The Dark Rose

By darkmagickwillow

Copyright © May 2003

Chapter 10 (Shades)

Willow woke to the sound of a voice she hadn't heard in years. Her body tensed as she automatically turned to look towards the door. The sound of the voice was coming from outside the hospital room and getting closer as she listened.

It was Giles. His voice was raised in an argument with another voice which she didn't recognize. He was apparently arguing about visiting hours like she had last night. While she didn't appreciate the hospital's policies in general, right now she was thankful for the time it gave her.

Early morning light seeping through the shades created a chiaroscuro of her and Tara on the opposite wall. The soft outlines of their faint shadows faded gradually into the light around them. Their shadows revealed that they had remained in the same position that they had fallen asleep in last night with Tara still curled up on her lap.

She mourned the fact that she had to leave now as she tenderly pushed strands of gold away from Tara's face, still peaceful in her undisturbed sleep. Tara's body shifted under the blankets as she pressed even closer to Willow. Willow's body ached to wrap itself around Tara, remembering what to do in this situation more clearly than her mind did.

She had to leave. She wasn't ready for Giles to know about them yet, not after their acrimonious last meeting. She didn't want to fight with him here in front of Tara so it was time for her to leave. Now.

She ran her fingers through Tara's tousled blonde hair one more time. "Tara, it's time to wake up," she said softly.

Tara scrunched her eyes up resolutely and curled herself around Willow, refusing to be drawn away from the comfort and safety of her dreams. She murmured wordless sounds of possessive love as she snuggled closer.

"Come on, Tara," Willow said insistently, though the tender caress she gave Tara's cheek betrayed her own reluctance to get up. "I've got to go."

"Go?" Tara asked plaintively, her eyes displaying confusion and disappointment as they opened to the morning light.

Something about the disappointed look on Tara's face, the disarray of her hair, and her rumpled hospital gown struck Willow as comical. She couldn't stop herself from smiling. Seeing a hurt look beginning to form on Tara's face, she quickly wiped away the smile and patted Tara's hand. "I'm sorry," she said contritely. "It's just ... sometimes I forget that you're a person who wakes up with mussed hair and..."

"Is this an apology?" Tara asked suspiciously, her eyes beginning to narrow. "'Cause it's certainly lacking something-"

"You're beautiful," Willow blurted out. She had the satisfaction of seeing Tara's eyes widen in surprised happiness with the compliment. Tara was beautiful, but so was the Tara of her dreams. What she wasn't able to explain to her was that the mussed hair, the rumpled clothes, they all made it real. And real was so much better than a dream.

"I have to go," Willow said, sorry to break the spell of the moment, but Giles was almost at the door. "Giles should be here in a minute. You can hear him."

Tara took Willow's right hand in both of hers. "Please don't go," she said softly, her eyes pleading with Willow to stay.

Willow squeezed Tara's hands tightly for a moment. "I have to," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Tara reluctantly let Willow pull her hand away. They disentangled themselves from each other and Willow softly padded over the window then opened it, letting the light of the morning sun flood the room. Willow gazed over her shoulder, watching how the sun's rays glinted off the gold of Tara's hair. "Tomorrow," she promised again. Then she pulled herself through the window and dropped silently to the ground below, hearing Tara's goodbye from above her as she fell.

Tara watched as Willow fell slowly as if she was as light as a feather. She marveled at how effortlessly the magic came to Willow. As she began to wonder if that was perhaps a bad thing, she was interrupted by a knock at the door. She cleared her throat then called out, "Come in."

Giles, wearing his usual white shirt and tie under a grey sweater vest, entered the room followed closely by Spirit, who was dressed more casually in jeans and a T-shirt bearing the semblance of a manga character that Tara couldn't recognize. Tara wasn't the expert on Japanese comics that Spirit was, but she had to admit that she had been impressed by some of the ones Spirit had shared with her over Christmas. She felt obscurely disappointed when they weren't followed by a smaller figure dressed all in black.

The vampire slayer was carrying a clear glass vase containing a colorful assortment of flowers with a large purple orchid in the center of the arrangement. Tara forced herself to smile at her friends, reminding herself that she was glad that her friends were visiting her in the hospital. A few months ago there probably wouldn't have been anyone to visit her. She shouldn't be unhappy with them because Willow had left. "Hi, guys."

"You look better this morning," Spirit said as she walked over to the table by Tara's bed and placed the vase of flowers on it. There had been something different about Tara recently, a hidden sense of almost giddy happiness, that she had never seen in her before. Perhaps it was because of Tara's friend that she had met last night. It was more pronounced this morning as if a shade of that presence remained in the room.

"How are you doing, Tara?" Giles asked. He looked good for someone she had last seen unconscious.

"I feel fine," Tara said. "But they wanted to keep me for observation overnight."

"Your doctor told me that you could get out this afternoon if everything tests okay," Giles responded. The doctor had been an annoying twit, telling him that visiting hours weren't starting for another hour. He had brooked no opposition, needing to see Tara for more than the obvious reason. If what he suspected about Tara's friend was true, they had an urgent problem to deal with.

Tara hoped her tests were fine. She didn't want to miss her coffee date with Willow tomorrow. "How are you doing, Mr. Giles?"

"He's fine," Spirit interjected. "He regained consciousness around midnight and wanted to come see you right away, but I told him your friend was taking care of you."

"Ah, yes," Giles said. "I was meaning to ask you about this since I was out at the time. How did you and your friend defeat the Master's ghost?" He felt apprehensive about who Tara's friend was and why she hadn't told him about her before now. Spirit's description of her red hair and dark eyes had been worrisome. There was only one person he knew who matched that description, but he never expected to see her again. Her presence could be a far greater threat than the Master. Perhaps she had even raised the Master herself.

"We cast a banishment spell," Tara answered briefly. She had to think of longer answers than that. She knew she couldn't leave Willow out of this particular story. The only question was how little could she say to satisfy Giles' curiosity. She didn't understand why she felt this way, but she had an urge to protect Willow from Giles.

"The spectre dissolved," Spirit added. "I had just used the last of the holy water so I was more than happy with the spell until I turned around to see Tara collapsed on the floor."

Giles was unhappy with the evasiveness of Tara's answer and how she wouldn't look directly at him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate help in destroying the Master, but he knew how easy it was to fall prey to the temptations of dark magic and he didn't want to see Tara succumb to them. She had a goodness of heart that he hadn't seen in anyone since his first time in Sunnydale and he didn't want her to lose that. "I don't think you mentioned your friend's name," he said casually. "What is it?"

Tara thought it was safe enough to say her name now that Giles knew about their friendship. "Her name's Willow."

Giles froze. Even after Spirit's description, he still wasn't prepared to hear that name. The Master's shade had frightened him, but he had figured out how to deal with it. Willow's name struck him with a bone-deep chill. She was infinitely more dangerous than the Master, and things she had done were unspeakable.

They had once been so close, but now he couldn't fathom Willow's intentions. Unless. He looked closely at Tara, noting again how closely her features mirrored those of Willow's love of the past. Had she given up on resurrection? Or was it something nefarious--did she need a body for her resurrection spell and wanted one that was close as possible to the original?

Spirit gave Giles a look of concern. "Giles, are you okay?" she asked. "You look a little pale. Maybe you should sit down."

Tara was concerned too, but her worries centered around Willow. Giles had suddenly paled when Tara had said her name. Did Giles know her? Was that why Willow had left so quickly? If he did, what had happened between them to cause him to react this way? She looked into Giles' face as he was waving off Spirit's offers of assistance, trying to read his expression more clearly.

"No, no," Giles said hurriedly. "I'm quite fine," he continued coldly. "We must be leaving now. Both of us have to get back to school." Giles had to find out what Willow was up to with her visit to Sunnydale, to see whether it was just Tara or something worse. A witch of her power could easily open the Hellmouth.

Spirit started a sentence, "But..."

"No," Giles said shortly, cutting Spirit off. "I have to do some research, make sure the Master won't be coming back again, and so forth..."

"Okay," Spirit assented unwillingly.

"Should I drop by the library when I get out this afternoon?" Tara asked. She had never seen Giles so flustered. Something odd had happened between Giles and Willow and she didn't think that either of them would explain it if she asked.

"No, it's best to get your rest," Giles answered, turning back to face Tara. The coolness of his voice belied the message of care in his words. "You can come by tomorrow." He knew Tara had to be suspicious of his unusual behavior, but perhaps by tomorrow he would have some answers and could advise her about her friend.

Before she could react, Giles and Spirit had said their goodbyes and were out of the room. The room felt bewilderingly empty after being so full of her friends. She quickly glanced at the vase of flowers as if to reassure herself that they had just been here.

Even after everyone left, a shade of Willow's presence lingered in the room. Tara could feel the memory of the warmth of being held by Willow, but she could also recall the coldness that had entered Giles's voice when she said Willow's name.

As always, Willow presented her with a paradox. How could she bring out such warmth in herself and such coldness in Giles? What had happened between Willow and Giles that made them react so strongly to each other's presence?

Giles sat at his desk with his head propped up on his fist, gazing sightlessly at the clutter of papers scattered across its surface. It was late in the night. His eyes were red from fatigue and his white shirt was wrinkled. His glasses lay on the untidy pile of papers that he had been looking at last. Several stacks of weighty leather-bound tomes had been pushed back towards the wall, their information about the Master of no interest to him now.

He still had no better idea of why Willow Rosenberg was in Sunnydale than he had when he started. He had questioned Spirit repeatedly about her encounter with the dark witch last night, but had learned nothing except that the Willow Tara knew was indeed Willow Rosenberg, though she hadn't seemed to have aged a day since she left Sunnydale. He had knowledge of dark magicks that could hold back the pressures of time and it didn't reassure him as to her intentions.

All the papers before him made references to a dark witch that no one could identify. Most were rumors, as there were very few direct sightings. She wore a black mask and never used her name, but she was already a legend after less than twenty years. One of those papers was a description of his own last meeting with Willow. He didn't know why he had written it. There was no longer anyone for him to report to. Habit, he supposed.

He thought back to his last meeting with Willow Rosenberg. It had been late December in the cold winter of 2005 at the castle where the Watcher's Council was based in England. It was his first trip back home since he had returned to Sunnydale to be Buffy Summers' watcher again after the disastrous events of 2002. The council had called him to talk with about the threat of a terrible dark witch, and he had suspected that they called him there because he knew the person they were worried about.

He was staying the night in a hotel in a small Sussex town near the headquarters of the Council of Watchers. The innkeeper had looked distrustfullyingly at him after hearing his Americanized accent, but had accepted him readily enough after seeing his Council credentials. First thing in the morning, he was going to meet with Quentin Travers and the board of directors.

In the late hours of the night he awoke to a thunderous cacophony of explosions and shattering masonry. It was followed by a terrible bellowing and screams of terror that echoed across the valley from the direction of the castle. He dressed as rapidly as he could and got in his car, heading for the sounds of conflict, though he wasn't sure what he could do as he hadn't been able to bring any of his weapons from California.

The winding road made the drive maddeningly long, but the little Smart that the council had rented for him wasn't the type of vehicle that he could take cross country. It also couldn't go very fast on the uphill segments. Giles cursed the council's frugality; it wouldn't have cost them much more to hire a decent car for him. You would think that the one Watcher in the world with an active vampire slayer would deserve some consideration.

As he rounded the last curve, he could finally see the castle that housed the Council of Watchers, or rather the ruins of it. The twin rectangular towers of the gatehouse had been cast into the broad, water-filled moat by some inconceivable force. The larger round towers on the northeast and northwest corners of the curtain wall had also been destroyed though charred stumps remained of each tower. The deep moat was filled with giant shards of masonry. They resembled icebergs with their sharp-pointed profiles above the surface of the water.

Giles drove over burnt fragments of stone that had been thrown from the towers' destruction as he drove towards the old fortress. The car park was fairly empty and many of the cars showed damage from falling stones, but he ignored it in favor of driving as close to the castle as the wreckage would allow. Upon encountering a huge chunk of masonry that he couldn't drive around, he parked the little car directly in front of it. He carelessly left the car in the middle of the road; it had taken him almost to his destination. The causeway that led across the moat was only a few meters away.

He got out of the car, taking his torch with him so he could find his way in the darkness, and began walking across the causeway. All the detritus in the broad moat had caused it to overflow onto the causeway, but fortunately the water was only a few inches deep where he had to walk. The causeway was the only way across the moat by foot and he felt very exposed as he climbed over bits and pieces of the wreckage towards the gatehouse. As he approached the other side of the moat, he began finding debris that didn't consist of simple chunks of wall. There were wooden fragments from doors and furniture, pieces of metal from the plumbing and fixtures, and all manner of things that people keep where they live.

Halfway across, he found the first body. It was one of the council's security guards, still holding a submachine gun in one lifeless hand. A trickle of blood had flowed from his mouth and dried there, but there was no other indication of the cause of death. Whatever it was, the man's black kevlar vest had done nothing to stop it. Giles gingerly stepped over the body and continued on his way.

As he approached the shattered ruin of the gatehouse, he found a multitude of corpses floating in the water intermingled with the debris. He wondered if he was doing the right thing. It didn't seem likely that anyone could have survived whatever cataclysm had struck the fortress. Whatever had caused the destruction might still be here, but it was quiescent now. He decided to continue to find if there were any survivors and to discover if the damage had extended to the archives buried beneath the castle.

At last he was across the moat. There were terrible gashes torn completely through the twenty-foot thick curtain walls to his right, while on his left a jagged arc of the machiolations was gone, as if something huge had bitten into the top of the forty foot high walls. A narrow valley whose sloping walls were formed of broken stones from the former towers of the gatehouse led into the courtyard. He walked as quietly as he could through the valley of rubble, not wanting to disturb whatever had wreaked such havoc.

He emerged into the courtyard, which was littered with corpses of council security guards and not a few researchers and watchers. Some lay crushed on the ground where they had fallen, while others had been burnt by a terrible fire. He tried not to look too closely, afraid that he would recognize someone that he knew. He could not help them now.

He continued walking to the central keep. The tall white stone tower dated from the Norman conquest. The square shape rose high above him, higher even than the curtain walls that surrounded it, and at its top were smaller square towers at each of its four corners. The ancient stones showed extensive weathering, but the building was still in good repair save for the shattered doors that opened silently into its interior.

He couldn't imagine what had caused such destruction. Even an army of vampires couldn't have destroyed the Council of Watchers in this manner. No demon he could think of could have done this either. The extent of the devastation left him mystified.

Shining the light of his torch through the remains of the double doors, Giles could see more bodies lying on the floor. Nothing more menacing than the remains of the recently deceased lurked in the shadows. Entering the building, he stepped carefully over the corpses and headed towards the office of the council leader which thankfully was on the ground floor. He knew he might have to survey the entire building eventually, but he had seen enough for now. He walked through the great entry hall of the castle. The multihued patterns of inlaid marble on its walls were shattered and burnt in places as if struck by lightning.

Turning left, he walked down a long corridor and reached the council leader's office. Blocking the entrance, he found the broken remains of the ancient oak desk that he remembered sitting in front of more than once. Pushing aside the heavy desk, he entered the room and saw Quentin Travers, leader of the Watcher's Council, sitting in his chair, a terrible mask of horror frozen on his lifeless face. A sickly yellowish-green slime dripped from one arm of his conservative dark blue jacket. While he had never liked the man and at times had hated him, he couldn't bear the eternally frozen stare of those eyes so he reached over and closed them.

There was nothing more for him above. If Quentin was dead, everyone else was dead too or gone. He had to go below to the library where the council's darkest and most valuable secrets and treasures were kept. That was where someone who had attacked the Council would go first.

Walking through the back corridors of the keep, he found the familiar staircase that led down the archives. There was no guard to check him this time. He walked cautiously down the narrow stone spiral staircase, pointing the light of his torch into the darkness ahead of him.

Reaching the bottom, Giles saw that the magical barrier that should have barred intruders from the library was gone. Whoever had done this was skilled indeed as any force strong enough to breach the barrier was also strong enough to destroy the library. This could only have been done with skill, not brute force. He passed an empty checkpoint and made his way into the grand hall of the library.

This had been his favorite place in the all the world. The stone ceiling arched several times his height above him and the walls were lined with row upon row of ancient texts. The long room was broken into segments by broad stone archways that reinforced the walls of the library.

Wheeled wooden ladders stood against several of the wall segments so that the higher texts could be accessed. Long reading tables lined with chairs ran down the center of the room. Reading lights were placed all along the tables and there were a variety of stands on which you could place a number of books to be read.

The long library extended far beyond him in the darkness, but in the third segment of the chamber from him a brilliant source of light floated in midair, illuminating a small dark figure reading an ancient text below it. The slender woman was dressed in black leather and was shrouded by a black cloak.

How could such a small figure have wreaked such devastation? As if in answer to his question, she moved and he saw her shadow flicker on the wall. It loomed over her like a giant of darkness, hinting at the dark might hidden within that diminutive frame.

As she began to turn towards him, putting the tome down with petite hands encased in black leather gloves, he saw that she was wearing a black mask. What terrible visage was hidden under there? He had never heard of a demon that could cause such destruction. Even Glory had lacked this kind of power.

Her turning seemed to go on and on as if unfolding ever greater depths of darkness hidden within her. Then she faced him squarely, regarding him coolly with eyes hidden behind that featureless mask.

"Giles," she greeted him in a familiar voice.

He stopped short. "Willow," he said unbelievingly as he recognized her. He stared at her, attempting to reconcile his image of Willow with the dark witch before him.

"I didn't expect to find you here," she said.

"Nor I, you." He had been worried about Willow when the Watcher's Council had summoned him here, but he had no idea that she was this powerful, this dark. He wasn't worried any longer. He was afraid. And angry. "How...why did you do it?" he demanded.

"I conjured a true demon, a creature bigger than the Mayor with tentacles," Willow said, taking no notice of his tone of voice. "It took care of the walls and most of the guards before they killed it. As for why, they sent a retrieval team for me like they did for Faith. I knew they'd send more so I made them an offer they shouldn't have refused."

"And what exactly did you offer the council?" he asked acerbically.

"They would give me the library and submit to a geas that would keep them from ever harming me again," Willow said, her masked face revealing nothing of her inner thoughts or feelings. "In return, I'd let them live."

Her voice was cold and implacable. Giles imagined that she had delivered her ultimatum to the Council in exactly the same way.

The sound of cracking stone came from the ceiling above him and he looked up to see a huge block of the ceiling plunging towards him. Suddenly it stopped and he looked over to Willow to see her hand outstretched, effortlessly holding up the block with the power of her mind. She gently set it down on the floor beside him without disturbing any of the books. She had saved him after killing so many others. He didn't know what to feel.

"You should leave, Giles," Willow warned in a dark voice. "It isn't safe here." He could feel that she was warning him about more than the unstable masonry overhead.

"Why are you doing this, Willow?" Giles asked, still almost unable to believe that the sweet young woman he had known in Sunnydale had become this monster.

"For Tara."

The words hung in the air like a dark promise. There was no warmth in them or in the unapologetic gaze with which she confronted him.

"She's gone and she wouldn't want this," he said harshly.

"I'll bring her back," she said, her cold voice echoing through the large chamber. "Go!" she commanded him.

Willow had gone too far to return to them and she was too much for him to challenge even if she was tired from the earlier battle. He turned and hastily left the castle, finding himself almost running as he came out of the library. He hoped to never to see Willow Rosenberg again. The next time he would have to stop her though he hadn't the faintest idea how.

Returning to the present, Giles looked down at his papers again and sighed. He had done what he could to restore the good parts of the Watcher's Council, but his resources were so limited. He had managed to salvage most of the library with the help of other watchers who hadn't been present at the cataclysmic destruction of the Council and he had stayed with Buffy til the end. Most importantly, he had found the new slayer and brought her to Sunnydale where she was most needed. It had taken over a year to find her with their limited manpower.

He had to return to work as a librarian at the new Sunnydale high school to support himself. The great library was scattered in the private collections and hidden caches of the remaining watchers. Still, some good had come out of the destruction of the council. There were no more wet works teams, no convoluted bureaucracy, and no outmoded traditions like the slayer test that he had put Buffy through. Spirit would never have to face that now.

That wasn't enough for him to forgive Willow for destroying the Council and neither was her help in defeating the Master. He didn't know why she had helped them or even why she was in Sunnydale. For that matter, why had she bothered to work with Tara on the spell? She could have easily stopped the spectre on her own. He had too many questions and no answers at all. And he was beginning to feel too old to stay up researching til dawn with so little hope of finding an answer here.

Who was Willow Rosenberg now? That was the heart of the matter. He knew she wasn't the girl from high school any more, but how had 19 years of darkness stained her soul? That was the question that would keep him awake tonight.

Continued...