Never the Twain by Zahir

Disclaimer: The toys I'm playing with belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, who are far too cool to sue me because after all I don't really have anything they'd want I hope and pray please oh please.

Author's Notes: This is an Alternate Timeline in which Willow never completed the Soul Restoration Spell on Angelus. From that moment on, things change.

Summary: The Scooby gang encounters a mysterious one-eyed vampire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Never the Twain

By Zahir

zahir@brainlink.com