other. Interesting. Something finally made Oz react--and it wasn't something earth-shattering.

"N-n-no?" Amy answered. This clearly wasn't doing anything for her nerves. Did she know Oz was a werewolf? If not, it was probably best not to tell her. Enough shocks already--finding herself human again after almost three years, learning her mother had been killed to change her back and that a vampire did it to try defeat a god and so save the world. Enough on her plate, for sure.

"I am sorry," went on the robot, oblivious. "Hopefully each of you will get a boyfriend or girlfriend very soon."

Nobody said anything in response. Oz did walk away, though, quietly taking a seat in the corner.

"Thanks for coming, April," said Tara at last. "Everything will be decided by tonight, so if all goes well you can go back to Warren before long." She didn't really believe things could go right, but it had to be said. What was the alternative? Give up and weep in despair.

"Warren said you should use me as long as you need to," the robot replied. "He said to tell you that."

"Okay," answered Willow. "Well...thanks."

* * *

By sunset, everybody had gotten rest, or at least as much rest as possible under the circumstances. To Willow, that meant curling up with Tara and trying to sleep. She didn't sleep. Instead she lay next to her lover, head against Tara's breast and listening to the echo of her own heartbeat. It was strange. Tara had no breath to feel, no heart to hear beating. She was simply there--yet to Willow's senses her presence was vivid in the extreme. How much of this was psychological? And how much mystic, the sense of a witch at the presence of a supernatural creature bound to her by love?

Willow had tried to make Tara feed from her, but the vampire had refused. You need every bit of your strength, she'd said. She had sounded very rational, very clear. But to Willow an undercurrent of fear was obvious.

She'd said nothing. What was there to say?

Instead, they simply wrapped each other in each other.

A knock on the door startled Willow out of her fake sleep. She blinked and muttered "Hello?" The door opened and Wesley's head peaked in.

"Sorry to interrupt..." he whispered, "...but it is getting to be time."

Willow nodded. The door shut. She then shared a look with Tara. An air of melancholy still hung around her. Memories of Michelle, the girl she'd turned into a pathetic wretch of a vampire? Maybe. Or tightly controlled fear?

"Time to save the world!" She tried to make it sound flippant. Tara's little smile gave her hope that maybe she succeeded. As one, they rose from the collection of pillows and blankets on which they'd been resting. In the hallway, they found the others emerging from the various bedrooms here in the Summers home. Gunn, surprisingly, was rubbing his eyes. Had he actually managed to sleep? Impressive.

April was waiting at the foot of the stairs, smiling as ever. She looked up at Willow.

"I can report no sightings of your friend Buffy, Willow." Her vocal tones did register regret, even if too precisely.

"Thanks, anyway, April." The windows showed darkness. Night. The clock on the wall read nearly eight o'clock. Another hour to go. She shot a look at Xander, already downstairs and seated on a sofa, his arm around Anya. "Anything new?"

"Nope." Xander seemed to focus in on himself for a moment. Then he was back. "Nope," he repeated, "the time is coming up but it still isn't here. And I still get the same sense of where the ritual is going to take place."

Amy was sitting down at the table where several old books lay open. She'd changed into some simple, comfortable clothes. Willow recognized them as Buffy's. Now she stared at the glowing orb in the table's center, surrounded by four objects. A dagger. A cup. A wand. And a silver dollar coin. Beside each object was a tarot card--the Queens of Swords, Chalices, Wands and Pentacles.

With barely a word, Amy picked up the cup. Anya walked over and took the coin. Tara and Willow approached, taking the dagger and wand in hand. All four looked at each other. Willow vaguely sensed a new connection, some kind of magical bond uniting them in some way with the Orb of Dagon, a talisman specifically designed to ward against Glory. Silently, she thanked whatever gods or goddesses that might be Tara wore the Ring of Amara. Whatever else might happen, at least Tara should survive.

"Primus" said Willow. Something in the air clicked.

"Secundus" answered Anya, beginning the cone of power.

"Tertius" whispered Tara. A dark undercurrent added to the not-quite-sound Willow sensed.

"Quartus," said Amy, finally. The volume (if that was what it was) increased, and its rhythms reached a kind of sustained crescendo. It peaked, then sank into Willow's bones. She shuddered at the impact, which was both hot as well as cold. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noted similar reactions in Amy, Anya and of course Tara.

"Are you ready?" Wesley had come up to them. She hadn't noticed. He had a small axe in hand. Behind him, Gunn and Oz and Faith (still limping slightly) were also armed. Willow nodded.

Everyone looked towards Xander, who gestured in a specific direction. "That way." The whole group moved as one towards the front door.

Barely seconds after starting to cross the Summers' lawn, all of them stopped short as bright lights suddenly turned the night into something like day. Two large vehicles were pulling up at high speed, their headlights glaring. Engines roared, then brakes gave little screams. Two wide, low-slung vehicles had pulled up and stopped in front of the house. Several figures jumped out, all of them clearly armed and wearing camouflage fatigues. In the shadows no faces or insignia were obvious.

Not to Willow. She looked to Tara, whose expression was thoughtful.

"Hey! Hey! What's goin on here?" Gunn was already jittery. Being surrounded by soldiers for no apparent reason did nothing to help.

"Stay calm, Gunn," Willow called out. "Let's see what they want."

A voice called out from the shadows. "Same thing you do Will!"

Every single person turned their head at the sound of that voice. She walked into the light of the vehicles, her face calm but full of resolve. Willow could feel her jaw want to drop. It didn't, not yet, but wanted to for sure.

"I'm back," said Buffy. "And I brought some more guest for the party."

* * *

Tara parted from Willow only very reluctantly. She didn't want to, most especially when hours might be all they had left. It took Willow's permission to make her go. And a few words of persuasion. So, almost by an effort of will (as well as Will), Tara went with Buffy. Not far, only three or four yards. Just into the shadows away from the gathering Scoobies and soldiers.

Buffy looked anything but happy. More than the loss of her mother, the threat to Dawn, or Riley's death, something seemed eating at her. She turned to Tara focused, however, and calm.

"We need to talk."

"Go ahead."

For a long hard moment Slayer stared at vampire. Tara's mind for a moment went to a memory, a time in Los Angeles. She'd been looking for contacts, trying to build a life (or undeath) for herself after the Apostate's self-destruction. Not daring to hope for a future with Willow--not even enough to admit what she felt--Tara had visited the various dens and hang-outs demons called their own. Poker was a popular past time in such places. More than once she'd seen really excellent players vie with each other. And those rooms, visited months ago but not forgotten, recalled this spot and this time. Only so much more was at stake.

"You and Will--no secret I'm not thrilled about that." No venom in those words. "If it were up to me, you'd've been turned into dust bunnies a long time ago. Except you've been...well, more than useful."

"Thanks."

"What were you planning?"

"Xander knows where to find Glory. Just before her ritual has to begin, we're going to hit Glory with as much magic as we can. The four of us."

"Uh-huh." Buffy nodded, considering this. "How much magic is that?"

Tara shrugged. "Minus any and all caution, enough to fry any demon I've ever heard of. Even the strongest would need time to heal."

"Glory's not a demon."

"No. She's a god."

"What do you figure that'll do to her?"

Again, Tara shrugged. "Hurt her, we hope. Distract her, at the very least. What with the sphere of Dagon and all, she should be weakened. Some. That's when Faith and April and me--and now, presumably, you--start in on her. All we need to do is keep her busy until the time for the ritual passes."

Buffy's gaze somehow got even keener. "What if the ritual starts?"

Perilous waters, these. Tara felt acutely glad to be wearing the Ring of Amara as the truth hovered in the air between herself and the Slayer, the natural foe of her kind. Not the right time to suggest killing the Slayer's sister, not even to save the world. Not even if it was true. Especially. Was she likely to believe Tara? Or did Buffy know how much Tara feared the success of Glory's ritual? Death, and not just for her, was the threat. Willow. Did Buffy imagine Tara would allow any threat of that?

"That ritual can't start. If it does, we've lost." Not an entirely honest answer. But close enough? Buffy didn't give away any clues.

"But if it does?"

"If that happens," Tara replied after a few moments, "I grab Willow and get her as far away from ground zero as I can."

"What good'll that do if reality goes bye-bye?"

"She gets as much time as I can buy her." Iron crept into Tara's voice. This was supposed to be a lie, but much of it wasn't. "And she spends that time with me." Unless I stop that damn ritual. Whatever it takes. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. One. Go near Dawn, and I kill you."

Tara was left staring as Buffy headed away, checking on Faith and Giles who were talking. What to do? Brutal truth wasn't something Buffy liked to hear. Not that Tara blamed her. She understood only too well how the Slayer felt. Unconsciously, Tara's finger grazed the Ring of Amara as she headed over to Willow. She would certainly need it tonight. What she hoped, desperately, was that it wouldn't be the Slayer she'd need it for. But if the choice came to between Dawn and Willow...

She kissed Willow gently as they touched hands. Her love's smile, worried as it was, still pierced Tara. It always had. We will have a future, she vowed silently. I will make it happen! No matter the cost.

May you forgive me.

* * *

An hour later, Willow found herself, along with others, outside a construction area. Behind the fence, dozens of people were working. Despite the fact it was night. Rising above the area stood a simple tower, little more than a metal staircase reaching maybe a hundred feet into the air. A few glimpses into the lit area from the street confirmed what everyone already suspected--the presence of robed figures they'd seen before. Short beings with elongated features, pointed ears and very, very, very bad skin.

Glory's minions.

"Spedoinkle!" gulped Xander, looking up at the weird staircase/tower before them. The dozen or so Initiative soldiers alongside gave him a look.

"You can say that again," muttered Tara under her breath. Then she turned to Willow. As ever (and when did I first notice it, wondered Willow to herself) Tara's harsh features softened. "Shall we begin?"

With a gulp, Willow nodded. She looked again at the tower, spotting two robed figures at the very top. And a third figure, smaller. They were tying this other figure atop the tower. Dawn. "Let's hurry," she said.

Amy took position, along with Anya and Tara. Willow finished the circle. She concentrated, and began the chant. Each of the other witches joined in, making the ritual gestures, intoning the words she and Tara had found in her books. Dangerous words. Extremely dangerous. Potency crawled along her nerve-ends with each syllable, like a drug. Her eyes even began to tingle, slightly. And itch. They were four. Four elements. Four cardinal points. Four seasons. Now, four witches--infused with power most fundamental and eldritch.

She never even noticed when they began to levitate. Only inches. Yet it was a heady feeling. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted how the Initiative soldiers grew more alert, confused. Not sure whom to fight? It hardly mattered. Floating, Willow continued the chant. With her words, she and the others called upon the oldest, most alien of powers to lend a tiny fraction of their might. Hopefully, they would barely notice--or, if they did notice, they'd not care. The strangest sensation shot through Willow, both pleasant and painful. As if--how to put it? As if her bones had begun to heat?

Ready. They were ready. All four of them knew it at the same moment, in a communion with the magic. Willow felt her fellows with senses she didn't know existed, hadn't guessed could be. Amy's fear, frustration, anger. Anya's dedication and surprising clarity. Plus, of course, Tara--the hunger of her, the calm wisdom and cool fire that shielded...what? More fire. Passion. Vast, unquenchable, deep. Yet filled.

With her.

With love of her.

It very nearly staggered her. But instead, Willow felt as if a hand had reached out and pulled her along to safety in the midst of a strong, even terrifying current. Tara. Aided by Amy and Anya. Not on any conscious level, the four of them turned in mid-air. They headed towards the construction site.

A simple wall of rough-cut timbers and chain link was in their way. In communion, they willed it away. Wood flew. Metal links bent and twisted away. They sang the air to sustain them, floating closer and closer to their prey. A hellgod named Glorificus. Her minions were fleeing, running from the circle of four who approached. Willow herself was the point of a lopsided arrow shape. She had not planned it. None of them had. This was the natural flow of the power. Hers was the natural conduit to unleash it. Ozone crackled in the air. The four spoke as one.

"Uphrael, and Balthazar" they intoned "Hold our victim as in tar!" In her robes, the golden-haired Glory turned to them, sneering. As if a puppy had dared challenge a tigress. But then, the air about her buckled slightly. Her movements slowed to a fraction of what they had been. More than one minion's eyes grew large at this. One, a tall one with a beard whose robe was more elaborate than the others, began flipping through some tome.

Four sets of eyes locked on him. Their fingers pointed. Lightning shot out. He screamed as he burned to death, eyes boiling out of his head and hair reduced to ash.

Now four sets of eyes locked on the hellgod. Glory was moving at nearly normal speed by now. Another second, perhaps two, and she'd be free to move far faster than they could ever respond. Waiting was not an option.

Four mouths opened. But not to speak. Instead, green fire shot from their throats. Willow felt the pain of those flames--which burned, strangely, with cold rather than heat. Part of her knew why this was so. Another part fled from that knowledge and what it implied. The larger part of her. The wiser part. But the flames struck Glory. They enveloped her.

She screamed. A loud, unearthly sound. High-pitched and filled with as much surprise as pain. She was a god. Had she ever even felt pain, real pain, before now in all the countless ages of her life?

None of the four released her. All focused on emitting as much of the flames as they could manage. No longer an arrow, they floated into the shape of a circle, orbiting the hellgod while spewing as much flame as each could. Yet, although Glory flinched and screamed, she did not truly burn. Her screams grew less and less, just as the flames themselves began to dwindle. The four, combined in this way, were mighty. Mightier than any ever had been before. But they were not gods.

Anya was the first to falter. She coughed. Then fell. The circle was suddenly reduced by a full quarter. Distantly, Willow noted how Xander ran to his girlfriend and carried her away. More disturbingly, Glory was able now to face her tormentors. Not without flinching, but she could clearly now do more than react. Nor did she wait. One blow hit Amy like a thunderclap. She didn't seem hurt by the blow. But she did falter, and after another moment flew back. Glory nearly pursued the staggering witch. Willow concentrated, redoubling her own efforts. The green flames reared up again for a moment, making the hellgod visibly flinch and turn in her direction.

Now all of her attention was on Willow.

She growled, approaching with effort. The sounds of combat (the others must be attacking the Minions, Willow realized distantly) in no way eclipsed the rage in Glory's eyes as she braced against the fires. And. Walked. Forward.

Towards Willow.

And no matter what Willow did, no matter how she concentrated on focusing the powers flowing through her, still the flames were shrinking. They would have long ago killed anything made of simple flesh. Vampires and most demons would have been dust by now. Humans, naturally. But Glory, although clearly in pain, lacked even any burns. Soon, she'd be in arm's reach. And nothing Willow could do would stop her, could stop her. The flames reduced still more--and Glory grinned, exactly like a bully. Nothing to stop her now. She was reaching out to Willow...

Only to be thrown forward! Behind her, Tara dropped the two pieces of a now-fractured concrete cinderblock. Her demon face was showing, fangs bared and one eye a feral yellow. A growl escaped her lips.

For me, Willow thought to herself.

Exhausted. Willow had exhausted herself in weakening Glory. She fell (not far--it just seemed like miles instead of inches) to the ground and collapsed hard enough for bruises. With luck, she'd live long enough to develop them. Blurrily, she made out Glory. Oh good. She hasn't killed me yet. That's good news. Her vision cleared. Some. Actually, Glory looked too busy to even think about Willow.

Blows were raining down on the hellgod from all sides. Faith, arm still in a sling, was delivering powerful kicks. April the robot had what looked like a small steel girder in her hands, swinging it like a club right into Glory's head. Those blows weren't killing Glory. In fact, they didn't even seem to be breaking skin. Willow tried not to feel terrified awe at that fact, looking for comfort that she evidently still felt each blow. Buffy, meanwhile, was getting in her own strikes. As was Tara.

Tara's fighting looked reckless. Willow had seen enough combat to recognize she was all attack and no defense. Glory backhanded her, sending Tara into a pile of bricks that then collapsed. Tara never even paused, but clawed her way out and attacked again. The Ring of Amara has got its perks. But Willow knew as well Tara might have fought much the same without any invincibility talisman. Just as Willow hadn't held back. The world was at stake.

And the world included Tara.

Then, the worst thing possible happened. Glory had managed to push everyone but Tara away. Minions were (unsuccessfully) trying to hold back April. Faith had fallen, and Buffy was helping her fellow slayer up. So the vampire and the hellgod were trading blows. Willow tried to focus, tried to summon something to help Tara. Nothing. Even her bones felt heavier than rock. Just then, however, Glory got a firm hold on Tara's wrist. The Ring rendered her invulnerable, not unmovable. Glory stared at the hand attached to that wrist, very nearly ignoring the blows Tara pounded against her head and shoulders. In fact, Glory suddenly smiled.

"A magical thingamajig! No wonder you're tougher than you were. Ha! Let's take of that!" Glory easily pulled the ring off Tara's finger, crushing it just as easily in her hand, a bright spark shining between her fingers as it was reduced to dust. Then, she laughed. Cruelly.

But then, she had the vibe that said she did pretty much everything cruelly. Just like she now tossed Tara cruelly over her head and into the wall of the nearby building. Hard. Hard enough to leave a dent. Even from a distance of twenty or more yards, Willow could hear her love cry out. It hurt.

Glory didn't even glance at the vampire she'd just slammed into a wall. Rather, she swung her first straight into an approaching April. The robot's head flew off amid sparks. Snarling, Glory turned to the next person daring to attack her.

Faith.

Arm still in a sling, with hollow eyes and gritted teeth. Faith looked the weakest of them. But in her hand was a weapon--one before which even the hellgod hesitated. Tied to a rope, the Dagon's Sphere--specifically created as a ward against Glory herself--glowed. And in the Faith's skilled hands, it swung towards Glory like a hammer. It connected! Willow nearly grinned as Glory grimaced. The Sphere hurt. Hurt enough that Glory actually retreated from Faith, who continued to swing the Sphere menacingly. Beside her stood Buffy.

"You bitch," breathed Glory. "Just you wait..."

"And what? You'll force us all to wear your wardrobe?" Faith's grin was feral. "Hey, reason enough to kill you right there, I say." Another swing of the Sphere, aimed at Glory's head but only connecting with her shoulder. Still, it brought forth a cry of pain. Willow was glad.

Willow began to stand. It wasn't easy, but she was pretty sure she'd be able to manage. Having noted precisely where Tara fell, Willow had a location she needed to be. Still, she wasn't ignoring the battle. Only too clearly she saw Glory pick up a steel girder. Buffy grabbed Faith, tackling her to the ground just in time to avoid its path as Glory tossed it. And laughed.

"You're going to wish I killed you," she began. But never finished. A wrecking ball hit her from the side. Up at the ball's controls, Xander met Willow's eyes and gave a thumbs-up.

Faith wasted no time. She rose and swung the Sphere directly onto Glory as hard as she could. Again. And again! Not letting her get up from all fours. Meanwhile, in between Faith's blows, Buffy was hitting her as well. Glory looked--Yes! Tired! More than tired--a trickle of blood was actually appearing from her nose! It was working!

Until Glory simply reached up and caught the Dagon's Sphere. Caught it and held it. The Sphere's glow immediately flared, then began to fade. In less than three seconds, the Sphere seemed to actually freeze solid, then shatter on Glory's fingers.

Yet that destruction took a lot out of her. Rather than resume the attack, she remained still. Wearily, she looked at the Slayers, not even trying to get up off her knees. "Like you understand..."she said "...anything!" She took a shuddering breath. "Home," she whined "is that so much to ask for?"

Buffy's fist connected with her jaw.

That's when it happened. Glory...changed. Her long golden hair darkened and pulled back into her head. Nose and shoulders broadened, eyes shifted color, skin coarsened. The delicate but cruel features became harder yet softer at the same time. A man, wearing Glory's long burgundy gown, looked up at the Slayers. He was bruised, exhausted, and bleeding.

"It wasn't me," Ben gasped.

* * *

Tara picked herself up off the ground. She didn't think any bones were broken. Cracked, maybe. But she didn't waste any time. Willow was far, far too close to Glory. Limping, she headed back to the construction site. Taser blasts and a variety of thudding noises echoed in the night. The minions were being kept busy. Which meant none would get in the way. Good. For them as well as Tara. Baring her fangs, Tara hurried as much as her weary body would allow.

But the picture that presented itself when Tara arrived was nothing like she feared. Instead of Willow shattered across the ground (a sight she knew would shred her own mind), or even combat between the Slayers and hellgod, she saw Ben cowering on the ground. He looked beaten up--nose and ears bleeding, bruises along his mouth. More, he was wearing...wasn't that Glory's outfit? The truth dawned on Tara. She'd known Glory's fellow hellgods had banished her. Here then was the other part of her "punishment." To be bonded to a mortal man, presumably in order to live out his natural lifespan, then die with him. An elegant cruelty, when you thought about it.

"It wasn't me," Ben was gasping. "It was never me. Not like I ever got a choice. Glory--she ruined everything I ever wanted, everything I ever had too." He looked as if he might cry, but was just too tired. "You have no idea," he said, "how much I hate her."

Faith and Buffy looked at each other. Off to the side, Willow was managing to stand. She looked unhurt. Thanks to all the gods. Well, all but one.

"If I could just get rid of her somehow..."

"Buffy!" Tara's voice cut through Ben's whining. She pointed up. "Dawn." Buffy took a quick look towards the top of the ramshackle tower. High above, her sister was visible, bound at the edge of a platform. More to the point, she wasn't alone. Tara's vampiric senses could make out the identity of the figure approaching her. Barely. She didn't recognize him at first, in a tailored dark suit instead of the near-rags he'd always worn before.

"Its Doc," Tara told her. Buffy wasted no time. Leaving them all behind, she bounded for the stairs and raced up.

While Tara made her way to Willow, Faith stared at the cowering and bruised Ben. Neither one said or did anything while Tara reached her beloved, wrapping arms around her with a sigh of relief. Or was that her sigh, at seeing Tara still alive after being thrown through the air into a wall? It hardly mattered. They were alive. Both of them. Weakened, yes, but strong enough to support each other.

"I really oughta just gut you," Faith hissed. Ben almost managed not to cringe. "But..." Faith looked up, at where Buffy was racing to reach the top of the tower before it was too late, "...Bee wouldn't be happy." She knelt next to him. "Glory, she's lost her chance. You tell that bitch to get her tail out of dodge, 'cause we know all about her now. Next time, she won't have it so easy." Under her glare, Ben nodded. He crawled to his feet, and staggered away into the night. Then Faith ran--or tried to, managing little more than a really fast walk--up the staircase, after Buffy.

Mistake, Tara thought to herself. Sooner or later, Glory would reassert herself, reclaiming Ben's body and life. She'd have all her powers, know us as well as we know her. Worse, she'll have nothing to lose. Maybe not for a while, but she would return to Sunnydale with only one goal left--revenge. On Buffy and Faith. Plus Xander and Anya and Giles and all the Scoobies.

Including Willow.

"Tara?" Some of her resolution must have showed. When she looked into Willow's eyes, she saw so many things. Too many, perhaps. But the promise of happiness, of years spent in this lady's arms, was as ashes before the fear Tara felt. Fear for another day, when Glory would take her time killing Willow. Certainly a hellgod would know precisely how to make a mere witch believe death the sweetest of mercies. Hungrily, Tara kissed her. As if it might well be their last. Only by exerting her will could Tara break away.

"Tara? What are you going to do?"

"Make you safe." She didn't dare look. Tara walked as quickly as she could towards the shadows where Ben had left. Cracked bones were not broken, after all. As a vampire she could still track him. He was bleeding. They were both hurt, but unlike Ben, Tara has superhuman strength.

Besides, his blood would further her healing. If there was any point to healing. She doubted Willow would forgive her for this...

* * *

Willow was still startled at how quickly Tara could move. She shouldn't have been, but she was. Tara had nearly left the construction site before Willow could even react. And dizziness prevented her from taking more than a step or two before grabbing something. Not that she let that stop her.

"Tara! Wait!"

But Tara didn't wait. Some part of Willow recognized only too well Tara's reaction. Had someone threatened or hurt Tara, Willow understood herself enough to know she'd go over-the-top ballistic. Even the threat of it would make her blood boil. And she wasn't a demon. In Tara's mind, clearly, Ben still represented a threat. An unacceptable threat. Unacceptable as in must-die-before-he-gets-much-older-like-ten-minutes-older. Because....

Because Ben's life threatened Willow. He contained Glory, that much seemed plain. If he lived, so too did Glory.

Tara just wouldn't allow that.

Willow understood too well. Yet the fact that Ben was human made her still try and catch up with Tara. Make her stop. Killing a human wasn't the answer. It couldn't be. Could it? Should it? Even if the answers to those were yes, could Willow live with herself? Or--Tara? Frankly, she didn't want to find out.

She surprised herself at just how quickly she managed to move, holding on to piles of bricks, or walls, or even cars as if they were canes. It was slow going, but steady. And swift as Tara had looked, she had also been limping. Willow might still be able to catch up with her. She had to. And see, now, the dizziness was passing. Movement wasn't so very hard. Not easy yet. But easier, and that was something, right? The minions all around were still fighting, but not as hard as they had been. In fact, they were pretty much falling to the combined efforts of the Scoobies and Initiative soldiers. So at least Willow didn't have to deal with any pesky demonlings trying to stop her. Crossing half a block seemed to take a longish time. She didn't dare slow down, not even when her eyeballs started to melt. Well, okay not melt really. It--or they--just felt like they were. Just as her teeth seemed strangely soft at moments. But stopping was just so not an option no matter how you looked at things.

And hearing Ben's voice call out in alarm somewhere up ahead only got her moving faster.

One lonely streetlamp illustrated the scene before her. Ben, obviously battered, was limping frantically away from Tara, whose own limping gate was the only reason Ben still lived. The vampire's eye was feral gold, her mouth befanged, and somehow the unsteadiness of her gait only made her more menacing.

"Tara!"

But she didn't respond to her name, only relentlessly pursued Ben.

That was the moment when a rainbow of light shot across the sky. It was something like a slow motion lightning bolt, one that didn't fade but stayed across the sky. All of them looked up, towards the tower. The glowing ribbon was directly below it--specifically below the extension where Dawn had been held. Even as they watched, the ribbon stopped looking like a ribbon. Instead, it became a hole, the edges eating away at...what?

No matter. Blue and white bolts of energy began to boil out of it. The ground shifted, sending Willow to the ground again with a thud.

Oh goddess. The portal! Someone had begun the ritual, spilling Dawn's blood. Now that blood was opening all the doors to all realities, loosing chaos into the world. Dimly, dealing with yet another blow to the head, Willow tried to make out what was going on around her.

A shadowy figure ran past her.

High above, what looked like some kind of...dinosaur...flapped its wings as it soared out of the glowing tear in reality.

To her right, she saw Tara on her hands and knees. She was crawling towards Willow. Her face was human again, but no less determined.

Parts of the walls in nearby building were cracking. An eldritch lightning bolt struck the garbage dumpster in the alley. Instantly, it melted. But more disturbingly, hundreds of bright red insects began swarming out of the glowing remains. Or at least they seemed to be insects...

Behind Tara, Ben had somehow managed to get to his feet. More, he'd grabbed a piece of wood from the building supplies strewn in the area. This piece was broken, jagged on one end. He now brandished it, heading directly for Tara from behind!

Yet another lightning flash. This one a sickening green. It made Ben with his makeshift wooden stake look a thousand times more menacing. Frantically, Willow tried to summon the strength with which to push him back--or knock the wood out of his hand! Or something! But she was too tired. She simply could not concentrate.

Ben suddenly screamed.

The shadowy figure that had run past Willow moments before was on him now. She (it seemed female) had leapt up onto Ben, knocking him over, then fastening onto him in a way that was very familiar to Willow. He barely had time to make any sounds at all as he struggled--and the vampire fed gluttonously. Tara and Willow reached each other, holding on for dear life. Whoever their savior was, it was pretty clear she'd saved them only a little time. Now that Dawn had been bled (was she still alive, Willow wondered?), chaos would grow until the world itself dissolved.

Including Tara. She clung to her lover, who held her just as tightly. All around thunderclaps were shattering windows. On top of that, weird noises like the songs of whales were echoing through the night sky. For a few moments, the stars seemed to race instead of crawl across the sky.

Willow heard Tara's voice in her ear. "I love you," she kept saying over and over. "I love you!"

Tears in her eyes, Willow whispered back "If I gotta die, this is how I wanna go." And held as tight as she could, savoring each curve and moment of these, their last.

"Tara...?"

It took several moments for Tara to respond. When she did, she looked behind her, and gaped. Standing before them was the vampire who had killed Ben. She looked emaciated, with matted hair and clothes little more than rags. But her eyes! They were looking at everything as if it was all new and wondrous. Like a child? No. More like someone waking from a long sleep. Barely a moment before Tara said it, Willow knew the name of the girl before them. Even then, she could barely hear it above the din of screams and lightning bolts around them.

"Michelle?"

Slowly, the girl nodded. She blinked. Then she shivered slightly. "I'm cold."

And one second later--as Willow contemplated what those words might mean--the awful noises stopped. The sky returned to normal. A whining, random wind vanished. More, in the air Willow sensed that something had changed. Something had stopped.

Michelle looked around her, face puzzled on many levels.

"What happened?" she asked.

* * *

Dawn sat hunched on the sofa, eyes unfocussed. Willow, beside her, looked little better. She had her arms around the fourteen-year-old, and listened. Her voice was nearly inaudible, even to Willow.

"She said," Dawn whispered, "that she understood. That she loved me, and to live. For her. The hardest thing about this world, she said, is living in it." At this last, her voice very nearly broke. Dawn opened her mouth to say something else. Exactly what would forever be a mystery, because she didn't say anything, although she tried several times. The lips moved, but no words.

"Yeah," spoke Oz. He crouched on the lawn, before the front porch. He's been sitting there for nearly an hour.

"I tried to jump instead," Dawn whispered.

Willow nodded. She'd already guessed as much. Dawn was the Key, and once the ritual began only when her blood ceased to flow would reality be saved. Of course Dawn would offer to sacrifice herself. Not that she'd be happy about it. Who would? But as Buffy had pointed out, she'd been fashioned out of Buffy herself. Dawn really was her sister, in every way that counted. Including their souls. Heroes both. Naturally Dawn's instinct had been to die if that's what it took to save others.

Just as it had been Buffy's.

"I did try..." Dawn nearly pleaded with them to believe her, "I did...!"

"Hey. We know." For some reason Oz's voice, no louder than Dawn's, overpowered hers. It nearly touched Willow herself. Nearly.

"We know, Dawnie," Willow repeated. Even to herself, the words sounded rote. A formula. The words weren't from her heart, merely what she was supposed to say. But she meant them. Didn't she?

The edges of her eyes began to water again. Why haven't I cried, Willow wondered. Dawn bowed her head. And Willow deliberately stroked her hair. But that was what Buffy did so should I or maybe that isn't such a bad thing it could be kinda familiar. Or something like that. After a few moments, gentle sobs came from her.

Willow hadn't cried. It had been days. But still, she hadn't cried. Unlike Dawn, who had wept herself to sleep more than once. Instead, Willow found herself thinking about how she should cry, how she should be mourning, how she really ought to be devastated beyond words. Rather than feeling nothing. No, that wasn't right either. Truth to tell, she did feel a sad loss that hurt almost beyond taking. But she felt it removed, somehow. As if the emotions belonged to someone she knew, even liked, but did not love. Mostly, she felt tired.

"I miss her so much..."

"We all do." Don't I? Of course I do.

Creaking wood behind Willow signaled the arrival of some one--no, some two. Xander and Anya sat on the other side of Dawn, eyes full of what Willow knew she should be feeling instead of faking.

"Hiya, Dawnster," said Xander gently.

"You're very lucky," chimed in Anya. Everyone looked at her. Even Dawn, who lifted her head, eyes growing huge as they bored into Anya. "Usually," Anya continued undauntedly, "when a loved one dies, the love goes bye-bye along with the person. I've a theory that's why it hurts so much. Its like your heart gets ripped out. But you've got multiple hearts. Or at least, multiple loved ones. Experience says that's more rare than most people think. Odd, huh?" She nodded, sagely impressed by her own wisdom.

Xander looked at Dawn. She looked at Oz. Then Oz looked at Willow.

Okay, I'm feeling something, thought Willow. I'm surprised. This is me feeling surprise because Anya just went off on one of her proclamations and everybody, even me, agrees with her. Yep. Cause for surprise. And fear because this has got to be a sign of some apocalypse.

Same old thing, then.

Why don't I cry?

* * *

Tara and Wesley watched Michelle stare at herself in the mirror. She'd been doing it quite a lot. Probably getting used to having a reflection again. Her reaction to solid food had been similar.

"Just curious..." Wesley said in a low voice, so low Tara figured Michelle could no longer hear it.

"How come she's human again?"

"Well, I did wonder."

"Me, too. All I can figure is that Ben's blood was also Glory's, so it had some kind of mystical properties. Ones that resulted in..." she gestured slightly in Michelle's direction. Wesley nodded.

"Giles thought much the same."

"How is he?"

"I'd be lying if I said he was fine. Still, he does seem to be coping. More or less."

"More less than more?"

"Unfortunately." He gave a little sigh. Of sympathy, most likely. The two Watchers had plenty in common, and in time they were all but certain to share this as well. Tara didn't know that much about the history of Slayers, but she rather doubted many outlived their Watchers. "The Council called a little while ago. It seems they knew."

"I suppose so."

"There are...well, signs and portents the Council knows to look for...they herald the selection of a new Slayer. Curiously, they initially offered their condolences towards me. Evidently they had assumed Faith was the one who..." He didn't finish his sentence, but coughed. Not a good thought for him, evidently. "I suppose," he continued after a moment, "their presumption was that if Buffy died, another Slayer would not be called. Came as a bit of a surprise, actually."

Idly, Tara nodded. She was worried about Willow. Her love had gone into a place where she insisted on helping everyone else deal with their grief. She was nearly acting as a second mother to poor Dawn, while letting Xander cry on her shoulder and staying up for hours hovering around Giles. Faith, meanwhile, found a constant nurse in her. Mutual support was one thing. This, though, smacked of obsession. Or compensation.

"...Mr. Travers himself," Wesley was saying.

"Excuse me?"

"I was saying--it was Quentin Travers on the phone. Who called."

Giles' footsteps came up the stairs, meeting Wesley and Tara in the hall. He took a moment to see where they were looking. "Ah. Yes. How is she coming along?"

"All things considered," said Wesley, "Miss Huggins appears to be slowly but surely welcoming her humanity back and adjusting well. No offense," he added at the end to Tara, who shrugged. She, more than he, knew how terrible a return from vampire to human could be. None more than she. Well, none alive.

"Quentin had some...well, odd news."

"Indeed?"

"He and some other members of the Council are on their way to Sunnydale even as we speak." Giles' voice lacked something. A spark, perhaps. Or just a terrible missing Something. In time, maybe, scar tissue would take its place. "The signs," Giles continued, "are that the next Slayer is already here."

"In California?"

"Actually--in Sunnydale."

* * *

Willow listened to Giles announcement and held Tara's hand. Although cold, somehow her hand seemed warmer than her own.

"So this Council," Gunn was asking "doesn't know about our girl Tara here?"

There was a pause, in which Giles started to say something, but didn't. Wesley jumped in. "Both of us felt a full disclosure of the situation should wait for an opportune time. Which is to say, they are aware a relatively young vampire was created by the Apostate and aided him as well as us. They know as well that she has continued to be of help, and that she is not one who hunts down humans as prey." He paused, letting all of them guess what the Council didn't know.

"But they don't know she and Willow are lovers." Anya. Straightforward. Honest. Blunt. As usual.

"Precisely," Giles muttered.

"Which begs the question," Wesley continued, "of how they might react. Keep in mind virtually every one of those arriving have in fact been Watchers for active Slayers in the past. Each has personally aided in slaying vampires, as well as other demons. I believe" he concluded, "they will need time to absorb the implications of the Prophecies of Aubergion."

Xander nodded, "To get used to the whole Vampire-With-A-Soul thing."

"Most especially after what happened with Angel," Wesley agreed.

"Wesley," said Dawn in a little voice. Everyone looked at her. "What are you saying? That Tara has to go away?"

"Only for a time," he answered. "A day or two at most. I hope."

"But," said Willow, "I can't leave here at a time like this. Dawn...she needs me right now. And...Faith." She could hear the whining in her voice, but nothing could keep it out.

"Will!" It was Xander. After months of his being a pathetic madman, Xander now had far more focus and purpose than before. Maybe his experience had been a catharsis? There was some quote--that which does not destroy me only makes me stronger. Who said that? "Will, have you looked at yourself? You're exhausted looking out after everyone but yourself."

"I can handle it..."

"No you can't," said a familiar voice behind them. Willow turned, to see Faith in the kitchen doorway. One arm was still in a sling, her free hand carrying a soda. She also still had a black eye, albeit a fading one. "Red, you've been running around taking care of us. You change our sheets, and cook our meals, and listen to us when we gripe...but what about you?"

She nearly responded with a reflexive "I can handle it" but then Tara squeezed her hand. Rather than reply to Faith, Willow looked at Tara. For a strange moment, she imagined herself reflected in Tara's single eye. Or was it imagination? Tara's hand reached up to stroke one cheek. It felt...good. Better even than the touch of her lover usually was. Almost against her will, she leaned against that hand, accepting the offer. Let me take this weight from you.

Let me help.

"Please," whispered Tara. "Come with me." Four words. They might as well have been four thousand.

Before knowing she was saying it, Willow spoke. "Alright."

* * *

It was well past sunset when Willow put her things into the car. Tara watched her. Watching Willow was a pleasure as always but now there was cause for worry. She had watched her beloved girl for many, many hours by now. Many times such watching had been covert. Tara doubted Willow guessed even now how often a vampire had been following her every move for almost a year and a half. She had seen the beautiful young woman dancing happily with Oz, weeping at his loss, struggling with various enemies at the Slayer's side.

Later, she'd watched Willow look at her with joy, her face lighting up as Tara came into view. That had proven a pleasure beyond words. By then Tara knew how to read this lovely lady. Knew when she was lying. Just as she knew when she was afraid, or determined, or amused. And knew...beyond doubt...knew Willow loved her.

Now, every glance and step screamed pain, loss, denial.

Willow insisted on driving. Tara didn't argue, but continued to watch her. And was rewarded with a sad smile. Can we survive this? Tara hated thinking it, but her love had suffered a terrible psychic shock. Such things changed people. Not always for the better.

Can we survive this?

The distance between the Summers home and Tara's lair was nearly an hour. Unfortunately, the most direct route--the one Willow as driver insisted upon--went directly past several devastated city blocks. Fire and ice had been the least of the travails inflicted by Glory's ritual. One set of storefronts looked as if they'd been gnawed by giant insects. Perhaps they even had. Then there was the church with the nearly perfect round hole in its center.

Seeing such things, Willow's face grew longer. And sadder. Yellow police tape marked lots of locations.

"Did you hear," asked Willow, "they got an official death toll. Not too bad. Seventy three."

In a major city that would be a horrifying number. Sunnydale wasn't even a minor city.

"Not too bad," repeated Willow. She almost believed it. Had to believe it.

"There could have been millions," noted Tara. "Or more."

"I know."

"Had you not weakened Glory, many more people would have died."

"Yeah," she breathed. There was more to it than that, then. Seventy three dead strangers touched her, but that grief was eclipsed. And as she thought on what she knew of Willow's life, Tara began to understand.

"In high school," she began, "you were like me, weren't you?"

"What?"

"An outsider. A geek. Someone without any fellows, alone and unwelcome."

She blinked. "That...that was a long time ago. Besides, I had friends. Xander, for one." Willow's voice rose in pitch. It was slight, but enough for Tara to pick up.

"Then...you became part of the biggest, most important of secrets. Special. Buffy may have been the Chosen One, but she chose you."

Willow parked the car with a jerk. Usually, she was a very careful driver. Now the angle was a little wrong, the car was too far from the curb and besides the fire hydrant was just a little too close. "I...I don't know what you're talking about. There's such a thing as nerd mystique, you know!"

And with that, she got out of the car, slamming the door. Tara followed as they both headed for the building where Tara hid during the day. Willow needed no help finding the secret entrance, of course. The speed with which she moved, though, was startling. Only with effort did Tara keep up. Of course, she hadn't really fed well since the fight, and her bones hadn't fully knitted from their cracks. Like Willow, she'd been trying to help others through the shock of Buffy's death. Another reason she understood--only too well--what her love might be going through.

They were halfway down the ladder when both sensed something was wrong. Both noted the angle of the tunnel was subtly wrong. Neither had been back here in days...

One side of the lair now bore a crack, at its widest nearly five feet wide, and running all the way up into the ceiling. Pulverized concrete lay in chunks and dust across the room.

"Earthquake?" Willow asked.

"Lots of minor tremors did accompany the ritual..." Tara began, "...that could be it."

But now Willow had approached the edge of one crack. "Tara," she said. "The edge of this looks melted."

A terrible thought came to Tara's mind, suddenly. "Where's Miss Xita?"

* * *

First, Willow looked frightened. Second, she looked horrified. Third, she looked determined--fiercely so.

The words to the spell were simple, really. A single drop of light was conjured out of the air, and it floated its way through the crack in Tara's wall. Neither of them was surprised. Of course Miss Xita would go exploring once such an opening appeared in her home. That she still wasn't home was the cause for worry.

Within yards, the crack narrowed, but its other end led to natural caves. Sunnydale was riddled with them. Tara knew that even better than Willow. Vampires nearly always traveled underground. It became their highway, their concourse, their personal world--along with the other demons. Yet Tara didn't take the lead. For one thing, the light was Willow's spell. It obeyed her will, not Tara's. And for another, she by now recognized that her lover wouldn't relinquish the lead position. Not right now.

"Miss Xita!" Willow's voice echoed. Tara listened, hoping for a response. Her superior hearing picked up sounds, some of them quite odd, but nothing like a kitten's cries.

Steadily, the glowing drop of light continued along its way. For a long time, maybe even an hour, the going was rough. These were not tunnels frequented often by human-sized creatures. Boulders packed atop each other made up the cave floor, leaving barely two yards between them and the jagged ceiling. Willow never really hesitated, though, clearly focused on the light and where it would lead. Tara believed she understood why. No one had been able to save Buffy, not even her best friend--who had herself been defended and saved countless times by Buffy for years. Yet at that final battle, Willow had failed to do as much for her. She had been unable to, that was the truth. It was little short of a miracle they hadn't all died, with much of the world's population slaughtered as well, but Willow did not see it that way. Or more accurately, that wasn't how her heart could. Buffy had saved her. She had not saved Buffy. That it had been impossible could hardly eclipse that blinding fact. And right now, what else could Willow see? Save perhaps the opportunity to succeed for a kitten where she had failed for her best friend.

Oh Willow, the vampire thought to herself, how can I help you get past this? The only answer that came to mind was to help rescue (or find) Miss Xita. So she followed her love, deeper and deeper into the earth.

After another hour, Tara reached out and held Willow's shoulder.

"What?"

"I'm listening," said Tara. Yes. No mistake. What it was remained a mystery. But she heard it. Heard...what? "Have you ever listened to the songs of whales?" she suddenly asked.

"Uh...I think so. Yeah." Willow didn't have to actually say the word Why.

"That's kind of what I'm hearing. But something else...as if there were words..." She shook her head, lacking any more details. But she pointed to where the sound or voices or songs seemed to originate. In just the same direction as the light had been leading them.

Both of them hurried, but carefully, trying to make as little sound as possible. Another minute or two passed before Willow whispered that she, too, could hear something. Within another five, both could have given a description of it. There seemed to be a chorus, singing some weird language more suited to whales than human or human-like creatures. Harmonies interlaced, clearly meaning something and certainly creating an effect of terrible beauty and power. Magic? A ritual of some kind? Both? Neither? The possibilities raced through both minds amid a shared glance--and both of them pressed on.

Here the caves also echoed with the drip-drip-drip of seeping waters. Bric-a-brac lay in odd corners, like the broken shards of a wheelchair. And a stained porcelain doll, broken cleanly in half. Exactly how these and a handful of colored balloons--fresh, unused, in a neat little pile--ended up here wasn't something either of them wanted to guess. More importantly, past the next turn, a greenish luminescence seemed to wait for them. As if to make that clearer, Willow's little blue glow headed directly for it.

And the...music...voices...sounds...rose in volume and tempo. The green light pulsed in matching rhythms.

Willow ran. Forward.

"No! Wait!" Tara hissed. Much as she loved her pet (the first she'd ever had, some part of Tara reminded her for some reason), she loved Willow a thousand-fold more. Danger to one was as nothing compared to danger to the other. Yet Willow ran faster than Tara had ever seen her move before--round the corner to where the sounds and glow continued to swell.

Tara rounded the corner herself perhaps one full second later. Before her was a nearly circular chamber, as if a molten bubble had simply evaporated amid the rock. One meter-long pillar of onyx lay in the center of the space. Atop it was Miss Xita, laying on her side but with both ears now pointed to where Tara and Willow had just entered.

Surrounding her were...Things. Leathery long robes (that seemed sewn directly into the flesh) helped give the proceedings a ritual air. The fact that none of the five were even remotely human rendered the air sinister. Each of the five had long, hairless heads with tiny eyes too far to the sides. Maw-like mouths resembled those of horses. But their singing revealed the fact that every single tooth was a fang. No noses, or nostrils or anything like them was visible. Meanwhile, hooked claws were raised ritually in a circle around the defenseless kitten.

"Leviathan...!"

Just ahead of Tara, Willow's head was bowed and she was uttering words. Names. Powerful, malevolent names.

"...Azreal..."

"Willow!" Tara managed to step directly in front of Willow, just in time to see her lift up eyes now grown black as pitch.

"...Barrabas..." Her voice was rising in pitch, volume, and power.

Tara tried to grab Willow by the shoulders, give her a shake. Power such as she was getting ready to channel was made even more dangerous because they were underground. Surrounding walls could easily collapse. But the effort she expended towards her lady had an unexpected result--namely, throwing her back as if she were a doll! Amid a thunderclap, Tara found herself arching away from Willow and landing with a heavy thud on the other side of the chamber!

Dizzy, Tara tried to make out what was happening. The Singing Things had stopped singing. One was staring at Tara herself, taking a step towards her. Most of the others had formed a wall between Willow and the meowing Miss Xita. A lone Singer had raised his claw, palm open, towards Willow--who had begun to elevate as she finished her spell.

"Strike and let unjust ones fall!" From Willow's hands flared out bolts of red lightning!

With a gesture, the lone Singer managed to gather the lightning and take it entirely onto itself. From the screeching sound that came from its throat, this must have caused vast pain. But, although staggered, it held its own.

Seeing this, Willow bellowed in fury. Her lovely lips pulled back in a grimace of hate, or raw and primal rage. Both hands extended like talons, she spat something in Russian.

The Singer gasped and collapsed. All its fellows cried out!

And at that moment, a spiral of black flames materialized directly below Willow in a cone. It began to grow like a tornado. She didn't notice, too intense on making arcane gestures as part of her magical attack. Not until the black flames actually touched her feet did she even react, and then her eyes--black to mirror the flames beneath her--showed alarm. For all of a second and a half. It took that long for the cone to envelope her and fade away.

Willow was gone. Tara could think of nothing else. She was aware of nothing else. Even her own skin seemed countless millions of miles away, far too far for her to feel or be more than faintly notice. Willow was gone. My lady. My love.

Willow!

* * *

"Your magicks are powerful..." said the voice.

Willow didn't know where she was, save that it was dark. Robed figures hovered nearby, so it wasn't pitch black, but on the other hand she couldn't make out any details either. And her head hurt.

"...but it was your pain that we responded to."

Behind her. She turned around, and managed not to vomit doing so. Her internal organs felt as if they were dancing together. To punk music. Like a mosh pit. Blinking, she tried to make out the speaker.

"Pain such as we understand. Pain we have all shared." It was an old voice, a powerful one. "The pain of loss, of injustice unavenged and wrongs unpunished. We understand."

"Oh...that's nice...'cause I don't..."

The speaker moved closer. Like the others, he was robed but his hood was thrown back. At least Willow thought of him as a "he." It must be the beard. Beards said male to her. Just as his pointed ears, protruding teeth and horns said something else.

Demon.

"The pain you feel at what has happened is something we very much know, Willow Rosenberg. For a long time, we've heard echoes of it until at last we were compelled to seek you out. Already, your rage has enflamed your powers. Given time, it may elevate you to still higher and higher levels. Because you have discovered that which all things that live instinctually desire." He didn't seem so much threatening as proud. Like a coach, maybe. For some reason, he reminded her of Ira Rosenberg, her father.

"Okay, I'll ask--what is this thing?"

"Purpose," he answered. "For you have tasted how the world may wrong you."

"I suppose so, but really no more than anybody else really..."

He interrupted her. "But you have not shielded yourself. The mundane deaden their own hearts so that the world causes them less pain, and as a result they survive but very rarely live. And in turn they thoughtlessly add to the miseries each of them fears but refuses to acknowledge. But you, you Willow Rosenberg...!"

"Uh...what about me?" She so did not like this conversation.

"When Oz left you, it was as if your soul had been crucified, left nailed and exposed to the elements. Was it not?"

Appalled, Willow nodded without thinking. It was true. No one had ever betrayed her so deeply, so horribly as Oz. She had forgiven him, true, largely out of an understanding that he suffered under a curse that eroded his precious self-control. He had not chosen to be unfaithful, she knew that.

That hadn't made it hurt any less, though.

"And since that time, has the pain really grown any less keen, Willow Rosenberg? Do you feel it less when Joyce Summers died, or your friend Xander's mind was flayed? Even so, your friends themselves hurt you, did they not?" He stepped closer. Those eyes, milky yet deep, held hers. "You, whom they knew to have suffered terribly from a vast loneliness--when you found a beloved one again, they sought to kill her. Because your love was a demon, to them your feelings were as nothing. All the affection you had lavished upon them, in the just expectation they offered you the same--it stood revealed for what they truly felt." Willow didn't want to hear the next word, because she suspected what it would be. She was right. "Pity!" She flinched.

"No, they just didn't understand..." she whispered...

"They never tried to! You had sided in your heart with a member of demonkind, and in their eyes what was any chance of happiness of you compared to that sin?"

"But...but..."

"And now, the world has lashed your soul yet again, has it not?" The demon's voice had grown quieter. Wiser. "Your best friend, slaughtered like farm animal. She died a hero--the salvation of untold billions--yet forgotten. Even by the others."

"That's not true."

"Now the most innocent of creatures, your kitten, it too is taken from you. Is it any wonder, then, your magicks found such potent fuel in your rage and pain and grief? Accept the implications of this Willow Rosenberg! Let your mind be open to the great truths that lie before your open eyes! See all the pain this world offers you, forces upon you! And use it--to shape the world into something better!"

Every word out of this demon seemed to ring with indignation and promise. The resemblance to some kind of coach, or the very best and most challenging of teachers, was never more acute. He seemed to realize this, as he nodded again.

"Walk the path of vengeance and power, Willow Rosenberg. That is what I, D'Hoffryn, offer you. A chance to right all the wrongs of the world, and soothe the pain even your closest fellow humans inflict."

He stretched out his hand to her. In it, lay a kind of amulet. A rounded pentagon of silver, embossed with a black shape, something like a star.

"For you," he said. "A talisman of power."

Willow picked it up.

* * *

"We are the Aratl'liw," said the leader of the Five.

"The...Aratle-oo?"

"Aratl'liw."

"Ah-rattle-loo?"

"The double ll requires something between a trill and a mild glottal stop. Try again."

"Atiloo."

It sighed. The fact its voice was practically identical to that of David Niven (a fact Tara found vaguely disturbing) make its sigh a precisely civilized yet expressive thing. "Close enough, I suppose."

"Never mind that, what did you do to Willow?" The demon rose up in Tara, shifting her features. She felt her fangs extend, her brow furrow, and she welcomed the blood rage that simmered deep inside. If Willow was gone, so too was any reason to hold back. Let death come, but she would not greet it alone.

"Your soul, you mean?" The long-headed creature said this nonchalantly. "Nothing. Honestly."

From the crook of another of the creature's arms, Miss Xita made a plaintive meow. It stroked a claw gently behind her ears, and she purred in response. Something seemed off. Off enough for Tara to retain control.

"That vortex," the leader continued, "was none of our doing, I assure you. For one thing, we don't have that kind of power. Not that we can't traverse the differing realities," this last was said with something like a laugh--the kind Giles or Wesley might have made at their most arch, "but our natures do require us to the actual traversing, as it were. No, your soul was taken by someone else."

Only one person had ever called Willow Tara's soul. He had been an essentially benevolent demon. Did that mean so too were these?

Now the creature opened its mouth and inhaled. "Hmmmmmm...from the taste of the magicks, I suspect one of the specialty hells. Willow--that is her name, yes?--may be in great peril." Behind it, another creature was scratching Miss Xita behind the ears. She of course purred, accepting her due of worship as befitting any feline. That detail, more than any other, was evidence to Tara that these beings might be telling the truth. Cats were notoriously difficult to deceive.

"Um...sir?" It was the smallest of the creatures, voice preposterously young. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Well, I certainly hope so!"

"Just a second," said Tara. "Who are you?"

"The Aratl'liw."

"No, not what you're called--I mean who are you?

"Travelers," the leader said, "nomads along mystic paths, seeking out the holy beasts where ere they may gather so to sing their praises and tell them the wonders we've seen on our journeys." From the posture all them had towards Miss Xita, Tara suspected she knew what time of being this holy beast was. Nor, to her mind, did that seem inappropriate.

But...

"Your soul," it went on, "is much troubled. When she unleashed her rage with magicks in our direction, it was evident just how troubled, I'm afraid. There are beings, sad to say, fully capable of sensing the tempests within her heart and welcoming such as something delightful."

"Sir?" The young one tapped the other one's shoulder.

"Yes Glim'th'th'thrik'doodle?" Even Tara, distressed as she was, blinked at that name.

"Does not this one" it gestured at Tara, "seem familiar?"

All five of them stepped forward, tilted their weird heads and inhaling. Some licked their lips. Tara was reminded of wine tasters.

"Our young colleague is correct," spoke a third. Although rail-thin, its voice was deep and robust enough to make Orson Wells seem distinctly Pee Wee Hermanish. "This creature with but one eye was one of those present at the conflagration which diverted us into these caves. Do you recall?"

The leader nodded. "Indeed I do. Thank you, Sally." It looked at Tara again. "You were present when the Slayer went to heaven. Perhaps she was a friend of yours?"

Huh?

* * *

The talisman sang to Willow. Its song was a remembrance of disappointments and rages, of hurts minor and vast, of betrayals and the urges she'd long ago learned to suppress. Free me, sang the tiny piece of metal, free yourself! Swallow the power and make it part of you. Let the flames jump high! Let them dance!

Let them burn.

You.

All around her, the cloaked figures were chanting something. What, she didn't know. Mostly, she didn't care. In the darkness, the talisman in her hand, memories washed through every cell.

Her mother was forbidding her things--pets, toys, asking questions of Rabbi, silly little holiday shows on TV. Willow had arguments in defense of what she'd done. She knew what she wanted, and why. None of it unreasonable. Didn't everyone long for the uncomplicated friendship of a puppy? Especially a single child whose parents never noticed her loneliness, never offered to assuage it? Why not let her play with that doll instead of this? Who was the doll for, after all? Mother or child? Wasn't anything for her, for Willow? Anything? No. Be quiet. Do your homework. Of course you got straight A's we expected no less so there's really no reason to single you out for great praise or any praise really when you really think about it. Don't disagree with your mother. This is for your own good. Because I said so, that's why. Everything will be fine in the end. The end is just one of those sayings. You'll understand when you're older. Be a good girl. Be quiet. I said be quiet. Do as you are told, not as you desire. You're too young to know what you want anyway. Don't be disagreeable young lady. Go to your room. Stay there. No you may not have a cookie.

But I want one.

Since when does what you want matter? Each word was a drop of acid.

Jesse and Xander were laughing with her. No, at her. She loved them both. Xander especially. Neither one ever flirted with her. Both sets of their eyes mooned and traced the path of every vacuous bitch with big tits and noses higher than Everest. They never looked at her with anything like desire. Pity, understanding, even a little sympathy would have been such a tiny gift. Yet too much for them to give. And for all of that, they were her best friends. So of course they hurt her the most. Because she let them.

Buffy valued her. Liked her. Used her. Ignored her advice or insisted she do things as Buffy would. Had Buffy even once changed to suit Willow instead of the other way around? She was the stranger, after all, and had needed Willow, rewarding her with a pittance of thank you's. Lording it over Willow because she was Chosen. Chosen by Xander. My Xander.

Her head hurt. Twin headaches pounded on either side of her temples.

And her eyes itched.

Dizzy, Willow recalled every sneering word Faith had ever aimed at her. The way Principal Snyder had simply assumed she was a slave to his image of school as a haven for thick-skulled jocks. Giles was shaking his head as she dared to read books he didn't want her to. Then there was Cordelia. Evil and vicious, with her fellow harpies like Harmony. Cackling at the thought of each wound Willow's heart might feel. Of course sweet Xander fell in love with Cordelia. It was the most hurtful thing he could have done. So he did it. Of course.

Oz. Wonderful, mysterious, judgmental and betraying Oz. Everything on my terms Oz. No listening to Willow's needs Oz. Here's my groupie Willow. How cute. Calling himself her love, then slaking his lust on a whore because she was just as much a monster as he was. Is this your heart, Willow? Pardon me while Veruca and I rend it with our teeth. Think of it as a kind of foreplay.

How could Willow be so hot and still live? This talisman--was it molten? If so, the burning wasn't what she expected.

Anya and her thoughtless mouth. Dawn and her young greed. Wesley's nose was ever further up that Cordelia's, even though he was a coward and useless and arrogant and a fool. Joyce, smothering Willow in fake concern, eager to feel good about herself rather than to help Willow feel better about anything.

Her friends always hurt her.

Always.

But then, so did everybody else. Which was wrong. Wrong! WRONG!!!

Now all of Willow's body that itched, and hurt, and burned. All around her, the darkness twirled. Hooded figures, led by that D'Hoffryn guy, chanted. Exactly what she couldn't say. For one thing, it was in a language she didn't know--or even recognize. Yet it was the same phrase over and over. Pain wracked her body, a delicious pain that purged her of...what? She didn't know. Did she care?

"Take it!" whispered/shrieked D'Hoffryn "Your destiny. Your Glory!"

Her hand hurt. The hand that held the Talisman. She looked at it, opening the palm where claws had dug into her skin. Her claws. Thick, green blood dripped from the open wounds, boiling in the air as it dropped. Willow snarled. It felt good to snarl. Just as she knew it would feel good--great--to rend the flesh from those who dared hurt her or hers. More than feel great, it was Purpose.

Purpose seized hold of her, and with the mildest effort of her will, she wrapped herself in black flame. Reality twisted, and she was hurled back to where she'd been. Vengeance. Yes. It was a good word. A delicious word. More, a delicious Purpose. In the name of Vengeance she landed into the earthly realm, stepping with her hooves upon the stone floor.

Still here. Good. She hungered to gnaw upon their bones. All five turned to her, startled in fear at what had arrived in their midst. Their fear was also a good thing. Purpose flowed through her, hurling more lightning bolts at them. Ha! Let them weaken those few bolts with their puny magicks. She had more. Lots. And they knew it! See how they flee from me?

And now what they'd been hiding was revealed--their latest victim.

Who looked...familiar.

And pretty. Her eye was deep gold, her fangs dainty and long. Very pretty indeed. At the corners of her awareness, the Evil Ones were scattering. Let them. She could find them later. Right now it was this one who intrigued Willow. Floating across the space, she came to rest in front of this pretty demoness. Traced one claw against the edge of her jaw.

Pretty. So very, very pretty.

For one long moment their mouths almost touched. Then, at last, they did. Willow was startled. How could anything be better than Purpose? Yet this was. Beyond doubt. Growling, Willow devoted herself to the better-than-Purpose that was kissing this lovely demon. Feeling her hands against Willow's chest was good, too. Very good. Vengeance could wait a little while.

She was still thinking that--in so much as she was thinking anything--when Tara crushed the talisman with her superhuman strength.

* * *

Tara thought the idea of a wake good. It gave loved ones what they most needed--a chance to grieve. Together.

Kinda sentimental coming from a blood-drinking undead fiend.

Oh well.

Giles and Wesley were with the other Watchers, off in a corner explaining things to Michelle. Tara didn't know Quentin Travers, but she thought the expression of shock on his face wasn't quite subtle enough to be invisible. She could relate. If having a vampire turn into a human again wasn't strange enough--having that same ex-vampire turn out to be the new Slayer certainly upped the whole level of bizarreness. Being the sire of said ex-vampire was fairly weird, too.

"As near as we can discern," the bearded Watcher was saying, "these unique series of events must be the cause. A completely unprecedented confluence of mystical forces aligned in a precise, never-to-be-repeated manner." He'd been going on in the same vein for some time, but so far Michelle had showed no signs of panic or mental shut down. Nor did Tara think she would. She suspected this flooding of a new Slayer with high-sounding verbiage was part of doctrine. Given her past, was it any wonder Michelle found this terribly unimpressive?

Tara wondered among the others in the Summers home. Anya and Dawn were chatting at once end of the couch. Interesting how those two had managed to become friends. From what Willow said, Dawn's crush on Xander had been quite intense. But, people grow. Even teenagers. And ex-demons.

Gunn and Faith were sharing a beer in the kitchen. They toasted to Tara as she passed, then went on reminding each other of stories--something about Faith's haunted apartment back in Los Angeles. She made a mental note to ask for details some night.

On the back porch sat Willow. Alone. Staring into the night. Tara sat beside her, as ever acutely aware of her touch, even hip to hip through their clothes.

"Hey," her love's voice was low.

"Good Evening. That's supposed to be a good vampire line, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Its in all the movies."

"I wouldn't want to go against type." She hoped the jibe would get a response. It did not. The silence stretched on.

"Do you think Buffy would mind?" Willow's voice finally broke the silence.

"Not according to the Aratl'liw."

"Oh, right. She's in heaven."

"Well, that does make sense, doesn't it? If there are countless hell dimensions, shouldn't there also be an equal number of paradises?"

"Guess so." No emotion. Or--were they elsewhere? "But--do you think she'd mind. About April, I mean?" Just a trace of emotion there.

Tara pondered. "Buffy was a hero. So was April." The pieces left of the robot had been gathered and buried next to Buffy's grave, even given its own headstone. Anya had chosen the words: She Did Not Fail. Buffy's headstone had been written by Willow: She Saved The World. A Lot. "No, I don't think she'd mind. Especially now."

Willow nodded.

Did you think I'd love you less, Willow, because your pain could be used? Tara didn't say those words, merely thought them. One hand reached out and entwined with her lover's. The tension in that hand was great, but did relax somewhat over a minute or two. Soon, Tara leaned over to graze Willow's ear with her lips. And was rewarded with a welcoming tremor. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"You had the most adorable horns."

Together, they grinned. Lips found lips. And soon it was Willow's turn to speak. "Just thought of something." To Tara's relief, her voice held just an echo of pleasure. From this echo, she believed more could grow.

"What?"

"Something you told me once." Willow spoke, lip grazing lip, so low even Tara had trouble hearing. "Even as a demon, I could not help but love you."
* * *

An hour later, Willow and Tara walked hand in hand to where everyone else had clustered together, around the piano. There, a startling figure in a charcoal gray tuxedo ran lime-green figures across the keys. His eyes were bright red, his horns the same shade as old ivory. Who knows, thought Willow, maybe that's what they are. She had thought the Host quite strange looking last time she'd seen him.

Of course, that was before she grown horns and hooves of her own. Just as well she hadn't kept them. Not her style.

But certainly his.

Smiling, the Host began to sing.

"A long time ago, a million years b.c.," he began,
"The best things in life were absolutely free.
But no one appreciated a sky that was always blue
And no one congratulated a moon that was always new."

Willow noted how everyone--Gunn, Faith, Dawn, the assembled Watchers (for once not inching away from Tara)--listened to the words. Song had this power, she supposed. No, she knew. Holding Tara's hand tighter, and remembering another song, she found herself smiling.

"So it was planned we should vanish now and then,
And you must pay before we see them again--
That's what storms are made for--
And you shouldn't be afraid for..." The Host held the last note of the first part exactly long enough. Proof of that was how everybody held their breaths.

And then...

"Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven," the melody kicked in, simple but full of grace.
"Don't you know each cloud contains pennies from heaven?
You'll find your future falling
All over town
Be sure that your umbrella
Is upside down."

Now his eyes met those around him. To Anya and Xander--
"Trade them for a package of
Sunshine and flowers"

Next he looked directly into little Dawn's blue eyes.
"If you want the things you love
You must have showers!"

He sang to Wesley and Giles
"So when you hear it thunder,
Don't run under
A tree..."

Then gazed at Gunn and Faith, smiling at his words,
"There'll be pennies from heaven
For you and me!"

Everyone applauded as the Host let the last notes of his voice and the piano fade. His smile at their reaction was genuine. Rising, he gave a little bow. Clearly, he was experienced at it.

The words of the song for some reason touched Willow. Maybe that's why we have music, she mused. To remind us of truths we forget. Like how the world is a hard but beautiful place. How our joys are purchased with troubles, which means of course they're that much more valuable. After all, isn't that proof of things like love? How much pain we'll pay for it? If I had never been lonely, could I love Tara as much as I do?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tara's voice both startled and soothed. Each had their arm around the others' waist.

"Do I gotta?" Willow said in a mock whine. She didn't really want to say these things, just think them. For now, anyway.

"No rush," whispered Tara, "we have all the time we need."

~Fin~

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