Meant to Be
The Queen of Hearts

by Hellmouth Guy

Copyright © 2008

hellmouthadmin@thehellmouthrevisited.com

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Series trademarks, all publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from these works. No copyright infringement is intended.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
The Hellmouth Revisited.
Feedback: Thank you.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Notes: Sequel to The New World.
Pairing: Buffy/Faith

Part 1
Our Gang

The Bronze was deserted now. Faith swung her sword in a wide arc, holding sixteen vampires at bay for the moment as they roared and growled and raked the air with their claws and tried to leap past her; tried to reach Willow. Faith shielded Willow's body with her own, keeping Willow behind her and the vampires in front, and considered her options.

She saw Xander out of the corner of her eye, slowly making his way toward her. The vampires either hadn't noticed him or weren't bothering with him. For some reason, they wanted Willow…

Willow tried her best to stay out of Faith's way. She watched as Faith slashed her wakizashi through the air, not allowing the snarling, snapping creatures to get past her. One dropped into a crouch and tried to leap under Faith's swing, but she kicked him in the face without missing a beat like she was punting a football and he slammed into two other vampires and took them down with him. But the vampires were steadily moving closer, hemming Faith in, cutting her off, backing her and Willow toward the wall.

Willow was trying to stay close to Faith so Faith could protect her while at the same time trying to stay out of Faith's way so she had room to fight. Willow did her best at the impossible task as Faith swung her wakizashi around, holding the vampires back and looking for openings to stake them. A vampire sprang straight at Faith's throat; Faith spun and cut its head off and it turned to dust. But the move put Faith out of position for the split-second another of the vampires needed to get in under her guard and punch her in the face. Faith went flying back into the wall and fell to the floor.

"Faith!" Willow screamed, trying to run to her; but the vampires were too fast and the nearest one was on Willow in a second. But as Willow fell she heard the vampire scream, as Xander stuck a knife through the back of its neck. Xander just had time to toss that vampire away before he was thrown aside by the others as they sprang at Willow again…

Faith got there first. She leaped straight into the vampires, straight into all fifteen of them with a roar like a lion and Willow saw two vampires go flying thirty feet across the room as she got herself up and got out of Faith's way. She looked around for Xander, as Faith slashed the air with her sword and kicked out with her legs and rolled and punched the air with her stake, not giving the vampires a chance to use their numbers to their advantage. Willow saw Xander getting himself up about ten feet away. She helped him up, and they both ran back to Faith. They saw two vampires turn to dust as Faith beheaded them, but eleven were still trying to hold her down as she covered up and rolled, and the two she had punched away were running back to the fight. Xander desperately pulled vampires off of Faith, trying to give her room to move. He managed to stake one through the back, but another one turned on him and smacked him away again. He went flying through the air and bounced off a table, and hit the floor.

"Xander!" Willow screamed, and ran to him again.

Rolling around beneath the pile of vampires, trying to keep their slashing claws away from her face, Faith had a clear view for a moment. She saw Willow running for Xander, and two vampires heading straight for both of them…

Faith kicked her legs out as hard as she could and four vampires went flying. She stabbed he sword straight through the face of one of the vampires holding her down, managed to roll away from the others and backflip herself up.

"Willow!" Faith screamed, as two vampires grabbed Willow by the arms and tried to hustle her out of the room. The four she had kicked away were running to join them, and the six she had just rolled away from were behind her, as Faith ran for Willow…

Xander was on the floor. Faith couldn't tell if he was alive.

Seventy-three flashed through Faith's head, then she put the thought aside. It was a distraction. She was working.

With a roar Faith leaped across the room and tackled the four vampires who were running toward Willow. She jumped back up to her feet, threw her stake straight through the back of one of the vampires trying to hustle Willow away, and ran after the other. They weren't trying to kill Willow. They were trying to kidnap her…

Willow struggled, dragged her feet, tried to slow the vampire down. He elbowed her in the head, and she fell limp in his hands.

Faith screamed, and ran at the vampire as he turned to face her. She knew the other ten were right behind her now.

Faith picked up a fork from a table, turned and threw it through the throat of one of the vampires behind her. She anticipated the move of the vampire who was behind her now as he tried to slash through her neck with his claws; she ducked him, spun and cut his head off. Willow fell to the floor, and Faith stood in front of her as the ten remaining vampires surrounded them. The one with Faith's fork in his throat pulled it out with a snarl. Faith showed him her teeth. She saw Xander a few yards away, getting up. She breathed a sigh of relief.

She noticed Xander picking some things up from some of the tables. A bottle, a lighter, some napkins. Faith held her sword in front of her and watched the ten vampires as they snarled at her, apparently trying to figure their next move. She slowly knelt beside Willow, not taking her eyes off the vampires, and felt her pulse. It was strong and steady.

She knew the longer she could stall the better off they'd all be. Buffy would be showing up soon, and the police would be along too with any luck. So Faith waited, and didn't do anything reckless. She wondered how long it would be until the vampires moved, and then wondered if they were stalling too…if they were waiting for help. Willow was still unconscious. Faith couldn't move very far from her and still protect her. The smart play was to wait…

The vampires didn't seem interested in Xander at all. That was a mistake on their part. Xander ran up to the vampires from behind with a vodka bottle with napkins stuffed in the top. He lit it with the lighter at the last second and threw it at one of the vampires' backs. The vampire burst into flames, ran around screaming for a few seconds and turned to dust as the other nine suddenly decided Xander was important after all, and sprang at him…

Break's over, Faith thought, as she sprang right after them. She managed to tackle four of them and cut the head off one as another got a good shot in that sent her flying and made her lose her grip on her sword. But she rolled with the punch, turned it into a backward somersault, came up on her feet and ran back to Xander as he went down, dragged to the floor by the other five vampires. She didn't have a weapon now but she had no choice but to wade in anyway, and she started peeling vampires off of Xander and flinging them away before they could get their claws into him.

"Get her out of here!" Faith shouted, as she got him up. He nodded and ran for Willow, as three more tried to cut him off, and Faith barreled into them and brought them down. But one of them got a good shot in on her, smashing his fist into her face and cracking her head against the floor, and another one slashed at her stomach with his claws. Faith screamed as his claws slashed deep into her stomach and drew blood; she kicked out with her legs and managed to dislodge them enough to get herself up, and she saw Xander carrying Willow out the fire exit. But then the other five vampires were on her, and they dragged her back down to the floor, slashing and biting and punching her. Her head cracked against the floor again and again, and she saw stars, as she tried to cover up and roll…

"Where…are we..?" Willow said, waking up in Xander's arms. "Where's…where's Faith?"

Xander was running, running with her in his arms as fast as he could. Willow looked around. They were in the alley outside the Bronze, running toward the front entrance. Her head hurt.

She remembered.

"Xander! Put me down!" she said.

Xander ran out of the alley to the front of the Bronze, and put her down, and caught his breath.

"What happened? What are we doing? Where's Faith?" Willow said.

"She's still inside," Xander said. "I'm going back in. I need you to run, right now. A few blocks up there are houses. Bang on some doors and get inside."

"What? Are you crazy? I'm not gonna just run! Faith needs us!"

"That's why I'm going back in. I love you, baby. Now go!" he said, and pulled away from her.

"Wait!" Willow shouted, and ran after him. "I'm going in with you!"

"Willow!" Xander shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Those vampires were after you! Not me, not Faith! You!"

"But…" Willow said, holding his arm. "You don't even have a stake!"

"Get the hell out of here! Bang on some doors, get inside!" Xander shouted, and ran back into the Bronze.

All eight vampires clawed and bit and pummeled Faith as she rolled around, kicking and punching, trying to keep her arms and legs free and trying to protect her face. One of the vampires managed to grab her right arm, and she screamed as he bent it all the way back and broke it with a crack that echoed through the room. She punched out as hard as she could with her left and he went flying, but there were still seven more to contend with, and they pummeled her over her entire body again despite all her attempts to cover up; now that her right arm was broken she couldn't protect herself anymore. There were starbursts of light behind Faith's eyes as they cracked her head against the floor again and again…she kicked out with her legs and kept trying to roll but she was slower now, and she couldn't use her right arm, and their fists kept catching her, pummeling her as she tried to cover up…and then everything went black.

When Faith opened her eyes again Xander was there, frantically trying to pull vampires off of her. He managed to fling one away, but one of the others let go of Faith and backhanded him in the face. Xander went flying across the room, and lay still. Faith chopped at one of the vampire's necks and poked another one in the eye. She was able to get one of her legs free and she kicked out with it with all her strength and sent another vampire flying. Before the others could grab her again she managed to roll away from them and awkwardly flip herself up to her feet with her left hand. She felt dizzy. Her legs were wobbly. The eight vampires all ran at her again, springing at her like wolves. She didn't have her sword and she had no idea where it was. She didn't have a stake. Her right arm was useless. She ducked and dodged as best she could, trying to get to Xander.

One of the vampires picked up a long, heavy table and threw it at her. She should have been able to dodge it, but she was a step slow now and it crashed on top of her, bringing her down. She felt a sharp pain in her left ankle as she fell. The vampires leaped at her, but she was able to tear a leg from the table and hold it above her, impaling one of the vampires as he jumped on top of her. He turned to dust in front of her eyes, but the other seven were right behind him. She just managed to roll herself out of their way and get back up; her left ankle hurt as she did and she started to fall. But she used it to her advantage and caught the vampires off-guard by dropping to her knees in front of them; their claws slashed through the air above her head, and Faith managed to stake another one with the table leg. She immediately dropped to the floor and rolled again, and as the vampires sprang at her she stabbed upward with the table leg, managing to stake a third. But one of them picked her up by the throat before she could dodge again, and smashed her face into the floor, and everything started spinning. She tried to get up, but she wasn't sure which way up was, and one of them kicked her, sending her flying across the room. She slammed into a wall and fell to the floor.

"Faith!" she heard. It was Willow.

"Will!" Faith shouted, as she tried to get up. Everything was spinning and she felt shaky. When she tried to stand she fell; she couldn't put any weight on her left ankle.

She looked up. She was seeing double now and there was gray at the edges of her vision, seeping in…

She saw Willow with her sword in her hand; she had been trying to bring it to her. But the five remaining vampires were all running toward Willow now, slavering and snarling…

"NO!" Faith screamed, and managed to get herself up, and ran after the vampires as best she could, limping. She grabbed a knife from a table she passed and threw it through the ankle of one of the vampires; he fell to the floor, howling. Willow was running, but the other four had nearly reached her…

"Willow!" Faith heard Xander scream. She knew he was too far away. Willow was running, but the vampires would be on her in seconds…

Screaming, Faith grabbed a table and managed a fairly good off-balance throw with her left arm; the table hit the vampires in the back. All it did was annoy them, but it got them after her again instead of Willow, and she braced herself as they sprang at her…

Faith managed to grab one of the vampires with her left hand as he sprang at her, and flip him over her shoulder, just barely keeping her balance, putting all her weight on her right leg. She let herself fall backwards with his motion, and the other three vampires overshot her as they sprang at her; they leapt right over her and hit the floor, snarling.

Everything was becoming gray, and slowing down even as the room started spinning faster, and all the sounds in the room were muted…like she was underwater. She felt nauseous. Her mouth suddenly filled with vomit. She forced it back down again.

And then she suddenly saw Willow standing above her, holding out her sword…Faith grabbed it, struggled to her feet again, spun around and beheaded the vampire with the knife through his ankle as he tried an awkward leap at her. But she was shaky and slow, and she couldn't keep her balance with the room spinning; she was already falling again as the other four tackled her from behind and, too late, she heard Willow scream, "Look out!"

The scream sounded like it had come from far away, from the other end of a tunnel.

Faith was on the floor again. She thought she heard Willow screaming…

One of the vampires grabbed Faith's left arm and chopped the sword out of her hand. She threw a punch, but there wasn't any strength behind it and it wasn't enough to dislodge the vampires. One of them started punching her in the face, smashing her skull against the floor, as the others held her arms and legs down. The one punching her in the face was snarling and foaming at the mouth; she felt his saliva dripping on her face. It was warm. It smelled like dung. Faith thought she saw Willow and Xander trying to pull the vampires off of her, but everything was gray now, and doubled, and still spinning, so she couldn't be sure. The ones holding her legs turned and lashed out at something, and Faith thought she saw something fly through the air. The vampire who had been pummeling her stopped for a moment, and smiled. Faith felt something else on her face…it was warm too, but it smelled different. It was sticky. She realized it was her blood. She realized her face was covered with it.

Faith tried to move, but it felt like there was no strength left in her arms or her legs. A languid, dizzy haze enveloped her now. She felt like she was underwater, sinking…the room was fading away, and the gray was getting darker…the room was fading to black.

"So you killed a few of us, Slayer?" the vampire hissed. "We are hundreds. And you are mine." And Faith felt his fangs against her neck…

Faith's whole body felt warm now, and numb. She felt like she was weightless, and sinking…

For a moment, she was suddenly back in her motel room with Buffy. She wondered how she had gotten there.

I'm gonna keep you warm, baby, she heard Buffy saying…

"My girl," Faith whispered.

The vampire sneered at her.

Faith couldn't see Buffy anymore…she didn't think she was in the motel room anymore. She didn't know where she was…she thought she smelled vampires. She couldn't see anything. Everything was getting dark…

A tear ran down Faith's cheek.

"Love…you…" Faith whispered…

The vampire punched her in the face again.

And the last thing Faith felt as everything went black was the sharp sting, like a needle, as fangs tore into her throat…

Willow and Xander dragged themselves up from the floor and were about to run back to Faith, when a blur suddenly ran right past them. It moved so fast they didn't know what it was at first…

And then they saw a lion.

The lion ran straight at the wolves, roaring.

The wolves leaped up, when they heard that roar: they sprang at the lion, thought to pit their strength against hers…

Before they even reached her there was a flash of metal and two of the wolves turned to dust in mid-air, as Buffy beheaded them with her wakizashi, her hands moving faster than Willow and Xander's eyes could follow.

The other wolves barreled into Buffy and slashed the sword out of her hand. They had seen the damage Faith was able to inflict on their brothers with a sword just like that one and they weren't taking chances. Buffy spun and kicked one of them in the chest, sending him flying the length of the room, but the other one knocked her to the ground and leaped on top of her and tried to slash at her with his claws.

Buffy got her hands around his neck and squeezed.

Their eyes locked on each other. The vampire snarled at Buffy, his eyes two yellow slits.

He heard a growl well up from Buffy's throat, and saw something in her green eyes…something he had never seen in a human being before. Human beings were supposed to be prey animals. But this…

Buffy roared, showing the vampire her teeth, and squeezed with all her strength. The vampire felt the bones in his neck crunching and popping. He tried to pull Buffy's hands away, but he couldn't, they were like steel…

Her eyes were still on him.

The wolf saw a terrible light in those eyes, now…he saw his death there.

The last thing he felt, before Buffy wrenched his head from his body like a cork from a champagne bottle, was an icy cold, spreading through him…a cold that had started in those green eyes, and stabbed into him, and filled him up…

His body turned to dust. Buffy stood up, still holding his head in her hands, blood still dripping from the neck.

She faced the last vampire. The head she held in her hands turned to dust.

Buffy smiled, and growled.

The wolf leapt at her, and the lion leapt at him. Their bodies collided in the air, and fell to the floor.

Buffy landed on top.

She grabbed the wolf by the hair, leaped back up to her feet, swung him around like a baseball bat and smashed him head-first into a wall, putting a hole through it. The wolf fell to the floor.

Buffy stood above him.

"Die," Buffy snarled.

The wolf tried to stand, but Buffy smashed it in the face, sending it sprawling back to the floor. She placed her knee on its chest and held it to the floor. She grabbed it by the throat, and looked it in the eyes.

"Just –" Buffy snarled.

She punched it in the face. Its nose broke beneath her fist, its blood spurted onto her hand.

She punched it in the face again, collapsing its skull. The wolf's body shook all over, and then became still.

"DIE!" Buffy screamed, and punched it in the face again. Her fist went straight through the wolf's face, out the back of its head and through the floor beneath it, and it turned to dust.

Buffy realized she was crying.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy," Willow said.

Buffy turned, and saw Xander kneeling beside Faith. Buffy felt a surge of panic when she saw Faith…when she saw her lying there, unmoving, her face covered with blood. She felt her heart stop.

"Faith!" Buffy screamed, and ran to her, and slid down beside her. "Baby…? Baby…?!"

Faith lay perfectly still. She was deathly pale. Her neck was bleeding.

"Wake up, wake up…Faith…baby baby baby…wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP!" Buffy screamed in Faith's face, and shook her by the shoulders…and felt herself starting to tremble. She saw her tears, falling on Faith's cheeks.

Faith didn't move.

Buffy felt Xander's arm around her.

Buffy felt disconnected from herself, now…like she wasn't there anymore. Like she had gone away…she didn't know where she had gone.

Suddenly, she felt warm. She was in Faith's motel room, under the covers…Faith's arms were around her. They were strong…Buffy wanted those strong arms around her forever.

You're my girl, she heard Faith saying…

Willow leaned her head against Faith's chest.

She couldn't hear Faith's heart beating.

And then, something happened…

Willow did something, and didn't know why.

Willow whispered something in Faith's ear. It was a word Willow had never heard before…she didn't even recognize the language. Willow didn't know why she whispered it in Faith's ear just then. She didn't know what it meant. After she whispered it, she realized she didn't even remember the word…she had no idea anymore what she had whispered.

Willow leaned her head against Faith's chest.

She heard Faith's heart beating.

"Her heart's beating, Buffy," Willow said. She leaned down close to Faith's mouth, and listened. Faith was breathing; her breath was faint but it was there. "She's breathing. She's alive."

Willow looked up at Buffy. Buffy rocked herself back and forth, her hands clasped to her mouth, as Xander held her.

"Buffy," Willow said, and put her hand on Buffy's shoulder. But Buffy wasn't there; Willow didn't know where she had gone but when she looked in her eyes Willow could tell Buffy was far away now.

"Buffy!" Willow said. "Buffy!"

"BUFFY!" Willow shouted, shaking her. Buffy suddenly snapped her head up, as if she had just been awakened from a dream.

"She's alive," Willow said, and put her arms around Buffy, and hugged her. "She's alive, sweetie. Okay? She's alive."

Xander hugged her too.

And the three of them knelt on the floor together, holding each other.

"She's alive?" Buffy whispered, as she cried. "My baby's alive?"

"She's alive," Xander said.

Buffy nodded, and finally looked at them.

"You're hurt," she said. "You're both hurt."

"There were twenty of them, Buffy," Xander said.

"Twenty?" Buffy said, looking down at Faith incredulously.

"They were after Willow," Xander said. "If Faith wasn't here that's the ballgame."

Willow looked down at Faith, with a tear in her eye. "Twice," Willow said. "That's twice now."

Willow caressed her cheek.

Faith coughed, and opened her eyes.

"Faith!" Buffy shouted, and practically lunged at her. She gently brushed the hair out of Faith's eyes.

"Guys," Buffy said. Her hands were shaking. "I need…I need towels, water."

"Got it," Xander said, and got up and sprinted to the bar.

"Where…" Faith whispered. "Where's…"

"Hi, baby," Buffy whispered, and smiled, and kissed her cheek. "It's me."

Faith looked up at her, her eyes unfocused.

"B…?" she whispered.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "I'm right here, baby."

"Will…Xander," Faith said, her voice getting stronger. She looked around. The room wasn't spinning as much now.

There had been a word…a word Faith had never heard before. She couldn't remember it now. The word was a physical thing…Faith had been adrift, floating away, and she had seen the word, and grabbed onto it like a lifeline…she'd felt new strength in her arms, as she held onto the word…she'd felt warm. The word had pulled her back to the shore.

"We're okay," Willow said, and took Faith's hand. "You saved us. Saved me. Again," she said, and smiled.

"Trouble does…follow you around…girl…" Faith said, and managed a small smile.

"Went blonde again," Willow said, and they all laughed.

"Everyone's…okay…?" Faith said.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "We're all okay."

Xander raced back with a couple of bar rags and two big mugs of water.

"Thank you," Buffy said, and wet one of the bar rags, and began cleaning the blood from Faith's face.

"Xan Man," Faith said.

"Private Xan Man, reporting for duty Sarge," Xander said, and smiled.

"Get your…D.O.R.," Faith said.

"Hell no Sarge," Xander said, and kissed her cheek.

"Faith, how bad are you hurt?" Buffy said.

"Don't know," Faith said. "Kinda…hurts a lot, all over. Feel…woozy."

"Okay, I'm gonna take you to the hospital," Buffy said, and grabbed Faith around the waist. "Okay, here we go –"

"No," Faith said, and pushed Buffy's arms away.

"You gotta go Faith, you're hurt," Buffy said, and started to lift her up. "Come on, we'll just –"

"No, I don't wanna!" Faith screamed, and pulled away from Buffy, kicking at her and trying to bat her away with her left arm as Buffy tried to lift her up. "No! No no NO!"

Faith was shaking. She folded her one good arm across her chest, as if to hide herself. She turned over on her side on the floor, away from them all.

Buffy and Willow and Xander looked at each other. Faith looked away from them…she wouldn't meet their eyes.

"Guys," Buffy said. "Give us a minute?"

"Yeah, um, okay," Willow said, and stood up. She took Xander's arm, and walked over to the bar with him.

Buffy watched Faith, watched her shaking, and covering up with her one good arm, trying to hide from her. Faith still wouldn't look at her. She was still covered with blood. Her right arm looked broken.

A tear rolled down Faith's cheek. Buffy wiped it away.

"We won't go to the hospital. Okay?" Buffy said. "We'll just go back home, and I'll take care of you. Okay, baby?"

Faith nodded, but she still wouldn't look at her.

Buffy stroked her hair, and watched her, and waited. She rested her hand on top of Faith's, and waited.

Eventually, Faith looked up at her.

"Feel like telling me why you don't wanna go to the hospital?" Buffy said.

"Just…don't like hospitals," Faith said.

"Okay," Buffy said. "Then you'll have to deal with Doctor Buffy instead. Can you follow Doctor Buffy's orders?"

"No hospital?" Faith said.

"No hospital."

"Okay."

"First order," Buffy said, and rested her hand on Faith's stomach. There was a bloody wound there. "You're hurt and I need to know how bad. But we gotta get outta here too in case more vamps show up. So real quick, I'm gonna look at you all over and you're gonna tell me everywhere it hurts, okay?"

"But…Will and Xander," Faith said.

"They're way over by the bar, they can't see, okay, baby?"

Faith nodded. Buffy unbuttoned Faith's blouse, and touched her stomach. Faith winced in pain. Buffy cleaned the wound with the damp rag.

"This is pretty deep," Buffy said. When the wound was clean Buffy tore a long strip from the bottom of her skirt. She pressed the dry bar rag against the wound and tied it in place with the strip.

"This is a crap job but it'll hold until I get you some real bandages," Buffy said. "Okay, now tell me wherever it hurts…"

"Are they…a couple?" Xander said, sitting next to Willow at the bar and drinking a Coke. He wanted a beer and he wanted one pretty badly, but he knew Buffy would want him to drive.

"Yeah," Willow said. "And you can't make any jokes about it, Xander. I mean it. No dumb jokes. Buffy really cares about her."

"Got it," he said, and drank his Coke, and put his arm around her.

"I like her better with Faith than with Angel," Xander said. "Never thought she liked girls, but…"

"Are you gonna make that lame joke you always make about us inviting Katie Holmes over for a threesome now?" Willow said.

"I was considering it."

Willow smiled. "What am I gonna do with you?" she said. "You're such a bad boy. You need a time-out. Maybe we should increase your exercise regimen."

"But you and Katie would look just so cute having a pillow fight in your underwear. In slow motion."

"We've gotta get this threesome fantasy out of your head. It's gross. I mean, what would you say if I was all, I wanna boink you and James Van Der Beek? If I was like, hey, let's see you and James, y'know, gettin' busy together?"

"Why, why did you put that image in my head? Yuck. Now I got naked James Van Der Beek in my head."

"Welcome to my world. And hey, you're always putting yucky Katie Holmes naked images in my head. And I mean, sure, I'm real super happy for Buffy and Faith and everything and y'know, gayness, girl power, hey, cool, whatever, great for them but…let's just say your threesome fantasy? Never gonna happen while I'm one of the threesome, sweetie. It's just gross. Well…" She gave him a devilish grin. "Unless you invite James over. Or maybe Thor."

"And now I have naked Thor in my head. Thanks, hon."

"That's what you get for being naughty."

"No hot Willow and Katie lovin' for me."

"Sorry, sweetie. I like a big hammer. But, Buffy being gay…y'know, it's funny…don't tell her this? But…I kinda sorta saw this coming."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Her Dad, the guys she's dated…Angel…she's just never had any luck with guys…never found one she could last with. All the guys in her life, I mean every single guy in her life, with the sole exceptions of you and Giles? They all let her down. And I've noticed her, y'know, in gym? And I'm not saying she was like a definite lesbian then, but…she'd look at some of the girls, and there was always just a vibe there. Like…it always seemed to me like she could maybe go that way. And I mean, yeah, okay, Angel, big epic romance but…really, what kind of life could they have ever had together, even if he didn't go evil?"

"It's funny," Xander said. "If you programmed a computer to find someone for Buffy who's like the exact opposite of Angel in every single way, I think it would spit Faith's name out. I mean, male, female. Vampire, Slayer. He was all broody, she's feisty. He used to read weird old French poetry, she talks about the Celtics. I couldn't stand him, I think she's frigging awesome."

"I think he just tried to read French poetry," Willow said. "I mean, yeah, he likes to read but I think with the French poetry he was sorta just posing. Buffy said he started getting into the poetry after they watched that Anne Rice movie."

Xander giggled. "Figures," he said.

"Plus, y'know, another way he and Faith are different? He always made Buffy cry," Willow said. "Faith makes her laugh."

"Yeah. At Giles' house today? That's the first time I've seen the Buffster really happy in a long time. It looks good on her. I want her to keep that look."

"Angel and Faith do both have fabulous hair though. That's one thing they both have in common."

"Had. Angel had fabulous hair. Now it's very un-fabulous dust."

"Um…yeah, right," Willow said.

"Angel really did have fabulous hair though," Xander said. "I always wondered how he got it to do that."

"He used product," Willow said.

Buffy had finished cleaning Faith's face, and now she was caressing the back of her head, probing for wounds. "How does your head feel?" Buffy said.

"Bad headache," Faith said. "A little dizzy but…it's getting better. Vamps…cracked my skull pretty good on the floor. Am I bleeding?"

"No. You have a thick head."

Buffy ran her hands down Faith's cheeks, and around her neck. There were big, red bruises on Faith's neck. There were bite marks there, but the wound had closed. Buffy could have sworn the wound had been open and bleeding just a moment ago…just before Willow had examined her.

"Ow," Faith said, as Buffy gently ran her hands down her right arm.

"Yup, broken," Buffy said, stopping at Faith's right elbow. Buffy moved her hands down Faith's wrists, out to her fingers, and caressed each one.

"Ow," Faith said.

"Where?" Buffy said. "Here?" She touched Faith's right index finger.

"Yeah, can't…move it. Thumb too."

"Maybe broken or sprained. Okay." She moved her hands down Faith's sides. "How's your back feel?"

"Okay, I think," Faith said. "Woozy. Might…fall asleep."

"Just another minute, baby. Let's turn you over a little," Buffy said, and turned her over onto her left side. When she lifted Faith's blouse Buffy could see a line of red bruises running down Faith's side. Buffy probed along her back.

"How's this feel? Any pain?" Buffy said.

"A little…lower back, but…think it's okay," Faith said.

She rolled Faith back over again, and unbuttoned her blouse the rest of the way. She ran her hands over her stomach and her breasts and her collarbone. Faith's left collarbone had a livid red bruise covering it.

"Any pain? Any pain up here?" Buffy said.

"Just…tryin' to cop a feel, huh?" Faith said. "Can't…fool me, B."

"Sshhh. Any pain?"

"Bone up top…what's it called?"

"Here?" Buffy said, and touched Faith's left collarbone again. Faith nodded. "Your collarbone. How bad?"

"Hurts, but not that bad."

"Got a big bruise there. With some luck it's not broken."

Buffy ran her hands along Faith's abdomen, over her ribs.

"Any pain here?" Buffy said. "Ribs okay?"

"Yeah," Faith said. "Hand…feels nice. Warm."

"That's Doctor Buffy. Warm hands."

Buffy lifted Faith's skirt. She ran her hands along Faith's thighs, and up over her butt.

"Ow," Faith said.

"Where?" Buffy said. "Your butt?"

"Yeah. Up high on it like…my tail bone maybe?"

She turned Faith on her side, gently moved her underwear out of the way and looked at her butt. "You've got another big bruise here," Buffy said. "You probably just landed hard on it." She turned her back over, and ran her hands down Faith's thighs, to her knees.

"Ow," Faith said.

"Right knee?" Buffy said, her hand resting on top of it.

"Yeah."

"Think you can move it?"

"Maybe…yeah…little," Faith said, and bent her knee very slightly.

"How bad's the pain?" Buffy said.

"Not too bad."

"You can move it, so it's not broken. Maybe just banged up pretty good."

Buffy took Faith's boots off, and ran her hands down Faith's ankles.

"Ow," Faith said, with a sharp intake of breath.

"Bad right here?" Buffy said.

"Yeah," Faith said. "Hurts bad."

"Okay, your left ankle's definitely broken." Buffy took Faith's socks off, and ran her hands down to Faith's feet.

"Feet probably…all smelly from stompin' all those vamps," Faith said.
"They're not smelly," Buffy said, and ran her fingers across Faith's feet, down to her toes, feeling each one of them. "Stop saying goofy things."

"Ow," Faith said.

"Here?" Buffy said, touching the big toe on Faith's right foot. The toes on Faith's right foot were caked with dried-up blood.

"Yeah."

"You lost a couple of toenails on your right foot. I think the big toe's broken, plus the one next to it. Okay, you're pretty well banged up but I think you'll be all right," she said, and fixed Faith's skirt and buttoned up her blouse. "Time to go. You definitely can't walk so I'll carry you."

"Kinda…lame bein'…carried out," Faith said.

"Sure because, taking on twenty of those super wolf vamps yourself? Will and Xander probably think you're all weak and girly," Buffy said, and lifted Faith in her arms with no effort at all and stood up. "Guys," Buffy said. Willow and Xander turned and looked back at her. "We're going."

"Tired," Faith said, and decided to close her eyes for just a second. "Just…wanna sleep." When she opened them again she was lying in the backseat of the car, with her head on Buffy's lap. Willow and Xander were getting in front, and Willow was carrying her boots and her sword. A breeze came in through the broken window in back, but Faith didn't feel cold; she noticed Buffy's coat draped over her like a blanket. Buffy's fingers were stroking her cheek.

"Go back to sleep, baby," Buffy said. "We're gonna get some stuff for your pain in a minute, okay?"

"I'm…in your gang?" Faith said, as Xander started up the car and they drove away. "Part of the gang?"

"Of course you're in my gang," Buffy said. "What kind of question is that? You've always been part of the gang."

"You guys are…all in my gang," Faith muttered, and went to sleep in Buffy's lap.

"Okay, baby," Buffy said, and smiled. "We're all in your gang."

In 1860, London smelled like horseshit.

The smell wafted through the dirty, crowded, clamorous streets of London's West End, carried on the breeze like some air-borne contagion one warm summer night, as the inhabitants of the greatest, most populous city on Earth – the lords and the aristocrats, the bankers and the tradesmen, the beggars and the whores – went about their business, scurrying under the city's gray, starless, smoke-reek sky like animals in a pen; not even animals, Angelus thought, as he stalked among them like a wolf, looking for his next kill. Animals at least had noses. Londoners didn't realize their city smelled like shit. They didn't realize just how deaf, dumb and blind they were…and how vulnerable.

There had been a series of grisly murders; it was the talk of the town. People killed and left with their throats torn out. The authorities were on the lookout for suspicious foreigners. Portuguese, maybe, or Spanish; someone had said they'd noticed a swarthy fellow, dressed shabbily, lurking about in the area of one of the killings with a pocket knife.

Angelus was impeccably dressed. He was even wearing a top hat. And he knew the authorities should have been on the lookout for an Irishman.

He wrinkled his nose as the smell of shit regrouped and came at him again. He hated London. That's why he was there.

He had been a vampire for more than a century now, and he had seen the world: the beautiful woman on his arm had promised him she'd show him the world, and she had kept her word. But he always came back to England, eventually. He liked killing English people. They lived on an island choked with filth vomited into the sky from the factories that had spread like a cancer over the past half century, and they walked in shit, and most of them hardly ever bathed, and all of them thought they owned everything.

Angelus smiled. He may have been a vampire, but he was still Irish.

"Is there anyplace in Europe that doesn't smell like dung, love?" he said, to the vision of beauty strolling contentedly on his arm; to the one person in the world he cared about. Or at least, he thought he did…he didn't like being away from her for long. But he did like hurting her. It was confusing…he had tried to remember, sometimes, what it was like to love someone…tried to remember what it had felt like to love, when he had been human. He knew he didn't want to live without Darla…was that love?

They played their little games, and made each other smile. Was that love?

Angelus had tried to remember, sometimes, what love was. But he never could. Until it finally occurred to him one day that maybe he had never loved anyone; that, even as a human being, he hadn't loved. Fucked, certainly. He'd wenched his way up and down Galway with a vengeance, laid all the prettiest girls in town from barmaids to merchants' daughters and left them all wanting more…but had he ever loved any of them?

He put the thought out of his mind. It was boring, and he didn't care.

He had Darla. She would be enough…she always had been.

And he and Darla had their little games…

"No, dear, I'm afraid not," Darla murmured beside him, as she cast her eyes up and down the winding street, watching with amusement as these simple prey animals who thought they ruled the world went about their dreary lives, not realizing that they existed at her whim; that they lived only as long as she decided they lived. The street was a noisy hive of activity, with throngs of people bustling about, and carriages clattering along; the well-to-do were heading for the Opera House, or the gentlemen's clubs, and the less well-to-do were heading for the pubs, or the whores. Darla and Angelus, for their part, were headed nowhere in particular; they were taking in the sights. Darla watched the prettiest girls walk by in their long, slim dresses with the trains that dragged in the dirt, and their half-skirts and bustles that made them look like turkeys, and their corsets that threatened to choke the life out of them, and their vulgar, showy jewels and their gaudy fans and their ridiculous giant hats with flowers and feathers and every other thing sticking out of them, and she laughed at their presumption and their vanity, but most of all at their ignorance; they simply didn't know how the world actually worked, what the rules really were. They were like coddled schoolgirls, playing at dress-up in mother's clothes. Darla grinned like a wolf, and tried to predict which one Angelus would settle on, which of these beautiful, vacuous, preening, ridiculous animals he would slaughter that night, while she watched.

She noticed a pretty young whore loitering outside a seedy, ramshackle old pub named The Rose and Crown, and looking out at the street. The whore was a little slip of a girl; Darla thought she looked about fourteen. But the girl had beautiful pale skin, and full, red lips, and long, golden-blonde hair. And she was smiling, but Darla saw right through that smile; she had smiled that very same smile, when she was human…when she was a whore in Virginia colony, more than two centuries before. She remembered how it felt, having to smile all the time, when you didn't want to…trying to hold onto yourself, when every new job cut a little piece of you away. The whore was soft as silk and pretty as a dove, and she smelled of sweet perfume, and she was very nearly elegant; but it was all a pose. The whore's eyes revealed her: they were knife-sharp. There was calculation in them; other than the calculation, there was nothing.

The girl was dying, Darla knew; the girl had lost so much of herself already, that she desperately clutched at what was left, protected it with all her strength. That was where the calculation came from. But the next man would carve off a piece of her, no matter how hard she tried to hold on to it…and then the man after that would take another piece, and the man after that would take yet another…the girl would dwindle, in time; eventually the calculation would fail, and there would be nothing left of her.

Darla didn't care. She merely found it interesting. And the whore was blonde; she knew Angelus liked blondes. Sometimes she flattered herself, and allowed herself to think that Angelus preferred blondes only because she was blonde. Boys were always looking for their mother, after all…and they found her, over and over again, in every girl they loved.

Still, as blonde and pretty as the whore was, Darla didn't think Angelus would settle on her. Her dear boy, he liked his girls innocent…

Whatever pretty girl he eventually picked, she wouldn't really matter tonight; she would only be the appetizer. Darla was looking out for a particular carriage that would be arriving soon, because she had already found something far more interesting for the main course.

"Though I will say that London is among the worst for its smell," Darla continued. "It's even worse than that little shit-stain of a town I liberated you from, once upon a time. But the girls are pretty, aren't they?"

Darla ignored her nose, as she didn't enjoy smelling horseshit, and hunted with her eyes instead. She thought Angelus would pick a blonde. Though he could be a fickle boy, and sometimes he surprised her.

That's why she loved him so much. He always surprised her.

But tonight, she had a surprise for him. The main course was a beautiful raven-haired girl she'd had her eye on for weeks now…a very innocent, very special girl, who had visions, true visions, of the future. A rare, ripe fruit for her dear boy to pluck.

"Aye, love, that they are," Angelus said, with a vicious, beautiful smile. Then he stopped and took Darla in his arms, and looked down into her eyes…down into a beautiful blue emptiness.

"But none so exquisite as you," Angelus said, and kissed her.

Darla heard him snarling, as he kissed her. It made her wet. She felt the beast in him. She wanted him to take her; she wanted to feel his rough hands on her breasts, between her legs…she wanted him to hurt her.

"My angel," she whispered. "My angel."

People were watching them, as they kissed. Londoners didn't kiss in the street. It just wasn't done. Londoners weren't romantic. They didn't love…they were only human, after all. Darla knew human beings were incapable of love.

Human beings couldn't love like she and Angelus did.

She moved her hand between his legs. She felt him; he was hard. Ready.

"My boy needs a treat," she said. "Let's find him something sweet to eat."

"And fuck," Angelus said, as they resumed walking. "I'm a damned rooster over here. You've got me all hot under the collar, love."

"Even in this ridiculous outfit I'm wearing? I swear, if I had to breathe, this corset would be intolerable. And this hat makes me feel like a damned peacock."

"You're pretty as a picture. I like you in colors. If we don't find me a girl soon I might take you right here in the street, darlin'."

"How provocative! These poor, tedious Londoners, they'd be absolutely mortified. But no, I'll take care of you. We'll find a nice girl for you, some pretty lass for you to take out all your pent-up frustrations on. But you know the rules, Angelus. I get to watch."

"And join in?" Angelus said, with a wolfish smile. "You promised me one of these days you'd join in, if I was good. And you know I've been good; hell, there's none better."

"Yes, you have been a dear," Darla said. "Well, I don't care for girls but I suppose since you've been such a love, perhaps I'll put on a little show for you tonight. A ribald comedy. Or a tragedy, I suppose, from the girl's point of view."

They turned a corner, onto a shadowy, twisting little side street. Darla noticed Angelus' eyes perk up as they fell upon a busty girl with long, light brown hair hastening in their direction.

"Not your usual type," Darla whispered, as the girl came closer. The girl was carrying a basket, and looking down at the ground as she hurried along, her shoes echoing over the uneven cobblestones. She wore a tight red bodice that accentuated her ample breasts, and flowed out from her wide hips into a billowing, bell-shaped skirt. Darla thought her outfit was ridiculous; but then she thought her own outfit was ridiculous as well. She blamed the French. In Venice, they knew how to dress. No following French fashion trends like lemmings heading over a cliff in Venice. Darla missed Venice. With all the canals, it didn't smell so much like shit there.

Darla thought the girl looked like Little Red Riding Hood. The look was appropriate, she thought.

"I'm in the mood for something a little different tonight," Angelus said, baring his teeth.

As the girl was about to pass them, they stood in front of her, blocking her path.

"Hello, dear," Darla said. "And where might such a pretty girl be going in such a hurry tonight?"

The girl looked up like a startled rabbit. "I…excuse me, m'lady, I'm…heading back to my mistress. I'm running late, and…" she stuttered, in a thick Scottish accent. She had a soft, dulcet voice, a little tremulous now, as she found herself squirming beneath Angelus and Darla's fierce regard. The girl was young; no older than sixteen. Angelus touched her cheek. She blushed.

The girl had freckles. Angelus thought they were cute. He was going to enjoy raping her.

"Well I'm the Lady Sumner and this is Lord Sumner," Darla said, with a bright, reassuring smile. "And I'm sure your mistress wouldn't mind if you did us a small service tonight? Who is your mistress, by the way?"

"Miss…Miss Carlisle, ma'am," the girl muttered, looking down at the cobblestones and continuing to blush, as Angelus stroked her cheek. The girl wanted Angelus; Darla could smell it on her. All the girls wanted her boy. "But…but I don't know, ma'am, I really should be getting back, mistress is waiting."

"Jane Carlisle?" Darla said. "Lives just a few streets away?"

The girl nodded.

"Yes, we're old acquaintances," Darla said, and patted the girl's hand. "Jane won't mind if you accompany me on a little errand for awhile. And we'll ride you home afterwards, and make sure she knows what a dear you've been. What's your name?"

"I'm…Leah, ma'am," the girl said. "Leah Maguire."

Darla put her arm around her.

"Just come with me now, Leah, all right?" Darla said.

"But…I just…don't know if…" the girl started to say. Darla sighed and reached out with her senses; there was no one else nearby at the moment. She elbowed the girl in the side of the neck. The girl fell into Darla's arms, unconscious.

"Usually my Lady Sumner routine works like a charm," Darla said. "Maybe these London girls are getting smarter."

"Well, they could hardly get any dumber, now could they?" Angelus said, and laughed, and took Darla's arm. "Shall we?"

"No, you have to be a good boy and stay here," Darla said. "There's a carriage due by, the Morgans are heading to the opera. It's a closed, four-wheeled carriage, very large and elegant, drawn by four horses and gilded in gold with light blue curtains in the side windows. Pay attention to the raven-haired girl, the prettiest of three fair sisters. Tell me what you think of her, and then come home to me. I'll have this one ready for you when you arrive."

"You're up to something, aren't you Darla?" Angelus said. "The wheels are turnin' in that pretty head of yours."

"The raven-haired girl is special," Darla said. "Her name is Drusilla, and she's my present to you. But I leave it to you to figure out why. And no being a naughty boy and opening your present early; just watch her. And then come home to me and tell me what you saw."

With that, she walked away, propping Leah up as she went.

Angelus stood where Darla left him, in the dark, and waited. He liked Darla's games. And this one promised to be interesting. Darla had never been so excited about a girl she'd brought him before. He wondered what it was about her that had attracted Darla's attentions…what there was about this Drusilla that was so special.

The games were important. One of the first things Darla had told him after she'd turned him was that immortality was dangerous: the endless years, they could grind you down, wear you away, if you weren't careful. Many vampires died, not by the stake, but by their own hand. They'd looked out into an infinite expanse, and, eventually, after decades, or centuries, of exploring it, they'd found that it contained nothing…they had lived so long in the world they couldn't feel it anymore, couldn't connect with anything. They had become ghosts; they had been reduced to mere shadows. And they had despaired, those dead things, that destroyed all that they touched: in the end, they destroyed themselves too.

Boredom was the enemy, Darla had told him. If life was nothing more than surviving, it could kill you…it could wear you away.

But Darla never let him get bored. She took care of him…she always had.

"Drusilla," Angelus whispered. "Drusilla Morgan."

He let his senses reach out. The little winding side street was dark; the street lamps had gone out. There were the usual piles of manure everywhere, as well as a butcher shop, a chemist, and a pub called The Salisbury. The pub was loud; everything else was quiet. Angelus could hear the drunken laughter as it barged out of the pub and galloped back to him, and past him, echoing away. He remembered the pubs in Galway, a century before. Lousy food, but good beer. And barmaids. In an alley the next block over, people were fucking; Angelus heard the girl's quick squeals, the man's rhythmic grunting. He heard rats scurrying in the sewers down the street. As he walked back toward the intersection leading to the Opera House, two sailors crossed in front of him. They were staggering, and laughing. They smelled bad. Almost everyone in London did. Even the pretty Scottish girl did. It was the factory smoke, it hung over the city like a funeral shroud and insinuated itself into everything. The horseshit didn't help either. But he knew Darla would bathe the girl, when she got her ready for him. Darla always thought of everything.

Angelus stood on the corner, and looked toward the Opera House, and waited. When he concentrated, he could filter out the smell of horseshit. Unfortunately, that made the lingering smell of sewage seem worse, as well as the factory smoke. A century before, you didn't see smoke hanging over cities. The world was changing. Everywhere, there were smokestacks. Poor people lived in squalid, cramped little slums that were freezing in the winter and stifling in the summer, and sent their children to work twelve-hour days in the factories. People traveled by locomotive now, though until someone came up with some sort of horseless carriage they would be stuck with horses and horseshit. The factories attracted people from the outlying villages, seduced them away from their farms with the whispered promise of a better life. It was a lie; but the people always realized that too late. The population of London had soared, with the coming of industrialization; the city was swarming with people now. It made the smells worse. Millions of people, all scurrying around like vermin under a vomit-colored sky choked with pollution, oblivious to the smells of garbage and shit all around them. If that was progress, Angelus supposed he was a traditionalist. In Galway a century before, people hadn't washed much either, but at least there was fresh air and you could actually see the sky. A carriage was heading in his direction; he heard the horses' hoofbeats. They were still minutes away from him.

He waited. He passed the time considering exactly how he would rape the Scottish girl. A few minutes later, the carriage rattled past him.

The carriage was big and fancy, just as Darla said it would be; it was a four-in-hand hauled by good, strong bay horses. The coachman was a paunchy old man with red cheeks and thick, gray muttonchop whiskers who controlled the horses with a firm, experienced hand. He smelled of bourbon and looked straight ahead into the darkness with a scowl. Through the side window, Angelus saw a middle-aged man and a handsome older woman with long, black hair sitting across from three pretty girls who looked to range in age from teens to early twenties. The oldest and prettiest of the three had long, black hair like her mother, and skin like milk. Her features were sharp, with high, protruding cheekbones, a long but pleasingly contoured nose, bow lips and enormous eyes. She wore a green silk gown. She looked at him, as the carriage passed. Their eyes met.

Her eyes were blue. Angelus saw worlds, in those blue eyes; whole worlds, beckoning to him. He saw fear too.

Somehow, she knew, he realized…somehow, she knew what he was going to do to her.

It was the damnedest thing…

When the carriage arrived at the Opera House, Angelus was buying his ticket.

Angel sat on a cold granite bench in his mansion's circular stone courtyard, and looked up at the night sky.

There were jasmine flowers all around him; the flowers were white, with five petals each like little stars in the darkness, hanging in pots all over and climbing everywhere along the granite walls. Their smell was strong and sweet. They were Angel's favorite flower now, and he had been diligent in caring for them; from their small foothold in a few little pots hung here and there on the walls they had spread, outgrowing the pots and trailing all the way down to the ground and then going on to colonize the stone walls themselves. Angel liked the way they made the barren gray courtyard look, so he had added even more pots, and within a year the jasmine had climbed the cold stone in every direction and as far as the eye could see in their heedless, headlong rush to quest out and conquer new territory, creating a lush, vibrant, thriving world there. They were beautiful flowers. They were strong, and just a bit reckless.

Angel looked up at the stars, and thought about all the people he'd murdered. He remembered them all…every single one. The way they looked, the way they smelled…how they screamed, or begged…the look of terror, or resignation, or sometimes merely surprise, when they realized they had finally arrived at their last moment. Angel never avoided the memories, never tried to shut the memories out. He remembered the people he'd murdered, every day. It was all he could give them now.

He thought about Drusilla. She was still out there somewhere. His thoughts often drifted back to her; he worried about her.

He always thought Drusilla was the worst thing he had done. Now, he wasn't so sure. He had hurt Buffy, when Angelus had gotten loose.

Buffy tried to hide it; tried to hide just how deeply he had hurt her. She was always guarded around him, careful not to let him see. But he had seen…one morning a couple of months before, when she came to his mansion to do tai chi exercises, she had let her guard down for a moment, and he had seen.

They hadn't talked about it. He wasn't sure he even had the right to bring it up.

And then there was Willow…

He got up, and picked a jasmine flower, and sat back down, and held it to his nose. Jasmine hadn't always been his favorite flower. He used to think they were almost too sweet, before he came to Sunnydale.

Smelling the flower, he found himself thinking about Buffy again. He hadn't really ended it with her, hadn't said the words…he had meant to, but hadn't been able to. He had kissed her, the last time they had seen each other, without meaning to. That was almost a month ago now. He hadn't seen her since then. She didn't come by anymore. He thought maybe she'd broken up with him…that maybe this was her way of doing it. Saying goodbye without saying goodbye. He knew Buffy was strong; she could survive without him. She had always been stronger than him. She had always been strong, and he had been weak…

Drusilla was still out there somewhere, because he had been weak. Instead of killing her when he had the chance the year before, he had let her go.

He wondered how many people Drusilla had killed since then…how many lives his blackbird had destroyed.

He thought about Darla. Even now that she was dead at his hand, she was never far from his thoughts. He knew she had loved him, as best she could. He wasn't sure if he had loved her. But he missed her. He thought he always would.

The night he first laid eyes on Drusilla, he had raped and murdered a Scottish girl named Leah Maguire. It had been a hundred and thirty-eight years, since that night. But he remembered the night, and the girl, with perfect clarity. The way she smelled, the way she screamed…she had freckles.

"Excuse me, Lord," a voice said from behind him, in a thick Scottish accent.

Angel turned and stood up, startled. It was impossible, that someone could be here now; he would have sensed them. He would have heard them coming, caught their scent…

Leah Maguire stood in front of him.

She was naked, and bleeding…

Leah Maguire lay on her belly on the rug beneath Angelus, naked and bleeding and flopping around like a fish on a hook, her fingernails clawing at the rug, her eyes shut tight, her mouth open wide and screaming as he thrust into her from behind, snarling into her ear. Her screams had started out constant but had eventually settled down into a rhythm as her voice had grown hoarse and breathless and weak; she screamed in time with his thrusts now. She smelled good; her natural scent had reasserted itself now that Darla had bathed her. She was a pretty lass…

But Angelus couldn't stop thinking about Drusilla.

"So what did you think about our raven-haired girl?" Darla said, sitting naked on the bed and watching with a smile as Angelus raped Leah. The bed had silk sheets; the bedroom had an oriental rug and heavy velvet curtains and Chinese vases on the two little end tables. They'd taken the house a few weeks before after killing the original occupants, who were rich but not too bright and had made the mistake of inviting Darla in when she had done her Lady Sumner routine.

Darla bent down and ran her fingers through Leah's long brown hair. It was matted down with sweat now; Angelus was being hard on her. Darla had given Angelus a show before, as promised; Darla didn't like being with women but Leah's fear had spiced things up and she'd found herself enjoying it, by the end. The girl looked good on her knees, and her tongue was strong and soft, and she had proven quite compliant, once Darla had made her understand her situation; a short thrashing was all it required. The girl took direction well, as Darla told her how she liked to be licked. Mostly, Darla had enjoyed the look in Leah's eyes as Angelus stood watching a few feet away and Leah wondered when he would join in, and what exactly he would do to her when he did.

Now she knew. Angelus had been rough with her, taking her from behind and forcing himself into her. "I hear Scottish girls like it up the arse," he had said, laughing as Leah screamed. Leah was bleeding there; the blood was dripping down between her legs, and staining the rug. Darla frowned. She liked that rug.

"Drusilla," Angelus grunted, as he rammed into Leah, forcing every inch of himself into her, and she screamed on cue. "She knows, Darla. She knows what I intend to do to her. It was like she knew it, somehow, the moment I decided it. When our eyes first met she looked at me with a kind of recognition, and fear."

"She feels terribly guilty about it, you know," Darla said, as she wiped a fleck of drool from Leah's lips. "I've made some inquiries. She's a good Catholic girl and she thinks her visions of the future are evil. Her parents are at their wits end about the whole business. The father brought in a priest to see her, and he's advised them that Drusilla's been touched by the Devil somehow, and that of course her visions are blasphemous auguries sent by the Devil to lead her into sin. Her father wants to bundle her off to a convent and wash his hands of her once and for all. I do love Catholics. They so enjoy martyring themselves."

"Devil, eh?" Angelus said, chuckling. "Aye, she'll be meetin' him soon enough, and I do believe she'll find he's an Irishman. That fear of hers…I wanted more of it; it was downright intoxicatin'. So I followed her to the opera for a closer look."

"A night at the opera," Darla said, and stroked Leah's hair, and wiped her tears away, and kissed her cheek. But wiping her tears away was futile; they were coming too fast. "How romantic! What opera did you see?"

"The Bohemian Girl," Angelus said. "Something abut a gypsy girl and a deer. Didn't pay much attention; I was focused on my Dru. I found a seat where I could get a good look at her. She felt me looking, too. She kept staring back at me like a scared little bird. And she has lovely blue eyes by the way."

"Lovelier than mine?" Darla said.

"'Course not. And every time my Dru looked at me, my plans for her became a little clearer in my head, and she became a little more afraid. I'll tell ya darlin', it was like being drunk. Drinking Dru's fear in, it tasted like wine."

"Your Dru, hmm?" Darla said, chuckling. She bent over and grabbed Leah by the hair, and greedily licked the tears from her face; they tasted good. "Will you feel sad when you drink her, and she dies? Will I have to stroke your hair, Angelus, and wipe your tears away?"

"You…can't be here," Angel said, to the apparition, or the dream, or the illusion of Leah Maguire that stood naked and deathly pale in front of him in the courtyard, her brown hair matted down with sweat, tears falling down her cheeks, and blood dripping from her neck, and down between her legs. "You're…dead."

"You killed me, Lord," Leah said, in her thick Scottish accent.

Angel let his senses reach out. He remembered Leah's scent, and it was here now…it hadn't been before. How had she snuck up on him? What was she? How was she here now?

"What…are you?" Angel said.

"I was sixteen," Leah said, her soft voice echoing cold and mournful now through the courtyard, and seeming jarringly loud to Angel's ears, somehow, in the silence and stillness. "I was in love with a boy named Ian. We were going to be married. After you killed me, he spent the rest of his days missing me; he never fell in love again. He died before his time, a broken man, hating life and cursing the world and welcoming death when it came, too quickly."

"I…didn't have a soul then. I have my soul now," Angel said.

"You didn't just kill me," Leah said. "You killed him too."

"I'm…am I dreaming this? Am I asleep?"

"I'm no dream, vampire, nor am I a ghost," Leah murmured. She moved close to him. He could feel her breath, warm on his skin. He could hear her heart beating. He wanted to back away. He made himself stand there. He smelled her blood.

"Then…what?" Angel said.

"I'm me," Leah said. "I'm the girl you defiled and murdered, Angelus. Just one of thousands. I thought I'd come to visit…and bring some friends."

"I'm imagining this," Angel said. "Somehow…I'm imagining this."

"Look at me," Leah said. "Take in my scent, vampire. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," Angel said. "I'm sorry for what I did to you."

"I'm sorry too," Leah said.

Angel watched her, silently, as she stood naked in front of him. There was nothing to say. There was no apologizing for what he did to her, no way to make up for it. For every life he took, he owed his own life in repayment. But he had killed thousands, and he only had one life to give…

He wondered if he was losing his mind. He always thought he might, someday…holding all those lives inside him, it was like walking with a glass of water, filled to the brim, and trying not to spill even a drop; it took balance, discipline. Every moment.

He wondered if some had spilled…if some of those destroyed lives had spilled out from his memory, and were loose, and trying to destroy him now…

"Do you feel sad?" Leah said, and laughed: a harsh laugh that raked through the courtyard and mocked the silence. "Will you stroke my hair, and wipe my tears away?"

"Well that was tasty," Darla said, as she finished gorging herself on Leah's neck. Leah was pale and still and silent on the floor beneath her, and she and Angelus were naked together, lying on top of Leah, their mouths caked with her blood. Leah's bright green eyes stared up at the ceiling. There was nothing left in them now. Darla closed them, and gave Leah's dead body a kiss on the cheek, and sat back on the bed, licking her lips.

"Aye love, that it was," Angelus said, and sat beside her, and kissed her. They licked Leah's blood from each other's lips. "I know how to pick 'em."

"So do I, darling," Darla whispered, and moved her hands between his legs, and cupped his balls. They were big. So was his dick. He was getting hard again; he was almost always hard. She could hardly keep up with him sometimes. "I picked you."

She kissed his neck, and gently stroked his dick, and smiled as he swelled to her touch.

"So why don't you tell me all about your grand plans for Drusilla while I suck your cock?" Darla said, and curled up in his lap.

"I take it this is why you asked me to wash it," Angelus said.

She looked up at him and grinned. "Leah was a lovely girl but I have no desire to taste her arsehole on your cock, dear," she said, and took his long, thick shaft into her mouth and started sucking him. She started by taking as much of him as she could into her mouth, and down her throat; she knew he liked when she sucked him that way. Most men did, she'd found; they liked hearing her gag.

She was gentle and slow, as she sucked him off. She went as deep as she could, taking as much of his shaft down her throat as would fit, and she alternated that with licking the sides and kissing the head. Darla knew she gave an expert blowjob; twenty years whoring around Virginia taught a girl some things.

Angelus grabbed her by her long blonde hair, and controlled her head with his hand, pushing and pulling her up and down along his shaft.

"I'm going to make her one of us," Angelus said.

Darla looked up at him. She would've stopped sucking him, and asked him what he was thinking, but she couldn't move her head; he had her by the hair and he was controlling her. So she asked him the question with her eyes, as he fucked her throat, and made her gag.

"I'm gonna break her down, Darla," Angelus said. "I'm gonna take everything away from that girl, break her will and drive her insane. Only then will I turn her, so she can experience that perfect pain forever. That girl, she's going to be my masterpiece."

His cock started to shudder; Darla felt it, in her mouth. He was about to come. She realized it wasn't just her expert ministrations that had brought him off so quickly. Thinking of what he was going to do to Drusilla was exciting him. She'd never seen him quite this excited before. It excited her, too.

He yanked her hair so hard she screamed, as he came in her mouth, shooting thick jets of hot, salty fluid straight down her throat. He held her head in place, until every last drop was in her belly.

When she'd swallowed it all he let her up. She got up coughing, and smiled, and kissed him.

"That does sound entertaining," Darla said. "But do we really want to be saddled with a lunatic forever?"

"It'll liven things up," Angelus said. "When we're bored, she'll amuse us. Besides, having a family…isn't that what people do? It's been more than a century, Darla. Isn't it time to start a family now?"

"You're going to fuck her, aren't you?" Darla said, and bent down again, and gave the head of his cock a playful little bite. "I just know you are."

"All part of breaking her," Angelus said, and caressed her cheek.

"I mean after," Darla said, and laid back on the bed. "I can tell you want her. After you turn her, will I have to share you with her?"

Angelus laid himself on top of her, and kissed her.

"No, love," he whispered. "I'm yours always."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe you're not going to fuck her?" Darla said, and moved her hand down between his legs, and gently stroked his cock. It began to grow, in her hand. He was excited about Drusilla, about what he was going to do to her; more excited than she had ever seen him. And his passion inflamed Darla's passion, too. She needed him. She needed him to hurt her…to show her that he loved her. She wondered if this was jealousy. She hoped not. Jealousy was so…common. It was something humans felt…something she refused to acknowledge she could ever feel. "Come now, Angelus. I made you, you're mine, and I know you. You'll fuck her. I'd be almost disappointed if you didn't."

"Never said I wouldn't fuck her Darla," Angelus said, snarling as he smiled. He positioned himself against her, and held her arms down with one hand as she spread her legs for him. Darla felt his cock against her; parting her wet pussy lips. He was going slow…being gentle. She had no idea why but she hoped it wouldn't last. "What I said was, I'm yours," Angelus murmured. "Dru will be part of the family. But you'll always be my lady."

He was taking too long; she thrust her hips out and took him the rest of the way inside her. She was soaking wet; watching him rape Leah had nearly made her come. He slid right into her like a hot knife through butter.

He began thrusting into her, but slowly, tenderly. She tried to grab his shoulders and pull him into her harder, but he held her arms still with one hand.

"Why, you're a perfect gentleman, Angelus," Darla said. "You're the very epitome of gallantry. I hate it. Take me like you mean it or get the hell off me."

He looked down at her and smiled his wolfish smile.

"You don't like it like this," he whispered.

"I want to be properly fucked," she hissed. "You're not even hurting me."

Angelus smiled again, and caressed her cheek with his free hand.

They looked into each other's eyes, as he slowly thrust in and out of her, and forced Darla to match his slow, gentle rhythm. She tried to look away, but he grabbed her by the hair – gently – and made her look at him again.

"What is this, Angelus?" Darla growled. "A new game? I don't like it."

Angelus went on tenderly fucking her, and caressing her cheek, and he planted gentle, chaste kisses on her lips. Darla grit her teeth through it, and hurled curses at him. He laughed, and nodded in agreement at everything she said.

Whenever she tried to look away, he held her head in place, and made her look him in the eyes. Whenever she tried to speed things up, he forced her back into his slow rhythm.

"Why won't you hurt me, angel?" Darla finally pleaded after a few minutes of this treatment, with tears in her eyes now. "I need it. You know I need it. I can't come this way. Did I do something wrong? Why won't you hurt me?"

He didn't answer her. He caressed her cheek, and looked her in the eyes, and forced her to look back at him, and tenderly, slowly, fucked her, as she cried.

After a few more minutes, he finally smiled down at her again, that wolf's smile he had, and showed her his teeth.

"Who says I'm not hurting you?" he whispered.

And then Darla understood. And she smiled too.

"Ohhhhh…oh, you are villainous," she whispered. "An absolute rogue."

"The very worst, love," he whispered back, as he held her down, and gently made love to her.

A moment later, she came for him.

"You keep count, don't you, Lord?" Leah said, and smiled, and paced naked around the courtyard. "You keep count of all the lives you've destroyed. Thirteen-thousand, two-hundred six is the tally now, is it not? I'm afraid your count is off. What about my Ian? You murdered him too."

Angel watched her. He knew he wasn't dreaming this. She said she wasn't a ghost. But she had died more than a century before. So what was she?

"What if I were to tell you there is nothing after this?" Leah said, as she sniffed at the jasmine flowers. "That there is no God, no Devil, no afterlife? No reward, or damnation? No Heaven or Hell? Just this one life we're given? This one life, that you took away from me?"

She came back to him, trailing blood on the cold stone beneath her feet.

"You comfort yourself with that; the thought that there is an afterlife, a Heaven where all the people you murdered can rest, and find peace," Leah said, as she watched the stars and the moon. The stars were brilliant in the clear sky; the crescent sliver of waning moon wasn't bright enough to put them to flight. "But you have no proof of it. It's a fantasy you cling to. What if it's false?"

"I've…I've seen a hell dimension," Angel said. "I know they –"

"A hell dimension? Those places aren't Hell. They're just different. To the beings living there, those places are home. This world of yours is a hell dimension, depending on one's perspective. It's a hell dimension for me. It reminds me of the life I was promised, the life that was my birthright, which you stole from me. Thirteen-thousand, two-hundred six, you say? No, Angelus, the tally is much, much higher than that. When I died, my Mum died soon after. She succumbed to a sickness she should have been able to fight off. But without me, she didn't see any reason to fight anymore. I was loved, vampire. My destruction by your hand destroyed others too. Were you ever loved?"

Angel thought about Buffy. He thought she still loved him. Part of him wished she didn't. The rest of him clung to her love, like a piece of driftwood floating in the middle of a cold, endless ocean. Her love was all he really had…all that kept his head above water. He didn't have Darla anymore.

He didn't know where Drusilla was…but he knew she was with Spike.

He thought about how he'd hurt Drusilla; the things he had done, to make her what she was. He thought about how he'd hurt Buffy, and how she had never told him how much…how he'd found out himself, one day, when she was careless, and he saw…

He remembered the way Drusilla had looked at him, the first time he had locked her in the closet.

A tear fell down his cheek.

"Such a display," Leah said, and cocked her head on one side, and looked at him curiously. Her eyes, a very bright green, were dark now in the courtyard. But Angel thought those eyes might blaze like emeralds, if they caught the sun. He hadn't noticed how beautiful Leah's eyes were, the night he killed her.

"Can a thing like you cry?" Leah said. "Can such a thing feel remorse?"

Angel sat down on the bench, and looked at the ground.

"Every life you touched intersected with others, and those with yet more," Leah said. "You ripped through us all like a pestilence. You swept over us, and when you were gone, there was nothing left."

"I'm sorry," Angel said, to the ground. His voice sounded small and weak in his ears; the darkness swallowed it up.

"It doesn't help," Leah said. "It doesn't help any of us. Or you."

Angel remembered the look on Buffy's face, when she cried in his mansion after the tai chi exercises; when her guard slipped, and she accidentally let him see what he had done to her…

She'd tried to pretend she was crying because she was happy; it was the first time they had kissed since he came back. She didn't realize that he had seen what she was hiding.

She had never told him. And he knew he could never ask her. He didn't have the right; not anymore.

He remembered Drusilla's eyes, just before he shut the closet door…he remembered the tears in her eyes, and the light…the light he had extinguished.

"What…what would help?" Angel whispered, to the apparition, or the dream, or the illusion of Leah Maguire.

Leah sat beside him on the bench.

"You died more than two centuries ago," Leah said. "This life you have now? It isn't yours. You stole it from all the people you've murdered."

He looked at her, naked and pale and bleeding, and so very young, beside him. There should have been so many years still in front of her, that night when an ill fate set her in his path; years in the sun. But he had snatched those years away.

He thought about the endless, lonely years in front of him…when he thought about immortality sometimes, it scared him; it made him want to scream.

"Give it up, Angelus," Leah said. "Give up this life you stole. It's all you can do for us now."

"Will you walk into my parlor, Angelus?" Darla said, with a sly smile and a beckoning wave.

Darla was standing in the doorway of the Morgans' house, which she had appropriated for herself after one of the servants made the mistake of falling for the Lady Sumner routine and inviting her in earlier in the evening. The house was one of those unfortunate gothic monstrosities Darla had come upon now and again amongst the gentry in London, but she did like the grounds; there was a lot of bright green lawn and cherry trees in bloom and beds of vibrant flowers laid out in intricate little patterns everywhere and it all smelled lovely.

Olivia, Mr. Morgan's wife, knelt naked beside her, and down on all fours; Darla had her on a leash. Darla found the spectacle rather vulgar. But it was Angelus' scheme, and he had put a lot of work into it…

"Said the spider to the fly," Angelus said, and smiled his wolfish smile, as he stood on the veranda, the lush green lawn with its beds of beautiful flowers, bright even in the moonlight, stretching away all around him; the Serpent in the Garden.

"And it's the prettiest parlor that ever you did spy," Darla said.

"Doubtless it is, love," Angelus said. "Now that you're here to grace it."

"If once our lips did meet, a wager I would lay," Darla said, in a sultry whisper, and kissed him. "Of ten to one, you would not after let them come away. But where are my manners? Angelus, may I introduce Mrs. Olivia Morgan."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Olivia," Angelus said, with a depraved leer that twisted his handsome face into a grotesque parody of itself. "May I come in?"

Angelus was wearing his top hat again, and a cape. He'd even brought his pearl-handled cane this time. They were mixing with high society now, after all, he had told Darla earlier that day; he thought they should show the proper respect. Darla didn't mind. She thought Angelus looked absolutely scrumptious in his top hat and cape.

His dark eyes caught the moonlight at that moment, and reflected silver. Even after a century he was still the most beautiful thing Darla had ever seen. It was all she could do not to throw her arms around him. But she knew he wouldn't like that; this new scheme was all he was thinking about, his head was practically bursting with it and there was no room for anything else right now.

She wasn't worried. Soon, his head would be filled with her, and only her, again. He always came back to her…he could never leave her for long, even in thought. She had made him. He was hers.

Olivia's eyes were cast down. Though she looked haggard now Angelus saw she was prettier on close examination than he had given her credit for two nights before, when he had glimpsed her in the carriage; she was a voluptuous woman, in her forties, with some gray showing now in her long black hair. She had a few stretch marks running up her belly – unavoidable when a woman had three children. But she wasn't fat and her body was quite pleasingly proportioned. Her white, bulbous breasts sagged only a little bit as she knelt on all fours in the doorway on her leash, her knees and elbows and toes red, the rest of her a pallid, sickly white. She looked like Drusilla, though their bodies were of different type: Olivia had Drusilla's nose, her high cheekbones and bow lips, her black hair, and her big, ice-blue eyes. But though the eyes were the same as Drusilla's in appearance, they didn't contain the same light. They weren't as restless; they weren't as sad, or as deep. She shook a little, and didn't look up at him.

Olivia yelped as Darla kicked her in the ass. Angelus watched with amusement as Olivia's pale, shapely ass jiggled like a bowl of tapioca pudding.

"Don't be rude, Olivia," Darla said. "We have a guest."

Olivia kept looking down. Her shaking got worse.

"Good evening, Olivia," Angelus said, and crouched down, and grabbed Olivia by the hair, and made her look at him. Olivia whimpered, when she looked into his dark, hollow eyes…it was like gazing down the barrel of a gun.

Darla crouched down beside her.

"Invite him in," Darla whispered in Olivia's ear. "Or I'll slit your daughter's throats in front of you and make you drink their blood."

"Come now, Livvie dear," Angelus said, and chuckled. "I think we can be great friends, you and me."

"You know I mean what I say," Darla whispered in Olivia's ear. "I proved that with the servants."

"Come in," Olivia whispered, breaking down in tears now, as she looked into Angelus' eyes, and saw her death there.

"Your hospitality is greatly appreciated, madam," Angelus said, and took his hat off and bowed low to her with an exaggerated flourish, and strolled into the house. Darla yanked Olivia's leash, and dragged her back inside, and closed the door.

"Hello, my angel," a voice said.

Angel looked up from the bench. Leah had left a moment before. She had simply disappeared before his eyes. But she had said she'd brought friends…

Darla was standing in front of him.

She stood smiling down at him in the darkness under the stars like a golden goddess. Her blue eyes were a beautiful blue emptiness.

She wore a cheerleading outfit; a yellow sweater and a maroon skirt. Angel recognized it. It was the kind Buffy wore.

Darla had been wearing it the night Angel killed her.

"Darla," Angel said, and got up. "But…you're…"

"Dead, yes," Darla said, and rolled her eyes. "Thank you very much, by the way. Was she worth it, Angelus?"

Angel reached out, to take her hand…

His hand went through her.

"I'm dead, darling. Do try to pay attention," Darla said. "We haven't long together and there's a lot to talk about."

"You…wanted to hurt Buffy," Angel said. "I couldn't let you."

"Ah yes, the cheerleader," Darla said, and smiled, and walked away from him, looking around the courtyard, at the jasmine flowers. "How is she these days? Still the apple of your eye? Or have you already gotten bored? You always did get bored easily."

"Why are you here, Darla?" Angel said. "Are you…some sort of ghost? Someone else was here too…"

"Someone you killed?" Darla said, and turned to him, still smiling. "Tonight's an important night for you, Angelus. You're going to have some visitors…to help you see."

"See? See what?" Angel said.

Darla's smile got wider, became a predator's smile. She showed Angel her teeth.

"Who you are," Darla said. "Where you belong." She looked down at her skirt. "This is a truly ridiculous outfit. I lived nearly four-hundred years and for about three-hundred and fifty of them I was always saddled with ridiculous outfits. Wool skirts and waistcoats, corsets and petticoats, bobby socks and saddle shoes, miniskirts, bellbottom jeans, business suits with those puffy shoulders, ridiculous hats with feathers sticking out of them, cheerleading outfits…" Darla shook her head and laughed. "And if I'd known how the sixties were going to look I might have staked myself. But I liked the twenties. The flapper look? Girls had style in the twenties."

"Who I am?" Angel said. "I'm what you made me."

"Oh, no, my love," Darla said sweetly, and shook her head, and moved close to him. "No, no no. What you are, what you've done, can't be laid at my feet. Oh, I wish that it could. You don't know how much I wish you were truly mine, that everything you were, everything you've done, came from me. But there's a darkness in you, my angel…it was there, even before I turned you; it was what attracted my eye. Well…" she added, with a sexy smile, as she looked him up and down, "One of the things that attracted my eye. I tried to make myself believe every bit of you was mine, my creation. But as the years passed and your darkness grew, I knew, deep down, that you weren't really mine. I was your mother, and I still am. But you found you own path in this world…made your own choices, your own mistakes."

He took in her scent. They stood close together.

Her blue eyes caught the moonlight. It made them look, for a moment, as if there was something in them. Angel knew there wasn't…but they were still beautiful.

"I wish I could hold you in my arms again, my angel," Darla whispered. "We had centuries, and they still weren't enough."

Angel tried to caress her cheek. His hand went through her.

"I won't…hurt people again, Darla," Angel whispered. "I won't."

"But you will, Angelus," Darla whispered back. "You always have, you always will. You are, even now."

"What are you talking about?"

Darla smiled again…like a wolf.

"You'll see," Darla said. "Tonight, you'll see."

Angelus followed Darla and Olivia into the large entrance hall, casting no reflection in the huge ivory and silver-framed mirror on the wall; if Olivia noticed she didn't say anything. There was a floor lamp standing next to the mirror with a bell-shaped lampshade handcrafted in violet and gold silk adorned with a pattern of roses, and red and gold ribbons and beads cascading down from its edges, that Angelus thought looked just about as ridiculous as all the other current fashion trends in London. He hung his cape on the coat rack and hung his top hat on the hat rack, and they proceeded through the immaculate dining room, past a large, hand-carved solid chestnut sideboard with marble-topped shelves that proudly displayed the Morgans' beautiful china and crystal glasses.

"Fancy," Angelus said. "You've got fine taste, Livvie."

Olivia didn't say anything.

On their way to the parlor Angelus got a glimpse of the study; it had a silver chandelier, a perfectly spotless fireplace, two big overstuffed leather armchairs that looked like they had never been sat in, a writing desk with nothing at all on it but a candle in a silver candleholder, and a bookcase with leather volumes arranged on the shelves by height: short at the edges and rising in the middle, so that they formed a perfect curve. The books on each shelf formed the same curve, with no variation between shelves. The hardwood floor gleamed in the light of the chandelier without a single scuff mark or imperfection of any kind; it was as if it had never been stepped on. Under another floor lamp with a handcrafted silk lampshade, a Bible rested on a pedestal. It was magnificently bound but it looked worn from much use; it was the only thing in the room that looked like it had ever been touched.

As they proceeded into the parlor Angelus decided the house looked like a painting of a house. It was all certainly beautiful: it was well-appointed and well-kept, even opulent, with paintings and decorative mirrors and flowered wallpaper adorning the walls and heavy velvet curtains in rich blues and violets in the big bay windows, and sturdy, well-made over-stuffed leather furniture; according to Darla, the Morgans even had running water on every floor. But in its perfection it all somehow seemed artificial. The house didn't seem a place people actually lived in. All the furniture in the parlor looked new, as if it hadn't ever been sat on, just like the chairs in the study. Not one thing was out of place; there wasn't a sign of disarray. You could eat off the floors. The house smelled like lilacs, and oppression.

The parlor was very large, with high ceilings and a beautiful floral-patterned rug, more overstuffed leather furniture, this time with handmade lace doilies covering the arms, a bay window with maroon velvet curtains, and a grand piano. The piano was polished to such a high sheen Angelus would have been able to see his reflection in the wood, if he had one. There was a large, round mahogany table in the center of the room covered with tiny framed photos with indistinct likenesses of the family, and yet another spotless fireplace, this one with wax flowers under glass domes decorating the mantle. The flowers were beautiful, dead things; they went well with the room.

There was a family portrait hung above the sofa; the likenesses were all dead on, but the figures were too formal, too stiff and posed; artificial, like the rest of the house. Everyone in the painting was smiling, but Drusilla's smile seemed forced. Angelus didn't think it was a mistake on the artist's part. He'd spent hours at the opera studying Drusilla, and looking at her blue eyes, and the light they contained, and he had seen the sadness there. It made her even more beautiful; Angelus knew there was no beauty without pain.

Angelus was going to leech that light out of her. He was going to leech it out of her and bury it inside his darkness, which he knew was more powerful than Drusilla's light; in his darkness, her light would be extinguished.

"Stay," Darla said, in a curt tone one would use with a dog, and gave Olivia's leash a yank, bringing her to heel. Olivia stopped crawling, and looked down at the floor, on all fours beside Darla's leg. Darla patted her head. As Angelus watched Olivia with Darla he saw that Olivia was very nearly completely broken already. She didn't struggle against her leash and her bearing was that of a submissive animal. Darla had only been there a few hours. Angelus wondered what Darla had done to her. He didn't notice any bruises. Though the leash was his idea, he admired Darla's work, to bring Olivia to accept her lot so quickly.

It was one of the things he liked best about Darla: he knew he still had so much to learn from her…

"Nice place," Angelus said. "Rubbin' elbows with the upper crust. Air's a bit rarefied here for a simple village son like me. Lucky for us we don't breathe, huh darlin'?"

"Speak for yourself, Angelus," Darla said. "I'm a lady of high breeding and exquisite manners."

"That you are, love," Angelus said, and chuckled, as he took the leash from her. "Pity you had to be saddled with a boor like me." Angelus moved to the couch, dragging Olivia after him. She crawled behind him, and finally knelt in front of him as he sat down. She looked at the floor.

"Oh, you have your charms," Darla said. "Rough as they may be."

"I'm gonna show our Livvie my rough charms," Angelus said, and patted Olivia's head. "You're a good dog, Livvie," he said, looking down at her. "I knew we'd be great friends."

She still wouldn't look at him. He yanked her leash, and forced her to.

"I'm just gonna say this once, Livvie," Angelus said. "So prick up your ears. If you do everything I tell you to do just so, you and your family will survive this. But if you don't, I'll kill the lot of them while you watch. I'll kill your daughters in front of you, slowly. Do every single thing just as I say, and we can avoid all that unpleasantness. Do you understand?"

"You'll…let us live?" Olivia said.

"Of course," Angelus lied. "I'm not a barbarian. But they live only if you do everything I tell you."

"Where's…my husband?" Olivia said. "Can I please see my husband?"

"Eventually," Angelus said. "After you do some things for me. I'm not gonna hurt you, Livvie. But you're gonna have to do things, and if I have to listen to you bleat and whine about it, well…things will become unpleasant then, especially for your daughters. Are you hearing me?"

Olivia nodded.

"Remember what I said, and take me at my word," Angelus said. "If you disobey me in anything I ask, I'll torture and kill your daughters in front of you."

"But…if I obey…you'll let us live?" Olivia whispered.

"Sure," Angelus said, and smiled. "What are friends for? Darla, hon, I hope you saved me one of the servants. I'm feelin' a wee bit peckish."

"I saved you one, though I was positively ravenous all day and she looked especially tasty," Darla said. "I hope you appreciate everything I do for you."

"Always," Angelus said.

"But…you said you'd let us live!" Olivia pleaded.

"You and your family, I said," Angelus corrected her. "Never mentioned anything about the servants." He unbuttoned his pants, and pulled out his dick. Olivia gasped.

"What…what do you mean to…?" Olivia whispered, and started crying again.

"I mean to have you take my cock in your mouth, and suck on it," Angelus said. "And that's the last question you're going to ask me. Remember how I detest whining, Livvie? From this moment on you'll not speak without my leave. If you do, if I hear even one more word out of you, it'll get your dear daughters killed while you watch. Darla, what are their names by the way?"

"Dru's the oldest," Darla said. "The other two are Veronica and Cassandra. Cassandra's the youngest; she's such a sweet little thing."

"Our Livvie's a sweet thing too," Angelus said.

Darla watched Angelus with Olivia, wishing she was in Olivia's place. Angelus' dick became harder while she watched him, until after a moment it had attained its full length and thickness. Olivia tried looking away, but Angelus roughly yanked her leash again.

When she looked at him again, Angelus slapped her across the face with his dick. All the color drained from Olivia's face, when he did that; she looked up at him in absolute bewilderment. Darla laughed out loud.

"Oh, you ruffian," Darla said.

"Come on, Livvie," Angelus said. "No more o' your whinin' now. I'm a patient man, but you're sorely testing me. You'll obey me, or you'll lose a daughter. Let's say…the sweet little thing. Cassandra."

Olivia was still staring up at Angelus in shock. She didn't seem to hear what he was saying.

"Livvie dear?" Angelus said. "Now."

Olivia came back to herself, and wiped her tears away. She awkwardly took his dick into her mouth, and started sucking on it.

Lucky girl, Darla thought.

"Darla, don't you think it's time you introduced me to the three fair maidens?" Angelus said.

When Darla came back with Olivia's daughters, leading them into the parlor blindfolded and bound at their wrists and ankles with rope, Olivia was still sucking Angelus' cock. He was smiling, and patting her on the head.

When Olivia heard her daughters entering the room behind her, whimpering and in tears, she started to cry again. She tried to turn around and look at them, but Angelus held her head in place.

"You just concentrate on your work, Livvie darlin'," Angelus said. "My Darla can do the introductions."

Angelus watched Drusilla's sisters carefully as Darla herded them into the room. The whole family was important to his plan and he needed to be sure of each one of them. The youngest, Cassandra, was a pretty teenaged girl with chubby cheeks. She looked somewhat like Drusilla in her features, with the same long nose and bow lips, but she had her mother's plump body, and red hair pulled back in a chignon bun. She came into the room wailing and shaking, but docile, as Darla led her on her rope. Her shoulders were slumped, and her head looked down at the floor. But Veronica, the middle child, walked with her shoulders back and her blindfolded eyes staring straight ahead. She struggled, as Darla led her along, and she wasn't crying. Veronica bore no resemblance to Drusilla or her mother at all; from the painting hanging above the couch, Angelus knew that she looked like her father. She was tall, with long, thick brown hair in curls, and a sturdy, lean body. Darla had to drag her into the room.

Drusilla seemed somewhere between the two extremes of behavior demonstrated by her sisters; neither as weak as Cassandra nor as strong as Veronica. She seemed to be considering her options, as she entered the room: she allowed Darla to walk her on the rope, and she was pale, and her eyes were red from crying, but she wasn't crying now and her posture told Angelus that she hadn't given up yet; that she still had some fight in her. That was good. It wouldn't be as much fun if she didn't put up a fight…

"What did you do to them, love?" Angelus said.

"Why, nothing at all, Angelus," Darla said. "I didn't harm a single hair on their adorable little heads."

"Take their blindfolds off," Angelus said. "Let's all get acquainted."

"How is she, by the way?" Darla said, nodding at Olivia.

"Our Livvie's got an unfortunate tendency to rake me with her teeth," Angelus said. "I'm suffering the death of a thousand cuts over here."

"English women," Darla said, and shook her head, as she started removing the daughters' blindfolds. She removed Cassandra's first, and Cassandra's green eyes grew wide as saucers in her terror and revulsion at the sight of what Angelus was doing to her mother, and she began screaming. Olivia immediately tried to turn around, but Angelus held her head in place.

"We're not hurting her, Livvie," Angelus said. "Your youngest is just an excitable girl, that's all."

"Mommy!" Cassandra shrieked, and fell to her knees. Mommy! MOMMY!"

"Do try to relax dear," Darla said, rolling her eyes, as she moved on to Veronica. "Heavens, it's just a blowjob."

Darla had a tiger by the tail with Veronica now; her younger sister's screams were causing her to struggle wildly against her bonds, and she was whirling her head around this way and that as if she was trying to look around the whole room to find the source of her sister's disturbance. Exactly what she hoped to accomplish looking all around the room while she was still blindfolded was a mystery, but Angelus assumed she probably just wasn't very smart. Drusilla wasn't looking around; she was standing very still, and listening. Which was very smart, Angelus thought, or at least the only smart option available to her. It was a good thing: being saddled with a stupid girl for eternity would have gotten annoying.

"You SON OF A BITCH!" Veronica screamed, when Darla took her blindfold off, and she saw what Angelus was doing to her mother. "Mother! Look at me! Are you all right? Mother!"

Olivia didn't look at Veronica; Angelus held her head in place. But Angelus looked at Veronica. She had Drusilla's blue eyes, but, like her mother, what was in them was different. In Veronica's case, the light in them was fiercer than Drusilla's. But it wasn't nearly so deep, or so lovely.

Veronica didn't look away from Angelus. She looked right down into his eyes, all the way down to the bottom; straight down into a void.

"You bastard!" she shrieked, trying to run at him, but Darla held her still. "Bastard! DIRTY BASTARD!"

"Fine, and yourself?" Angelus said, and laughed, as Darla took the blindfold from Drusilla's eyes.

Drusilla blanched, when she saw her mother; her ice-blue eyes grew wide and full of tears, but she remained silent.

She looked at Angelus, and he looked back at her.

"Hello, Dru," Angelus said.

Drusilla looked away from him, at her sisters. She tried to move to Cassandra, but Darla held her in place.

"Cassie…Cassie, it will be all right," Drusilla said to Cassandra, who was still on her knees on the floor, screaming and crying hysterically. But Drusilla's voice was quavering, when she said it.

"Let her go to her sister, Darla," Angelus said. Darla played out enough of the rope for Drusilla to be able to reach Cassandra, and Drusilla knelt down beside her. Though her hands were tied and she couldn't hug Cassandra, she leaned herself close against her, cheek to cheek.

"Red robin, red robin…" Drusilla whispered, in Cassandra's ear. "Sshhh, red robin. It'll be all right. Big sister says it will be all right."

Angelus noticed Cassandra immediately became a little calmer; she was still crying but she had ceased her screaming. She huddled very close against Drusilla, as close as she could, as if she was trying to melt into her.

Veronica was still struggling futilely to be free, hurling expletives at Angelus, and Darla now too. But Darla merely smiled at her and Angelus ignored her completely; he knew now that Cassandra was the key to his plan. Veronica he would simply torture and kill, after she played her part. As soon as was convenient, too, because the girl's caterwauling was giving him a headache now.

"Sing a song of sixpence," Drusilla began singing to Cassandra, trilling the old rhyme softly in her ear. Drusilla's voice was beautiful. "A pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie. When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing…"

"Was that not a dainty dish," Cassandra joined in, and held her eyes squeezed shut, and leaned her head against Drusilla's shoulder, and rocked herself back and forth. "To set before the king? The king was in the counting house, counting out his money…"

"The queen was in the parlor," Drusilla sang with her, a little louder now. "Eating bread and honey. The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes…"

Darla finally tired of Veronica's shouting and used the blindfold to gag her mouth. The room was quiet then, except for Drusilla and Cassandra's singing.

"When down came a blackbird," Drusilla sang, and smiled at Cassandra now, and kissed her nose. "And pecked at her nose!" Cassandra smiled too, a small smile, amidst her tears.

Cassandra's smile surprised Angelus; her bond with Drusilla was obviously very strong. Which was all the better for him.

"Let Cassie go," Drusilla said, and looked at Angelus again. Angelus knew it was hard for her to look at him; Drusilla loved Cassandra but she didn't have the strength or fire that Veronica had and looking in Angelus' eyes made Drusilla quail. But she made herself hold fast and keep looking, as Angelus met her gaze. "Please. Keep me. Let her go and keep me."

"Well that all depends," Angelus said. "Do you like my company? Would you be the one to spend time with me, instead of your sisters? Shall we get to know each other, you and I?"

Olivia stopped sucking Angelus' cock, and looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"Remember what I said about talkin' out of turn, Livvie," Angelus warned, holding up one finger. He forced his dick back into Olivia's mouth. Olivia was becoming annoying, but he needed her alive.

"Do we understand each other, Livvie?" Angelus said, and yanked Olivia's leash as she sucked him. She nodded.

"Now Dru," Angelus said. "I believe you and I were coming to an arrangement."

"I…would spend time with you," Drusilla said, with tears running down her cheeks now. "I'd have you with me, and me alone, leaving the rest of my family be. Leaving Cassie be."

"Well, I suppose we can try it out for a bit," Angelus said. "Darla, untie Drusilla, and take Veronica and Cassie to their rooms, careful not to harm a hair on their pretty heads. Dru and I are going to get to know each other."

"Rah, rah! Sis boom bah!" Darla shouted, as she jumped up and down, laughing, and looking young and radiant and beautiful and full of life. Angel smiled.

"That is the sort of nonsense they say, isn't it? I was never a cheerleader, so I'm not exactly an expert in these things," Darla said. "Also I don't have those…what are those things they wave around?"

"Pom-poms," Angel said.

"Pom-poms. I should've brought pom-poms."

"You look fine without them," Angel said, still smiling. He'd missed Darla…how she always made him smile. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her…how empty he had felt, since he killed her.

"So how is she?" Darla said. "You didn't answer me before. How's the cheerleader?"

"She's fine," Angel said, his smile gone now.

"Are you actually trying to lie to me, Angelus?" Darla said, and started giggling. "To me? When you were soulless you never once lied to me, never once in a century and a half. It's that soul inside you. It diminishes you, my love…"

Darla moved close to him again, and looked up into his eyes, and frowned.

"It makes you so distastefully…common," Darla said. "When you were with me you were fierce and bright and beautiful. When you were with me you burned, Angelus! Now look at you. Sitting here in your garden, surrounded by her scent, knowing you can't ever have it again. Sulking, fretting your days away. Reliving those memories again and again, giving your victims power over you, squandering your own power. Wasting your time. Because it isn't infinite, you know. While you have that soul rotting you from inside you're under Death's power; he can see you. All souls come to him in time."

"Him?" Angel said.

"I've seen him," Darla said. "Cold, so cold. With a voice that chills you to the bone like an icy darkness seeping into you, and eyes bright as stars. He's coming. He's coming for this whole world. But you can escape him. You can escape him with me."

He looked down into her eyes. He didn't think she was a ghost. Whatever she was, she acted like Darla. He knew there was something she wanted from him…but what was it?

"Or perhaps you don't want to escape," Darla said. "Perhaps you want to die? Is that what this is about? You've lost the cheerleader, and now there's nothing to live for?"

He turned away from her. She could always see right through him. He walked toward the jasmine flowers, and looked up at the stars.

Darla laughed.

"Oh…oh, Angelus, you poor, confused boy," Darla said. "Don't you know? Haven't you figured it out yet?"

Angel turned back to her. She was laughing, but there were tears in her eyes…

"You were smarter without the soul," Darla said. "That soul muddles you, confuses you…you used to be sharp, strong, fast…a predator, in body and mind. Now you're slow, confused. Weak. Contemptible."

She shook her head, and frowned at him.

"It's disgusting," Darla said. "I can hardly bear to see you like this. What a waste."

Her words stung; even though he wasn't sure this was Darla, even though he had chosen Buffy over her, her words still hurt him.

"Figured what out?" Angel said.

"You don't love Buffy," Darla said. "You never did."

Darla had taken Veronica and Cassandra from the room. Angelus had Drusilla sitting next to him on the couch now, holding her mother's leash in her hand, forcing her to watch as her mother sucked his cock.

"Look at me, Drusilla," he said.

She looked at him. The moment she did, his eyes held her…pinned her down. Fear clawed through her, as she realized she couldn't look away.

"You know, don't you, Dru?" Angelus said. "You've seen it. What's to come…you've seen it in visions."

Drusilla didn't answer him. But she couldn't look away.

"You know why this is happening, don't you?" Angelus said, softly. "You know it's your fault."

Tears filled Drusilla's eyes.

"Your visions are the Devil's work," Angelus said. "And Darla and I are his emissaries. You have no piety in your heart, and Christ has forsaken you. You brought this down on your family, Drusilla. It's your fault and no one else's. Your visions of this day…of all the things I'm going to do, in the days to come? Those things are all going to happen. They're inevitable…the inevitable punishment for your sins. You need to accept it, Drusilla. You need to accept that you're an evil, blasphemous, disgusting creature, and that what's to come, the things you saw in your visions, can't be changed. God has judged you. And He has damned you."

Olivia whimpered, and started crying again.

"Look at your mother again now," Angelus said. "Look at her, and don't take your eyes off of her. I want you to watch how I debase her."

Drusilla looked down at her mother, and started crying; as Angelus watched the tears fall down Drusilla's cheeks, a spasm of ecstasy filled him up, and he finally came. He held Olivia in place, as he exploded in her mouth, and she gagged on it. When he was done and he was certain she'd swallowed it all, he took his hand from her head and finally allowed her to move. Olivia crawled a few feet away from him, and vomited on the rug, and stayed there on her knees, and cried.

Drusilla got up and tried to go to her, but Angelus grabbed her by the hair and held her in place.

"You brought this on, you brought your family to this pass," Angelus said. "You really think Livvie wants your comfort now?

Olivia looked up at her daughter. Angelus saw something in Olivia's eyes that he didn't like. He held up a finger.

Olivia looked down at the floor again.

"Your mother hates you, Drusilla," Angelus said. "Because you're the one who did this to her."

Olivia wailed, and laid her head on the floor, crying in great, heaving spasms that shook her whole body. Angelus kicked her.

"Back up on your knees, Livvie," Angelus snarled, and stood up, and pulled Drusilla up with him. "I bet you're a thirsty dog. Drusilla's gonna walk you back to your room, and bring you a bowl of water."

He made Drusilla walk her mother on her leash, as her mother crawled beside her. They were silent as they walked out of the parlor, and through the dining room, and the kitchen. Darla joined them in the kitchen, and watched with a smile as Angelus had Drusilla take a bowl down from the cabinet, and fill it with water. They all walked out of the kitchen, and Darla directed them to the stairs, and up to the second floor. Drusilla didn't look at her mother, and her mother didn't look at her, as she crawled awkwardly up the stairs. They had to stop when Olivia became winded climbing the stairs on all fours and needed to catch her breath. They resumed walking after a moment, Drusilla holding her mother's leash in one hand and the bowl of water in the other, and Darla began caressing Drusilla's hair. Drusilla didn't know why Darla was touching her, but she was too distraught to fight now. And she knew that she would have to pick her battles if any of her family were to survive this. They walked together, and her mother crawled beside them, silent but for her sobbing.

Drusilla suddenly noticed that Darla had changed her clothes; she was wearing one of her mother's dresses.

When Darla brought them to Drusilla's parents' immaculate bedroom, Drusilla saw lengths of rope tied to the bedpost.

She looked at the marble-topped nightstand next to the bed. She knew her father kept his revolver in the drawer there. And she knew it was always loaded.

"I think the dog's thirsty, Drusilla, she's had a lot of exercise today," Darla said, looking down at Olivia. "Why don't you set her bowl on the floor, and let her have a drink."

Drusilla ignored the little shudder that went through her whenever they referred to her mother as a dog, and set the bowl on the floor. She would find a way to get to the revolver. She'd have to be patient, but she knew she could find a way to get to the revolver.

She knew, because she'd already seen it…she'd seen herself, in a vision that had wrenched her from sleep after returning from the opera two nights before, holding the revolver, pointing it at Angelus…

When she'd tried to warn her father the next morning that danger was coming, that evil people were coming for them, he'd struck her across the mouth, and made her pray with her rosary beads, refusing to let her out of her room, and threatening to ship her off to the convent he'd looked into. She'd been quiet after that…she thought she had time. She hadn't realized Angelus would come for them so soon.

She'd get to the revolver. She'd stop them. She'd save her family. She'd save Cassie.

Somehow…

"Have a drink, dog," Angelus said, smiling down at Olivia.

Olivia picked up the bowl, and tried to stand up. Darla kicked her in the ribs. She whimpered in pain, and collapsed on the floor, and looked up at Darla with a tear-streaked face, trembling.

"Bad dog. Lap it out of the bowl with your tongue," Darla said.

Olivia was motionless, for just a second, as she looked up at Darla, and Darla leered down at her like a jackal.

She lapped the water out of the bowl.

Drusilla held her head in her hands, and started to cry.

"It's all right, precious," Darla whispered, and hugged her. Drusilla tried to pull away, but Darla was much too strong. Her hands felt cold.

Darla caressed Drusilla's hair again, and wiped her tears away, and smiled.

"It's all right," Darla said, and held Drusilla fast in her cold embrace, and kissed her cheek. "I'm here now. It's all right."

After they made Olivia lap up water out of the bowl, Angelus and Darla took her leash off, tied her to the bed and gagged her with a strip torn from a pair of her drawers they took from the dresser. Then they blindfolded her with a strip torn from a pillowcase, extinguished the light, and left her there, naked and sobbing on the bed in the dark.

Darla took Drusilla's hand, and she and Angelus walked her out of the room.

"What…what are you going to do with me?" Drusilla whispered.

"After what you've done to your family, Dru, what do you think I should do with you?" Angelus said. "If you were confessin' your sins and I was your priest, what penance do you think I'd make you perform?"

Drusilla didn't say anything.

"Her room is down at the end of this hall," Darla said.

They walked Drusilla into her room. It was the only part of the house Angelus had yet seen that looked real and lived-in. Drusilla slept in a sleigh bed, surrounded by painted furniture: there was a bureau with a mirror and a vase of flowers and a silver hairbrush and perfume, and a small writing desk in one corner and a chair and table in the other; the writing desk was cluttered with papers, atop the table was a large, exquisitely made dollhouse. The walls had the ubiquitous flowered wallpaper, and shelves built into them; the shelves were covered with porcelain dolls. There were two lengths of rope coiled on the sleigh bed.

"Isn't it just darling, though?" Darla said, betraying only a hint of sarcasm.

There was a small closet in the corner.

Angelus walked to the closet, and opened the door, and looked back at Drusilla.

"Time for your penance, Dru," Angelus said.

Darla sat on the sleigh bed, and picked up the rope.

Drusilla looked from Angelus to Darla. She looked at the closet.

She had seen a dark place in her visions…now she knew what it was.

"Don't you think you deserve this?" Angelus said.

Drusilla looked down at the floor, and nodded, as tears came into her eyes again.

"Come here, precious," Darla said. "Come to mother."

Drusilla snapped her head up. Darla was smiling, and holding out her arms as if to embrace her.

"You're not my mother," Drusilla said.

"Yes I am," Darla said, still smiling, and holding out her arms. "You'll see that in time, precious. Now come to me."

Drusilla sat on the bed next to Darla, and Darla hugged her.

"We have to punish you, because of the evil things you've done," Darla said. "But it won't last forever. There's a hard time ahead of you, but you'll come through it, Dru; I promise you'll come through it, and then you'll leave it behind, and you'll be happy again. You'll be happy again, with us."

Drusilla wouldn't look at her. Darla kissed her cheek.

"Hold your hands behind your back," Darla said, still smiling.

Drusilla held her hands behind her back, and Darla turned her around and tied her hands with the rope, securely, but not so tight that it would hurt. Then she knelt down in front of Drusilla, and smiled up at her, and tied her ankles.

"Walk to your father now, Dru," Darla said, and stood up, and motioned her toward Angelus, who was still standing by the open closet door.

Drusilla stood up, and shuffled over to Angelus in little half-steps, looking down at the floor. When she reached the closet, she finally looked up at him.

"You're not my father," Drusilla said.

"Of course I am, Dru," Angelus said, as Darla moved next to him, and took his hand, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm your father, and Darla is your mother."

"You're not," Drusilla said, making herself look at them…making herself meet their eyes, and stare into their nothingness.

"You're a wicked, evil thing, Dru," Angelus said, and changed his face to vampire form, and smiled. Drusilla gasped and screamed, as his face became deformed and his mouth sprouted long fangs, and he seemed to take on the semblance of a demon. "Of course you come from us."

"I told you, precious," Darla said, and changed her own face to vampire form as well. She smiled as Drusilla screamed again, turning away from them and covering her eyes, and almost collapsing; Darla held her up.

"No, no no…" Drusilla whimpered, and started crying, and shaking. "No, I'm not, I'm not…I'm not…"

Darla hugged her.

"You are," Darla whispered in her ear. "You are one of us. We're your family, Drusilla. We're your family, and we love you."

"Step into the closet now, Dru," Angelus said.

Drusilla wiped her tears away, and looked at the closet. Usually, it was stuffed with her clothes and her shoes. But they had been removed, and it was completely empty now. It was dark, and small.

Drusilla looked again at Angelus and Darla. They looked like deformed, grotesque things. They were still smiling…leering at her like monsters.

"It will be all right, precious," Darla said. "Now be a good girl for mother and step into the closet."

Drusilla stepped into the closet.

Darla took her hand, and gently helped her to lay on the floor of the closet, helping her find a comfortable position she could lay in with her ankles tied. Then she took a pillow from the bed, and set it on the floor beside her, and kissed her cheek.

Darla stood up, and took Angelus' hand again, and they smiled down at Drusilla together.

"Good night, blackbird," Angelus said.

He closed the closet door, and Drusilla was alone in the darkness.

"Will, I didn't want to have to ask for this but…I need a favor," Buffy said.

They were driving through downtown. Faith slept in the backseat with her head in Buffy's lap and Buffy's coat draped over her. The wind came in through the broken window in the backseat, colder now as the night got on. Buffy held Faith, and kept her warm. Willow looked back at her.

"I know. We need to find out how bad she's really hurt," Willow said. "She could have internal injuries for all we know."

"Yeah," Buffy said. "I thought maybe it wouldn't be that bad and I wouldn't have to ask, but…she's beat up really bad, all over. I'm worried she might be hurt even worse than she looks. I hate to ask, but…"

"She saved my life, Buffy," Willow said. "Xander, pull over somewhere without people, find a parking lot."

"Look, can I just remind you that the last time you did this spell on someone when they were hurt that the pain got so bad you fainted?" Xander said.

"You can remind me but it won't change anything," Willow said. "Pull over somewhere."

Xander shook his head and pulled into a little lot behind a hardware store.

"I don't like this," he said.

"I know, baby," Willow said, and rubbed his shoulder.

Then she took Faith's hand.

"I'm sorry, Xander," Buffy said.

"Faith saved our lives," Xander said. "We owe her a hell of a lot more than this. I just don't like seeing Willow hurt."

"Me either," Buffy said, and squeezed Willow's hand.

"The pain's temporary," Willow said. "I'll deal. Okay, no more talking…I need to concentrate. Once I'm in the middle of it don't interrupt."

Willow held Faith's hand, and closed her eyes…

Willow gasped.

She started breathing in short, shallow bursts…she started to sweat.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, and her hands began to shake.

"She's…oh God…it…h-hurts…" Willow whispered. "God…hurts…"

She bit her lip.

"Going…under it…looking…" Willow whispered.

"She needs to stop," Xander said.

"No…" Willow said. "Gotta…look. Arm's broke…finger, thumb…ankle…toes…head hurts. No energy, can't…tired…no energy…stomach…cut…hurts…"

Buffy put her hand on Willow's shoulder.

"Hurts…hurts so…much…" Willow said, and tears rolled down her cheeks. "Cut…burning…"

Willow leaned her head down against the seat, and shook…a little stifled scream escaped from her lips.

"She has to stop," Xander said, and grabbed her arm. "Will, you need to stop!"

"No," Willow said.

"Will…I think…maybe he's right," Buffy said. "It's getting bad…"

"NO!" Willow hissed, and looked up at them…

…With black, black eyes…

Xander recoiled.

"What…what was…what happened to her eyes?" Xander said. "What the hell happened to her eyes?"

Willow closed her eyes again. "I'm…under it now…swam under…pain can't find me anymore…" she whispered. "I'm in her muscles, I'm flowing through her…oh my God…she's so…the energy…so much…so strong…always there…pulsing, pulsing through her…every second. Every second. Slayer. Slayer."

"I've seen it once before," Buffy said. "When she did the lightning. Her eyes went black for a minute and then she fainted. It's the magic…but I don't know what it means."

"This is a Slayer…" Willow murmured, and threw her head back. "What it's like to be…the strength…oh my God such strength…such…"

"Power," Willow whispered, and opened her black eyes again, and thunder boomed through the sky, and lightning followed after…

"Jesus!" Xander shouted, and looked out the window, up at the sky. "Okay, what the fuck?!"

"I…don't know what…" Willow heard Buffy starting to say. But Buffy's voice was suddenly hard to hear now…it was barely above a whisper.

And there was another voice…someone else was talking. It was a woman's voice, a voice Willow had never heard before. She couldn't make out what it was saying, but it was getting louder.

Willow didn't know why, but the voice scared her. More than anything in her life, the voice scared her.

Fuckin' little twat, the woman's voice said, suddenly very loud now, cutting through all the other sounds in the car. Then it was soft again; Willow couldn't make out what it was saying anymore. Willow looked around. She had no idea where the voice was coming from…

"Will…?" she could just barely hear Buffy saying. Willow looked up at her. She could see the worry in Buffy's eyes…but Buffy seemed indistinct, somehow…she seemed to be wavering, fading…

Willow looked around for Xander. He wasn't there. When Willow looked where the drivers seat should have been, she saw…a stove?

Always fuckin causin' trouble, the woman's voice said, loud enough to hear again now. Always causin' trouble since the day I shit you out. The voice undulated like a wave, becoming louder and then softer, going back and forth.

Willow could still just barely discern Buffy now, but she didn't seem to be in the car anymore. They were in a kitchen together. It was small, with stained, torn linoleum on the floor. It smelled like cigarette smoke. A small television with a rabbit ears antenna was droning in the corner; a soap opera. Buffy was trying to talk but Willow couldn't hear her at all now; she heard the other voice instead, no longer undulating but growing progressively louder.

And then Buffy was gone, and Willow was alone…alone in the kitchen that smelled like cigarette smoke, that she had never seen before.

It was a strange kitchen; it had seemed small at first, but now everything in it, the table, the chairs, the refrigerator…they all looked too big, somehow.

Willow felt a hand smack her hard across the face. It sent her flying backwards into the table, and she started to cry.

"You fuckin' listening to me girl?" the woman's voice said…

Willow looked up.

A woman she had never seen before stood there; her face was red and she had a cigarette dangling limply from the corner of her mouth. She was overweight and unkempt, with long brown hair and big brown eyes. She smelled like alcohol. She looked down at Willow, towering above her, impossibly tall…

Willow recognized the woman's eyes. She knew she had seen them somewhere before…

The woman grabbed Willow by the hair.

"Faith!" the woman shouted. "Christ, are you deaf? You're gonna fuckin' listen to me!"

It was like a fog had lifted. Of course Willow knew this woman; she was her mother. Of course everything in the kitchen was big; Willow was only six…

The word Willow went through her head. It was a strange word she had never heard before and she didn't know why she had thought of it as her name for a moment.

She knew her name was Faith.

"I'm sorry, Momma," Willow said, as she cried. "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to…"

"Lyin' little twat, don't you talk back to me!" her mother screamed, and punched her in the face this time. Willow smashed into the table again and fell to the floor, crying and wailing and shaking. Her nose started bleeding.

She looked up. Fear froze her heart as she saw her mother leaning over her, ready to hit her again.

"I didn't, I didn't…" Willow whimpered, crying and shaking her head back and forth, as she tucked herself into a little ball, and covered up as best she could…

Willow sat on the cold metal table in the hospital's examining room, in her socks and her underwear, wearing the little cotton dress they gave her that was open at the back, and the doctor held the cold stethoscope against her back and asked her to breathe in, and his hands probed her ribs.

Her mother had cried a little, as the doctor examined Willow; as Willow took her shirt off, and the bruises on her ribs were revealed. The bruises ran up and down Willow's left side, a series of ugly red and purple blotches. Her mother would cry a little, sometimes, when she saw what she had done. She even said she was sorry sometimes; she'd come into the parlor in the middle of the night, and Willow could smell the alcohol on her. She'd sit on the cot beside Willow and she would cry, and she'd say she was sorry but that it was hard raising a daughter alone and her own mother had been mean to her too. Usually Willow pretended to sleep through it.

But she always made sure Willow told the story, exactly as she had dictated it to her, exactly as they had rehearsed it together. This time the story was that Willow tripped and fell down the stairs.

Her mother wasn't in the examining room now; she was out in the waiting room. The doctor had told her to wait outside. Before she left, she had looked at Willow; Willow knew what the look meant.

"How old are you, Faith?" the doctor said. The doctor was new; Willow hadn't seen him before. Willow thought he was handsome. He was young, not an old guy like the ones she usually saw, and he had a kind voice, and warm hands.

"Ten," Willow said, and looked down at the floor. She tried to think about something else. She tried not to think about her breathing. She knew if she thought about her breathing it would start to get bad; the feeling would start, the one like she was suffocating…

Willow couldn't remember exactly when the breathing feelings had started, but she remembered it had been in an examining room, just like this one. All of a sudden she'd felt like she couldn't get enough air in; the deeper she breathed the less air she got. She'd panicked and started to cry, and the doctors had run a bunch of tests. They said there was nothing wrong with her; that she had just gotten nervous. They said hospitals made little kids nervous sometimes.

Ever since that day, it had always been with her: that fear, that all of a sudden, she would be suffocating…

She'd figured out that the trick was not to think about it.

She didn't like going to the doctor. She didn't like the ugly little examining rooms with the harsh lights and the cold metal tables. She didn't like having to take her clothes off for strangers. The breathing feeling was always bad when she had to go to the doctor, and make up stories.

It was easier sometimes, when she had a woman doctor. But the last time they'd given her a woman doctor the woman had gotten suspicious of the story Willow's mother had made her tell, and her mother started bringing her to a different clinic after that.

"And how did this happen?" the doctor said.

"My Mom already told you," Willow said. She felt embarrassed. He was handsome and it embarrassed her, being with him like this.

"Okay, but I want to hear it from you, Faith," the doctor said. "Tell me what happened."

"I fell down the stairs," Willow said.

"How?"

"Tripped."

"According to your file, you've taken a couple of falls down the stairs," the doctor said.

Willow didn't say anything. She looked down at the floor and tried not to think about her breathing. She thought about the spelling words she'd been given to memorize for the class spelling bee that week, just to be thinking about something. She didn't have the list with her; she could only remember one.

Potential, Willow thought.

"Faith?" the doctor said. "Has your mother ever hit you?"

"Faith?" the doctor said.

"No," Willow said. "She never hits me."

Potential, Willow thought.

Willow sat in the dark, on the cot in the parlor at five in the morning, holding a tissue against her nose. It was bleeding. Her mother had hit her there. Not just there. Everywhere else too. She ached all over. It was a miracle nothing was broken.

She was fifteen now and she was strong enough to fend her mother off usually, but this time her mother's boyfriend had joined in. Willow had come home at three in the morning and her mother had said they didn't know where she was all night and that she was dressed like a slut and that she could smell alcohol on her breath.

"You a fuckin' slut, Faith? You a fuckin' whore, dressed like that?" her mother had said.

After her mother was done kicking the shit out of her and had gone to bed her mother's boyfriend had cornered Willow in the bathroom.

"You like dressin' sexy, Faith?" the boyfriend had said. "You tryin' to send me a message, girl?"

He tried to touch her. Willow kicked him in the balls.

He'd beaten her after that…he'd beaten her so badly that her mother had to jump in and stop it.

Willow knew it was time to leave.

She knew her mother didn't love her, that nobody did, and that she was in danger there. She knew her mother's new boyfriend would try to touch her again soon. She knew there was no reason to even bother telling her mother about it; she'd take his side. Or if she didn't, she'd still kick the shit out of her anyway.

Willow had her stuff packed in a trash bag. She looked down at it. It had all her clothes, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, a bottle of shampoo, a bar of soap, a lipstick, two towels, a cheap CD-player that skipped unless you held it perfectly still in your hand, headphones, a bunch of CD's, a Nintendo Gameboy, a box of Ritz crackers, a bottle of Coke, a jar of Skippy peanut butter, one spoon, one fork, and one knife.

The trash bag contained everything she had in the world.

She looked around the parlor. It was a cramped, crummy little room and it smelled like cigarette smoke and booze. The rug was dirty and torn. Her mother would sit on one of the old, beat-up recliners during the day and watch soap operas and talk shows until her boyfriend got back from wherever he had been. At night it was Willow's bedroom. She slept on a little cot.

She looked out the window, at the courtyard. She lived in the projects and the projects never really slept; there were kids in the courtyard playing basketball in the light of the streetlamps, using a bucket with the bottom cut out as an improvised hoop. They had a boom box going; it was loud. The cops would eventually cruise by and take all their names and check to see if they had any drugs, and tell them to turn the music off, but then the music would be right back on a few minutes later. The cops didn't come by too much.

Willow wondered where she would go.

She thought she'd head for the beach first. It was almost spring and the beach was nice in South Boston, and there were benches she could sleep on…

She got up and walked into her mother's bedroom. It was a small room with clothes and ashtrays and booze bottles and junk all strewn around; her mother never really cleaned. It had an orange shag rug that was the ugliest rug Willow had ever seen, and a picture of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus on the wall.

Willow looked at the framed photo on the bureau that had been taken when she was seven, of herself and her mother sitting together at the beach and building a sand castle together, and laughing. For a moment, when Willow saw herself in the photograph, a strange feeling came over her. When she looked at her long brown hair and her big brown eyes with the long lashes, she felt disconnected from herself, somehow…as if she was looking at someone else.

Willow remembered that day. Her mother had smiled at her and told her she was special…told her she loved her.

It hadn't been Willow's birthday or a holiday or anything. Just a day when her mother felt like taking her to the beach, and building sandcastles, and telling her she was special. Her mother had been going to AA meetings then. But she stopped, eventually.

Willow thought she'd head for the beach.

She thought about taking the photo with her.

She didn't.

She looked at her mother, asleep with her boyfriend. They both smelled like booze. The boyfriend snored. He had a big dumb moustache that moved when he snored like Yosemite Sam.

She thought maybe she should say something. She wasn't ever going to see her mother again and she thought maybe she should say something…say goodbye.

Willow's lips were puffy. Her jaw hurt.

She looked down at her mother. Only one of her eyes opened all the way.

"You lied," Willow said. "That day at the beach. You lied. You never loved me."

She thought she should cry. But she didn't…the tears wouldn't come. She just felt tired.

"'Bye," Willow said.

She walked back to the parlor, picked up her trash bag, and walked out the door.

"Come on Faith, stop being a damn tease," Ronnie said.

Willow was sitting with Ronnie on the little waterbed in his dark, stuffy, mildewy basement apartment in his parents' place. His parents were out.

They had the radio on; it was playing a slow song.

Fooled around and fell in love, the song said…

Willow knew this wasn't love. She'd been seeing Ronnie for a couple of weeks and he was nice enough, for a guy who was broke all the time and couldn't afford to take her anywhere. Really, what Ronnie had going for him was that he was great looking. Most of the time they just sat in his basement and hung out and listened to music and watched TV and kissed. He'd talk about the Red Sox a lot; there were Red Sox posters on all the walls and he had a Red Sox baseball card collection and he thought this could maybe be the year if Vaughn had another great season and if things broke just right and the Sox got a wildcard spot. Willow always listened politely.

They were both naked on his bed now. Willow thought Ronnie looked good naked. He was nice and lean and toned. His dick was hard.

He was kissing her, and touching her breasts, and gently pushing her down; Willow knew he wanted to get inside.

He wasn't touching her between the legs; just her breasts, because he liked them. He never really touched her anywhere else. He kissed her a lot and felt her breasts but other than that he never really touched her much at all; mostly she touched him.

Willow flipped herself over, kissed her way down Ronnie's stomach, and began sucking his dick. She knew he loved when she did that and it would take his mind off getting inside…

She didn't know why she didn't want to let him inside. Part of her wanted to; he was gorgeous. He had a nice body. He had a nice dick, too, she thought, as she sucked him off. And he always smelled good.

But Willow knew he didn't care about her. All he cared about was fucking her. He was being patient but once he finally managed to get inside she thought he'd lose interest. They never really talked much; all they ever did was kiss and fool around and watch TV and listen to music and he'd talk at her about the Red Sox and she'd listen. He never talked about her, never asked her about herself, where she was going or what she wanted to be; he didn't care. Willow felt like she didn't really even know him; other than the Red Sox and hip hop music and fucking her she had no idea what Ronnie cared about. She didn't know him and she knew for a fact he didn't know her.

When he came, she let him come in her mouth, and then she got up and spit it in the bathroom sink. She hadn't ever let him come in her mouth before and she really didn't want to, but she could tell she had to go the extra mile today to keep him from wanting more. His cum was thick and warm, and it tasted very salty and a little bitter on her tongue. She didn't like the taste. Willow spit it out as quick as she could without lingering on it and rinsed her mouth out.

She liked blowing Ronnie because he was always tender with her afterwards; it was as if he was thankful. He'd hug her and call her sweet. It never lasted too long, maybe five minutes or so, but those were her favorite times with him.

After about five minutes of telling her what a great girl she was and how she gave such sweet head, Ronnie wanted to get inside again. Usually he was tired and he needed to recharge for awhile after he came; today he had extra energy.

"Come on Faith, you'll love it, I promise," Ronnie said. "How long you gonna play games with me? Can't play games forever."

The look in his eyes told her…told her it was put up or shut up. He'd been patient, given her a couple of weeks. If she didn't put out Willow knew Ronnie would move on to the next girl.

He never touched her between the legs, never kissed her there either. She did those things for him but he never did them for her. Willow guessed he just didn't want to. He wanted to put his dick in there; other than that he wanted nothing else to do with that part of her. Maybe that part of her was just ugly, Willow thought.

He was moving on top of her now, forcing her to lay down, gently but firmly. He was hard again; Willow felt him against her thighs, moving up between them, toward her crotch. Willow fussed with her hair, and moved her arms around in front of her. She kept her legs shut tight.

He kissed her. He was a good kisser…his lips always felt warm, his tongue always felt soft.

But she knew he didn't care about her. She was just another lay to him.

"Come on, Faith," Ronnie whispered, as he kissed her. "It'll be cool."

Willow knew no one would ever care about her. So what did it matter? Why wait?

There was no one to wait for…

Might as well get it over with, Willow thought.

She let him inside.

It was winter in Boston and it was cold as hell on the street but Willow was warm now and she was thankful for that. A couple of girls she'd met at a club the night before had told her about this party and she'd been waiting all day for it; her money had run out again and she couldn't afford to get off the streets anywhere. She loitered around all the stores and the fast food joints as much as she could that day but they always shooed her out eventually because she couldn't afford to buy anything. But she'd survived and made it to the party and she was indoors now, and feeling warm, and her stomach was full; it was a nice feeling she didn't get to experience very often. There was about a hundred pounds of buffalo wings and french fries and Willow had loaded up. There was also a lot of alcohol; she'd never had anything but beer before, but these college guys had lots of the hard stuff around and people kept pouring her drinks. She was tipsy.

The guys at the party were all college guys; the girls were a mix between high school and college. They were in an apartment way down Commonwealth Avenue in Allston. The apartment was big; apparently three guys had pooled their money together to rent it. Willow thought the apartment itself looked pretty swank, but the furniture was cheap; worn old stuff that looked like they'd picked it up at garage sales, thrown haphazardly together with no concern for how it matched. Posters covered the walls, art prints and bikini babes and ball players. The whole house was packed and the music was deafening and there were drunk college guys everywhere Willow looked. She sat squished on the couch in the living room between two couples who were going at it pretty hard; Willow thought they really needed to find a room. She was thankful the lights were turned down low, so she didn't have to get the whole show.

Willow had never been to Allston before, and she'd never been to a college party before either. But it was bitter cold outside that night, with a hard wind that made it worse: the kind of cold that could kill you if you stayed out overnight in it. Her hands had been numb all day in her threadbare blue mittens. She needed to get off the street.

She was worried about her clothes; she was able to grab quick showers sneaking into the YWCA and she kept her clothes clean by washing them in the shower there as best she could, so at least she didn't smell homeless. But she was down to two outfits now and neither of them were exactly fabulous; more to the point they weren't winter outfits and she looked different than all the other girls at the party. She was wearing a tee-shirt and a ratty pair of jeans and her old leather coat and her Doc Martins and she'd gotten a few curious looks. She looked poor.

"So it's Faith, right? How do you like the party?" one of the college guys shouted over the music. He was a good-looking guy, Irish-looking with broad shoulders and a great smile. Willow recognized him; he had met her at the door. He was the one running the party.

"Hey Scott, yup, that's me," Willow shouted back. She was good with names; you had to be, when you depended on people for handouts. You had to be polite, had to keep them liking you. "And hey, I'm lovin' this party. Good tunes, good folks…" Willow glanced at the couple to her left. "Uh…frisky folks…" Willow said. Scott laughed.

"For Christ's sake, Alex, will you two get a room?" Scott said to one of the guys on the couch, a short, barrel-chested Latino guy who was feeling up a skinny girl with dyed blonde hair and a nose ring. Alex laughed, grabbed his beer from the coffee table, took the girl's hand and vacated the couch.

"And as for you dude," Scott said to the other guy on the couch, a tall kid with a big nose and a goatee, "Don't know your name and hey, glad you're having fun but, my house, hottie on the couch waiting for me and I'm pulling rank."

"Dude, like, what?" the tall guy said. His girl, a short, busty redhead who was bursting out of her blouse and leather pants in about three different directions, was far too wasted to notice anything around her and she started actually unbuttoning the guy's jeans. Or trying to; she was aiming for the buttons but she kept on missing.

"Dude, Jesus, control that girl!" Scott said, laughing. "Go do that somewhere else. I don't wanna see your damn johnson. Go have another beer, find a room. Enjoy the hospitality."

Willow laughed. She didn't want to see the guy's johnson either.

"Whatever," the guy said, as he scooped the girl up and wrestled her out of there. "I was just gettin' comfortable man. Damn."

"The hottie justifies the means," Scott said. Willow laughed again.

"Whatever," the guy said again, shaking his head now as he and his girl began stumbling away.

"All's fair in love and hotties," Scott shouted to their backs, and sat down next to Willow on the couch.

"Am I the hottie?" Willow said.

"Absolutely," Scott said.

He had a bottle with him and he refilled Willow's glass and poured himself one too. Willow didn't know what exactly was in it. It tasted pretty good but it had a hell of a kick. Scott smiled at her, and raised his glass. He had a nice smile and nice blue eyes. He was cute.

They clinked glasses, and he put his arm around her. She allowed it; he was cute and it was cold outside.

"Enjoying the party, huh? So does that make you a party girl, Faith?" Scott said into her ear, and chuckled.

"Guess maybe you could look at it that way," Willow said, and flashed her noncommittal smile. When a guy went a little far or got a little obnoxious Willow tried not to shut him down too quick; sometimes they recovered and got their act together, and getting all uptight wasn't exactly going to help her get free meals. If you wanted to stay on people's good sides you had to cut them some slack. She had a hell of a smile and she could dish it out in different flavors; right now it was noncommittal because she was hoping he'd be nice to her and she didn't want to act all offended, but she didn't want him to think she was a slut either…

He kissed her.

It was cold outside, and he was cute anyway, so she allowed it…

She stayed on the couch with Scott, kissing him most of the night. He was a little forward with his hands but Willow had been able to keep things under control. She was a quick thinker and she'd been able to find ways to keep him in line without completely shutting him down. She let Scott touch her, she figured she had to, but over her bra, and that and the kissing seemed to satisfy him. She was keeping things under control but the booze had muddled her thoughts a little; Willow felt like she was in a fog and it took her an extra couple of seconds to think of things and to say things and she had to be careful. Scott kept refilling her glass and Scott's friends brought her drinks too whenever they passed by the couch. They were all trying their damnedest to get her drunk but Willow had gone slow with the drinks; she had nothing against being drunk in principle but she sure didn't want to do it in a room full of horny guys. So she'd gone slow with the drinks and tried to keep it together while at the same time not coming off like a tight-ass; she needed them to like her. She made sure she laughed at everyone's jokes and she kept her smile at full power all night. It was cold outside.

But then all of a sudden Scott was gone. She thought she'd just looked away for a second…but everyone was suddenly gone now. She was alone on the couch in the dark. She realized she must have been a lot more tipsy than she thought to just blank out like that. She looked around. People were leaving; a couple of guys started turning on the lights. The lights seemed very bright. Someone shut the music off. Willow could hear people again now. The room seemed smaller, and strangely more intimate; people talked in hushed tones, now that the music was gone.

"Hey, party girl," Scott suddenly said. Willow looked around again. He was standing behind her.

"Uh…hey Scott," Willow said. "What's up? Where's everybody goin'?"

"It's like three-thirty, hon," Scott said. "Time to scoot."

"Oh. Uh…really?" Willow said.

She thought fast. Three-thirty in the morning meant it would be the coldest it was going to get and there wouldn't be any places open to get off the street. Even if she decided to take a chance and risk a shelter, it would be too late; the shelters stopped taking people after midnight…

She ran over her checklist. Willow had a checklist of places she could go when she absolutely had to be inside. But they would all be closed now. There were a couple of twenty-four hour variety stores around but the closest was at least a forty minute walk away and besides, it was a small place and at this time of night she wouldn't be able to hang around in there more than maybe fifteen minutes or so before they got wise and kicked her out.

There was nowhere to go…

"You got a ride? Want me to call you a cab, hon?" Scott said.

Willow had been planning on finding a way to crash there for the night but all the booze they'd fed her had knocked the plan out of her mind and she had forgotten to lay the groundwork for it.

She knew what she had to do.

Willow wanted to cry. She wanted to go home. But she didn't have a home anymore…

Willow made herself smile.

"Thought I was your party girl?" Willow said.

"Well damn girl, I was hopin' so," Scott said, and sat next to her, and put his arm around her again. He was low-key about it though, because the lights were up and the room was emptying out and it was quiet enough in there for people to hear what they were saying. "But you were kinda playing hard to get."

"If at first you don't succeed…" Willow murmured, and kissed him.

He took her hand, and led her to one of the bedrooms, and shut the door. It was like the living room and the kitchen. Spacious and nice with a hardwood floor, but junk furniture. There were posters covering the walls, a couple of bikini babes and Joe Pesci from Goodfellas.

"We're havin' a sleepover, huh?" Willow said, and threw Scott her sexiest smile. "But damn Scott, I forgot my nightgown. Might have to go commando." She needed to hint at all of it, make him think it was all there for the taking. She needed to close the deal now; she needed a place to stay tonight and she didn't want to have to haggle later. She didn't want to go all the way – it was a line Willow had drawn when she first started living on the street – but she knew if Scott thought she would he'd let her stay. Then she could find a way to ease up on the throttle later…

Scott laid down on the bed.

Willow took off her tee-shirt, and her bra, and laid down next to him…

"You're a pretty girl, Faith," Scott said.

"Thanks," Willow said.

It turned out Scott was a decent enough guy. He didn't try to force anything. They kissed, and they got naked; Willow knew she had to give him that much at least. He touched her breasts. He didn't touch her between her legs.

After awhile, when he started to get a little too eager, she gave him a blowjob, to calm him down. She hoped it would make him fall asleep; it was late and he already had a lot of alcohol in him.

He made a big deal about how once he recharged his batteries he'd be right back in the action and they laughed, and Willow said it was okay, they were both tired anyway. And they kissed some more, and talked for awhile, where are you from, how's college, what are you majoring in, the usual stuff, and then he finally fell asleep.

And then Willow turned over, away from him, and pulled the covers over herself, and cried…

The next morning, Scott woke Willow up.

For a second she had no idea where she was, or who he was. She pulled away from him.

"Hey," he said. "It's me, Faith. Scott, remember?"

"Uh…yeah," Willow said. The previous night was coming back to her now. She felt like her head was full of wadded-up cotton. It was hard to think. She looked around. The sun was shining into the room; it was bright. Too bright. Willow squinted. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall across from the bed. She was naked. She looked haggard…used up.

She covered herself.

"You okay?" Scott said. He was getting dressed, putting on a pair of jeans. "Last night was fun."

"Yeah…yeah," Willow said. "Good party. Uh…what time is it?" She looked around for her clothes. She couldn't see them anywhere.

"Almost noon," Scott said. "Look, I don't want this to get weird but, uh, I gotta take off. So…y'know…"

"Yeah," Willow said. He wanted her to leave. He was done with her. "You, uh, know where my stuff is?"

Scott looked around, then came up with her clothes. He tossed them onto the bed.

"Yeah, so, next time we throw a party, hey, you're definitely on the invite list, y'know?" he said.

"Yeah," Willow said. "Thanks." She put her underwear on as quickly as she could. It felt strange, being naked with him now. She put her clothes on under the covers.

She felt queasy. She had a headache. She assumed this was a hangover. She'd never had one before; she'd only had beer before.

"You got like aspirin or something?" Willow said. "Kinda hung over."

Scott was dressed. He was checking his watch.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Bathroom down the hall. I really gotta go, okay?"

"Yeah," Willow said, and looked down at the floor, and finished getting dressed.

She got up, got her coat on. She looked at him.

"Dude, we gotta go!" someone shouted from somewhere outside the room. "Toss that 'ho a quarter for the bus and let's go!"

Willow froze; her face went crimson. Laughter echoed down the hall. Another voice said, "Dude, harsh." Scott sighed.

"They're clowns, Faith, don't mind them," Scott said. "Anyway…I uh, had a good time last night."

"Yeah," Willow said. She couldn't look at him. She looked down at the floor. "Thanks."

Scott checked his watch again.

"'Bye," Willow said, and hustled herself out of the room.

She looked straight ahead as she walked down the hall toward the bathroom. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a couple of guys sitting in the living room playing a videogame. One of them looked back at her. He was a big, built guy with a receding hairline and glasses and he wore a Northeastern sweatshirt. Their eyes met, before Willow could look away. She knew she was still blushing.

"What's up," the guy said. Willow nodded quickly and looked away, and he went back to his videogame.

She found the bathroom, closed the door, leaned on the sink, and just let herself breathe for a minute.

She found aspirin in the medicine cabinet and took three with some water.

She splashed the water on her face, and rinsed her mouth out with it.

She could still taste Scott, on her breath. She could taste his dick.

She rinsed her mouth out again.

She looked up, and saw herself in the mirror. Willow had a strange feeling, when she looked at herself…it was like looking at someone else. Her long brown hair was matted down and her big brown eyes had dark circles underneath them. Her face was pale and thin. She'd been losing weight the past year; it was hard to find enough food. Her cheekbones stuck out now.

She wondered where she'd be in another year…she wondered where she'd be the year after that.

She wondered how many blowjobs it would take to keep her alive, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year…

"Guess I'm a whore after all, Mom," Willow said, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

She spit at the mirror, and walked out of the bathroom.

"See ya," the Northeastern guy said.

Willow nodded without looking at him, and walked out the door, back into the cold.

It was November fourteenth. Willow had been living on the street almost two years.

It had been cold all day long and the night had ended up freezing, with a hard east wind off the water that made it worse. But it was crystal clear too, a night that went on forever full of big, bright stars, the kind Boston only got at that time of year. The sky was full of diamonds that night, and the full moon was the crown jewel, the brightest, most beautiful of all. Looking up at that sky, Willow was able to forget how cold she was for awhile.

Today was her birthday. She was seventeen.

Living on the street was hard but Willow had settled into a routine after awhile, that kept her alive: she snuck into the YWCA and showered and washed her clothes, and kept her backpack and her extra clothes hidden behind a furnace in the basement there; being out on the street all day hiking around town was hard enough without the extra weight. She stole food where she could, and when the weather was warm she slept outside in this little grassy lot with some trees underneath a highway overpass that the drug addicts hadn't found yet. She was a pretty girl, with long, dark hair, big, brown eyes with movie star lashes, and a beautiful smile, and she'd made connections among the college kids in Brighton and Allston and Jamaica Plain, and she got invited to parties. The parties were important: she ate at the parties. She ate as much as she could, gorged herself, because finding food was always hard work. But Willow knew she was fighting a losing battle: she'd been steadily losing weight since she started living on the street. She was 5'5" and she was down to ninety-four pounds now according to the scale in the free clinic; she snuck in there and weighed herself every few days and stole crackers from the nurses' break room. She'd lost two cup sizes since she'd run away from home. She could see every one of her ribs now, and her cheekbones stuck out and her eyes were beginning to bug out a little too. When Willow saw herself in the mirror, it scared her sometimes.

She wondered how much longer people would think she was pretty.

Her life was finding food: all day, every day, she walked, looking for opportunities to fill her belly. She always made sure to stay in the areas where the college kids lived. Willow knew the more she walked the more weight she lost but it couldn't be helped: she needed to meet people, make connections. She networked. She went into college cafeterias and arcades and bars and pizza places, to get out of the cold, or just to have something to do, and she smiled at every cute guy she saw and got phone numbers and learned people's names and went on dates and went to parties. She was bored, all the time, but she was hungry all the time too, and that kept her mind occupied. Every day was about finding ways to feed herself.

Some days, when she'd managed to steal some food or wrangle an invite to a party or bag a cute guy who took her out for dinner and let her stay at his place, Willow's life felt like an adventure: she was living by her wits, facing down the world, dealing with everything life threw at her by coming up with strategies and thinking on her feet. But mostly, her life didn't feel like that; mostly she was bored, and hungry, and tired. Tired of walking, with no place to go. Tired of having no one to talk to; the guys she dated didn't really talk to her, and she didn't really talk to them. They tried to get into her pants and the talk was just part of the ritual. She hadn't had an actual conversation with someone who wasn't talking to her just to fuck her in years.

She'd had a few boyfriends, guys she'd hooked up with who wanted to put the extra effort into getting into her pants instead of just settling for the first night handjob, or, when it was really cold out and she absolutely needed to be able to stay with them to keep from freezing outside, the first night blowjob. She gave them all what they were looking for eventually; once she lost it to Ronnie it just got easier. But she only gave them all of it when they were her boyfriends: going all the way with a one-night guy was a line Willow wouldn't cross. She always made the boyfriends wait awhile.

In the end, the boyfriends never lasted long. In the end none of them ever cared about her. They never talked to her beyond the small talk guys always threw out there when they were trying to get into her pants. They let her stay with them, and she slept in the same bed with them, and kissed them and jerked them off and gave them blowjobs, and she tried to get to know them but they never seemed interested in talking much to her. Eventually she stopped bothering.

She always kissed and touched them, but they never really kissed and touched her, not between her legs. None of them ever did that for her, and eventually Willow decided she must be ugly down there. The one-night stand guys she hooked up with were only interested in the handjobs and the blowjobs and the boyfriends were only interested in fucking her. No one ever touched her, between her legs. No one was ever tender with her. Willow never felt warm, even in the guys' houses with the heat on. She always felt cold.

She wondered, sometimes, how long she would survive this life…or if she even wanted to. If she kept losing weight at the rate she had been, she didn't think she'd be around much longer anyway.

She wondered what was in the cards…

The garbage smelled like old coffee grounds and rotten meat and bananas. The ground was slimy with it. Willow's head felt like someone had twisted it off. Everything was spinning a little.

She looked out at the street, tried to get her eyes to focus, tried to catch the carousel as it came around again. The monsters were there. Laughing at her now.

She knew they were going to kill her.

Her life, such as it was, came into her thoughts. It didn't flash in front of her eyes like some great revelation. It just…occurred to her. She could think about it, in these last moments, or not. The memories were all there, waiting for her. She could take them or leave them. Mostly, she left them. She hadn't much liked them the first time around.

But she wondered how she had ended up in the alley…wondered how all the memories had led here, to this place, to this last moment of her life.

The four college guys had seemed okay at first…had seemed like just another party, just another opportunity to get off the street and be warm for awhile, and maybe get something to eat. But then they had changed…turned into monsters somehow…

"Heard you give great head, honey," one of them said, his voice echoing down the cold, deserted street. They all laughed even harder. "Heard you're a world class skank. World class."

Willow looked up at the stars. Her vision was clearing a little; things weren't spinning as much as before. She could see her breath in the air, white on black, each breath floating up into the sky, making its mark on the world, and then slowly fading away to nothing in the cold, until only the black remained.

She thought about trying to run again. But she wasn't even sure she could stand and there wasn't any real point in trying; she knew she couldn't outrun them. They were fast, inhumanly fast, faster than anyone she'd ever seen. One of them had hit her harder than she'd ever been hit in her life. Another had tossed her all the way across the street into the alley like he was throwing a football. They were monsters…

Willow was used to the garbage smell now anyway.

And she knew what was in the cards, now…she knew her life would be over soon.

She sifted through her memories, trying to find the one wrong move, the one disastrous mistake, that had sent her world careening off its axis; that had, finally, made this her life…made this her death. But she couldn't find any one thing. It was a bunch of little things, and they had all just…caught up to her. And now here she was, in the alley, sitting in garbage…and she was going to die.

And then, she knew. She found the answer.

She knew how she'd ended up in that alley. She knew what had brought her to this pass, what had made this her life. She knew why she was going to die.

She was going to die because she deserved to.

She knew she was going to die because she lived on the street like a lowlife and gave blowjobs at parties like a whore and stole like a thief and no one had ever given a shit about her and at the end of the day, she was just another piece of garbage. Someone no one would ever miss, or even think twice about.

She had never gone back to her Mom's house. Willow pretended it was because she had too much pride. But she knew the real reason she had never gone back, no matter how cold it was outside, no matter how long it had been since she'd eaten, was that she didn't think her Mom would let her in.

Willow had been on the street two years. She'd run into cops before. She knew her Mom had never called them. Never even reported her missing.

She remembered a day at the beach, building sandcastles…it was a warm day. Her mother had told her she loved her. Willow knew it was a lie.

Willow shivered in the cold, and cried. Her tears, partially frozen, felt like little spider webs on her cheeks.

She saw life, saw her life, for what it was: a series of decisions. Willow knew she had made those decisions, that no one had made them for her. And those decisions in turn had made her what she was, made her life what it was. And she knew now that they were all the wrong decisions, and it was time for her to pay for them.

The four monsters strolled across the street toward Willow now, grinning. Willow looked back at them, and waited for them to come and kill her, and cried, and felt cold…

And then a silver Lexus barreled around the corner like a rocket and smashed into the monsters, running right over two of them and sending the other two flying through the air. Willow heard the car screech to a stop somewhere up the street. Then it backed up way too fast, and stopped right in front of the alley.

A woman stepped out of it.

She stood tall and straight, and she wore a classy, well-tailored gray business suit and expensive-looking shoes. She looked about thirty or so, with fine, pale skin, and her hair was done in a stylish blonde pageboy. She was pretty. She could have been an angel, standing there in the dark.

Willow wondered if she was dreaming…

The woman ran to Willow, and knelt beside her.

"Faith," she said. "Thank God. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Willow shrank away from her.

"My name is Rebecca Greer," the woman said. "I know we've never met. But I want to help you, Faith. I've been looking for you."

"Why would…anyone wanna look for me?" Willow said.

"Because you're special," Rebecca said.

"Your shoes are getting all dirty," Willow said.

"That's okay," Rebecca said, and smiled. "Listen. You have to come with me now, I need to get you away from those boys before they try to hurt you again. Will you let me take you out of here?"

"You…you ran them over." Willow looked out at the street. Two of them were lying there. She couldn't see the other two.

"They're not dead. I don't have time to explain it all right now, but they're still alive, and they can wake up any second. We have to leave."

"Were those guys…were they…monsters?"

"Yes. But I won't let them hurt you anymore."

Rebecca had an English accent, and the most beautiful eyes: deep, dark blue, like the ocean on a summer day. And there were tiny crow's feet at the corners of Rebecca's eyes, that told Willow Rebecca was older than she looked. But they didn't detract from her appearance; Willow thought they made her look even prettier.

Willow knew Rebecca didn't belong in that alley. She knew Rebecca didn't belong with someone like her.

"I don't want it to be like this anymore," Willow said, looking down at the ground, at the garbage all around her, and crying. "I don't want this to be my life. I don't wanna…be the girl who gives blowjobs at parties and…steals and…always feel cold all the time and…and be garbage. I don't wanna be garbage anymore."

Rebecca's stern blue eyes softened, then. She took Willow's hand.

"You're not garbage," Rebecca said. "You're not."

"So, uh…now what?" Willow said.

Rebecca had saved her from the four monsters, and then they had gone out to eat and Rebecca had told her about potential Slayers and vampires and some girl named Buffy and a bunch of other craziness, and after that they had driven out to Chelsea; it was a squalid, slum-infested city bordering Boston that Willow had never been to before. When Willow had asked why they were way out there Rebecca had said, "Because you don't believe me." She was right. Willow didn't know what was up with those four guys exactly, why their faces were all deformed, how they got right back up when Rebecca ran them over, but they couldn't be vampires…

So Rebecca drove Willow out to Chelsea and showed her a vampire. It had come right up to the car the moment they parked, and gotten a hell of a lot more than it bargained for; Rebecca knocked it unconscious with all those crazy fighting moves she somehow knew how to do, and handcuffed it, and held it down, and they knelt beside it on the dirty sidewalk, with the full moon looking down at them, as Rebecca showed Willow the vampire's long canine teeth, and its deformed face. Willow watched Rebecca burn its forehead with a cross. She watched Rebecca pour a few drops of holy water on herself, and then on the vampire's face; it had no effect on Rebecca but it reacted with the vampire's skin like acid.

Then Rebecca pulled a wooden stake from her coat, and stabbed the vampire through the heart…and it collapsed into dust.

Rebecca told Willow she was a potential Slayer. She told Willow that someday one of the potentials – maybe her – would become the next Slayer. It was just a matter of time.

And Willow knew her life would never be the same. There was a line going through it now; everything up to this night was on one side of the line, and everything after it would be on the other…

You're special, Faith, Rebecca had said. But not just because you're a potential Slayer. You're special, because you're a very brave, and good, young woman. I know why you ran away. It's time to stop running now.

Now they were in the Lexus again, driving back into Boston.

"Now your training begins," Rebecca said. "But you need some things first, Faith, starting with a place to live." Rebecca looked at her. "I know you've been living on the street. That won't do. I'd like you to live with me. All right?"

"With you?" Willow said.

"I own a house downtown," Rebecca said. "I've set up a room for you."

"Uh…wait, thought you were like, British?" Willow said.

"I am. But I came to this country looking for you. I came out here to find you and train you. And I knew you needed a place to live, so I bought a house."

Willow looked at her, dumbstruck. "Hold up. You knew I needed a place to live, so you bought a house?"

Rebecca smiled. "Yes," she said. "I believe in the hands-on approach to problem-solving."

"Kinda need George Clooney too. Can you buy George Clooney?"

Rebecca laughed. It was a high, lilting laugh; it made Rebecca sound like a girl. Willow liked it.

"Unfortunately he's not for sale," Rebecca said. "Mel Gibson isn't for sale either. Believe me, I've made inquiries."

Rebecca turned onto the highway, and Boston's familiar skyline came into view; Willow saw the Prudential Building, dwarfing everything else, looming ahead in the darkness like a beacon, moving steadily closer.

"Damn," Willow said, and giggled. "So like, you seriously bought a house? A house."

Rebecca turned and looked at her again. Her eyes looked enormous, in the darkness of the car; they were oceans of blue. "Faith, I don't want you living on the street," she said. "I want you with me, so I'll always know you're warm and you're safe, and you have enough to eat, and no one can ever hurt you or take advantage of you again. I don't want you out there alone anymore. All right?"

"Okay," Willow said.

Willow didn't know why exactly Rebecca liked her, what she wanted from her. Rebecca always told Willow that she enjoyed her company, that she was a smart girl with a lot going for her, but Willow knew Rebecca was just being nice. Rebecca was smart and cultured and classy, and Willow was dumb. All anyone had ever wanted from Willow before was sex, Willow knew it was all she was good for. And if Rebecca had wanted that, Willow would have done it for her; she liked Rebecca, more than she had ever liked anybody else in her life, and she didn't want to ever have to leave her, and even though Willow had never been with a girl, there had been girls who had shown an interest in her before, and if that's what it took for Rebecca to keep caring about her, to keep smiling at her and looking at her like she was proud of her, Willow would have done it. She thought Rebecca was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen anyway.

But Rebecca didn't want that from her; Willow had never broached the topic but it was obvious from the way Rebecca acted around her that she didn't see Willow that way, that the thought would have horrified her. Willow was relieved. She would have done it if she had to; she would have done it with a smile on her face every day and she never would have complained about it even once, but she didn't want to. Not with Rebecca…

Still, if Rebecca didn't want sex from her, Willow couldn't think of anything else she could give. She wracked her brain for hours sometimes, but she never could figure why Rebecca liked her…why she smiled at her, why she called her smart when Willow knew she was dumb…

Eventually, Willow had decided to just play it safe, and do exactly what Rebecca told her to do all the time; she would be perfect for Rebecca. She'd never make a single mistake, never complain, never let Rebecca down, not even once.

That's what Willow was trying her best to stick to, as she lay on the weight bench doing bench presses in the gym Rebecca had set up on the third floor of the house. It was a big room with one of the bow windows that let in lots of light and Rebecca had stocked it with every conceivable weapon or piece of exercise equipment Willow would ever need. There was a sparring ring, a speed bag and a heavy bag, a full set of free weights and an Olympic bench with attachments for exercising your legs. The walls were covered with weapons: swords, staffs, axes, bows, knives, throwing stars, nunchakus. Practice dummies and targets were set up next to them.

It was January; it was a cold, gray, miserable day outside and the gym's big bow window wasn't getting much light. Willow had been with Rebecca a little more than two months now, and she was back up to a good, healthy weight. Her cheekbones didn't stick out anymore and she couldn't see her ribs, and she'd noticed with a mixture of pride and relief that her boobs had made a comeback too; scrounging around for food for almost two years had taken a big toll in that area. And her body was changing in other ways; she was starting to look toned. She noticed muscles peeking out at her now that she'd never seen before. Rebecca told her she'd done really well with the weightlifting but Willow wanted to make sure she was perfect, every day, every exercise, every set, every rep, all the time…she had to be perfect in everything.

Willow's arms were shaking and they felt like rubber. It was their chest and triceps day and she was on her last set of incline bench presses and they'd gone up on the weight this week. Rebecca was spotting her, but Willow felt like she had no energy left. With Rebecca's help she just barely got the last rep up, her teeth clenched, her arms straining, her hands shaking, her chest burning, sweat streaming down her face. She noticed Rebecca, entering her field of vision as she raised the barbell; Rebecca wasn't sweating. Rebecca didn't have a blonde hair out of place. Her big bicep muscles flexed and relaxed, handling the weight easily. Rebecca had to do most of the work for this rep, but Willow knew Rebecca could bench this much in her sleep. She could curl it with one hand.

"Excellent, Faith," Rebecca said, and smiled down at her. "All right, we're done for the day." Rebecca started to set the barbell back on the rack, but Willow shook her head, and lowered it back down to her chest. She nearly dropped it; she felt like she had no strength left in her and she could barely control the weight. Rebecca had to catch the weight before it collapsed on Willow's chest.

"One…more," Willow said, trying to catch her breath. She started pushing at the weight, trying to coax it up, but it wouldn't budge; Rebecca was holding the weight up and without Rebecca it would have been balanced squarely on Willow's chest.

"What are you doing?" Rebecca said.

"Can…do this, Becca," Willow said, her face beet-red and her voice coming out in a labored grunt, as she pushed with all her might at the bar, arching her back now; it was like pushing a boulder uphill.

Rebecca lifted the weight up out of her hands and set it back onto the rack with hardly an effort.

"Why'd…you do that?" Willow said, trying to catch her breath. "Wanted…to bang out another rep."

"Because you could've hurt yourself, Faith," Rebecca said. "Why did you do that? I told you that was our last rep."

Willow sat up. Her hands were still shaking. Her chest felt like someone had punched her there.

"I don't know," Willow said, looking down at the floor. "Just…thought I could do another one."

Rebecca came around the side of the bench, and knelt down in front of Willow. She took Willow's shaking hands in hers, and looked at her.

"I don't want you to do that again, Faith," Rebecca said. "You could hurt yourself. All right?"

Willow nodded. She wanted to cry. She'd screwed up. She had tried so hard to be perfect and now she'd screwed it all up…

She looked down at the floor.

Rebecca was looking at her. It was hard for Willow to look at Rebecca's eyes sometimes; it was like Rebecca knew things about her, like Rebecca's eyes penetrated straight down into her. Willow could never hide from them.

"Look at me, Faith," Rebecca said.

Willow looked at her.

"I specialize in training potential Slayers," Rebecca said. "I trained four other girls before you. I was very fond of all of them. They were all good girls and I spent a good deal of time, years, training each one of them. Of all the girls I've trained, you're my favorite."

"Yeah?" Willow said, and started to smile.

"Yes," Rebecca said. "Do you know why?"

Willow shook her head.

"You make me smile," Rebecca said. "I like spending time with you. I like when we rent movies together and have popcorn and Chinese food. I like when we take walks and go shopping and go to ball games together. I like you, Faith. You make me smile."

"Yeah?" Willow said, and smiled, a good one this time.

"Yeah," Rebecca said, and smiled back at her. "It has nothing to do with how hard you work at lifting weights or running or learning how to fight, it has nothing to do with how attentive you are when I'm making one of my horribly tedious speeches at you."

"They're not that horribly tedious," Willow said.

"Faith, you're working hard and I appreciate it, and I'm proud of you; you've come so far. If you ever become the Slayer you'll be one of the all-time great ones. I'm proud of you for all that, darling, but it's not why I like you. I like you because of who you are, not what you do."

Rebecca had never called her "darling" before. It made Willow feel warm.

Willow's hands weren't shaking anymore; they felt better now. She looked into Rebecca's eyes; into that deep, serene ocean of blue that was her constant source of strength.

"I don't want you to be perfect, Faith. I just want you to be you," Rebecca said.

Rebecca knew things about her. Willow wasn't sure how she knew, but she did…

Willow's hair was in her eyes, the long brown strands, limp with sweat, hanging down in front of her face. Rebecca fixed them, and smiled.

"Okay?" Rebecca said.

"Okay," Willow said.

"Now, what horrible movie is on tap for tonight?" Rebecca said, with a raised eyebrow.

"Well we've seen all the Mel Gibson and George Clooney movies so I'm thinkin' Eastwood," Willow said. She felt better now. She felt like giggling. She felt like dancing. "We haven't seen The Outlaw Josey Wales yet. Clint's all, this southern guy from the Civil War? And the northern guys like, burned his house and killed his family even after they won. So Clint joins a band of southern guys who fight like a guerilla war against the north and the north guys keeps chasing Clint all over the place. Cool gunfights. Lots of cool Clint lines."

"Be still my heart," Rebecca said, and smiled.

Things had been heating up with Evan.

It wasn't anything serious yet; he just put his arms around her sometimes now, no more than that. They hadn't even kissed, except a couple of times on the cheek. The stuff they had done after knowing each other seven months was nowhere near the stuff Willow had done in a single night with every random cute guy she'd met, back in the bad old days…back before Rebecca.

Evan never tried for anything more. They hung out together and he put his arms around her and held her when they were on the couch watching movies and eating pizza, but he never tried to touch her, or kiss her. He was gorgeous and she liked him and she wanted him to, but part of her didn't want him to. She'd never had a guy who was a friend before…never had a guy who liked her for her, who liked talking to her. They would hang out and watch movies and just make each other laugh, and it was special. Willow didn't want to risk losing that.

And she was the Slayer now: everything was different.

Summer had arrived and Boston was bright and warm and beautiful, and to Willow's Slayer senses, the air smelled fresh and sweet and Commonwealth Avenue smelled like a garden. Evan had taken her out; they never called it a date when they went out, but Willow thought it was. She knew Evan always got a little freaked out thinking about her as more than just a friend; she didn't know why, but whenever she threw him one of her sexy smiles or started flirting a little, just for fun, he got a little uncomfortable. So she never called it a date, when he took her out.

But she thought maybe it was…

He'd taken her to the movies and a really nice restaurant in the North End afterwards; Willow had money because Rebecca gave her a hundred dollars a week for an allowance, but Evan insisted on paying. Usually they split the check, did the friend thing. He paid this time.

Now they were back at Rebecca's house, on the couch in the living room, watching movies. Rebecca was out with Trevor.

They were lying together on the couch…her head was on his shoulder. His arms were around her. She liked the way he smelled…more than anything, his scent was what attracted her to him…was what made her want to let him inside…

Being the Slayer made everything different. She had been the Slayer for a little more than a month now, and she went out hunting with Rebecca most nights; she'd killed two vampires the night before. But it was Saturday, and Rebecca had taken pity on her and decided that she could have Saturday nights off. Rebecca would've given her Friday nights off too if Willow had asked; Willow had discovered pretty quickly that Rebecca could never say no to her when she really wanted something. But Willow didn't want another night off. She started getting restless, if she went a night without a good kill…

But being the Slayer was more than killing vampires, it was an awareness of the world: at night when she was hunting and she let her senses reach out, all the sounds and the smells came to her, and Willow knew the world for what it was…a jungle, a killing ground. There were predators and prey, and nothing else really mattered.

She was a predator.

The Slayer was part of her and she came out sometimes, took control. It was a strange feeling; Willow would still be there, but she felt like part of herself was stripped away…like she'd been pared down to what was essential and the rest was just baggage, dead weight. Colorless, mundane, unimportant things that could be discarded. When she was on a hunt, when the Slayer was in control, Willow wished she could just get rid of everything else…everything that wasn't the Slayer just didn't seem to matter.

Evan didn't seem to matter, when Willow was the Slayer. She never really thought about him when she was on a hunt.

But Rebecca always mattered…Rebecca was always on her mind, whether Willow was hunting or not. When the Slayer was in control, Willow thought about Rebecca; when the Slayer wasn't in control, Willow thought about Rebecca. She didn't like being away from Rebecca's scent. She was glad Rebecca always came with her on her hunts. If Rebecca didn't come along, Willow would have taken something of hers with her, because the Slayer always wanted Rebecca's scent close. But Rebecca always came along. Willow was good at reading people; two years on the street did that for you. And the Slayer gave Willow insight into people, too: their scents, their facial expressions, their eyes, their tone of voice, they all told a story, if you knew how to read it. The Slayer knew how. And Rebecca's scent, her expression and her eyes and her tone of voice when she talked to her all told Willow that Rebecca worried about her; that Rebecca didn't want to let her out of her sight on a hunt.

Rebecca had told Willow she was a lion, the night she killed her first vampire. Willow had done some research on lions since then. Lions hunted in prides. Willow had decided she and Rebecca were a pride.

Even when Willow wasn't on a hunt, when the Slayer wasn't in control, the world was still a killing ground, still a place where she judged people by their scent first, before anything else. Being away from Rebecca's scent for too long made Willow nervous, for some reason…she would always feel a little nervous, until Rebecca got home. She felt a little nervous now.

When Willow was the Slayer, sometimes she thought about fucking Evan, when the hunt was over, and she had killed. She got horny when the hunt was over; she wanted to fuck. But it seemed wrong, somehow; she didn't want Evan to penetrate her when she was the Slayer. When Willow was the Slayer she didn't want any man to ever penetrate her again. She did the penetrating instead. She had her stake, and she did the penetrating, every night…

"You've been different lately," Evan said.

"Yeah?" Willow said. She wondered what time it was. She wondered when Rebecca would be home.

"Yeah," Evan said. "You're all…I don't know. Can't put my finger on it. Kind of like…more closed off. Like you got stuff going on I don't know about."

"Wait, you mean I forgot to tell you about my three boyfriends?" Willow said. "They're sweethearts. I'm sure you'd really like them."

Willow liked having Evan's scent around her, having his arms around her. The Slayer was there inside her, but she wasn't in control now.

Willow wasn't sure why, but she didn't think she liked Evan, when she was the Slayer.

She'd had a dream about him, the night she killed her first vampire…and ever since the dream, she'd felt awkward around him.

In the dream they were in a nightclub…it looked like The Roxy. It was dark and there were a lot of people, but there was no music playing. The room smelled bad for some reason. Willow was holding something in her hand, in the dream. She'd looked down at it, and saw what looked like a playing card of some kind, except it was bigger than a regular card and it had an illustration on it that she had never seen before. It was a man with black hair, draped in black, standing by a riverbank at night, looking down at the ground. The man looked sad, for some reason; he was in profile and Willow couldn't really see his face but something in his bearing made him look sad. His shoulders were hunched, as he looked down at the ground…he looked like he'd lost someone he loved. There were five golden chalices around him; two were upright, but the other three had spilled on the ground…red liquid ran from them. Someone was with Willow, in the dream…a girl. Willow didn't get a good glimpse of her but the girl was lying on the floor of the club, apparently asleep. Willow was talking to Evan, and for some reason people were staring…and then Evan asked Willow about his coat…and Willow realized she was crying. Evan was drinking from a golden chalice, and he dropped it…red liquid spilled out…

And then the dream ended.

Willow had woken up from the dream with tears in her eyes, and had no idea why. Rebecca had told her that sometimes, Slayers had prophetic dreams…but she had no idea what the dream meant. She had no idea why she cried in the dream and woke up with tears in her eyes. Why would she be crying over Evan's coat? What was that strange card in her hand, and what did it mean? Why was Evan drinking from a golden chalice like the ones on the card? And who was the girl? Why had she fallen asleep on the floor in a nightclub?

Maybe Evan would get a girlfriend sometime, Willow thought. Maybe the girl was Evan's girlfriend, and that's why the dream made her cry. Or maybe the dream didn't mean anything at all. She resolved to forget about it.

She turned around and looked up into his big, brown eyes. They looked like hers. Evan was smiling…that sly smile he had, the one that made him look like a wolf.

"Three, huh?" Evan said. "Moe, Larry and Curly?"

"Matt, Brad and George," Willow said.

They laughed. They always laughed…

"So, seriously, magic? Like witches and stuff?" Willow said. "I mean, yeah, okay, if you say there's magic you know I believe you Becca but…it just sounds…I don't know, kinda far-fetched. Like, how does it work? You say it's like, spells and stuff, but…"

Willow was sitting in the dining room with Rebecca, on a steamy night in September, finishing up enough Chinese food to feed the whole block. Willow was the Slayer, and Slayers had a big appetite. And they'd just come back from a hunt; Willow had killed three vampires and she was hungry. And horny, but she didn't tell Rebecca that. Willow had gotten two cheeseburgers from a takeout place downtown to tide her over until they got back to the house. When they got back to the house they ordered Chinese. Rebecca had laughed. "My hungry Slayer," she had said.

They usually ate in the kitchen or the living room, until Willow pointed out one day that the house had the big awesome dining room with the chandelier and the nice big window and the candles on the antique table and the fancy plates in the cabinet, and they never used it for anything. Now they ate there all the time.

The air conditioner in the living room was a good one and it made the whole first floor of the house comfortably cool; Willow felt the currents of air, warm and cold, blending together around her, kissing her skin. The room smelled like old wood, and candles, and Rebecca, and Rebecca's perfume. They ate Chinese food by candlelight off porcelain plates with forks and knives made of sterling silver, and they drank wine – Rebecca didn't want Willow drinking until she was eighteen, but she let her have a glass of wine when they were eating together – and Rebecca talked to her about magic. Their shadows flickered on the walls in the candlelight, and the house, the whole street, was silent. Willow felt like they were sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories. She kept expecting to hear an owl hooting, or leaves rustling. Instead, the whole world was silent…that night, the whole world felt like magic.

Now that Willow was the Slayer, Rebecca had told her there were things she needed to know. Rebecca had told her stories about vampires and demons and Slayers before, and she had told her a lot of stories about Buffy Summers, because Buffy was the Slayer, but also because Willow kept asking about her…Willow loved hearing about Buffy. But now Rebecca was getting into specifics and Willow knew she had to pay attention: this was her education, this was her job, and tonight she had to learn about magic. It was all just a bunch of cool stories before; now it was life and death. For some reason, although Willow had been able to accept the existence of vampires she hadn't really been able to get on board with magic. She knew her attitude made no sense; she was the Slayer, she was living proof magic existed. But she still couldn't wrap her head around it…she kept thinking of Samantha on Bewitched, twitching her nose.

Rebecca smiled. "Wait here. I have something that I think might help you to understand," she said, and got up and walked out of the room.

Willow sat alone in the dining room, with the candle smells and the smell of old wood, and Rebecca's perfume, still lingering, and watched her shadow flickering on the wall in the candlelight. It was late; it was past one in the morning and the night was quiet. She looked at one of the candles, letting her eye be drawn in…she watched her shadow on the wall.

The shadow danced. The shadow moved, seemingly of her own accord; her movements were sensuous, hypnotic. Willow sat perfectly still, but the flickering candle imbued her shadow-self with life…the shadow danced, and stared back at her.

The Slayer, Willow thought. You're the Slayer.

The shadow was growing larger…

Rebecca's scent came to Willow. Rebecca came back into the room a moment later. She seemed to be carrying a deck of cards. Willow looked away from the shadow, and it seemed to recede.

"Clear us some space, Faith," Rebecca said, and smiled. "And I'll show you some magic."

Rebecca sat next to her this time, and Willow started clearing the plates away, leaving a good space in front of them.

"Are those cards? Willow said. "We playing magic poker?" The cards looked bigger than regular playing cards, and Willow could only see the backs, but the criss-cross pattern on the backs looked like it did on playing cards and she didn't know what else they could be.

"These are tarot cards," Rebecca said, and turned the cards face up, and spread them across the table in a rainbow, with the smooth, practiced motion of someone who had dealt a lot of cards in her life. Willow had been with Rebecca ten months and Rebecca seemed to be good at every single thing that had ever come up; it didn't surprise Willow that she'd turn out to be great at dealing cards too. She just expected Rebecca to be an expert at everything now.

They were strange cards. They weren't just bigger, there seemed to be more of them. And they all had pictures on them, and none of the pictures were like the pictures on a regular card deck.

Something nagged at Willow's mind…but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Willow pulled a card at random from the deck, and looked at it. She hadn't been able to see the whole illustration on the card; only about a third of it. All she had seen was what looked like a part of a throne, and the word "Cups" in fancy calligraphy at the bottom.

"Queen of Cups," Willow read. She looked up at Rebecca. "Cups?"

"That would be hearts in a standard playing card deck," Rebecca said. "She's the queen of hearts."

Willow looked at the card in the candlelight. The card seemed very old, but it was well-preserved. Rebecca's scent was strong on the card; Willow knew she must have handled the cards often. The illustration depicted a beautiful woman with blonde hair in a braid, sitting on a carved wooden throne decorated with cherubs. The throne was on the shoreline, and the water was lapping at the woman's feet. She wore a golden crown, and a white robe, and a white and blue cloak with a red brooch. The cloak's design reminded Willow of the sea; the blue looked like ocean waves. The woman was in profile, looking at an ornate golden chalice she held in her hands; she seemed deep in thought. Willow thought she looked worried…like that chalice in her hands held the fate of the world.

"She's beautiful," Willow said. "So these are related to normal playing cards somehow? Are there like, kings and aces and stuff too? And what's up with all the pictures?"

"You can think of these as an older version of playing cards," Rebecca said. "Playing cards were invented in China in the ninth century, and like modern decks there were four suits, though they didn't have hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs like we do today. The cards were used for gambling and they evolved over the centuries; by the late fourteenth century they arrived in Europe, brought over by Egyptian soldiers, and they were very close to the modern fifty-two card deck we have today, but with no jokers. There were four suits called cups, wands, swords and coins; the modern deck changed these to hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs and added jokers."

"How come this deck has all the extra ones?" Willow said. "And how come it has all the old-school suits?"

"Because it's a tarot deck," Rebecca said. "Tarot decks were first created in Italy in the early fifteenth century, and all the decks were hand-made and hand-painted then, because there were no printing presses yet. They were created for the ruling class in Italian society, and used for gambling and games, but the tarot decks had two important differences from the decks seen up until then; first, they added another court card; other decks had a king, queen and a knight of each suit, but tarot decks added a page."

"A page?"

"A knight's attendant. In modern playing cards the jack is a combination of the knight and the page. The other important difference was that they added twenty-one trump cards, and the Fool card."

"The Fool. That like a joker?" Willow said. She looked at the cards on the table. She saw the Fool, and pulled it from the pile. "And what's a trump card?"

"A trump card is a card that automatically beats another card in a card game. 'Trump' is derived from the word 'triumph'. In games like bridge and pinochle, a certain suit would be designated a trump suit and cards of that suit would automatically beat the same card of another suit. But in the tarot deck, twenty-one cards were created as permanent trump cards, along with the Fool, which the modern joker is based on."

Willow looked at the Fool. The illustration on the card depicted a handsome young man in profile, wearing an elegant black floral-patterned tunic, with leggings and yellow boots, carrying a bundle attached to a staff over his shoulder. He was walking along a cliff, and seemed to be heading right for the edge; a couple more steps and he would fall. But he wasn't watching where he was going; he was looking off into the distance as if he hadn't a care in the world. The sun was bright in the sky and there wasn't a single cloud. He held a white rose in his left hand, and there was a dog barking beside him; Willow thought the dog might be trying to warn him about the cliff. The number zero was printed at the top of the card, in the middle.

"How old are these?" Willow said. "They feel old." Willow liked the way the cards felt; she liked the texture of the paper. She liked Rebecca's scent on them.

"This is what's known as a Rider-Waite deck, named after the person who dictated its design and the company that published it," Rebecca said. "This style of deck was first created in 1909 and the illustrations were all done by a woman named Pamela Colman Smith. Arthur Waite, who directed the cards' designs, was an authority on the occult and though the pictures have a pleasingly simple style they're layered with symbolic meaning. The Rider-Waite deck is the most popular tarot deck in the world, certainly in English speaking countries. My deck is one of the original 1909 batch; it's quite the antique."

"These are real pretty cards," Willow said. "I really like all these drawings. Pamela could draw her butt off. So like, that mystic guy designed these because they're magic cards?"

"Tarot cards started out as playing cards; they weren't widely used for divination until the eighteenth century, when occultists began to see the potential in the illustrations," Rebecca said. "Divination can be done with all kinds of things; dice, bones, tea leaves, animal entrails, almost anything can be used to tell the future. The key isn't in the objects you're using; entrails aren't magic, dice aren't magic, these cards aren't magic. The key to divination is you. The cards, or whatever you're using, allow you to access the magic in yourself, to tell your future using the magic of your subconscious."

"Uh, hate to break it to ya Becca, but all that stuff you just said? Sounded sorta like a Tony Robbins commercial."

"Is that the horrid man on the infomercial who blathers on and on about 'Unleashing the Power Within' and all that self-actualization claptrap?"

"Yup."

"Good heavens," Rebecca said, and they both laughed. "Well I suppose I'd better put my money where my mouth is then, hadn't I?"

"Hey, it's cool Becca, I'd self-actualize for you anytime," Willow said.

"Excellent," Rebecca said. "So let's begin. Scoop up all the cards and give them a few good shuffles."

"Uh, okay," Willow said, and grabbed all the cards, and started shuffling. She'd been to a whole bunch of parties and had played a hell of a lot of strip poker with drunk college guys at two in the morning and she was great at shuffling. Her hands moved with practiced precision, and the cards shuffled smoothly.

"As you're shuffling, I want you to think of a question you'd like the answer to, about your future. And a serious question darling, not whether or not you're ever going to be able to marry George Clooney. It can be any question you want, but don't tell me the question. Just think about it, concentrate on it. Ask the question in your mind, as you shuffle the cards."

"You don't think marrying George Clooney is serious? Can it be Brad Pitt then?"

"Faith," Rebecca said, and smiled.

"Sorry, Becca," Willow said, and grinned. "I'll be good. Okay, concentratin' on a question."

"When you've shuffled the cards enough, give them back to me."

"Should I cut 'em?"

"If you like."

Willow shuffled the cards three times, cut them once, and handed them to Rebecca…and concentrated on her question.

"There are many tarot decks, and there are many ways of doing a tarot reading," Rebecca said. "The reading depends on a few different things: the cards themselves, the position they come up in, and of course the person being read and the person doing the reading."

"Position?" Willow said.

"When you shuffled those cards, you think you were moving them around randomly, but you weren't, Faith," Rebecca said. "Your conscious mind can't discern a pattern but that doesn't mean there isn't one. Your subconscious mind is much more powerful than your conscious mind and it sees patterns your conscious mind can't. All divination is simply a way of allowing your subconscious mind to answer your questions."

"Okay but…if it's just your subconscious how does it know the future?"

"Good question. There are theories that everything in your life has already happened; that time is just a way of looking at things. Some people believe there is a collective unconscious that all our minds can tap into, a sort of reservoir of all of human experience that any of us can access, while others believe in a spiritual force our subconscious minds can commune with that our conscious minds can't. Or, put another way, have you ever had déja vu?"

"Yeah."

"What did you think it was?"

"Coincidence?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Slayers have psychic dreams; it's a fact. I've seen the future predicted, accurately. But let's see what's in the cards, shall we?"

Rebecca turned over the first card, and set it down on the table.

The card was a picture of a man with black hair, draped in black, standing by a riverbank at night, looking down at the ground…

"Hold up," Willow said. "I've seen that card…I've seen it before."

"You've seen it?" Rebecca said, and looked at her. "I thought you hadn't seen tarot cards before?"

Willow was staring at the card, her eyes riveted on it, all the color suddenly drained from her face.

"Faith, are you all right?" Rebecca said. "Look at me."

Willow looked at her.

Willow's hand was shaking a little now. Rebecca took Willow's hand, and caressed her hair.

Rebecca looked into her eyes. Willow didn't look away…she could never hide from Rebecca.

"What's wrong, darling?" Rebecca said. "Tell me."

"I saw it…I saw it in a dream, Becca," Willow said.

"A dream? You saw this card in a dream?" Rebecca said, and tapped the card with her finger. "This exact card?"

"Yeah," Willow said. "The dream…it…freaked me out a little, Becca. I got…I got all…"

Willow was close to crying, and she didn't even know why. She didn't know why the dream had made her cry before. She was trying not to. She was trying to be strong. Willow always wanted to be strong for Rebecca…every second, all the time…

Rebecca was still looking at her; Willow could feel Rebecca's eyes like blue fingers now, gently probing her. Willow had seen quite a lot of those dark, deep blue eyes and she knew them, she could read them. They had tides, like the ocean…Willow knew Rebecca was worried now.

"Tell me the dream, Faith," Rebecca said, softly. "Tell me all of it, from start to finish, and don't leave anything out."

Willow always told Rebecca everything. She thought it was strange, now, that she hadn't mentioned the dream to her before. She didn't know why she had kept it from Rebecca…she never kept things from Rebecca.

"I was in The Roxy," Willow said. "Evan was there, and some girl I've never met too, I didn't really get a good look at her? But she was on the floor…she was sleeping on the floor right there in the club. I didn't know why. And…people were like, staring at us and there was no music playing, the whole place was quiet. The room smelled bad too…I don't know how it smelled exactly but I just remember I didn't like the way it smelled for some reason. And then I noticed I was holding something in my hand? And I looked down, and it was that card."

They looked at the card together.

"The five of cups," Rebecca said. "You're certain it was this card?"

"Yeah," Willow said. "That guy with like, the black cape or whatever, looking down at the water and looking all sad, plus the two gold cups standing up behind him and the three gold cups knocked over spilling red stuff out, yeah, it was this card."

"All right," Rebecca said. "Go on." Rebecca was still holding her hand, and stroking her hair. Willow's hand wasn't shaking anymore now.

"I was talking to Ev?" Willow said. "And like, the girl was asleep and people were staring…and then Ev asked me about his coat, and, and I don't know why but…I started to cry."

"His coat?"

"Yeah."

"Was he wearing a coat in the dream?"

Willow shook her head.

"And then…Ev was drinking from a golden cup that looked just like the ones on the card and then he dropped it," Willow said. "He dropped it and all this red stuff spilled out like on the card, and I woke up and I was like, I don't know, I was all freaked out. "

"That's everything?" Rebecca said. "That's everything you remember?"

"Yeah."

"Think back to the dream. Think about the girl asleep on the floor. Can you see her? Can you see what she looks like? Can you remember anything about her? Concentrate."

Willow thought about the dream, tried to picture it again in her mind. She remembered how the room smelled bad. She remembered the girl, but she realized the girl was merely the idea of a girl, the concept of a girl; Willow knew the girl was there in the dream but she couldn't see her…yet she still thought the girl was pretty, for some reason…

Then it hit her. The girl had a scent…a beautiful scent, like flowers…the room smelled bad but the girl smelled beautiful, like a flower Willow had smelled before; Rebecca had kept that kind of flower in the house at some point in the past, but Willow couldn't place it, couldn't remember its name…

Then, suddenly, Willow realized she did know the flower, she could remember its name. It was strange; it felt as if she suddenly had access to someone else's memories, to knowledge she'd never had before. She knew flowers; she knew all about flowers. She knew flowers backwards and forwards…

"Jasmine," Willow said. "I couldn't see the girl but she had a pretty smell…she smelled like jasmine."

"All right, let's stick with your nose," Rebecca said. "You're the Slayer; your nose is much stronger than any of your other senses. You said the room smelled bad. Bad how?"

Willow thought back to the dream, but instead of picturing it in her mind she tuned in to her nose. The dream seemed sharper in her mind, when she did that; when she concentrated on what she was smelling in the dream instead of what she was seeing, everything became more clear, and she even saw things in the dream better. Evan was wearing a black turtleneck shirt and some of the people staring at them were wearing sweaters; it must have been cold outside. She could still only see the girl out of the corner of her eye, but she was sure now that the girl had blonde hair. Willow filtered through the smells of perfume and cologne and alcohol and sweat that permeated the room; the girl's jasmine smell was still there too. It was an amazing scent; whoever the girl was, Willow knew she was beautiful…

She tried to filter the girl's scent out; it was distracting. For some reason she couldn't detect Evan's scent, even though he was standing nearby; she assumed he had just showered and that had covered it up. And the jasmine scent still seemed very strong…it made it hard to concentrate on other scents, on Evan's scent. But it wasn't that the jasmine scent was more powerful than any of the other people's scents, Willow realized; it just smelled so good…

But the room smelled bad. It smelled like…

Willow concentrated on her nose.

The room smelled like…

…Rotten meat.

"Vampires," Willow said. "The room smelled like vampires."

"Vampires," Rebecca said. "You're certain?"

"Yeah," Willow said, and looked at the card…the five of cups.

When she looked at the card now, she saw Evan there: the man with the dark hair, looking down at the ground, all his hopes destroyed, spilling out of the golden chalices and dwindling away to nothing, he looked like Evan now…

Willow knew Slayer dreams came true. She knew Evan was going to die. The room smelled like vampires…vampires would kill him…

Having the Slayer in his life would kill him…

If she stayed with Evan, she would kill him.

Willow felt herself shaking again. She felt her world, spinning off its axis…and floating away, back into the cold…

"Faith," Rebecca said. "Faith. Look at me."

Her face ghost-white, her hands shaking, Willow looked at Rebecca…

Rebecca hugged her, and held her to her bosom.

After a moment, Rebecca lifted Willow's chin, and looked at her again. Willow got lost sometimes, in those blue eyes; sometimes she just wanted to stay there forever, and never come back out…

"Faith," Rebecca said. "Slayer dreams do come true but they aren't set in stone. They aren't true visions of the future so much as they're warnings, hints. The things you see can be interpreted in many different ways, and they can also be changed. They aren't set in stone, darling. They aren't. All right?"

Willow nodded.

"Slayer dreams are powerful, but they aren't straightforward," Rebecca said. "They need careful interpretation and the obvious interpretation is often the wrong one. I know you care about Evan. I know dreaming about him in a room with vampires scares you. But that doesn't have to mean he's going to die, Faith."

"It doesn't?" Willow whispered.

"No," Rebecca said. "There's more to the dream than Evan in a room with vampires. There's the card, there's the chalice Evan drank from, there's the fact that he asked you about his coat. There's the girl on the floor who smells like jasmine. Even the fact that it took place at The Roxy could be meaningful. Those things are all just as important to the dream's meaning as the fact the room smelled like vampires to you and there are all kinds of things the dream could be trying to tell you, things you may not know for a long time, or that you may not ever know. You don't need to be afraid of this dream. You don't need to let it paralyze you. Just be aware of it, that's all. Let it guide you. That goes for all the Slayer dreams you have. And remember, not all your dreams will be Slayer dreams; you'll dream you're naked in public, and you'll dream you're taking a test you haven't studied for, and you'll dream you're flying and everything else just like a normal person does."

"I'll dream of Matt Damon sometimes," Willow said, and managed a smile.

"Yes, dear, and I'll dream of Mel Gibson and we'll both be very happy. But when you have a Slayer dream, it's special, and you can't let it paralyze you. If you do that you lose the advantage it gives you. You had that dream for a reason, Faith. The Slayer in you wants you to know something. But if you allow yourself to be ruled by fear of the dream then the wisdom the dream is trying to impart to you could be lost. Do you understand?"

Willow nodded again. "So what's the deal on the card?" she said, and put her finger on it.

"Every tarot card has a certain specific meaning, or rather a number of potential meanings. A tarot reading is essentially looking at all the cards that come up and piecing a story together from them. It's a subjective thing; there's an art to it and it takes a long time for a person to become a good tarot reader. The meaning of a card depends on the position it comes up in, as well as the card itself. And it also depends on what the person being read wants to know. Whatever card comes up in the first position in this spread represents you. It could represent who you are at this moment in your life, what's influencing you, how you feel about things. It will also bear directly on the question you asked. You got the five of cups; the five of cups is about loss, grief."

"Does that mean…I'm gonna lose someone?"

"No. That card doesn't predict your future in that position. In that position it tells us about who you are now, where you are in your life now, especially as it pertains to the question you asked. That card is telling us that you're grieving, that you feel you've lost something. But…I think we should call it a night. We can do tarot some other time, all right? You've had a long day, and that dream has left you feeling a little out of sorts. You need a good night's sleep."

"No. I want to keep going. I want to do the whole reading."

Rebecca looked at her again…looked in her eyes. Willow knew Rebecca had a hard time saying no to her but Willow also knew that if Rebecca thought something wasn't in Willow's best interests she had no problem at all saying no, and saying it very firmly, and that would just be the end of that.

Rebecca was looking at her.

"Please, Becca?" Willow said. "I'll be cool, I won't freak out, I promise."

"All right," Rebecca finally said. "But only on the condition that you listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. Are you listening?"

"When you talk I'm always listenin', Becca," Willow said.

"That's because you're a smart girl," Rebecca said, and smiled. "Though I'm fairly certain you dozed off that time when I was talking to you about the Boxer Rebellion."

"Hey, I was just restin' my eyes," Willow said, and grinned.

"All right. So listen now and take this to heart. Tarot cards are like Slayer dreams; they require careful interpretation, and they're meant to guide you, not to rule you. And tarot cards are only a snapshot; they tell us who you are now, where you are in you life now, the future possibilities that are opening up in front of you now. But that snapshot changes with every action you take; whatever the tarot says, whatever possible future it shows, that future can be changed by what you do with your life. You aren't just a passive observer; you're living your life and making your own destiny for yourself. Okay?"

"Unless everything's already happened, like that theory about time."

"That theory's claptrap. I mentioned it because it's what some people believe. I don't believe it and neither should you. We make our own fates."

"Okay. So…I'm grieving."

"You feel like you've lost things. But look at the card. Like your dream, there's more to it than there appears to be. The man on the card seems distraught, because of the overturned chalices."

"They aren't all overturned. Two are standing up."

"Exactly. But he isn't looking at them; they're behind him. He can only see the overturned ones. The five of cups tells us that yes, there is loss and there is grief; life is hard and we all lose things, and people, we love. But we need to avoid the trap that man is falling into; we need to make sure we always remember what we still have, and that life goes on and that we can be happy again. He's lost those three chalices but he still has the other two. You're grieving because you feel you lost some things, but…"

"I have you," Willow said, and put her arms around Rebecca, and held her tight.

"Yes, darling," Rebecca said, and smiled, and kissed her forehead. "You have me."

"So I'm good," Willow said, and let Rebecca go. She had a strong Slayer grip and she hugged Rebecca a lot and sometimes she forgot her own strength. Rebecca always laughed about it, but she'd gotten winded a few times too. So Willow was always careful when she hugged Rebecca, and even though she never liked letting go she did. But not all the way; she rested her head on Rebecca's shoulder, and held her hand, as Rebecca read the cards.

"Okay," Rebecca said, and began dealing cards from the top of the deck, laying them face-down on the table. "I'm going to lay out the spread and I'll turn them up one by one."

Rebecca laid a card horizontally over the first card, then laid four more cards out in a circle clockwise around them, starting at the bottom; she then laid out four more in a vertical column to the right of the others, again starting at the bottom, each one over the next. There were ten cards on the table now, counting the five of cups.

"How come you lay them out like that?" Willow said. "Looks cool, but…"

"There are a lot of different ways to lay out tarot cards, they're called spreads," Rebecca said. "This spread, the Celtic cross, is one of the most popular spreads and it's particularly good for first readings, and for answering specific questions. Obviously the cards that come up are going to be the same cards no matter how I happen to lay them on the table, but the spread isn't purely decorative. It serves to focus the reader's thoughts, and it also helps beginning readers to remember which positions mean what in the reading. For example, in the Celtic cross the fourth card, which would be the one to the left of the circle, represents your past, and influences in your life that are receding, while card six represents your immediate future, and card nine represents your hopes and dreams and fears. It's easier for the reader to remember all that if the cards are laid out in a pattern rather than just remembering what each position signifies based on the fact that it's the fourth card, or the sixth card or the ninth card dealt. Also there can be connections between the cards in the spread, certain positions that can be read not only by themselves but also in relation to other positions, and there are many spreads that are designed that way, to facilitate that sort of cross-reading. There are readers who come up with their own spreads, and there are readers who don't bother with spreads at all; they deal the cards and read them right across."

"How do they know which card means what then?"

"They decide beforehand what each position will stand for in the reading and they decide how many cards they're going to deal too. There are readings with any number of cards, as few as one card or as many as the whole deck. That's the thing about tarot, Faith; it's as much about the reader as the person being read, it's as much about me as you. You shuffled the cards and determined the order they'll come up but they're still my cards; they speak to me in ways they wouldn't to someone else." Rebecca smiled. "They're used to me."

"I bet tarot people do that spread stuff because it looks all like, fancy and dramatic," Willow said.

"That too," Rebecca said.

"You have you own spreads?"

"Yes, I have different spreads that I've devised for my own use, depending on the occasion. I haven't done readings regularly in awhile but I was quite the hand back in my wilder days, when I was your age; people came a long way to have me read them. Made quite a good bit of change doing it too; I traveled all over Europe and the States when I was your age, seeing the sights, moving from place to place, and I supported myself doing tarot readings."

"Had some wild days, huh?"

"Oh, I could tell you some stories," Rebecca said, and smiled mischievously, and raised her eyebrow.

"Bet you could. You're all proper and stuff but I always thought you were a wild girl deep down inside somewhere. I wanna hear those stories."

"You will sometime, probably after I've had some scotch. But tonight let's discover your story."

Rebecca turned the second card; it was the card that was laid horizontally over the five of cups. The card depicted a bearded old man wearing a gray hooded cloak, and holding a staff in one hand and a lantern in the other. His eyes were closed, and he was looking down at the ground, not straight ahead. He seemed to be deep in thought.

"The Hermit," Willow read. "So I'm like some crusty old dude? Harsh. I should be one of those cool queen cards. Like that pretty queen of cups."

"You are a queen, Faith," Rebecca said. "The court cards – king, queen, knight, page – usually represent specific people when they crop up in a reading, with different people in your life corresponding to different suits based on their temperament. Everyone in the world can be represented by one of the four suits. You're a wand."

"I'm a wand?"

"Wands correspond to diamonds in a regular playing card deck. Wands are brave, adventurous people; they're warriors. They're also attractive, charming and charismatic. People feel drawn to them; wands are passionate, and so people are attracted to them. They make friends easily. They're enthusiastic in what they do, and rather flamboyant and cocky as well. They take risks, they go with their gut. They definitely aren't the shy, retiring type. They make excellent leaders."

"Wow," Willow said. "Being a wand's awesome. I kick butt."

"Every suit has its positive and negative sides," Rebecca said. "Wands are brave but they can also be reckless. They can sometimes go into a situation without using their head. They can be impatient and impulsive and it can get them into trouble. There are good wands and bad wands, people who have mastered themselves and learned to maximize their strengths and minimize their weaknesses, and people who keep making the same mistakes over and over again. You're one of the good ones."

Willow smiled. Rebecca always said things like that.

"What suit are you?" Willow said.

"I'm a sword," Rebecca said. "Swords are analytical, clear-headed, logical people who tend to look before they leap. They're blunt and direct and right to the point – so to speak – and they don't tolerate fools gladly. They're patient; they make plans, they reason things out and only then do they act. They're the opposite of wands in some ways. Wands are hot; swords are cool. Wands are represented by the element fire, swords by the air. But every suit can have negative qualities and some swords can be cold, unfeeling, manipulative people; they can also be rather boring."

"You're not any of the bad stuff," Willow said. "You're just the good stuff. You're making the plans and being patient and being the leader. You're not cold or unfeeling. Definitely not boring."

"And you're very brave, Faith," Rebecca said.

"Yeah? You really think I'm brave?"

"Remember the part about bluntness and directness? I never talk just to talk. If I say you're brave I mean it."

"Cool. So what's the cups like? They're like hearts, right?"

"Yes, cups are hearts, wands are diamonds, swords are spades and coins are clubs. Cups are sensitive, kind, loving people; they're very tender and romantic, and they're ruled by their emotions. They love caring for people, thinking of others before themselves. Their element is water; that's why the queen of cups was sitting by the ocean. On the negative side they can be sullen, thin-skinned, and rather fragile. They're daydreamers; they can be lazy and they can go through bouts of depression. Every cup could use a good wand to shake them out of their daydreams and show them the world. Some readers will tell you that a person's suit should be based on their looks rather than their temperament, but only amateurs believe that and it doesn't really make sense; going by appearances, cups are light-skinned and fair-haired, wands are slightly darker but still fair, perhaps with red or light brown hair, swords have dark hair and coins have dark hair and dark complexions. But that system doesn't work, because if that were the case whole races of people would have to be coins; Asians, Hispanics and Africans would all be coins, something like three-quarters of the world would be coins. But, back to the reading. Here we have the Hermit."

"Dude's all thinkin' about stuff. Dude's all serious."

"Yes, he's seeking answers. He's experienced some things and now he needs to get away from the world for awhile and think about what he's experienced, answer some questions for himself. The card in this position in the spread represents what's 'crossing' you, meaning the things that are happening in your life that are contributing to your problems, or to whatever your question was. You've entered a period of introspection, Faith; you're questioning things and trying to figure out where you stand in the world. But you've isolated yourself from the world, and while for the Hermit that can be a good thing, it isn't a good thing for you at the moment, not in this position in the spread. Whatever your question was, this card is one of the things working against it. This card in this position is telling you that it's time to re-enter the world; time to experience things again, instead of merely reflecting upon them."

"Okay," Willow said. She thought about Evan. Maybe she needed to let the dream go. Maybe she needed to let herself be with him…let him inside…

Rebecca turned the third card, the one at the bottom of the circle surrounding the first two cards.

"It's upside down," Willow said.

"Yes, that alters the meaning," Rebecca said.

"Alters it how?"

Rebecca was looking at the card. Willow could see Rebecca putting everything together…she saw something in Rebecca's eyes, as Rebecca stared intently at the card.

"That depends on the card and the position in the spread, and also on the reader," Rebecca said. "Some readers don't count reversed cards at all; they think the meaning is exactly the same. Others think the meaning is essentially the same but just lessened; they'd say the card's influence is there in your life, but at a lower level. Something might be blocking it, or it might be in its early stages, or it might be passing out of your life. For instance, some readers would think a reversed five of cups would mean you're grieving, but not as badly as you might have been if the card were right-side up."

Willow nodded.

"And some readers think a reversed card means the opposite of what the card means right-side up," Rebecca said. "For myself, I look at the specific card, its position in the spread and the person I'm reading for, and I make a judgment."

"What's your judgment on this one?" Willow said. She turned the card around and looked at it. The card depicted a woman sitting on a throne in the middle of a field of grain. She held a scepter in her hand, and she wore a crown with twelve white stars. There was a heart-shaped shield on the ground beside her throne; the shield bore the symbol of Venus, a circle with a cross beneath it. She wore a white robe with a variation of the symbol embroidered on it. There were trees in the background, and a waterfall running beside them.

The woman was pretty, but Willow didn't like her. The woman had a cold, stern face, and Willow thought she held her scepter up like a weapon.

"The Empress," Rebecca said. "The Empress represents our mothers."

"Reversed," Willow said.

"Yes. This position in the spread is the root cause of your situation, why your life is the way it is. It's also the reason you're asking your question."

"Yeah," Willow said.

Rebecca was looking at her. Willow felt her eyes on her.

She didn't look back. She leaned on Rebecca's shoulder, and moved closer to her. She looked at the card.

"Faith. Do you want to stop?" Rebecca said, softly.

"No," Willow said. "Keep going."

Rebecca was still looking at her. Willow could feel it.

Willow looked up at her.

"Your mother hurt you," Rebecca said. "She made you think people can't care about you…that people can't love you."

Willow looked down at the table again, and nodded.

"She was wrong, Faith," Rebecca said. "Your mother was weak and she was sick, and she took it out on you. She was wrong."

Willow was very still, now. She felt like she was filled up, and about to overflow…like something was about to come out. She felt like her whole life had been spent walking with a glass of water, filled to the brim, and trying not to spill even a drop; it took balance, discipline. But she felt like it was spilling, now…

Willow felt cold. She remembered the alley, and the four monsters…she remembered tears frozen on her cheek like spider webs. She remembered the smell of old coffee grounds and rotten meat and bananas.

World class skank, she remembered.

She remembered feeling cold, nights she had to sleep on the street. She remembered feeling cold, nights she slept in someone's bed, and made herself a whore for them.

"Faith, Rebecca said. "Look at me."

Like the golden chalices on the five of cups…Willow felt like it was all about to spill out of her…

Willow looked up at Rebecca.

She saw something spill out of Rebecca instead.

"Your mother was wrong," Rebecca said, in a tone of voice Willow had never heard her use before. It was hard as steel. But it sounded like Rebecca's voice was breaking, too…

Tears filled Rebecca's eyes.

Willow had only seen Rebecca cry once before. It was the night she became the Slayer.

"I love you," Rebecca said, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. "I love you, Faith. You're…you're a daughter to me. You're my daughter."

Willow's face crumpled up; she burst into tears, and hugged Rebecca with all her strength. Rebecca held her to her bosom.

"I love you, Becca!" Willow shouted, as she cried, her voice muffled against Rebecca's bosom. "I love you, I love you so much. Don't leave me. Please don't, don't, don't…don't ever leave me."

"I won't," Rebecca said. "I won't ever leave you."

Rebecca lifted Willow's chin, and looked at her.

"I won't," Rebecca said.

"Promise?" Willow whispered.

"Promise," Rebecca said, and smiled.

They took a break from the reading after that; once they stopped crying Rebecca decided they had both become entirely too emotional and overwrought and that they needed scotch immediately. So they sat at the table, with the tarot cards laid out in front of them, and they drank scotch, something called Macallan which Willow assumed was probably the best scotch in the world and probably very expensive too because Rebecca liked it, and Willow leaned her head on Rebecca's shoulder. They didn't drink too much scotch; Rebecca only allowed Willow one glass, and she had only one glass for herself.

"How do you like it?" Rebecca said.

"It's good," Willow said. "Like…real smooth, and it makes you feel warm. You have to like, drink it in little sips."

"Yes, little sips," Rebecca said. "Take the good things slow, Faith. Appreciate them while they're here. Don't overdo them, don't go too fast, or take too much."

Willow wanted to tell Rebecca she loved her again. She wanted to hear Rebecca say it back to her again.

Little sips, Willow thought.

Rebecca was looking at her again. Willow felt it. She looked up at her.

"I love you, Faith," Rebecca said. "You're my daughter."

Willow nodded, and smiled.

"I love you too," she said.

Willow felt warm. She knew it wasn't the scotch.

"Do you want to get back to the reading?" Rebecca said. "Or we can stop if you want. It's late."

"I want to keep going," Willow said. "I want to see. Whatever's there, I can handle it now. I can handle anything now."

"Okay," Rebecca said. "But remember what I said. This is a snapshot. Your future belongs to you, not these cards. Your future is yours to build."

Willow nodded.

"These cards are telling you that you've been in mourning, but that it's time to let go of that now," Rebecca said. "You've been the Hermit, and you've allowed that Empress to hold you back. It's time to set them aside, and move on with your life."

"Okay," Willow said. "Sounds good to me."

This next card represents things that have taken place in your life that have brought you to where you are now. The third card was the root of your issue, the reason you were asking your question, whereas the fourth card represents events from your past, things that are receding from your life now. Things that are fading away. Things that can be set aside. It could be a task that's been completed, or an influence in your life that has run its course. It could be something that you need to resolve, once and for all."

Willow nodded. Rebecca turned over the fourth card, the one to the left of the circle.

"Upside down again," Willow said.

"That's not always a bad thing, Faith," Rebecca said. "Don't think of it that way."

Willow nodded again, and turned the card around. It depicted a man and a woman, each holding a chalice, and looking into each other's eyes.

"They love each other," Willow said.

"Yes, very much," Rebecca said. "This card, reversed, in this position, tells us that you want love, and that you haven't found it."

"I found it," Willow said. "I have you."

"Yes, darling," Rebecca said, and smiled again. "But this card represents sexual love."

"Oh. Uh…whoops," Willow said, and giggled. "Okay, my bad."

"In your past your relationships with boys weren't fulfilling. You didn't feel loved. But those days are gone now. Faith…did you ask about love? Was that your question?"

"Yeah," Willow said, and blushed a little. "I asked…if, y'know…if there's anyone out there for me."

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, dear. It's the question most people ask. I've asked it myself, many times, when I've done my own readings."

"Okay."

"The next card represents how you see yourself; what's on your mind, what you're worried about. Your attitudes and convictions, your beliefs about yourself and the world. This card doesn't depict you or your situation as they are, but rather as you see them. That's an important thing to remember."

Rebecca turned the card at the top of the circle.

"Whoa," Willow said.

The card showed a dead body. The body was a man's; he was lying on his stomach, his back pierced by ten swords, and his blood was flowing away all around him. Dark clouds loomed above him, but in the distance, a golden sky could be seen.

"The ten of swords," Rebecca said. "This is how you see yourself."

"Uh…dead?" Willow said.

"Hurt," Rebecca said. "Stabbed in the back and bleeding. And notice the ominous clouds above him as well."

"That's a hardcore card," Willow said.

"It's not as bad as you think, especially not in this position. Remember I said this isn't you or your situation as they are but rather as you see them. And remember that everything in this reading has to do with the question you asked. You think you're hurt, you think you're bleeding, you think things are hopeless, when it comes to finding love. But this card tells us that things aren't as bad as we think. Look at him. His back is pierced by ten swords. Isn't that a bit much? Wouldn't one do just as well?"

"I guess."

"This card tells us that you feel like things are hopeless, but that you're being rather melodramatic about it, like the man in the drawing with ten swords through his back instead of one. It tells us things aren't as bad as you think. You think you've been hurt so badly that there's no hope of finding love. The card is telling you to stop being so depressed. To look on the bright side. Specifically, the golden sky in the distance there," Rebecca said, and pointed to that part of the card. "The black clouds won't be here forever, Faith."

"Good to know," Willow said.

"The next card represents the future," Rebecca said. "Not all of it, and not the answer to your question. Rather it represents an approaching influence or event, which will have an impact on your question. Whatever it is, it's coming, and it will affect you in some way."

"Okay," Willow said, and held onto Rebecca's arm.

Rebecca turned the card on the right side of the circle.

It was a strange card; it was the first card Willow had seen that didn't have a person on it. But despite its strangeness Willow thought it sure was easy to read. It was a big red heart, pierced by three swords.

"Okay, thinkin' that's not too good," Willow said, and felt her heart sink.

"Remember, Faith, this card isn't the answer to your question," Rebecca said. "But it is something that will impact it. And remember what I said about the future; it isn't set in stone. This is what the cards see heading your way now, at this moment. Your actions will affect that. All right?"

"I'm cool, Becca," Willow said.

"The three of swords represents betrayal, separation, abandonment, perhaps a love triangle," Rebecca said. "And it doesn't necessarily mean you will be abandoned, or betrayed; it means that those feelings will bear upon your question. Now the next card will show how you should deal with your situation, how you should approach your question."

Rebecca turned the seventh card, the one at the bottom of the vertical column. The card depicted eight chalices in the foreground, and a man in the background, his back turned, holding a staff in his hand; he seemed to be setting out on a journey. It was night, and the moon was up. The moon had a face drawn on it; it was looking down at the man. The moon's face didn't look happy to Willow, but it didn't look angry or judgmental either. Willow thought the moon approved of what the man was doing…as if this journey he was going on was something that needed to happen, and the moon had accepted that.

"The eight of cups," Rebecca said. "This card is about going on a journey of discovery, and leaving the past behind you. It's what you need to do."
"Yeah," Willow said.

"The next card represents the external forces around you, the things that are affecting you and your question that you can't control. It can be a good thing or a bad thing; the point is it's an external force, and it influences you, and places demands upon you; think of it as the environment in which you're living right now. Your question will be answered within the boundaries set by this card."

Willow nodded. She looked at the cards; only three left. Rebecca turned the next card in the column.

The figure on the card was a beautiful woman sitting serenely between white and black pillars, wearing a flowing light blue robe with a cross on her breast, and a white, horned diadem crown. The crown supported a globe between its two horns, and there was a lunar crescent symbol on the floor at the woman's feet. There was a veil behind her, stretched between the two pillars, embroidered with what looked like palm trees, and some sort of fruit…Willow thought at first that she didn't recognize the fruit, but then she had that strange feeling again, as if she had access to knowledge that wasn't really hers…things she shouldn't have known. She knew she'd never seen fruit that looked like that before. But somehow she knew the fruit was pomegranates.

The woman had a serious expression on her face, but unlike the Empress, she didn't seem cold, just earnest. Willow thought she was wise, and beautiful.

"It's you, Becca," Willow said. "I know that's you."

"The High Priestess," Rebecca said. "She sits in the Temple of Solomon and represents inner wisdom, and the unknown. She's the other side of the feminine archetype; the other side of the Empress. The Empress represents motherhood, nature, the bounty of the Earth; the High Priestess represents mystery, and unlimited possibilities."

Willow liked the card, except for one thing: the two pillars had letters stamped on them. The black pillar, on the left, had a "B". The white pillar, on the right, had a "J". Willow didn't like the letters.

"What's the letters mean?" Willow said.

"They stand for Boaz and Jachin, the names of the two pillars standing in Solomon's Temple in Jerusalem," Rebecca said. "The words mean 'strength' and 'founding' in Hebrew respectively."

"Okay," Willow said. The explanation made her feel better.

"She's me," Rebecca said. "I'm your environment right now, I'm the external factor bearing on you question. I'm leading you to self-knowledge, and revealing hidden mysteries to you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"The next card represents your hopes and fears; what you long for."

Rebecca turned the ninth card.

The card depicted a man and a woman, standing naked in a garden; Willow thought it looked like the Garden of Eden. There were two trees, one behind the woman and one behind the man. A big, bright sun was shining above them, and an angel hovered in the sky.

The inscription read, The Lovers.

"This card is what you hope for, what you want," Rebecca said.

Rebecca raised her eyebrow at Willow, and smiled.

"Believe in magic yet?" Rebecca said.

"Gettin' there," Willow said, and smiled back.

"Hi baby," Buffy said.

When Willow answered her door Buffy was standing in the sunlight. It was October, and after a bout of sticky, hot weather a cold front had blown through and the weather had turned unseasonably cold for Sunnydale. To people in Boston it would have felt like a rather brisk spring day, but in Sunnydale people were breaking out their winter gear. The gusty west wind off the water hit Willow with everything it had as she stood in the doorway, but Willow shrugged it off; she was from Boston, and Buffy made the day feel warm. Buffy stood there like spring after winter, and her eyes were emeralds, and her hair was gold, and she smelled like jasmine…

Willow thought she might be falling in love with her.

"Hey girlfriend," Willow said, and stepped aside. Buffy walked into her motel room, and took Willow in her arms, and kissed her. Willow melted into her.

"I missed my baby," Buffy said.

Buffy was wearing a white dress, and a long, light blue coat. Her hair was done up in a braid today.

"I missed you too," Willow said. "I always miss you. Uh…I got something for you."

"You got something for me?" Buffy said, and smiled.

"Close you eyes, lover," Willow said.

"Um…okay," Buffy said. "Is this gonna be like that surprise I had for you that time? Because…um…" Buffy started giggling.

"Keep your eyes closed," Willow said, and took Buffy's hand, and led her to one of the rickety chairs, and sat her down. "Pervo."

Buffy giggled again, and Willow went into the bathroom, and came out with a dozen roses. Willow had spent almost all the money she had left on them.

The roses were blood red. They had thorns.

She turned back to Buffy, holding the bouquet of roses in her hand, and looked at her, sitting with her eyes closed, the sun shining in through the window behind her, bathing her in light. The sky was blue, without a single cloud. She was regal, in the chair; she sat on it like a throne.

Her eyes still closed, Buffy looked toward the sun, gravitating toward its warmth. She wasn't giggling now. Willow knew she could smell the roses.

Willow knelt in front of her, and held out the roses…it was an offering. A supplication.

"Okay, honey," Willow said. "Open your eyes."

Buffy opened her eyes, and looked down at her…looked at the roses.

"Red," Buffy said.

"I got these for you," Willow said. "I know it's kinda lame, but…"

"They're beautiful, Faith," Buffy said, and took them. "Thank you."

Buffy looked at the roses, and sniffed them.

Willow thought Buffy looked sad…as if the roses reminded her of something she didn't want to think about. Something strange passed Buffy's eyes; the green wasn't as bright, for a moment. They were clouded…troubled.

Then Buffy smiled. The cloud passed. The sun was shining again.

Buffy held the roses to her heart, and took Willow's hand, and kissed it…and a tear fell down her cheek.

Willow thought of golden chalices.

"Thank you, baby," Buffy whispered, as Willow kissed the tear. "Thank you."

"You're my queen," Willow whispered, and laid her head in Buffy's lap.

Buffy nodded, and kissed her hair.

"I'm a cuddle monster," Buffy said.

"You're a cuddle monster?" Willow said. "When did that happen, honey?"

"Just now," Buffy said, and rubbed her feet against Willow's under the covers, and giggled.

Willow kissed the back of Buffy's neck. She knew Buffy loved when she kissed her there.

They were curled up in bed together that night, in Willow's motel room. Willow wished she had a better place, she wished she had money to take Buffy somewhere; she wanted to buy Buffy gifts and take her to nice places. She wished she could have afforded to buy Buffy a dozen roses every single day. But her money was almost gone now; the room was paid up for awhile longer but she was nearly broke. She knew she'd have to start shoplifting soon.

She didn't think about it. She wanted to think about Buffy…she wanted to make the most of every minute with her.

They were naked, under the covers; they hadn't really broken any of the rules yet, but they were inching closer every day. They'd decided they could be completely naked as long as they were under the covers, and they couldn't actually see each other naked…

They had laughed at the loophole even as they came up with it. They both knew it was lame. They both knew they wanted to make love again.

The roses were in a vase on the nightstand beside them. Buffy had insisted they put them in water immediately so they'd last as long as possible, and so they'd gone back to her house to get a vase. They went up to Buffy's room, and Buffy took the withered yellow roses that she'd said Joyce had brought back from a flower show out of the vase on her bureau, and threw them away, and put the red roses in.

Then they had come back to Willow's motel room, and set the roses on the nightstand, and taken off all their clothes. It was the first time they had been completely naked together since they'd come up with the rules, and they both laughed at the rationalizations and the excuses, as they got under the covers together and giggled and kissed, and ran their hands over each other's bodies.

They both knew they shouldn't make love. They just couldn't really remember why, sometimes…

Willow thought about Evan. She thought about overturned chalices…

Two are still standing up, Willow thought.

"Am I gonna have to slay you, girlfriend?" Willow said, and kissed Buffy's shoulder. "It would break my heart, honey. I'd be all sad. I'd cry."

Buffy shook her head. "You can't slay cuddle monsters," she said. "They can only be defeated by cuddles. Hours and hours of cuddles."

Buffy had been sad, lately; she'd been sad, and Willow hadn't been able to figure out why. During the day she would seem fine, but at night, especially when they were out slaying, Buffy would become sad, sometimes…and Willow didn't know what to do. She knew something was wrong but Buffy wouldn't talk to her about it. So she had resolved to just be there, as much as she could, whenever Buffy needed her. She'd hold her tight and keep her warm and kiss her…

Today, Buffy was happy, and that made Willow happy too. The roses had made Buffy happy and she had been fairly bouncing off the walls since Willow had give them to her. Buffy had been giggling all day long.

"I'm gonna defeat you," Willow said.

"You're totally gonna defeat me, baby," Buffy said.

Then Buffy turned around, and looked up at her. Her green eyes were serious; her smile was gone.

"It's just a matter of time, Faith," Buffy whispered, and kissed her.

They looked into each other's eyes.

Whenever Willow looked into Buffy's green eyes, she saw the rest of her life…

Willow and Buffy had rules, because neither of them wanted to cheat on their guys. They'd come up with rules specifying what they could and couldn't do, how they could and couldn't love, to keep their passions in check, because their passions scared them. But they knew it was a losing battle: they were fighting a retreat, and the Slayers in them laughed and scoffed at the rules every inch of the way, and tried to break them whenever they could. But, other than rule number three, which had been no kissing, until they'd decided to repeal it the very same day they'd come up with it, they had stuck to the rules…

Except for one night.

It was a beautiful night in October, and Willow had gone for dinner over Buffy's house; dinner at Buffy's was a regular thing now, and she had been sleeping over on weekends too. Willow was beginning to think that between the dinners and the sleepovers she should be paying Joyce rent. And even though Willow worried she might be imposing, Buffy had told her that her mother loved having her over, so Willow just shrugged her shoulders, and went.

They'd eaten dinner over Buffy's house and gone out slaying after, but it was one of those strange nights when there just weren't any vampires around. So they'd sat in a cemetery under a big a willow tree, and Willow had told Buffy the story of the heavy metal band with the vampire guitarist, and touched Buffy's breasts, and held her in her arms, and kissed her. Buffy had seemed shy at first, but she'd allowed it, and Willow slowly broke down her defenses; before they left the cemetery Buffy had allowed Willow to lift her skirt, and take her panties down, and caress her between her legs. It was the furthest they'd gone since their crazy, amazing first day together, when they had made love and destroyed the room they were doing it in.

Willow had made Buffy come, in the cemetery, and after she was done she went even further, and gave Buffy's pussy a little kiss. "That's enough, pervo," Buffy had said, and giggled, and then they went back to Willow's motel room, the Slayers growling at them all the way. And they kissed some more when they got there, but they didn't do anything more than that; Willow wanted to but she knew Buffy was afraid to let things go too far…Buffy had a guy out there somewhere even though Willow was certain Buffy was a lesbian, but that was a whole other can of worms and thinking too hard about the infinite mystery that was Buffy made Willow's head hurt, so she just held Buffy in her arms, and kissed the back of her neck the way she liked, and they fell asleep, wet for each other, but holding on…if they let the rules go completely, if they let the Slayers in them have their way, they didn't know what would happen…they were afraid of it. Even Willow was afraid of it, a little.

Sometime after midnight, Willow woke up, and saw Buffy looking down into her eyes.

There was a light in Buffy's eyes; they shone in the dark room like diamonds.

Buffy was growling.

"B…?" Willow said, still not quite awake, and trying to get her bearings. The room smelled like jasmine, and roses.

Buffy didn't answer her. She growled at her, and lunged at her neck like a lion leaping after an antelope. Willow whimpered.

Willow felt her heart beating, her adrenalin surging. She felt like she was shaking all over, but she felt frozen, too…Buffy dragged her teeth across Willow's neck, and snarled.

"Buffy…?" Willow whispered.

Buffy kissed her.

It wasn't a romantic kiss. It wasn't tender. It was hungry. Buffy's lips tore into Willow's, her tongue jammed into Willow's mouth, her hands wrenched Willow's hair, pulling her closer.

Willow recognized the kiss; it was the first kiss Buffy ever gave her. The one Buffy gave her when she took her, that first day, and made love to her…

Buffy snarled as she kissed her. She looped Willow's long, dark hair like a rope around her hand, holding it in her fist, holding Willow in place as she forced their tongues together and moved her hand across Willow's breasts, and up and down her thighs. Willow whimpered, as they kissed, and Buffy forced her tongue deeper into her, and yanked her hair so hard Willow thought she might tear it out of her head.

After a few minutes, Buffy looked down at Willow, still snarling. She was done kissing her for the moment, but she still held her by the hair.

Buffy's eyes were hard and bright like diamonds and the terrible light in them scared Willow…she felt like some small, helpless animal. She felt like prey.

Willow knew she was looking into the Slayer's eyes.

"You belong to me," Buffy said. "You're mine."

Willow thought her voice sounded strange. It was Buffy's voice, and yet it wasn't…it was the Slayer's voice. It sounded like a cold wind rustling through leaves at night…it sounded like stealthy footfalls in the tall grass.

Willow was frozen. She wanted to look away from Buffy's eyes, they frightened her, but she couldn't…Buffy's eyes held her, and wouldn't let her go…

"Say it," Buffy snarled, and showed Willow her teeth, and yanked Willow's hair again, making her wince with pain, and bringing tears to her eyes.

"I belong to you," Willow whispered, shaking a little now.

Buffy still held her hair, but she loosened her grip, and caressed it. She kissed Willow again, gently.

Buffy's jasmine scent was the sweetest thing Willow had ever smelled. Buffy was wet between the legs; Willow could smell that too. She wanted to touch Buffy there. She wanted to kiss her there. But she was afraid to…she was still afraid to move. She was afraid of Buffy.

She realized now that part of her always had been…

Buffy was still looking at her.

Willow thought Buffy's eyes looked old…ancient. They were the eyes of some primeval hunter who had survived so long because she was the strongest…

Willow couldn't look away from them. She felt small.

Buffy took her shaking hand, and kissed it.

"Give me your neck," Buffy said.

Still shaking, Willow moved her hair aside, and turned the left side of her neck to Buffy, where Buffy had bitten her before. Buffy growled, and dragged her teeth across it. The wound she'd left there a couple of weeks before had disappeared within a few days; Slayers healed fast.

Willow squealed, as Buffy bit into her neck – slowly, gently, careful not to penetrate too deep. But she bit deeper than she had the last time, and her teeth felt like razors. Willow wrapped her arms and legs around Buffy, and held on tight to her, as Buffy snarled, and began taking her blood, and swallowing it.

Buffy moved her hand between Willow's legs, and began caressing her there. Willow shuddered at her touch. It sent a spasm through her that rocked her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Willow had tears in her eyes. She realized she had just orgasmed.

Willow was breathing heavily now, and her heart was pounding; she thought it might burst out of her chest. But Buffy wasn't done with her. She kept caressing her, kneading her clit between her long, clever fingers, while her other hand caressed Willow's hair. Willow was drenched; she felt like she was overflowing. Her blood was flowing out of her, and her juices were flowing out between her legs…Buffy was taking her, taking all of her. Willow wanted to give her everything.

Buffy was taking more blood than the last time. The last time, in the cemetery, Buffy had only taken a little of her blood; maybe a few teaspoons. This time she took much more. And it hurt more; but Willow liked the way it hurt. She liked Buffy hurting her.

Buffy began thrusting into Willow, as Willow spread her legs wider for her, and grabbed Buffy's ass and pulled her closer. She felt Buffy's pussy, warm and slick, grinding against her own. She smelled it. All their smells were filling the room; the smell of their pussies, and blood and sweat, and jasmine and roses…

As Willow felt her blood, steadily coursing out of her and entering Buffy, a warmth suffused her; it was an enervating, numb feeling that spread through her body, and made her want to sleep. Buffy held her in place by the hair as she drained her, but her grip was soft, and Willow didn't struggle. Buffy was snarling, as she took Willow's blood, but her touch was a caress. For just a second, part of Willow wondered if Buffy was going to kill her. The thought didn't scare her. She realized that she wanted it…she wanted to die like this, with Buffy…for Buffy…giving all her strength to her.

"Kill me," Willow whispered, and started to cry. "Take it all, take all of me inside you. I want to die for you, Buffy."

"No," Buffy whispered.

A moment later, Willow's legs trembled and she came again, her orgasm slamming through her; she screamed, and her whole body felt like a gun going off. Buffy moved away from her neck, after having taken about half a pint of her blood. Willow felt like a wrung-out sponge. She didn't think she had the strength to move.

Buffy licked Willow's neck, licked the wound until the blood was gone. She kissed Willow's tears, with bloody lips, until they were gone too.

"Taste it, baby," Buffy whispered.

Buffy kissed her lips, and Willow tasted her blood. It tasted sugary.

Buffy licked the blood from Willow's face. When it was gone, and Willow's face was covered with her scent, she held Willow in her arms, and smiled down at her. She kissed her again, softly.

Buffy's smile was a predator's smile…a lion's smile.

"You're a lion," Willow whispered, as Buffy held her, and caressed her cheek, and she looked up into Buffy's eyes.

"Buffy keeps me locked up," Buffy said. "She thinks she can cage me. But I come out when I please."

Buffy kissed Willow's breasts, and kissed her way down her stomach. She looked up at Willow, from in between her legs.

"And I take what's mine," Buffy said. Her voice was soft, stealthy footfalls in the tall grass…a hunter, who had just sighted her prey.

Willow saw that terrible light in Buffy's eyes again…

She opened her legs for her.

Buffy was gentle, when she licked Willow's pussy. She growled while she did it, but it was a satisfied growl, Willow thought; a feasting lion, rather than a lion on the hunt. Buffy looked up at Willow from between her legs the entire time that she was licking her; she held Willow in her eyes.

It took less than a minute for Willow to come again. Buffy had been licking the outside of her pussy lips, and had just started darting her tongue inside. She hadn't even touched her clit yet…

It was those eyes, those ancient hunter's eyes holding her, Willow thought, as she felt her legs starting to tremble and her orgasm welled up inside her and spilled out like one of those chalices on the card; a sound that was something between a whimper and a scream escaped Willow's lips, and she cried…

Willow still couldn't look away from Buffy, even though she was crying, and breathing in big heaving lungfuls of air…

Buffy was still looking at her, from between her legs. She hadn't finished, Willow knew; the lion's feast had been interrupted.

Buffy growled at her again. The growl had a different quality to it this time; Willow wasn't sure she understood it.

She knew the Slayer in her would have understood. But the Slayer was somewhere deep inside her…

Willow cried…

Buffy moved up beside her, and took her in her arms, and kissed her tears away.

"Baby," Buffy whispered. "It's okay. It's okay, baby."

When Willow looked up into Buffy's eyes, they were still ancient. She was still the Slayer. But the light in them didn't scare her anymore. Willow felt protected now, when she looked in Buffy's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Willow whispered. "You weren't done. You wanted more and I cried and ruined the mood. I'm sorry."

"You're my baby," Buffy said, and kissed her hand. "Nothing's more important than you."

Willow nodded, and looked up into Buffy's eyes. Buffy held her, and caressed her cheek.

Willow rested her head against Buffy's breasts.

"You're so beautiful, Buffy," Willow said. "You're a lion."

"You're a lion too," Buffy said.

Willow shook her head.

"I can't be as strong as you, as beautiful as you," Willow said. "Nothing can be as beautiful as you."

"You are, baby," Buffy said. "You are."

"You're the Slayer," Willow said.

"So are you," Buffy said. "But you're new, baby. You're a cub. You need to be with me. You need to be with momma."

Willow nodded, and kissed Buffy's breasts. Buffy held her.

"You're not Buffy," Willow said. "Your eyes are different than hers."

"You brought me out," Buffy said. "Because I needed you tonight. You belong to me and I got tired of waiting."

Willow nodded. "I'm yours, Buffy," she said. "I want to worship you. I want to kiss your feet."

Buffy took Willow by the hair again, looping it around her fist like a rope, and got up. She walked toward one of the chairs near the window, dragging Willow after her by her hair. Her grip was gentle but firm; she wasn't yanking Willow's hair, she was holding it like a leash. Willow crawled after her, her pussy getting wet again.

Buffy sat in one of the chairs by the window, and Willow knelt in front of her, on all fours. She felt hot. She felt like she was shaking. She felt her pussy dripping again; she felt it dripping down her legs. Buffy still held her by the hair.

When Willow looked up at Buffy, she saw a shadow: the same shadow she'd seen flickering in the candlelight, on the wall of Rebecca's house, the night Rebecca read the tarot cards. Willow looked down at the floor.

Buffy snarled, and yanked Willow's hair, and made her look into her eyes again.

"Don't fucking hide from me," Buffy said.

"I'm sorry," Willow whimpered.

Buffy touched her, between her legs. She didn't caress her; she just tested her…took her temperature. Her touch was gentle, and her fingers were warm. Buffy slipped a finger inside Willow, and slowly slid it in deeper.

Willow blushed, as Buffy penetrated her. But she remained still, as she felt Buffy's finger sliding up through her, and she didn't look away.

Buffy took her finger from Willow's pussy, and licked it.

"Taste it," Buffy said.

Buffy held out her finger; it was slick with Willow's pussy juice. Willow took it deep into her mouth, and sucked on it.

"You taste so sweet, baby," Buffy said, and smiled, and showed Willow her teeth, as Willow sucked on her finger, and looked up into her eyes.

Buffy let Willow suck on her finger for a little while longer, and then she took her finger out of Willow's mouth, and kissed her again. It was a gentle kiss, but Willow could feel the lion underneath it.

"I'm gonna take you tonight, Faith," Buffy said. "I'm taking what's mine."

Willow nodded.

"I'll kill anyone who ever tries to take you away from me," Buffy said.

Willow nodded, and prostrated herself before Buffy, and began kissing Buffy's feet.

"No, baby," Buffy said. "Up on your knees, take my foot in your hand. I want you to look at me when you kiss my feet."

Willow got back up onto her knees, and took Buffy's right foot in her hand, and gently kissed it, as she looked into her eyes.

"Good girl," Buffy whispered, and caressed her hair.

Willow nodded, and began covering Buffy's foot with kisses. Buffy's feet were pedicured. Her skin was soft there, but the muscles were strong; Willow kissed each one of her long, powerful toes, and then took her other foot in her hand, and repeated the process.

"You want to worship me," Buffy said.

Willow nodded, and held Buffy's foot against her cheek.

"I'm gonna worship you too," Buffy said. "You're mine. Mine to take. Mine to worship."

Buffy opened her legs, and brought Willow to her pussy lips.

"Make me come now, baby," Buffy said.

Willow suddenly felt like she was going to explode. She rammed her mouth against Buffy's pussy, stuck her tongue as far inside as it would go and began sucking on her clit. Buffy's clit was small, but it grew larger as Willow took all of it in her mouth and sucked on it.

"Oh God, baby…" Buffy whispered, and threw her head back, and moaned.

Willow looked up at her.

"I want to be on my knees for you forever, Buffy," Willow said. "I want to be right here forever."

"Not forever," Buffy said, and leaned down and kissed her. "Tonight. I'm gonna be on my knees for you someday. I'm gonna kiss your feet, baby."

"Not tonight," Willow said, and went back to licking Buffy's pussy.

Buffy came a couple of minutes later, and though Willow knew this Buffy was different she still came the way she did that first day they'd made love: a spasm shot through Buffy's body like a geyser exploding and Buffy screamed and clenched her fists and kicked out like a mule; Willow just barely avoided being kicked across the room.

"Damn B, when you arrive you sure do bring the noise," Willow said, and licked her lips, and grinned. "See? I'm awesome on my knees, honey."

Buffy was growling again.

A shudder went through Willow; it was like the sound touched some part of her that she hadn't known was there. The sound made her feel small. It made her want to run; it made her want to hide herself in a dark place, and be very quiet and very still…

Willow wanted to look down at the floor, but Buffy held her in her eyes…

Buffy lunged at her neck again. Willow whimpered, and closed her eyes, and braced herself.

Buffy dragged her teeth across Willow's neck, on the left side, where the wound was. Slayers healed quickly, and the wound wasn't bleeding anymore; it had closed up and it was scabbing over. Buffy grabbed Willow's hair, and yanked it so hard Willow screamed. She bit Willow's ear, and whispered to her.

"Get the fuck on that bed and spread your legs," Buffy whispered.

Willow nodded, and stood up, shaking a little. But before she could move to the bed, Buffy put her arms around her from behind, and held her still, and kissed her ear where she had bit it. She covered Willow's ear with kisses, and held her, and rubbed her belly.

Willow moaned, and tears ran down her cheeks. Buffy kissed them, and kissed Willow's ear, and kissed the wound on her neck. They stood there, naked in the dark together, and Buffy rubbed Willow's belly, and kissed her, until Willow stopped shaking.

"You're mine, Faith," Buffy whispered. "But I'm yours, too. Okay, baby?"

Willow nodded. Then she turned around, and knelt in front of Buffy, and put her arms around her knees, and leaned against her. She stayed like that for a few minutes, not moving; just holding herself against Buffy's knees, as Buffy caressed her hair. Then Willow kissed Buffy's knees, and her ankles, and then she took Buffy's foot in her hand and began kissing it again. Buffy stroked her hair, and Willow kissed her feet, first one and then the other, and she looked up at Buffy as she did, and they were both quiet. Willow looked up at Buffy, and saw a shadow; only the jasmine scent, and the gentle hand stroking her hair, told her that Buffy was still in there somewhere.

The green eyes looking down at her weren't Buffy's.

"I'm hungry," Buffy said.

Willow nodded, and stood up, and laid down on the bed, and opened her legs. Buffy crawled up onto the bed, a stalking lion, snarling.

"I want to give it all to you," Willow whispered. "I want you to take me tonight."

Buffy moved between her legs, a lion looking down at a fresh kill, and began gently licking Willow's pussy. Her tongue was soft, and warm, and a shudder went through Willow at its touch.

Buffy never took her eyes off Willow, as she feasted; she held Willow's eyes in hers, and never once allowed Willow to look away…

Willow resolved not to come so quickly this time and she managed five minutes; she thought that was pretty good, considering the fact that the little thrill of fear that went through her whenever she met Buffy's eyes also made her wet between her legs. Buffy had gone slow, and not touched her clit until she'd gotten her fill of kissing and licking Willow's pussy lips first, and then sticking her tongue inside and tasting her; that helped.

Willow decided she knew why the Slayer hadn't come out in her tonight. She was certain the Slayer in her knew that this was something she had to experience herself. And she thought Buffy was right when she called her a cub, too; at least she hoped she was. She wanted to be Buffy's cub. She wanted herself and Buffy to be a pride together, and she wanted Buffy to be the leader.

Willow cried when she came, and Buffy moved up beside her again, and kissed her tears away. She held Willow in her arms, and rubbed her belly.

Willow felt warm when Buffy held her, like she always did, but it was different now; this wasn't Buffy, it was part of Buffy, a part that had always been there before, but distilled down to its essence now. It was harder, stronger. Buffy was always loving with Willow; she was the most affectionate person Willow had ever met. Buffy was always touching her, and giving her little kisses, and hugging her, and holding her hand, and caressing her hair. But Willow knew this Buffy was different. And when this Buffy hugged and kissed her, and kept her warm, and rubbed her belly, it made Willow feel even more special, because it was rare; because it was a gift.

Willow looked up into Buffy's bright, sharp eyes, and felt special. Those eyes were hard to look at without looking away; there was still something frightening in them. But Willow knew she didn't have to be frightened. She was Buffy's cub. She knew Buffy would never hurt her. Buffy's eyes swallowed hers up…she got lost in them. Willow knew she belonged to Buffy. That was all that mattered. Willow didn't want anything else.

"It's time, baby," Buffy whispered, as she rubbed Willow's belly. "I'm gonna take you now."

"Whatever you want," Willow said. "I'll do anything for you. I'll die for you."

"I might die for you," Buffy said. "But not tonight."

Willow leaned her head against Buffy's breasts again, and kissed them.

"Are you nice and warm, baby?" Buffy said.

Willow nodded.

"I'm gonna take you now, okay?" Buffy said.

"How are you gonna take me? Willow said. "What are you gonna do?"

Buffy opened Willow's legs, and slid a finger into her. Willow was still wet; she had come four times already but every time Buffy looked at her tonight she felt wet again. Willow was tight, but Buffy's long finger slid right in, and penetrated deep. Willow moaned, and automatically arched her hips, taking Buffy's finger in as far as she could. She felt her pussy juices flowing again; she was dripping again.

Buffy smiled. Willow blushed.

"Something you're afraid of," Buffy said, and gently removed her finger, and held it out for Willow to suck on. Willow took Buffy's finger in her mouth, and sucked it…she wished she had been with Buffy, instead of all the guys in Boston…but she wished that every night. Willow tasted herself on Buffy's finger; she'd always thought for some reason that she wouldn't taste good but she liked her own taste now. It was fruity and tangy, like a peach.

"Close your eyes, and get under the covers," Buffy said.

Willow closed her eyes, and pulled the covers over herself. She felt Buffy get out of the bed; a few seconds later she heard Buffy unzip her purse. She waited. Her pussy was wet. She wanted Buffy to kiss her there again. The bed smelled like jasmine. She concentrated on her nose, and took in Buffy's scent…

A moment later she felt Buffy getting into bed with her, under the covers.

She suddenly wondered what Buffy had meant when she said, something you're afraid of.

"Open your eyes," Buffy said.

Willow looked up, and saw Buffy lying beside her, under the covers. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary…

Buffy caressed Faith's cheek.

Then Buffy moved on top of her.

"Spread your legs for me, Faith," Buffy said.

"What…what are you gonna do?" Willow said, and slowly opened her legs.

Willow felt something against her pussy lips.

"I'm gonna fuck your brains out, baby," Buffy whispered in her ear.

"What's…what's that…?" Willow whispered, and tried to look under the covers. But Buffy grabbed her by the hair, yanking it hard, like a leash. Willow squealed.

"Look at me," Buffy said.

There was a steady pressure against Willow's pussy lips. Something that felt soft was there, gently parting them.

Willow started fussing with her hair, and moving her hands around in front of her.

"Stop that," Buffy said.

Willow moved her hands down by her sides, and started to cry.

"I don't…I don't know what you're gonna…I don't know what you want," Willow whispered.

Buffy kissed her, and looked down into her eyes.

"This is our night," Buffy said. "Of all the nights we've had, all the ones we're gonna have, this is the one you're always gonna remember as the night I claimed you. This is the night I say you belong to me. This is the night I take you and make you mine. And I want you to look at me when I take you, Faith. I want you to look into my eyes."

Willow nodded. Buffy kissed her tears away.

"I know you're not a virgin," Buffy said. "And I know it's one of the things you regret most about your life. This isn't just about me taking you. It's about me giving you something, baby. Your virginity. You're a virgin tonight, Faith, and you're gonna give it up for me."

"I don't…I don't know what to do," Willow whispered.

"Baby? When those guys in Boston had you, you let their dicks in you but that was all you let in. They weren't inside you, not really; you didn't let them in and you weren't really there when you did it with them, you were somewhere else, pretending it wasn't happening. You knew they were only there to take something from you and they didn't care about you so you shut yourself off from them. They didn't want you, they just wanted to fuck you. But I want you, baby. I want you more than anything else I've ever wanted in this whole fucking world. I want you to be mine for the rest of our lives and this is how I'm gonna prove it to you. I know you're afraid. Just look at me, okay? Just look at me."

Willow nodded, and sniffled.

"How…are you gonna…?" Willow started to say…

And then she screamed, as Buffy thrust into her and penetrated her, as far as she could go. Willow felt every inch of it, filling her up; it slid in easily but it stretched her out, made her expand to accommodate it.

Willow felt a wave of panic rushing through her; it felt like flood waters, steadily rising…she thought she might drown…

"No, Buffy no!" Willow screamed. "You're too big, you're too big…!"

"Sshhh, baby," Buffy said.

Willow shook her head, and started to cry again.

"You're too big," Willow whispered, and looked away from her, and sobbed into the pillow. "I can't, I can't…"

"Look at me!" Buffy shouted.

Willow looked up at her, still sobbing.

"Stop crying," Buffy said. "You're not some helpless fucking rabbit, you're a predator. You're a lion. Fucking act like it."

Willow wiped her tears away, and tried to stop sobbing. She wanted to look away from Buffy, to hide from her, but she couldn't, now. Buffy held her in her eyes.

"You're afraid," Buffy said. "You're afraid of this, afraid of letting someone in, afraid of connecting, afraid of me. Buffy's gonna put me back in that fucking cage when the sun comes up and she's gonna pretend I never said these things but I'm saying them and I mean them and they're fucking true so I want you to listen to me."

She took Willow's hand, and held it hard.

"You and I are forever," Buffy said. "We haven't said the words but we're gonna say the words someday and we can't have this between us. You can't be afraid. I'm gonna take care of you for the rest of your life, Faith. I'm gonna protect you and love you and die for you if I have to but first you have to let me in all the way and you haven't yet, because you're afraid. You're not afraid to let yourself be fucked. You're afraid to let yourself love anyone. You're afraid they'll hurt you, afraid they'll leave you. This? How you're scared of me inside you? It's the symptom, not the problem. The problem is you don't want to let me love you. But I'm gonna love you, baby. I'm gonna love you and take care of you forever no matter what Buffy says in the morning."

"I'm scared," Willow whispered, and tried not to cry.

"I'm not gonna leave you," Buffy said. "I'm not."

"Becca said that," Willow said. "And then…and then she died."

"But she never left you, Faith. Life is short. We could all die tomorrow. That's why we have to live our lives. That's why we have to live every day, and get past whatever we're afraid of. I could die tomorrow for all I know, baby, I can't promise I won't. But I can promise I'll never leave you and I'll spend every day I have loving you."

"I don't…I don't know how. I don't know how to…"

"Just let me love you tonight, baby, okay?" Buffy said, and kissed her hand. "Just let me love you, and pretty soon you won't ever be afraid of this again. Okay, baby? Can you do that for me?"

Willow nodded.

"Just look at me," Buffy said, and began slowly thrusting into her, bringing herself halfway out of Willow, and then gently thrusting back in, using only her hips for now. "Just keep looking at me, concentrating on me. My eyes, my scent. Nothing else. Just me, baby. Okay?"

Willow nodded.

Buffy thrust into her, and looked down into her eyes, and Willow looked back. The room was quiet. Willow concentrated on Buffy's eyes, and took in her scent. Jasmine.

After the initial pain when Buffy had plunged all the way into her and Willow's pussy had adjusted and stretched out to accommodate her, it didn't hurt. Buffy was going slow. Willow felt filled up, but not in a painful way.

Willow put her arms around Buffy, and kissed her shoulder. Buffy caressed her cheek, and kept going slow…

Willow didn't feel panicky anymore.

A little moan escaped Willow's lips. She slid down the bed a little, adjusted her hips to take Buffy inside easier when she thrusted.

Buffy went slow for a few more minutes, and smiled down at Willow, and kissed her hand. They were quiet. They listened to each other breathe, and Willow moaned softly, in time with Buffy's thrusts now. The little bed moaned too, creaking as Buffy thrusted, but it was a soft creaking and Willow didn't mind it. Buffy looked down into Willow's eyes the whole time, never once looking away.

Willow realized it felt good, being filled up. Buffy's tongue and fingers had felt good too, but this…this just felt…

Willow's nipples were hard; they were so hard it nearly felt painful. Her pussy was drenched now; she felt it dripping down her thighs, and onto the bed.

Buffy started moving faster, bringing it almost all the way out, and then moving all the way back in. Willow sped her own motion up too, and suddenly she and Buffy were in perfect synch, their bodies moving together now…Buffy began kissing her neck. Willow wrapped her legs around Buffy, and slid her feet up and down Buffy's thighs, enjoying the feel of Buffy's soft, sleek skin beneath her toes, and the feel of the muscles bunched underneath it, long and thick and hard as steel, moving like pistons, flexing with every thrust.

"That's it, baby," Buffy whispered, and kissed her. "That's it. Do you like it, baby? Does my baby like it now?"

"Yeah…yeah," Willow whispered. "It feels…really good. It's good…with you inside."

Willow continued caressing Buffy's thighs and calves with her feet, and she kissed Buffy's shoulder again, and held onto her arms, running her fingers up and down them, feeling the triceps muscles in back bunching and relaxing as Buffy penetrated her, moving on top of Willow like she was doing pushups. Buffy's nipples were hard, sticking straight out from her breasts like erasers, and Willow felt Buffy's pussy, slick against her, dripping wet. She held her head against Buffy's shoulder, and Buffy kissed her hair.

Willow's moans were building now, getting louder. Buffy moved herself up higher, so she could move against Willow's clit. A shudder immediately went through Willow, and her legs began to tremble.

"That's my baby," Buffy whispered, and kissed her.

Willow looked up into Buffy's eyes again, as Buffy kissed her and smiled down at her.

"Does my baby want to come for me?" Buffy whispered.

Willow nodded, and brought Buffy back down to her lips, and kissed her.

They kissed for a few more minutes, as Buffy kept up her fast, steady rhythm, and rubbed her pussy against Willow's clit as she fucked her, and Willow grabbed Buffy's ass and pulled her as far into herself as she could. Willow was screaming with every thrust now, quick breathless squeals; she felt hot, like she was about to explode, but she felt perfectly calm at the same time…serene. She thought she was approaching something, something that scared her, but something she wanted too. She felt like she was full of love, like she had always been full of love, and she was about to overflow. She had always thought the place between her legs was dirty, but she knew it wasn't, now. Everyone else she had ever been with had treated it like it was dirty, but Willow knew it was sacred now. Willow knew she was beautiful there.

She knew the place between her legs was a golden chalice…

Willow started to cry. Her whole body was trembling now, as she screamed in time to Buffy's thrusts.

Buffy looked down into Willow's eyes, and kissed her tears.

"I'm gonna…I'm…gonna…" Willow squealed.

"I know, baby," Buffy said.

"I'm…I'm gonna…" Willow squealed again, as she felt her tears streaming down her cheeks, and a wave of warmth began flooding through her.

"Come for me, baby," Buffy whispered, and hugged her, and held her close, as she filled her up…

Willow felt her orgasm explode through her. But this one was different from any orgasm she'd ever experienced before: it came in waves; wave after wave pounded against her, smashed through her; she felt like a ship being buffeted by a storm at sea. She screamed and bucked, and nearly threw Buffy off her, but Buffy held her tight…

And then Willow felt herself overflowing. She felt like the waves that had churned through her had left her now, were flowing out of her and out into the room. She felt like she was letting something go, releasing something that she had been holding inside her whole life. It felt like dropping a heavy weight…setting down a burden. She cried, and screamed, and wailed, and hugged Buffy as hard as she could, as she felt herself emptying out; as everything she had held inside for so long finally flowed out of her, and her whole body trembled. Willow didn't know if she would ever stop trembling…

Buffy held her tight.

"It's okay, baby," Buffy said. "I'm right here. From now on, I'm always right here, okay? Always. Always."

It took a few minutes for Willow to stop crying. Buffy held Willow to her breasts, and kissed her hair, and whispered in her ear; she whispered that she would always protect her. She whispered that they belonged to each other now; that they had consummated it.

Once Willow stopped crying, they kissed, for a long time. They didn't talk; they just looked in each other's eyes. Buffy stayed inside Willow as she kissed her. Buffy didn't move, didn't thrust, didn't fuck her. But she stayed inside, and filled her up.

Willow liked it. She liked Buffy filling her up. She liked Buffy inside.

"Buffy, I…I love…" Willow started to say. Buffy held her finger against Willow's lips.

"Not yet," Buffy said. "It's your birthday present. Little sips for now, baby. Little sips."

Willow nodded.

"What…um…so what is it?" Willow said, and looked down.

Buffy gently pulled out of her. Willow moaned; it felt good.

"It's something Buffy bought for you," Buffy said. "She knows you; she doesn't know you as well as I do but she thought it was something you needed."

Willow peeked under the covers. Buffy was wearing a pair of black thong panties, and there was some sort of penis-shaped dildo attached.

"That's…pretty hardcore," Willow said.

"Kneel down by the side of the bed," Buffy said. "There's something else I want you to do."

Willow got down on her knees by the bed. That hot, pulsing feeling came into her stomach again, when Buffy told her to kneel down and she obeyed her.

Buffy sat on the side of the bed. Willow got her first up-close look at what Buffy was wearing.

"Buffy bought this for you, because she thinks you need it," Buffy said. "She doesn't need to be penetrated but she thinks you do."

"She doesn't?" Willow said. She looked at the dildo. It was shaped exactly like a penis, rather than a cylinder; it looked like a cast had been taken of a penis and the dildo had been based on that. It was about six or seven inches long, and it was thick. It even had balls hanging down from it; they looked real too.

"She's gay," Buffy said. "But you already know that."

Willow nodded. "Maybe you can tell her to relax about it and stop bein' all like, in denial," Willow said.

"That's for you, not me," Buffy said.

Willow touched the dildo. It felt soft; it felt exactly like skin.

"Take it in your mouth," Buffy said.

Willow nodded, and took it into her mouth, and began sucking on it, gingerly, because it was thick.

"This is something else that was taken away from you," Buffy said. "Something else I'm giving back. From now on you'll do this with me sometimes, because I know you like doing this, but those guys who took advantage of you made it feel dirty. It's not dirty anymore. It's just for us now, okay, baby?"

Willow nodded, and started to cry.

Buffy took it out of her mouth, and kissed her, and kissed her tears, until they were gone.

"I felt bad," Willow whispered. "I felt like…like…a skank."

"You never were," Buffy said. "You were my baby, the girl I love. You've always been my baby, from the day you were born. It just took some time for us to find each other."

Willow nodded, and smiled.

"Do you want to suck it some more, baby?" Buffy said.

Willow nodded, and took Buffy in her mouth again.

Willow sucked on the dildo for awhile longer, getting used to the feel of it. It felt like it might be too thick at first, but she got used to it its size, and she liked it; she liked having it fill her mouth up, and she liked being on her knees in front of Buffy while she did it, and she liked how Buffy caressed her hair, and smiled down at her, and kissed her forehead, and held her hand. She liked that this was something she did only with Buffy now; she liked that they could create their own memories now, and she could forget the other ones…

After a few more minutes, Buffy took it out of Willow's mouth, and lifted Willow up, and laid her back on the bed.

"Take me again?" Willow whispered, and opened her legs for her. "Please? Love me again?"

Buffy smiled, and laid on top of her, and entered her. Willow moaned, and adjusted herself to take Buffy inside as far as she could, and hugged her.

"I'll love you forever," Buffy said.

"The last card is the outcome, the answer to your question," Rebecca said. "And you don't have to see it if you don't want to. There's nothing to be ashamed of in not wanting to see it, Faith; many people who believe in the power of the tarot, or of magic in general, avoid divination because they don't want to have an idea of the future; they don't want to be influenced that way. We don't have to turn the last card."

"Turn it," Willow said. "Came this far. I can handle whatever's next."

"Are you sure, darling?"

"Yeah. Turn it."

Rebecca turned the last card.

…It was the queen of cups…

…The queen of hearts.

"I have to go soon, baby," Buffy whispered.

Willow opened her eyes. She realized she had fallen asleep; she was exhausted. Buffy – the Slayer in Buffy, the beautiful, frightening animal with eyes like diamonds and a growl that made her heart quail – had taken her, and loved her, all night long; she'd penetrated her, all the way through, gotten to the heart of her. Buffy had made love to her the whole night with the dick she wore, and she tore Willow's hair, and snarled at her; she hurt Willow, and bit her, and scared her, and made her cry. She fucked her so hard and for so long that Willow didn't think she'd be able to walk in the morning. Buffy had started out slow, fucking her from on top, and giving her gentle kisses as she filled Willow up, and telling her she would always take care of her, as she looked down into Willow's eyes; and Willow came for her. She came over and over again: looking in Buffy's eyes as Buffy took her, as she filled every inch of her, filled all the empty places Willow had been carrying for so long, made Willow come. But then Buffy turned her over, and made her kneel on the bed on her hands and knees with her ass in the air, and took her from behind: she held Willow by the hair and controlled her, rode her. Willow had been with three different guys back in Boston who she'd given it all to but none of them had ever taken her that way; they wanted to, they had all asked, but she never let them. Buffy didn't ask.

Willow liked it when Buffy took her from behind; she knelt on the bed on all fours with her ass in the air, and Buffy rammed herself into her, as far as she could go; it scared Willow more, being taken that way, and she realized that part of her liked being scared of Buffy. It felt better, too; when Buffy was inside Willow's pussy from that position she could penetrate her deeper, and Willow felt it in her clit more; it made her come even faster and the orgasms were even better. And Willow couldn't see Buffy's face when Buffy took her that way, she couldn't see what Buffy was going to do until she did it, she didn't have any control. Buffy controlled her instead. She controlled her, and fucked her, and whispered terrible things in her ear: things that made Willow cry, and things that made her wet.

Once, Buffy whispered that if Evan ever came to Sunnydale and tried to take Willow away from her, she'd kill him.

Buffy fucked Willow from behind the rest of the night, and growled at her as she did it, and she alternated that with licking Willow's pussy. Willow licked Buffy's pussy too; she licked it and kissed it and sucked on it for what seemed like hours. Buffy's pussy was a golden chalice, and it smelled beautiful, and it tasted sweet, and Willow drank her fill. Buffy made Willow kneel on the floor in front of her when Willow licked her pussy, and Willow liked it that way. Willow kissed Buffy's feet, when she was on her knees in front of her. And she whispered things to Buffy, too: she whispered that she wanted to worship her forever.

Buffy raked her teeth over Willow's neck when she took her from behind; she raked them over the left side, where she had bitten her, and taken her blood, earlier that night. She bit Willow again once, as she fucked her: she opened the wound again, and penetrated Willow with her teeth as she penetrated her with the dildo, because Willow had asked her to. Willow had begged her; Buffy whispered that she wouldn't do it for her again unless Willow begged her to first. After Willow begged for a few minutes, and finally began to cry, Buffy relented, and opened the wound again, and took her blood. Willow felt warmth flowing through her and filling her up, as Buffy did it; things felt like they were slowing down, and she wanted to sleep. Buffy's thrusts became softer, slower, as she took Willow's blood; Buffy gently pushed Willow down onto the bed on her belly, and the last thing Willow remembered was coming, as Buffy whispered in her ear…

"I love you, Faith," Buffy whispered.

Then everything was slow, and dark…and Willow felt warm…she felt Buffy's arms around her…

Willow wasn't sure how long ago that was; when she opened her eyes now the sun was shining in, and she was lying in Buffy's arms, with her head on Buffy's breasts, and Buffy was covering her face with little gentle kisses. Willow felt limp, and weak, and dried out. But she felt warm; she felt warmer than she ever had in her life.

"I want you to eat now, baby, okay?" Buffy said. "I took some of your blood and you're weak right now. I brought you meat."

Willow smelled it; she hadn't noticed it at first. She had been focused in on Buffy.

"I want you to take me again," Willow said, and kissed Buffy's breasts.

Buffy shook her head.

"Please?" Willow said.

"No," Buffy said. "You're weak right now, Faith. My baby needs to eat now, and rest, and get strong again. Okay?"

Willow nodded, and Buffy reached over to the nightstand. There were two paper bags, and a gallon of orange juice there. Willow smelled chicken, and ham.

Buffy opened the gallon of orange juice, and held it to Willow's mouth; the moment Willow tasted it she realized how thirsty she was. She immediately gulped down about a third of it.

"Where'd you get this stuff?" Willow said, when she'd had her fill. Buffy put the juice back on the nightstand, and Willow peeked into the bags. She was realizing how hungry she was now; she was ravenous. There were two entire chickens in clear plastic containers in one of the bags, and two hams in clear plastic containers in the other. "Were any stores open out there?"

"There wasn't anything open except for the McDonald's and that food is shit," Buffy said. "You needed good meat. So I broke into the supermarket. The deli there has meat; rotisserie chickens and hams and sausages and stuff."

"You broke in?"

"You needed meat."

Willow nodded, and sat up. Sitting up suddenly made her feel woozy. And she realized that her pussy was aching. She smiled.

"Damn, but you gave it to me good," Willow said. "I don't even know if I can walk. I think I came like, a hundred times."

"That's because you're mine," Buffy said. "Eat now, baby."

They broke out the food. Buffy hadn't bothered with plates or napkins or forks. They ate with their hands. They ate quickly, and without talking; they tore into the meat like two hungry lions, snarling and slavering over it, and devoured both chickens and one of the hams and finished the whole gallon of orange juice. When they were done they licked each other's fingers clean, and laid back down together, and Willow kissed Buffy's breasts, and Buffy rubbed Willow's belly.

"All better baby? Nice and full now?" Buffy said.

"Perfect, lover," Willow said. She felt her energy returning. Her pussy still ached, but she thought she could get up out of the bed now at least, if she had to. She didn't want to. She wanted this to last forever. But she knew it wouldn't.

"I have to go, Faith," Buffy said.

Willow hugged her, and held on to her as tight as she could.

"I don't want you to," Willow whispered.

"Doing this, coming out like this…it's breaking the rules," Buffy said. "It wasn't fair of me, to do this to Buffy."

"Have you ever done this before? Can you come out like this like, whenever you want? Can my Slayer do this?"

"No. I can only do this because Buffy never accepted me…never really let me inside. We're separate. But you accepted the Slayer in you, so she can't come out like this. I see her in you, but she's part of you. She can't take over and control you the way I'm doing with Buffy right now. It's part of the reason the world brought us together, Faith. There are things Buffy needs to learn, that she can only learn from you. And there are things you need to learn from her."

"Will I…see you again after today? This part of you…will I see you again like this?"

"No," Buffy said.

Willow started to cry. Buffy kissed her tears.

"There is no me, Faith," Buffy said. "I'm only a part of Buffy, a fragment. I shouldn't be able to exist apart from her, I can only be here like this because Buffy and I are estranged. But I'll always be with you, watching over you from inside her. It took all my strength to be able to do this, and it wasn't fair of me and it wasn't right; I took something from Buffy, doing this. But I got impatient for you, baby. I needed you."

"I need you too," Willow said, and kissed Buffy's breasts again.

"You need Buffy," Buffy said. "But I'm only part of her. I'm the part that loves you more than anything else in the world, but I'm only part of her."

"What about…what about the rest of her? Does the rest of her love me?"

"She isn't sure. She's starting to. But…Faith…"

Buffy looked at her, with ancient eyes…eyes that pierced Willow, penetrated her. All the way down.

"You and Buffy are on a path, now," Buffy said. "But it's a long and twisting path, and there are other paths that intersect it; there are other lives, other loves, and only one thing in the world is certain. All that's certain is that I'll always take care of you. I'll kill anyone who tries to take you from me baby, but only if we're together; you have to choose me. You think you have but you haven't yet. And you might not. Even if you don't choose me, even if your path takes you to someone else, to one of those other loves, I'll always take care of you. But I'm only a fragment, baby. The rest of Buffy is…confused. She can't see the way in front of her as clearly as I can. She has secrets…they pollute her, make her weak, sap her strength. They'll kill her someday, if she doesn't let go of them. They'll kill her, and they'll kill me with her."

"I don't want another love," Willow said. "I just want you. I could never love anyone else."

"You will," Buffy said. "And they're going to love you too."

Willow cried again, when Buffy said that, and Buffy held her, and kissed her tears away, and refused to discuss it further. She said Slayers walked in dreams, and could sometimes see the future unfolding; they could see all the paths, and where they led, more clearly than regular people. But Buffy refused to discuss what she saw on the path ahead of them, beyond those few cryptic hints she'd dropped.

"Love yourself first, Faith," Buffy said. "You can't really love anyone until you love yourself. You don't know how to love yet, baby. You need to learn. And if you don't love yourself, no one else will ever love you either. Even Buffy won't. You can destroy this, destroy us, if you aren't careful. I love you, Faith. Buffy hasn't decided yet, but I have. Be strong for me."

Willow nodded. Buffy kissed her, and put her arms around her.

"I'm tired, baby," Buffy whispered. "I wanna sleep with my cub now."

Willow rested her head against Buffy's breasts, and they closed their eyes, and went back to sleep.

"Hi baby," Buffy said, a few hours later.

Willow opened her eyes. The hellacious fucking Buffy – or technically, the Slayer inside her – had given her the night before made her feel warm, and loved, in ways she had never experienced: no one had ever wanted her, needed her, so completely. But she felt like she had been in a bar fight afterwards; after Buffy finally finished with her Willow was exhausted and hungry and thirsty and weak and her pussy ached. Now she felt better. She had energy again; she could move again. Her pussy was still sore from being stretched out and fucked relentlessly all night long, but she liked that. She wanted to keep that pain with her for awhile.

"Mmmmm, there's my girl," Willow said, and yawned, and looked up into Buffy's eyes…

They were different. They weren't diamonds anymore. They didn't penetrate Willow, didn't stab relentlessly down into her…

"We were sleepy Slayers," Buffy said, and yawned. "Here's hoping my Mom bought that lie we worked so hard on last night. If she doesn't I think we should at least get points for creativity."

Buffy's voice was different now too. It was soft and sweet; it wasn't feral. It didn't scare Willow, didn't give her that feeling in her stomach…

Willow knew the Slayer was gone.

"Yeah, well, we got some exercise," Willow said.

"Oh, sure, tons of exercise in that lame little cemetery, with the complete lack of vamps," Buffy said. "And you're so in violation of rule three."

"Shit girlfriend, after last night I figure we're in violation of all the rules. Including a whole bunch we haven't even come up with yet," Willow said, and kissed her.

"Yeah, probably," Buffy said, and giggled. "I think we need to like, be put on probation. What's all that stuff doing there?"

Buffy was pointing at the bags, and the empty gallon of orange juice.

"I'll dump the trash after we get dressed," Willow said. "But we still got that other ham. We can save it for later, that ham's pretty tasty."

"When did you get a ham?" Buffy said, and leaned over to the nightstand, and looked in the bags. "Did you go out while I was asleep?"

"Huh?"

"I smell chicken too. Are these chicken bones? You went out in the middle of the night and got a ham and chicken and didn't even wake me up?"

Willow sat up.

She looked at Buffy, looked her in the eyes.

"You know how I'm always sayin' weird stuff?" Willow said. "Like how I say weird goofy stuff just for the hell of it sometimes?"

"We both know you do it to annoy me, ham girl," Buffy said. "You smell like ham. You're my ham girl."

"Okay. I'm gonna say something weird again now. I'm gonna ask you a weird question. But you can't ask me why I'm asking it, okay?"

"You're gonna ask me a weird question and I can't ask why you're asking me the weird question?"

"Yeah."

"Um…okay. "Why are you so weird? You're the weirdest Slayer ever. I think I'm gonna tickle you. I bet I can tickle the weirdness out of you."

"You better not tickle me," Willow said.

"I'm so gonna tickle you," Buffy said.

"Okay, so here's the weird question. What did we do last night after we got back here?"

"What? Why are you…shit," Buffy said. "Um…okay, fine, I'll humor your current weirdness even though your weirdness is totally annoying. Let's see…um…we came back here and cuddled and had that tickle fight? Which I completely won by the way, and then we kissed a lot, and then you made us watch a little bit of a Red Sox game until I tickled you again and forced you to switch the channel, and then we kissed some more and watched the tail end of Letterman and decided he's definitely better than Leno, and then you gave me a nice neck rub, and we went to sleep. Also the President of the United States is Newt Gingrich and the capital of North Dakota is Bismarck."

It hit Willow like someone had splashed ice water in her face.

Buffy didn't remember. She didn't remember any of it.

Willow took Buffy's hand, and looked into her eyes…

Buffy's eyes weren't diamonds anymore.

The Slayer kept it from Buffy, somehow…kept the whole night from her…

Or had Buffy blocked it out? Had it all been too much for her, and she'd decided not to remember it?

Buffy had told Willow she loved her, told her she would care for her and protect her forever…and she didn't even remember. Buffy had loved Willow all night long, ferociously…and she had held Willow in her arms, and kissed her, and rubbed her belly, and made her feel warm…but now it was like it never happened, like the night was gone, erased…

Willow wanted to cry.

"Hey. You okay, baby?" Buffy said.

"Yeah," Willow said. "I just…uh…"

Willow came up with a lie.

"You ever have one of those weird dreams that's sorta like real life and then when you wake up you get kinda confused about what parts of the night were real and what was just the dream?" Willow said. "That's why I asked. Wasn't sure if we stayed up a little longer, that's all."

"Yeah, I have those kinds of dreams sometimes," Buffy said. "I had this summer job last year at this ice cream place and I was sick with this crappy cold and so I took a day off? And I meant to wake up and call in sick, and I thought I did? But it turned out that I only dreamt that I called in sick. So they completely fired my ass and when I told my Mom why I didn't have a job to go to anymore it was just so pathetic that she just laughed and took pity on me and let me work in the gallery to make some spending money. Um…and then I broke a really expensive statue? But there were extenuating circumstances. The circumstances like, totally extenuated."

Willow laughed. She had missed Buffy, she realized…she had missed this Buffy, the one who made her laugh…

She took Buffy in her arms, and kissed her.

"You're my girl," Willow said.

"And you're my ham girl," Buffy said, and giggled, and looked around the room for her purse. She saw it on the bureau and walked over to it. "So how about we take a shower and head downtown like we planned? I wanna try that new shoe store? Plus I totally need donuts. And probably that ham. Let me just check my money first though. I might have to hit an ATM." Buffy stared back at Willow, over her shoulder. "And stop checking out my hot naked body."

"I'm in flagrant violation of rule number one," Willow said. "I got no respect for our laws."

"No respect at all," Buffy said. "You're being so flagrant. You should be on America's Most Wanted. But I think we need to stop kidding ourselves. The authorities never enforce rule number one." Buffy unzipped her purse, and her eyes widened, and her face became red. She quickly zipped it back up again.

"Um…okay…um…right," Buffy said. "So…shower, then downtown."

Willow knew what Buffy had seen in there that made her blush. For a moment, she considered telling Buffy everything. Everything about the previous night…and then she would take the strap-on out of Buffy's purse, and kneel in front of her, and put it on her, and kiss her feet while she did, and then she would take Buffy's dick in her mouth. And after she had done that for awhile, looking up into Buffy's eyes the whole time she sucked her dick, Buffy would lift her up in her strong arms, and carry her to the bed, and take her again…

Willow knew she couldn't.

She knew this Buffy wasn't ready to love her yet…

You and I are forever, the Slayer had said. We haven't said the words but we're gonna say the words someday…

Willow held on to that…she held on tight to it. She knew she was falling for Buffy…falling in love with her, a little more each day, each hour, each minute. She loved the Slayer in Buffy already. She knew she'd love the rest of her in time.

You and Buffy are on a path, now, the Slayer had said.

Willow didn't want to love anyone else.

But she wondered if the Slayer knew something she didn't…

"Earth to ham girl," Buffy said, and giggled. "You okay? Looked like you were zoning out on me for a sec there."

"I'm good, B," Willow said, and made herself smile…

And then it was over.

Willow wanted to cry. She'd screwed it all up…

Buffy had lied to her. She had lied, and met a man and gone with him somewhere, and kissed him…

It hurt Willow, when Buffy lied, but she held on tight…she held on tight to what the Slayer had said, held onto it for dear life…

Willow thought the man Buffy met was her guy, the one-time guy, and that Buffy still loved him…

She knew Buffy was in love with Willow, too.

The thought seemed strange for some reason. It was strange, thinking of Buffy in love with Willow. It gave Willow a weird feeling.

After Willow had followed Buffy and caught her meeting the man, and kissing him, she tried to hold on, tried to hold tight to what the Slayer had said, but then she found out Buffy was going away. That Buffy had never intended to stay with her; Buffy was leaving Sunnydale to go to college out of state next year. Willow had seen the college brochures in Buffy's house, and then Joyce had confirmed it when Willow overheard her talking to Buffy.

Willow knew the Slayer loved her…

…But Buffy didn't.

Maybe there just wasn't any more room…Buffy loved Willow, and maybe her guy too, and there just wasn't enough room left for her…

And Willow had tried to stay away after that, because it hurt too much…

And when she looked in Buffy's eyes now, Willow knew, finally knew, that she had lost Buffy…lost her forever. The Slayer in Buffy might always love her, but she could never come out again the way she had before…she'd told Willow they could never see each other that way again.

Even if you don't choose me, even if your path takes you to someone else, to one of those other loves, I'll always take care of you, the Slayer had said.

But it wasn't fair, because Willow had chosen Buffy…she'd done her best, tried to do everything right…

But Buffy hadn't chosen her…

And now it was over.

Willow was in Buffy's house, in her room with the one or two more stuffed animals than Willow thought were strictly required, and the Lauren Bacall and Ava Gardner posters on the wall, and Buffy's jasmine scent covering every surface. Buffy had asked her to stay with her, and Willow was uncomfortable because she was always broke and she shoplifted things to get by, and then she'd blurted out something stupid because she was just stupid, she always said stupid things, and now it was over…she'd screwed up one too many times and now she had run out of chances…

Buffy was looking at her in a way Willow had never seen before. But Willow knew what the look meant. Buffy was letting her go.

Willow felt herself collapsing inside…turning to dust.

She felt cold.

"You think we're trying and trying, and putting up with your shit, with your moods and your constantly blowing us off, because we feel bad for you?" Buffy said. "Willow and Xander, you think they invite you out because they feel bad for you? Like they look for people less fortunate than themselves to hang around with? They've got better things to do. Me? Giles? I'm the Slayer and he's my Watcher. We save lives. We've got better things to do than feel bad for you. Do you really think we spend all day worrying about you and whether or not you're depressed this week? Okay, yeah, you're a Slayer. That and a buck buys you a mocha cappuccino in this town. But there's just gonna be another one after you, so if you go south, we'll get over it. News flash: you're not on our minds all day. We don't spend our days thinking up creative new ways to be nice to you. Because you're just not that important. So if you want to live in that motel and steal to get by, or whatever it is you're doing now? Fine. Go ahead. At least you'll have your pride, right? Your pride, and no friends."

Buffy turned away from her, and looked out the window.

"You know why we all kept trying to include you?" Buffy said. "The real reason why? My Mom, Willow, all of us? Not because we're all scrambling around trying to fix your life. It's because we were stupid enough to like you, and to think you liked us back. That's it. No big conspiracy. I thought…I thought you liked me. But you obviously don't. You never want to be with us, you never want to be with me anymore. You've got better things to do too, I guess. So hey, congratulations, Faith. We get the message. We give up."

She turned and looked at Willow, and if Willow could have taken back everything she had said, she would have, when she saw that look in Buffy's eyes…when she saw the hurt she knew she had caused…

She knew she had lost her.

"If you don't want to be here then maybe you should go back to Boston, Faith," Buffy said.

Buffy turned back to the window, and didn't look at Willow again.

Willow wandered after that. She wandered around town after she apologized to Joyce and left Buffy's house, heading nowhere in particular…but she knew where she wanted to go. She knew what she was looking for.

She was looking for someplace high.

The night was cold; Sunnydale weather turned on a dime and the day had gone from sunny and mild to cold and blustery. Evan's leather coat couldn't keep the wind out; the wind was icy and clever and tenacious. It found every way in, every secret path, no matter how small, and leeched Willow's warmth away.

There were people out; it was Thursday night and still early. But Willow didn't notice them; they were shadows. There was music and lights and people laughing and holding hands…she saw someone wearing a sweater with a picture of a boat on it and the name of a yacht club below it.

And Willow remembered a place she had seen…

It would do.

She picked up her pace. After a moment she realized there was no reason to walk anymore; now that she knew exactly where she was going, she might as well get there. So she started sprinting…

Sprinting to the finish.

Willow arrived at Kingman's Bluff less than ten minutes later. It would have been at least a forty-minute walk and she was in a hurry. She didn't want to waste forty minutes. She didn't want another forty minutes.

There was a lighthouse on Kingman's Bluff; Willow had seen it when she was driving around town with Buffy the morning after they'd first met…later that day, they made love for the first time. Willow had looked around at everything as she drove, that morning; Willow liked new places and Sunnydale was new then.

This would be the last new place.

Kingman's Bluff was a very tall, almost sheer, rocky cliff-face, overlooking the ocean, and the lighthouse atop it was a conical tower, white at the base and red the rest of the way up, and it was close to two-hundred feet tall by the looks of it. Willow figured the lighthouse and the cliff combined amounted to a good four-hundred foot drop. Not as long a drop as the Prudential Building, but it would do. There were jagged rocks in the water below the cliff, and the ocean was noisy that night; it was high tide and the waves crashed and roiled about the rocks, lashed on by the cold, steady, remorseless wind. But the sea level wasn't high enough to submerge the rocks; they stuck out from the surface of the water like stone fangs. They would finish the job, if the fall wasn't enough for some reason. Willow didn't know how she had survived the fall from the Prudential Building but she knew for a fact she couldn't pull the same trick twice.

She looked up at the lighthouse.

The sight of the lighthouse standing alone in the near-total darkness of Sunnydale's black night atop the craggy cliff was beautiful to Willow. If it was the last sight she'd ever see, she thought it was a pretty good one. There was no beam shining forth from the lighthouse, no great, bright light flashing out into the dark and sweeping across that torrid sea, but Willow didn't care; she knew there was nothing out there anyway…nothing but more blackness.

She looked around. There were low hills, and a concrete path built through them, that looped its way around from the beach all the way up the side of the cliff from the north in a slow, steady ascent. The air smelled like the sea, and there was another scent, too; faint, but still there at the edge of Willow's perception…Willow had never smelled anything quite like it. It was exotic…

She put it out of her mind and sprinted again. She sprinted along the concrete path, looping around…

She remembered jogging with Rebecca. She used to think running was a pain in the ass in those days, before she became the Slayer and it got easy, but Rebecca always made it okay. And they'd go out for breakfast afterwards…Willow liked the House of Pancakes on Newbury Street, and they went there almost every morning. Willow always ordered a big stack of pancakes and bacon, Rebecca always ordered French toast with cinnamon…

Willow smiled at the memory. But it was gone…all that was left was this. The lighthouse, and the cold…the wind like icy fingers, the salty smell of the ocean, the waves bearing down relentlessly, the rocks like fangs, waiting to kill her…there was nothing else. Her life had been steadily reduced, pared down, to this place; to this last moment.

She reached the base of the lighthouse and saw a rusty old side door. She assumed at first she'd have to kick it in, but it swung open at her touch.

Inside the place was nearly pitch black and it smelled like oil and metal. The air was dusty. Once Willow's eyes adjusted somewhat she saw a cluttered little office full of notes and charts and esoteric equipment she didn't understand, but it didn't seem to have been used recently. There were no scents coming from it. There were two doors. Willow tried the first one; it was locked. She kicked it in. It was an empty utility closet. She saw an old mop and a pail and a roll of yellowing paper towels in the shadows, and a cockroach. She tried the other door; it wasn't locked. It opened onto a hallway done in peeling yellow linoleum, and a decrepit-looking elevator, the kind Willow had seen in old movies with a door like a metal gate, and there was a flight of stairs. Willow took the stairs; the elevator didn't look safe. She giggled at herself for skipping the elevator, as she bounded up the stairs in the dark, taking them three at a time.

She reached the top of the lighthouse in less than a minute; the stairs ended at a nondescript wooden door. It was open; she walked through into a circular, enclosed deck with windows all around. She could see the ocean, and hear the wind howling. It whistled and hammered against the windows, and they shook. She looked around and saw a door leading to the outside observation deck and she headed through it. The deck was hemmed around with a thick stone wall, about waist-high, with a black metal rail set into it. Willow sat on the wall, swung her legs around so they dangled off the edge, leaned her head on the rail, and looked out into the darkness; she felt the cold wind, and smelled the salty sea.

Now that she was there, she thought it was pretty nice. It was peaceful. It was cold, and the stone was cold to sit on, but she liked it there. She liked looking out at the ocean, even though there was nothing to see.

"I'm sorry, Becca," Willow said. Her voice sounded small; the wind and the dark swallowed it up. "I'm just…not strong enough. Not strong enough to save you. Not strong enough to save me either."

There really wasn't anything else to say.

It was nice sitting there for the moment but Willow knew that eventually she'd have to return to the world; the world where Buffy lived, the world where she could never have her. The world where Rebecca was dead…

Might as well get it over with, Willow thought.

She couldn't stand up on the wall; the railing was in the way. She tore a chunk of it off and flung it out into the darkness. It took awhile to hit the water. It didn't make a sound, as the empty, surging blackness swallowed it up.

Willow stood up on the cold stone, and looked down at the sea. The cliff was sheer, in this direction. She would only need to leap straight out about ten feet, to guarantee she'd hit the rocks. She was the Slayer; it would be easy.

Willow wondered who the next girl would be. She hoped, whoever the girl was, that someone like Rebecca found her.

Willow's eyes filled with tears.

"I love you, Becca," Willow whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Hey," someone said. It was a girl's voice.

Willow whirled around; she nearly fell off the wall.

"Hey, hey! Careful!" the girl shouted, and ran to Willow, and grabbed her hand. "Y-you…you could fall."

Willow looked down at the girl. She was blonde, with long hair done up in a braid, and big, wide-set, heavy-lidded blue eyes. She had pale skin, wide, full lips, and a voluptuous body. She was wearing a long white wraparound gypsy-style skirt with a pattern of flowers, a white sweater, gray boots and a faded denim jacket, and she carried a big, bulky denim shoulder bag. She wore a pendant on a silver chain; the pendant looked like a crystal. Willow hadn't noticed her, whoever she was; hadn't detected her approach…

Willow tuned in to her nose. She recognized the girl's scent now. It was the exotic scent she'd detected outside. She'd never smelled anything like it…she couldn't really even describe it, she had no real reference in her head for it. There was a spicy quality to the girl's scent…the closest thing Willow had ever smelled to it was ginger. But it smelled better than that. It smelled like faraway places…like new possibilities.

The girl's hand was warm. The girl wasn't trying to pull her down off the edge of the wall, but she was holding on tight to her, and leaning back a little, to make sure Willow didn't fall.

"Are…are you okay?" the girl said.

Willow wiped the tears from her eyes with her free hand. She tried to let go of the girl, but the girl wouldn't let her hand go. Willow could have wrenched herself free, but she didn't.

"Who are you?" Willow said.

The girl smiled. She had a kind face, and a pretty smile…a warm smile.

"I'm Tara," the girl said. "I-it's, um, really nice to meet you? Really nice, in, y'know, an awkward, hey, here we are in the dark at the top of a big creepy lighthouse kind of way."

Willow looked down at her, in the dark, and didn't say anything.

"Just so you know? I'm not gonna let go of your hand," Tara said.

Willow nodded.

"Why not?" Willow said.

"Um…well, it would be rude," Tara said. "And we haven't even been introduced yet or anything. I don't even know your name."

"I'm Faith," Willow said.

"That's a pretty name," Tara said, and smiled again.

"What are you doing here?"

"I, um, come up here sometimes. I s-sort of…like looking out at the water at night. I just got here a few months ago? And once I discovered this place I started sort of hanging out up here sometimes. Do you like, um, come here a lot?"

Willow didn't answer her. But she looked at her.

Tara flinched a little, when Willow looked at her. Willow didn't think she was afraid; people's scents changed when they were afraid and Tara's scent was the same. She seemed shy…like she wasn't used to new people and they made her a little nervous. Willow understood that. New people made her nervous too.

Tara looked down for a moment, when Willow looked at her, but then she looked right back up at her again, and kept smiling.

"Um…so like…I have cheese and crackers," Tara said.

"You have cheese and crackers?" Willow said.

"Um…in my bag?" Tara said. "Y'know, the cheese and crackers y-you get in candy machines, in the, the little plastic thing? Two great tastes that taste great together…wait, that's peanut butter cups. Now I want peanut butter cups, damn it. Um, okay, I'm babbling." Tara giggled. It was a soft, goofy giggle, and it echoed through the observation deck. It almost made Willow smile.

Willow sat down on the edge of the wall, and looked out at the water. The wind had died down; things seemed calmer now. The ocean looked nearly serene. It even felt warmer, suddenly.

"Um…mind if I…y'know, sit down?" Tara said.

"Yeah," Willow said, and didn't look at her. Tara still held her hand.

"Yeah I can sit, or, um, yeah you mind?"

"Yeah I mind."

"Oh. Um…okay. Guess I'll stand then."

Willow looked down at the water.

"So. Nice view," Tara said.

Willow looked down at the water. Tara held her hand.

"Do you want some cheese and crackers?" Tara said. "I'm gonna break out the cheese and crackers. I have Diet Coke too if you want some, but it's kind of all like, warm and flat."

"What are you doing here?" Willow said, without looking back at her.

"Holding your hand," Tara said. "Looking out at the water. You?"

"You should go," Willow said.

"Oh, I get it," Tara said, and grinned. "So you're like, the queen of the lighthouse now, huh? Like it's totally your lighthouse. Yup, Faith's lighthouse. No one else allowed."

"Yeah," Willow said.

"Don't see your name on it," Tara said.

Willow pulled her stake from her pocket, and scratched "FAITH", in capital letters, in the stone.

It was strange, looking at her name scratched in the stone, existing in the world now as a physical thing…for a moment it didn't seem right. It didn't seem like the right word.

Tara gently took the stake out of Willow's hand, and scratched her name in the stone beside hers. She scratched her name in lower-case letters, and in handwriting.

Willow looked down at their names, side by side. Then she looked back out at the water.

"Wanna sit?" Willow said.

"Can I?" Tara said.

"Your lighthouse too now, I guess. Got your name on it."

"Thanks," Tara said, and giggled again, and sat next to her. She swung her legs out into the darkness, and then made the mistake of looking down.

"Um…okay…whoa," Tara said.

"Afraid of heights?" Willow said.

"Would it completely ruin my cool tough chick image if I said yes, absolutely?"

"Your image is fine."

"Then yes, absolutely. I'm not usually all freaked out up here, but…this is…pretty high. Usually there's the nice, reassuring guard rail. Which you, um, broke off, I guess? Somehow."

Willow looked at her. Tara flinched a little, again, but she smiled again too. Willow thought being with Tara felt a little like holding a butterfly in her hand. The butterfly was a rare, beautiful, fragile thing, but if you made any sudden movements, it might fly away. Tara couldn't meet Willow's gaze for long; she looked down, or looked out at the water, whenever Willow looked at her for more than a couple of seconds. But Tara kept smiling.

Tara's eyes, her smile, her whole face, had an ethereal, slightly unreal quality…when Willow looked at her, she felt like she might be in a dream. She thought Tara might be a dream girl…someone Willow had created, from her need. A guide to the unknown, to new places and possibilities…

Tara was something new. Willow hadn't thought there were any new things left in the world; not for her.

Willow concentrated on Tara's scent; she liked it. Tara's scent didn't seem to come from anything Willow had experienced before. It came from some new place…it wasn't part of the world Willow had lived in up to now. It was a ginger key that unlocked a door to somewhere else.

"So um, how about the cheese and crackers?" Tara said.

"Okay," Willow said.

Tara was still holding her hand. She awkwardly attempted to unzip her shoulder bag with one hand.

"You're still holding my hand," Willow said.

"Yup," Tara said, and worked at the zipper.

"You don't have to," Willow said.

"I know," Tara said.

"You can't work the zipper."

"The zipper is presenting a problem, yes."

Willow helped Tara with the zipper with her free hand, and Tara took out four packets of cheese and crackers. They were the same ones Willow used to eat all the time, back when she was homeless. They were easy to shoplift and she liked the way they tasted. The packets each contained four long crackers with a pat of orange cheese in a separate section, and they had a tiny little red plastic knife for spreading the cheese.

Neither of them could get the packets open with one hand. Willow held one of the packets in place as Tara peeled back the plastic.

"I'm not gonna jump," Willow said. "You can let go."

"Were you gonna jump before?" Tara said, and took out a cracker. Willow picked up the plastic knife, and dipped it in the cheese, and spread cheese on it.

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Lost someone. A couple someones."

"I'm sorry, Faith," Tara said.

Willow looked at her. People said they were sorry about things all the time. They said they were sorry to strangers about things that had happened to them, because it was the polite thing to do, even though they didn't really care. But when Tara said it, she sounded sincere. She sounded like she cared.

"Thanks," Willow said.

Tara held the cracker out to Willow.

"Cheesycrackeriffic," Tara said.

Willow took the cracker, and ate it.

"Cheesycrackeriffic?" Tara said.

"Yeah," Willow said. "Always liked these."

"But are they cheesycrackeriffic?"

"Okay," Willow said, and smiled for the first time. "They're cheesycrackeriffic."

"The crackers don't have your name on them, right?" Tara said. "I wouldn't want to be hogging the crackers if they had your name on them."

"Don't seem to."

"I'm teasing you," Tara said, and giggled again. "I do that sometimes. You're kinda like, tease-able."

"Long as you smile when you do it."

"I think I can work with that."

Willow took another cracker out of the packet. Tara spread the cheese on it, and ate it.

"How did you lose them?" Tara said.

Willow looked out at the water.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Tara said. "I didn't m-mean to…get all like, up in your personal stuff? Just tell me to shut up."

"One died," Willow said. "She was like…a mom to me. She took care of me and then she died. About a month-and-a-half ago. Her name was Becca…Rebecca. But I always called her Becca. She died and…I loved her and…

Willow looked out at the water, and cried.

Tara put her arm around her, and pulled her closer. Willow resisted at first…then she let Tara hug her.

"I'm sorry, Faith," Tara said, again, as she held Willow close. "I'm sorry about Rebecca."

Willow nodded, and took in Tara's scent, and cried…and hugged her back.

Tara still hadn't let go of her hand.

They didn't talk after that; Tara held Willow close, and Willow held on to her. Eventually, Tara said, "It's cold up here. You wanna get out of here?"

Willow nodded.

And they left the lighthouse, and Tara held her hand…

"Okay, uh…so…I'm gonna take off," Willow said, as they stood outside now, by the rusty side door, and looked out at the water together.

"Um…I got my car here?" Tara said. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

"That's okay," Willow said. "I'm good with walking."

She tried to pull away from Tara, but Tara still wouldn't release her hand.

Tara smiled again…that dreamy smile, the one from faraway places. She giggled too. It was soft and goofy. The giggle hung there in the darkness around Willow, insistently.

"And I'm good with driving," Tara said. "Wonder who's gonna win?"

"Uh…I'm guessin' you," Willow said.

"C'mon, Faith," Tara said. "I'll give you a ride in my extremely lame car. If you're good I'll let you play with the radio."

Willow smiled, and shrugged her shoulders, and let Tara win.

The car was parked a hundred yards or so up the road past the lighthouse. They walked to it, holding hands.

"You ever gonna let go of my hand?" Willow said. "Just curious."

"Haven't decided," Tara said. "Leaning towards 'no'."

"Why?"

"I like you."

The car was a beat-up light blue 1988 Honda Civic hatchback. It had a good number of dents. It had a big "Bush/Quayle" sticker on the bumper.

"Um…I don't like Bush?" Tara said. "I just bought the car used a few months ago and when I went to take the sticker off the bumper was all rusty underneath and part of the bumper like, crumbled off. It's a load-bearing sticker."

Willow smiled, and shook her head. Tara kept making her smile.

"I'm in the market for a new sticker," Tara said. "It's on my to-do list."

"Okay," Willow said.

"I don't like Bush," Tara said. "Seriously. I'm very not a Republican."

"Okay," Willow said.

"It's an extremely lame car," Tara said.

"Seen worse," Willow said. "Trust me. You're gonna have to let go of my hand for us to get in the car, y'know."

"Promise you won't run away? I have a butterfly net in the trunk."

"I won't run."

Tara opened the passenger door for her, and Willow unlocked the driver's side door for Tara from the inside. The car smelled like Tara, and spearmint gum, and air freshener. It was warm inside.

"The car's extremely lame," Tara said, as she started it up. Willow looked at the odometer. The car had a little over sixty-thousand miles on it. "But I really needed the car."

Tara got it in gear, and took them out of there. Willow looked back at the lighthouse, standing atop the cliff, alone in the dark…it didn't look beautiful anymore. It just looked cold, and alone. She looked away from it.

She didn't want to kill herself anymore. But she didn't particularly want to live, either. She felt like she was at the beginning of something. She felt like she was starting from zero.

She had no idea where to go, or what to do.

"You really needed the car?" Willow said, because talking was easier than thinking…easier than staring at nothing, and trying to create something out of it.

"Well, um, I drive around the country solving mysteries and fighting crime and having sexy adventures? " Tara said. "I'm really cool that way."

Willow smiled again.

"Solve any mysteries yet?" Willow said.

"I'm still working on my first one," Tara said, and giggled. "The mystery of why the car's air conditioner doesn't work? After I solve that, in a totally sexy and adventurous way? I'm gonna move on to the mystery of where my cool red pen went, and then maybe I'll tackle, um, I don't know, voting fraud? Drug barons? Frankenstein? One of those. You hungry?"

"Guess I could eat," Willow said.

"The question is, could you eat my cooking?" Tara said. "I have lots and lots of leftover lasagna at my place. So much lasagna. Endless lasagna. Do you like lasagna?"

Tara looked at her, and smiled again.

It was one of those moments, Willow realized. She'd thought there weren't any left for her, but here one was, right in front of her…

It was one of those moments when Willow felt like she could head in a different direction…to a faraway place…to somewhere new.

Willow had nowhere to go. She didn't want to go back to her motel. She liked how Tara smelled.

She wanted to be somewhere new.

"I like lasagna," Willow said.

"Welcome to my shack," Tara said, as they pulled up in front of Tara's house and got out of the car. It was a long, low, white ranch-style house with blue shutters. It looked like a lot of other houses Willow had seen around Sunnydale: in California they didn't like building houses high, they liked building them long. This one had been divided right down the middle to create two big apartments. It stood at the end of a cul-de-sac lined with willow trees, and the little road was quiet save for the sound of crickets. The weather felt warm to Willow now, and the air smelled sweet; she could smell rose bushes in Tara's front yard, along with the willow trees, and fresh-cut grass.

A beautiful cat peeked out at Willow from behind one of the willow trees, and met her eyes, and purred; she was a sleek white Siamese with green eyes that were bright as diamonds in the dark. Her eyes followed Willow as she walked with Tara through a little creaky wooden gate, and up the cobblestone path through the front yard; the cat never once looked away.

There was a hedge around the front of the house, and the front yard had a bright green lawn and a rose garden, and also a lawn gnome that looked like the most perverted, drunken lawn gnome ever. It kicked back on the grass with a pipe in its mouth and a leer on its ruddy red face and a lecherous glint in its eyes.

"Evil pervert lawn gnome's not mine," Tara said.

"I sure wouldn't trust him," Willow said. "Bet he's all grabby."

When they reached the front door, Willow looked back across the street.

The cat was still there, watching her. She purred again.

Tara opened the door, and looked back at Willow, and smiled.

"Come on in, sweetie," Tara said, and took Willow's hand. "I'll make you lasagna."

Willow looked away from the cat, and followed Tara through the door, to somewhere new.

Tara's apartment smelled like Tara, and it also smelled like plants, scented candles, lasagna, incense, various herbs all intermingling together, perfume, and M&Ms. The door opened onto the parlor, and it was dark, even after Tara turned on the lights; it was lit by candles, and two tiffany-style lamps with white and gold stained glass shades, and they filled the room with a warm, golden light.

"I'm not too big on a lot of light at night," Tara said. "But I can turn the lights up if it's too dark."

"I like it like this," Willow said. "Kinda cozy."

The room reminded Willow of the living room in Buffy's house, a little: it was dark and warm and comfortable, and it had the tiffany lamps like in Buffy's house, and a big monstrosity of a couch like in Buffy's house too; Tara's couch was a plush silver-gray one with lots of white throw pillows and a gold quilt on top of it. There was a big glass coffee table in front of the couch with two incense candles on it, and a beautiful silver decorative bowl full of various herbs and powders set in between them, and a big bowl of M&M's next to it. A gold oriental rug with a white floral pattern covered most of the floor, and the walls were painted a light yellow. There were two big comfy-looking gold leather recliners arranged around the couch, facing an entertainment center with a television and a stereo and a CD tower and a Nintendo system. Concert posters and art prints covered the walls. And there were plants, everywhere: ferns hung in the windows trailing leaves down to the floor, and two rubber tree plants that reached all the way up to the ceiling stood in the corners by the windows, and eight cactus plants crowded on the shelves of the entertainment center. All the plants looked vibrant.

The room was silver and gold, and warm, and full of living things. Willow had never been anywhere like it before. It was new.

Tara was still holding Willow's hand. She led her to the couch, and sat her down. Willow liked the couch; it was warm and soft and comfortable and it smelled like Tara. She let herself sink into the cushions.

"Want something to drink?" Tara said. "I'll start up the lasagna, it shouldn't be long to reheat it. It's very lame lasagna by the way. You've been warned."

"Guess I'm kinda thirsty," Willow said.

"Um…soda? Juice?" Tara said. "I'm doing Diet Coke myself. This trunk doesn't need anymore junk in it." Tara giggled.

"Diet Coke's good," Willow said. "Got no problem with your trunk."

"It's got completely too much junk in it. It's a big junky trunk."

"It's not a big junky trunk," Willow said.

"You're good for my ego. I think I might have to keep you here. How about I keep you here? And like, make you very lame lasagna and every day you can tell me my trunk is just right."

"Sure," Willow said, and smiled.

They sat on the couch together, eating lasagna and M&M's and drinking Diet Coke. Tara had taken her boots off, and she sat cross-legged on the couch beside Willow. A big plate piled high with lasagna sat on the coffee table. The room was quiet, and warm. Willow thought the room felt like Rebecca's dining room had felt, sometimes, at night, when it was dark and silent, and the city was quiet outside. It felt special…sacred, somehow. Like she was in church. Willow had to keep resisting the urge to whisper.

"It's very lame lasagna," Tara said.

"It's not very lame," Willow said. "It tastes good. How come you think it's lame?"

"It's all like, gloppy and melty when it first comes out of the oven?" Tara said. "I can never get it like, firm. It gets better after I reheat it but it always starts out gloppy. It's very lame."

"It's not very lame," Willow said. "Plus I like how you got like, a meatball layer in here."

"Yeah, the ricotta cheese is good and everything but I like some meat in my lasagna."

"Me too. I'm big on meat."

"You can take your boots off if you want. Get comfortable."

"Okay," Willow said, and slipped off her docs, and tucked her feet under her, and sat cross-legged across from Tara. "Thanks."

"So you like my very lame lasagna?" Tara said.

"Yup," Willow said, as she finished off the last of it.

"Want more?" Tara said. "Still a long way to go to finish climbing Mount Lasagna over there."

"Yeah," Willow said. "Thanks."

"Sure, sweetie," Tara said, and smiled her dreamy smile again, and took Willow's plate, and piled two more big servings of lasagna on it.

"Good lasagna," Willow said, and dug in again.

"So…um…have you been in Sunnydale long, Faith?"

"No," Willow said. "Just a little over a month. Came out from Boston."

"Boston, huh?" Tara said, and smiled. "Yup, I figured it was either that or Springfield."

"Springfield?"

"Um, Simpsons joke. There's –"

"Mayor Quimby," Willow said, and smiled. "Goofin' on my accent, huh?"

"I tease. I'm an unrepentant teaser. You're very tease-able. And also very from Boston. Maybe extremely from Boston."

"Boston people don't have accents. Everyone else in the world does."

"That's right, sweetie," Tara said, and patted Willow's hand, and giggled. "So what brought you out here?"

"Uh…hey," Willow said, changing the subject. "I've been wondering, what's all that stuff in that bowl for?" She nodded toward the decorative silver bowl full of herbs and powders.

"I'm…um…well…s-sort of a witch," Tara said, looking down, unwilling to meet Willow's eyes.

"You're a witch?" Willow looked at the bowl again.

For a moment, that feeling came over her again…the feeling she'd had before, when it suddenly seemed like she had access to someone else's knowledge, someone else's memories…

"Yeah," Tara said, still looking down. "The…the s-stuff in the bowl? It's um, spell ingredients. I…cast a spell before. Um…are y-you like, freaked out?"

Tara was getting nervous. Willow hadn't known her long but she knew Tara stuttered when she was nervous.

Willow took her hand.

"No," Willow said. "It's cool, Tara. I'm not freaked out."

"Cool," Tara said, and relaxed, and smiled again. She was a butterfly…Willow knew she had to be careful, or Tara might fly away.

"You have, um, really nice eyes," Tara said, looking back up at her, and smiling.

"Thanks, T," Willow said. "So do you."

"T?" Tara said.

"Uh…I kinda like, give people nicknames?" Willow said. "Tryin' to find the right one for you. But nah, T doesn't work. I think you're just Tara."

"Sure I'm not Too Much Junk In The Trunk Girl?"

"You got the right amount of junk."

Willow didn't know about magic: she knew she couldn't possibly recognize what was in the bowl, she couldn't possibly know what spell those ingredients could be used to cast…

But she did. Willow knew what was in the bowl; she knew exactly what each of the ingredients was, and she knew every possible magical use for each one of them in every possible combination. She knew what spell Tara had cast.

She knew Tara had cast a love spell…a specific one, that only a powerful witch could cast with any hope of success. Willow knew it wasn't a spell to make someone love the caster, or bring someone to her. It was a specific invocation to Aphrodite, a spell that implored Aphrodite to lead the caster to someone she could love…and who could love her…

"I know a witch," Willow said.

"Seriously?" Tara said.

"Yeah," Willow said. "Her name is Willow. She can do some major stuff too. She can like find people if she has something of theirs, and she can read people's memories."

"The locator spells, I can do," Tara said. "But, reading memories? That's…wow. Willow's powerful."

"She threw a lightning bolt once, too. Fainted after, but still."

"Okay, you're pulling my leg. No way she threw a lightning bolt. No one can do stuff like that. Faith…seriously? Like, no one can do that. I've heard stories about people doing it, all witches have heard stories about that stuff but it's like, urban legends. No one can do that."

"Will did."

"You saw her do it?"

"No, but…she and, uh, her friends told me about how she did it."

"Sure they weren't pulling your leg?"

Willow thought about Buffy…about the lies Buffy had told her.

"I know Willow wouldn't lie to me," Willow said.

"Okay, well, if you say so I believe you, but…wow," Tara said. "I've heard some stuff about this town? Like how crazy stuff happens here but…wow."

"Said you've been here a few months, right? Why'd you come out here?"

"Um…well…I didn't…really get along with my Dad and my brother too well? And…my Mom died last year and so…I left."

"Your mother died?"

"Yeah. Breast cancer."

"I'm sorry, Tara," Willow said, and took Tara's hand again.

Tara nodded, and looked down at the couch.

Then she looked back up, back into Willow' eyes, and smiled.

"Thanks," Tara said.

"Sure," Willow said.

"So anyway…I'm originally from Milwaukee. My Dad and my brother were kinda jerks, but things were okay when my Mom was around…but then she died. My high school had offered me a double promotion the year before and I turned it down, but after my mother died I took it and so I was able to graduate early. Then I got an early acceptance and a scholarship to UC Sunnydale and here I am. I don't start classes until January, but I had a bunch of money saved up so I bought the extremely lame car and I've got this place on a short-term lease. Once I start at UC Sunnydale I'll be living in a dorm over there."

"How come Sunnydale?" Willow said. "Milwaukee's a ways away. Just to get far from your Dad?"

Tara looked carefully at Willow, searching her eyes. Then she looked down at the couch.

"If I told you something crazy, would you think I was crazy?" Tara said.

"No," Willow said. "Remember how I know a girl who threw a lightning bolt? Not too much can rattle me."

"I'm a witch for a reason, Faith. I'm in Sunnydale for a reason. And the reason is…when I was a little girl, when I was nine years old, someone found me."

"Someone found you?"

"A woman. She told me she was a witch. She knew me, knew my name, knew all about me."

"Who was she?"

"She didn't say. She was maybe like, mid-twenties, and pretty, with dark brown hair and green eyes and like, sort of cute chipmunk teeth when she smiled? Anyway she said…she said she was gathering soldiers."

"Soldiers?"

"She said there was a war coming, in the future. She told me…okay, here's where you think I'm crazy. Ready?"

"I won't think you're crazy."

"This woman told me she had traveled through time to find me, and some other people."

"She…? Jesus Christ," Willow said, and felt a chill go through her.

Willow tuned in to her senses. She listened to Tara's heartbeat. She took in her scent.

She knew Tara was telling the truth.

"She said there was a man, an evil man," Tara said. "Her opposite number in the world. She said he had traveled through time too. He had traveled through time, looking for certain people, and taking them out of the fight…sometimes killing them, sometimes just changing their destiny so they would never be a threat to his plans. This woman told me she was fixing the damage he had done. She said I would be important in the war that was coming, and that she needed to set me on the right path. She gave me this crystal," Tara said, and held out the crystal she wore around her neck to Willow.

Willow touched it. The crystal was a perfect white sphere, and it felt warm, as if it was generating heat somehow.

"She told me this crystal would bless me and protect me," Tara said. "She said she had blessed it, and some of her power was in it, and I should never take it off. And I never have."

"This war," Willow said. "She say anything else? Like when it happens?"

"Only that it would happen sometime in the future, and that I would fight by her side…that I would fight to save the world from what was coming. And not just me, but other people too…she said after she was done talking with me that she was heading to England in 1972 next."

"England in 1972?"

"To find another soldier. Um, plus she said she was glad to be leaving 1989 because everyone had bad hair and women wore those business suits with the shoulder pads. She made me laugh. She was cool. In, um, a time-traveling, telling me the world's gonna end kinda way."

"Remember anything else about her?"

"Just that I liked her…that I trusted her. That she made me smile. The thing is? She said a bunch of stuff, and I've only remembered it all in bits and pieces…when I was nine I didn't remember much of any of it, other than to never take off the crystal. Then when I was thirteen, I suddenly remembered the spell book she gave me, and the tarot cards, and I started practicing. A year ago, I remembered that she told me I had to go to Sunnydale. I think…she set stuff up in my head…messages that I could only remember when it was the right time."

"That's…okay…that story's heavy. That's some heavy shit."

"Yeah. So what's the verdict? Am I crazy?"

"Nope. You're on the up and up. I can tell when people are lying."

"Oh yeah? How can you do that?" Tara said, and grinned.

"Because I'm the Slayer," Willow said.

"Holy Mother," Tara said, ten minutes later, and got up, and paced around the room. She went to the window, and looked out. "Vampires. There are vampires…"

"Yeah. I'm not a fan," Willow said.

"And you kill them," Tara said, and turned back to her. "You're a…vampire slayer. You and…Buffy? You and her are vampire slayers."

"Yup," Willow said.

"Can they…can they get in? What if vampires try to break into my house?"

"They can only come in if you invite them. This is important, honey. Don't ever invite someone in to your house when the sun's down if you don't know them. Don't ever do it. You did it with me tonight, and I mean it Tara, I'm the last person you're ever gonna do it with again, okay?"

"Okay," Tara said, and smiled. She came back to the couch, and sat close to Willow.

"It's just that I don't…I never…had many friends," Tara said. "I came out here and…it's…hard to meet people. I'm…kinda shy."

"You got a friend," Willow said, and took her hand. "You got me."

"Cool," Tara said.

An awkward moment passed between them. Willow suddenly realized Tara was gay.

She saw it in her eyes, in her body language, felt it in the way Tara held her hand. Tara wasn't really flirting with her, wasn't making a play for her, but Willow could tell that Tara liked her…

"Don't go to bad neighborhoods alone at night," Willow said. "When the sun's down either be in your house, or in your car, or out where there are crowds. Don't ever be walkin' down dark alleys. There's a magic shop in town, the Magic Box, you go there?"

"Yeah," Tara said. "It's where I get my ingredients."

"It's in a bad neighborhood, it's full of vamps," Willow said. "From now on you only go there in the daytime and you always take your car. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks."

"What friends are for," Willow said. "So, uh…you mentioned tarot cards…are you good with tarot cards?"

"Sure, sweetie, why, you want a reading? I'll read you if you want."
"Okay," Willow said.

Tara leaned down and pulled a leather pouch from her shoulder bag on the floor by the coffee table, and moved the plate of lasagna and the M&M's and the decorative bowl out of the way. She took a deck of cards from the leather pouch, and spread them out face up between the two candles.

"Different than the ones I've seen," Willow said.

"You've been read before?" Tara said.

"Becca read me," Willow said. "She was my Watcher…Watchers train Slayers, help them fight, take care of them. She took care of me."

Tara took Willow's hand, and kissed her cheek. Willow smiled…and blushed a little.

"You probably saw a Rider-Waite deck," Tara said. "It's the standard deck, pretty much."

"Yeah," Willow said. "Rider-Waite. That's what Becca called it."

"There are lots of different decks, they all have the same cards but like, the illustrations are different? You can use pretty much any tarot deck, it all comes down to what you feel comfortable with, what deck sets the right mood. But this one…it's special. For one thing, I've never seen another deck with these illustrations…I think it's one of a kind. I think it's hand-painted. It's the deck that woman gave to me. Plus it's…kinda weird too. It…does weird things sometimes."

"Like what?"

"Well like, um, today? I do like, a daily reading for myself, just to sort of give me an idea of what's going on, what kind of energy is around me. I just pull out one card every day. Today I got the Lighthouse."

"That a weird card? Does it mean like, something bad?"

"Faith…there is no Lighthouse card. The card doesn't exist."

"Uh…wait. What?"

"Well, basically? I pulled a card out of the deck that doesn't exist in the deck. Freaky, huh?"

"You pulled a card from the deck that doesn't exist in the deck?"

"Yeah. It was designed like a major arcana card…"

"Major arcana?"

"Those are the ones that don't have a suit, like you know, the Star or the Moon or the High Priestess?" Tara said, pointing at the cards on the table.

"Like the Lovers," Willow said.

"Exactly. Every major arcana card has a roman numeral at the top, from zero to twenty-one. The Lighthouse had the roman numeral twenty-two at the top, and the drawing on the card was the lighthouse at Kingman's Bluff."

"That's…holy shit."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I was freaked out and I needed guidance. So I shuffled again and prayed to the Goddess and pulled another card, hoping it would explain the significance of the lighthouse…what I should do. I recognized the lighthouse on the card, I knew it was Kingman's Bluff, and I thought maybe the cards were telling me I should go there, but…I didn't know why, or what I should be looking for. So I pulled another card."

"What did you get?"

Tara looked at the cards spread out on the table, and pulled one from the pile, and held it up for Willow to see.

The card was an illustration of a skeleton with a scythe, standing in a grassy field with a bright sun in a cloudless blue sky above. There were beheaded bodies in the dirt at its feet. Some of the bodies looked like kings, others like peasants. The card had the roman numeral thirteen at the top.

At the bottom, it said, Death.

"The cards were trying to protect you tonight, sweetie," Tara said. "They sent me to help you. They want you to live."

Willow started to cry.

Tara put her arms around her, and this time Willow didn't resist, not even for a second, as Tara pulled her close, and held her tight.

"I don't know…I don't know why, Tara," Willow whispered. "I don't know why, why I should live. I don't know why."

"How about…because if you died I'd lose a friend?" Tara said. "And I only…I only have the one. And plus, um, vampires? If you weren't around I wouldn't ever leave my house again. Plus you think I have the right amount of junk in my trunk."

Willow laughed, and nodded.

She stayed close to Tara, stayed in her arms. She liked her scent. Eventually she pulled away, and dried her eyes, but she waited awhile.

"Sorry I got all goofy," Willow said.

"It's cool," Tara said. "You, um, wanna do a reading, or…if you don't want to, it's…"

"Let's do it," Willow said. "I'll be cool as a cucumber, promise."

"Okay," Tara said. "So what kind of reading do you want? I can do a general reading, or one where you ask a question…I can do career readings, or love readings…"

"What's a love reading?"

"I can read your future as far as, um, romance goes? If you have someone right now I can do a reading about you and him, or if you don't I can do one just for you."

Willow thought about Buffy.

"Just for me," Willow said.

"Okay," Tara said, and pulled a card out of the deck, and scooped the rest up and gave them to Willow. "Shuffle these."

Willow shuffled the cards, and Tara laid the card she had pulled from the deck face up on the table. It was a picture of a woman with long brown hair, sitting on an orange and yellow throne decorated with carved lions. The throne seemed to be in the middle of the desert. The woman wore a golden robe, and a golden crown. She held a long stave in her right hand and a sunflower in her left.

"How come you're leaving that one out?" Willow said.

"That's you," Tara said.

Willow looked at the card again. At the bottom of the card, Queen of Wands was written in flowing script.

"I'm the queen of wands?" Willow said.

"Yup," Tara said. "You're a wand. I thought you were kinda swordy at first but nope, definitely a wand. In this spread I always start with a card that indicates the querent – uh, that's the person getting the reading."

"Becca said I was a wand too."

"You're a total utter wand. This spread is one I came up with myself, for romance readings. It's a triangle, and the cards at the base tell us about your past, and what's influencing you romantically, and then as I read up toward the top it tells us what's going on in your life romantically now, and what your prospects are. The top card is that special someone you're looking for."

"What if there's no special someone at the top?"

"Whatever card is there will give me some kind of answer I can interpret, it can represent a person or an influence in your life. If it's a negative card it can tell us why you're not getting any mad lovin' right now."

Willow remembered the Slayer. She remembered how the Slayer had loved her the whole night long…

"Could use some mad lovin'," Willow said.

"Well let's see if your handsome prince is out there, huh?" Tara said.

Willow handed Tara the cards. For a moment she thought of telling Tara that she liked girls…that she liked her. She thought about kissing her.

Tara laid out the cards, ten of them in a triangle above the queen of wands.

She flipped the first card, the one at the bottom left of the triangle. It was the queen of cups.

"This is where you are now," Tara said. "This is what brought you here. I'm not gonna interpret until all the cards are up? I'll just give you an idea of what part each card plays in the story, and then when they're all up I'll actually tell you what I see going on."

"Okay," Willow said.

Tara flipped the second card, the one to the right of the first along the base of the triangle.

It was the queen of cups.

"What the…?" Tara said.

"You got two queens of cups in your deck?" Willow said.

"No," Tara said, and flipped the third card.

It was the queen of cups.

"Uh…this is…kinda freaky," Willow said.

Tara hurriedly flipped the rest of the cards, one after another. Every card was the queen of cups. She grabbed her deck, and spread all the cards out on the table, face up.

Every single card in the deck was the queen of cups.

"Okay hold up, that's…that's impossible," Willow said, sitting up and looking at the cards spread out on the table in bewilderment. "I saw them before I shuffled them. I saw the Death card, I saw a whole bunch of other cards, they were all different. Where the hell are they? Where did they all go?"

"This, this deck…Tara said. "I-it…um…does weird things."

"Hey," Willow said, and took her hand. "You all right, Tara? They're just cards, honey, okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, just kinda freaked out a little," Tara said. "But…listen. Everyone in the world? Everyone can be represented by a tarot court card. Like how you're the queen of wands?"

"Yeah, Becca told me that," Willow said. "And Becca said she was a sword. Plus she came up as the High Priestess."

"Faith…I'm the queen of cups," Tara said.

They sat silently together for a moment after that, looking down at seventy-eight queens in white robes, their blonde hair done up in braids, sitting on thrones by the sea, holding golden chalices in their hands. The queens looked very concerned. So did Willow and Tara.

"I need lots and lots of weed," Tara suddenly said, and stood up.

It was like someone stuck a pin in a balloon. Willow giggled, and then Tara started giggling too.

"Seriously?" Willow said.

"Not much else to do in Milwaukee, sweetie," Tara said. "But don't worry, I'm not like a stoner or anything. Mostly I have it in the house for spells; marijuana is a powerful spell ingredient. Once in awhile I'll smoke a little bit, just to relax. And, me? Needing some hardcore relaxation right now."

"Heard that," Willow said.

"You want some? Have you ever smoked weed? It won't make you like an instant stoner like those commercials say, I promise."

"Never really tried it but I got offered it a lot at parties."

"Do you want me to show you how, sweetie?" Tara said, and smiled, in her white gypsy skirt, and her white sweater, and her blonde hair in a braid.

"Yeah," Willow said.

"I'm gonna make you such a stoner," Tara said, and giggled, and walked out of the room.

She came back with rolling paper and a big plastic bag filled with pot.

"So uh…how do we do this?" Willow said.

"I'm gonna roll us a nice big joint, sweetie," Tara said, and sat next to Willow on the couch. "And then we're both gonna massively chill the hell out. And probably, um, get the giggles? And the munchies. Those M&M's over there on the table will soon be vital, vital to our continued survival."

Willow giggled. Tara cleared the tarot cards away and put them back in their leather pouch and put the pouch back in her bag, and then she rolled a joint. She sprinkled a liberal helping of pot onto the paper, and then rolled it up and licked it. When it was done, she lit it over one of the candles on the table, and handed it to Willow.

"Remember to inhale," Tara said, and giggled.

Willow giggled too, and took it in her mouth, and smoked it. She'd never had a cigarette of any type before and she thought she might start coughing or do something wrong, but the smoke went down smooth and it felt good. It felt warm in her throat, and she liked the way it smelled. After a few tokes she handed the joint to Tara, and Tara smoked too.

"How do you like it?" Tara said.

"Nice," Willow said. Tara put her feet up on the coffee table, and grabbed Willow's legs, and put Willow's feet up on the coffee table too. They sat close to each other, and didn't talk much, and smoked.

The silence lasted ten minutes, and then the giggles and the munchies swept over them like a monsoon and they were both suddenly laughing at nothing and eating all the M&M's and then they were playing Super Mario on Tara's Nintendo, and giggling at that because it was funny like every single other thing in the world, and therefore they should giggle at it.

"Damn gold coins!" Tara screamed at the screen. "Just jump! Jump! Jump and get the frigging coin! Why won't you jump?!" Willow laughed like it was the most hysterical thing ever and fell over into Tara's lap and then fell off the couch.

"You are such a stoner," Tara said, giggling down at her.

Willow giggled hysterically some more, into the rug this time, and Tara got her back up on the couch, said, "No more pot for you," which caused them both to start gigging hysterically again, and then immediately rolled them both another joint.

And they smoked and played Super Mario and giggled at everything and ate all the M&M's, and then Tara ran into the kitchen and came back out with more M&M's and potato chips and Diet Coke, and they had all that too, and smoked some more, and laughed, and sat very close together on the couch…

Willow wasn't sure when exactly it happened, but they fell asleep. She suddenly noticed that no one had talked for awhile and the little guy on the TV hadn't jumped for awhile, and she looked over and saw Tara curled up with her head on her shoulder. Willow had felt pretty damn mellow and extremely goofy before but now she felt like herself again. Things didn't seem funny anymore. But they didn't seem as bad as they had at the lighthouse, either.

She watched Tara sleep, with her head on her shoulder.

She thought about Buffy…and wondered what she was doing now. She wondered if she would ever see her again.

She liked Tara's head on her shoulder. She put her arm around her, and held her. Tara was warm. She snored a little. Willow thought it was a cute sound…she thought she could get used to hearing that sound at night. She looked toward the windows. The sky was gray outside; the sun would be up soon.

She saw the white Siamese, in the front yard now, staring at her.

She picked Tara up in her arms, and carried her to the bedroom.

It was a small, cozy room with heavy red curtains and a soft, frilly bed that smelled like Tara. There were scented candles on the bureau that smelled like strawberries, and a collection of crystals on a silver tray between them. An ivy plant with big, bright, bushy leaves hung in the window. The little tiffany lamp with the yellow glass shade lit the room in gold.

Willow laid Tara on the bed, and rested her head on the pillows. She got her under the covers, and made sure she was warm.

She sat next to her on the bed in the dark, and watched her for a moment.

"Thank you," Willow whispered in Tara's ear, and kissed her cheek.

The next night, Willow sat in one of the rickety chairs in her motel room, and read Rebecca's letter again.

Giles had given it to her, after she and Buffy had killed Kakistos. It was the only thing Willow had left of Rebecca now…

She read it, all the way through, almost every day.

After she read the letter, she lay awake in bed for awhile, and thought about things…mostly, she thought about Buffy, and Tara. She thought about how beautiful Buffy had looked, the day she gave her the bouquet of red roses, and called Buffy her queen. She thought of Tara's goofy giggle, and how warm she was, and how she wanted to kiss her.

But then Willow's thoughts returned to the same place they always ended up eventually…the place they came back to, at night, when Willow was alone in the motel room and the world was quiet and there were no distractions, nothing to take her mind off the fact that she had nothing left, now…

Willow ran into the elevator and pressed the button for the fifty-second floor, the doors closing just before the cops and the EMT's reached it. Then she fell to her knees, exhausted and crying. The floor felt cold. She vomited.

A sudden ringing sound startled her. It was the elevator doors opening. She was at the fifty-second floor. She had no memory of the last thirty seconds.

She looked out at the hallway, and hesitated. She was afraid…afraid she would die without ever getting to ride a roller coaster. That she would never go places or see things, like California, or the Louvre. That Brendan would be the last person she ever kissed.

She thought about her mother. She thought about the time when she was seven and her mother had hit her so hard her skull fractured and she was in the hospital for four days.

She was hurt, she could barely walk…and she didn't have her stake.

Kneeling on the cold metal floor of the elevator, hurt and scared and exhausted, Willow had no idea how she would fight Kakistos…how she could possibly manage even to hold him off.

She got up, and walked out of the elevator.

More than half of the restaurant was gone now. Thick, black smoke made it hard to see and harder to breathe, creeping into her lungs. She couldn't see Kakistos anywhere. She looked toward the center of the dining room, where she remembered Trevor's body was. The whole area was engulfed in flames now.

The area around Rebecca hadn't gone up yet. Willow jumped onto the bar and ran to her.

Rebecca was naked on the floor, in a pool of blood. She'd been beaten.

Willow put her coat over Rebecca and gently turned her head so she could see her face. It was swollen and bloody, yet Rebecca looked unnaturally pale. Her neck had two puncture wounds.

Willow cried, her whole body shaking.

Rebecca stirred. Willow brushed her tears away, and took her hand.

Rebecca opened her eyes as much as she could, and looked up at Willow.

"Faith," she said, in a weak, hoarse whisper, and smiled. "My girl."

Willow kissed Rebecca's cheek. It was a goodbye kiss, she knew.

"Don't…forget…dress in layers," Rebecca said.

"I will," Willow said. "I'll always dress in layers."

Rebecca smiled, and squeezed her hand.

"I love you, Becca," Willow said.

"Love…you…too," Rebecca whispered, and closed her eyes.

Willow started to sob.

"I love you, Becca…" she whispered.

Willow's head fell against Xander's shoulder, and she started to cry.

"No, no…don't die…" she said, crying into his shoulder, and shaking her head. "Don't leave me, don't leave me all alone…Becca don't go…please…"

"Will…baby…" Xander said.

"Don't leave me all alone, Becca…" Willow said.

"Buffy…please," Xander said, with tears in his eyes. "We gotta…we gotta stop this. She's scaring me now."

"I'm all alone," Willow cried, wailing now. "I'm all alone…I'm always in the cold…I'm cold…"

Willow sat up, away from Xander, and buried her face in her hand, and shook, and cried, her whole body heaving.

"He raped her," Willow said, her voice breaking. "He raped her and he killed her."

Buffy had tears in her eyes now.

"Faith?" Buffy said. "Is that…is that you, baby?"

"I loved her, Buffy," Willow said, looking straight at Buffy with eyes as black as the spaces between the stars. Tears fell from those black eyes, and streamed down her cheeks. "I loved her and she's dead because I wasn't good enough! She's dead because I wasn't good enough and it's all my fault!"

"No, baby. No," Buffy whispered, and hugged her, and held her as she cried. "It's not your fault."

"Seventy-two," Willow said. "Seventy-two people are dead, because of me. I kept count, I kept count, I kept count. Seventy-two."

"It's not your fault, baby," Buffy whispered.

"Nobody loves me," Willow said, softly, shaking her head, as Buffy held her in her arms. "I let him kill Becca and Evan's gone and nobody loves me now."

Buffy raised Willow's head, and looked at her.

"I love you, Faith," Buffy said, and started crying. "Oh God baby, I love you! I love you, baby…I love you so much…I love you, I love you."

"I…I love you too, B," Willow whispered, crying. "I love you too. You're my girl."

Willow kissed her.

And she held the kiss, and stroked Buffy's hair as she kissed her. Their tongues touched, caressed. Each felt the other's tears on her cheeks, tasted them on her lips. Buffy didn't pull away. She returned the kiss, every second of it.

Then Willow rested her head against Buffy's breasts, and Buffy held her until she stopped shaking…Buffy held her, until Willow felt warm again.

Willow's crying became less, and finally stopped. Her breathing returned to normal.

Willow sat up, and looked at Buffy, with her black eyes.

"Got more kisses than you got tears, B," Willow said, and kissed the tears rolling down Buffy's cheeks…

And Willow gently pulled her hand away from Faith's…

…And let her go.

The darkness in Willow's eyes faded away…the green returned, like spring after a long, dark winter.

Willow looked at Buffy again, with a small smile, blushing a little.

Then she reached out for Xander, and he took her in his arms.

"Jesus Christ," Xander said. "Jesus Christ."

"She's…she's…" Willow said.

"It's okay, Will," Buffy said. "Give yourself a minute."

"I'm okay," Willow said. "It's…not mine. It's Faith's. I just…took it on me for awhile."

"Give yourself a minute," Xander said. "Just relax for a…"

"No," Willow said, and pulled away from him and sat up. "Faith's in pain. She's in pain, Buffy…she's hiding it, trying to be brave for you but she's in a real lot of pain. We need to get her something for it, right now."

"Giles," Buffy said.

"On it," Xander said, and started up the car and peeled out of there.

"How is she other than the pain?" Buffy said. "Is she gonna be okay without a hospital?

"She doesn't have any bad internal injuries," Willow said. "She's got broken bones…left ankle, a couple of toes on her right foot, her right arm, right finger and thumb. She's got that bad cut across her stomach, and her right knee has a pretty bad bruise. The worst thing is she's got a skull fracture, but it's already healing up. I could see it, see her body healing itself. It was amazing. I think within a couple days, max, she's gonna be fine. Buffy…that energy I felt…is that how you feel all the time? It's like…the biggest rush in the world. I felt like I could do anything…and that was with Faith being all hurt. If it feels like this when she's hurt how does it feel when she's a hundred percent? I felt…my God Buffy, it was amazing, it was like…I could fly…"

Suddenly, all of Willow's senses reached out.

The wind picked up, rushing in through the broken window in the back and flitting around the car; it felt like a cold kiss on Willow's cheek. Willow's skin tingled, as if she was feeling the wind for the first time in her life. The air, the car, the buildings rushing by outside, Buffy and Xander's scents…everything about them, everything Willow was sensing, within the car and without, came at her like a wave, like a riptide carrying her out to sea. She almost lost her balance, lost herself. She had to steady herself against the dashboard, center herself again. The plastic and metal and leather felt sensuous under her fingers. They were smooth and cold and soft, but in a way Willow had never felt before. It was as if smooth and cold and soft were new concepts, that she was just now discovering…

Buffy smelled like jasmine.

Willow was aware of everything, of every single thing, around her. There was no demarcation anymore, no line where she ended and the world began. They were no longer two separate things.

Everything was so much more, now. So much deeper…she was connected to everything, to the whole world…

And then, a moment later, it was all gone.

Willow felt a wave of despair rush through her. She sank beneath it…she thought it might kill her.

But she knew it wasn't hers. She hadn't owned the sensations, she had borrowed them; she had no right to them and this despair wasn't hers either. The power, the euphoria…the intoxicating feeling of being one with everything, of having no limits…they weren't hers, and she knew she couldn't keep them. She wasn't chosen, like Buffy and Faith. She would have to choose things for herself.

Willow centered herself again, but not like Faith would: not like a Slayer would. She centered herself, in her own way…she retraced her steps, and found her way back to Willow.

"You okay?" Buffy said.

"Yeah…um…just…kind of a residual rush there," Willow said. "Whoa."

"Being a Slayer doesn't suck," Buffy said. "Well, except for all the parts that suck. But yeah, lots of energy, super-strength, kickin' butt? Those parts of the gig are pretty cool. Plus, super-fast healing? Can't ask for a better health plan."

"Being a Slayer so doesn't suck," Willow said. "Wow." Something was nagging at Willow…nagging at the back of her mind. She remembered people, places, that she was sure she'd never seen before…there was a girl, named Tara…had she ever met her?

Something was nagging at the back of her mind…

Willow tried to focus.

"Okay…um…so, one more thing we gotta do for Faith," Willow said. "She's healing but her body's using all its reserves. She's gonna need food in her, and I mean a lot. She's running on fumes. If we don't get her some food soon her healing will slow down big-time. Besides feeling all super kick-ass and one with the world and everything I also felt really, really, really hungry."

"Big Slayer appetite," Xander said.

"Yup," Willow said. "If you were covered in mustard I might've taken a bite outta you. And no, you're not allowed to make the joke you want to make."

"See?" Buffy said. "I don't always eat a lot just because I'm a big jelly donut hog. It's, y'know, because I need the energy for like, healing and stuff."

"Plus you're a big jelly donut hog," Xander said.

"Listen," Buffy said. "I need you guys to pack some things, you're both staying at my place until this is all over. I don't care what kind of excuses you have to make to your parents, but you're both staying with me starting now."

"Yeah," Xander said. "Makes sense."

"Xander, when we get home can you do your chef thing?" Buffy said. "I want you to cook a whole bunch of food up for Faith."

"Got my steak sauce?" Xander said.

"Got your steak sauce," Buffy said.

"She should get some heavy carbs in her too," Willow said. "Something really sugary. She needs the energy right now."

"The house has junk food covered pretty well," Buffy said. "We got oreos and Coke and ice cream."

"C'mon Buff, don't act all like you're not jonesing for jelly donuts," Xander said. "We both know you are. Big front's not fooling anyone."

"Okay, we'll get donuts," Buffy said. "This is all about how you secretly think I'm fat, isn't it? Do you think I look fat in this skirt? Seriously, give me your honest opinion."

"Careful, Xander," Willow said.

"I really need some male friends," Xander said.

Giles sat in the squeaky leather recliner reading De Vermis Mysteriis (not bound in human skin, but the pages were written in blood) and drinking tea and feeling very relaxed; he had Dark Side of the Moon playing, and he'd just put his feet up and he had his bathrobe and leather slippers on and there was a dash of sherry in his tea and he'd finally managed, through much trial and error, to adjust the decrepit old radiator so that it was sufficiently warm so as not to allow the old drafty windows to distract him while at the same time not heating the room to the approximate temperature of the inside of a volcano, and he was feeling quite cozy and comfortable now and he was therefore absolutely certain, certain beyond all known human realms of certainty, that Buffy would interrupt him at any moment, because that was simply his fate and he had resigned himself to it a long time ago.

And he had just found the perfect position on the squeaky recliner, too; it wasn't squeaking too much. There was just the right amount of squeaking.

The doorbell rang.

"Yes, of course," Giles said, and put his book down – and he had just gotten to a particularly interesting section about werewolves; Giles dearly loved werewolves – and got up and walked into the hallway with a sigh.

The bell was still ringing. Whoever was ringing it was leaning on it and not letting go. Giles turned on the hall light, adjusted his glasses, peered at the frosted glass, and saw a familiar diminutive, shadowy shape.

"I need the medicine stuff," Buffy said, marching past him as he opened the door. "I need that stuff you give me for pain, plus stuff for cleaning wounds, and bandages and ice packs and heating pads. And stuff to make a splint."

"Buffy…what…?" Giles said, running after her. He knew his Slayer: something was wrong. It wasn't what she was saying. It was the way she was saying it.

"What's wrong?" Giles said, following Buffy to the bathroom. "What happened?"

"Medicine stuff," Buffy said, tearing through the medicine cabinet and flinging aspirin and eye drops and shaving cream around. "Where is it?!"

"Buffy," he said, and took her by the shoulders, and turned her around. "I'll get it for you. While I'm getting it, tell me what happened. Fair enough?"

Buffy nodded.

"Start talking," Giles said, and walked away from her, into his bedroom, to the trunk where he stored the medical supplies he kept specifically for Buffy's needs. She followed him.

"Faith's hurt," Buffy said. "She needs all the medicine stuff."

"How badly?" Giles said, and knelt down and opened the old steamer trunk and began pulling out bandages and ice packs and heating pads and bottles of pills and iodine and alcohol.

"Those new vamps? Twenty of them came after Willow at the Bronze."

"What?" Giles said, turning to her. "Twenty? After Willow?"

"Faith was with her, if Faith wasn't there they would have gotten Willow. There were twenty of them, Giles…Faith fought them off, but…she's hurt. She's got broken bones and she was beat up pretty bad but she'll live. But I need the medicine stuff. Those pills you give me for pain, what are they? I need them."

"Here," Giles said, and handed Buffy a bottle. "These are morphine; there's nothing better for pain. Give her two and no more than two, as needed. They can be addictive; make sure she doesn't take more than two every four hours. She may have absolutely no alcohol while she's taking them."

"This is the stuff that always makes me feel better in like five minutes, right?" Buffy said. "This is the best stuff?"

"It's the best stuff," Giles said, and smiled. "Faith's my Slayer too, now. My girls get only the best."

Buffy kissed his cheek.

"Be right back," she said, and sprinted out of the room.

"Hey, baby," Buffy whispered in Faith's ear, as she caressed her cheek. "Time to wake up."

"No school," Faith muttered.

Buffy smiled.

"Faith," Buffy whispered. "Come on baby, you gotta wake up now."

Faith opened her eyes. She was in the backseat of the Citroen, with her head in Buffy's lap. She had Buffy's coat draped over her like a blanket. Willow and Xander were turned around in the front seat, smiling down at her.

Then the pain hit her. She winced.

"Hurts," Faith whispered.

"I know," Buffy said. "But I got good stuff for your pain here. It's gonna fix you right up, okay?" She had a glass of water in one hand, and two pills in the other. "Take these."

Buffy angled Faith's head up, and fed her the pills, and held the glass of water up to her mouth so she could swallow them.

"Okay," Buffy said. "They're gonna make you feel sleepy but you should feel better really soon. Giles gives these to me all the time when I'm hurt, it makes the pain go away in like five minutes. Just try to sleep, okay baby?"

Faith nodded. Buffy got up, and gently rested Faith's head back down on the seat.

"Where…you goin'?" Faith said.

"We're at Giles' house. I'm getting stuff for you, stuff you need. I'll be right back, okay? Then we're going home."

Faith nodded, and closed her eyes. Buffy got out of the car, gently shut the door, and ran back to Giles' house.

After a moment, Willow and Xander could hear Faith snoring softly. Willow reached back, and held Faith's hand.

"She saved your life," Xander said. "Twice."

"Yeah," Willow said.

"That stuff she said…I mean…you said. About Rebecca."

They spoke softly. Outside the car, the street was quiet and cold.

"She loved her," Willow said. "Faith loved…"

Something happened, in Willow's mind. She felt it…

It felt like doors opening…it felt like the petals of a flower unfolding.

Willow remembered sleeping on a cot in the living room in a tiny apartment in South Boston's D Street projects. The apartment smelled like cigarette smoke.

She remembered being beaten when she was just a little girl, and trying to curl up in a little ball…

She remembered making up stories at the doctor's office.

She remembered the little pink bicycle she tried to ride when she was ten, and a girl named Tara, and making love to Buffy, and Rebecca hugging her…

She remembered years of feeling cold. She remembered losing her virginity to a boy named Ronnie who didn't care about her. She remembered herself, through Faith's eyes…she remembered her own strawberry scent.

She remembered watching Rebecca die…

Willow remembered every single thing. Every day, every hour, every second of Faith's life…Willow realized that she hadn't just seen them. She knew she'd experienced them…lived them. She knew how Buffy tasted between her legs, and she knew the secret, terrible things the Slayer had whispered in Faith's ear, when she took her, over and over again. She knew how Tara giggled, and how her lasagna tasted. She knew how warm Rebecca always felt, and how beautiful her blue eyes were, oceans of blue…

"Hey…uh, Will? You okay?" Xander said.

Willow didn't know what to do. She felt panicky…like she was losing herself…like someone had taken her away, and she could never get herself back…

She thought about her breathing, and was suddenly afraid; what if it became hard to breathe? She felt the old fear…Faith's old fear, of suffocating.

Suddenly, it became hard to breathe. Willow didn't think she was getting enough air in. She started hyperventilating, but the deeper she inhaled the less air there was…

"WILLOW!" Xander shouted, and grabbed Willow by the shoulders.

Willow gasped. For a moment she didn't know where she was.

Then she came back to herself.

"Xander?" she whispered.

"Yeah," Xander said, and hugged her. "It's me, baby. What happened? You…you got lost there for a minute."

Willow felt like she could breathe again.

"It's…it's…nothing," Willow said. "Just…residual spell stuff. I'll be fine."

She didn't know if she could tell him. She didn't know if she ever could…

But she knew she had to tell Buffy.

"Will…that other thing…did Kakistos…do that to Rebecca?" Xander said.

Willow focused. She put Faith's memories off to the side. They were contained, for now. She was Willow again.

For now…

"Um…yeah," Willow said. "Faith was there when it happened. I saw it…saw the memories. There were thirteen vampires with Kakistos. She got through them all, but…"

"But Kakistos was tough," Xander said. "Buffy said he sent her flying with one hit."

"Yeah, but Faith beat him. She beat Kakistos. She had him down and she staked him. But…he just…shrugged it off."

"Evil rapist son of a bitch and he cheats."

Willow looked down at Faith.

It was like looking in a mirror, now…and Willow knew it always would be, from now on.

She took Faith's hand.

"Faith's got no one else, now, Xander," Willow said. "All she's got is us."

"We'll be enough," Xander said, and caressed Faith's hair.

"Yeah," Willow said. "We will."

"Buffy loves her," Xander said. "You guys…the kiss, and what you said. That was Buffy and Faith talking. They love each other."

"Yeah," Willow said. The memory of making love to the Slayer, of being on her knees in front of her, looking up into her green diamond eyes, and worshipping her, came back into Willow's mind. She knew how Buffy tasted now…she knew how Buffy's tongue felt, between her legs. She set the memory aside. "I…saw some memories…and no, I'm not telling you about them. They both just realized it today, this morning. They didn't say the words, but…they know."

"Well, speaking in my capacity as official greeter, I think this is the first boyfriend of Buffy's that I can actually approve of," Xander said.

"How do you know Buffy's not the boyfriend?"

"Is she?"

"Not telling. But maybe you can seduce that priceless bit of information out of me later. Are you gonna make a Katie Holmes joke now?"

"Tempting. But no."

"Today's Faith's birthday, you know."

"It is? Why didn't she tell us? How'd you find out?"

"Don't know why she didn't tell us, but I saw it in her head."

"Gonna have to do something for her. Presents and stuff."

"Yeah. Maybe we can have a day-late birthday party for her tomorrow."

They watched Faith sleep.

"Our gang," Willow said.

"Yeah," Xander said. "We should get gang jackets. Maybe bandanas."

"Maybe like, cool gang names? You could be 'Bruiser'."

"'Nighthawk'."

"'Nighthawk'?"

"What's wrong with 'Nighthawk'? And you could be 'Willow'."

"But I'm already Willow. I don't get, y'know, a cool gang name?"

Willow felt a little better now. Being Willow required an effort, but it got easier as she did it. The trick was to keep going…to keep on being Willow, and not stop for even a second…

"Willow's the most perfect, prettiest name ever," Xander said. "No reason to mess with perfection. Okay, maybe 'Pinky Tuscadero'."

"Pinky Tuscadero," Willow said, and giggled. "That's me."

"Got three jumps," Faith muttered.

"What?" Xander said. "What did she say? Is she awake?"

"Um…I don't think so?" Willow said. "I think she's talking in her sleep."

"About what?"

"No idea."

Willow knew she could find out. She just had to think about it…she didn't.

"I'm always the red," Faith muttered.

"She's always the red?" Xander said.

"And again with the having no idea," Willow said.

"You know…Faith's all like, an ass-kicker and bad ass and hot-looking and awesome and everything, but…girl does bring the goofiness," Xander said.

"You think she's hot?" Willow said.

"Yeah, Van Der Beek girl, I do. But not as hot as you."

"I bet you want a threesome with me and Faith now." Willow almost laughed out loud, the second she said it.

"I'm gonna invoke my right not to incriminate myself," Xander said. "But I will say that you two would look damn good in a slow-motion pillow fight in your underwear."

"Not fair," Willow said. "She's a Slayer. She'd, y'know, totally beat me in a pillow fight."

"You could use magic."

"I'm not up to pillow fight magic yet. It's advanced. Maybe there's an alternate universe where you boinked Faith too, Mister 'Oooh Cordelia's Got a Crush on Me And Hey Here's An Idea Let's Make Her Part of the Gang So She Can Check Out My Package'."

"An alternate universe where I boinked Faith," Xander said, stroking his chin. "An intriguing theory, Professor Rosenberg. Tell me more."

"Actually, I'm betting in that universe it's more like Faith boinked you, sweetie," Willow said.

"You know, normally I'd be all a guy right now and act offended, but I'm thinking you're probably right."

"It's probably a weird, bad universe anyway," Willow said.

"King me," Faith muttered.

Willow looked down at Faith again.

And Willow knew, knew for a fact, that she would never in her life be as close to anyone as she was with Faith.

She hadn't asked for it, and she didn't know how it happened. But, she realized that she didn't really mind anymore. The memories were part of her now…Faith was part of her. And Willow knew all she could do was accept it.

When she was Faith, she thought no one could love her…that no one ever would. Willow didn't ever want to feel that way again. And she didn't want Faith to ever feel that way again…

She was going to make sure Faith never did.

"Sure, sweetie," Willow said, and smiled, and kissed Faith's cheek. "You're a king."

Drusilla wasn't certain how long she had been there, in the dark…how long she had been praying, and crying. She didn't know if it was day or night. She had fallen asleep at some point, and lost track of time.

"Our Father, which art in Heaven," Drusilla whispered. "Hallowed be thy name."

She didn't know how long she had been praying, but she knew she had prayed a lot. And it hadn't helped. She was still in the closet. The two monsters were still in the house. No one had come to help…

No angel had come to save her.

The ropes around her wrists and ankles weren't too tight, but they were nevertheless starting to hurt again now. Darla had come to check on her a few times, at indeterminate points in the past – Drusilla couldn't remember how long ago it was now, it was hard to keep track of time, all the moments got lost somewhere back there in the dark – letting her out of the closet to use the toilet. The last time Darla had come to check on her, Drusilla had been in the closet long enough by that point for the ropes to affect her circulation and she couldn't stand; Darla had to carry her to the bathroom. Other than those brief respites, Drusilla had lain in the same position in the closet, curled up in a ball, since they'd put her in there. She thought it had been perhaps two days; she was hungry, and very thirsty, and she felt she needed a bath. She tried to turn over, and just barely managed it in the small, cramped closet, but it didn't help much. She wondered if she could possibly untie the knots binding her ankles. She thought she might be able to curl herself up into an even tighter ball, moving her legs up behind her until she could reach her ankles with her hands. But her hands were still tied behind her back, and without them she wouldn't be able to work the doorknob to open the door…

"Thy kingdom come," Drusilla whispered. "Thy will be done, in Earth as it is in Heaven."

Sometimes, she'd heard screams…they sounded like Veronica.

If she untied her legs she might kick the door open, or perhaps work the doorknob with her mouth. But that would still leave her with her hands tied behind her back, and Angelus and Darla were strong; Darla alone had overpowered her father and the rest of her family with ease. They were monsters…

Drusilla knew she had brought them there. She knew they were right…that she had been marked by the Devil, that her visions were his stamp on her, and that she was a monster. Didn't monsters belong with monsters?

But she didn't want to be a monster. She had always tried to be a good person…she hadn't asked for the visions, hadn't asked to be what she was…

She started to cry again. The screams she'd heard…Veronica was paying the price, now…first her mother had paid, and now Veronica was paying…paying for the evil Drusilla knew was a part of her, somehow.

Could an evil thing be redeemed?

"Give us this day our daily bread, and…and forgive us our trespasses…forgive us our trespasses…" Drusilla whispered, as she cried. "Forgive us, Lord. As we forgive them that trespass against us."

Whenever Angelus or Darla has closed the closet door, it had sounded like they had propped her desk chair up against it afterwards. It was likely that she wouldn't be able to kick it open. And with her hands bound, she wouldn't be able to use her father's revolver. She knew the revolver was their only chance against the monsters. She had to find some way to get her hands free, and get to the revolver…

She knew she would. She'd seen it, in a vision. And, for better or worse, her visions had always come true before.

"And lead us not into temptation…" Drusilla whispered.

She knew she just had to wait…and, eventually, her chance would come. She just had to hold on…

She wondered where Cassie was.

The closet was black as pitch and her bedroom outside was dark; there was no light coming in through the keyhole. She felt the pillow Darla had left her, and the floor beneath her; they were the only things that gave a clue to where she was. If it weren't for them, she might have been floating in a void…adrift in nothingness. There were moments when the closet, the void, seemed to be all that existed; moments when it seemed her world had been reduced to nothing. The closet was so dark she couldn't even see herself.

There were moments she wasn't sure she existed anymore.

She had seen darkness, in her visions…not just the darkness of the closet but another darkness as well, deeper and more terrifying. After she pointed the revolver at Angelus in the vision, there was only darkness after that…she wondered what it meant. Her visions were sometimes ambiguous things.

Whatever it meant, whatever that darkness portended…she was going to fight. She was going to be strong, for Cassie. She was going to be as strong as she could. She was going to show the Lord that she could be a good person…that she didn't belong in the darkness.

"But deliver us from evil," Drusilla whispered into the darkness.

"He can't hear you, blackbird," the darkness whispered back…

Drusilla gasped, and shuddered.

"He just isn't listening, I'm afraid," Drusilla heard Angelus whisper, from the other side of the door. "He would never listen to an evil, depraved thing like you. But I'm listening, Dru. I'll always listen."

"What…do you want?" Drusilla said. She couldn't wipe her tears away; her hands were tied. Her tears dripped down her cheeks, and off her chin, onto her dress.

"Just to be with you, darlin'," Angelus said. "To comfort you. I'm your father, after all."

"I heard…screams before."

"That? That was just me raping Veronica. Girl's a screamer." Drusilla heard Angelus chuckle.

"But you said…that you wouldn't," Drusilla whimpered. "You said…if I was with you…"

"I said we'd try it out for awhile," Angelus said. "And we did. But then Veronica got on my nerves."

Angelus had tried to force Veronica to disown Drusilla, to tell her that she hated her; it's what he wanted them all to do. But Veronica refused to say the words, no matter how much he beat her, or raped her. He was going to give her one more chance, but he didn't think she'd give in to him. He'd had to alter his plan because of Veronica, but it didn't really matter. Olivia and Cassandra weren't anywhere near as strong as Veronica and he knew they could be made to do what he wanted. And altering his plan had inspired him to come up with something really special to do with the father…something that he knew would take Drusilla right to the brink.

"Have you…hurt Cassie?" Drusilla whispered.

"No," Angelus said. "She's been a good girl."

"I want you to be a good girl now, Cassie," Darla said.

She was sitting with Cassandra, on the bed in her room. She'd spent most of her time with Cassandra the past two days, ever since they had put Drusilla in the closet; it was part of Angelus' plan. The room was decorated like Drusilla's, with the same painted furniture, and the bed was a sleigh bed like Drusilla's too. There was a draughts board on the writing desk, with all the red and white pieces set in their positions, ready for a new game, and there was a dollhouse, just like Drusilla's, sitting on the floor next to it. But there were no porcelain dolls on shelves lining the walls; instead, Cassandra's walls were covered with paintings. Landscapes, and portraits of her family. Darla thought the paintings were still somewhat rough, the work of an artist mastering her craft, but the portraits were splendid nevertheless, capturing the likenesses with a keen eye; Darla noticed that Drusilla's portrait predominated. In all her portraits, Drusilla was smiling. Unlike the painting in the parlor, Drusilla's smiles in these paintings looked genuine.

Cassandra had done the paintings; Darla saw an easel by the window. There was a canvas on the easel with another portrait of Drusilla, half-completed: Drusilla sitting in a wicker chair on the veranda, laughing and fussing with her hair, with the garden seeming to go on forever behind her, a universe of green, dotted with flowers as bright as stars.

Cassandra's paintings weren't as polished as the family portrait in the parlor, that one was obviously the work of a more experienced artist. But Cassandra captured likenesses extremely well and her paintings had more spirit to them: they were explosions of life and warmth and color, often eschewing fine detail or strict adherence to the rules of composition or perspective in order to emphasize some aspect of their subject that, while not necessarily accurate to life, was nevertheless perfectly accurate to the subject's inner life. The paintings seemed impatient things, created in haste; the short, broad, thick brushstrokes seemed the work of an artist in a hurry, as if the work was burning inside her and needed to get out. The family portrait in the parlor was technically flawless, but it was so formal, so posed, that it drained the life from its subjects; they may as well have been mannequins. Cassandra's paintings had life; they had beating hearts.

The family portrait in the parlor may have been more acceptable, but it was a drab thing; it may have been more valuable, but it was like dull, faded silver compared to Cassandra's vibrant, lustrous gems. Darla wondered why the Morgans hadn't hung one of Cassandra's paintings in the parlor instead, or anywhere else in the house for that matter. Darla found that she wanted to hurt Olivia and her husband, now; they were just prey before, the means to an end. But now she realized she actually hated them. She found that interesting. She found it interesting that she could actually hate someone.

Darla held Cassandra's hands in hers, and watched her eyes, as they darted around the room, looking everywhere but at her: even though Darla had spent almost all of her time with Cassandra these past two days, she knew the girl was still afraid of her. She found herself thinking of those flowers in the glass domes on the mantle in the parlor, as she looked at Cassandra. Beautiful things, trapped, locked away.

"You have to promise to be a good girl for me now that I've untied you," Darla said.

"I'll be good," Cassandra said, looking down at the floor. There were oil paint stains on the floor, ingrained in the wood.

"Look at me," Darla said.

Flinching, Cassandra looked up at her, without looking in her eyes.

Darla realized she had come to like this girl. It was strange…the girl was weak, the weakest of the three sisters, weaker even than the mother. And she was appallingly naive. But for some reason, Darla liked her. There was something bright and beautiful, and fragile, inside of her, that came out in her paintings. The fragility added to its beauty. The girl was soft and skittish, like a deer, and her green eyes were like sun-dappled leaves, and she smelled like flowers.

In her human life, Darla had always wanted a daughter…but she was a whore, and that kind of love was denied her. And she was finding now that the tenderness with which she treated Cassandra, though it was all part of Angelus' plan, wasn't feigned. Tenderness came easily to her, when she was with Cassandra. She could hardly believe, it, but she didn't want to hurt her…she wanted to protect her.

Of course Darla knew she didn't actually care about the girl; that would be preposterous. But still…there was something about Cassandra…something that brought out the mother in her.

Darla thought she might turn her. If they were going to have a daughter, why not two?

"And there are some things you need to do for me if you're going to be a good girl," Darla said. "All right?"

"All right," Cassandra said. She spoke in a flat, languid monotone. She sat very still, her hands folded in her lap.

"First, from now on, I want you to call me 'mother'," Darla said, and smiled, and touched Cassandra's cheek. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Cassandra said.

Darla raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Yes…mother," Cassandra said.

"Good girl," Darla said, and kissed her cheek.

Cassandra seemed to relax a bit. But she was still tense; she sat rigidly upright on the bed, looking at Darla without really looking at her, because she was afraid to. Looking in her eyes, Darla knew Cassandra was somewhere else…hiding from her.

"Draughts," Darla said, looking over at the draughts board. "Where I come from, we call it checkers."

"Checkers?" Cassandra said.

"Because of the checkered board, dear," Darla said.

"Oh," Cassandra said.

"Do you like to play?"

"Yes…I play sometimes. Drusilla and I…we…"

Cassandra started to cry. Darla hugged her. She knew Cassandra was here, now…she had stopped hiding, for the moment.

"It's all right," Darla whispered. "Mother's here now. Mother will protect you."

"Drusilla," Cassandra whispered. "Is she…?"

"She's perfectly fine, Cassie," Darla said. "We would never hurt her. I promise. She's part of our family now. I'm her mother too, and I'd never hurt one of my daughters. All right?"

Cassandra nodded. She didn't hug Darla back, but Darla could feel Cassandra's body relaxing a little.

Darla looked her in her eyes again, and this time, Cassandra really looked back.

"But you need to be a good girl, and be strong for your sister," Darla said. "Can you be strong for Drusilla?"

"I can," Cassandra said. "I'll be strong. I'll be strong for Dru."

"Good. You know, I was quite a hand at checkers…draughts, in my day," Darla said. "Are you up for a match?"

"All right," Cassandra said.

Darla got up and brought the draughts board to the bed, and set it between them. "Do you play often?" she said.

"I play Dru a lot," Cassandra said. "We have tournaments every week."

"Doesn't Veronica join you?"

"No…she doesn't like draughts. She's always out with father."

"I bet you win the tournaments all the time."

"I win a lot," Cassandra said, and smiled, a small smile. "I'm very good at draughts."

"Well it's been awhile since I've played," Darla said, and smiled back. "The last time was in Barcelona, a very long while ago; I bested an old Moorish soldier three games out of five and won a bottle of rum and some excellent cigars. But I bet I can still show you a thing or two."

"You've…been to Spain?"

"Oh my yes, many times. You haven't?"

"No. I haven't…really been many places."

"Why on earth not? You have the means, certainly you could travel."

Cassandra shrugged her shoulders, and looked down at the draughts board.

"What color do you want?" Cassandra said. "White always moves first. Do you want to be white?"

"I'm always the red," Darla said, and smiled. "You can move first. I rather think you'll need the advantage."

Cassandra smiled again, a bigger smile this time.

"We'll see," she said.

Cassandra made her move, quickly and confidently. Darla countered.

"What's Barcelona like?" Cassandra said.

"Since they ousted the French, Spain has been unstable, with bands of revolutionaries controlling large areas of the country," Darla said. "I don't think Isabella will be on the throne much longer. But it's a lovely country, and Barcelona is my favorite place there; it's where I always go when I visit. It's right by the sea, and it's wonderful there in the summer and even the winters are mild. England is gray and dreary and wet but Spain is absolutely vibrant, especially in summer. It's very warm, but it's dry, not appallingly humid like it can be here. The days are bright and beautiful and the nights are even moreso; Barcelona never seems to have a cloud, and you can see the stars go on forever there at night. The factories haven't blotted out the sky there yet."

"My father travels sometimes," Cassandra said. "He takes Veronica with him sometimes. She's been to France and Italy with him. He doesn't take me or Dru. I don't think…I don't think he likes Dru."

"Why not?" Darla said.

Cassandra moved.

"She's sensitive about things," Cassandra said. "She doesn't want to go hunting with him or go to cricket matches like Veronica does. And her dreams frighten him."

Darla countered.

"They should," Darla said. "They're true."

Cassandra moved, a defensive move, to block Darla's advance.

"How…do you know that?" Cassandra said. "True how?"

Darla brought another piece up and neatly skirted around it.

"Dru dreamed of me, and Angelus," Darla said. "She dreamed we would be her new family…and that we would always love her and take care of her, because your father and the dog never did. Your father should be frightened; we're taking Dru away with us so he can never hurt her again."

Cassandra grew pale, when Darla referred to her mother as a dog. But it soon passed. Darla had spent two days with her, and she always referred to Olivia as the dog; Darla could see Cassandra was getting used to it now. Cassandra wasn't close to her father but she was close to her mother; Darla knew separating them would take time. It began with Olivia on a leash.

Cassandra moved, tentatively; it was an error.

Darla advanced a piece. She caressed Cassandra's hair, and smiled at her.

"But Dru's dreams don't always tell her everything, Cassie," Darla said. "She didn't see you in her vision of us; she doesn't know where you fit. She doesn't know if you're going to be with her…she's afraid you won't. That you'll choose to stay here, with your father and the dog, and not come with her, when we all leave. She's desperately frightened she'll lose you."

Cassandra countered, a good, strong move this time, and looked up at her.

"She won't lose me," Cassandra said.

Darla moved; she saw a weak spot in Cassandra's line and moved to exploit it.

"Even if that means you have to come with me?" Darla said. "But you'd have to endure such dreadful things, Cassie. Why, I'd take you and Dru to Barcelona with me and we'd drink rum and laugh and show those hot-headed Spaniards how draughts is played. I'd show you the canals of Venice, and the Sistine Chapel. I'd see to it your marvelous paintings escaped this dreary house and hung in a proper gallery in Paris. Do you really think you could tolerate such unremitting tedium?"

"You'd really…take me to those places?" Cassandra said, and moved, not paying attention; Darla immediately saw her error.

"Yes, you and Dru together," Darla said, and moved a piece, and laid her trap. "I suppose you'd find it all terribly trying."

Cassandra giggled.

"It does all sound rather trying, but I suppose I might muddle through," Cassandra said, and smiled.

Cassandra moved, and made an error; she didn't notice Darla's gambit and she fell into the trap; it put three of her pieces in the wolf's jaws.

"I've got three jumps," Darla said, and took the three pieces off the board. "Where is that pretty little head of yours?"

"I can't believe I didn't see that," Cassandra said. Darla thought she had the most precious little pouty look on her face, when she said it.

"I told you, I'm quite the hand," Darla said, and grinned. "And I even gave you the first move, too. Are you certain you've won all those tournaments, dear?"

"Just watch," Cassandra said, and concentrated on the board, and Darla thought her brow furrowed in the most adorable way, as she thought carefully about her next move.

"The proof's in the pudding, dear," Darla said.

Cassandra moved.

"Tell me more about Spain?" she said.

Darla countered; she sacrificed a piece to open the board.

"Aha," Cassandra said, and smiled, as she took Darla's piece. "Told you. I'm paying attention now."

"We'll see, dear," Darla said, and moved again, leaving another of her pieces vulnerable.

"Where is that pretty head of yours?" Cassandra said, and giggled, and took the piece. Darla giggled too.

Everything was going according to plan…

"Go on about Spain," Cassandra said.

Darla moved.

"There are people, especially English people, who think of Spain as a backward country," Darla said. "I suppose because there are so many beautiful little out of the way towns there that don't have quite the modern amenities they're used to when they travel. English people go to Spain and they see illiterate peasants. But I go there and I see people who are alive: people who laugh, and argue, and drink, and have passion, have fire. I'll take one Spanish bullfight over a dozen English cricket matches. I'd rather sit all day long in a tiny little bar in Barcelona drinking rum and playing cards with a wild group of drunk old Spaniards than have to attend yet another dull English banquet. There's a Spanish painter I think you'd like, Francisco Goya. Have you heard of him?"

Darla smiled as they traded moves; she was making steady progress through Cassandra's ranks now, attacking Cassandra's pieces and sacrificing some of her own to draw Cassandra's attention where she wanted it; away from the two red pieces that were heading, inexorably, toward Cassandra's king's row.

"I've heard of him, but I haven't seen his work," Cassandra said. Darla thought she looked worried now; she'd finally noticed what Darla was doing. Cassandra saw the two pieces heading for king's row and knew she wouldn't be able to stop them both…

Cassandra moved, trying to head off one of Darla's pieces.

Darla countered.

"You'd love his work, it has fire, like yours does," Darla said. "In fact yours reminds me very much of his. You have the same wonderful grasp of light and shadow as he did, and you have the same passion; you capture the intensity of moments the way he did. Someday, if you'd like, I'll take you to see his work."

"I'd like that," Cassandra said, and blocked one of Darla's pieces from reaching king's row. But it left the way open for the other piece.

Darla moved the piece, one rank away from king's row now, and none of Cassandra's pieces were in position to stop it.

"I'll take you and Dru," Darla said. "We'll all go, the whole family."

Cassandra regrouped. She needed to reach Darla's king's row with one of her own pieces as soon as possible now. She considered the board.

"Would you like that?" Darla said. "You and me and Dru, in Spain, looking at Goya's paintings?

Darla had considered her strategy well, Cassandra thought. She saw no way through Darla's ranks, not without sacrificing too many of her pieces and leaving the rest vulnerable; those initial three losses had hurt her more badly than she thought. She moved a piece, but she knew it didn't matter now; most of her pieces were blocked and she was outnumbered, and Darla had a clear path to king's row…

Cassandra realized the game was lost; Darla was too good a player not to press this advantage. Darla wouldn't make a mistake now.

"Yes…I think I'd like that," Cassandra said. "If…if Dru was with us."

"She will be, Cassie," Darla said.

Darla moved her red piece into king's row.

"King me," Darla said, and smiled.

"The game is lost," Cassandra said, as she capped Darla's piece. "Perhaps I'm not so good as I think."

"I've lived a very long time, Cassie. I'm very old and I've seen many things and played quite a lot of checkers…draughts. We can play three out of five. You'll have every chance to redeem yourself and give me a right thumping."

"All right. You're not old. You're pretty."

"You think I'm pretty?"

Cassandra nodded.

Darla hugged her. This time, Cassandra hugged her back. Cassandra was tentative when she hugged Darla back, and she only did it for a couple of seconds, but she did it.

Darla looked at her. Cassandra had a beautiful neck; it was long and white, like a swan.

"You're such a little angel," Darla whispered, and decided she would begin taking Cassandra's blood soon. She knew Cassandra would come to like it in time, and it would bring them closer. "But trust me Cassie, I'm much older than I look."

"Really?" Cassandra said, and looked at Darla, studying her face. "But you don't look much older than Dru."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Darla said.

Veronica slept on the floor in her bedroom, huddled in the corner where Angelus had left her the night before, tied up and bloody and beaten, and dreamed of cigar smoke.

Her father's cigars were such smelly, awful things, they stunk up the whole house…

Her pain woke her up again.

She wondered how long she had managed to sleep this time. She looked toward the window. Angelus had drawn the heavy curtains, but she could tell it was still day outside. The ropes were cutting into her wrists and her ankles, cutting off her circulation; Angelus had tied them very tight. Her wrists and ankles felt numb now, and they were drained of color, except where they were lacerated from the ropes.

The pain was all flowing back now, from every part of her. It never went away for long. One of her arms was broken, and her left eye was swollen shut. Her lips were swollen so large that she could hardly speak through them anymore; Angelus had punched her in the mouth, and she had lost two of her front teeth. Breathing through her nose felt strange; it still throbbed, and she thought it was probably broken. She was hungry and thirsty and nauseous and tired; she had slept, a little, but not nearly enough. Angelus had come in and roughly awakened her every few hours, and raped her again. Each time, the beating was worse. Each time, he asked her the same question. Each time, she had said, "no".

Her body shook sometimes, all on its own. The pain in her broken arm was an insistent pounding, like a heartbeat, and getting worse. The bruise on her arm looked black now. She needed to go to the bathroom, badly; she had told Angelus a few hours before and he had just smiled and told her to piss herself. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. But she knew she couldn't hold it much longer, and she would give in to him soon…first in the small ways, and then, eventually, in the larger ways. She would piss herself, soon. And he would come in again to rape her, and when he told her to spread her legs for him like he always did, she wondered if she would have the strength to resist him, this time…the other times, she had always fought him, always made him force her…and he beat her. And she didn't know if she could take another beating…she didn't know if she was strong enough.

The funny thing was, she agreed with him. She knew this was all Drusilla's fault. She had never much liked her daft, moonstruck older sister, with her bleak poems and her babbling talk and her ridiculous porcelain dolls, never really felt a kinship with her. And she hated her now, for what she'd brought down on them. And all Angelus wanted her to do was tell Drusilla that. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Veronica knew that Drusilla and her blasphemous visions had brought all this down on them. Her father should have sent her away, sent her to that convent forever and washed his hands of her…

She knew Angelus would be there soon, to rape her, and beat her, and ask the question again…and he had said he would ask only one more time. Veronica knew if she refused to do what he bid, if she refused to disown Drusilla, he would kill her this time.

She cried, as her bladder, stressed beyond its limits, finally emptied itself. She felt her urine, warm, filling up her drawers, and soaking them through, and then soaking through her petticoats, and her dress…it puddled a dark, golden yellow on the floor beneath her, and filled the room with a putrid smell.

She wriggled her way out of the urine, and leaned her head against the wall, and cried.

She heard Angelus laughing.

She looked up. He was leaning in the doorway.

She didn't avoid his eyes, didn't flinch, didn't look away from him. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Get it over with," she hissed, through cracked, swollen lips.

"You need a bath, darlin'," Angelus said. "You smell like piss. You smell like some filthy whore I found in an alley."

She didn't respond. She knew he wanted her to say something, to become angry, or outraged…to show him he was getting to her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"I could let you have a bath," Angelus said. "And I could tend to your wounds, fix that broken arm up. And I could even stop hurting you. It all depends on how you answer my question."

He crouched down beside her.

"It's just four words, Veronica," Angelus said. "Say those four words to Drusilla, and I won't hurt you anymore…I won't rape you anymore."

His breath stank of blood. His eyes had nothing in them.

Veronica thought about the words. She saw herself, saying them.

The funny thing was, she wanted to say them. For what Drusilla had brought down on them all, she wanted to say them…

"Will you say the words?" Angelus said.

Veronica remembered her father, and trips to the seaside…he always took her with him, because she was his favorite. They went horseback riding together, and he had even let her hunt pheasant with him. She didn't know where her father was, now. After Darla had burst in and somehow overpowered them all and then tied them up, she'd dragged her father away…she didn't know where she'd taken him.

The last time she saw him, he was bleeding, bound and gagged and straining ferociously against his bonds, being dragged away upstairs by Darla like some captured animal…as if beating him near to death in front of his family had been sport for her…

Angelus was waiting for his answer…

Her father always smelled like cigar smoke…she always badgered him about them, those horrible obnoxious cigars, told him the things were smelly and awful, and he would always just laugh, and muss his fingers through her hair, and kiss her cheek…his moustache always tickled, and she always laughed and rolled her eyes…

Looking back on it all now, she didn't think his cigars smelled so bad.

"No," Veronica whispered.

And then she whimpered and squealed, like some captured animal, as Angelus grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the room.

Drusilla heard a commotion in the room; it was the first sound she'd heard in hours.

She heard someone whimpering…it sounded like they were gagged. It sounded like a woman…

She moved her head against the closet door, and listened as hard as she could in the dark. A light came on in her room; she saw it through the keyhole, like a shaft of sunlight stealing through storm clouds.

She heard the chair being pulled away from the other side of the door.

A moment later, the door opened and blinding light assailed her. She shrank away from it and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Come on out, blackbird," she heard Angelus say. "I've something to show you."

Drusilla tried to look, tried to see, but the light was too bright…it hurt too much. She squinted into it as best she could.

"I bet you're having trouble walking," Angelus said. "Darla told me she had to carry you before. Let me help you, darlin'."

She felt his hands around her, gently lifting her up. The room was a hazy jumble of half-glimpsed shapes and colors. A sea of rough brown flitted through her field of vision, and was gone; she assumed it was the hardwood floor. Something flat and roughly square rushed by, and there was something blue on it. She thought it might be her bed. Then, everything was yellow, and her body brushed up against her writing desk. She suddenly felt the desk's wooden chair beneath her, and then she was sitting. Her legs felt numb. She had some feeling in her hands, but they were tingling. The room was beginning to cohere into something recognizable, the discrete objects and colors coming together now to form connected patterns, objects she could recognize. The things in the room started falling into place like puzzle pieces, as the light became tolerable. She heard the whimpering again, and looked around. She couldn't find its source yet. The square thing turned out to be her bed after all, the blue thing on it looked like a blanket, and the whimpering was coming from there.

"It'll take a moment to adjust to the light," Angelus said. He was standing in front of her, running his cold hand through her hair. "Are you thirsty, or hungry? Darla said she gave you a drink when she let you out of the closet to go to the toilet, but that was awhile ago."

"I'm…thirsty," Drusilla said. She could see much better now. She looked up at him. He was smiling down at her, and Darla was beside him now; she hadn't noticed her before. Darla held a glass of milk and a plate of cranberry muffins in her hands.

"I made this for you, precious," Darla said. "You must be absolutely famished." Darla placed the food on the writing table, and knelt down and untied Drusilla's hands. When Drusilla's hands were free she found it hard to move her arms much, and they were still tingling from her wrists down to the tips of her fingers. Darla gently took Drusilla's hands in hers, and slowly unbent Drusilla's arms, and then she rubbed them with her hands to get the blood flowing in them again. She looked up at Drusilla while she was doing this, and smiled.

Drusilla heard the whimpering sound again, and she knew it was coming from the bed. But she couldn't see the bed; Angelus was standing directly in front of her, blocking her view.

When Darla was done rubbing the life back into Drusilla's wrists and hands, she kissed her cheek.

"There. All better now," Darla said. "Now have something to eat, dear. I made you cranberry muffins."

"Cranberry muffins?" Angelus said, glancing at Darla with a hint of amusement in his dark eyes.

"I'll have you know that in my day I was an excellent cook, Angelus," Darla said. "I still know my way around a stove."

"You're always full of surprises, love," Angelus said.

Drusilla gulped down the entire glass of milk, drinking it so quickly some of it dribbled down her chin.

"Easy, precious, easy," Darla said, and dabbed her chin with a napkin. "You don't have to wolf it down. If you want more mother will bring you some, all you have to do is ask me, all right?"

"Where is my mother?" Drusilla said.

"Why, I'm right here, Dru," Darla said, pretending not to understand her question, her smile not wavering in the slightest.

"I mean…I mean…Olivia," Drusilla said. "Where is she?"

"You mean the dog?" Darla said. "She's in her room, on her leash. Would you like to take her for a walk tonight? She should go for a walk soon, or she might end up peeing on the floor. I've been walking her, but I think she'd like it if you came along."

Drusilla wanted to cry. But she just didn't have the energy anymore.

"Have a muffin, Dru," Darla said. "I know you're hungry."

Drusilla took one of the muffins from the plate, and took a tentative bite. It tasted good. She ate the rest of it almost as quickly as she'd drank the milk, and started in on another.

She heard the whimpering sound again.

"What's…who is that?" Drusilla said.

"That's what I wanted to show you," Angelus said, and chuckled, and stepped aside, so she could see…

She saw the blue thing on the bed. It was Veronica. She was wearing the same blue dress she'd had on the last time Drusilla saw her…when Darla had come in, and taken them all…

Veronica was tied up, and gagged. She was bruised and bloody; she had been beaten. Her arm looked broken. Her face was flushed, and she drooled a little out of one side of her mouth.

Drusilla had seen a fox hunt, once. Her father had brought her to see, on one of the very few occasions he had deigned to bring her anywhere with him at all. She was ten years old, and she hadn't yet told anyone of her visions, and she didn't think he hated her then like he did now. She'd rode with him, one cold, drizzly day in a covert in the countryside, watching all the horses as her father's men rode ahead and whipped the hounds onward: the horses trampled the grass with thundering hooves, their legs working like pistons; their long, beautiful, muscular necks strained against their bridles, and their breath made little puffs of smoke that rose up into the air and disappeared into the iron-gray sky. The hounds harried the poor beleaguered fox, running it ragged, coursing after it as it darted through the wet brush; everywhere it turned, the hounds were there, and the whippers-in after them, and Drusilla and her father were right behind. In the end, the hounds cornered the fox, and hemmed it in, growling and baring their fangs, and Drusilla watched the fox, as it lay there in the dirt, exhausted and defeated, and waiting for death.

It had reddish-golden fur and a white underbelly and a long, bushy tail with a white tip. The fox looked up at Drusilla…for a second, their eyes met. Its eyes were golden, with pupils like a cat…

Her father raised his rifle, and put a bullet through its right eye. Drusilla spent the rest of the day crying, and didn't say a word to him.

When their eyes met, Veronica was looking back at Drusilla the way the fox had.

Drusilla started to cry again.

"Daddy's going to put on a show for you, dear," Darla said, and put her arm around her. "Isn't it grand?"

"Aye, that it is," Angelus said, and chuckled, and unbuttoned his pants, and took out his dick. Veronica whimpered again. Drusilla looked away.

Darla wiped Drusilla's tears away, and gently turned her head back toward the bed.

"No, Dru," Darla said. "Mother wants you to see this. Be a good girl for me and watch."

Drusilla watched. She could do nothing else.

She would get to the revolver. But not now…not yet. She had to wait for her time…

"Where's Cassie?" Drusilla whispered.

"In her room, working on her latest masterpiece," Darla said. "Our Cassie's really wondrously talented, isn't she?"

"Is she all right?" Drusilla whispered.

Darla kissed her cheek again. "Not a scarlet hair out of place, precious," she said. "I locked her door. We don't want her finding her way here and seeing this. It would upset her, and our Cassie's such an excitable girl."

Drusilla watched as Angelus untied Veronica, and then took her gag off. When he took her gag off, Veronica coughed, and spit up a little blood. She didn't move her arms, even though they were free now; Drusilla knew they must have been numb, and she could see a large black bruise on the one that looked broken. They were white and colorless, save for the bruise and the spots where the rope cut through, leaving ugly red welts on her wrists, and on her ankles too. Angelus hiked Veronica's dress up to her waist, and ripped her petticoats and drawers down, and then he stood above her, with his dick, now fully erect, jutting out of his pants like a rifle. He smiled down at her, baring his teeth like the hounds.

"Spread your legs for me," he said.

Veronica looked away from him, as tears filled her eyes, and she opened her legs for him.

"No foreplay this time, eh?" he said, as he climbed on top of her, and roughly entered her. She whimpered, and started crying now. "Probably for the best. You're looking pretty rough. But at least you don't smell like piss anymore now that we cleaned you up a little. I can barely tolerate plugging your dirty hole as it is." He chuckled.

He grabbed Veronica's unbroken arm in one hand, and held it to the bed as he began thrusting into her in earnest. Veronica squealed with every thrust, and began wailing and screaming as she cried. Angelus chuckled again.

Drusilla closed her eyes, as her tears flowed down her cheeks.

"I said I want you to watch, Dru," she heard Darla whispering in her ear. "Veronica was a bad girl, so she's being punished. You and Cassie have been very good girls so far…I don't want that to change."

Fear knifed through Drusilla's stomach when Darla mentioned Cassandra. She opened her eyes, and made herself look at Veronica again.

Darla took Drusilla's hand as they watched Angelus raping Veronica, as if they were two ladies watching a cricket match.

Angelus took his time. He raped Veronica for a full half hour, while Darla held Drusilla's hand, and made her watch.

The worst thing about it, Drusilla thought, was that by the end, it had gotten boring. She'd cried throughout the entire ordeal, but the initial intensity of emotion she'd felt when she first saw her sister being violated was too difficult to keep up; it had exhausted her after only a little while. Angelus was brutal with Veronica, relishing her pain and reveling in her tears, and to Drusilla it seemed to go on forever, and by the end, she'd felt like all the emotion she could possibly feel, all the tears she could possibly spill, had been wrung out of her…she didn't think she had anything left to give.

Veronica didn't once look back at her.

But then Angelus looked back at Drusilla, as if he had sensed what she was thinking…and sprang one final surprise.

His face changed to vampire form, and he smiled…

…And he sank his fangs into Veronica's neck, and tore her throat out in front of Drusilla's eyes.

Blood exploded from Veronica's neck like a geyser, and her body spasmed. She made a small gurgling sound, and then she died.

Darla clapped and laughed. Drusilla screamed. The moment she did, Darla covered her mouth with her hand.

"We wouldn't want to alarm Cassie, dear," Darla said.

Drusilla kept screaming under Darla's hand anyway. She screamed, and screamed, screamed until she was out of breath, screamed until her throat burned…screamed until there was nothing left in her, until the revulsion and the horror and the despair she felt were no longer inside her, no longer in her heart, but out of her now, out in the room, polluting the air like those terrible reeking plumes of smoke the factories spewed into the sky…

When it was all outside of her, Drusilla caught her breath, and cried.

Darla hugged her.

"It's all right, precious, it's all right," Darla cooed in her ear. "The bad girl's gone, and all we have now are our two beautiful daughters. Our two beautiful daughters."

Drusilla tried to pull away but Darla's grip was strong as steel. She wailed into Darla's dress, as Darla held her close, and wouldn't let her pull away.

"Mother's here now," Darla whispered. "Mother's here."

After Drusilla had calmed down a little, Darla let go of her, and made her look at her sister's corpse. Drusilla tried not to, but Darla said, "Just one little peek, precious, and then you won't have to look anymore, all right?"

Drusilla opened her eyes, for just a second, and saw what was left of her sister. Veronica was staring up at the ceiling, her skin white as snow, her neck covered with blood, gathering in thick, dark pools above her breasts. Her blue eyes were flat and dull. Her mouth was open, her last screams frozen there. She didn't look like Veronica anymore; her face looked like a mask. She lay still.

"All right. That's enough," Darla said, and kissed Drusilla's cheek. "You're a good girl, Dru. You and Cassie are my good girls. Now put your hands behind your back for me, and then you can go give Daddy a kiss goodnight."

Drusilla put her hands behind her back. Darla took the rope from the writing desk and tied them again, careful, like the last time, not to make the ropes too tight. Then she helped Drusilla up, and led her back to the closet. Angelus joined them there. His face was still in vampire form, and it mocked Drusilla, leered down at her like a demon. His mouth was caked with Veronica's blood. Drusilla looked away from him.

"Look at me, darlin'," Angelus said.

Drusilla looked at him. She felt Darla's cold hand running through her hair.

"I raped your sister," Angelus said. "I raped her and then I killed her. She was a virgin, you know. The first time I raped her last night, she was so tight she screamed as I stuffed it into her. Her little cunny loosened up some after that but she was always pretty tight; it hurt her every time. Made her bleed every time, even after I took her cherry."

Drusilla tried to look away from him again, but she couldn't…he held her in his eyes…she was cornered, run to ground…like a fox.

"And all the things I did to her? They were your fault," Angelus said, and smiled. "You saw them in your blasphemous visions, you brought them down on poor Veronica. Because you hated her, didn't you?"

"No, no…" Drusilla whimpered, and shook her head, and started crying again. "I didn't…I loved my sister."

"You hated her, you hate the old man too. The only one you really give a fig about is Cassie."

His eyes held Drusilla…she tried to look away, but she couldn't.

"You killed Veronica, Dru," Angelus said. "Your hatred killed her. Your depravity killed her. You brought me here to kill her because you wanted her dead. You wanted to escape this house, escape this family, this life, and you were willing to kill to do it. You killed Veronica and you're gonna kill the rest too…all save Cassie. You'll protect her, because even a monstrous thing like you can feel love…you love Cassie. You don't want to harm a hair on her pretty little head, so I won't either. You brought me here, Dru. I'm only doing what you want, after all."

He laughed.

"I'm your humble servant, darlin'," he said, still laughing, and bowed to her.

Drusilla held her head in her hands, and shook, and nearly collapsed; Angelus grabbed her arm, and held her up. Darla caressed her hair.

"Darlin'," Angelus whispered, and caressed Drusilla's cheek, and tilted her chin, so she was looking up at him…so his eyes could hunt her down, and bring her to bay. His face looked normal again, now…handsome. But he still had Veronica's blood on his lips.

"The old man and the dog and Veronica never cared for you," he said. "But Darla and I do."

He wiped her tears away. His hand was gentle.

"We're your family now, blackbird," Angelus said.

She couldn't look away from him. She felt like she was collapsing inside, falling…his gaze, and the nothingness it contained, was a black abyss now, and Drusilla felt herself being sucked down into it…she felt herself falling into endless cold, endless dark…

"Kiss Daddy goodnight, now," Angelus said.

"Be a good girl, Dru," Darla said. "Give your father a kiss goodnight. Show us that you and Cassie are our good girls, and you don't need to be punished. It would be so terrible if Cassie had to be punished, wouldn't it?"

Drusilla wanted to close her eyes…but she couldn't. Angelus still held her, in his eyes…

Drusilla kissed him. He kissed her back, softly. His lips tasted like blood.

"Good night, blackbird," Angelus said, and gently lifted Drusilla in his arms, and set her down in the closet, and shut the door.

Drusilla heard the chair being propped against the closet door again. She heard Angelus and Darla laughing.

"I'm a damned rooster over here," she heard Angelus say.

"Let me take care of that," she heard Darla say. "And you better not play any of your malicious games with me this time. I've been very supportive of this over-complicated scheme of yours and I expect to be treated like a lady."

"Of course, love," she heard Angelus say. "The finest lady in the world."

The light went out in the room outside, snuffing out the gossamer-thin beam that stole into the closet through the keyhole, and Drusilla heard the bedroom door close. She was alone again…the closet was black as pitch again.

Darkness surrounded Drusilla again…

She felt it crawling over her skin, like a living thing now. It insinuated itself into her.

She felt it filling her up.

Angel stood with Darla…or the ghost of Darla, or the illusion of Darla…in a room he used as a study. She'd said she was tired of the jasmine flowers, tired of being surrounded by Buffy's scent, and she wanted to go somewhere else. The walls and floor and ceiling of the room were cold granite, but Angel liked the spartan quality it had. It lent itself to thinking…to considering things carefully. He'd put some furniture in there; a leather couch and leather chairs and an antique mahogany desk, and a bookcase that had once been in Theodore Roosevelt's house. It had vases and statuettes and old books and candles on the shelves, things Angel had collected in his travels; he liked collecting things now. He'd spent decades living on the streets with nothing, subsisting on rats; shortly after that he'd spent nearly a century in a hell dimension. It gave him an urge to have things. So he collected knick-knacks. The room was dim, lit by a brass chandelier in the shape of a crown, the light turned down low. There was a big fireplace, with a fire going now, and an alabaster statue of Aphrodite stood in a corner.

"You always did have fabulous taste, Angelus," Darla said. "I taught you well."

She wasn't wearing the cheerleader outfit anymore; it had suddenly changed as they walked into the room. Now she was wearing a simple black dress, and nothing else. She looked beautiful in it.

She sat on the couch. Angel thought it was strange, watching her sit; for a moment she didn't seem to be touching the cushions. She almost seemed like an image, a projection of a person, rather than a person. But Angel supposed the rules were different for ghosts…or whatever she was.

"Sit with me," Darla said, and smiled.

He sat next to her. She crossed her legs. She wore nothing else other than the dress; she was barefoot. She had great legs; she always had. He felt an old, familiar longing.

Darla…what are you doing here?" Angel said. "I saw Leah Maguire tonight, just before you arrived. You remember her?"

"Hmm…no, I don't think I recall her," Darla said. "She was a girl you killed, of course? The name sounds Scottish."

"You don't remember?"

"Why should I?" Darla said, and giggled, and looked at him like he was just slightly out of his mind. "She was food. She was a rabbit."

"We raped her," Angel said. "The same night I first saw Dru."

"Ah, yes, now I remember. The girl looked like Little Red Riding Hood. And you took a fancy to her, so I brought her home for you and you fucked her up the ass and killed her."

Angel looked away from her, toward the fireplace.

"Or perhaps you'd like to remember it some other way?" Darla said, and laughed. "How about…you took her out for a romantic evening, and gave her flowers, and when she offered herself to you, like all the girls do, you refused because you're so honorable and noble and heroic, and you gave her only a single, chaste kiss. Better?"

Angel looked at the fire.

"Perhaps we could embellish this fairy tale further," Darla said. "Perhaps after the chaste kiss, you two embarked upon an epic romance. You swept her off her feet, and she swooned for you. All the girls do; none of them can resist my darling boy."

Darla got up, and paced around the room.

"Perhaps we could even replace Leah in this fairy tale with a new character," Darla said. "How about…a naive young girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. A pretty blonde cheerleader." Darla stopped in front of the statue of Aphrodite, and leaned against it, and smiled down at Angel…smiled like a wolf.

"And the cheerleader, who also happens to be a Slayer, meets my darling boy, and falls under his spell…like all the girls do," Darla said. "Like I did. And even when she found out he was a vampire, the thing she was put here to destroy, she couldn't resist him…and they fell in love. What a wonderful fairy tale."

"It's not a fairy tale," Angel said, still looking at the fire.

"Ah, but it is, Angelus," Darla said. "Not from her perspective of course. I have no doubt that Buffy loved you, and gave you what there was of her; gave you whatever it is a sixteen-year old blonde twit who knows nothing about life or the world could possibly have to offer. Something meager and thin and cold, I'd think, compared to what we had. We burned."

Angel looked at her.

"You didn't know her," Angel said. "You don't know what she had to give. She loved me."

"Past tense?" Darla said, her eyes stabbing into him, her smile distorted into a cruel leer. "Aw, baby. Is the fairy tale over already?"

Angel looked away from her, into the fire again.

"Did you become bored with her, Angelus? Or did she leave?"

He looked into the fire, and didn't respond.

"She left," Darla said. "Well I'll say this much for the cheerleader; she may be the first woman in history to ever leave you first. How does it feel? Are you absolutely heartbroken that you won't be able to take her to the prom? Who's the next girl? Have you picked her out yet? How about that new Slayer, Faith? Now she's interesting. Not all prissy and prim and pipe-up-the-ass proper like the cheerleader. She reminds me of myself, awhile ago…I bet she could show you some things in the bedroom."

"I love Buffy," Angel said.

Darla laughed.

"Love?" she said. "Love? That soul really has made you dim-witted. You don't love her, you never did. Oh, you were smitten with her for awhile. She was new, for awhile, a fresh young thing. And I suppose you were fond of her, in your way, though I shudder to think what you and her could possibly have talked about. Music videos, perhaps? Hairstyling tips?"

Angel looked at her again, met her eyes…looked into her nothingness.

"Remember Cassandra?" Darla said. "I wanted her. She was a little thing, but she made me happy. And you denied her to me."

She sat on the couch with him again, and looked into the fire.

"I wondered about that, about why you did that to me, for a long time afterwards. Years," Darla said. "Giving me Cassie wouldn't have interfered with your plans for Dru. You could've let me have her and still broken Dru. But you didn't. You arranged your plan to take Cassie from me. At first I thought you did it because you were jealous…you were my lover but you were also my son, and maybe you didn't want me to have a daughter; maybe you didn't want to share me with anyone else. But that wasn't it. Eventually I realized the answer was much simpler than that. You took Cassie from me because you wanted to hurt me."

She was right, Angel knew.

"She made me happy, happy in a way I had never been," Darla said. "And you relished the thought of hurting me in a way I hadn't been hurt before. So you did. Because, although you doted on me and followed me, although I was always in your thoughts, although you were a devoted son and an ardent lover, you never really loved me. You were fond of me, as you were fond of the cheerleader. But not enough to keep from hurting me…or her. You knew taking her cherry might activate your curse and you didn't care. So you took her. Because that's what you do, Angelus. You take what you want. It's what you always do."

"I didn't know you felt so close to Cassandra," Angel said.

"Oh, I didn't love her, or even care about her really," Darla said. "But I was very fond of her, she made me happy, and I would have cared about her, cared for her, perhaps even loved her, in time. You never gave me a chance."

"I'm sorry," Angel said.

"Oh, please," Darla said, and got up again, and moved to the fire. "Grow a dick, dear. If I was alive I might throw myself in the fire and have done with it rather than have to listen to anymore of your craven-hearted mewling."

She looked down into the fire. A tear ran down her cheek.

"You're grown cold, Angelus," Darla said. "And it breaks my heart."

He stood up, and moved beside her.

"Did you ever love me, my angel, even a little?" she said, crying now. "Did you ever care for me?"

"I…cared for you," he said, and tried to wipe her tears away. His hand went through her.

"I want you to hold me and you can't," Darla said. "Doesn't matter anyway. You don't love me. I thought…for years I thought that perhaps you could never love. That the darkness in you, the darkness that caught my eye, was too strong even for me to live in. That you simply didn't have it in you to love…but you did. You just didn't love me. I should've seen it. I should've seen it…when you were with her, the look in your eyes…I should've realized then who it was you truly loved…who you still love, even now."

"Buffy," Angel said. "I love Buffy."

Darla smiled, as she cried.

"No," she said. "And Buffy doesn't love you…not anymore."

"It's a dangerous game you're playing with Drusilla, Angelus," Darla said. "You could lose her. We could lose them both."

Darla lay in Angelus' arms. They were naked together on the couch in the parlor. They had dumped Veronica's body in the horse stable along with the bodies of the servants and then they had come back in and had some spectacular fucking, and Darla was content now: Angelus had given it to her hard and painfully, hurting her just the way she liked.

"Both?" Angelus said. "You're not gettin' attached to that little red-headed thing, are you? Girl's the runt of the litter."

"Don't say that," Darla said.

"She's weak, Darla. She's the weakest of the whole lot, she can't even look at us. She's hiding inside herself, somewhere."

"No. I mean, don't say I'm getting attached." She turned over, and caressed his long, dark hair, and smiled. "I've only ever gotten attached to one person."

"Aye, and a drunken bore he was, for a fact. You should've been more careful, darlin'. Fallin' for an Irish rogue like me."

"You have your charms," Darla murmured, and kissed him.

"Well I have heard it told I've somewhat of a way with the ladies," Angelus said.

"Mmm, you do, my angel. You can see right through us…penetrate us, right through to our hearts."

"I penetrate you in other ways too. Penetratin's rather my thing."

"Ah, now there's the drunken bore who made me swoon a century ago," Darla said, and giggled. "I've been wondering where he'd got to. I was worried he might have gotten buried. Lost beneath a veneer of gentility. That would have been tragic; to become so distastefully common. London has a way of corrupting people…even the best. Even the very worst."

"God damned Englishmen," Angelus growled. "Napoleon should've just invaded the damn island and had done with it."

"Well the food would have been better at least. But getting back to my point, do you really think it wise to allow Dru to escape? She's not broken yet, I can see she's still fighting us. The moment she realizes she can leave that closet then she will."

"And we could lose her. That's what makes the game, darlin'. Gotta be some risk or it's not a game worth playin', now is it?"

"She and Cassie are very close. And I wouldn't like it if I lost Cassie, Angelus."

"You do have a thing for that girl. I could tell you were putting a lot of extra effort in with her. What do you see in her?"

"She's…fragile," Darla said. "I like her fragility; she's a soft, beautiful little thing. I want her. You want Drusilla. I want Cassie."

He turned and looked curiously at her. She always could surprise him…

"You're serious, aren't you?" he said. "You really want to turn that girl. Spend eternity with her."

"I always wanted a daughter, when I was in Virginia," she said. "And she feels like a daughter, for some reason…she smells like a daughter to me. And besides, it can only help with Drusilla, she'd be lonely without her sister."

"More than that, if I don't kill Cassie I can use her to get what I want from Dru, break her down faster. Dru's trying to protect her…our dear Cassie's the most important thing to her. More important even than her own life. I can use that, when Dru escapes from the closet."

A thought occurred to Angelus…he knew Cassandra was more important to his plan than any other member of the family, and he'd been trying to determine how best to use her. He had planned to force Cassandra to reject Drusilla, but now he realized that doing just the opposite could be even more effective…

He smiled. He saw it all in front of him, saw the endgame now. He saw all the moves and countermoves; like an expert chess player, he was thinking a dozen moves ahead.

He knew Darla would be hurt, and furious with him. That would make it even better. It had been awhile since he had really hurt her…since he had hurt her in a way that was really special.

"So you still intend to allow her to escape?" Darla said. "It's a risk, Cassie or no. What about that gun? If Dru knows about it…"

"Don't you worry your pretty head about that," Angelus said, and smiled his wolfish smile. "It's all part of the plan."

Drusilla managed to sleep, for awhile, in the closet. She'd cried so much and for so long that it exhausted her, left her utterly spent. She slept, and dreamed.

She dreamed of Veronica…

She dreamed Veronica was in the closet with her. They were lying together, curled up side by side in the dark. Veronica's neck was bloody, and her skin was pale. But her eyes…her eyes burned.

"You did this," Veronica said.

For some reason, even though the closet was completely dark, Drusilla could see Veronica perfectly. Veronica had lost two of her front teeth, and her arm was broken, and her lips were swollen. When Veronica talked, her voice came out in a hiss.

"I'm sorry," Drusilla whispered.

"You're the Devil's spawn, Drusilla," Veronica said.

Drusilla started crying, and turned away from her.

"Father should have sent you away," Veronica said, and grabbed Drusilla by the neck with hands like claws, wrenching her head around and forcing her to look at her, to look into her burning eyes.

Veronica wrapped her legs around Drusilla, coiling them around her body like a snake and holding her fast. When Drusilla looked at her again, Veronica had a face like a demon's, and long, pointed teeth.

"You're not my sister," Veronica said.

And Drusilla could suddenly hear other voices too…dozens of voices…whispering…

Veronica smiled like a wolf…like Angelus. Drusilla screamed…

And the other voices, the dozens, the hundreds of voices, screamed and cackled and gibbered and hissed at Drusilla, mocking her…

"You belong to the Devil, you always have," Veronica whispered, but Drusilla could barely hear her now over the other whispers, the hundreds of whispers that filled the little black closet until she thought it would burst. "And he has sent his dark angel to take you to him, to drag you down to Hell where you belong."

"No…NO!" Drusilla screamed, and shook her head. "I'm good, I'm good…I don't, I don't, I don't, I don't…"

"Of course you belong in Hell," Veronica said, her voice a single distant whisper nearly lost in the cacophony of whispers assaulting Drusilla's ears. "You're there right now. Can you not hear the voices? The voices of the damned, whispering in your ear? All those damned souls, they're calling out to you, Drusilla…they know you belong with them."

Veronica grabbed Drusilla's hair in one long claw, and held her still. She growled at Drusilla, as Drusilla shrank away from her, and tried to escape…but there was nowhere to go…

"They're calling," Veronica snarled, and smiled, showing Drusilla her fangs, as the voices all turned to animal sounds now, snarling and growling and roaring. "They're calling…"

Veronica sank her teeth into Drusilla's neck, as Drusilla screamed…

Angel sat on the granite bench in the courtyard again, looking up at the stars, surrounded by jasmine. He'd gone back to the courtyard after Darla left him. He didn't want to be alone, and he didn't feel so alone when he was in the courtyard. He felt like he was part of the world, when he was there; part of the living world, instead of some dead thing; a walking corpse who should have been left rotting in the earth more than two-hundred years before.

Darla had simply disappeared, like Leah had. When Angel had pressed her for answers, asked her what she was really doing there and what she wanted, she had simply said, "For you to see."

Then she had smiled, with tears in her eyes, and disappeared.

So Angel sat in the courtyard now, surrounded by jasmine, and looked up at the stars.

He wondered where Buffy was. He wondered if she had finally left him.

"Run away, count to ten," a woman's voice sang.

It was a sweet voice; a jasmine voice. It echoed softly through the black night air, a whisper on honey wings, flitting around the courtyard and lingering a moment, before it flew away on the breeze.

Angel knew the voice.

Drusilla stepped out of the darkness, a wolf stalking toward him.

"I'm looking for you again," she sang, and smiled her little girl's smile, and looked down at him. Angel couldn't see worlds anymore, in those ice-blue eyes; they had been hollowed out. The light in them had been extinguished. But he still thought they were beautiful.

Drusilla was wearing a pretty red satin dress, and long, black gloves. Angel had bought the dress for her, a few months after he'd broken her and killed her and turned her…when he was still soulless…when he was Angelus.

Angel remembered they had passed a dressmaker's shop in Marseille, and Drusilla had seen the dress in the window, and just had to have it…

"Please, Daddy?" she had said. She always looked beautiful in red. And he never could say no to her.

"Hello, Dru," Angel said. Her scent came to him. She was there, physically. But her scent hadn't been there a moment before. He hadn't heard her approach. Like Leah and Darla, she had simply, suddenly just appeared…

"I missed you, Daddy," Drusilla said.

Drusilla woke up in the closet, screaming hysterically. For a long while, all she could hear were her own screams…

Eventually, she forced herself to calm down. Screaming wouldn't help…it wouldn't help Cassie.

Then, she thought she heard voices…

First, just a few…then dozens, hundreds…

Whispering…

Calling to her.

Drusilla had been in the closet for sixteen days.

Drusilla didn't know that. She had lost track of time…lost herself in the dark, and the whispers…

But Angelus knew. He knew exactly how long he'd kept Drusilla in the closet; he kept careful track of the time, as he sat on the other side of the door throughout the long days and all through the nights, listening to her. He liked listening to her; he liked being with her. She had the most beautiful voice, and the most beautiful scent: she smelled like roses. The only drawback to keeping her in the closet was that he couldn't see her eyes; the light in them was exquisite. He wanted to devour that light…take it into his darkness and keep it for himself, forever.

Sometimes Drusilla prayed, and sometimes she screamed, and sometimes she cried…and sometimes she came back to herself, for a little while, and tried to be strong.

That's what she was doing now. Angelus smiled. They never lasted long, these moments of strength; but they were entertaining to listen to…

"Not real," Drusilla whispered. "None of you…you're not…you're not real. I won't listen. Cassie. Cassie. Cassie Cassie Cassie Cassie Cassie Cassie Cassie."

Angelus took Drusilla out of the closet three times a day, for a little while, to eat and bathe and use the bathroom. It was about time for her bath now.

But today would be special: today began the next phase of his plan.

"You're not," he heard Drusilla whispering again. "I won't hear you. You're all trying to confuse me. You're not real. Shut up, Miss Edith! SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPP!!"

She started banging her head against the door after that, and Angelus heard her sobbing.

It had a strange effect on him. He didn't know what the feeling was that went through his stomach, whenever he heard her sobbing…he didn't recognize it, and could never think of words to describe it. He just knew it always annoyed him. He frowned.

Eventually, Drusilla stopped banging her head against the door. It was a good thing; he would've had to stop her because he didn't want her to hurt herself, and that wasn't the tone he wanted to set for their encounter today.

"Cassie," Drusilla whispered. "Red robin…they're not real. None of them are real and I won't let them hurt you. Big sister will stop them."

"Of course I'm real," Angelus whispered.

He felt Drusilla stiffen; felt her eyes, searching him out in the darkness. He felt her fear…smelled it. Not just fear. Her heart rate was speeding up now, too. In anticipation. Sometimes when he talked to her, she knew that meant she'd be let out of the closet for awhile. Not for too long…just a little while. But Angelus knew Drusilla lived for those moments now.

"How are you, darlin'?" Angelus said, to the door. "How would you like to leave that closet for a spell?"

"I'd…like that," Drusilla said, to the darkness.

He noticed she always seemed stronger, after he talked to her; more focused. As if he were her tether to the real world. He found that interesting. On the one hand, it wasn't what he'd had in mind for her and it was annoying; it could potentially jeopardize his plans for her. On the other hand, part of him…the part he didn't understand, the part with the strange feelings he couldn't put words to…was pleased by it.

"I'd like to see Cassie," Drusilla said. "Could I…please? Please?"

"Sure, blackbird," Angelus said. "Anything for my girl."

In the closet, in the dark, tears filled Drusilla's eyes, and she smiled.

She heard the chair being moved away from the closet door.

The door opened. Light assailed her. She blocked her eyes.

"Thank you," Drusilla whispered, as the tears ran down her cheeks. "Thank you."

She couldn't see. It always took her eyes awhile to adjust. Angelus touched her cheek, and she leaned against him. Whenever he opened the door, she always leaned against him, and cried…

They always remained like that for a time, when he first opened the closet door. Being in the dark, alone, the first thing she needed was to feel like she was part of the world again…to touch someone. He always let her lean against him. It was always the first thing she did.

She was crying now. He wiped her tears away, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the light.

Eventually, she looked up at him. He smiled down at her.

"Cassie misses you, blackbird," Angelus said, and began untying her, starting with her ankles. "We all miss you…the whole family."

Angelus gently massaged her ankles after he untied them, until Drusilla felt life returning to them.

"Is Cassie all right?" Drusilla asked, as Angelus untied her wrists.

"Of course," Angelus said. "She's part of our family. We'd never hurt our little Cassie."

"Can I go to see her now?" Drusilla said.

"Well, I think you'll want your bath first, love," Angelus said, and untied her wrists, and started massaging them. "And you must be hungry again too. And after that, Mr. Morgan wants to see you. You have a busy day ahead today."

"He wants to see me?" Drusilla said. "My fath –"

She looked down at the floor.

"I mean…Mr. Morgan?" she said. "He wants to see me?"

Angelus smiled. Drusilla hadn't called him her father yet, but she had stopped calling Mr. Morgan her father at least, and she had stopped calling Olivia her mother too, because Angelus and Darla had told her not to. She was making progress.

"Let's get you taken care of, Dru," Angelus said. "All soft and clean and pretty, with your hair done just the way you like it. And then you can have something to eat, and we'll have a visit with Mr. Morgan. And then we'll see Cassie after."

"All right," Drusilla said.

Angelus massaged her wrists for a little while longer, and when Drusilla felt she could move them again, he took her hand and gently stood her up. He walked her out of the room, into the bathroom at the other end of the hall. There was a bath already drawn; the water was hot. There was a dress, petticoats, a corset and underwear, on a hanger on the doorknob.

Angelus shut the bathroom door behind them, and they stood together in the little room.

"Well, the water's not gonna stay hot forever darlin'," Angelus said, and smiled like a wolf, showing her all his teeth.

"I…need to undress," Drusilla said. "You can't be here."

It was the same every time. He always stayed with her while she bathed and she always protested. He allowed her some things, some say in how she was treated. But some things he refused her. He always made her undress in front of him, and he always bathed her.

"Of course I can, Dru," Angelus said. "I'm your father. No secrets between us."

She looked up at him. She looked over at the bathtub. She looked down at the floor.

"Get undressed, Dru," Angelus said. "I'll wash your back. You like when I wash your back."

Drusilla looked at herself in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked thin, and pale, and haggard. Angelus stood behind her, and cast no reflection. Drusilla had long since ceased to be surprised by that, or to wonder what it meant. She knew he was a demon, sent to take her to Hell.

Angelus touched her hair, and caressed her neck, and leaned in close to her. He ran his hands across her shoulders. His hands were cold, but his touch was gentle and Drusilla found herself enjoying his caress. She tried to pull away. But she couldn't; he was too strong. He was always too strong. He controlled her.

He turned her around, and kissed her. His lips were soft, and warm.

She blushed, and looked away from him.

Angelus smiled. She always blushed, every time, when he kissed her.

He slipped her dress off her shoulders. She held it in place, and didn't let it fall, and looked down at the floor.

"Please don't," she whispered.

He turned her toward him, and raised her chin, and made her look at him. He held her in his eyes.

Drusilla thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Angelus moved his hand up her leg, caressing it, and lifting her dress.

"Please," Drusilla whispered, and grabbed his hand. She tried to look away from him, but she couldn't…his eyes held her fast.

He was beautiful…the kind of man she had always fantasized about.

She made herself think about Veronica, and what he did to her. She made herself think about how ugly he had looked then.

"No more hemmin' and hawin' now, Dru," Angelus said, and took her hands in his. Her dress fell to the floor, and she stood before him in her petticoat, blushing. "Time for your bath, precious. Get undressed for me."

She knew she had no choice. She knew he'd force her, if she didn't comply. And they had Cassie.

He knew she'd get undressed for him. She did it every time. The protestations, they were just part of the dance.

She took down her petticoat, and her under-petticoat, slipping them slowly down over her knees and to her feet, as she blushed.

She stood before him in her corset now, and looked down at the floor .

"I can't…do the laces all myself," she said.

"I know, precious, let me help with that," Angelus said, and turned her around, and unlaced her corset in back. It was a red corset; Angelus thought the color looked perfect on Drusilla.

Drusilla was shaking a little, as he undid her corset. She always shook a little. Usually it was entertaining, but he wanted her relaxed today. She needed to begin to trust him, today.

He kissed her neck.

"You London girls do require a bit of unwrapping," he said.

He noticed Drusilla smile, just for a second.

"This corset is very pretty on you, Dru," he said. "You look beautiful in red. That's why I picked it out for you."

When he had her corset off, he turned her around, and lifted her chemise. She raised her arms, and he lifted it over her head. She covered her breasts, standing before him in only her drawers now, and didn't look at him.

Her nipples were hard; he knew she didn't want him to see.

He took her hands in his, and kissed her. This time, he felt her respond; he felt her kissing him back.

He released her hands, and held them down at her waist. He kissed her again, and cupped her breasts in his hands, as she looked at the floor, blushing again.

"Look at me," he said.

She looked at him. He gently pulled down her drawers, kneeling down in front of her as he slipped them off her feet. He looked up at her and smiled, as she stood naked in front of him.

"I can be gentle, Drusilla," he said, as he stood up and put his arms around her. "I want to be gentle, with you."

She nodded. She made herself think about what he did to Veronica.

His hands cupped her breasts again. Her nipples were hard and she felt herself becoming wet, between her legs. Her body was betraying her. She tried to look away from him but his eyes held her again…

"But first your bath," he said, and lifted her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, and gently set her down in the tub.

It was always embarrassing for Drusilla at first, having to bathe herself while he watched. But it was just one more thing to get through every day…one more obstacle to surmount in order to see Cassie…

He washed her back, and his hands were gentle and his touch was pleasing on her skin. He washed her feet, and smiled.

He didn't speak. He helped her bathe, and smiled, and he was gentle, even tender with her; and he was handsome, and part of her wanted him to kiss her again.

She had never been with a man before, and she found that her body was continually betraying her now; it thrilled to his touch. It had been betraying her more and more with him, every day. She felt like she was tingling. She felt flushed, and her heart felt like it would explode right out of her chest. Every place he touched her, she felt warm and full, like she was about to burst, like she had been in a cocoon her whole life and she was finally about to break free of it. She felt the blood beneath her skin, pulsing through her.

When she had finished bathing, he lifted her out of the tub, and dried her off. When she reached for the clean underwear on the hanger, he shook his head, and lifted her up in his arms again.

"But…Cassie," Drusilla whispered.

"Afterwards," Angelus whispered, and kissed her, and carried her naked back to her bedroom.

As she lay naked on her bed, watching Angelus undress in front of her, Drusilla was calm.

They'd done this before. Every day, he brought her naked back to the bed after her bath, before he dressed her and put her back in the closet.

Every day, he left it up to her. Every day, she refused him.

But she had seen it, in her vision…she had seen the moment, and she knew it was going to happen eventually.

Angelus was going to take her, eventually; take her virginity, in the same bed he raped her sister on. There were clean sheets on the bed now at least.

After a moment he stood naked in front of her, and his body was pleasing to the eye as always, muscular and well-proportioned. But, lying on the same bed he'd violated and murdered Veronica on, Drusilla no longer felt warm, no longer felt flushed. Her body didn't tingle. She just felt tired.

She wasn't scared of him, of this; she wasn't apprehensive. She knew it was going to happen eventually and she had resigned herself to it, during all those long, lonely days in the closet. It was simply one more thing she would need to survive, one more ordeal to get through to see Cassie.

In all her visions, Cassie was always alive. She prayed that meant Angelus and Darla would be true to their word, and let Cassie live as long as she did everything they said.

She would be strong. She would do everything she needed to do to get to see Cassie, and protect her…

She would be strong…

She heard a whisper.

And then another…and another…

She looked around the room. She saw Angelus, smiling down at her. She saw her porcelain dolls behind him, smiling down at her from their shelves…

The dolls were whispering to her.

They were making demonic faces and saying terrible things, and calling Drusilla evil, and wicked; a harlot, a slut, a whore. A betrayer of her family…

Angelus laid himself on top of her, and began gently kissing her. She stayed calm, because she knew she had to; she knew she had to be everything he wanted her to be. She hardly noticed his kisses anyway; the whispers were getting louder. The dolls were all laughing at her now, telling her she deserved to be raped for what she had done, for what she had brought down on her family…

Drusilla closed her eyes, and tried not to think about the whispers. They weren't real.

Angelus kissed her neck.

But the whispers were getting louder…

"You belong with me, blackbird," Drusilla could just barely hear Angelus saying, as she shook her head, and squeezed her eyes shut tight, and tried not to listen to the whispers…

Whore, the whispers said.

Judas, the whispers said.

Evil, the whispers said.

"No…no…" Drusilla whimpered. She knew the whispers weren't real, they couldn't be real…

We're coming to take you to Hell with us, the whispers said.

She felt Angelus now, hard against her, between her legs…

"No…" Drusilla whispered, and couldn't even hear herself amidst the other whispers filling the room. She started to cry…

"Look at me, blackbird," Angelus said. "Look in my eyes."

She looked up at him.

And he held her in his eyes…

And the whispers went away.

The room was quiet, as she looked up at him…stared into his nothingness.

"You belong with me, blackbird," he said. "You belong with me, love. You always did."

The room was quiet, but for his voice. He caressed her cheek. She felt his cock against her. He was big; she had never been with a man before and she hoped it wouldn't hurt too much, when it eventually happened…she hoped he would be gentle with her, like he'd said. She hoped he'd give her a choice today, like he'd always done before.

They looked into each other's eyes. His eyes were dark and beautiful, and empty. But Drusilla thought she could lose herself in them…she thought she could remain in them, and be protected. As long as he held her in his eyes, the whispers couldn't get through. She felt them, felt the whispers trying to get through to her ears, but they couldn't reach her now. She was focused on him…his eyes drew her in and held her, concentrated all of her in him, and when she was in him the whispers couldn't get through. She felt disconnected from herself when he drew her into his eyes, and held her there; she felt like she was melting away into him…a weak, flickering candle in a vast, endless night. She didn't know why exactly, why the whispers couldn't reach her when she was with him…when she was in him. She only knew that he protected her.

"Say it," he said.

He kissed her again. His lips felt soft, and warm.

"Say it, blackbird," he said.

"I belong with you," Drusilla whispered, as tears fell down her cheeks.

He smiled, and kissed her again…

She kissed him back.

"Is today our day, Dru?" Angelus said. "Is today our day?"

She shook her head, as Angelus knew she would.

Then he played his card.

"Cassie misses you," he said. "Are you excited about seeing her tonight?"

Drusilla nodded.

"How would you like to see Cassie every day from now on?" he said.

"See her…every day?" Drusilla whispered.

"She misses you, love," Angelus said, and stroked her hair. "We all do. Darla and I were thinkin' we should take dinner together from now on, the whole family right and proper. Me and Darla and you and Cassie, every night. Would you like that?"

She nodded, and tears fell down her cheeks.

Angelus was always gentle, with Drusilla. He kissed her again, and took in her rosy scent, and held her in his eyes. She was still afraid of him, but she responded now, when he kissed her; she responded a little more each day, and lately she had been kissing him back. Hesitantly at first; soft, little pecks, but as the minutes passed now she became more relaxed. He touched her tongue with his, and her tongue retreated from his at first, but eventually it came out of hiding, and brushed against his, lightly flicking it. Her nipples were hard under his soft touch, and her body was warm…

Angelus liked her scent. He liked her blue eyes locked on his; he liked the light in them. She was still tense, her body stiff underneath him, but, little by little, her body was beginning to adjust to his; she was beginning to soften for him now, to yield. One of her hands, soft as silk, light as a bird's wing, ran lightly down his arm, stroked the hard planes of muscle there where his triceps ran down toward the elbow.

He kissed her neck again, and her breath was warm on his cheek. Darla never felt warm that way. She was beautiful but she was cold…Drusilla was warm.

But she was still crying. Tears rolled down her cheeks unceasingly, as she responded to him; as her body softened and grew flushed beneath him. Her face was wet, but her most intimate place, the place he was up against now, was dry. With other girls, he simply forced his way in. He didn't want to do that with Drusilla, so he always asked her; always gave her a choice. She always said no.

"You'll need to be a good girl for Daddy, if you want to see Cassie every day," Angelus said.

"What…must I do?" Drusilla whispered.

He took each of her nipples in his mouth, and gently sucked them, taking his time with each one. Drusilla closed her eyes, and let out a moan, like a bird trilling. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but Angelus had excellent hearing. He kissed her hard, flat stomach, and ran his fingers down her thighs. They were lean and muscular, like Veronica's, but they were pale; Drusilla's complexion was sickly. Veronica was ruddy and tanned; she lived in the sun. Drusilla belonged with the moon.

"You know," he said. "Today has to be our day. And then every day after this has to be our day too. "

Angelus gently opened her legs, and positioned himself between them, his lips inches away from her pussy.

"I can…see Cassie every day?" she said, blushing now as she cried.

"You'll have to walk the dog with her afterwards, too," Angelus said. "Cassie gets emotional when she has to walk the dog. You know how excitable she is. It would be easier for her if her big sister was there to support her and comfort her. You can be strong for Cassie, can't you?"

Drusilla wiped her tears away, took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Can Daddy give you a kiss now?" Angelus said. "Or would you rather not join us for dinner?"

"You can…you can kiss me," Drusilla whispered.

"Is today our day?" Angelus said. "And all the days after?"

Drusilla nodded.

And then she sobbed, as Angelus did something he hadn't done with anyone but Darla in more than a century…

"Why, Arthur, you smell like piss," Darla said, and threw a bucket of cold water on the naked, emaciated form of Mr. Morgan, curled up pale and shivering on the floor of the attic in his own filth. "It's terribly unseemly."

The water woke him up, spluttering and coughing. His hands and ankles were tied, and he was blindfolded; neither the ropes, nor the blindfold, had been removed since Darla had first applied them, sixteen days before.

He trembled at the sound of her voice; she had beaten him every day. She smiled, as she saw tears falling down his cheeks.

Darla never allowed him to bathe; the bucket of cold water was his daily bath. But unfortunately Angelus insisted that Mr. Morgan be made to piss and shit in a bucket too, and the attic smelled terrible. Darla found it all extremely trying. She'd complained to Angelus, who wasn't too fond of the smell either, but he'd said that allowing the father to use the facilities like a human being would have worked against his plans. The smell was a constant irritant now and Darla wasn't too happy about having to prepare Mr. Morgan's meals either; but they'd killed all the servants, so someone had to do the cooking…

Darla liked cooking for Cassie and Dru but cooking for their parents was annoying. She grit her teeth through it, and made Angelus promise that when this was all over he would take her to Spain again for a nice, long vacation.

Thankfully, that morning Angelus had told Darla that Mr. Morgan had been sufficiently softened up and it was time for him to go; the daily beatings had worked wonders, and Darla had taken his blood at regular intervals too, whenever she felt peckish, and that had sped the process along. Angelus said there was no real reason to keep him around any longer; he knew Mr. Morgan would give him what he wanted now and Drusilla was ready to hear her father say the words.

Angelus hadn't needed to torture him very long at all the night before to get him to agree to do what he wanted, shrieking his assent amidst his tears. Mr. Morgan had deteriorated very quickly over the sixteen days of his captivity, languishing naked in his own filth in the cold attic: the strong, healthy, confident, commanding man Darla had beaten to within an inch of his life that first day she'd burst into the house was gone, now. He'd wasted away; in his place was a pale, weak, sick, terrified creature, a prey animal, a rabbit in a trap. He looked like he'd aged a decade in those sixteen days; being starved and beaten and drained of blood and kept blindfolded the whole time had a wondrous effect. The blindfold was Darla's idea; she wasn't sure what would happen to a person if they weren't allowed to see anything for a prolonged period of time but she was curious to find out and Angelus thought it could prove to be entertaining.

It had made Mr. Morgan afraid: he never knew when the next beating would come, never knew if someone was watching him, never knew when the torture would begin again until the pain was upon him, like a stalking wolf suddenly moving in for the kill.

"Are you ready for your big day, Arthur?" Darla said. "Soon you'll be back downstairs and reunited with your family…well, all save one."

He nodded, looking down at the floor.

She crouched beside him, and removed his blindfold. He flinched, when he felt her hands against his skin. When the blindfold came off, he whimpered, and held his hand over his eyes; the attic was lit only by a single oil lamp, but the light was harsh after sixteen days wearing a blindfold and he still couldn't see.

"Your eyes will take some time to adjust to the light," Darla said. "In the meantime, you can have a bath; a real one, and then you can get dressed."

She smiled, and caressed his red hair, and straightened his moustache.

"All the things we took away from you will now be given back," she said. "But just remember, Arthur, not to deviate from the plan. If you do, if you fail to meet our expectations, we'll kill you. But we'll make you watch us kill Olivia first. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "My wife," he whispered, hoarsely. "Is she…?"

Darla backhanded him in the mouth. His mouth bled; he spit blood.

"No talking out of turn, Arthur," Darla said. "You don't ask questions. You answer the questions put to you."

He nodded again.

"I hate you," Darla said. "I suppose you've managed to figure that out by now. But do you know why I hate you?"

He didn't say anything. He seemed to collapse in on himself a little, bringing his legs up to his chest and curling up in a ball. He sat very still, and looked down at the floor, and shook a little.

Darla smacked him in the mouth again. He screamed, and began sobbing.

"I asked you a question, Arthur," Darla said. "And I would prefer it if you answered me without my having to coax you, because as much as I enjoy hurting you, you smell like piss, and I'd like to keep our time together brief. I don't hate Dru, or Veronica, or Cassie. Just you, and Olivia. Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Well, part of the reason I hate you is the way you look at me," Darla said. She was still stroking his hair. "You look at me like I'm beneath you. Oh, I wouldn't blame you for disliking me now, but you looked at me that way from the moment I first entered your house. Do you know I had originally planned not to hurt you? Well, not much at least. The plan was to knock you about a bit and then tie you up, but I hadn't intended on going overboard. But when I saw that look in your eyes I decided you were an arsehole, Arthur. I decided you're an arsehole, and I wanted to hurt you. And so I did. But the way you look at me is only part of it. It's why I decided to start hurting you, it's why I initially disliked you, but it's not why I hate you now, and why I hate Olivia too. I hate you both because of what you've done to Cassie."

She wrenched his hair, pulled him closer. He screamed, and looked away.

"Look at me, you piece of shit," Darla snarled. "Or I swear I'll rip your fucking throat out right here and Angelus and his plan can go hang."

He quailed, but he looked at her: looked into her nothingness.

"You're her father," she said. You're supposed to care for her, you're supposed to encourage her and be proud of her, love her for who she is. But you don't. Do you know how talented she is? Her paintings are splendid. Someday, despite your influence, she could become one of the all-time great artists, someone they write books about. But did you hang up even one of her paintings? No. Even if her paintings were rubbish you should have hung them up, because she's your daughter. But you don't care about her, you don't want her, so even though she might be the next Goya you refuse to hang her paintings in your own house. How do you think that made her feel?"

Darla had tears in her eyes now. She grabbed Morgan by the shoulders and shook him, flailing him around like a ragdoll.

"Fathers are supposed to care for their daughters!" she screamed, as she shook him, and he cried. "They're supposed to love them! They're supposed to love them! Why couldn't you LOVE HER?! WHY?!"

Her face changed to vampire form, and she growled at him, and showed him her fangs. He whimpered, and tried to look away, but she held him fast.

"You're just like my father was," Darla snarled. "He didn't care either. And you're just like him. And now look at me. LOOK AT ME!"

She spit in his face, and let him go. He fell to the floor, and cried.

"I was sad without you, Daddy," Drusilla said, glaring down at Angel out of the shadows like a predatory bird. "I do so relish your vicious games."

"What are you doing here, Dru?" Angel said, and stood up, and faced her…faced those ice-blue eyes. He wasn't at all sure that this was really Drusilla, but she acted like her, and if he was going to get any information out of her he thought he'd have to do it on her terms. "What happened to Spike?"

"My little Spike was naughty," Drusilla said. "Making googly eyes at the Slayer. I know what he's up to. I can see. And then he ruined our party. The world would've been so pretty, all the people were going to be little dollies and I was going to play dress up, and then we were all going to join Miss Edith for tea. But then Spike came and he said we couldn't have our tea party, and Miss Edith was very cross with him. Now the world is ugly again, and no one comes to tea."

"Dru," Angel said. "Where's Spike?"

"Gone, gone, flew away…we're sad, Daddy, Miss Edith and me; Miss Edith is so sad, I had to pluck out her eyes to stop her crying. She just sits on the shelf now and refuses to talk to me. But I know what she's thinking. She whispers to the other dollies, when my back is turned. Whispers nasty, nasty things," Drusilla said, with a smile that showed her long canine teeth.

Then she turned away from him, looking down at the ground.

"My little Spike, he tried to hurt me after he took me away, but it wasn't the same. Every time he whipped me, he wanted to be whipping the Slayer. I can see. I can see. And Miss Edith snickered at me the whole time. She's such an evil dolly."

"And now you're here," Angel said.

"Spike always said he and I were supposed to be forever," Drusilla said. "And I believed him, for awhile. But fate plays tricks. Fate cheats. Sometimes, the one you think you're meant to be with…isn't. Sometimes, they fly away…sometimes they're meant to be with someone else."

She turned and looked at him again, and smiled.

"But you know that all too well, don't you Daddy?" she said.

"I've had a long night, Dru," Angel said. "Not really up for one of your riddle games right now."

"But it's always a game," Drusilla said, and snarled at him…but she still smiled. "It was a game when you raped me, and took my family away from me, and a game when you killed me. A game when you broke me, and turned me, and told me you loved me, and a game yet again when you sent me away. But you never could finally put an end to me, could you? I wonder why that is?"

"I should've put an end to you," Angel said. "I should've killed you last year."

"Oooh, Daddy, spank me again, you know I'm