Van Rosenberg by Alcy

Rating: PG-13
Uber-Setting: Van Helsing/Dracula/Tomb Raider
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Buffy, Tomb Raider or Dracula characters. This fic is of course AU so no spoilers for any season.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Through the Looking-glass
Feedback: Yes please.
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: Diary entries are going to be in italics but hopefully they will not be confused with thoughts as they will be mostly placed at the beginning of a chapter. This fic borrows thematic elements from several sources, most notably Bram Stoker's Dracula and the 2004 film, Van Helsing and structural elements from Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian. The story itself and several of its characters are my own.
Webhost's Note: Special thanks goes to Chris Cook of Through the Looking Glass, MKF and Artemis for the graphics, wallpapers and source coding. Thanks, Chris!
Pairing: Willow/Tara

Summary: The discovery of a diary and the journey that follows will disrupt everything Willow has ever known, including her own identity, and reunite her with a love she never knew she lost.

It would seem that I can scarce hear myself think over the beating of my heart. With my body trembling as I write these words, my script is sprawling across the page in a manner that would have my tutor cringing. I must however commit the memories of this day to paper for I cannot speak of them to a single soul. Not even in my own dear mother can I confide as I could only imagine the look of horror on her face if I were to inform her of the event that transpired today…event, how can one call such a momentous occasion a mere event!

I shall describe what happened as best I can…although if anyone were to read these words…

I have oft said I despise the Marlborough's annual picnic, one can scarce move for all the bores and cads vying for one's attention. I often marvel at the fact that they do not burst, so hard they are trying. Edward Walsh followed me around like a sad little spaniel all day and I half expected his tail to start wagging when I allowed him to sit next to me while I watched a game of bowls. As my attention wavered from Edward's well-meaning but dull attempts at conversation, I noticed a new face, a young woman I had never laid eyes on before. I thought was strange as I am of course well acquainted with everyone of note in the district. I could not possibly see how I could have failed to notice her. Curiosity overcame my usual reservations and I excused myself from Edward's attentions. I boldly followed the young woman on her walk which led into the stables. After her initial surprise at seeing someone else there, we finally had a chance to make our introductions. W, what a strange and yet beautiful name. As she explained that she and her brother had recently moved to the district I remembered my mother telling me that Sir Clifford's estate, Hagley Park, had passed to his nephew (I do think my mother was hinting that I should make his acquaintance. I'm sure he is a very fine young man who will make someone a good match but my interest lies with his sister!) She endeared me from the moment she confessed that she had no love of large gatherings and had decided to hide in the stables despite her fear of horses!

Even now I cannot remember how long we spoke for, I think she had me captivated by some sort of witchcraft for I could not draw myself away from her presence. We spoke of all manner of things and would have definitely proven Edward wrong in his belief that women are incapable of debating politics or difficult moral issues. W is undoubtedly a woman possessed of a sharp mind but that was only part of what had me enthralled. I found myself watching the tilt of her chin as she spoke, the adorable manner in which her lips moved and curled so easily up into a smile. Her green eyes danced as she talked with animation I never thought possible, the very words she spoke seemed to tumble forth from her mouth as though she could not stop even if she wanted to.

As dusk fell outside still we had not stirred from the stable. No doubt the rest of our party had retired indoors for supper. I could not even feel guilty for the thought that Edward was probably searching high and low for me. He was farthest from my mind. It was the chill wind whistling through the stable that finally forced us indoors but not before W leaned across and brushed her gloved hand against my cheek. I closed my eyes to savor the moment and suddenly found soft lips pressed up against mine. She had leaned forward to kiss me! I cannot possibly describe the experience in words, so gentle was her touch and sweet was her taste. My lips parted only slightly and I heard myself gasp with delight. I knew full well that such behavior was scandalous and I ought to push W away from my body. Instead I found myself leaning closer, close enough to feel the small curve of her breast through the fabric that separated our skin. I feel a hot flush rise into my cheeks even now as I relive the moment through words. I know I cannot write anymore without craving W's touch. Oh, I am wicked indeed but I want more of her. Everything about that kiss was forbidden…but I do not care…

"Good gracious!" Willow Rosenberg exclaimed as she glanced at the pocket watch she held in her fumbling hands.

The day hasn't even started yet and already I'm behind! Willow thought in exasperation, mentally beating herself with a large stick. She was running desperately late on the one day she simply could not afford to be late.

She swung her legs onto the cold wooden floor of her flat and took a brief moment to compose herself. The date on the calendar tacked to the wall read 19 October 1897. It was jammed between a picture of her parents and a newspaper cutting sensationalizing a reported haunting in Watford. Willow exhaled loudly in the calm before the storm. With a huge exertion of willpower she tore herself away from her bed to attend, very quickly, to her morning toilet.

Her cramped bedroom was little more than a closet leading off from the main room of her apartment. It ought to have contained relatively little owing to its size but a washstand, wardrobe and a duchess surrounded the narrow bed jammed beneath the window. Almost every useable inch of wall space was covered by framed photographs, newspaper cuttings, pages torn from magazines and pencil sketches and watercolors done in Willow's own hand. There was no one constant subject that held Willow's fascination, everything was represented on her wall from Petrie's latest Egyptian dig, Oscar Wilde being released from prison and a rather sinister watercolor of a dark cave.

At that moment, Willow was hopping around on the rag rug trying to lay her hands on necessary items of clothing. She wrinkled her small nose at the sight of her only clean shirt lying squashed behind the door. She had of course forgotten to iron it and smoothing the wrinkles out with her palm was completely useless. Willow shrugged and tugged it over her undergarments, deciding that the shirt would be fine if she kept her jacket and waistcoat on.

A few moments later Willow stood in the middle of her rug and glanced down at her outfit, a rather rumpled matching three piece grey pinstripe suit that completely concealed her un-ironed shirt save for the stiff collar. Willow quickly snatched up the last few items she needed, her pocket watch and a bright red tie that had been hanging on her bedroom doorknob. She only paused in her combined kitchen and living room long enough to grab her lunch and satchel.

Following a brisk walk and a tram ride spent checking her pocket watch every minute, Willow jumped out at her destination. She took one last look at her pocket watch, groaned audibly and jogged up the steps.

The sign to the left of the door she entered read British Museum – Employees Only Entrance.

As she made her way through the endless corridors that made up the bowels of the British Museum, Willow tried rather ineffectually to review a large stack of papers in her hands. She was busy scribbling pencil notes in the margin of one particular page when she rounded a corner and collided with a cup and saucer full of tea. The tea sloshed all over Willow's papers and the front of her jacket. The cup and saucer clattered to the floor and promptly smashed. Willow's jaw dropped as she looked up at the culprit who had been holding the offending beverage.

It was a young man, cheek length brown hair flopping forward over his boyish face. His eyes were wide with horror and the position of his jaw mirrored Willow's. Myles Cavendish was supposedly employed as a runner, the lowest of the low amongst the museum's white-collar workers. He was supposed to fetch, carry and generally be on call for whatever task was needed. However, Willow had never actually seen Myles carry out these tasks for anyone else; he had attached himself to her as an unofficial personal assistant and always seemed to appear at the times when he was least appreciated.

"You clumsy oaf, Myles!!" Willow wiped ineffectually at the damp patch on her jacket with her papers, "I'm late enough already."

Willow then realized that she was trying to do her cleaning with important documents and she stopped, staring down at the inky mess on the top sheet.

Myles whipped out his pocket-handkerchief and instinctively began dabbing at the wet patch that had spread across the front of Willow's jacket without realizing that the placement of his hands was far more intimate than their relationship warranted. Before Willow could protest, his cheeks flamed bright red as he realized where he was mopping so intently. He snatched the handkerchief away and instead went to work picking up the pieces of shattered crockery.

"I'm sorry, Myles," Willow hunkered down next to the young man, joining him in placing the shards into the damp handkerchief.

"It's alright, Miss," Myles glanced up, his cheeks still ruddy with color, "I just thought you might like a spot of tea before your meeting, seeing as you never have breakfast and all…but it was cold anyway because you're…"

"Late!" Willow finished his sentence as she jumped to her feet, "I really must get going Myles, the Director will be waiting."

Willow didn't stop running even when she reached the impressive oaken door that was the entrance to the offices of the Director of the British Museum. She shoved the door open at full tilt and flew into the room on the other side. A cold voice greeted her as soon as she slid to a halt.

The voice belonged to an exceptionally prim young woman who managed to look down on Willow through her spectacles even though she was sitting behind a desk where Willow was standing. Her brown hair was coiled perfectly atop her head, cosmetics applied in all the right places and, from what Willow could see, she was wearing a simple but flattering dress with an amethyst brooch at her neck. A neat little plaque on her desk read: Cordelia Chase. Cordelia looked as though she had been at work, seated behind her typewriter, for several hours already.

If Willow had been less of a well-mannered young lady, she would have muttered a barbed comment or at the very least scowled in annoyance. Instead, she turned around and tortured herself in a different way by examining her appearance in the full length mirror that Cordelia had carefully positioned opposite her desk. The secretary snorted in contempt at her view of herself being blocked by the decidedly shabby researcher. Willow was only saved from further dressing down by Miss Cordelia Chase when another woman joined them in the room.

Gratefully turning her back on the mirror, Willow smiled as she saw her colleague and friend, Faith Winters, enter the room. However, she took one look at the expression on Faith's face and knew she would prefer to listen to Cordelia. It was like a storm about to unleash itself, dark and cloudy with a hint of thunder. Like Cordelia, she too was neatly attired but the matching skirt and jacket she wore was plain in the extreme. No lace or brooches adorned her body.

"Will, for blooming heck, I've been looking for you for the past thirty minutes!" the young woman growled in lieu of a greeting.

"And good morning to you too, Faith," Willow was beginning to feel a little like a pincushion.

Faith was Willow's age, and they both worked in the same department of the Museum but that was where the similarities ended. Faith was the embodiment of sensuality, almost exotic in her dark features despite the fact that she was British to the core. Where Willow was scholarly and clumsy, it was all too obvious that Faith was a woman of action. She was poised and graceful in all her movements, even as she threw up her hands in disgust.

"I told you to wear a dress today!" Faith snapped, looking Willow up and down with a disapproving expression.

"Why should I when you look silly enough for the both of us?" Willow snickered but, in response to Faith's withering glare, quickly wiped the smile from her face and threw up her hands in an admission of defeat, "I'm dreadfully sorry Faith, I must confess I forgot all about the meeting until I woke up this morning already late. I was up until dawn reading those fascinating new texts you brought back from your last trip East…."

"And what the devil is that mess all done your front?" Faith gasped at the dark stain spread across Willow's jacket.

"Errr…breakfast," Willow replied, wiping ineffectually at the damp patch, "Courtesy of Myles."

"That young man is disaster on two feet! You're both as bad as each other!" Faith huffed in exasperation as she reached for Willow's jacket and began to peel it from her shoulders, "Turn around."

Willow obliged, turning so Faith could pull the offending soiled garment from her shoulders as she muttered to herself about the incompetence of those she was forced to work with. Once the jacket was removed, Faith tossed it so it landed precisely across Cordelia Chase's typewriter, effectively silencing the clack-clacking of her keys.

"Hang that up would you, your Highness?" Faith asked, winking in response to Cordelia's stare of glacial murder.

As soon as she had shrugged out of her jacket, Willow realized that she was left standing in her waistcoat and shirtsleeves. Eyes wide, she glanced down at each arm in turn to reconfirm the reason for wearing her jacket in the first place. Her sleeves were wrinkled beyond all acceptable standards.

"Please don't tell me you've spilt something on your shirt too?" Faith saw the look on Willow's face but with Willow's quick shake of her head she sighed with relief, "Good…or you'd be going in to see Croft in your undergarments. Come on, she'll be furious, she's been waiting for over an hour."

Willow stopped in her tracks and reached out to grab Faith by the elbow, "Do you think she's found a fault with my work?"

Slightly annoyed at being held up yet again, Faith spun around to face her colleague. Her annoyance vanished in the face of Willow's earnest expression. She was so paranoid as to the quality of her work that her grip on Faith's elbow had tightened to the point of being painful. Gently, Faith pried Willow's grip open with her own fingers. Looking a little sheepish, Willow folded her arms across her chest.

"Your work is perfect, as always," Faith reassured her, "You're also indispensable to the organization, so she won't fire you no matter how angry she may get this morning…keep a stiff upper lip Willow, and you'll be fine!"

"She's a monster," Willow turned her head slightly towards the door that lay before them, "Honestly Faith, I think I need to find a new job…one where I don't fear for my life upon entering into a meeting with my employer."

Faith arched an eyebrow as Willow turned back to face her, "Croft isn't so bad…and besides, haven't you always wanted to battle the forces of darkness, learn the secrets of the netherworld and keep mankind safe and blissfully unaware of the real world that lurks around them?"

Willow thought about this seriously for a few seconds before replying, "Not particularly…no."

Faith grunted in annoyance, although a small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. It was hard for her to remain angry at Willow for more than a few minutes, no matter how vexed she had been. She continued onto the door and rapped on it twice. After the command to enter, Faith paused to wink at Willow.

"Methinks you fear something other than the Director's bristly demeanor…something more along the lines of her full lips and ample bosom?" Faith whispered conspiratorially, seconds before she whipped open the door.

As a result of Faith's unexpected question, Willow's face was frozen in a tortured expression in full view of the Director of the British Museum. Faith added further insult to injury by placing her hand in the small of Willow's back and shoving her forward into the room. Willow stumbled for a few steps before straightening in front of the extraordinarily large, highly polished desk. The desk set the tone for the rest of the room with rich, oaken wood throughout. It made up the heavily laden bookshelves which stretched upwards, all the way to the ceiling several meters above. Hung from the bookshelves at various intervals was a collection of savage looking wooden death masks, their feather adornments browned with age. It was rumored that they were from tombs that the Director herself had raided in her youth. Guests in the office were often struck by the masks and found themselves constantly looking over their shoulders to confirm that they did not move. The atmosphere was completed with the outside light filtered into odd lines by the partially closed velvet drapes. A thin line of sunlight cast downwards, slicing over the desk and down onto the worn Oriental rug upon which Faith and Willow now stood.

A figure sat behind the desk, body entirely in shadow. Little more than an outline could be seen until the figure moved its feet from where they were perched up on the desk and swung them down onto the floor with a loud thud.

"Winters and Rosenberg, given that both of you are fully aware of my appreciation for timeliness, it strikes me as extremely odd that you would choose to be tardy," the figure flipped the pocket watch in her hand open with a savage click, "One hour tardy to be precise."

The speaker then moved forward into the sunlight. As the light streamed in, it illuminated an exceedingly beautiful woman's face. Like Faith, her features were almost exotic and further enhanced by the way she dressed and carried herself. Even sitting down she exuded an air of strength and confidence. Her brown hair was done up in a sleek, plaited arrangement from which a single hair did not dare to escape. As Faith had commented to Willow, her lips were indeed full, although now pursed together in displeasure. While the fashion of the time was baring as little flesh as possible when it came to day wear, her low cut dress revealed the cleavage of an ample bosom…exactly where Willow was trying her best not to look. Willow brought her gaze back up to the Director's large, piercing eyes.

The severity of the situation disintegrated as soon as Faith smirked and opened her mouth, "Our reasonable explanation is Willow being Willow…she has absolutely no concept of time."

"I do too!" Willow protested, turning to confront Faith, "I am punctual, efficient and highly reliable…even though the present circumstances would seem to disagree."

"Indeed," the Director intoned serenely, "You statement would also seem to be at odds with your appearance…which by any standards is disgraceful. I do believe young Cavendish dresses better than you."

Willow folded her arms in an effort to disguise her shirtsleeves and willed herself to disappear through the floorboards and back to her basement office. She was also fairly sure that Faith was enjoying every moment of her humiliation.

The Director sighed as though Willow was a lost cause and pursed her palms together, "Well, we've lost enough time as it is and I have a meeting with the Greeks at eleven, something about wanting their marbles back. Why don't the two of you take a seat and we'll get started."

Willow and Faith each chose one of the Ottomans that sat in front of the Director's desk, Faith crossing her legs demurely while Willow sat with her legs apart and elbows resting on her knees. Even after only a few moments of sitting she began to fidget, reaching out and picking up the rather dusty name plaque which sat on the desk in front of her. Swiping her fingers across the brass plaque, she removed a thick layer of dust to reveal the name beneath: Lara Croft, Director. Willow glanced up to find Lara staring directly at her and she winced, attempting to place the plaque back on the desk a little too quickly she dropped it to the floor with a loud thud. When she finally managed to get the plaque safely back into its rightful spot, both Faith and Lara were glaring at her with raised eyebrows.

"Um…shall we get started?" Willow suggested helpfully, she then sat back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap as though that would stop them from wandering.

"I've read through Rosenberg's research, "Lara began, keeping one eye trained on Willow for a few moments longer before turning to the papers sitting in front of her, "And I am of the opinion that this might just be the information for which we have been searching."

Lara lifted her head and looked directly at Willow, a small congratulatory smile played across her full lips. The redhead's face blanched immediately and her hands unclasped to begin picking absently at the wooden arms of her ottoman.

"It was simply a matter of cross-referencing several known documents…nothing really, I'm sure other scholars would have arrived at a similar conclusion…eventually," Willow explained modestly, "And of course without a firsthand exploration of the monastery it's still mere speculation…I would be the first to admit that while you can learn a great deal from books, nothing quite compares to gathering data in the field."

"And yet everything you say claims the contrary," Faith winked conspiratorially.

Willow glared at Faith as though her words were not perfectly true. It was well known that Willow would do virtually anything to avoid being sent out into the field and away from the safe confines of the British Museum. While the wider population was blissfully unaware of the true evil that lurked unseen in the world around them, Willow knew full well that each old folktale, wild rumor and spirited conjecture had its grain of truth. Those noises in the dead of night were something to be feared; whatever her mother had once told her. She was now quite happy to carry out the research and send Faith out to do the dirty work…although the brunette was notoriously sloppy with her field notes.

Lara largely ignored the banter between the two friends as she continued talking, "Which is precisely why the Council and I have decided to send Faith to the ruins of the monastery at Tirgsor as soon as possible."

Only half-listening, Willow had picked up a small sixteenth century Dogon horseman and was making it trot across Lara's desk. She did not look up to see the piercing expression on Lara's face at the sight of the priceless African artifact being used like a child's toy.

Faith's eyes lit up, her attention focused somewhere other than Willow, "Dracula's library…no doubt there is an exceptionally powerful guardian keeping watch…"

"His name was Vlad, Vlad Tepes," Willow's interest returned as her keenly tuned ears picked up the historical inaccuracy perpetuated by second-rate authors and scaremongers, "And to the best of my knowledge there is nothing guarding the library…"

"Like there was nothing guarding that burial cave in Southern France last year?" Faith reached out and snatched the Dogon artifact from Willow's hand.

"How was I to know a daemon hound was taking refuge in there?" Willow protested her innocence.

"A bloody great wounded daemon hound," Faith stressed the word 'wounded' as she placed the African artifact back on Lara's desk, "The beast was starving and I nearly sated its hunger!"

"Back to the task at hand!" Lara announced even as Willow was about to launch into an explanation that would prove Faith thoroughly enjoyed her meeting with the beast, "I believe your main goals should be…"

As Lara continued briefing Faith, Willow fumed. She knew full well that Faith had reveled in entertaining her colleagues with the story of how she battled the wounded hound with her only weapon being a table fork. She would have had the head stuffed and mounted if not for the necessity of burning the corpse and scattering the ashes in water to avoid the resurrection of the beast at the next full moon.

Willow soon found herself drifting off from the conversation altogether as Faith and Lara turned to discussing uninteresting matters regarding travel plans and contacts. Her eyes roamed Lara's study for a good many minutes even though she had virtually every volume of text in her own office and she could not bear to dwell on the hideous death masks for long before she felt chilled and uncomfortable. For someone involved in her line of work, such a reaction in the presence of a mere death mask was not something you readily admitted to.

While Willow's mind had wandered, Lara had continued her discussion with Faith, "I want Giles to provide you with all the appropriate accoutrement for this type of operation, and I have already passed him a list of items you will require including an ample supply of silver bullets…"

Ugh…weapons, Willow thought with a slight twitch of her nose. It was Faith's favorite subject so she was riveted, making additional suggestions that made it seem as though an army was setting out instead of just one woman. Willow's wandering gaze fell onto the Director, Lara Croft herself. As unaccustomed to flattery and appraisal as she was, Willow could still appreciate that the Director was a sensuously beautiful woman possessed of that rare ability to captivate people's attentions with a mere look. She hated the thought of admitting it even to herself but Faith was right, she did fear Lara's full lips and ample bosom. Just the mere thought of either sent her heart racing uncontrollably. Willow had researched her own problem extensively and had ended up with extensive notes concerning love and lust. Although neither topic had been explained fully enough to satisfy her need for conclusive, textual proof, Willow had decided that she was most definitely not in love with Lara Croft. Lust on the other hand was a reasonable hypothesis but she did not know how to conduct the experiments necessary to draw some sort of conclusion. She had probed Faith for a suitable method but her friend's prying and embarrassing questions had quickly turned her off the idea.

For all official purposes, this was where her research ended. It was only when she was alone in the depths of night, tucked up in bed with her mind continuing to work overtime that she allowed herself to dwell on something other than research. She allowed herself to dream that there was a woman out there somewhere, waiting for her. Her dreams had begun to concern her of late, for no longer did she feel that was all they were. Her instincts told her that this woman was real, even though Willow could not find a face, or a name. Willow could not explain it…and anything the red-haired researcher could not explain, was very dangerous indeed.

Willow snapped back to her senses and realized she had been unconsciously drumming her fingers in a steady beat on the arms of her ottoman. She immediately stopped and gripped the ottoman's arms as though to prevent herself from floating away.

"No, of course not…" Willow swallowed uncomfortably, "I mean, there's nothing more important than a meeting with you Lara…I mean Director Croft. I'm sorry…it's just that I've a huge pile of work to get through."

"Now what she really means to say is that being in a crowd of three is getting to her and she would like to run back to the safety of her little basement office," Faith translated Willow's seemingly innocuous explanation.

Lara audibly ground her teeth in the presence of her two troublesome subordinates. She had often imagined how gratifying it would feel to banish them both from her museum for good. It was an impossible whim. While it would mean freedom from their bickering she would lose two invaluable staff.

Willow was undoubtedly the most gifted researcher she had ever come across. Not only could she translate almost a dozen ancient languages and not bat an eyelid at reading firsthand accounts of all manner of supernatural activity, she had never taken a sick day, worked all the waking hours of the day and did not constantly lobby for a larger office. Even though the little redhead's quirks bordered on the edge of reclusive insanity, she was quite fascinating.

Faith was something altogether different…and Lara knew that she could definitely not find another Faith.

As she sat across the table from the two women, Lara found herself annoyed at the circumstances that kept her relationship with them anything other than strictly professional. Both would have made good friends…and Faith possibly something more. Lara had to stop herself from running the tip of her tongue over her lips as she dwelt on that possibility. As it had to be, she sat forward in her seat and affixed her sternest expression possible.

"For your sakes I hope that the pair of you do not behave like this in public or I will find out and both your heads will roll, mark my words!" Lara growled in an even tone, "Faith, you are leaving for Eastern Europe tomorrow so I suggest you attend immediately to your preparations and Willow, you may return to work and…do whatever it is that you do. If Faith needs any further information from you, see that she has it without delay."

"Yes ma'am," Faith and Willow replied in unison, before beating a hasty retreat from Lara's office.

Hardly subdued, Faith delivered a rather cheeky look over her shoulder back at the Director that Willow did not see. The door closed on Lara's secretive smirk.

Once safely out of Lara's office, both Willow and Faith passed the prickly presence of Cordelia Chase. The secretary gave them a level stare, not taking her eyes off them as though they might purposefully break something just to spite her. As they left the office, Faith turned and jabbed a painting hanging on the wall. The frame tilted and it hung decidedly askew.

"Feeling okay?" Faith asked as she closed the door on the beginning of Cordelia's predictable rant, she gave Willow a playful nudge, "Or is your heart beating a little faster after being in her presence?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about…my heart palpitations are completely normal!" Willow protested a little too vehemently, "You affront me grossly Faith…its Croft we speak of! Not to mention the fact that she's a woman."

Faith cocked an eyebrow and sighed, "Willow, I'm your closest and dearest friend, when are you going to open up to me and admit the desires of your heart?"

"I have no desires." Willow replied all too quickly, "Other than to get back to my office, I'm working on the most interesting document, a fifteen century French translation of a Greek scholar's account of what he thought were simply very odd murders, but I think it is evidence of vampirism in Ancient Greece, imagine…"

"Will, look, it's a beautiful autumn's day outside," Faith interrupted Willow just as the beginnings of a feverish excitement were showing in her expression.

Faith grabbed the scholar by her elbow and dragged her to the nearest window, pointing to the bright sunlight that bathed London's streets in a warm, golden glow.

Willow followed Faith's finger and squinted slightly at the harshness of the sunlight, "That's nice."

"Well, aren't you going to go out and enjoy it? You sit from dawn until dusk in that little office of yours and then you go home and sit alone in your apartment. You're as pale as can be and you do nothing but work…go outside, take your lunch and your camera and just look at everything…who knows, you might even talk to someone new!"

Willow's eyes bulged in mock horror, "Gracious, meet someone new? I don't think so Faith."

Faith growled which Willow took to mean that she had better leave the building or else something very unfortunate would befall her. Given the various weapons that Faith kept concealed about her person, Willow thought she ought to comply.

"Right, that's settled then. Giles wants to see me in the lab, said he's got something new for me," Faith's eyes were wild like a school child's in a candy shop, "Now off with you!"

Willow stood at the entrance to the rather brown looking park with a small trace of annoyance in her expression. In one hand she held a little tin lunch box containing her lunch which she had intended to eat as she usually did, with one hand while continuing to work with the other. She did not intend to waste the time completely as she had brought along her beloved Kodak camera, hanging from a leather strap around her neck.

It took her a few minutes of standing and staring to realize that the reason everything was so brown was that it was actually autumn and the leaves were falling in droves, coating the green grass in a spotty looking coat. Every so often a soft breeze would pick up a few leaves and waft them up into the air. Willow spied an empty park bench and as she walked towards it she realized she had forgotten how pleasant this particular park was with its meandering paths and little stream. Despite the fact that the season heralded the arrival of cold winter weather, it was pleasantly warm and Willow did not miss her overcoat.

Willow ate with her head down, constantly worried that other park users were watching her, this little pale creature who dared to venture out from her basement office. It was only when her lunch was finished that she dared risk a peek to see who else was out and about. It was a diverse range of folks, mostly looking as though they too had escaped from their employment to catch a brief spot of fresh air. Bowler hats and umbrellas tucked beneath arms were in abundance. As Willow scanned the park she began to realize that watching people was actually quite fascinating, although she did feel slightly guilty for staring at particularly odd looking individuals.

There was one in particular whom Willow could not help but stare at. Standing on the other side of a small path was a young woman who for some reason Willow thought was not escaping from some secretarial position in one of the downtown offices by reason of her appearance. Firstly her pale blonde hair was unbound, falling down her back and partially obscuring her face. Willow could only see the curve of a pale cheek. She found herself smirking at the thought that there was someone out there who saw even less sun than she did. The blonde hair fell down over a black coat, apparently made of leather, which obscured the entire length of the woman's body. Willow so desperately wanted to see the woman's face the she stood and shifted slightly to the right, revealing a pair of full lips and a handsomely appointed nose.

Willow instinctively lifted her Kodak and framed the mysterious woman in its viewfinder. She paused for a few moments as a strange feeling of familiarity coursed through her body while looking at the young woman. It was such an odd sensation that Willow felt she ought not to take the woman's picture. She was about to lower her camera when the woman turned and looked over her shoulder, directly at Willow.

The redhead received such at frightful shock that her poised finger jabbed downwards and the shutter clicked audibly. A flush of embarrassment flooded Willow's cheeks as she lowered the camera and found herself eye to eye with the young woman standing on the other side of the path. For the first time she saw that her eyes were an almost too brilliant shade of blue, a piercing look that was oddly warm and yet chilling at the same time.

At the point where a bolder individual may very well have strode across the path and made a dashingly apologetic introduction, Willow raised her hand and gave the woman a silly little wave. She stopped her wave abruptly as though realizing its silliness and tried to make a graceful exit. In her haste, she tripped over her own feet and made the first few steps of her getaway look like a circus act. Willow practically ran from the park with her head down, clutching her Kodak tightly to her chest. Her lunch box remained forgotten on the park bench.

If Willow had glanced back over her shoulder she would have seen the sad but knowing smile on the woman's face, as though Willow's antics were all too familiar. A scene from a book she had not read for a long time.

With Willow out of sight, she crossed the path and folded herself gracefully onto the park bench upon which the redhead had sat. Her black coat fell gracefully about her as she picked up the tin lunch box Willow had forgotten.

Tonight unfolded like any other of the season. Sir John's party was gay enough to be sure. All the names were present but I was fearfully bored. Father has been waylaid in Plymouth this past week, so Edward escorted mother and I with his approval. I must note that father expects Edward to ask for my hand soon and I know he shall give his consent for it is a very fine match. I do not wish to dwell on it but I should think that this time next season, for better or for worse, I shall be Mrs Edward Walsh…though I know full well my heart yearns for another. Someone who is intelligent where Edward is slow- witted, interesting rather than dull and so very handsome when compared to Edward's rather homely features. Oh I know looks should count for naught but if you could just see W! Wonderful, precious W whom I have not seen for months. W whom I was delighted to reacquaint myself with tonight at Sir John's party. The moment our eyes met, it was clear that neither of us had forgotten the last, lingering kiss we shared in the Marlborough's stables that windswept spring day. I would have liked for nothing more in the world than to resume that kiss, for W to sweep me close and smother me with those lips. As we stared at one another, my bosom heaved as though the kiss were a reality and not mere fantasy. I found myself imaging W's hands roaming over my flesh. I was lost. It was a summons from Edward that broke me out of my reverie and I awoke from the dream in W's eyes. I barely had time to whisper a promise of a more intimate meeting before W too was summoned away by Abraham and I stood alone in the crowded room. The whole time we had laid not one finger on each other, nor even taken one step closer together, yet I could remember the touch of her hands on my flesh.

When I returned to Edward he questioned me as to what W and I conversed about, "The state of the roads and the weather," remarked I (for both have indeed been dreadful this season).

If Edward detected my lie he said nothing and continued in his boring voice, "W does look particularly well."

Willow Rosenberg was in her element. She was perched behind a desk every bit as large as that belonging to Lara Croft. The fact that it had seen better days did not seem to worry her in the slightest. The desk's entire surface was stacked high with all manner of books and manuscripts with no apparent rhyme or reason to their organization. Even the space directly in front of Willow was stacked with paper. Every so often she scribbled with mad energy on the topmost sheet, dipping her pen in an ink jar balanced atop a stack of books. She would them resume reading the text that lay in her lap until her next bout of scribbling.

A loud rap startled Willow. She jerked upright from where she was hunched over the text and one hand hit the lip of her desk. If the desk had been any less solid, there would have been a disaster involving puddles of ink and priceless manuscripts. As it was, Willow shook her hand up and down furiously as she turned to see Faith standing in her office doorway.

Faith glanced up at the single light bulb that dangled overhead and squinted at its feeble light, "It's a wonder you do not go blind Will, how can you see anything in this gloom?'

Willow's brow furrowed and she studied her tiny office as though she had not noticed. A small amount of natural light filtered down from the slit of a window just below the ceiling. The overcast skies outside and heavy grill covering the glass combined to make it smaller still. In response to Faith's question Willow shrugged, she could see everything just fine. There were walls of books stacked to the ceiling and more stacked on the floor. In fact, besides the desk and a rag rug on the floor, books were the only real furnishings. There was little else in the room besides a few artifacts that Faith had brought back from her travels around the globe. A Native American dreamcatcher above her desk (as Willow tended to do most of her sleeping there), an assortment of rather wicked looking African war spears stacked in one corner, sever idols crammed into available nooks on the shelves and a cavalry saber that had been in Willow's family for generations in pride of place above the doorway.

"I have excellent eyesight," Willow answered quickly, she appeared a little furtive and her gaze kept twitching back to the manuscript in front of her, "What do you want?"

Faith arched an eyebrow. She knew exactly what that tone in Willow's voice indicated. Whatever it was that she was working on had engrossed her to the point where she could not bear to be interrupted.

"A better question is what is so important that it could keep you from coming to see me off before I leave for the dark and mysterious depths of Eastern Europe from which I may never return?" Faith fired the question back at Willow.

"Yes I know, 'these texts were so fascinating that I could not draw myself away to say farewell to my dearest friend,'" Faith imitated Willow's scholarly tone, "You should be ashamed of yourself, Rosenberg, now come and assist with my preparations to atone for your crime!"

Faith reached down and grabbed Willow's wrist in order to haul her up and out of her seat. Willow protested only at the movement of her crooked and stiffened limbs. She was made to move much too fast, too soon but Faith did not seem to notice or care.

Willow's office may have been in the basement of the British Museum but there were other levels deeper down and far more private than her little den. This was where Faith now led her, into the warrens where the majority of their department was based far away from the museum's day-to-day staff. A solitary black-coated man let them through a rather rickety looking elevator at the end of a dark corridor. To an outsider, it looked like the repository for the Museum's garbage. Their department's staff had perpetuated that appearance by never cleaning the rusty wrought iron cage and there was one spot in the elevator's wooden floor that was completely rotten where all knew not to put their foot.

If anyone asked Willow or Faith what their department was actually called they would simply reply 'The Department of Oddities' and not offer any further explanation. However Faith once went as far to reply to one dismissive curator that it was the department of 'phenomena that everyone else ignores.' Both Willow and Faith liked that particular explanation as it summed up the truth of their world quite nicely. No one else wanted to believe that creatures such as vampires, demons and ghouls walked the shadows of the world. Faith had saved countless people from a hideous death and they had been none the wiser for it and not in the least bit grateful. Once Willow's research and Faith's brawn had saved the world from the hell god, Ataxerxes, preventing his resurrection and subsequent storms of fire and brimstone…again, the rest of the world had not paused to notice save for a page two reference in The Times to the wanton vandalism of an ancient Persian tomb. Faith had destroyed the tomb in order to prevent a repeat performance seven hundred and fifty years later.

The corridors two stories below ground were much the same as those above, although of course lacking windows. An abundant smattering of paintings covered the walls attempted to compensate for lack of a view. While picturesque landscapes could have served the purpose, most of the paintings were of old men in stiff, formal poses. There was one particular painting of the formidable 'Abraham Van Helsing,' that Willow hated to look at. Old 'Abe' as Faith called him, unnerved Willow every time she passed. Faith also teased her mercilessly about her resemblance to the old man, Willow could see very little of this other than that they both had bright green eyes.

Willow passed old 'Abe' now, and he appeared to be staring down his nose at her just as he always did. She turned up her own nose in defiance as she passed and gratefully followed Faith through a door bearing a heavy brass plaque stating, 'Implements and Inventions.' Someone had affixed a ratty piece of paper above the plaque bearing a single name, Dr Rupert Giles.

"Faith, Willow, come in ladies, come in!" the very man himself greeted them warmly as soon as they entered, even though they could not see him in the gloom.

The room was in complete darkness. Willow shivered as the shadows pressed in on her from all sides, she hated the dark. Subconsciously she began edging backwards towards the door and the lit corridor outside. Icy fingers gripped her arm and she yelped audibly. Spinning around she found the outline of Myles' face staring back at her, his white teeth flashing in a smile.

A beam a light suddenly cut through the darkness, and then a second. Willow shielded her eyes with her fingers as it shone directly into her eyes.

"Giles, what is that?" Faith asked with some excitement, Willow saw her move forward to the source of the light.

Willow sighed with relief as the room was once again light up completely to reveal Giles perched on his stool behind his work desk. He held in his hands two metal tubes with bulbs at one end. A small switch on the side was flicked and the bulbs went out.

"I call it a beamlight, some chap was designing a decorative device for potted plants, would never make any money of course…but I saw its potential for this!" Giles waved one of his tube devices excitedly, "A simple tube containing batteries connected to a bulb. The original zinc-carbon batteries ran down too quickly but I simply switched them to ones of my own creation with an alkaline/manganese core and voila, portable electric light for all those dark places."

"Great idea…stupid name," Faith commented as she accepted the pair that Giles handed her.

"Here's one for you too, Willow," Giles passed another of his little tubes across the table.

Willow nodded her thanks and looked down at the portable light, for someone who was afraid of the dark, it was a great gift.

Willow shared a close relationship with the inventor, she thought of him as a father figure, although would never actually admit it to him. Although in truth she had spent more time with him than her own father and known him almost as long. Giles had been her very first tutor, or rather, her brother's tutor. At first she had hid in the closet during Alex's lessons until an inadvertent sneeze had given her away. Rather than banish her from the schoolroom, Giles had allowed her to stay. He even stood up to her mother's protestations that little girls did not need to receive the same education as boys. As a result, Willow had started early on Greek, Latin and the Classics up until Giles had been dismissed shortly after her brother's death. Giles remained a figure throughout her childhood and on into adolescence although their communication was almost solely through the mail. He would send her books on archaeology, puzzles and ciphers for her to work out, and translation lessons to complete and post back for marking. While Willow continued to have a succession of tutors appointed by her mother, her real learning took place by mail.

She did not see Giles again until she was seventeen, at which time she had learnt of his approach to her parents with the suggestion that she attend Girton College, the first residential college for women in England. Willow remained uncertain exactly why her father had taken up Giles' suggestion and allowed her to enroll in the College despite the fact that public opinion would deny women access to higher education at all. Giles himself remained close-mouthed on the conversation that had taken place between him and her father. For someone who enjoyed unraveling mysteries as much as Willow, it was a source of constant irritation.

The College taught women on the same level as men although they were not allowed to take degrees. Willow had however excelled in every subject and examination. Her path from Girton to the British Museum had also been surprisingly easy, especially as Willow had prepared herself to face the realities of her sex upon leaving the college at the age of twenty. She did not expect to find gainful employment of any kind, let alone an occupation as stimulating and with as much scope as the one in which she found herself. Giles had once again stepped in with an invitation to work in the Department of Oddities at the British Museum. While Willow had found her initial induction into the Department's weird and dangerous doings hard to stomach, she soon found that it was still just research…although infinitely more fascinating.

"Willow doesn't need a bloody light!" Faith protested as she saw Giles pass one to Willow, "She doesn't leave London let alone travel to the dark places I do!"

"Faith," Giles growled, "Stop being ungrateful, "Besides, I've several other items here that might also interest you…"

As Faith allowed herself to be distracted by a self-loading crossbow that fired silver bolts, Willow and Myles found an immense amount of enjoyment in trying out the beamlight. The two acted like children as they crawled beneath the benches in Giles' office and discovered all manner of discarded bits and bobs on the floor with the light. Giles did not even notice their antics until he had finished loading Faith's bag full of weird instruments almost half an hour later. He glanced up to see Myles and Willow poking and prodding at a glass jar containing a large, pink, gelatinous object swimming a clear liquid.

"You two, put that down!" he squeaked, practically leaping across the distance that separated him from the two troublemakers.

"What is it?" Myles asked in fascination, allowing Giles to take the jar out of his hands.

"The heart of a Cretan Minotaur," Giles replied, "He now stalks the halls of the British Museum as a ghost, slicing the hands off little boys who touch things that they ought not to!"

Willow giggled at the horrified look on Myles' face and turned her attention back to Faith, who was strapping up the hefty bag Giles had given her. She put on her best apologetic expression as Faith noticed she was looking and glanced across at her.

"Faith," Willow began in a small voice, "I'm awfully sorry about how rude I was earlier but I was wondering if you would be able…"

"Yes Willow, I will bring you back as many books as I can carry," Faith did not even need to hear the rest of the researcher's question to know exactly what it was she would ask for, "Satisfied?"

"Yes, very…safe travels, Faith," Willow said sincerely, "I guess we'll see you when you get back…with an armload of books."

"Don't get up to any mischief while I'm gone…either of you!" Faith warned, pointing her finger at Willow and Myles in turn.

Faith took a few last minute instructions from Giles before she hefted the bag onto her shoulder. Willow did not doubt that she would soon see the brunette strolling through the exact same door with a plethora of new tales to tell…and hopefully a few new books from a forgotten library. As Faith left, she spied a thin volume on Giles' desk with a promising title and began flipping through it.

Myles glanced up at Willow as Faith shut the door behind her. He poked her in the arm to get her to look up from the book she was browsing.

"Don't you want to ride off with her?" asked Myles with clear longing in his voice, "Just once?"

"Absolutely not," Willow replied promptly, "There's more than enough adventure for me in here."

"Well, it seems awfully exciting to me," Myles sighed wistfully, "But then the most exciting thing I usually get to do is polish the swords."

Myles picked up a wickedly sharp looking dagger with a carved handle inset with rubies and absently picked at the wooden desk beneath it.

"And that's all you'll be doing for the rest of your very short young life if you do not stop gouging holes in my table!" Giles snapped yet again, he then saw Willow trying to hide one of his books behind her back in order to sneak it out with her, "Out with the both of you…out!"

On Saturday afternoon of that week, Willow found herself standing on the top step of a quaint, well-proportioned terraced house owned by Ira and Sheila Rosenberg. She reached up to knock on the pale blue door but paused before she brought knuckles down as though contemplating turning around. However she knew that would only delay the inevitable. In order to play the part of dutiful daughter, she had to actually spend time with her parents once in a while no matter how unpleasant the task was. Besides, she had donned a skirt and shirt for the occasion so she thought she may as well torture herself further.

Willow knocked on the door twice and barely had to wait two seconds before a stiff backed butler swung it open to allow her entrance. She had barely placed a foot over the threshold when she was engulfed by a tiny storm in mauve taffeta and white lace. Willow drew in a huge gulp of air before arms went around her neck and threatened to strangle her. It seemed like an eternity as the taffeta clad strangler danced around her much too enthusiastically. On the verge of passing out, Willow was forced to push the miniature storm away and hold it at arm's length.

Shelia Rosenberg finally accepted that her daughter did not appreciate the over-enthusiastic greeting and allowed her a minimal amount of breathing space. She did however maintain a strong grip on Willow's elbow as though fearing she might run away again.

Shelia carried the same shade of red hair as her daughter but while Willow's hair sat straight and plain down to her shoulders; hers was piled atop her head in an elaborate mass of curls in an attempt to add height. Where Willow had hardly any meat on her bones, Sheila was in danger of having too much. Her bosom strained against the taffeta trying to keep it at bay. She carried with her the faint but sickly aroma of chocolate and candied fruit as well as far too much apple blossom fragrance in an effort to disguise the former.

"You'll forgive your mother won't you Wilhelmina, we don't see you very often!" Shelia beamed, rosy cheeks sparkling as she sized her daughter up.

Willow sighed heartily at the sound of her given name, "I prefer Willow…everyone else I know is more than happy to use it."

"Well your father and I are not 'everyone!'" Shelia replied shortly, for some reason she was pinching the flesh on Willow's upper arm, "No parent in their right mind would call their child Willow."

Willow had to physically fight her own body to stop herself from stomping her foot in angry exclamation as she had done so many times as child. The urge was fixed by turning her left foot inwards and standing on her own right foot.

She suddenly noticed just how hard her mother was squeezing and she yanked her arm away. Shelia looked slightly take aback by the vehemence of Willow's reaction but she brushed it off with a small chuckle as though Willow was just being silly.

"You're awfully skinny darling, are you not eating? Well, it's a good thing cook has prepared the most sumptuous meal because you are in danger of fading into nothing!"

Willow nodded as though she were looking forward to the meal although in truth eating with her mother always ruined her appetite. Sheila was in the habit of talking constantly throughout the meal, barely giving Willow a chance to take a bite of anything before demanding conversation. Having grown up in such company, it was why Willow now preferred to eat alone.

Sheila led Willow through the house, all the while talking in an animated voice. Willow paid scant attention but all she was really required to do was nod at appropriate moments and largely agree with her mother's every word.

"Colonel!" Shelia bellowed suddenly as they entered the formal dining room, "Colonel!"

Despite Sheila's bellows, Ira Rosenberg did not see fit to join his wife and daughter until they were halfway through the first course. He did not appear to be the sort of man who would be ordered about by his wife. He too was of small stature but rather than compensate with his hair, of which he had none, Ira made up for it with his bearing. He carried himself with the military precision possessed only by someone who had spent the greater part of his life in the army which indeed Ira had. For nearly thirty years he had served in Her Majesty's Army, making a name for himself in the colonies and eventually being given a staff post in India. It was in India that he met Shelia who was a High Commissioner's daughter and where his two children were born. It was only with great reluctance that he retired and returned to England for his son's education. His military background persisted into civilian life and he was always referred to as 'Colonel,' even by his own wife.

He now paused to deposit the barest graze of a kiss on Willow's cheek with a murmured, "Daughter."

Willow caught a whiff of brandy as he leaned in close, it had always been present but now smelt stronger than ever.

"Good evening, Father," she replied, never being able to bring herself to call her own father 'Colonel.'

Ira quickly moved to his seat at the head of the table without a further glance in his daughter's direction. Willow sighed discreetly and ate another spoonful of the rich and creamy chicken soup; it was tasteless in her mouth.

The courses then flew by in a whirl of one-sided conversation. Shelia was exceptionally gifted at getting her point across with her mouth full and another forkful on the way. Willow just shifted her food around on her plate with her fork and felt what little she had eaten start to congeal in her stomach.

Willow desperately wanted to escape after dinner but before she knew what was happening her mother had ushered her into the sitting room and left her with no choice but to sit down. She deliberately chose the most uncomfortable chair in the room so as not to fall asleep when Shelia began plying her with suggestions of potential husbands, describing the merits of each in great detail. Her mother poured a large glass of red wine for herself and took a hefty gulp before starting on an all too familiar rant.

"Now that young Swainson lad, a year younger than you but I don't think he can afford to be picky with skin like his, now he would make a fine match. His family are involved in wool in Wiltshire and have a fine estate just outside of Westbury, it is Westbury isn't it Colonel?" Sheila craned her neck in her husband's direction but was nonplussed by his resulting bored shrug, "Well, I'm sure it's Westbury…wouldn't be too far for the Colonel and I to come and visit often."

Willow nodded in response, she was sure the 'Swainson lad' was nice enough whether he had skin problems or not, she was just not in the least bit excited by the prospect of marriage. The thought of her parents 'visiting often' almost brought on a small fit.

"Oooh!" Sheila exclaimed with delight and clapped her hands together as though she had just won at bridge, "Sir Joseph Pharazyn's wife died last month in childbirth, the poor thing was always a bit frail…it's a bit too soon to make a move now but perhaps next month we can invite ourselves to Banbury for tea. I've heard his children are very well-behaved, not that you have to worry about the children…that's what nannies are for."

Willow was sure that she had heard her mother state on several occasions that the seven Pharazyn children were horrid little devils. Although Willow had nothing against children, she did not think she could handle seven children…spawn of the devil or not.

Sheila pursed her lips together thoughtfully as she considered further options, "There's always Sir Joseph's brother, Robert, you've met him haven't you?"

"He stole my copy of Thucydides when we were ten," Willow growled as though it were the worst crime anyone could commit, "I haven't spoken to him since."

"That's wonderful dear, so you two will have something in common…I've heard he will be at the Barton's party next week where they're announcing Beth's engagement. Honestly, I don't know how a trollop like that could have landed a nice young man like Matthew Phelps. She is awfully homely…still, I suppose her dowry was 10,000 pounds and the Phelp's have never recovered from the old man's gambling debts," Sheila paused as though she had lost her train of thought, "Where was I? Oh, Robert…yes, you will have to attend the Barton's party. We should go to Crozier's this week to size you up for a new gown, I'm sure those ones I had made for you last season will hang on your body like sacks, you've lost so much weight."

Willow glanced downwards, quite sure that she was exactly the same size as she had been the previous year. In fact, she did not think she had gone up or down a size in the past ten years. Once she'd hit fifteen, she had stopped growing in any direction.

"I'm not much for parties," Willow managed to squeeze a word in as her mother took another gulp of wine, "I think…"

"Well…" Willow wanted to say that she would prefer it if no one ever noticed her but Sheila had other ideas.

"You're actually quite pretty Wilhelmina…red hair is definitely not in fashion of course but that never prevented me from being snapped up by your father…"

"…if you did something with your wretchedly awful hair and applied some more color to your face…you would have no trouble in attracting scores of men. You're twenty-six…"

Sheila did not miss a beat, "…and sooner or later people will start calling you a spinster to your face…they already do behind you back and how it vexes me so! It's a reflection on me as much as you."

Willow quite liked the idea of being labeled a spinster. Women in her mother's circle said the term in the same tone of voice as they might say 'leper' and she liked the prospect of being untouchable. Perhaps then her mother would leave all this talk of marriage and move onto more sensible topics of conversation like politics and war. Willow glanced across to her father, longing to discuss with him the major military buildup in the Cape Colony and the likely prospect of another war. Instead he remained immersed in his paper. She turned her attention back to Sheila as she poured another glass of wine.

"Mother, I think I should…" Willow had had more than enough of her mother for one day.

"Or what about Foster's son, you know him," Sheila gestured at her husband with her wine glass, "Foster served in the 107th with you didn't he Colonel?"

"No backbone whatsoever," Ira grumbled over the top of the fourth page of The Times, his only addition to the conversation, "Won't have my daughter marrying the son of a coward!"

Sheila shrugged and took another long gulp from her glass before continuing with a list of further names.

On the whole Ira Rosenberg said very little, he remained seated on the very edge of his chair as he read his paper as though he were about to get up and leave at any time. He looked for all the world as though he wanted this torment to be over as soon as possible. It would not have bothered Willow so much if she did not remember sitting on his lap while he spoke of his adventures in the East, of foreign sights and spices. She could not remember exactly what he said, but always she would plead, "Tell us more Daddy!" The 'us' was referring to herself and her brother. Alexander was three years her elder and the apple of her father's eye. He often sat straight-backed on his stool in a manner imitating his father but always had patience for his sister. When Willow was five years old, the serious but kind-hearted boy was suddenly struck with a wasting illness. In just three days Alex was dead and both Ira and Shelia Rosenberg were forever changed. Ira retreated into the glory days of his past now that he was unable to live the life he had imagined through his son. Seemingly removing herself from all responsibilities as a mother, Shelia became self-centered and intent on allowing herself enough food and drink to satisfy an entire household.

Willow had then grown up under the care of a succession of nannies and tutors, most being driven away by her mother fairly quickly. It had been a lonely childhood until Willow had discovered that she had all the friends she could ever want between the pages of books. She devoured every written word that her eyes fell upon, beginning with the simple children's stories that adults saw fit for her to read. However, being an incredibly sharp young girl spurred on by interesting mail from Giles, Willow soon became dissatisfied with fairy tales. She discovered that behind the door of her father's study lay an entire world waiting to be discovered. There the young girl had wandered Ancient Greece with Odysseus, fled the fall of Troy with Aeneas, journeyed to the center of the Earth with Verne and by the age of ten was grappling with Tolstoy. She suspected that her father had sent her to Girton not out of any progressive sentiments, but simply because he could see that she would not make a good wife for any man…she was wed to knowledge. Sheila however, had never come to this realization and persisted in her match-making efforts much to Willow's disgust. She had even invited potential suitors to dine with them until Willow had refused to come to dinner unless the practice was discontinued.

Willow was saved from further humiliation on this occasion by the Rosenberg's butler entering with a tray of assorted chocolates. Shelia rubbed her hands together gleefully at the sight of the sweets and as she shoveled several in her mouth at once there was finally a pause in the conversation long enough for Willow to finally announce that she was leaving. It drew a most predictable response from her mother.

"But Wilhelmina darling, stay and have a drink with us!" Shelia pleaded even as she continued to chomp on the sweets crammed in her mouth.

Sheila rose from her couch and stumbled a little on her plump legs as she reached out to Willow. As the wine glass in her hand swayed dangerously, the antique Persian at her feet was saved only by the fact that the wine remaining in the glass was barely a stain at the bottom. Quite disgusted at her mother's lack of restraint, Willow took a noticeable step backwards in the direction of the door. She watched as her mother implored her with chocolate stained fingers. Her father remained seated, back stiff as a ramrod, on his perch. Willow knew, without him saying a word, that he did not care if she left. As soon as she was gone he would banish his wife to her own parlor and retire to his library to relive his life in India by drowning himself in brandy and smoking several thick cigars.

"I don't think so mother, you've had quite enough for the both of us," Willow replied bravely, further digging the grave marked for an ungrateful child.

Not normally driven to outright disrespect, Willow's nerves were completely frayed by the extended audience with her parents. For someone who relished solitude, being in the company of Shelia Rosenberg was like being in a crowd with everyone trying to talk at once.

Only the sound of such disrespectful words could have moved Ira Rosenberg to join in a conversation in which he had wanted no part. Talk of marriage was best left to his wife; his only part would be to bestow the blessing on a future son in law.

"You will apologize to your mother, Wilhemina," Ira rumbled quietly, stabbing his finger in Willow's direction.

Willow knew for a fact that her father expected his answer post haste. However, though the words were already on her lips, she found they would not come. Instead, she stared at the squat little man with his chin thrust forward, waiting for her to utter the apology and felt rebellion creep into her body. She knew full well that she should fight such thoughts down, keep them under control, but she was so tired of playing the dutiful daughter when her parents gave her absolutely nothing in return…nothing except an awful headache.

"I'm sorry Mother…" as Willow began she saw her father nod approvingly, "but I was just speaking the truth, you do drink too much and I for one would wish you to stop."

Willow turned on her father, "You would wish her to stop too…if only you actually cared."

As she turned to leave, Willow could hear Ira's teeth grinding and her mother making little strangled noises as she struggled to draw a proper breath. She half expected her father to physically stop her from leaving and demand a second, sincere apology but there was no move made. As soon as she was out of that stifling room, Willow ran the rest of the way to the front door and out of the house. Once outside she slowed to a fast walk but did not turn and look back.

Without realizing it Willow's feet did not take her back to her little flat as she had originally intended. Instead she found herself tracing a path that she rarely used, past the brightly lit windows of London's finest stores. She dodged strolling couples uncomfortably, feeling as though their eyes were always on her. Men in tipped their bowler hats to her and most often she barely managed a shy smile in return as she scurried past. Willow thought of her homey flat and wondered again why on earth she was walking the streets of London, alone and nearing dark, when she could be tucked up with the Thomas Hardy novel that she had been trying to find the time to read.

Her internal question was answered several minutes later when she found herself standing in exactly the same spot in which she had stood the previous afternoon. She surveyed the park, no longer lit up with bright sunshine but descending into the long shadows of night. One thing was the same however, sitting on the park bench exactly where she had left it in such a hurry, was her tin lunch box. She crossed to the bench and picked her favorite lunch box up with some relief. Her fingers traced its familiar lines as though there was something about it that was different. The feeling was so intense that she half expected to find something odd concealed inside. All she found were a few sandwich crumbs.

Willow rapped her knuckles on the lid of the box, a hollow sound in the almost empty park. When a few passersby scurried past her as though she were quite mad, Willow realized that she had been staring at the spot where she had seen the mysterious blonde woman. Her lips parted slightly as she drew in a breath, trying to work out a rational explanation for her actions. Rather than accept the possibility that she'd walked several blocks to stare at a spot where a stranger had once stood, Willow concluded that she had come to find her lunchbox.

You've got your lunchbox Willow, she thought, tucking the ordinary tin box under her arm, There's absolutely no other reason for you to be standing in the park…alone…and it's getting dark…

As Willow made her second hasty exit from the park in as many days, she too began to believe she was quite mad. She glanced up ahead and saw the one place where she knew she could restore her sanity and put what had been an awful day behind her. At 5.30pm on a Saturday evening, Willow Rosenberg ducked through the employee's entrance to the British Museum. Security guards and cleaners greeted her warmly as she passed by on her way down to her basement. While Willow managed a smile for each, she did not stop until she reached her office. Only when the door was closed firmly behind her did she feel like her old self. The papers on her desk beckoned like old friends and she eagerly sat down to bury herself in something she could actually understand.

Myles found her still at her desk in the morning when he started work…sprawled fast asleep across her papers with an ink-stained thumb.

I know I am getting ahead of myself but my mother is insufferable! She cornered me as I was reading in the sitting room this evening. In truth I was not reading at all although I am usually quite fond of the Bard's work. I was engaged in the study of a small portrait I had tucked between the pages. I had been tracing the familiar chin and lingering over those perfectly proportioned lips which, though they were pursed together in a somber manner, I imagined curling up into one of her fantastically warm smiles. For all the talent of the artist, the portrait could not do her justice. Her locks were not red enough, nor her eyes green or as sparkling as they are in reality. I have not seen her since September but her eyes burn as brightly in my mind as though I saw them just yesterday. (It is this horrid weather which keeps us all indoors and starved of parties or picnics, or any other opportunity I might have to see her!).

I was forced to snap my worn little volume closed as my mother approached without announcing herself until she was almost on top of me. Her immediate conversation came across a little forced. She inquired what I was reading, to which I replied, 'As You Like It.' I noticed her dismissive glance at the mention of the comedy, I suppose she would rather have me reading something dreary like 'Romeo and Juliet.' I rather wickedly added that I very much enjoyed Rosalind in her mannish disguise and her expression became distraught indeed. At that moment I realized what deceitful daughter I was, concealing the truth of my feelings for another woman from my own mother who has naught but my best interests at heart.

She then proceeded to drill me at length on Edward's merits. By the end of her speech even I thought that he was some saint, perhaps George in his shining armor slaying dragons and winning the hearts of fair maidens. But as she continued, with fervor in her voice that frightened me, I began to see through her words for the fakery they were. It is a sad day indeed when a young lady realizes that she can no longer depend on the council of her mother.

I began to see just how serious she was about the whole Edward affair when I dared question her careful plans. I merely suggested that Edward may not be the one for me and it was as though the very fires of hell were unleashed. She swiftly moved from exposing Edward's merits to naming me an 'ungrateful wretch.' From what I could then gather of the torrent of words flowing from her lips, it was my duty to marry well in order to salvage the last scraps of the Maclay reputation. Her words did shock me somewhat, while I was aware that money was perhaps not as abundant as it ought to be, I was not aware that father's debts had eaten into almost everything. Mother made it clear that my marriage to Edward was not just a formality, but a necessity. My duty was clear, when Edward asked me to marry him I would say yes. There was no other answer to give. Until then I would attend functions on his arm, hang on his every word and be in all outward appearances the model of a perfect young lady. Mother was in tears by the time she had finished and my own eyes burned fiercely. With W's portrait concealed within my volume of Shakespeare, I made a hasty exit from the room lest I say anything that would cause my mother further heartache. As I made my way through the house I felt oppressed, as though the very walls were conspiring against me.

As I felt suffocated, I ran to my bedroom window and threw it open, shivering as a cold blast of winter air hit me like a wall. I gazed out into the darkness that surrounded the house and willed the wind to carry me away. I imagined soaring away from my mother and the walls of the house which I now saw as my prison, it would carry me over field, stream and wood until I reached Hagley Park. W would be waiting for me there. I would fall into her arms and never again dwell on the thought of being forced to marry Edward Walsh. It was a simple wish, just for two people to be together.

The harder that I wished this miracle would occur, the more freely hot tears splashed onto my cheeks. They lingered there for but a second before being driven away by the wind. It did not pick me up and take me away. I was left standing at the window with the curtains whipping into a frenzy around my body. I cursed my fate to be born into such a cruel world, a world that forced people to marry against their wishes and not for love. I curse the world still. More anon diary, for I cannot write another sentence on this night.

Willow's brow was furrowed and the very tip of her pink tongue protruded from her lips, both signs of intense concentration. Her white shirt sleeves were rolled back, up over her elbows and her waist coat hung open in a relaxed fashion. She worked a pencil across a sheet of paper in front of her, pausing every few moments to review her work before continuing. As the time passed, the lines spreading across the paper formed into a shape from her memory. It was an image that burned behind her eyes, even almost two months after seeing it for the first time.

Her furrow brow deepened when she was not happy with some aspect. She picked up her eraser and wiped a portion of the drawing from the page before continuing. Her pencil worked for a few more minutes before she held the end of it in her lips to free up her fingers and create shading. She smeared the pencil at appropriate points, the pencil between her lips swaying with her movements.

The tip of her index finger blackened, Willow retrieved her pencil from between her lips and added a few more necessary touches. A small smile spread across her face as the sketch neared completion. Willow paused again, drawn before her was an almost perfect representation of the woman she had seen in the park.

She could not begin to explain it, but even two months after their fleeting encounter she could not forget the pale stranger. Although had lasted mere minutes in one day of her busy life, Willow felt as though their meeting had some sort of significance. A week after the meeting she had tried to shrug it off with the simple explanation that the woman was exceptionally beautiful, why would she not create a lasting impression? Two weeks later and she was still on Willow's mind, interfering with her research and whatever personal time she had. When she slept, she would see her face. In the absence of a name or a voice, her face was all Willow had. Two months later, her symptoms had not changed and the desire to know more was driving her insane.

Willow could not bring herself to develop the photograph she had taken of the woman on her Kodak. As much as she wanted to, she felt as though she had violated the woman's privacy. Although at the same time, she could not bring herself to destroy the roll of film. It was tucked away at the back of the bottom drawer of her desk…hidden but not forgotten.

An irreverent yell burst through her concentration by scaring the living daylights out of her. Willow jumped sharply, stabbing the lead of her pencil down so hard that the lead snapped off. She stared with irritation at the resulting dark spot on her portrait but was thankful it had not been on the nose or anywhere else noticeable. As the whirlwind that was Myles Cavendish entered her office, Willow shoved the scrap of paper beneath a partially unraveled scroll. She turned and was pleasantly surprised to see a second person following the boy.

"Miss me?" Faith swept into the room, still clad in her dusty riding leathers and a badly rumpled travelling jacket.

"Faith!" Willow greeted her friend with genuine warmth even as she gave Myles an annoyed glare for his spontaneous and unannounced entrance.

She scraped her chair back and stood to join the others. Willow took one look at Faith's dirty clothing and neatly sidestepped any potential embrace.

"I'm not touching you until you've changed!" Willow yelped as Faith back her up against her chair.

Faith glanced down. She was covered, as much as she could see, in dust as well as a generous splattering of mud. Her boots were caked in the stuff and small clumps had been tracked across Willow's rug. When she glanced back up she was pleased to see that Willow was so pre-occupied with her return, she had not noticed the accompanying mud.

She did of course realize that much of Willow's preoccupation was not to do with her own presence, but rather the satchel which was thrown over her shoulder. Willow had her eyes fixed on it, shifting from one foot to another as though she were about to launch into a dance.

"Before your head explodes…" Faith began as she swung the satchel from her shoulder so she could open it, "The library was mostly empty…"

"Empty!" Willow cried in despair, it was as though her entire world had just come crashing down, "How could it have been empty…was it cleared out by thieves or perhaps Dracula's…I mean Vlad's cohorts?"

"The church I believe," Faith replied quickly, not wanting to prolong Willow's distress, "There were several painted inscriptions on the walls to ward off evil spirits…I tried to glean additional information but there was little to be had other than that every scrap of parchment may have been burned almost 150 years ago. No evidence of fire with the actual ruins of the monastery itself, or the library so I would say they had it taken away."

"They burned the books," Willow whispered in abject horror, there was hardly a more heinous crime in her opinion.

Faith flipped open her satchel and withdrew an armload of leather folders and several books, "Will, calm down, all was not lost, I discovered a secret compartment and within lay these…I had not the opportunity to discern their contents but I hope they at least make up for some of your disappointment."

Willow accepted the armload gratefully, "Well, I don't know if any small amount of material will compensate for burnt books…but thank you."

Willow scanned through the leather folders which all held sheets of parchment covered in a foreign scrawl. She instantly noted that most were in Latin, with a few more exciting prospects bearing the runic Rovas script native to Hungary. Those folders she set down on her desk and scanned the book titles. Of the four that Faith had brought back with her, two were account books, one was a library catalogue – a cruel reminder of what had been lost – and the other was an anomaly.

"It's a diary," Willow said with a small frown flipping the fourth book over in her hands

"I know, I had a quick look at it," Faith nodded, "The initial text is in English and most of the dates I can make out are eighteenth century so I'm not at all sure how it even came to be at Tirgsor…not to mention hidden in a secret compartment with papers of real historical significance…just seems to be sentimental feminine rubbish."

Willow was flipping through the diary as Faith spoke, scanning dates and noting that it was written in a clear, almost elegant hand.

"It mostly appears to be talking about marriage…as you would expect of an eighteenth century woman's diary," Faith continued with a dismissive shrug.

"A woman's diary!" Myles craned his neck to catch a better glimpse of the worn volume, "Any naughty bits?'

"You wouldn't know a naughty bit if I slapped you in the face with it, Myles," Faith cuffed the lad lightly over the back of his head.

"I agree…although the text changes half way through and I can't decipher it. It's not any language I'm familiar with, or can recognize…which is strange as I can recognize most," Willow voice betrayed her slight professional annoyance at not being able to recognize the script, There's an address inside the front cover though…"

Willow flicked the pages aside and looked at the inside of the leather bound cover, it was more than a little strange. There was an address somewhere in Hampshire that she was unfamiliar with, it had been struck out with a single, heavy black line. A small inscription in the same hand followed.

"Dearest W, Farewell – May this token of me provide you some comfort," Willow read aloud before squinting to read the single letter following, "And then what looks like a J…or a T perhaps."

Willow ignored them both and traced her fingers over a second address which followed the inscription. It was written in the same heavy black pen that had struck out the first address. It was an address in Bloomsbury, written in a clear and precise hand that Willow immediately admired for its penmanship. She set the diary aside, tossing it on one of her stacks of books that littered the floor before turning her attention back to the real gems Faith had brought.

"This catalogue could keep me going for months, Faith," Willow ran her fingers over the tooled leather cover, "And it's all in Latin, thank goodness, as my Hungarian is awful…"

The diary sat forgotten as Willow turned page after page of the catalogue and ignored both Faith and Myles. Faith was looking on indulgently while Myles kept casting covetous at the diary which lay within reach of his fingers. However, Faith was quicker and as he reached out to pick it up she seized his wrist and squeezed tightly.

Faith released her hold on his wrist and he rubbed it gingerly. She knew full well his intention had been to search out any so called 'naughty bits.'

"Myles, it was written in the eighteenth century, I don't think women in those days knew how to be naughty, let alone write about it so I assure you, you're not missing out on anything," Faith placed her hand on the young man's shoulder and gently steered him towards the door, "I think Giles might need some help unwrapping the artifacts I found concealed in the ruins…there is a wicked looking gauntlet covered in spikes that I believe may have belonged to Dracula himself. Just don't try it on…I think it has been bewitched with a possession spell."

Myles' eyes widened as though he could not wait to get his hands on the gauntlet and do exactly what Faith had warned him against…trying it on. He mumbled a few nonsensical words, presumably excusing himself, and left the room at a dead sprint. A few moments later there was a very loud crash somewhere down the hallway and an angry voice condemning all boys who did not look where they were going to the depths of hell.

With Myles safely out of the picture in Giles' capable hands, Faith could now focus her attention on Willow. Her friend had had returned to her chair while she had been talking to Myles and was now looking up at her with wide eyes. Faith quickly realized that Willow was not waiting for her to deliver any further information from her trip or simply have a friendly conversation. Willow was waiting for her to leave so she could get back to her work. She sat poised with her pencil in one hand and the other hand gently holding open a ratty looking scroll. Faith gave an angry snort and reached down to snatch the pencil away. When Willow made a desperate lunge, she hid it behind her back and out of reach.

"What have you been doing with yourself these past months, Will?" Faith asked in a distinctly motherly tone of voice, betraying her sincere concern for her friend, "You look bloody awful…and stop looking at my hand like that; you're not getting your pencil back anytime soon!"

"I just haven't been sleeping well lately," Willow shrugged, "It's nothing serious, my mind has just been working so much I find it hard to relax…it's just a phase and will pass in time."

Faith pursed her lips together, "And I'm sure you also haven't been eating, nor taking walks outside…honestly Will, I don't know how many times I have to tell you to look after yourself."

"It's nice to know you care…" Willow began, managed at small smile as she was truly touched by her friend's concern.

"Damn right I care!" Faith interrupted, lunging forward to plant both her arms around Willow's shoulders, despite her dirty clothing "Your parents don't seem to give a toss…and you certainly don't seem to care about yourself either."

When Faith pulled back a few moments later, Willow's cheeks carried a slight pinkish tinge. She was definitely unused to being embraced, even by her best friend.

"I'm fine Faith, will you please give the pencil back, I'm in the middle of something very important."

"Only if you tell me what you're working on?" Faith dangled the pencil within Willow's grasp.

As she moved, she lost her grip on the scroll and the paper snapped back into it tight roll to reveal what was hidden beneath. Willow could not recover the portrait before Faith spied it and snatched it away. Mortified, Willow leapt to her feet intent on recovering the drawing before Faith could examine it closely. A tussle began between the two as Willow tried to grasp at Faith's arm. After avoiding Willow's rather pathetic attempts, Faith reached out and grabbed Willow's flailing hand with her left. In one swift movement she had twisted the small woman's arm around her back.

Willow yelped in pain as Faith held her arm pinned at an uncomfortable angle. She had to cease her struggling or continue to feel as though her shoulder was being popped out of its socket. This left Faith free to examine Willow's pencil sketch with impunity.

"Here I was thinking I'd interrupted some vital departmental research…and all you were really doing was drawing pictures!" Faith chuckled lightly and then let out a low whistle, "So who is she?"

"No one," Willow mumbled, feeling her cheeks flaming. In response, Faith cruelly twisted her arm a little higher up her back and she let out another yelp, "Okay, okay…it's a woman I saw…"

"And continue to see?" Faith asked with excitement clearly registering in her voice.

"Saw…once!" Willow clarified with a strong emphasis on both words, "I just saw her once in the park."

"You saw her once in the park and she made such an impression that you had to sketch her portrait?" Faith asked, this time in disbelief, "And exaggerated more than a little too, no one can be this beautiful…you've got rich tastes, Will."

Now that she had her answers, Faith released her grip on Willow's wrist. Willow reached around Faith and snatched the drawing back. She folded herself back into her chair and set her drawing back down on her desk. With her thumb she smoothed out the wrinkles in the corner where Faith had held it. One finger gently traced the curve of cheek she had drawn in exact imitation of the one she had seen that had remained fixed so boldly within her mind. Just gazing upon that face made her forget any anger she may have felt towards Faith for dragging the truth from her so cruelly. A small laugh even escaped her lips when she realized just how silly she was being.

When Willow kept her head down and did not speak, Faith's brow knotted in concern. She feared that she had dreadfully wounded the red-haired girl's feelings with her tactless and somewhat brutal questioning. Willow's laugh she mistook for a choked sob.

"Willow, I'm awfully sorry, you know me…no manners or anything," Faith felt ridiculous and more than a little stupid, "I'll just go and leave you to…well, whatever it is that you were doing."

"I did not exaggerate," Willow replied quietly as she heard Faith back up towards the door, she swiveled in her seat, "Faith, she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes upon."

Her smile had morphed into a dreamy sort of expression usually reserved for those smitten with a potential lover. Faith was a little unnerved at first; she had never seen Willow look quite so dopey. However, nor had she seen her look quite so tired and promptly decided that it was her duty to help her friend find this woman.

"I'll help you find her again," Faith promised, pausing in the doorway with one hand resting against the frame.

Managing to drag herself away from the portrait in front of her, Willow swiveled in her chair to face Faith. A sad smile flitted across her tired face.

"I don't see the point," she whispered, stifling a yawn that betrayed her exhaustion, "Even if I did find her I wouldn't know what to do…and she certainly wouldn't feel the way I do about her…"

"Faith!" Willow hissed, eyes darting to the door as though every employee of the British Museum were standing there listening in on the most private conversation of her entire life.

Cheeks tinged with red to match her hair, Willow studied Faith's expression carefully for traces of anything other that acceptance and friendship. She had never expected to tell another living soul of the way she felt about women, even her best friend.

"Faith, I would appreciate if you did not speak of my…inclinations to anyone, if my parents were to find out that I am a…lesbian…"

The word came out in a barely audible whisper and Willow's cheeks flamed further.

"Would you really care if they did?" Faith interrupted Willow before she could continue with her awkward statement, it was obvious she was hardly surprised by Willow's revelation, "You don't depend on them for a thing…and you certainly wouldn't miss their company."

"I know," Willow replied, biting her lip for a moment, "But they're still my parents…and you really don't care?"

"Why would I care Will? You're the dearest, kindest, bravest soul that I know and the fact that you're of the sapphist persuasion only serves to confirm all that…I love you, you know."

"You're not? Why ever not?" Faith said in an incredulous and very serious tone, a split second later she burst out laughing, "I meant I love you in a strictly platonic manner…"

"And don't worry about your mystery woman. Such matters work themselves out…always," Faith replied encouragingly, "Besides, if you find her and she tells you to bloody leave her alone at least you'll be able to stop mooning about like a sick puppy and get a good night's rest."

Willow smirked with genuine mirth, "You always know how to make a girl feel better."

"You have no idea," Faith winked suggestively, laughing when Willow's cheeks reddened for a second time.

Willow glanced at her pocket watch and her eyes widened in mock horror, "Leave work at 4pm? Gracious Faith, I don't think I've ever been quite so daring."

"Call it a start, you're going to have to get a whole lot more daring in order to ensnare this mystery women of yours," Faith fetched Willow's satchel and coat which, in the absence of a coat stand, were tossed on a stack of books, "You didn't catch her name did you?"

Willow allowed herself to be dragged up out of her chair. She held out her arms as Faith pulled her coat on and even moved to do the buttons up. Although it felt somewhat odd being buttoned up by another adult, Willow found it was comforting in a strange way.

"I've no idea, I feel as though it should be something grand and beautiful to suit her face…" Willow tried to imagine what a grand and beautiful name would be but she had no idea, "It is just as likely to be Jane or Anna."

"Well, your first task is to find out her name," Faith decided as she passed Willow's satchel over her head and settled it at her side, "Once we know who she is and what kind of people she comes from…we can work out a plan of attack."

What if I never see her again? was the only thought that ran through Willow's head…although she could not bring herself to say it aloud and deflate Faith's optimism.

With an air of finality Faith bodily shoved Willow out of her office. In order to ensure that her work-bound friend did not double back, Faith walked her all the way to her tram stop before leaving to return to work. She muttered something about reporting back to Croft. There was a wicked gleam in her eye not usually associated with reporting that made Willow suspect that Faith knew a little too much about the 'sapphist persuasion' she spoke of earlier.

Willow was left waiting for the next tram, never one to stand still and do nothing she began to feel antsy after only a minute or so of waiting. Although she now did not regret leaving work early, she was slightly miffed that she had forgotten to pick up a stack of papers or a book to while away her tram ride. Digging around in her satchel in the hope of finding something to occupy her mind, her fingers closed on a book spine. She drew it out to find the diary Faith had brought back from Eastern Europe. A small frown creased her forehead; she did not remember ever putting it in her satchel. Not quite knowing why, she flicked it open and found the same notations just inside the cover, the strange dedication and the two addresses. While Hampshire was much too far to walk, Willow again noted that the second address was mere blocks from where she stood waiting for her tram. As Faith's challenge echoed in her head, Willow ignored the approaching tram and made what she thought was a very daring decision indeed.

After a quarter of an hour stroll, Willow had lost much of the rash impulsiveness that had led her to sleuth out the address in the first place. Actually standing in front of the house was an entirely different story. Willow gazed up at the generously sized townhouse towering imposingly above her head and immediately felt intimidated by the austere façade. The stone used was a steely grey and in the dull light of a winter's afternoon it appeared almost black. There was little ornamentation of any form save for the ivy which dared to creep up the left side just above the ground floor windows. Three floors rose up from the ground before the sharply pitched tile roof angled away from her. Several dark gable windows punctured the roof's surface. She imagined the writer of the diary to be inside, bent over a writing desk and still scribbling madly.

1777…even if they lived until they were old and wrinkled they'd be long dead…

Willow shivered, the house itself unnerved her despite the light shining from several of the windows. Although someone obviously lived there, Willow felt as though the house should be empty. She couldn't quite place the exact feeling, but it was of one of emptiness…emptiness and waiting.

Just my luck that the person who owns it now will be one step away from the asylum. Willow shuddered at the thought of some wizened old creature, starved of company, inviting her in for tea and never letting her leave again.

Willow was still plucking up the courage to approach and knock on the massive black door when she glanced upwards once more. A chill seized her entire frame. A pale white face stared at her from a dark gable high above. With her blood pounding in her ears, Willow fought for calm but it would not come. Although the glance lasted seconds before she wrenched her eyes away, Willow could not remember exactly what she had seen other than that she knew it was a face, and it had been looking directly at her. There was no question of her knocking on the door now…

Hello…I'm Willow Rosenberg, you don't know me but is the ghost that lives in your attic friendly?

Before she knew quite what she was doing, her feet were pounding on the pavement. The chill did not leave her body as she ran the entire distance between the house and her tram stop. Even when she was on the next tram, her body pressed against a seat warmed from a previous body, Willow could not shake the cold fear brought about by the house. She immediately made up her mind not to tell Faith. To flee as fast as possible from a common, run of the mill ghost was a case for tarring and feathering in Faith's book. Or even worse, she could have been running from the sight of a child playing in the attic. Willow felt exceptionally foolish and even more resigned to the fact that she was not suited to fieldwork.

Something crawled between her shoulder blades. Willow felt as though she were still being watched…although by what she had no idea.

This should have been one of the happiest days of my life, of any young lady's life…so why then do I feel a melancholia settling over me like a cloud? Right from the very moment Edward stepped across the threshold I knew why he had come. The atrocious weather has kept all other guests away this past week, but not Edward. I knew there was only one reason even he would have braved the weather. He was typical of his sex, mind made up he could wait no longer. I was on the landing when I heard the butler greet him at the door and for some reason I was not surprised to see him. As I moved cautiously down the stairs I saw my father arrive to greet him warmly and usher him into the house proper. No doubt straight in the direction of his study with its roaring great fire. Edward glanced up at me as he passed, with his dark hair whipped across his cheeks and eyes sparkling with the exertion of riding through the rain I could see the man that he is. Tall, handsome to a fault and powerfully built and yet it is all superficial. I know what sort of man lies beneath that flawless exterior, the sort of man that I cannot spend the rest of my life with. Most women will not look farther than outward appearances and social position, but I crave companionship, mutual trust built on love and conversation of which I will never grow tired. I have found all that, and it is not with Edward.

Mother summoned me down half an hour later, a half hour which I had spent in front of the mirror composing my reactions to Edward's question. While a simple 'no' came all too easily in just my own company I knew that I could not afford to give such an answer to Edward. I rehearsed surprise and embarrassment but would not let tears fall because I knew they would not be in jest. I was whispering W's name as I rose from the seat at my bureau and made my way downstairs with tremulous steps.

Edward was waiting for me in the blue sitting room, his hair tousled and partially dry. I could tell he was nervous, for all his handsome appearance he is no great conversationalist. I think what happened next unfolded according to every girl's dream. I remember a folded knee, his hands clasping my own and an awkward but no doubt sincere confession of his undying love for me just before the words slipped out of his mouth in a great hurry. 'Tara, marry me,' although it sounded more like one word than three. All my rehearsals before the mirror counted for naught as I reverted to my painful stutter. As I tried to formulate an answer, I was nothing like the composed and elegant young woman I imagine myself to be. I could not, would not, utter any of the simple words of agreement that would have sufficed but nor could I tell him I loved another. Imagining it was W down on one knee in front of me did not improve matters in the slightest and I almost began to weep.

He took my choked silence to mean that I was overcome with emotion. Displaying an incisiveness that I had not previously credited him with, he apologized for expecting a swift answer from me. He then went on to say that he did not expect the fairer sex to be capable of marshalling their wits following such a proposal and promised me time enough to arrive at my decision…adding that he expected it to be 'yes.' I believe he thinks me an insipid fool, incapable of making a decision – the exact sort of wife that all men aspire to obtain. He begged his leave without stopping for tea and I was immediately accosted by my mother demanding an account of what had transpired between us. While I had thought she would be vexed at my lack of a definite answer, she acted as though I had sad yes and was quite beside herself for the rest of the day.

I retired early to write this diary entry and now that the words are on the page I can see clearly what sort of predicament faces me. I do not want to join the ranks of women who suffer in marriages without love, but I cannot see a way to avoid it. If only I could see W.

With no small amount of satisfaction, Willow deposited the wretched little diary back in her office the following morning. Her encounter, or whatever it had been, the previous evening had completely ruined what was supposed to be a relaxing night. It had left her unable to sleep soundly or do anything remotely productive. She jammed the leather book beneath several, much larger volumes and returned to her desk. With a slight exhalation of breath, she withdrew the picture she had drawn yesterday from beneath the scroll. The woman's serene face stared back at her and Willow could not help but think she was mocking her irrational infatuation. With a sigh, she tucked the picture within the pages of a first edition copy of A Treatise on Witchcraft and turned to library catalogue that Faith had retrieved from Tirgsor.

She was still ensconced with the catalogue almost three hours later when Faith burst into her office, chest heaving as she struggled to draw a breath. Willow was about to make a rude remark regarding the number of times she seemed to be interrupted, when Faith reached out and dragged her to her feet by her shirt collar.

"Faith! Unhand me this instant!" Willow demanded, struggling against her friend's firm grip on her clothing.

"You're coming with me, Rosenberg," Faith replied with determination in her voice, "And grab your coat, it's cold out."

Faith offered no further explanation and Willow was forced to lunge backwards and snatch her coat from the back of her chair. She almost stumbled as Faith dragged her out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the exit. When it became obvious that she was following along, she felt Faith release her hold on her garments. Willow straightened her shirt and jacket as they walked, a slight huff escaping her lips.

"We just received reports of something nasty in a warehouse down by the river, the owner was running an inventory when he saw a shape move in the darkness," Faith's voice was as rushed as her walk, she swung open the elevator door with a loud crash and pushed Willow inside the cage.

"That's nice," Willow said sarcastically as she narrowly avoided a collision between her forehead and the cage, "It was probably a thief…since when are we responsible for cleaning up crime?"

"Thieves generally aren't blue with foot long spikes protruding from their heads," Faith gave Willow a calm glance and began checking each of the weapons she had strapped about her body.

"Well, demon or no, I still fail to see why you're dragging me along!" Willow protested as they reached the ground floor, "Would you care to explain."

"Because I thought it would be good for you," Faith smirked at Willow's horrified expression for a moment before wiping it off to show that she was quite serious, "Willow, I have no idea what sort of demon is blue with spikes coming out of its head let alone how to kill it!"

Willow's eyes narrowed in frustration as they passed out of the Employee's entrance and straight into the waiting carriage with its stomping black steeds and drawn curtains. She waited until she was seated in the dark interior to give the woman sitting opposite her a piece of her mind.

"It's a Atramen demon you idiot, it was one of the demon's I listed in a report I filed six months ago, you should have read it," Willow folded her arms across her chest, tapping her figures impatiently as she waited for Faith to respond.

The brunette appeared nervous, furrowing her brow as though she were trying to remember. Her concentration did not last long and she simply shrugged her shoulders much to the annoyance of her friend. Willow moved to the edge of her seat as though she were about to launch into a lecture but Faith was quick to cut her off.

"Willow, you file a report each week and I simply don't have time to read each one, especially not when I'm travelling. And I don't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday let alone something I may have read six months ago."

Willow's mouth was set into a tight line. Faith had unintentionally managed to dismiss her beloved job as unimportant and bureaucratic and it did not sit well with her at all. However she managed to keep a level head, predominantly due to the fact that she knew her job was without doubt the most important in the entire organization. Without her carefully conducted and presented research, everything would fall apart.

"You never eat breakfast," Willow stated matter-of-factly, "And my report examined recent Atramen sightings in Glasgow, Brighton and Watford and concluded that someone or something may have several under their control…which is relatively easy if you have mastery of the correct spells of course."

"That's a conclusive report," Faith replied with a wry twist to her mouth, eyes sparkling in the dim light of the carriage, "I'm sorry I missed it."

Willow couldn't help but smile in return at Faith's brazen sarcasm, but she was quite serious as she continued, "Honestly Faith, reading reports could save your life…what if I wasn't around to tell you how to defeat the foes we…or rather you, come up against?"

"But you're always around," Faith noted simply, "So how do we defeat this thing?"

Willow shrugged, "If you had read the report then you would know that I have no idea."

Willow and Faith extracted themselves from the carriage ten minutes later to find themselves in front of a rather non-descript warehouse. There was not a soul to be seen, no doubt the owner had made him scarce after a fleeting encounter with the netherworld that he would be only too happy to deny ever happened.

Willow felt rather under prepared as she glanced across at Faith and saw the vast array of weapons she carried about her lithe frame. Strapped around her waist were two matching, beautifully tooled belts with silver inlays. Hanging from one, on her left hip, was a slender sword with a practical, no- nonsense hilt and leather grip. On her right was a long dagger, also meant for business rather than show. She grasped in her capable hands the self-loading crossbow which Giles had recently invented for her, fully loaded with ten silver bolts. Willow knew without looking that she also had a dagger concealed in each of the leather riding boots that reached almost to her knees. The leather pants she wore clung to her thighs almost scandalously, and the jacket and shirt she wore also left little to the imagination as they hugged her figure.

Glancing down at her own rather drab attire, one of the two three-piece suits she owned, Willow wished she could wear the same scarlet hue of which Faith's jacket was made but at the risk of looking completely silly she continued to wear dependable grays and blacks. As Faith moved towards the building, she knew she ought to start worrying about the Atramen demon and the fact that she was completely unarmed.

"Um, Faith, I don't need to come in do I?" Willow asked nervously, "I mean, what would I do if it rushed at me?"

"Absolutely nothing," Faith replied in a low voice, stealing stealthily inside the door which was slightly ajar, "You can be bait."

Once they were both inside, Faith motioned for her to be quiet and lifted her crossbow to her shoulder as she went down into a stealthy crouch. Willow followed suit, but felt incredibly silly as she inched along behind Faith. As much as she tried to look the part of an intrepid demon hunter, she felt like a fool…and an unarmed fool at that.

The warehouse was eerily silent, and all too dim for Willow's likely. In the gloom of an overcast winter's day, shadows crept between the mountains of crates stacked within. Any one of those shadows could have concealed something sinister, biding its time to do them some harm and Willow imagined shapes moving everywhere.

Faith glanced over her shoulder at the researcher, somewhat amused to see her skin had gone a nasty shade of green, "You wouldn't know what to do with it…anyway, nothing's gonna happen to you with me here…"

No sooner had the words left Faith's lips that an inky black shape engulfed her, knocking her straight to the ground. Her new-fangled self-loading cross bow clattered to the ground and slid several meters away. As she leapt to her feet and drew her sword, she got an eyeful of what it was they were up against. By itself, the Atramen was of similar height and build as a man, however, foot-long spikes added to its height and gave the impression that it was much taller than it actually was. True to the warehouse owner's word, it was a dark blue in color…almost the color of ink. Its shiny skin rippled between blue and black as it moved. Willow backed away a few steps as it turned to face her, giving her full view of its massive white eyes and lipless mouth. She almost wet herself when it bared an array of spiked teeth.

With a cry to turn its attention towards her, Faith surged forward with her sword raised. The Atramen turned its attention away from Willow and towards the real threat. They began a deadly dance across the warehouse floor, each slice Faith made with her sword was deftly sidestepped by the lightning fast demon. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword and she brought it to bear once more, stepping forward in a determined series of slashing attacks. The demon caught her with several solid punches to her face and she stumbled backwards.

Willow was looking on helplessly before she realized that Faith's cross bow was lying mere meters from where she stood. She scrambled to pick it up and lift it beneath her arm into what she hoped was an appropriate firing position. With very little in the way of aim, Willow jabbed her forefinger on the trigger and absolutely nothing happened. She tried several more stabs but the crossbow remained lifeless in her hands.

Oblivious to Willow's struggles with the crossbow, Faith groggily shook her head and regained her stance. Unbalanced by her quick revival, she caught the Atramen off guard and the tip of her sword sliced through its chest. A thin line of skin burst and spewed forth a thick, blue liquid. Faith was determined to press home the wounding move but as her sword sliced through the air in another stroke, the Atramen seemed to regain its strength and caught her fist in its own. Faith looked surprised for a moment before it wrapped a single hand around her neck and hurled her several meters through the air. Her body slammed into several stacked wooden crates which smashed beneath the weight and collapsed around her.

Willow waited for Faith to exact herself from the crates but seconds went by with absolutely no movement. When the Atramen spun around and hissed, she knew it was coming for her. With no weapons and no clue, Willow could see no alternative but to turn and run like the coward she was. She had barely made several meters when a dark shape passed over head. The Atramen had leapt over her and no stood directly in her path. With no further warning it sprung and slammed her back against the ground beneath its body weight. With one hand, it ensnared both her own and held them above her head even as she squirmed and writhed in disgust.

Trapped beneath the demon and staring up into its white eyes, Willow felt as though it ought to be sightless. However, judging by its reactions to both her and Faith, she knew that was not the case. It had parried Faith's every move and now Willow could not even think about trying to hit it with both arms trapped over her head and the creature's disgusting face hovering just inches above her own. It seemed to be smiling at her discomfort, at least that's what Willow thought it was baring its teeth for…it could have been about to bite her head off. A great gob of saliva dropped from its mouth into her eyes and she squeezed them shut as it burned fiercely. The Atramen hissed in short bursts, a sound which Willow quickly realized was its laughter.

She twisted and struggled as her eyes remained shut, burning fiercely. Something warm and sticky slithered up her neck, trailing a path up over her jugular and onto her chin. Willow tried to wrench her head aside, desperately trying not to imagine what part of the demon was touching her face. She let out a sudden screech that continued until she realized the weight no longer pressed down on her. The demon was gone and her hands were free. Willow urgently scrubbed at her eyes, having to practically claw the sticky substance from her face. As she writhed on the ground she could hear the sounds of a struggle in the background. Then there was the sound of a decidedly feminine grunt, Faith was back. Willow opened her eyes the merest fraction as she lay on her side. She saw a blurry figure standing in front of her but even with her impaired vision she knew it was not Faith. Her friend was wearing red…the figure standing opposite her almost melded with the shadows in black clothing. The only parts of the figure that stood out were a pale face and long, white- blonde hair. It was her…

"W-who…" Willow tried to reach out a hand towards the shape when a solid object slammed into her body.

Willow was sent flying, rolling over several times before she hit a crate and came to a halt. Someone bent over her, their hoarse breathing sounding loud in her ears.

Willow was picked up by the scruff of her shirt and dumped on her feet. She wavered a little but managed to grab onto the crate beside her and remain standing. Her vision had cleared somewhat and she could see Faith grab and wrestle the demon by its spikes. As her senses cleared, she remembered her hazy view of the blonde-haired figure. Something already told her that she would be gone but Willow looked for her anyway. She was gone. The word 'fire' still rang inside her head, and it was only after staring at the fight taking place between Faith and the demon that she realized what it meant. She turned and staggered away from the wrestling pair, searching for something, anything which catch fire. It was a task made all the more difficult by the darkness in the warehouse but Willow spied a kerosene lantern hanging near an exit door. She snatched it down and was patting down her pockets for something to light it with when she remembered she didn't smoke. An image of Faith puffing on one of her disgusting cigars popped into her head.

"Faith!" Willow moved a little closer to the two combatants, "Do you have a matchbook?"

Faith glanced up from where she had the Atramen in a headlock, her expression clearly annoyed, "Of course I've got a bloody matchbook, now's not the time to take up smoking, Will!"

"Stop your whining and give it to me!" Willow snapped, even as the Atramen gained the upper hand and flung Faith to the floor.

As the demon pressed down on her, Faith reached into the pocket of her scarlet jacket and pulled out a small cardboard box. With some difficulty she managed to toss the little box to Willow who scrambled to retrieve it when it landed short of where she stood.

Placing the lantern on the ground, Willow struggled to light it with a match. The first two broke in her trembling hands and the third went out as she lowered it to the wick.

"Bloody heck, get a grip, Willow!" she growled at herself, even as she heard a cry of pain from her friend.

She glanced up to see Faith clutching at her shoulder, her hands bloody. Hands shaking even worse, Willow willed the next match to light. She successfully lowered it into the glass and the wick caught. As a warm glow filled the space around her, she picked up the lantern and loosened all the screws sealing the fuel holder shut. Although the Atramen had been closing on Faith, it suddenly glanced at Willow and its eyes seemed to bulge when it saw the flame. An awful screech tore from its throat and it hurled itself at Willow.

With fuel leaking from the lantern, Willow picked it up and hurled it directly at the creature bearing down on her with a war-like cry. The lantern smashed across the creature's chest and kerosene splashed over its skin. As the flames caught hold, Willow scrambled out of its path. She tripped as she tried to move but Faith was there to drag her to a safe distance. Both women watched the creature burn, its hissing anguished cries doing little to move them to sympathy. As its body burnt, it did not char, rather it melted. In less than a minute the Atramen demon was reduced to an ink-like puddle on the warehouse floor, feeding a spluttering little blaze.

With their foe no longer a threat, Willow disentangled herself from Faith's hold and moved towards the spot where she had seen someone standing moments earlier.

"Was there anyone else in here besides us?" Willow stopped short of disappearing into the shadows that filled much of the warehouse, "I mean did you see anyone else?"

"Just him," Faith pointed at the scorch mark on the floor, the fire had gone out and it was all the evidence that remained of the Atramen demon.

"No…" Willow whispered, stopping short of saying who she thought it had been, a few moments later she shook her head quickly to indicate that it didn't matter, "Don't worry, no doubt it was hallucinations brought about by terror…seriously Faith, were you hastening to my aid or taking your time?"

Willow flexed her neck and realized for the first time just how painful it actually was. Then she glanced down at her front to find herself coated in sticky blue Atramen blood from her shoulders downwards, her favorite grey suit was ruined.

"Great, I have no visible battle wounds to prove just how much mortal peril I was in and a ruined suit…heavens, I think I will have nothing to wear to work tomorrow," Willow groaned at the thought of wearing a dress.

She then glanced across at Faith to see her friend flexing her arm, wincing as the deep lacerations made their presence known.

"Oh Faith, I'm so sorry…" Willow felt ridiculous for lamenting her dirty clothes and lack of wounds when her friend was clearly in pain.

Faith shook her head, "Tis nothing, I've had worse accidents getting out of the bath."

Faith then moved to retrieve both her sword and the crossbow, sliding one back into its sheath and tucking the other beneath her arm.

"That thing's bloody useless, I'm going to give Giles a piece of my mind when we get back to work," Willow muttered, eyeing the crossbow as though it were out to get her.

Faith glanced down at the weapon, she fingered a small lever on the side and then looked up at Willow with a small grin, "Safety latch is still on, Will."

"Oh," Willow flushed a burning red, making a mental note to not mention that little fact to Giles.

Faith slapped her on the back and it was forgotten, "Let's get out of here, I need to report back to Croft and get a team sent here to clean up this little mess."

Willow immediately began to berate Faith for not cleaning up her own mess as she helped her from the warehouse. The thought that there were people in the organization who ran around secretly cleaning up mess from dead demons was a surprise to her. Faith noted that she would be sure to bring a mop along on her next mission as long as Willow brought a bucket of soapy water.

As the voices of the two women faded from the room, from the shadows emerged the woman Willow had glimpsed earlier as she struggled with the demon. Her pale face was impassive as she strode into the center of the room and knelt elegantly, directly beside the scorch marks that were apparently all that remained of the demon. She withdrew a small stopper bottle from within her cloak and uncorked it. A smooth, barely whispered incantation flowed from her lips and moments later the scorch marks came alive. The burn seemed to lift from the floor and merge to form a tarred and blackened ball hovering at the height of the bottle. The shape seemed reluctant to move further but a curt word from the woman sent it flying into the bottle like liquid moving in the wrong direction. With the stopper replaced, it appeared to be little more than common ink.

The bottle tucked safely within her cloak, she reached out to touch the empty floorboards where just moments ago Willow had lain, fighting to get the demon off her body. The very tips of her fingers traced the bare boards as though that small touch afforded her some sort of contact with the young woman. Her facial expression slipped for just a moment to reveal an inherent sadness, the sadness of loss and absence.

"Don't tell me you're trying to kill her now?" a cold voice sliced through her thoughts.

She stood, her cloak rustling slightly as she did, and turned to face the speaker. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man with his handsome, chiseled features twisted into an approximation of amusement. His brown hair curled down around the collar of his finely tailored suit. He moved powerfully, taking just a few steps to cross the floor to her side. The woman was forced to look up at him, her white neck craning proudly as she met his gaze.

"Don't be ridiculous Angelus, if I was seriously trying to kill her she would be dead already," her voice was cold and without emotion of any kind, the sadness she had felt moments before was already suppressed.

Angelus let out a mocking laugh before he replied, "After witnessing that little episode, you would have fooled me. You know he wants her for himself…as soon as she leads him to the skull, our master is going to split the redhead open and drain her dry…he'll drink his fill of her blood and his wives will bathe in the remnants."

Angelus wrapped his large hand around the back of his companion's neck, stroking the soft skin there as though he were lulling her into a false sense of security just prior to snapping her neck. She tensed slightly as his thumb pressed into her skin.

No one else would dare rest their dirty boots on Lara Croft's desk, other than Lara herself of course. However, as afternoon was about to give way to early evening, Faith sat back in Croft's chair with her riding boots sitting comfortably on the edge of the desk in front of her. She held a fat cigar between her lips and was sending rings of smoke in the direction of the ceiling. The heavy office door swung inwards and Croft entered, her expression remaining unchanged even as she laid eyes on Faith.

The Director of the British Museum was as elegant as ever, clad in an austerely elegant dress of scarlet that matched Faith's jacket. While the garment concealed almost every inch of her skin, it did nothing to hide her luxurious curves. Instead, it accentuated her swaying hips, flat stomach and ample bosom. She did not miss the barely veiled look in Faith's eyes as she limped across the floor to sit on the corner of her own desk.

"What makes you think you can get away with this sort of behavior?" Lara reached across the desk and, with her thumb and forefinger, grasped the cigar in Faith's lips.

Faith parted her lips slowly, curving them up into a smile as Croft removed the foul smelling cigar and deposited it in a half empty tea cup sitting on her desk. She swung her booted feet down from the desk and slid the chair forward in order to prop her elbows on the desk and bring her face closer to Croft's. The two women found each other's eyes and the air around them shouldered with the sensual meeting of two confident gazes. Faith retained the cocky grin and in response the barest smile grazed Croft's lips before disappearing to be replaced by a severity that was entirely false.

The palpable and almost overwhelming tension between the two women was broken when Croft slid from the desk and limped around to the window. Faith glanced down discreetly as she knew it pained the Director to appear crippled in front of anyone, especially her employees. She was now standing directly opposite Faith, with nothing between them. Faith kept one elbow on the desk and swiveled slightly so she could watch the Director as she gazed out on Great Russell Street down below.

"Look at them," Lara whispered softly, eyes on the countless people as they scurried about their business, "If only they realized the sort of danger they were in everyday."

"True," Lara nodded curtly, she turned to Faith and furrowed her brow as though she were trying to remember exactly why it was she had summoned Faith to her office.

Lara shook her head in response, "Your report can be delivered in writing, I wanted to see you for another reason."

"Oh," Faith repeated, although this time her voice betrayed disappointment, "Such a request hardly needs be spoken…I sometimes feel as if I live to keep an eye on Willow, platonically of course."

Faith chuckled to herself as she remembered Willow's awkward response to her declaration of love the day before.

"Ah no," Faith shook her head, "But I'm not quite sure I understand why you're asking me to do this specifically as Willow's my friend, watching over her comes naturally…and for you to ask me that would lead me to believe she's in some sort of danger?"

"The truthful answer to your question is I don't know, she could very well be and yet at the same time it could all be a ridiculous mistake. However, until I find out otherwise, I'm treating it very seriously."

"That task would be made easier if I had more information," Faith dropped the rather obvious hint.

"That I cannot give you," Lara turned away from Faith and resumed watching the passers by outside, "Just protect her…especially from herself."

"I will," Faith promised, gently sliding the chair back and moving to her feet, she moved to stand behind Croft and lowered her voice, "Is there anything I can help you with before I beg my leave, Lara?"

Lara turned her head slightly so Faith could make out the curve of her lips, "I can think of a number of things…but I have a lot of work to do before the end of today and I must ask that you leave me to attend to it."

"As you wish," Faith murmured, speaking close enough to Lara's neck to allow the hot air from her mouth to fall on it.

Faith slipped out of the room in time to miss the reluctant sigh that escaped Lara's lips.

Myles allowed himself to feel a little thrill at the thought of being the sole person on the basement level of the British Museum. Giles had departed minutes earlier, leaving him to finish polishing the long rack of swords laid out in front of him. There were at least twenty of varying shapes, sizes and metals. Massive double handed broadswords stood next to delicate rapiers with elaborate handles. Some had blades of the finest folded steel, while others were made entirely of silver for the sole purpose of killing vampires…and the thirty-two other types of demon who also had problems with silver. Myles ran through all thirty-two demon types in his head as he worked on Faith's second favorite blade, a rare Japanese katana given to her by a samurai warrior. Her favorite blade, of course, never left her side.

With no one else around, Myles was quite happy speaking to himself as he recited his demon list,

"Fumian, catellus, sicarius…ummm, lemures demon…" Myles screwed up his nose as he tried to remember the book on demonology he had been discreetly reading in Willow's office, "No, they can't be killed by silver – just beheading…Utionis, I think…damn, I wish Willow were still here so I could check my answers!"

Myles replaced the rapier carefully and drew out the last sword in the rack, a short steel baselard which Faith was fond of carrying concealed when she was forced to wear a dress. He whistled happily as he ran his cloth over the stubby little weapon, carefully holding it at the hilt and tilting the blade away from his body. He liked the feel of the sword, probably because it was so small, and it swung easily through the air. His eyes darted around the workshop and in the direction of the door as though to confirm he really was alone before he set aside his cloth and stood. Still holding the sword he moved to a clear space in the room.

"En guarde!" Myles stood in the manner he had seen Faith use many times in training, before lunging forward to make a stabbing motion at an imagined foe, "Ha! Don't even think about trying to get past me."

Myles swung heartily, slashing the air in front of him with what he thought were well timed strokes. His feet moved lightly across the floor as he dueled with his imaginary opponent. His stabbed his blade forward in a finishing stroke and grinned.

"You'll rue the day you met Myles Cavendish!" he announced, flourishing the sword several times.

His foe defeated, Myles reluctantly returned to his polishing. He was about to sit back down on his chair, when every single light in the workroom blinked out in an instant and he was left in pitch black. The sword trembling in his grip, Myles gingerly felt around on the desk in front of him for the object he remembered seeing there just moments earlier. He knew it was somewhere just in front of him. He had 'borrowed' it from Giles' workroom earlier in the day, just to take home for the evening and show his younger brothers. Myles breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers closed around the cylinder and moved the switch forward with his thumb. The space immediately in front of him was illuminated with a weak yellow light from Giles' new invention. Just as his breathing was calming he heard footsteps in the hall beyond, in the direction of Willow's office. A wry smile crossed his face as he suspected it to be the researcher. No doubt leaving early had not agreed with her and she had discreetly returned to work.

Using the beamlight to guide him to the door, Myles made his way through the obstacles in his path. As he approached the door he realized that he was thinking the possibility that it might not be Willow at all. The short sword was still firmly in his grasp and he pointed it out in front of him now. He reached the door and moved the light to his sword hand as he grasped the knob. He could no longer hear the footsteps, all he could hear was the rasp of his own breath. The door opened with the awful screech of un-oiled hinges. Myles winced as any hope of stealth was ruined.

He poked his head out into the dark corridor, keeping both the light and the sword out in front of him. He shone the light first right, and then left, seeing nothing but an empty corridor in both directions.

"Willow, is that you?" he kept his voice low, not daring to speak louder, "Faith?"

Myles moved out into the corridor and in the direction of Willow's office, all the while feeling as though the temperature had dropped several degrees. His hair stood up on the back of his neck. Most irritating was the fact that he could not hold the sword straight without its blade moving in his trembling hands. The flashlight also wobbled from side to side. He made it to Willow's office, the door was ajar and no one seemed to be inside. Standing in Willow's office, he glanced around but everything was such a shambles, he could not tell if something had been disturbed.

His fear gradually became embarrassment. Most likely it had been the caretaker in thinking no one was down here had turned the lights off at the main switch by the elevator. Myles made up his mind to speak to no one about his little episode in the dark. As he turned to leave the office the beam of light in front of him was swallowed by a darkness standing in the doorway. It was darkness with a pale chin protruding from the cowl of a deep hood. The sword and light slipped from his fingers at the precise moment the shape surged forward directly at him. Myles stumbled backwards and the last thing he saw before his head collided with the corner of the chair behind him were a pair of brilliant, burning blue eyes.

For these past few weeks since Edward's proposal I have thought of naught all besides W. Despite the few brief words we actually spoke at Sir John's party some months past, I clearly felt that our mutual passion was neither forgotten nor diminished. Without words between us, I have labored and suffered hoping and praying that W had garnered that same impression. Throughout boredom fraught nights at home with my parents and attending parties on Edward's arm I have kept my suffering to myself. While I have made Edward swear to hold off announcement of any possible engagement I can hear everyone whispering about us. I can see the whole pack of them now, matrons with their chins wagging incessantly as they gossip about matters that are none of their affair! How I hate them so!

I cannot keep denying Edward his answer; soon even he will grow tired of my apparent indecision and go directly to my father. I shall then have no say in the matter of my own marriage and I will be forever wed to a man whom I do not love.

I was fearfully depressed until last night when it was made evident that I had not suffered alone throughout this time. W felt the separation and distance as keenly as I and she had been dying to see me! All this and more, much, much more I learnt last night. What a glorious night it was!

Edward's parents hosted a sumptuous Christmas party for the neighboring families of note. While I was compelled to go by virtue of my relationship with their son, I attended without quarrel for I knew full well that an invitation would also have been extended to the Van Helsings. I know it sounds dreadful of me to say but my night only improved when Edward came down with a head cold and was compelled to remain in bed throughout the festivities. I was left unattended to enjoy the pleasures that the night had to offer.

I was making the rounds with my father, fending off questions and comments regarding my impending engagement when I sensed a ripple pass throughout the entire company gathered in the Walsh's Grand Hall. I looked towards the entrance and my heart soared when she walked in on Abraham's arm. Every young lady (and many a matron and spinster too) swooned at the sight of the dashing Captain Van Helsing, while eligible bachelors held their breath when faced with the sight of his sister. Her green gown made every other woman in the room appear pale and washed out in comparison. It was perfectly tailored to show off her tiny waist and creamy shoulders, with barely a hint of her modest cleavage showing. Those gorgeous red locks that I loved so were piled in curls atop her head, with more cascading down over her neck. I instantly felt a hot surge of jealousy at the thought of so many eyes upon her but it was all too quickly dispelled when I saw her eyes roaming the crowd, passing straight over every gaze in the room that was feasting upon her…until she came to mine.

As a small smile curled the corner of her lips I instantly felt vulnerable, wondering if I had chosen the right gown or coiffure. I saw her turn her head slightly to whisper something in Abraham's ear. The smile and knowing glance that Abraham then cast in my direction confused me slightly. It seemed as though he knew exactly what I was thinking about his sister. However, confusion was replaced by rapture a second later as I saw W leave her brother's side and begin to thread her way through the crowd. She ignored all attempts at conversation and invitations to dance as she made her way towards me, her gaze never once leaving mine. When she finally reached me her first movement was to reach out and brush her fingertips against my wrist. I almost swooned into her arms even as she spoke in a clear voice words which speak in my ear still,

My own voice was far from composed and my damnable stutter caused me to sound like a blundering idiot but I managed to convey my agreement. Then she linked her arm through mine and I was rendered incapable of speech for at least a minute. The feel of her smooth skin upon my own and the close proximity of her body were almost too much for me to bear. My heart was racing wildly despite the sedate pace at which we threaded our way through the crowded room. She must have noticed my discomfort as she commented on my flushed cheeks. I lifted one palm and indeed found it extremely hot to the touch. Her suggestion that we retire to a secluded corner somewhere was a fine one and as we exited the hall I felt a weight lift from my shoulders…although my heart did not cease its wild palpitations.

Even the small rooms adjacent to the hall were far too crowded for our liking, although only containing at the most half a dozen people. Knowing the Walsh house as well as you might expect, it was I who led W to a well-hidden place I remembered from a childhood spent in the company of Edward and his siblings. At the time I did not know why I was choosing such a secluded location for our meeting but in hindsight I now know full well that I wanted to be alone with W, away from prying eyes and gossiping tongues.

I felt a delicious shiver run down my spine as I led W by the hand into the space beneath the ground floor stairs, a tiny alcove really with barely enough room for two adults to stand. A smile crossed her face as soon as she realized my intent and in moments I was no longer the instigator. W pressed me into the space until my back was against the wall and we were both in complete shadow. We found ourselves alone together for the first time since that windswept day in the stable, the difference being the increased depth of our feelings for one another.

My legs felt as if they had no bones in them and it was only the weight of her body which kept me from falling, although she was pressed so close and so tightly against my body that falling was nigh impossible. I could only see the outline of her face and her sparkling eyes in the darkness but my senses were heightened in all other respects. I could feel her heart matching mine beat for beat, our combined breath mingling in what little air there was between us and the sweat coating our joined palms.

While I do not claim to remember the words W spoke with complete accuracy, I nevertheless remember her words as well as I remember everything that happened tonight…with crystal clarity.

"Are you feeling alright, Miss Maclay?" she whispered breathlessly as I felt the hand that was not enclosed in my own cup one of my burning cheeks.

"I-I do believe Miss Van Helsing…that you have rendered me incapable of both speech and movement," was my equally breathless reply as I nuzzled against the warm hand which held my cheek.

"Then allow me to do the moving," was W's brief reply before, a mere moment later, her lips found my own in the darkness.

I had dreamed of that moment ever since our first meeting and my hunger was insatiable, what began as a slow caress quickly moved to something fierce and urgent. While at the back of my mind I was aware of the cosmetics on my face and the effect of sweaty palms on ball gowns, I cared about neither as I wrapped both my arms around her waist to keep her close. She kept one hand on my face, caressing both cheek and neck while the other was pressed against my hip.

The kiss that day in the stable seemed passionless and chaste compared to what took place beneath the stairs. The heat rises in my cheeks even now when I think about her tongue dancing in my mouth, probing deeply and dancing with my own. I think about the way she tasted, so sweet and yet rich at the same time and I wish I were still there. It was at that time, in the muddled fog that was my mind, that I realized she yearned as much for me as I had for her. It was written clearly in the manner in which she pressed forward into my body, the delightful sounds which issued from the back of her throat and her hand at my hip, possessive and firm. Oh, I was hers without a doubt; I swore I would never belong to Edward Walsh.

I lost all sense of time so when our lips finally did part and we were both even more breathless, if that were possible, I had no knowledge of just how much time had passed. All I knew was that I did not want it to end. My whole body was aflame in a manner I could not explain.

"I need you, Tara," she hissed into my ear as she trailed delicate kisses upon my neck and jaw, "Oh, by the heavens I need you so badly!"

I was speechless once again but even if I could speak I did not understand what she wanted from me. She needed me but I was right in front of her, with her in every sense of the word as I understood it. As my mind reeled, she continued to trail her mouth over my skin. Her lips moved over my chin and, as I tilted my head back, down my throat. My lips parted and my eyes closed as she continued downwards over my shoulder blades and to the tops of my breasts which were laid bare by the gown I had chosen. I heard a groan escape my lips as she cupped one breast, fingers lighting brushing the nipple. Even through the fabric I felt a jolt of pleasure that I had never thought possible to experience.

"I wish I could taste you further," she whispered, her voice muffled for her face was pressed into my cleavage, "I cannot bear it…I need you so."

As I felt her hand move to tug my skirts upwards, there was a mighty thud on the stairs above our heads. We both froze instantly as heavy feet sounded on the wooden stairs scant inches from us. We heard excited male voices but I could not make any words out over the blood pounding in my ears. Whoever it was passed down the stairs and continued directly ahead, away from us.

Even after the interruption, I would have spent the entire evening in that tiny space beneath the stairs but W and I both knew we had appearances to maintain. I was expected to dance with Edward's father and there were no doubt scores of men clamoring to dance with W. Our parting at that moment came with great reluctance for we both knew that we would be separated and forced to mingle. It was our duty…o curse that dreaded word!

With one last parting kiss and a desperate smoothing of our crinkled gowns, we proceeded to grace the assembled company with our presence. While I thus caught only glimpses of W or conversed with her in the company of others, she appeared radiant and confident. Never have I seen a young lady who was in more favor than my beloved W, without a doubt she was the belle of the party. Only at the end of the night, when Abraham moved to escort her back to their carriage did she squeeze my fingers once. There were unshed tears in her eyes. I knew exactly why she was crying, I felt the same immense pang of loss at parting that she did.

It is near midnight as I write these words and still I can remember the silky sweetness of her lips on mine. As I hear her pleading in my ear still, I feel a fierce heat burn between my thighs and I realize exactly where it was that she needed me, for I need her there too…

Willow knew that something was not right as soon as she wandered into work that morning at her usual time of eight am. For one thing, Faith was already at work, which was a rare occurrence indeed, and there was a small crowd gathered around the entrance to her office. Willow found herself breaking into a run for the last stretch; the thought of people searching through her work was terrifying to say the least. Not to mention the little matter of the portrait tucked inside A Treatise on Witchcraft that could raise any number of awkward questions.

However, Willow's concerns for her own affairs were forgotten when she reached the door and peered in. She found Myles seated on her chair, next to a physician who had just finished binding a bulky bandage around his head. Both Croft and Faith were also nearby, Croft appearing uncomfortable as though she had been standing for some time on her bad leg and Faith leaning against her Greek History books with her elbow leaning heavily on a hundred year old copy of Plutarch's Parallel Lives. She saw Willow glare and quickly straightened, removing the offending elbow from the bookshelf.

"Myles, are you okay?" Willow moved to stand next to Giles who was just inside the doorway.

Myles's face was almost as white as the bandage that covered his hair but he nodded, "Just a wee knock tis all."

"I recommend retiring to bed as soon as possible," the physician commented before excusing himself to leave the department staff to get the night's happenings out of Myles.

"Someone broke into the department yesterday evening," Faith commented coldly, "Myles disturbed the bastard and the poor fellow was hit over the head for his troubles."

"Well…" Myles began awkwardly, "I don't think I was hit as such…it was more like the chair hitting the back of my head…"

"See, the brave young man has a concussion," Faith crossed the floor to deposit a gentle kiss on Myles' cheek, "It looked as though he'd tried to fight off the intruder, we found one of my swords lying next to him."

In seconds Myles' pallor had been overcome by the spread of scarlet rising up over his cheeks. He ducked his head and fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket as he felt all eyes in the room on him.

"Giles said it was alright to stay behind, I was just finishing up with the swords when all the lights went out, I thought it was the caretaker but…" Myles began.

"I interviewed him this morning," Lara interrupted, "He'd already finished for the night at the time Myles remembered them going out."

Giles let out a discreet cough at the mention of the 'borrowed' light before Myles continued.

Myles allowed himself an awkward guilty smile, "So I decided to take a look…there's not much to say really, I heard a noise outside the workroom and thought it came from in here…when I came to investigate, there was no one here. Then I turned around and then she rushed at me…her face, that's the last thing I remember."

"She?" Faith asked with surprise clearly registering in her voice, "Myles, this is the first time you've suggested it was a woman…are you quite sure?"

Myles nodded enthusiastically, "It was definitely a woman…pale skin, long blonde hair around her face and the most brilliant blue eyes I've ever seen…very pretty, in a scary way."

As Myles spoke, the blood had drained from Willow's own face. He couldn't be talking about the same woman. She crossed the floor and hunkered down by her desk, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on her as she drew a small object out of her bottom drawer. When she rose to her feet she kept it tucked close against her body.

"Will, are you alright?" Faith asked quietly, before her voice became distinctly suspicious, "Do you have something to add?"

"Ignore me, I just need to develop this film, I had a thought…" Willow began, but under the combined weight of all the stares in the room she quickly fled, clutching the camera to her chest.

Once safely shut into the department's darkroom, Willow allowed herself a moment to run all that Myles had said through her head. The fact that his brief description had fitted the woman she had seen in the park, and again in the warehouse could not be just a coincidence. Although there were undoubtedly many women with blue eyes and pale hair, Willow knew there was just one in particular who seemed to have a habit of appearing at odd moments. As she moved to develop the film in the camera, she could not help but mull over everything in her head. She knew there were connections to be made between the strange goings on and the woman, but the fact that she did not have the information to do so was eating away at her. The solution would be to go straight to the source, but she knew nothing about the woman, who she was, where she lived…only that she desperately wanted to talk to her.

Almost half an hour later, a little high from the chemicals she had inhaled, Willow drew the photograph out of the solution in the tray in front of her. Even as it had developed, she had noticed something odd at the center of the photo. Carefully pegging it on the line above her, she studied it closely. In the center where the blonde woman should have been standing, where she was standing on the day Willow had taken the photograph…there was nothing. Nothing was not exactly the right word, there were trees, grass, the stream bank and several blurry people in the background but none of that really mattered. There was no woman.

Willow continued to stare at the photograph of the park until she realized that no amount of staring was going to insert her in there. While it may very well have been possible for her to move the camera and miss the woman altogether in the awkward manner in which she had shot the photo, Willow knew that wasn't the case. She remembered exactly where the woman had been standing, and that very spot was at the center of the photo.

As she stumbled out of the darkroom, Willow tried to force down the inevitable conclusion. She was a demon researcher, one of the foremost demon authorities in the entire word to be precise and she knew exactly which kind of demon was not at all photogenic. Then there was the paleness of course…everything seemed to add up except for the fact that both times she had seen her had been the middle of the day. Willow didn't know whether to be excited at the thought of being able to write a groundbreaking paper discussing vampires who could walk during the day, or to be absolutely horrified that she had fallen in love with one.

When Faith caught up with her in the corridor a moment later, she was fighting to restore some sense of order to her thoughts.

"Ah, no one…it was just a thought," Willow mumbled, I'm in love with a bloody vampire! What if Faith found out? Oh god, don't let Faith find out…don't let Faith find out!, "Um, Faith, I'm going to do an inventory of my office, do tell me if you find any further information won't you?"

"Certainly, but…" Faith clearly wanted to discuss further but Willow was already making her way back down the hall at a cracking pace.

Willow saw Faith again that afternoon, after spending a few tortured hours trying to work out if anything were missing from her office and desperately trying to forget about the awful state of affairs she found herself in. Given the state of disorganization that was her filing system, it had not been a pleasurable experience and she was hot and flustered…and most unsuccessful in her strive to forget.

"Did you find anything missing?" was Faith's immediate question as she walked into Willow's office and found her seated on the floor with her shirtsleeves rolled past her elbows.

"Do you think I know exactly what I had to start with?" Willow threw up her hands in exasperation, "The only thing that I can even think might be missing is that diary you brought back from Eastern Europe…but then again, Myles could've taken it. He did have his beady eyes on it yesterday, and I can't ask because Lara sent him home."

"Mmhmm," Faith nodded thoughtfully, "And it did have naughty bits in it after all."

Willow glanced up at Faith, "I thought you told Myles yesterday that it didn't…"

"I lied to reduce the likelihood of him 'borrowing' it," Faith shrugged, "Although in hindsight it might not have been the best course of action, I probably increased his curiosity."

"So I can stop worrying about the diary, Myles has it?" Willow asked, holding out her hand so Faith could help her to her feet, "Because I did consider the possibility it may have been taken, I remember reading an entry in the catalogue yesterday that caught my eye and it could possibly be referring to the diary."

Once pulled to her feet, Willow moved to her desk and opened the library catalogue from Tirgsor, she flicked through the pages until she reached the very last entry.

"Don't tell me someone wrote 'naughty lesbian diary' in there…wait, was the word 'lesbian' even used in the eighteenth century?" Faith tried to peer over Willow's shoulder.

"No," Willow replied in a curt voice as she ran her finger down the page, "I've read accounts where it has been referred to as Sapphic perversion…and other similar phrases along those lines."

Willow paused as though Faith's question finally registered in her brain, she glanced up at her friend with a surprised expression on her face, "Are you saying the woman who wrote that diary was a…that she loved women?"

Faith barely nodded as though it were of little importance, "Perhaps, though I think it was just one woman…she does go on to describe their love- making in particularly lovely prose, a little too chaste for my liking but it was interesting."

"Wonderful, you tell me this now it's missing," Willow tried to conceal the disappointment in her voice just before her eyes widened in horror, "Heavens, Myles can't read that!"

"Why not?" Faith allowed a small grin to creep across her face, "Are you worried that he'll know more about Sapphic lovemaking than you do when he has finished?"

"No…of course not…and I know…things…but that is not the point, this is a waste of time," Willow drew their combined attention away from Faith's rather accurate comment and back to the matter at hand, she traced her finger across the page as she read, "Miscellaneous, deposited by W. Van Helsing in 1785."

Faith shrugged, unimpressed, "That could be anything…why would it be the diary?"

"Firstly, there is almost one hundred years between this particular entry and the previous one and it roughly corresponds to the dates in the diary itself which began in 1777 I believe…and secondly, doesn't the name Van Helsing ring a bell?"

"Are you thinking of old Abe?" Faith asked dubiously, "It could have been a common name at the time."

"Van Helsing…common?" Willow clearly did not think so from the tone of her voice, "I'm going to do some research and find out if he had family, children perhaps…siblings…I think there's a commonality here. It may have absolutely nothing to do with the intruder, but my curiosity has been piqued."

"Heaven help us all! Well Will, I don't know what on earth is going on here," Faith looked directly at Willow, "But my instincts tell me that we're on the cusp of something big…and I don't like it one little bit."

"Since everyone in this damn department started acting decidedly strange…first of all you've fallen in love, and it's with a woman who is quite possibly responsible for breaking in and hitting Myles over the head, you're saving my life which is strange enough in itself and Lara is acting like she's your bloody mother."

"Why is Croft acting like she's my mother?" Willow asked with a frown even as she kept thinking over and over, I'm in love with a vampire!

Faith bit her lip as though she had been caught out, "Ah, no reason, ignore my ranting…"

This time it was Faith who had been caught out. Following some mumbled words that Willow could not quite make out but sounded distinctly like 'you ask too many questions,' she exited her office. As Faith left, Willow thought she saw one very red cheek.

Willow was talking to herself as she paced the footpath towards her flat. She'd worked late and the sun had just disappeared over the horizon. The shadows of dusk were gradually giving way to night. Gas streetlamps flicked on just as Willow reached her front door and she fumbled in her satchel for something. Almost a minute passed as she sifted through the stacks of paper jammed into the little bag and searched through various pockets. Various words of sounds and frustration escaped her lips before she suddenly sighed in sheer relief and reached inside her jacket. Triumphantly she withdrew a key and plugged it into the lock. As Willow slipped inside she never saw the shape lurking in the shadows just across the road, watching her.

Moments later the figure, shrouded in a dark cape, moved out into the streetlight. Light fell across striking planes of a woman's face making her pale skin seem to glow. She paused for a moment to stare at the spot where Willow had stood before pulling the cowl of her cape up over her pale hair. Her features fell into shadow and she moved off, footfalls almost silent on the street cobbles. Just as Willow had not seen her, she did not appear to notice her own stalkers. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a knee length leather coat fell into step beside her and she did not immediately react to his presence despite the fact that he was of an ill-favored ilk. He strode with a definite swagger, his lips curled up into a curl approximation of a smile. His face was long, almost gaunt and ended in a square chin. His white hair stood in jagged spikes atop his head.

"I can never understand why you insist on watching her at night as well…anyone one of us would be more than capable of following her movements," he spoke with a heavy London accent, most unlike the cultured tones with which the woman responded.

"Because William, our master cannot trust you to keep your hands to yourself…" she began to reply coldly.

She ignored him as she continued, "Imagine how displeased he would be if he found out the girl was lying face down in a gutter after you'd had your way with her."

"Can't blame a poor bugger for wanting some of that," he seemed a little chastened, tucking his chin down into his coat.

"That to which you so charmingly refer, is not yours," she cast a sidelong glance at the man walking next to her and her brow furrowed in disgust.

Tara ignored him, instead casting her gaze ahead to the two darkened figures blocking their path. Neither she nor William slowed their pace as they continued walking. She hastened slightly to move ahead of William, she could not abide the company of the man…or rather demon, beside her.

None of us are human any longer, and yet I cannot help but refer to us as men or women as though we were still alive…I know I should not wish it…but I do…

Tara and William stopped short of the pair in front of them, now revealed to be Angelus, his tall frame wrapped possessively around a much smaller woman. Her body and features were petite even though she was swathed in a large fur coat, blonde hair barely peeping out from beneath a Cossack style hat.

"I tire of this nothingness!" the small woman named Elizabeth announced in a high-pitched voice as she ignored Tara altogether, "I'm hungry and I want to hunt!"

"And we shall my sweet," Angelus replied in a soothing voice, raising her hand to his lips and depositing a small kiss thereon, before his tone became mocking, "Tara appears as though she has little to report other than another day spent gazing forlornly at her long-lost love."

Tara allowed herself an exasperated sigh, "My mortal self had a passing infatuation with Willow Van Helsing…in case you have not realized, I am no longer my mortal self…and that woman is not Willow Van Helsing."

"I'm just concerned she will take up her old habits, I lost many a good friend to that woman," William muttered

"And I think we should string her up and commence carving chunks out of her until she tells us where that damnable skull is," Angelus tightened his grip around the woman in his arms.

"Gentlemen…and Elizabeth," Tara began slowly, as though she were addressing children, "Willow Van Helsing has been in the ground for over one hundred years, this woman will not take up her old habits and she does not know where the skull is, I am still of the belief that Abraham Van Helsing was responsible for its disappearance…the old man hid it somewhere, and torturing that mortal is not going to get us any closer to finding it."

"And why didn't you tell me yesterday that you believe she does not know where the skull is!" Angelus roared, "We are wasting our time."

"We are not," Tara fought to keep her composure, "Wilhelmina Rosenberg will locate the skull for us…but she must be given the time and information to do so."

"Fine," Angelus did not sound or appear to be convinced, "We will give her the time and space you say she needs…but if results are not forthcoming then I will do it my way…and I do not think there will be much blood left for our master to drink…"

"You torture me with talk of food!" Elizabeth growled petulantly, baring her fangs.

"My sweet, we will head down to the river immediately and find someone who will not be missed…" Angelus began.

"That's dirty blood that is! I want someone clean and sweet!" Elizabeth stomped her foot yet again.

"Then that is what you shall have…Tara, will you join us?" Angelus inquired as he began to steer Elizabeth in the opposite direction.

William eyeballed Tara as he turned to follow in the couple's footsteps, "Bet your girl's clean and sweet…I'm going to taste her before long, you know that don't you."

William let out a short laugh and left Tara alone to watch the backs of her three departing companions. As they disappeared in the distance she turned and walked back to the flat where Wilhelmina Rosenberg was no doubt getting ready for bed. She then folded herself into shadows directly across the street, watched for an hour until the lights behind the window went out and continued to watch throughout the night until the sun rose in the morning.

Willow felt her feet dragging as she stumbled into the flat. It had been a long and tiring day trying to work out what had happened the previous evening when poor Myles had ended up with his head swathed in bandages. Despite the fact that the young man had protested he was fine, Willow suspected his bravado was a result of the kiss on the cheek from Faith and she could not shake the image of his white face as he described what he had seen that night. She was disturbed by the fact that he had described her mystery woman, and even more disturbed by the fact that there was nothing at the center of the developed photograph.

Her eyelids were heavy as she carelessly tossed her satchel down on the kitchen table. She didn't even bother with something to eat, instead moving straight through to her bedroom where she methodically began stripping her clothes off. Her suit was a crumpled pile on the floor before she remembered that it was her only one after ruining her grey suit the day before. With a sigh she gathered the garments up and hung them in her closet, momentarily becoming thoroughly depressed by the thought of shopping for another. Willow then fished under her pillow for her stripy pajamas but soon stopped as she noticed the foreign object lying atop her pillow.

It was the diary, sitting neat as you please as though she had left it there when she went to work that morning. Willow's first thought was to panic; she checked the latches on the one window in her flat and then the door but found all to be sound. She also distinctly remembered unlocking the door to get in.

"What do you want from me?" Willow demanded of the book as she re-entered her bedroom, "Stupid…it's a diary, a damned possessed diary!"

Willow kept a close eye on the little book as she pulled her pajamas on, expecting it to do something odd at any moment. It did nothing of the sort. It remained on her pillow, even when she flicked the lights off and turned on just the lamp by her bed. Willow hesitantly reached out and plucked the diary off, she couldn't very well sleep with it there. She kept the diary in her hand as she folded herself beneath the sheets. Although her eyes were heavy with sleep and she really did not want to have anything more to do with the strange thing, she opened it to the first page opposite the inscription and started reading.

It would seem that I can scarce hear myself think over the beating of my heart…

I think that perhaps by committing this evidence of our love to paper, I am coming as close as I dare to admitting it to the world. Although I think I would die if anyone were to read these words, perhaps another part of me would feel a delicious thrill at having our love be known.

Willow slapped the diary shut in a rather determined act of finality and practically shoved it beneath her pillow. She backed away from her bed as though it could watch her back until her back hit her dresser. When she turned she found a red-checked face staring back at her. She poured cold water from the pitcher into the bowl and splashed liberal amounts on her face, at a complete loss to explain the flushed sensations coursing throughout her body after reading that particular passage in the diary.

It's just letters on a page for heaven's sake, letters that make up words, words that carry important information, scholarly learning imparted for the benefit of future generations…like Plato or Herodotus…although they did write in Greek and the diary is in English…bad, bad, naughty English!

Willow scrubbed the skin on her face until it was tingling all over, even redder with the combination of scrubbing and the icy water. She felt a wave of indignation wash over her that the same letters that Shakespeare used were also used in such a crude and frustrating manner. Her clothes were pulled on in much the same frame of mind, each item was tugged on mercilessly and without a care that her shirt had not been ironed for the past week.

She continued to seethe throughout her journey to work, her thoughts only broken when she berated herself for forgetting to put on her coat. It was therefore a rather blue-lipped Willow who arrived at the British Museum sometime later. Even as she moved through the familiar and usually comforting halls she could not clear her mind. The words from the diary were stamped into her eyeballs and kept reciting themselves over and over in her mind as though they were a memory, and not just something she had read.

This is ridiculous, Willow thought in exasperation, I'm remembering making love to a beautiful woman like it was yesterday…and I did no such thing, nor am I likely to do such a thing in the near future, if ever…and here comes Faith, capital…just capital, okay, try and look as sane as possible…

Her best friend had paused in the corridor up ahead, lying in wait as Willow approached.

Knowing Willow as well as she did, Faith immediately noticed that something was not quite right with her. The redheaded young woman appeared decidedly anxious and her cheeks were stained with a hot rush flush despite the cool air outside. Faith narrowed her eyes and moved quickly to cut Willow off even as she attempted to move past her with just a curt nod. Her flustered actions only served to add fuel to Faith's curiosity.

"Fine," Willow muttered, ducking her head, "I'm on my way to the library to do some research on Van Helsing…so if you don't mind…"

When Willow managed to brush past her, Faith whirled and caught her by the strap of her satchel and yanked her backwards. A rather grumpy-looking Willow allowed herself to be halted, but kept her gaze downwards.

"What game are you playing at?" Faith demanded, "I've known you to become a little weird and obsessive while carrying out research…but never before has it driven you to the point of rudeness…too busy to stop and have a morning chat with me? Okay, granted I'm usually not the best conversationalist in the morning but I'm still me and unless something has changed overnight, I'm still your best friend."

Willow looked up suddenly with an expression approaching mortification, "I wasn't being rude…I get distracted a lot and ignore people and I will admit that I'm absent-minded sometimes, but never rude…it's just that…"

Willow stopped. Even though Faith was her best friend and more like family that her own parents, she could not bring herself to explain the way the passage in the diary had made her feel. The passage itself had been so private and personal that she felt ashamed for reading it, not to mention the strange manner in which it had instilled itself in her own consciousness. To share such matters with Faith would be entering into a territory she was not prepared to go…and it was embarrassing beyond words.

"It's just that I'm not feeling…quite myself," Willow managed to explain herself without telling an outright lie, "I just need to read something and clear my head."

Faith chuckled, "Most people would not class reading something as the best cure for clearing heads…but coming from you, I think can understand it…you are alright aren't you?"

Willow managed a tight-lipped smile of her own and a quick nod, "Yes, all with the fine here…I promise."

Faith cocked her head slightly to one side as though she were studying Willow closely, "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

Willow nodded again, a little too quickly this time, "Of course…and I'll let you know if I find out more about Van Helsing."

As Faith watched Willow walk down the corridor in the direction of the Museum's library, she had to suppress the urge to follow her. Lara's concerns regarding the young woman had now become her own. Whatever Willow had just said, Faith felt that something serious was going on in Willow's life…or at least was about to and she needed to be there to protect her in the face of whatever it was.

With a wall of books piled around her as if to resemble a sturdy rampart, Willow felt somewhat safer. She managed to fill her head with biographical details of the life of Abraham Van Helsing. For the most part, it made for exceptionally dull reading. The man seemed to have spent at least fifty years of his life stuck behind a desk writing articles on best museum practice and personally overseeing every square inch of the massive organization. There was very little information on his personal life, although from what Willow could read between the lines, he appeared not to have had any living family.

Even for one who enjoyed research as much as Willow, the task was turning out to be extremely unfruitful. She was about to call quits on her search when she suddenly jumped at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. As her heart rate calmed, she glanced over her shoulder to see Giles standing over her.

"Giles, why are you venturing out of your workshop?" Willow inquired, relieved to be distracted.

"Well I am known to do that from time to time, Willow," he responded warmly, glancing down at the heavy tome she was reading, "Van Helsing? Any particular reason for looking up the old coot?"

"I am beginning to think not," Willow closed the book, sneezing in the resulting clouds of dust that were thrown up, "I found a reference to a 'W. Van Helsing' in the library catalogue that Faith found at Tirgsor and was hoping to find out who that might be…the date of deposit suggests that it whoever it was would have been a contemporary of Abraham's…but not family I think, I can't see that he had any."

"And there's barely anything at all on his early life, he makes a few references to his military career in later writings, and I believe at one stage he may have been posted to India…it is honestly quite maddening."

Willow glanced back up at Giles following his rather odd comment, "Giles…you speak as if you knew him? I know you're old…but I also know you're not that old."

"Ah, well now of course not…." Giles was so flustered that he did not even pick up on Willow's good-natured ribbing, he recovered quickly however, "But I have done a bit of research myself, he did have some interesting ideas."

Willow snorted and pushed back her chair, "I wouldn't choose that word exactly."

Willow rose to her feet and stretched with a wide yawn, "I honestly don't think there's any point…it's a dead end to a side topic that I should waste no more time on, especially not while I have real work to do."

"Willow Rosenberg!" Giles suddenly snapped, "Do you not remember anything I taught you? Did I teach you to give up as soon as something became too difficult for you?"

"No," Willow replied, somewhat taken aback by her mentor's sudden outburst, "You encouraged me to persevere with everything…you think I should…"

"I don't think you should do anything, Willow," Giles turned to make his way out of the library, he cast one last glance back over his shoulder, "However, if I might make a suggestion, I believe Hampshire would be a good place to continue your search."

Before Willow could interrogate Giles as to his sudden interest in her work, he disappeared through the large doors that led out into the museum proper. Willow couldn't bring herself to do something as unseemly as run through the library to catch up to him. Instead she stood rooted to the same spot with a puzzled expression on her face. She already thoroughly disliked the idea of having to leave London. Going alone was out of the question, she'd have to twist Faith's arm to get her to come along.

The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon. The curtains were drawn in Lara Croft's office, only the golden glow of a single lamp served to bring light to the room and it failed to reach to the spaces of the cavernous ceiling. Much of the room was shrouded in shadow save the desk space around the lamp where Lara worked, head bent over several pages in front of her. Long, delicate fingers grasped a fountain pen, it was currently poised above the page as she read the lines already written. Her brow furrowed gently before she continued writing with strokes of precision. Lara wrote non-stop for the better part of ten minutes before she glanced up suddenly at the sound of her door latch being rattled. As the door swung inwards, Lara set the pen down. There was no trace of surprise on her face when she saw who it was. Just as she was the only person who would dare put her feet up on Lara's desk, Faith was also the only person who would enter without bothering to knock.

Faith was not wearing her scarlet jacket, jut a plain white shirt and a pair of man's trousers tucked into riding boots. Her roughly bound hair was escaping around her face and down her neck as though she had been engaged in some sort of wild exertion. She paused to lean against the bookshelves behind her, arms folded brazenly across her chest.

"In all my years in this business, I have never had a more insubordinate employee," Lara remarked, leaning back in her hair and calmly regarding the young woman standing in front of her.

Obviously this comment pleased Faith immensely as she smiled broadly. She straightened up and let her arms fall to her side as she sauntered across the space between the door and the desk. Faith planted both palms face down on the desk. She leaned inwards, over the desk and towards Lara with the smile still fixed on her face.

"Have you had a chance to read my report yet?" Faith asked, although the tone of her voice was clearly not meant for such a mundane question.

Lara saw straight through Faith's question as a small smile played across her lips. She rose slowly from her chair, obviously she had been sitting for some hours and her bad leg had stiffened. With Faith looking on with a hungry gaze, Lara moved around the table, past Faith and to the settee which was tucked against the bookshelves on the far side of the office. Leaning back against its elevated headrest, she swung her leg up with a small sigh.

As Faith shifted slightly so she could face Lara she saw the elegant brunette tug back her skirts and petticoats to reveal a pale but lithe leg, terribly marred by a series of brutal scars. She also saw a look on Lara's face that she had never seen before, one of anguish and disgust.

When Lara glanced back up towards Faith, the look was gone, erased as though it had never been there in the first place.

"I've faced stone statues that come to life, more daemon hounds than I care to remember, vampires, zombies, werewolves, flying demons, subterranean demons…dozens of demons all at once…and the only creature that's ever come close to killing me was a bloody crocodile in Australia…and I found myself lying on a wooden table in the middle of nowhere with a knife pressed to the throat of the only doctor for miles around, I swore I'd slit his throat if he cut my leg off."

"Well…you still have your leg so I guess he's still breathing?" Faith could think of nothing else to say.

"Lucky for both of us," Lara commented wryly, she made to pull her skirts back over the scars, "Sorry…I don't usually…"

Faith was across the floor before Lara could continue her apology. She found no further need for one as she Faith's warm lips closed in upon her own. Lara lifted her head slightly to meet her and within a few moments the two women were locked in a languorous embrace. Lara was only dimly aware of her hands stroking Faith's back through the fabric of her shirt as she lost herself to the emotions she felt coursing through her body. It was not merely months, but years of pent up frustration that was released in the steaming hot breath escaping from her pressed lips.

When Faith's hand moved beneath her skirts and continued to worm its warm up her leg, beneath her drawers, Lara encouraged her with a slight shifting of weight in her hips. While she had not intended the movement to come across as a blatant thrust against Faith's hand, that was nevertheless how Faith perceived it. The brunette laughed lightly in her ear, a rush of warm breath that sent her extremities into a tingling frenzy. The frenzy spread across her entire body as Faith's fingers found what they had been searching for, eagerly delving into the warm folds between her legs. The thrusting motion of her hips was no longer a subtle shifting of weight as she began to move against the firm stroking motions of Faith's fingers.

Faith then slipped one arm beneath Lara's neck to support herself, the unused fingers of that hand curling around to brush against Lara's cheek. Lara found herself leaning into that touch, even taking Faith's fingers in her mouth as the pace increased. A small cry escaped her lips as the index finger of her other hand slipped past the already quite moist folds. The cries did not abate as Faith thrust gently upwards until her finger was buried as deeply as possible and her palm jammed firmly against the clit beneath it.

The question was redundant. As Lara felt Faith begin to move her hips in time with the thrusting motion of her hand she knew there was only one conclusion that they could possibly reach…and that required Faith continuing exactly what she was doing. To ensure she did not stop or move away Lara wrapped both legs around Faith's back. That action was apparently all the answer that Faith needed as she increased the pace of her thrusting, her hips surging forward with each stroke. She buried her face in Lara's neck as she moved, filling her ears with the regular intensity of her breathing.

Faith's movements took Lara to a place she had not been in a long time, that foggy haze of pleasure where one could get lost forever or drown completely. As she allowed herself to be drawn even further into the world that just the two of them shared, she heard herself whisper the brunette's name fiercely, like an oath. Faith was making sounds of her own, they could have possibly been words or grunts of exertion, whatever they were they did not make any sense in the midst of the pleasant haze in Lara's mind. She felt Faith's body move against her own, the way the muscles rippled beneath her shirt, and the feel of not one but two fingers thrust inside her. They moved easily through the slick folds, each time seeming to move deeper and hit a new spot that felt even more pleasurable if that were possible. She was also aware of Faith's palm moving firmly against her clit, almost roughly stroking the hard little nubbin of flesh in time with her thrusting.

Although Lara knew that little time had passed, the frenzy of Faith's movements and her own pent-up need guaranteed that her orgasm came swiftly. When it did, she arched her back and tried to stifle the cries bursting from her lips as she knew Cordelia would no doubt be behind her desk just on the other side of the door. Faith was there to quickly smother the cries with her lips, continuing to move even as Lara's body bucked beneath her weight. She felt the walls of her cunt spasm around the fingers that moved within. For one intense, drawn-out moment, her world imploded and was reduced to two bodies struggling against one another. Faith's fiercely thrusting body was contained within her own sweaty thighs. As she rode out the violent orgasm, she found herself instinctively squeezing Faith's body as though it were a lifeline.

When the moment was over she felt drained and her thighs slipped from their position, one falling to rest against the back of the couch while the other protruded out over the edge as she rested her foot on the floor. For the first time she was aware of just how heavy Faith was as she lay across her body, the majority of her weight now resting on her middle. Faith's talented hand still lay within the puddle that was her cunt, she felt the seat of her drawers to be damp with spilt juices and in a moment of silliness she worried that the couch may have been stained as a result of their impromptu lovemaking.

Such thoughts of dirty upholstery were banished a moment later as Faith resumed the lazy kiss that had been interrupted by even more sinful pleasures. It was a tired but intimate exploration of lips, ending with Faith nuzzling against Lara's nose in a tender expression that seemed completely at odds with her boisterous personality. She smiled before nestling her cheek against Lara's chest, no doubt listening as the rapidly beating organ gradually slowed. Other residues of their lovemaking remained, a pleasant musky, sweaty smell hung in the air while Faith's hand remained nestled between Lara's legs.

Neither felt the need for any conversation for almost ten minutes until Lara spoke just as Faith was drifting into a pleasant waking dream.

"Have any developments been made regarding the information you collected in Tirgsor?" Lara whispered.

Lara tried to remove all traces sensuality from her voice but with Faith's warm, weight lying across her body, this was not quite successful. As a result, her words came out with less weight than she would have ordinarily given to such a matter of importance.

"You speak of business at a time like this?" Faith glanced up at the woman's face, her chin brushing Lara's, "Truly woman, you are preoccupied beyond all reason…or am I not as intoxicating as I have always led myself to believe?"

Lara laughed, a brief throaty sound, "You are that…and more, but always at the back of my mind is the knowledge that there are matters of great concern lurking in the world, matters that I must deal with…that I must send my people out into the world to deal with."

"Has this got something to do with Rosenberg?" Faith asked quietly, turning away from Lara's distracted gaze and resting her head in the crook of her shoulder.

"Care to enlighten me?" Faith asked, even though she already knew the answer…and she did not expect favors just because she had Lara had all of a sudden become more intimate than their relationship should have allowed.

"You will soon realize that being my lover admits you only so far into my confidence," there was a distinct note of reluctance to Lara's sigh.

Lara's lips curled up into a small smile, "Officially I am as cold and frigid as the Arctic seas…unofficially, I am yours…as little as there is of me to give."

Faith rolled over within Lara's arms and propped herself up so she could work at the buttons on the front of her employer's dress.

With several deft movements she had the garment open to just above Lara's navel. The chemise in her path was then rather savagely ripped open by her powerful grip to finally bare Lara's breasts. The magnificent appendages rose rhythmically with Lara's still heavy breathing. A few bubbles of sweat lay nestled in her cleavage.

"I wouldn't say there is 'little' of you at all," Faith whispered as she ducked her head to take the nearest parcel of flesh into her mouth.

My whole body was gripped with a spasm of fear as his fingers dug deep into my arm. I glanced up at his sickly smile and was terrified to think that he might see the truth in my eyes. Even now as I sit here and write these words I can lift the sleeve of my nightgown to reveal the bruises his fingers left on my flesh.

Willow sat up with a start and immediately regretted the sudden movement. She had fallen asleep on her desk with her neck craned at an awkward angle. Now as she straightened up she was instantly reminded that sitting in a chair at her desk was not the ideal sleeping position. She glanced out her tiny window to see that dawn was not far away, the first fingers of light creeping out across the tiny sliver of sky she could see. As she attempted to stretch out the rather painful crook in her neck, she remembered the dream that had kept her sleeping so deeply in her awkward position. Further evidence of this deep sleep was provided by the drool which covered the papers upon which her cheek had lain. As she picked them up to wipe it off with her handkerchief, her eyes fell upon the little diary. Without thinking too much about why she was doing so, Willow picked up the small volume and flicked through the pages to the next unread entry.

Even as Willow scanned the first few sentences she realized that she knew exactly what happened in the entry. From the Grecian temple, to the writer's white thighs (which caused Willow's heart to race) and the interruption of the two women's kissing…it was written exactly as it had played out in her dream and she realized that she had dreamt everything from the perspective of 'W.' She remembered the feel of the blonde woman's lips on her own. She lifted her fingertips and distinctly remembered the feel of the silky white skin on the woman's thighs. The one thing that was missing was the woman's face, try as she might, Willow could not remember what she looked like…only that she had been completely intoxicating.

Willow immediately set the little book down. As if events surrounding it had not be weird enough already, it managed to surprise her yet again. She eyed it for a few moments as though she expected it to speak to her before rising to her feet and turning to scan the heavily laden bookshelves behind her. She found the volume she had been thinking of and settled herself back in her chair with the book propped up on the desk.

When Faith arrived at work a good hour later that morning, she found Willow completely ensconced in the book, so much so that the red-head did not even look up when her friend entered her office.

Unperturbed by Willow's lack of greeting, Faith smiled broadly, "Ah, now that's a pretty sight. I've been coming in here lately to find you involved in odd pastimes like drawing…now you're back to reading, it's comforting."

Willow glanced up with surprise clearly registering on her face as she slammed the book shut, "Hello…errr, how long have you been there? Not long I hope because I was just doing some important research and was quite caught up…I'm sorry if I ignored you…reading and all, you know me…"

Faith made herself a perch on Willow's desk, something of a feat considering the amount of material that covered the desk. Willow reached out and snatched a few of her more valuable items before Faith sat on them and in doing so, she let the book in front of her slip from her grasp. Faith was quick to seize the volume up, flipping it over to read the cover before Willow could reach out and stop her.

"A Treatise on Reincarnation?" Faith read in an amused tone, "What are you planning on coming back as?"

Willow stood so she was in a better position to snatch the book back off Faith, once it was safely back in her hands she turned and deposited it back in its spot on the shelf as though she had no intention of reading further. She faced Faith with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Not coming back so much as…already returned…" Willow began awkwardly; she paused before continuing, "Faith, do you believe in it at all…in reincarnation I mean. I've studied extensively and come across a lot of seemingly unexplainable things in my time here but I've never felt so strange about anything in my life…I honestly think I'm losing my mind and it's all because of that stupid diary you found. You know what; I think I'll blame you for bringing it back with you."

Faith arched her eyebrows, "You do sound odder than usual Willow…and not your customary scatty, intellectual oddness either…I think you need some fresh air…and what the hell is up with your hair, have you been sleeping on your desk again?"

Willow avoided answering Faith's question but she did reach up both hands and drag them through the tangled red strands on her head in a perfunctory manner. Faith just shook her head at the complete hopelessness of the woman standing in front of her as an amused smile played across her lips.

The smile faded from Faith's lips and her brow furrowed as though she were trying to work out exactly what was going on in her friend's head, "Hampshire? Willow, why would I want to go to bloody Hampshire?"

Willow stood on the other side of her desk, leaning forward with both hands resting on the edge in an attempt to create a semblance of authority…of which of course she had none.

"Important to the museum or important to you?" Faith asked in an accusatory tone.

Willow buckled slightly under Faith's tone but her answer was just as firm, "Okay, I need these answers for my own sanity…but I have a feeling that they go much wider. Someone needs me to get to the bottom of that diary and for that I need to go to Hampshire and get to the bottom of 'W Van Helsing,' there's something important here Faith, and I have the feeling it's going to affect us all."

Faith folded her arms and pursed her lips in a thoughtful manner, "You're not one to act an instincts Will…you act on facts, which is why I will come with you…you're acting so strangely I'm afraid you'll run off to Hampshire by yourself."

"I could," Willow insisted, lifting her chin defiantly, "There's nothing I should worry about in Hampshire anyway."

"Not ordinarily," Faith grinned, "But I'm sure you'll mange to find some element of trouble wherever you go…okay, when do we leave?"

Impatient to at least start unraveling the mystery, Willow dragged Faith to the train station that very morning. Both women travelled light with just a small bag between them and an innocuous looking case concealing a small arsenal of Faith's weapons. The journey into the heart of Hampshire was uneventful, Willow promptly buried herself in a book and Faith fell asleep before the train had even left London. She did not wake until Willow prodded her awake at their destination some hours later. The redhead was somewhat miffed to see that Faith sprang into action with her attire and hair as perfect as they had been when she boarded the train.

Thanks to the organization's connections, there was a small two seated carriage drawn by a rather placid looking grey horse waiting for them when they alighted at the station. Faith glanced around, quite used to being in the middle of nowhere and turned to Willow who was struggling with a rather unwieldy map.

"I think so," was Willow's less than convincing reply as she squinted to try and read the map in the fast dimming light of early evening.

Faith groaned loudly as Willow moved towards the carriage without retrieving any of their luggage from the platform. The redhead did not look up from the map until the horse tethered to their carriage emitted a rather disgusted snort. She gave a sharp, surprised squeal, dropped the map and stumbled back a few steps to put more distance between herself and the horse which was eyeing her as though it wanted to take a bite out of her arm. As if sensing this, Willow folded her arms tightly across her chest and kept the horse in her sights (not that he was going anywhere).

"I take it I'll be driving then," Faith announced as she breezed past Willow and deposited their bags behind the seats, she then moved to stroke the horses' forehead as though to taunt Willow further.

Without taking her eyes off the horse, Willow clambered up into the carriage and seated herself stiffly on the padded seat. Faith mounted the carriage a few moments later and untied the reins. She glanced across at Willow and grinned contentedly before she urged the horse forward with an exuberantly loud cry of encouragement. Willow was thrown back against the seat as the horse sensed Faith's enthusiasm and obviously felt spurred to move as fast as possible. With Faith perched forward in the seat gripping the reins like someone possessed, Willow was forced to hang on for dear life.

Luckily for Willow the horse had slowed eventually and she managed to give Faith directions to the church in a barely tremulous voice, maintaining some semblance of dignity. When the carriage eventually clattered to a halt at the gates to the church ground, Willow glanced across at the church. It was unremarkable, just a tiny parish church like so many others that dotted the English landscape. There was a tiny steeple atop its slanted tile roof and narrow arched windows that pierced its walls. Both women climbed down from the carriage, Faith stopping long enough to open her weapons case and retrieve her favorite weapons, a sword and dagger which she belted around her waist.

The sun had almost disappeared completely as they picked their way through the small graveyard that surrounded the church, just a few fading rays illuminating their path.

"Two field trips in a week Will, you'll be ruining your reputation soon," Faith grinned across at Willow as she opened the heavy oak door, its hinges protested with a loud screech at being disturbed.

"For a good reason," Willow muttered, "You drag me off to a warehouse that's being staked out by a particularly nasty demon that I have to save you from…and then if I remember rightly two years before that you lured me to that house in Shepherd's Bush with the promise of an untouched library. There was no library and a whole family of violent, restless spirits!"

Willow pulled a face behind Faith's back as she led the way inside. The air inside the church was heavy with age and musty with disuse. While it did not appear to be totally abandoned, its days of being full of worshipers were long behind it. Everything bore a thin layer of dust; no one had walked down the aisle nor sat on the pews for some time. Willow glanced down at her footprints in the dust and felt a chill run down her spine, suppose there was a good reason for the lack of parishioners? She felt icy cold fingers on the back of her neck and squealed loudly, her scream echoing around the vaulted ceiling.

"Will," it was Faith, a broad grin on her face, "We're in a church, we couldn't possibly be in any less danger…you know, you really ought to try going once in a while."

Willow frowned disbelievingly as her friend slipped past her towards the pulpit, "You go to church?"

"Of course," Faith glanced back over her shoulder, "With everything I see in my line of work…well, let's just say it gives me a sense of peace."

Willow stopped walking and studied Faith's back as she too stopped just in line with the front pew and stared up at the stained glass window. Willow glanced upwards too, grimy and dull though it was; it was still beautiful in the fading light. While Faith's words were definitely not an admission of weakness, it had still come as a surprise to Willow to realize that there was something she hadn't known about her friend. For a moment it caused her to take stock of how well she really knew the other woman and she was somewhat saddened to admit that she did not know her as well as she would have liked.

"Faith, I'm sorry…" she said quietly, hardly daring to disturb the other woman's brief peaceful respite.

She crossed the distance between them to Faith's side, feeling somewhat closer to her due to their physical proximity.

"I just meant I'm sorry for not being as good a friend as I could be…I mean, I watch you leave for dark destinations unknown and all I'm really interested in is whether you come back with books…it just seems a bit…"

"Shallow…single-minded?" Faith finished quickly but moments later she glanced across at Willow with an appreciative smile, "I like you just the way you are Willow, don't try and change for anyone."

Faith was quick to cut her off, "Enough with the sentimental stuff Willow or I'll start to worry that you do have a thing for me…haven't you got something you came here to do?"

Willow felt a hot flush creep into her cheeks and she nodded quickly, moving to a small stack of registers that were neatly placed in an alcove to one side. She ran her figures over their handsomely bound leather spines and was dismayed when she saw her fingertips blacken with a layer of dust. Withdrawing her handkerchief from her coat pocket, she spent a good minute dusting the half a dozen volumes until she was satisfied that she had discharged her self-imposed duty. After stuffing her dirty handkerchief back into her pocket, she selected a volume tucked in the middle of the shelf. Carrying it solemnly, she deposited it on the pulpit next to the worn bible.

"Better you than me," Faith quipped as she leant over Willow's shoulder to see the cramped rows of records, each one undecipherable to her untrained eye.

Willow pursed her lips thoughtfully as she scanned the dates of births and deaths recorded in the parish register, there were a good number of Van Helsings scattered throughout.

"Our dear friend Abe was born in 1754…" Willow whispered as she quickly scanned the dates, "Here he is, christened on 24th May 1754, Abraham Theodore Van Helsing, son of Pieter and Marianne…"

"Why so many Van Helsing's?" Faith reached out and traced her finger down the list; indeed, there were several more christenings for the same family.

Willow shrugged, "Infant mortality was high…sickly infants were christened as soon as possible…" she too ran her finger down the page and read out the entry each time she came to 'Van Helsing, "a daughter 15th October 1755, died four days later, son born and died 24th August 1757 , son born and died 5th January 1759, daughter born 6th October 1760…there's no date of death but no name either…"

"Not really, it could simply be that she too was expected to die and they did not name her at the time of her christening…it appears though that she must have lived," Willow continued scanning downwards and directly beneath the entry for the unnamed daughter was another 'Van Helsing', "Marianne Van Helsing, died 6th October."

Beneath that entry were no further entries for Van Helsing until several pages later where 'Pieter Van Helsing' was listed as having passed away in 1775.

"So Abe had a sister?" Faith stated as Willow closed the heavy volume, "But without a name we can't even speculate whether she was the 'W Van Helsing' that deposited the diary?"

As they exited the church almost half an hour later, (Willow having paused to give the books another, more thorough dusting) Willow ran through the facts she'd stored in her head about the Van Helsings. She already knew as much as was written about Abe's professional life but the small snippets of his personal life she had gleamed added little overall. He had a sister and they were left orphaned when Abe had been a young man of 21 and his sister barely 15…still she knew the family had money so neither would have suffered for lack of options, Abraham for choices with his career and his sister for suitable marriage prospects.

"I'm sorry I dragged you all this way for almost nothing," Willow told Faith as they made their way through the church's small graveyard with only a weak moonlight to guide them back to the carriage, "If Giles hadn't been so insistent on my following up this lead I wouldn't have bothered…I cannot see any relevance to my Vlad Tepes research, if there was the smallest hint I would follow it up but…"

"It's okay you don't have to justify yourself to me, I know you Will, you'd sniff out any research trail…but I don't understand why Giles was so insistent?" Faith asked as she picked her way between the weathered headstones.

"I have no idea…" Willow began a split second before Faith's hand shot hand and grabbed her arm, sharp nails digging into her skin even through her jacket, "What the hell…"

Willow spun in Faith's grip and made to snatch her arm away but there was something on her friend's face that made her freeze. She watched as Faith's free hand moved to the hilt of her sword and gripped it with white knuckles.

When Faith used that tone Willow knew she should do exactly as told, she scrambled behind her and in doing so saw exactly what was between them and the carriage. She had an extremely unpleasant flashback to a dark warehouse and a stinking creature pinning her to the ground, gobs of salvia dripping over her face as a mouth full of barred fangs grinned down at her.

"Faith…it's a -it's a – it's a…" Willow stammered, unable to force the relevant words out.

"I know what it is you bloody idiot," Faith drew her sword in one swift stroke, the blade rasping against the scabbard in a familiar sound that meant business.

Willow's eyes did not leave the Atramen as it moved closer to the two women. It was almost identical to the one they faced in the warehouse although she had seen that one go up in flames. If anything though, this one was even larger with muscles rippling beneath its skin. As Faith moved in front of her, sword at the ready, Willow caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She felt weak at the knees when she turned to see a second spiky headed demon, its massive white eyes shining in the moonlight, huge grin barred as though it were laughing at them.

"Ah…Faith! There's two of them!" Willow squeaked as she reached out and grabbed Faith's arm, dragging her around to face the second Atramen which was approaching from the opposite direction. She made a mental note to amend her paper where she had stated that Atramen never worked in pairs…citing personal experience as her reference.

"Bloody hell," Faith hissed, her knuckles white on the hilts of her sword and dagger, "I don't suppose there's any point in saying I'll take this one if you get the other?"

"What?" Willow yelped, clutching at Faith's arm desperately, "What am I going to do to it? Bore it to death with the collected works of Aeschylus?"

"It'd work for me!" Faith hissed through gritted teeth, she was constantly moving and watching their foes despite Willow's awkward weight on her arm, "Here take this."

Willow found the hilt of Faith's dagger pressed into her hand; she glanced down at the foot long weapon, completely unaccustomed to its weight. She stared at it as one would stare at an unwanted appendage, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I should think it obvious," Faith was already occupied with the closest Atramen as it stalked her, poised to strike, "If they get anywhere near you, stick it into them!"

That was the only good advice Faith had to offer before the Atramen leapt directly towards her with all its astonishing speed and strength. She roughly shoved Willow to one side, safely out of the creature's path, even as she weaved beneath its strike. A clawed foot narrowly missed her head but she did not dwell on narrow escapes, instead spinning to face the Atramen as it landed. The creature did not pause for a second, its feet barely touched the ground before it darted to one side to avoid Faith's sword plunging into the middle of its back. Faith lunged forward, missing by a hair and the demon caught her extended wrist in a vice like grip. Her arm was twisted awkwardly but she managed to hold onto her sword and bring her elbow backwards to catch the creature sharply in the stomach. It merely grunted and did not release her from its hold, instead snaring her in an even more dangerous position as its other arm locked around her neck. Faith struggled even as the creature drew her backwards against its body. With a grunt of supreme effort torn from her throat, Faith lurched forward and threw the demon up over her back and crashing to the ground in front of her. With each breath coming short and fast, she too did not pause for an instant; with the creature on its back in front of her she changed her grip on her sword and plunged it downwards. The sword sank into nothing but earth as the Atramen rolled aside. A mere split second later it was standing once more and they began another round, each trying to catch the other off guard, each looking for an opening to tear a mortal wound in the other.

Faith's frantic bout with the Atramen had lasted mere seconds; meanwhile, Willow was rising from the damp grass where Faith's shove had sent her flying. Even as she rose to her feet, using a nearby headstone to steady herself, she saw the second Atramen slip behind a headstone of a huge winged angel. She watched for it to emerge from the other side but it did not, Willow risked a quick glance over her shoulder to see Faith grappling with her own foe. Even before she laid eyes on her friend, she knew she was alone. Her gaze jerked back to face the winged angel headstone, the serene gaze of the celestial creature seeming to mock her in her terror. She lifted the dagger so it was clearly visible out in front of her, hoping the demon would at least perceive her as something of a threat. Any hope of that was ruined by the manner in which the blade trembled violently as a result of the spasms of fear that gripped her entire body. The ridiculous situation did not escape Willow's attention; she was alone facing a powerful demon that Faith with all her skills and seeming fearlessness struggled to defeat. She clearly remembered setting alight the Atramen at the warehouse but despite the matches she had tucked safely in her pocket, there was no conveniently placed oil lamp to create a flammable missile. She half-heartedly wondered whether flinging individual matches at the creature would do any good.

Willow circled the grave where the Atramen lurked, all the while her own hoarse breaths drowned out the sound of the struggle going on behind her between Faith and the demon. It was taunting her, it knew full well how scared she was, it could probably smell her fear. Matters were not helped with a sharp cry of pain from behind her from Faith. Willow did not dare take her eyes off the demon in front of her. She knew the moment she did it would leap on her and tear her arms off with one savage pull. As much as she feared for her friend, she needed the use of her arms more. When the attack came it was as swift as Willow had expected but she was still not prepared for it. The demon's feet slammed into her chest and sent her flying back several meters, luckily landing on a patch of grass instead of a headstone. Even though she felt like her chest was about to collapse, Willow rolled just as a fist came crashing down into the earth where her head had been moments before. She scrambled to her feet as the agile creature leapt back into a standing position, snarling as she ducked behind a large stone cross. Rather than go around the stone to get to Willow, the Atramen simply smashed straight through it with one swing of its fist. Willow was showered with fragments of the cross as she scrambled backwards. She reached down and retrieved one of the larger fragments, hurling it at the demon's head with a grunt of effort. The stone found its mark, breaking off several of the spike's protruding from the demon's head. Even as it howled in pain, Willow darted forward, blood pounding with adrenalin, and made to plunge the dagger straight into its chest. She came close before her wrist was seized and twisted; the dagger fell from her grasp. Before she realized what was happening her throat was ensnared by a huge fist and her feet were off the ground. As she struggled for a breath, Willow's fingers frantically worked to release herself from the grip around her neck but it was vice-like. As she began to see spots at the edge of her vision, she found herself flying, thrown backwards by the creature. This time she did strike a headstone, it caught her across the back and she was in intense pain as she fell to the ground. Willow struggled to stand but an awkward crawl on her hands and knees was the most she could manage. She glanced upwards in time to see Faith in the distance as she fought. Willow's mouth opened in shock as she saw the Atramen move beneath her swinging sword and ram its outstretched clawed fingers into her side. She saw Faith fall like a sack of potatoes into an unmoving heap on the ground.

"Not good," Willow whispered, fingers digging into the earth beneath her as she struggled to find the strength to stand.

She heaved herself up and managed a groggy sort of stumble before she realized that both Atramen now had her as their sole target. Weapon-less and half-concussed, Willow watched them moved towards her, a pair of deadly demons poised to strike a final blow on the helpless researcher.

Even as Willow resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut and wait for the end, she felt her hair whipped about her face by a sudden gust of wind. Both Atramen froze as though they had seen something behind Willow in the darkness, if anything she thought they were afraid. Willow lost sight of them moments later as an even stronger gust of wind threw her back to the ground. With a grunt Willow hit the earth, wiping any last reserves of strength she had with impact. Even on the ground she was aware of another figure moving besides the two demons. As she struggled to lift her head, she caught glimpses of a dark shape moving to stand between herself and the demons.

The voice rang deafeningly in a dazed Willow's ears. She glanced up at that moment to see a dark cloak billowing like mist around a shadowy figure. Blonde hair flew, rendered almost silver in the moonlight. The figure moved, seemingly a part of the night until a violent burst of light came from first one outstretched hand and then the other in rapid succession. Although the sudden intense light burnt Willow's eyes and the heat seared her skin, she could not tear her gaze away. The flying balls of fire slammed into both Atramen even as they made to flee. She stared transfixed as they fell to the ground between the headstones, writhing in agony, mouths bared in silent screams until all movement ceased and they were merely burning husks on the ground.

Willow's first instinct was to run but she found standing hard enough. Only with both hands gripping the headstone in front of her could she drag herself onto her feet. Even then she found her knees could hardly support her weight. Faith's dagger was lying several feet away but she no sooner could have dived for it than she could have made fireballs shoot out of her own hands. In fact, she could do absolutely nothing save stand on her shaking legs as the dark figure approached. It stepped into the weak firelight of the burning bodies and Willow's jaw dropped as she saw the pale fire illuminated in front of her. The fire cast a flickering glow onto the marble white skin of the woman who had haunted her dreams these past months. Her white blonde hair fell loose, down over her black riding cloak, the hood back and settled over her shoulders. Beneath the coat Willow could see a little of high collared black dress which swirled as she walked towards her. The strangest element of the whole picture was the tiny smile on her face, just the barest hint of a lopsided curve of her gorgeous lips. Lips that Willow lost herself in until they opened and the woman spoke.

"One wonders why you do not find a new line of work Willow Rosenberg; it would seem that you are not cut out for demon fighting," gone were the harsh tones in which she had utter the single word moments before, her voice was soft and melodious.

"Well this one wonders who the bloody heck you are!" Willow was quick to retort, her anger serving to mask her fear almost completely.

The blonde woman arched an eyebrow reproachfully and Willow instantly regretted her bad manners, whoever or whatever she was, this woman had saved her life for a second time and she deserved more than heated demands for answers…even though there were answers that Willow desperately wanted.

"Who I am is not important," she spoke softly as she moved, circling Willow while keeping her piercing gaze fixed on her, "You should be asking who she is."

She moved her gaze away from Willow, seemingly to gaze at a small marble headstone at her feet. Warily, Willow too circled around to stand so she could read the gravestone, all the while keeping a respectable distance between herself and the pale woman. She managed to drag her eyes away from her eerily beautiful visage to stare at the grave marker that commanded the woman's attention. The analyst in Willow immediately noted that where most headstones in the cemetery were heavily scarred by the ravages of time and weather, this particular marker could have been placed just yesterday. The words there were etched deeply in the white rock. Momentarily forgetting the woman that stood at her side, Willow was gripped by the sudden urge to be closer to the grave. She knelt on the well-tended grass and reached out to trace the words with her fingers as she read them aloud in an audibly trembling voice.

"W-Willow…" her voice choked on the word as though she had never uttered it before even though it was her own name, she swallowed before continuing, "Willow Van Helsing…born on the sixth of October 1760, died on the seventh of June 1785…tu fui, ego eris."

A soft voice spoke behind her to translate even though Willow knew exactly what it said, "What you are, I was. What I am, you will be."

A shiver crawled slowly up Willow's spine as she heard the translation, she did not know whether it was the words or the manner in which it was said that troubled her the most.

"We all die," Willow replied matter-of-factly as she straightened up and took a few steps backwards, away from the grave.

"Yes we do," the blonde woman turned to face Willow but kept her head turned to face the grave for a few moments longer, "But I think that you alone could interpret that particular inscription on that particular grave in a different way."

She eventually drew her gaze away from the stone and turned to face Willow, her expression betraying very little and certainly giving no hint as to what she meant with her cryptic words.

"What do you mean by that?" Willow demanded, once more forgetting that she had not even thanked the woman, "You can start by explaining everything…who you are for a start, why the hell you're following me around…"

"You did not come here to find those answers, the answers you are looking for lie at your feet…I thought you would realize their importance by how desperately he wants to keep you from them."

"Who's 'he'?" Willow felt as though she were sinking in quicksand, the harder she tried to get out, the deeper she sank, she turned her attention back to the grave and said in a frustrated voice, "It's the grave of Willow Van Helsing…although I cannot be certain, it would seem that she was the 'W. Van Helsing' who deposited the diary at Tirgsor, and the dates would seem to agree, she died in 1785, the same year as the diary was deposited."

As he voice trailed off, Willow's frustration seemed to ebb and her mind lingered over the dates etched on the headstone. She felt a cloak of sadness settle on her shoulders as she re-read them in her head.

"She was not yet 25 when she died," Willow whispered, thinking of her own 25 years and imagining them cut short for some unknown reason, "Do you know how she died?"

Willow tore her gaze away from the headstone and forced herself to meet the gaze of the strange woman that she still knew virtually nothing about. The fact that Willow suspected her to be a vampire lingered uneasily at the back of her mind and she still half expected the beautiful features to twist into savagery moments before ripping her throat out. However, it was hard to dwell on thoughts of this nature in the face of the woman's unearthly beauty and the barely suppressed desire Willow felt for her. She did not know whether to run screaming or throw herself in the woman's arms…vampire or not. When she searched the blue eyes, shining brightly in the moonlight, she found a detectable hint of sadness and knowledge which made Willow think that she did know the answer to her question. Her head tipped forward, blonde hair falling forward over her face. Willow did not know what to think, while her head told her this woman could be a dangerous demon, her heart told her she was a woman who lived and grieved.

"Do you know how Willow Van Helsing died?" Willow repeated in a soft voice and without any trace of her earlier anger and frustration.

"I do," was the quiet response, "And not a day has gone by that I do not wish to die for what I did…"

The woman did not respond in any way, Willow could see no movement from her head that would indicate a confirmation or denial. Instead, almost a minute later she raised her head and gave Willow a long level look that seemed to bore a hole straight through to her soul.

"I do not think I should give you the answers you seek today Willow…just some advice, take what you have learnt here and dwell on it…in time, you will come to understand and realize how you fit into the puzzle."

"But I haven't learnt anything here…and what puzzle?" Willow asked urgently, she desperately wanted to stay with the woman, even if only to stand in silence with her, her proximity somehow felt natural, "At least tell me who you are and where I might find you again?"

"Will?" another voice sounded out in the darkness and Willow was instantly reminded of Faith, she had left her lying unconscious on the ground while she traded empty words with this cryptic and insufferable woman in front of her.

Willow spun to see Faith gingerly dragging herself to her feet almost a dozen feet away, while she wanted to run to her friend's side immediately, she also did not want to let the blonde woman out of her sight.

"I need those answers…" Willow begun to ask as she turned back after seeing Faith was standing on her own two feet…but her question was never finished as the woman was gone, "Bloody hell!"

"Willow?" Faith's voice was just over her shoulder now as she approached her from behind.

With a last desperate search of the scene in front of her, Willow turned back to Faith. She was genuinely relieved to find her friend seemingly okay…apart from her torn and bloody thigh, a dark stain coating the lower half of her torso and a series of bloody teeth marks in her neck. Willow reached out to support her as she swayed a little unsteadily from loss of blood.

"Faith?" Willow set her down gently atop a nearby headstone before taking off her jacket and immediately setting about ripping strips from the bottom of her shirt to use as bandages.

Faith winced as she lifted her leg for Willow to bind but said through gritted teeth, "It's just a flesh wound…nothing a few stitches won't fix…and I'm sure I could do with a few more scars."

"Sorry," Willow said as she heard a sharp intake of breath when she tied the strip of fabric off firmly, "What about your side…there's a lot of blood."

Faith reached down to lift up her own shirt and Willow could not help but utter her own gasp when she saw the deep, ragged gash in Faith's side. Blood was still flowing from the ugly wound and Willow moved quickly to staunch it before Faith lost any more…and she was also in a hurry to cover up the horrible sight lest she faint

"Just wrap the bloody thing up tightly!" Faith snapped, "I'll live as long as you don't faint…bloody hell Rosenberg…remind me never to go anywhere with you again!"

"Stop saying you're sorry…and what happened anyway, last thing I remember those bastards were still roaming around, I may have sliced the arm off one but I'm sure he could've done enough damage…what did you do Willow?"

"Well…" Willow tied off the improvised bandage, knowing full well that she could hardly tell Faith a flame wielding woman, who she suspected was a vampire, had torched the two demons, "I don't know really, one minute they were here…the next they were gone…providence really, maybe they had somewhere better to be?"

"Providence indeed," Faith muttered grimly, "Hurry up and help me to my feet, that shit hole of a village we passed a mile back has to have a doctor of some sort…although I think you'll have to drive…"

"Are you sure you can't…" Willow began weakly as she glanced in the distance to where the grey horse was still tethered to their carriage, seemingly oblivious to the battle in the graveyard.

"Okay," Willow nodded resolutely as she helped Faith to her feet, "He's a nice horse I'm sure…and it's not far to go…I can do this."

Even as Willow helped Faith from the cemetery, she risked one last glance back. All she saw was the squat little church surrounded by headstones, all seeming to shine in the moonlight. The blonde woman was wiped from her mind as she concentrated on getting help for Faith, if her friend lived, there would be plenty of time for her to dwell on what had taken place in the cemetery.

Willow did not glance upwards, if she had, she would have seen the shadowy figure crouched on the ridgepole of the church watching her still. A slight breeze had begun to kick up, Tara's cloak swirled around her body slightly and her hair stroked the tears that fell on her pale cheeks. It had been difficult to conceal the agony she felt at being so close to Willow, to be so close and not able to reach out and fold her into a fierce embrace had been nothing short of torture. She remembered catching a few strands of her vibrant red hair for a second as she knelt in front of the tombstone and glanced down now at the one strand of hair she still held. With a sigh, Tara let it fall from her fingers. It fell for a moment before being swept off into the darkness by the wind. Tara turned her attention back to the two figures below and watched until Willow had managed to coax the horses back towards the village. Then she was gone.

"Come our wedding night Miss Maclay you will learn what it is like to feel a man inside of you and I guarantee you will enjoy it far more than the perverted ministrations of that red-headed whore!"

Rupert Giles liked to think of himself as a rather unflappable character. However, on this particular morning as he was passing the training room he had the rather unfortunate experience of nearly dying of shock. He heard rather savage sounding yells and cries coming from within and every so often the smack of solid objects coming into contact with one another. He rather discreetly slipped through the door to find the sounds emanating from none other than Willow Rosenberg, clad in nearly full Japanese kendo regalia armed with a bamboo stave, attempting to beat the life out of an unfortunate practice dummy. He could not stop the color draining from his face, despite her complete lack of technique, and less than traditional shouts, he was struck by the picture she presented and the memories it stirred.

After recovering from his initial shock, Giles managed a polite cough, loud enough to carry across the room and interrupt the redhead in her exertions.

"Giles?" Willow paused in mid-swing, her cheeks flushed red from both exertion and the embarrassment of being caught acting out her frustrations on the practice dummy, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I was just reminded of someone I used to know," Giles smiled weakly, taking a few more steps into the room.

Willow's eyebrows lifted disbelievingly as she looked from the practice stave in her gloved hands back to Giles, "This reminds you of someone you used to know?"

"Well, everything save your complete lack of technique and the fact that you're wearing the chest plate upside down," he managed a chuckle in respect to this, "Honestly, I don't see how you even managed to fasten it…here, let me fix it."

Willow glanced down at the chest plate, furrowing her brow as though figuring out just how she had managed to get it so wrong before turning around to let Giles undo the straps and position it correctly.

"Well, it would remind you of Faith wouldn't it?" Willow asked, shifting slightly as Giles re-strapped the piece of armor.

"No, Willow," Giles said quietly as he laced the straps around her waist, "You do not remind me of Faith…I have seen Faith practice often but she does not favor the Japanese style of swordsmanship…and she also does not use practice to work out her anger."

"I'm not angry…" Willow began before stopping abruptly, realizing that of course Giles heard her rather raucous shouts just a few moments earlier.

Giles finished the lacings and turned Willow around to face him, satisfied with his work, he crossed to the neatly stacked practice equipment and selected a robe and armor for himself. Willow watched as he rather deftly pulled on each piece of equipment until he was attired exactly the same as she was. She was more than a little nervous as Giles crossed the pads to stand in front of her with his own stave raised in front of him.

"Giles, are you sure about this?" Willow tentatively lifted her stave, "I'm pretty angry and I don't want to hurt you…"

She had absolutely no warning when Giles sprung forward, quick feet making short work of the distance between them. The stave danced in his hands and it was all Willow could do to desperately block each slashing motion as she was forced backwards. The initial bout lasted mere seconds before Willow found herself up against the wall with nowhere to run.

"This has nothing to do with anger," Giles said as he leveled the stave at her neck, "Although I have to admit I've never seen you this angry in all the years I've known you, I would hazard a guess and say you're upset about Faith…but I would be wrong wouldn't I?"

Willow stepped forward back onto the pads as Giles lowered the stave away from her head and turned to move back to his starting position, "Yes…well no…I mean I'm concerned about Faith of course but I saw her just yesterday evening and she's going to be fine…fine as only Faith can."

Willow padded across the floor to rejoin Giles and was ready for his second attack, blocking each movement successfully…if only because his strokes were considerably slower.

"You're angry at someone else?" Giles guessed even as he continued to swing, "Croft? Or Myles, has that little devil been neglecting his tasks? Certainly not me I hope?"

The bout ended with Giles poking Willow in the stomach, she dropped her stave and doubled over instantly with her eyes bulging out.

"Not you Giles!" Willow gasped, "Edward Walsh…I'm angry because of Edward Walsh!"

Giles paused even as he was about to sweep Willow's feet out from beneath her; it was clearly his day to be surprised by the young redhead.

Managing to straighten up, Willow retrieved her stave and replied, "Just from that diary, I read a passage that mentioned him, I've never heard of him before but if he were indeed a real person, it seems that he was a thoroughly dislikeable individual…his actions incensed me…I'm not quite sure why, I guess the diary's just written so vividly…"

"Thoroughly dislikeable would be one of the politer terms used to describe him," Giles muttered in acid tones, he then noticed the strange way that Willow was looking at him and managed a brief smile, "I'm not surprised you haven't heard the name, political history has never been one of your great interests."

"Indeed," Giles raised his stave once more and waved at Willow to do the same, "He was an outspoken Member of Parliament for almost twenty years and I do believe I read that he vehemently opposed the establishment of this very fine institution which now employs the both of us. How was he described in the diary?"

Willow paused before replying, while she had no qualms about reading the diary herself she felt odd relaying the events as recorded by Tara. For some unfathomable reason she felt connected to the woman, even though she no doubt died many years earlier, and that for her to read Tara's words was almost natural. She didn't know why she should feel so guilty about sharing the information with Giles but it felt personal and very real to her.

"Err, I suppose I can see how he would come across badly," Willow completely skirted the issue and fired back a question of her own, "Giles, since you seem to be so learned when it comes to the life and times of Edward Walsh, can you tell me if he was married?"

It was Giles' turn to pause before replying but eventually he nodded, "I do believe he was…and fathered several children…but I cannot tell you the name of the woman."

"Her name wasn't Tara, Tara Maclay?" Willow asked quietly, her voice lingered over the syllables of the name.

Even as the words left Willow's lips she was suddenly assaulted by a wave of memories, she remembered saying the name over and over, almost as though it were the only name that had ever meant anything to her. She vividly remembered whispering the name in the heat of passion…even though she hadn't the slightest idea what the heat of passion actually felt like, and the small waves of pleasure at saying the name in greeting…as well as the pain of screaming the name in vain. All this passed in just a few seconds, the rush of emotions overwhelming Willow completely and driving her to her knees. She vaguely heard Giles saying her own name but it wasn't until the wave had passed that she could bring herself to look up at him and accept his offer of a hand to her feet.

"That's okay, Giles," Willow said a little too brightly, "It's no biggie and it certainly doesn't mean anything to me anyway…can you go another round or have I worn you out?"

"Worn me out?" Giles gasped in outrage, "Why you little upstart…prepare to be humiliated!"

Giles had no sooner raised his stave than the wind was knocked out of him as Willow's surprise blow caught him full across the chest, he was knocked backwards and she continued to drive him back with each new swing. If he were surprised, he managed not to show it and instead doubled his efforts. However, only Giles himself was aware of the fact that he was exerting almost every ounce of his not inconsiderable skill to block Willow's stave and try and gain the upper hand. He watched the look of concentration on Willow's face change from one of red-faced exertion to an intense, fierce competitive expression that was most unlike the person wearing it. He noted her almost flawless technique…no longer even bothering to conform to the rigid forms of the kata but adopting a more fluid, natural style that was difficult to predict.

Giles only managed to gain the upper hand when Willow paused momentarily, as though she were realizing that she had suddenly acquired a skill she never knew she possessed. Her look of concentration was replaced by one of confusion. Giles did not pause, he darted inside her guard and stabbed her once again in the stomach so hard she crashed backwards into the practice dummy and it toppled forward to land on her.

Willow lay on her back beneath the dummy groaning until she heard the sound of hearty laughter coming from the side of the room. She lifted her head and twisted her neck slightly to see Myles doubled over with mirth at her embarrassing situation. She scrambled to her feet, neither quickly nor gracefully with all the armor on and pointed her bamboo staves in the direction of the young man.

"You just come over here and start laughing, Myles!" Willow had a good attempt at a stabbing motion in his direction which only served to make Myles laugh even harder, "You shouldn't laugh at people that are carrying big sticks!"

"Ordinarily no," Myles was still grinning, "But you can when they can't run fast enough to catch you!"

And with that parting shot Myles bolted from the room and Willow followed a split second later with a last grin over her shoulder in Giles' direction. Willow made a valiant attempt to catch him so as to deliver the thrashing she felt he deserved but after fifteen minutes of chasing him around the lower levels of the museum and bowling over Cordelia Chase, she was exhausted and had to admit defeat…and Cordelia was threatening to expose her less than grown up shenanigans to Croft.

Meanwhile in the practice room Giles removed his protective gear slowly, wincing as the blows that Willow had managed to land now made themselves known. Something moved in the shadows, emerging from the darkness between two practice dummies but Giles continued to disrobe, completely unconcerned by the additional presence in the room.

Giles turned to face the pale young woman standing next to him, "They are…Tara…but are they moving fast enough? I don't know if she'll be ready in time and she must…you know that as well as I do."

Tara inclined her head slightly as in agreement. She ran her eyes over the rows of practice equipment and then the mats on the floor where Willow had stood just a few moments earlier. There was a small smile on her face as though she were remembering what had just taken place in the training room.

"She'll be ready Giles; I'll see to that…you always were such a worry wort," there was just the hint of humor in Tara's voice.

Giles turned away to stow away his gear neatly, "Can you blame me? I'm placing far more trust in you than I would like."

"Why can you still not bring yourself to trust me after all these years?" any trace of humor had vanished from her voice, replaced by open annoyance.

Giles finished his tidying before deigning to reply to her, he still could not bring himself to look at her and his tone was firm, almost accusatory, "Because I know what you are and I know what you did…and nothing you have done since, or ever will do, can erase that."

When Giles could bring himself to look up once more, she was gone and he was alone in the room.

Willow shifted uncomfortably on the high backed leather chair in front of Croft's desk; she winced as it squeaked slightly. Croft stood on the other side of the desk, staring out the window for the time being, as though she were deep in thought and did not even realize Willow was there.

Being alone in the presence of Lara Croft was not exactly top on the list of Willow's favorite situations to be in. For a variety of reasons, reasons which she was sure had something to do with the potent sexuality issuing forth from every pore of Croft's being, Willow felt ill at ease and decidedly provincial in the company of her employer. Faith's presence had always made things somewhat easier. Although Willow was slowly coming to realize that this was due to the fact that whenever Faith was in the room Croft's attention was singularly focused to the point of almost ignoring everything else. As innocent and naive as she was, Willow knew there was more going on between Croft and Faith than a simple employer/employee relationship. It unnerved her somewhat; it would have been easier to accept if Croft were a man. As it was, Croft was most definitely a woman…as Faith was a woman. It had nothing to do with disgust and revulsion as it would with most people…but rather it had everything to do with insecurities on Willow's part. Their relationship unnerved her because it was what she wanted for herself…not with Croft of course, a chill ran down Willow's spine when that thought ran through her head. It was bad enough being in the presence of the woman fully clothed let alone naked. Willow grimaced as she felt the familiar sensation coursing through her cheeks and she knew that her face had turned an embarrassing shade of red.

As Croft turned slowly, finally dragging her attention away from the window and back within her office, Willow ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward over her face to disguise the redness in her cheeks. She could feel Croft's eyes on her but could not bring herself to look up.

"Faith's condition has improved markedly," Willow commented, still staring down into her lap, "The doctor was having a difficult time keeping her in bed…and she was rather annoyed I did not see fit to bring her any cigars."

Willow managed to raise her head, she was surprised to find a slightly pained expression on Croft's beautiful features and she swallowed nervously.

"She…expressed a desire to see you…just whenever you had a spare moment were her exact words. I think perhaps she would like to deliver her report verbally."

Croft turned to face Willow directly, the pain replaced by the slightest twinkle in her eye, "Yes, sick bed or not, I do need her report…thank you, Rosenberg."

Willow nodded in acknowledgment. She was then surprised to hear a knock at the door behind her, turning she found a rather pale faced Myles standing just over the threshold.

"Ah, Cavendish, so good of you to join us," Croft beckoned him forward with a motion of her hand, "Come and take a seat next to Rosenberg here."

Myles almost raced across the floor to perch himself rather awkwardly on the seat beside Willow. Willow glanced across and gave the young man a smile of reassurance. Given the fact that she had to bear Croft's presence almost every day, she could imagine how uncomfortable the young man was. She knew for a fact that he would hide in closets until Croft had passed by him…and she suspected that it was for a similar reason as her own fear. Willow hated to compare herself to a hot-blooded teenage male, but they were both faced with the same predicament when in Croft's presence.

"I'm sorry I was late Lady Croft, but Giles would not let me go until I had finished all my tasks…he did seem rather busy, preparing for another of Faith's trips from the looks of things…" Myles stopped abruptly as though he realized he were waffling.

Willow glanced across at Myles with a confused expression on her face and then back to Croft, "Why would Giles be preparing Faith's equipment…she can't possibly go anywhere in the condition that she is, you're not seriously considering sending her on assignment?"

"We have received a message from Faith's contact in Eastern Europe…a piece of information that we desperately need to have and someone must be sent to meet our contact in person…"

"That person can't be Faith, I won't allow it!" Willow insisted, no longer intimidated by Croft with her friend's health on the line.

She looked on with an impassive face as Willow's expression morphed almost instantly. At first her features were frozen and then comprehension dawned. As her mind chewed over Croft's words and realized exactly what they meant for her, her jaw dropped and her eyes bulged. Her face stayed like this for several seconds before her jaw began to work as though she were trying to say something. The words would not come and Croft continued.

"It simply isn't prudent for us to wait until Faith has recovered, you of all people should understand the need for speed when it comes to vital information," Croft intoned in a serious voice, "We need you on this, Willow."

Willow's mouth continued to work ineffectively until she paused to pull herself together. She closed her eyes for a few moments and when she opened them she blurted out, "I've never left the country before and you're sending me to Eastern Europe?"

"But you can't…I mean, this is obviously important, crucial even to our work around Vlad Tepes and you're sending me?"

In the chair beside her, Willow heard Myles snigger behind his hand. She turned her head and glared at him through narrowed eyes. He very promptly wiped the smile from his face.

Croft watched the interchange and had a small smile of her own for Myles, "I wouldn't look so smug if I were you Cavendish…you're going too."

"Right…crossbow…complete with your standard barbed bolts, silver-tipped bolts and armor piercing bolts," Giles paused for a moment before selecting another quiver of bolts with their heads coated in an odd black surface, "I better throw in some flammable headed bolts given all the Atramen that have been giving you grief lately."

Giles nodded as though satisfied with himself and packed the bolts and crossbow into the bag open in front of him. Willow made a face as Giles turned his back on her to rummage on the racks behind him. Meanwhile Myles was peering into the bag with an excited grin on his face. Giles slapped his hand away from the silver-tipped bolts when he turned around.

"Dagger," Giles commented as he placed a rather long and wicked looking weapon in the bag, "Longsword…"

He ran into an obvious problem when he went to fit the sword into the canvas bag, he paused with a frown on his face as though trying to work out how he could manage it.

"Ah, Giles," Willow was eyeing the weapon nervously as though it were going to leap out of the scabbard and run her through of its own accord, "Surely you must have something a little smaller?"

Giles glanced up at Willow's interruption of his packing process, his eyebrows raised as he considered her question. He glanced from Willow to the longsword and back and then made a thoughtful little sound as though accepting the fact that Willow would have great difficulty in lifting the weapon let alone swinging it at anything that was intent on harming her. With a reluctant sign, he replaced the sword on the rack behind him and selected a far shorter, lighter rapier-like blade that even Willow would have little trouble in wielding. He glanced up at Willow to seek her approval and she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"I don't plan on using any of those weapons, Giles," Willow commented firmly, "Especially not while I have two good legs and am quite capable of running."

Willow glanced from one to the other and gave an exasperated sigh, it was clear that she was fighting a losing battle.

"You two finish packing all of this…" Willow waved her hand at the various accoutrements that Giles had littering the table in front of him, "All of this stuff…I'm going home to pack the real essentials…books, writing implements and the like…I'll see you both tomorrow."

Willow stumbled from Giles' workroom; the full realization that she was being sent to Eastern Europe was only just beginning to hit her. As she stumbled down the corridor in the general direction of her office, she made a mental note to seriously consider self-incapacitation in order to avoid going.

I'm sure Croft wouldn't send me if I were missing my thumb… Willow mused as she glanced down at the offending appendage, although even as she began to wriggle it back and forth she decided that she quite enjoyed the use of her thumb and severing it was not the best course of action.

It was a fully intact Willow that arrived completely out of breath at the docks the next morning, thanking her lucky stars that the steamship was still there and had not left without her. Myles was waving urgently from the railings and Giles was waiting near the gangplank with exasperation clearly written all over his face.

"I'm sorry…I slept in," Willow wheezed between gasps of air, dumping her small travel bag at her feet but retaining a tight hold on an elegant wooden writing case which contained her papers, writing implements and more importantly, the diary.

"Your subconscious really wanted you to miss the boat didn't it?" Giles thumped her lightly over the head with a sheaf of papers he held in his hand, "Here, these are essentials which you will not want to lose…I almost gave them to Myles, I couldn't quite decide who was the more trustworthy out of the two of you."

Willow accepted the papers and quickly leafed through them, most were standard documents of introduction and the like, a few looked like instructions from Croft and Giles and would require a closer inspection once she was on her way. As she was looking downwards Willow caught sight of the bag of weapons that Giles had packed the previous day and she kicked it with the toe of her boot. While completely unaccustomed to expeditions of any kind, and still clad in her usual worn suit, Willow had at least managed to find an old pair of hiking boots from her university days. Giles looked her up and down with a frown.

"You might want to purchase some new clothes en route, if I might suggest an excellent outfitting store I know in Paris…"

Giles sighed once more, "I really have to run, and so do you…pick up your bags, and get on the boat, I've arranged for a guide to meet you in Paris…do you think you can get that far on your own?"

Willow had picked up her travel bag and was awkwardly attempting to get a hand on the weapons bag as Giles spoke; she glanced up when Giles mentioned the word 'guide.'

"You're giving me a guide?" she asked hopefully, "Why didn't someone tell me that earlier, I was up all last night color coding travel plans and maps…honestly Giles…"

Giles was already departing with a last smile and a wave over her shoulder even as Willow struggled with her belongings.

Behind her the ship's whistle pierced the crisp morning air with several short bursts; Willow glanced over her shoulder to see the sailors already beginning to hoist the gang plank. With a panicked yelp, Willow turned and ran, yelling at them to hold the plank. She barely made it, tossing her bags across to a sailor and having to leap over a good foot of water herself. Once safely on the plank and making her way up onto the deck she breathed a sigh of relief. She crossed the deck to join Myles and was annoyed to find that the young man had managed to kit himself out quite respectably for their trip. He was wearing sturdy denim trousers tucked into high boots with a sweater and thick coat and topped by a rather ridiculous pith helmet that she suspected had been liberated from Giles' workroom.

"You do realize we're going to Eastern Europe, not Africa," Willow commented upon eyeing up the helmet.

Myles was unperturbed by this little detail and rapped his knuckles on it, "Still, looks pretty spiffing though doesn't it?"

Willow avoided replying, instead concentrating on a niggling little feeling at the back of her mind that usually meant she had forgotten something. While trying to remember what this was she turned her attention back to Giles' parting words.

"Great…to make this trip even more unbearable I have to put up with a Frenchman!" Willow threw up her hands, still trying to remember what it was that she had forgotten.

"I don't think he's French, I think Giles said he was an American," Myles commented helpfully.

Even as the ship set out on the River Thames Willow found her stomach lurching in a manner which hinted at the possibility of some rather spectacular gastro expulsions once they were actually in the Channel. It was at this already unpleasant moment that Willow realized what it was she had forgotten. She leant forward and smacked her forehead on the iron deck rail.

"I left all our weapons behind," Willow muttered, banging her head on the rail for a second time.

While she wasn't sure whether she ought to be miserable or ecstatic at leaving this key piece of their luggage lying on the dock, she did know that the boat was carrying them to continental Europe and all its associated sights and marvels…and dangers and monsters, and she was definitely sure that she didn't like that one little bit.

Although I am quite sure that I am now rendered less than whole with the loss of my W and my impending union with Edward, I cannot accept that my life is over. While I fear I will never again know love, I will know duty.

Willow traced her fingertips gently over the long dried ink on the page of the diary from which she read, feeling the anguish that Tara must have felt through the physical contact with the paper. The last line for the entry was written with such fierce strokes that the words were intended into the page…and duty had been underlined thrice. She snapped the small volume shut and clutched it tightly against her chest. Feeling her eyes burn fiercely, Willow turned to stare out the window of the train and lost herself for a few moments in the tranquil French country side rolling by. As she felt one hot tear escape to slide down her cheek, she heard the door to the compartment side open. She discreetly dashed the tear away as she shoved the diary into the writing case at her feet.

He stopped abruptly when he noticed the tell-tale moisture on Willow's cheek, while Myles Cavendish had no great understanding of women, he did know enough to know when he was intruding on a private moment. He took his seat on the opposite side of the compartment and fell asleep rather quickly.

Willow glanced across as the young man started snoring in a forced manner and she managed a smile. She herself found sleep rather impossible, there were far too many thoughts racing through her mind for her to be calm enough for sleep. Instead she settled for the scenery.

Before long the low farmland gave way to the outer suburbs of Paris and eventually their stop. Myles jerked awake as the train ground to a halt and Willow was already gathering their luggage from the racks overhead.

"We're to meet our guide at five in the evening, at this hotel," Myles said as he and Willow stepped off the train and onto the bustling platform, "I've got the name of the hotel somewhere."

Willow turned and regarded him through narrow eyes, "Why is it that Giles trusted you with such an important piece of information?"

"Something about instilling a sense of responsibility," Myles shrugged, "Should we just go to the hotel and wait?"

"I guess," Willow mused glancing down at her attire, "Although I do think we should pay a little visit to a clothing store…Giles was right, I'm dressed for the library…not for the field."

Myles grinned, "This will be fun, I've never seen you wear anything other than those boring old suits of yours…it's high time you wore something a little more flattering."

Willow cuffed the young man over the back of his head, "How the hell would you know anything about fashion?"

"I know enough to know that what you're wearing…" Myles nodded in Willow's direction, "Is not fashion."

Giles had seen fit to include the card of the store he mentioned that morning in Myles' small collection of instructions and locations. While Willow had at first been hesitant to spend Museum funds on clothing, she had decided that it was a sensible course of action given their destination. So it was an hour later that Willow glanced down at herself and wondered if what she was now wearing was fashion. For some reason she decided that it definitely was not.

Willow stepped in front of the provided mirror and studied her reflection with a serious frown. She'd modeled her attire after Faith of course, being the only globetrotting adventurer that she knew, but for some reason she did not look like her dark-haired friend. Her feet were clad in high, sturdy brown leather boots of the type worn by military officers and serious explorers laced up to just below her knee. Willow then examined the leather trousers; she shifted a little uncomfortably as they were tight even on her decidedly non-curvy frame. Flicking up the back of her leather coat she turned her back to the mirror and glanced over her shoulder at the way the pants hugged her bottom rather scandalously. She sighed, for the most part her jacket would be covering the offending area and they would be out of civilized company for much of the trip. Although, as Willow studied this particular view of her reflection for a moment longer, she had to admit that it was not an unpleasant sight the way the leather hugged her flanks. Red creeping into her cheeks, she glanced at the changing room door to check that no one had been observing her at the moment. She then faced the mirror front on once more, adjusting the collar of her shirt and lamenting the lack of a bow tie…she was savvy enough to realize that a tie would not compliment her outfit. To complete the outfit, she wore a green heavy cotton jacket beneath her thick leather coat which brushed the tops of her boots and was sure to keep most of the travelling dust at bay. With a deep breath, Willow stepped out of the changing room to Myles' enthusiastic approval. He saw fit to add a wide-brimmed leather hat as a last addition and Willow had to admit that it did serve to make her seem at least a little dashing.

When the two of them returned from their shopping expedition to the small, out of the way hotel in which they were spending the night, there was a man of around Willow's age seated in the lobby. Once glance at him and Willow could tell he was a little ill at ease in his surroundings. He was perched awkwardly on the very edge of the plush chair as though it would swallow him up if he sat on it in the normal fashion. His clothes were clean but well worn and definitely the attire of a man of action as opposed to one who spent his time behind a desk. Willow could see the way his shirt hugged his rather large biceps and the curved corners of his lips which meant he was prone to smiling often. She supposed that a lady not of her inclinations would find him to be rather attractive and, given the way his grin was rapidly forming at the sight of her, the gentleman no doubt was fully aware of this. He practically leapt out of the chair as though grateful to be able to stand and took a few quick strides towards Willow and Myles. Despite Myles' admiring stare, he only seemed to have eyes for Willow.

"Hey there little lady, I'm Alexander Harris…Alex to all the ladies, I believe I will be your guide for your journey into the dark and dangerous depths of Eastern Europe," Alex placed his worn and weathered hat on his head and tipped it jauntily.

Willow eyed him suspiciously before replying in a rather rude tone, "I trust that you'll have the good sense to avoid the dark and dangerous bits and just take us where were need to go."

Alex's smile slowly morphed into a confused frown, and he paused to scratch his head for at least a minute before replying. It was as though her were trying to figure out whether the 'little lady' was pulling his leg or being completely serious.

"But Ma'am, it's the dark and dangerous bits that I'm being paid to take you to…" He looked her up and down, eyes roaming over her entire get up, from her un-scuffed leather boots to the smart jacket and hat, neither of which had never known rain or dust, "Say, just how much experience do you have in the field?"

"None," Willow replied promptly, quite proud to admit that she had never sullied herself with such things, "I'm a researcher."

Alex was staring at Willow in an expression of outright shock when Myles slipped between them and held out his hand with an enthused expression on his face. Still struck mute, Alex took the younger man's hand in his own.

"Myles Cavendish at your service, Mr Harris!" Myles pumped Alex's hand rather firmly in his enthusiasm.

With his gaze going back and forth between Willow and Myles (especially staring at the young man's pith helmet), Alex could barely contain himself. His expression took on a rather worried turn when he realized that he would be escorting the two greenest expedition greenhorns in continental Europe. He tipped his hat again before backing away from them both slowly.

"Um, I'd best be turning in for the night…I'll meet you both on the train tomorrow morning, right?" he turned, not waiting for an answer and walked away muttering something about having to find a new line of work.

Willow and Myles watched Alex take the stairs two at a time, soon disappearing from sight. Willow turned to Myles and shrugged, "I guess we should try and get some sleep as well…I think it might be a long day tomorrow."

While Willow managed to make it into bed with the covers tucked securely beneath her chin at a respectable hour, she could not bring on sleep. She kept telling herself that she was exhausted after their boat and train journey during which she had not slept a wink, indeed she had spent most of the boat journey hanging over the railings emptying the contents of her stomach.

After an hour of fruitless tossing and turning, Willow finally re-dressed herself and made her way back downstairs. The hotel lobby was mostly deserted, with just the front desk clerk looking extremely bored and impatient for his shift to be over, and two gentlemen talking over brandy and cigars near the bar. Not being particularly keen on the idea of drinking or smoking herself to sleep, Willow made towards the front door with the intention of popping out for a brisk walk in a well lit area. She was drawn up short of the door when she saw a figure standing at a nearby window, elbows propped up on the windowsill as he gazed longingly outdoors. It was Myles, clad in his bulky overcoat as though he were heading outside.

"Myles?" Willow asked, effectively announcing her presence lest she startle the young man. "It's rather late, are you not tired?"

He spun away from the window with a slightly sheepish grin, "I really want to see Paris, even just a little…but being so late and all I was afraid to go out on my own…and I did not know if you would approve."

"Well, given that I was about to head out on my own I can hardly be one to protest…how about we take a stroll together?" Willow offered, not entirely sure that company was what she sought but feeling sorry for the young man who so desperately wanted to get out on the town.

"Are you sure?" Myles leapt up from his leaning position with a broad smile, "You bet, thanks awfully, Miss Rosenberg."

"Willow, please Myles," Willow urged as they made their way out into the night air, Myles holding the door open for her. "You make me feel like a school teacher calling me 'Miss Rosenberg' all the time."

"Sure…Willow," Myles beamed, striking up a rather jaunty strut as he set out on the footpath.

Willow followed suit, pleased to find the streets around the hotel well lit with electric lighting, much the same as in London. People were still strolling about although most were hurrying home. To all outward appearances, Willow and Myles appeared to be two young Englishmen taking in their first sights of the city…which was very much the truth excepting of course that Willow was a woman. They were able to wander quite freely and at the brisk pace both had set they covered a great deal of ground. Myles was quite sure he was leading them in the direction of the Seine and Notre Dame but as they continued on doubts began to form in Willow's mind about Myles' sense of direction.

The two travelers found themselves in an area with fewer streetlamps and ominously dark alleyways that they both scurried past rather quickly. Someone whistled in a low tone and both Willow and Myles spun to see two women emerge from a nearby doorway.

"Here's a handsome pair of young men, looking for a good time I'll bet?" the nearest asked, she was clad in a particularly violent shade of yellow that did not compliment her pale, blotchy skin.

"Is that right, you boys looking for a good time?" her companion asked, she was almost pretty although wearing so much rouge on her cheeks it gave her the appearance of a doll.

Her red dress was cut so low that Willow glanced down and saw the dark areola surrounding her nipple, Willow felt heat rise in her cheeks. It was definitely the closest she had ever come to seeing breasts other than her own and not in a dream but all she felt was a cold terror.

"No…I mean yes we're having a good time…but we're fine thanks," Willow stuttered, canvassing the best route of escape, unfortunately there was a dead end in front of them and the prostitutes moved to block their path.

The two approached, practically backing the unfortunate pair against a wall behind them. Willow cringed with her back pressed against the wall in effort to escape the red-frocked prostitute who was several times taller and heavier than her and drenched in a scent that Willow was quick to discover made her sneeze. Meanwhile her companion in the yellow dress was stroking Myles' pink cheek, the young man staring rather raptly down at her bosom which was peering from the top of her dress.

Willow sneezed again as the prostitute placed one hand on the wall beside her, moving so close their bodies were almost touching,

"Sacre bleu! My but you are a pretty boy!" she exclaimed, pinching Willow's cheek, "For you I will make a special offer, two francs for a knee trembler but for ten francs I will take you back to my room for a whole hour of love making…it is a good offer non?"

"Ah, it's a very good offer…but I'm honestly not interested!" Willow squeaked, her back sliding along the wall as she inched further away.

Willow almost squealed aloud as the frisky prostitute made to reach for her crouch, in lieu of having a broom or some such object to fend off the unwanted attentions of the lady of the night, Willow had to make do with her own nimble feet. She darted out from beneath the woman's outstretched arm and seized Myles by his sleeve.

Still dragging the young man (who seemed to be digging his heels in for some reason), Willow tore out of the dead-end street and kept running as fast as she possibly could. She received an awful shock when she glanced back over her shoulder to see that the two prostitutes were not about to give up potential clients that easily. They had hitched up their skirts and were running after the pair, white legs flashing in the night. Willow increased the pace, as well as ducking down a side street that appeared to offer more potential for hiding places.

"I've got twenty francs in my pocket!" Myles called out to her as they ran, "Isn't this what you're supposed to do when you're in Paris?"

Willow glanced across at the hopeful expression on his face with a furious one of her own, "If you're a sailor…which you are not! Not to mention that's museum money in your pocket!"

Myles shrugged; obviously he had the feeling that it was a valid travelling expense. Willow groaned in exasperation and glanced over her shoulder once more. They were still there. She rounded another corner up ahead, not caring where she was leading them and ducked down a rather darkened alleyway. Halfway down she dragged Myles into a doorway and the two of them pressed their backs against the door, melding into the shadows as much as possible.

Willow soon heard the heeled shoes of the prostitutes on the cobbles and she feared they would somehow hear her hoarse breathing. She tried to slow it down somewhat but exertion combined with anxiety meant that this was almost impossible. A few seconds later it became apparent that the prostitutes were going to run straight past them without pausing to check the alley. Willow exhaled loudly and beside her Myles sighed. She reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

"You're a good-looking lad Myles, I'm sure you'll meet a young lady worthy of your attentions," Willow reassured him.

She saw Myles face turn towards her in the dim light, "Are you sure about that? I think I'm a bit skinny for the ladies."

"Skinny or not, I have no doubt you'll be successful in love," Willow added, thinking perhaps she had gone a little tone far in her reassurance when she saw the beaming grin on Myles' face.

They waited for at least a minute to emerge from their hiding place, just to be sure that the two prostitutes had gone. Willow and Myles found themselves quite alone in the alley, breathing a collective sigh of relief. Such sighs were short-lived however as two figures moved to block the entrance to the alley. Both men were wearing ragged, bulky clothing with hats low over their brows. Even in the darkness Willow could see the gleam of the knives they wielded. She reached out and dragged Myles behind her even as they approached confidently.

"Now we'll be having all your property there lads, money, watches…" the nearest growled, running his thumb along the length of his blade.

"We don't have anything!" Willow replied, wondering whether she could risk backing away slowly, she shifted her body slight and in doing so her jacket feel open, revealing her shirt beneath which hugged the curves of her breasts.

The second man stepped forward quickly and grabbed his partner's arm with his excitement, "It's a woman!"

They both leered at Willow, wide smiles spreading to reveal mouths full of missing teeth from a lifetime of drunken brawling.

"It's our lucky night…looks like a sweet one too, beneath the men's clothing…"

Willow kept a firm gaze on both of them, she was watching for any sudden movement towards her when Myles shoved her aside from behind.

Myles was between them in an instant, drawing out from beneath his coat a narrow sword which he proceeded to pull from its sheath a little awkwardly. In his haste and terror he fumbled and dropped the blade, it clattered to the cobbles below. Willow stared at it for a moment and then realized that the nearest cutthroat was about to make a move towards it. She dived forward and seized it by the handle.

"Back you devils!" Willow cried, brandishing the sword in the direction of the pair of cutthroats.

Both men were taken aback by the sudden appearance of the gleaming sword in Willow's hand, sudden expressions of hesitation appearing on their faces, especially given the competent manner in which the sword was directed towards them. Willow stood poised, both hands on the grip of the katana as it was raised above her head, ready to strike at either of the men if they approached. She felt an urgent tug on her jacket.

"Ah Willow, it's good that we have the sword and all but I think we should still run!" Myles insisted.

Willow found herself hesitating for a moment at Myles' sensible suggestion, for the briefest of moments she felt as though she could take on both men and win easily, even with the knives in their hands.

Despite having already exerted themselves to their fullest extent in fleeing the prostitutes, both Willow and Myles managed to set a cracking pace with their lives on the line rather than just merely their virginity.

When Willow glanced over her shoulder as they emerged back into a street lined with lamps, she was surprised to see no pursuers behind them. She did not stop to dwell on the reason for this and kept running, the sword still clutched in her hand.

In their frantic flight, Willow and Myles did not slow down in the slightest until they were sprinting up the steps of their hotel. Both were clearly exhausted and out of breath but relieved to be alive after the encounter with Paris' seedy underbelly of crime…however brief it may have been.

"Myles, where in God's name did you get this sword?" Willow eyed the katana in her hand as they re-entered the safe confines of their hotel, "I thought I left all our weapons behind on the dock?"

"Nicked it from Faith's stash and hid it in my luggage," Myles admitted shamelessly.

Willow then shrugged as though Myles made good sense, "I'll keep a hold of this…and I would suggest that we don't mention a word of this little incident to our American guide, I suspect it would further erode our already tarnished image."

"Agreed," Myles nodded quickly, relinquishing his hold on the finely worked sheath of the katana into Willow's waiting hand.

They both made a beeline for their respective hotel rooms, neither would think about emerging until the day had well and truly dawned. As Willow settled down to sleep that night she could not help but feel apprehensive, with the journey barely underway she had already narrowly escaped death…she was in for a very long haul indeed.

The thugs in the alley were still trying to work out exactly what had just taken place; they were having difficulty in accepting the fact that they had just been thwarted in their work by a woman and a boy. Even as their prey disappeared out of sight they made up their minds to follow, surely their brute strength would make up for the initial surprise of the woman brandishing a sword in their direction.

They had no sooner picked themselves up than both felt a strong grip on the back of their clothing. One was thrown backwards with tremendous force and he hit the wall face first with a sickening thud. He fell into a heap at the base of the wall and did not move. The remaining man found himself being held at least a foot in the air, his feet kicking uselessly beneath him. He too was thrown back against a wall but the figure holding him was on him faster than the wind, he tried to scream but no sound emerged. With iron like fingers clamped fiercely around his jaw he was forced to stare straight at the creature that held him. Her face was terribly beautiful, piercing blue eyes boring through into his soul as her blonde hair fanned out behind her even though there was no wind. She bared her teeth, revealing abnormally pointed incisors that drove a knife of fear straight into his heart.

"Did William or Angelus put you up to this?" she growled, keeping her fangs visible. "Tell me now or you will know true pain!"

He tried to shake his head but her grip was too firm for him to move his head, "No, no, I do not know who those people are!"

The creature lifted him forward a few inches and then slammed him backwards, the back of his head cracked against the brick wall and he cried out in pain.

"No one put us up to anything, it was just us! They looked like easy meat! Posh clothes…obviously lost…easy pickings!" he gasped as he struggled futilely, his face growing redder by the second.

"You're scum," she added, "you attacked someone dear to me…and for that I do not feel sorry for your death."

His protest morphed into a scream. Just moments later the fangs which had held him so transfixed in his terror buried themselves in the white flesh of his neck. Minutes later his lifeless corpse was thrown to the ground and the dark-clad woman stepped over him as though he were a pile of trash, wiping the blood from her chin.

The next morning Alex appeared to have set aside his apprehensions regarding his two abysmally inexperienced companions and he was in fine spirits as they boarded the train for the next leg of their journey. The leg would of course be much longer than the first short jaunt to Paris and they had reserved a large carriage complete with foldout sleeping berths. Willow wrinkled her nose, less than impressed as she stowed her luggage away. She struggled on tiptoes to stow her bag overhead and was about to have it come crashing back down on her head when a large arm shot up and shoved the bag firmly in place.

"I promise I don't snore," Alex leant over and whispered in her ear as he tightened the luggage straps.

Willow whirled around, surprised by being in such close proximity with a man…and a decidedly odd smelling one at that. She mumbled her thanks and claimed one of the spots by the window, thankfully Myles quickly claimed the other window seat directly opposite her so should would not be forced to stare at Alex for at least a while anyway. Myles beamed when Alex chose to sit next to him, puffing out his chest and trying to look as manly as possible rather than the skinny little boy he really was.

As Alex opened the day's paper and Myles fished in a bag of sweets he had purchased at the station, Willow turned her attention to the platform outside the window. It was clearing now, most of the passengers having boarded the train already. There were just a few well-wishers awaiting the imminent departure. Scanning the crowd, Willow passed her eyes over porters lugging bags or pushing carts, the conductor ushering latecomers on board, as well as all the assorted well wishers from all walks of life. Working class men wearing their distinctive caps, hands jammed in the pockets of their overalls, middle class ladies perhaps saying goodbye to their husbands or fiancés and somewhat apart from the rest of the crowd, one exceedingly familiar blonde haired woman in dark attire. She was staring directly at Willow, meeting her gaze quite calmly as though it were natural for her to be there. No one else on the platform seemed to notice the woman; they all gave the location where she stood a wide berth. Willow's lips parted in surprise, she wanted to call out or even get off the train but she heard the conductor calling out his last call. Moments later they were trundling along the track, barely moving at first and Willow continued to stare…then the train gathered speed and she passed out of sight.

Willow turned to look down at Myles who was staring at up her with a disconcerted expression on his face. She realized that she had subconsciously risen to her feet while staring at the blonde woman and quickly sat down once again.

Willow shrugged in what she hoped was an offhand manner, "I thought I saw someone I knew…that's all."

Myles nodded as though this explanation satisfied him, he offered Willow a sweet but she declined, it was much too early in the morning for her to inject sugar into her body. She instead settled back against the seat and realized that it was actually quite comfortable. With the lulling movement of the train combined with her lack of sleep, Willow quickly drifted off to sleep, her dreams once again filled with the tortured love story of Tara Maclay and her W.

I can hear footsteps approaching. Edward is here…I do not pray often but I will pray tonight for Him to give me the strength to endure what must be endured.

Willow's heartfelt leaden as she finished Tara Maclay's last entry in the diary. It was not only the words that sent Willow spiraling downwards into an abject state of melancholia, it was also something else, an emotion that she could not quite define and yet it plucked at her heart strings with all the grace of a violist playing with his toes. She turned the page of the diary to find that although the September 15th entry was Tara's last, she had gone on to write something else. It was just a single word…but that one word filled an entire page.

Willow gently touched the pads of her fingers to the paper as though she could feel the emotion with which the name was written over and over. Throughout the diary Tara had only ever written 'W', despite the fact that it would have done little to conceal the identity of her beloved. While Willow did not understand why she had resorted to such poorly concealed subterfuge, she did understand the sudden need for the repetition, especially considering what was about to happen to her at the hands of her husband.

Gripped by a sudden anger, Willow fiercely turned the page even though she knew she would find no answers there. There was text there in abundance…all written in the heavy, almost perfect script that Willow had also found in the inside cover, but she could decipher not a word. It was torture; Willow knew that the answers she sought, the rest of Tara's story lay hidden within the text. She scanned the first few pages in the vain hope that some sort of pattern would emerge, one that would give her clues to deciphering it but she possessed neither the patience nor the clarity of mind required for such a task. Instead she leapt from the bed in a state of agitation. Her footfalls sounded hard and fast on the floorboards as she paced the short width of her hotel room. Before she could give herself over to anger and tear the diary in two, Willow threw it to the floor where it landed with a thud and skidded beneath the bed.

Turning her back on the book Willow dashed a measure of water from the porcelain pitcher into the wash basin and hunched over it, staring into her own blurred reflection. A single tear slid over her nose, hung on the end of it for a second and dropped into the water with a tiny splash. A second tear followed in due course and before Willow knew quite what had overcome her she was weeping uncontrollably. Sobs racked her small frame and she found herself having to kneel down before she fell over on her weak knees. Willow crumpled into a small ball and tucked herself up in the tiny space between the heavy wooden dresser and the wall. She was so consumed with grief and pain, she didn't care that her body quickly became chilled pressed up against the bare boards. All she could dwell on was the overwhelming sense of loss she felt, as though something or someone very precious had been stolen from her.

Faith cried out, flinging her hands out behind her to firmly grasp the headboard of the bed upon which her naked body was currently writhing in agonizing ecstasy. She thrust her hips repeatedly and insistently against the warm mouth that was fastened over her sex, straining for more pressure.

Lara responded by increasing the pace with which her tongue flicked over Faith's clit. She sensed that the lithe woman bucking against her lips was nearing her release as her movements became more intense, her breath sounding hoarse coupled with the increasingly loud words issuing from her throat. Without interrupting the work of her tongue, Lara shifted slightly so she could force one finger upwards, burying it in the warmth of Faith's cunt.

Faith slapped her hand against the headboard as she felt the penetration, thrusting against Lara's hand as well as her mouth.

Lara moved her mouth for a brief moment even as she kept thrusting with her finger, "You want me to stop?"

Lara resumed her ministrations with her tongue, trying her best to keep her movements gentle but Faith's responses clearly showed that she was beyond feeling pain from her wound and concentrating solely on the pleasure.

Faith came a few moments later amidst a guttural howl of undecipherable words. Lara kept moving between Faith's trembling thighs, continuing to stroke her pulsing cunt with her tongue even as a command came for her to stop. She savored a last taste before pulling back to admire the sight of her lover spread wide in front of her, glistening moisture coating the inside of her thighs and her sex. Lara licked her lips like a cat before crawling up Faith's body, warming her before the coat of sweat that covered her body could start cooling. She absently traced a small pattern between Faith's breasts as their bodies folded together, gradually moving her fingers downwards over the scars that dotted Faith's otherwise perfect skin, she stopped when she came to the thick bandage that concealed the still unhealed wound in her side.

"I'm sure this is not what the doctor would prescribe," Faith commented as she felt Lara's fingers brush over her skin.

"Perhaps," Faith shifted slightly and felt the wound protest, "But what is a little pain compared to the pleasure of having your mouth between my legs…that and the fact that I was positively aching for your touch…or any touch for that matter. One should not go more than two weeks without fulfilling one's needs."

"Any touch?" Lara repeated archly, "I should hardly think that just any touch would suffice."

Faith smirked, "Yours is indeed pleasurable…and a more adequate way to pass the time I could not think of."

Faith paused before replying in an apologetic tone, "About that, I was going to pay Willow a visit…it's quite odd actually, she hasn't been to see me and I stopped by her office today but she wasn't in, I could not find Giles and no one else seemed to know where she was…if she were ill she would have to be very sick indeed to keep her away from work."

"You know where she is?" Faith twisted her neck so she could look at Lara, "I'm missing her sorely although I would never admit that to her."

"I'm not expecting her back from Klausenburg for at least another three weeks," Lara replied simply, she cocked her head to one side as though she were mulling over dates in her head, "Perhaps a month if the information turns out to be of worthwhile interest and she can follow it up while she's there."

Faith immediately extracted herself from within Lara's warm embrace, trying to ignore the stabbing pain shooting through her torso as she moved too fast for her wound. She could hardly hide the grimace on her face and Lara predictably rose from her own reclining position to go to her lover's aid. Faith halted her movement with a raised hand blocking her path. Lara remained sitting on the bed while Faith swung her feet onto the floor and stood, her naked body glowing in the candlelight. She turned to face Lara without bothering to put any clothes on.

"I am to understand that you sent Willow to Eastern Europe…alone?" Faith demanded, clutching at the dressing covering the wound in her side.

Lara shook her head, finding it difficult to deny that a naked, angry Faith was a beautiful sight, "No, she's with Cavendish…and I engaged Alexander Harris to be their guide."

Faith let out a flabbergasted snort, "Myles is about as much use as a wooden sword…what is he there to do? Make cups of tea?"

"Cavendish is loyal to a fault and I believe we're all underestimating him…and he needs the field time as much as Rosenberg," Lara admitted with a shrug, she went on to add, "That debate aside, I'm sure you'll agree that Harris was the most appropriate guide, you yourself have used him on more than one occasion and pronounced him to be adequate…I figured that was high praise coming from you."

"It was high praise!" Faith agreed in exasperation, "He's a fine shot and a quick with his fists, there's no one I would rather have guarding my back in a tight situation than Alex Harris…but that's the thing, I don't want Willow in the type of situation where she would need a fine shot and quick fists!"

Faith forgot the pain in her side; instead she was consumed by anger and feat at the thought of her best friend in a completely unknown environment, much too far out of her element. She knew exactly what Willow was headed for and the thought unsettled her. While Klausenburg was hardly a dark and dangerous backwater, one still had to remain alert at every moment; the dark forces that they worked to combat had an uncanny ability to sense out employees of the British Museum and make life as uncomfortable for them as they possibly could. Too many times Faith had run into sticky situations, even in relatively secure environments and had been forced to use all of her experience and skill to escape. The thought of Willow having to do the same would have been laughable if not for the fact that it wasn't a joke, Willow was actually traipsing around Eastern Europe with her youthful assistant and Alexander Harris…when that thought ticked over in her head Faith groaned aloud.

"And Harris is a walking cock! He would fuck anything with two breasts and a cunt," Faith could testify to having seen him in action and she was willing to bet that the 'two breasts' criteria could be waived on occasion, "He stays professional with me because he knows I'd slice his balls off without a second thought…but is he really the type of man to whom you would entrust the care of someone like Willow, someone who has absolutely no experience in fending off unwanted male attentions!"

Lara gave a dismissive shrug, "You never know, she might want those attentions…she could certainly do with it…."

Faith took that last comment as a cue to find her clothes, she was pulling on her leather pants as she continued the conversation, trying to steer it away from the direction it was taking, "She could not do with the attentions of Alex Harris thank you very much!" The thought of that hopeless scoundrel trying to seduce Willow made Faith's blood boil.

"This banter is pointless, Rosenberg is an employee!" Lara threw up her hands in annoyance as Faith dragged on a shirt over her bare breasts, "I care about the job…not her personal life…"

"Bollocks, Lara!" Faith growled immediately, trying to find her missing leather boot beneath the bed, she dragged it out and popped her head back up to glare at her lover, "I distinctly remembering you telling me a month ago to keep a special eye on Willow…and now you're sending her off to chase a lead that I should be following up with just her assistant and a womanizing American?"

Lara now had the grace to look somewhat guilty, although it was still not enough for Faith. She turned her back on the naked woman lying in her bed as she hopped around the room tugging her boots on, various curses coming from her lips as her wound smarted with each movement.

"Things…things weren't moving fast enough," Lara admitted quietly, her tone however indicated that was all she would admit.

Faith whirled on her, "What things? You're not going to tell me are you? I'm good enough to do what I'm told and share you bed when you feel like it but for some reason I can't be let in on your little plan…a plan which involves the safety of someone I care about deeply!"

"Maybe you should be fucking Willow," Lara said on impulse, immediately regretting the words as soon as they had left her lips.

"Enough!" Faith announced with finality, seizing her jacket from where she had tossed it earlier over the back of a chair, "I'm taking a holiday…I'll be back when I feel like it."

Lara started to rise, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, "Faith, I'm sorry, I should come with you…"

"Even if you weren't crippled I wouldn't want you to come with me," Faith interrupted cruelly; "You can stay behind the desk where you belong."

Faith did not stay in the room long enough to see the crestfallen expression on Lara Croft's face. Faith's words had cut deep; hitting a vital artery but what hurt more was the fact that her lover's anger was futile because she did not have the complete picture. It had been essential to send Willow to Eastern Europe in a desperate attempt to unlock the secret of her past and in turn the information contained within her memories. Of course if Faith had not been so badly injured she would have dispatched them together but could not afford to wait for her to recover from her injuries. Lara also knew Faith's reaction to finding out Willow's destination, which was precisely why she had told Willow that she was not to bid Faith farewell before she left. Faith would have followed Willow no matter her condition…as she was set to do now.

In carrying out her duty, Lara had alienated a woman she had come to care for, perhaps even love…but they were all running out of time. Love was not important in the face of the horrors that could be unleashed if Willow failed.

Fierce hunger pains eventually drove Willow from her hotel room late the same evening but she did not leave her room before thoroughly scrubbing the tearstains from her face. She made her way downstairs towards the hotel bar where she had seen meals being served on her way up earlier that afternoon, huge hearty meals of bread and meat which Willow thought would suit her fine. However, she had no sooner entered the dimly lit room with its low ceiling than a broad shouldered man moved to block her path. Upon glancing upwards she found it to be Alex Harris, a cocky grin on his face as he tipped his cowboy hat.

"Well howdy little Miss, how about you let me buy you a drink and I'll tell you about the time I single-handedly stopped a stampeding herd of buffalo from crushing a wagon train full of womenfolk and little 'uns…"

Willow smiled politely and shrugged, "That sounds fascinating but I am actually famished…"

"I love a lady that knows how to eat!" Alex announced, slapping Willow on the back with more familiarity than she was comfortable with, "How's about we pull up a stool at the bar and have them bring us something with some meat?"

He left his hand resting against her back and chuckled as though he were enjoying a private joke of his own. Willow was rather helpless to resist as Alex steered her a path through the small crowd to two available seats at the bar. His hand left her back as he climbed on a stool and Willow took the opportunity to discreetly shift her own stool a few paces away from his.

"What are you drinking?" Alex slapped some coins down on the bar and the bearded old fellow behind the bar couldn't move to take their order fast enough, "My shout."

"I can buy my own drinks, Mr Harris," Willow began uncomfortably, "I do not think it appropriate…"

"Nonsense…my man, we will have both have doubles of your finest vodka, followed by a pitcher of beer apiece!"

Willow stared at the alcohol in the rather dirty vessels that were dumped unceremoniously in front of her a minute or so later, Alex downed his vodka in one quick gulp and chased it with a great swill of beer. With alcohol lining his stomach, he quite happily launched into his tale about the wagon load of women folk as he had promised. Willow sighed tried to block out most of his blustering speech by simply ignoring him. Naturally, her mind drifted back to her reaction to the diary, even now she found her fists clenching at just the thought of Tara Maclay having to marry that awful man. It was awful…or rather it had been awful…but Willow couldn't understand being overwhelmed by sadness to the point of collapsing into tears. She didn't cry over anything…well, at least not since her brother, Alexander, had passed away when she was just five years old. She listened to the man who shared his name drone on in his animated voice and wondered what kind of man her brother would have grown up to be.

After staring at the glass in front of her for a few minutes, Willow finally ventured a small sip. Alex noticed her dainty movements and grimace of disgust and shook his head.

To shut him up, Willow tossed her head back and immediately felt the horrible burning sensation of the liquid as it passed down her throat. She slammed the glass back on the bar and Alex slapped her heartily on the back one again, driving her forward with the impact.

Less than half an hour later Willow had not had the meal she had originally been craving, yet she had had more than enough liquor to fill her belly. Willow was also relieved to find that she didn't feel quite so sad any longer. Also, her hunger pains had subsided to be replaced by a rather pleasant glow and she sat smiling stupidly in response to Alex's increasingly far-fetched stories, usually involving rescuing good-looking womenfolk from some calamity that was about to befall them.

One of the side effects of the large quantity of alcohol was a rather full bladder; she was in sore need of a chamber pot or an outhouse when she slipped from her stool. She found the floor a little unsteady beneath her feet and decided that the whole thing was uneven, definitely a poor standard of workmanship. A shaky step followed and she lurched rather alarmingly.

"Woah there Miss Rosenberg!" Alex moved quickly from his stool and reached out with two hands to prevent Willow from stumbling forward, placing one hand on her hip and the other around her waist. He steadied Willow and then drew her backwards into his body, "How's about we head for your room…you sure look as though you could do with a lie down."

"Capital idea, Mr Harris!" Willow announced loudly, her full bladder forgotten at the thought of lying down, "Please take me straight to bed!"

Several other patrons in the bar sniggered at her announcement; Willow didn't see the broad grin on Alex's face as he helped her eagerly from the room, his hands securely wrapped around her waist. They had no sooner left the room and headed towards the stairs than Myles Cavendish appeared at the top of the landing above. He bounded quickly down the stairs and straightened up to his full height in front of Alex and Willow.

"Myles!" Willow grinned when she glanced up and recognized her assistant. "You've just missed having a beer with us! Mr Harris, back to the bar, let's go have another one with Myles!"

Alex smiled a little awkwardly in Myles's direction, "Er, I think Ms Rosenberg was fixing to go to bed…I was just helping her along there, see."

"I'll escort Miss Rosenberg to her room if you don't mind, Mr Harris," Myles announced confidently.

"Nonsense my man!" Alex placed a hand on Myles's shoulder and gave him a friendly but firm shove out of his path, "Why don't you pay a visit to the bar and find your own woman!"

Alex had only helped Willow a few more steps before Myles was back in front of him, "I think that ought to be your course of action Mr Harris….if you don't release Miss Rosenberg then you can be assured that I will inform Director Croft of your lack of professionalism, and you will never ever be hired by our organization again."

"There's no need for that!" Alex spluttered, sizing up Myles to see just how serious his intentions were. The stern expression on the young man's face did not waiver and Alex was forced to concede, "Okay…don't see what harm I was doing anyway, I was just helping her into bed."

"And intending on climbing in along with her," Myles muttered under his breath as Alex Harris relinquished his hold on the swaying Willow.

The only one seemingly unconcerned by the whole encounter was Willow; she shifted from Alex's arms to Myles's with no complaint and a broad grin on her face. Matters were complicated somewhat a few steps later when they paused at the bottom of the stairs, for some reason Willow found her feet would not lift high enough to take even the first step.

"I'm afraid I might be leaning on you a little heavily," Willow mumbled as she tried to lift her feet again, "My feet feel like they're set in stone."

"Nonsense…I'm a strong lad and you're as light as a feather," Myles was quick to reply.

Despite his bold statement, Myles was of rather small stature and had some difficulty in supporting Willow up the stairs of the hotel and down the corridor to her room. However, he gamely tried not to show any signs of faltering as the two of them made their slow and perilous progression up the rickety flight of stairs. A fellow hotel patron squeezed past them as they were half way up and gave Myles a conspiratorial wink even though the young man had not the slightest intentions of taking advantage of a drunken woman. Myles had to wonder just how many men would stoop that low.

A good ten minutes later, he pushed open the door to Willow's room. The curtains were open and the light of a bright full moon streamed through the panes, illuminating the surfaces in the room.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Myles seemed reluctant to leave Willow in her state of inebriation.

"I'll be fine, thank you very much Myles," Willow was already making a rather unsteady beeline for her bed.

"Well, I deduced Mr Harris had unsavory intentions," Myles replied, his cheeks tinged with red at the praise.

"Well then…I think I am lucky that I travel with at least one gentleman," Willow replied in all honesty, despite his shortfalls, Myles was a genuinely nice young chap, "If you wouldn't mind leaving the basin by the bed…just in case my stomach disagrees with me during the night."

Myles fetched the basin as requested and placed it on the floor beside the bed. From the green-grey tinge to Willow's face, he did not think that it was there for a 'just in case' moment. He also fetched the pitcher of water and set it on the table just within her grasp. When he looked back at Willow, she was slumped into the depths of her feather pillow with her eyes closed, snoring softly.

"Ah, Willow?" he prodded her firmly with the tip of his finger. She didn't stir except to utter a half snore/half snort and roll over to face the other direction. Myles glanced down at her boots which were still firmly on her feet and the covers which were all trapped beneath her body. "Shall I take your boots off?"

Myles didn't expect an answer, it was clear Willow had already fallen into a deep sleep and would not be roused by anything short of a blast of icy water in the face…even then he expected that would have no effect. He debated whether he should take it upon himself to remove her boots and perhaps her jacket but just the thought of touching her while she was asleep was enough to send him into a fit of panicked breathing.

"I'll just be next door if you…" Myles began as he backed out of the room, he then realized that talking to her was pointless and made his exit gratefully. Although he did pause for a few moments just outside the door and wonder if he had made the right decision. He decided that he had and closed the door quietly behind him.

Perched just outside the window to Willow's hotel room, Tara heard the gentle tap as the young man closed the door behind him. She waited for a further minute before passing through the slight gap between the window and the sill as a gentle cloud of mist. When her body reformed she was standing in the middle of the room, not a sound had been made. The moonlight clearly revealed Willow lying on her back in the middle of her bed; her soft snores filled the room. Tara smiled, she didn't recall Willow ever snoring…and yet she also could not recall Willow ever drinking to excess. As Tara approached she knew she should not be getting this close, she was supposed to be watching over Willow, not interfering directly. Still, she had kept her distance for so long and could no longer resist keeping Willow at arm's length. She needed to be closer to her.

Tara stood over the bed, Willow was fully clothed, boots, jacket and all. Gently, she reached down and tugged Willow's jacket down, lifting her arms so she could pull them free of the sleeves. Willow jerked suddenly, her snoring stopped and she woke, her eyelids fluttering slightly but not opening fully.

"Sorry, got a bit carried away with the old drink," Willow mumbled as she lifted her arms to help Tara get her out of the jacket, "Thanks awfully for this, Myles."

"I'm not Myles," Tara said softly as she hung the jacket on a peg protruding from the wall, she turned to find Willow's eyes completely open, she was staring directly at her.

She watched Willow's expression transform from one of immediate shock to something akin to recognition. Tara moved back to Willow's bed side even as the other woman propped herself up on her elbows. Her head cocked slightly to one side as she studied Tara's face.

"You…you're the one that's in my dreams," Willow whispered softly, as she gazed up at Tara's face directly above her, "For so long I couldn't see the woman's face…but it was you all along, you're Tara Maclay."

Tara couldn't reply, just the sound of her own name rolling from Willow's lips after all these years was enough to make her heart soar. She knew it was foolish to reveal herself to Willow in this manner but she had tortured herself for too long, surely she had earned just these few moments? Moments Willow probably would not even remember in the morning. She continued undressing Willow who was able to help her slightly by lifting her hands over her head when she tugged her shirt off. Tara's fingers brushed ever so lightly against Willow's breast as she did so and she snatched them away as though she had felt fire.

Despite the lack of response to her statement and her half-dreamy state, Willow remembered reading something about a marriage and a love that couldn't be. Her mind couldn't quite process the fact that the writer of the diary seemed to be alive and sitting in her hotel room…it was further evidence pointing towards what Willow had already suspected…but she couldn't quite remember what she had suspected in the first place. Something unnatural was afoot as the writer of the diary would have been well over a hundred years old. Still, Willow was not about to pass up the opportunity to have her questions answered in the flesh even though her body was screaming at her to go to sleep.

"So many questions for you," Willow continued, like any researcher she desperately wanted the answers…even when drunk, "You married Edward…"

Tara's breath caught in her throat at the simple statement, those few words stirred memories which she had suppressed in the deepest corner of her mind for over a century. Just the mention of that man's name, even though he was long dead, was enough to stir the worst kind of fear and coming from Willow's lips, it was especially potent. Her hands were trembling as she folded Willow's shirt and placed it on the end of the bed.

"I-I did," Tara struggled to force the simple words between her lips; it was almost as bad as saying 'I do' all over again. She had to sit down, and the only place she could find to sit was the edge of Willow's bed.

"To protect her," a sleepy Willow mumbled, subconsciously rolling over and moving closer to Tara's weight on the bed next to her.

Tara felt her heart twinge at Willow's simple statement. She had been waiting for over a hundred years to explain to Willow the reasons behind her decision to marry Edward, in person and not through the pages of her diary. Now that it had finally come about Tara felt something of an anti-climax, it no longer mattered now that Edward Walsh and Willow Van Helsing were dead and she had…changed. However, as she sat on the edge of the bed in that tiny hotel room in the middle of continental Europe staring down at the dopey redhead, she felt close to being human once again.

"To protect you," Tara whispered, brushing a stray strand of Willow's hair from her forehead.

Willow did not pick up on the whispered statement and Tara rose from the bed to untie Willow's heavy boots. Once the boots were off she turned her attention to Willow's pants, she gently undid the waist and hooked both her thumbs beneath the band so she could slide them downwards.

"Lift your hips…Willow," Tara commanded quietly, her heart hammering as though it were going to burst from her chest.

Willow obliged raising them just enough so Tara could slip the garment down over her hips and her thighs. Tara felt the smooth skin of Willow's thighs beneath her thin underwear and she remembered back to another time when that flesh had been hers to explore. This time however, she did not, could not linger and concentrated on just removing her pants. She folded them and placed them next to the shirt at the end of Willow's bed. When she turned back to face Willow she caught her breath. The redhead was lying on the bed, clad in just her woolen underwear. The skintight garment left little to the imagination even though it covered her from wrists to ankles.

"Beneath the covers," Tara ordered quickly, needing to remove the tempting sight as soon as possible.

However, as she reached out to peel back the blankets Willow's hand shot out with surprising speed and her fingers fastened around Tara's wrist. Tara froze at the contact. Willow's touch was firm on the bare skin of her wrist. Tara found herself drawn closer to Willow, fixated on the longing within her emerald eyes.

"Touch me…please?" Willow asked, knowing only that she needed the blonde woman's hands directly on her skin.

With the hand that wasn't holding Tara's, Willow began clumsily undoing the neck buttons on her underwear.

Tara could not take her eyes away from the increasingly area of smooth white skin that Willow revealed with each button she managed to undo. She was so transfixed that she did not blink until Willow had finished her task and was peeling the undergarment away from her chest. With awkward fingers she tugged it down over her shoulder to completely bare one breast.

"Oh god…" Tara's breath caught in her throat, she had not been struck so helpless just at the sight of a woman's body for a long time…not since she had last seen Willow naked, "Will…Willow…dearest…you have no idea what you're doing."

"No…but you can show me," Willow pleaded, moving the hand she held across to her breast.

Tara closed her eyes as her fingers touched the mound of flesh with the taught nipple nudging the palm of her hand. She knew she could not possibly give into Willow and yet the almost forgotten but still familiar urges were flooding her body.

Tara eyes snapped open at the sound of Willow's innocent sounding question, she jerked her hand away, "How did you…"

"The photo I took of you in the park…and yet you were there in the middle of the day and you're also not trying to drink my blood…," Willow shrugged, seeming to forget that just a moment ago she was asking Tara to touch her and that her breast was still bared, "Which is a good thing for me…but it doesn't make any sense."

No it doesn't, Tara thought with a gut-wrenching twist, but then again everything stopped making sense the day I refused to run away with my love…

Tara reached out quickly and drew Willow's underwear closed once more, taking the time to redo each button. She then folded back the blankets and was relieved when the redhead shifted without further attempts to remove her clothing.

"What happened to you? You should be dead after all this time," Willow burrowed contentedly beneath the covers and stifled a yawn as she regarded Tara with half-closed eyes, "But instead of being dead you're a vampire…which is just like being dead anyway isn't it, the walking undead, a demon in a human body."

"I am not a demon!" Tara replied more vehemently than she had intended, But I did die, in every sense of the word. Now was not the time for such a conversation or a debate about exactly what category of unfortunate creature she could be defined as, especially when Willow was in no fit state to process the information and would barely even remember the answers when she woke. "It is of no consequence…what does matter is you getting some sleep…you have another long day on the road tomorrow, another day closer to your destiny…" Tara paused, a slip of the tongue, "Your destination."

Willow did not reply, nor did she seek answers to further questions. The redhead had slipped once more into the deep sleep of someone who had had far too much to drink. Tara almost felt like wakening her up, wanting to her that soft voice a few more times but she knew it was pointless, what she did dare to do however was lean over and place a gentle kiss on Willow's cheek. Her lips pressed against the smooth skin and her entire body tingled with shock at the contact. She drew away after just a split second, not daring to linger lest she lose control again, crossing quickly to the window.

As Tara cast one last look over her shoulder at the young woman she felt an intense desire to return to her side and simply curl up with her on that narrow bed. She allowed herself to entertain the thought for mere seconds. It simply could not be…just as she could not come out and explain everything to Willow, there were some things that took time to be done correctly. Even though their time was running out and the Covasna Resurrection was fast approaching, they could not afford to rush Willow. The girl had to find her own answers.

As Willow's eyelids fluttered open, she felt cold air on her upper body. She lifted her heavy arms to find that she was clad in just her woolen vest. She immediately drew the blankets up over her chest, wriggling slightly to confirm that she was also just wearing her knickers. Something had definitely gone a miss between her alcohol binge the previous night and climbing into bed. Willow lifted her head from the pillow and glanced around the room to confirm there was no one else present watching her sleep in her underwear or worse yet, sleeping in the bed beside her. She was sitting up scanning the room when she felt a massive rush of nausea to her head and she was forced to slump back against the pillow with an agonized groan. Her body was clearly not going to let her get off lightly after pouring a disgusting amount of beer and spirits into her gullet.

As she lay with her head pressed back against the pillow, trying to make her eyes work properly in the dim morning light, foggy memories of the previous evening began to float slowly back into her mind. She very clearly remembered her initial drinking binge with Alex Harris being chiefly responsible for the purchasing of the large quantity of drink.

"He was deliberately trying to get me drunk!" Willow was rather appalled by the realization and the subsequent memories of Mr Harris trying to escort her back to her room before Myles stepped in.

She was still spluttering indignantly even as she went through the rest of her memories from the evening. They became rather hazy as soon as Myles brought her through the door to her hotel room. What followed may very well have been a dream.

Still, Willow lifted the covers to double check, someone had removed all her clothes and she was almost certain that it had not been Myles. There had been an intoxicating scent, Willow was sure of it; even as she lay awake she was certain she could still smell the faintest tang lingering in the room. The scent…and long blonde hair leaning over her body…definitely not Myles. She remembered the smooth hands moving against her body as they peeled away each layer of her clothing. There had definitely been a hand on her breast and something stirred pleasantly in her loins.

Willow pressed her hand to her cheek as though it burned at the memory of the kiss planted there. She remembered speaking and being spoken to, something exceptionally significant…but the exact words would not come for all her trying. Even though she couldn't remember everything, a small smile crossed her lips. She wasn't sure whether she should be more worried about the fact that she may have been taken advantage of in her drunken state…or the fact that she intended to savor every aspect of her hazy memories of the night.

Willow squeezed her eyes tighter as though the simple action would somehow send her back to sleep and block out whoever was trying to wake her. However, the insistent voice would not go away and whoever was speaking even resorted to shaking her gently by the shoulder. With a small growling yawn Willow stretched on the hard seat beneath her as though it were a feather bed and peered hesitantly from one eye to see a the outline of a man standing in front of her. At first she thought it was Myles but the man's arms were bulky where Myles was like a rake. Her eyes jerked open and she pressed her entire body back against the seat in an effort to get as far away as possible from the man hunched over in front of her.

"What do you want, Mr Harris?" Willow asked quickly, as though the faster she managed to get the words out the faster he would be out of her sight.

For the past week of their journey she had managed quite successfully to either avoid Alex Harris or ensure that she had Myles with her. She made it a point to request a hotel room as far away from his as possible and never shared his carriage on trains. Myles alone was a particularly effective foil for any of Harris' antics as he had perfected his 'stay away' glare to the point where it scared small children.

"We've just arrived in Klausenburg, I think you'll be wanting to get off the train before it departs," he straightened up and moved back a pace, sensing her discomfort.

"Ah, thank you," Willow replied, wondering why Myles had not come to wake her instead of Alex Harris.

It was as though Alex had sensed her thoughts and he went on to add, "I wanted to have a moment with you alone…"

Willow immediately raised her eyebrows in fright. 'Alone' with Alex Harris was definitely the last place she wanted to be.

"No, no," Alex quickly waved his hands in front of him as though that were enough to dispel her fears, "I wanted to apologize to you…and as I don't make too many apologies I did not exactly want an audience."

"The fact that you don't make apologies often can hardly be put down to the fact that you seldom offend people," Willow retorted quickly, still pressed hard against the seat.

"Well forgive me for trying, Miss Rosenberg," Alex actually managed to appear offended as though he did not think that there was a grain of truth in Willow's observation, "I know I riled you up some and I aim to set things right between us."

"You riled me up?" Willow answered, thinking that this was quite possibly the worst apology she had ever received, "You plied me with drink and then tried to take advantage of me…I would say I have every right to be riled up!"

"It is partially your fault!" Alex retorted, pointing an accusatory finger at Willow.

"Mr Harris, your apology is not going at all well," Willow said coldly, her eyes narrowing as they stared at his finger.

Alex immediately lowered his finger and appeared flustered as he tried to put the little thoughts ticking over in his brain into comprehensible words, "Well, you're not making this any easier, what I was fixing to say was girls like you, they don't ordinarily give guys like me a second glance."

"What do you mean 'girls like me'?" Willow's eyes remained narrowed, her tone of voice suspicious.

"Nice girls!" Alex seemed pleased that he had found a way to sum her up, "You know, nice, well-mannered, beautiful gentlewomen…you see, I tend to attract the ones with big breasts, too much make up and no class whatsoever."

"That's understandable," Willow replied quickly, however she was mulling over the rest of his sentence in her mind and it brought slight warmth to her cheeks, "but I would hardly apply the rest of those descriptors to me…well, perhaps nice, but not well-mannered and certainly not beautiful."

Willow drew in a deep breath, rendered even more uncomfortable in the presence of Alexander Harris by his latest statement. Unused to being paid such compliments about her physical appearance she could not decide whether he was speaking the truth or it was merely another ruse to lure her into a sexual situation. She decided to stop cowering against the seat and straightened herself up, even leaning towards Alex Harris in order to prove to herself that she was capable of protecting her own honor.

"I thank you for your apology Mr Harris, just make sure you're very clear on the fact that I'm not interested in you in any way…not now, not tomorrow and nor any time before Hell freezes over," Willow kept her words low and firm, hoping that even if he did not pick up on the content, he would at least pick up on her tone…much like a dog, "Are we both reading the same page on this issue?"

Alex nodded, a small smile of relief crossing his face, "Why yes we are, Miss Rosenberg."

Alex turned at the sound of footsteps behind him and he bristled openly at the sight of Myles Cavendish. The young man hardly came up to his chin and yet he still stepped right up to face him, the fact that he had to look up at Alex did not detract from the force of his stare.

"Do you need any help here, Miss Rosenberg?" Myles asked, not breaking his stare.

"No thank you Myles," Willow could see Myles's small fists clenched at his side and she admired his pluck, if it did come to blows between the plucky little office boy and the field hardened guide, there would be no doubt as to who would come off second best, "Mr Harris and I were just resolving a few issues between us"

It was Myles's turn to raise his eyebrows as he looked towards Willow for confirmation, she nodded and he appeared appeased for the moment. He stepped around Alex Harris and moved to collect their luggage from the overhead racks.

"So, where are we meeting this guy?" Myles asked moments later as the trio stepped from the train and moved onto the platform, his voice was fairly oozing with curiosity.

"The rendezvous is scheduled for this evening, just after dusk," Willow removed a small piece of paper from the pocket of her jacket and glanced down at the instructions Lara had written regarding their contact, she turned to look at Myles, "but you will be staying at the hotel."

Myles's jaw dropped and his cheeks flushed red. Just before he was about to say something he quickly closed his mouth and bit his tongue. His disappointment however was manifested in the sullen slump of his shoulders and the fact that he was obviously dragging Willow's bag along the platform.

Willow ignored the young man's reaction and instead turned to Alex to seek his expertise, "Is that unusual, Mr Harris, a meeting after dark?"

"You'll soon learn that nothing is unusual around here," Alex replied, patting the bulge beneath his jacket where his revolver was concealed.

As Willow and Alex made their way out into the night just prior to the scheduled time to meet Faith's contact, Willow was surprised to find that the well lit streets of Klausenburg were actually far less intimidating than she had first imagined. Although she had not forgotten the harrowing narrow escape in Paris, she had to admit to herself the she felt confident with Alex Harris at her side. The man may have been a low down womanizing scoundrel most of the time, but come time for business, he was oozing professionalism. She'd seen him add a small arsenal of weaponry to the revolver beneath his coat including a small collapsible crossbow loaded with silver bolts strapped to his back and several stakes tucked into the lining of his jacket.

Willow had just one small silver dagger tucked in her boot, she'd wanted to take the sword but realized it was rather wishful thinking given she did not have the slightest clue as to how to wield it, despite her surprising display with Giles in the practice room. She'd tried…spending time in front of the mirrors of various hotel rooms throughout their journey but she could not manage anything resembling competency. She supposed that if they did run into any trouble, she would have to rely on Alex to do anything involving stabbing with pointy things while she did the one thing she could manage with reasonable skill…running.

"So, you good friends with Faith?" Alex asked, eager to break up the monotony of hearing nothing but their boots sounding on the cobbles and the occasional clatter of a carriage.

"Faith and I, we've had our moments," Alex began enthusiastically, "Why there was this one time when she…"

"Don't try to insinuate anything Mr Harris, I'll know that you're lying," Willow knew Faith too well to believe anything that Alex Harris would claim had happened between the two of them.

Alex turned to face Willow as they walked with an affronted expression on his face, "I was meaning moments in terms of run-ins with demons, vampires the like…do you have to judge me so harshly after that one little misunderstanding between us?"

Willow raised her eyebrows, "I would hardly call it a 'little misunderstanding' but I apologize for jumping to conclusions. I just couldn't imagine your little routine working with Faith that's all."

"Hell no…that woman is scary!" Alex was quick to reply, "I'd sooner try to woo a Russian farmer's wife."

Willow grinned, "She is particularly intimidating yes…but I know what you mean, I've seen her in action and she is impressive to say the least…although there was this one time where I had to save her from the clutches of an Atramen demon."

Willow drew herself up to her full height, "I would never! If not for my quick thinking in throwing that lamp Faith would have been rendered into a rather unpleasant pile of mushy stuff."

"Yes, they are," Willow was slightly impressed; she glanced at the nearest street sign and back to the small map in her hand, "I think we take a right here."

"You're right, stay close to me…and keep your eyes peeled in all directions…but don't look like you're keeping too much of a look out or you'll advertise the fact that you're nervous," Alex cautioned in a serious tone, "These streets we're now entering are home to dark magick practitioners and the like, who's stores you would not want to browse for souvenirs lest you pick up something that should not be touched."

Although his warning was well meant, it only served to make Willow even more nervous, her eyes darting left and right into every dark nook and cranny. Alex's rather cursory description of the area of Klausenburg they were entering did not even begin to describe their surroundings. The streets were far narrower here, the higher floors of the buildings seeming to jut out over the streets, giving the place a claustrophobic atmosphere with only a narrow strip of night sky visible above. The buildings themselves were ancient, stone with sharply tiled roofs and dark gables. Incomprehensible signs jutted out into the street, many were so faded that the image could no longer be discerned. Of the few that Willow could see, the image immediately put her off visiting…what looked like bodily organs on one and a baby's skull on another. Willow nudged closer to Alex, wondering if he would take it the wrong way if she held onto his jacket.

Unlike the well lit, reasonably recognizable areas of the city through which they had just passed, these darker, narrower streets were teeming with pedestrians and loiterers, as though it came alive after dark. Willow shivered when she realized that her assumption was in fact more than that, it was probably true. Many figures wore deep hooded cowls that shrouded their features in darkness. Many of those that did not featured some sort of facial disfigurement or other oddity that led Willow to stare in fascination.

They continued through the maze of narrow streets until they had passed entirely through the throng of people and into an even darker neighborhood where they were the only things moving on two legs. Willow had to suppress a scream as a cat-sized rat ran over the toe of her boot. Almost every single building was boarded up and looked as though they had been that way for the last hundred years.

"Well, we're in the right place," Willow glanced up at a derelict house with skepticism written plainly on her face, "Do you think the address was recorded incorrectly?"

Alex gamely tried the door but it barely moved on its hinges despite his best efforts. He shifted to have one booted foot placed on the door frame for leverage and tried once more.

"Well, well, well," a low voice rumbled in the darkness behind the pair and they spun about to see a dark shape emerging from the shadows, "Now there's a sight I never would have thought I would be witnessing again."

Alex ceased his struggles with the door and turned, Willow was already facing the stranger. She found herself edging close to Alex as the cloaked figure approached. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man, striding towards then with a confident, proud swagger. His face was all strong angles and exceptionally pale. Willow was instantly reminded of the mysterious blonde woman who haunted her steps and she inched so close to Alex she was almost holding his hand. His hair was dark and close cropped, when he was close enough Willow could see that his eyes were almost black, they seemed to be stripping away all her defenses. As his gaze pierced her soul Willow felt as though she had been struck by an invisible wall moving towards her. She stumbled slightly, overwhelmed by a succession of fleeting images, all too fast for her to see with any clarity. Thankfully Alex Harris, at her side, was staring too intently at their guest to notice her discomfort.

He came to a halt a scant meter away from Alex and Willow, a small smile curving his rather thin lips. Still looking directly at Willow, he cocked his head to one side as though sizing her up.

"You're looking lovely this evening, Miss…" he paused as though he were about to say something before re-thinking his words, "Miss Rosenberg…I have to say this evening light becomes you very nicely indeed."

"Your name?" he interrupted brusquely, "Faith of course, she can't possibly know more than one red-haired woman named Willow…and your friend is?"

He shook his head slowly, making a chiding sound as he did so, "Not for you…for Willow."

As he made to reach inside his coat pocket, Alex's hand immediately leapt inside his own jacket. Willow knew his fingers were wrapped around the hilt of his revolver. However, before he could draw it, the place stranger had withdrawn a small, folded piece of paper and was offering it to Willow.

With some hesitation, Willow reached out and accepted the paper. She was careful to avoid touching his fingers as she did so. The paper felt old and leathery to her touch as she unfolded it and looked at it in the dim light.

Her voice must have betrayed her surprise as he asked, "You were expecting information perhaps?"

"Perhaps…I wasn't sure what to expect," Willow glanced back down at the sketchily drawn lines that could have been almost anywhere in the world.

"This," he announced pointing down at the map, "This is all the information you need."

Willow couldn't bring herself to look up at the man once more, just the sight of him made her flesh crawl for some unknown reason. He looked at her as though he knew her…and not as a long lost friend.

She did however study the map intently and was further unnerved by the thought that she had seen a winding path high above a river, much like the one that was depicted on the map. It was impossible, the map depicted no place in England and yet she had never before been to the continent. Eventually the map disturbed her to the point that she was forced to face the contact again. He was smiling at her.

"It's all the information you need to find what it is you've been searching for," was his cryptic answer to her question.

With the unsettling smile still fixed on his face, he turned to retrace his steps in the direction he had come. Apparently that was all the information he had to offer. Willow glanced back at the map, still unable to shake the feeling of intense familiarity that had her in its icy grip.

"Well that was odd," Alex commented as the man's back disappeared into the darkness ahead, he turned and stared at Willow with a thoughtful expression that almost made him look intelligent.

"How was it odd?" Willow's tone was furtive, as though she was worried of being accused of a crime she didn't commit, "I mean, how was it not supposed to be odd? He's a shady Eastern European informant and we're agents of the British Museum…it's not like these meetings are going to be normal. Although this was my first one so I don't have any prior experience to go by."

Alex patiently waited until Willow have finished her babble and replied quietly, "It was odd…it seemed as though he knew you from some other place…a long time ago."

If Alex scared himself with his own deep speculation, he scared Willow more. She was forced to readdress the emotions and images that had been dredged up at the sight of their informant. It scared her to think that Alex might in fact be right.

"You're being ridiculous Alex," Willow clutched the small piece of paper in her hand, "In what world would someone like me ever mingle with someone like him?"

Willow rounded on him, "Don't try and get all dicey semantics on me, Mr Harris, I don't know that man…and I've never seen him before tonight, is that clear enough for you?"

"Yes," Alex squeaked, unnerved by the sudden appearance of Willow's sharp defenses.

"Good," Willow nodded resolutely as though that were the end of the matter, she turned their combined attentions back to the task at hand, "Where to from here?"

"Well, I'd say we set about buying ourselves some horses in the morning and setting out…if you're set on following that there map?" Alex nodded towards the scrap of paper in Willow's hand.

Willow tucked it carefully in her pocket, "I am." Her confident expression then slowly morphed into one of trepidation, she swallowed awkwardly, "Did you say…horses?"

The fire had long since died down to a mere pile of shouldering embers, throwing only the dimmest of outlines around the blanketed forms huddled around it. In the darkness beyond the fire a single presence was watching from her perch on the branch of a large tree.

Tara had remained crouched in the same position she had held since settling on the branch almost four hours earlier when Willow's small party had made camp for the evening. Her only movement was that which was stirred by the gentle wind, the swaying of her hair about her face and the tail of her coat as it hung behind her. Although her pose appeared relaxed, settled back on her haunches with her arms resting lightly across her knees, her eyes were alert and focused on the camp, her ears attuned to every sound the forest made at night. She had watched the party eat and fold themselves into their blankets, all weary after a hard day's riding. Tara had smiled at Willow's vehement protestations that her horse had it in for her…some things never changed. While Willow and the boy were sleeping, their guide was supposed to be keeping watch but Tara had seen him fall asleep not long ago, his snores were now filling the small clearing and managing to irritate Tara who usually considered herself to be impervious to small irritants.

Even with her sharp vision, she could only make out Willow's blanketed form several meters away. She longed to move closer if just to watch her sleep. Tara knew she could move closer without awakening their idiot guide but she also knew that being in closer proximity to Willow would distract her from her vigil. She remained crouched on the branch, torturing herself with memories of watching Willow's face as she slept…memories long faded by the passage of time.

Dawn was still at least two hours away when Tara's ears pricked up; she cocked her head to one side and listened intently. Seconds later she dropped from the tree, her boots hitting the ground without a sound. No sooner had she landed, she was moving across the ground, not running but gliding. Her feet made no sound with each step despite the speed at which she moved. The black coat she wore fanned out behind her as she wove through trees, ducking branches and avoiding low bushes. She could see them now, three shadowy figures approaching the clearing. They moved confidently, not making any attempts to conceal their presence. All three faces turned to face Tara who burst through the trees to bar their path to the clearing. Simultaneously the three bared their fangs, vampires all.

His companions moved to stand near him and one pushed past, a tall heavily built man who had been young at the time of turning. Long black hair framed his face with its sharp jaw line. The confident stance he struck betrayed him as a leader of sorts. As he approached Tara he opened his coat with a flick of his hand to reveal the hilt of a sword, his fingers closed around the hilt.

"That is none of your concern," Tara assumed a casual posture, her arms loosely at her side, "What you should be concerned with is turning around."

"We've been hunting all night and I'm starving!" the third, a stocky woman lifted her fist and shook it at Tara as she moved towards her, "You step aside and we might spare you if your friends satisfy us."

The leader halted her movement with a curt movement of his hand, still keeping his gaze fixed on the strange woman standing so nonchalantly in front of them.

"I cannot allow you any closer, find your meal elsewhere!" Tara's voice was firmer, more threatening.

"I should think a better question should be what are you?" he sneered, his nose twitching as though he were trying to pick up a scent, "You are not of the blood and yet you are not human."

"Enough warnings have been given…I am on our lord's business and that is all you need to know!" Tara was growing impatient, even the scant information she revealed was far more than she intended, more than these lowlifes needed to know.

"You lie!" the long-haired vampire growled, in one swift movement he drew the blade he had been gripping since Tara's appearance.

There was no further warning as he plunged the sword into Tara's stomach with all the incredible strength of the undead.

Tara heard the blade slide into her gut with a dull rasping sound as it grazed skin and clothing. She glanced down to see it buried to the hilt and then up to see the vampire's face twisted into a cruel smile. He drew his foot upwards and placed it next to the sword, with one savage push he shoved her body backwards away from the sword and sent her spinning to the ground.

Tara hit the ground and immediately crumpled into a heap, a dark unmoving shape to the on-looking vampires. She could hear their furtive steps as they moved to encircle her.

"What if she was telling the truth!" Tara heard the flabby vampire whine, "What if she really is on…his business?"

"Cuza, you fat pig…she's not of the blood!" the woman snarled in response, "Now we'll have four instead of three!"

"I don't know," Cuza was obviously unconvinced by his companion's logic, "Why wasn't she terrified of us like most humans?"

They were still bickering amongst themselves when their 'meal' sprang directly to her feet. Tara adopted an aggressive posture, snarling fiercely to give all three vampires a clear view of her fangs.

"You fools, stay out of matters about which you know naught!" Tara hissed, thoroughly enjoying the sight of their shocked expressions.

She had absolutely no mercy for fools and darted forward, the female vampire did not even realize what was happening amidst the swirl of Tara's coat and hair until she was screaming and stumbling with her arms flailing wildly…her eyes had been ripped out.

The bloody eyeballs fell from Tara's fingers as she spun, to face the other vampires. Before they could recover from their horror at the sight of their blinded companion, Tara relieved the long-haired one of his sword with a quick darting movement of her hand. Her bloody fingers curled around the hilt before he even realized he was weapon-less. He glanced down at his empty hand, it was frozen as though he were still clutching the sword. With one last glance up at Tara's smiling face he spun on his heels and bolted from the scene in terror.

Tara glanced across to the fat vampire, Cuza, whose expression suggested that he too wanted nothing more than to flee. She shrugged as if leaving the decision up to him and then whirled in the direction of the running vampire. He had just passed into the trees but was clearly in view. Tara lunged forward, her left hand outstretched. A searing fireball burst from her palm and in seconds the figure in the distance was engulfed. He burned for a split second before exploding into nothing but burning embers.

Torn between the decision to run and become a conflagration himself, Cuza remained frozen to the same spot. He stared in horror at his companions, all that remained of one was a few burning twigs in the undergrowth and the other was still stumbling like a lunatic, tracks of blood from her eyeless sockets running down her face. As the terrible woman rounded on him he made a desperate attempt to defend himself with an attack of his own. His movements were clumsy, inhibited by his bulk and his fear. Tara easily avoided his swinging fists with mere steps, moving with a fluidity and effortlessness that made her almost impossible to touch. She did not feel the slightest remorse when she lifted the sword to shoulder level and brought it across in an arc. The sword sang as it severed Cuza's head, Tara's stroke barely faltering as the blade passed through flesh and bone. Both the head and body were nothing but dust before they could fall to the ground. What was left was scattered by the wind.

Tara turned her attention to the lone vampire remaining. Her frantic stumbling had ceased, replaced by a primal anger at the loss of her eyes. She had smelt Tara out and was facing in her direction, fingers extended like claws as she prepared to make a desperate strike. As Tara circled her, she kept moving to continue facing her even though she could not see.

"You kill your own kind!" she accused with a snarl, making a wild slash with her fingers that missed as Tara deftly stepped out of reach.

Tara darted forward, standing right beside the blinded vampire as she spoke into her ear, "I am not of your kind, demon!"

The vampire spun, visibly disturbed by Tara's proximity. She made another sweeping slash but only grazed Tara's coat as she moved out of reach. Before she could sense Tara again, she found vice-like fingers wrapped around her neck and in one swift movement she was jerked from the ground.

Tara lifted her prey with inhuman strength. Holding it at arm's length in front of her, she strode forward towards the nearest tree. No sooner had she slammed the struggling vampire back against the trunk, she burst into dust in her hand. More dust blew off the jagged branch upon which it had been impaled. Tara watched for a few moments and then turned her back, walking back towards the clearing where her charges hopefully still slept soundly, unaware of the dangers which had stalked them.

As she walked she lifted her hand and saw bloody coating her fingertips and running over her palm. Tara took a tentative lick but spat it out almost immediately, it tasted like mud.

When she returned to the clearing, Tara found the three humans still sleeping soundly. She glanced up at the tree branch above her head and a few moments later her misty self was reforming atop the branch once more. She settled again into her crouching position and saw out the reminder of the night in her silent vigil.

Willow felt her whole body jerk in surprise as though she had suddenly been woken…except that she had never been asleep. The horrible beast beneath her danced in protest at her sudden and unwelcome movement, it snorted and pawed with its hooves and generally behaved like the devil incarnate. Willow squawked in an undignified fashion and tightened her already white-knuckled grip on the reins. The horse eventually settled back into a brisk walk (much too fast for Willow's liking of course).

She glanced across with a scowl to see that it had been Myles interrupting her reverie. The young man appeared not to notice that he had had almost been responsible for Willow falling to her death from the back of the great beast on which she rode, instead he smiled at her in his affable manner.

Willow was incapable of remaining mad with Myles and she returned a small smile.

"I…I didn't sleep very well last night," Willow managed after a moment's hesitation, certainly not about to tell Myles that her mind had been pre- occupied with thoughts of the pale man she and Alex had met the previous evening.

"Yes," Myles nodded with mock solemnity, "I've heard that one does not sleep well on the dirt with a root digging into your back."

Willow failed to pick up on the tone of Myles conversation and shook her head absently, "No, it wasn't that…I felt as though someone were watching us, all night I felt as though there were a pair of eyes firmly fixed on me…which is silly of me I know…"

"It's not that silly," Myles sympathized, "We are in the middle of nowhere with no one but him to keep us safe."

He nodded pointedly at Alex who was leading the way several horse-lengths ahead of Willow and Myles. The American turned his head slightly as if to indicate that he had heard Myles before resuming his attention on the map balanced on his saddle horn. Given that he was the only one that knew the country and Willow's inexperience with using maps in the field, he had been tasked with following the route inked out on the small piece of parchment. Throughout much of the journey Willow and Myles had to listen to the map being called various foul epithets as though it were a person in its own right…a particularly disagreeable, capricious person. Apparently it was not a straight forward map to follow.

Every additional day they spent on horseback was an additional day that Willow felt as though she were being pummeled by each jolt her animal made. Each evening she would dismount gratefully only to find her bow-legged stance had not improved. Willow soon realized that no matter how much time she spent on the back of a horse, she would never grow accustomed to it as a mode of transport.

The terrain gradually became more mountainous several days into their journey and the sense of déjà vu lurking at the back of Willow's brain came to the forefront. This particular morning had dawned ugly and grey with the distinct threat of rain hanging in the air. Gone was the dense forest on either side of the road, it was replaced by a high canopy of evergreen pines that lined a rocky route. It was a route that seemed to be leading them even higher. In the distance Willow could hear the rushing of a substantial amount water and she remembered the route on the map eventually joined a river.

When Alex took a fork in the path that led them away from the nearby river Willow did not hesitate in spurring her horse forwards, continuing up the path she knew to be leading them in the right direction. She surprised herself with her own decisiveness but knew that stranger things had happened to her over the past few months.

Just behind her, Myles paused at the fork and glanced at each of his two companions wondering which had taken the right route. Although Alex had the map, he had still not managed to forgive the American and distrusted him with all the passion he could muster.

"I say!" he called out to the lone figure disappearing around a bend, "I think you'll find you've gone the way."

With that confident assertion, he too spurred his horse in the same direction Willow had taken, falling in place just behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of his horses' steps and smiled gratefully.

"Do tell me you are going in the right direction, Willow," he asked with just a hint of trepidation in his voice, "Otherwise I'll look like a complete ass in front of that idiot."

"I can't make any promises, Myles old chap," Willow drew in a discreet breath, "But we're supposed to be going this way…I'm sure of it."

By the time Alex had turned around and made his way back to the path Willow and Myles had taken, he was some distance behind them. He was swearing profusely and trying to read the map as he rode.

"Where in the bloody hell do you two think you're going?" Alex yelled out after them but was resolutely ignored as the two figures disappeared ahead of him.

The promised rain had startled to fall later that afternoon, a soft blanket of moisture that managed to find its way beneath layers of clothes and directly into the rider's eyes despite the fact that they were all wearing broad brimmed hats. They rode on in some discomfort, a sullen Alex bringing up the rear of the party, quite sure that Willow was leading them all into disaster.

As Willow wiped her face yet again, unable to remove the stubborn film of moisture, a queasy sensation had begun to develop in her gut. If she had not been convinced earlier that they were going in the right direction then she certainly was now.

After another hour of riding along the steep narrow trail, with Willow keeping her gaze determinedly fixed ahead instead of staring down into the river below them, the rain ceased falling. Eventually the trail even moved away from the river and they were back beneath the pines. Willow's queasy sensation had escalated to the point where she felt she was going to vomit, that was until she broke out of the trees and emerged onto a vast plain. The uncomfortable feeling in her gut was instantly gone and she felt nothing but awe. Behind her Myles gaped and Alex Harris whistled as they too emerged from beneath the trees and onto the very edge of what was an extremely large expanse.

Having spent the greater part of a week riding along narrow trails beneath trees which blocked out the sky above, Willow suddenly felt as though she wanted to turn around and return to those confined spaces…what was laid out in front of her was just too overwhelming.

Willow, Myles and Alex were all struck speechless as they stared out over the wide expanse of the flat plain which stretched miles into the distance that was laid out before them. It was a sheltered valley, bordered by sharply rising rock faces on three sides and forest on the fourth. Save for several large trees, it was almost completely flat and bare…or at least it would have been if not for thousands upon thousands of dark lumps puncturing the surface at irregular intervals.

Willow dismounted, shortly followed suit by both Alex and Myles. While the two men remained holding the reins of their horses, she left her horse and hesitantly started towards the nearest lump. Although she had suspicions as to what the shapes lying in the dirt were, she continued walking; knowing that what she saw would almost certainly terrify her. It was as though she was compelled to venture further out onto the plain.

She stopped walking, gripped by an unexplainable mix of fear and excitement as she stood over what could most simply be explained as a dead body…a very, very long dead body. All trace of flesh was gone from the skeleton, its hollow eye sockets stared up at her mockingly. A cap-like helmet had fallen backwards from the hairless skull and lay in the dirt, the rest of the body was clad in severely rusted armor, partially chain mail and partially plate mail. A mace was still clutched in the bony fingers of its outstretched arm. The cause of the man's death was also plainly obvious; a rusted sword was driven straight through his chest.

Still looking at the impaled body, she stumbled past it and onwards to the next bodies. Willow drew her gaze away from the first and onto the next, a headless corpse, the skull lying a good meter away. As Willow continued onwards through the skeletons she saw just about every form of death imaginable. Skulls were crushed into barely recognizable lumps of bone, some with the instrument of death still embedded in them. Limbs had been hacked and severed rendering the bodies into several pieces. Some corpses were riddled with arrows, still protruding from the bodies as though they had been just embedded the day before.

All were in the same condition as the first, mere skeletons clad in rusty armor, some with tattered remnants of fabric that had once been clothes still clinging to the bones.

It was a pattern which was replicated over and over again across the entire area of the battlefield. It was a graveyard with no graves, a field of death and blood with the blood having long since worn away with the passage of time. Willow imagined it as it must have been; with so many men dying, the plain would have been running rivers of the stuff.

Willow heard Myles just at her back, his voice trembling with the power of the place.

"What in heck is this place?" Alex's tone was harsher in an attempt to conceal the fear he felt.

"It's Covasna," Willow replied in a breathless voice, a chill ran down her spine as she said the words.

"Covasna?" Myles and Alex asked as one combined voice, both managing to mangle its syllables into an almost unrecognizable word. .

Willow was still in awe as she turned back to face Myles and Alex, Myles held the reins of her horse as well as his and had led the animals out onto the plain. Both horses were growing slightly skittish, prancing tentatively and pawing at the ground. Alex tied his animal to a nearby stump and had almost the same rapt expression on his face as Willow…although where she was seeing knowledge he was seeing booty for the taking.

"We are standing on the field where Vlad Tepes…Dracula to you uncultured types, fought his last battle. This was the last place any human actually saw him," Willow could hardly contain her excitement, for a scholar in her field, it was like standing on sacred ground, her voice was animated as she spoke, "For almost a decade his legendary bloodthirsty army ravaged the land…you know, impaling their victims and the like…no one could or would confront them until a German Prince from the Black Forest amassed his own army of brave men determined to put an end to the murdering horde led by the spawn of hell – the vampire Dracula. It was said that the prince had enlisted the aid of a powerful warlock to aid him in the fight. While the warlock's existence has never been confirmed, in 1476 the Prince and his army did face Vlad's army and manage to drive them back into the mountains were they harassed and harried them until Vlad, having had his fill of running, decided to make his stand at Covasna for reasons unknown to anyone but him. Eyewitness accounts have the battle lasting three days…three days of men hacking and slashing each other to pieces until the ground beneath their feet was turned to mud with the amount of blood spilled…"

"So the prince defeated Dracula," Myles nodded as though Willow's tale was immensely entertaining.

"Essentially yes," Willow conceded, "My scholarly opinion would be that the Prince's army eventually slew every single warrior in Dracula's army…"

Willow shrugged, "There are few accounts that survive, if there ever was am official history set down it was lost shortly afterwards, those we have are poorly written, contradictory…and it is very difficult to deduce exactly what happened, much of what did happen was eventually clouded in superstition and myth. Basically, it was popularly held that the reason Dracula's army remained undefeated was that it couldn't be defeated and no one would face him because they believed this to be true."

Alex let out a low whistle and Myles was riveted on Willow's every word, he had since dropped the reins of the horses and was listening intently. The animals had gratefully retreated to the edge of the field.

"Was there a reason why the army could not be defeated?" Myles asked eagerly, "I mean, even if they were all vampires they could still be killed with stakes…beheading, fire…and daylight…"

Myles paused, obviously trying to work out how vampires could fight throughout three whole days with combusting as they were prone to do in the face of the sun's rays.

"There's your problem, Myles," Willow quickly added in an authoritative tone, "His army weren't vampires at all…they were just men…evil, evil men but just men nevertheless. It was said they could not be killed so long as their captain lived…the Prince's army could wound them with ordinarily fatal blows and they would continue to fight, severed limbs grew back, men fought without heads…it's all the stuff of nightmares really."

"Legend has it the Prince did; he severed the captain's head after an epic duel. Once the captain dropped dead, Vlad Tepes fled the battlefield and his warriors were slaughtered with swords, arrows…in the normal fashion I suppose. The prince claimed the captain's head as a prize and took it back with him to Germany. I think that is where the stories and myths started, the Prince no doubt did keep the severed head of one of Vlad's generals, probably on display for his populace to see. One of the most stubborn legends throughout the literature has to do with the skull, it is purported that if the body of the captain were ever made whole, the army would arise renewed from the dust of the battlefield to resume its reign of terror and blood. Naturally it is believed that this is why Vlad has kept a low profile…he has been searching for the skull ever since."

"To resurrect his army?" Myles took a hasty step backwards from the nearest dead warrior and swallowed quickly, "There must be tens of thousands of soldiers here…"

Myles squeaked, "So if Dracula ever finds the skull we're going to have a hundred thousand blood thirsty medieval soldiers running all over Europe!"

"Don't be ridiculous, the battle occurred of course, but the rest…the un- dead captain and the resurrection of the entire army, is all a load of piffle," Willow announced resolutely, she turned to see Myles still looking apprehensive and she continued, "You can't possibly resurrect an entire army, no one can…why, it's hard enough to resurrect…."

Willow found herself tongue tied, unable to finish the rest of her simple sentence. She found herself looking down at the back of her hand…at her own flesh and wondered if this really was the first body that had encased her soul…her essence.

"But Dracula's looking for the skull?" Alex ventured, interrupting Willow's thoughts.

"Well, he's obviously pretty damned incompetent if it has taken him over 400 years to not find it," Willow snorted mockingly, doing her best to forget the uncomfortable speculations playing havoc with her mind.

"Please Myles, you're embarrassing me." Willow turned her back on the trembling young man and resumed staring out over the expanse in front of them, "Dracula, if he's even still out there after all this time, is just another vampire more concerned with avoiding agents like Faith than finding non- existent skulls, trust me, he's nothing to fear."

"But Alex is," Willow reminded him of their guide's self-proclaimed prowess…even though she had yet to see him in action.

Her already shaky confidence in their guide was further eroded when she noticed that Alex was staring at the body at his feet as though trying to work out exactly what he could safely remove as a souvenir….or to cart away from the battlefield and sell. Willow almost hoped that there was some curse laid on the bodies so that if Alex did indeed remove their weapons or armor something awful would befall him. She sighed, knowing from her extensive readings on the subjects that curses always seemed to attach themselves to an entire party…regardless of exactly which individual was to blame.

"That's right, sonny boy," Alex momentarily drew his attention away from the souvenirs when he saw Willow's angry glare. Instead he reached out and tousled Myles hair in a patronizing manner.

Myles scowled, his fear forgotten as he moved away from Alex. He squared his shoulders manfully, determined to show the same amount of backbone in front of the dead warriors as he had standing up to Alex in Willow's defense.

While both men were still glaring at each other, they had not noticed Willow moving out further onto the field of battle. She was digging around in her bag and triumphantly pulled out a pad of note paper and a well worn pencil.

"No, we've come all this way so I'm going to take a look around," Willow announced decisively, stepping directly over yet another skeleton, "I feel as though there are answers to be found here…and I love answers!"

Myles and Alex watched as the intrepid researcher set off into the heart of the battlefield with a dreamy expression on her face, writing pad in hand, already madly scribbling notes with her pencil. Both men wore identical expressions of disbelief mingled with apprehension. Disbelief at the sight of Willow marching off alone into one of the most depressing and horrifying places they could imagine and apprehension at the thought of actually having to follow her.

"You know, I would have never taken this job on if Croft was honest about one thing," Alex muttered.

"And what's that?" Myles asked still staring at Willow's back, his dislike of Alex momentarily forgotten.

Although Tara could barely see the small shape in the distance as it moved around the battlefield, she could picture Willow's rapt expression as clearly as if she were standing right next to her. The red-haired head bobbed excitedly as she scribbled notes on her pad or crouched to examine something on the ground that interested her. As always when she was watching Willow from afar, Tara found she could not relax, she was always poised on the edge of springing into action.

Here, in this place, it was all the more imperative that she remain focused and not lose herself to nostalgic thoughts as she was prone to do. Tara felt a slight chill run down her spine as she gazed out over the Covasna battlefield. It was the last place she had ever wanted to see again, even just looking at the dead inhabitants from a distance made her ill, dredging up the one memory she needed to suppress in order to be able to face each day. She felt like closing her eyes, shutting out the place but she knew she would not be doing her job. Instead she kept her gaze fixed determinedly on Willow…and that was part of the problem in the first place.

It was plainly obvious to Tara that the redhead did not actually remember visiting Covasna or the events that happened over one hundred years earlier. She moved about the battlefield as though the place was one life-sized book, the characters taking on physical form for her enlightenment and research. There was none of the revulsion or fear that would have clouded Tara's own movements out in the middle of that place.

For a moment Tara was relieved Willow didn't remember what had happened to her here. She already knew that any remembering of those events would be traumatic…and it would also undoubtedly be the end of the awkward, hesitant relationship that she had managed to re-kindle with Willow. Yet at the same time she knew that Willow had to remember…and in bringing her to this place Tara hoped to rekindle a spark of something, anything of her former life. If any place could do that to Willow…it would be the field upon which she died.

Tara's skin crawled as she sensed another presence join her in her vigil on the end of the battlefield. She did not need to turn around, the foul sensation she felt in her gut told her exactly who it was and she had to make a supreme effort to suppress the anger she felt at his interference.

"You did not need to come," Tara said coldly through gritted teeth. She left unspoken the other thoughts that were running through her head…first and foremost, that he would ruin everything by deviating from the plan. "I have everything in hand."

Tara could hear the thinly veiled sarcasm in his reply but did not let it affect the blank expression she maintained on her face. She turned to face her companion and she knew that he was searching for some form of weakness, the slightest twinge of her lips that would give away her feelings for Willow and would lead him to further suspect that she had an agenda different from his own.

"Never have you been one for tact or subtlety, Angelus…I am simply concerned that your presence will upset the delicate order of things," Tara spoke, inwardly pleased as his own expression changed to one of mild fury. He had never been as adept at masking his inner emotions, especially his anger. "The master himself charged me with this task and I alone will see that it is carried out, I do not need help from you or William or any of your moronic sycophants."

She refocused her gaze on Willow who had not seemed to move from the last moment she had saw her. Already she was irritated that Angelus had managed to distract from the task at hand, too much hinged on events progressing in a natural order.

"A state of affairs that you know I fought hard to rectify," Angelus growled in reply, "I was disappointed that he did not favor my approach, one that no doubt would have yielded results far more swiftly than your pathetically soft-hearted tactics!"

"Because he is far wiser than you," Tara had not intended to bate him, especially considering she knew just how dangerous he was.

"Bah!" Angelus roared in disgust, "You did me further disservice in rendering me your messenger boy."

"Disservice?" Tara arched an eyebrow, "I thought it was trust…I knew how difficult it would be for you to stand in her presence and not be able to lay even so much as a finger on her."

Tara heard him pacing in the undergrowth behind her; she heard fallen branches snap beneath the pressure of his boots as they thudded down into the earth with the force of his anger.

"Difficult!" Angelus' voice was tight with the effort it required him to keep his temper in check, "It was almost impossible to stand in front of that little wretch and not rip her head off…especially given her current state in which she knows absolutely nothing, she's helpless…I'm amazed she's even got this far."

Angelus was silent for several moments before replying, "I smelt her fear…but it was not fear brought about by recognition, familiarity perhaps…but nothing more. We exchanged very few words and I removed myself from her presence almost immediately after giving her the map. To stand there, in front of the woman who killed so many of our kind and appear to be helping her…even you would have to appreciate the irony of the situation."

She could hear Angelus grinding his teeth as he continued to pace. As she tried to ignore him and concentrate on Willow, a tiny thought began to tug at the back of her mind. If conceived through to fruition, it was an idea that would undoubtedly lead to the removal of the thorn in her foot.

As Willow was in her element, moving further and further out into the battlefield, Myles and Alex continued to watch her from what they considered to be a safe distance. Myles shifted awkwardly on his feet, while he had no desire to follow her out amidst those piles of bones, he did not think he was discharging his duty very effectively by not being at Willow's side. Just as he was about to suggest this to Alex, both men heard the clattering of hooves on hard ground. They spun to see the horses Myles had left untied bolting.

"God dang it!" Alex slammed the palm of his hand against his thigh as he saw the beast's tails disappearing in the distance, back down the trail the way they had come. He pointed a firm finger at Myles, "You stay with her, don't let her out of your sight…I'm going to get those bloody animals!"

Myles watched rather hopelessly as Alex turned and broke into a run; soon he too had disappeared back down the mountain. He turned and looked at Willow, now some distance away from him, still moving slowly around the battlefield taking her notes. With a sigh, he started walking towards her, careful not to step on any dead men as he went.

"Isn't this all particularly fascinating, Myles?" Willow said enthusiastically as she heard footsteps behind her.

Myles reply sounded much further away than his footsteps and she spun to see that she had not been addressing him at all. The young man stood some meters away from her, while in front of her was a tall dark haired man with pale skin. Willow's jaw dropped in recognition.

He only had time to smile before a second person morphed into being at his side, Willow also recognized this next shape…it was Tara Maclay. Her heart immediately skipped a few beats despite her Tara's expression was stern and her gaze directed towards the dark-haired man. Willow looked back and forth between the man and woman and her initial suspicions were confirmed. The stranger who had given her the map was indeed a vampire…and he too was standing in broad daylight.

"What is it with vampires these days?" Willow snapped in an exasperated voice, completely forgetting that they were usually merciless demons and she ought to be running for her life, "Can you all walk around whenever you please?"

Tara did not break into a smile, her expression remained serious, almost angry but Angelus laughed openly.

"Adorable as ever, isn't she Tara?" Angelus reached out and linked his arm with Tara's, Willow was pleased to see her jerk it away immediately, "You see Willow…some of us are older and more powerful than others, we are not bound by the same constraints as some of the weaker members of our race."

"Some of us are indeed more powerful than others," Tara gave her companion a pointed look, "Some of us are also wiser…and know when we are overstepping the mark…don't we, Angelus."

Willow could sense the tension that radiated between Angelus and Tara but she did not go as far as too sense danger. Somehow she knew that Tara would continue to protect her as she already seemed to do. Myles on the other hand was not convinced and he was eyeing up a rusted battle axe lying at his feet. Willow gave him a furious shake of her head to indicate he was not to try anything foolish.

"These times call for different methods, our time is running out, we need the skull and that scrawny little human knows where it is!" Angelus growled, turning to give Willow the force full of his baleful stare.

"What skull?" Willow squeaked, shrinking back slightly, she glanced down at a nearby skeleton and saw his toothy grin, "There are thousands of skulls here, I'm sure these chaps won't miss one or two!"

Tara stepped between Willow and Angelus, her patience wearing thin as he refused to bow to her authority, "Threatening the girl will not deliver what we need!"

Willow glanced at Tara with a confused expression, "What we need? I say, what exactly is going on here?"

Angelus ignored Willow's question and expressed his frustration as a roar, baring his fangs as he did so. Both Myles and Willow stumbled backwards with frightened yelps; however his fury in this instance was directed solely towards Tara.

"As your elder I hereby remove your rights to watch over our master's interests in this matter!" his tone backed his words, deep and full of authority, "Your head is clouded with impure, irrelevant thoughts…when I explain this to him, he will realize his mistake and accept that my actions are the best course of action…we need to get this information out of her, we are running out of time!"

Tara's face morphed into a mask of pure fury to match that shown by Angelus. So fearsome was her countenance that both Willow and Myles had to take yet another step backwards. Despite being physically shorter than Angelus, in her wrath Tara seemed to tower over him. Angelus would not back down; he faced Tara eye to eye.

Angelus pointed his finger directly at Willow, "The red-headed whore knows where it is, that bastard of a brother told her and I'm going to get it out of her my way!"

"Angelus please, Abraham has been dead for years…how could he have told her himself? Tara backed off slightly, trying to reason with him.

"I don't know…but I know exactly how I can get it out of her," his eyes flicked to Willow, with a flourish he drew the sword he carried and for an awful moment Tara thought he was going to strike Willow, instead he leveled the sword directly at Tara's neck, "I know what you are…but I also know that decapitation troubles you just as much as the rest of us."

Before Tara could say a word she saw a flash of red hair between her and Angelus.

Before she could reach the young woman, Angelus lashed out. His mighty hand struck her a glancing blow. Willow was tossed aside as easily as a rag doll with his powerful shove; she stumbled backwards and tripped over a thigh bone before she could arrest herself. Her arms wind-milled futilely before she fell, landing on her back across an armored skeleton. The skeleton immediately crumbled beneath her weight but the awful sound Willow heard was not the shattering of bones and rusted armor but instead the tearing of flesh and fabric. She lay on her back, immediately feeling foolish at her rather clumsy maneuver and tried to think of an offhand quip to conceal her embarrassment. When no words came to mind she tried to spring back to her feet only to feel a searing pain across her entire torso that radiated throughout the rest of her body. She awkwardly glanced up to the figures standing above her to find twisted expressions on their faces, even the vampire Angelus appeared surprised…perhaps even horrified.

Willow furrowed her brow as she lifted her chin slightly to see a foreign object protruding from her chest, somewhere just above her left breast. She tried to bring her eyes into focus to work out what it was and why it was there but could not hold her head up any longer. It took every ounce of strength she had to reach up with her right hand and try and touch it. She felt a pitted, rough object surrounded by an awful dampness, when she lifted her fingers in front of her eyes all she could see was bright red blood. It dripped from her fingers and ran down her wrist. As it fell, she continued to watch with some sort of morbid fascination, marveling at just how red blood actually was.

While Willow herself felt as though each of her movements took an eternity, mere seconds had passed since she had fallen and those left standing had now only just begun to react to the horribly unfortunate accident.

Tara had been moving to help Willow back to her feet while throwing a tense glare over her shoulder at Angelus. She saw the surprise on his face and her gaze darted back to Willow to see immediately what had Angelus' attention. Her lips moved wordlessly as she cursed the fates for being so cruel. Willow had fallen onto a centuries old sword, it had slain the warrior beneath Willow and now it's rusted and broken length was protruding from her chest.

Tara whirled on Angelus, a heart's breath away from burning him to a crisp where he stood, "You fool! We need her alive, not dead!"

She dragged herself back under control and fell at Willow's side, now seeing nothing except the redhead lying as pale as a sheet beneath her.

Behind her, Angelus took several steps backwards, away from Tara and the dying human woman, "I did not intend…" He shook his head several times before he was unable to face the scene before him any longer. Angelus turned and fled, shoving past Myles before he disappeared into a dark mist. The mist hung above the battlefield for a moment before fleeing into the forest.

Tara did not notice Angelus leaving; she only had eyes for the dreadfully wounded Willow. She lowered her gaze to meet Willow's as hot tears ran down her cheeks, her heart breaking at the sight of the rusted weapon that had broken Willow's flesh and the shattered bones that lay scattered around her.

"You silly child!" she sobbed loudly, "What on earth did you think you were doing?"

Willow reached up and awkwardly brushed Tara's pale cheek, leaving behind a smear of blood as her fingers fell, she whispered, "I was protecting you."

"You don't even know who I am," Tara whispered, catching Willow's hand and holding it tenderly to her lips.

"Yes…I do," Willow heaved with a tiny, spluttering cough, "Y-you're the woman of my dreams."

Tara knew she had to pull herself together but the sight of Willow again lying bloodied on the field at Covasna was too much for her to accept. She crumpled over the redhead's body, cradling her head in her hands as she wept with great, heaving sobs. The helplessness that overwhelmed her was almost complete, each of Willow's tiny gasps for breath only served to drive the sword further into her own heart. Tara did not hear the urgent footsteps behind her, then someone was shaking her roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to straighten up, she turned to see the boy standing above her, his own face white with fear and concern.

"Don't just sit there crying!" Myles pleaded, he dashed away the tears stinging his own eyes, "Please help her!"

The boy's urgent words drew Tara out of her despair. She felt wretched at her own helplessness and the fact that it took a human and a mere boy at that to jolt her to her senses.

"What?" Myles asked numbly, stumbling forward to stand beside the female vampire.

"Your shirt!" Tara repeated, "We need something to pack against the wound when I get this sword out of her.

"Oh," Myles nodded dumbly, throwing off his jacket first and laying it down on the ground beside Willow. He then tore of his shirt, not even bothering to undo the buttons and deftly shredded it in two.

"You'll have to help me here," Tara seized the scraps of fabric that had once been Myles's shirt and motioned him onto the other side of Willow's body, "I'm going to try and break the top of the sword off and then we'll lift her up…there will be blood, and lots of it, are you going to faint on me boy?"

Myles shook his head, the pallor of his cheeks suggesting otherwise, "No ma'am…and it is Myles."

Tara nodded curtly and turned her attention to Willow, who was by now even whiter as though all the blood had drained from her entire body. She reached out tendering and brushed the tangled strands of hair out of Willow's eyes.

With trembling fingers Tara reached out and grasped the rusty sword just above the wound with one hand, holding it firmly, she told a hold of it with the other and prepared to snap it. The metal was already weakened from lying exposed to the elements and it snapped effortlessly as Tara applied her inhuman strength. Simple and effortless as it was, Willow cried out in pain, more blood gushing from her wound. Tara looked at the bloodied shard in her hand for a second and then threw it aside with another angry curse at the cruel fates.

"Boy…Myles, I need you to help me lift her, one quick movement," Tara commanded, placing her arms beneath Willow's body, she hated to see the redhead wince in pain as she did so but nor could she leave her with the rusted sword in her body. "Lift!"

Tara and Myles lifted together, both hearing the awful rasping sound the sword made as it withdrew from Willow's flesh. The wounded girl cried out just once as she was lifted, a strangled, wailing cry that brought tears to Tara's eyes. She lifted her into a sitting position and deftly used the pieces of Myles's shirt to staunch the blood that soaked Willow's back. Then, cradling the shaking girl against her body, she wound a length around Willow's chest to hold the pieces in place. Already her blood was soaking through the makeshift white dressings.

Myles crouched in the dirt next to Tara, waiting to spring into action at her next command but as the seconds ticked by nothing happened. The vampire remained cradling Willow's trembling body against her own, her cheek pressed against her head, eyes closed with a thin trail of tears snaking from beneath the lids. Willow was deathly pale, her entire body trembling as though she had a chill. When Myles reached out and touched Willow's limp hand, he found it icy cold. He looked up at Tara urgently, willing her back into action and out of this funk she seemed to have slipped into once more.

"What next?" he prodded insistently, "Shouldn't we cauterize the wound or something? Stop the bleeding?"

Tara's eyes peeled open to look at Myles but she remained holding Willow instead of moving to put Myles's suggestion into effect, "I would, but flakes from the sword have broken off in the wound, if I seal it, the wound will fester and she'll die…slowly and painfully."

Myles's mouth worked soundlessly, a sign of his frustration at being helpless as Willow grew weaker and weaker in front of his eyes. "What are you going to do then?" he demanded of the woman, knowing that they could not just sit back and let her die, especially not when she obviously meant so much to both of them.

"I don't know!" Tara snapped in reply, her own frustration manifested in anger, "There's nothing I can do, I can't help her…not as I am, I cannot heal, I can only kill…"

Frowning, Myles did not understand what she was trying to explain…all he knew was that Willow was running out of time. As he crouched, his fingers drumming urgently against the dirt in front of him, he saw the vampire look up sharply and study him through her cold blue eyes as though she were sizing him up for some purpose. He met her gaze steadily, despite the fact that she made him decidedly uncomfortable.

"Ma'am?" Myles was taken aback at the odd question…odd in their current circumstances at least, and coming from a vampire but he saw a flicker of hope in her eyes and he replied, "I'm sixteen and a half, ma'am."

The tiny flicker of hope was extinguished almost as soon as it had appeared and Tara's shoulders sagged, she whispered in a broken voice, "Too young…using you as a conduit will undoubtedly be fatal."

Myles still didn't understand exactly what Tara was saying but there was one concept he could pick up on, "There's a way I can help Willow?"

Tara looked at the eager expression on the young man's face and knew that he would be prepared to go to any lengths to save Willow's life; she suspected that he would indeed die for her. This didn't surprise her at all; she had always known that Willow was the sort of person that would inspire people to do something like that for her. She was an inscrutably good person, and the last thing she deserved was to die in such a futile manner. For a full moment she allowed herself to consider using the young man, taking his life to save Willow's. She justified the thought with the fact that he was willing…but eventually came to the decision that she could not do it, not even to save Willow's life.

"Damn…straight there's not," a tiny, weak voice whispered defiantly in her ear, "No one will die for m-me."

Tara couldn't resist a pained smile at Willow's defiance; her brave words did succeed in reviving her somewhat, breaking her out of the despair she had felt and she looked back in the direction of the forest with some degree of hope.

"Will, dearest, I'm going to lie you down," Tara explained, she felt Willow's head jerk in a weak nod and she gently brought her down to rest atop Myles's jacket. As she looked down at her, she saw the shirt was soaked completely through, stained with the blood that was seeping from her body. She forced her gaze away and looked to Myles, "There are plants which I can use to pack the wound, perhaps they may have the effect of cleaning it…" It was an interim measure at best, Tara knew that there were no plants that could restore the amount of blood Willow had lost, "You stay here, try and light a fire."

Myles nodded as Tara rose swiftly to her feet, throwing off her coat as she did so. She laid it the length of Willow's body while Myles was already up and moving towards the few bare trees that had managed to take route in the midst of such death. She cast one last look down at Willow, her face stark white against the black of the coat, before turning to make her way towards the forest.

No sooner had Tara turned around than she felt a solid weight slam into her body, she was knocked to the ground and landed hard with the weight still atop her. She found herself gazing up into the furious expression of Willow's brown haired friend, Faith. There was a hastily carved stake clutched in her fist, raised above her head as though she were just about to plunge it into Tara's heart.

"What the bloody hell have you done to Willow, you bitch!" Faith was breathing heavily, exhaustion hidden beneath the intensity on her face, "Speak now or you're dust!"

"I'm trying to save her life!" Tara replied quickly, keeping one eye firmly fixed on the stake which could end everything in seconds.

Behind them both, Myles had spun at the sound of raised voices and his eyes widened when he saw Faith had joined them. Although her appearance seemed nothing short of miraculous, she was about to destroy the vampire that was working to save Willow's life. He dropped the small armload of sticks he carried and ran at the pair of women, intent on grabbing Faith's attention before she made a horrible mistake.

"She's a friend!" Myles yelled, no quite sure why he was waving his arms but it seemed to grab Faith's attention, he was gasping for breath as he drew up beside her and he had to wait a few seconds before continuing, "Please…don't stake her."

Faith glanced from Myles back down to the woman lying flat on her back beneath her and finally to the deathly pale body lying just behind them. With the stake still clutched in her fist, she slowly drew back and allowed the vampire to stand. Both women kept each other in view throughout their movements. Faith's eyes were narrow with suspicion even as Tara kept glancing worriedly at Willow as though she expected the redhead to breathe her last at any moment.

Meanwhile Myles, pleased enough with himself at having successfully averted an unwanted vampire dusting, was now looking at Faith as though he were sizing her up for something.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he awkwardly managed to attract Tara's attention, cheeks reddening somewhat as she turned to look at him, "You said something about me being too young to help Willow…what about Faith, she's old enough right…being that she is pretty old?"

In any other circumstance, Faith would have taken umbrage at Myles's impertinent remark, as it was she heard the words 'help Willow' and her attention was fully focused. Tara too studied Faith as Myles had, as though she were sizing her up.

"If it will help Willow of course I'm bloody well willing," Faith shot back, "I haven't tracked you all the way here just to stand back and watch her die…just tell me what the hell I have to do."

"Strictly speaking, you do not have to do anything, but I need you to act as a conduit between the two of us…Willow and I," Tara was already rolling back the sleeves of her black dress as she regarded Faith calmly, "I can do magicks…"

"So you can heal her?" Faith interrupted, un-phased by the mention of the word 'magicks,' in her line of work, it was hardly unknown, "What are you waiting for then, heal her for gods sake!"

Tara remained calm as she settled on the ground beside Willow and drew back the coat which covered her body. Willow was barely breathing; the shirt staunching her wound was completely stained with blood. Faith was far from calm however as she joined Tara on the ground next to Willow, her jaw dropping when she saw the bloodied dressings that had been hastily applied to Willow's sagging chest.

Tara continued talking as she carefully but swiftly removed the dressings, "There is light and dark to everything…as someone like you would well know, being a vampire I have nothing but the dark variety within me…"

"Meaning?" Faith's voice had disappeared to a mere croak as Tara uncovered the jagged tear in Willow's pale flesh.

"Meaning I can only destroy, not heal," Tara tossed the bloodied dressings aside and took Faith's hand in her own, she placed it directly atop the wound, "but in using you as a sort of conduit I think I can heal her to some extent…enough to increase her chances of survival."

"What are you waiting for," Faith's expression was twisted into a grimace at the feel of the wound beneath her palm; she was distressed at Willow's complete lack of reaction to her touch.

"This is not going to be pleasant," Tara cautioned, taking Faith's remaining hand, "You will act as a filter for the darkness that resides within me…"

Tara nodded in reply and closed her eyes. Faith did not know whether she ought to follow suit but did so anyway. She tried to block out all external distractions and concentrate solely on what she was touching, Willow's wound with one hand, and Tara's hand with the other. When nothing seemed to be happening she peered through one eye to see Tara's face a mask of serenity as though she too were concentrating intently. Faith quickly squeezed her eye shut once more.

Slowly but surely she felt a distinct warmth transferring from Tara's palm to her own, gradually moving up her arm and across her chest. Faith shivered slightly despite the warmth. In her mind's eye she could now see Willow's wound and just how terrifying close she was to death. The object had very nearly pierced her heart. She watched as tiny particles of rust were cleansed from her flesh, everything which should not be inside Willow's body was stripped away. Slowly but surely the torn flesh and severed vessels began to knit themselves together. Willow's heart began to beat with a steady rhythm.

So far the process was far less intrusive than Faith had at first thought; the sensation was almost pleasant despite the vampire's warning. However, when an indefinable amount of time had passed, Faith began to feel sick to her stomach, her insides started to churn uncomfortably and before long she felt as though she would surely vomit. The images of Willow's wound inside her mind were replaced by a fractured series of moments in time, none making sense to her as she did not recognize the people. The images eventually came so fast that they melded into a blur, only a few moving slowly enough for her to understand. They were mostly faces…none she recognized until she saw that of a redhead she knew all too well.

The images were definitely clearer as though they were complete, cherished memories. Willow. It had to be Willow…and yet there was something about her that Faith knew was not the Willow she knew so well. The Willow she saw in the vampire's mind was confident, vivacious and obviously completely at ease with who she was. There were flashes of sensual, languorous fucking where two sweat-coated bodies were entwined, almost inseparable. The Willow in that embrace was one she had never seen, she made love to the blonde whom Faith was surprised to see was not a vampire at this moment in time.

Those images were gone as quickly as though they had been snatched away, replaced by something altogether terrifying. The images were once again blurry and incomplete, as though they had been determinedly suppressed. What little Faith could make out was of a man, a savage, cruel beast of a man as he raped the woman the vampire had once been. As hard a woman as she was, Faith felt hot tears flow down her cheeks as the woman's cries intruded every corner of her mind.

He was gone, replaced by an all-encompassing blackness that further increased the nausea Faith felt. Although she could feel her legs firmly folded on the hard earth beneath her she felt as though she were falling, her body hurtling through the blackness at speed. She felt her gut heave and she fell forward. Her face hit the dirt and seconds later she vomited, losing her grip on the vampire's hand as she needed both to clutch at her gut. Her mouth was filled with a substance the consistency of tar that tasted vile. When she opened her eyes she saw the ground directly in front of her was covered in a thick, black liquid. She lurched forward again and another spurt erupted from her mouth. Behind her she heard the vampire moving but she did not care what she was doing, all she cared about was cleansing herself of the stuff inside her body.

She heard the vampire breathe a sigh of relief and whisper two words, "Thank god."

Faith tuned slightly, wondering why in hell the vampire could breathe a sigh of relief at all…and why she was thanking an entity that she ought to be cursing. Then there was her relationship with Willow which also defied explanation and all common sense.

"Who are you?" Faith whispered seconds before she slipped into unconsciousness and fell face first into the dirt at Tara's side.

Several hours later, with darkness well and truly settled, Faith finally woke from her exhausted slumber. She sensed a presence nearby and knew instinctively that it was the vampire. Even before her eyes fluttered open she was asking about Willow.

"Will she live?" Faith croaked, still tasting the residue of the tar-like substance in her mouth.

Tara knelt in the dirt next to Faith and tenderly examined the brunette for any sign of affect effects from the spell. It appeared to have taken a lot out of her but other than being exhausted, she was fine. As Faith's eyes opened, Tara pointed a finger in the direction of a small shape bundled beneath blankets not too far away from her.

"Much of her strength has fled her body…but she will now be able to survive the journey down the mountain," Tara intoned quietly, "The wound is clean and I was also able to begin the healing process before you passed out."

"Thank god," Faith said with all sincerity in her voice, with Willow safe she turned her attention to the hollow feeling n the pit of her stomach, an aroma of something strong was making her mouth water, "I'm starving…"

Tara inclined her head towards the haunch of what looked like some sort of deer roasting on a spit above the fire. Myles gave her a little wave from where he was tending it. Faith sat up slightly, propping herself up on her elbows as she eyed the hunk of roasting meat.

"How the hell did you kill that?" Faith asked in a voice torn between skepticism and amazement.

Tara arched an eyebrow as if to ask how Faith could even doubt her skill as a huntress. She settled back on her haunches and watched the other woman peel the blankets away from her body and lift herself into a sitting position. Her movements were slow, as though she were testing the strength in her body, but Tara could tell that she had recovered quickly despite the traumatic experience of being used as a conduit.

"I know you just saved Willow's life," Faith said as she unfolded her body in a cat-like stretch, "but what is your business with her, vampire?"

"My business with Willow…" Tara repeated Faith's words, drawing out the words as one would if they were reluctant to divulge a plan, "My business with Willow is my own concern, suffice to say it is vital."

"Vital to what?" Faith growled. She was annoyed at being continually kept in the dark, first by Lara and now by this vampire who seemed to be the perfect antithesis to the rest of her kind.

Killing vampires was one of Faith's favorite pastimes due to the immense variety of methods available to dispatch the creatures, killing this one was still an option regardless of her twisted relationship with Willow.

Faith raised her eyebrows, "Willow has to save millions of people? That Willow over there, snoring like a train…the Willow that would much sooner read a book about a demon than actually meet one face to face, the one that couldn't save herself let alone millions of people?"

Tara nodded, smiling a little at the mention of some of Willow's traits, "Yes…that Willow."

"Does she know this?" Faith demanded, her voice betraying her concern for her friend.

"But she will?" Faith interrupted, "Because the sooner someone tells Willow and I what the hell is going on around here the sooner we can start trying to keep ourselves safe! How the hell can I protect her if I don't know what she's up against…and then you come swooping in with your bloody condescending manner, seeming to know everything and refusing to tell the people that actually matter what the hell you're doing…and why in hell do you have images of fucking Willow in that twisted mind of yours?"

Tara could hardly fail to notice the protective intent behind Faith's words. She had already proven earlier the strength of her love for Willow. It was now written very plainly on her face as stared right back at Tara, her gaze challenging and direct, demanding that Tara explain herself. Such was the intensity of it, that it was Tara who had to break away first…although this was also due in part to the speculations that were running unchecked through her mind as to the true nature of Faith's friendship with Willow. While she had not observed anything pass between the two that confirmed such speculations, it was a distinct possibility that Faith's feelings for Willow went beyond that of friendship.

Tara smiled sadly, for all her watching and longing, she had always known that she could never reclaim what she had once shared with Willow. Even had Willow wanted it, as she had the night she was drunk, Tara would have denied her…there was no doubt that the denial would be difficult of course, but Tara knew she could not bring herself to do that to Willow.

She meet Faith's gaze once more, the smile lingering on her face for a few moments, "The images mean nothing…you will start down the mountain tomorrow at first light, I cannot stay at your side but I will be watching over you…please take care of her."

"Wait…where are you…" no sooner had Faith started speaking, Tara was done…she simply disappeared.

Faith sprang to her feet and looked across at Myles, although he had clearly been much too intent on shoving a hunk of venison into his mouth to notice Tara leaving.

"Where'd she go?" he asked a moment later, struggling to get his words out around his chewing jaws.

Tara watched as Faith shrugged in reply to the young man. Of course there was no way that she could see the fine dark mist of her non-corporeal form in the blackness.

Faith's attention was quickly drawn away however as she saw a shape emerging from the darkness, it was Alex leading two horses. The man was a mess, caked in mud from head to toe, a bleeding scratch running the length of his cheek. His eyes widened when he saw Faith and even further when he saw Willow lying pale beneath her blankets.

"A better question would be where the hell you were Alex Harris…I told Lara I didn't trust you to protect her, and as luck would have it I was right!" Faith fired back, her strength returning as she was fuelled by anger.

Unseen, Tara left the pair of humans to their argument, she lingered over Willow for but a moment before she was gone, once again resuming her role as an unseen protector, although she knew that after the events of this fateful day, her role would never be the same again.

Willow found herself standing on the battlefield at Covasna, it was in the dead of night and a wild wind whipped her hair about her face. Somewhere in the distance she heard the rumble of thunder. She remembered standing in the same place with Myles and the vampires, Angelus and Tara but she was alone now. Alone save for the thousands upon thousands of dead men littering the field, only illuminated with a flash of bright lightning. The rumbling thunder followed, closer now. The rain it heralded began to pelt down, a few drops at first and then a massive sheet of water followed with little warning. Willow glanced down at her own, already soaked body and saw a dark stain spreading outwards from her chest. Protruding from the middle of the stain was the point of a sword.

Without warning, the sword that had been rammed through her body was withdrawn in one smooth movement and she fell forward into the mud at her feet…still hearing the breathing in her ears, coming closer and closer…

Willow woke. Gasping for air with short, urgent breaths, she clutched at her chest and found the heavy bindings covering her wound. She winced slightly with the pressure and found that she could not lift herself from the bed in which she lay. Her eyes darted around the darkened room but wherever she was, it was alien and unfamiliar.

Again she clutched at the wound in her torso but frowned when she realized it was in a different location to where she had been stabbed in her dream. In the dream, the sword had obviously gone straight through her heart while she was now feeling the wound just above her left breast, obviously having narrowly missed her heart. Willow felt that same organ now pounding wildly, sending resulting waves of pain flowing through her body. Everything hurt like hell so she was definitely alive.

She craned her head slightly to take in the entire room and froze with fear at the sight of a dark shape leaning against the wall. It passed when her eyes grew adjusted to the dim shadows and she was able to make out the now familiar long blonde hair. When the figure stepped forward she could also make out her blue eyes as they shone in the darkness. Willow quickly realized the woman's eyes were shining with relief and a small smile tugged at one corner of her lips.

"Sore," Willow responded, her own voice coming out as a weak croak that sounded strange to her ears.

"That is understandable…you survived a terrible wound and an arduous journey."

"A journey?" Willow squeezed her eyes hut for a moment, "I remember being at Covasna, falling, the blood…and then nothing until now," Willow opened her eyes once more, "Waking up in this room."

"Faith and Myles and that lump of a guide brought you down out of the mountains, you remained asleep for much of it…and you were not lucid when you did wake," Tara explained, having watched almost every moment from afar.

"Yes," Tara replied quietly, knowing full well that if she had not been there and able to use Faith as a healing conduit, Willow would have died before even commencing the journey back to Klausenburg…for all the cruelty of the Fates, they also knew when to pull off a miracle.

"It is hard to believe…at last I will have a scar to match the best of Faith's," Willow found one positive point to note from her horrible wound, "I hope it is impressive."

"Well I've never almost died before…I'm not sure how I should behave," Willow frowned, her small body seeming rather helpless as she lay confined in the bed, "I am grateful of course…to you…to Faith…and Myles…I am not sure how I survived…"

"You survived because you and your friend Faith both have hearts of lions," Tara smiled, allowing herself to reach out and cup Willow's cheek briefly before drawing back to avoid further contact. She refused to notice the fact that Willow had leaned into the touch as though she craved it, "Faith seems to be a formidable woman…and a very loyal…" Tara paused for a moment before finishing lamely, "…friend."

"She is!" Willow replied with an enthusiasm that far outstripped her level of strength, "She can be vexing at times but I love her dearly."

Not half as much as I love you, Tara thought with an awful twisting sensation in her gut. At the same time she forced herself into a state of acceptance. Faith was strong; she would protect Willow with her life. However more importantly, Faith was whole and uncorrupted…while she was a travesty, neither human nor demon. It was a tortured existence that Tara could not share with anyone, not even the woman she knew to be her soul mate.

She watched as Willow fought a losing battle with her exhaustion and knew she ought to leave and let her sleep. The redhead's eyes slid slowly closed despite her valiant efforts to keep them open, her head tilted to one side as she sank back into the pillow. Not wishing to disturb her, Tara moved towards the window. Her movements were reluctant, she wanted nothing more than to remain at Willow's bedside and still be there when she woke if only to see her green eyes again.

"You know I can't, Willow," Tara said, turning her head slightly but not daring to look at Willow lest she give into her wish, "I have things to do…there is one 'friend' in particular whom I must pay a little visit."

Tara's mind turned to thoughts of Angelus, where he would be and what he was doing…and most importantly whether he knew she was coming for him. Willow had almost died; of course he knew she would be coming for him. She entertained no further thoughts of staying with Willow as this new purpose took root in her conscience. This she had to do to keep Willow safe, although she knew full well that the consequences could be severe.

Still Tara did not turn around; she moved towards the window and placed a hand on one cold pane, "Read the rest of the diary, Willow, there are enough answers contained within its pages to lead you on the next step of your journey."

"Try Willow…you'll find you knew the words all along…" the end of Tara's sentence died away as she gradually dissolved into her misty self and left Willow's room to begin her hunt for Angelus.

Tara knew he would not be hiding. Despite her anger, he had no reason whatsoever to fear her. Of the two of them, he was by far the stronger, being several hundred years older than she. He had been present at her turning, he had watched throughout those horrible dark years before Abraham Van Helsing found and imprisoned her. He thought he knew her. However, what Angelus did not know was that she was not afraid of him. There was no way he could possibly comprehend the extent of her love for Willow…and the strength which that love gave her, the strength to hunt him down like the animal he was.

She did not even need to hunt; Angelus was waiting for her in the back streets of Klausenburg, in a part of town so dark and disused that even the bottom dwellers would not venture there. She sensed his foul stench before she even laid eyes on him, a reek so powerful she almost retched…he had wanted her to find him.

Angelus watched Tara approach from his perch high on a flat rooftop. Her body melded completely into the darkness around her save for her pale face and that long, blonde hair which seemed to shine even in the absence of moonlight. His mouth twisted into a leer, when he defeated her and she was laid out helpless beneath him, he would cut off every strand of those white blonde tresses…although, and his mouth twisted into a broad smile at his next thought, her hair would provide a useful handhold when he took her brutally. He could hold her hair and force her to keep those blue eyes of hers locked on his as he claimed his right as her elder, a right which she had consistently denied him all these years.

He saw her looking up at him now, that impassive expression which angered him so. There was no respect there at all, just as always. From the moment she had been turned, Tara Maclay had made for a surly, disrespectful vampire, refusing to submit to his authority…and even worse, their Master had claimed her as his favorite and indulged her every whim. Even after she changed into something impure, he still accepted her. It irritated Angelus to no end…if he were Master, then Tara would not be permitted to continue to exist let alone saunter the streets as she was now, thinking she was so far above him. Angelus snarled, baring his fangs.

"I can smell you from here, Angelus," she said quietly, her voice carrying up to him on the breeze, "No need to breathe one me…oh wait, I forgot you can't breathe can you, you undead bastard."

"Come up here and say that," he taunted like the schoolyard bully he must have been as a child.

Tara obliged, climbing up the side of the building effortlessly with her inhuman strength. She sprang lightly from sill to gable and finally onto the roof next to Angelus.

"You don't have to do this, Tara, you know as well as I that Red's injury was an accident."

"Yes, but I also know you would have hurt her given a chance…you wanted to torture the skull's location out of her!" Tara growled, her blue eyes flashing even in the darkness, "How on earth do you think a memory that severely repressed would be able to be retrieved through torture?"

"You'd be amazed at what can be uncovered by using a little pain…if you had the guts to try it," Angelus circled Tara, not letting his gaze off her for an instant, "but you won't…because that little mortal has got you wrapped around her little finger…and I'm the only one that sees it, even our master is blind to your infatuation, he is ignorant as to your true motives."

"I dare you to say that to his face…he knows I exist only to serve his will," Tara kept her voice calm and level despite his best attempts to rile her, "You're pathetic in your jealousy, Angelus. You know I will have our Master's favor when she gives me the skull using my methods…I should think that in destroying you I will further gain her trust!"

He arched his back, stretching his muscles in preparation, "None of your magic tricks then, bitch!"

He came at her with all the rage and fury he had previously held suppressed in her presence. Beneath the force of his blows, Tara finally realized just how much he hated her, the depth of his resentment towards her for stealing his place in their Master's shriveled and merciless heart. Even as she matched him blow for blow, replying to each one of his punches with one of her own, she knew that his physical strength far outstripped her own and it would only be a matter of time before he won out.

They danced across the rooftop, both using every inch of its surface, moving off chimneys and railings to leap down on the other, it continued in this vein, with neither managing to get the other into a weaker position. While Angelus was stronger, Tara was faster, always one step ahead of his fists. She watched as he seized an iron railing in his hands and ripped it clean off its mountings. It swung in his grip like a sword, she dodged his first strikes easily but eventually she was not fast enough and the pipe caught her full across the stomach.

Tara doubled over and gasped for air. She had never felt her beating heart to be a weakness that others could exploit but usually she fought far lesser beings, beings that did not know she was something other than a true vampire. Before she could straighten her body, Angelus surged forward and knocked her to the ground with the weight of his body.

As she was laid out beneath him, Tara almost panicked at the feel of his weight atop her body. Just the feel of him dragged up memories long suppressed of another man who had strived to make her entirely his, reducing her to the basest form…merely a vessel for his pleasure to be used and abused as he chose.

Angelus lowered his head and pressed an ear to her chest, Tara could already feel her heart hammering like a train. He paused there, keeping his ear pressed against her chest as he listened to the organ beat wildly.

"Strange," he whispered, remaining still, "I always thought that I would not miss it, if you could live forever would you really care that your heart was not beating?"

"If it didn't I would be just like you," despite the fear she felt, Tara managed to get the sentence out without a stutter, she had to fight to keep thoughts of her husband from her mind but even so her subconscious insisted on supplanting the face of Edward Walsh onto Angelus. The fear she felt threatened to bubble to the surface but she fought, her entire body trembling with effort. "I'm nothing like you, Angelus."

He grinned, lifting one hand to stroke the hair that clung stubbornly to her face, "But you were once…and you did horrible things, I should know, I was there. Do you want me to remind you, Tara?"

"I was never like you!" Tara cried, her fear giving way to anger, "She never stopped l-loving me!"

Tara's form suddenly shimmered beneath Angelus and he growled, knowing that when she formed into her misty form it would be very difficult to follow her. With her weight gone from beneath him, his body hit the cobbles beneath him hard. He scrambled to his feet to see her re-forming in the street below him. A laugh escaped his lips, even for the most powerful vampires, it was difficult enough to shapeshift once and one could not do it in quick succession. She had not run far enough by any means. Angelus' own body shimmered and he floated down to join her. When his body reformed there was a broad smile on his face.

"What is this, Tara?" Angelus began striding towards her in a relaxed manner, "You want to run but can't face the label of coward…will you stand and fight after all?"

"I just needed more room," Tara said as she held out her right hand for him to see more clearly.

Angelus watched a flicker of light dance across her palm and recognized it instantly for what it was, his eyes went wide when he realized what she intended. Seconds later the flickering light had become a raging ball of fire hovering just above her palm. Her face was thrown into light and shadow in the face of the fireball and he could see the hellish expression that had twisted her features. At that moment he knew nothing would save him.

"I lied," Tara growled in a cruel tone, lifting the dancing fireball higher so she could watch him squirm.

"Who do you think you are, Tara?" Angelus screeched as he scrambled to his feet, pointing a trembling finger in her direction, "He did not appoint you his executioner!"

Tara calmly faced his accusation, knowing she had all the time in the world as he could not change into his non-corporeal form so soon after the last change. She knew full well that she would have to answer to their Master for destroying Angelus but it was a risk she was willing to take to see him gone forever. When her ferocious gaze did not waiver, Angelus turned his back on her and ran full tilt, hoping to make it around the corner in front of him before she burnt him to a crisp. Both knew that he would never be fast enough…

"That's right, Angelus," Tara whispered, gaining immense satisfaction from seeing his fleeing back, "Run…for all the good it will do you."

Sweeping forward in a graceful swirl of dark fabric and white blonde hair, Tara launched the fireball at the fleeing vampire. It burst on his back and spread rapidly down the rest of his body…in hindsight Tara thought that perhaps her enjoyment of watching Angelus being reduced to a pile of burning embers would have been heightened had she been able to see the expression on his face as he was destroyed. Still, she did enjoy grinding the weakly burning fragments of what was once Angelus into the cobblestones of the alley beneath the toe of her boot. It was a fitting end for the bastard…now she just had to convince her Master it had been the right thing to do…

Willow shifted uncomfortably in her narrow bed, her chest protesting with the small movement. She awkwardly tried to fluff the pillows at her back but gave it up as a hopeless task; there weren't enough feathers in the pillow to be fluffed in the first place. She did take some comfort from the narrow bed and hopelessly inadequate pillow; at least she was uncomfortable in her own bed, in her own home. Willow could lie back and gaze at her walls crammed with assorted clippings and artwork and remember why she had saved each one, or drawn that particular sketch. They were hers…all undeniably Willow-orientated and she felt safe in the knowledge that they were a glimpse into who she was. It was her past, a past she could remember…

Willow had spent much of the past month, throughout the journey back to England, dwelling on her past. Her withdrawn, contemplative state had concerned Faith of course but her friend had wisely given her the space in which to deal with the events at Covasna even though Willow could tell Faith was struggling to keep her questions at bay. It was only upon her return to England and the musty familiar smell of her own home, that Willow was finally able to clear her mind of the thoughts that had consumed her since her injury. She was no longer struggling to discern her relationship to Tara Maclay or more importantly to Willow Van Helsing, instead she slipped back into the role of Willow Rosenberg, researcher. Her copious notes from Eastern Europe and Covasna were piled upon her bed and littering the floor, completely obscuring her rag rug. She happily buried herself in starting the paper which she would deliver to rapturous applause at the year's Royal Society Conference (In order for this belief to work, Willow had to conveniently forget that she detested public speaking).

Burying herself in her research Willow was also able to forget that she had lost the diary somewhere in her travels. In many ways it was a relief, the last thing she wanted to do was continue reading the damn thing when what she had read had seriously compromised her sanity. On the other hand, she desperately wanted the answers it could provide. Although Willow felt torn between delving deeper into the mystery and retaining her sanity, it was only by being extremely close-minded that she could bring herself to believe that she still had a choice at all.

A knock at a door interrupted her futile pillow fluffing. Whoever it was did not wait for an invitation to enter before swinging the door open, Willow already knew it was Faith…who else would be quite so rude? Her flat was so tiny she could see the front door very clearly from where she lay in bed.

"I say, Faith," Willow made a half-hearted attempt at being angry at her friend barging in unannounced, "I could have been naked!"

Willow grinned, unable to remain even half-mad at Faith, especially given that she was so glad to see her. After spending two days alone in her little flat without a soul for company, even a bookish, introverted soul like Willow was bound to long for someone to talk to.

Faith glanced around Willow's tiny flat with barely concealed disapproval on her face, "I know now why I don't visit you at home often…are you sure it hasn't got even smaller since my last visit?"

"Well obviously I should talk to Lara about my earnings; clearly researchers don't get paid as well as agents!" Willow shot back, rather offended at Faith's criticism of her tiny space in what was a very large world.

Willow immediately noticed that Faith ignored the mention of Lara, her face clouded slightly at the mention of their employer's name. She did not press the issue, knowing that whatever had happen between the two of them, it was none of her affair. The look was gone almost as soon as it had appeared and Faith steered the conversation back towards Willow.

"Why don't you talk to your parents, surely the colonel could afford to purchase you a small townhouse?" Faith said as she crossed the tiny kitchen to move into Willow's bedroom.

"The colonel would purchase me a palace if only I were to marry," Willow sighed grandly, she brightened almost instantly, "but he knows I would throw such an offer in his face if he were to dangle it in front of me…I would rather live in the most squalid tenement than suffer the indignity of a marriage arranged by my parents."

"That's my girl," Faith reached out and gave Willow a playful tap on her shoulder.

Faith took a hasty step back, holding back the hand she had just tapped Willow with as though it were a dangerous weapon, "I'm sorry Will, I don't realize my own strength sometimes…did I hurt you terribly?"

It was then that Faith noticed Willow wasn't looking at her at all; she was staring at the floor by her feet. Faith glanced down to see several sheets of paper beneath her booted feet. She lifted one foot with sheets of paper stubbornly clinging to the sole. Before she could remove them herself, Willow's hand shot out and retrieved her notes.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Willow stared in horror at the smudged ink on one of the sheets. She stared up at Faith as though her friend had just committed murder.

Faith unleashed an apologetic grin as though that were sure to make Willow forget the awful transgression. Willow was not to be appeased so easily and she gingerly hunkered down on the floor to retrieve her papers as though she feared Faith would ruin all of her work.

"Will, don't hurt yourself, I've got them," Faith moved much faster than Willow and was able to scoop up the reminder of the papers before Willow could strain herself, "Did I smudge them terribly?"

Cradling the papers in one hand, Faith assisted Willow back up onto her bed with the other. Her brow furrowed with concern at the sight of Willow's white as a sheet face. The wound had truly taken a toll on her slender friend, Willow lacked the physical strength that she herself had and the road to recovery for her had been long and arduous. As she watched Willow scan her papers for damage, Faith could not forget that it was the strange blonde vampire who was responsible for saving Willow's life. She also could not forget the images she had seen while linked with her. Even though she knew it could not possibly have been the same Willow sitting in front of her now, she still could not look at her in quite the same way.

"Will…this may seem an odd question," Faith began cautiously, "but what exactly is your relationship with the blonde vampire?"

"Tara?" Faith repeated, she could not fail to notice the way the name rolled off Willow's lips, it was almost a caress…and Willow's black-rimmed eyes sparkled.

Willow nodded, "Tara Maclay, she wrote the diary you found at Tirgsor…although she was a young woman then…"

"As opposed to the blood-sucking demon she is now?" Faith interrupted fiercely, "Will, what the hell have you got yourself in to here?"

"Nothing I can't handle!" Willow replied, she couldn't quite fathom why, but Faith calling Tara a 'demon' just didn't sit right at all, "Tara has done nothing but protect me…I did not tell you at the time but she saved us both in the graveyard."

Faith raised her eyebrows but she did not let herself get distracted, "Will, you're skirting the issue here…your relationship with her?"

Willow looked slightly wounded, "I cannot tell you Faith, mostly because I do not know myself…suffice to say I think I knew her…in a past life."

Faith snorted loudly, unable to stop herself, "Oh…I think you did more than simply know her!"

Willow frowned innocently at the exceptionally knowing look on Faith's face, "What does that mean?

Faith bit her lip, it was at times like these that she realized how innocent Willow truly was, she regretted her quick words but there was something in Willow's expression that hinted at more than she was letting on and she decided to elaborate, "When I linked with her I saw…well, I don't really know what it was that I saw…but it was disturbing and I think you should be careful around her…in fact, better yet, stay away from her altogether."

Willow tried to keep the heat from rising into her cheeks at Faith's insinuations; the words of the diary were etched into her mind. If Faith had seen half the passion that had been contained within those pages then it was no small wonder that she was asking leading questions.

"The diary…" Willow began, seeking the appropriate words to explain and yet reluctant to even try.

"Oh," Faith turned to rummage in the rucksack she had lung over one shoulder, she retrieved a familiar slender volume and passed it to Willow, "Myles found this in your hotel room in Klausenburg, I believe he has conveniently forgotten to return it to you until now."

This time Willow knew she had failed to keep the heat from coloring her cheeks. At the same time as she accepted the diary from Faith, she ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward over her face to disguise her embarrassment. As impossible as it was, she was beginning to feel as though the diary was a part of her and the events depicted within its pages were part of her life. It was as though Myles had read intimate details of her own life as opposed to someone who had died over a hundred years earlier.

It was then she noticed the moisture shining in her friend's eyes, as though Faith were on the verge of tears. Willow was seriously unnerved, she had never seen Faith show any sort of emotional vulnerability for any reason, for physical or mental pain. She searched through the last few words she had said only to realize that she had said very little of consequence. If she had done anything to hurt Faith, then it would have been in what she did not say.

She watched as Faith stood in one swift movement and backed away as though she suddenly realized that she was about to cry. She stopped in the doorway between Willow's bedroom and the kitchen and rested one hand on the doorframe as though she needed the contact to keep herself steady.

"Why is it that no one will tell me what the bloody hell is going on around here?" she growled exasperatedly, "Of all the people in the world I thought you would always be honest with me…and now I find you're just as bad as that two-faced bitch!"

Willow tried to rise as swiftly as Faith had but she was forced to face the fact that she could only manage an awkward stoop, aided by a shaking hand on her iron bedstead. Her expression however said more than her movements, she was confused and hurt. Faith had never turned on her so savagely…and certainly not without good cause.

"In what way am I not being honest with you?" Willow pleaded, the very fact that Faith was mad at her at all was tearing her to pieces, "And what two- faced bitch are you referring to?"

"Croft, you would think if the bitch was fucking me then she could at least cut me in on what she knows!" Faith spat, Willow's jaw immediately hit the floor in shock, "And you, I'm your bloody best friend and you evade the truth like it's a bloody disease!"

Willow had a million adamant refutations running through her mind, she knew full well that she knew little more than Faith and she wanted to explain this to her…but the only concrete thought that she could concentrate on was Faith's relationship with their employer. Although Willow had never been sexually attracted to Faith and she merely ogled Croft in the most innocent way, the revelation both stunned and hurt her.

Faith glared at Willow for a moment as though she were stupid before turning and making her way towards the exit, her last words spoken over her shoulder, "I'm going to leave you to your research…just read your little book and bloody well leave me alone. I don't know what the hell is going on…but I do know enough to know that I don't want to be a part of it."

Willow jumped at the sound of the door slamming behind Faith. She used her white knuckled grip on the bedstead to lower herself back down so she was sitting on the edge of the bed. For all the confusion that she felt over how little she knew about what was going on in her life, she had not even dwelt on the possibility that it also affected Faith as someone who cared about her. The fact that she was in a relationship with Croft had obviously heightened her emotional susceptibility but Willow knew there was something more. Faith had mentioned that Lara knew something…Willow frowned, while Croft always seemed to know just a little bit more than everyone else, this appeared to go beyond that into the realm of withholding vital information. Rather than become frustrated and angry herself, Willow turned her attention to the diary in her hand. Willow thought she ought to make a cup of tea before reading but a part of her did not expect to be able to read the text no matter what Tara said. She opened it half-heartedly and flicked though the pages, past Tara's handwriting and to the heavy, straight backed script she had previously been unable to decipher…

Willow glanced up and stared at a spot on the wall opposite her in shock, she lowered her gaze back to page in front of her and read again, 30th September 1779… The words were written as plain as day…only Willow could tell that they weren't, nothing had changed within the text, it still appeared to be in some sort of code with the letters and words scrambled into a meaningless order. However, Willow now found that as she ran her eyes over the text she saw the words clearly formed in her mind. Her tea forgotten, she remained perched on the edge of the bed as she continued reading, her hands shaking as they gripped the diary.

I write these words with very little enthusiasm, I think that I shall not keep writing as it seems to be an entirely futile endeavor to reflect on that which has passed. No matter what one writes, words cannot change the past. The words written on the previous pages prove that all too undoubtedly. But my mood can hardly be labeled cheerful, the very house in which I sit and write adds to my melancholy, most of the furniture here at Hagley Park is draped with abysmally gloomy dust cloths for we cannot take it with us when we leave here. Leave…Abraham and I are leaving Hampshire behind us, his idea rather than mine but I was not adverse to the suggestion. As much as I love Hagley Park and Hampshire, there are too many memories clinging to every surface…I have not even been able to sleep in my own bed these past weeks. Curse this miserable existence…curse my life and that…that woman…I would be far happier if I were dead. What a miserable, wretched creature I am…Tara has married that man and all I am left with is this wretched diary detailing our affair…

For all the love I feel for my brother, I do hate him so. He does not realize that he is condemning me to a joyless, empty existence in this dark, dark world…for there is no joy, nor light without her by my side. I feel ashamed that some tiny amount of solace could come in the form of occasional glimpses as we attend the same functions about London; it is not so big a city that we can avoid one another for the rest of our lives. In response to that thought, I very quickly made up my mind that I would never attend another social function as long as I lived, the thought of seeing Tara from a distance on his arm would be too much for me to stomach, I would be forced to see his cruel leer and perhaps even suffer the absolute humiliation of watching a growing pregnancy…although I knew it already, that would force me to face the fact that her body belonged to him. I cannot bring myself to dwell on such a thought…I cannot and will not, Willow paused, the words 'will not' were underlined with a heavy line which had almost pieced the page of the diary, she could feel the pain written in those words, accept that…but I am lying to myself, that bastard probably has his fingers on her body right now…I would like to break every single one of them…I hate him…and I hate her for marrying him…and I know I will hate living in London…with its bloody dirty streets and pretentious fat old tarts prowling everywhere and into everyone's business, just to step out my front door onto Gordon Square will be an exercise in self- restraint…

Dragging her eyes away from the text, Willow hastily flicked to the inner front cover of the diary and re-read the address she had found written there, Gordon Square, London. Abraham and Willow Van Helsing had moved from Hagley Park to settle in Gordon Square, London. The townhouse Willow had visited on a whim and left without ever entering some months ago, had belonged to the Van Helsings.

For all the excitement she felt, there was also a numb terror, she remembered all too well how the house had made her feel upon seeing it…and the distinctly undignified manner in which she had fled after seeing something in one of the dark gable windows. Willow glanced back to the diary in her hand, torn between reading the rest of it and returning to the house with a firm resolve to at least knock on the door.

Willow stood, somewhat swifter this time although she felt a rush of blood to her head as she did so. She did not bother to get dressed; instead she merely pulled a heavy coat over her pajamas and slipped her feet into a handy pair of slippers. With the diary tucked safely in the pocket of her coat, she made her way out of her flat and out into the broad light of day.

In remaining bedridden for so long, Willow had not realized just how much strength she had lost. Even making it up onto the nearest tram outside her flat took an exhausting amount of effort. She collapsed onto a seat, attracting a number of stares from other passengers who could no doubt see her slippers and pajama bottoms protruding from beneath her coat. Willow did not care, she kept one hand in her pocket, holding the diary firmly, her heart was beating at a million miles a minute and she felt like she would faint at any moment.

Sometime later, already needing bed rest, Willow found herself once again standing in front of the imposing townhouse on Gordon Square, the austere façade seeming to have grown even bleaker and darker since she had last seen it. She distinctly remembered seeing light shining from within but now the windows were all dark, everything about the house appeared dead. Willow risked a quick glance up to the attic windows but she saw no terrifying white face staring back down at her. Even so, she approached the massive black door unable to hear anything but the pounding of her own blood in her ears.

Willow had an inkling at the back of her neck that for some reason she ought not knock at all. She tried the brass knocker at her eye level but found it immovable, as though it were stuck fast to the door. Knocking produced no better results; she could hardly make a sound by pounding on the door with her small fist. There was only one thing left to do, her hand shook at she reached for the heavy brass door knob. More than a part of her wished to find the door firmly locked and barred against entry, however, as her fingers closed over the knob she felt it hum beneath her touch. Yelping in fright, Willow snatched her hand away and took a step back. She looked down at her hand, but apart from the trembling there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Don't be such a coward, Willow," she whispered to herself, steeling herself to touch the knob once more, "It's just a house, silly." Just a house…although, it could be infested with rats, insects, frogs…or it could be just your run of the mill house possession, or unfriendly spirits desperate to keep intruders out…don't forget your line of work Rosenberg!

Willow paused; anything was possible in her line of work…except perhaps the frogs. She seriously wondered if she should find Faith, apologize for whatever transgression she was supposed to have committed and ask her to visit the house with her. Willow shook her head, she drew in a deep breath and steeled herself for another try at the knob. Even before her fingers touched the brass she was prepared for the shock she felt, she did not snatch her hand away as she felt the gentle vibrations course through her hand and the rest of her body. She now realized that the sensation was not unpleasant, it was almost as though the house itself was welcoming her home.

For all its bulk, the black painted door swung easily on its hinges with none of the sinister creaking normally associated with haunted houses. Willow breathed a hesitant sigh of relief at this but paused before stepping over the threshold. She remained still as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the entrance lobby.

"Is anyone h-home?" Willow managed to stammer, her voice seeming to disappear before it had even travelled into the house, "Helloooo?"

Willow waited at least a minute, both out of courtesy and the fact she was dead scared. Eventually she accepted that no one was coming to greet her and with a deep breath, took a step over the threshold and into the house. She moved further into the entrance way, buoyed somewhat by the fact that nothing sinister had yet emerged and also by the rather pleasant feeling she felt coursing through her body, increasing with each step she took further into the house. Willow glanced over her shoulder to find the door still open out onto the street, not looking in the least like slamming shut of its own accord. Reaching back to close it gently, Willow felt only a small shiver of fear as shut and she only opened it once to check she wasn't locked in.

With the door shut behind her, Willow felt overly warm in her overcoat. If she had expected to find the empty house chilled and musty, she was mistaken. She drew off her overcoat and found herself comfortable in just her slippers and striped pajamas. Before leaving the coat hanging on the rack by the door, she retrieved the diary from its pocket and tucked it firmly beneath her arm.

The lobby was much like every townhouse Willow had ever entered. Directly in front of her and rising above her head was a flight of stairs which no doubt travelled up all three floors. The scarlet carpet running up its length appeared fresh and new, with no of the wear marks usually found denoting the well-worn path found up most flights of stairs. Willow glanced up at the landing above but saw nothing but darkness. Ahead of her was a hallway lined with paper in a bold blue Oriental-like print, the detail seeming to make the hallway darker, smaller…and yet rather than give it a claustrophobic atmosphere, it felt warm and inviting. A highly polished hall table sat opposite the flight step, Willow ran her fingers over its surface to find not a trace of dust on the wood or on the handsomely embroidered cloth. Sitting the center of the table, where one would usually find the telephone in most modern houses was an Attic black figure vase, similar to ones Willow passed by each day at the museum. Beneath her studied gaze, she had no doubt that the amphora was authentic and with a wry smile she wondered whether Abraham Van Helsing had pilfered it from the museum's collections.

Padding along in her slippers, Willow moved past the stairs and to the first door leading off the hallway. A sudden glow caused her to almost leap straight out of her slippers, as it was; she dropped the diary with a dull thud. Before bending to pick it up, she saw that a gaslight set into the wall was suddenly burning brightly, the flame dancing merrily behind its glass housing.

"Okay," Willow whispered, wondering if she had inadvertently flicked a switch as she moved through the hallway, she chose to believe she had even though she had touched nothing except the coat stand.

She slowly opened the door in front of her; it too swung inwards into darkness. Willow waited in the doorway and found the large room beyond partially lit by the dull light creeping beneath the heavy curtains. It was a formal sitting room. The first thing Willow noticed was the massive black marble fireplace that sat directly across the room from her, it's mouth plugged with a brass fire screen, its surface flickering with the reflection of the light that had just lit behind Willow's head. Eerily, most of the furniture in the room was covered by huge white dustsheets…despite the almost complete lack of dust.

Willow had always hated the white sheets; they rendered objects into featureless lumps, concealing what lay beneath. When she had been very small her brother had told her that ghosts lurked beneath, ghosts that would be unleashed if you ever dared to take a peek beneath. She smiled when she remembered Alex's most terrifying prank, he had once peered beneath a dustsheet in their attic and acted as though something had grabbed him, drawing him beneath the sheet, his pretend screams were easily drowned by Willow's own as she had gone sprinting off to find Giles to help her rescue her brother. They had found Alex quite intact, perched on a settee, draped in the dust sheet and looking very pleased with himself.

Now the sheets did not scare Willow so, without realizing quite what she was doing, she strode across to the nearest one and swept it back with a sharp tug. There was nothing beneath it except a black colored sofa with plump cushions still waiting for someone to sink against. Willow moved throughout the room, throwing off every dust sheet to reveal the furniture beneath. By the time she was finished uncovering every piece of furniture, she was breathing heavily with exertion and her wound was throbbing in protest at her activity. The room she had revealed was inviting. Several black sofas and ottomans, liberally strewn with white cushions, waited to accept a visiting party of guests. Willow could almost see the thick mahogany table in the center of the room spread with a china dining service, a pot of tea and a plate of cucumber sandwiches and finger cakes.

There was just one dust sheet remaining in use in the room, it was hung above the fire place and appeared to be covering two large frames. Willow threaded her way through the seating to stand in front of the fireplace. As she tugged this particular dust sheet off, she did feel a chill at what would be revealed beneath.

"Oh my god," Willow stumbled backwards, the backs of her legs hit an ottoman behind her and she went tumbling over the footstool and onto her back. She winced at the contact but kept her gaze above her on the two paintings which she had just uncovered.

Willow scrambled to her feet as fast as her injury would allow and went straight to the high windows. With an urgency that surprised her, she swept back all three pairs of heavy black velvet drapes to let more light into the room. When done, she crept back in front of the paintings, her lips parted in awe.

Both had matching frames of thick, finely worked wood overlaid with gilt, the shine not having dulled despite however much time had passed. The painting on the right was undoubtedly Abraham Van Helsing, although it was a portrait of him most unlike the one Willow passed by every day in the bowels of the British Museum. Willow was hardly a painter herself but she could see that it was done by a fine artist, the oils seeming to bring the man's face to life. He was young, far younger than he had ever been in any portrait Willow had seen previously. There was no facial hair on his smooth, strong jaw-line, nor any grey in his thatch of red hair. His green eyes danced merrily and there was a slight curve to his well-proportioned lips, as though the artist had captured him during a moment of mirth. Now, seeing him in his youth, Willow could see exactly why Faith had so often teased her for having a resemblance to him. The resemblance was made all the more apparent when Willow finally allowed herself to dwell on the painting hanging to the left.

If Willow had ever wondered what she would look like wearing her hair swept up into an elaborate coif atop her head, with her creamy white bosom almost bared to the world, she could now see for herself. It was Willow Van Helsing…and yet she was also Willow Rosenberg…

Willow had to take a seat on the ottoman she had tripped over earlier. As she studied the painting, it was all too like looking into a mirror…although Willow could not quite imagine herself wearing the same expression. The Willow in the painting looked older, and yet Willow knew she had not lived past her twenty-fifth birthday. The expression she wore shared none of the mirth of Abraham, she was sad to the point of appearing tortured and Willow suspected the artist had taken liberties to make her appear more cheerful than she actually was in life. Having read much of the diary, Willow could understand the expression in the face of what had happened to her.

As Willow studied the painting she saw, tucked in one hand, just below her breast, a slender little book. Willow quickly recognized it for she held it in her own hand in the present. Despite Willow Van Helsing writing her first words in the diary with little enthusiasm, it appeared that she valued it enough to be painted holding it. Although Willow could not guess the exact date of the painting, she suspected it was several years after the first entry, possibly just before her death.

Although she had known of her intimate connection to Willow Van Helsing since her dreams had started to mirror the diary, Willow did not know what to make of this latest connection…or if it was more than that. She seriously wondered whether the grave in Hampshire was nothing but an empty façade, and no coffin lay in the cold ground beneath it. Willow's first instinct was whether she was a hell of a lot older than she had always thought.

She dismissed this as impossible, she remembered growing up, they were hazy memories dulled by the passage of time but she remembered her lessons with Giles, sitting patiently at a small desk beside Alex. Alex…Willow remembered her own brother and could not help but wonder in looking at an image of Abraham Van Helsing, if she was seeing the man he would had grown into had he lived.

Unable to remain staring at the paintings any longer, Willow stood and turned her back on them. As she did, she caught a glimpse of a shadow moving out in the lobby beyond the door. Without pausing to give herself time to be afraid, Willow dashed out into the hallway in time to see a pair of white feet padding up the stairs.

"Excuse me!" Willow called, making a beeline for the stairs herself, "I say, do hold up a moment won't you?"

As she sprinted up the stairs, chest already heaving, Willow did not consider her actions. She was following someone or something up a flight of stairs into a dark and empty second storey having no idea where she was being led. Faint footsteps on the stairs above her head told her that someone was definitely there…why they were ignoring her calls, Willow did not know.

Moments later, quite out of breath, Willow emerged in the beginning of the second floor passageway, seeing nothing down its dark length save for faint light emanating from the open door of one of the rooms halfway along its length. It was at this point that Willow chose to exercise a small amount of caution, slowing her pace so her slippers were practically silent on the rug beneath her feet. She inched along the hallway, keeping to one side of the passage and not moving her gaze from the doorway ahead.

Willow paused just beside the doorframe, her entire body tensed, torn between her desire to run away and the desire to enter the room. When she finally managed to do it she did it quickly, practically leaping into the doorway like a maniac. If anything was waiting for her in the room, it would have undoubtedly been caught in the act…but there was nothing there except a room. Willow's arms fell to her sides as the tension drained from her body almost immediately. The room that she found in front of her was nothing like she had been expecting. Unlike the sitting room below, the velvety blue curtains were already open, light spilling through the wide windows to illuminate the surfaces within. Again there was no dust…and nor were there any dust sheets. As Willow entered the room she felt an eerie sense of familiarity, as though she knew that if she opened the topmost drawer of the bureau she would find neatly folded under-things and the second drawer, gloves and stockings. She knew the framed illuminated texts on the walls were authentically medieval without the need to examine them closely. More than anything, she wanted to fold herself beneath the thick, downy blue cover that was spread across the mattress of the massive four-poster bed that took up much of the center of the room. Willow crossed to the right side of the bed and sat on the very edge, gazing down at the contents of the bedside table. Nestled directly beneath an old fashioned candle holder, was a thick, leather bound book, Willow picked it up and settled it on her lap, A Treatise on Vampyres.

"Light bedtime reading," she commented as she ran her hands over the tooled cover, not daring to open it.

The book had been concealing a small framed portrait; Willow gently plucked it from the table and held it further into the light to see a faded drawing done in thick India ink…Tara. Willow brushed the frame with her thumb; she had hardly expected any other portrait to sit at Willow' Van Helsing's bedside. Already knowing that it would be alright, she tucked the small frame into the breast pocket of her pajamas. She felt as though she were being watched but as she glanced up, there was no one there. As her eyes roamed the room, she could not look past a tall mirror which ran from floor to ceiling. It was set into a beautifully tooled silver frame. Willow approached from the side and gradually the tiny details in the silverwork became apparent, it was as though it were a life story told in silver. Willow started from the bottom and worked her gaze upwards to see children playing, an 'A' and a 'W' linked, riding ponies, a quill denoted studying and writing, sheaves of parchment were curled as though ready to be written on, two feminine hands entwined, the flanks of a naked woman and the unmistakable curve of a breast. Willow moved in front of the mirror as she neared the top, seeing images of crossbows and swords replace the innocent ones below it and what looked like a Japanese temple and a samurai mask.

As her eyes roamed the entire frame she caught sight of an inscription at the very top and could just make out what it said, tu fui, ego eris

When Willow jerked her head downwards and met her reflection in the mirror, she blinked rapidly, unsure of what it was she was seeing. While she expected to find her reflection staring back out of the mirror wearing her faded red slippers and striped pajamas, she found none of these things. The only thing that was correct was the diary she held clasped against her chest. The rest of it was not right…her reflection's hair fell in ringlets down over her shoulders even though she remembered tying her hair back that morning. As she looked down her reflection's body she saw it clad in a long white dress, once again leaving her bosom half bare as what the style of the late eighteenth century. Her white feet were bare. Willow blinked but there was no change in her reflection. She lifted trembling fingers towards the surface of the mirror and was both relieved and unnerved to see the false reflection also lift its arm. Willow stopped short of actually touching the glass; her fingers poised inches away as though she could not bring herself to make contact.

She heard the whispered words issue forth from between her lips but the reflection was silent, the lips did not move save to part a fraction. At that moment Willow knew that it was no reflection she stared at. Her terrified subconscious was urging her to move away from the mirror but not one of her muscles responded. Her hand remained outstretched, hovering next to the mirror.

Her false reflection's cold fingers emerged from the mirror's surface, curling tightly around her own with vice-like fierceness. Willow only had time to utter a small gasp before she found herself swiftly jerked forward. From the moment her body was swallowed by the mirror that was not a mirror she found herself in another time, as a very different Willow…

Willow sat staring at the easel standing in front of her; she looked back and forth between the black-dipped paintbrush in her own hand and the single piece of thick paper taped to the surface of the easel. She moved as though in slow motion, replacing the brush on the lip of the easel and studying the half-completed painting sitting in front of her. Thick lines of black paint criss-crossed the surface and formed no discernable image nor followed any set pattern. A small frown marred her features as stared at the painting, there was something not right…not about the painting, but about everything. Willow glanced down at her hands, turning them over as though studying them but they seemed to be her hands. She smoothed her palms over the fabric that covered her legs and gripped it as though to confirm what she touched was real. Even as she was trying to put her finger on what was out of place, she heard heavy footsteps echoing on the wooden floorboards behind her, she swiveled on her ottoman to see a tall red-haired young man, handsomely attired in full military dress, stride into the room. She felt her entire body relax at the mere sight of him…Abraham.

Abraham smiled at the sight of his sister painting, a lonely figure in an almost bare room. Besides Willow's easel and ottoman, there was just one other chair and a small table. This made the room seem large, and his sister exceptionally small and fragile indeed. He was however pleased to see that she was finally wearing a color besides black. Today she was wearing one of her favorites; a handsome light green day dress with embroidered sleeves. A patterned shawl rested on her elbows despite the warm sun filtering through the window panes. He crossed the room to where she sat next to the window in just a few powerful steps and stopped to press a tender kiss to the top of her head. He then placed a hand on her shoulder and stepped back to admire her masterpiece.

"If I might be forthright, I would say that this is not your finest work," he commented, trying to inject an element of humor into his voice,

"Looking for an insight into my tortured mind, dear brother?" Willow replied in a voice that would brook no nonsense.

Abraham did not press the issue with any further comment about her artwork as Willow made it clear that she would not be baited by his taunts. He turned to drag the unoccupied chair behind him a little closer so he could sit at Willow's side, his knee resting lightly against her own.

"Where are my manners," Willow chided herself as set the brush down and swiveled in her chair, she reached out and briefly laid her hand on his thigh, "Welcome…home…"

"Thank you…although it doesn't really seem like home yet does it?" Abraham glanced around at the depressingly bare room, "Still, Hagley Park is empty of our things and ready for its new occupants…I should imagine that the new furniture I have ordered from in town will be arriving within the month."

"We'll have some new artwork for the walls at least," Willow commented with a nod towards her painting, finally allowing Abraham's infectious good humor to win her over slightly.

Willow nodded seriously rather than take offence, "Yes, it is rather depressing isn't it?"

Willow glanced down in her lap, absently stroking the dried black paint that covered her fingers and hands. When she returned her gaze to Abraham's face, any trace of amusement was gone once more. He sighed and reached out to cup her cheek with his sword-calloused hand. She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes.

"I wish you to smile again, Willow, "he whispered tenderly, "I have very little memory of mother, but when you smile I can see her as if she were alive just yesterday."

Willow endeavored to do her best for her brother but the awkward twitch of her lips could not be labeled a smile by any stretch of the imagination. With another quick squeeze of his knee, she faced her painting once more. She retrieved her brush, scooped up a liberal amount of black paint, and resumed applying it studiously onto the canvas as though there was a great deal of thought behind each stroke.

Abraham was content to watch Willow paint and brother and sister sat companionably in silence for several minutes. However, he had hurried home with the express intent of passing on a vital piece of news…news he knew Willow would want to hear but at the same time, it was news he never wanted to have to give her. He had managed to conceal the grief he felt from her throughout their initial greeting but as the time passed, he knew he could delay no longer or risk her hearing a choked sob burst forth from his lips. Such an outburst would no doubt make his task more difficult than it already was.

He waited for a pause in her painting efforts; it came as she leant back slightly to study her work with a thoughtful expression. However, after cocking her head to one side and sticking out the tip of her pink tongue she made such an adorable picture that Abraham could not bring himself to tell her. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair. Just a moment later, Willow spun around as though she were about to ask him something. She paused as though seeing something in his expression and her adorable expression was ruined by a frown.

Willow was scared, in all her nineteen years she had never seen her brother as close to tears as he was now. Abraham was her rock, the one person in her life whom she could always count upon no matter what. She quickly replaced her brush on the lip of easel and turned to face him, trembling with the thought of what he would tell her…whatever it was that had rendered him so upset, it was grim news.

He looked away as though he could not face her gaze, his strong shoulders stooping beneath a tremendous weight. Moments later he felt a slight pressure on his knee and he looked back once more to see Willow's small hand resting there, her skin white. With a pained smile he reached out and picked it up, squeezing the trembling fingers between his own.

"I have just come from the Tovey's…Mrs Tovey as you well know is a confidant of Amelia Walsh, Edward's mother," Abraham breathed in deeply and exhaled shakily, "Apparently Edward returned from his wedding tour yesterday evening…"

"The Walsh's are back?" Willow was quick to interrupt, instantly forgetting her vow to avoid Tara at all costs when faced with the prospect of being able to see her again, "Abraham, dear brother, please do not hold back, did she say anything at all about her?"

All Willow's vows and admonitions to herself counted for naught in the face of news about Tara. She had scooted forward on her ottoman, close enough to Abraham to reach out and seize both his hands in her own.

"As a matter of fact…" he began, trying to keep himself steady as he stared into his sister's searching, longing gaze, "She did."

Willow's first instinct was to feel an inkling of hope at the prospect of news about Tara, good or bad, however her hope quickly faded to anguish as she saw Abraham's struggle to control himself. She knew at that moment that the news went beyond just reporting that the married couple had returned, which in itself was enough to upset her, and into the realm of heartbreak.

Abraham shifted his hands so it was he who was holding her delicate fingers, he squeezed them firmly, "My dearest sister, I do not begin to know any of the details…but something horrible happened in Austria…people are saying it was a tragedy…all I know is…"

Abraham's composure finally broke and a single sob escaped his lips. It was smothered almost as quickly as it emerged but to hear it coming from her ordinarily unflappable brother was more than enough for Willow, she found herself choking back tears of her own.

"All I know is, Tara is dead," Abraham managed to finish quickly, his words tumbling over one another in his haste to get them out.

Despite the haste at which he said them, Willow clearly heard Abraham's words, especially the last three…

Tara is dead, Willow rolled the words over and over within her mind as though she were trying to make sense of them, Tara is dead…Tara is dead… Her thoughts then immediately ran to the complete lack of information as the main reason for her inability to comprehend those words, Tara is dead…how is Tara dead? Tara was killed in an accident? Tara died of an illness, Tara was murdered…? No…Tara's not dead, it's impossible…

"No," Willow heard herself whisper the word unconsciously, as if saying the word itself would somehow negate the validity of Abraham's information.

"I know how immensely dreadful this must be for you, dear sister," Abraham continued to hold her hands, gripping so tightly her fingers were beginning to turn white, "and I want nothing more than to find out more information for you. It is imperative that I attend to some affairs with the bank before it closes…but as soon as I am done we will go together to the Walsh's. Willow, please promise me you will wait until I have returned and we might call upon Edward…to offer our sympathies?"

He was immensely distressed by the awful pallor to her cheeks and blank stare. Her reply to his plea distressed him even further, she did not rant or rave or protest against his decision, she merely nodded with her lips set into a tight line. He knew that he should not leave her in such a state, but he could not avoid his business. Abraham stood and deposited a gentle kiss on the top of his sister's head. She did not respond in any way, even when he left the room.

Willow glanced towards the door only when Abraham had stepped out. She sat on the edge of her ottoman, still struggling to comprehend the meaning behind the news. Even though she knew it was relatively straightforward, a myriad of questions were demanding answers in her mind. In her confusion, she could not find the space inside her head to be upset, all she could do was sit and stare as she waited for the information to process.

Less than a minute after Abraham had departed, one of the parlor maids stepped quietly into the room and remained standing just to the right of the door. Willow wondered whether she was on suicide watch or merely there to make sure she did not try and leave the room. As her confusion slowly gave way to anger, Willow's nostrils flared with her indignation at being dictated to by her brother. She was not a child; she did not require a nursemaid every second of every day.

Seething inwardly, Willow turned her back on the door and instead stared at her unfinished painting. She lost herself in the swirl of black lines that went nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It was as though she had created a maze for which there was no solution, a perfect analogy for her tortured mind.

Willow could not tell how long she sat staring at the painting, she could only tell that she had lost track of time as the sunlight moved across the bare floorboards. However, she had not been idling wasting her time, she had been thinking and now she knew exactly what it was she had to do. Willow stood, feeling her muscles protest at the abruptness of her movement. She stared at the painting one last time and all of a sudden realized that she hated it. With an angry swipe, she knocked her jar of black paint from the table. It hit the ground with a glassy clatter and the thick liquid erupted out across the floorboards in a great black wave. Impassively, Willow watched the black paint spread outwards, it was exactly how she felt with the darkness of hate and anger spreading throughout her body. She was ruined and stained.

When Willow turned around the parlor maid was standing directly behind her. The startled young girl had been staring at the spilled paint but now she ducked her head in a quick curtsey.

"Can I make you some tea, Miss Van Helsing?" the girl offered quickly, her cheeks reddening as a result of Willow's uncomfortable stare.

"Do you enjoy working in this house, Nancy?" Willow asked coldly, ignoring the offer.

Nancy glanced up with a puzzled expression on her face at the usual behavior of her mistress, "Y-yes Miss Van Helsing, of course."

"Then I suggest if you want to keep your job, you will let me walk out that door and you will not breathe a word to anyone else that I intend to go out," Willow continued, surprising herself with her iron-like tone.

The poor girl was obviously terrified; she could not open her mouth to form a reply and managed only a hasty nod. Barely waiting for her answer, Willow glided from the room, her steps firm with purpose.

Several minutes later, Willow was entering her carriage. The coachman, obviously having missed any message from Abraham to keep her in the house, could not agree to the curt demands of his young mistress fast enough. He was already spurring his horses forward before she had even closed the door behind her.

The decanter shook violently against the rim of the glass, sending most of the liquid sloshing onto the lace cloth beneath it. Even before he set down the decanter with a heavy thud, his fingers were already wrapping around the glass. With quick movements he lifted the glass to his lips, threw back his head and drained it in one gulp. The burning he felt in his throat and the warmth in his gut did nothing to dull the raw panic he felt coursing throughout his body. He poured a second measure, even larger than the first and sent this in the same direction. He was struggling to pour his third when he heard footsteps echo on the floorboards at his back, he slammed down the decanter and gripped the edge of the buffet table with both hands.

"How many times have I told you, mother!" he growled, slamming one clenched fist down so hard his glass jumped and fell to the floor, smashing instantly, "Leave me alone…there was nothing I could have done!"

"I'm not your mother," was the cold reply, "And I have no intention of leaving you alone until I have some answers."

He immediately straightened at the sound of a familiar voice but he remained facing the wall until he had smoothed his disheveled clothing with his sweaty palms. When he did turn around he snorted back an inappropriate laugh at the sight of the small woman standing in front of him.

Edward had to admit that the past few months had not been kind to the young woman. She still had a beauty all of her own but her skin was taut over her bones, devoid of any color save for the smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Deep shadows hung beneath her dull green eyes, lending her a haunted air. What little skin he could see beneath her dress was also of a pale hue and her usually vibrant red hair was bound into a taut knot at the nape of her neck. She was the last person he wanted to lay eyes on. He knew exactly what she wanted, he would have to explain to her what had happened, someone who actually gave a damn about his dead wife as opposed to what everyone else seemed to care about, the family's reputation.

"How did you get in here?" Edward licked his dry lips, he desperately needed at least one more drink to deal with this woman.

Edward launched into an uncontrolled cackle so violent his entire body shook, he could not imagine the tiny woman in front of him holding a gun, let alone losing one off…and he had heard no shot ring throughout the house.

With a smooth, almost practiced motion, Willow withdrew a pistol she had 'borrowed' from Abraham from the pocket in her skirt. Her arm was steady as she leveled the weapon directly at Edward Walsh's head, still shaking with laughter. He stopped almost immediately and his beady dark eyes widened in fear. Willow's own eyes were steely with her resolve.

"Make no mistake Mr Walsh," Willow said in a slow, dangerous tone. "I have no qualms whatsoever about rendering your ugly face even uglier…and from this range I cannot possibly miss. You will tell me the truth of what happened to Tara…minus any lies you may be tempted to tell."

"I always thought you were insane," he replied, not at all impressed at being forced to stare down the barrel of a pistol, especially wielded by a woman.

"Are you trying to anger me?" Willow said as she slowly pulled back the lever on the pistol with her thumb; after it locked into the firing position, there no other sound in the room save for Edward's hoarse breathing.

The fully cocked pistol was starting to have its intended effect, his eyes remained wide, his lip trembling uncontrollably," You're serious in this madness?"

"It's simple!" he spluttered desperately, "She was a poor rider, she fell from her horse and broke her neck…it was all over very quickly."

"I said no lies, Mr Walsh!" Willow bellowed, her voice echoing throughout the room, "Tara was an accomplished rider…I know it was not an accident, now tell the truth, my finger is growing tired."

Even in her fury, Willow could still watch the play of emotions across Edward's face. Behind his own fear lay a definite anger, anger at being intruded upon in his own home by a woman he hated and forced to explain something he was trying to forget. Willow couldn't care less about how he was feeling, all she wanted was the truth and she was willing to go to any lengths to get it.

"If you lower that pistol I promise I'll tell you everything…just get it out of my face!" Edward's fear was beginning to dissipate; he spoke in a low tone that belied just how dangerous he was.

Edward did not reply immediately, instead he turned his back on Willow and crossed back to the alcohol sitting on the table behind him. He stared down at the pieces of glass lying in a pool of liquid on the floor; it was as if he just remembered smashing the glass.

"It was two months into our wedding tour…we were in Austria, a remote lakeside resort, Tara and I had a…disagreement," Edward paused and kicked at the largest piece of broken glass with the toe of his boot, "If I have to say one thing about her, I would say she was spirited…"

Willow's mouth was set into a tight line, she had to fight to keep the pistol at her side and not level at his head. She could read into his pithy words and deduce exactly what had happened, she knew the layers of meaning hidden beneath the word 'disagreement' and felt both sick and furious. By the tone of his voice, the set of his shoulders and his cruel disposition, she knew the disagreement had been far more than mere words. It almost broke her then and there to imagine the hell Tara had gone through…and all to keep her safe. With tremendous willpower, Willow regained the control she needed to see herself through.

Edward continued, "Tara left our hotel room and ran out into the night, I gave her a few moments to cool off before my footman and I went after her…by the time we found her it was already too late."

"Too late for what?" Willow asked, her voice tight, her knuckles white as she gripped the pistol.

When he turned around to face Willow his face was as pale as marble, his lips almost as white as his teeth as he bared them in an awful smile, "What do you think…she ran off alone into the night in a foreign country! We found her lying face down in a small copse of trees, when my footman touched her to roll her over he found her as cold as ice, he turned her over, I'll never forget those sightless eyes staring up at me, lips parted as though she had been screaming when she died…and indeed she had, a terrified shepherd heard her screams but when questioned all he would say was the word 'vampyre,' over and over again."

The word obviously meant nothing to Edward, dismissing it as some local dialect. Willow could only hear the violence in Edward's tale and her heart ached for what Tara must have suffered.

"She was…" Willow had to pause and draw a deep breath lest she faint, "She was attacked?"

Edward shrugged, "In a manner of speaking I suppose, there were no marks on her save two puncture marks on her neck…the sight of them terrified the locals when they came to retrieve her body and they buried her almost as fast as a priest could be found to speak over her grave."

A cold shiver ran throughout Willow's entire body at the thought of Tara being shoved hastily and unceremoniously into a plain wooden box before being covered over with the cold earth of a country so far away. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly to combat the tears that threatened to slide down her cheeks. She immediately heard Edward's feet shuffle across the floor towards her but a split second later her eyes shot open and she lifted the pistol. He stopped a mere few feet away from her, his hands going into the air as if in surrender. Willow itched to pull the trigger and blow the smug smile from his face.

"Look at you, the little lover…it's disgusting and immoral that's what it is, you corrupted her beyond the point of redemption," Edward snarled, taunting her with his words, "She died violently and her rest was short…the next day her grave was torn open and her body gone, that's what happens to whores who flout the natural order of things by fucking other women…she was punished even in death!"

It took every ounce of control Willow possessed to hold herself together, on the outside she was as impassive as marble with only the firm set of her lip betraying the utter turmoil that lay within. She could feel herself falling apart, about to explode into a thousand pieces…inside she was screaming.

"How do I know this isn't some story you concocted?" Willow demanded, even though somehow she could sense that he was telling the truth she knew he was the type of man capable of anything, "How do I know you didn't kill her?"

Edward snorted, "What do you take me for, Miss Van Helsing? I am a gentleman, not a murderer. I never wanted Tara dead; you forget I loved her once…before you took her away from me she was destined to be mine! I still wanted her, even after what passed between the two of you, but I wanted to possess her, to make her spend an entire lifetime as my woman…no, killing Tara would be the last thing I would ever do, I wanted to prolong her suffering!"

"You wanted to prolong her suffering?" Willow repeated in a dangerous voice, the pistol suddenly grew very heavy in her hand and Edward's forehead was right in front of her, "You wanted to make her suffer…and you call me disgusting?"

Willow felt all the rage inside her body bubble to the surface; she felt absolutely no sense of remorse as she squeezed the trigger. At precisely the same moment that the gun discharged in her hand, Willow felt a solid shape shove her to one side. When the smoke cleared from her eyes she saw Edward Walsh still standing in front of her but looking over his shoulder at a jagged hole in the wall. Willow growled in frustration and tried to spring forward only to find her arms pinned behind her back.

When Edward spun around he saw Abraham Van Helsing restraining his struggling sister. Willow had dropped the gun but there was still murder in her eyes.

"You're insane!" Edward squealed, stabbing his finger in Willow's direction, "You could have blown my head off!"

"That was my intention!" Willow growled, trying to yank her arms out of her brother's grip.

"Get that bitch out of my house!" Edward demanded, taking several stumbling steps backwards and further away from the Van Helsings.

"We're leaving, Walsh," Abraham barely acknowledged Edward, instead concentrating on keeping Willow's arms from flailing in all directions and inadvertently hitting him in the eye.

He eventually gave up trying to help her out on her own two feet and picked up her entire body. Willow buried her face in Abraham's chest and allowed herself to be carried out of the Walsh house.

Edward watched them leave with an expression torn between relief and disgust, fervently hoping that he had seen the last of Willow Van Helsing. He turned back to the decanter behind him, now standing amidst fragments of plaster fallen from the wall. The glass forgotten, he seized the entire decanter and poured the remaining alcohol down his throat as fast as he could.

The sunlight outside was too bright; Willow had to squint to avoid its painful glare. Everything was spinning around her, the footpath, the cobbled streets, the people. All the carriages rushing past seemed to be coming directly at her, the horses towering high, snorting as though they were ferocious beasts. Willow cringed back against the nearest wall, wanting desperately to be able to sink straight through and be somewhere else…preferably dead.

Abraham was talking but Willow couldn't hear him, all she could see was his lips moving, his eyes wet with concern. He finally seized her by both shoulders, forcing her to stay still and stare right back at him.

Willow's eyes focused on Abraham, at the sight of her brother's concerned expression she was forced to face the reality of her situation. The woman she loved was not merely married to another man…she was dead. Her anger and confusion finally gave way to grief; she sagged against her brother's chest as the tears fell.

Abraham gently cradled his sobbing sister as her entire body heaved. He glanced up to see passers-by giving them strange glances and a width berth on the street.

"Willow dearest, you must come into the carriage with me, people are staring," Abraham urged gently.

"What care I for anything in this world?" Willow sobbed brokenly into her brother's chest, "Tara is not just gone Abraham…she's dead, Tara's dead!"

Abraham found that even with his lanky legs he had to take the steps two at a time in order to keep up with his much smaller sister. He glanced up at the stately building that towered above them and to the sign next to the front door that proclaimed, Montagu House.

He was grateful that Willow paused when she reached the heavy oak door and turned to actually acknowledge his existence, "Why would it not be a good idea?"

"Because Willow…gentlewoman of your breeding do not go around reading books of the sort I know you want to read, and what makes you think that they will have what you require here anyway?" he nodded towards the door.

"Montagu House is home to one of the largest collection of written works in London…where else would I go?" Willow fired back, clearly impatient to be inside.

"You would rather I was still at home locked in my room?" was Willow's acerbic reply, at Abraham's frustrated expression she continued, "And it has been two days and no one has come to fix my door after you smashed it down!"

Abraham growled in frustration, he felt very much like picking Willow up, throwing her over his shoulder and carting her straight back to Gordon Square. If he had not been so glad to see her outdoors then he would have only been too happy to do so.

"You locked yourself in your room for three straight days; I thought you'd killed yourself!"

"Why would I do that? I would miss the pleasure of your company for the next forty odd years of my life?" Willow's sarcasm was blatant but underneath was the barely concealed fear created by Tara's death. For all the love she felt for her brother, she could not imagine spending the rest of her life desperately longing for the sort of love and fulfillment she had experienced with Tara.

Willow held up her hand as a signal for him to stop, "We both know the answer to that, Abraham…" she paused and drew a deep breath, "Look, I'm sorry about that business and for scaring you so…"

"So I am allowed to inquire about vampires without ruining the family reputation?"

He sighed in a resigned manner that was not without a small element of humor, "The family reputation has been already well and truly ruined…and I care not for what the town gossips might say about the eccentric Van Helsing siblings."

As Willow entered the library she glanced back over her shoulder, "They are calling us eccentric?"

The siblings moved into the rather ostentatious lobby of Montagu House. Having been originally conceived as one of the grandest private residences in London, the house had been constructed during the last century; it was now home to the museum collections of the physician and scientist Sir Hans Sloane. In the years since Sloane's death, its holdings had expanded to include a library of almost a hundred thousand volumes.

As Willow moved from the lobby through to the library proper, her jaw dropped in awe. While she had never overly concerned herself with books, she had to admit the sight of thousands upon thousands of them stacked into row after row of heavy mahogany bookcases was rather impressive.

Abraham too was enraptured, almost to the point where he did not notice Willow determinedly marching up to the only other individual that he could see in the library. It was a rather tall gentleman who had his back turned towards them. He was obviously engaged in some form of gainful employment within the library as he was busily re-shelving books.

Willow tapped him rather purposefully on the shoulder, he spun around to reveal a rather distinguished, wise face, etched with the lines of experience that came with middle age. A pair of eyeglasses balanced on the tip of his nose.

"Er, hello," he looked a little startled to actually find people in the library besides himself, especially a rather determined looking young lady and an officer in uniform, "How can I help you, young lady?

"V-vampires?" he stammered as though quite shocked, "Well, t-there are several volumes in our foreign folklore section that might suit your needs…just over there."

"Folklore?" Willow interrupted in an annoyed voice, "I'm not looking for fairytales!"

Abraham moved forward to take Willow's elbow in a gentle grip; he could immediately see that his sister was losing her patience and would soon be involved in the kind of public display that was not seemly for a lady of her good breeding. Although Willow had never been overly concerned about her public appearances he did worry that their peers were starting to 'talk' about her having suffering a breakdown. While none outside of those directly involved knew the precise nature of this breakdown, Abraham was determined to save Willow any additional stress through this difficult period in her life. She had lost her lover twice, and did not need the kind of public scrutiny and judgment that went hand in hand with a scandal. As he watched her stare down the poor librarian with her disconcertingly fierce gaze, he was beginning to regret that he had given in to her wishes to come to the library in the first place.

Willow responded to her brother's touch by yanking her elbow away with one swift tug. She did however take note of the caution and concern directed towards her in his gaze and she managed to calm herself, enough at least to stop the librarian from backing away from her any further.

"Please forgive my outburst," Willow began, "I recently lost someone very dear to me…and I do not believe she was killed by a fairytale."

The librarian's expression changed at the heartbroken tone in Willow's voice, shifting from one of mild fright to sincere sympathy.

"Well, perhaps we might be able to talk…um, but not out here, we'll talk in my office over a cup of tea," he offered, nodding towards a door that led off from the main library.

As the librarian led the way forward, he gave Willow's arm a firm squeeze as though warning her to be on her best behavior. She glanced up at him and managed a small shrug as if to say she'd try.

A few minutes later, seated in worn but comfortable chairs and sipping warm cups of tea, Willow and Abraham waited patiently for the librarian to begin an explanation. His lanky frame was perched on the edge of his desk as he polished his eyeglasses with a fervor not normally associated with such an activity.

"I think we all started off on the wrong foot," it was Abraham who broke the silence while Willow gulped back her tea, he stood and crossed the short distance to the desk and extended his hand towards the librarian's for an overdue greeting, "I am Abraham Van Helsing…and this is my sister Willow."

The librarian replaced his glasses and smiled warmly, "Pleased to meet you, Rupert Giles…but most people just call me Giles and I invite you both to do the same."

Abraham returned to his seat and his tea and Giles remained sitting on his desk, although with his eye glasses now sitting on the tip of his nose, he studied Willow. She met his scrutinizing gaze confidently, almost defiantly.

"Tell me what you know," Giles directed the question towards Willow rather than Abraham.

Willow absently set down her empty tea cup on the arm of her chair, it was balanced precariously and threatened to slide off before Abraham rescued it and set it safely down on a side table.

"We know very little," Willow admitted, "A…friend was attacked and killed while in Austria…"

"Were you present?" Giles interrupted quietly, he noticed the strange way in which Willow seemed to struggle over the word 'friend,' "Did you see the attack?"

Willow shook her head, "No…her…her h-husband told me, it was night, I'm not sure what time exactly but she was outside alone…"

"Her husband let her go outside alone after dark?" Giles sounded as though this little fact angered him immensely.

"Yes, well, he wasn't exactly the ideal husband," Willow replied bitterly, "They fought and she ran…when he eventually went to look for her she was found dead with the only marks on her being two puncture wounds on her neck…a terrified local would only say the word 'vampire' and they then buried her quickly."

Willow shook her head awkwardly, "Apparently not…her husband said the grave had been…torn open…I don't understand, something attacks her and then tears open her grave?"

"Not exactly," Giles shook his head, "The grave would have been torn open from within."

"From within?" Willow whispered, having difficulty in comprehending exactly what it was Giles was saying to her, "Are you implying that Tara tore open her own grave?"

As she struggled to retain composure, Willow ducked her head. She did not want either her brother or Rupert Giles to see the tears that were glistening in her eyes. She did not hear Giles reply immediately, and when she glanced up she saw he had turned to face the heavily laden bookshelves that filled the wall behind his desk. He went straight for a particular volume, an extremely large tomb that required both Giles' hands to lift it. When he placed it on the desk and opened the heavy metal clasp, Willow found herself rising from her chair and crossing the floor. She stared at the exquisitely tooled leather cover and the single word embossed there…Vampyre. Without further ado Giles opened the book in front of Willow, he deftly passed the first several pages of text before coming to an illustration. Willow's mouth fell open with awe. In dark, heavily drawn lines was depicted a recently filled grave with an awful, clawed hand emerging from the earth.

"Strictly speaking, Tara did not tear open the grave my dear Miss Van Helsing, but rather the demon that now inhabits her body," Giles explained.

"They are real," Willow whispered, as unlikely as it was her instincts had been correct, Edward had told her the truth about what had happened to Tara…and the truth was more frightening than she could possibly have imagined.

"You are indeed correct Willow Van Helsing," Giles replied solemnly, "They are not myths or folklore…they are real and they stalk the shadows of this world…from the Ramanga in Madagascar to the Kyuketuki of Japan, Vrkolakas in Greece and the Strigoi or Moroi of Eastern Europe…they have many names and there are many local superstitions but they are essentially all the same."

"Demons to be precise, demons that feed on the blood of living creatures…sometimes animals but they always prefer people," Giles continued to turn the pages of the text, showing Willow more gruesome illustrations of dark figures with their fangs pressed to the throats of terrified people, Willow had to eventually avert her eyes even as he continued, "Although unlike most demons they do not have their own form but rather inhabit the body of a human, with a few changes, they retain the form of the person they once were but inside they are pure demon…through and through, corrupt and evil to the core."

Giles paused on a particularly detailed illustration which depicted a vampire of apparently immense size. His face was shrouded beneath a dark cowl that only revealed a pointed chin, dripping with blood. The ground at his feet was littered with dozens of corpses. Beneath the illustration was written one word…

"Otherwise known as Vlad Tepes…Vlad the Impaler…a Wallachian Prince of the fifteenth century who through unknown means rose to become Lord of all Vampires, the Prince of Darkness…one of the most terrifying and dangerous demons to stalk the earth…not exactly someone you would want to bump into for a spot of friendly conversation."

"And he's real…he's out there somewhere?" Willow reached out and turned the page of her own accord, away from the Dracula illustration.

"Yes…although he has not been seen by mortal eyes for some centuries, I do believe he is still 'out there' as you put it," Giles answered in an ominous tone.

Abraham finally stood, moving to stand behind Willow. He put his arm securely around her shoulders as a measure of comfort. It was appreciated, Willow reached up and took his hand in her own, she was struggling to accept what had happened to Tara…in seeking more information she had found it to be far worse than she ever could have imagined.

Willow closed her eyes to shut out the images in the book but instead she saw them flood her mind, although she replaced the unknown victims in the illustrations with Tara and was forced to watch over and over again as a savage being bit cruelly into the tender flesh of her pale neck. Willow remembered how the skin felt and tasted there; in that area below her strong jaw-line…it was smooth and sweet. A shudder ran through her entire body, a shudder which developed into a tremble which would not cease. Abraham held her even more firmly, both arms wrapping tightly around her body but she still could not stop the uncontrollable spasms which held her in their thrall.

"Sister, we should leave," Abraham whispered gently, he looked up to Giles', "Mr Giles…thank you so much for your time but I should really get Willow home…"

"No," Willow opened her eyes, they glistened with unshed tears but her voice was firm, "Tell me what would have happened to her…and spare me no details."

"Willow, no," Abraham began, knowing it would only serve to upset Willow further "There are some things you are better off not knowing."

Willow tried to wrestle free from her brother's embrace, after a few moments of futile struggling; he gave up and let her go. She turned to face him with a defiant expression, "I will be the judge of that…I need to know what happened to her!"

"Mr Giles, do not indulge her in this whim!" Abraham implored the librarian, seeing as Willow was beyond all hope of reason, "She has been through enough already!"

Giles appeared as though he wanted to have nothing to do with the familial squabble and he raised his hands to indicate this. Willow was not to be persuaded otherwise and she stared him down, her fierce gaze burning right through him.

"Mr Giles, think whatever you may of me…but her name was Tara Maclay, and I loved her more than life itself," Willow admitted, hardly caring that Giles was far more likely to react to her 'perversion' as Edward did rather than in the same, accepting manner as Abraham, she continued, "For my own sanity I need to know what happened to her…for the sake of closure…I have no grave to mourn at, please grant me this?"

Giles merely sighed and nodded, seemingly unconcerned at Willow's admission of her love for the dead woman, if anything his gaze was even more sympathetic, "I can only tell you the raw elements of a turning, in each case it varies…in some cases vampires enjoy torturing their victims before they feed but not always, sometimes it is done in haste lest they are startled in the midst of their meal, but whether it was over quickly or not, it would have eventually drank Tara's blood…most probably while she was still alive as they prefer it warm and flowing, she would have eventually died from a massive loss of blood and possibly the trauma of the wound. I…I think that it would have been slow and painful, if she had not fainted initially, then perhaps she would have struggled…"

"She would have," Willow interrupted in a tight, controlled voice, "She was strong…tell me what would have happened following her death?

"Well, according to your brief account, she would have been found by her husband and interred hastily…sometimes local people have the experience and knowledge to cut the hearts out of the dead…although there is no safeguard…sometime later, the demon that was once Tara would have woken in its coffin and immediately fought its way free, vampires have an inhuman and unholy strength you see. The demon that would have emerged from the grave is not your Tara, Willow, it will look like Tara and may even have some of her memories, but the woman you once loved is dead…this creature is a blood- sucking monster that is incapable of thinking anything other than evil thoughts…"

Giles shook his head firmly, "No, her soul would have departed the corrupted form…you can be rest assured that the Tara you know is safely in heaven as she should be."

Willow breathed a sigh of relief at her mind being put to rest on that account but there was one other thought on her mind, Is there a way to bring her back…restore her soul and have her be Tara once more?"

"No, Willow," Giles replied, once more turning through the pages of the book, "You mustn't ever hold out the hope that Tara can ever be saved, if you ever see the demon that was once Tara then there is only one thing that you can do…only one thing that you must do."

"Kill it," Giles found the page he was looking for which showed a handsomely attired knight driving a wooden stake through the chest of a vampire, "Stake it through the heart with wood or silver, decapitate it, burn it…or expose it to sunlight in the case of most vampires."

"Most?" Abraham interrupted with a puzzled expression, he had been pouring over the page with some level of enthusiasm.

"Some older, more powerful vampires are not constrained to walk the earth during the night…some are immune to the sun's rays and can walk anywhere at will."

"You seem to know a great deal about vampires for a librarian," Abraham commented with a wry smile, "One would say that you almost know too much about them…why is that?"

At that point Giles straightened somewhat and both Abraham and Willow no longer saw the middle-aged, bespectacled librarian they had first met, instead he seemed to be something much more, an imposing, powerful presence, "I am no mere librarian my friends…I am a vampire hunter."

"Perfect!" Willow added immediately, her eyes shining with unrestrained fervor, "Can I be one too?"

Sticking out her bottom lip, Willow directed a jet of air upwards, aimed at shifting a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. The hair fluttered away immediately but stubbornly floated straight back into the same place a second later. Willow continued puffing out bursts of air several more times in a concentrated effort to put the red locks in their place once and for all. Each time they moved only to fall right back into her eyes again. Her efforts to blow the hair out of her face was not due to any inability to use her hands, both appendages were poised holding open the pages of the massive book in front of her and could have decently been spared for the second or two it would have taken her to tuck the hair behind her ear. Willow was bored…and in her boredom she had discovered that even the smallest amusements could keep her occupied more effectively than the text which Giles had assigned her to read.

Willow finally gave up her huffing and puffing and seized the lock between her fingers. She tucked it securely back behind her ear. Rather than return to reading she slumped forward with a groan, her cheek coming to rest on the page she was supposed to be reading. She had been under the distinct impression that vampire-hunting would be exceptionally exciting and would involve the use of many sharp, pointy objects. However, for the past two weeks all Giles had allowed her to do was read…and read she did, hundreds and hundreds of texts. All were equally fascinating of course, dealing with every known aspect of vampire lore and then the wider subject of demonology but the novelty had worn off for Willow a few thousands pages ago. She was a woman of action, not books and her perpetual diet of words was starting to bore her to tears.

Abraham joined her in the evenings as he was going through the motions of resigning his commission in the 18th Regiment of Light Dragoons, although those were periods where they managed very little study as Willow was far too bored to do anything but try and distract her overly studious brother.

On this particular afternoon she was just nodding off to sleep in the main reading room at Montagu house when she heard footsteps behind her. Thinking it was Giles she bolted upright and feigned fascination with the text she was reading on the mating habits of demons.

Willow turned to see Abraham striding towards her; she immediately noticed his attire. So used to seeing him in uniform, Willow thought he cut a decidedly odd picture wearing a green cutaway tailored coat over a satin waistcoat and black breeches. She was pleased to see that he still refused to adopt the fashion of wearing a powdered wig atop his mane of red hair, today however it was tied back at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon.

"You make me feel decidedly under-dressed," Willow glanced down at her own simple white muslin trimmed only with a green pastel sash.

"Compared to most of the women in England, you are under-dressed," Abraham smiled, straightening the lapels of his coat as he stood just slightly behind Willow's chair.

"You know me, never much for frippery, " Willow commented, reaching out to take his hand, "You're all un-soldiered?"

"I have officially resigned my commission and have been granted an honorable discharge," Abraham was smiling but Willow could tell that there was some measure of regret there as well, up until the events of the past month, the army had been an integral part of his life, it had to have affected him greatly to sever all ties with the regiment in which he had served for ten years, "Although I think many of my friends may have thought it should be a dishonorable discharge."

"They were not impressed with your decision?" Willow asked, folding her book shut as she turned to face him properly.

"Not impressed would be putting it mildly…I would use words like outraged, miserable…mostly I think they just do not understand," Abraham feigned a measure of gaiety in his voice, "Still, I do not blame them, if you had told me just last month that I would be resigning my hard earned commission in a fine cavalry regiment in order to spend my time hunting down and destroying demons then I would have told you that you were two steps shy of the insane asylum,"

His sister emitted a small snort of disgust, "Your 'hard-earned' commission was purchased for a large sum of money…I'm sure if you don't like demon hunting then you can buy another one."

Abraham smirked, "Not that I told them demon-hunting was my new profession of course…given that I will be spending a great deal of my time here, I told them I was going to be a librarian…imagine that, Abraham Van Helsing resigning his commission in the 18th Dragoons to become a librarian…I do not think they will take me back even for a small fortune."

"Will telling you how much I love you help with the pain?" Willow suggested cheekily.

Abraham stooped to deposit a quick kiss on the top of Willow's head, "That and a very thorough foot rub."

"Okay, I love you but there's no bloody way I'm touching your disgustingly smelly feet!" Willow said firmly, wrinkling up her delicate little nose as though she could smell the offending appendages already.

Abraham's eyebrows lifted slightly at her casual use of foul language, "Willow, since when did you start talking like a sailor?"

Willow shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, since I'm a demon hunter now I thought it rather silly that I would say 'oops a daisy' or 'oh no' or something equally as pathetic while engaged in a life or death struggle with a demon that wants to rip my throat out…I figure that 'bloody', 'damn,' and 'cocksucker' are far more effective…although my vocabulary is rather limited and I would appreciate it if you could teach me some more, equally appropriate epithets."

"Good lord!" the siblings were interrupted by the appearance of Giles, as always he was in the act of cleaning his glasses, he replaced them and implored Abraham, "Please don't teach her a thing…yesterday she used a very unsavory term when I suggested she might want to re-read 'Demonology in the Ancient World.'"

"You could not answer a single question related to your reading!" Giles snapped back.

"And besides…neither of you are demon hunters yet…you're in training," Giles added with an air of a satisfaction.

"I would hardly call reading enough bloody books to sink a bloody battleship, 'training'," Willow muttered, folding her arms across her chest.

Giles dumped something on the desk in front of her with a loud thud, Willow jumped in fright. However, when her heart stopped racing she saw that it was a massive battleaxe, its broad blade shining in the weak light filtering through into the library. An eager smile crossed Willow's face as she stood in order to take in its splendor more effectively. She wrapped her fingers around the haft in a firm grip and made to lift it in one impressive flourish. Her grand effort was short-lived however as she found it much too heavy to lift with one hand. Even with two hands she struggled to raise it to chest height. Abraham crossed the floor and took it from her, stepping back so he could swing it freely.

"These will be more appropriate for you, Willow," Giles threw down several much smaller objects that made far less impressive sounds as they hit the table.

Willow picked up one of the foot long objects and held it up for closer examination. Unlike her reaction to the battleaxe, she was not impressed and glanced up to Giles with her feelings written plainly on her face.

"It is a stake," Giles replied in a tight voice, obviously offended, he snatched the one out of Willow's hands and deftly twirled it over the back of his palm, catching it once more in his fist. He glanced up and was rather pleased to see the surprised expression on Willow's face, "In the hands of a hunter it is far more effective than any cumbersome battleaxe."

He set down the last weapon he carried on the table and this too took Willow's fascination, although after her embarrassment with the battle axe she made no move to pick it up. It was a small crossbow that looked light and maneuverable, perfect for wielding in tight alleyways. She was still studying it with great enthusiasm when she suddenly felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her neck, in a split second she had her own hands up beneath her attacker's arms to stop whoever it was from choking her. She then drove the heel of her boot downwards as hard as she was able. Her attacker yelped in pain in a masculine voice and Willow was able to wriggle free in order to snatch up the crossbow which Giles had left on the table, in seconds she had spun on her heels and had the weapon leveled directly at a young man's forehead. He very quickly lifted his hands in surrender.

Willow turned her head slightly but kept the crossbow pointed just in case. When she saw the small grin that was slowly spreading across Giles's face she grudgingly lowered the weapon and turned back to study the young man she had almost impaled with a crossbow bolt. He was as tall as Abraham, but where her brother was pale; he was swarthy and dark with flashing brown eyes. From head to toe he was clad in black, black breeches, high-collared black shirt and a long black leather coat which swirled about the tops of his highly polished boots. He shifted slightly to assume a more relaxed posture and his coat gaped slightly to reveal a sword with an elaborate silver hilt.

Before any further words were said his full lips parted and he flashed a pair of white teeth in a rakish grin. If he had hoped Willow to respond with a blush he was to be disappointed, she merely narrowed her eyes suspiciously and kept a firm grip on the stock of her crossbow.

"Ah, yes," Giles strode forward and made a pointed gesture of plucking the crossbow from Willow's firm grip before she could do any damage with it, "Although I would be quick to point out that they are largely untrained…Willow, that crossbow is not loaded"

Willow looked at the weapon and her lip tweaked in annoyance; she then set it back down on the table. When she faced the newcomer once more, her expression was still as defiant despite the amused laugh that burst from her brother's lips.

"Untrained perhaps, but spirited all the same," his voice was deep and polished in tone; each sentence departed his lips as though it were some grand and important statement.

Apparently unaffected by Willow's rather rude question, the dark man crossed the short distance that separated them and extended his hand in friendship, "My apologies, I am Christopher Croft, an associate of Rupert's…and I am very pleased indeed to meet you, Miss…?"

"I am sorry, I am so used to meeting people who are not involved in our line of work…you might say 'fellow demon hunter' for the initiated," Christopher replied easily, still untroubled by Willow's complete lack of manners.

Abraham pushed past his little sister, purposefully giving her a firm elbow as he passed. He held out his own hand to the newcomer in order to give him a more polite welcome.

"Abraham Van Helsing," the two men shook, both retaining a firm grip for longer than was necessary as they sized each other up.

"Pleased to meet you, Abe," Christopher flashed another smile, although not half as warm as that which he had obviously marked for the other man's sister.

"Abraham," Abraham corrected quickly and not at all pompously, "I do not go by anything else but I'll forgive you just this once. This rude but usually lovely young lady is my sister Willow."

Abraham gave Willow another sharp poke in the ribs with his elbow and she obediently proffered a hand in Christopher's direction. He took it with a gentle touch, although Willow immediately felt the rough calluses on his palm and fingers. She knew from touching Abraham's hands that this was a result of many hours spent with a sword in one's hand. While she guessed that his appearance was probably not all for show and he was probably quite capable with the sword he wore, she still grimaced when he pressed his lips firmly to the back of her hand. When he straightened once more he was smiling as though the two of them had just shared an intimate moment.

Christopher sighed theatrically. "Usually lovely? I would say she is permanently lovely."

While Willow averted her gaze uncomfortably, Abraham snickered at what he considered to be an extremely amusing comment, "You'll never see her first thing in the morning with her hair still up in rags…she's foul tempered and not at all pretty."

Willow showed Abraham precisely what a foul-tempered expression was and he was distinctly thankful that she could not lift the battleaxe.

Christopher's reply was quick and delivered with a wink in Willow's direction, "Well, one can only hope."

Giles read into the situation clearly, glancing quickly between the adoring expressing on Christopher's face to the stormy one on Willow's and the confused one on Abraham's. He stepped in between all three of them and immediately eased the tension in the room,

"What do you all say to a spot of tea?" Giles kept his tone light, "And then we can talk about getting down to the much anticipated business of weapon training for our new recruits."

Giles glanced to Willow and saw that her eyes were sparkling with anticipation; any trace of hostility towards Christopher had been vanquished. He congratulated himself for this little victory but fervently hoped that this would not be a longstanding issue between his three associates. As he watched the three of them start to move in the direction of the sitting room, with Abraham keeping a close hold on his sister, he made a mental note to drop Christopher some barely concealed hints as to Willow's sexual penchant for her own sex.

Willow swung her arms experimentally, testing the confines of the specially tailored man's coat that she wore. Although she had worn men's clothing previously during training, being outside albeit at night, was another thing altogether.

Willow turned to look at her brother, he was wearing exactly the same clothes as she, the same black coat, worn open of course to allow easy access to the sword belted at his waist, a black woolen waistcoat and black breeches and riding boots. The sibling's had both concealed their red hair with unadorned black tricorne hats.

"That's easy for you to say," Willow stretched her legs and bent slightly so she could run her palms over the thick breeches that covered her legs, "I've never felt so constrained."

Christopher rolled his eyes at their light banter, obviously feeling that they were not showing sufficient gravity for the situation. He was of course wearing black with his trademark leather coat. His dark hair meant he had no need for a hat but for some strange reason he did not have it clubbed back but rather had it worn out, framing his dark face.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Willow?" Christopher asked the young woman, his voice heavy with concern.

"Surely you jest…I've been waiting for this night for months," Willow replied, lifting her head to meet his worried frown with a calm gaze of her own.

It was indeed true, although Giles had refused to let Willow and Abraham give up their book research completely; most of their time for the past few months had been filled with all manner of weapon training. Willow's boredom had been completely alleviated and she had thrown herself into learning as much as possible from Giles and her brother in terms of swordsmanship and hand to hand fighting techniques. She tended to avoid prolonged contact with Christopher as he had a penchant for using far more bodily contact with her than was strictly necessary when it came to training. Even after Giles had a little talk with their new associate, he still had difficulty accepting the fact that Willow was not interested in him…as though he was at the point of refusing to believe that she could possibly prefer women over men.

Still, for all his faults and unnecessary pomposity, he was a highly skilled and daring hunter. Although his exploits were recounted with additional embellishments, Giles assured the Van Helsing's that much of what he said was indeed true. Willow would have been impressed if only half of it was true and as such she paid attention to what he said…while still avoiding his hands.

Now, with Giles having deemed the sibling's ready, they stood in a particularly unlit part of town in which neither Willow nor Abraham had ever thought to venture, nor even knew it existed. It was on the outskirts of the poorest section of town, Christopher explained, a popular haunt for recently turned vampires, still coming to grips with the fact that they were now bloodsucking demons preying on the blood of humans. Few people actually ventured into the area of their own accord, those that did were mostly drunks or people that would not be missed by anyone…all easy prey for the newer creatures of the night.

"I do not seek to disappoint you, but we may not even lay our eyes on a scion of Dracula this evening, they know I often stalk these streets. Although…" Christopher stopped speaking for a moment as he glanced skyward at the dark night sky, "…no moon, no stars, a heavy foreboding air…it is a good night for hunting."

Willow hefted the crossbow she carried into a more suitable position beneath her arm. Holding it in both hands she could very quickly raise it level to fire the silver tipped bolt. Beneath her coat she carried both a silver sword and dagger and several additional bolts. The night was cold, but it was so dark she could not see her breath misting in front of her eyes. As she walked forward, with Christopher's back barely visible ahead and Abraham silently following behind, she tried to remember Giles's training. His calm voice merely repeated the same information over and over in her head, 'watch the shadows'…Willow tensed her lip, everything was in shadow!

When it finally did come, Willow needn't have bothered struggling to remember every scrap of information she had gleaned from her mentor. As soon as the trio of vampires made their appearance, something triggered inside Willow's head and she allowed herself to be guided by her instincts, instincts which rendered her a vampire's worst nightmare.

Two solid shapes dropped down into the alley just in front of her, heavily cloaked shapes that almost melded with the darkness around them. Both went straight for Christopher, one seizing him around his neck in a chokehold while the other went for his arms. A third set of footsteps came running from the darkness behind; a muffled grunt meant that it had run straight into Abraham.

Despite the situation, Willow found herself grinning. The vampire's had obviously picked out the stronger targets first…it was their first mistake. Willow brought the crossbow up quickly and taking barely a second to find her target in the darkness, she loosened the bolt. There was a dull thud followed a split second later by a piercing scream and a small explosion. Tiny particles of dust spread outwards and were swallowed by the night…all that remained of one vampire.

Rather than reload, Willow tossed aside her crossbow and withdrew a small bottle from the inside of her jacket. Without fumbling, she struck a match on the nearest brick wall and lit the fuse protruding from the bottle. She could not risk throwing it at either vampire as they were grappling with her companions at close quarters; instead she dashed it to the ground. The glass bottle smashed and the liquid within burst into bright flames as it spread. Having created a burning puddle, Willow drew both her sword and dagger and was able to survey the scene in the alley. Behind her, Abraham had lost his hat and his red hair hung about his face as he dueled with a scruffy vampire who was no mean swordsman. He appeared to be holding his own but Christopher however was pinned to the ground beneath an abnormally large vampire, desperately trying to keep his neck protected.

Willow darted forward, at the last possible moment before her dagger plunged downward; the demon sensed her presence and spun, slogging a huge fist in her direction. Although the blow would have removed her head from her shoulders had it made contact, he was too slow and Willow was able to duck beneath the swing. She darted around the clumsy vampire, over Christopher's prone form and leapt in the air. While it was over in about a second, Willow could see each of her actions as clearly as if they had already been planned and executed in her mind. Her right foot hit the nearest alley wall and she sprung backwards, as she did she spun in the air and brought the same foot around in an arc. It came into full contact with barrel-like chest of the demon, the force enough to send him stumbling backwards. His heavy body came crashing down directly atop Willow's puddle of fire and within seconds he was engulfed. Still writhing, his body exploded into dust, this time looking like tiny sparkling embers which floated around her like fire flies.

Breathing heavily with the thrill of the moment, Willow turned to see the last remaining vampire had noticed his companions were no longer with him and had decided that fleeing was his only option. Abraham had turned to pursue his quarry but Willow was faster, hurling her dagger directly into the demon's back even as he was scaling the a side wall of the alley. The flying dagger narrowly missed Abraham's ear and plunged into the creature before he was half way up the wall. Before its body could hit the ground, it was nothing but a floating cloud of dust, drifting down to the alley floor at Abraham's feet.

Eyes wide with appreciative shock, Abraham spun around and confirmed his ear was indeed still attached to the side of his head. Still regarding Willow with a funny expression on his face, he crossed to where Christopher was still lying on his back. Their dark-haired companion appeared ruffled, but in perfectly fine health despite being decisively flattened by the hefty vampire.

"You and I needn't have bothered coming out at all," Abraham chuckled as he helped the other man to his feet with one swift tug, "In future we can remain in bed while Willow single-handedly rids the dark places of London of all manner of nasty creatures."

This little comment did not amuse Christopher in the slightest as he shot Willow a look before attending to his attire. His leather coat was scuffed and slashed in several places with one sleeve almost torn completely off. Abraham could only smirk at his expression, knowing full well just how he felt for he was feeling the same way, although any feeling of jealousy was far outweighed by his amazement at his sister's extraordinary prowess with a sword.

He slapped Christopher heartily across his back, "I know it's scary but just accept it as a good thing."

"Bah! The three were all recently turned…and I was caught off guard by that one's size," Christopher explained with a nod towards the still burning embers at his feet, he lifted his chin defiantly as though challenging Abraham to mock him.

Abraham was too much of a gentleman to do nothing of the sort and he merely smiled as he looked towards Willow who was eagerly scanning their environs as though there were more vampires waiting patiently to be slain.

"I have no doubt that the three were weak…I do not expect all nights will be quite this straightforward…but even so, you have to admit that she is impressive," Abraham continued.

Willow turned to regard both of them with a wry smile on her face. She completely ignored Christopher's shocked expression and incredulous comments and re-sheathed her sword in one swift movement as she crossed the alley to join her brother. He reached out and playfully tousled her hair just to ensure she did not fly too high and remembered her place in the world as his baby sister.

"I don't know about you, Abraham," Willow commented as she brushed the dust off the front of her jacket with a few quick strokes, "But I could get used to this."

Abraham peered over the throng of theatre goers as he made his way to the exit. Although the intent had been to leave the theatre quickly, several young women were clustered around his companion, all talking animatedly in an effort to catch his eye. In amongst this, there was also much fan waving and fluttering of eye lashes. The young man tugged at his collar uncomfortably and stood on his tip toes as though he were searching for someone. A few moments later Abraham finally managed to gently push his way through the throng of admirers and extended his hand towards his hapless companion at the center.

"Please excuse me ladies, but we have an engagement we cannot possibly be late for," he inclined his head towards each of the young ladies in turn before drawing the young man out of their circle.

The two men managed to make their way out of the theatre without further incident apart from one having to pluck several lace handkerchiefs from his person, bestowed on him by his admirers.

The taller of the two, Abraham Van Helsing snatched away one of the handkerchiefs as his companion held it held with a mild look of disgust on his face. He laughed lightly and tucked the finely worked fabric into his own breast pocket as though he had been the lucky man surrounded by admiring young women. His companion however was not a man, but rather his younger sister, Willow.

Throughout the three years since the Van Helsings had permanently moved to London and taken up their new occupation, Willow had donned men's clothing in public. She had very quickly discovered that wearing a pair of breeches and a jacket with a tricorne on her head was immensely more practical than going about town in a dress. As far as the gossips and old matrons were concerned, Willow Van Helsing had become a recluse after being jilted by a suitor and the young lad that accompanied Abraham almost everywhere was a cousin from the country. To save too much confusion however, his name was Will.

"I swear you attract almost twice as many admirers as I," Abraham watched as Willow stuffed a handful of handkerchiefs in the pocket of her coat.

Willow scowled, absently kicking at a loose cobble on the ground, "Well, I received several of what I think were thinly veiled marriage proposals and more than enough wandering hands…I thought young ladies were raised to be decorous and shy?"

"You've become quite a rake, Will," Abraham chuckled, "Who would have thought that you would make such a handsome boy?"

"Well, it's nights like tonight that I feel as though I should go home and pull on a dress, just to remind myself that it is not really me all those women want," Willow replied with an edge of bitterness to her voice.

The siblings were silent for a few blocks, walking through the darkness companionably until they turned into Gordon Square and Abraham finally manage to utter the comment that had been on his mind since the final curtain closed on the play. He glanced across at Willow, her skin pale in the cold night air, her breath misting in front of her.

"You know Will, the actress that portrayed Maria…I thought she resembled…well, a little at least, I thought she resembled…" Abraham paused, unable to say the women in question's name.

Willow knew exactly whom Abraham was referring to but she was spared having to answer immediately as they reached the heavy black door of their home. Abraham opened it for her and waiting just inside the door was their butler, Samuel, a man of indeterminate years with solid grey hair and youthful eyes.

"Hello Sam," Abraham was quick to reply before turning his attention back to Willow, prodding gently, "She did look a little like her, didn't she?"

"A little perhaps…I did not dwell on the resemblance at the time," Willow replied smoothly, removing her hat and overcoat and practically throwing both in poor Samuel's arms.

Abraham paused in removing his own coat and spotted her reply for what it was…a lie. He had glanced across at her expression several times during the performance to see tears glistening in her eyes as she stared unwaveringly at the actress in Sherdian's The School for Scandal. It was very clear to him that watching the performance had been an exercise in torture for Willow. Even after three years had passed, Tara was still never far from her thoughts.

Although he should have known better, Abraham could not resist posing his next suggestion in an effort to rekindle Willow's non-existent love life, "You know, I am secure we could secure an introduction if you would like?"

"I do not wish to speak of it," Willow interrupted tersely, once she had managed to banish all thoughts of the look-alike she resumed her usual confident, mildly cheerful demeanor, "I know it is late, but I am not really tired…and with Christopher and Giles patrolling the streets tonight…"

"Willow, it is intended to be our night off," Abraham reminded her, "Even the amazing Van Helsing siblings could do with a full night's sleep every so often."

"I know…just…could we train though, even for half an hour or so?" Willow pleaded.

Abraham sighed with mock-suffering, "I am still carrying the bruises from our bout earlier today…but if it will help take your mind off things…"

"It will!" Willow clapped her hands as though she had secured a promise and was not about to let it go.

As she headed towards the library, Abraham paused and looked down at his attire, "You think we should at least change first?"

"No time!" Willow called over her shoulder, already disappearing through the door into the library.

Abraham rolled in his eyes in Samuel's direction but their butler merely shrugged as if he was hardly surprised and proceeded to hang Willow's things on the coat rack.

When Abraham joined Willow in the library she had already pulled forward the book that triggered the door to their training room. As they waited for a small section of the book shelves that lined the walls to slide backwards into a recess behind it, Abraham glanced around at the rest of the handsome oak shelves laden with all manner of finely bound texts.

"I swear the only reason we have a library is to camouflage this door…none of these books has ever actually been read, we could have just as easily made the door behind a fireplace, you know," he commented, knowing the lack of dust on the shelves was entirely due to Nancy's sterling efforts with a duster.

The shelf stopped moving and then with creaking hinges it swung backwards to reveal a set of polished wooden stairs leading downwards in a spiral. The staircase was lit by several lamps burning in brackets set into the wall. Willow moved down first, leaving Abraham to close the door behind them by giving one of the brackets a quick tug.

"I shall choose to ignore your comments about my lack of scholarly learning," Willow replied, her eager footsteps made loud thuds as she bounced down the stairs.

Abraham just grinned at his irrepressible younger sister, watching as she moved ahead of him down the spiraling staircase. They wound around the central pillar no less than three times before the staircase emerged in a particularly large room lit with an assortment of flickering lamps and candles, all faithfully lit by Samuel who had obviously instinctively known that Willow would want to train after returning from the play.

Unlike the house proper, all four walls of the room were undressed stone. It was made to seem even more spacious than it actually was by virtue of the fact that much of it was actually empty, with only padded canvas mats covering the wooden floor. Everything else in the room was pressed against the walls to leave as much room as possible. The wall to the left of the stairwell was laden with more books, although these were of the type that could not be left upstairs where guests might idly peruse them given that they were on topics that might be considered a little odd…vampires, demons and witchcraft…not exactly 'The Castle of Otranto' or 'Robinson Crusoe.' There was some evidence that these books were actually read as several were sitting on a table in front of the shelves, with some even lying open. On the wall directly opposite the bookshelves were several targets, obviously intended for use with a crossbow or anything else that could possibly be fired or thrown. In the center of each target was a drawing of a fierce creature, while some were drawn with an amount of skill indicating that Willow had painted them, others were little more than crude caricatures, Abraham's work. All bore evidence of significant use, liberally punctured with holes and one even still had an axe buried in its center.

In this particular night, Willow and Abraham did not head for the books or the targets; instead they were focused on the longest wall which was staring at them as they emerged from the staircase. Running the entire length of the wall were all manner of racks and shelves, each specially adapted to the object it held. There were several upright niches, each containing a metal breastplate. By far the largest amount of space was devoted to weapons racks holding almost anything that could shoot, slice or club a foe to death. Upright racks held both short and long-bore flintlock rifles while smaller racks held pistols, all of which had been specially adapted to fire silver balls as opposed to the standard lead. Several crossbows were housed next to the guns, most were of the lighter variety which were easy to wield in close quarters.

Abraham moved straight to the racks holding the swords; he fingered several of his favorites, from the saber of his cavalry days to a light, flexible rapier which was often favored for practice.

"What will you be requiring tonight?" Abraham perused the racks of weapons as one would a market stall looking for a ripe piece of fruit, "How about a rapier…or something a bit heavier? Or shall we forgo all these wonderfully pointy things and go hand to hand?"

"As much as I would like be reminded of a childhood spent being wrestled to the ground by my big brother, I think that I would prefer to have a rather large stick in my hands," Willow grinned as she stripped off her evening jacket and threw it with a flourish to one side, it fluttered and landed across the book laden table.

Abraham selected two wooden staffs, each about four feet long, from the rack and tossed one to his sister. Willow caught it deftly and twirled it between both hands before abruptly freezing in a fighting stance, her weight poised on the balls of her feet, staff leveled towards Abraham.

With a long-suffering sigh, Abraham faced off against her with none of the same showiness, he merely settled into position without fuss. His green eyes did not leave hers, waiting and watching for the first move. When it came it was lightning quick but that was to be expected from his sister, she moved as though the staff weighed absolutely nothing in her hands and her feet did not need to touch the ground. Knowing her as well as he did, Abraham knew that his sister was merely human and she had weaknesses as every fighter did.

Her first sweeping attack, bringing the staff around in a horizontal swipe aimed at his chest, had too much force behind it. It was something Willow was prone to do almost every time for a good reason, when you were fighting a demon, you wanted your first strike to be your last. Abraham deftly ducked the sweeping blow, feeling Willow's staff brush his hair as it passed overhead. As she overbalanced at the end of the swing he lunged forward with a jab that was intended to hit her square in the gut but she merely moved from overbalancing into a spin which saw the tip of Abraham's staff come into contact with nothing but air. Using her momentum, she spun completely about to come face to face with Abraham, when she brought the bottom of her staff upwards, he met it with his own. A resounding crack of wood reverberated around the chamber, its intensity indicating that neither sibling was interested in holding back.

Thus began a delicate but brutal dance across the padded mats, a combination of expert footwork and carefully timed strikes. The rapid crack- crack of staff upon staff continued to ring out as Willow and Abraham dueled, using every inch of the space available to them.

While Abraham clearly had the power, Willow was quick and agile, managing to dodge around Abraham's slower blows and dart in with strikes of her own. After receiving several quite painful jabs to his ribs and gut, Abraham decided that he would not hold back and pressed forward with his staff swinging. In blocking her brother's sweeps and thrusts, Willow was driven back towards the wall behind her. Before she could run out of space altogether and be forced to concede, Willow turned and, with barely a pause, ran up the wall behind her. She kicked off from the wall and somersaulted over Abraham's head. While he was already turning when she landed behind him on light feet, he was not fast enough and she was able to deliver several rib cracking blows before finally humiliating him completely by sweeping his feet out from beneath him. Abraham crashed to the mats in a tangle with his staff.

Although her brother was down, Willow planted the heel of her boot in his chest as he tried to rise. With a grunt Abraham fell flat against the floor. A small grin broke out on Willow's face at her rather conclusive victory and she stepped back, indicating that he could haul himself to his feet without receiving further blows.

As soon as the bout was over, Willow's previously clear mind became busy once more, busy with recollections from earlier that evening. She had lied to her brother, the actress in 'The School for Scoundrels' had indeed born more than a passing resemblance to Tara…and she had done nothing other than dwell on her all evening…even when she had been surrounded by the simpering fools vying for her attention.

As he rose to his feet Abraham could see that although Willow was standing just in front of him, she was actually somewhere else. Her eyes were glazed as she stared at some indeterminable spot, not seeing the walls of the chamber at all. There was a tiny crease just between her eyes as though she were struggling with something in her mind.

"I'm sorry, I was just gone for a moment," Willow tossed her staff in the direction of the racks and it clattered to the floor, she was wiping the sweat from her brow when she turned back to face Abraham, "It has been only three years, almost four since I last saw her and the passage of time is already ravaging my memories of her."

"I am sorry," Abraham replied genuinely, "But people forget…even the ones they love the most, it does not mean we loved them any less…just perhaps that it is time to move on…"

"I do not wish to forget!" Willow interrupted a fierce whisper, "She was so exceptionally kind and good…so beautiful and I loved her…I love her still, Abraham, and the passing years are not diminishing my pain, only increasing it as I forget. I cannot remember her scent when I pressed my nose close to her skin…only that I think that it was the most wonderful scent I had ever known…I cannot remember the taste of her lips and her flesh, I know only that they were sweet."

Willow felt the dreaded tears burn at her eyeballs but she set her lips stoically, she did not wish to cry. Crying was a luxury that belonged to the past; she had a new life now and a new purpose. There was no place for tears in the life of a demon hunter.

"Yet overriding all of that…all my actual memories of her is the awful thought that something that has her body, her memories, is still out there," Willow said it in a whisper as though she hardly even wanted to admit it to herself, "I've spent three years killing vampires…and every night I go out, every shape I see in the darkness, I expect to see the thing that looks like her."

"You're scared that you will not be able to destroy it?" Abraham asked, turning his back on Willow and crossing to the racks so she could not see the uneasy expression on his face.

Abraham replaced his own staff and then retrieved Willow's fallen one, when he turned around she was still standing in the same spot with an anguished expression on her face.

"Yes," Willow whispered, "And no…mostly I worry that if I do see the demon then that image will completely and irreversibly replace all those I have of Tara, and she will be gone for good."

Abraham could not deny that Willow's fear made sense, he could think of nothing to say except the truly banal, "You may never see the demon."

While Willow had often hoped that would be the case, she knew in her very bones that it would be foolish indeed to believe it would be true. There were other forces at work in her life, forces which she did not understand but she knew them to be influencing the way she lived her life, the choices she made…and ultimately those forces would bring her into contact with the demon she feared above all others.

She did not tell Abraham this; it would only cause him to worry. Instead Willow made a mental note to broach the subject with Giles when she felt ready. The old gentleman seemed to have an answer for everything…even if she sometimes could not stand his regimented routine and constant pressure to keep learning about her foe. Willow had never wanted to read books…all she wanted to do was kill demons.

While Willow had been engaged in thought, Abraham had returned to stand close to her, he reached out and cupped her cheek, "Close your eyes, Will."

To humor her brother, Willow sighed and slowly slid her eyelids closed over her burning eyeballs. The ensuing darkness was empty and barren, just like her dreams of late. The only thing that kept her from opening her eyes as quickly as she closed them was the reassuring contact of Abraham's calloused palm and fingers.

"She's still there. Dig a little and push aside the last three years as though they never happened…remember Hagley Park, the Grecian summerhouse in the grounds…and how you loved it so. I knew whenever I couldn't find you; you would be with Tara in that summer house…"

"We sought privacy for a very good reason," Willow added, cheeks coloring as she remembered the day Abraham had interrupted them.

"Because you loved her…and more than anything in the world you wanted to be alone with her, this beautiful woman whose face fills your thoughts…"

Abraham's voice was immensely soothing and Willow found herself slipping back to the hours she had spent with Tara in that summerhouse. They reclined in the shade, cut off from the world by the boughs of leafy green trees that surrounded them. She remembered holding Tara close against her body, as though wrapping her arms as tightly as possible would be enough to keep them together no matter what. Tara was laughing in response to a comment Willow had made, her entire body shaking with mirth in Willow's arms. When Willow opened her eyes she realized that she was smiling.

"Much better," Abraham nodded, satisfied with his efforts, he withdrew his hand and stretched his entire body in a catlike movement, "I think you've managed to exhaust me yet again, my pillow is calling me."

Willow followed her brother upstairs, passing back through the bookcase and absently closing it behind her. They continued upstairs to the second floor where Willow stopped just outside her door with the smile on her face growing slightly wider.

A small smiled crossed Willow's face as she met his gaze, "She smelt like white roses."

As Willow slept that night, her dreams returned and she dreamt of those same white roses. In her dream she held one in her hand, a single bloom with its petals only just unfolding from their bud-like state…

Willow brought the rose up to her nose and inhaled, letting the intoxicating scent invigorate her entire body, she felt the smooth petals tickle her nostrils and she laughed lightly. She turned to the naked body laid out beside her and began trailing the rose over the pale stomach. Its owner gasped as it tickled, Willow glanced up to the woman's face and her smile broadened.

Willow was adamant in her final reply, "There will never be anyone else for me…not ever."

When Willow woke there was no moment of groggy disorientation as she shook off the bonds of sleep. Instead she immediately rose and swung her legs over the side of the bed. When she stood she felt the cool temperature hit her naked body but she did not rush to cover herself with clothes. She padded across the floor to her large mirror and examined the reflection she found there. As often as she had seen her own reflection as she arranged her hair or attended to other matters of her toilet, she had never really stopped to examine the changes that the past few years had brought about in her body. Although she had been naturally blessed with creamy pale skin, she was even whiter now as a result of sleeping during the day…just like her prey. The freckles that had for so long covered the bridge of her nose had faded into nothingness. The lack of color in her skin made her green eyes and vibrant red hair stand out all the more. Willow ran her fingers through the strands, where once they had been long enough to reach the small of her back, they were no cropped just above her shoulders like a man's. Her hair could be clubbed back out of her way with little fuss.

The biggest changes however, had taken place with her body. While Willow had been an active young lady, there had always been a comfortable, well- rounded feel about her hips and thighs, desirable features in a well-bred young lady of course. Any trace of that had now disappeared as Willow ran her hands over her taut stomach and down over her lean flanks. When she flexed her arm the well-toned muscles rippled beneath her skin in a menacing fashion, as though hinting at the danger that could be unleashed.

Despite all the changes that had taken place, Willow was still very much a woman and the dream had brought that little fact screaming to the forefront of her mind. As she ran her hands over her erect nipples, she wondered why her subconscious had suddenly decided to remind her of her physical needs and the fact that she had not shared her bed with another woman since Tara. Willow sighed and quickly moved to cover herself up instead of moodily dwelling on a fact which she did not want to have to address.

The clothes she pulled on had changed somewhat over the years too as she had developed and refined a costume in response to the requirements involved in her line of work. The breeches she pulled on were black-dyed doe skin, being warm for the cold night air but suppler than the leather preferred by Christopher Croft. They fit her legs closely, leaving little fabric to be snagged as she climbed walls or moved through forest. The black boots she pulled on up over the breeches were of the finest leather and reached just below her knees. She then tugged on one of her many black shirts, it lacked the full sleeves that were in fashion as Willow had quickly realized that too much fabric on the arms hindered the free flowing movement necessary to stay alive when dueling with a demon. Atop this she fastened a breastplate and a smaller backplate that had been molded perfectly to fit her shape, their black lacquer coatings pitted and scratched with the scars of countless duels. Around her waist she strapped her sword and daggers, weapons which had become as familiar as her own two arms. The London Streets in December were bitingly cold, so she tugged on a thick leather coat, lined with black sable it was warm without being heavy. Intricate black embroidery trailed down the coat, from its high neck that brushed against her jawline, down over the lapels and to the hem. The pockets sewn into the lining of her coat could contain all the additional tricks of the trade, stakes, spare bolts when she carried a crossbow and any number of Giles' little inventions – the exploding fire bomb being her favorite. Finally she pulled on a pair of leather gloves that would kept her grip sure even in the winter air.

Willow wasted no time in checking her outfit in the mirror before she headed out into the night air, choosing to use her window as an exit rather than risk disturbing Abraham. She clambered over the sill and down onto the ledge from where she could safely drop to the ground below. Her booted feet hit without a sound and she was running off into the night without a pause.

Trouble never took long to find Willow Van Helsing, possibly because she always sought out the darkest streets, the most notorious demon haunts where even a lowlife would not venture once sun had set. Her reputation amongst the creatures of the night had grown to the point that only the newest or the stupidest actually threatened her as though she were potential prey, the rest had learnt not to be so bold when it came to viewing Willow Van Helsing as a potential meal.

The vampire that found Willow on this particular evening was a combination of both new and stupid…and also drunk, if the half empty bottle in his hand was anything to go by. As he approached on bandy, unsteady legs, Willow idly wondered if it were even possible for vampires to become intoxicated.

"You might want to put that bottle down, demon!" Willow threw back the folds of her coat so he could see the hilts of her sword and dagger, "It would be unsporting if you were disadvantaged in any way."

The vampire scowled and answered Willow by dashing the base of his bottle against the wall behind him; it shattered to leave him holding its neck like a jagged weapon. He jabbed it towards Willow who easily avoided it and every single desperate swing or jab that followed. She was growing a little bored when her foot suddenly slipped on a pile of rotting garbage beneath her. Although she did not fall to the ground, she was caught off guard for just a moment. It was long enough for the vampire to strike. Willow had little time to move as the bottle swept towards her throat. She managed to duck but she was not quite fast enough, rather than pass harmlessly over her head, a jagged edge of glass sliced into her forehead.

The vampire cackled jubilantly but could not take advantage of his wounding Willow; he realized seconds later that he had merely angered her and hastened his demise. As Willow drew her silver sword, he dashed the bottle to the ground and pointed a trembling finger in her direction.

Willow paused, her eyes narrowed, "What do you mean by thousands you slimy little blood rat?"

"It's upon us!" the vampire seemed so immensely pleased that he was practically dancing on the spot, his wiry legs doing an awkward jig, "The Covasna Resurrection…our master has found it and he will again reclaim his power!"

Willow immediately recognized the word 'Covasna' but she could not remember from. She sighed when she realized it was probably from her reading…she could already hear Giles saying 'I told you so.' Surging forward, she swept the vampire back against the wall behind it and held her sword to its throat.

"I never thought that I would say this to a demon," Willow muttered to herself before demanding, "Continue talking!"

"What are you going to do if I talk?" the vampire inquired, Willow's sword already started to dig into his dead flesh, "Spare me?"

Even as she said it Willow groaned inwardly, she knew she was not cut out for interrogating demons and her lack of experience at doing it showed. She preferred the hunt and the kill and left all other business up to Christopher and Abraham. Seeing as she was not about to get anything out of a creature that she would never ever spare, Willow pressed her razor sharp blade forward. Slowly but surely, the blade sliced through skin, muscle and bone as the vampire writhed in her grip. Before her blade had passed all the way through the creature's neck, it exploded into dust, showering Willow from head to toe.

"Great!" Willow spat out a mouthful of foul tasting grit and glanced down to see her favorite coat covered in a layer of dust.

She did not linger looking for more prey, instead she turned and began the long trek towards Montagu House even as blood trickled down the side of her face. Something told her that she needed to consult Giles as soon as possible.

"I don't usually take notice of their manic ravings," Willow paused to blow gently on her tea; Giles had made it too hot. "But this one had such fervor in his eyes it almost scared…well, not quite scared, it worried me. Do you have any idea what he was referring to with the 'Covasna Resurrection?' It is familiar but I cannot place it…"

Willow had returned from her hunt and proceeded directly to Montagu House where she had woken Giles from his short slumber. He had not long been home after patrolling the streets with Christopher. Far from being annoyed, the librarian had simply pulled on a robe, made tea for them both and was now perched alertly on the corner of his desk in his office. Willow was still running on adrenaline from her hunt, she paced the floor and constantly kept twirling her dagger in her fingers.

Yes, Willow," Giles replied with a grave sigh, "I do indeed know what he is referring to and if this proves to be more than ideal underworld gossip, then I fear that we may be about to face the greatest challenge this small organization has ever known…and stop looking so hopeful…this is not a game, it is a challenge which may very well see all of us dead."

Despite Giles warning, Willow continued to wear an expression that was not unlike that of a cat that had learnt the location of a very large barrel of cream, "So this Covasna thing…what is it?"

"It is not a 'thing' Willow, it is a place…once upon a time it was completely unknown, an untouched wilderness, now however it is a particularly evil spot where I would not care to venture again."

Giles crossed to the shelves holding the over-sized books in his collection and withdrew an exceptionally large volume which he almost seemed to have difficulty in lifting. He deposited it on his desk with a loud thud, rattling everything else on it. Willow finally ceased her pacing and stood on the other side of the desk, watching as he turned massive pages covered in maps of Europe. He finally stopped on a particular page and stabbed his finger on a small plateau high in a mountainous region of Transylvania, a principality of Austria.

"Covasna?" Willow asked, seeing no name marked on the map, as Giles nodded she studied the map harder, a small frown marring her features, "The name is familiar to me…why is that?"

Giles rolled his eyes, "If you had read 'An account of the life of Vlad Tepes' as I instructed you…"

"I did read it!" Willow interrupted suddenly, in her excitement she stabbed her dagger downwards into Giles's desk where it stood embedded in the wood, "Covasna…there was an enormous battle there…his last army was defeated there by a German Prince in 1476…"

Giles was so surprised he ignored Willow's defilement of his desk, "How is it that you remember the date?"

"I am very well aware of that, Willow," Giles sighed dramatically, "You could be a brilliant scholar if only you put your mind to it."

"Well, I prefer killing things with pointy objects," Willow announced decisively, "Anyway, back to this place…Covasna. So Dracula was defeated, his once blood-thirsty army slaughtered…I remember thinking the book was a little light on detail about that particularly event."

"For good reason," Giles continued, "Dracula did not possess just an army; he possessed an army that could not be defeated…"

"Yes, he was eventually defeated…but only because a powerful warlock discovered the secret at great personal cost, it was he who went to this German Prince and convinced him that the army could be defeated if Dracula's captain was killed…you see the captain was the key, Dracula had used him to bind the whole army together, into one unstoppable force that ravaged the land for years…the men in that army could be wounded with ordinarily fatal blows but they would continue to fight…severed limbs grew back, men fought without heads…"

Willow immediately wiped the expression from her face, "So someone killed the captain?"

"Yes," Giles nodded, 'The Prince, one of the bravest and most just men that has ever walked the face of the Earth, Conrad the Bold…he severed the captain's head following an epic duel during which he pushed himself beyond the limits of exhaustion. Even with their captain's death, the Wallachian army fought on for three days until the last of them were slaughtered. The warlock had the prince take the severed head of the captain back with him to Germany, firstly so that the populace could see that Vlad's reign of terror was well and truly over…and secondly because he knew that if Dracula ever managed to reunite the head with the body, the captain and his army would rise anew from the dust of Covasna. He tried to regain it of course…until the warlock finally took it to the ends of the earth…where it has remained for over three hundred years."

Willow was momentarily struck speechless, that was at least until he brain process all the information Giles had just related. She immediately frowned as she came to her conclusion, "So…the resurrection of which that toady spoke this evening…he meant that Dracula had found the skull and was going resurrect his army?"

"I do not see how he could possibly have found the skull…perhaps he has not and is merely attempting to draw its location out into the open…even so, I cannot take the change that it will fall into his hands. I must confirm for myself that the skull is as safe as it was the day I last saw it."

Willow was once again struck speechless, this time for almost a full minute as her mind chewed over this latest startling revelation. She looked back and forth between the map and Giles, studying his face for the slightest hint that he was jesting with her.

"Giles…this battle was fought in 1476…I do not see how it would be possible…"

"I am indeed the warlock of the tale, Willow," Giles nodded serenely, smiling slightly at her rather desperate attempt to understand the secret he had just revealed to her, "I was younger then, just as handsome of course…but now I am over four hundred years old…my longevity a side effect of the power I wield."

"But Giles, I've known you for three years and I have never seen you perform an act of magic," Willow raised her eyebrows hopefully as though Giles might show her something.

"Willow, magic must never ever be used for trivial matters…each expenditure comes at great personal cost…even so…"

Giles lifted his hand to the gash just above Willow's eyebrow. Willow winced at the gentle contact on the open wound but seconds later she felt her skin grow suddenly taut and hot. When Giles let his hand fall, the stinging pain was gone. She touched her forehead and felt nothing but smooth, unblemished skin there. Even as she stared incredulously at Giles, he appeared to be distracted already, his mind elsewhere.

"Do you suffer from sea sickness, Willow?" Giles enquired suddenly, he plucked Willow's dagger from his desk and held it towards her, hilt first.

Willow withdrew her hand from feeling the skin at her forehead and reclaimed her dagger. She slid it back into the sheath at her side.

"I think not…although of course to date I have only ever sailed across the channel," Willow replied, pleased that she could now frown without pain, "Why?"

She knew as she approached the hallowed gates of Bran Castle that she would come face to face with her lord and master for the first time. As twisted and cruel as she herself was she could not deny feeling a certain amount of apprehension. Above her the steep walls of the castle rose abruptly, a deterrent to enemies and friends alike. Even higher still, tall towers rose into the air to be topped by steeply pitched turrets. It was a foreboding place, the air thick with an immense power that came from the master himself.

Her feet barely made a sound on the wooden drawbridge but the silence was shattered a moment later when the mighty iron portcullis barring her way rose of its own accord. It ascended into its niche above and she walked through into the dark courtyard. There were others there of course, his black armored guards had watched her from the moment she came into view of the castle. Other hangers-on lurked in the shadows, sycophants and lesser demons, basking in the distant presence of their master. She bypassed them all, a slender figure swathed entirely in a cloak as black as night, the cowl of her hood leaving her face in shadow.

She was silently admitted to the castle keep by two guards, they simply stepped aside as she swept past them. Although she had never visited Bran Castle before, she knew exactly where he was, she could feel his presence drawing her ever closer to him. The corridors of the castle were narrow and dark, only lit by burning torches set sporadically in brackets along the walls. Dark tapestries further added to the sense of narrowness. She did not need to look at them to know that they depicted her master's many victories in battle…although none depicted the battle at Covasna; none spoke of his greatest defeat and the loss of his mighty army.

As she entered the great hall, she felt a sense of elation so overwhelming she felt that she ought to fall forward and prostrate herself on the ground. Instead she kept striding forward, her walk still the same graceful glide she had maintained throughout the castle to this point. The hall was shrouded in darkness, its fire dead and cold. A few torches burned, casting desperate fingers out into the gloom but losing their war against the shadows. Purposefully she strode into the darkness, walking towards the head of the great hall and the dim outlines she could see. Although she was not trying to stare, she could see the outline of a mighty throne, dull gold gleaming in the faint light. Someone was seated at its center but she averted her eyes, instead staring at the massive skull mounted high on the wall overhead. It belonged to no animal that she had ever known to walk the earth, a cruel beast with foot long fangs and thick horns even longer. Older demons swore that the beast had been a favorite pet.

Just a few meters short of the throne, she finally went down onto one knee, knowing that she could not possibly approach further without his blessing. Her cloak settled around her gracefully as she rested her hands on her bent knee and bowed her head. She heard him shift and knew that he was now standing above her. Heavy footsteps sounded as he moved down the stairs towards her but still she did not look up. Finally the toes of his booted feet came into her view. Her entire body trembled with anticipation, her heart that had not beat for several years, still felt as though it might beat once again in his presence. She then felt fingers brush her forehead, they were icy cold but she did not notice their temperature, instead she noticed the jolt the touch sent coursing through her body. The fingers moved, gently pushing the cowl of her cloak backwards from her head. It fell to her shoulders and exposed her white blonde hair. Next he gently held her chin, tilting her face upwards to meet his gaze directly.

She could do nothing but gasp. Nothing she had ever heard, no amount of speculation or gossip could ever have prepared her for the reality of him. His face held her gaze, she was unable to tear herself away from his black eyes, completely devoid of white or any other color, and she doubted she could ever draw her gaze away again. His black eyes were set into a visage of unimaginable beauty that she thought might be labeled godlike. Everything was in perfect proportion, from his hawk-like brow and strong nose to his full, slightly parted lips. Thick waves of black hair were swept back from his face and curled down to the nape of his neck. His lips parted in a smile to reveal dazzlingly white teeth.

"I had heard whispers of your beauty, but now that I see you in the flesh I must admit that the rumors were largely untrue," even his voice was perfect, the deep tones soothing and intoxicating. "You are far lovelier than words can describe, Tara."

"I speak only the truth," he replied solemnly, "Before we engage in idle conversation I know you wish an explanation of me, an explanation as to why you have be restrained from pursuing the love of your mortal existence."

Tara nodded slowly, "Yes…and I do not understand why you would bestow your attentions on me…I am but one of many, and weak, very weak still."

His smiled broadened, "You are many things Tara, but weak is definitely not one of them…besides your beauty, I have also heard whispers of an amazing gift that manifested itself shortly after your turning…show me."

Tara swallowed awkwardly and tried to keep her fear hidden as she held up her palm in front of her master. She murmured a brief word and seconds later a small flame flickered into existence and hovered above her palm. Her Master's lips parted in awe.

"Truly wonderful," he whispered, "While every vampire fears fire…you can create it…is this the extent of it, or can you do more?"

"Much more, my Lord," Tara admitted without boasting, "Although I am still exploring my limits…I think there is still more to uncover and to learn."

"Do not look so worried, Tara," he laughed lightly, "I would not have you join my harem unwillingly, although in seeing your beauty I am sorely tempted…I have another task for you, one which I think is far closer to your own desires."

"Willow," Tara whispered, the name still sent a thrill coursing through her body, every fiber of her screaming to seek out that particular human and her blood.

"Indeed I do, and if I had not kept you isolated in Greece, you too would know why…your love, Willow Van Helsing, has become the most feared demon hunter in England…seeking out and killing our kind in particular with an awesome passion…a passion for vengeance, no doubt for the murder of her loved one."

Tara bristled slightly, her voice was fierce when she replied, "I was not murdered…I was granted immortality…and Willow will share that with me as soon as I am given leave to pursue her and free her from the mortal coil!"

Although Tara had been more than surprised to learn of Willow's newfound occupation, she suppressed this quickly, instead her face burned with a fierce determination. For her own immortal sanity, she needed to turn Willow Van Helsing, to sink her fangs into the white skin at her throat and in turn have her drink from her own vampire blood. She needed Willow to be with her, for the past three years she had suffered the embarrassing torment of longing for her mortal lover. It was a torment that she would not admit to of course, but one she knew she could ease by inviting Willow to join her in immortality. However, her efforts to get close to Willow were curtailed when an elder vampire, Angelus, had requested her to join him in an embassy to the Greek vampires…Tara was loath to leave Willow even further behind, but she could not disobey. For three years she had suffered Willow's absence…now, as she journeyed back towards the land of her mortal life, she hoped to finally have the opportunity to see Willow once more.

"That you shall Tara…that you shall…but at the time of my choosing," he intoned softly.

"I do not mean to be insolent my Lord, but what care you for Willow Van Helsing?" Tara met his gaze brazenly, a small measure of anger creeping into the corners of her mouth at the thought of her master denying her access to the women she craved.

"Oh…I do believe that Willow Van Helsing will cross our paths very soon," he said as he cupped her face in his hands and smoothed away the tight lines that marred her face, instantly reassuring her, "Our time is coming Tara…and I have a very special and vital role for you to play."

Dracula's lips curled upwards in a bizarre smile as Tara's shining face gazed adoringly back at him.

Willow Van Helsing was perched as foremost as she could possibly be on the forecastle of the Van Amstel, her chest resting on the bowsprit as she watched the bow of the ship slice into the water beneath her. Much of her red hair was contained beneath a white rag, knotted at the nape of her neck in the fashion of sailors. The rest of her outfit was also suited for sea travel, although she retained her black doe-skin breeches, she had replaced her usual black shirt with a billowing white one and her boots with a pair of soft soled deck shoes. She turned at the sound of a loud cough and saw her friend and mentor, Rupert Giles climbing the ladder to the forecastle, his glass stained with salt. A grin spread quickly across her face and she leapt down from her perch to face Giles.

If Giles was surprised to see Willow actually out of her cabin, he did not let it show on his face. The surprise would have been justified given the fact that for the entire first two weeks of their voyage Willow had done little but lie on her bunk in her cabin and heave up every morsel of food that she attempted to eat. However, as he looked at her now she appeared to be a picture of health with a rosy glow to her cheeks. Several strands of red hair had escaped from beneath the rag and were whipping about her face. Giles inwardly reminded himself that he really had to do something about her vibrant red hair before they arrived in Japan.

"Sea life seems to be agreeing with you at long last," Giles commented with a smile.

"Now that I can actually stand on deck without running for the railing every minute, I must say that sailing is quite agreeable," Willow announced with a firm nod of her head.

She turned back to stand at the railing of the forecastle and Giles crossed to join her. He was a little unnerved by the way Willow was hanging out over the railing, perched so precariously that a sudden wave could have easily thrown her overboard. Willow seemed not to care; there was a broad smile on her face of the like Giles had rarely seen over the past three years. Although three years in his long life was a relatively brief span of time, he felt as if he had known the young woman for much longer and had come to care for her a great deal. At any rate, she often treated him with the disrespect a young person would show to their father…especially when it came to any task she did not want to do.

"I do hope Abraham is alright though," Willow added quietly, "I've spent time apart from him before when he was with his regiment…but I've never been this far away from him, he could always come to me if I needed him."

"I think Abraham will be just fine," Giles attempted to reassure her, 'If all goes well, we will be back home next year…it will be like you never left!"

Willow did not appear convinced, but it was the last she mentioned of Abraham. Giles was not to know that she had promised her brother she would not miss him dreadfully…although promising and then doing were entirely two different kettles of fish. She turned her mind to other matters, in particular one which she had wanted to ask Giles for some time but feared offending him.

"You know Giles, there's something I've been thinking about for the past few weeks," Willow began, finally brushing her salty hair out of her face and tucking it back beneath the knotted rag on her head, "It's all very well and good hiding the skull…but people find even the most well hidden things, why didn't you just destroy it? You know, smash the darned thing with a very large hammer?"

"Now that is a good idea!" Giles slapped the palm of his hand firmly against the ship's railing.

"It didn't cross your mind…say…three hundred years ago?" an incredulous Willow asked with just the tiniest hint of derision in her voice.

It was then that Giles turned to give Willow a look of glacial murder and she immediately realized that she had completely missed the sarcasm in his response. Given that Giles did not ordinarily resort to sarcasm, his delivery was terrible.

"Oh…of course you thought of destroying it," Willow mumbled, somewhat chastened for her hasty words, however she didn't waste any time with an apology, "Why didn't you?"

Giles wiped the angry expression from his face with an awkward smile, "I am sorry Willow, your comment just brought to mind my original frustration in being unable to destroy the skull…Conrad tried the simple approach, he swung the mightiest war axe he could lift to cleave the skull into pieces but it killed him."

"As he struck the skull, it was his own body that was torn open and he fell dead at my feet," Giles appeared immensely sad, as though the Prince's death had occurred just yesterday, "Everything I tried since, all manner of magicks, failed. My only option was to carry it to the ends of the earth and hide it from Dracula…as poor a solution as it was. For the past three hundred years I have been researching a spell that would work, but I fear I am no closer today than I was then."

Giles sighed and removed his glasses, scrubbing them violently with the sleeve of his shirt. Even Willow could see that he regarded his inability to destroy the skull as a serious shortcoming on his part. The fact that he could do nothing to remove such evil from the world meant that he was rendered helpless despite all his magicks and knowledge and it laid him bare to the bone.

He replaced his glances and glanced across at her, "It is nothing you should worry about, Willow, we will go to Japan, confirm the security of the skull and possibly move it…and go home, back to our normal lives."

Willow had to smile at the manner in which Giles said 'normal lives,' as if killing demons for a living was the same as being a teacher or a lawyer. However, Giles managed to ruin her humorous mood a few moments later when he withdrew a thick book from the inside of his coat and handed it to her. She eyed the book warily before taking it.

"A dictionary of Japanese?" Willow went from staring at the cover to staring at Giles with an annoyed expression on her face.

"It's a long voyage, Willow," Giles nodded towards the book, "but it's also a difficult language, you might want to start reading."

"Everybody should just speak English…it would make things so much easier," Willow huffed in a frustrated manner.

She made a great show of opening the book and then propped it up on the railing in front of her as though to suggest to Giles that she might possibly slip and let it fall overboard. One of his sternest glances told her that this would not be a very wise course of action and she quickly busied herself in a task she was particularly good at…pretending to read.

Giles sighed, "For a demon hunter, Willow, you are exceptionally narrow- minded."

When they finally did reach land after almost eight months of sailing, Willow was by no means proficient in the Japanese language despite Giles' best efforts. However he was confident that she would at least be able to great her hosts with some amount of formality.

Greeting the locals was the last thing on Willow's mind as the Van Amstel sailed into Nagasaki harbor; her main concern was feeling solid ground beneath her feet once more, even if it was a tiny artificial island off the coast of Japan proper. The one thing she was not impressed with however was the fact that Giles had insisted she dye her red tresses black in order to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the Dutch men and black-haired Japanese. So it was a raven haired Willow Van Helsing that disembarked in Dejima from the Van Amstel, some of her usual swagger definitely missing. Her swagger was eroded completely when the tense looking Japanese official perched on the dock indicated that she was to hand over all her weapons immediately. Willow turned to Giles for confirmation and the warlock merely nodded but his eyes were stern, indicating that Willow should comply swiftly. It was almost like giving up her arm as she placed her sword and dagger on the table in front of the official. Then from her pockets she withdrew various smaller daggers, the odd cross bow bolt and a stake, by the time she had finished emptying her pockets of everything that could be considered a weapon, the official's eyes were bulging as he stared at her. Willow merely shrugged and moved from the water's edge, following Giles as he seemed to be headed towards an official-looking delegation of Japanese and fat Dutch merchants.

Giles had told her the island was small but she was surprised to find out just how small the fan-shaped island really was. It was home to at least twenty Dutchmen and almost twice as many more Japanese officials and guards, designed of course to keep the foreigners at arm's length from the sacred soil of Japan. The large city of Nagasaki was separated from Dejima by both the water, and a heavily guarded bridge.

Willow followed Giles's lead, she stopped when he stopped and bowed when he bowed, although she could not keep herself from staring at the Japanese. She had seen Chinamen in London fairly often, especially down by the docks, but they had all worn European garb. The Japanese were so foreign in their strange, elaborately embroidered robes, with their haughty, suspicious expressions that Willow was forced to acknowledge she really was on the other side of the world. She was immediately struck by a strange sensation, one of longing for mist rolling up over the Hampshire hills, for the familiar halls of Montague House and most of all for Abraham. It was with a sharp pang that Willow Van Helsing realized she was exceptionally homesick.

Giles was speaking to her, a short, wiry Japanese man at his elbow. Willow forced her attention away from her longings and into reality, to the very real situation in which she now found herself.

"Willow, this is Nakamura Kenji-san," Giles introduced her, "A dear friend of mine for many years…he will be helping us with our little task."

Kenji strode forward towards Willow. Despite the bulky clothes he wore and his small stature, she could see from the way he moved with grace and power that he was a formidable man indeed.

"The pleasure is mine, Willow Van Helsing," Kenji replied in heavily accented English, "Rupert has written many letters about you and the work you do…very impressive if even half of it is true!"

Willow smiled awkwardly beneath his intense gaze and after a few moments she had to look away. It was then that she noticed the young woman standing behind Giles and Kenji, her face cast downwards so that much of it was hidden behind her waves of raven black hair. Kenji noticed her looking and he smiled broadly, motioning the woman forward with a brief gesture.

"This is my daughter, Ayako," Kenji announced with great pride in his voice, "She will be your companion while you are with us and attend to your every need."

"I really don't have many needs…" Willow began to protest, desperately not wanting to offend anyone, least of all their hosts but she was cut short by a sharp stab in the ribs from Giles' elbow.

"So Willow-san…how much do you know about Dejima?" Kenji asked with a raised eyebrow.

Willow sighed imperceptibly, glad that she had at least completed some of the reading Giles had assigned her on the voyage, "I know it is the only point of contact for Dutch traders…no foreigner is allowed into Japan proper…"

This one point had been a concern Willow had intended to raise with Giles but given that she had spent much of the voyage avoiding him for fear of being assigned further work, she had not quite got around to it. She simply expected that they would both be quite capable of stealing un-noticed onto the mainland and carrying out their task unseen. It was an element of the journey Willow had been looking forward to.

Kenji grinned but raised one finger to halt her recitation, "Aha! You are not quite correct, one time each year the Dutch Kapitan and an official delegation must travel to pay homage to the Shogun in our capital, Edo."

"It just so happens that we have arrived precisely at the right time to join them in their delegation to Edo," Giles nodded with satisfaction at their apparently fortunate timing.

Willow tried not to appear too disappointed but the thought of travelling as part of a pompous, official delegation was already causing her to groan inwardly.

Eager to fall asleep in a bed that did not sway with the ocean, Willow opted to follow Ayako to their lodgings rather than eat and drink with the rest of the ship's company and Giles. Giles had been waxing lyrical about something called 'sake' for the past few weeks. Willow had no idea what that was but she was sure it was something she was bound to dislike.

As she followed Ayako through Dejima's narrow streets, she was struck by the architecture of the buildings that lined either side of her, some rising two stories above. While she had no idea what Japanese houses were supposed to look like, she was sure it wasn't the distinctly European looking buildings with their neat shutters and gaudy colors.

Ayako obviously saw her confusion written plainly on her face, "Dutch people live in Dutch houses on Dejima…tomorrow you will see how Japanese live when we begin our journey to Edo."

The Japanese girl inclined her head gracefully towards the not too distant edge of the island and Willow realized she could clearly see the shores of Nagasaki proper. She smiled in thanks and the two women continue walking in silence until they passed a small party of Dutch sailors whom Willow recognized from the Van Amstel. She immediately noticed a change in their behavior from the deference they had shown her throughout the sea journey…but their rudeness was not directed towards her, but rather towards Ayako as they spoke Japanese.

Even though Willow could not understand a word of what they were saying, she knew much the connotations behind them from their rude gestures, the tenor of their voices and most of all from the red flush of embarrassment staining Ayako's cheeks. Willow quickly linked her arm through Ayako's and increased their pace, well aware that the earlier confiscation of her weapons now meant that she was completely unarmed. She hoped that the men would not be stupid enough to follow them. Giles would not want her involved in a brawl on the streets of Dejima, it would potentially ruin everything. The men's voices followed them down the short street but their footsteps did not. Willow breathed a sigh of relief when Ayako led her into a small house at the edge of the island.

As they entered, Willow immediately noticed a difference, while the façade was European, the interior was distinctly foreign. Rather than carpet, some sort of hard mat covered the floors. Ayako paused to remove her shoes and Willow followed suit with her boots, quickly slipping her feet into the pair of slippers indicated before the other girl could notice how dirty her feet were.

"Come Willow-san, we will find you suitable Japanese attire and a bath and then we will eat," Ayako steered Willow up a flight of stairs.

"A bath sounds wonderful…but I'm honestly not hungry," Willow protested, her stomach already reeling from just the thought of all manner of strange, exotic food.

Her protest fell on deaf ears as she was ushered in a low ceiled room with very little future save a table and a low bed. There were however bookshelves containing a wide variety of books. Willow scanned their spines and saw popular novels and work of non-fiction in Dutch, English and French. In the middle of the floor, surrounded by a white cloth, was a low wooden tub filled with steaming water. Red petals floated atop its surface. Willow gazed longingly at the water and a nearby sponge. When she turned back to face Ayako, she found that the young woman had moved to a closet of sorts with a sliding door. Inside were shelves of garments, although Willow could not tell their shape or form from the way that they were folded.

Willow studied Ayako's pale face in the failing light of day and decided that her first impressions of the young Japanese woman had indeed been correct. Although she had no idea of the Japanese standard for beauty, Ayako appeared truly pleasing to her own eyes. Her almond skinned face was round without being plump and her eyes dark to the point of being black, as black as the raven tresses which were arranged elaborately atop her head.

"Ayako, why were those men treating you so poorly just now…surely they must respect a lady of rank?" Willow asked gently, wondering if she ought to be asking the question at all for fear of offending some custom.

Ayako turned with an armful of garments, she shook her head slightly, "Ladies of rank do not come to Dejima…only courtesans."

Willow lifted her eyebrows, "So the only women allowed on the island are prostitutes…and those men thought that you were one…but you're not, are you?"

It was Willow's turn to flush pink as she stammered out her lame reply, "No…no…of course not, I mean, it is a perfectly sensible option, especially given the lack of professions open to women…"

Willow met Ayako's eyes more than a little awkwardly and seconds later the dark-eyed girl burst into a peel of rich laughter. Her own lips curled upwards, encouraged by the musical sound. She had not heard genuine laughter from a woman's lips for some time and she realized she had missed the sound immensely.

Ayako gently laid the garments she carried on the floor in front of Willow and then wrinkled her nose when she stood once more. Willow realized that she was looking with disgust at her dirty, salt stained men's clothes and immediately felt embarrassed by her appearance, especially in relation to the richly embroidered silk garment Ayako wore.

When her hands went to the topmost button of Willow's shirt, Willow realized that she meant to undress her and stopped her. She enclosed the tiny soft hands in her own before she could undo the first button. As Willow stood holding both Ayako's hands, she immediately felt the calluses covering the palms and the pads of her fingers and she knew them for what they were. Ayako had spent time using a sword and if the firmness of the calluses were anything to go by, she had spent a lot of time using a sword.

Ayako met her gaze calmly but offered no explanation as she drew her hands away; they disappeared into the wide sleeves of her garment, "I am sorry, Willow-san, I will leave you to bathe and return when you are done."

"T-thank you," Willow stammered because it was all she could think of to say in reply.

Ayako bowed her head and moved out of the room, Willow felt an element of something leave with her when she walked out of the room…a feeling she could not put a name to. Even so, it was gone a few moments later when Willow turned to look at the tub. It took seconds for her to strip off the dirty clothes and plunge herself into the water. She found it pleasantly warm over her feet and lower legs but realized quickly that the Japanese must bathe standing up. Willow pursed her lips together as though wondering whether she could fit and decided that she could. It took some manipulating of limbs, but eventually she was happily tucked into the tub, submerged up to her chest. She sat, listening to the quiet jostling of the water around her body and eventually her eyes lid closed.

I am in Japan, Willow could not quite believe it herself until she rolled those words over in her mind, I am in Japan… She was impossibly far away from everything and everyone she had ever known, Abraham, Christopher, Sam and Nancy, everyone except Giles…and the part of Tara she carried within her heart, Tara, I am in Japan…are you still watching over me so far from home? Willow knew in her heart that she was.

When she opened her eyes once more, Willow could not tell how much time had passed. She had to stand to scrub herself and in doing so, realized that her dirty clothes had been removed. No doubt her Japanese host had taken them to be burnt.

Her new clothes caused her a great deal of confusion when she went to pull them on after toweling her skin dry. Instead of a shirt and a simple pair of breeches, there were great swathes of material which could have wrapped around her body in any number of ways. She sensed someone enter the room and turned to see a red-checked Ayako standing in the doorway.

The Japanese girl entered the room, still keeping her head downcast as she selected the garments Willow ought to don first. She picked up the soft cotton under garments and Willow quickly shrugged into them, mortified at being naked in front of another person even for just a moment. Once the shirt and pants were securely tied and her modesty restored, Willow was able to relax significantly as Ayako showed her how to wear her kimono and the wide trousers known as hakama.

"You do this every day?" Willow asked as Ayako tied the pants at the small of her back to complete the outfit.

She glanced down at herself, feeling strange and yet oddly comfortable in the Japanese garments. She did not know if Ayako had chosen the emerald color of the kimono to match her eyes but it was certainly gorgeous.

"This type of kimono is normally worn by a man," Ayako replied, another red flush creeping into her cheeks, "It takes less time."

"Oh," Willow mumbled, no doubt it was one of her quirks which Giles had seen fit to include in his letters to Kenji. She glanced up at Ayako's downcast face but could not tell what she was thinking, specifically whether she thought her abnormal because she preferred men's clothing.

Willow was not given an opportunity to explain herself before they headed back down the stairs for a light meal at the low table. Willow tried to kneel on the cushion in the same manner as her host but she found it extremely uncomfortable, instead she folded her legs in the manner of her childhood.

The food laid out was simple, rice, chicken, fish and some sort of stringy substance that looked like worms covered in a dark sauce. Willow looked for the knife and fork but found only two thin sticks. She looked to Ayako with a confused expression on her face only to see her expertly wielding the sticks in one hand, easily lifting food to her mouth.

"Chopsticks," Ayako inclined her towards the implements Willow was studying intently, "Like this."

Willow proved to be a quick study, only a few minutes into the meal she was able to at least get food into her mouth without sending it onto the floor or her lap. For all her fears regarding Japanese food, she found it to be light, refreshing and easy to eat. Despite her exhaustion, she enjoyed the meal and she ate in companionable silence with Ayako, the only sounds being the scraping of their chopsticks against the ceramic food bowls.

It was towards the end of the meal that Willow finally realized just how tired she really was, she could barely keep her eyes open long enough to guide her next scoop of rice into her mouth. As she often did when she was tired, she allowed her mind to wander at will and almost always it were her memories of Tara which resurfaced. Sometimes Willow did not want to lose the thought, she would remember a particular moment she had forgotten and often a smile would come unbidden to her face.

Willow forced her half-lidded yes open and realized that her mind had probably been wandering for quite some time, the lump of rice sat uneaten in her mouth and she quickly chewed and swallowed. Willow did not ask how Ayako had come to that particular conclusion from just her expression; she merely replied simply, "I have."

"A lover?" Ayako asked in a bare whisper, as though it were exceptionally rude of her to ask such questions of a guest.

"Four years ago," in saying it Willow could still not bring herself to believe that much time had passed.

Willow quickly shoveled another scoop of rice into her mouth even though she had already eaten her fill. It felt strange to speak of Tara's death to an almost complete stranger and yet as she sat across the low table from Ayako she felt as though she could tell the Japanese girl everything.

"I am sorry, Willow-san," Ayako whispered quietly, "For your loss and for the pain you carry for so long…

"You should not be sorry," Willow replied after swallowing her mouthful of rice, "The loss and pain will always be present…but someone told me a while ago that I need to live my life, and I plan to."

Ayako ducked her head quickly, the simple motion reminding Willow very much of a certain blonde who would often do the same thing if she were embarrassed. It was at this point that Willow set down her chopsticks, unable to bear the thought of eating another bite, no matter how delicious it was.

"I think perhaps we should both sleep, our journey will be a long one," Ayako said quietly, rising to her feet.

Willow nodded, although the food had been excellent, she already felt it sitting in her stomach as a lump of hard rock. She was weary beyond words and already dreading the thought of travelling once more. She followed Ayako back to the bedroom, an unseen servant had removed the tub and the bed sheets were drawn back in an inviting manner. Stripping of the outer layer of her kimono, Willow practically tumbled onto the bed, not even caring when she discovered that there was no soft mattress beneath her body. Her head fell backwards onto the pillow and she found herself gazing up at the young Japanese woman, her dark eyes unreadable in the dim light. Willow closed her own eyes with an exhausted sigh.

Willow was already half-asleep when she felt a smooth but callused palm gently brush the side of her cheek. Almost instinctively, she reached out and caught the hand as it retreated.

At the sound of Ayako's voice, Willow opened her eyes to see the young woman's face above her in the darkness. Her lips were parted slightly and Willow could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was undeniably lovely, the moonlight rendering her skin as smooth as marble, her eyes as black as obsidian and her hair as shining as silk.

Willow caught the edge of reluctance to her voice but she still rose determinedly from her side, the folds of her kimono falling about her body as she did so. As she moved from the room, Willow turned to face the opposite direction and quickly squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, desperately willing the fierce hunger in her body to go away.

Ayako had never left the room, remaining just inside the doorway and she clearly heard the young Englishwoman call out to her. For just a moment she felt elated but even as her lips parted to answer her whispered name Ayako knew that she could not respond. If she went to Willow now she knew that neither she nor Willow would have any control over what followed. Despite Willow's adamant statement earlier that evening, Ayako knew that the young woman was not ready to move on with her life.

Without answering Willow, she silently padded from the room. As she went to bed alone that night she could not help but feel angry towards the lover that held Willow in thrall even in death.

When Willow awoke the next morning, the sun was already streaming through the gaps in paper blinds and across the soft covers. She stretched her body in several directions and immediately discovered that sleeping on the floor had not agreed with her in the slightest. Her bones creaked and her back felt as stiff as a rod. Nevertheless she managed to rise and stared in confusion at the pile of clothing that she was supposed to be able to don. Although it had only been the previous evening, she could barely remember how each piece was supposed to go. Almost half an hour later, fervently glad that no one had been watching, Willow glanced down at herself and was satisfied she had achieved at least an approximation of Japanese garb.

When she descended the stairs, she noticed that a meal had been laid out on the table. Willow did not feel hungry in the slightest and instead continued outside where she could hear a cacophony of voices and other sounds. When she emerged she came upon a scene of well organized chaos. Several ornate palanquins and wagons were surrounded by both Dutch and Japanese men on horseback.

Willow had not noticed Ayako at first because she was not wearing the same style silk gown she had worn the day before, instead she was wearing garments similar to Willow as she sat astride her prancing horse, her hair bound in much the same manner as the men in a tightly bound topknot. When she saw Willow a small smile crossed her face. Willow's cautious approach had something to do with the awkward tension she felt in the presence of the Japanese woman, it was also due to the fact that she hated horses with a passion. She came to stand beside Ayako's horse and tentatively reached out to stroke its muzzle.

"Good morning, Willow-san," Ayako inclined her head slightly, "You sleep late indeed."

The two women stood in silence for a few moments, Willow awkwardly continuing to stroke the muzzle of Ayako's horse even though the very act was causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. It was Willow who eventually broke the silence, knowing it was her apology to make.

"Nothing happened, Willow-san," Ayako replied quickly, her smile never faltering, "And that is how it will remain."

"Yes," Willow agreed, although she still could not manage to eliminate all traces of reluctance from her voice. However, as lovely as Ayako was Willow knew she only wanted the Japanese girl to satisfy the needs of her young body and Willow could not bring herself to let such a relationship develop further. Without love she would only be using the girl, and she hated to think of herself as a monster that would use women and discard them as it suited. In becoming such a person she would turn into the creature she despised above all others…Edward Walsh.

"Willow-san," Ayako interrupted her thoughts, Willow tried to meet her gaze confidently, "I am truly sorry for being such a beautiful woman."

Willow could not help but smile in response to the playful one which teased across Ayako's own lips, she spoke the truth, her beauty was a large part of Willow's problem. However, as Willow struggled to mount her own horse moments later, she realized that she had been placed in the perfect situation in which to move on from Tara. Here she was in a far away, foreign land with a beautiful young woman who felt something for her…She glanced ahead to try and find Giles in the melee but the only person she did manage to pick out was Kenji Nakamura staring at her in an unnerving manner. Willow sighed as she tentatively spurred her horse forward; it was going to be a very long journey.

The first two weeks of their journey to Edo proved relatively uneventful if a little awkward for Willow. Not only was she stuck on horseback, she had to contend with Ayako's continued close proximity. It was not that the Japanese girl was intentionally seeking her out but rather every time Willow turned around or looked ahead, Ayako was there. She would catch a glimpse of her dark eyes or the soft skin at the nape of her neck and her resolve would falter a little more each time. Although the Japanese scenery was completely foreign and seemed more than interesting enough to occupy everyone else in the delegation, Willow found that there were few things that could draw her gaze away from the one place she did not want to look.

On one particularly grey morning, the delegation was nearing the end of its second week of travel when Giles motioned Willow to the side of the road. Willow sat on her horse, somewhat confused as they remained still and let the Dutch Kapitan and the rest of his men pass them by as they continued on their way to Edo. They were left with Kenji and Ayako Nakamura and two men whom Willow knew to be Kyuzo and Gorobei, brothers in the service of the Nakamura household. She could only tell the pair apart by the fact that Kyuzo had a crescent shaped scar on one cheek, apart from that, they dressed identically and spoke in the same stilted tones. Both now nodded politely as they saw her staring at them and she replied with a nod of her own before seeking out Giles to inquire as to why the six of them were left quite alone on the road.

"We're not traveling to Edo with the rest of the delegation?" Willow could not quite decide whether she was disappointed at missing out on her opportunity to see the Shogun's capital.

"No Willow, the skull is not in Edo," Giles replied, already swinging his horse towards a much narrower, less traveled road that was little more than a walking track, Willow eyed its narrowness with distaste even as Giles continued talking over his shoulder, "Today we travel to Aokigahara…in English, the Sea of Trees."

"Sounds lovely," Willow commented absently, digging her heels in tentatively in order to follow Giles.

"You will not be calling it lovely after tomorrow, Willow-san," Ayako interrupted in a stern voice, "It is a thick forest of closely woven trees and dark caves, full of thieves, and the worst demons imaginable…few venture there of their own choice and even fewer still return."

Willow's expression brightened as soon as Ayako mentioned 'dark place,' at the words 'thieves' and 'demons', a broad smile had spread across her face.

Willow then spurred her horse forwards with such gusto that she almost lost her balance. She did succeed in spooking Giles's horse and merely shrugged when her mentor gave her a stern glance over his shoulder.

The enthusiasm which had gripped Willow that morning as the small party set out west towards Aokigahara had only faded a little by the time the small party stopped to make camp for the evening. It had mostly been dampened by her exceedingly sore buttocks and Giles's admission that they would not reach their destination until the next morning. Eight months of not having killed anything except for a particularly vicious rat on the Van Amstel was definitely beginning to get to her.

While she had camped many times throughout her Japanese journey, on this particular night, the reduced numbers in their group meant that Willow was forced to acknowledged Ayako's presence on a more intimate level than simply murmuring thanks as she served the evening meal or any number of other small tasks she happened to carry out especially for her.

While there was still enough grey light to see by, Willow watched as Ayako crouched over the swords she carried at her waist. Willow had often noticed them hanging in their scabbards at Ayako's side, but this afternoon was the first she had seen of their naked blades. Her curiosity eventually won out over her refusal to allow herself to get close to the Japanese woman and she found herself approaching, intoxicated by the sight of the beautiful shining steel laid out on Ayako's lap.

Ayako looked up as Willow approached, a small smile crossing her face as she paused her cleaning of the blade to invite Willow to sit.

Managing a quick smile of her own, Willow folded her limbs beneath her and sat on the ground opposite Ayako. She then found the steel blade being held out towards her. Trembling a little, she accepted it onto the palms of her hands.

"This is a katana," Ayako indicated the blade Willow held, "And this…" Ayako withdrew a second smaller, but no less beautiful blade from its scabbard across her lap, "This is a waikizashi, and together they make a daisho. This particular daisho were forged as a pair and mounted as a pair, making them extremely rare and valuable."

"They are both beautiful," Willow whispered, her eyes caressing the intoxicating patterns in the blade she held, "The most beautiful weapons I have ever seen."

Ayako reached out and ran her fingers along the flat of the blade Willow held while balancing the waikizashi on the palm of her other hand. Willow stared at both the blade and at Ayako's delicate fingers as they moved in front of her eyes.

"This pattern is called the jihada, created by folding the steel back upon itself many times…the characters here, "Ayako traced the kanji just above the sword guard, "are my family crest, the sword was made for my great-grandfather many years ago and although I was not born a son…my father passed it down to me."

Willow finally allowed herself to wrap her fingers around the intricate lacings on the hilt of the weapon, guiltily remembering that she had yet to wash her hands after a long day of riding. As soon as her hand closed around the grip, she felt its strength and power radiate down her arm. It was like nothing she had ever held before. Extending her arm to one side, she studied the length and slight curvature of the blade.

"My father favors the nodachi," Ayako continued, referring to the much lengthier weapon that Kenji wore strapped to his back.

"Your swords only have one cutting edge…much like my brother's cavalry saber," Willow mused, swiveling her hand so the cutting edge was pointing downwards, "I am used to weapons with two edges…it is difficult to use in combat?

Ayako laughed lightly at the eager expression on Willow's face, "Come Willow-san, I will begin to teach you kenjutsu."

Ayako slid both weapons, one at a time, back into their scabbards and left them resting atop her saddle bags. Instead of the steel weapons, she selected two wooden staves of comparable length to her katana which had also been included in their luggage. She tossed one to Willow, who caught it with a deft movement and immediately twirled it in her hands with a lazy grin. Without warning, Ayako darted forward and with a quick slicing motion, knocked the stave away from Willow before she could catch it.

Somewhat chastened, Willow retrieved her stave and kept it firmly within her grasp.

"Always keep a firm grip on your weapon, Willow-san," the tone of Ayako's voice was not condescending in the least, "and remember the katana is a weapon for slicing…"

The Japanese girl repeated her earlier movement in a more exaggerated form, bringing the stave down in a blurring movement with both hands on the hilt.

"and thrusting," Ayako kept both hands on the weapon and lunged forward, the tip of the stave passing just to Willow's left, she straightened to see Willow already imitating her grip on her own stave.

In the dimming light of early evening, as the fire was light and the evening meal prepared by Kenji himself, Ayako and Willow continued their lesson. At first the clearing was relatively silent as Ayako demonstrated the forms with her undeniable grace and Willow repeated them, awkwardly at first and then with something resembling the correct posture as she began to grasp the concepts involved.

Impatient to move onto something with more contact, Willow challenged Ayako to a duel. A challenge the Japanese girl reluctantly accepted with a small shrug. Willow faced off confidently and started using the techniques Ayako had demonstrated; however, as their combat progressed she quickly resorted back to forms she was familiar with. The stave was wielded like it was her own sword with moves that came easily to her. Ayako adapted to the change in Willow's style but retained the forms she knew; gracefully meeting each of Willow's more brutal chops and slices, biding her time until she found an opening in Willow's guard. As Willow mis-timed a particularly flamboyant backhanded swing, Ayako seized her opening and lunched forward.

The stave caught Willow in the middle of her stomach and she immediately doubled over, clutching at her stomach with her left hand. She glanced up at Ayako, her expression one of pain mingled with admiration. Giles had been the last person to defeat her in a sword bout over two years earlier, since then, no one or no thing had managed to come close to touching her.

"I think…" Willow tried to gasp out the words as she struggled to regain her breath, "I think that I have much to learn."

Although Willow was both physically and mentally sore from her defeat, she was able to at least stand on her own two feet…if wobbling a little. Ayako merely showed concern, far from the triumphant grin Willow would have worn had she won.

"I would not be embarrassed, Willow Van Helsing," the two girls were joined by Ayako's father, "My daughter has practiced kenjutsu eagerly since she was barely four years old."

Willow tried to keep her face impassive despite her exhaustion; she hated being viewed as a poor loser…even though she did secretly have to admit that she did not like to lose to anyone, even a beautiful woman.

"If you would permit me?" Kenji held out his hand and Willow passed him the staves she held with some degree of relief.

With a thin sheen of sweat covering her face, Willow retreated from the clearing and found a soft patch of mossy earth beneath a tree. She sat with her aching legs sticking out in front of her as though they would not move again. She had been of a mind to plunge them into the river until one of their guides mentioned that it was full of water nymphs that would pull you under and hold you down just for amusement. So she sat, watching Ayako and her father dance across the clearing, the staves were mere blurs in their expert hands. The crack-crack of bamboo on bamboo rang out around them and reminded Willow of her intensely physical sparring sessions with Abraham. She tried to imagine what her brother was doing at home and wondered whether he would venture to the theatre without her by his side. For some reason she did not think that he would be able to suffer Christopher Croft's presence for long given that he was an entirely modest, practical young man and Croft was a posturing braggart. With a pang Willow decided that her brother was probably lonely.

Although startled by Giles's sudden appearance just behind her, Willow did not jump even slightly. A demon hunter learned to control such movements as they would betray fear or lessen your reaction time. Instead she glanced over her should at her mentor to see his gaze was directed out into the clearing as he watched Kenji and Ayako.

"It may be different from what I am used to, but the katana is still a weapon," Willow commented with a nonchalant shrug.

"Who?" Willow had to ask, even though she already knew exactly whom he was referring to, the question sounded even stupider in light of the fact that there were only two women in their party and Willow was one of them.

Giles also knew this, and as such he did not answer her question. Instead he asked an abrupt one of his own, "What are your intentions towards her?"

"What?" Willow sat up a little straighter, the beginnings of an indignant expression on her face.

"It was a simple enough question," Giles replied with a shrug, shifting his stance into something a little more casual, "I may be a very, very old man but even I can see that there is an awkward undercurrent between the two of you…are you in love with her?"

"No, I'm not in love with her," Willow's answer was firm without being vehement.

Willow could not keep the surprise from showing on her face. She was not surprised at the fact that it was Giles who had uttered the statement as he was a man who observed and knew many things, but rather she was surprised at the fact that she herself had not picked up on Ayako's feelings. She had definitely known that there was something between them…but love, love was a different matter entirely. Willow ducked her head, staring intently at a twig she twirled between her fingers as she tried to deny to herself that she had ever done anything that would cause Ayako to fall in love with her.

You're a silly fool Willow Van Helsing…people don't make you fall in love with them…you either are or you aren't, Willow remembered catching sight of a shy blonde across a crowded picnic field, I loved Tara from the moment I laid eyes on her…before she even opened her mouth or did much more than sit and take a bite of a cucumber sandwich…

"I would be careful if I were you Willow," Giles continued in a cautionary tone, "Kenji Nakamura is a very old and very dear friend and if you have relations with his daughter…

"I do not want to have relations with his daughter!" Willow shivered, as though it was ill-mannered of Giles to even think about such things let alone actually give voice to them, "Please desist with this line of questioning!"

"I did not say you could not have relations with her…just don't break her heart," Giles continued, not noticing the rising color in Willow's cheeks.

"Goddammit Giles, I thought I was supposed to be the pigheaded one that doesn't listen," Willow growled, snapping the twig viciously between her fingers, "and now you're not listening to a word I say…I do not want to have relations with her!"

Giles paused in his commentary for a moment and Willow glanced up, thinking that perhaps he had said his piece. However, she could see the set of his jaw in the fast fading light and knew that he was not quite done. She groaned and slammed the back of her head against the tree trunk behind her.

"Yes damn you Giles, I'm still a woman…of course I bloody well want to sleep with her!" Willow snapped, rising to her feet in one explosive movement, her fists clenched at her side, "But my heart will not allow me to love again…not yet…and maybe not ever."

Giles sighed, he could feel the raw pain in Willow's voice, the wounds still unhealed even after all the time that had passed, "It's time Willow, it's time to move on for the sake of the people who are around you now and care about you…you'll come to see that you can move on from your loss and be happy once more."

"You and my brother are as bad as each other," Willow growled in exasperation, "I wish you would both bloody shut up!"

"Well…we're both quite a bit more intelligent than you, Willow," Giles replied all too calmly.

The wizard appeared even calmer in the face of Willow's state of agitation, while he merely stood with his arms folded; Willow paced a short track in front of him with firm steps. Eventually she realized that remaining in Giles's presence would merely lead to her saying something she would regret. Without giving Giles a last parting glance, she walked away from the clearing, away from Giles, and away from the cause of her current predicament, Ayako. As she walked she cursed the rotten fates, everything would have been a whole lot simpler had Kenji Nakamura had a son.

In her desire to get away from prying eyes or anyone else's opinion, Willow had practically broke into a run by the time she had gone more than a few meters from their camp. She did not stop until the glow of their fire was dim in the distance and she felt truly alone. In the darkness she stumbled and went crashing to her knees, dirt digging into the palms of her hands. Willow did not rise from her hands and knees; instead she curled up into a small ball, her face pressed against the cold earth. Unbidden tears came freely, flowing down her cheeks and into the dirt. Moments later great sobs chokingly emerged from her throat until they racked her small frame.

Willow's sobs did not cease until she realized she was lying on the earth with her entire body chilled to the bone. She tucked her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly against her, seeing nothing in front of her but the darkness that surrounded her.

"Why did you ever leave me?" she whispered fiercely, her voice forced between gritted teeth, "Why goddammit, Tara?"

As befitting the resting place of a particularly evil object, the cave at the heart of the Aokigahara Forest was a truly foreboding place. Even Willow, who honestly feared very few things due to a unique combination of recklessness, stupidity and bravery, felt a chill run down her spine at the sight of the gaping black maw. She was fervently glad that Giles had somehow retrieved her own weapons from the official on Dejima and had returned them to her. The familiar weight of her sword at her side did much to dispel the fear she felt at the sight of the cave.

It was situated at the base of a small cliff with a slight, mossy rise leading up to it. With the jagged rocks around its mouth, it looked like a creature rising to swallow whatever unfortunate creature happened to approach. Kyuzo and Gorobei stayed well back from the entrance, Ayako ventured little closer either. It was Willow who followed closely behind Giles and Kenji, almost tripping over their heels in her eagerness to see what lay inside.

"Willow, Kenji and I will enter alone; the four of you will stand guard," as soon as Willow opened her mouth to protest the decision, Giles silenced her with a quick grunt, "No…there are protections placed on this chamber which require great care, even by the one who set them in place…you will remain here."

Willow huffed in a disgruntled manner as she watched the backs of the two men disappear into the darkness, while she did not doubt Kenji Nakamura's skill with the nodachi he wore strapped to his back, she could not see how he expected to wield it in the close confines of the cave. She turned her back on the cave's entrance and sat on the mossy earth beneath her, gazing out into the forest. Ayako stood close enough that she could reach out and touch her. Willow turned her head slightly and watched the young woman from the corner of her eye. Ayako's dark eyes were scanning the forest, her lips parted slightly in anticipation of something. After less than a minute, Willow had to turn her gaze away, knowing full well that now was not the time or place to ogle a woman…no matter how beautiful she was.

To take her mind off such matters, Willow stood once more and advanced further away from the cave mouth. She did not like having the black hole at her back any less than not accompanying Giles inside.

"This place sends terror straight to my heart," Ayako whispered, her white knuckled fist gripping the tsuka of her katana as though she were poised to draw it.

"I heartily concur," Willow nodded, her eyes darting into the trees as she scanned their surrounding with intense concentration.

Willow could feel that something was not quite right; she sensed the presence of others besides those in their small party even though there was nothing she could see or hear to confirm her instincts. She followed Ayako's lead and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her own sword before moving a few paces closer to the forest. She kept her gaze not only on the forest floor, but above in the trees as well.

"You are right to watch the trees," Ayako commented as she saw the direction of Willow's gaze, "We learn to use every surface from which to mount an attack."

Willow nodded, "You would think it strange then to see English battle lines drawn up in a field of war, the soldiers fight in lines, shoulder to shoulder, directly facing the enemy without any attempt at concealment or surprise."

"That is indeed strange," Ayako agreed, moving a little closer to Willow so they were standing shoulder to shoulder as the soldiers in a battle line, "I would think that many men would die that way."

Her close proximity made Willow slightly uncomfortable, but she had no desire to move further away, "Many men do, my brother Abraham was in the cavalry and for so many years I was truly fearful that another war in Europe would break out, or that he would be sent to the Americas to fight against the colonists…thankfully neither came to pass before he resigned his commission."

Ayako turned to look at Willow's profile, an interested expression on her face, "You have not spoken of your brother."

"No," Willow smiled sadly, "I did not want to dwell on him for fear of missing him terribly…but I miss him no matter what I do…and I do wish he was here with me."

The sadness in Willow's smile ebbed away and she turned to meet Ayako's direct gaze, "I think you shall…he would like you very much." And how happy he would be for me if I were able to introduce her as my lover…would he see only my happiness, or would he see straight through me and know that I could not love her the way I love Tara?

Willow sighed, the small sound full of not only of longing but of promise…a tiny sliver of hope that she may be able to once again experience the woman's touch she craved…if only she could bring herself to make those first few steps.

She opened her mouth to speak but found the words came awkwardly, "Ayako, now is perhaps not a good time…but the thing…"

"What thing, Willow-san?" Ayako cocked her head to one side, a small puzzled frown on her face.

"The thing…the n-nothing that happened…between us," Willow stammered, wondering why someone as fearless as she could not manage a few stupid words.

"Ah," Ayako's frown disappeared and was replaced by a small smile, "That thing."

"I should like there to be something…b-between us," Willow made an awkward motion with her hand, pointing quickly from herself to Ayako.

The small smile on Ayako's face broadened until her whole face was shining, "I should like that too, Willow-san…very much."

Willow did not get the chance to continue the stilted conversation as she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the cave behind her. Both she and Ayako turned and a few moments later, as though the darkness of the case was spitting them back out, Giles and Kenji came into view. The faces of both men immediately told Willow all she needed to know. Giles's words were hardly necessary.

"Our protections were still in place…but the skull is indeed gone," he announced in a defeated voice.

While Willow stared at Giles as he spoke, several tiny sounds made her spin to face the forest once more…at first it was just the snapping of twigs and brushing of leaves, and then Ayako's curt cry of warning. Willow was already facing the forest with her sword drawn when at least a dark dozen shapes sprang from the forest to encircle the group. They were all identical, men clad from head to toe in black with only narrow slits for their eyes. Each carried a drawn katana, all leveled in the direction of their intended prey.

Behind her, Willow heard Kenji and Giles draw their own weapons and a bare moment later, Kyuzo's and Gorobei's weapons were also drawn with steely hisses. Without waiting for any sort of single or attack from the warriors surrounding them, Willow strode casually forward, a lazy smile on her face.

Willow ignored Ayako's fierce whisper and continued walking towards the men, while their body posture did not change in response to her unexpected movement, she could sense their confusion. With a deft flick of her wrist and fingers, Willow twirled her sword once and brought it to a stop directly in front of her, her stance set.

"Which of you would like to die first?" Willow announced confidently as her smile broadened.

"Have you warned your student about the folly of reckless behavior?" Kenji Nakamura asked Giles in a disapproving tone as he watched Willow march towards the circle of black figures.

"Constantly," Giles muttered through gritted teeth as he moved forward to follow his student before she could be surrounded completely by the hostile force.

Ahead of them both, Willow heard nothing of their disapproving words as she continued towards the men. Their violent intentions were confirmed a split second later when, with a blood-thirsty cry, the one directly opposite her launched himself forward. Willow reacted swiftly to his sudden attack so his blade passed above her head as she dived beneath him. She threw herself forward, passing by his body in a diving roll. She hit the ground somewhere just behind him, rolled and stood in one swift movement. If Willow had remained in that same spot for a split second, she would have received a blade straight through her chest but she sensed the warrior behind her recover quickly from his first miss. He had reached the end of his swing and was already spinning, bringing his katana around to thrust it forward. Willow leapt into the air and thrust her feet forwards; the soles of her boots hit the trunk just in front of her at precisely the same moment as the thrusting blade. The point dug into the bark and before its owner could wrench it out, Willow's sword came slashing downwards as her feet returned to the ground. He collapsed with a spray of blood from where his skull had been split open.

Although the duel had been brief, in that short time the rest of Willow's companions had moved to engage their attackers and the small clearing rang out with the sounds of steel upon steel and all the associated cries of combat. Willow had no time to rest on her small victory as already another opponent was moving to take the first man's place. She had expected nothing less and already her body and blade were moving in response to his swings and thrusts.

Willow's grief of the previous day was forgotten as she lost herself to something she could actually understand…violence. A few times during the ensuing melee she lost her concentration, all were moments when she turned to seek out Ayako, needing to confirm that the other woman could hold her own in the fight. Each time Willow found her she was magnificent, matching a black clad warrior's blade perfectly, her strokes even more graceful and deadly than they had been in their practice bout the previous evening.

When one loss of concentration almost resulted in her being gutted by a waikizashi, Willow realized that she could not afford such lapses in the face of the dark-clad warriors. She knew that they possessed skill comparable to that which Kenji and Ayako had displayed the previous evening and it would therefore take every ounce of her own skill and cunning to stay clear of their blades.

Willow faced off against her opponent, giving the black clad warrior nothing short of her full attention. It unnerved her that she could see nothing of his face besides his eyes and they were dark and unflinching. She was momentarily thrown off balance as Kyuzo came crashing between them, grappling with his own opponent. The man opposite her used the opportunity to strike, and Willow was forced to defend herself hastily.

As she moved backwards she caught sight of Kenji from the corner of her eye. Ayako's father was felled by a vicious blow to his head. She gritted her teeth and knew that it was impossible to go to his aid given that the whirling, slashing figure in front of her was intent on plunging his blade into her stomach or dying in the process. However, he did not reckon on Willow's determination, as difficult as the past years of her life had been, the memory of Ayako's beaming smile in response to her awkward proposal filled her with hope…the sort of hope she had not felt for some time.

"I should like that too, Willow-san…very much," the memory of Ayako's quiet words filled Willow's mind and she recovered swiftly, no longer content with defensively blocking her opponents swipes and thrusts.

She pressed forward, her own blade spinning in front of her, her rate of strokes far faster than those of her opponent. Her speed left him dazed and desperate, badly mis-timing his own sword work until he slipped past her following one particularly poor swing. Willow lashed out with her boot and delivered a kick to the small of his back which sent him stumbling forward and further off balance. With a guttural cry, Willow brought the sword downwards in a fierce slashing motion across the man's back. He cried out in pain and sank straight to his knees in front of her. Willow strode past the kneeling man, leaving her own back exposed in front of him even as he struggled to retain his grip on his sword and haul himself to his feet. Before he could do so, Willow spun her sword into a reverse grip and rammed it backwards, past her own body and straight into the chest of her opponent. She released her grip on the hilt and turned, drawing no satisfaction from the sight of her sword protruding from the dark warrior's chest. Reclaiming her grip, she withdrew the blade in one quick movement.

As he crumpled to his knees, eyes already glazing over in death, Willow finally turned to survey the clearing. The earth was littered with black clad bodies, their limbs splayed at awkward angles in death or moving feebly as their lifeblood poured onto the soil beneath them. She watched as Gorobei plunged his katana downwards to end the suffering of one. His brother Kyuzo sat crumpled on the ground, clutching at a wound to his thigh. Giles was still standing, albeit barely. Her mentor was slumped against a tree, his face pale and his chest heaving with exertion. Although Willow had seen no evidence of it herself, she suspected that he had woven some sort of magic to bring an end to some of their foes. She could indeed see two men tangled unnaturally high in the branches of a tree. Upon closer inspection she saw that the branches were thrust through the flesh of their limbs and torsos. Kenji Nakamura was struggling to pull himself to his feet using his nodachi as a prop, blood coating the side of his face from a head wound.

However, nowhere could Willow see Ayako, she scoured the clearing with her eyes for the raven-haired woman but she was not there. Still holding her sword in one bloody hand, Willow started moving in a wide circle, searching the surrounding forest. She grew increasingly anxious by the second, especially as Ayako did not return her urgent shouts.

"Ayako!" Willow could hear the fear in her own voice, she spun and surveyed her companions, all were now looking towards her, "Has anyone seen her?"

Now Kenji realized his daughter was missing and he too wore a look of concern much the same as Willow. Although all five of them searched for her, it was Willow who found her first. The Japanese girl lay on her back a short way into the forest, propped up slightly by a tree root at her back. Even as Willow scrambled to her side, she could see the dampness covering the front of Ayako's blue kimono. Lying less than a meter from her was the limp form of one of their attackers, the point of Ayako's waikizashi protruding from the middle of his back.

As Willow drew closer a small cry escaped her throat at the sight of the wound. Ayako's torso had been sliced open diagonally, from shoulder to stomach; it was nothing short of a miracle that the girl still breathed.

Willow finally let her bloody sword fall to the earth as she collapsed to the ground at Ayako's side, already struggling to tear strips from the clothing she wore in order to create makeshift bandages to staunch the flow of blood from Ayako's terrible wound. Even as she was struggling to tear the fabric, the Japanese girl laid a bloody hand atop her own.

Following those short words, Ayako closed her eyes, as though it had taxed her greatly to say them. Willow panicked, thinking she was dead, until the hand holding the hilt of her katana moved towards her with small, jerky movements.

Willow gently received the bloody katana from Ayako's limp hand, feeling as though she should be doing something to help her instead of mutely kneeling by her side.

Ayako's eyes opened once more and she was able to lift her hand to Willow's cheek. Her fingers were already cold but there was a small smile on her face.

"Do not think that!" Ayako whispered fiercely, "I know I fought well…it is a good death,"

Willow struggled to maintain her emotions and hold back the words she truly wished to say, No death is a good death, "I have never known anyone braver."

"I love you," Ayako's words were even less than a whisper, spoken as her hand fell from Willow's cheek limply to her side and her eyes slid closed.

Hot tears burned Willow's eyes and a sob lay trapped in her throat as she watched Ayako's chest rise and fall. She did not repeat the motion again, having breathed her last. Willow bowed her head; it was too late for her to say those simple words for Ayako to hear even though she knew in her heart that she had loved her as much as her heart would allow her to.

No longer able to stand the sight of the Japanese woman's ruined body, Willow awkwardly scrambled backwards just as she heard Kenji's anguished cries somewhere just behind her. She sat at a distance and watched through her tears as he collapsed beside the body of his daughter. Willow felt strong arms lifting her, dragging her to her feet and gently turning her around. She was facing Giles and he was speaking but she could not make out his words. Without replying she pressed the bloody katana she held into one of his hands and wrenched away from him. She stumbled into the forest, desperately needing to put all the blood and death behind her, if only for a short time.

As physically and mentally exhausted as they were, Giles and Willow could allow no time to rest upon their return from Aokigahara. The Van Amstel's captain had already delayed his departure by several days in order to wait for them and he could wait no longer. Willow barely had a moment to say goodbye to the woman who had brought her so much confusion and yet so much hope in just a short space of time.

Kenji had carried his daughter's body back to Nagasaki, carefully wrapped and laid across his lap as he rode. Willow was now standing by the body, removed from the horse's back and laid out gently on a small cart. As she stood, her hands limply at her sides, she lamented the pointlessness of the young woman's death. Willow now knew that the men who attacked them in the clearing were of a profession known as ninja, warriors who took contracts for payment. It had wrenched Willow's heart all the more to know that the man who killed Ayako did so for nothing more than money. Although there was no trace of exactly who had hired them, Willow was willing to bet her fortune on it being the same person or persons who had taken the skull from its resting place.

As hot tears slid down her face, Willow found she had absolutely nothing to say in farewell. For someone who was used to speaking her mind, and often, it made the situation all the more unbearable. Small sobs were shaking her shoulders by the time she sensed another presence at her side, moments later a firm hand went to her shoulder. Thinking it was Giles; she reached up and touched it briefly with her own hand. It was not until some minutes later, when there were no more tears to fall that she finally turned away from the body and faced the man who comforted her.

"Nakamura-san," Willow whispered, surprised to find it was not Giles after all, but Ayako's father.

The man had not spoken to her throughout the arduous journey back to Nagasaki. Willow had tried to catch his eye several times but always he had turned away. Now he stood face to face with her, unshed tears shining in his dark eyes. In his hands he held Ayako's daishö, both the katana and waikizashi scoured clean of blood save for the dark red stain on the once white lacings at the top of the katana's scabbard. With trembling hands, Kenji held the katana out towards Willow and motioned for her to take it.

Willow's own hands shook as she reached for the weapon, only realizing Kenji's intentions when it was lying in the palm of her hands. He meant her to have it.

"It was what she wanted," Kenji murmured awkwardly, "The katana will return to England with you, and the waikizashi will remain here in Japan with her family."

"But the pair are a daishö," Willow protested weakly, trying to offer the sword back to Ayako's father.

He would have none of it, his own hands folded atop hers, forcing her to grip the katana's scabbard firmly. Then he pushed gently until she was holding the weapon against her chest. When he dropped his hands, Willow continued to cradle it against her chest as though she never intended to let it go.

"I do not know you well, Willow Van Helsing," Kenji continued quietly, "To me you seem a reckless and arrogant warrior…but you possess true skill, and my daughter loved you…and that is more than enough for me to entrust you with this katana."

Willow ducked her head awkwardly, biting her lip as she replied, "And I loved your daughter."

When she lifted her head once more, she felt as though she had been given a second chance to say the words Ayako did not have time to hear before she died and a great weight lifted from her heart. There was a further moment of silence between them, no longer awkward but companionable in their shared grief. It was not until several minutes later that Kenji uttered a small grunt, as though he thought perhaps he had shown enough emotion in the presence of a foreigner…even one who loved his daughter.

"I wish you well in your travels and your quest…and if ever you shall need it, the Nakamura family will come to your aid."

Following his words, Kenji bowed low and Willow followed suit. When she straightened once more, he had already turned on his heels and was walking away, motioning the cart driver to move forward as well. Willow watched as the shrouded form of Ayako's body drew further and further away from her. She wanted to run after the cart as though the whole tragedy had just been a mistake and the young Japanese woman was still alive. Willow would find her just as vibrant as she had been the day they met only a few short weeks ago. It had all been so abrupt and unfair Willow felt it had to be unreal. Surely the fates could not be so cruel as to strip Ayako from her as well as Tara. She bowed her head, eyes closed, it was all very real. In her sadness, Willow thought that perhaps she was not meant to have the love she craved and her life was destined to be brutal and lonely.

It was only the ringing of the ship's bell that brought her out of her thoughts and back to reality. She turned to see Giles motioning her aboard the Van Amstel even as the sailors waited to draw back the gangplank. Willow quickly broke into a run, as though suddenly eager to leave Japan behind. However, as soon as her boots were resting on the wood of the deck, she felt a sudden urge to return. The urge was still there a moment later when Giles crossed to stand beside her; he put his hand on her shoulder as though he knew what she was thinking.

"We will return one day Willow, we will visit her tomb and pay her the respect she deserves," Giles said quietly.

The two stood in silence as the ropes were cast off from the dock and the anchor wound up. All too soon, Dejima was only a cluster of buildings on the horizon with the city of Nagasaki lying behind it. The Van Amstel's sails quickly picked up in the wind and she was headed back to sea and towards home.

Even though Giles could see that Willow was exhausted and needed nothing more than the bunk in her cabin, he knew that they could afford very little time for rest over the coming months if they were to avoid the resurrection of Dracula's army at Covasna…although for all he knew, they would be weeks too late. He very much doubted that himself, Christopher, Abraham and Willow would be enough to stop even a fraction of the thousands of foe that would be up against them.

"Willow, there are discussions that need to be had," Giles saw her look up to meet his gaze, her expression already defeated, 'We must have our plans in place…and more training, yes, definitely more training…"

"I just want to go home, Giles," Willow managed to whisper, "I miss my brother."

Abraham Van Helsing stretched wearily and glanced to see that a small stack of books still remained on the trolley beside him. When he had told his army friends that he was resigning to become a librarian, he did not think that there would be any truth to his statement. However, after agreeing with Giles to take over his duties at Montagu house, he had discovered that the library did have other patrons besides their small group and there was work to be done clearing up after them. With over a year now spent reshelving books and learning more about classification systems than he ever cared to know, Abraham had well and truly decided that he did not want to be a librarian.

Much of the remainder of his time had been completely occupied with his actual occupation and to say that he and Christopher Croft had been busy was an understatement. Over the past few months they had noticed a dramatic increase in the number of demons, both vampires and a myriad of other kinds, stalking the streets of London. That in itself was bad enough, but it was made worse by the fact that they were venturing into the well-populated areas, close to the homes of decent, working Londoners with children instead of their usual isolated haunts.

As their numbers and boldness increased, so too did the danger he and Christopher faced. Just two months ago Christopher had been pounced upon by no less than five vampires and wounded severely. He had remained in London hospital for several weeks before being discharged a great deal surlier than he had been before he went in. He remained unable to participate in patrols fully, leaving Abraham to stalk the streets alone most nights.

Even when he ventured out alone, it was not himself Abraham feared for, it was Willow. He had received no word since a brief note Willow had scribbled and sent back to him from the Caribbean many months earlier. When he resumed shelving the books from his small trolley, it was with a worried countenance. As much as he trusted Giles and his skills, nothing would satisfy his worries until she was safely back in England.

He heard the main library door swing open, the slightly screeching hinges reminding him that they needed oiling. With the last book stowed safely in its place, he was of a mind to tell whomever it was the library was closing early today. He would therefore be able to go home to Gordon Square and spend a pleasant afternoon embedding his axe in a practice target. However, as he made to move his trolley, he was engulfed by a miniature hurricane, the force of which knocked him backwards into the shelves behind him. A pair of arms wrapped themselves very firmly around his chest and a small head nestled beneath his chin in a familiar manner.

"Abraham," the person breathed the word, as though she could not quite believe that she was saying it to his face at long last.

Abraham immediately realized it had been much too long since he had heard his name said in that particular voice…his sister was home.

"I take it you missed me," was all he could say for fear of tears choking his voice; he stroked her hair gently with a shaking hand.

It was only when Abraham glanced down that he realized something had changed. While the roots of Willow's unbound hair were a familiar red, the strands that tumbled over her shoulders were a dirty black. He gently pried her out of his grip and held her at arm's length; he noticed she was crying, tracks of salty tears staining her grimy cheeks. She had obviously not bothered to wash or change her attire before coming to find him and still wore a loose white shirt and stained breeches. He also noticed the strange sword hanging from her belt.

"My dear sister…what happened to you in Japan?" he said as he reached up to run a lock of her hair through his fingers.

Willow dashed away her latest tears and threw herself back into her brother's arms, "Many things, Abraham…many things."

Indeed, much had happened to her and more than anything she wanted to tell Abraham about the sights she had seen during her travels and most of all, she wanted to tell him about Ayako. However she knew she could wait just a little longer until they were both back at Gordon Square and she could truly feel that she was home.

"Who on earth did that to your hair?" Abraham said in an effort to lighten the mood.

He felt and heard Willow chuckle slightly, "Giles…you know there are no redheads in Japan."

Willow finally drew herself from her brother's arms and studied him at length, checking him for wounds or signs of improper eating while she had been absent. She frowned at a recently healed gash on his jaw line and pinched his cheeks to confirm what her eyes told her.

"Well, I've been living on salt pork and hardtack for months…what's your excuse?" Willow snapped back, knowing that their household cook made excellent meals.

"I've been…busy," Abraham admitted reluctantly, hardly wanting to laden Willow with his worries at the very moment of her return, "Demon and vampire activity has increased probably four-fold in just the past few months."

Abraham looked up to see Giles striding into his library, he was no less presentable than Willow in his travel stained garments…although his hair was still the same steely grey. Before he spoke further, his gaze immediately swept his library from floor to ceiling as though to confirm that Abraham had been performing his task adequately in his absence. Seemingly satisfied, Giles crossed the floor to take Abraham's hand in a firm grasp, the two men stood awkward as though they might embrace before stepping back from one another.

"Welcome home, Giles," Abraham said as he placed his arm protectively around Willow's shoulders, drawing her small body close to him as though he feared Giles might take her away from him once more, "Why is it understandable?"

"Dracula has the skull," Giles replied succinctly, "Our demon friends have no doubt learnt of this great victory and are stepping up their activities as they anticipate his return to power."

Abraham drew in a deep breath and hugged Willow a little tighter, "What does that mean for us?"

Before Giles could reply, Willow interrupted in a resigned voice, "It means, big brother, that we're going to Covasna…where we will stop Dracula…or die horribly violent deaths."

As much as Willow wished she could sink into the feathers of her four- posted bed, draw her blankets up over her head and remain there for several days, she knew she had very little time for such indulgences. She and Abraham had parted ways with Giles at Montangu house but not before their mentor informed them that they would be leaving at first light the next morning, headed towards the darkest heart of Europe in a race against Dracula's forces. In all likelihood they would arrive too late but it was a chance all of them had to take. Willow had seen the deep creases in Giles's forehead as they left him to his preparations, she knew as well as he that the spell to destroy the skull would not be completed in time…if even such a spell could be written. They would be going to Covasna with absolutely no cards to play save the skills they already possessed.

Following a brief and silent meal, Willow had retired upstairs to pull together the things she would need for the journey. She quickly noticed that the only items she was selecting were weapons and armor, somehow everything else seemed trivial. Ayako's katana was one of the first items she set aside for it was never far from her side to begin with.

At odd moments she would wrap her fingers around the hilt and lift it from wherever it happened to be resting, caressing its length with trembling fingers. It was a constant reminder of the Japanese girl and the potential life that had been stripped from her. Willow could only speculate as to what would have happened had Ayako lived and her father allowed her to travel to England. However she knew in her heart that she would have stayed at her side no matter what that choice would have brought her…most likely death at Covasna. It was this realization that scared Willow almost as deeply as Ayako's death…the people who loved her were all doomed to die…

As though it were suddenly hot to touch, Willow set the katana down on her window seat with the rest of her equipment and took several awkward steps backwards until she felt her bed hit the backs of her legs. She sat heavily, feeling the weight of fate settle about her shoulders, pressing her down.

Willow was startled by a firm rap on her bedroom door but before she could calm herself enough to give permission to enter, the door swung inwards to reveal her brother. She sighed, pleased as always to see him, but even more fearful for what the future held for him. As she studied his dashing features, she knew without a doubt that she could not live without him. If Abraham was to be taken from her, as with Tara and Ayako, she would never be able to carry on with her life; indeed…it would be no life worth living.

Even as she felt herself sink so low as to render it impossible for her to stand once more, Abraham effortlessly managed to bring her out of it, simply by the fact that he was standing in her doorway puffing on a rather smelly, rather large cigar.

"Abraham Theodore Van Helsing, don't you dare smoke that foul smelling thing in my bedroom!" Willow leapt to her feet with the intention of shooing her cigar-smoking brother back out the way he had entered.

Willow crossed the floor to grapple with his arm, receiving an eyeful of cigar smoke when she tried to pry the offending object from his fingers. As strong as she was, Abraham easily held her at bay and she growled angrily.

"I'll hang my head out the window?" he offered hopefully, eyes pleading with her like those of a hungry puppy.

Willow eyed the cigar in his hand, already sending up puffs of foul smoke towards her ceiling, and eventually gave in with a grumpy shrug.

"Keep your head out the window!" she pointed in the direction of her window seat.

Abraham had to make a small spot for himself to sit amongst Willow's clothing and equipment which she had neatly laid out for their journey to Covasna. He tossed her black breastplate to the floor where it fell with a crash and shuffled aside a stack of silver crossbow bolts. The one thing that did catch his eye as he pried open the window was the strange sword Willow had brought back with her from Japan.

He sought permission from Willow who had returned to her perch on the edge of her bed; she nodded with a tight-lipped smile. He closed his fingers around the hilt and lifted it onto his lap. Blowing a mouthful of smoke outside, he gently pried the blade from its scabbard and continued drawing until he had at least a foot of blade bare before his eyes.

He reacted in much the same manner as Willow had when she first laid eyes on it, "This blade…it's beautiful."

Abraham quietly choked on his cigar, as soon as he managed to draw a breath, he slid the sword back into its scabbard and met Willow's gaze directly. She did not hold it for long and quickly turned away as though in some amount of pain. Abraham stubbed out his cigar on the window sill and tucked the remainder of it into his breast pocket before crossing the floor to his sister's side. He tried to keep the surprise from showing on his face as Willow suddenly crumpled into a tearful ball in his lap. Her fingers latched onto the front of his waistcoat and she held the fabric in a white-knuckled grip as though she would never let him go. He merely sat, his arms gently cradling her as she sobbed, waiting until she was ready to tell him about the owner of the sword.

"Who was she?" Abraham asked quietly as Willow's tears had subsided, she was now wiping her wet nose against his front.

"Oh Abraham," Willow mumbled, "Why is it that everyone I love dies? Mother died giving birth to me, father passed away and left the two of us alone…then Tara…and Ayako died because I was not at her side."

"Do not be ridiculous," Abraham tried to keep his voice firm but he was faltering slightly when he finished what he intended to say, "I am still here."

Abraham immediately regretted saying anything at all; it came out sounding so flat and desperate in the face of Willow's sadness. He made up for his inadequate words by cradling her all the more firmly against his chest. Just when he thought Willow was not going to answer his question, she opened her mouth and started speaking; painting in words a portrait of the raven-haired Japanese woman she had fallen in love with.

He had to admit that from Willow's description of her, Ayako sounded to be the perfect foil for her impetuous and arrogant demeanor; he did not voice his opinions aloud however, for fear of upsetting her further. There was little point in discussing what might have been.

"She died before I could admit that I loved her, before I had the courage to press my lips against hers or know her body as well as I know my own, I only wish…" Willow drew her story to a close with a deep breath, "What does it matter…my entire life has been filled with pain and suffering, and the only time I was truly happy was during those short months with Tara, and even then her family and…that man, were a constant shadow hanging over our heads."

"Heroes are forged through pain and suffering," Abraham offered, not at all sure why the words tumbled from his lips.

Willow frowned as though she too were confused by Abraham's choice of words, "I'm no hero Abraham."

"You are," Abraham replied firmly, no longer unsure sure of his words, "You've chosen to spend your life selflessly keeping people safe…even though they have no idea you're doing it…and you're riding off to do battle against a scourge that has lurked unseen for hundreds of years and is soon to rise again if we fail."

Willow remained unconvinced, "I should never have entertained thoughts of a relationship with Ayako. I knew the situation we faced and the likelihood of danger…and even had she lived I would have brought her back to all this."

Willow waved her hand in the direction of the assorted weapons and armor piled up in front of her, seeing them as accoutrements of a lonely life.

"You would have brought her home to your own house, and your family…and I'm sure from what you have just told me of her that she already accepted the life you live," Abraham said quietly, "I should have very much liked to meet her."

With a quick pat on Willow's shoulder, Abraham stood and walked over to the large mirror mounted on Willow's wall. It was a gift he had commissioned for her twenty-fourth birthday. He traced his fingers over the beautiful silverwork, depicting small snippets of Willow's life with space spare at the top for further additions.

"We should add something of your Japanese voyage to the mirror," Abraham suggested, glancing over his shoulder back at Willow, "I'll arrange it as soon as we return."

Willow just nodded a pensive expression on her face. She loved that mirror and certainly not out of any tendencies towards vanity on her part but rather because of the stories Abraham had seen fit to include around its frame. As much as they saddened her, she had to admit that she liked the idea of having those Japanese memories committed to silver. Her gaze travelled from the mirror, around the rest of her room. While her time spent at Gordon Square had been far from idyllic, she had grown to love the house.

"I don't know why," Willow mused as she stared at the mirror, "but I have the funny feeling that I will never see this house again."

Willow simply shrugged, "I was not jesting…but if you would rather I did not give voice to my feelings…"

"I would rather you didn't give voice to that particular feeling," he replied curtly.

In complete contrast to the rather somber air that had been created in the room, Willow's face broke into a small grin. She rolled and flopped awkwardly off the side of the bed, hoping to earn a small smile from Abraham as a result of her antics. However, his face remained stern as she came to stand in front of him, reaching up to rest her hands on his shoulders.

"You worry too much Abraham," she commented, "I will have my brother watching over me…what can possibly go wrong?"

Despite being on edge the whole time, the first week of their journey across Europe proved almost completely uneventful for the small party. Giles, Abraham and Willow travelled by horse for speed and only stopped for a brief period each night to rest and feed themselves as they raced to Covasna. Abraham had very thoughtfully provided Willow with a rotund but stout-hearted horse named Tubby. Although Willow had initially had her doubts, Tubby did his very best to maintain the pace of the much larger animals Giles and Abraham rode. Even so, a slow trot meant an extremely uncomfortable journey for one who hated horses as much as Willow. She thoroughly expected to arrive at Covasna too tired and stiff to fight.

Abraham, who of course spent as much time in a saddle as he did on his own two feet, actually managed to sleep quite comfortably with his chin tucked onto his chest. He was doing so on one particular morning, slumped astride his large black destrier. Giles was some way up ahead, out of sight on the narrow road ahead. The warlock preferred solitude as he rode. Willow knew that he was worried about how events at Covasna were going to unfold and this occupied his thoughts constantly. Willow turned her attention back to her brother and studied his peaceful face, not for the first time she appreciated just how handsome a man he really was. Throughout his life, the past few years especially, he had more than proved his worth as a protector to her. However, she absently wondered at the key element that was missing in his life. Awkwardly, Willow spurred her horse forwards to come up directly alongside her brother.

"Abraham," Willow called softly so as not to startle Abraham, his chin jerked up almost immediately indicating that he had merely been dozing, "Forgive me if I am prying…but I think as your sister I should be able to ask you anything, and there has been one particular question which has weighed on my mind for sometime now."

He smiled as easily as he always did, "Anything dear sister, you may ask absolutely anything of me."

"Why have you not married?" the question came more abruptly than Willow had intended but she was surprised by just how quickly the smile disappeared from her brother's face.

Almost as quickly, he turned his head aside and the expression that had replaced the smile was lost to Willow. When Abraham turned to face her once more, the small smile was back in place and she was left to wonder at what had just passed through his mind.

"I know more than a few men who are not married at my age…although granted, few are quite as eligible as me," his voice was light in tone but Willow suspected it was a front concealing something deeper.

"And certainly none as handsome," Willow teased him predominantly to cover up her own unease, "Do you plan to one day…marry that is?"

This time Willow could see the expression that replaced Abraham's smile; it was one of decided discomfort. In fact, as Willow studied his face further, she thought that it could almost be an expression of guilt. While she did not like to think she had dredged up something which caused him pain, now that she had opened the jar Willow had to know what it was that vexed her brother so. A small inkling began to surface at the back of her mind and so wondered whether she might dare speak aloud her suspicions, however implausible they seemed. Willow was so absorbed in this issue that she narrowly avoided contact with a low hanging branch on the trail. She ducked urgently, in time for it merely to snag a few wayward strand of her hair.

"Ouch!" Willow muttered, rubbing her head as she turned to glare at the offending branch.

Beneath her, Tubby began to prance awkwardly, as though sensing that his rider was off-balance. Sensing that Willow was in danger of slipping from the saddle, Abraham reached out to hold Tubby by his harness, stroking his nose until he calmed. Willow was a little white-faced when he turned to look at her.

"You would think I would be able to at least sit comfortably on a horse by now," Willow sighed with exasperation, "If can wield a sword with no small amount of skill…"

Willow smiled, her horse-fear already forgotten," Well, any skill I do possess is due largely to your highly effective and patient tutelage."

"Nonsense," Abraham was quick to reply, "I dare say that you could best me with one hand tied behind your back…Willow, your skill is entirely a result of your own determination and inherent talent…but we are both digressing, I think there was an answer you wanted and I know you will fret if you do not uncover the truth."

"Are you like me?" Willow blurted out suddenly, her cheeks immediately coloring.

"A S-Sapphist…or rather, I mean…not that term exactly because you're a man but…"

Willow ducked her head, feeling ashamed for bringing up the subject in the first place. It was Abraham's business alone on whom he bestowed his affections. She had been wrong to ask in the first instance.

"Chin up, my dear Willow," Abraham reached out and lightly brushed his sister's reddened cheek, "I would hope that you would accept me if I was that way inclined…but I am not…and I guess you might say that I am like you in that we both share a passion for the female form."

"Then who, I have never seen you look twice at any women…I honestly think I have spent more time staring at bosoms than you," Willow tried to jest but the expression on Abraham's face was unnerving.

"I have only loved but one woman in all my twenty-eight years," Abraham replied quietly, almost reluctantly.

"Please do not tell me that it is me…or our mother…because that would be truly pathetic," Willow commented with a short laugh, seeking only to lighten his heavy mood.

Abraham shook his head, his mood unchanged, his heavy countenance only serving to make Willow regret ever bringing the subject up.

"I love you more than life itself Willow…." Abraham breathed deeply, "Which is why I could never exhibit anything more than a brotherly affection for the woman who stole both our hearts at the Marlborough's picnic."

"Oh Abraham…" Willow whispered as comprehension dawned. Her brother had silently loved Tara and watched her grow closer to his own sister without a thought of ever making a move for himself. In knowing the depth and intensity of her own feelings for the beautiful blonde, she understood some of his torment and felt her own heart break for him. " Why did you not…you should have told me at least."

"Should I have?" Abraham's tone was verging on bitter, although he quickly suppressed this and when he continued his voice was merely taut, "How could I ever seek to compete with my little sister, you have been far more blessed that I when it comes to wit, intelligence, beauty and charm…how could Tara have chosen otherwise?"

While Willow could understand the depth of her own feelings, she could not put herself in her brother's shoes. Would she have pressed her attentions on Tara even if she was being courted by her brother? Would she have stood back as Abraham had done and simply watched as the woman she loved was courted by another? Willow was fervently glad circumstances had not worked out that way for she knew her heart…and she would never have let Tara get away from her.

Even as she came to understand the extent of her brother's sacrifice, another, far uglier thought reared in her mind. She fought to suppress it, knowing only ill would come if she gave voice to it but her mouth opened and the words tumbled forth.

"You could have asked her parents for her hand in marriage…the thought never crossed my mind at the time…but I am sure it crossed yours. You were a far better match for her than Edward Walsh ever was…our family name may not be as distinguished as that of the Walsh's but it was fortune the Maclay's were seeking, not name," Willow did not stop to even appreciate the look of horror on her brother's face, "Why did you not?"

"Please do not suggest such a thing to me, Willow," Abraham whispered, truly traumatized, "To suggest such a thing in hindsight has no purpose whatsoever and it will not bring her back."

Willow was far from satisfied, "You are avoiding my question, you could have married her!"

"I 'could have' married her, Willow, past tense!" Abraham's voice rose but he did not resort to shouting. "It is over, Tara is dead, let us not speak of what might have passed!"

Beneath him, Abraham's horse quivered, sensing his rider's discomfort and rising anger, with a shaking hand he reached down to pat the horse's neck. He could not bring himself to look at his sister although he could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head as she waited for his answer.

"I could have married her in name yes, but she would have always been yours. Willow, put yourself in my shoes for just a moment, could you ever imagine anything as awful as having what you want more than anything in the world in name only, having it and not being able to do anything about it?" his voice had taken on a hint of desperation, "I would have a wife but no lover…and for the sake of decency I would be unable to marry again or even take a lover in all but the utmost secrecy. You know what kind of man I am Willow, I could not bring myself to do that…even for my sister."

"I have given you everything, Willow!" Abraham protested," Would you also have me suffer a marriage to a woman I loved but could never have?"

Abraham's expression was crestfallen but he continued to meet his sister's demanding gaze without flinching. He could see the anger written clearly on her face, it was an anger that had little time for rational thinking.

It was Willow who had to turn away first, she wrenched her gaze away and decided that a physical separation was also needed. Tubby needed several prods from her heels before he picked up his pace and moved her away from Abraham. Without looking back she kept up the pace until she caught up to Giles. The warlock glanced around at the unexpected company but had a warm smile for her all the same. It was a smile Willow could not return for fear of letting her built up rage escape. This of course resulted in her cheeks flaming a bright, hot red to match the roots of her hair.

"Perhaps Abraham could help…" Giles began; unaware of what had passed between the two siblings behind him on the trail.

Giles did not ask Willow any further questions but he did feel that their chances for success had just taken a sharp turn for the worse.

It was a dark, heavy night in Klausenberg. Not a trace of moon or stars managed to break through the thick, oppressive layer of cloud which hung over the city. The inhabitants could sense something ill being brought with the weather and kept indoors, their doors and shutters barred. All in all, it was a fitting atmosphere for the events to come, dark weather for dark days.

No one was more aware of this than Willow Van Helsing as she stalked Klausenberg's streets at night. Nearing the end of their long journey, their destination now almost in sight, she could not allow herself to relax to the point where sleep would come. She remained on edge, tense to the point of breaking and unable to remain cooped up indoors, especially in close proximity to her brother. In just a short week since Abraham's confession, the once close relationship between the siblings had disintegrated to the point that neither could manage a single word to the other in greeting let alone apology. Willow was all the more uncomfortable because she knew in her heart that the apology was hers to make, having been the one responsible for the rift in the first place and also the one who was unable to see past her conclusion that Tara's death had been Abraham's fault. Willow had known this conclusion to be ridiculous in the extreme from the movement it originally left her lips, but she could not let it go. Now she clung to her anger as though it were all that kept her going.

So she walked the streets when she knew she ought to be resting for what was to come, a lone figure daring to venture outside. She had swapped her stained and dusty travel clothes for her black hunting outfit, forgoing a jacket even in the night chill. Ayako's katana rested at her side, lightly slapping her thigh with every step she made. The thoughts racing through her busy mind were bleak, so bleak that the scream that suddenly tore through the still night was a welcome relief. Willow's entire body responded, her muscles immediately tensing as she sprang into action. Her booted feet made no sound even as she sprinted at full speed across the cobbles in the direction of the scream.

When she came upon the scene, she felt blood coursing through her veins, not in fear but excitement. This was what she lived for, it was exactly what she needed.

Four vampires had cornered one lone figure. The victim was backed up in a dead-end alleyway with no way out. Willow could only just make out the cloaked victim, the cowl was up over their head but from the earlier scream, she knew it was a woman. They were taunting her, making swipes and lunges for her with no amount of urgency. Their clawed fingers were grabbing at her clothes even as she pleaded and hugged the wall behind her in an effort to get as far away from them as possible. Willow's fists clenched as one demon strode forward and struck her across the head with the flat of his hand. Her head snapped sideways and she fell to her hands and knees.

Without announcing her presence, Willow lightly sprang up onto a nearby staircase and used that as a vantage point from which to leap over the heads of the vampires and drop between them and their prey. All four snarled when their path was suddenly blocked by a dark figure with only the white teeth of her grin flashing in the darkness.

Willow cast a glance back over her shoulder, although she could not see her face, Willow could clearly tell the woman was terrified by the manner in which her whole body shook. She gently but firmly grabbed her by the upper arm and pushed her back into a corner.

Willow drew her katana and held it steady before her with both hands on the grip. The four vampires were advancing on her. Judging by the grins on their faces, Willow could see that they had overcome their initial surprise and were expecting to add a second victim to their tally for the evening. She knew she would prove them wrong. In a heartbeat, her body surged forward with the katana in her hands working as an extension of her arm. The vampire in the center was decapitated before the other three could even blink.

Even though there were still three of them, the vampires did not stand a chance in the face of Willow's rage. Everything that she had allowed to build up within herself over the past week, especially the intensity of her anger towards her brother, it all escaped in the quick, brutal combat that followed.

When the remaining three came at her it was as one, three snarling demons hoping to overwhelm the one woman opposite them with one brutal strike. When two were forced to stumble backwards a moment later, they realized that their companion was lying face down on the cobbles beneath Willow's boot. With a grin she whipped a stake out from the pocket of her waistcoat and drove it downwards. The creature writhed for an awful moment before collapsing into a pile of dust.

"You want to rethink your evening meal, lads?" Willow drawled, twirling her katana around in her hand, "Your friends certainly do."

The two vampires looked at one another and wisely decided that this one particular meal was too much trouble. They turned and made a break for it, sprinting back towards the open street. However, Willow was not about to let them ago, even had she promised something to that effect, she would have broken it anyway.

The vampires were fast, but Willow was faster. One lagged slightly behind and Willow decapitated him from behind. His legs continued running for a few steps before his exploding body showered her with dust. For the second, Willow shifted her grip on the stake in her hand and with a flick of her wrist, it went sailing straight into his back. He screamed and stumbled, joining all of his companions in destruction.

With her quarry reduced to little more than dust on the cobbles, Willow was finally able to turn her attention to the woman she had just rescued. She retrieved her stake from the ground and turned to walk back to the end of the alley. As she tried to make out her face beneath the shadow of her cowl, Willow wondered what sort of woman would walk the streets of Klausenberg alone at night…besides herself of course. Instinctively, she did not put her katana away.

The woman straightened, her frightened, defensive posture falling from her shoulders like a cloak. She walked towards Willow, her confident strides graceful and elegant. Something about her was distinctly unnerving and Willow could not find any words, even to ask if she were unharmed.

"How can I ever thank you enough?" the woman whispered in a deep throated tone, the sound of it stirring familiar feelings in Willow's gut.

With two pale hands, she reached up and gently lifted her hood away from her face and let it fall to settle on her shoulders.

Willow could only manage one word in a strangled whisper as she made out the all too familiar features in the darkness.

A split second after that single word left her lips; Willow lifted her katana in one fluid movement and leveled it towards the throat of the woman who stood so calmly in front of her. Although her heart continued to thud loudly in her chest, her initial surprise faded quickly for she had been anticipating this moment for more than four years. Every night she stalked the dark alleys of London, with each corner she turned and shadow she searched, she had expected to be confronted with the face of her dead lover. She had never been able to predict her reaction to seeing the demon that had once been Tara Maclay and now that she was standing face to face with her, she still did not know.

"You're dead…" Willow heard herself whisper the words, "…you're not just dead…you're a…"

She was unable to say what Tara had become. That awful word glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth and all she could do was stand in mute silence with her katana still leveled in the demon's direction.

Willow could not decide whether she was angry, scared or relieved that the time had finally come. She thought perhaps that it was a mixture of all three, although she was so confused she could not separate one emotion from the other. The anger was there in spades, here was the creature who now inhabited her beloved's body and had effectively killed Tara and stolen the physical attributes Willow loved. Her blues eyes were every bit as bright as Willow remembered, so bright they almost pierced her own. The blonde hair was a little paler but every bit as lustrous as it fell about her face and over her shoulders. She even dared to smile Tara's smile with one lip curling higher than the other in exactly the same manner as the smiles that had melted Willow's heart when Tara had been alive. Willow's anger intensified, her grip was white-knuckled as she held her katana outstretched towards the demon.

However, hand in hand with the anger that coursed through her body was an unhealthy dose of fear, it was her fear that kept her feet frozen to the same spot where she knew she should be moving…moving before the demon could surge forward and sink her fangs into her neck. Willow's heat skipped several beats when it stepped suddenly forward, not stopping until the blade of the katana was pressed into the pale white skin at her throat.

The demon arched her perfect eyebrows, "Are you planning on cleaving my head from my shoulders with your beautifully shiny sword?"

"That is a distinct possibility," Willow replied slowly, watching as the tip of the katana brushed Tara's hair, "After all, it is not just for show."

Willow watched as a strange, almost fervent expression took hold of the creature's features. However, within a few more of Willow's heartbeats, the expression was gone and replaced by one that appeared similar to the earnest expression Tara had often worn in life.

"I have heard of your prowess and I have no doubt that you could destroy me…but there is another possibility I would like to suggest…if you would lower your sword and listen?" as it spoke, its voice lost some of its deep throated quality and sounded much like the Tara Willow remembered.

"Speak quickly, demon," Willow's harsh voice barely concealed her nervousness, did she detect a hint of fear in the vampire's voice?

"Those of my own kind who attacked me just now, they were trying to kill me because they knew what I was coming to offer you," the vampire began.

Willow's eyes narrowed with unrestrained suspicion, "I tire of this conversation already…you are running out of time!"

"They had somehow discovered that I hope to aid you at Covasna," the demon swallowed quickly and continued, "I believe it was their plan to bring me back to our Master and lay bare their accusations against me, all true of course, for I do indeed want to offer you my services. I have you to thank for slaying them and preventing word of my treachery reaching my Master."

Willow knew she ought to be refusing to listen to such honeyed words and instead digging her blade further into the vampire's throat but instead all she could do was feel hope coursing through her body. She had spent the last four years thoroughly expecting to have to slay the demon that was Tara…she had never even allowed herself to hope that the demon would retain more than a shred of the woman Tara used to be. However, here she was, standing there with her blue eyes pleading desperately. Willow searched the demon's face and saw far too much of the woman she had loved more than anything.

Although she did not consciously come to the realization in her head, Willow was no longer looking at a demon…but at the woman she loved. Slowly but surely, she lowered the katana until she held it at her side, pointed downwards.

Tara was able to take another step closer to Willow as she continued, "You know what comes in a few days hence, in the deepest dead of night his army will be reborn as the skull is returned to his captain and you will most likely die trying to stop him…unless of course you have my help."

"During this past year especially, I have risen high in Dracula's favor, all the while seeking to exploit his knowledge and gain his trust so that I might eventually bring about his downfall," Tara spoke fervently, as though this was something that she had been anticipating for some time, "I am close enough to his inner circle that I will be able to replace the skull with a close copy, a fake essentially, one which will do nothing to revive the captain…at that moment, as his plans come crashing down around him, you and I will kill him."

"It sounds almost too good to be true," despite the hope surging through her body, Willow could not allow herself to take Tara's words at face value.

Tara's face remained serious, "It will not be easy by any stretch of the imagination, I risk destruction in trying to swap the skulls in the first place, and if I fail then you will be on your own…and you also will fail. Dracula will also have many of his minions surrounding him at Covasna, it will be necessary for you to cut a path through them in order to reach him."

"I do that for a living," Willow stated as if it were of little consequence, "What I don't understand is why you would want to help me at all…you'll understand if I'm finding this all a little difficult to believe, you're a demon, I usually kill demons because they're evil."

Tara's stern expression melted and was quickly replaced by something resembling anguish, "Could I ever truly be evil, Willow?"

Willow averted her gaze; she could not look into Tara's eyes and give the reply that was on her lips. As long as she was not looking at her, she could still think of the creature standing opposite her as a demon.

"Tara Maclay could never be evil…but you ceased to be her from the moment your heart stopped beating," Willow paused, drew in a deep breath and lifted her gaze until she was staring into those blue eyes once more, "Tara is dead."

The vampire's expression twisted into a painful grimace as though Willow's words had been ones she hoped never to hear.

In the face of her pain, Willow had to bite her lip and almost regretted saying such a thing. She knew it was a foolish thought to possess; she had spoken nothing but the truth and should feel no remorse for the demon's sufferings. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her katana once more as she willed herself the courage to make the one strike she had been anticipating for years. It should have been so simple, merely a repeat of a movement she had carried out so many times over the past few years. She would bring the sword up and before the demon could even blink, bring it sweeping across and send its head rolling across the cobbles. Tara's body would explode and shower her with dust…and it would be over.

However, Willow had allowed the vampire's offer of assistance to plant the seeds of hope inside her. A part of her already believed that the words Tara spoke were indeed the truth and she would help her defeat Dracula at Covasna. She felt her grip slacken once more and realized that after all this time, after imagining her reunion with Tara's body…that she could not bring herself to destroy it. Willow realized hot tears were burning at her eyes; several had already escaped and were leaving a glistening trail down her cheeks.

With the katana held loosely at her side, there was no way Willow could have defended herself if the next movement Tara made turned out to be an attack. When the vampire surged forward, Willow merely closed her eyes as she felt Tara's body press against her own. However, the sharp pain in her neck never came; instead she felt a silky soft finger wiping the tears from her cheeks. She opened her eyes and exhaled, Tara was so close she felt her knees go weak. The stake she had almost forgotten she held clattered to the ground.

"I miss the woman you were," Willow replied honestly, closing her eyes once more.

As Willow shut out the sight of the vampire's pale flesh and ignored the smell of dead roses, she could imagine that it was her lover's touch stroking her cheeks.

"I do not crave your touch," Willow's lie was blatant as she leant against the hand that cupped her face.

"I would have thought you would have taken many lovers in the last four years…you are a beautiful and passionate woman who desires love and the feel of flesh upon flesh…yet I sense that you have not bowed to these desires."

"No, there have been no others," Willow admitted in a soft voice, immediately thinking of the beautiful Japanese girl whom she thought could help her ease her pain…but then she too was gone, and there was indeed no other, "None since you."

"Four years is a long time," Tara whispered as she trailed her fingers down from Willow's cheek, over her neck and to the collar of her shirt.

If her words did not already betray her, Willow's breathing certainly did. She drew in desperate, hoarse gasps for air as Tara's fingers played over the skin of her neck, When those same fingers began undoing the topmost buttons of her shirt, she did not resist as the creamy flesh of her upper chest was slowly exposed.

"Do not torment me so!" Willow growled, opening her eyes and suddenly seizing Tara by her neck.

In one violent move, Willow spun Tara around and forced her back against the wall behind her with a firm shove. She kept her fingers around the pale white throat, digging her nails into the flesh so fiercely she felt them break the skin. Tara continued to regard her with a liquid gaze, unshed tears in her own eyes that only served to further anger a confused Willow. With shaking hands, Willow fumbled inside the pocket of her waistcoat and drew forth her second stake instead of bending to retrieve the one she dropped earlier. Using the point of the stake, she tore open the buttons at the front of Tara's dress to expose the white skin between her breasts.

"Regardless of your words, I should drive this stake through your heart," Willow growled.

Tara gasped, desperation clearly showing on her face before she spoke, "You may feel free to ignore my offer of help…but can you ignore a chance for us to be together as we once were?"

"Willow, please!" Tara pleaded, even as she felt Willow jam the stake against the flesh covering her lifeless heart, "Why do you think I tried to get close to Dracula in the first place, I didn't know about Covasna and the skull or his army, how could I? I hoped only to learn of a way to reverse what had happened to me…to live once more so I could be with you!"

"Lies! Such a thing is not possible!" Willow cried, driving the stake further forward.

"It is, Willow, it is! If anyone would know it to be possible then it would be the most powerful vampire of all…I have discovered the secret…if you'll only give me the chance…please believe me?"

Willow searched Tara's face but could find nothing to indicate that she was not telling the truth. It had been Giles who initially told her it was not possible to save a person once they had been turned…and she trusted her mentor…did she trust her dead lover?

As the thought was tumbling over and over in Willow's mind, Tara moved forward, her lips seeking out and claiming Willow's in the first kiss the two had shared for more than four years. Every thought that had been clogging her mind suddenly vanished to be replaced by a fierce, driving hunger that she knew could not be satisfied without the feel of her lover moving inside her. She lost herself to that kiss and nothing else mattered, not Covasna and the skull and certainly not Giles and Abraham asleep at the hotel. The stake fell from her fist, leaving an angry red welt in the center of Tara's chest. Moments later the katana fell from her right hand, the sound it made as it hit the ground was louder, but still completely unnoticed.

Although a part of Willow was more than aware that this was not the Tara she loved, she could all too easily suppress such thoughts, especially as she began stripping back the layers of clothing that separated them, it was easy to believe it was Tara's breasts her mouth sought out…because in essence they were. As her lips closed over the mounds of flesh she found herself overwhelmed by the scent of white roses, and visions of their time together at Hagley Park. She imagined herself being with Tara there instead of in a dirty alley in a foreign city.

The tables were turned moments later, and it was Willow's turn to be slammed back against the wall. Tara threw her with such intensity she felt the wind knocked from her lungs. She didn't care, for a split second later Tara had ripped open both her shirt and waistcoat and laid her heaving breasts bare before her. Even as she dipped her head to take one into her mouth, her fingers worked at the buttons on the breeches that barred her path. They were undone swiftly and seconds later they were dragged down to pool at Willow's ankles. Willow found her bare arse scraping against the wall behind her as Tara's body ground into her, hands moving over the newly exposed flesh.

"I don't care if you're lying…" Willow whispered, completely losing herself to Tara's knowing hands, "…but if you're going to turn me, can you please fuck me first?"

"I knew you were hungry for me from the moment I drew back my hood…the need was obvious," Tara drawled, dragging teasing fingers across Willow's inner thighs.

A small whimper escaped from Willow's throat as Tara fingers travelled everywhere except where she needed them most. Her hips jerked forward repeatedly of their own accord, thrusting in search of much needed friction.

"I need…" Willow's sentence was cut short as she suddenly cried out with a throaty gasp, one of Tara's fingers worked its way between her folds and grazed the engorged nub within, "Oh gods…please, I need your fingers inside me…now!"

Willow suddenly found herself lifted upwards with strong hands. Tara grasped her buttocks and pressed her back against the wall with such force that Willow grunted with pain. However, as soon as Tara had slammed several fingers deep within her moist cunt, grunts of a different kind emerged from her mouth. It was all she could do to wrap her legs around Tara's back and bury her face in the soft blonde hair to stifle the moans that tore from the back of her throat as the thrusting fingers were buried deep. She was not capable of realizing and appreciating the inhuman strength Tara was expending to maintain the position. Also, despite the cold of the night and the sweat beading on her own half-naked body, the body moving beneath her remained as cold and as smooth as marble.

Moving beneath Willow, her increasingly urgent cries were deafening in Tara's ears but the vampire did not pause to consider for a second whether they would disturb any sleeping inhabitants, instead she concentrated everything on bringing the redhead to the climax she needed. Just how quickly it did come was an indication of Willow's intense and overwhelming hunger. She could feel Willow's need in the way her heels dug into the small of her back and the way her hands clawed desperately. She could hear it in the uncontrolled cries that filled the night air. Only moments later Tara felt the tender and engorged flesh of Willow's sex spasm uncontrollably as she climaxed. More juices continued to coat her hand and Willow's thighs. Tara thrust her fingers deep for a few last, firm strokes, feeling Willow's cunt contract around her flesh. With her cheek resting against Willow's heaving chest, she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

It took Willow a long time to come down from her orgasmic high. She still had her eyes closed when Tara gently withdrew her fingers from the sopping wetness between her legs and lowered her back down towards the ground. Her legs buckled beneath her weight as soon as her feet hit the ground and it was only Tara's arms around her body and the wall behind her that kept her upright.

Willow opened her eyes and saw nothing except Tara's smiling face in front of her eyes. It was all too easy to believe that the last four years had never taken place. However, Covasna was all too prevalent in both their minds for that to remain the case for long.

"I know," Willow was momentarily surprised that she could actually still speak, "I'm just finding everything a little difficult…"

"There is nothing I would like more…but I have little time, there is much work that needs to be done," Tara whispered as she nuzzled against Willow's neck, her hands moved from the small of Willow's back to cup her firm buttocks once more, she squeezed and kneaded the flesh between her fingers.

There was a brief moment of silence between the two. Willow realized that Tara was studying her face intently, as though she too were searching for the truth.

Her question was immediately greeted with silence and when she drew back so she could see Willow's face she found the young woman biting her lip as though unsure of herself. She found herself smiling; it was the same old Willow. She had never been one for hiding her emotions.

"I will see you soon," Tara whispered, placing a last lingering kiss on Willow's lips.

Willow melted her entire body feeling like liquid in Tara's arms, her lips were still touching Tara's when she spoke, "Yes, at Covasna."

Willow closed her eyes, letting the simple words wash over her like a healing balm; she could not restrain a small smile from curling the corners of her lips. However, even as she opened her mouth to reply she felt the weight of Tara's body leave her and her own body sagged back against the wall without its support. When she opened her eyes she saw that Tara had disappeared into the night.

Willow felt the salty tang of blood in her mouth. She pressed her fingers to her tongue and when she drew them back she found blood on her fingertips where Tara's fangs had cut into the delicate flesh. Her hands were shaking as she wiped the blood off on her shirt sleeve. She soon realized that it was her entire body which was cold and drew up her breeches from where they had pooled down around one ankle and refastened them with shaking fingers. As she cast her gaze downwards, she saw the katana lying in the filth of the alley and quickly stooped to retrieve it. She wiped the surface dirt from its blade with the sleeve of her shirt before sliding it back into its scabbard.

Willow drew her waistcoat and shirt across her naked chest and stumbled back to the hotel, drunk from the effects of Tara's intoxicating scent, still feeling the lingering effects of their frantic coupling. Although the cold night air was brining her back to her senses, she remained gripped by the overwhelming sensation of hope she felt. While the past four years had passed in a violent, largely unhappy daze, Willow finally allowed herself to feel that she had a future. The three of them had been going to Covasna almost blindly, with no knowledge of how they would stop Dracula…and even if they succeeded Willow had imagined her long years alone stretching out in front of her like a prison sentence. Now, with Tara on their side, she was filled with optimism for both a victory at Covasna, and a future together.

She was still half in a daze when she awkwardly opened the door to her hotel room. A small yelp of surprise escaped Willow's lips as found Giles standing in the middle of the floor with his arms folded across his chest. Willow immediately noticed the fear on his face and her first thoughts were that something awful had happened to Abraham. In a manner of speaking, she was very right.

"What do you mean?" Willow whispered in reply, almost certain that there was no way Giles could know what had just taken place in the darkened alley between her and Tara…although the thought that he could possibly know immediately left her chilled and breathless.

"Your brother has packed his bags and left…and all he said to me by way of explanation was 'Willow will know why,'" Giles stated, his voice trembling slightly, "Willow…do you know why?"

Willow felt an intense heat flood her cheeks and she tore her gaze away from Giles's. In the heat of her frantic coupling with Tara, she had seen a shadowy figure in the distance. However, when she looked twice it had gone once more. She had barely been capable of coherent thought at that point anyway and had dismissed it outright.

Now that she remembered the incident and the tall, broad-shouldered figure, she knew it could very well have been her brother.

The single word emerged as a drawn out confession but Willow had already come to the realization that, although a part of her was worried about the widening of the rift between them, she was glad that her brother would not be joining them at Covasna. He would be safe…and she would succeed with Tara's help.

Abraham Van Helsing did not know where he was going; all he knew was that he desperately needed a means of forgetting. He stumbled across a dark little rundown dive in a seedy part of Klausenberg, the sign dangling from rusty hinges above the door bore a crude representation of a bottle. He thrust the door open and was greeted with a startled expression from the bar's other patrons, all three of them.

He ordered a drink from the greasy haired bartender. No sooner had the dirty glass been filled with liquid, he picked it up and poured it down his throat as though he could not drink it fast enough. He slammed it back down and motioned for it to be refilled. As more drink was poured, Abraham drew out a fistful of coins from his wallet and the bartender knew that he was to keep it flowing. Already scooping the coins into his dirty, scuffed hands, the bartender did not question the motives of this well-dressed foreigner who had stumbled into his bar on a night where few others would venture out.

Having secured an uninterrupted supply of liquor, Abraham slumped onto a nearby stool and reached with shaking hands for his glass. He repeated the same swilling motion several times in quick succession. However, no matter how many times he jerked his head back and poured another gulp of burning liquor down his throat, he could not erase from his mind the image of his sister pressed back against the wall of the dark alley, her legs wrapped around the back of the woman who was fucking her so thoroughly. He had seen the woman's blonde hair and thought it impossible that it would be her…that was until she turned her head slightly and he saw the unmistakable profile of the demon that had been Tara Maclay. Abraham was determined to keep drinking until that image was lost in the fog of his mind. He honestly couldn't care less if everything went to hell at Covasna, Willow had sown the seeds for her own success or failure and he was going to let her carry it out on her own.

"It is not a very pleasant spot," Willow commented idly as she gazed out over the broad plateau that was Covasna.

Both she and Giles were hidden beneath the thick evergreens that clung to the edges of the plateau. They had only been in position long enough to appreciate the fact that they had arrived just in time. They had ridden hard, barely stopping throughout the arduous trek up into the mountains and had arrived dirty and tired, but in time to stop the resurrection. The dead warriors were still very much dead, nothing more than misshapen piles of bone and rusty armor. Willow could almost reach out and touch the nearest skeleton. Arrows riddled its back and its arm stretched towards the forest as though whoever it was had been fleeing at the moment of his death.

The focus of their combined attentions were the knot of figures standing near the center of the plateau. As far as they could tell, Dracula and his cohorts were waiting for something, night Willow suspected. She glanced towards the sky; the sun's dying rays still stubbornly clinging to the horizon. There was still enough light to see their enemies in the distance, Willow could count more than a dozen dark shapes, vampires of all shapes and sizes. Although the one vampire she could recognize, and the one she hoped to see, was not there. She could see no sign of her unmistakable blonde hair in the distance.

Willow was about to ask Giles to point out which distant figure was Dracula when she realized that she already knew exactly who he was. Standing at the center of his minions but somehow apart was a figure that moved as though his feet did not touch the ground. Willow could make out few of his features at such a distance save his pointed face and long, black hair but she could feel his presence coursing through her body. Even at such a distance, she felt his power and in turn was scared by it. How could she have ever thought that a mortal such as her would be able to slay the greatest vampire that had ever walked the earth?

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her katana. She knew failure was not an option. Whatever the outcome of the evening and the night that followed, Willow knew she had to see Dracula reduced to nothing more than dust on the wind.

"It was never a pleasant spot," Giles interrupted Willow's thoughts as he agreed with her earlier statement, "Although the earth no longer runs red with rivers of blood…and the screams of dying men have faded somewhat."

"We will ensure such a scene is never repeated," Willow vowed, although never having heard the cries of battle herself, she could only imagine them to be gut wrenchingly awful. She silently prayed that she would never have to witness, or be part of such a slaughter.

She was about to discuss their plan with Giles when she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. In a heartbeat her katana was out of its scabbard and she had whirled around on her knees. Her chest heaving slightly in anticipation, she found herself face to face with Tara.

"You have a penchant for holding your sword to my throat," Tara spoke quietly, her chin nodding ever so slightly towards the katana which hovered mere inches away from her neck.

Willow had only time to smile before anything she was about to say was interrupted by Giles. He turned too; his eyes were bulging for a second as he stared at the strange woman who had joined them out of nowhere, "Bloody hell!"

Moments after his panicked statement, Giles regained his composure and muttered a few words that barely reached Willow's ears. However, she clearly saw Tara's limbs move strangely moments later and she was suddenly whisked backwards at speed. Her body slammed into a tree and she was held fast, apparently unable to move.

Giles stood and advanced with one arm outstretched as though his fingers were wrapped around Tara's throat. The vampire's head tilted sideways as though Giles really was manipulating her by the neck. Moments later Willow seized Giles's arm and dragged it downwards, Tara was able to move her head once more.

"Giles, it is Tara…she is with us," Willow explained as she continued to wrestle with his arm.

Giles relaxed slightly but only because he was struggling to take in this information while staring at the blonde vampire. Willow slowly released him from her grip and he stood, his confusion immediately turning into suspicion.

"Regardless of whether or not this demon has the body of your loved one…she is still a demon," Giles growled, "And therefore not to be trusted!"

"I trust her!" Willow replied in an angry whisper, not daring to raise her voice lest her words carry to the vampires standing on the plane.

"Tell me what she said to you to make you believe she could be trusted?" Giles demanded.

Willow met his challenging gaze, refusing to look away despite the awful twisting sensation in her gut. She knew full well that now was the least appropriate time to be arguing with the warlock. Each moment they wasted talking was another moment that they could be putting a stop to the resurrection. Giles's flint hard eyes demanded an answer to his question but Willow knew that she could not give him one. She could not explain how it felt to once more feel Tara's flesh against her own, to feel the way their bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity as they fucked. Because of those brief minutes in the alley, Willow felt invincible…and it was Tara that made her feel that way. It was Tara that gave her the strength to come to Covasna and face Dracula…not some soulless demon.

No, Willow could not answer Giles's question, she could find no words to express the way she felt…especially ones that avoided mentioning the naked, sweaty, fucking part. When she did not answer him, Giles let out a long- suffering sigh.

"Whatever she promised you…she will not deliver!" Giles's voice took on a sympathetic tone, as though he knew just how persuasive the body of a dead lover could be, "Willow, I beg you…turn around now and finish that thing…or allow me to do it if you cannot do it yourself."

"I understand you both feel strongly about your respective positions…but we are running out of time."

At the sound of the quiet words interrupting their heated argument, both Willow and Giles turned to see Tara had freed herself from Giles bonds without either of them noticing. While Willow appeared immensely pleased, Giles's face began to drain of all color.

"It is of no consequence, Willow, I am quite sure Rupert only has your best interests at heart," Tara spoke softly as she advanced towards Willow, she reached out and took the proffered hand but all the while kept her gaze fixed on a rather pale Giles, "After all, you were moments away from destroying me yourself just a few days ago."

Although he gave Willow and Tara a measure of space by taking a few grudging steps backward, Giles's expression betrayed his displeasure. When Willow met that gaze, she instinctively flinched as though she was guilty of a crime. She could not stand to stare at the blatant accusations on his face for long and quickly turned back to Tara, finding sanctuary in her cool blue eyes. There was no trace of animosity of contempt in her expression. Although Willow could not even begin to guess exactly what she was thinking, she did feel oddly reassured. Tara then reached out to cup her cheeks in cold hands, caressing the dirty skin softly with her thumbs. Willow felt somewhat ashamed and lowered her gaze; she was indeed stained from head to toe with all the grit and grime of weeks of hard travel. She felt dirt in her every pore and if she wasn't so used to it, she would have wrinkled her nose at the smell that clung to her clothes.

Tara however was exactly as she had been the night in the alley. Her blonde hair hung perfectly, settling down over the midnight black cloak she wore. Her face was just as perfect, unsullied by grime. Everything about her was perfect…

"We must move quickly to overpower him…I was unable to get close enough to switch the skull," Tara admitted.

"The skull is still real?" Willow whispered, a sinking feeling gripped her stomach as Tara nodded.

"Yes, but all is by no means lost; we still have time until the spell can even be carried out. Before that time is up we will have carved a path of destruction through those that stand with him before destroying Dracula himself," Tara explained fervently, "We have the advantage of surprise…and of your formidable skill."

"Onwards to glory or death then?" Willow suggested moments before she reached out with both hands and encircled Tara's waist.

She felt her fingers brush against the soft fabric of Tara's dress, felt traces of the smooth skin beneath and the ever present need she had carried with her since meeting Tara. It had been intensified tenfold by the night in the alley to the point where she felt as though she could force her hands beneath Tara's skirts and take her there in the forest. It was a raw, primal need that Willow was unaccustomed to feeling. The intensity of it frightened her more than a little until Tara erased her fears with a gentle kiss. It was Willow who deepened the kiss, moving forward so their bodies were pressed together.

Tara felt Willow's heart thudding against her chest, the organ beating so rapidly it felt as though it would burst from her skin. The strength of Willow's heartbeats made the absence of her own painfully obvious and she felt a pang of jealousy. Moments later she had to take a step back before her expression betrayed her discomfort. She smiled quickly to dispel any awkwardness her actions created.

"Who would have ever thought that you and I would have to fight a battle?" Tara added an element of humor to further put Willow at ease, she herself thought of the two young women attired in their finery as they attended a ball or lounged in the parlor at Hagley Park and couldn't imagine anything further removed from their present situation, "Follow me now Willow…and we will be together just as I promised."

"I will," Willow leaned in for a last kiss, even as her lips closed on Tara's she felt them disappear, when she opened her eyes the blonde had dissolved into her misty form.

With a decisive glint in her eye, Willow turned to face the plateau. She brushed past Giles a moment later and he could only stare at her back as she drew her katana with an almost eager motion. She viewed the group of vampires standing on the plateau as though they were mere targets that had been placed there for her amusement. The only one she really cared about was the tall figure at the center. She was already grinning at the thought of seeing his curly locks flying through the air after separating his head from his shoulders.

"Willow you silly little fool!" Giles snapped at the girl's back as she broke from their cover and started towards the small group standing in the center of the wide plateau, "Would you walk into hell if she told you to?"

Tara reformed into solidity in the midst of her companions, most ignored her presence. Only William and Angelus and Dracula himself deigned to acknowledge that she was even present. Dracula gave her the barest nod and Tara replied in the same manner, their small exchange was either ignored or un-noticed by their assembled companions.

"And where have you been?" Angelus inquired coldly, looking her up and down as though searching for something out of place.

"Scouting," Tara replied, her own tone just as cool, hoping fervently that Angelus could not detect the lie in her voice, "As I was commanded."

Tara's contempt for the tall, solid, dark-haired vampire was barely concealed. She had spent three years with him in Greece and had hated him from the start. He was arrogant and cruel, hardly rare traits in vampires, but he took them to the extreme. Most significant of all however, he saw himself as Dracula's second in command, just one small step down from the Master himself. Tara searched his face and wondered how he felt on the verge of the resurrection of Dracula's Captain. Although there was an unmistakable hierarchy within vampirism, each individual was out to seize as much power for himself while paying the correct amount of respect to their Lord and Master.

"I cannot see why you should have been brought along at all," William snarled, clearly offended that such a lesser creature in his eyes should be privileged to witness such an event.

Tara ignored the skinny blonde vampire, knowing full well that her Master had seen fit to include her in the party. She turned her attention to the reason for their standing here on this miserable plateau in the middle of nowhere. The headless skeleton of Dracula's infamous captain lay partially embedded in the earth, the only thing to distinguish him from the thousands of other dead warriors was his elaborate armor. Although once undoubtedly fine, it was now pitted and rusted after lying for hundreds of years exposed to the elements. His magnificently horned helmet lay several feet away from his body, where it had fallen after being knocked from his head. Tara looked at his severed neck and imagined the skull rejoined to the body, flesh forming anew and she wrinkled her nose with disgust, having difficulty imaging such a sight.

Tara was interrupted in her thoughts by William's confused drawl. She turned in the direction he was looking to see a single dark figure striding towards them. A small smile crossed her face at the brazen nature of Willow's approach; she had absolutely no need for subterfuge or surprise when she had more than enough confidence to see her through. Moments later a second figure emerged from the forest, this one breaking into a slightly awkward run in an effort to catch up to Willow.

Willow was now close enough for Tara to see the determination deeply etched on her face. Her eyes were narrowed with concentration, one fist closed around the hilt of her sword, and the other around the stock of a loaded crossbow.

"You two…" William barked at a nearby pair of vampires and jabbed his finger in the direction of the intruder, "Deal with that!"

Grins crossed the face of the two vampires William had signaled out, obviously thinking that they were going to receive a quick meal before the night's events. They peeled off from the group and made towards the advancing woman. She seemed small and insignificant in their eyes. The sight of her would be the last thing either of them saw as moments later one had a crossbow bolt planted squarely in his chest.

Willow's aim perfect even from a distance. Before his companion could react other than to drop his jaw in surprise, Willow had reloaded with another bolt and performed exactly the same action. The vampire's scream's faded into nothing at the same time as Willow moved from a brisk stride to a sprint. Following the destruction of two of their companions, several other demons had surged forward, fangs bared as they ran at Willow. She confused them with her speed, moving rapidly amongst them and yet appearing to be nowhere at one time. Her actions were so quick and fluid that none could lay a hand on her let alone stop her.

Although unloaded, the crossbow served as a handy club as Willow slammed its butt into the forehead of one. As he stumbled off balance, she cast the crossbow aside and swiftly drew a stake. With a deft movement, she plunged it into the vampire's chest. She did not wait to see his body splinter into a thousand pieces, she was already moving onto her next target. With each vampire she engaged, each movement and attack she made, she was already thinking ahead to her next movement, searching out her next target. After killing several with her stake, it splintered in the chest of one and was rendered useless. She drew her katana and proceeded to

As Willow carved a path through the hapless demons, Tara made her choice of sides known to her companions. With a slight flick of her wrist and a muttered word, two jets of fire shot from her hand to engulf a pair of vampires who were rushing to intercept Willow. They barely had time to scream before their already dead bodies were completely destroyed.

William and Angelus could not believe what they were seeing, however, after several moments to realize that Tara had just slain two of their own they acted. Both vampires advanced on the traitor, their fangs bared. Even as Tara drew back her hand to hurl another fireball at Angelus, William leapt forward and seized her by the wrist. He held her fast and met her gaze squarely.

"Try and fry me now!" he snarled, savagely twisting her wrist until she cried out in pain, "Angelus, I think our traitorous she-demon needs to be taught a little lesson."

William's fist closed around the cloak Tara wore and ripped it from her shoulders. He cast the heavy fabric to the ground and seized the front of her dress with both hands.

"Not here you fool, it is not the time!" Angelus moved to seize the arm of his companion but found his grip shaken off as William continued to tear through Tara's dress, "What are you playing at?"

He tore a strip of fabric from Tara's dress and used it to bind her mouth, "We don't want any more of her foul spells here today!"

Tara glared at him as he savagely yanked the fabric as tight as he possibly could and tied both ends firmly. She tried to lash out with her hands but Angelus suddenly moved to aid his friend, twisting her arms behind her.

His lust for the female vampire overrode any rational thoughts, all he could think about was gaining revenge for the many times she had blatantly turned him down as he sought to win her favors. Now she was bound and gagged, helpless in their arms even as their companions died around them at the point of Willow's sword. Angelus ignored their screams and lent in close to Tara's ear, biting down so savagely on the appendage that he drew blood.

"You will regret your decision to deny me in Greece," he whispered as he heard fabric tear in William's hands, he saw one of her magnificent breasts bared in the fading light and his loins stirred hungrily.

Without further warning both vampires were suddenly thrust backwards, the folds of her clothing tore as it was ripped from their fingers. Tara stumbled backwards slightly, her eyes widening as she saw William and Angelus swept from their feet, William turned and held upside down and Angelus with his toes still pointing downwards but several feet above the ground. She turned and saw the warlock, Giles, his mouth moving slightly as he whispered the last words of his incantation.

Tara tore the gag from her mouth before slowly drawing the folds of her ripped gown back up over her shoulder. She held the garment closed with a white fist. Giles watched her from the corner of his eye as he kept the two vampires ensnared in the same invisible bonds he had used on Tara just a short while ago.

"I believe you saved my life," Tara admitted grudgingly, before this moment she would not have thought Giles would be one to lift a finger in her defense, "Or at least my honor."

The look he gave her in response to her words almost negated his actions; it appeared that the warlock still did not share Willow's opinion of her.

Meanwhile Willow had finally reached her goal, she burst through the cloud of dust that surrounded her and faced the one demon she longed to slay above all others. She met his ice-cold gaze with a fierce one of her own, her mouth set in a thin line of determination.

"It seems we meet at last, Willow Van Helsing," Dracula intoed solemnly, the rich tones of his voice carrying easily to Willow's ears.

Willow's features became even more stone-like, she hated the cloying, honeyed tones of his voice, it was almost as though he was trying to seduce her. She could easily see how it worked on other women; she cast a glance over her shoulder towards Tara and wondered for a moment if she had ever been taken in by Dracula's charms.

"I see your thoughts," he spoke and he head snapped back to face him, sword flying up to point at his head, "And I would think you know the answer…after all, what woman can resist the most gifted and attentive of lovers?"

A broad smile spread from his lips to crease his face, his white fangs were bared and Willow narrowed her eyes at the blatant implication in his words.

"You lie scum, you're not a lover…you're a monster…and I know that our meeting will be brief…brief enough for me to see you sent back to the dust from whence you came!" Willow growled.

She surged forward, the katana singing as it moved through the air towards his next. A split second before it was to strike, Dracula's body disappeared in the misty form she had seen Tara use twice. She knew that her lover could not perform the same feat immediately but as she moved towards Dracula's reforming body, she swung and missed yet again.

As Willow dueled their Master, William and Angelus snarled and struggle against the invisible bonds which held them, neither showing any fear as Tara summoned another fireball. She did not cast it, instead leaving it hovering above the palm of her hand as though it were a warning. When she glanced from the fireball, up to the trapped demons, there was a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I want you both to remember these next moments…" Tara advised them both in a cruel voice, "Remember them and you will realize exactly why it was foolish of you to ever threaten me…I will never give myself to either of you fools no matter how you desire me," Tara turned her back to them so she could watch Willow dueling with Dracula even as she said her next words, "I will never be yours, for I will always belong to her…"

Tara's voice trailed off as she watched Willow make yet another swing towards Dracula, the sharp sword she carried missed yet again but she noticed that Willow did not lose her temper or make a mistake even though she surely must have been frustrated. Tara snuffed out the fireball by clamping her fingers shut and settled to watch the duel, her fingers remaining clamped together in her anxiety.

"Your weapon cannot touch me, let alone kill me, Willow Van Helsing," Dracula drawled as he reformed several feet away to Willow's left.

However true his words were of the fight up to that point, Willow was not phased in the slightest by his taunt. Her keen perceptions had noticed that the amount of time between his misty transformations was slowly lengthening, each time she was able to get a little closer and he had even begun to resort to moving with his feet to maintain the distance. Each time he reformed she noticed his features start to sag a little more, now she could clearly see the dark bags beneath his eyes, the folds of flesh hanging from his chin as though his flesh was sliding from his bones.

"You're tiring," Willow pointed out, a tired smile slowly curling the corners of her lips, "You're tiring and soon you will falter, my sword will find its mark."

He swept back his own cloak, throwing it from his shoulders so it no longer hampered his movements. His hand went to the jewel-encrusted sword at his side and he drew the thick blade.

Although she circled him warily, keeping one eye on Dracula's sword, Willow's other eye was firmly fixed on the leather pouch he wore at his waist. She knew for certain it held the skull. Forcing herself to draw her eyes from it, she continued to circle for a few more moments before making the first strike. Instead of merely lunging forward or making a swing which could have been met easily by the weight of his own sword, Willow made two quick, powerful steps and launched herself into the air. He lashed out at her with his blade but she kicked it aside with one foot even as her sword came crashing down. The katana sliced through the silken shirt he wore and into his flesh.

Dracula arched his back but did not cry out in pain as Willow's feet hit the ground just to his side. Instead he laughed as he straightened and swung his sword in an arc in the air in front of him.

"You think to carve me apart piece by piece?" he cackled as he turned to face Willow.

"Perhaps…for that would serve my purposes adequately!" Willow replied, punctuating her words with a flourish of the katana in her hands.

She surged forward once more, her body moving in a blur as she weaved between his desperate blows, for all his immortality and power, he possessed not half of the skill Willow had with a blade. As Tara and Giles, William and Angelus watched, Willow fought the Lord of all Vampires himself. She felt as though everything in the past four years had all been a precursor to this moment in time, to this infamous battlefield and her one on one duel with Dracula himself. Even as she fought, Willow felt the weight of this occasion bear down on her shoulders. Everything hinged on these moments to come and her success in this duel.

As her katana danced through the air yet again to meet his blade with a resounding twang, she felt a surge of power. As their blades were stuck together for a brief moment, she met his gaze and searched it, while she could reach little into his impassive expression, she could feel his weakness through his blade. He trembled. For a moment, she was close enough to reach down and seize the pouch at his waist but she could not dare take a hand off the hilt of the katana to do so. Moments later Dracula threw himself backwards and the skull was out of reach once more.

She watched his faced and saw her own determination reflected in his cruel features. When he pressed forward his attack once more, his blows were savage and powerful. Willow continue to dance around his swings, knowing all too well if she happened to make a single mistake, the thick steel would slice deeply into her flesh and everything was over. Her lightning fast strokes managed to slip past his guard several times, slicing into cloth and dead flesh but she could not make the one swing that mattered, the one which would slice straight through his neck.

When she lost her katana it was through a mistake of her own, she lost track of her footing as exhaustion began to set in and sweat drenched her vision. Her heel caught the ribcage of some long dead fool and she stumbled, her grip slackening. Although her blade met Dracula's incoming swing, the hilt of her katana was struck from her grasp. It went sailing through the air and landed several meters away. She know at that instant that she had to move fast or find his next swing crashing through her chest. Before he could suppress his elation and press forward the killing blow, Willow darted beneath Dracula's swing and drew a slender knife from her boot. She swung and sliced the leather cords that held the pouch to his belt, they were sliced cleanly and it opened. From the pouch came tumbling a perfectly white skull, its full mouth of teeth grinning in the twilight. It hit the ground and rolled to a stop between Willow and Dracula. As he surged forward to reclaim it, Willow spun on one heel, bringing her leg whirling around. With the weight of her momentum behind it, her foot caught Dracula squarely in his chest and he was hurled to his knees. Several meters away, his minions struggled against the bonds that Giles held them in but they could barely move their limbs let alone escape. Dracula could only kneel, his body battered from his duel with Willow. Willow circled him and came to a stop where the skull lay; she hooked the toe of one boot beneath it and deftly gave it a little flick. It sailed upwards and straight into her hand.

The katana with which she wanted to destroy him lay out of reach but Tara saw it and crossed the short distance to pick it up. A brief thought flashed across Willow's mind, Tara holding the katana given to her by someone who had almost been her lover. Ayako's image disappeared quickly; there would be time to dwell after all of this miserable business was over. There would be time to pay her respects to the brave Japanese woman and to make her peace with her beloved brother who should be standing at her side. Still, she had Tara with her, and her presence was more than enough.

"Tara, you can redeem yourself now!" Dracula pleaded in desperation as he watched Tara pick up Willow's sword, "Strike that whore down with her own weapon and I will welcome you as my equal in all things!"

At the same time she retrieved Willow's katana, Tara also stooped to reclaim her fallen crossbow, discarded earlier after the last loaded bolt had been spent in the middle of the fray. Almost as soon as she had straightened, she drew her arm back cast it in one graceful motion; it went sailing straight into Willow's waiting hand. Willow caught the weapon with nimble fingers at the same time as she reached inside her jacket and withdrew a single silver bolt. Swiftly she slotted the bolt home and with a practiced motion she cocked the bow. In mere seconds she had the loaded weapon leveled at a rather indignant Dracula.

"Tara, I trusted you and brought you into my inner circle and offered you power, is this how you repay me?" he demanded, his voice shrill, "By betraying me?"

It was all Willow could do to keep from shouting aloud with pure joy at the look on the demon's face, partially terror and partially anger.

"I think it is safe to say she is no longer with you," Willow could not resist saying it, "It appears that love is stronger than death."

"And it appears that you have defeated me Willow Van Helsing," Dracula admitted in a dull voice.

"Not quite," Willow replied, keeping her crossbow arm steady, "I will reserve my celebrations until I can dust what's left of you from my sleeve with one swipe of the hand."

She could not allow herself to let the whiff of victory overwhelm her…not just yet anyway. The whole situation was more than a little surreal. Standing on the pitted plateau at Covasna with a handful of surviving vampires, the Master of all vampires at her feet, her dead lover and her mentor, all surrounded by the swirls of dust from the destroyed vampires, Willow could be forgiven for thinking that everything was a dream. It was when she saw a small smile of victory cross Tara's face, that she did allow herself to feel a small surge of elation. It was soon to be all over…

Willow kept her gaze on the kneeling figure of Dracula but she watched from the corner of her eye as Tara moved around him, the katana still in her hands. Her expression as she stared at her soon to be former Master was one of contempt. She walked slightly behind Willow and disappeared from the corner of her eye but Willow heard her stop just behind her. She felt reassured with the knowledge that Tara was right there with her as she pulled the trigger.

Willow applied pressure to the trigger of her crossbow with the sole aim of seeing it plunge straight into Dracula's heart. The silver bolt would have flown straight and true before something slammed into Willow's back, tearing her apart. Searing pain followed, starting in her chest and shooting throughout her entire body. Her finger jerked awkwardly on the trigger, the bolt discharged with a twang and buried itself harmlessly in Dracula's shoulder. He merely jerked it out with a single sharp pull. Willow stared in disbelief, wondering how she could have missed from such a close distance. Her arms felt heavy and the crossbow slipped from her numb fingers. She tilted her chin downwards to see a familiar steel blade protruding from her chest, a dark stain spreading out over her white skirt. Willow coughed, more blood splattered over her front. After a few more moments standing, the blade impaled in her chest was drawn free with a savage tug and Willow fell forwards almost immediately, dropping to her knees in the soft earth, staring at the now empty wound in her chest.

As darkness crept around the edges of her vision, Willow lost control of her body. She fell forward, the skull slipped from her hand and her body twisted slightly so she fell on her side. When her body twitched and she flopped onto her back, the last thing she saw before she died was Tara standing over her with the katana in her hand, its length stained with her own dark red blood.

With her heart beating at a million miles a minute, she clutched desperately at her chest…only to find that there was no gaping tear in her flesh and no blood. She drew open the garment she was wearing but found only a light dressing covering a wound which felt as though it was almost healed. With her panic only barely subsiding, she found herself staring into the familiar mirror in front of her. Willow snapped her head around and found she was indeed in her bedroom at Gordon Square; the room was unchanged from the day they had departed. However, when Willow returned her gaze to the mirror in front of her she found that the one thing in the reflection that had changed was herself. The strange garments she wore did not disturb her as much as her physical appearance. Her hair was no longer stained the awful black from Giles's dye, but was as vibrantly red as it was supposed to be, perhaps a little longer than normal, sitting down on her shoulders. With trembling fingers she reached up and raked her hands through the red strands, feeling them to be real.

When she stood she felt exceptionally weak, her muscles not allowing her to make the fluid movements she was accustomed to. Again she opened the folds of the shirt she wore and pressed a shaking hand to the dressing covering her upper chest. While she was certain she remembered the blade piercing the middle of her chest at Covasna, Willow allowed herself to think that she had been mistaken. A small grin crossed her face, she had survived and given that she was safely it home, Giles must have retrieved the skull and stopped the resurrection. Before it could even cross her mind, she immediately repressed the memory of Tara standing over her with the bloody katana…that was something she could deal with at another time…

Almost elated at the turn of events, Willow left her room and went in search of someone, especially Abraham, more than anything she needed to find her brother and take back the awful words that had passed between them.

"Abraham?" her voice echoed down the empty hallway but Willow was not worried, Gordon Square was large and there were only five occupants, she turned towards the stairs that led to the third floor and the servant's rooms, "Sam? Nancy?"

No-one responded. Willow moved down the hallway to the main staircase, only just beginning to get a sense that something was not quite right. There was only one strange coat hanging on the rack by the door whereas usually there was a wide assortment all hung neatly by Sam. Willow sniffed the air for the usual pleasant aromas wafting from the kitchen but smelt nothing. She moved past the empty parlor and library through into the large, airy room. Willow frowned, there was no sign of Cook, the large kitchen table which was usually covered with her pots and crocks and all manner of utensils was pristine…in fact the entire kitchen was pristine and devoid of absolutely anyone or even any food. The pantry was completely bare, everything from the flour bins to the breadbox looked as though it had been empty for years. Willow's heart began to thump once more; almost approaching the levels of panic with which she had woken just a short while ago.

Even as she was about to have a fit of some kind, she was struck by a sudden thought, she was sure to find Giles, Abraham and even Christopher Croft at Montagu House

"Of course silly," Willow said the words aloud as a form of reassurance as she raced back towards front door, only pausing to grab the one coat that was hanging on the rack, "They'll be at the library, Giles and Abraham, they'll be there…"

Montagu House was gone…and it wasn't just missing, it had been replaced by a truly monstrous Grecian edifice with towering columns and a broad entranceway. Willow stood in the middle of the footpath, completely oblivious to the agitated muttering of pedestrians walking by either side who were annoyed that someone would dare disrupt the flow of traffic. Her mouth worked soundlessly as she read over the words etched deeply into the stone façade far above her head, British Museum.

"Good lord…" she whispered, "I know Giles had some delusions of grandeur but this is ridiculous…"

Willow failed to notice that the pedestrians who had so grudgingly parted on either side of her were now giving her a very wide berth. However, she was so confused that talking to herself in the middle of the street was the least of her problems. When Willow turned around she realized that there were a myriad of little…and some very large details that she had missed during her panicked dash from Gordon Square to Great Russell Street. For a start, Montagu House was not the only building missing…and nor was the British Museum the only building that had been erected overnight. Almost the entire frontage of the street across from her had been changed. Willow could also not remember seeing quite so much traffic on the street…in fact, she was sure that she had never before laid eyes on the huge horse drawn carriages lumbering along the street, each carrying at least a dozen passengers. There were also many smaller carriages of the type Willow was used to��but she had to blink her eyes several times at the sight of a carriage being propelled without a horse. Willow took a few steps backwards as the noisy machine moved past her, belching out large quantities of smoke as it did so. Several pedestrians walked straight into her, jostling her about the footpath,

"Watch where you're going!" one man grumbled, casting a rather dirty look over his shoulder.

Scared and confused, Willow pushed her way through the flow of people, moving towards the British Museum as though somehow this new building might hold the answers she so desperately needed. Thankfully there were far fewer people moving up the stairs and into the building and she was able to breathe somewhat easier…although her heart was still thudding along at a rate that threatened to cause her to pass out if she didn't calm herself down soon.

Willow ducked quickly through the massive doors and into the relatively peaceful interior. Once inside she barely paused to look above her at the massive ceiling before making a beeline straight for a secluded niche by the wall. She pressed her face against the cool stone and closed her eyes, knowing that it would be too much to hope for everything to be back to normal when she opened them once again. Still, Willow imagined the blissfully quiet interior of Montagu house, the rows upon rows of books, the reading tables and most of all Giles busy with his duties, perhaps pushing a trolley laden with books or exclaiming over damage done to some rare volume. Christopher Croft would be swinging back on the hind legs of a chair with his feet up on the desk, no doubt earning himself a few terse words from Giles. She'd move through the doors that led to Giles's office and other private rooms and Abraham would be sitting there, his knife hard at work as he sharpened a stake to replace one he had broken the previous night. He would set the wood down and she'd fold herself into his embrace. The words that had passed between them would be an unpleasant memory and the cause of those words would be almost forgotten…

Except she couldn't forget…even now, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her entire body pressed back into a corner, she felt her skin crawl with the sensation that she was being watched. Her heart, which had begun to slow slightly, raced on with renewed intensity at the thought of those piercing blue eyes stabbing a hole straight through her body. Willow's hand awkwardly scrubbed at the fabric covering the middle of her chest, needing to confirm that the skin there was still whole. Even as her fingers found no wound she remembered the awful sight of looking down and seeing the point of a sword protruding from her own bloody chest. Her body sagged involuntarily when she remembered it being withdrawn and she almost collapsed to the floor. However, by far the most nightmarish sight was that of the woman she loved standing over her with the bloody sword in her hand,

It was all too late but Willow now realized that those words had never been intended for Dracula…Tara had spoken to her. Willow drew the coat tightly over her small frame, her fists clenched as they clutched at the fabric.

For Willow Van Helsing, fearless demon hunter, reality had become something to be feared. All she wanted to do was sink to the floor and let the herself be overtaken by the sobs that were already threatening to bubble forth from her mouth. Although she knew she ought to just square her shoulders and get on with the business of finding out what the hell had happened, she did not want to open her eyes and face the changes that had taken place around her.

Almost five minutes had passed before Willow realized that she could not stand in the corner of the lobby all day. She decided that she would venture back out onto those busy streets once more and make her way back to Gordon Square, the one place where the fewest changes seemed to have taken place.

She slowly pried her eyes open and looked ahead, only to find that there was someone staring at her. It was a dark-haired woman, tall and elegantly attired with a cane resting in one hand. Willow froze even though there was nothing in her gaze to suggest that she meant harm.

Lara Croft was somewhat annoyed when she heard an abrupt and insistent knock on the door to her office. She was quite sure she had told Cordelia that she was not to be disturbed all morning. The knock repeated, this time even more insistently and with an irritated huff she threw down the report she had been reading.

"Come in!" she growled, her tone indicating that whatever the reason for the disturbance, it had better be good.

A rather sheepish looking Cordelia poked her head around the door, apologetic tones written all over her face before she even opened her mouth.

"I am most sorry, Director Croft, but it's one of the front of house staff, he says you simply must come down to the entrance right away."

"Is there some sort of problem?" Lara asked. Her tone was dangerously close to exploding; indicating that she already felt the matter was not worth disturbing her over.

"Well yes…in a manner of speaking" Cordelia began hesitantly, "It is Rosenberg Ma'am…she's in the entrance acting…well, acting rather peculiarly from what I've been told."

It was obvious Cordelia had no specific details to offer so Lara slid back her chair and rose. Her leg was aching particularly badly today and she was forced to use the cane she hated to steady her steps. She saw Cordelia relax slightly when she realized that there was going to be no explosion of temper.

"Certainly…unless you need some assistance first?" Cordelia asked gently, well aware that Lara went out of her way not to make an issue of her disability.

As she made her way to the entrance, Lara realized that the mere mention of Rosenberg had been enough to banish her foul mood almost completely. She had to admit that she had missed the scatty redhead's presence around the museum for the past few months. However, as pleased as she was to think that Willow might be returning to work, Lara could not help but feel a measure of concern. While Willow was generally known for displaying odd behavior at times, she seldom did so in public. Indeed, it was all she could do to keep the surprise from showing on her face when she descended the main stairs down into the entranceway and saw a uniformed employee nod towards a strangely clad figure huddled in a corner. It was Rosenberg, eyes shut, hugging the side of the wall as though she hoped to sink straight through it. While her behavior was odd enough, Lara was further surprised to see a pair of striped pajamas protruding from the bottom of her overcoat.

While Lara stood at the foot of the stairs, still staring, Willow's eyes opened and their gazes met directly. Even as Lara managed a small smile to try and put the woman at ease, she was disturbed by her expression. Her face was blank, missing the slightest hint of greeting, or even recognition. It was as though Willow had absolutely no idea who she was staring at. She crossed the floor slowly, out of both necessity and concern that Willow would bolt if she approached too quickly.

"Willow…" Lara spoke gently, "Why on earth are you standing here in your pajamas?"

Willow glanced down at her attire quickly as though she did not understand what Lara was referring to and she did not reply immediately when she lifted her head. Instead she stared intently at Lara as though she were studying her face for a hint of recognition. Finally she gave up and asked in a determined voice, "Who are you?"

Lara almost stumbled backwards as though she had been struck. Willow's expression was so earnest, without the slightest hint of deception. She seriously did not know her own employer. Lara then realized that Willow's expression was not just blank…the girl was terrified.

"Willow…I'm Lara Croft, you work for me," Lara explained quietly, "Don't you know me?"

Willow's reply was a confused shake of her head. Lara was searching for something else to say when she saw the young woman's eyes dart sideways and stare at something or someone over her shoulder.

"Giles!" her sudden exclamation reverberated throughout the entrance and caused more than one patron to turn their heads in astonishment at the shout.

Willow dashed across the lobby in her pajamas and threw herself into the arms of the tall man standing by the stairs. Lara frowned, she was sure Giles had mentioned visiting Willow at home just yesterday. However, from the way she clung to him, it was as though she had not seen him for years.

Giles returned Willow's hug but cast a searching glance over her head in Lara's direction. Lara merely shrugged with a confused expression on her face.

"Giles, what is happening to me?" Willow whispered into her mentor's chest, clutching at the fabric of his waistcoat as though she were drowning, "We were at Covasna…something happened to me there and then I was lying on my bedroom floor…and I came here looking for Montagu House but it's gone, replaced by this monstrous building…and that strange woman over there seems to know me and Giles, I swear I haven't seen her before in my life," Willow glanced over her shoulder to see the dark-haired woman still staring at her as though she had grown a tail, "Will you tell her to stop looking at me please? It's distinctly unnerving."

Giles immediately realized that the strange woman Willow was referring to was Lara. However, that didn't unnerve him half as much as her mention of Covasna and Montagu House. Although Willow had indeed just been at Covasna…Montagu House had been demolished over fifty earlier to make way for the very building they were standing in. However, as he stood holding the trembling girl against his chest an awful thought struck him. Another Willow, part of a different time, had known Montagu House very well. He gently disentangled Willow's arms from his body and held her at arm's length. He knew the question he had to ask would sound ridiculous to his own ears…

Willow's expression indicated that she also thought it completely ridiculous, "Giles…what an odd sort of question…well, I'm Willow of course!"

Giles smiled kindly, "Yes, I know you're Willow…but I need a little more information, when were you born, who are your parents…?"

Willow's frown deepened but she replied anyway, "I don't know what kind of practical joke this is…or spell more like considering you can't have possibly demolished entire buildings on your own…Willow Van Helsing, born on the 6th of October, 1760 to Pieter and Marianne Van Helsing, but they're long dead of course…and I have an older brother, Abraham…speaking of which, Giles, where is Abraham, I simply must speak with him at once."

Giles appeared crestfallen, however, he did not have a chance to reply to Willow's question before Faith emerged from a side door, Cordelia at her heels. The vampire hunter's face broke into a broad grin at the sight of her friend up and about and apparently back at work. Lara was already moving forward to intercept Faith but she was too slow and Faith crossed the floor at a run,

"Will, you should've told me you were coming in today!" she cried, arms outstretched as she moved in to embrace Willow.

Willow had turned at the sound of fast-paced footsteps approaching her. Before the strange woman could throw her arms around her, one fist snapped out quickly and caught her squarely on the jaw.

Faith was thrown backwards to land heavily on her ass in the middle of the floor, she went sliding several more feet when she hit. The expression on her face when she stood however was more one of shock than pain.

"Bloody hell, Willow!" Faith gasped as she rubbed her jaw, "That hurt…and where the hell did you learn to hit like that?"

By now patrons were actually starting to leave the museum when the witnessed the strange scene taking place in the lobby. If the sight of the small woman wearing pajamas had not been enough to worry them, she was now starting to hit people.

Willow felt as though she had been backed into a corner, she stood with her fists still clenched but looked from the woman sitting on the floor back to the one familiar face in all of this madness. She turned again. By now the fallen woman had regained her feet and was looking more than a little angry. Willow lifted her fists, ready to defend herself if attacked again.

"Willow…she means no harm, just relax a little and let us help you…" Giles spoke urgently, wanting to reach out and touch her but hesitating in case she hit him too.

"Please Giles, I just need to see my brother," Willow pleaded with a gulp as she tried to stop tears from flowing, "I have yet to apologize for that ghastly fight we had over Tara…and then what I did, sleeping with her…"

Giles, Faith and Lara immediately took on expressions of varying degrees of shock but it was Faith who managed to fight past this to actually say something…even if that something was rather inappropriate.

Willow responded with a confused stare even as Giles reached out and took her by the shoulders, he gave Faith a stern expression that could be read in just one way, 'keep your mouth shut.'

Faith ignored him of course, a small measure of fear creeping into her voice, "Giles, what the bloody hell has happened to Willow?"

"Faith, just shut up and help me get Willow downstairs, we need to get away from the public areas as soon as possible," Giles knew that it was almost impossible to spare Willow any further stress until he could calm her down…and the middle of the entranceway was not exactly the best place to do this.

However, it was all too apparent that Willow did not want to be moved; she wanted answers to her questions and nothing else. With Giles holding one arm, and Faith the other, Cordelia held the doors open for them as they removed her from public eyes. Willow did not go quietly; she lashed out with her legs and struggled with her whole body as she tried to wrench herself free.

"Bloody hell Giles, unhand me I say!" Willow yelled, trying to move so she could kick the woman to her right, "Let me go…where the hell is my brother? Abraham! Abraham!"

Faith winced at the sound of Willow shouting at the top of her lungs so close to her ear, "Couldn't we possibly find some laudanum or something?"

Giles glared at her over the top of Willow's head and she immediately sealed her lips shut, trying to block out Willow's screams as they carried her down the stairs to the lower levels of the museum. They managed to make it into Faith's office without attracting too much attention and shut the door behind them. As soon as Willow was out of their grasp, she made an urgent bolt for the door. Faith was on hand to tackle her and wrestle her back to the couch, surprised to find that Willow was as least twice as strong as she used to be, even despite the wound in her shoulder.

Willow backed up into a corner and her eyes seized upon a display sword balanced on the desk in front of her. Without warning, she darted forward and her fingers closed over the hilt of the weapon. The sword protested slightly, as though it had not been drawn for some time but it was soon balanced in Willow's hand, point extended towards the three others in the room. All of them stared at her as though she had indeed grown a tail.

Faith hardly felt threatened, "Willow please stop pretending you know one end of the sword from the other.

Giles immediately snapped out an arm and barred Faith's path just as she was about to move towards Willow and disarm her. Although Faith clearly thought that Willow with a sword in her hand was clearly nothing to be worried about, Giles knew otherwise.

"Faith…Lara, I wonder if you might give me a few moments alone with Willow?" Giles asked gently, not taking his eyes off the frightened girl backed into one corner of the room.

After a few words to let him know just how displeased she was. Faith left closely followed by Lara. Neither woman had acknowledged each other's presence despite their close proximity but Giles could not afford to worry about that now. If his guess was correct, something had happened to transport the entire consciousness of Willow Van Helsing into her reincarnated body to the point where Willow Rosenberg had ceased to exist. Giles calmly took a seat on a small stool by the door, even as Willow kept the sword pointed in his direction. With the two strangers leaving however, he noticed the fire in her eyes had dampened considerably.

While he had known Willow Van Helsing exceptionally well, so many years had passed since her death. It was shy, bookish Willow Rosenberg who was foremost in his mind. It unnerved him slightly to see the woman he had known since she was a child standing in front of him with the sword as though it were an extension of her arm.

"Giles, can you please just tell me what is happening. Who were those horrid people, acting as if they knew me?" Willow asked, the point of the sword almost facing downwards now.

"Willow, I will explain everything as soon as you put that weapon back in its scabbard, I know exactly what you can do with it and it's making me uncomfortable."

"Oh," Willow glanced down at the sword as if she had quite forgotten she were holding it, she slid it back into its scabbard with a slightly sheepish expression on her face.

She gently replaced the weapon back on its small plinth and took a seat on the corner of the desk, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking. It was hardly necessary for Giles to tell her that something momentous had happened to her, if it wasn't evident from the world around her than it was very clearly written on his face. Something was very wrong.

"There's a newspaper just behind you, have a look at the date," Giles nodded towards the copy of the times which was lying on Faith's desk.

Willow picked it up and scanned the masthead; The Times was not a paper she was familiar with. She glanced at the date and had to read it more than once to ensure she was reading it correctly,

"15th May 1898," Willow whispered, the date more than a hundred years off what it should read.

Willow thoroughly expected to have spent a few days or even weeks unconscious following her injury but this was ridiculous. When she glanced up at Giles he nodded slowly.

"The paper is not wrong Willow, it is indeed 1898…and I believe that the last year you remember is 1784, is that correct?"

She closed her eyes but only saw the numbers, 1898 over and over in her mind. Her earlier suspicions had indeed been correct, something had happened…Willow let out a choked laugh, she could hardly think of a larger understatement. She was still laughing when the name came to her, a name that was on the tip of her tongue but for some reason she could not quite remember.

There were images associated with the name, images she could not quite understand but they came to her nevertheless. She saw the dark haired woman, her mouth flashing in an irrepressible grin. Willow remembered her name as Giles had spoken it earlier, Faith…although Willow had hit her earlier for some reason she felt they were friends. She was tied in some way to the second dark-haired woman, the one who claimed to be Willow's employer. Willow's mind lingered over her rich lips and full breasts and in seconds she felt her cheeks heat up almost instantly. There was also a sandy haired young man, clumsy but endearing and stout hearted. Willow could not put a name to the grinning face in her mind.

Willow opened her eyes and stared at Giles. His face bore a few more lines than she remembered but other than his strange attire, he seemed not to have changed. Instead of books, she saw him standing behind a bench with an array of tools in front of him…constructing things…machines, weapons. Willow frowned, wondering how on earth she could remember Giles doing any such thing when he had only ever been a librarian. Tying everything together was a young woman hunched behind a massive desk covered in paper and thick books, her pen scratching away on the parchment in front of her.

Willow did not answer his question; instead she had one of her own for him, "Giles, who is Willow Rosenberg?"

Willow frowned, not at Giles's cryptic answer but rather at the fact that she knew the answer.

"A researcher…I remember writing papers, reading books…but I hate writing…and reading for that matter…" Willow struggled to get the simple facts about that life out in words, she felt as though it should have been so straightforward but everything sounded odd to her ears as though the description had never quite fit, she looked up at Giles with a need for reassurance written plainly on her face, "Giles, tell me, tell me I'm Willow…tell me you know who I am?"

"Willow, look at me…I know you're struggling to take all of this in but hear me out a little longer; you need to understand everything all at once for your own sanity

"My own sanity?" Willow laughed wildly for just a moment, "Giles, I'm remembering this whole other life I lived…or rather am living…and you want me to stay sane? I think it's a little too late for that."

"Willow, the life you're beginning to remember, it is your life," Giles began slowly, "The events that you think happened yesterday, Covasna, Abraham, Tara Maclay, Edward Walsh…and myself, they are events that have been and gone. They all took place over one hundred years ago."

"Reincarnation," Willow whispered, "Myself, and this…Willow Rosenberg, we are the same person?

Any average person may have found this concept more than a little difficult to grasp, Willow had been fed a steady diet of such things for a long time. While it still came as a shock, she was still able to get her head around the basic fundamentals that it involved. Everything that she thought was her past, all her recent memories, they were nothing but remnants of a life that had already been lived and was now intruding on another in the present.

"And Abraham…Abraham is dead," Willow forced the words out, knowing that they could only be true.

Giles could only nod is response to the crestfallen expression on Willow's face. He saw the color rise in her cheeks as though she were about to explode and knew exactly what was coming. She was going to explode…in a manner of speaking. He saw the emotions play across her face before she even gave voice to them and he could clearly see the one she struggled with most, denial.

Willow slipped from the corner of the desk and stood on shaking legs, the entire room was spinning and her vision blurred. She glanced towards Giles but his was no longer the friendly face of her mentor, it was stretched and distorted. No longer friendly at all, he looked like a monster. She pressed her legs back against the desk behind her, needing something solid in contact with her body. Although she clutched at the desk like it was keeping her from drowning, she still felt as though she was going under. She realized she needed to get out of the room, out of the building and back to the one place that was as familiar as it were possible for anything to be in this nightmare.

Giles made no move to stop her as she dashed past him and out of the door. She had a vague memory of the passages they had taken to bring her into the building and she ran back down these now. Through doors and up stairs until she was back in the foyer she remembered. It wasn't until she was once again fighting her way through the pedestrians on the street that she realized she was being followed. Willow glanced over her shoulder to see the dark-haired woman keeping a respectable distance.

Willow fought until she reached a clearer section of the street and continued onwards at a faster pace. Behind her, Faith also walked faster, maintaining the same following distance.

"I am going home!" Willow announced resolutely over her shoulder, already seeing the entrance to Gordon Square just up ahead.

Faith broke into a jog and came up alongside Willow. When she reached out to take her by the elbow, the redhead yanked her arm away with a small, angry grunt.

"Will, your flat is quite a ways…you might want to take the tram," Faith suggested, nodding towards one of the large carriages speeding along the street.

Willow frowned as though she had no idea what Faith was referring to; instead she turned and began walking down Gordon Square, already feeling a great deal more relaxed than she had been while inside the museum. She reached the front steps to her home and sighed as she stopped to stare up at its façade.

"Will, you can't just go into someone's house…" Faith began, frowning up at the heavy black door at the top of the steps.

"It is my house," Willow replied in a matter of fact manner, walking straight up the front steps with renewed purpose.

The door was unlocked as she had left it earlier. As soon as she walked through the front door of Gordon Square she felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. For the time being everything else was forgotten…she was home.

Willow woke drenched in sweat. She sat bolt upright in a tangle of bed sheets and blankets and fought in a panic to get the constraining fabric away from her body. With her limbs finally free, she found herself sitting in the middle of a bed. Everything was bathed in a silver sheen and she realized it was moonlight pouring through a large window, the curtains open. It did not take her long to realize that this was not her little flat. Not only was the bed three time larger than she was used to, the entire room was larger than her flat. Willow glanced from the canopy of the four-posted bed above her to the thick drapes hanging on either side of the window and the other furnishings. All were solid, expensive looking and decidedly unfamiliar.

Willow glanced down to see she still wore her own pajamas. Carefully she crawled down from the bed and her bare feet hit the rug on the floor. She stood cautiously, half expecting someone or something to rush out at her from the shadows in the room. Gradually Willow recognized the room and when she turned to see the large, silver framed mirror with her own reflection staring back at her she knew exactly where she was. She did not dare take another step closer to the thing, remembering what had happened last time she had ventured closer. Instead she stared at herself, relieved to see she was just her usual self, wearing her pajamas and with decidedly scruffy hair. She dragged her fingers through the tangled strands a few times and ventured out of the room.

The house was just as empty as it had been when she entered earlier. However, while she had been eerily familiar with the house, she now felt as though she knew it inside out. Instead of making her way down the hallway towards the stairs, she turned in the opposite direction and walked determinedly towards a closed door. Without hesitation, she pushed it open and a name instantly came into her mind.

"Abraham," Willow felt the name roll off her tongue so easily, as though she had said it many times, Willow Van Helsing's brother…no…my brother.

Although she had never before set foot in that room, she immediately thought that Abraham's room had changed since the last time she saw it. Even as she was trying to think how this was even possible, her mind came up with a reason, he had lived in this house long after she had died; of course he had changed things. Willow crossed the floor to the four-posted bed, identical to her own save for the rich red hangings and covers on the bed. She crawled up onto the bed and curled into a tight ball and cried for the brother she had lost, lamenting the fact that she never had a chance to apologize or even say goodbye.

Willow was not quite sure how long she lay there sobbing, but eventually she dragged herself from the bed and scrubbed her stinging eyes with her fists. She sat for a moment before realizing exactly where it was she wanted to be, a room where she felt even closer to her brother. Almost running, she made her way back down the hallway and down the stairs. She passed the parlor, not even noticing Faith sleeping on one of the black couches and into the library. Before she crossed to the book shelf she glanced up at the shelves stretching around all four walls and up to the ceiling. She realized with an ironic laugh that this was the first time she had stood in the library and actually wanted to read the material held on its shelves.

She did not need to search for the book she was after; she found it by instinct and tipped it forward, standing back as the hidden door swung inwards. Although the torches were not burning in the brackets, she found her way down the circular stairs easily in the darkness. The training room below was dimly lit with the thin shafts of moonlight finding the narrow windows that ran around the top of the room. Willow walked out towards the middle of the room, feeling the familiar pads beneath her feet. A smile crossed her face; she remembered hitting those pads many times, from a variety of angles. She did not need to close her eyes to imagine seeing Abraham striding across the pads towards her, a grin on his sweaty face.

Unlike Abraham's room, this room was exactly as she remembered it, save the fact that someone had actually tidied and there were no weapons or books lying about. Willow sensed someone watching her but she already knew who it was and was unconcerned, the presence was as familiar as that of her own brother, although she did not belong in this house.

Moments later the room was bathed in a golden electrical glow as the lights were turned on.

"Please accept my apologies for striking you earlier," Willow turned and met the dark-eyed gaze of the woman standing by the stairs.

Faith turned from facing the light switch she had just flicked and accepted the apology with a small nod, "As long as you will forgive me for my insensitive remarks, it's not everyday you lose your best friend…even though she's standing right in front of you."

"I'm still here, Faith," Willow whispered, pressing her hands to her temples as though she had a headache.

"I'm just a little…" Willow struggled to find the right words to describe her current state of mind, "My mind's a little busy right now and until everything straightens out I'm not sure who I am," Willow choked out a laugh as she replayed her own words in her mind, "God, I sound crazy."

Willow sighed and relaxed noticeably, due in part to her friend's ability to put her at ease no matter the situation. She found her feet moving forward and before she knew quite what had happened she was in Faith's warm embrace, the other woman's arms enfolding about her in a protective manner and holding her close.

"You know you don't normally hug me right?" Faith commented quietly, giving Willow one last squeeze before she stepped back.

"I know…and besides, weren't you getting all the hugs you needed from Lara?" Willow remembered the heated words that had passed between them at their last meeting and she was glad they could put it behind them, although she regretted mentioning Lara's name in such a context.

Faith did not seem to take offence; she merely shrugged as though she too was glad to put it behind her and did not offer any further information.

With her back pressed to the wall, Willow slid down to sit on the bottom step, tucking her knees up close to her chest. She glanced down at her pajama clad legs and realized she really needed to get out of them eventually.

"A part of me is overjoyed to be here, with you and Myles…Lara…although especially you," Willow realized she needed to talk everything through for it to make any sense, "And yet another part of me misses Abraham so much it hurts…and I don't want to be alive without him."

"Will…" Faith began in worried tone of voice, her brow furrowed with concern at the suggestion implicit in Willow's words.

Willow saw the look cross her friend's face and quickly shook her head to refute any suicidal connotations, "It's alright Faith, I'm not planning on going anywhere."

Faith breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. She was having a difficult enough time trying to come to terms with the changes her friend had undergone in such a short space of time, having to deal with the fact that she might be looking for an easier way out of her problems was something she did not want to have to do.

Willow continued, "But what makes it even worse is the fact that we quarreled before Covasna, Abraham and I."

"You mentioned earlier," Faith nodded and gave the reason in one small word, "Tara."

Tara, Willow rolled the name over on her tongue but did not speak it. A small part of her wanted to tell Faith everything, the impact Tara's death had had on her and the way in which she had been completely duped into loving the demon who had so cruelly invaded her body. However, a larger part was far more interested in remembering the time she had shared with Tara while she was still alive, the time they had spent at Hagley Park. Willow thought it more than odd that a part of her was remembering being with Tara physically while the other part had never so much as kissed another woman. While it was hardly the most important of her worries at that moment in time, she felt somewhat cheated at this rather unfortunate circumstance.

Still, with all of those memories being inextricably bound up with the events that had seen the end of her first life, she was more than eager to try and suppress them…at least for the time being. Although she knew it should have been one of her very first questions for Giles…she could not bear to ask where Tara was in this life…or if she even still existed. A part of her fervently hoped that someone, Giles, Abraham or Christopher, had destroyed the vampire.

"Can we not talk about her…please," Willow turned her head away, staring at the racks of weapons on the far wall.

"Of course," Faith agreed quickly, hardly wanting to go out of her way to upset Willow further, "Are you hungry…tired…?"

Without answering Faith, Willow rose from the stair and crossed the room. Faith watched as she paused in front of the weapons rack and rolled up the sleeves of her pajamas. A few moments later she selected two wooden staves. She carried them both back into the middle of the room and tossed one in Faith's direction.

Faith caught it smoothly even as Willow adopted an aggressive fighting posture. She couldn't help but grin at the sight of her friend holding the stave in her pajamas as though she meant business.

"I don't want to hurt you," Faith cautioned, twirling the stave over and over in her hands as she moved towards the center of the room.

Willow responded by performing the same maneuver as Faith, except that she took it a step further by adding a spin. Faith's jaw dropped.

"This body is not exactly in peak condition," Willow decided, glancing down at her rather spindly forearms, "But I think I should be okay."

If Faith's jaw had dropped at Willow's earlier move, then it should have hit the floor after what followed. Faith had never seen anyone move quite so fast let alone tiny, bookish Willow Rosenberg who would sooner lift a pen than a weapon. It quickly became apparent that she was indeed somehow channeling Willow Van Helsing, a woman who was undoubtedly no stranger to weaponry.

To an observer, the sight would have been a strange one. Two young women dueling with staves, one clad appropriately while the other wore a pair of stripey pajamas.

Faith lost herself in the movement and the crack-crack of stave upon stave as they both danced beneath the golden light of the lamps hanging above them. She soon realized that Willow knew exactly what she was doing, almost as though each move came naturally, without requiring any thought.

Willow too allowed herself to completely inhabit the space of the pads; there was nothing outside of them, no-one other than Faith in her small world. Even as she moved, her feet dancing lightly, she appreciated the fact that this should have been impossible. Just a few days ago Faith would have laid her out flat on her back in a matter of seconds. As it was, she was more than holding her own. She also realized with an internal grin that her shoulder wound was hampering her movements somewhat.

Willow grunted slightly as she ducked inside one of Faith's forward thrusts and delivered a solid blow to her gut. She went down heavily, hitting the pads with a loud thud. As Willow stood over her opponent, she decided not to tell Faith that she had not fought to her full potential.

"You know what?" Faith groaned as she struggled up into a sitting position, "This really isn't fair…you've always been the intelligent one but now you're stronger than me as well?"

"I'd like nothing more than to be one or the other," Willow replied with a tinge of sadness in her voice as she reached out to help her friend back to her feet, "but Willow Van Helsing has come back for a reason…and I think I have to learn to work with her."

"I know," Faith flexed her limbs to find everything still in working order, "It's still unfair though."

"You want to go another round?" Willow suggested with a playfully arched eyebrow.

Memories came back to Willow at odd times, most of the time she knew which life they were from. However there were some, mostly from her childhood, that she could not put a date to. Those, besides her memories of time spent with Tara at Hagley Park, were her most cherished. Most involved mischievous pranks in the company of a small redheaded boy. Often she could not tell whether it was Abraham or Alex unless the boy was almost a young man in which case it was Abraham as Alex had died at a young age.

A few days after emerging from the mirror with her twin personalities, Willow had managed to sort herself out to the point where she was functioning at somewhere approaching normality. She was not the Willow Rosenberg she had once been, but nor was she Willow Van Helsing. Instead the two personalities had merged into one, to the point where Willow almost considered herself an entirely new person. She had definitely decided that it was the oddest case of reincarnation she had ever stumbled across and she knew that as soon as the whole business with the skull was behind her, she would write it up and present the paper to the Royal Society. The fact that she herself was the subject did not faze her…although she was rather dismayed to discover that the thought of public speaking still left her terrified. She was sure she could face down a whole cadre of vampires on her own, but she was also sure she could not stand up in front of a room full of crusty, grey-haired men and speak.

While Willow had mostly confined herself to Gordon Square, rarely leaving her home as she regained a twisted but functional sense of self, it did not take her long to remember that in this life she had parents and she decided to visit them. Although along with the memory of parents came all sorts of unpleasant associations, Willow very promptly deciding that bad parents were much better than no parents at all. It was with a sense of the unknown that she found herself once again standing on the top step of the quaint, well- proportioned terraced house owned by Ira and Sheila Rosenberg. When she reached up to knock on the pale blue door, she did so with a firm, confident hand.

The door was opened rather promptly by her mother. Any warm smile of greeting that she may have been thinking about was quickly replaced with a blatant frown as she gazed down at Willow's attire. Willow followed her gaze and almost instantly realized that she should have thought to wear a dress to visit her parents. As it was, she had donned her customary three piece suit, it was the grey one which was somewhat worn and tired looking and had definitely seen better days. As Willow lifted her gaze after deciding it couldn't be helped, she idly wondered if her mother would react any differently if she were wearing a dapper new suit.

"Wilhelmina Rosenberg, whatever are you wearing?" Sheila blustered; her cheeks turning bright red…you look positively…mannish."

"Men's clothes!" Sheila squeaked, her hands making awkward birdlike motions as she appeared poised on the verge of a breakdown.

Willow shrugged casually, hardly willing to apologize for upsetting her mother for simply wearing clothes.

"Quickly, come upstairs and change into one of your old dresses before the Colonel sees you!" Sheila suggested, her face brightening at her brilliant plan.

"I will not wear a dress for your comfort…or fathers, "Willow decided very firmly, "I am quite comfortable."

"Well…" Sheila was completely taken aback by Willow's unexpected reply, she appeared indecisive for a few moments, as though wondering whether she should allow her into the home, however, she fixed an all too broad smile on her face and beckoned Willow inside with a wave of her podgy hand.

Sheila ushered Willow quickly into the parlor where Ira's stout frame was wedged into an overstuffed chair, his feet up on an ottoman in front of him and a large brandy at his side. He peered over his newspaper as Willow moved forward to brush her lips against his cheek,

As she drew back she watched his features move into a more restrained version of her mother's frown. Willow could see straight through his expression and knew that he was on the verge of outrage. No lady of civilized breeding would dare be seen in public so blatantly wearing men's attire. To see his own daughter flaunting the very natural rules governing such things was cause for grave concern indeed. Willow calmly met his gaze, even as she lowered herself onto a hard chair just opposite her father. Sheila sat also, casting worried glances between her husband and daughter as though she were afraid of what would happen next.

Much to Sheila's relief, the arrival of an immaculately attired butler with a tea tray sliced through the tension, although it still simmered away under the surface. Willow knew her mother was one step away from hysterics as she crammed an entire slice of tea cake into her mouth and chewed a little too enthusiastically, as though trying to occupy her mind with eating rather than thinking. The Colonel did not trade his brandy for tea, taking a large swallow to polish off his glass and make room for a refill. Willow accepted a cup of tea that she did not want and let it balance on her knee.

"The Colonel and I received your note," Sheila had finally swallowed her cake, freeing up her jaws for speech once more, "We did not even know you were in Europe so it came as a surprise to us to hear that you had been attacked by a band of thugs."

Willow had sent no such note, she realized that it must have been either Faith or Lara writing to advise her parents, tactfully avoiding the use of the word 'vampire.' No doubt her friends very sensibly thought that her parents might wish to visit her in the hospital or even at her little flat when she recovered enough to go home. Clearly her friends did not know her parents very well.

"I very nearly died," Willow answered, fighting to restrain from mentioning their absence as she knew her mother would have an apology pre-prepared.

"The Colonel and I desperately wanted to visit," Sheila nodded enthusiastically, trying to prod the Colonel into a reaction with a stiff glare, "But I knew it would only upset me to see my darling little girl lying in a hospital bed and you know how delicate my health is…but it is so good to see you up and walking around now. Wasn't it thoughtful of her to visit us, Colonel?"

Ira merely grunted in response, far more interested in the advertisements on the back page of The Times than he was in his daughter's wellbeing. Although his lack of response angered Willow she bit her lip and finally took a sip of her tea. She realized that she should hardly have been surprised, her father had grown increasingly distant with each year that passed since Alex's death, almost to the point where he acted as though he no longer had any children.

In the silence that followed, as Sheila ate more cake and her father took another swill of brandy, Willow found herself wishing she could be anywhere else. Even being on that godforsaken plain at Covasna was preferable to being in her parent's house…vampires and all. She began concocting excuses in her head, ways to beg her leave so soon after arriving without seeming rude. Eventually however, it was another of her mother's infernal conversations which solved the problem for her…permanently.

"You know, Willow," Sheila's mouth was still working around her latest piece of tea cake, "If you were wed this business in Europe would not have happened, you would have had a strong man at your side…or better yet, you would have been at home running your house and preparing for your children."

Willow did a perfect impression of Ira's grunt in response to her mother's statement.

Sheila appeared not to notice as she continued, "You know dear, Sir Joseph Pharazyn is still unmarried, unfortunate man, his wife dies and then his fiancé, poor Beth McGregor, upped and died on him as well. Still, I don't know how she ever would have coped with those seven children; she was always so terribly weak and sickly."

Willow could no longer restrain herself from commenting, "I am not looking for a husband and I am most certainly not looking for seven children!"

Sheila's mouth formed into a perfect 'o', a lump of cake still sitting on her tongue as she struggled to interpret Willow's statement. She could not possibly conceive of her daughter meaning literally that she did not want a husband, there simply had to be some other explanation. The tea cake worked around in her mouth as she pondered the possibilities.

"Have you already found yourself a young man dear?" her mother inquired tentatively, "Do you fear from telling us because he is of an inferior ilk, is he a common man…or possibly an immigrant?"

No, Willow heard her own teeth grating, She died and joined the ranks of the evil undead.

"You really must feel as though you can tell us, Willow," her mother continued, "We would consider any young man if he was of good character…"

"We bloody well would not!" Ira managed to string together a sentence, finally lowering his paper to sit on his lap.

"Why should it matter who I chose?" Willow growled in reply, looking from Sheila to Ira in turn, "It should not matter whether they be rich or poor, British or not…man or woman."

Willow almost laughed, "In a manner of speaking yes, but I've gained an entirely new one to replace it.

She watched the faces of both parents flicker in between confusion and terror as they wondered whether she truly had gone mad. While Willow felt that she herself was far from sane, she at least knew one very crucial piece of information about herself, past or present. She set down the barely touched cup of tea on a small side table, brushed the palms of her hands over her trousers and stood.

"Mother, Father," Willow turned to each in turn, "There will be no wedding…not now, not ever…unless one day in a future where people are far more enlightened and tolerant, women are permitted to marry each other…and of course if I ever found another woman to love."

Willow derived no satisfaction from the looks of horror on her parent's faces; she was simply stating the truth about herself with absolutely no regard for the consequences.

In a fluster Sheila rose from her seat and waved her arms in her husband's direction, "Quickly Colonel, quickly, call the doctor!"

Sheila stared at Willow with absolutely no comprehension on her face, "What is a 'lesbian'?"

"I should denounce you here and now!" Ira roared, obviously knowing full well what a 'lesbian' was as he finally rose from his chair, the newspaper slid forgotten to the floor.

"You know what; I'm not going to give you that satisfaction. Ira…Sheila, farewell, I would say that I will miss you but there's absolutely nothing to miss…about either of you," Willow was surprised at just how calmly the words flowed from her lips and she realized that she had spent more than a decade wanting to say just those words.

Willow felt nothing but ambivalence at seeing the horrified expression on her mother's face and the outraged expression on her father's. In all honestly, she was glad that the truth was out and terribly glad that she would not have to endure another of her mother's conversations about potential husbands.

Like the military man he was, Ira stalked towards Willow. He lifted his hand to slap her across the face but he had not expected her to move. Willow easily ducked his glancing blow; her hand then snatched out and seized his wrist.

"You will not make me into an image of your choosing," Willow growled in a low voice, "I will not hide who I am!"

Sheila had collapsed into the couch, her entire body heaving with loud cries but Willow felt no sympathy for she knew it was not really her she was crying over, it was the memory of a girl who had never existed.

She let go of her father's wrist and glared at him for a fraction longer than necessary before spinning on her heels and walking out of the house for the very last time. It was not until she had exited the house and moved down the steps that she realized the momentous nature of her actions.

Willow wandered the streets of London for almost an hour before she found herself, almost by instinct, standing at the entrance to another building. This time however she felt none of the unpleasantness associated with her parent's home. She glanced up at the British Museum and realized that, except for Abraham and Tara, every single person she loved was inside the building.

She walked in the front entrance, quickly bypassing the stares of any staff who may have remembered her breakdown from a few days earlier and into the bowels of the employee only areas of the museum. As she walked the dark corridors she realized with some amount of satisfaction that she was indeed home in the sense of being somewhere she felt safe and comfortable. This feeling only increased as she pushed open the door to her little office. It smelt a little musty after being empty for over two months but her face broke into a broad grin at the sight of so many familiar treasures. Her desk was as messy as ever, the shelves upon shelves of books, the idols crammed into their respective niches, the war spears stacked into one corner; everything was in its place. With a cry of glee she fell down on the rag rug at her feet and flopped over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling and the topmost shelves of books above her head.

Willow was still laughing when she was startled by a soft knock on the already open door. She swiveled slightly to see a rather red-faced Myles Cavendish standing in the door way.

He got no further as Willow sprang to her feet and enveloped him with her arms, "Myles!"

Myles was more than a little red-faced as Willow finally let him go, his expression was still a little nervous as though he did not quite know what to say…and he was more than a little put off by the most un-Willow-like display of exuberant affection he had just experienced.

"Um…I have work to do but I just wanted to stop by…you know," he explained further.

The young man nodded, a small grin spreading infectiously across his face before he continued on his way. Willow was barely left alone in her office long enough to sit down before Lara Croft entered, still relying on a wooden cane to help her around the building. Willow thought the Director looked a little pale, her skin stretched tightly across her cheeks as though she had not had a great deal of sleep for some time.

Willow sat up a little straighter in her chair, wondering if she ought to offer Lara a seat but she realized that there were no others in the room.

"I am glad you are back, Willow," she nodded her head slightly, her voice as deep-throated and luscious as ever.

"Back in the building or back to sanity?" Willow commented quickly before biting her lip, Willow Rosenberg would never have uttered such a thing in the presence of Croft…but then again, she was not entirely Willow Rosenberg.

Lara laughed, a full and rich sound, "If you would allow me to say it…then both."

The sound of heavy footsteps running down the corridor caused them both to look up to the doorway. A few moments later Faith entered, her chest heaving slightly.

"One of the staff told me you had come in, Will…" Faith paused when she realized Lara was there, "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realize you already had company."

"It is no problem," Lara replied before Willow could open her mouth "I was just stopping by to welcome Willow back into the building…for the second time."

"You show concern for her now, but did you do the same when you sent her off to Europe?" Faith still would not look at Lara, "She very nearly did not come back…not alive anyway!"

"It is bloody fair! She has been playing all of us, you…me especially," Faith finally lifted her gaze and looked straight at Lara, "Was our relationship merely so you could keep a closer eye on Willow?"

"No, Faith…our relationship had absolutely nothing to do with Willow…it was just complicated by those matters…believe me when I say I never intended to keep you in the dark…'

"Like hell you did…what do you say to some fresh air?" Faith suggested looking at Willow, she would not even turn her head slightly to meet Lara's searching gaze.

Willow glanced back and forth between the two women as though she were caught in the middle of something but when Faith gave her a quick glare she gave up and nodded. Faith quickly linked her arm through Willow's and made a rather swift beeline for the door without a glance over her shoulder. Willow glanced over her shoulder and gave Lara an apologetic smile which was returned quickly but without any great effort. The smile did not reach her eyes which were wet and intensely sad.

Lara's expression stayed with Willow as she and Faith made their way out of the museum. She also realized that Faith's entire body was tense and she did not feel her relax until they were both strolling in the park a short distance from the museum.

"You're feeling fine…I mean you're acting with something resembling normality so you must be feeling a little…clearer?" Faith asked as they walked, eager to steer the topic away from her confrontation…or lack of one, with Lara.

"Yes, as you say, something resembling normality," Willow shrugged, instead of continuing to walk she found a convenient bench and sat, Faith followed suit, "I feel like a quilt, you know, bits and pieces slowly being joined together to create a whole person…which is odd because I already thought I was complete to begin with."

Willow shrugged again and ran shaking hands over the legs of her suit. She distinctly remembered sitting on this same bench, or one very close to it, and eating her lunch from a tin lunch box. Another associated memory also stirred but she could not dredge up much more at that time. She let it go and instead turned her attention to her friend sitting on the bench beside her.

"Why won't you forgive her?" Willow ventured quietly, "Whatever she did, it is obvious she loves you."

Faith did not need any further explanation; she knew immediately that Willow was referring to Lara and the heated words the two of them had shared in her office. She regretted that it had taken place in front of Willow, one of the last things her friend need at this difficult time was to see such a public outburst of what had been an intensely private passion. It was somewhat odd that someone who had been through so much could even think to ask someone else about the problems in their life. Then again, she knew could expect nothing less from Willow.

"She put your life in danger, Will," Faith replied fervently, her tone indicating just how seriously she took Willow's safety.

"Faith, I am quite capable of taking care of myself," Willow replied, a little saddened that she was the wedge who had been driven between the two lovers.

"Well you can now that you're manifesting Willow Van Helsing who, if I can just add, sounds like one freakishly scary woman!" Faith commented in an animated voice before remembering that she might as well have been talking to the woman herself, "Sorry…I am still dealing with a few issues involving jealously and a bruised ego."

"I understand…but you also keep changing the topic," Willow admonished her friend lightly.

"Perhaps because I don't want to talk about it," Faith replied heavily, "I know you're only trying to help but I would really appreciate it if we could talk about something else…talking about that woman is only going to anger me…and remind me just how much I want her. Damn that woman and her breasts!"

As Faith let out a sigh that was half born out of frustration and half from longing, Willow felt her cheeks burn. She had to turn her head. It was a few moments before Faith noticed her behavior. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, drawing Willow downwards until her head was nestled comfortably in her lap. When she laid the back of her hand against Willow's cheek, she found it hot to the touch.

"I speak without thinking, sometimes I should be thankful my love life is not as complicated as yours," Faith was sincere but she could not resist making one particular comment, "Not to mention the fact that you haven't had sex for over a hundred years."

Willow responded with a small smile, Faith spoke the truth, "You don't miss what you don't know…the only problem is I do know what I'm missing, the fire burns within me and there's no way to quench it, not with the woman I long for anyway."

While Willow knew that it was not only Tara who could stir such feelings within her body, as evidenced by her past love for Ayako and her infatuation with Lara Croft's breast, Tara was where her heart truly lay. Even though it had been over one hundred years, she still remembered the passion of their lovemaking and the way it had felt to be brought to orgasm by the one you loved. Clearer still in her mind was the frantic alley coupling with the vampire who had been Tara. Her cheeks colored at that particular memory.

"Would you and I make a good couple?" Faith asked, interrupting Willow's chain of thought.

Willow was effectively rendered speechless for a moment; she turned over so she was lying on her back staring up into Faith's eyes. She was surprised to find that there was no jesting smile playing across Faith's lips.

"I don't know," Willow replied, thinking for just a moment before giving the briefest of answers, "No."

Willow detected the tiny element of hurt in her friend's voice and she quickly sat up, meeting her gaze directly.

She studied her friend's face but could not tell immediately what she was thinking. Where the expression had been evident in her voice, her eyes were veiled. Willow had to admit that she had never thought of Faith in a sexual way, they had always been friends….more than friends even, sisters. She loved the other woman dearly and the thought of being intimate with her, as beautiful as she was, was almost unpleasant.

Faith shook her head quickly, "I am sorry, Will, perhaps you newfound status as a woman of action has spurred me to think odd thoughts."

"Or perhaps served to remind you that you already have a woman of action who loves you," Willow commented.

Faith narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "I am not entirely sure I approve of these new developments in your personality…you are suddenly much too insightful."

The two women sat in the park for a short while longer until the cold drove Willow indoors, she still felt weaker than normal due to her healing shoulder injury. It was with some relief that she sank back behind her desk, Faith stood, leaning against the doorway as she watched her friend start to leaf through the stacks of papers in front of her. While a part of her felt rather strange at the pleasure she derived from the feel of paper upon her skin, a larger part was relieved to be back behind a desk, away from the front lines of the battle with evil.

"You know, Faith," Willow commented before her friend left her, "I don't think I want to spend all day sitting here, would you like to spar with me later on today…I will promise to go easy on you if that helps your bruised ego?"

She continued to leaf through the piles, one sheet fell from amidst others and fluttered to the floor. Willow pushed her chair back so she could stoop to pick it up.

"Now I know there is something wrong with you!" Faith said in disbelief, "I suppose you would like me to find you an Atramen or two to take on?"

Willow did not reply to Faith's question, instead she stared at the piece of paper she had just retrieved. It was not a page of text but rather it was a pencil sketch…a sketch of Tara's face. She stared at it in silence for a few moments, realizing that this picture was drawn with a great deal of attention to detail. It was almost as though each stroke of the pencil on the paper had been a loving caress. Everything about the face was perfect to the point where Willow felt like crumpling the paper in her fist and throwing it across her office. However, there was something about the sketch…it was almost as though the subject was not the demon Willow remembered so clearly, but rather the young woman who had died so long ago.

Eventually curiosity drove Faith to approach the desk and see for herself what lay on the paper that had captured Willow's attention.

"Do you remember her?" Faith asked quietly when she saw that it was a picture of Tara that Willow held, Willow's 'mystery woman.'

"Why should I remember her?" Willow whispered in a worried voice, "You know her?"

More memories flooded Willow's consciousness to the point where she felt as though she might pass out. The tin lunch box came back to her and she realized that it was on that day that Willow Rosenberg had first seen the vampire formerly known as Tara Maclay. There were other meetings, Tara had spoken little, evoking little of what had taken place in her past…All her memories of the demon were cloudy but she clearly remembered the demon's presence at Covasna where she had sustained her shoulder wound. Willow felt her fists clenching around the paper…two wounds in Tara's presence, one fatal; it was too much of a coincidence. With a savage movement, she tore the sketch in half and tossed the pieces to the floor.

Giles was not in his workroom when Willow came looking for him but she found him in the next most logical place, the library. The sight of mentor and oldest friend surrounded by a large stack of books took her back in time and she paused for a moment, letting the scene have a calming effect on her. By the time Giles sensed her presence her anger had abated somewhat and she was able to summon a small smile. She approached and perched atop the table Giles was resting on, scooting several books to one side with a swat of her hand.

Giles narrowed his eyes as the stack of books tumbled and went sliding across the well polished table, one close to falling off the table altogether. He stood and collected them back into their neat stack.

"I see you're beginning to manifest some less than desirable personality traits," he commented, moving the books well out of Willow's reach.

"I'm also beginning to think book learning is overrated," Willow replied with a dismissive shrug, picking up another and flipping through it as Giles continued to tidy his space, "The real learning is in the field…in the dead of night when you're backed into a corner and faced with four or five vampires, all just itching to sink their fangs into your flesh and get a taste of your blood…you can't tell me there's a book that would be more worthwhile than that experience?"

"Willow, you've never been backed into a corner with even one vampire," Giles set her straight rather bluntly, completely dismissing the fact that her other half had truly lived that situation more than once, he had already decided that it was far easier to see her as Willow Rosenberg…with a few added personality quirks.

Willow frowned and her mouth twisted into a slight pout, "That's not entirely true is it, Giles?"

"What do you mean?" Giles had to stop fidgeting with his books as they were all arranged in perfect piles, to continue arranging them would only serve to make Willow aware of just how uncomfortable he still was around her.

"The demon who was Tara is out there and I've seen her, spoken to her…been close to her," Willow spoke quietly, restraining her voice from the angry shouts she truly wanted to be able to make, "Doesn't that strike you as a little odd?"

Willow gave an annoyed grunt as his deliberate evasion, this was exactly the sort of thing she had come to confront Giles about and she could tell he was going to be difficult about it.

"Giles, the last thing I remember from Willow Van Helsing's life was that demon standing over her…me, with my own bloody sword in her fist…she killed me for god's sake, Giles!"

"Difficult?" Willow snapped, jumping down from the table and pacing a few steps, "It's bloody awful…imagine for a second how it would feel to meet your own murderer, to stand face to face with them knowing what they've done but you with no bloody clue! I remember standing close to her, having her stare at me on several occasions, knowing full well what she did to me and she had the nerve to be cryptic and refuse to answer my questions!"

"Willow, there are a number of things you are yet to understand…" Giles began.

"Well help me to understand them!" Willow demanded, spinning to face Giles, "Help me to understand why that demon is back in my life again…and more to the point, did you know she was skulking around me?"

From the expression on Giles's face, Willow did not even need her mentor to open his mouth and answer that question. He knew. He had been there at Covasna, had watched Tara plunge the sword into her back and yet he knew she was back again. Willow stared at him with a flabbergasted expression on her face for a few moments while his mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to form a coherent explanation. At that point in time Willow wasn't interested in hearing excuses, she could only struggle to reign in her temper, a temper she was still coming to grips with.

She had to drag her gaze away before he received a fist in his face just as Faith had done the day before. She crossed to the nearest of the solid bookshelves and pressed her forehead against the cool wood, blocking out everything except the sound of her own breathing. Being as intelligent as he was, Giles knew to let her be.

It amazed Willow just how vividly she remembered each of her recent meetings with the demon. Although with a few moments reflection she realized that this was because she had instinctively felt the connection between them and in a way, history was repeating itself as she fell in love with her all over again. Willow clenched her fists; even just the thought of it was repulsive.

When she turned back to search Giles's expression once more she immediately knew that he was not going to give her the answers she needed.

"You are not!" Giles's voice was sterner, as though she were once again the small girl he had taught, "And I will say nothing until you are…a few days at least, except to say that she has suffered immensely in the years since Willow Van Helsing's death."

"I died!" Willow was entirely unsympathetic, "She bloody well deserves several lifetimes of suffering!"

"Upset?" Willow was hard pressed to think of a more inappropriate descriptor, "Giles I'm livid, what kind of vampire hunter lets a vampire kill her and get away with it?"

"Well, most people don't come back to carry out their own revenge," Giles pointed out in a matter of fact tone.

"Well I bloody well did come back!" Willow growled, slamming a fist into the cupped palm of her other hand, "And the next time I see that double- crossing bitch I'm going to take up the sharpest stake I can find, shove it in her chest and watch that smug smile disappear from her face!"

For early summer, the night was surprisingly stifling. No breeze blew to lift the heavy veil of heat that ensnared London within its grasp. As dangerous as it was, some people had desperately left windows slightly ajar in the hope of coaxing a little cool air into their rooms as they slept. With her footsteps barely making a sound on the footpath, Tara glanced up at an open first floor window as she passed beneath it. She frowned, wondering if these people knew any better. There were many things that went bump in the night other than vampires, any of which could easily slip through that window. With a murmured word, Tara closed the window, even going as far as to turn the latch on the inside. She continued walking down the street.

Despite the heat Tara wore a thick woolen coat with its fur lined hood tugged up over her head. Although her heart beat steadily within her chest, she was still immune to the elements. Tara felt her shoulders sag with a small sigh; she would have preferred to feel the heat instead of the infernal chill which gripped her body.

She continued walking towards her destination, although with one slight detour. Tara glanced up at the street sign which read Gordon Square. It was a street she had not walked down for some months, not since Europe and the events that had taken place at Covasna. While she had watched over Willow from a distance throughout her time in Klausenburg's hospital and to a lesser degree as she returned to the relative safety of her own little flat, Tara had distanced herself these past few weeks. She desperately needed time to face the fact that she had very nearly failed. It was almost criminal to think that after everything Willow had been through that she had almost died in the same place her predecessor met her end. Tara had already struggled with enough guilt to last several lifetimes, adding more was a matter of course.

Walking past the Van Helsing's Gordon Square House had been something of a ritual. Although she knew that Willow had spent some years there, it was far more significant in terms of the time Tara herself had spent there. It was time she could never forget. As desperately as she wanted to suppress those memories, her guilt would not allow her to. It was a form of self-punishment. Tara felt she deserved every hour, week and year of pain she had endured and she would carry that with her for the rest of her life, however long that would be. As she passed Gordon Square she felt something odd, the usual revulsion she felt at the sight of its austere façade had diminished somewhat to be replaced by an odd sensation, her heart speed up and she felt light- headed. It was a milder form of the sweet torture she felt when in Willow's presence.

Willow's here? Tara glanced up at the usually dark windows to see faint light seeping out from the gaps between curtains on the first floor. She stopped walking and stood staring up at the window. Although she had no way of knowing for sure, she felt that Willow was in that very room. Her forehead creased into a slight frown that betrayed the deeper worries in her mind, for some reason Willow had returned to Gordon Square even though she ought to have no memory of ever having been in the house.

You are being ridiculous, Tara breathed out gently, letting the tension flow from her body, You just want her to be in there because you miss her…keep walking…

Tara left the black house on Gordon Square behind her and continued on to her destination, she managed to glance back over her shoulder just once.

Though the night was late…not to mention hot, the heart of the British Museum continued to beat thrum along at a steady beat. Night watchmen patrolled the dark corridors, always wary and slightly nervous as they walked amongst treasures plundered from Greece, Africa and Egypt, as though any one of them might come to life.

However, the Elgin marbles remained the solid stone that they were, the mummies did not stir in their wrappings and the tribal figures continue to stare solemnly into the darkness. The only sounds besides the watchmen themselves were the urgent footsteps echoing throughout the basement employee corridors. The watchmen did not walk those halls for those that worked within them were quite capable of protecting themselves and the secrets that lay within their reach. One set of footsteps was more agitated than the other, reflecting the mood of the young woman who had just been summoned from a light night training session.

"If we are both here then who is with Will?" Faith demanded of Giles as she followed him down the corridor, "I know she can take care of herself but I would not be happy with her being in that huge house on her own."

Faith had to increase her pace to keep up with Giles's lengthy strides. She was already sweating heavily beneath the shirt and breeches she wore and would much rather have been running a wet cloth over her face than following the old man, it was bad enough that he had interrupted her session and demanded that she follow him. Faith had little patience for authority and as far as she was concerned, Giles had no right to tell her what to do.

"You'd better start explaining yourself, Giles!" Faith snapped in frustration, "If you wanted to speak to me, you could have done so in the training room."

Giles paused at the door to his workroom and raised his eyebrows, "I could have spoken to you in there yes but there are others joining us and it smells in there."

"No worse than your workroom," Faith shot back, "Now answer my questions damn you, who is with Will, and why are we even having a meeting at this time of night?"

"Firstly," Giles let out a long suffering sigh, "Myles is staying at Gordon Square…"

Giles held up a stern finger, "Faith, before you say anything I would urge you to reconsider your words, Myles is a worthy young man who more than proved himself in Europe…and Willow trusts him implicitly."

"I wasn't going to make any statement to the contrary!" Faith protested, "It's just that…I'm her closest friend, I should be the one watching her…my apologies, I guess I'm just a little over protective at the moment?"

Giles nodded knowingly before he opened the door to his workroom. The lights were already turned on as the pair entered. The room appeared the same each time Faith stepped into it, although if anything she thought it had grown even more untidy. There was however one rather noticeable difference this time, Lara Croft herself was perched on a chair, absently playing with one of Giles's projects until she glanced up and saw Faith. She slowly placed the unidentifiable object back on the work bench and rose from the chair. Faith stared for a moment before her lips tightened and she pushed past Giles to leave the room.

Giles cast a questioning glance in Lara's direction before following the young woman, who was currently in the process of stalking back down the corridor the way they had just come.

"I'm not going to your meeting Giles, you can fill me in later," Faith continued walking.

Something in his tone made Faith take notice and she stopped, whirling around so she could march back towards him. Her face however said that she was not about to change her mind, "Giles, seriously, you cannot ask me to be in the same room with that woman!"

"Yes!" Faith shot back all too quickly before realizing exactly what Giles had said, her mouth opened and closed as though she wanted to continue her tirade but the words would not emerge as she had realized that Giles had said something entirely too insightful and inappropriate.

Although she had avoided Lara in the weeks that had passed since their falling out over Lara's silence on the Willow issue, she had done this so casually that she did not think that anyone had noticed. As for their relationship happening at all, she had been certain up until this point that no one outside of she, Lara and Willow were even aware that a physical relationship had developed between the two women. Her slip in front of Willow had been bad enough and now Giles knew. In Faith's opinion this was as bad as her parents knowing…god rest their souls.

"She is your employer, Faith," Giles said sternly, "As such you will treat her with all the respect that position entails…and you will leave your personal feelings out of this. These are grave times and there is much at stake for all of us."

When Faith and Giles rejoined Lara in the workroom, Faith managed to retain a sense of calm, she did however remain standing on the opposite side of the room from her estranged lover. However, her pre-occupation with Lara was forgotten from the moment the final attendee joined them. Faith noticed an airy, dark mist creeping in through a vent in the ceiling. Her well trained senses knew instinctively what it was and by the time the vampire solidified in front of them she had a loaded crossbow in her hands. However, she hesitated immediately when she the vampire slipped back its hood to reveal a familiar face.

"It is lovely to see you again too, Faith," Tara seemed bemused by the crossbow aimed at her chest.

"How can you get in here?" Faith demanded of Tara before turning to Giles, "Is she supposed to be able to do that?"

"The usual rules do not apply to Tara," Giles explained, "As such the protections that we have in place around this building also do not apply."

Tara turned and nodded towards the Director of the British Museum, "Director Croft, it is a pleasure as always."

"Indeed," Lara murmured with a nod of her own and just the slightest flicker of her tongue over her luscious lips.

Faith had to blink a few times as she wondered whether her eyes had played tricks on her. Was that really an appreciative gleam in Lara's eyes? Faith glanced back to the blonde vampire but the expression on her face was unreadable as she returned the stare. She had to admit that Tara truly was an imposing and beautiful presence in their midst…but she was also a demon. Faith tore her gaze away and found a stool. She sat with a sullen expression on her face and felt decidedly unappreciated. She wondered what it was about the vampire that had women caressing her with their eyes in such an inappropriate manner…but then again, as she glanced up at Lara and found her now looking straight at her rather than the demon, Faith realized she was just jealous. She also looked away from Lara and was then forced to look at the only person in the room who did not fuel her anger, Giles. Faith kept the loaded crossbow cradled on her lap as though she thought she might have call to use it in a hurry.

While the three humans sat down, Tara shook her head at Giles's offer of a stool and continued to stand. As such her powerful presence dominated the room.

"I enjoy walking, don't you?" Tara replied quietly, tactfully avoiding a barbed comment, before continuing, "There was a light on…I didn't dwell on it for overly long but I did wonder…"

"Ah yes," Giles appeared as though he too had forgotten that Tara had no idea that the Willow she knew from the present was not quite herself anymore, "It appears that Abraham was a little more adept with his spell casting that he led me to believe."

"Why do you say that?" Tara asked, her eyes narrowing at the mention of Abraham's name.

"Willow entered Gordon Square of her own accord, it was inevitable that she would as the address was in the front of the diary…it appears that someone, and I am presuming it was Abraham, bewitched the mirror to show Willow the past from Willow Van Helsing's perspective."

Tara's already pale visage became even whiter almost immediately but she also sighed resolutely, "Abraham did not bewitch the mirror…he knew the theory but he never had that kind of power."

"I did," Tara replied, "Just after you made the decision to bring Willow back…I knew she would have no memories of what happened to her, and I knew she would have to find out eventually but I did not want to have to tell her to her face…and a part of me did not want her to find out at all. The mirror was my way of salving my conscience…at least a little."

"You should have told me…that spell could have had grave consequences for Willow!" Giles paced the floor, the determined set to his shoulders said that he was rather angry, "As it is…she now knows everything that took place between finding out about your death…right up until her own death."

The blonde vampire finally did sink onto the stool Giles had set out for her. It was as though she did not have the strength to hold herself up any longer.

Faith glanced back and forth between Giles and Tara, she did not like the implication present in their glances, "Wait a minute…Giles, just how did Willow Van Helsing die?"

Giles just shook his head slowly indicating that it was not his place to say. He then nodded discreetly in the direction of Tara who was slumped on the stool, her hair hanging forward over her face.

While Tara looked to be nothing more than a harmless young woman…Faith however did not take anything at face value and knew she was so much more. She narrowed her eyes as she strode towards the slumped form. As she approached Tara looked up, thin tracks of tears sliding down her face.

"Lured by the promise of power, I betrayed her," Tara answered bluntly, "She trusted me to stand with her at Covasna but I stabbed her in the back."

For a moment Faith lowered her crossbow and stared stupidly at Tara as she tried to process this startling revelation, "You did what?"

"Faith, I was a soulless vampire…you of all people should know just how corrupt such a creature is," Tara continued in a bland voice, not justifying her actions but merely stating the truth.

"What in the bloody hell went on between you and Willow?" Faith demanded, the crossbow shaking in her grip "Because this is all sounding like one twisted party that the Willow I know would never have been involved with!"

"That's an understatement! When we were healing Willow at Covasna, I saw in my mind images of you when you were alive…you loved her then…and I think she never stopped loving you…she probably still loved you when you stabbed her in the back…and now you're here showing all the concern in the world for her and I'll be damned if that little story makes any sense at all!"

"You're right, it makes no sense," Tara admitted sadly, each of Faith's words inflicted pain like a barb, "I could explain everything…"

"Well then it is a pity that you will not get that chance," Faith growled, once again lifting the crossbow level with Tara's heart. She could think of nothing else other than this demon stabbing the past self of her dearest friend.

"No, Faith," Giles interrupted sternly, "This isn't the time…and it should be enough for you that I trust her."

Faith's eyes glowered, indicating that Giles's trust was far from enough. However, she gritted her teeth and managed to hold back on any further judgments she had to make about the blonde vampire. She grew even angrier and more confused when she saw the strange look that passed between Giles and Tara. With a snort, she threw the crossbow to the ground, it instantly triggered and the bolt shot out and thudded into a wall a few meters to the left of Lara's head. Faith looked exceptionally disappointed and sat down just opposite Giles.

"No one ever tells me anything," Faith grumbled like a petulant child, "You, Lara…vampire lady over there…"

"I told Lara not to tell you anything," Giles explained as if this immediately made perfect sense.

"Why the hell would Lara listen to you?" Faith demanded, looking back and forth between the old man and her lover, "She's the Director of the bloody British Museum and you're…well, you're whatever you are."

Faith bit her lip as she immediately regretted her hasty words. However, Giles merely returned her stare with an infinitely knowing gaze. She cocked her head to one side as she studied the old man, as she did realization dawn and she realized that she barely knew him. In that gaze she saw much more than the quirky inventor who toiled away in his solitary workshop. She saw the knowledge and experience gained only via the passage of time. Her own gaze shifted from Giles to Lara and then back again as she realized he was indeed in charge.

"Giles is a warlock, Faith," Tara explained quietly, "And he is over five hundred years old."

Faith's jaw dropped as she continued to stare at Giles, "And I just thought you aged badly."

"Well you deserve it for being such an ass; you can start making amends by filling me in," Faith demanded without seeming the least bit apologetic, "And do not miss anything out."

Faith listened as Giles laid it all out for her. She already knew the Covasna myth of course, even before Willow's tragic accident there. However she had no idea just how deeply her friends were involved. Her jaw remained in an open position throughout Giles's tale and by the time he had brought her up to speed on everything he knew, her jaw was locked in position.

It took some time before Faith could move her mouth enough to form words but her first concern was predictable, "Does Willow know all of this?"

"She lived much of it," Giles explained warily, "but she was dead for over one hundred years."

Faith caught the tone in his voice and came to an immediate realization, "You didn't tell me any of this because you thought I would fill Willow in didn't you? Well you are bloody right! She needs to know…especially about that vampire…" Faith stabbed a finger in Tara's direction but cut herself off as she said the word; she frowned as she turned to face Tara, "Or whatever the bloody hell you are…how the hell can you still consort with them? Do they not sense what you are?"

Tara just nodded, "They see me as corrupt…but you must understand the position which I held. Killing Willow made me second only to Dracula himself and despite what Abraham Van Helsing did, they continued to trust me."

"Faith is right," Tara interrupted with a resigned glance in Giles's direction, "On one count at least; my former friends have become exceptionally suspicious regarding Angelus's disappearance…at present I dare not show myself in their company."

Giles looked exceedingly shocked, "Tara…please tell me you did not do what I think you did!"

"Yes, but now you've ruined your status among our enemies…that was a foolish move Tara," Giles was not at all impressed.

"After all that Tara has done for us over the years, we cannot abandon her now," when Lara finally spoke everyone else in the room turned to face the Director, the stern set to her mouth indicating that she felt strongly about the words she spoke.

Lara also had strong suspicions regarding Faith's reactions to her statement. She turned to her estranged lover, thoroughly expecting to see an expression of indignation. However she found instead one of resignation as though she was not even going to attempt to argue.

"I agree," Giles nodded towards Lara, "And I will need to think on this further…as well as the more pressing matter of the skulls whereabouts, the key obviously lies with Willow but I think unlocking any memories she may have will be difficult."

"You're all missing the little fact that she was dead when old Abe hid the bloody thing!" Faith commented.

All three of her companions turned to give her a look that said they did not need to be reminded of that little fact. Faith just shrugged as she reached out and gently stroked a bottle of holy water sitting on one of Giles's benches.

"I know I can help her find the skull, Giles, I knew both her and Abraham well…" Tara suggested, her voice betraying just how badly she wanted to see Willow.

"Tara, wait," Giles cautioned her, "Willow is strong, she's adjusting well but if we make a false move it could undo the consciousness that she has made for herself."

"She is understandably very angry, I think possibly even angry enough to do what she could not do all those years ago when she first met you in your non- human form…and you've changed now, it would be wrong for Willow to punish you for what your demon self did."

Tara shook her head sadly, "I still deserve to be punished Giles, as near to being human as I am, I still remember what it felt like to kill her…you have no idea what it is like living with a memory like that!"

"Tara, we will protect you as best we can…all of us," he made a point of looking directly at Faith, "But Faith will help Willow find the skull."

"Great plan! You stay away from her you hear?" Faith stabbed her finger angrily in Tara's direction, "I don't care if you've got some twisted little fantasy that she still loves you after all that you've done to her, the people that she still loves will take care of her…better than you ever could…demon!"

Although her expression was one of pain, Tara also managed a small smile of resignation in response to Faith's words; she faced the vampire hunter calmly, "I know you will, Faith." Tara then turned to face Giles and Lara and the smile disappeared from her face leaving just the pain, "I will await news of your success in finding the skull…until then I will stay out of everyone's affairs."

"Try not to get dusted," Faith said just as the vampire went out the same way she had come, through the vents in the ceiling.

Both Lara and Giles glared at her as though her rudeness was inexcusable. Faith replied with a grunt of contempt and left the room in the conventional way. She managed to relax somewhat now that she was out of the presence of the blonde vampire and Lara Croft but she still could not shake off the fact that the vampire was the thing responsible for the death of her best friend…or at least her death in a past life. Faith was so confused trying to piece together everything Giles had told her that she felt a strong headache coming on.

Faith had only just returned to her own office when she heard quiet footsteps behind her. There was no need for her to turn immediately as she already knew who it was. The smell of the woman filled her nostrils, it was intoxicating and maddening at the same time. Faith was forced to place both hands on the corner of her desk to hold herself steady…and to keep herself from whirling around and launching herself forward into the woman's arms. She closed her eyes and breathed out deeply before opening her mouth to speak.

"I suppose you think I owe you an apology," Faith said bitterly, her tone far from apologetic.

"No," Lara replied with her voice soft but urgent, "I owe you one, I'm sorry that you were not brought into the fold earlier…and I apologize for the hurt you have suffered…"

Faith slowly opened her eyes; there was a determined gleam in their dark depths. She knew she was dancing a dangerous waltz but it she could no longer refrain from dancing to Lara's tune. The attraction between the two of them was undeniable and Faith finally realized just how futile it was to try and avoid the other woman. With a last intake of breath she spun on her heels and crossed the distance between her and Lara in just two loud heartbeats. On the third heartbeat their lips were pressed together. The kiss lasted just a moment but that was all it took for Faith to realize just what it was she had missed.

"Slowly," Lara whispered a moment later, "I think we really need to talk things through before we…"

Even as Lara drew back, Faith reached out and wrapped her fingers around the back of her neck. With a fierce but calculated tug she drew Lara's mouth back towards her own. For a few delicious seconds she resumed their kiss, indicating that slow was most definitely not the speed she wished to travel at.

Although both Giles and Faith had been very clear in their respective warnings, Tara did not heed either. Her burning desire to see Willow outweighed any concerns she had for her own safety or for Willow's. In hindsight she cursed her lack of an iron will and wondered what on earth she had been hoping for with the meeting.

It was fairly simple to track Willow down. Tara merely sat and waited, observing the black house at Gordon Square. Although she knew that young Myles Cavendish was watching over Willow with orders not to let her leave the house at night, it soon became obvious that he presented a rather insignificant obstacle to someone of her talents. It was near to the middle of the night when Tara saw a dark shape slip from a window at the rear of the house and drop silently to the ground. She recognized the way the shape moved and knew it could only be Willow. With her heart pounding in trepidation, Tara followed at a safe distance, hugging the dark shadows.

It soon became apparent that Willow was not merely out for an evening stroll; Tara saw the slender shape of a sword scabbard protruding from her belt. Willow was hunting. This became even more apparent when Willow led her straight to one of the largest cemeteries in town. In the dark, this late at night, it was a foreboding place, full of shadows and unexplained noises. The Willow Rosenberg that Tara had observed for so many years would not have set foot in such a place during daylight, let alone now. There was no doubt that this young woman had changed.

As Tara followed some distance back, she caught a glimpse of the side of Willow's face as she turned her head and could seen the familiar profile. The changes had taken place not in her appearance but in the way she moved and carried herself. Tara was so rapt in her study of Willow, she did not realize that she was in fact being tracked. Despite the fact that her feet made no sound whatsoever on the ground beneath her feet, she realized that Willow knew she was there. She stopped moving and Tara watched her body relax slightly, she was unafraid.

"If you're a demon I will give you the opportunity to run but I would warn you that there is little point, I will catch you anyway," Willow spoke over her shoulder.

There was no immediate reply and in response Willow turned, drawing a sharp stake from the inside of her coat as she did so. She frowned when she saw the outline of a cloaked figure standing in the shadow of a crypt. The frown changed to a scowl a moment later as the figure stepped forward and drew back its hood. What little light there was in the graveyard illuminated the features of the woman she last remembered standing over her at Covasna, a bloody katana in her hand. The scowl became an expression of blatant disgust and her fingers tightened on the stake in her hand.

"You," the single word emerged as though dredged up from the very pit of Willow's gut, it was full of loathing.

Willow had nothing more to say, all she wanted now was to see her stake plunge into the creature's heart.

"Willow, you must understand something…" Tara began desperately, already wounded by the tone of Willow's voice.

Willow cut her off with a sharp laugh, "You didn't just kill me you traitorous bitch, you fucked me, said you loved me and then stabbed me in the back with my own damn sword…just how much more do I need to understand?"

"Many things!" Tara responded, "Willow, do not act on impulse without hearing everything!"

"What? Without hearing more lies from a demon?" Willow took a few steps closer to Tara, "I have heard enough!"

Without any further warning the lithe redhead sprung forward towards Tara. She would have landed within striking distance had the blonde vampire not suddenly disappeared into mist. Willow growled in frustration as she believed her prey had fled the scene. However, when she turned she found Tara had re- materialized directly behind her. She lunged with the stake but Tara caught her wrist before she could plunge it into her body. With her wrist ensnared in a firm grip, Willow now found herself as close to Tara as she had been that last fateful day at Covasna when they had shared a kiss. At the time Willow had thought that kiss to be a promise for the future, now she knew it had merely been the spider luring the fly further into its web of deceit. She met Tara's watery blue gaze and in her fury she saw none of the sadness and regret that lurked there. With an angry growl she spun, twisting Tara's grip so that she was forced to let go or break her wrist. Once free she whirled around again and this time smashed the back of her hand into Tara's jaw. The vampire stumbled but did not fall and when Willow's next blow came, she blocked it with her own palm.

Willow soon realized that whatever had happened to the vampire in the time since her death, none of her awesome strength had been lost. Even as she sent blow after blow in her direction, desperately searching for an opening to use her stake, Tara was able to parry each and every one, allowing Willow no quarter. Seeking to use her only advantage, Willow tossed the stake aside and drew the sword she carried.

As Tara saw the steel blade flash, she recognized that it was a plain saber and not the katana Willow Van Helsing had always carried. Still, she was quite sure that Willow was just as capable of removing her head from her shoulders with it.

"Willow, this is ridiculous, do you really wish to destroy me?" Tara asked even as she dodged a flurry of strikes.

"Yes!" Willow snarled, slashing downwards and tearing a large rent in Tara's cloak.

As the sword blade missed by ever decreasing margins, Tara knew that she had to make her move soon or Willow would end up striking a lethal blow. Given that she was not attempting to hurt Willow in any way, she could only lose this battle. She ducked beneath yet another swing and before Willow could bring her sword around in a backhanded slash, she surged forward and wrapped her arms around the slender girl, driving her to the earth. As Willow fell her shoulder caught the end of a headstone and the saber was jarred from her grip. She had barely been pressed beneath Tara's body for a split second when she used her momentum to send the vampire flying over her head with the help of a well placed foot to Tara's gut.

Tara landed hard and realized the hard way one of the drawbacks of actually having to breathe as the wind was knocked from her lungs. She had no time to recover before Willow was straddled across her body, the discarded stake now back in her hand. Although there were any number of ways she could defend herself, Tara chose to do nothing as Willow drew her arm back in preparation for plunging the stake into her heart. She merely lay beneath her weight, staring up into merciless green eyes as she waited for everything to end. Unlike Willow, she was not essential to finding the skull and destroying it. If her death would put Willow in a better place to achieve that end, then she was prepared to let it happen.

As she lay waiting for her second death, her heart thudded wildly, her chest rising and falling with each gasp of breath. Tara was terrified and she could not hide it.

However, even as Willow took one last breath of her own before stabbing downwards, she suddenly realized that something was very wrong with the scene in front of her. Tara was a vampire, she was dead…and yet her chest was unmistakably rising and falling as though she were actually breathing. With her eyes wide, Willow laid her left hand on Tara's chest and was further surprised as she felt her heart thudding against her hand. Although she still loathed her with every fiber of her being, Willow could not bring herself to plunge the stake into a still beating heart. It fell from her loosening grasp and her arm dropped weakly to her side. After all this time she once again experienced the sweet fragrance of pure white roses.

A few moments later she rose off Tara's body and onto her shaking legs and stumbled a few steps away.

Tara started to follow suit and found that Willow did not make any move to attack her. She did not rise to her feet and instead rested on her knees, her head bowed.

Willow could not look at her. Tara was alive? She struggled to understand how this could have possibly happened…Giles himself had said it was impossible. Yet even as Willow tried to fathom this possibility, she remembered that just minutes ago Tara had shifted into her familiar misty form. She turned and stared, in all outward appearances, Tara was still a vampire…and yet she wasn't.

"Ask Giles," Tara whispered in a broken voice, "He will be able to show you everything, what happened at Covasna…and in the years afterwards."

"I've tried; he thinks I'm not ready," Willow's tone indicated that she believed she was more than ready.

"I will speak to him…and he will show you," Tara finally struggled to her feet, she lent heavily on the nearby wall as though a stiff breeze would knock her off her feet once again, "I hope once you see that not judge me as harshly as you do now. Although nothing in my past can justify what I did to you, Willow, I hope at least for understanding…and perhaps in time…forgiveness?"

Willow did not reply. Instead she stared at Tara with an expression that was torn between hatred and love. The incongruity of the emotions battling it out within her body was such that her pain was palpable. It crackled in the air around the two women, so much so that neither could move for several minutes. Tara stood next to the wall, gripping it with white knuckled fingers and Willow stood with her arms loosely at her side, the stake almost forgotten in her hand.

It eventually became too much for either of them, Tara watched the corners of Willow's jaw tighten and realized that her ex-lover was struggling to maintain control. Rather than find out if Willow truly would destroy her even after discovering her heart beat once more, she smiled sadly and her features gradually faded into nothingness. Her non-corporeal self quickly disappeared into the darkness, leaving Willow alone in the cemetery.

Willow did not have the words to describe the way she felt. A part of her desperately wanted Tara to stay so she could lay her head against her chest and hear her heart beat once again. Another part of her however, wanted to try once more to drive a stake through that heart, beating or not. Her own heart throbbed uncomfortably in her chest as she too turned to leave the graveyard. She had made up her mind to return home to Gordon Square where she knew she would experience a sleepless night. Tomorrow she would go to Giles and demand he fulfill Tara's promise.

I will be damned if anything I learn will cause me to forgive her for what she did, Willow thoughts were determined as she retrieved her fallen sword. Still she could not deny that learning the truth was a very attractive prospect indeed. Her mind once again flicked back to her close proximity with Tara and she felt the equally sharp emotions which now mingled with her anger.

I am fate's fool indeed, Willow mused unhappily, Why taunt me so cruelly with renewed hope after all these years, can I not just kill her and be done with it?

While sleep was on her mind, Willow could not bring herself to return to Gordon Square when she left the graveyard. Instead she wandered the streets in the hope the she would find other demons to kill in order to take her mind off the one that she could not. However, the streets of London were unusually empty save for drunks and whores. Willow was left alone with her thoughts until the sun's first rays touched the tears on her cheeks. Even then, rather than return home, she found herself headed towards the comforting surrounds of the British Museum.

She expected to find solace in the quiet halls she knew so well but she still found only the despair of her own mind. The only image that played over and over behind her eyes was that of Tara splayed on the ground beneath her, her chest heaving with terror as she steeled herself for her own destruction at the hands of her former lover. Willow still felt the rapid thud of Tara's heart against the palm of her hand. However, all of this added up to very little real information and left Willow confused and desperate for answers. Giles was not in his workroom, the only other soul she could find was a rather tired looking Faith whom Willow found in the training room.

Her friend was engaged in some slow form of martial art, moving in graceful, fluid motions across the practice mats with her eyes closed. Willow paused by the door and watched for a minute. She was about to announce her presence when Faith opened her eyes and looked at her without interrupting the flow of her movements.

Faith performed one last movement before yawning widely and crossing the floor towards Willow, "You haven't slept have you?"

Willow shook her head but came back with an observation of her own, "Neither have you."

Willow felt as though Faith was describing her own night. Meeting Tara again after all that had happened to her had been intense to say the least. She suddenly felt exceptionally weary and realized just how much she needed to sleep.

She leaned against the door frame in an effort to hold herself up, "Intense how?"

Willow watched as a slight flicker passed over Faith's face as though she did not want to say something.

In actual fact, Faith was dwelling on the meeting that had taken place and the information that had been shared. While it was information Willow would want to know, Faith did not feel that it was her place to share it with her. Giles said he would show her and Faith knew that her pale recollections could not compare with the warlock's methods. If she let slip to Willow, then the poor girl would only grow more confused. Faith also did not think that she could keep her personal dislike of Tara from creeping into anything she said and thought it best to keep her mouth shut on those matters. Instead she allowed a gleam into her eye and a wee smirk to cross her face.

"Lara and I made up," Faith purred happily, knowing that particular piece of information could more than justify her sleepless night, "We ended up fucking on the desk in my office…but as a result my back is killing me."

Willow well was accustomed to Faith's blunt manner of speaking and as such she only colored slightly…although she felt this color heighten considerably when a mental picture of the act wandered into her mind. Willow shook her head furiously for a moment to clear the picture.

"Remind me not to sit on your desk ever again," Willow commented, the shaking having done little to dislodge the unwanted image. She made a face of mock disgust to hide her discomfort. "I am happy for you both…you deserve each other."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Faith narrowed her eyes but then laughed lightly, giving Willow a playful slap on the shoulder, "Anyway, the sword? One would come to the obvious conclusion that you have been out doing my job…or you are trying to make a fashion statement."

"No, no fashion statements here," Willow tightened her hand around the hilt of the sword still strapped to her waist, "It was my intention to hunt but I ran into an old friend…and the night went decidedly downhill from there, in fact it pretty much hit rock bottom."

Faith's gaze narrowed suspiciously, "This 'friend' wouldn't happen to have blonde hair and a penchant for wearing black now would she?"

At Willow's small nod, Faith smashed her fist into the palm of her hand and appeared aggravated, muttering something under her breath. However, before Willow could ask her to explain, Giles made an appearance. Willow noticed that his gaze first went to Faith who shook her head quickly as though denying his unspoken question. Willow had not been told a thing…not yet anyway. He then turned to Willow and noted the dark clothes she wore and the sword on her hip.

Willow frowned, Faith was right…or rather had been right. She searched her memories of the previous night, past all the drama with Tara and realized that at no point had she been afraid of the dark. A small, bemused smile played at the corners of her lips.

"Faith," Giles interrupted Willow's thoughts when he spoke, "I just passed your office and it is a mess, papers and books strewn everywhere, I do not want to know what on earth you've been doing in there but I would like you to go and straighten it out…Willow, I would like you to come with me."

Willow frowned for the second time in less than a minute as Giles ordered Faith about like a father ordering a child to tidy her room. The Faith she knew should have told Giles in no uncertain terms that she would do no such thing. Surprisingly however, Faith merely smirked at the mention of her office and moved to obey Giles's order. As she passed Willow her smirk disappeared and she gave the other woman's shoulder a firm squeeze.

Giles did not say a further word and left the training room with Willow in tow. They did not head for his workroom but instead for the small basement library that housed the books too rare or dangerous to be kept in the Great Reading room in the Museum proper. The smaller library happened to be below the other, and they were linked by a spiraling staircase in the center of the two rooms. At this time of the morning the library was eerily empty. The shadows between the close shelves of books added to the aura of danger already signified by the thick, ancient volumes on their shelves.

Willow paused at the entrance, Giles turned when he noticed that she was no longer just behind him.

"Yes," Giles nodded, needing no further elaboration to know that Willow was referring to Tara, "Earlier this morning…Willow, I have to admit that I was very wrong. I thought I could control everything for your benefit, to feed you as little information as possible to keep you safe but even I could not foresee everything that would happen to you in Europe."

"Yes, and even then, although needed the whole truth more than ever, I thought with the merging of two personalities that you were…" Giles paused, searching for the right word.

"It is an apt description for my state of mind, Giles," Willow admitted, "but after seeing Tara once more, I need to know what happened to her…I need the whole truth or I might do something I later regret."

Giles smiled sadly and turned away from her to consult a book he had laid open on a nearby reading table. Impatient to find her answers, Willow followed Giles into the library and immediately noticed that he had made preparations. She thought perhaps she should feel angry that he had made the assumption that she would agree to whatever it was he had planned, but Willow was so hungry for answers she did not care.

Where there was usually a large reading table next to the staircase; it had been moved to create a clear space. The space however was not entirely empty. Someone had drawn a large chalk circle on the wooden floor and lit candles were spaced evenly around the circumference. At the center stood a small wooden figure Willow recognized seeing in Giles's workroom. It was the carved likeness of an exceedingly rotund little man, his head completely bald, his belly protruding out from beneath the robes he wore. The most startling feature it possessed were a pair of overly large eyes, painted black with some sort of enamel. Willow had always thought it merely ornamental but now, in this setting, she could see that it was some sort of object of power. She started towards the circle to get a better look but stopped just short of entering it.

"It is alright, Willow," Giles said encouragingly, turning away from his book, "take a seat on the floor if you will."

Willow obeyed, first stripping off her jacket and sword belt and leaving them outside the circle. She then gingerly stepped over the edge of the circle and sat, folding her legs beneath her on the hard floor. Giles followed suit but in a strange manner, whispering indecipherable words as he did so. Willow watched him with a wary expression on her face. He then folded his lanky legs onto the floor in a kneeling position and bent low over the idol in front of him.

"Giles?" Willow asked quietly as he moved to complete the preparations necessary for whatever he was doing, "What the heck are we doing?"

Giles straightened his back and looked at her with a calm expression, "Exactly what you wanted…the missing pieces of the puzzle after your death."

Willow frowned and looked from the circle of candles to the idol in front of her, "But the candles? Don't you just need to tell me?"

"Willow, I could tell you what happened after you died but it would be from my perspective…and I of course did not experience everything that you need to know, no, I cannot tell you…"

"But you just said you would!" Willow protested, hearing that he was about to renege on his promise."

Giles smiled kindly at her interpretation, "I cannot tell you, but I will show you…everything that took place, what happened at Covasna after your death and after from the perspective of those who lived those moments in time."

Willow was decidedly suspicious, and for a good reason, "Giles, I can't handle having any more voices in my head…two is already driving me insane…and I do not think I need to be driven any further away from sanity."

"This is not like the mirror Willow, you are not about to be invaded by another consciousness," Giles offered in a reassuring tone of voice, "It will be as a dream to you…and quite safe with me right here with you at every step."

Willow glanced back to the squat idol that sat on the floor between them, its huge eyes seeming to stare straight into her soul.

"My god Giles," Willow whispered, "I always thought that creepy little thing was a piece of junk but it is a memoria alveus, a memory cache, isn't it?"

"It is indeed," Giles appeared immensely pleased at the workings of Willow's scholarly mind.

"They are impossible to find intact," Willow reached out to touch the little figure but stopped short with a warning grunt from Giles.

"You would be surprised the baggage you acquire throughout a life as long as mine," Giles commented, "Are you ready?"

Willow nodded and drew in a deep breath as though steeling herself for what was to come. As afraid as she was, these were answers she desperately wanted and she knew that she would go to any lengths to get them. She looked into Giles's eyes and saw nothing but confident reassurance. Satisfied that he would protect her she gave him a firm nod.

No sooner had he spoken his last word, Willow's eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped backwards and landed with a thud on the floor, bathed in the glow of the candles surrounding her. Giles raised his hands over her unconsciousness body, towards the ceiling, and continued his incantations in a much louder voice. His trembling tones gave way to an intense booming voice that disturbed the books in the slumber, their spines rattled in the shelves and dust was dislodged from every crevice. His was still speaking as Willow's eyelids began to flutter as though she were dreaming.

Two struggling shapes were bound up with cords of air by a tall man but his attention was not on those he restrained, but instead on the body which lay on the ground several meters away from him. A blonde female holding a bloody sword in her hand stood over it in a predatory fashion while a dark-haired male approached with a broad smile on his beautiful, pale face.

"Like I said," Tara whispered as she stood over Willow's body, sightless eyes staring up at her, "I cannot be trusted."

With a contemptuous smirk she discarded the katana in the dirt at her feet and looked towards her Master as he approached. He reached out his hand towards her and she took it with one of her own.

"Tara, you are truly worthy to stand at my side," Dracula intoned solemnly, "I know how much it vexed you to slay this woman but you must understand that I cannot possibly come second to anyone in your life."

"I understand master," Tara's smile faded slightly as she stared down at the body at her feet, almost as though she only just realized the full extent of her actions, however at the feel of a slight squeeze on her hand she turned back to Dracula with the smile on her face once more, "Besides, there are other more beautiful women in the world and I can have my pick of them…in time I will not even dwell on this one skinny redhead…although I would have dearly liked to taste her blood."

"I will ensure you have all the women you could possibly require…but first our attentions must turn to other, far more important matters," Dracula's gaze now focused on the ground at his feet.

His Captain's skull lay where it had fallen from Willow's hand. He allowed Tara to retrieve it for him and she stooped to pick it up with all the reverence in the world. Her master took it from her hands eagerly and held it aloft.

In their fascination with the skull, neither Tara nor Dracula had remembered that Giles stood in their midst. As his attention wavered from his captives, they fell crashing to the ground and lay dazed. He spun and faced the small, pale body which lay at the feet of his enemies. At first he could not take her eyes off the sight of Willow lying motionless on the ground; he felt the unbearable agony that came with such a sight. Giles clenched his fists and transferred his gaze to the two vampires.

"Well, well, well," Dracula intoned softly, "It is none other than Rupert Giles, I believe you played all too large a role in helping that fool Conrad foil defeat my army at Covasna all those years ago…I have waited a long time for this!"

"As have I," Giles answered in a tight voice, "I would see Willow's task finished!"

Dracula laughed and stabbed at Willow's body with the toe of his boot as though she were merely rubbish. He then glanced up with a smile still lingering on his face.

Even as Giles felt revenge fuelled power surging through his body, his arms were roughly seized from behind. He struggled against the bonds that held him to realize it was the two vampires he had held earlier. He roared and tried to wrench himself free, cursing himself for not having the foresight to destroy them both outright rather than leave enemies at his back. A spell was on his lips but before he could complete it Tara barked one of her own and Giles's voice disappeared. Struggling and mute, Giles was helpless in the midst of the vampires. His reactions were slowed by the incredible grief he felt coursing through his body, outweighing even his anger. Willow's death had sapped his strength. Everything pointed towards Dracula succeeding in his plan. The Captain's skull would be reunited with his body and Dracula's army would rise from the earth, its flesh renewed. Giles sagged in the arms of his captors, everything was lost.

Giles's ears immediately pricked up at the sound of a savage, blood curdling war cry. He craned his neck to see movement across the plateau in the distance and the sight he did see gave him renewed hope. It was Abraham Van Helsing at the head of dozens of green uniformed Austrian soldiers. The redhead raised his saber above his head and gave the command to open fire in a voice which rang out all around them. Giles closed his eyes as hot balls of leads went whizzing around his body, plunging into the soft flesh of the vampires on either side of him.

Giles opened his eyes in the midst of the confusion. Although lead could not kill them it was distraction enough for Giles to wrench himself free from William and Angelus. He saw Dracula standing with a myriad of holes in his clothes. The lead smashing into his undead body had caused him to drop the skull and it now lay at his feet. Risking the being hit by the musket fire himself, Giles dived to the ground, feeling his bones protest as he hurled his body at a pace usually reserved for someone several hundred years younger. As he rolled, his hand closed over the skull and his fingers gripped its eye sockets. Clutching it tightly he moved past the harried vampires and towards the oncoming figure of Abraham Van Helsing.

"The skull!" Dracula roared, seeing it lost once again, "We must have the skull!"

William and Angelus snarled and urged their few surviving companions to press forward ahead of them, but they were all met with a wall of green coated men with one very angry young man at their head, legs pumping as he charged towards the two vampires. William and Angelus both hesitated, as though they could see their destruction in his flashing green eyes and allowed lesser vampires to attempt to take on his fury. Abraham did not slow and nor did the well trained soldiers did not balk at the sight of vampires with bared fangs. Instead they advanced with bayonets fixed. Each sharp point gleamed in the dull light for their bayonets were not made of any mere metal, it was silver.

With a roar, Abraham decapitated the first demon which tried to block his path. Another tried to leap over the heads of the soldiers flanked on either side of him but he was impaled on a silver spike as he flew through the air.

A searing ball of flame struck one soldier and he squealed in pain as his body was consumed. The man dropped to the ground still writhing in his death throes. Tara moved in front of her master, surging towards Giles who held the skull close to his chest. In quick succession, she hurled half a dozen more fireballs in the direction of the soldiers. A few were avoided but other struck targets and turned more men into living infernos. However, even as their comrades burned, the soldiers kept advancing.

Abraham met Angelus head on, forcing the dark haired vampire to draw his own sword to counter the powerful blows raining down upon him. Behind him, William drew his sword and leapt into the midst of the soldiers. His hesitation to throw himself against their bayonets was clearly obvious as they rallied together to form a strong wall opposite him. The clash of steel upon steel once more rang out around the battlefield.

"I think you need to be schooled in the art of magicks, foul demon!" Giles roared, her muting spell unable to maintain its hold on him.

As Tara prepared to face Giles, she found herself hurled backwards, struggling once again against the invisible bonds of air that he threw at her. Although she fought back, it was clear that Giles was by far the stronger magick practitioner. The bonds dissipated as she soared higher into the air and with some glee he saw her drop like a stone. She hit the earth with a thud and a small explosion of dust. He pressed towards her as she laid dazed, intent on doing what Willow could not.

Despite their combined power, it was soon apparent that there was no way for four vampires to take on the small forest of lethal spikes thrust in their direction or the fury of Abraham Van Helsing. With Dracula disappearing first, one by one they shifted into dark mist and fled the scene. Tara cast one malicious glance in Giles's direction as she picked herself up from the dust in which he had dumped her. In seconds the blonde vampire too was gone, leaving only humans standing at Covasna with Dracula's cry of frustration echoing in the rocks around them long after his physical presence was gone.

The soldiers continued to scan their environs as though they feared that more demons still lurked around them. Abraham's attention however was focused on just one thing, the motionless body of his sister. He cast his dusty saber to one side and rushed to her side

Abraham was a soldier, he had seen death before. However nothing prepared him for seeing his beloved sister lying on the ground, her face stained with the pallor of death. There was no life whatsoever in the green eyes staring up at the grey sky above. He reached out and laid trembling fingers on her cheek to find the warmth had already fled from her flesh. It was only then that he could bring himself to look downwards and see the single bloody hole in her chest. Suddenly he flung himself backwards and away from the body as though he could not bear to be anywhere near it. He scrambled a few feet further away on all fours with tears beginning to stream down his face. When he finally came to a halt he buried his face in his forearm which was resting heavily on his upraised knee. Although damp tears stained his cheeks, the gut wrenching pain he held within his body would not emerge. Instead it boiled and churned in the pit of his stomach. A few moments later he was forced into a kneeling position as his stomach heaved, emptying its meager contents out onto the ground in front of him. His body continued to retch long after the last of it had been brought up.

When the heaves finally subsided he found his strength drained, his head hung downwards and he was unable even to wipe the stringy trail of spit dangling from his mouth. It was then that he heard soft footsteps on the ground just in front of him and knew it was Giles. He glanced upwards, his expression one of mad hope. Abraham scrambled to his feet in a lurching manner and surged forward to grab his mentor by the shoulders.

"Giles! Come on man, you are a warlock for pity's sake, can you not do anything to save her?" Abraham pleaded in desperation, looking from Giles's grief stricken face to his dead sister and back again.

Giles was reluctant to reply at once, he had absolutely nothing to offer the young man save for pathetic words of sympathy which would offer him nothing of the hope he craved. He too felt Willow's passing keenly and he did not even trust himself to speak the words without letting tears choke his own words. Giles tried to swallow but his throat was too dry.

"I fervently wish there was something I could do, Abraham," Giles ventured quietly, "I'm sorry, she has passed…she is gone."

It broke Giles's heart to see the young man's face fall even further but it was the only truth he could offer. Abraham's hands slipped from his shoulders and he stumbled backwards a few steps, almost falling once more on his shaking legs.

As old as he was, Giles knew full well there were wild speculations of terrible and dangerous long-lost rituals which could possibly restore Willow to some form of life…but he knew he could not suggest such things to Abraham. The grief-stricken young man would go to hell and back to try and save his sister and when he failed, he would lose all hope for living even his own life. As it was, Giles could see he was in danger of fading fast into the pit of despair. He felt the solid shape of the skull beneath the crook of his arm and glanced down at it. The only thing he could do was offer Abraham a purpose.

Giles extended the skull towards Abraham and motioned for him to take it. Obviously unsure as to why he was doing so, Abraham accepted it and ran his hands over its smooth surface.

"It is a skull," Abraham pronounced in a dull voice, "It appears to be no different from others I have seen."

"My sister is dead because of this thing!" Abraham whispered in a tortured voice as he held the skull up to eye level for a closer inspection, with a grimace he forced it back towards Giles once again, "You cannot possibly ask me to retain this skull in my possession!"

"I was charged with safeguarding the skull…I failed," Giles admitted, "It is right that the task should now pass to someone else."

Giles drew in a deep breath and started on a different tact, "Your sister did die because of the skull, Abraham, but it was she thought worth fighting and dying for!"

Giles could already see his words having an effect on Abraham Van Helsing, the young man knew he spoke nothing but the truth.

"No more words old man!" Abraham snapped angrily, already knowing that Willow was the sort of person who would give her life several times over to prevent such a thing falling into the hands of those who would use it for evil, "I will protect it with everything in my power!"

And with that last exclamation, Abraham slumped back to the ground. He cradled his sister in one arm and the skull in the other as he succumbed to great, racking sobs.

Abraham Van Helsing was a broken man. Just yesterday, with the sky dark with thunder clouds, he had buried his sister in Hampshire. The last remaining and most cherished member of his family was gone and he was left alone with nothing but his grief. He had not lingered long at her graveside, not being able to bear the sight of her name etched into the marble and the tragically short span of time between her date of birth and of death. There were few mourners to offer him words of condolence, there were people who knew Willow, Giles, Christopher Croft, their servants and then there were distant family members whom the Van Helsing siblings rarely saw. Abraham stayed long enough for propriety and then slipped away quietly to return to Hagley Park one last time. Willow loved the house so, and it was here she had spent the happiest times in her short life. Abraham did not visit the house to reminisce however, he had just one task to perform and he only stayed long enough to ensure it was done properly.

He had then returned to London and the familiar surroundings. Although he needed to be at Gordon Square to feel close to Willow, he also could not bear to be there. Everything he looked at or touched reminded him of his vivacious sister and he found himself constantly close to tears.

For an entire week following Willow's funeral, Abraham had done little but line in his bed and stare at the ceiling, sleeping only when his eyelids grew too heavy to hold open and eating only when his stomach protested with violent hunger pains.

So it was a very surprised Samuel who saw his employer wandering throughout the house one morning. His greeting was barely returned and offer of assistance was politely declined. He then saw Abraham disappear into the library, obviously heading for the room he and Willow had used more often than any other, their training room.

Abraham's brief interlude with Samuel barely even registered as he moved through the motions of opening the secret door and plodding down the circular stairs. However, once in the training room his dulled senses came alive as though they had been renewed. As always, the room reeked of old sweat, metal and other odors too strange to be identified by one whiff. It was shrouded in darkness save for a single torch burning in a bracket at the center of the wall beside him. It was in front of this wall that Abraham stopped and knelt down in front of an altar of sorts, a low wooden platform upon which had been placed a low display stand intended for supporting a sword. Mounted on the stand was the unmistakable shape of Willow's favorite weapon…her katana.

Its grip was sweat stained and the steel of its blade no longer gleamed, its once beautiful folds obscured by the rusty dried blood clinging to its length. With shaking fingers, he tentatively reached towards the blade but stopped just short of touching the dried blood. Instead, his fingers folded into a tightly clenched fist which he pressed against his heart. He then bowed his head and closed his eyes; the sight of Willow's blood on her own beloved blade caused his own blood to boil with anger.

Abraham knew exactly what had taken place at Covasna. As his grief had subsided on the battlefield, his mind had cleared enough for him to ask Giles who had been responsible for Willow's death. When the reluctant answer came, he had not been surprised that it was the demon he had once known as Tara Maclay.

Abraham had found the purpose he would live for…but it was not the one Giles had sought to bestow on him by giving him the skull.

"I swear, Willow," he whispered fiercely, hot tears squeezing beneath his eyelids, "I swear that creature will pay for what it did to you…I will use everything in my power to make it suffer so that by the time I allow it to die, I will have extracted the just price for our retribution. I swear it!"

It was not easy for a man as handsome and as eligible as Abraham Van Helsing to remain unnoticed in a corner of a large celebration. However, for the past hour he had been content to observe from a distance the other revelers, all celebrating the wedding of Christopher Croft to a lovely but otherwise unremarkable young woman. The wedding was long overdue in Abraham's opinion. Croft had courted the wench for three years and had been engaged to her for a further year before finally deciding that she was indeed worth marrying.

The wedding was relatively small affair, someone in Christopher's line of work did not amass many friends and his family was quite small. However, those that did attend the earlier service and now the celebration held in the ballroom at Montagu House were a lively sort and the room felt just as busy as if there had been a hundred people in attendance rather than half that.

If Abraham was to turn his observations on himself, he would see that he had changed very little in the five years that had passed since his sister's death. He was just as tall and broad shouldered as ever, with not even a speck of grey showing in his neatly queued red hair. If anything, the finely tailored, elegant cut to his clothes served to make him even more handsome than he had been when he did not care for such fripperies. He sipped the brandy he held in one hand and stared over the rim towards the man of the moment; Christopher Croft who was dancing with his bride. Although she was unremarkable, Abraham did think the new Mrs Croft was a least pleasant to look at and Christopher had done well. While the two of them had never become overly good friends due to their rather different personalities, Abraham did feel a certain kinship with the man given that he had saved his life many a time and vice versa. His gaze travelled past Christopher and fell upon a rather vibrant looking blonde woman who was dancing near Christopher and Sarah Croft and the corners of his mouth curled up into the trademark Van Helsing smile, a definite smirk of appreciation. Her blonde curls cascaded down her back, framing a face that was more than pleasant to look at with flashing brown eyes and full red lips. His gaze then moved downwards and he caressed her full and creamy cleavage with his eyes. He was about to set down his drink and move to steal her away from the dull bore who was currently dancing with her when he caught sight of Giles out of the corner of his eye.

Much like Abraham himself, Giles was trying to remain unnoticed in the crowd. However, if anything, Giles looked more than a little uncomfortable in such a large public gathering. He was wedged into a corner, almost standing behind a large pedestal with a bust of some dead Roman mounted on top. Abraham found himself smirking; obviously being over five hundred years old did not improve one's social skills. He paused only long enough to pour a generous glass of brandy and top up his own before crossing the floor to join his friend and mentor.

"You look like you could use one of these," Abraham held the glass out for Giles to take.

Giles accepted it but did not take a sip; he looked almost embarrassed that he had been noticed and stepped out from his corner. He managed to incline his head towards the newly married couple dancing in the center of the room, "Is that not a fine sight…especially for two bachelors such as us?"

Abraham took a long swallow of the drink he held in his own hand. Since Willow's passing, the relationship between him and Giles had not strengthened, if anything they had grown distant. The two of them did not often talk of matters outside those related to their work.

"It is indeed, although I would not wish to exchanges places with Christopher for all the tea in China."

"You are happy being alone then?" Giles inquired, his curiosity piqued by the tone in Abraham's voice.

The redheaded man turned to him with a knowing glint in his eye, "I am never alone Giles, just unmarried…and that is a state of things that I enjoy very much. Why be shackled to one woman when you can have your pick of many?"

Giles awkwardly set down the brandy on the corner of the pedestal beside him, "Shackled seems an odd choice of descriptor for a marriage, surely you should not speak unless you have experienced…"

"Well, I have had relations with a good number of married women who agree with me all too readily," Abraham interrupted with a harsh laugh and another sip of brandy, "They cannot escape their shackles and make for my bed fast enough."

Giles coughed uncomfortably; pleased he had not just taken a sip of his drink as he knew he would have made a frightful mess as it sprayed from his mouth. He turned his head to study the younger man but he already knew that there was no trace of jest in Abraham's voice. It was only then that Giles saw the predatory glint in his eye as he watched a young woman on the dance floor.

Given that he himself was somewhat of an expert where longevity was concerned, Giles thought that Abraham had aged rather well. However, although he was still a strikingly handsome man, he had changed. Abraham's face was harsher than it had been when his sister was alive, gone were the traces of mirth and humor which had often lingered there. Even in the midst of Croft's wedding celebration, Giles suddenly felt saddened to realize that he knew the younger man only as an acquaintance or work colleague and no longer as a friend. Giles did not think that this was a fault on Abraham's part; instead he berated himself for not spending more time with him in the years since Willow's death.

Giles steered the subject away from the uncomfortable subject of Abraham's myriad of affairs, "How goes your continued search for the demon?"

Almost immediately Abraham's green eyes took on a steely glint and Giles wondered if he had brought up the wrong topic for what was supposed to be a joyous occasion.

"The treacherous demon-bitch has gone to ground, since that sighting in Paris last November I have lost its trail," Abraham growled and drained the last swallow in his glass. "Truly this is a vexing state of affairs, it has been five years since I swore to destroy it and all I have done is let it lead me on a wild goose chase around Europe, catching nary but a whiff of her foul odor."

"Well rest assured, Abraham, there is only so far she can run," Giles added helpfully, feeling as though he finally needed the drink Abraham had brought him, "Sooner or later she will make a mistake, after all, vampires are not subtle creatures."

"Dracula managed to avoid you for hundreds of years, Giles," Abraham was obviously immune to Giles's optimism, "Unlike you I do not have hundreds of years at my disposal, I must have my revenge within the short time that has been allocated to me."

Giles sighed, although he too still mourned for the lovely young woman they had both lost, he was not about to let the rest of his life be consumed by the search for her murderer. Conversely Abraham did not seem to share his opinion. It was obvious that he believed a life without revenge was a life wasted.

"I think Willow would want you to live your life, to have a family…" Giles began awkwardly.

Abraham seized up the glass that Giles had set down moments ago and took a mighty swallow, "Giles, the cock-sucking bitch murdered her. How could I ever concentrate on anything as mundane as a wife and children while that demon is out there roaming free? I never could, she's out there somewhere, probably laughing at me and spitting on the beloved memory of my sister!"

Abraham drew in a deep breath as though he finally realized that he was allowing himself to get swept off and carried towards the land of fanatics who could think of nothing but their vendettas. He drained the last swallow in the second glass and finally managed to calm himself.

With a shaking hand Abraham set the glass back down and turned to Giles with a forced smile on his face, "So Giles…how was your week?"

"Well yes, I did have a rather interesting week as a matter of fact," Giles began, pleased to be able to steer Abraham away from topics which only served to anger him, "I have been working on a new invention for some time and I think I may have finally perfected a working prototype…still very much a prototype of course but I am rather excited, you see it is a circlet of sorts, it goes around the neck and suppresses the magickal talents of the wearer. A very dangerous piece of work but that is what makes it so exciting! I think if I can tune it correctly we may have a very useful apparatus on our hands…"

Giles continued on for several more minutes in the same enthusiastic manner before he finally turned and realized he was alone. He glanced out onto the dance floor and saw Abraham whirling around the dance floor with the young blonde woman he had been eyeing earlier in his arms and a smile on his face as though he hadn't a care in the world. To the rest of the world it was a convincingly picture of a man in the prime of his life, Giles knew otherwise. It was an image carefully cultivated to conceal the seething anger that lay beneath, an anger Giles was increasingly beginning to think would destroy him.

Young Benjamin Croft tried in vain to stifle a wide yawn but failed miserably and instead was forced to hide it behind his hand. He tried to erase it from his face before the tall, broad-shouldered man walking in front of him could turn around and catch him in the act. The young man managed to return his face to a mask of alertness before such a thing could happen.

Ben could hardly be blamed for being tired; he had not gained a wink of sleep the night before as he paced anxiously outside the room as his wife struggled to give birth to their first child. A small smile crossed his face at the thought of the fine baby boy, christened Jeremiah Christopher. His only regret was that his father had not lived long enough to see his first grandchild. Christopher Croft had keeled over unexpectedly a few months earlier and was dead before he hit the floor. It had been mercifully quick but Ben felt his loss keenly – although in truth his father had lost much of his sparkle ten years ago when his wife passed away after an extended illness. With the loss of his parents, Ben felt it all the more necessary to keep close his wife and now, his son.

With a newborn son, Ben knew he could had excused himself from patrolling the streets of London this evening, but Giles was travelling in places unknown and as capable as the man striding ahead of him was, age was creeping up on him.

Ben studied Abraham Van Helsing as he walked through the darkness, still retaining the powerful stride of his youth. He was however, growing somewhat thinner as the years went by and the red hair Ben remembered seeing as a boy was now all but lost to grey. His face was weathered from outdoor life, bearing a good number of craggy wrinkles. Although he had known Abraham Van Helsing for as long as he could remember he knew very little of the man that lay behind the public facade. Ben admired and respected the man immensely, but while Abraham was more than willing to impart all his knowledge to him regarding vampires and demons, he would say little of his personal life. He consistently seemed to have a young woman on his arm, even as he grew older, but it was rarely the same woman twice and they were never introduced to his colleagues. What little he had gleaned about Abraham Van Helsing, had been learned from Giles. It was from Giles he learned that Abraham had once had a sister, although he then made the mistake of asking Abraham himself about his long-lost sibling and he had been met with a stony wall of silence.

The only thing Ben did know for sure, was that Abraham's sister had to be connected in some way to the vampire he had spent much of his life searching for. In the same way Giles searched for Dracula, Abraham searched for a female vampire he only ever referred to as 'the demon.' Ben was under the impression that this search had consumed almost Abraham's entire life. Given the joy he derived from time spent with his own family, Ben often thought that the older man should just let his vendetta go after all this time…although he would never voice this opinion openly for all he would receive in return would be an angry snarl. He knew determination when he saw it, and Abraham Van Helsing was beyond determined.

He's just too goddamn obsessed with his bloody demon, Ben narrowed his eyes as he stared at the man's back, That and the fact that he's an arrogant, grumpy old bastard.

Ben felt moisture tickle the back of his neck and he glanced upwards to feel rain on his face. His countenance soured as he realized that this was not going to be a pleasant evening's hunting. He began to wonder whether he should have stayed home with Abigail and Jeremiah after all…in fact, he wondered whether he should opt out of the family trade and acquire himself some honest skills, like book-binding or perhaps even medicine.

It soon became clear, as the pair entered streets which were normally a veritable paradise for demons, that the creatures of the night did not much prefer the weather either and had obviously chosen to remain indoors. Even as Abraham remained alert just in front of him, Ben found his shoulders sagging.

Although Ben knew better than to let his mind wander while on a hunt, he suddenly walked into something solid. Even as he was fumbling for the crossbow strapped to his back he realized that the solid object was Abraham's back. The older man was standing rock still, his gaze directed towards a nearby rooftop. Ben followed his gaze and frowned. Silhouetted against the already dark skyline was a figure cast completely in shadow. He could make out absolutely no details save for a swirling cloak which undulated around the figure. At his side however, Abraham was tense, as though poised for a fight.

"Van Helsing, what is it?" Ben demanded, slowly bringing his crossbow around in order to load it in front of him.

Ben could not see what had Abraham so rattled, although granted a shadowy figure standing on a rooftop was usually evil, there were two of them and the figure had lost any element of surprise. Or so Ben thought. A split second later the figure disappeared, only to re-materialize a moment later directly between the two men. Although he felt no blow strike him, Ben suddenly found himself flying backwards through the air. He continued in a straight line until he slammed into a wall. His crossbow clattered to the ground and he fell with the wind knocked out of him.

Ben lay with his cheek pressed against the wet cobbles beneath him, the rain continuing to fall down and seep through the coat he wore. Struggling to focus himself, he lay listening to the harsh voices he could hear being traded across the street.

"And just when I thought you were never going to show your face again!" Ben heard Abraham growl.

"You think I am afraid of you?" a woman's throaty voice, unlike anything Ben had ever heard before.

"Well I seem to recall you and your Master suffering a rather embarrassing defeat at my hands the last time we met."

Ben had finally managed to drag himself up into a kneeling position as he heard those last words. He needed no more information to know who Abraham was facing…it was the demon that had killed Willow Van Helsing. He peered through the darkness and falling rain to see her outline but he could make out little more than a dark, cloaked shape. However he could see long hair whipping around her face, a face that was pale and shining even with no moonlight.

"Where is the skull, Abraham?" the demon demanded, her voice shrill with unconcealed longing.

"Why have you waited so long to ask me?" Abraham seemed in no hurry to answer the vampire's question as he circled her warily.

She cackled, "The time is nigh and you are weakened by old age…the once strong Abraham Van Helsing is now but a shadow of his former self."

Abraham narrowed his eyes, "Why have you come alone? Surely a matter as important as the skull would require the attentions of more than one lone vampire?"

Observing the scene, Ben wondered why Abraham made no move towards the stake concealed in his coat, or the sword belted at his waist. Instead he just kept baiting the creature, circling it even as it came closer. Ben was just about to shout a warning when the creature surged forward, its hand shooting out to seize Abraham by the neck. With inhuman strength, it threw Abraham back against the wall behind him and held him there.

She seized Abraham by his chin and slammed his head back against the wall before repeating, "Where is the skull?"

Ben did not wait to see if Abraham would answer; instead he dragged himself all the way up onto his feet and moved forward, stumbling awkwardly at first before managing to break into a run. He drew one of his own stakes and lunged at the demon's apparently unprotected back. Even as he brought the stake downwards, she turned and whipped out her free hand, lashing Ben across his cheek. He reeled momentarily but managed to collect himself quickly and lash out with his own fist, catching her on the side of her head. She screamed in frustration and dashed Abraham to one side. Ben saw the man fly past his vision but he kept both of his own eyes focused on the demon. Now that her full attention was focused on him only, he could see her features clearly. Although her piercing blue eyes were wild and crazed, she was also strikingly beautiful. The hair that whipped about her face was so pale it was almost white. However, Ben had seen beautiful demons before and knew not to be fooled into thinking them less powerful for it. He watched her closely, trying to sense if she would use more of her foul magicks on him.

She bared her shining white teeth in what Ben supposed was a smile as she circled him. He kept the stake out in front of him, ready to strike at any moment. When she eventually did lift her arm to throw him backwards once more he was ready. He whirled around, low to the ground and brought his fist up before she could complete her movement, driving it directly into her stomach. As she stumbled backwards he brought the stake downwards once again. Both her hands shot out and caught his wrist, driving the stake backwards and away from her chest. Ben stumbled, his wrist was twisted at an awkward angle and he dropped the stake as he yelped in pain. She locked her icy fingers around his neck and drove him against the wall, even as he fumbled for the dagger he wore at his waist he found his windpipe being crushed in her terrible grip.

Even as he struggled to breathe he saw Abraham rising to his feet behind them both. Ben also saw his crossbow at the other man's feet. Struggling valiantly, Ben managed to tear himself free of the vampire's grasp and seize one of her wrists. As they struggled she stared into his eyes and there he found absolutely no mercy, nothing but pure, undiluted evil.

"Abraham!" Ben cried, struggling against the vampire as she tried to wrench her wrist free from his grip, "For god's sake man, just shoot the bitch!"

Ben waited expectedly to hear the quick flight of a bolt, the thud as it struck the demon and then the feel of her crumbling to dust in his arms. However, despite his pleadings Abraham did not loosen a crossbow bolt at the demon's unprotected back and the only thing he did feel was an agonizingly sharp pain in his midsection. He immediately let go of the demon's wrist just as she stabbed forward again with her other hand. Ben knew he ought to be screaming, the pain was so intense but his jaw slackened and no sound emerged.

The demon then stepped back with a smile on her face and Ben glanced downwards, he clutched at the hilt of his own dagger protruding from his body with clumsy fingers. As he sank slowly to his knees, he saw a blurry Abraham moving behind the vampire with something held in both of his hands that was most definitely not a crossbow. Before the vampire could turn, something was snapped around her neck. A spilt second after Ben heard the audible click; he heard a blood curdling scream from the vampire. She lurched in a drunken-like state and tried to tear it off. With her attention fully focused on the circlet, Abraham lashed out and struck her over the head. She too slumped to the ground.

With watery eyes Ben tried to focus on Abraham but he found he could not, even as the man knelt at his side and cradled his sagging body.

Ben knew that was far from the case, he could already feel the life ebbing quickly from his body. A part of him wanted to curse Abraham Van Helsing to the very depths of hell for sacrificing his life for the sake of his revenge, but all he could think about was his family.

"Please…see that Abigail and my son are cared for…will you promise me that?" Ben pleaded even as the edges of his vision darkened. "Please?"

Ben clutched at the front of the man's coat in order to demand a firmer response but it was too late. He gasped his last breath and then died, hoping fervently that the bastard would fulfill his promise.

Abraham sighed sadly; he deeply regretted the brave young man's death. He believed he had the situation under control and cursed himself for missing the knife in the creature's hand. Still, as he gently laid Ben's body down on the rain soaked street, he knew that the young man had not died for nothing. The proof of that lay on the ground behind him. He stood and turned to gaze upon the crumpled, writhing form of the demon that had been Tara Maclay. She pawed weakly at the metal collar that encased her neck but of course found no clasp to undo.

Nor would she. The collar would bind her magickal powers until Abraham chose to remove it…and that was something he would never do.

Abraham closed his eyes and tilted his face upwards. The rain beat down on his face and he sighed deeply. Finally, after all this time he had the demon at his mercy, after years of waiting for his revenge it was shortly to be his. He spread his arms wide as though embracing the icy pellets that pelted his skin.

In the midst of this strange but simple act of celebration, Abraham Van Helsing suddenly realized that he was laughing.

"Mr Van Helsing sir, I am not quite sure I understand the exact nature of your problem."

Abraham paused for a moment after activating the lever which triggered the door to his underground training room. He regarded the wiry, nervous little man standing in front of him through narrowed eyes. Although Abraham had extensive contacts in all the right places, finding an adept magic practitioner willing to help him had been something of a challenge. All his sources indicated that Rupert Giles was the man he wanted…but Abraham could not use Giles, not for what he was about to do. John Minto adjusted his glasses and stared back at Abraham, hardly convincing as a warlock of the same caliber as the librarian. Abraham sighed and entered the narrow cylindrical passage, leaving Minto to follow him, still waiting for his explanation.

Much like the librarian, Minto also wore eyeglasses…but that was as far as the similarities went. He was exceptionally short and thin, so thin it looked as though a stiff breeze would blow him away. His worn suit hung on his frame, just like the way his skin hung from his face beneath his wiry black hair.

"Mr Van Helsing,? Minto repeated as the pair of them descended the stairs and entered the training room.

Abraham walked purposefully straight towards a set of heavily laden bookshelves, much like those that had swung inwards to reveal the door they had entered a few moments earlier. He then indeed triggered a second door.

"Just what the devil is this place?" Minto demanded as he watched the section of bookshelf in front of him swing inwards to reveal a dark, narrow corridor.

"Mr Minto," Abraham began as he moved into the darkness, "I have brought you here because I would like you to do something for me."

Minto stared at Abraham's back, now shrouded in darkness as he stopped a short way down the corridor. He studied the scene in front of him with fear written all over his face. When he finally started after Abraham, his fear was reflected in his hesitant steps. As he moved closer he saw a doorway to one side, iron bars across the entrance He peered into the cell, for that was all it could be called, but saw nothing but darkness. Beside him Abraham Van Helsing was as still as a statue and there was no sound save for his own hoarse breathing. A chill ran down his spine, something did not feel right about this.

As Minto was about to turn and leave a shape suddenly threw itself against the iron bars. The silence in the corridor was rent by the clang of the door on its hinges and a chilling snarl from the creature that emerged from the darkness in such a startling manner.

Reacting instantly, Minto let out an undignified yelp and pressed his back to the wall behind him. The still snarling creature lunged for him through the bars, fingers outstretched like claws. Her lips peeled back from her teeth to reveal a pair of what were unmistakably fangs. The snarl became a drawn out hiss and Minto contemplated running from the corridor. However, when it became apparent that escape was impossible, he managed to relax enough to gasp out a few words,

He turned to Abraham and saw the man had not moved a muscle since the demon rattled the bars of its cage. However, Minto soon realized that Abraham had moved but it was only the small but telling movements of his facial muscles that betrayed his emotions. The lines around both his eyes and upon his brow were deep furrows, his white lips were set into a tight line. Minto feared to reach out towards him lest he take sudden offence and lash out. Instead he turned back to the demon.

If Abraham's behavior was strange then the demon's was just as confusing. As she completely ignored Minto to focus on Abraham, he was able to study the blonde vampire. Even with her white skin stretched over her skull and her hair lank about her face, she was hauntingly beautiful. Her intense blue eyes were focused on Abraham in an expression that went beyond hate. She gripped the bars in front of her with pale fingers as though she might tear them down. It was as Minto was studying her that he noticed a smooth collar of engraved silver encircling her throat. Although he could see no clasp or any other way to remove it, this had apparently not stopped the demon from trying. The skin beneath the collar was angry red and bore deep, bloody scratches and ugly welts.

"Abraham Van Helsing, have you finally found the courage to destroy me?" she purred in a low, sultry tone, "Or do you seek instead to find new methods of torture? I must say that so far you have been making a poor show of it indeed…although restraining my magicks with this collar was a rather clever idea, keeping me locked up in your basement hardly fulfils your task of making me suffer."

As Abraham maintained his stoic silence, Minto pressed further for answers, "You did not answer my question Van Helsing, why are you keeping a vampire in your cellar?"

Abraham finally drew his attention away from the demon in the cell and turned to Minto, "This is the vampire that murdered my sister."

The vampire responded with an immediate throaty laugh that had once perhaps been beautiful, "To kill someone in the heat of battle is not murder!"

His fury suddenly unleashed, Abraham whirled on the creature, his fist in the air, "You gained her trust and stabbed her in the back you foul piece of filth, if that is not the very definition of murder then I do not know what is!"

The creature shrugged as though she thought perhaps Abraham might have made his point. The contented smile did not leave her face however.

Minto nodded, he had to clear the lump in his throat before he could continue, "I have heard your sister was a brave woman, although I am too young to have known her personally, it is a testament to her that she is still sorely missed amongst our small community."

"She is sorely missed indeed," the vampire commented unexpectedly in a drawn out voice, "Even undead I still yearn for her touch." She sighed heavily and pressed her forehead against the bars as she stared directly at Minto, "I thought that spending eternity as the Queen of the damned at Dracula's side was worth killing her but now I fervently wish I had turned her…now that would have made eternity much more fun!"

The vampire closed her eyes and licked her lips as though savoring a taste on them.

Minto screwed up his face in disgust, "I can understand why you would want this demon to suffer but how can you possibly make her suffer enough to feel remorse for what she has done?"

"Ah, that dear Mr Minto, is where you will lend your services," Abraham said quietly, a fierce light burning in his eyes.

"Mr Van Helsing?" Minto was only too happy to offer his services to a man of Abraham Van Helsing's stature but he was distinctly unnerved by the sights he had witnessed and did not even want to imagine what was in store for the vampire who murdered Willow Van Helsing.

Abraham turned to regard the demon that had once been Tara Maclay through cool green eyes, his sister's eyes, and then whispered in a terribly determined voice, "You will restore the demon's soul."

The silence that filled the tiny corridor following Abraham's statement was complete. No one made a sound, not even Minto who was holding his breath. The vampire stared at Abraham as though her eyes were daggers and she was stabbing him repeatedly. Abraham appeared as though he were congratulating himself on formulating a plan of unsurpassed brilliance.

It was Minto who broke the silence, emitting a small gasp that gradually gave way to rapid breathing. So panicked was his struggle for breath, he was in danger of passing out and had to hold onto the wall to steady himself. When he finally calmed down, he found Abraham still standing quite still with a calm expression on his face. This was the complete opposite of how Minto felt.

"Are you deluded, Van Helsing?" Minto demanded, "That spell has been lost to the ages…and for good reason! A vampire with a soul is truly a godforsaken creature, an abomination!"

"There was one who had the spell," Abraham replied quietly, with one long look at the demon, he turned and made his way from the corridor out into the training room, he stopped next to a table laden with books, glassware and a package carefully wrapped in leather, "And it was my good fortune that he also saw fit to give me this…"

With great reverence, Abraham untied the cords that held the parcel closed and then peeled back the leather to reveal the small object held within. Minto gasped when Abraham withdrew a shard of blue crystal the size of his hand. The shard was transparent blue the color of sapphires, smooth on all sides save one where it appeared to have been torn off from a much larger crystal. He held it out to Minto but the small man shook his head furiously and refused to accept it.

"I have already paid the price," Abraham replied simply, "And it time, it will claim me…but it was a price I was more than willing to pay in order to obtain this."

Abraham pressed the crystal forward again and Minto drew in a deep breath. This time he reached out to receive it, his hands trembling as he did so. As soon as his fingers closed over its surface, his entire body jolted as though he had just received an electric shock. His initial fear subsided and he fondled the crystal almost lovingly between his fingers.

As he watched Minto with the crystal, Abraham saw the man begin to transform slowly but surely. His hair was no longer so wiry, his skin no longer sagged from his bones and instead appeared firm and young. Minto's eyes shone with an intense brilliance and excitement where he had seen only fear up until this point. Upon witnessing its power, Abraham was satisfied that the crystal could indeed do what he had been promised it would do.

Minto finally tore his gaze away from the crystal, "Van Helsing, I am curious, the price he asked of you…what was it?"

"Enough questions, Mr Minto," Abraham spoke quietly, shards of sadness piercing his deep voice, "You will be handsomely compensated for your services so I expect nothing but your full co-operation. Will you assist me?"

"V-very well," Minto whispered, clutching the two objects to his chest, he managed a nervous smile, "Being a magick practitioner, or at least an honest one, is not as well paid a job as you m-might think so I suppose I could certainly use the money…my preparations will take me some time however…"

"Obviously," Abraham replied, "You will find everything you need on the table just beyond the door…call me when you are ready and I will bring the demon."

Minto nodded quickly and ducked his head. He then backed out of the narrow corridor, refusing to turn his back on the demon even though her magicks were bound and her physical body was behind bars. With the little man gone, Abraham turned his full attention to the pale face that stared at him from behind the bars of her prison.

If the demon had been hostile earlier, she was now livid with anger upon hearing of her intended fate. She gripped the bars in front of her with bone white fingers as though she were trying to tear them down with her mind. Abraham knew she could do nothing of the sort and taunted her further by leaning casually against the wall behind him.

"I will take much pleasure in ripping your throat open, Abraham Van Helsing," she snarled, rattling the bars of her cage.

Abraham coughed out a small laugh, "Ah, yes, considering you are in there and I am out here…I would say your plan is flawed, demon!"

She screamed in a terrible sound of rage and frustration. Just beyond the corridor Abraham heard Minto take fright and drop something that shattered on the ground.

"You think that pathetic fool will succeed in restoring Tara Maclay's soul?" Tara growled, thrusting her chin forward defiantly, "He will fail and you will be forced to destroy me!"

Nonplussed, Abraham cocked his head to one side in an expression of curiosity, "Answer me this, why did you come searching for the skull alone?"

He shrugged, "I do not care one way or the other…I just thought it was an incredibly foolish move on your part to come alone when you could have had several minions at your back," Abraham frowned suspiciously as he saw an uncomfortable expression settle on her face and he had a nagging revelation, "Unless the whole point was to succeed on your own…ahhh, I see now. Deliver the skull to your master single-handed…or even seize it for yourself without his knowledge."

Abraham smirked, "That is the problem with power, once one has had a small taste you will forever crave more."

"You know naught of the matters of which you speak!" the vampire responded in a sullen voice.

Abraham felt an immense amount of satisfaction when he realized that all her words and chin thrusting added up to naught but empty blustering. He could see straight past this façade to the terror that lay beneath at just the mere thought of being ensouled. Even if Minto failed to restore her soul, the whole endeavor would not be a complete waste of time. However, Abraham knew that this terror was nothing compared to what she would feel if the spell was a success. He could already hear her screams of pain and anguish echoing within the confines of her tiny cell.

The demon had one last card to play, and she played it to the best of her ability. When she emerged from the shadows there was a vicious smile on her face.

"Abraham Van Helsing you are a fool if you believe this little scheme of yours will work, even in the event that you do restore her soul, you will find yourself completely unable to lift a finger against the woman you once loved," Tara paused as she watched a flicker of emotion pass over Abraham's face, she smiled, "Ah, you think she did not know about your little infatuation…how could she not? The way you doted on her, she could see your eyes roaming her body, wanting what was not yours."

Abraham swallowed, blocking her words from his mind, She is trying to provoke you…you must not listen, think only of Willow and what this creature did to her!

"You may have a soul but you will never again be Tara Maclay," Abraham found it difficult to even choke out her name in the presence of the demon, but he continued strongly, "I have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about your torture."

"You will cave in the moment she starts screaming," the demon predicted, she slid her tongue across her lips, "And I think that you are not man enough to take what I know you want…to finally lie with the woman you never stopped loving."

Abraham cried out in frustration and slammed his fist against the bars of her cell door. Such was his ferocity that the creature stumbled backwards and almost fell to the floor.

"You are a foul, despicable creature!" Abraham hissed, spittle erupting from his mouth, "Enjoy your last moments of guilt-free existence…for very shortly you will know exactly what it feels like to have killed the one you love and I will be there to watch that moment of realization dawn on your face!"

Abraham turned and strode out of the corridor with the obvious intention of going to check on Minto's preparations, this concealed his real intention however which was hiding the small traces of doubt which had crept into his well laid plan. Although he had been anticipating the demon's ensoulment for decades, he truly could not say what his reaction would be when happened. For all intensive purposes, the creature would once again be Tara Maclay, or as good as…and Tara Maclay was not the person who murdered his sister. Abraham exited the corridor and shut the bookcase behind him; he sat down heavily in a nearby chair and watched as Minto sifted through various books, furiously scribbling notes without looking up once.

After a few moments of watching the man at work, he shifted his gaze to the center of the room and the well worn training pads that covered the floor. It required hardly any imagination at all for him to recall Willow lightly stepping across those pads, her feet moving gracefully as she worked on her footwork or learnt a new technique. Her red hair would be bound up out of her face, but small strands were always bound to escape and caress her pale cheek. She would laugh all too easily, especially if the butt of her humor was her brother. When Abraham re-opened his eyes he realized that he was crying.

His mind was set; he would not allow himself to be swayed by any tricks the creature could play on his mind. Willow deserved retribution…and she would get it.

The steady sound was overwhelming, filling her entire head as though trying to make her skull crack and burst. She opened her mouth as she struggled for a breath but found even more pain. Air burned her throat as it forced its way down to her chest. As her lungs inflated she desperately needed to scream but she collapsed into a coughing fit. She lay on the floor, her back arched as she struggled to just breathe normally…

It is breath, you need it to live…, she paused, struggling to make sense of this, If I need it, why does it seem so foreign?

Gradually the breaths did come easier and she tried to rise once more, instinctively feeling as though there was something or someone near her that she needed to escape from but she could see nothing in front of her eyes but white spots. Panic gripped her, whatever it was, it meant to harm her!

It was too much, everything slowly faded to black and with a sigh she slipped backwards, unconscious before her head hit the floor.

As Tara finally lay motionless on the floor in front of him, Abraham stared in disbelief. He whirled around to face Minto and saw that the small man had collapsed in the middle of the training room, still surrounded by his chalk scribblings. The crystal in front of him bore a thick crack and from it blood seeped in large quantities, creating a pool around his semi-conscious form. Abraham picked the dazed man up by his shoulders and held him upright. As he shook the poor man he gradually came to his senses, enough at least for Abraham to demand answers.

"I didn't tell you to bloody kill her!" Abraham growled, shaking the still limp Minto.

Minto eyes opened, at first they were out of focus but eventually he brought them to bear on Abraham Van Helsing. He glanced first from the angry face in front of him and then down to the limp form of the vampire.

Minto drew in a deep breath in the face of Abraham's anger and stated the obvious, "Mr Van Helsing, she was already dead."

"I-I do not know," Minto stuttered, slowly edging towards the vampire. His eyes widened when he saw her chest rising and falling, "but it appears that she is breathing."

"Your powers of observation astound me!," Abraham replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "You haven't just restored her soul…you've restored her…humanity?"

At that point, Abraham's jaw dropped and his face sagged in horror. If his first impressions were correct and the idiot Minto had somehow managed to restore the demon to the person she once was, all his careful plans and sacrifices would have been for nothing. As twisted and revenge-driven as he was, even Abraham could not see himself torturing a young woman…and one he had once loved.

Slowly he crossed the floor of the training room and selected a small dagger from the weapons rack. He then tentatively moved closer to the unconscious form. With a trembling hand, Minto drew the knife across his forearm and blood very quickly welled from the shallow cut, running over his skin. He knelt and held out his arm towards the vampire. There was no change in her condition as the first few drops of blood splashed onto her closed lips. However, he gently parted them with his fingers and let the blood fall directly into her mouth. Barely a split second later her back arched and she sat up with a start. Minto had to scrambled backwards to avoid clashing their heads. She stared at him through wide eyes for a few seconds before desperately scrambling away on all fours. Seconds later she was crouched under the book laden table with her back to the two men.

Abraham hunkered down stared at the demon huddled beneath the table, as her back was to him, he could clearly see the rise and fall of her shoulders as she gasped for air. While Minto's little experiment had made it clear that she was still a vampire, clearly not all had gone to plan.

He swiveled on his heels and faced Minto once more but kept one wary eye on the vampire. Even in her current state, he did not want to let her out of his sight. The thin man was clearly struggling to stay upright. The effects of the crystal were long gone; instead he appeared as haggard and drained as he had when Abraham had first met him.

"I-I am not entirely sure what I have done, Mr Van Helsing," Minto stammered weakly, "It would ah…appear that I have restored a few ah…um…other things along with her soul."

Tara was lost in a maze of corridors; with each turn she took she grew more and more confused. Something about the corridors was familiar and she felt that they ought to be comforting, but she could not shake off the deep set feeling that something was very wrong.

Willow's sightless green eyes stared at the ceiling, the white sheets beneath her were no longer white but stained entirely red with her blood.

She was enveloped in complete darkness, unable even to see the hand she waved in front of her face. With cautious hands she reached out and felt her surroundings, a few feet in every direction she found nothing but cold, damp stone of the floor on which she sat. Eventually she came to a wall that was just as cold and damp as the floor. Even so it gave her some sense of stability and she curled up against it with her knees tucked up under her chin.

Crouched there in the darkness Tara felt only the chill of her own body and the steady thump-thump of her heart it her chest. It was almost like being in the womb…although completely lacking the warmth of a mother's body. Her thoughts were scattered, although she could remember her name, there were very few other solid pieces of information that she could grasp a hold of. Just as she was grasping at the edges of understanding where she was, she was interrupted by a screeching rasp and the sound of surfaces grating against one another. With the sound came a shaft of light, small at first and then growing quickly until she could see the stone walls that hemmed her in.

Eventually Tara had to turn her head towards the wall and close her eyes in pain as the influx of light overwhelmed her sensitive eyes. She heard booted footsteps echo on the stone floors as someone came to a halt nearby. Slowly, only able to see through barely open eyes, Tara turned towards the light. Beyond the heavy bars of a cell door, she saw a man's tall figure staring in at her. As her eyes gradually adjusted to recognize who he was, she realized that her heart was beating all too quickly in fear. So intense was the experience, she had to press her hand to her chest for fear of the organ thrusting through the skin.

As she clutched her heart she remembered the dream, while there had been fierce love making involved, Tara could only concentrate on one thing…the blood. Willow's blood. She squeezed her eyes shut once more as a plethora of images filled her mind, this time not from the dream but from a reality that might as well have been a dream.

The image of fucking Willow up against a wall was quickly replaced by one of a sword in her hand. Moments later she thrust it into Willow's unprotected back and watched her collapse to the ground, watching the life ebb from her body. Keeping one hand pressed against her heart, she pressed the other to her mouth to stop the sobs from emerging. She could not however hold back the steady flow of tears.

Tears streaming down her face, Tara turned to face the man standing in front of her cell. Abraham Van Helsing. His weathered and lined face bore absolutely no trace of sympathy.

"I killed Willow," Tara whispered, the very words sounding so incomprehensible to her ears.

She thought perhaps if she spoke them aloud she would hear just how ridiculous they were and know it could not possibly be true. Instead she felt the truth of them pierce her beating heart. She tore her gaze away from Abraham and pressed her cheek against the cold, damp stone behind her, grinding her skin against it as though that would erase the memories. However, she already knew that she could bang her head against the stone a million times and it would not change what she had done.

"Yes you did," Abraham agreed in a chillingly quiet voice, "And that is something you are going to have to live with…for a very long time."

She does not know for sure how long her fists have pounded on the stone walls of her prison, nor how long her screams of pain have echoed within their confines, only her instincts tell her that it has been longer than mere days or weeks. She knows this because she has already screamed for so long her voice has wasted away to nothing and she can feel the painful red raw state of her knuckles. Although vampires are creatures of the night, she can no longer stand the state of absolute darkness in which she is kept and she longs for a light of any kind…even the sunlight which would bring about her destruction.

Her world of solitude is harshly interrupted with the sound of a door opening and a weak light suddenly filling her cell. Her eyes have difficulty adjusting and all she can see is a dark shadow coming to stand before the iron bars of her cell. There is a rasping noise that hurts her ears and the grate on the iron door is opened, another bowl of blood is slopped into middle of her cell, most of its contents spilling onto the already stained and sticky floor. She starts to crawl towards the shafts of light spilling across the floor, like a moth to a flame, but all too quickly the grate is slammed shut and the shadow leaves. Moments later the external door closes to throw her back into complete darkness. A weak, strangled sob erupts from her mouth as she feels the loss of light as yet another cruel stab to her beating heart.

She collapses to the floor. The sobs gradually intensify until her entire body is twisted and heaving. Her cries emerge as near-silent, breathy gasps from her hoarse throat. This continues until she is too weak to even cry and her limp body is nothing more than a lump on the floor of her cell. Time passes, although she cannot be sure if it is minutes or hours. Instead everything merges together into one impenetrable void where nothing is coherent. Nothing until she sees a flash of red in her mind. It is just as abrupt and painful as the light hurting her eyes, possibly even more so. Gradually the colors solidify, forming a face so perfectly beautiful she has difficulty remembering if such a person ever existed.

The word is on her lips but it will go no further, she will not allow herself to put a name to the face. However she remembers something of why she is enduring her tortured existence. The desire to live once again enters her mind.

She manages a slow, awkward crawl, using her elbows rather than her wounded hands and makes her way to the bowl. She does not need to feel for it, she can smell the sharp tang of blood and knows exactly where it is. Balancing the bowl between her wrists, she lifts it to her lips and drinks heartily. As it slides down her throat she immediately feels invigorated, her thoughts become more coherent and she thinks perhaps she might not be going insane after all. After draining the bowl and licking it dry, she tosses it in the direction of the door. She listens to it clatter against the iron bars

She knows her existence is pitiful and she is reduced to being a mere tortured wreck of a creature…but she also knows that she has something to live for. This something overrides any shreds of dignity she still retains and makes her accept the pitiful food her captor offers her. She knows she has to stay alive. She clings to this purpose, it is her whole existence. Out of necessity she suppresses all thoughts of never leaving her cell. She has already spent countless hours wondering what would befall her if her captor should die and leave her imprisoned. Imagining a slow, lingering death once brought her to the point of madness and it was only with great effort that she forced herself back to the present and the shreds of information which kept her alive.

She makes her way to a corner of her cell, with her hunger sated for now she is able to think about sleep. With her limbs folded around her, knees tucked up to her chest and arms hugging them tightly against her, she closes her eyes. She allows the slow beating of her heart to lull herself to sleep even as she knows that the nightmares that plague her waking hours will increase tenfold in her unconscious mind.

Jeremiah Croft thought himself one of the luckiest young men alive…well, apart from his unfortunate infancy where both his parents died within the space of a month. However, his lack of any memory whatsoever of his parents meant that the misfortune of their passing had very little impact on his life, other than those moments in which he wondered how very different his life would have been if they had lived. However, after listening to Mr Giles's recollections, he was of the firm opinion that he came from a very fine and interesting family indeed. He had inherited the dark good looks and swarthy build of his grandfather, tempered somewhat with softer lines from his mother's side. Both his father and grandfather had been demon hunters, a rare occupation indeed but one in which the sixteen year old was determined to excel.

He could think of no better ally in this goal than his foster father, Rupert Giles. Even from early boyhood he had realized that the old man was a veritable trove of knowledge. Giles seemed to know everything about anything and there was absolutely no answer he could not give…although there were more than a few answers that he would not give the young lad, not yet anyway.

Jeremiah did not overly mind as he felt that his education was progressing at a very fine pace indeed. Not only could he read and write…he could do so perfectly in Greek and Latin. He also knew more about demonology than was natural for any young man to know and he knew how to kill them…in theory at least. He had never actually come face to face with a demon and although he had often protested to Giles, he was secretly glad he was not yet old enough to be unleashed on the creatures of the night. Still, Giles had gone as far to say that Jeremiah was the most exceptional student he had ever taught. Although Jeremiah had been raised to be modest, he could not help but think of his exceptional skills as being exceedingly exceptional indeed.

He also thought himself particularly lucky to be alive at such an exciting time and living in a city as vibrant and bustling as London. There was no greater proof of this than the scene upon which he gazed this particular spring morning.

Jeremiah had previously thought that no sight could possibly be more fascinating than watching a building the size of Montagu House be torn down. Watching day by day as the once grand library was reduced to its basic elements, brick, wood, glass and tile, Jeremiah realized that one could not truly appreciate the technical marvel of construction until one had witnessed its deconstruction. Giles on the other hand did not seem to share his enthusiasm for the building's destruction. Young Jeremiah very wisely deduced that Giles had developed a strong affinity for his old library and had difficulty accepting the fact that Montagu House's collection had grown to the point where they were almost spilling out the doors and windows. He had often helpfully reminded Giles that this was the way progress worked, the old was destroyed to make way for the new but more than once he had been silenced mid- sentence by an angry glare. At times such as this, he wisely held his tongue until the time came when Giles was able to appreciate exactly what it was that was being created.

The time, Jeremiah thought, had finally come. He had not visited the construction site for over a month and his patience was dully rewarded at the sight of all the progress that had been achieved. With a grin breaking out on his face, he turned to Giles who was still some distance behind him.

"I told you they would have commenced the raising of the beams!" he pointed in the distance to where an intricate iron beam was being ever so slowly lifted heavenward. Giles nodded politely as he finally caught up with his young charge. "Did I also tell you that due to its immense size, the beams are cast iron! We are witnessing history Giles…you can almost envision an entire building made of iron in the not too distance future."

"Giles, you do not need to feign enthusiasm merely to humor me, "Jeremiah folded his arms across his chest as though he were offended but there was a gleam in his eye and his grin lingered on his face.

"Your enthusiasm is overly infectious," Giles admitted grudgingly, "Although I still do not see what was wrong with our old home…the books and I were perfectly content."

Jeremiah was not at all impressed by this line of argument, "Giles, I spent my childhood listening to you complain about Montagu House's lack of space…and you very nearly keeled over when you learnt that the King's Library of 65,000 volumes was to be donated to the collection. You should really admit that you fear change, it is a common trait in one so…"

The young man's mouth clamped shut before he could utter his next word, thereby digging a larger hole for himself. However, he had not cut himself off quickly enough and Giles's hand snapped out to cuff him lightly over the back of his head. As he rubbed his head he cast an annoyed glance back over his shoulder towards Giles. He met the warlock's stern gaze and decided that any further conversation on the subject was a bad idea.

"There stands Mr Van Helsing," Jeremiah tactfully changed the subject away from Giles' advanced years, pointing towards a tall figure in the distance.

"Indeed," Giles stated, hardly sounding as though he had just laid eyes on an old friend.

As the two men drew closer, it was all too apparent that Abraham Van Helsing was throwing himself with great gusto into the rebuilding project. He moved about the construction site with the vigor of a man half his age, seeming to oversee every aspect and issue orders to every man working. He had stripped down to his shirt which was stained with as much grime and sweat as the lowliest laborer.

Jeremiah was less keen to approach closer now that he had seen Van Helsing; he had never liked the aloof, temperamental Museum Director…and the feeling was most probably mutual. While Giles had all the time in the world for him and his incessant questions, Van Helsing managed to ignore him most of the time and the few times when he did have something to say to him, it was usually unjustifiably harsh.

"What was Mr Van Helsing like when he was younger?" Jeremiah asked as he and Giles came to a halt just outside the construction site, both watching as an intricately worked iron truss was lifted skyward by the wooden cranes.

Giles turned his head slightly, not fully meeting Jeremiah's gaze, "Why do you ask?"

Jeremiah shrugged, trying to play down his curiosity, "No real reason…I just wondered if he was always such a grumpy old bastard."

Although Giles would not meet his gaze, Jeremiah was staring straight at him and he saw the small, sad smile that curled his lips. Behind his glasses, Giles's eyes were slightly misty.

"Your father felt exactly the same way about Abraham as you do…which is…" Giles struggled to find the appropriate word and finally came up with, "Unfortunate."

"I fail to see how such an opinion is unfortunate," Jeremiah muttered, turning his attention back to the construction work, the iron beam was being maneuvered into place atop the stone work, "It is naught but the truth."

"It may very well be the truth…but it was not always so," Giles replied, "It is unfortunate that Abraham will be remembered for the man he has become…as opposed to the man he was."

"And what sort of man was he?" Jeremiah continued his line of questioning in order to be polite, sensing that Giles felt it important.

"Almost the opposite of everything he is now…kind, quietly spoken, utterly selfless and terribly brave," Giles elaborated, the tone of his voice taking on a wistful nature as though he would give anything to have that man back once again.

"Giles, this line of conversation is prodding me to inquire as to the reason behind such a change…it must have been truly momentous to cause such a shift in character."

"Another time perhaps," Giles's tone clearly indicated that was as much as he was prepared to say.

Jeremiah drew his attention away from the work going on in front of him and turned to Giles with an annoyed look on his face. He felt decidedly cheated by the fact that Giles would build up such a picture of Van Helsing's background only to refuse to add the last few details. When he saw the look in Giles's eyes, he realized that whatever it had been, his mentor was also invested emotionally those mysterious events of the past. He frowned slightly at this realization, wondering what it could have been to cause such a change in Abraham Van Helsing and yet leave Rupert Giles unaffected…or was he? Jeremiah began to think that perhaps his mentor had also changed…although this was difficult to accept, he had always imagined that Giles had changed little over the centuries. Jeremiah immediately felt somewhat ashamed that he would hold onto such a narrow point of view…people changed over the course of their lives, sometimes dramatically and there was no reason for Giles to be any different.

"Did it have something to do with his family?" Jeremiah prodded tentatively, "Did someone die?"

Giles gave him a 'warning' look but Jeremiah was not to be put off so easily. He felt he had already pushed the boundaries of his relationship with his mentor farther than was appropriate, going a little further was worth the risk…and he did not seriously think that Giles could actually be angry with him anyway.

Giles let out a small growl as soon as Jeremiah mentioned the word 'sister', "You really are the most impertinent and rude young man I have ever had the misfortune of teaching…desist with this line of questioning or I will have you personally re-organize the Museum's entire catalogue!"

Jeremiah once again found himself clamping his mouth shut, he had absolutely no doubt that Giles would act on his threat. He had no desire to spend the rest of his life cataloguing museum objects and decided that it was best not to pursue his line of questioning. The information he had gleaned however, was more than enough to inspire him to start a little research of his own. So Abraham Van Helsing had a sister…Jeremiah predicted that by the end of the day he would know exactly who she was and what had happened to her. He resumed watching the raising of the beams with a satisfied expression on his face, not knowing that the afternoon's events would render digging for Van Helsing's family history completely irrelevant.

What happened next came in a blur of noise and flying dust, even later, reflecting on what had happened, Jeremiah could not be entirely sure that his memories were correct. He could however, be certain of the outcome, having seen it with his own eyes. It was an image which would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

At some point, one of the thick cables carrying the beam skywards snapped and the heavy iron truss came crashing back down to earth. It didn't fall straight; it flew almost as though it had been picked up in a gust of wind. There was an awful sickening sound as it hit the ground, thudding into stonework, earth…and flesh.

Even as his voice trailed off, Giles was already running towards the scene of the accident. He had disappeared into the cloud of dust before Jeremiah had even thought to make his feet move. As he did make his way forward, the shouts and cries of the workmen filled his ears and the dust his nostrils and eyes. He was rubbing his eyes ineffectively when he saw Giles bent low to the ground over the torso of a man pinned beneath the fallen beam. His jaw dropped as he moved closer and saw Abraham Van Helsing's ashen face. As his gaze trailed lower he realized what had happened…the heavy iron beam had brutally and roughly sliced him in half. The splashes of violent red covering the ground and the lower half of his torso were in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin.

Jeremiah immediately stumbled to the ground and felt as though his stomach would eject his breakfast, he gamely fought to keep himself under control but only by not looking at the scene in front of him.

"Abraham…" it was Giles's voice, dry and strained, it seemed as though he could not find the words.

"Don't bother with your….sympathies, Giles," Abraham's voice carried faintly to Jeremiah's ears, it sounded as though it were being forced out between his lips, "…you know as well as I that death is only the beginning."

Rupert Giles have seen the face of death before, the sight in front of him brought him back to another time when another Van Helsing lay dying in front of him. However, he had long ceased to feel the emotional bonds with Abraham that he had shared with Willow and there was but one thought on his mind…and it was not sympathy.

"Abraham, you must tell me where the skull is!" Giles fought the urge to shake the dying man by his lapels.

Abraham Van Helsing smiled, a toothy grin of pain, blood bubbling between his teeth, he gasped, "Y-you know it is well…h-h-hidden."

Abraham's severed body shuddered violently, Giles gripped him by the shoulders to keep him still and finally he sagged in a limp form. Giles appeared crestfallen as the man died without giving him any further information. However, even as life fled his body, Abraham managed to utter his last words…words which seemed to make absolutely no sense.

He was then still; his eyes stared blankly towards the heavens, his cragged and pale face appearing at peace. Giles's body flopped backwards to the ground, and he sat staring at the corpse with an expressionless face.

A few meters away, Jeremiah finally had his stomach under control and managed to make his way to Giles's side. He reached down and laid a firm hand on Giles's shoulder. The contact was not to express his sympathy for Van Helsing's death, but to keep himself upright when he was in danger of sagging to his knees at the horrific sight.

"What does that mean?" Jeremiah asked to keep his mind off the mutilated man lying in front of him, "Giles, his last words made no sense!"

"They made perfect sense," Giles assured him with a brisk nod; he reached out and tenderly closed Abraham's eyes.

A few moments later, he stood. With his support gone, Jeremiah's legs gave out on him and he slumped to his knees, feeling more than a little sick to his stomach. He could not drag his eyes away from the body, finally feeling a hint of sadness well up inside him…more for the man that Abraham Van Helsing must have once been than the one he knew. When he eventually did draw his gaze away he found Giles was walking away.

"Where?" Jeremiah scrambled to his feet and managed to break into a jog to catch up with Giles.

Jeremiah Croft had only ever once set foot in the parlor of Abraham Van Helsing's house on Gordon Square and that had been more than far enough for the young man. However as he followed Giles in for the second time, he realized the house was not as foreboding as he had once thought it. It was not too hard for the young man to know why, with the dominating and thoroughly unpleasant presence of Van Helsing himself missing from the picture the house actually seemed pleasant and inviting.

There was no time to make oneself at home however; he almost had to maintain a jog to keep up with Giles as the older man moved through the house, dismissing the questioning servant that appeared from the kitchen with a flick of his hand. Jeremiah made an apologetic face towards the grey haired old man but there was a look of acceptance on his face as though Giles had a right to intrude in Abraham Van Helsing's home.

Giles made his way swiftly into a library of sorts and straight for a bookcase. When he tugged a certain book, the entire section, still laden with books, began to move.

"How splendid!" Jeremiah exclaimed as the hidden door swung inwards to reveal a narrow passageway leading down.

He followed Giles closely, the darkness broken by the burning torches in their brackets. When they emerged into the room that lay beneath the house proper, Jeremiah's jaw dropped to see the training room laid out in front of him with all its marvels and distractions. Even as he was trying to take everything in, Giles moved off to the left towards yet more bookcases. Reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the weapons, Jeremiah followed him. He finally understood Abraham's last words when he saw Giles's fingers fall onto the leather bound spine of a book. He glanced at the title to read 'Moste Horride Magicks.' Abraham's last words had been the title to the book which would unlock yet another secret passage.

"There are only two copies of this book in existence," Giles answered Jeremiah's unspoken question, "One is in the Museum's rare books collection…and the other has been here for some time."

The case swung inwards as soon as the book was tugged, the light from the torches burning in the training room revealed a dark passage with no lights of its own. While Giles stepped straight into the darkness, Jeremiah retrieved a torch from a nearby bracket before following. The light revealed the passage to lead absolutely nowhere; the only opening was an iron barred door to one side. Jeremiah stopped just behind Giles who was staring into the darkness beyond the bars.

He saw nothing but darkness but definitely caught a whiff of several strong odors. His nose wrinkled a few times before he was assaulted by the full, extremely unpleasant smell emanating from within the cell. It was almost tangy…like blood and fear mixed together. He heard movement in the darkness before he saw anything; there was a frantic, animalistic scuffling. Gradually his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he made out a form pressed against the far wall. His eyes widened as he realized it was not an animal but a person. The figure turned slightly towards the light and he caught sight of a decidedly feminine shape to the jaw and lips…although he could make out little, he was sure it was a woman.

"Mr Giles, I do not believe that is a skull," Jeremiah observed pointedly, he paused and frowned, "Well, there is a skull but it would be attached to her neck…and covered in flesh…so you wouldn't really call it a skull as such, given that she…or whatever it is, is still alive."

"Indeed," Giles ignored much of Jeremiah's babbling and stepped a little closer to the bars, although he did not need to see the face of the figure huddled in front of him to know who it was.

It slowly lifted its head; Giles's gaze went not to its face but to the collar of his own creation fastened around the creature's pale throat. The collar had gone missing from his office at Montagu House some years earlier. Now he knew exactly what had become of it.

His gaze then travelled back up to the creature's face and his instincts were confirmed. It was indeed the demon who had killed Willow Van Helsing. Its blue eyes pierced the darkness but the dull stare lacked the fire or anger he remembered from Covasna. The only emotions he saw were fear and absolute sorrow.

He held his hand over the lock and murmured a few words, of its own accord the bolts slid free and the door swung inwards. Although he approached the demon with a measure of caution, Giles felt strangely unthreatened. He watched as it pressed itself hard against the wall as though trying to shrink from his presence.

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom in the cell he was able to make her out more clearly. She was clad in rags with every exposed area of skin absolutely filthy. There was crusted blood around her mouth but that was not the sight that caused him to drop his jaw, it was the moist tears creating tracks through the dirt on its face. Tentatively Giles reached out and touched its face, feeling the wetness for himself. It flinched away immediately, twisting her head away from his touch. Without pity, Giles seized its chin in a vice-like grip and yanked the demon's head so he could stare into its eyes. He said nothing but the look on his face conveyed all the necessary hatred and revulsion.

Jeremiah watched silence for a moment until Giles dragged the woman to her feet. He was only just beginning to realize that the blood stains covering the floor and the rags she wore did not belong to her…it had been food.

"She is a vampire?" he whispered, staring at the blood stained bowl at his feet, "Why on earth would Mr Van Helsing be keeping a vampire locked in his cellar?"

Giles did not reply, instead he wrenched the demon to its feet and shouldered roughly past Jeremiah who had already jumped out of the way to avoid coming into contact with an actual demon. It made no attempt to struggle as Giles dragged it back into the training room and towards the stairs. Jeremiah could do nothing except follow, although he had a sinking suspicion as to what was about to happen.

His suspicions were confirmed minutes later as Giles opened a set of French doors that led to a small courtyard. Still the creature made no move to resist and with one final shove, Giles sent its thin, rag-clad body flying out onto the sun-drenched courtyard.

Although Jeremiah had never seen it for himself, it was a well known fact that vampires burned when exposed to sunlight. However, although the creature was writhing about in pain, it was obviously because the light hurt her after having been kept in darkness for a long time. All her movements, shielding her eyes, making for the small patch of shade by the wall, were reactions that a human would make…a demon would have already started burning.

"I don't understand," Jeremiah surged forward, his eyes wide with curiosity, "She looks like a vampire…and yet she is not burning? Giles, why does she not burn?"

Giles was far too disturbed to answer the young man; instead he drew a stake from the pocket of his jacket and crossed to where the creature lay curled in the center of the courtyard. He seized the vampire roughly by the hair and it cried out once more in pain. Giles remained immune to the pathetic sounds emerging from its lips as he dragged it to its feet. Without waiting for it to gain a proper footing he pulled it up in one swift tug and threw it against the wall of the courtyard.

Such was the force behind the shove that Jeremiah winced as the vampire's head cracked against the stone. She cried out again and he almost felt as though he should intervene. The feeling unnerved him somewhat as he had a well-developed loathing of vampires. After all, Giles had told him the one such creature had been responsible for his father's death. However, he couldn't help but feel that something was different…and the longer he stared at her, the more her realized he was seeing her as a woman rather than a demon.

Giles on the other hand, could not see it as anything but the demon that had murdered Willow Van Helsing. With rough fingers he tugged aside the rags covering its chest to expose the flesh above the heart. He then drew his arm backwards in preparation for plunging it downwards. He merely grazed the skin covering its chest with his fingers but that was all it took for him to feel the unmistakable thud of a heart. He paused long enough to come emerge from his hate fuelled rage and realized that the vampire was breathing. As it tried to cringe away from him, its breaths came short and fast with terror

"Tell me now you piece of filth, what has Abraham Van Helsing done to you?" Giles demanded in a tightly wound voice, clearly straining to maintain any semblance of control.

The vampire did not reply as it was still trying to shield its eyes from the harsh sunlight. He once again seized the chin, forcing it to look at him through narrowed eyes that watering profusely in its pain.

Giles felt his finger nails dig into its flesh but he could not care less, all he wanted was an answer, "Tell me now or I will take great pleasure in driving this stake through your chest!"

Giles was impatient in his anger and he pulled he forward slightly only so he could again slam its head backwards against the stone, "Speak!"

Just that one word was enough to almost knock Giles off his feet. For a moment his guard was down entirely and an expression other than anger registered on his face, that of fear…however it was quickly wiped, replaced once again by his fierce scowl. He could do nothing however about the turmoil that raged within. He wondered how the hell Abraham had managed to do the impossible.

"Giles, what does she mean by that?" Jeremiah asked incredulously, daring to step a little closer.

"Firstly stop referring to this creature as 'she'," Giles replied coldly, "It is not a person…and secondly, I believe Abraham Van Helsing found a way to restore its soul and the spell had a few unwanted side effects, a botched job most likely."

"How can you restore a soul at all let alone botch it?" Jeremiah strained for a better view and his eyes widened when he clearly saw the rise and fall of her chest, while he had never seen a vampire before he definitely knew that they were not supposed to be breathing.

Giles ignored Jeremiah's incessant questioning, knowing that there would be no end…and also because he did not possess many of the answers. His real concern was establishing why this creature had remained alive in Abraham's cellar. Despite the pitiful state it was in, he felt only anger and hatred towards it. Although he found what Abraham had done to it to be horribly unethical from a magical point of view, he did not feel the slightest bit of sympathy for the suffering he had inflicted. Giles even felt a small smile come unbidden to his lips when he realized the creature would have been left in the dark, fully aware of exactly what she had done to Willow and suffering terribly because of it. It was a fitting punishment…if a little unconventional.

"You have precisely thirty seconds before I end your miserable existence…tell me, why are you still alive?" Giles demanded.

"I'm well aware of that!" Giles barked, removing his fingers from its chin only long enough to slap it across the cheek with the full force of his palm, the head snapped to one side momentarily but he grabbed the chin once more and forced it to face him even as the tears fell freely down its cheeks, "However I am also aware of the fact that you could have given up…refused to feed, ended all of this…surely that option was preferable to dwelling in your own filth for years?"

"Y-yes," the vampire whispered, "but I had to live…to tell someone…to tell you…the skull…"

Giles scoffed derisively, "What does a pathetic creature like you know about the skull?"

"And I suppose Van Helsing told you this did he?" Giles snorted, already having difficulty believing a word of what she said.

She replied with the barest hint of a nod and drew in a deep breath before speaking, "He said W-Will…" another deep breath, "He said Willow would know how to find the skull."

Giles let out an angry growl, incensed that it would even dare to mention Willow's name, "There is a small problem with that…one you are responsible for."

"I know…and nothing I do will change that," its voice was raspy, barely above a whisper, "But if you truly desire to uncover the skull in order to destroy it…you'll need to bring her back."

"No…nearly impossible…w-w would need to work together," another deep, shaky breath before it continued, "You know as well as I that she deserves a chance at life…she was murdered cruelly…unjustly. Please Giles, ignore the fact that you have to accept the words of a demon and do it for her."

Giles released the vampire and it fell back to the cobbles; pale skin marked red where his fingers had dug into the flesh. She immediately curled into a tight ball against the courtyard wall as though she expected him to strike her once again.

"Jeremiah, take this thing and get it cleaned up, I find its smell offensive!" Giles turned away from the vampire, unable to remain looking at her any longer.

Jeremiah stared blankly ahead in shock for a moment before Giles's words actually registered. He looked back and forth between the vampire and Giles before spinning on his heels.

"Me?" Jeremiah spluttered, following Giles back into the house, leaving the vampire unattended as it huddled against the courtyard wall, "Giles…you can't leave her in my care! I do not know what to do!"

"You must," Giles growled, refusing to turn around as he continued walking further away from the courtyard, "I cannot look at it for a moment longer or I will drive this stake through its chest!"

He angrily tossed the stake to one side where it knocked a vase from a table, both stake and porcelain fragments fell to the floor. Jeremiah realized that Giles was not going to be swayed and stopped following him. He slowly turned around to stare back out the open door. The creature had not moved, she remained exactly where she had crouched when Giles had released her from his grip. With tentative steps, Jeremiah moved back out into the sunlight and into the presence of the vampire. His mouth opened to speak but he realized that he did not know what to say. What was one supposed to say to a filthy, half- starved vampire with a soul?

"Hello," Jeremiah called quietly, "We haven't been formally introduced but I am Jeremiah Croft."

The vampire made no attempt at a response. Jeremiah screwed up his face as he pondered his next move. He felt somewhat annoyed by the fact that he was afraid of this creature, especially with his chosen career path at stake.

"If you would like to accompany me I can see about getting one of the servants to draw you a bath…and perhaps obtain some food…if you eat food? You prefer blood? Not that I am offering my own…I really would appreciate it if you did not attempt to drink mine, you surely noticed that Giles is in somewhat of a temper and I think attacking me might push him over the edge…and you would be…well…" Jeremiah spread his fingers to mimic his words, "Poof!"

She flinched noticeably, causing Jeremiah to instantly regret his words. Although he was reluctant to move any closer to the vampire, he hunkered down slowly to join her at her level.

"I do not know who this 'Willow' is or why Mr Giles needs to find this skull but I do know that he has decided to spare you, an unlikely turn of events given what you are, so you should accept my help…will you come with me?"

She turned towards him, studying him with her empty eyes. Jeremiah tentatively extended his hand, trying his best to keep his fingers from trembling.

Several minutes passed, Jeremiah and the vampire continued to stare at one another, neither daring to make a further move, either from fear on his part or something unknown on her part.

"Will you come with me?" Jeremiah repeated, he had been staring into the vampire's sapphire gaze so long he feared he was being intoxicated. Given that this was the effect when her eyes were dull and her strength sapped, he could only imagine the effect their full luminescence would have on him…he imagined that it would be something akin to infatuation.

Finally she started to move, her hand moved away from its position curled against her stomach and towards Jeremiah's outstretched hand.

As Tara's icy fingers met his own, he of course had no idea that he was taking the hand of the vampire that had killed his father.

The comfortable blanket of night had fallen upon London's houses and streets. It was quiet, with only the occasional meowing of a cat or rumbling of the night soil cart to disturb the peace of the mostly slumbering residents inside their modest and tidy town houses. Ordinarily, creatures of the night did not stalk the well-kept streets of the middle class but on this particular night, one lone figure moved quietly through the shadows.

Eventually, it paused for several minutes, ensuring that it was indeed alone on the street before moving towards the front door of one of the houses.

A moment later, the figure was greeted at the door by Jeremiah Croft, his already affable features rendered even friendlier by the grin that touched his lips at the sight of the person standing on the doorstep. He swiftly ushered the cloaked and hooded figure inside with a wave of his hand. His heart beat a little faster when he closed the door and the hood was drawn back to reveal a young woman with pale blonde hair. When she turned to regard him with a cool blue gaze he was powerless to keep his knees from trembling.

"Tara," the tremulous tone of his voice reflected his nervousness, "It is truly a pleasure to see you again."

She lifted her eyebrows as though a little surprised by his enthusiasm but she inclined her head to return the greeting. Jeremiah flushed so violent a shade of red, she may as well have kissed him.

When he had last seen Tara several months earlier, although her injuries had healed, she had still appeared painfully thin. Now as she stood before him, he found himself confronted with a woman of unsurpassed beauty, her hair shone like moonlight as it framed her marble-skinned face. Her lips were lustrous and red, only her eyes reflected a measure of her pain, an unspoken sadness that she carried with her like the black cloak on her shoulders.

Jeremiah struggled to find words to sum up the picture she presented, "You appear…well."

He bit his lip, rather embarrassed that he was so afflicted in Tara's presence, especially when he considered himself such an accomplished young man in all other respects. Clearly he had much to learn when it came to women, especially those that possessed an indescribable and unnatural beauty.

"Is Giles here?" Tara apparently did not share Jeremiah's need for conversation.

The young man was clearly disappointed by her business-like manner but he maintained his cheery demeanor, "Unfortunately he is out at the moment…but I believe he was not intending to be long. Would you care to wait for him here? Take a seat perhaps?"

"I will wait," Tara replied quietly, removing a small cloth wrapped bundle from beneath her cloak and holding it out in front of her with an amount of reverence, "but I would rather stand."

"As you wish," Jeremiah replied quietly, she then turned her back to him, he suspected she was concealing the parcel in her hands, and he suppressed a wistful sigh.

A small part of Tara felt decidedly uncomfortable standing in Giles's small parlor with Jeremiah. Her discomfort had nothing to do with the young man himself, whom she supposed to be a truly good person, but everything to do with the turmoil in her own mind. Outwardly she appeared to be the perfect image of an ensouled vampire…however such a creature was supposed to look and behave. Inwardly she felt like a broken young woman, one who was uneasy in the company of others, whether they be demon or human. Demons sensed that something about her was wrong, and the only humans she dared to come into contact with were Giles, who detested her, and young Jeremiah. Although the latter treated her like a woman as opposed to a demon she was certain this would all change when he learnt that she was responsible for the death of his father, Benjamin Croft.

Tara lived in fear…although she barely felt she could call what she was doing 'living'…it was more like 'existing.' The only reason for her continued existence was her purpose, and she would not allow herself to sink into the abyss of hopelessness and despair so long as she had such a purpose to cling to.

With trembling fingers she caressed the frayed cloth covering the small object in her hands. Try as she might, she could not suppress the memory of what she had done to obtain the item, but it had been a necessary evil.

Although not intentionally loud or abrupt, she was startled by Jeremiah's question and her shoulders twitched noticeably. She turned to find him staring at her with reddening cheeks.

"No apology is necessary," Tara replied, her discomfort quickly fading as she was put at ease by Jeremiah's straightforward and friendly manner.

"My curiosity often gets the better of me," he admitted with a sigh, "Giles often says it serves me well as a scholar but in all other areas it renders me an impertinent young man."

"The criticism is unjust, no one should be forced to hide a part of themselves because it makes others uncomfortable," Tara observed quietly.

Jeremiah was taken aback somewhat by the perception of her response, he pursed his lips together for a moment as though contemplating whether to ask another question. He drew in a breath before speaking, "I do not mean to pry ever further…but you speak as if you have experience in such matters?"

"Your curiosity also makes you a terrible liar," Tara said as Jeremiah reddened once more, "but I find myself liking you…against my better judgment of course."

Jeremiah's cheeks took on an even more violent hue of red but he also grinned. It was a mixture of reactions which gave him a comical appearance. He noticed a slight lift to one corner of Tara's mouth and dared to think that she might also be smiling.

The possible smile was fleeting however as she continued with a note of regret in her voice, "When I was a young woman, probably the same age as you are now, I made a dreadful decision because I was too afraid to be myself."

"How long ago was this?" Jeremiah pressed gently, eager to learn more about the mysterious woman, "Were Mr Van Helsing and Giles young men?"

Tara shook her head slowly, "I do not think that Giles was ever a young man and I did not know him. I did however know Abraham Van Helsing and he was indeed a young man, both handsome and kind."

"Giles told me as much…but he would not tell me why he changed," Jeremiah felt somewhat guilty seeking the answers from Tara when Giles had refused to give them to him. However, he could not help himself, "Do you know?"

Jeremiah was taken aback by the unexpected speed of her response and his mouth worked soundlessly for almost a minute as he tried to formulate additional questions or even make a simple comment. Whatever words he might have said died on his lips as it dawned on him that the blank expression on Tara's face was masking an immense pain.

"Her name was Willow," Tara added before she realized that, as nice as Jeremiah was, there was no way that she could continue the conversation without succumbing to tears. She pursed her lips together and bowed her head to indicate that she was prepared to say nothing more.

Neither Tara nor Jeremiah had heard Giles come through the door. He now stood between them, a dark cloud hanging over what had been Jeremiah's first real conversation with Tara…and Tara's first real conversation with anyone since her imprisonment. After staring at Giles for a moment, Jeremiah turned to Tara. Her expressionless mask had been swept aside to reveal a look of absolute devastation. However Willow Van Helsing had died, it had obviously cost Tara dearly.

"You raised me to have better manners," Jeremiah said curtly, angered that Giles would intentionally cause such distress.

"Manners only apply to humans…and certainly not to traitorous, murdering demons of that creature's ilk," Giles nodded towards Tara.

"She has a name," Jeremiah muttered quietly, glancing at his mentor from the corner of his eye.

If Jeremiah had been several years younger, he would have stamped his foot with some measure of frustrated anger. As it was, he saw the look on Giles's face and knew that this was not an issue he could force. With a curt nod in Giles's direction he turned on his heels and made his way out of the room. He did cast one brief glance back over his shoulder as though he was worried about leaving Tara alone with Giles.

As soon as the door closed behind Jeremiah, Giles turned to Tara, "You have accomplished your task?"

He nodded towards the package Tara held in her hands and she glanced down as well, still cradling it against her body. She nodded and tentatively extended it towards Giles. He took it roughly as though she were not worthy to hold such an object. His next actions however contradicted the care Tara had taken with the package. He tossed aside the cloth wrapping and dashed the small porcelain box to the ground. It shattered into several large shards and the contents within spewed out for several feet. It was dust…grey, ordinary dust that resembled something swept up off the kitchen floor.

"You obviously had no problem gaining access to the grave," Giles muttered, settling himself on the floor beside the dust.

Tara followed suit, a little more hesitantly as she was staring at the dust as though it were flakes of gold, "There was no one for miles…and your protection spells were easily revoked."

Tara shivered when she remembered the anguish Giles's task had caused her. She glanced up into his eyes and knew exactly why he had not gone himself. He wanted her to be forced to face what she had done, to see the reality of Willow's death and the ultimate consequences of what she had done. It was yet another form of punishment. Giles had succeeded; the sight of Willow's decayed body would haunt her for the remainder of her years.

"Well, that is normal for people who have been in the ground for decades," Giles replied tartly.

Tara squared her shoulders in the face of Giles's hostility, they both had a job to do…and it did not involve trading barely concealed barbs, "Shall we begin?"

Giles did not offer her the courtesy of a reply; he merely began to speak the opening lines of the incantation. The words were ancient, written in a lost language few understood and copied into a medieval tome so rare that Giles was certain he possessed the only remaining copy.

No sooner had Giles opened the spell, its power was revealed to devastating effect. The ornate glass lamp above their heads shattered and the fragments of glass multiplied as they burst in every direction. The shards hit Tara and Giles, piercing skin and drawing blood. Giles immediately blanched, the blood draining from his face and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Tara could only watch in horror as something appearing to be draining the magicks…and the life, from his body in front of her eyes. She did not open her own mouth, the only words that were to be said were that of the incantation…and no interruptions or deviations were permitted. If anything should happen, they would both be destroyed…and no doubt the entire street along with them.

Tara could not understand what was happening to Giles. He possessed an immense power, she could sense it…and yet he was fading much too quickly. She found herself mouthing the words in time with his but at the same time she felt her own blood grow thin as an oppressive, evil force descended on the room. While not able to shrug it off completely, Tara absorbed some of the oily sensation, it matched the darkness already present in her own veins…she knew evil when she met it.

Before Giles's words ceased altogether Tara forced herself to concentrate enough to be able to force the incantation out from between her lips. Although it had always been Giles's role to take the lead, Tara knew every word by rote, having repeated the spell dozens of times in the event that Giles did falter. He faltered now; the words had long since died on his lips but Tara had already picked them up, her voice just as firm as his had been.

Tara felt as though her entire body was being pierced by thousands of shards of glass as she took Giles's burden. The pain that had engulfed him now threatened to engulf her as well.

Almost as soon as she started the incantation Tara heard angry, threatening voices in her head. They were guardians, demanding to know why one such as she would dare to disturb the peace of the dead. Tara ignored them and continued to invoke the forces that were already at work around her, dangerous, dark forces which would tear her apart in an instant should she let her guard down. With everything working against her, trying to prevent her from going against the very nature of the universe, Tara stood her ground. Where lesser and even greater magic wielders would have failed, Tara was succeeding because she believed in what it was she was doing.

Even as the words left her lips, she continually fought a separate battle in her mind, denying those who would deny her access to Willow's soul, She does not belong to you…she has always been mine and I will take her back!

In front of her, the swirling dust was slowly drawn together into a single floating mass. Tara watched as the tiny fragments gradually elongated, moving together to create recognizable shapes, an arm, fingers, the curve of a breast. As the moments passed by and the form began to become recognizable, Tara's jaw dropped. Forming into something resembling solidity in front of her eyes, was Willow. The form was naked and insubstantial, reflecting the fact that it really was made up of a myriad of dust particles. However, after all her years spent imprisoned, it was as close as Tara had come to seeing Willow again. The sight of her limp, lifeless shade was enough to bring burning tears to her eyes.

Tara forced herself to close her eyes on the sight in front of her as she focused every remaining ounce of strength she had to perform the last part of the spell. With Giles slumped unconscious on the floor opposite her, she had to do it alone. As Tara formed the words on her lips and the necessary images in her mind, summoning the departed soul of the dead woman back to life, she found everything flowing seamlessly, almost effortlessly. Although she was drained of much of her strength, it took very little for her to gain admittance to the soul. She reached out to the bright, intense light in her mind, pulling it forward. Very little coaxing was needed on her part; the soul came willingly, almost eagerly.

Too easy, Tara mused internally…but with very little additional thought, she knew why, I love her more than my own life…she is drawn to me as we were always meant to be one, two bodies, two halves of one soul…this isn't a resurrection…it's a reunification…

When Tara's eyes slid open once more, she had to keep her lids half closed lest she be blinded by the brilliant light that lit up the entire room. Even with her eyes half closed, she was clearly able to see the light settle into Willow's limp form, molding itself gently to every curve, to every hair. Gradually the light was fused into the body and Tara was able to open her eyes fully.

The previously limp form twitched suddenly and the brilliant green eyes blinked once. Tara then realized that the form was aware…and she was staring directly at her. Only moments passed before a look of recognition settled on Willow's face, her mouth opened slightly in wonderment.

"Tara?" the voice was thin and barely audible, as though it was being carried across a great distance.

When Tara went to speak she found a lump in her throat. She instead settled for a weak smile and a nod that did not express a single iota of the emotions that were surging through her mind. The hazy form that represented Willow glanced around. The confusion registered clearly on her face as though she was wondering where she was.

Tara coughed to clear her throat before she could reply; it came out like an awkward sob, "Somewhere safe, Will."

The tiny frown at Willow's brow deepened, "Everything is so foggy…what is happening to me? Why can I not remember anything? Tara, please help me…"

Tara could not help but choke out another sob upon hearing Willow's desperate plea, "I am helping you…trust me?"

A small smile played at the corners of Willow's mouth, relief flooded her worried features, "I do."

"Will…" Tara whispered, extending on hand towards the floating form, "I love you…"

The small words were lost to an awesome and sudden rush of air that whipped Tara's hair forward over face, partially obscuring her view of Willow's shade. For several moments she felt as though she was at the center of a maelstrom, fighting to keep from being sucked into it. She watched as Willow's form reverted back to dust, the tiny particles swirling furiously in the air for a moment before disappearing altogether.

The vortex was gone just as suddenly as it had appeared and everything was still once more. Aside from the two windswept people in the center of the room, absolutely nothing else had been disturbed. The glass shards or the damage they had caused were nowhere in sight. The lamp still hung intact above their heads, swaying slightly. Aside from the missing dust that had lain between Giles and Tara, it was as though the spell had never taken place…that and Giles's limp body.

Tara barely heard the door being forced open at speed but she did see the blurry form of Jeremiah rushing into the room. The young man had obviously remained just outside the door throughout the spell, waiting and listening. He fell to his knees at Giles's side, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when he saw the welcome rise and fall of his chest. Giles was merely unconscious.

"It is done," Tara whispered, only in the calm did she realize that her entire body was covered in sweat. She felt it beading on her forehead, sliding down her neck and running in rivulets between her breasts.

She and Giles had done it. Somewhere, at some time, Willow Van Helsing would be born again.

It took some effort, but between Jeremiah's strength and Tara's magickal abilities, the two of them carried Giles's limp form up the stairs to his room. The unconscious warlock was bundled into his bed without so much as a whimper of protest. Both Jeremiah and Tara took up positions watching over him, Jeremiah in a chair beside the bed and Tara at the foot of the bed.

As she perched uncomfortably on the very edge of the mattress, feeling her shoulders sag with exhaustion, she finally acknowledged the fact that she was surprised to have outlasted Giles during the resurrection spell.

"There is something that I do not understand," Jeremiah commented quietly without turning to look at Tara, "Why do you not leave? You would be free. Giles is in no condition to stop you, and I am most certainly not even going to try."

"Leaving would not set me free," the vampire replied quietly, "I think that there is a reason it was Giles who found me…and despite his feelings towards me, I think he and I must work together to protect Willow."

"And Willow is…was…is…" Jeremiah screwed up his face for a moment before he relaxed and gave up trying, "Mr Van Helsing's sister, who was she? I know almost nothing about her and yet everything seems to revolve around her, she must have been terribly important."

Tara studied the young man's expression. While she had little experience when it came to men, she knew enough to know that the earnest look in his dark eyes was intended for her. She also knew that she did not deserve such devotion and it made her distinctly uncomfortable, almost to the point of feeling physically ill. Although it was an event which had been very quickly overshadowed by what happened subsequently, she very clearly remembered killing Jeremiah's father. The longer she studied the young man sitting next to the bed, the more she realized that the similarities him and his father were almost uncanny. Seeing the dead man's eyes staring back at her overwhelmed her to the point where she was forced to wrench her gaze away abruptly.

"I-I am sorry Jeremiah…perhaps I am more drained that I first thought," Tara whispered, slowly rising to her feet, she gently brushed off Jeremiah's offer of an arm to support her and turned her head, "I would like to rest for a while."

"Of course," Jeremiah replied quickly, he could still see the shining tears on her cheeks and he turned his head to spare her the discomfort of staring at her pain, "I will watch over Giles and you are more than welcome to the guest room at the end of the hall…if that would be appropriate?"

Tara nodded, as she moved away from the bed she felt Jeremiah's gaze follow her. She stopped walking, paused for a moment staring straight ahead, before finally turning back around to look at Jeremiah again.

He smiled slightly as though he had been hoping for one more glimpse of her face, 'Was there something else you needed?"

Tara ducked her head for a few seconds, hair falling forward to hide the liquid pools that were her eyes. Coward, she thought with disgust, you should look at him when you tell him…see the expression on his face change to one of hate and loathing, after all, it is what you deserve. With some effort she managed to look at him again and she sighed sadly, already hurting to know that she was about to lose the one person that she could possibly call a friend.

The air hung thick and heavy in the small room as the two, Tara and Jeremiah, faced one another. Accepting her punishment calmly, Tara forced herself to meet Jeremiah's gaze, to watch the emotions that played out across his face.

At first he appeared to be struggling to grasp her words even though they had made perfect sense. "You what?" he asked dumbly.

Tara drew in a breath. The sensation of air filling her lungs was still something she had not yet become accustomed and each breath was somehow significant. It was also a painful reminder of the length of time she had been dead…and in many ways, she still was.

"Sixteen years ago I decided that I wanted the skull for myself, I confronted Abraham Van Helsing and your father and a fight ensued, your father fought bravely but he was young…and I was very strong. I plunged his own knife into his body. I would hope that the knowledge that it was overly relatively quickly would offer you a small measure of comfort, but I would understand if it did not."

The look of disbelief remained on Jeremiah's face long after Tara expected that it would change to one of anger and hate. His brow furrowed and his lips parted, the only outward sign of the myriad of thoughts that were obviously racing through his mind. As his legs gave out on him, he sank back into the chair beside the bed.

"You said you confronted Abraham Van Helsing as well…" Jeremiah paused as though trying to think through what he was saying, "Where was he when you were stabbing my father?"

Watching…waiting to seize the opportunity to ensnare me while I was occupied with the young man…he did absolutely to help, Tara clearly remembered the young man pleading with Abraham for assistance. The cries had no impact on her then…but now they pierced her beating heart with shards of pain. Tara had every right to hate Abraham Van Helsing and every motive to drag his name even further into the mud; however she could still not bring herself to forget the man that he had been and for this reason she omitted to tell Jeremiah the full truth of what happened that night. "I had already knocked Abraham to the ground, he was…he was unable to reach your father in time."

Jeremiah then sighed quietly, wistfully, as though in that brief moment he was once again imagining a life lived with his father. However, it was gone quickly. He was a young man who knew all too well that life could not be lived in dreams.

"Thank you for telling me," Jeremiah replied quietly, without a trace of anger or hate in his voice, "It cannot have been easy."

"You deserved to know," Tara replied simply, lifting her eyebrows slightly as Jeremiah failed to show the prescribed reaction. Whatever Abraham Van Helsing did or didn't do…it was I who plunged the knife into his gut.

Jeremiah then stood but Tara's first instincts, that he was going to strike her, were quickly dispelled when he extended his hand. She reached out and placed hers atop it. He then lifted it to his lips and pressed the tiniest of kisses to the back of her hand.

"I want you to know that I hold no grudges against you," Jeremiah said, intentionally keeping his voice firm to ensure Tara realized he was serious, "No matter what others may say, you are no longer that demon…you are Tara Maclay once more…and you are my friend."

She excused herself before she could give into tears once more, even though this time the tears would not have been sorrowful, and made her way to the guest room down the hall. The appearance of the room was immaterial to Tara, she could see that it contained a bed and that was more than she needed. Although she had been feeling weary ever since the spell ended, it was only when she folded herself atop the bed that she realized just how absolutely drained of energy she was.

When she closed her eyes, images of the redhead who had dominated her entire life filled her mind. As she drifted off to sleep, she knew that Willow's face would be the only one in her dreams.

When Tara woke she found, with some measure of disappointment, that night still lingered outside. As exhausted as the resurrection spell had left her, her dreams made sleep impossible for more than a few hours at a time. She sat and lingered on the bed for a few moments as though contemplating staying before swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing with an air of purpose. It was time to leave the comfort and safety of Giles's house and return to the night where she belonged.

Before she left, she paused at the threshold to the room where Giles lay recuperating. The door was ajar and the chair beside the bed empty. Jeremiah had obviously retired to his own bed after reassuring himself that Giles was not about to suddenly stop breathing. She did not quite know why she had brought herself into the presence of the man who despised her. After a few moments of staring at his sleeping form she realized that the sight of her would hardly be conducive a swift recovery for a weakened Giles. She was sure his tongue was still just as acidic while he was lying down.

Even as she went to turn around she saw his eyes open, he was staring directly at her. Neither vampire nor man spoke for a few moments. Tara could not think of anything to say to extricate herself from the situation in haste so she just stood up to his blank gaze.

When he finally did speak he surprised Tara with the tone and content of his words, "I know you saved my life during that spell…and I thank you for that."

Tara inclined her head slightly, still too taken aback to say anything in response to Giles's change of heart.

"I would also like to apologize for my treatment of you earlier…" Giles sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows, "You have suffered more than enough already. Do not mistake my apology for forgiveness however…"

"I do not expect you to forgive me," Tara was quick to interrupt, she moved forward and retrieved several pillows from the floor beside the bed, as Giles leant forward she tucked them gently behind his back, "But that will never stop me trying to atone for the crimes I committed while I was a demon. Giles, I wish to aid you and Jeremiah in your work."

"I need an occupation," Tara admitted, "And it would seem to be the only thing I am qualified for…that and the fact that I would otherwise spend my days waiting…longing for Willow's return…and given that it could be a very long wait, it would be a wasted life."

"We have done our part, "Giles nodded, "The resurrection will be brought about when the time is right."

Tara nodded in agreement although it was an action which did not mirror her inward feelings. More than anything she wanted Willow to stroll back into the world immediately, as fully formed and beautiful as she had been that day at the Marlborough's picnic. It was a fool's dream, the world did not work in that manner…and the Willow that was reborn would not be the woman she had loved. Tara closed her eyes for just a second and brought her face into view, she inhaled deeply, as though she could smell her intoxicating fragrance.

When she opened her eyes once more she saw the look of pity on Giles's face and remembered the tragic creature that she was. When Willow was finally reborn, she would be reduced to the role of voyeur, forever looking in on a life which was not hers to be a part of. It would be a heartbreaking existence…but at least she would have the pleasure of the knowledge that Willow was alive once more.

"Tara…" Giles paused as though he could not quite believe he had addressed her by that name instead of 'demon' or 'it', "Any assistance I can provide…or Jeremiah for that matter, he worships you, you know."

Tara nodded slightly, "I thank you Giles…and Jeremiah also, but if I depend overly on your goodwill any chance I have of reintegrating myself into the demon community will be lost and my value to you and your work will be sorely diminished."

"Where will you go now?" Giles asked quietly, although he knew Tara was more than capable of protecting herself; he was beginning to feel some measure of responsibility towards her, as though she had suffered more than enough already.

Tara's soft expression changed and took on a razor sharp edge, when she spoke her voice was tinged with iron, "I believe my beloved husband would be overjoyed to see me after all these years."

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