Heart and Souls by Kirk Baldridge

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. If I did, I'd treat them better than...some people.

Author's Note: I am trying to separate witchcraft from Wicca since they are not necessarily the same thing, so forgive me if I get anything wrong.

Summary: Willow and Tara travel to Los Angeles, where their attempt at a romantic getaway becomes far more than either of them was expecting.

Willow stood on the edge of the cavernous crater, her heart climbing up into her throat as she looked out into the darkness and suppressed a shudder. She could literally feel the evil surging just beneath the surface, waiting, and it terrified her. The redhead took a step back, her face going pale as she heard someone...something, laugh—a sound which sent a chill up and down her spine.

Buffy Summers appeared in mid-air, over the pit. She looked confused, even scared.

Suddenly, the slayer's unseen means of support just seemed to vanish. She plummeted down into the darkness, screaming for what felt like an eternity.

Now, Xander Harris appeared. He was in no better a position than Buffy, and he frowned.

Willow fell to her knees, barely able to breath. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be.

Rupert Giles, the former Watcher, flared to life in front of her. He removed his glasses.

His fate was the same as Buffy and Xander's though, in his defense, the usually stodgy Englishman did not cry out as he too was swallowed up by the overwhelming nothingness.

To Willow's horror, her beloved Tara appeared out of thin air. She looked down, around, and then focused her gaze on the teary-eyed redhead. She smiled, slightly.

"Willow." Tara seemed calm. Unusually so, given the circumstances. "Willow, wake up. Willow!"

The redhead's eyes snapped open and she sat up, gasping. She was still in the back seat of the taxi, only now her blue peasent blouse was sticking to her sweaty, heaving chest.

Beside her, Tara put a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder and leaned closer. "Are you all right?"

Tara glanced out the window. "Uh, it looks like..." She frowned. "I don't know. I've never been to LA."

"We're about three blocks away from the address you gave me," said the cab driver.

Willow nodded. "Thanks." She settled back in the seat, and rested her head on Tara's shoulder. After the dream she had just had she wasn't about to try and go back to sleep, but her mind did start to wander as she recalled the circumstances that brought the two of them to LA in the first place.

The two of them sat in Tara's dorm room, hand in hand, their eyes closed and lips slightly parted as a circle of golden light rippled and pulsed around them. It flowed underneath the two witches like a solid force, and gently, slowly, carried them both into the air.

Their concentration shattered the levitation spell collapsed in upon itself, and the duo cried out as they fell to the ground. Luckily, they had not been high enough up for either of them to really be injured, and once they had collected themselves they were able to get right back to their feet.

"I should have taken that thing off the hook," Tara said as she went to answer it. "Hello?" She listened for a few moments, then glanced over her shoulder. "Willow? It's for you. It's Buffy."

The redhead took the receiver from her and smiled. "Thanks." She put it to her ear. "Buffy?" Once or twice she nodded, and then her face lit up. "Really? Are you serious?" She laughed. "When? Okay. I'll get there as soon as I can. Okay. Bye." She hung up and turned to Tara, still beaming.

Willow nodded. "Do you remember that contest I entered when we were at the Coven?"

"I won. Two round trip, all expense paid tickets to the new Orion resort hotel in Los Angeles."

"They're messengering the tickets to the dorm, but I have to be there to sign for them. I have to go."

Willow nodded and smiled. "Oh you're coming with me all right. To LA." Now, she hesitated, and her face fell ever so slightly. "I-If you want to, that is."

Tara's face lit up again, and she smiled. "Of course I want to. When do we leave?"

"Next week. I'll have to make some arrangements, but since it's still summer...we have time."

"All the time in the world," said Tara. She leaned against Willow, and they both smiled.

Tara and Willow separated, their lips making a quiet smacking sound as they broke the kiss, and turned to look out the window. Their eyes grew wide.

The big, bald man behind the wheel checked the paper she had given him, and nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"But..." Willow opened the passenger door, and she and Tara climbed out. "...it can't be. What happened?" They had been expecting a multi-story townhouse, not a burnt-out shell. The fire had obviously been recent, for some of the debris still showed signs of smoldering. "What happened?"

"Don't know." The driver leaned on the top of his cab. "So what's it going to be, ladies?"

He went to take their luggage out of the trunk, while Tara moved up and put an arm around Willow's trembling shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"I don't understand. The last time I talked to him, he said everything was fine."

Tara paid the cab driver, then returned to Willow's side. "Say, is it possible your friend has moved since Buffy was here last?"

It had been Willow's idea to visit the only person she knew in LA, though they had come unannounced so as to surprise him. Instead, they were the ones surprised.

Tara followed her lead. A bespectacled, dark-haired man in a now filthy suit was emerging from the wreckage, a stack of books and papers under one arm. "Do you know him?"

Willow smiled. "It's Buffy's other Watcher. Come on!" She approached him. "Wesley!"

The man in question, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, former Watcher turned full-fledged demon fighter, raised

his head. He blinked, then removed his glasses and smiled. "Miss Rosenberg. Willow." He cleared his throat. "What brings you to Los Angeles? Not some imminent danger I hope."

"No. Just a nice, normal vacation for a change." Willow looked around. "What happened here?"

Wesley glanced at Tara, who stood close behind the redhead with her hands clasped in front of her. "It's rather a long and complicated story, I'm afraid."

The redhead started. "Oh. I'm sorry. Wesley this is my friend, Tara. Tara, this is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Like I said, he's Buffy's second Watcher. He took over after Giles was fired."

"Hello." Wesley visibly relaxed. "So, your friend is privy, to our...unusual circumstances?"

"She knows everything," said Willow. "You can speak freely in front of her." She shook her head. "So? Are you going to tell what happened here? Or do we have to cast a spell?"

Wesley seemed surprised. "Your friend is also a witch?" Willow nodded. "I see." He glanced over his shoulder and sighed. "I think it would be best if I explained it all on the way."

Cordelia Chase stepped out of her apartment and embraced the redhead, much to Willow's shock. She and the other girl had never really been friends. In point of fact, for most of their time at Sunnydale High—as well as an enormous part of her childhood—Cordelia had been the bane of her existence, even before she knew what those words meant. As a result, such an overwhelming display of affection from someone she had once considered to be her mortal enemy stunned her into immobility.

Tara stood back and watched, both hands dangling limply at her sides. She seemed uncomfortable about such a display, and lowered her eyes to the ground.

Behind her, Wesley shifted the mass of books and cleared his throat. "Ladies, as much as I do enjoy seeing an enthusiastic reuniting of old acquaintances, would it be at all possible for us to go inside before my spine snaps in two from the strain?"

"Do you have to be so melodramatic all the time?" Cordelia away from Willow and gestured. "Entray, see-voo play." Her weak attempt at French aside, Cordelia's invitation was surprisingly genuine, so Willow and Tara slid in and to one side in order to allow Wesley to enter first.

"Thank you." He glanced at Cordelia, who rested her hands on her hips. "Clearly, good manners have not been lost on all of the female citizens of Sunnydale." Before he managed to take another step, an invisible force took the books right out of his hands and tossed them across the room. He sighed.

Cordelia smiled. "Thank you, phantom-Dennis." Willow and Tara glanced at one another and then turned to the brunette, who shrugged her shoulders. "My place is haunted. I'm dealing." While Wesley bent down to gather his things, the only volumes he had managed to recover from the burnt out remains of the office, Cordelia escorted Willow and Tara to the kitchen. "Check it out. More survivors from Sunnydale."

Seated at the table a tall, dark-haired man in black raised his head. He always wore black. In fact as long as she had known him, Willow could not recall a time she had ever seen Angel wearing anything that was not black. He looked good in it though, there was no denying that.

"Willow." He stood up, his hands outstretched, and she went to hug him. "It's good to see you."

"Oh, you too." Willow held on to him for several long moments, then she began to feel uncomfortable and she stepped back to rejoin Tara, who was staring at the floor. "Guys, I want to introduce you to somebody." She took the blond by the hand, and cleared her throat. "This is my girlfriend. Tara."

Angel, much to his credit, did not even flinch. If he was at all taken aback by this revelation, he did not show it in the slightest. Instead, he just nodded and folded his hands behind his back.

Cordelia, however, let her jaw hit the floor and her tongue start wagging. "What?! When did this happen? What about Oz? Do Buffy and the others know? How did you two meet?"

The stream of rapid-fire questions went on for some time, and Willow did her best to answer as many of them as she could. But the instant Cordelia's curiosity delved into a more private area, namely the bedroom, Willow's patience came to an end, and she called a halt to the proceedings.

Willow and Tara told the others all about the Initiative, Adam, and the first slayer.

Angel, in return, spoke of Wolfram and Hart, and the destruction of his office and home.

Cordelia nodded. "Same old same old." She sat down beside Angel, and frowned at him. "I notice you forgot to mention what Wesley found in those musty old scrolls." She turned to Willow. "Some ancient prophecy says he will become human. After he's completed his destiny, anyway."

Angel leaned forward. "No. Willow, listen. You can't mention anything about this, especially not to Buffy." He glared at Cordelia. "That's why I didn't want to say anything. It would hurt her too much, I think, knowing there is a chance I'll be human one day, without her. Do you understand?"

"Uhmm..." Tara looked at her watch. "I hate to cut this short, but we really have to go. You're supposed to meet that promotional guy from the resort at five. It's four thirty now."

Per the conditions of the contest, she was expected to play a major role in the Orion resorts new promotional campaign. As a result, she was constantly having her picture taken or talking with some reporter, and before too long she began to grow tired of it. She was told the fervor would die down, in a day or two, if she and Tara could just wait it out, so they usually remained in their room.

Two days into their weeks vacation, they finally found some time to themselves. With her commitment to the resort fulfilled, Willow and Tara decided to look around the city. Angel had told them of several places witches like themselves might find of interest, including a magic shop.

Willow and Tara slid out of a cab, paid for courtesy of the contest, in front of MADAME OCCULA'S MAGIC SHOPPE. Angel had assured them that, in spite of its gaudy exterior and groan worthy name, the place carried a wide variety of mystical supplies and texts. Some of them, in fact, difficult, if not downright impossible, to find any place else—including Sunnydale.

"Ladies! Welcome!" Inside, Willow and Tara were confronted by a rotund, raven-haired woman in bright robes and gaudy gold and silver jewelry. She jangled as she walked, and had a big smile on her face. "My name is Mina Occul. But you can just call me O, if you like." She clapped her hands. "How may I help you today? A love spell, perhaps? Or a charm to aid you in school?"

Willow glanced at Tara, who smiled, and shook her head. "No, thank you." She cleared her throat. "Actually we are friends of Angel, and..."

O's face changed immediately. The smile remained, but she seemed to relax somewhat. "Ah, my friend. Yes. I haven't seen my dear Angel is so many years."

"It was..." O paused. "...forty years ago at least. I was young, a new arrival in Los Angeles, when I was attacked by a vampire. Angel came along and rescued me, and I've felt indebted to him ever since." She clapped her hands together again. "So, if Angel sent you, I assume you two are in the craft?"

"I thought as much." O's voice and mannerisms had noticeably changed. She no longer seemed to be putting on a show. "I apologize for that spiel earlier. Most of my customers just love the show. They come in looking for a charm or spell without fully understanding, or believing, what they really mean." She shook her head. "But those Wicca-wannabees are the worst. They're a joke to most of us real practitioners."

"I know what you mean," said Willow. "I joined a Wicca group at school..." She put an arm around Tara. "...and I only met one real spell caster in the bunch. I'm glad though."

Tara blushed, turning away, while O's smile returned in full force. "Lucky girl." She ambled behind the counter and began to play with a up a crystal sitting there. Willow realized it was, in fact, a dolls-eye crystal, larger even than the one Tara had given her. "So, are you ladies looking for anything in particular today, or would you like to browse around?"

"Fine by me. I keep most of the really good stuff in the back room. Through the curtain. Help yourselves." She released the dolls-eye crystal, which continued to spin in mid-air, and reached for a clipboard. "And if you need anything else, just call my name. I have 'ears' all over the store."

Angel was right. There were things there they would never have found in any shop in Sunnydale, some were so rare neither had heard of them at all. Crystals of nearly all shapes, sizes and colors, potions, powders, talismans and other jewelry—everything necessary to cast any spell they could think of.

"This is amazing," said the redhead. "I could probably spend a week just on this one shelf alone." She had found a collection of mystical tomes, otherwise known as spell books, some of them having been written in languages she could not even begin to recognize. "I just wish we had more money."

Tara, meanwhile, found herself drawn to a notice board on the rear wall. She could sense a mystical aura from one of the pages there, though she wasn't sure what it meant. "Hey, Willow. Come here..." She pointed to one of the pages in particular, a blank one apparently. "Can you feel that?"

"I can," said Willow. "What is it?" She reached out and touched the paper. To her surprise, the surface of it was warm, and it began to ripple. Right before their eyes, words appeared.

Greetings, said the advertisement. If you are reading this, you must be a true practioner of the mystic arts, and I welcome you. My name is Shandara. I am a Witch. Once a year, I open the doors of my home to only a select few other witches, giving them an opportunity to meet one another and to exchange ideas and spells, for no cost to anyone involved. I can offer a place to stay, if need be, and food, in addition to my many years of experience. Please, feel free to join us. The notice went on to give a date, the following day to be exact, and an address, which they assumed would be easy enough to find.

Three stories high, it looked like one of those gothic mansions one would usually see in old movies, only this one was real. It had what appeared to be hand-carved eaves and pillars, stone gargoyles standing guard at each of its four corners, and a fifteen foot iron fence surrounding it.

Both girls had a small bag with them. Each brought a change of clothes, a few personal items, and some of the magic supplies they had bought at O's place. Neither knew for sure how much they were going to learn from the other witches present, but they hoped it would be fun at least.

"How do we get in?" Willow asked aloud. "I don't see a..." She gasped as the gate shuddered and began to open, seemingly of it's own accord. "Okay."

Tara cocked her head. Something felt off about the place, but she couldn't put her finger on it. There wasn't an overwhelming sense of danger or anything, it just felt...strange.

"What is it?" Willow asked. She could see the change in her girlfriend's body language, one she had seen more than once. Trouble usually followed. "Is something wrong?"

"It's okay," Tara assured her. "I'm sure it's nothing. Let's just go in." She only wished she actually felt as certain as she hoped she sounded.

As they entered the grounds, the blond could barely suppress a shudder as the heavy metal gates closed behind them with a resounding clang.

Tara could not rid herself of a vague sense of unease as they strode up the front steps and across the porch, to a set of huge, intricately carved oak doors. She wasn't sure what it meant, but she was starting to wonder if she'd been a bit too hasty in dismissing Willow's offer for them to leave.

On the other hand, she knew this whole outing had become rather important to her girlfriend. After all, except for Tara herself, Willow had not found anyone to share her mystical and supernatural interests with since a very few meetings with two fellow witches back in high school. The thought of being around other people, who knew as much or more about magic as she did, was irresistible to Willow.

And Tara simply could not bring herself to deny her lover anything, if it was within her power to do something about it. So until she had something more concrete to go to Willow about, she intended to keep her concerns to herself and make sure the woman she loved had as good a time as possible.

A black cat was curled up on the welcome mat, licking one of its feet. It raised its head as they got closer, and mewled at them. Both girls were startled when its eyes glowed momentarily.

Tara felt a presence behind her, moments before a hand came down on her shoulder. She managed to twist out of the way, and put an arm around Willow as they both turned.

A woman stood there, the cat which had been on the porch behind them now curled up in her arms. She smiled slightly as she looked the two girls over.

She was tall, voluptuous in every sense of the word, with flaming red hair and bright gray-green eyes sparkling as the sun hit them just right. Her face was smooth, perfectly shaped, and her full, pouting lips were dark red. In the body-hugging black dress there was little mystery to the curves of her body.

Tara blinked. Whoever this woman was, her aura was exceedingly bright, surging with a mystical force she had never seen. But unlike with most, she could not detect any particular color, such as the blue-white glow she saw around 'good' witches like Willow. This woman's aura ran the spectrum, from light to dark and back again, and it was enough to put the young witch on edge.

"I'm Willow Rosenberg." The redhead put her an arm around her girlfriend. "This is Tara. We came in response to the note you left at the magic shop?"

Shandara smiled. "O's? Of course, I can sense it. Please..." She gestured toward the front doors, which silently began to open all by themselves. "...follow me."

Inside they saw a three-story gallery, with a variety of colorful paintings and a huge, spiral staircase. Gathered loosely in this area was a group of young people, a dozen in all. Eight females, four male, all of them apparently witches. They turned as Shandara clapped her hands to get their attention and strode into the center of the room, where she cleared her throat. It grew quiet as she smiled.

"Thank you for waiting, everyone." She gestured. "These are our two sisters of the craft. Willow and Tara." The other guests nodded or waved, and Willow and Tara smiled back. "I've got one more thing to attend to before we get started. Get acquainted, everyone. I shall return shortly." Shandara turned and walked through a door none of them had noticed.

One girl in particular—who had unusually dark green hair and appeared to be a year or so younger than Willow or Tara—approached them. "Hi." She swept a lock of emerald hair out of her eyes. "My name is Rachel. I know I am being forward, but have we met somewhere before?"

Tara, who had been the object of the inquiry, shook her head. "I-I don't think so."

Rachel blinked, as if noticing the redhead for the first time. "Hello. I'm Rachel."

Rachel took a step back, her cheeks reddening. "I didn't...I mean...oh, man. I'm sorry."

Willow shook her head. "It's okay." She glanced at Tara and sighed. "Believe me, I understand."

When Shandara returned, she gathered the other witches at the base of the spiral staircase.

"To begin, I thought it might be interesting if I gave each of us a chance to introduce ourselves, and perhaps to demonstrate your craft." A quiet murmur passed through the crowd. She smiled. "I realize we've just met. And if it's too much pressure, please, just state your name and where you're from. But if you feel comfortable enough, please feel free to show us your favorite spell. Perhaps the conjuring you are best at, or most familiar with. It is entirely up to you. Who would like to go first?"

It wasn't long before the eyes of the group got around to Willow and Tara. They went up together, after seeing their new friend, Rachel, demonstrating a light spell. They were both nervous in front of the crowd, and resisted the urge to hold hands as the redhead cleared her throat.

"My name is Willow Rosenberg. This is Tara. We both go to Sunnydale University."

Shandara nodded. "Any witch worth her salt has at least heard of it. I've never been, but I have to imagine all of the mystical energy there makes casting...interesting."

Shandara rested her hands in her lap. "So, what are you ladies going to do for us today?"

"I-I..." Tara's face reddened, and this time she did start to turn away, but Willow grabbed her hand.

The redhead looked her girlfriend in the eye, and mouthed 'I love you'. Tara seemed to relax after that. Hand in hand, they turned back to the waiting witches.

"We do most of our magic together," said Willow. Shandara, and several others, nodded in understanding. "But the one spell we do best is not really for the general public. I do, however, have one I could show you." Keeping her hand firmly clasped in Tara's, she looked around the room, her eyes finally settling on an empty chair. "It's a fairly simple one, but still..." She arched an eyebrow, and with a surge of mystical energy the chair rose into the air and nearly crashed into the ceiling before she got it under control. "Whoa. It's not usually this easy." She felt as if she was being filled with extra energy, from somewhere.

Tara turned from Willow, to the chair, and back again, then her eyes narrowed. Something didn't feel right but, like outside, she still couldn't figure out what it was.

"Levitation is the first spell I learned," said Willow. "I know it's not much, but..."

Shandara shook her head. "Kid, don't feel bad. I've known witches who practiced for years, and were never able to get that one down." Several of the other witches nodded. As the chair floated to the ground again, she clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Now that we've all met, I think it's time I gave you all a chance to settle in and get used to your surroundings. You are, after all, going to be here for this next week or so. I've got plenty of rooms on the second floor, please help yourselves. My library, meditation room and dinning hall are all here on the first floor. If you want something to eat let me know. I'll be around. Also, for your own sake, please stay out of the basement, and off the third floor entirely. Any questions?"

When no one spoke up, Shandara nodded and stepped off the staircase to join her guests.

Shandara insisted no one else try any magic for the remainder of the day, instead preserving their energies for what she had planned over the next few days. They all sat around and talked for a while, sharing experiences, and then retired to her dining hall, where they had a magnificent dinner. Each participant was pleasantly surprised to his or her favorite meal waiting on their plate.

Later that evening, as she and Willow were getting ready for bed, Tara finally decided to express the concerns she'd been feeling since their arrival. Wearing a nightshirt, she sat on the bed and waited for the redhead, also in a nightshirt, to emerge from the bathroom, and then cleared her throat.

The redhead turned from a full-length, silver mirror, her hairbrush in her hands. "Yes, love?"

"I..." Tara hesitated, as she put her thoughts into words. "Don't you think it's strange?"

The green-haired girl had told them, during dinner, what she knew of their host. Admittedly, it wasn't much, as Shandara was something of a mystery to all concerned. In fact, they discovered no one there had ever taken part in any of Shandara's previous gatherings, nor did any of them know anyone who had, even though she claimed to have been arranging them for years.

Willow nodded. "You mean about no repeat practitioners? That's not so strange. Whether through good genes or magic, I get the feeling Shandara is older than she looks. It could just be that she outlived a lot of the witches who were coming to her meetings. Or that they simply moved on. One way or another, we're the new generation to come along, hence no one has met anyone from the old."

"Now, that is magic," said Willow. "Shandara probably read our auras, or did some sort of a mind-reading spell that we're not aware of. It's probably harmless."

Tara nodded. "I hope you're right. I really do. But I just can't shake this feeling..."

"You want to leave? Just say the word..." Willow assured her. "And we're out of here." She caressed her lover's cheek, then leaned in and kissed her. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Willow sat back. "But you said you wanted to go to b..." Realization struck. "Oh." She smirked. "You really are a gem, you know that? I love you."

While many of the other witches there had been practicing longer than she, her own powers—and her mystical repertoire—were far more extensive. She guessed it had something to do with growing up in Sunnydale, where a practical use and understanding of magic came on a day to day basis. From various discussions, she learned that none of the others, except perhaps Shandara, had ever met a vampire or other supernatural creature, and most of them didn't even believe, despite their own mystical abilities.

"Can you blame them?" Tara asked, as they were getting ready for dinner. "I mean, most people do not grow up on a Hellmouth. Monsters are just in the movies. It's not their fault we know better."

The green-haired girl shoved her hands in her pockets. "Can I talk to you guys for a minute?"

"I'm not sure. I was just meditating in my room. You know, clearing the chakras and all that?" Rachel sighed. "I got real one with the universe, when I suddenly got this really weird vibe. It felt like this whole freaky place was closing in on me. I couldn't breath. I think..." She seemed to lose her train of thought for a moment. "I know this is gonna sound crazy, but do you think this place could be haunted or something?"

Willow glanced at Tara, who shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. Are you sensing a particular spirit?"

"No. It's nothing like that." Rachel pouted. "You guys probably think I'm nuts, right?"

Tara stood up, shaking her head. "Not at all. We have some experience in this, don't we?"

"I've got this really strange feeling, like there's something here I'm supposed to see." Rachel looked around. "I was thinking...about what Shandara said. You know, staying out of the basement? And the third floor?" The other two witches nodded. "Could you two do me a favor and keep Shandara from noticing I'm not at dinner? I thought I would take a look around, and see what she's hiding."

"Don't you think that's a little of dangerous?" Tara asked. "If you're right..."

Rachel gestured dismissively. "It's not like I really believe in ghosts or anything." She smiled. "To be honest,

I'm really just curious. It's a part of my personality. There may not be anything to see there, but anytime I'm told I can't go somewhere, I just have to try."

Rachel shook her head. "I need you to keep Shandara distracted. She'll probably get really pissed if she figures out what I'm up to. But, I'll tell you what..." She glanced at her watch. "I'll meet you guys in the library in an hour, so I can tell you what I found. How about that?"

Shandara was pleasant enough at dinner, chatting with Willow and Tara as they sat near her and asked about her past gatherings, and her own personal use of magic. Then, inexplicably, she got a strange expression on her face and excused herself from the table despite their protests. They didn't see her again for some time, and when she returned her cheeks were flushed, as if she had exerted herself.

Tara bit her lip. She could sense a disturbance in Shandara's aura—black spots over her face and hands. Though she was not sure she felt as if some violence had been committed by this woman, and the idea it might have been directed at someone she knew, namely Rachel, scared her.

Willow glanced from Tara to Shandara and back again. She could sense there was something wrong too, albeit not as easily or clearly as her lover. When their eyes met briefly she shook her head, indicating they should not do or say anything yet, so as not to raise Shandara's suspicions.

But it was becoming obvious, to both of them, that Rachel was not going to show up. Something was wrong, it was only a question of what, and what they were going to do about it.

"Let's ask Shandara," said Willow. "There still could be a rational explanation."

Deep down the two of them knew she was wrong, but they both decided it was worth a shot.

"Rachel Snow?" the elder witch asked. "Yes, I received a phone call during dinner. She had a family emergency come up she had to deal with. It required her to leave unexpectedly."

Tara shook her head. "Neither do I. Her aura is filled with spots of darkness, but I can't tell if it's because she's lying, or because she isn't thinking straight. Someone..." She paused. "...or something could be manipulating her mind. There's no way to be sure."

"So what can we do?" Willow asked. "We can't go to the police. Even if they did believe us, we don't even have any proof anything has happened to Rachel at all."

"I think we should we go check her room," Tara suggested. "Assuming she did leave, there is always the chance she left a note. If she didn't leave..."

When they arrived at the door to Rachel's room, minutes later, they found it—not surprisingly—locked. With a touch of her hand Willow magicked it open, and they went inside. It didn't take them very long to realize Rachel had left her clothes in the closer, a bag on the bed and her makeup on the dresser. If she had simply left, as their host insisted, it must have been in an awful hurry.

"Do you really think Shandara is involved?" Tara asked. "She seems like such a nice person."

"I suppose it's possible there's something going on around here that she is not aware of," said Willow. "But it's not likely. I think it would be for the best if we work on the assumption she knows what's happening, even if she is not directly involved in it."

Willow considered this for a moment. "If we're going to figure out what may have happened to Rachel, we had better start in the last place we know for sure she was."

After a quick check, to make sure Shandara was still downstairs—she was—Willow and Tara made their way up to the forbidden third floor, via the back stairs. They wanted to avoid the other witches, who would likely raise a lot of questions neither of them was prepared to answer.

The door to the third floor, off the staircase was, somewhat surprisingly, unlocked. A moment later it became obvious why, as the two of them struck an invisible barrier.

Willow rubbed her hand against the obviously solid surface. "A barricade spell?"

"Simple," said Tara. "But effective." With enough mystical force behind it, a barricade could provide an almost impenetrable blockade, which even the strongest witch or demonic creature could not defeat. Almost, being the operative word. Everything had its weakness, if one knew where to look.

"So what do we do?" Willow asked. "We don't have time to go back and get the Book." In Wiccan terms a book of shadows was a list of spells and incantations a witch, or coven, had performed in the past, or was intending to try in the future. For them, it was literal. "Can you improvise an entry spell?"

Tara nodded. "I can try." She held out her hand without looking, and Willow took it. "We'll have to concentrate pretty hard, though, and pray Shandara is not monitoring this barrier. If she is, we might only have a few seconds before she comes to investigate. Are you ready?"

"Let's do it," said Willow. Once upon a time, the casual use of so many spells—as she had done so easily in the last few days—would have been unthinkable. She still respected and, in some ways feared, the power available to her, but since Tara came along she had found it all so much easier to do. The other witch made her feel so much more confident and capable, in a way Buffy and Oz never could.

The two witches focused their thoughts, their powers, on making the barrier before them visible to their inner eyes. What they 'saw' was an incandescent wall of pale blue light between them and the door, and so they started to search for any signs of weakness. Even the tiniest variance in the color or brightness of the barrier, would be enough to act as a focal point. They found it, finally, in the area around the doorknob, so they concentrated their efforts on that one spot, and before long the barrier began to buckle ever-so-slightly.

At length a gap was formed—enough, at least, for Willow to be able reach through and turn the knob. Doing so also brought an end to the barricade spell, which rippled and then faded away entirely. The two witches breathed a sigh of relief as they flung the door wide open, and stepped inside...

It was incredibly, impossibly dark, as if the shadows themselves had come alive and swallowed them whole. In fact, the fact that the open door behind them—which led into a corridor that was very well lit—was not providing them any illumination at all, indicated something unnatural.

"A cloaking spell?" Willow asked. While she could not actually see Tara, she could feel her lover's hand in her own, and that reassured her in a way she did not entirely understand.

"Something more intense," the other witch replied. "A shield of shadows. I've seen one cast before, though I've never actually seen it from the inside." She paused. "It completely negates natural light. It doesn't, if I remember correctly, have any effect on the magical variety, however."

"Affero Mihi Lucis!" A sphere of light about the size of a baseball burst to life in Willow's hand. It wasn't fire, and did no damage to her skin, nor did it have any effect on their eyes, but it did illuminate the room enough for them to take a look around.

Rachel Snow, the green-haired girl they had both befriended and were now searching for, lay on the ground by their feet. There was no question she was dead—someone or something had mutilated her face, obviously taking great pleasure in her pain before finally snapping her neck.

Willow fought back her own tears. She hadn't known Rachel very long, nor did she know her very well, but she was still a human being she had known who had been murdered. It still hurt. "We've got to find who did this," the redhead said through clenched teeth. "Before it happens to anyone else."

"I-I feel..." Tara's face began to grow hot. After a moment, her head started to spin. "Willow, something's here, something...there!" She pointed, and Willow gestured with the illumination spell.

On the other side of the room they saw a shape—which turned out to be a gleaming metal stand in the shape of a dragon's claw held what appeared to be a huge ebony orb. It was similar to a black pearl, only it was larger than a beach ball. Dark, indistinct shapes swam and churned within the orb, and merely being in its presence terrified them both in some instinctive way neither could fully understand or explain.

Tara shook her head. "I-I've never seen anything like it." She took a step closer to the orb and was immediately bombarded with a wave of conflicting, fiery emotions, the likes of which she had never imagined, coming at her from all directions simultaneously. The surge of terror, rage, misery, and pain shot through her like a knife, and it was more than enough to bring the witch to her knees.

Willow's own concerns vanished when her lover clasped her head and began to scream. "Tara?" She dropped to her knees right beside her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Her body wracked with sobs Tara opened her mouth to ask for help, but all that came out was a shrill, tortured wail of agony. Try as she might she couldn't drown out the voices—screaming, pleading for help, and demanding justice. Tears streamed down her quivering cheeks.

Willow raised her head, her own face soaked with tears. The darkness, the shield of shadows, had dissolved to reveal a figure. Watching them, and smiling. "Shandara? Why?"

The elder witch pushed off the doorway and shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I'm not doing it. The Eye of Souls is a very potent artifact." She smirked. "To be honest, I never expected to find a witch as sensitive as your friend. I have found most humans, even those involved in the craft, are woefully ignorant of the essence of the soul." She glanced down at Tara, who had fallen to her side and was now curled up in a fetal position as she cried. "There is clearly more to this girl than meets the eye."

After a moment, Shandara shook her head. "I think not. You two are trouble-makers..." She glanced at Rachel's corpse. "...and nosy, just like your friend. I took care of her, because she was getting too close. She had a rather annoying streak of morality as well. She would have interfered."

Shandara sighed. "Hardly. I wanted witches, yes, but preferably the wannabes downstairs. They may have a few interesting parlor tricks. but their power is unfocused. Raw. And they have little knowledge or understanding, or real belief for that matter, in the true nature of the dark powers in the world." She arched an eyebrow. "You two, however, are different. You know the truth, and I can't have that."

Willow gently kissed Tara on the forehead, then rose to her feet and confronted Shandara. "I've got power too, you know. I can stop you!"

Willow knew she was in over her head. While her powers had grown considerably in recent months, she didn't have as much control as she would have preferred. Not without Tara's help, at least. But she wasn't about to back down either. Tara, and all of the unsuspecting witches downstairs, were counting on her. The redhead gritted her teeth, and began focusing her mind on the task at hand.

Shandara sensed a build-up of power in, and around, the younger witch. It surprised her just how much, in fact, and she realized she had to take measures before the situation got out of hand. She stepped forward and clapped her hands together, reciting a spell under her breath.

Willow lost her concentration as the temperature in the room dropped suddenly. The spell she had been about to cast dwindled and then faded away entirely, as she felt a strange pressure on her lungs. It was becoming more difficult to breath, as if the oxygen was being stolen from her body. She blinked, wide-eyed, as heard Tara begin to thrash and moan at her feet, obviously suffering the same fate.

"Don't worry," said Shandara. "This won't hurt. Much. I'm just taking your breath away."

Willow fell to her knees as her head began to spin. Beside her, Tara groaned one last time and then lay still. A last, ragged gasp escaped the redhead's lips—before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. One arm draped loosely over Tara before the life faded from her body.

Shandara lowered her hands, and sighed. "So much for the Sunnydale contingent." Shaking her head, she turned and walked out of the room, a knowing smile on her face.

Even more so than it had been when she and Tara had entered the shield of shadows.

The darkness was all around her, and in some way she did not completely understand, it felt almost as if it was alive. She could practically feel it breathing.

"Where am I?" the redhead asked, to no one in particular. Unsurprisingly, there was no response, and she felt a sudden chill go up and down her spine as she began to realize just how alone she really was. "Tara?" Her fear had begun to turn into outright panic. "Tara? Where are you?"

All of a sudden, she was faced with the most blindingly white light imaginable. Willow cried out and brought a hand up to her face, peeking through outstretched fingers until her vision returned. When she was finally able to see again, she literally could not believe her eyes.

A woman she had come to know and love stood before her, arms held out and her head thrown back. Her body, clad in a silky, long white robe, was filled with pure white light.

Tara approached her lover, moving as if she was barely walking at all. "Y-You're glowing."

"I am?" Willow looked down at herself. Sure enough, star-like sparkles of light flowed around her hands, up to her shoulders and into her chest, where it seemed to illuminate her heart. Strangely, though, she did not feel the sensations of pain or power she might have expected. "Whoa."

"I think I know where we are," said Tara. "But what I don't understand, is how."

"Have either of you ever heard of limbo?" the semitransparent vision of Rachel Snow asked as she approached them. "It's a pretty miserable place, from what I've seen so far."

"I don't blame you," said the ethereal, green-haired girl. "Either of you. I know Shandara is the one who did this to me. But it's okay. There's so much I didn't understand before."

"What do you mean?" Willow asked. She looked around. "And how did we get to this...limbo?"

"That black orb," Rachel replied. "Upstairs in Shandara's place? It's an eye of souls. It contains the limbo state, and draws in the souls of murdered people to use them as power sources. I was killed nearby and, apparently, so were you two. I'm sorry."

"Trust me," said Rachel. "We're dead. All of us. And it's all because of Shandara."

"But why does this place look like Tara's dorm room?" asked Willow. She could see her girlfriend's bed, some of her own clothes piled up on the floor and, of course, Miss Kitty Fantastico.

Rachel shook her head. "It doesn't. From what I've gathered, this limbo is bent to your individual perception. It would appear, to you, as the place you felt the safest or the most comfortable. Since you're with Tara, I imagine you're happiest when you are someplace familiar with her."

Tara looked around. She could see nothing like what Willow described, it was all a complete blank to her. The only thing she could see, in fact, was her beloved. That was enough.

"It's not us," Rachel replied. "At least, not personally. From what the others have been telling me, she has been doing this to witches, like us, for a long time."

"I told you..." Rachel spread her arms. "She's been doing this for a very long time."

In Willow's eyes, at least, Tara's dorm room exploded into a multitude of blindingly bright colors from across the spectrum. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of amorphous, screaming figures, wailing in agony as they darted from one end of the room to the other, passing through the walls and furniture.

"You mean t-these...are..." Willow could barely bring herself to say the words. "...people?"

Rachel nodded. "Their spirits, yes. The orb, the eye of souls, its like a magnet. It draws in the soul-essence, of any recently deceased person in its immediate area. I don't know how long some of them have been here, I don't think passes for them the same way it does—or rather, did—for us, but some of the more lucid souls in here told me they had voted for one of the Roosevelts. I'm not sure which."

Willow's eyes widened. "Goddess. Shandara has been doing this...killing people, stealing their souls, for all of those years? But how? She looks so young."

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. "I wouldn't know about that. What I do know, although I'm not sure how, is that Shandara has to be stopped. There are a whole lot of other, unsuspecting witches back in the real world, who are completely in the dark about what she's up to. We have to help them."

"But how?" Willow asked. "We're dead. You said so yourself. Aren't our helping days over?"

Tara shook her head. "Maybe not. If we could get out, back to our own bodies..."

"It's a long shot," said Rachel. "But maybe, if too much time hasn't passed, and if your bodies weren't too badly damaged by whatever Shandara did to you, you might be able to pull it off."

"Me?" Rachel shook her head and smiled. "No, it's too late for me. I know, I saw my body as I was being pulled out of it. I must say, it was a very unsettling sight. Shandara's nothing if not creative—particularly when it comes to torturing someone who gets in her way."

"I have an idea about that too," Said Rachel. "Tell me...do you two still have your powers?"

"I can," Rachel replied. "But none of these others can." The spirits of the other witches began to howl and wail, and she raised her hands to calm them. It worked somewhat. "I think Shandara did something, stole their magical abilities somehow, before trapping them in here. She killed us differently. We still have our powers, which may just give us an edge. Working together, we might be able to escape."

Tara stepped closer to Willow, and put an arm around her. "What do you want us to do?"

"We'll have to work together. Concentrate." Rachel looked them both in the eye. "I realize you two don't really know me, and you have no reason to trust me, but I'm telling you the truth. It's too late for me, for the rest of us, but the two of you can still fight Shandara on our behalf. I have no reason to lie, and every reason to be honest. I need your help. We all do."

Willow stepped forward and held out her hand. "I'm in. It's not like we have a lot of choice."

"You're right." Tara took one of Willow's hands, Rachel the other. "Let's do it."

Rachel smiled at them both. "Thank you." She closed her eyes. "Now, concentrate. Focus all of your energy on searching the ether. Looking for a weakness, however slight, in the barrier which traps us on this plane. Find the key to our escape, and together...we will turn the lock."

As their minds came together in a common purpose something passed through Willow, and she gasped. In one terrifying, indescribable instant she became a part Rachel's consciousness, and she felt the determination of the young witch. It let her believe they might actually succeed.

Willow peered into Tara's thoughts as well, her heart, into the boundless love she sensed there, and something else. A secret Tara was trying so desperately to hide that it made the other witch sick. When she realized what it was, what it meant, Willow's eyes flew open, and she cried out.

It swelled like a balloon, straining and—ultimately—failing to contain the mystic energies surging just beneath it's glassy surface. It exploded, raining shards of smoldering glass all around the room, and ghostly figures flew out of it and began to swirl and dance around the room.

Having been separated from their physical selves for too long, it was difficult for either spirit to reconnect. A strange sense of euphoric freedom glowed within them. Each moment they remained outside of their bodies, an outside force compelled them to relinquish their desire for the physical and enter the light. Eternity was calling both witches, but neither was ready to answer just yet.

For one long, agonizing moment, it appeared as if nothing was happening. As if something had gone wrong, or too much time had gone by before they tried to return.

Then, without warning, Willow Rosenberg's back arched in a painful manner, and her eyelids fluttered open as she draw in a huge, shattering gasp of air. Her body seemed to collapse in on itself, and she lay there for several seconds, just trying to cope with the fact that she was alive again.

Willow turned, to see her girlfriend sprawled out on the floor, beside and a little bit beneath her. She sat up in a hurry, heedless of the pain which lanced through her back.

"Tara?!" While she had no formal medical training, Willow had spent enough time patching Buffy to recognize the signs of asphyxiation in her lover. "Oh Goddess, no!" Something had obviously gone wrong, and Tara had not been able to reanimate her body when she returned. "Tara! No!" She rolled over on to her knees and checked for a pulse, but Tara's neck was as still as her chest. "No! I won't lose you!"

Trying hard to stem off her desperation and fear, Willow thought back to the CPR classes she had taken in her youth. She grasped the basic concept, having aced the class as she did most others, but had never actually had an opportunity to use it, until now. Even worse, the life which hung in the balance was that of the woman she loved, and she was terrified of what it would mean if she failed.

A new determination came over Willow, and the redhead steeled herself for the task at hand. She clamped her hands together and pushed down on Tara's chest again and again, trying to somehow start her lover's heart. After five such compressions she let up, planted her mouth over Tara's, and breathed twice. She repeated the process, a second and a third time and a fourth time, but each subsequent check produced the same results. Tears poured down her pale cheeks as she continued to try.

Tara's eyes snapped open, and she let out a jagged gasp. Her weak, sweat-soaked body crumpled into Willow's arms, and the redhead just held her and cried until they both caught their breath.

"Of course," said Tara. "I love you, and I'd go to the ends of the Earth, to hell and back, for you."

Willow shook her head. "Hell is the thought of life without you." She touched her face to Tara's, and sighed. "I love you too. More than I ever imagined possible." There was no question she had loved Oz, and in many ways it was true a part of her heart would always be reserved for him, but her relationship with Tara had awakened a part of her she had never known existed.

Both young witches raised their heads as one of the shimmering, disembodied spirits darting around the room broke away from the others and hovered in front of them.

Out of it appeared a semi-translucent Rachel Snow, the lower half of her torso fading in nothing. She smiled, clasping her hands in front of her. "I'm glad you made it back."

"I'm just sorry we can't do anything more for you," said Willow. "What will happen?"

Rachel's spectral face turned from side to side, as she peered at the other spirits and sighed. "I'm sure we'll all move on, eventually. But there is something you must do for us first."

"If Shandara isn't stopped, all those other poor, unfortunate fools downstairs will suffer the same fate as all of these," said Rachel. The spirts surged and wailed around her. "We can't do it. Our capacity for affecting anything in the physical plane in limited at best. You two, however, still have the chance. The power. Do this, please. You have to stop Shandara, and save the others. Avenge us."

Willow glanced at Tara, who shrugged, then nodded to Rachel. "We'll do our best."

Deep beneath her home, in an all but forgotten sub-basement, the wicked witch Shandara instructed her guests on achieving an altered state of consciousness through meditation. It was intended, she explained, to free their subconscious minds in order to dramatically increase the range of their mystical power and in turn permit them to make contact with one of the other realms.

Shandara sat in an oaken chair, fingers steepled in front of her and watching with a knowing glint eye as eleven young witches sat cross-legged on the floor. They all had their eyes closed, and they clasped lit candles in their hands as they chanted softly, per Shandara's instructions. A vague, ozone-like tingling had already begun to wash through the room, it must have been setting their hair on end and caused goosebumps over any exposed areas of their skin, but none of the witches appeared to notice.

The redheaded elder witch jerked her head up as she heard the sub-basement door crack open. She had erected wards to prevent it from allowing anyone or anything in, especially now, and the fact that someone had managed to do so indicated great mystical power. She rose from her chair, her dark eyes narrowing as she heard footsteps moving slowly down the stairs. Reactive torches on either side of the stairwell came to life, presenting her with a clear view of her unexpected visitors. She sneered.

Willow and Tara could tell Shandara was holding a great deal of her power in reserve, and yet they still sensed far more coming from her now than anyone they had ever encountered. That wasn't very encouraging, especially since the two of them were far from their own peak.

"Insolent little bitch! I'll kill you again if I have to!" Shandara raised her hands.

Tara gasped as she sensed a sudden surge of power, from the elder witch. "Willow!" She grabbed her lover and pulled the two of them to the ground, out of harms way.

At that very instant, Shandara was releasing twin bolts of sizzling, lightning-like energy from her hands, which scorched the air where the other two witches would have been standing if not for Tara's quick thinking. Her face contorted with anger and surprise. "Impressive." She slapped her hands together, whispered something under her breath, and parted her palms to reveal a red-orange sphere of flame. "But futile."

Willow's eyes widened. She had assumed Shandara possessed an awful lot of power and experience—certainly a great deal more than the 'parlor tricks' she had demonstrated in the last few days—but never imagined anything like this. The elder witch appeared to have access to an enormous wealth of mystical energy, allowing her to do things Willow had only read about in ancient texts, and to cast a seemingly endless variety of spells in whatever form or manner she desired. It was the stuff of comic books, or late night television movies, not something she ever expected to encounter here in the real world.

Rachel's discovery of the Eye of Souls, an artifact she recognized from her studies, led her to realize that she was right about Shandara. Such an artifact had only one purpose—the containment and exploitation of souls—and the idea of what she had used so many other witches horrified her. But before she could do anything to warn the others, the wicked witch herself arrived, and though Rachel tried to fight her it was a hopeless battle, Shandara's power was simply too great.

Once inside the Eye, Rachel learned Shandara had been murdering unsuspecting witches for decades, and was using their combined souls to aid her in her mystical pursuits. From 'speaking' with some of the other lost souls, Rachel found only a few of them were aware of what was happening to them, often mere moments before being suddenly, painfully torn from their bodies and entrapped within the Eye. They spoke of being in the basement, a dark, ritualistic place, and chanting. A spell, they were told, designed to contact another realm. But some of the more perceptive among them recognize that something was wrong—that they were being indeed asked to breach a dimensional barrier, but not for a 'journey of self-discovery' as Shandara called it. They were, in fact, invoking the name, and in fact the notice, of some dark entity.

"She's sacrificing them," Rachel went on to say. "I don't know to what, exactly, or even why, but if you don't do something to stop her, all of those other poor fools downstairs will die."

So here they were. Willow and Tara, against a witch whose power exceeded anything they could imagine. And there didn't seem to be much chance for victory, though that didn't stop them from trying. They weren't going to let their fellow witches die, if there was anything they could do about it.

"I've wasted enough time with you two. I have more important things to deal with."

She stepped forward, and pitched the flame-sphere like a baseball. It soared through the air, right on target for Willow and Tara, who came together and clasped hands. They were weak, tired, but they had just enough resolve left for one more magical intervention.

The air in front of them shimmered, as if someone had just placed a barely visible pane of glass between them and Shandara. The flame-sphere struck it and dissipated, while the hastily erected protective spell shattered into mystical shards and vanished. Drained, Willow and Tara slumped against one another and sighed, while Shandara clenched her fists and sneered, her face reddening angrily.

Shandara's rage continued to build, until her mystic senses keyed in on the dwindling auras of the two younger witches. They had little or no power left, she realized. The protective spell had, no doubt, been in desperation as much as anything else, and used up what little mystical energy remained in their bodies after returning to life. If that wasn't bad enough, for them, they were clearly too tired from their exertion to call upon any outside energy source, or to use it even if they had found one.

"Fools! You shall bear witness to my triumph!" Shandara turned as the ground began to shake. Runes and other markings carved into the floor, most of them barely visible or intentionally disguised, began to glow. "I've more important things to deal with." She raised her arms. "Cretum! Cretum!" The tremors got even more intense when a glowing, pentagram-like shape surged to life on the floor—it encompassed all of the other witches, and the tip ended right where Shandara was standing. "Yes!" In the middle of the room, a pentagonal crater burst open, eerie orange light flowed up and out. "It's time! Come forth, Althazar!"

Seeing the portal, and sensing the dark energies flowing in the room from beyond, Tara sighed. "It's over." Her whole body ached, her heart most of all. "We failed."

"I know." Willow lay her head on her lover's shoulder. She couldn't move her arms. "I'm sorry."

"Not quite." A shimmering pillar of golden light appeared before them. From it, emerged the semi-translucent spirit of Rachel Snow. "I have an idea."

"The Eye of Souls," Rachel replied. "As long as its influence remains, none of us can cross."

"No!" Wave after wave of intangible, invisible spirits erupted through the wall and swirled around Rachel. "She trapped us once! No more!" She spread her arms. "We will be free!"

Behind them, inky black tendrils began to rise from the portal. Dozens, hundreds of them.

With a look of profound sadness on her face, Rachel nodded. "I'm sorry." The other spirits flowed past her and slammed into Willow and Tara, engulfing the two helpless witches. They went to scream, but spirits flowed into their open mouths, up their noses and through their ears, basically using whatever manner of entry they could to get into their bodies. Within seconds, it was over. Their violent thrashing and moaning ceased, and they lay still, not moving at all and barely even breathing.

Inwardly, however, Willow and Tara were overwhelmed by the presence of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of other minds, simultaneously—all screaming in anger or begging for help. Some were more or less intact, others made virtually mindless with their madness, but each was focused on a single goal. They wanted to destroy the woman who had stolen their lives, and imprisoned them in a place which, as far as they were concerned, was worse than any hell they could have imagined.

As the essence of the demon-entity Althazar began to emerge from its realm, Shandara sensed a dramatic rise of power behind her. In the fifty three years she had been helping the demon feed off the life-force of the other witches, entrapping their souls in order to maintain her youth, and stealing their mystical power in order to fuel her own abilities, she had never felt anything like it.

Slowly, her curiosity peaked, Shandara turned. Her eyes narrowed at what she saw.

Not Willow and Tara, who—from her point of view—were laying motionless on the ground, but rather a barely visible, obviously intangible entity. A ghost. Imperceptible to most, the dead woman's spirit-form and aura were clearly visible to one who senses had been as mystically enhanced as her own. She recognized that spirit too, as the friend of the Sunnydale witches.

Shandara frowned. "I don't know how all of you managed to escape the Eye," she whispered. "But I'm not about to let you interfere with my plans. Dead or alive."

Almost anyone else would likely have been driven insane by the multitude of voices, by the thoughts and fears and myriad emotions. But Willow and—to a lesser extent—Tara had experienced so much in such a short span of life, that their fragile human psyches did not simply buckle under the strain, and instead were able to process an enormous amount of conflicting information. Even so, it took quite some time for their subconscious minds to recognize what it was the spirits wanted from them.

Denied, they believed, their rightful vengeance, and unable to effect the physical plane in any direct fashion, it fell to Willow and Tara to avenge them. To make Shandara pay. To fulfill this need, the spirits of witches passed were bonded with their living counterparts, in affect merging their spirits and strengthening their collective will in order to increase their mystical powers. Beyond anything either Willow or Tara had ever imagined, they truly became one with the primal force of the cosmos, and their subconscious minds told them that if they could just keep from succumbing to madness, they would succeed.

Two pairs of eyes snapped open. Green and brown had been replaced by shimmering, swirling pools of energy barely held in check. Willow and Tara sat up—observing their surroundings with a new sort of consciousness, an understanding of everyone and everything. Every molecule of air, every dust particle, it was all part of the world the two of them now existed both in and outside of at once, but the parts of their minds which held the spirits of the other witches did not care. They wanted revenge.

Rachel's arms fell limply to her spectral sides, her face contorted, frozen in a mask of agony, as an seemingly solid blade of blue-white energy burst out of her supposedly intangible chest. The weapon itself was in the hand of Shandara, who had an arrogant smile on her face as she raised her head.

"What?" the elder witch said to Willow and Tara. "Did you think, just because she's dead, that nothing can harm your little friend?" She shook her head. "The soul-sword is very potent."

Willow and Tara looked on, impassively, as Shandara retracted the blade—a mystical manifestation of her own dark spirit—back into the nothingness from which it came.

Rachel wordlessly uttered a final good-bye and, strangely, an apology to her friends before her body appeared to lose its cohesiveness and dissolve into so many pinpoints of light.

After a moment, Shandara clucked her tongue. "It's a shame when they die so young. And here I am, without an Eye of Souls to contain her essence." She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh well. I suppose, I'll just have to make due with whatever I am able to draw from these poor fools."

Behind the elder witch, something slowly rose from the portal between worlds. A representation of the entity she knew as Althazar, it was not a physical being so much as a shape it liked to take in the earthrealm. Shapeless and hideous, the inky black thing had one tremendous red eye, a maw-like mouth, and dozens of tentacles which lashed out. They wrapped around the waists of the unsuspecting witches seated there, causing several of them to awaken from their stupor and scream in terror as they were lifted off the ground.

"Once he begins to feed," said Shandara. "There is nothing anyone can do to stop him!"

Willow raised her hands. "You are the link. The entity is only here, because of you." An visible wave of mystic energy burst forth and struck Shandara like a physical force.

Screaming, the elder witch was knocked off her feet and propelled back toward the portal.

Shandara knew fear like no other as her helpless body was seized by Althazar's questing tentacles. The demon- entity, being so far removed from the physical world, could not tell her from any of the other would-be victims, and it dragged her kicking and screaming into its own realm. But as soon as it did so, something happened, there was a sudden, dramatic shift in the portal. The other tentacles abruptly lost the grip on the witches, and flung the lot of them aside as they were dragged back into their realm. There was a violent explosion of light, and when it faded the ground, and the rest of the room, had returned to normal.

Willow and Tara's eyes rolled back into their heads, and they collapsed. As they hit the ground, the spirits who had been inhabiting their bodies erupted outward, swirling and shrieking around the room before being drawn up into the air and through the ceiling. Everything grew quiet.

Some time later, Willow and Tara—along with the other surviving witches—emerged from Shandara's home, to find it was just after dusk. The others did not seem to remember much of what had happened inside, indicating a spell of some sort had been used to cloud their memories.

Willow and Tara, not surprisingly, recalled everything that had happened. They mourned the loss of Rachel, an innocent in the grand scheme of things.

As the others were leaving a black convertible pulled up. Angel, Cordelia and Wesley climbed out, all of them carrying weapons in preparation for battle. They glanced at one another, then at Cordelia, genuinely surprised to see Willow and Tara already there.

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Heart and Souls

By Kirk Baldridge

Kirk@mysticmuse.net