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.

Tara felt a kinship with the creatures staring at her. She didn't know what kind of kinship. In fact, she lacked the means to even think of the concept. But the blonde ugly female and the tall handsome male were her own kind, and part of her recognized that fact.

"You're kidding? That...thing...is Tara?" The ugly blonde spoke. Her words almost meant something.

"Exactly so," answered the handsome male. His voice was lovely, like a snake's. On some level Tara knew this creature as her parent.

"It has taken me some time to figure this out myself. At first I assumed this to be some kind of temporal spell, perhaps an act of malice on the part of an enemy. Or a mere mistake. But I think not."

"Our Tara has been riven. Split into two halves, as it were. What you see before you is the vampiric demon which makes up half of her nature. Half of ours as well."

Even to Tara, the pause before her parent answered was full of threat. The ugly blonde took a step back. "In a very real sense," he whispered, "that is what you and I have in place of a soul." His yellow eyes looked again at Tara behind the bars of her cage. "Pure predatory instinct. The hunger for blood and everything that goes with it. The cunning of the hunt, the pleasure that goes with it, and an intuitive understanding of the limitations you and I know only consciously. As a pure demon, Tara need never be told to avoid sunlight. She already knows. Just as she understands when she has been invited into a home, and when she has not." The approval in her parent's eyes was clear.

"Oh! My! God!" It was the tenth time Buffy had said those words in the last thirty seconds. "Oh! My! God!"

The Slayer looked at Willow, who was half-dressed by now, then at the bed where a clearly-naked Tara clutched the sheets around her. For a moment it looked as if Buffy was listening. Her eyes, huger than Willow had ever seen them, went back and forth from Willow to the bed and back again.

She said nothing. The eyes moved and nothing else. Willow had no idea how this was going to turn, and was more than a little nervous about finding out. Buffy, for once, seemed paralyzed. She's stopped with the oh-my-god-ing, but her jaw still moved. All in all, it was as impressive an example of wigging as Willow had ever seen

"Yeah?" The ex-soldier knew at once something was wrong. Fortunately, all his attention went to Buffy. For now, anyway.

Buffy moved her lips, but what came out was sounds, not words. In desperation, she pointed at Willow, then Tara in the bed.

"Willow! Tara! Last night! Here!" Ah. Speech restored. Willow hurriedly pulled on the last her clothes, watching Riley take in the whole scene. She very nearly saw the light bulb appear over his head. Just as Buffy did. "Them! Together! Willow! And Tara!"

Riley put his hands on Buffy's arms. He stooped slightly and looked her right in the eyes. Okay, this might be good. Emphasis on might.

"I understand." He spoke just a little slowly. Probably unnecessary, really, but why take chances?

Riley nodded. "Tara is human now." Willow silently cheered Riley for starting with this. She looked at Tara to give a quick look of reassurance. "And last night, Willow and Tara spent the night together."

"Okay, well maybe not a vampire now. But a vampire then and that counts for something!"

"Buffy" Willow decided it was time to intervene. Tara's nerves were visibly shredding. Buffy looked at Willow. "Tara is a human. Look—sunlight." She pointed to the window. "And look at this." Willow picked up a mirror and set it next to Tara. Her nervous face reflected.

After several more seconds, Buffy seemed to calm. Riley carefully let go of her. Her eyes still looked like they might pop out of her head, but at least her breathing was returning to normal. At last she spoke. "Sorry. I was—surprised. I'll...I'll let you get dressed." Then she deliberately stepped out of the room.

Willow looked Tara. Her honey-blonde hair was all over the place. Somehow she'd managed to turn herself into a ball while keeping the sheets wrapped around her. The angle of her head hid her one remaining eye. Willow lifted Tara's chin.

All the Scoobies met in The Magic Shoppe. Willow almost defiantly sat next to Tara, refusing to let go of her hand. Giles did his best to both look at them while not doing so. Giles kept doing little takes at the sight of them as a couple. Buffy was pacing, while Riley hovered nearby.

"Y-y-you need to know," the newly mortal Tara began. She hesitated before speaking again.

"Out with it." Buffy was in full command mode. The feel of Willow's hand gave Tara strength she desperately needed.

"M-m-my sire, the one who made m-m-me. He's called Th-th-the Apostate." Out of the corner of her eye, Tara noticed Giles nod at this news. "He's evil."

"We've heard of The Apostate," said Giles. To Tara's immense relief he sounded calm, civilized, and non-judgmental. "And from what we've heard, he wages a private war on demonkind."

"I d-d-don't know all the details. But he was sent to hell and he somehow got out. I th-th-think he had some kind of help. S-s-so now he want revenge on the ones who tortured him. But he's still evil. Horribly evil."

Willow put her arm around her. For a moment, Tara let herself fall into that embrace. Not very much, but a little. Here was all she'd hoped for.

Buffy's voice broke into her thoughts. "Describe him. What does this Apostate look like?"

Everyone was looking at Buffy now, with the same worried look on their faces. The only exception was Riley, who looked puzzled at the intensity of Buffy's question.

"He's ugly," answered Tara. "M-m-maybe he's always been that way. Or maybe it was all the time he spent in hell. But he looks..." she struggled for the right words. "He looks like a vampire looks when they change, but w-w-with less humanity."

Now Buffy kneeled to look face-to-face with Tara. "Does he ever look different than that?"

"What about details? Does he ever mention his real name? Or maybe just another name he used to use? I mean, he wasn't always known as the Apostate, was he?" Her voice was rising.

"Buffy!" Willow interrupted the Slayer. They looked at each other for a moment. Buffy relaxed slightly.

Riley was looking at everyone else's reaction. "Excuse me. What's going on here that I don't know about?"

Silence. Anya opened her mouth but shut it again at a gesture from Xander. Giles cleared his throat. "It is rather a long story, Riley. Might I suggest we table any explanations until later? Now, Tara," he sat across from her. "You say the Apostate ordered you to help us?"

"S-s-some. He wanted you to have that scroll Faith got from Los Angeles. B-b-because of the prophecy about a Vampire With A Soul."

"He w-w-w-wants Willow to use the Soul Restoration Spell on him." Beside her, Tara could almost feel the red-haired witch's shock. She could see it in the face of the everyone else. "He wants his soul b-b-back."

Even deep underground, Tara could sense the sun was nearly down. She greeted that fact with a terrible glee. Her parent paced nearby, the key to her prison in his hand.

"The essential fact," he was saying, "is that the two of you are one. Magic may have riven you apart, but every instinct and intuition in both you longs for reunification. Anything else is unnatural."

"Which means my dilemma is about to solve itself." He smiled. Any human would find the sight disturbing. "And so my covert preparations against Glory may soon continue. The Slayer should thank me. She really should. But somehow, I doubt she will."

Not until the sun had actually set did he turn the key and open the door. All the other doors to the surface were already open.

Off in the corner, Tara sat and stared at setting sun through the window. She'd loved to watch sunsets once. Before her rebirth.

"They're still trying to figure things out." Willow tilted her head to the back of the store, where all the scoobies were in deep talk. Or argument. "You know—what's going to happen next, the kind of things we have to prepare for, and so on."

"Yeah. That too." Even embarrassed, she was almost too beautiful to look on. Tara didn't understand why she had an urge to look back outside at the night.

"Two things, really. First, the Apostate said that someone extremely dangerous was coming here to Sunnydale. Someone he fears, and he thinks Buffy will need his help to defeat her. But I don't know any details."

A grin broke across Willow's face. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Giles called her name. "Be right back," she promised before heading back towards the Watcher.

Tara's words ringing in her ears, Willow came back to the circle of Giles and the others.

"Do you still have Jenny's notes about Soul Restoration?" The Watcher asked without preamble.

"I...I don't know. I mean, sure I've gotten better since then but that's a really advanced spell. Not that I wouldn't try if it we really needed it, but do we? Need it, I mean?"

"The Prophecies say there has to be a Vampire With a Soul" Buffy said, her voice matter-of-fact.

"But," noted Giles, "that person's role in the forthcoming crisis is ambiguous at best."

"Doesn't that kinda depend on who the vampire is?" There. She'd said as much as she could without actually explaining everything to Riley. Or setting off too many alarms. A quick glance at Riley left Willow uneasy about her success on the latter. He knew. Not what was going on, but that something was going on, definitely.

Xander joined in. "Well, let's first find out all we can about this Apostate guy. Tara, is there anything more you can tell us about him?" They all looked in the direction where Tara had been waiting.

Tara ran into the night. She didn't know why she was doing this. More than most, she knew what sort of horrors stalked the darkness, especially in Sunnydale.

But what she'd come to think of as her witch's sense brooked no refusal. She didn't even know where she was headed. Nor how long she'd been running, until breathing began to hurt, forcing her to stop.

Looking around, she saw one of Sunnydale's many graveyards. Of course. And in the darkness, she knew something was moving towards her.

"What good will that do without the right spell?" Both Willow and Giles had to stop and just look at Anya for saying that. They sometimes forgot how...well...logical she could be. "That is what we're doing here, right?"

"You see," said Giles, partially to soothe her, "Tara hasn't been turned back into a human being. Not really. She's still a vampire, but divided into her different components if you will. What we have to do is find a way to use this unique opportunity and create a genuine cure for her."

All three poured over books. Of necessity they had to skim, looking for clues to what might not even be possible. But they had to try. Willow realized this is where she could do the most good. Buffy and Riley were the strong ones. Xander had that military training he'd gotten a few years back. They were the ones best suited to finding Tara. Both Taras.

"Instinct" Anya nodded, clearly sure of herself. "You divide someone in two, the two parts are gonna be drawn together. Its where they belong, after all."

"But..." Willow could feel her eyes growing huge again but couldn't help it. "Tara's other half is a demon! It'll kill her!" She started to rise.

Giles firmly took her wrist. "None of us is a match for Tara's demon self. Trust the others to do their job, while you do yours—making a spell to cure Tara permanently."

After hesitating, Willow sat again. Giles was right. Her place was here. Readiness was everything and all that. Even though Willow longed to run into the night, screaming the other girl's name—Tara. Her beloved. Strange that amid all the disruptions going on right now that fact—which should have been some kind of major tremor—was a steady place surrounded by earthquakes. But denying it was impossible. Willow loved Tara, even more than she'd loved Oz. Even a few days ago she'd have denied that was possible. Now it was the obvious of truths.

Her meditations were broken by the phone ringing. Giles picked it up. "Hello?" Almost immediately the man's face grew intense. Whatever he was hearing was at least not good news. Or maybe profoundly mixed. But a widening of the eyes meant he was also surprised. Only by an act of will did Willow keep from yelling for news. "Yes," said Giles at last, "I understand. We'll be over at once." He hung up and looked at both Willow and Anya.

Exhausted. Tara had never felt so tired. No. Not true. She'd felt almost precisely this exhausted once before. Exactly once before. But this time, as she lifted her leaden eyes, she thought to herself I must have survived.

With difficulty, she looked around her. Hospital room. A plastic bag of familiar red liquid was dripping into her arm. Her throat ached, with a barely-remembered pain. There was a man (he wore a white coat—a doctor). Young. Good looking, she supposed. He was taking her blood pressure. And now he noticed she was awake.

"Hi." Her voice sounded too weak to be heard. The doctor evidently did, though. He nodded in acknowledgement.

"Good to see you conscious. We were worried. Good thing we had your type on hand." From his gesture he must mean her blood type. What did that matter? She didn't care what type of blood she drank. Then she remembered. I'm not a vampire. Not anymore. But where was her other self? Did he know?

"Brought you in?" She managed to nod. "Girl named Buffy Summers. She's been around here a lot, lately, what with her Mom having tests and all. You two are friends, I take it?"

The doctor finished making some notes on her chart. Changing the subject, he put it away and gave a little smile. "My name's Ben, by the way. And Buffy tells me you're Tara Maclay? Is there anyone else I should be contacting? Mother? Father?"

"Hm? Oh, its nearly midnight. You try to get some rest." And with that he left her.

Nearly midnight. Her other self was still out there. Somewhere. By concentrating, Tara dimly recalled the demonic face near hers, fangs tearing into her throat before someone calling out her name. Then, a struggle. Details, if ever she knew them, were gone. At least for now. But since she lived, clearly so to did the Vampire that until recently she'd been. And this was a public place. No need to get an invitation. Plus no discipline, no sense of self-restraint. Her Vampire—Tara knew what it, or she, wanted. To be one again. She felt it herself, not unlike a kind of emotional itch. If only it were that easy! Undistracted by anything in the dim light of her hospital room, Tara contemplated the situation with surprising ease.

Without her humanity for balance, the Vampire would run amok. It had nearly no self-control. As long as it remained at large every single human in range was in danger. For that matter, so was Tara. And should the Vampire be destroyed—a very likely event in a city where a Slayer lived—then Tara would die at the same instant.

Two solutions presented themselves. First, die. The magic worked both ways. Kill Tara, and the Vampire stops. Or—reunion. She could return to what she had been. Both possibilities were attractive in odd ways. Tara was disturbed to realize she remembered with fondness the raw power of being a demon, of walking the world as a predator. It even allowed her moments of real fulfillment, the kind of pleasures she'd nearly always denied herself. Like Harmony? With a little shudder Tara remembered that mistake. Still, the blonde girl was pretty and had been devoted, even skilled, in her way. She didn't really regret taking the ex-cheerleader to bed, just making her such a fantastically incompetent nosferatu. No less deadly for all that. And without Tara's mitigating influence—doomed as well as dangerous.

More, there was the Apostate. Her sire. Easily the most evil being she'd ever imagined meeting, yet strangely enough on the side of the angels. Not for any noble motive. The Apostate made no pretense towards virtue. He lusted for revenge against those who'd tormented him, the demons amused themselves with his torture. Until he'd escaped Hell, somehow. And she knew his plans in some sense centered on her.

She'd never actually made love before today. Tara had had sex. Even as a human she'd found that pleasure. Only a few times, and that with a fumbling fellow teenager who later moved away. Later, Tara as a vampire had managed to seduced several attractive young women. More than a couple had willingly bled themselves for her. And she'd enjoyed the favors of two vampiresses. But only with Willow had she found out why precisely it was called Making Love. And the thought of losing her—either from death (which suddenly seemed much more terrifying) or from returning to what she had been—was a horror to Tara now.

Willow arrived at the hospital with Anya and Giles. She found Buffy in the waiting area, looking ragged.

"Buffy?" Giles managed to convey nearly every variation of How Are You in that one word.

The Slayer smiled slightly. "I'm alright. Tara and Riley are under observation."

"What happened?" Privately, Willow was please to note she didn't scream that question.

"Tara was being attacked just as we got there. Her demon—well, it's really strong. I mean, really."

"I guess so. Anyway, Riley insisted on fighting it. He got hurt. That thing bit his arm, and clawed him. But thanks to Mr. Andrenolyne he just kept going while I brought Tara here. He followed. Said he couldn't feel his wounds but I got him to let the doctor take a look."

As if on cue a good-looking young doctor approached them. "Buffy, I've got to ask you some questions."

"She's fine. Got a bandage on her neck and a couple of units of blood pumped into her. The only real problem would seem to be shock, and to be honest she seems to be coping with that just fine. Are you her sister?"

"Well, that's not strictly policy. But I'll see what I can do." He turned to Buffy again. "To your knowledge, does Riley Finn take any kind of prescription medicine? Or any other type of really powerful drug, legal or otherwise?"

"Same answer—no. Why?" The doctor hesitated. He looked at the others around Buffy. "I don't keep secrets from my friends, Doctor."

"This may not be your secret to keep. But—Riley's wounds themselves were superficial. Little more than some deep cuts, and healing remarkably fast. But—well..."

"His heartbeat is fast, Buffy. Very fast. Reflexes are way, way above normal. A cursory glance at his blood chemistry found what I can only call oddities while x-rays revealed what seems to be an implant in his chest. Frankly, when he said he didn't feel his wounds I at first took that as nothing but bravado. Now, I'm not so sure."

Willow could see Buffy shifting into control mode. Her most basic reaction to some kinds of crisis. She swallowed. "What are you going to do?"

She was here. The other one. But Tara knew better now than to simply go and attack. Some of the prey were too strong, too fast. Better to avoid them. And any other like them.

It didn't occur to Tara to try and think why she needed to find the other. Self-awareness was not something she had in abundance. But the need was there. Not as great as that of blood, but ever-present.

Willow very rarely broke the rules. It was part of what made her...her. The fact that the few times she actually had broken them tended to result in crashing disasters complete with lowered real estate values and large cleanup bills only added to her natural reluctance.

This late at night, the hospital hallways were sparsely populated. Actually, this made things harder. No crowd or traffic with which to blend. On the plus side, the nurses on station weren't exactly super alert right now either. As long as she was quiet, and stayed to the shadows, Willow found it not too hard to sneak towards her goal.

She slid through the door as quietly as she could, her heart pounding in her ears. And not simply because of Breaking The Rules. Goddess! How did this happen? And would she change things if she could? One look at the slumbering blonde on the bed, pale and helpless, and the question became pointless.

After an eternal moment, Tara's one eye flickered open. When her gaze met Willow's it felt like a lightning strike. Then, in less than a second, Willow was beside her bed.

"Tara," Willow breathed back. There hardly seemed a need to say more. Everything she wanted to say—you're everything to me, I love you, I'd saw off my own legs to see you smile—came out in the girl's name. Just as, to her unsurpassed and unexpected joy, her own name seemed to say the same.

Slowly, partly because she seemed so fragile, but mostly for the sake of savoring the moment, Willow reached down and placed her lips on Tara's own. Exactly who moaned at that moment she could never figure out. Nor did she care.

Even in the dim light, Tara's eye seemed to glow looking at her. How is that possible, Willow thought? That anyone should look at me like that? It was intoxicating.

At first Willow didn't know what Tara meant. Then she felt terror. "I'll get Buffy!" But Tara's hand suddenly squeezed hers. Willow stopped, puzzled. And afraid.

Tara swallowed. Speaking obviously was costing her a lot, and seeing it ripped into Willow. She resolutely refused to let it show on her face.

"Listen." For the rest of time. And beyond. Give me the chance? "You're all in danger. And I'm going to be selfish." Willow felt another stab of fear. She could nearly feel herself bleeding, already half-certain what Tara was going to say. "There's only one way I can help protect you."

Volumes were exchanged in those few words. Every argument Willow might make was answered, every plea ruthlessly deflected. Is this what it means to have a soulmate? So we hardly even have to speak anymore? And how can I give this up? I cannot! I won't! No one can make me!

Eyes springing tears, Willow leaned down to kiss her Tara again. As long a kiss as she could manage. Only a small gasp from Tara brought it to an end. Tara's worried gaze aimed at the door, then at Willow again.

Willow began to sob. She locked her own eyes into Tara's one. Dimly, she heard the door behind her swing open. A barely audible growl echoed in the silence. Tara reached out with her other hand, now clasping hers in one. Out of some reserve of strength Willow never knew she'd possessed she somehow managed to speak the words.

Magic passed through them like a hot flash. She felt it like a wind that somehow reached into her organs and rocked them gently. Her entire form trembled. But the real shock came as she felt the heat leave Tara's hands, and most of the color leave her face.

The next night, Tara hid outside the Summers home and listened. Buffy was trying not to pace, under the worried gaze of her mother and sister. Willow sat in a chair, curled up yet head erect.

"I can't believe you did that." Buffy sounded full of horror, but it wasn't a focused horror. She clearly hadn't made up her mind yet. Too much going on to make clear decisions, was Tara's guess.

"Gee, I don't know, Wil! Maybe not turning her back into a vampire? Sounds like a plan to me!"

"Buffy..." Mrs. Summers' voice was soothing, warning. It reminded Tara in some small way of the human woman who had been her own mother.

After a pause, Willow answered. "It was either that, or kill her. They were two parts of the same person."

"Says who? And anyway, just 'cause you're so down with the killing and the slaying and everything doesn't mean I can be. I couldn't kill her, Buffy. I just...couldn't."

Now would be a good time to leave, Tara decided. As she made her silent way, she pondered that little would be settled tonight. Or tomorrow. She was pleased in an abstract way that Buffy's boyfriend was going to be alright, even if...reduced seemed the right word. Evidently the experiments by the Initiative weren't going to have too many permanent side effects. Too bad he was a mere human again. Keeping up was going to be hard for him. Meanwhile, the Slayer and all her friends now knew a good deal more about the Apostate. He didn't seem to mind that much. Which was good. Matters were coming to a head, he'd hinted.

But now there was something between her and Willow. Truthfully, there'd been something before but now...it was more. Much more. And Tara had never felt more a freak. Vampires weren't supposed to fall for humans. It was like a wolf trying to mate with a caribou. A funny if wholly inappropriate image came unbidden to Tara's mind at that simile, but she managed to smother a giggle. Just as suddenly her mind went to memories of her day as a human. Of kisses searing hot and touches somehow deeper than skin or even bone.

Her meditations were broken by the shambling figure on the sidewalk. A familiar one. Xander. Willow's best friend. But there was something wrong about the way he walked. Inching nearer, she realizing he was mumbling to himself.

"This isn't the wrong place," he was saying "I'm not supposed to be in the right or wrong place. Was I? And who turned on the stars anyway? Damn stars—always snickering, lying to the squirrels about me."

Tara suddenly knew what had happened. She headed back to her sire's lair at the best speed she could manage. The Apostate needed to know.

Willow sat down, exhausted. More in spirit than body. Across from her sat Anya, looking more of both.

Now Willow nodded. She felt weirdly uncomfortable, yet relieved. Xander's girlfriend had always gotten on her nerves. And still did. More, she'd been frightened on behalf of her oldest friend. Anya had a dark side. That had been proven beyond doubt. Yet she also seemed utterly devoted to Xander, and was proving right now.

But the dark-haired girl's face frowned. "Why wouldn't I be taking care of Xander? I love Xander!"

"No! I mean—I'm glad you're the one doing it! That someone who cares went ahead and...and...and..." The need to defend herself sputtered away as she saw Anya's hostility fade. Not vanish completely, but shrink. And certainly its aim was no longer directed at Willow.

"Its not like his parents" in Anya's mouth those words were expletives "were going to do anything. Just let him rot in the county psych ward was their plan." Even in exhaustion, Anya's fury was crystal clear. "What kind of parents are those?" This last was lower, tiredness taking the place of rage. Willow found herself warming to Anya.

No one—not even Giles—could figure out what had happened to Xander last week. He'd been found wandering the streets of Sunnydale, eyes vacant and talking nonsense. Since then, he'd only responded to Anya, and then sometimes. Willow tried not to think of how Xander had flailed at first, and how he'd broken down crying about seagulls attacking him, curling into a ball at Anya's feet while his girlfriend tried
not to weep—and failed. Anya had wasted little time bullying Xander's parents into letting her take him to her apartment. Since then she'd barely gotten any sleep. And only later in a moment of guilt did Willow admit to feeling anything other than sympathy. Envy. How Willow longed to feel that kind of devotion! Or to receive it!

The doorbell rang. Waving Anya to stay seated, Willow headed to answer it herself.

She waited nearly twenty seconds before opening the door. Tara (how much remained of her Tara?) gazed levelly back at her. Lacking an invitation, the vampire made no effort to cross the threshold.

"Hello Willow." Simple enough words. In truth, they'd exchanged the same countless times. Now, Willow said nothing. But neither did (could) she look away.

"You need to know something. Xander isn't alone." Tara waited after saying this. And waited.

"Other people are being found in the same condition. And that's not a coincidence." The vampire paused for effect. "My sire knows a great deal about what's happening. But he won't help the Slayer for nothing. He has a price. You already know what that is." Her manner was very cold, matter of fact.

"But can you reverse it? Make him better again?" Willow cringed at the abjectness in Anya's voice. Disturbingly, Tara barely flinched. She merely stared at Willow, then turned and left.

Willow shut the door, putting her arm around Anya. "Did I tell you," she asked, "that Xander had just gotten promoted at work?"

Is it wise to try and deny your own nature? Tara had been thinking about that for what seemed like forever. Of course the answer would appear to be a resounding "NO!" But what her nature was remained the mystery.

So here she was, a vampire in fascination (maybe even love) with a human being. Following said human being (Willow lovely name Willow) through the night towards the home of a skilled killer of vampires. Madness? Well, no. Madness would have been to disobey her Sire's commands. But as a general rule this hardly seemed a smart thing to do. Tara was herself very smart, so she could tell. What really amazed her, though, was the self-knowledge that even if she hadn't been ordered to follow the red-haired witch by the most terrifying creature she'd ever met—she'd still do it.

Not foolish enough to get close to the Slayer's house, however. Until she had to. From across the street, in the shadows, Tara watched Willow go inside Buffy Summers' home. And waited. Lately, the Slayer had been especially fierce in her duties. No reason to antagonize her.

Tara waited for over an hour across the street. At last she became distracted at seeing a window open on the second floor of the Summers home. Focusing, she was bit surprised to see Dawn, the Slayer's sister, inch her way onto the roof, then down a tree to street level. Making as little sound as possible, the girl headed up the street.

Vampires are rarely surprised. For one thing, their senses are incredibly sharp. And for another, when they are surprised, they tend to do exactly what Tara did—morph into their demon face and snarl at the surpriser.

He didn't react at all, this vastly ordinary looking guy in jeans, T-Shirt and flannel shirt. Just squint at her, then at the moving Dawn. "Well?"

"Funny you should put it like that. Whistler's the name. And we've got some stuff in common. Like the fact we're demons."

"Neither do you. Most of the time. Anyway, notice something odd about Buffy's kid sister?"

An intuition led Tara to contemplate this. She looked for a long time at the retreating figure. "Odd? Well, she is going out unescorted in Sunnydale. Almost anybody knows better than to do that. Or they don't live that long."

"Good point. We should probably follow her then." Whistler—if that was his name—set out at once. After a moment's hesitation, Tara followed. The so-called demon went on talking as if there'd been no doubt. "But that wasn't what I meant. Notice what she was wearing?"

By now Tara wondered if maybe she was getting lured by one of the Minions of the Beast, Glory. But from everything the Apostate said, Glory tended to use more fawning-type creatures. Still, she remained on her guard.

"Buffy does. Weird thing is, it actually helps her slaying. Girl can spot a vampire whose fashion sense is years out of date without half thinking about it. Useful."

"I'm nowhere in her league." Had Whistler been human, he'd be out of breath by now, so rapid was his pace. Yet he continued without a pause. Tara, of course, had no such problem. "And yet—here's a tidbit. When was the last time you saw a girl her age wear a scarf?"

Now they turned a corner, following Dawn—who was busy entering a private house without knocking. Interestingly, there were no lights on, nor did any car lie in the driveway. The front lawn was in fair condition, but the homeowner was clearly no gardener. Whistler didn't even hesitate. He made straight for the mailbox in front. But he was careful to open it as silently as possible. Dozens of envelopes were stuffed inside.

"Take a look for yourself," offered Whistler, handing her some mail. "Junk mail really does treat everybody the same, huh?"

Tara took a glance at the names on the letters—all of them solicitations in one way or another. Each had the same name on them, although some were misspelled. Something like a ping went off in her brain.

Willow couldn't tell who was more startled at seeing Tara at The Magic Shoppe—Buffy or herself. But there the blond vampire was, pouring over books with Giles.

"Buffy, where is Dawn, do you know?" Giles looked worried. Very worried. This was bad, of that Willow had no doubt. But what did Tara have to do with all this?

"No she isn't," Tara didn't even look up from her skimming of a thick tome. Willow recognized it as a work on the Qabala.

"Stop it!" This time it was Giles who snapped. "This is important! Tara believes Dawn may be in great danger, although she's not sure why. For some reason, I agree with her. But neither of us is sure precisely what it is..." The watcher looked frustrated, as if he'd been trying to invent a new color or something. At the table, Tara picked up another book. Giles picked up one of a handful of what looked like...junkmail?

Willow took one of the envelopes and looked at it. "Since when does a schoolgirl get letters from investment firms?"

"Perhaps." Giles looked unsure. "But there's something that doesn't feel right."

"Oh my god." Tara looked up at Giles. "Look at this." And handed the book she had to him.

Giles put on his glasses, and read aloud. "The Karnsteins were the most notorious of all Austrian noble houses. For centuries they were reviled as demon-worshippers. Even their name is an anagram of the demon lord s'K'ran. Although most Karnsteins were killed during the first World War, it is commonly believed that one of their number—a Countess Mircalla—preserved them as her human servants. This fiend was transformed into a vampire during the seventeenth century, and has stalked the night ever since. Unusually, she prefers to drink from only one type of victim—young girls approximately the same age she was herself when reborn into darkness."

"And I spotted Dawn," added Tara, "sneaking out of her house earlier this evening. She went into a nearby house. This one." She lifted one of the letters. "That name! There was something about that name..."

Buffy's face looked more and more horror-stricken listening to all this. She tore out of the shop in less than a second.

In the rush to the house where (presumably) Mircalla Karnstein was, Tara managed to join without much dissent from Buffy. All four somehow fit into Giles' sportscar. But of course things changed soon enough. Buffy looked behind her into the back seat, where Tara and Willow sat side by side.

"Just to make things clear," she began, "if I get so much as a hint, the slightest clue, if I find myself seriously suspecting for one single instant this is a setup—"

Tara didn't doubt that for an instant. Strangely, the fear she should be feeling right now didn't seem real. And the reason was just too, too obvious. She was seated next to Tara. Making Tara forget how much danger she was in right now. Not good. Foolish, in fact. Terribly foolish.

Willow braced herself for the worst as the four of them made their way around the house where "Marcie" lived. But a tiny voice deep inside wondered what the Worst would be. To have to rescue Dawn? Or not having to, because this was all a ruse by the vampire remnant of a girl Willow had fallen in love with?

Tara herself quickly solved one question. She calmly walked up to the front door and opened it, walking in. The owner of this house was either dead—or not human.

Once inside, the bareness of the front room was ominous. Buffy pulled out her favorite stake, Mr. Pointy.

All of them fanned out. Secretly Willow followed Tara, who headed to the left. The room they found was—odd. It was bare except for one chair, that chair very low yet wide and strewn with pillows. Across, facing the chair were dozens of framed portraits, daguerreotypes, a few pen and ink drawings, plus at least one professional (and recent) photograph. Each had the same subject. Dark hair, blue eyes and a round, pale face.

The vampire nodded. Without another word, she headed back to the main room. And Willow followed her. She wasn't sure why.

In a forward room upstairs Buffy, with Giles and Tara and Willow behind her, heard something like a muffled groan. She did a take at the sound, then headed straight for the door. She wasted no time but kicked it in. Tara was immediately behind.

Dawn was on a chaise lounge, gasping for breath. Kneeling beside her, mouth fastened to Dawn's throat, was the same black-haired girl as in the portraits downstairs. At the sound of the breaking door, she lifted her head. Blood dripped from her lips. But oddly, her face showed none of the demonic visage other vampires did when feeding. Yet fangs protruded from her lips.

Buffy howled as she leapt across the room. Mr. Pointy was in her hand and she landed on the vampire, forcing the creature onto the floor. In one swift, practiced blow she drove the stake directly into Mircalla's heart. Then she gaped. Not only did the vampire not dissolve into dust, she laughed. A nasty, leering laugh.

"Mine, Slayer," she whispered loud enough for them all to hear. "She's mine now!"

Mircalla's hand went to one side, then across Buffy's face with enough force to send her backwards. Rising, she almost contemptuously pulled the stake from her chest. Tara had no idea how she could still be alive. But keeping her from Dawn was a priority. Moving with the supernatural speed of her kind, Tara raced to Dawn's side and picked her up.

"...help...Buffy..." Another oddity. Mircalla must be one of those who like to drink slowly. But something to be thankful for. Dawn's eyes flickered open, saw Tara, was frightened. But Willow reached across (her touch! Willow's touch!) and put her hand on Dawn's shoulder. "...ring..." breathed the Slayer's sister.

Willow and Tara looked at each other. Tara didn't know what Dawn meant. Willow, glancing over to where Buffy and Mircalla were trading blows, did.

The Slayer clearly heard. She focused on Mircalla's hand. Tara could see a ring. A magic talisman? Buffy's efforts to fight the small vampire were renewed. Yet she didn't seem to be winning. Tara reached out and took Willow's hand.

"Concentrate!" Tara told her. Willow did as she was told, joining her will with Tara's. And as their minds met—not thoughts but feelings and senses of selves—they reached out to affect the world about them. Changing the world. Moving what they willed.

Willow met Tara at the Bronze. The place was crowded, as usual. But she had no trouble finding the blonde vampire. In truth, she was so beautiful. Far too beautiful.

Tara's reaction was instant. Before Willow could finish screaming Xander's name, she had her saber out and was running.

Amid the trees she saw movement. One was clearly Willow's childhood chum. He was falling, hitting the ground. Tara reached the clearing in time to see what had pulled him down. It was...ugly. Remarkably ugly. Like a hybrid of monkey and cockroach, and crawling with unlikely speed towards Xander's face. Tara reached it first, slashing with her sword. With a jerking shudder, it collapsed, spewing brown liquid.

Xander scampered away from the mess on top of him. She hardly blamed him. "Muskrats! Too many muskrats!" he babbled. "I'll never get my merit badge! Never! NEVER!" This last was said with a note of terrible despair. He stopped squirming, eyes bulging in some vision of horror only he could see. "Never, never, never, never..." Xander whispered.

Coming up from behind, Tara sensed two others approaching. One—Anya, of course—rushed past towards her now brain-wrecked boyfriend. "Xander!" she cried out, crouching to his side and looking for wounds. He let her, barely noticing anyone was there.

After several moments, Tara looked at the redhead. "What was that? Do you know?"

She nodded, not so much looking at Tara as peeking at her. Or was that Tara's wishful thinking? "A qweller demon."

"Good." Now what to say? What to do? Tara carefully cleaned the edge of her blade against the grass. She gave Willow a direct look in the face before leaving. It took more to do that than she would have guessed. Willow looked back. And nodded before going to help Anya, who was rocking Xander gently in her arms.

Tara didn't look back. She knew a lot was going on amongst the Slayer's inner circle. Willow would let her know how things were progressing.

A few nights later Willow sat next to Anya at the Magic Shoppe. They'd been preparing for tonight, both realizing it wasn't going to be pleasant. Giles was pacing. He'd had less time to prepare, but in many ways this was going to be worse for him. But he was on Willow's side, albeit reluctantly.

Buffy arrived looking exhausted. Small wonder. Riley and Dawn trailed beside her, the latter seeming much improved. At least there was color in her cheeks again and the bandage on her throat was smaller. Riley was...Riley. Supportive, bearing up, and still a little out of his depth. Buffy herself took one look and seemed to know Something Was Up.

"Good," he said. Nodding, he took off his glasses. Then put them back on again. "Good," he repeated.

"You need help." There she'd said it. Or at least begun to say it. Or begun to begin.

"Thanks, Wil, but I think we've got everything covered. If we need an extra hand or something, don't worry—you're on my list."

Buffy's face shifted slightly. Like a wall slamming into place. "I can handle it."

"How?" Anya piped in. Ever the diplomatic one. "She's wiped the floor with you every time you've met. If you hadn't run away she'd've killed you. At least twice."

"I'll handle it," Buffy said. Her teeth didn't clench, but the effect was the same.

"With respect, Buffy," Giles said, "that is looking less and less likely. From everything we've been able to gather, this Glory is nothing less than a god. What demons are to most ordinary human beings, this entity is to demons. Quite simply, she's out of your league—at least as far as raw strength is concerned." He coughed nervously again, waiting for her reaction. Willow swore she could almost hear her best friend counting to ten. At last she took a breath. Which meant so could Willow.

Giles shared a quick glance with Anya and Willow. "Yes. A few actually. One is to contact Faith and Wesley in Los Angeles. Perhaps two Slayers can accomplish more against this specific threat than one." He waited.

Taking a deep breath, Willow made the plunge. "I want to give the Apostate what he wants." Silence. "Anya and I have been going over Jenny's notes. Together, we believe we can make the spell work. We think we should try." Even before Willow had finished Buffy was shaking her head.

"Actually," pointed out Giles, "we know it did. At once time, at least. Certainly Willow has grown stronger and more skilled since her last attempt."

"What is, then?" Although she knew this was where the danger area lay, Willow didn't back down. "The Apostate is powerful. He's willing to help against Glory."

"Only according to a vampire. I'm sorry, Willow, but someone's got to say this—Tara is a vampire. We can't trust her."

"Even if that's true, you know what he wants his soul back for. Not to be better, or to help out! He wants his soul so he'll be the person in those prophecies Faith brought back—ones he and Tara conned her into stealing!"

Buffy and Willow stared at each other. Lots was going unsaid right now. Would it stay that way? Should it? The moments stretched and stretched.

"This spell, restoring a vampire's soul," he said, "it'll either work or it won't, right? I mean—what's the worst that could happen?"

Nothing was said for what seemed like five minutes. Finally, Buffy spoke. "That's not what's going on here. Willow...she has ulterior motives."

Before Willow could say anything (and what can I say, actually?), Riley said something first. "You mean she hopes the spell will work on Tara?"

"Explain it to me, then." Riley looked around the room. Willow could see suspicion rising in his face. "Somebody explain it. Please? Cause there is something to explain, isn't there?" Nobody said anything in reply. Everyone instead looked at Buffy. Who did her best imitation of a statue. Riley, meanwhile, began to look more than just suspicious. He began to look extremely wary, as if he'd just found what might be a poisonous snake in his bedroom.

"He needs to know," the Watcher replied. "And the subject needs airing. Sit down, Riley."

This time it was Buffy and Giles in a staring contest. And it was Giles who won, with a simple question. "Shouldn't you be the one explaining?" Deflating a little, Buffy took a seat opposite Riley. Before she could say anything, Giles gestured to everyone. Willow joined him with Dawn and Anya in the back room. Clearly, Buffy had a lot to tell her boyfriend. Telling him would be tons easier without witnesses.

No one said anything for the longest time. Five minutes at least. It felt longer. At last Dawn looked at Willow and whispered just loud enough for her to hear...

The Apostate wore a hood for this meeting. Personally, Tara found herself wishing he wore it more often. It completely hid his features in shadow. He'd chuckled putting in on. Sensitivity on his part? Or making a virtue (or something) of necessity? Tara felt she knew the Apostate as well as any, but she couldn't guess what was going on in his mind now.

Midnight was nearing by the time they were halfway there. Neither said anything.

Both vampires arrived last at the ruins of the high school. It was the nearest thing to neutral territory all could agree upon. And understandably the Slayer and her friends were wary of this meeting. Tara held no ill towards any of them. One in particular. But they were wise, in her opinion, not to trust the Apostate. Nor did he expect them to.

Anya and Willow had all the magical implements needed for the ritual. They stood to one side. Buffy and Giles were watching them, clearly at the ready should anything go wrong. Riley was nowhere to be seen. Probably watching over Dawn and Mrs. Summers. Or Xander. Just as well. Since her own imprisonment by the Initiative, Tara had always found herself uncomfortable around the ex-soldier.

Not a word was spoken. The Apostate took his place in the center of the room. Buffy stared at the hooded figure, as did Giles. Beautiful Willow and Anya faced him. One carried a parchment, the other a crystal orb. A circle was already written on the floor. Both witches entered it, then sealed it behind them. No waiting then. No hesitation before reshaping Tara's world.

"Reda trupului ce separa omul de animal!
Te implor Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte."

Attuned as she was to magic, Tara felt a marshalling of forces as the words of the spell were spoken. Return to the body what distinguishes Man from the beast! I implore you Lord, do not ignore this request.

"Nici mort, nici al fiintei, te invoc, spirit al trecerii!
Lasa orbita as fie vasul care-i va transporta sufleutul la el."

Neither dead, nor of the living, I invoke you, spirit of the passing! Let this orb be the vessel that will carry his soul to him. Each word echoed in the ruined building. The orb itself began to glow. As did the eyes of the two witches. Power crackled with every word.

Tara felt the release like a thunderclap. She nearly saw it, like multihued lightning just beyond the visual range. Willow and Anya looked incandescent, their joined voices searing the air...

Willow looked up at the hooded man sprawled across the floor. She glanced at Anya, who nodded that she was alright. Tara, meanwhile, was rising up on unsteady feet. She even swayed a little. Dizzy? Frightened? Willow watched her anxiously for any sign of change, any hint that she'd been affected.

The Apostate had sat up. His hood was thrown back, revealing his face. Willow recognized it. He had changed, but not that much.

Bald. Feral, golden eyes. Pointed ears. A nose that was more a snout than anything else above a horribly befanged mouth. Only...the expression on his face didn't seem to match. Not at all. It was one of curiosity, puzzlement, blended with something else. Innocence? Of all people—innocence in him?

It was Buffy who said it. She barely breathed the name, but Willow heard it anyway.

Tara approached her sire. He looked at her with no recognition. "My child?" he asked in tones totally at odds with his looks. "What ails you, child?"

"I...don't know" the ancient vampire replied. "Strange. Terribly strange. Methinks...where be this place?" His eyes took in the room around him, the people. Did he not remember who he was? If so, what era might last feel natural for this creature? Willow almost didn't want to guess.

"Cal-i-for-nia?" His accent was odd. The r was very slightly trilled, for example. "I know not a land called California. Be we in the Holy Land? Or perhaps far Cathay?"

"And how came I here?" Weirdly, every phrase out of his mouth seemed...what was a good word? Straightforward? Kindly?

Buffy had been inching closer and closer to him. Every muscle was rigid as she asked "What's the last thing you remember?"

The Apostate considered this. "I was on a trip to market. And took shelter for the night in an abandoned farm."

"Jacob." He pronounced the j as a y. And for the first time glanced at his own hand—or rather, claw. Lifting it up, he stared at it with frightened eyes. "This...what hath become of me?" He looked at the others. "I beg of you—tell what has transpired!"

Giles approached him, not quickly but faster than anyone else. "Listen to me," he said. "Listen!" The Apostate tore his eyes away from the taloned hand that had to be his, gazing at Giles as Willow might at...well, Giles. "You were the victim of a vampire."

"A demon who feeds on the blood of the living. These creatures reproduce by mixing their own blood with that of their victims. Which is what happened to you. You—or rather, your body—has been the host of a vampire."

He nodded, seeming to take all this in. But as his gaze swept the room, taking in the strange architecture, the bizarre (to him) clothes, implications were almost visibly trickling into his face. The resemblance to Riley for a moment was uncanny. And Willow had a horrid feeling things were about to go wrong. The Apostate looked at Giles again, this time his eyes focused and his voice strong.

"Not precisely? Methinks then you have some notion. Tell me." Giles hesitated. "In the name of almighty God," the vampire whispered, "I beg of you. How long?"

Willow nearly moaned in sympathy at the expression on the Apostate's face at this news. She wanted to turn away. And the impulse to do so grew stronger as his face changed again. He had appeared puzzled but terrified. Now, he had a different emotion showing. One quickly eclipsing all others, drowning them.

"...no..." he groaned the word "...no...please..." tears began to well in his eyes. "God in heaven! Please...no...!"

"Jacob!" Giles raised his voice. The vampire didn't seem to respond. "Jacob, it was not you! The demon left you its memories but you did not do those things..."

He didn't have a chance to finish. With a shove, the Apostate (former the Master, and before that evidently a good man named Jacob) sent Giles flying. Buffy caught him, collapsing under his weight with a thud. Yet both were soon up again.

Up in time to see the oldest vampire on earth weeping . His mouth was frozen in an open grimace, eyes bulging upward. To heaven? To god? Begging forgiveness? Or maybe demanding what he'd done to deserve such cruelty? Perhaps all of the above, and more. Willow was awestruck by the suffering on his face.

Then, without hardly a warning, he moved with lightning swiftness. His hands, ending in those horrible talons, swung inward with terrible aim. One took less than a second to gauge its way across his face, shredding an eye en route. At last his scream became audible—a hideous sound like someone condemned to eternal damnation. Which, she supposed, is precisely what it was.

But the scream didn't last. His other taloned hand dove below the ribs, ripping into undead flesh without mercy. Clearly, now that he could feel mercy he felt none for himself. The strangled scream ended abruptly as the Apostate tore the heart from his chest.

And that surprised her. She'd had plenty of experience with the strange and bizarre over the last few years. Vampires. Demons. Monsters of one stripe or another. Several would-be apocalypses. This, though...this was beyond any of that.

"Like a WUR-gin," the Thing-On-Stage crooned, "Touched for the WUR-ry first time..."

He had leathery purple skin. And a beak. The tentacles he had instead of fingers held a drink, which sported a small umbrella.

By an effort of will, she managed to very nearly ignore the singer. It helped to not look. She turned instead to her companions, who took in the environment with a nonchalance Willow could not but envy. Faith, the dark-haired slayer, actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Of course, some of that was probably pleasure at Willow's reaction. Wesley, the Watcher, managed to seem calm enough. So too did their companion, a handsome black man named Gunn (though Willow believed she'd caught him staring now and then). Riley had a phony grin on his face, trying to be polite. He seemed to be succeeding, mostly.

"Okay," said Willow. She snuck a peak at the stage again. "And why do they sing karaoke again?"

Gunn pointed at the a green demon with red eyes and black horns (wearing a rather nice tangerine tuxedo) sitting at the bar. "The Host there," he explained, "he gets visions about folks when they sing. So he sets up shop in this place."

"Yes, the Caritas is neutral territory," Wesley said. "No one hurts anybody here. So its a safe place to meet."

"So, Red," piped up Faith, turning to Willow, "what's up with Bee? What brings you and Beefcake down to LA?"

Tara didn't mind the sports car. Lindsey's mild flirting with her annoyed at first, but he was smart enough to stop. What puzzled her though was why he insisted on coming to this place. It took her less than two seconds after arriving to realize he was very much in the minority—a mere human. On the other hand, he was a Lawyer. Maybe that made him an honorary monster.

He led her to a seat in a shadowed part of the bar. She lost what he was saying as her attention suddenly whipped across the room to a collection of mostly-familiar faces. One in particular.

Lindsey did a very good reassuring smile. She nearly believed it. "I understand. My jaw scraped the floor my first time." Interestingly, his own gaze did a take as he swept the room. Even more interestingly was the direction in which he reacted.

"An almost girlfriend. Maybe a future one." He gestured towards the same table. Oh goddess. This could not be happening.

He shook his head. "Brunette. We're in an adversary situation at present, but circumstances are subject to change."

The smile again. She'd swear this one was genuine. Interesting. The mask does slip. "Faith, actually." With that pun (which he probably didn't know she got) Lindsey handed her a menu of songs. Although she had no plans to sing, Tara dutifully looked over the selections. It provided her the opportunity to stealthily observe Willow.

"Hi! Refresh anybody's drinks?" The waitress was just one more reason Willow had to try and not stare. As demons (demonesses?) she was cute—short blonde hair with blue highlights, pointed ears and catlike eyes. The plastic name tag read 'Jocelyn.' Odd name for a demon.

"Check with ya later!" She actually winked as she headed back to the bar. Willow couldn't help but react as she noticed that Jocelyn had a rather long tail. It carried a bottle at roughly waist level.

"Hey, she's alright," commented Gunn. "Couple of months back we saved her from some really nasty dudes."

"You save demons?" Riley's eyebrows shot up at that one. Willow could sympathize.

"Special case," said Wesley. "Jocelyn's a half breed. As were her parents, I understand. Sunnydale tends to attract malevolent beings because of the Hellmouth, but there are many such creatures with no specific negative tendencies."

"Pretty much," agreed Faith. "Group of nazi-clones called the Scourge were going around hunting all the half-breeds they could find. Didn't care who got in the way. We stopped them. Then Jocelyn started working here."

Willow digested this. She shared a look with Riley. "Life in the big city," she ventured.

Sure enough, the Host had led the scattered applause for the beaked and tentacled Madonna fan. He was now introducing the next person up—something about a newcomer to the City of Angels. Willow resolutely decided to be polite and not squirm. After all, why should all demons be evil? Were all human beings good? Of course not. So what if she hadn't met many? Giving a people a chance was the right thing to do.

Although a couple of dozen questions immediately came to mind, the one that bubbled up to her mind first was perhaps the strangest. Or most normal. Depended how you looked at it. What was she going to sing?

The music began. A ballad. It sounded familiar. Tara lifted the microphone and started to sing.

"Some say love, it is a river" she began, "that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed."

Her voice was strong yet gentle. It nearly spoke rather than sang. Yet she didn't falter, nor did her voice crack. And to Willow, each note sent an odd vibration through her.

"It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance."

Tara's gaze seemed fixed somewhere else. As if she sang to someone she could not see. Or was afraid to.

"It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live."

Dimly, Willow noticed she wasn't the only one who'd fallen silent. The entire bar was listening, intent. Yet Tara's voice wasn't really that good. Far from bad, but to gather this much attention? Could it be she wasn't the only one hearing something personal in those words? If so, didn't that mean she wasn't imagining it? The music picked up, and Tara looked at the audience for the first time.

"When the night has been too lonely," she sang,
"And the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,"

"Just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose."

For one moment, as the music faded, there was silence. Then, a shaggy-looking man nearly seven feet tall stood up. He had long drooping ears and a snout. His red eyes gleamed. And he brought his hands together like a thunderclap, again and again. Less than a second later the entire club seemed to be joining in his applause. Willow snuck a look out the corner of his eye, saw Faith and her companions with stunned expressions joining in. Even Riley clapped his hands.

Tara was a hit. But she barely acknowledged the accolades. At her side, the behorned Host swept in, grinning and adding his own applause.

She headed off the stage. Willow couldn't tell if the last look she gave the audience was aimed at her or not. But she had to admit—she was hoping it had been.

"Wow. You'd be a real treat at the office talent show. Give me a run for my money." Again, the calculated smile. Well, he was trying to recruit her, after all. Did he even know she was behind the theft of his precious prophecy? Would it matter?

At last the Host approached. "You know," he said beaming, "the undead are usually associated with bats. Keep it up, sweetheart, and they'll think of vampire along with nightingale!" It was a nice enough compliment. Were she in another mood, Tara might well have thanked him. Of course, if she were in another mood, she wouldn't have sung at all.

"That's the way it works, angel. Or should I say—fallen angel?" Silence. Then...

"What to do with yourself? Now that your sire is dead, no longer directing your destiny? How should you spend eternity now that his fanatical purpose no longer pushes you?"

The Host raised one eyebrow. "It has been written," he said with the ghost of smile.

"Your destiny. It has been written. For centuries. The second you began singing I could sense it. With the first note I saw the basics. By the time you got to the second verse I pretty much had the picture. You, my dear Tara, are a creature of legend. Even among our kind. Something of a messiah, even. And in a deeply, deeply ironic kind of way." He took this opportunity to have the waitress bring him a drink. "You see," he continued after a sip, "there's this prophecy, which you pretty much know about already. In fact, the late unlamented—although somewhat lamented, come to think of it—well, the late Apostate was indeed a figure of destiny as he suspected. The Powers That Be did indeed pull him out of hell just to create the Vampire With A Soul. But he got one little detail wrong. That creature, the Vampire With A Soul, was never meant to be him. It's you."

"I remember what it was like to be human," she insisted, "very well. So I remember what having a soul was like. And trust me, my soul isn't here. What you're looking at is a vampire. Period."

"Semi-colon, actually. And you're right as far as that goes. But you do have a soul."

Tara stepped closer to him. "If I had a soul, then I wouldn't even consider working for Wolfram and Hart. With a soul, I'd feel guilty about ripping my brother's throat out and sucking up all his blood. But I don't. Truth is, the memory of that moment makes me feel a little warm inside. Because I don't have a soul, I killed one of my lovers and turned her into a demon like me. So don't tell me I have a soul. I don't!"

"She's not the only one," added Lindsey, brow furrowed and eyes piercing. He's shifted to business mode now. Oddly reassuring, that.

"Then let me explain," the Host continued. He looked directly into Tara's face. "I never said you had your original soul. Nor did I say your soul was in physical residence. But believe me—you have a soul." Every word was said with such utter calm certainty that Tara felt confused. It didn't help that the Host appeared slightly amused, as if sharing a secret joke.

Now he gestured slightly to the stage. "In fact, your soul is getting up to sing right now."

Looking nervous as hell, but smiling with an unbearably cute courage, Willow was bringing the microphone up to her mouth. The music began, and after the opening riff, she began to sing. Her voice was unsteady but the determination was there and it compensated for a lot.

Tara had never felt so terrified. Or exhilarated. She just watched and listened to the beautiful Willow, forgetting the rest of creation for as long as the long-song lasted.

Willow tried, but couldn't become invisible as Giles and Buffy stared. Behind her, Riley reached out and touched her shoulder. She was grateful for the support.

"Okay," said the slayer, with deliberate patience, "why did you bring her here again?"

Giles and Buffy exchanged a glance. It was Giles who spoke next. "Willow," he said, taking off his glasses, "you went to Los Angeles to recruit Faith. And you brought back..." The glance he aimed at the other side of the Shoppe spoke volumes, none of them reassuring.

"You brought a demon back because another demon told you to?" Buffy wasn't blinking. Not a good sign.

Now they all looked at their visitor, all five foot four inches of her with pale blue skin, pointed ears and prehensile tail. Jocelyn's feather-like hair was taking in the Magic Shoppe like a kid in a candy factory. Catlike eyes darted from one item to the next, and then the next. Then she noticed their staring. Grinning, she approached them.

"Ah. Well. You see..." Giles put his glasses back on. Again. "Even in a shop devoted to the supernatural, the clientele have limits to what they will accept." He actually looked embarrassed.

Jocelyn didn't. "You mean the way I look," she said. Closing her eyes, she concentrated. The transformation took a little over one second. Ears changed shape. Her tail retracted (where? Willow couldn't help but wonder). The blue turned pink while the white feather-like mane became cropped blonde hair. The eyes that opened again looked a normal hazel. "What do you think?" She did a pirouette.

Buffy met Giles' gaze. "I could use some help," he said "what with Anya taking care of Xander." Another great sigh. Willow relaxed. She knew what was coming. "Very well," Giles finally intoned.

Tara stared at Xander. He hardly seemed to notice her. Arms wrapped around knees, crouching in the over-sized chair of Anya's, he kept looking from one corner of the room to the next. It made for a weird, even fascinating pattern. "Wind," he muttered. "Wind always trying to get in." Sometimes he ranted since having so much of his mind ripped away. Other times he'd remain silent for hours, emitting little more than random words. Tonight oracle-like musings came from him, a stream of consciousness said with great purpose—although one no one could understand. "The question is why. Why trying to get in? Something they want here? Or trying to get away from something else, eh? Answer me that, if you can. But only if you know. Not suspect. Know." He started to repeat this last word over and over, in a sing song voice.

Anya loved this man. She didn't really care all that much about anything else, Tara had noticed, but she was willing to do anything for Xander. Even in this state, she refused to leave him. Refused to give in, even to moments of despair and sadness, when her own tears set off Xander's hysterical sobs.

But the mere thought of Willow reduced in this way terrified her. Apart from any other concern, that danger alone would have brought her back to Sunnydale. Glory was here. Banished Hellgod who did...this...to her victims because she didn't belong in this reality and would go mad herself without their stolen sanity. More, Willow was here. Willow dwelt in this creature's stalking grounds, and wasn't going to leave. So neither would Tara.

Anya stepped back into the room, looking better after some sleep. She fixed her gaze on Xander, noted the lack of change, then gave a nod to Tara.

"Thanks," said Anya, settling in to watch over her boyfriend. After a few moments she looked back at the vampire. "What?"

"You're not checking him for bite marks. I just wanted to thank you for that." Not waiting for a reply, Tara left the apartment. What was there to say, after all?

Willow left the Magic Shoppe late. She'd spent literally hours researching every single magical aspect of insanity she could find. It made for a daunting task. Yet, despite her tiredness, she immediately recognized the figure lurking in the shadows.

"Hi." Something seemed different. What? "I thought...aren't you living in LA now? Well, not living but kinda undying? Is that the word?"

Left unsaid of course was the main reason Sunnydale was so dangerous—namely, vampires. Vampires like Tara herself. By most standards, this was an ironic offer at least. At worst, it was dangerously insane.

"Okay." She barely hesitated. The two of them made their way through the half-deserted streets. Neither felt any need for hurry.

"I've been thinking about that spell I did," ventured Willow after several minutes.

"To have my will done? It made Faith and Buffy get engaged for an hour or two there?"

Tara smiled. Willow still felt embarrassed about that incident, but the blonde vampire's smile nearly banished those feelings. She was too tired to deny that. And after all, why should she, really?

Silence. Tara watched her. In this dim light no doubt she was getting a far better idea of Willow's expression than Willow got of hers.

"Yes." Her voice was low saying this. For a moment, Willow felt an aching memory of the human Tara, the quiet girl she'd found irresistible in the few hours they'd shared. They were so different. Yet almost painfully similar as well. That Tara had her moments of silence as well, silences filled with meaning and possibilities.

"It...was something I said." More silence. Taking a deep breath, Willow plunged ahead. "I wished for someone who'd be there for me. Just me. No one else." She waited for a reply. Any reply.

The wait lasted nearly an entire minute. "That wish came true." Willow could barely hear her.

"It still is." Those three words didn't really echo into the night, reverberating back and forth across the night sky so that all the gods and goddesses could hear. Instead, Tara spoke in the same quiet voice she had before. But to Willow, they rocked her like an earthquake. For me. Mine.

Her reverie was broken as Tara suddenly stopped, her posture abruptly changing. With a sliding sound, she took the sabre from her back. The vampire looked ready for a fight. But Willow heard nothing. Until...there! Metal clanging against metal, again and again but in the rhythm by now very familiar. Battle. Someone was fighting. With...swords?

Both young women broke out into a run. Less that two blocks away, they followed the sounds to an alley. There, Buffy was driving away a small cluster of heavily armed man-shapes. Weirdly, each was garbed in chain mail. And each wore a mask. Buffy herself was holding her own, face twisted into a grimace of rage. Two of the armored shapes were approaching her from behind. Willow focused her will. The top of a garbage can flew into the back of one shape, making him trip and alerting Buffy to his presence. She spun around, meeting the sweep of his blade with one of her own. Borrowed, presumably, from one of the fallen Shapes.

Tara used her own sword, using less skill (or so it seemed to Willow's eye) but fortified with superhuman strength, speed and endurance. Besides, short of decapitation, a sword couldn't hurt her. And switching to her demon face had a good psychological effect—most of them took off.

Buffy had him on the ground, sword at his throat. "Lets see what you are," she murmured. Then she yanked off his mask.

He looked—human. Not bad looking, in fact. The weird tattoo on his forehead was distracting, though.

"One of a vast army!" His eyes took in the two young women nearing, on either side of Buffy. At Tara, he actually recoiled a little. Willow realized she still wore her demon face. "It doesn't matter," he snarled, "how many allies you may have! We shall send as many as are needed! The Beast shall not prevail!"

Buffy looked at Willow. Then Willow looked at Tara, who looked at Buffy. Now Buffy noticed Tara for the first time. She looked at the two of them. Together.

Eventually, she let Willow and Tara go as well—not without lots of explanations, though. She did agree that Sunnydale was dangerous, and yes, Tara had protected her best friend before now, but on the other hand Tara was a vampire—and so on. Buffy only backed off after Willow had put on what Tara could only call a resolve-face. At least it defeated Buffy's indignation.

Now they'd walked for another hour or more without a word. Exactly where they went wasn't clear. At least not at first. But Tara gently directed the red-haired witch. She wanted to show her something.

"Hard to explain." That sounded lame. Worse, it meant nothing. And worse still, it was true. "Its like—the brakes are gone. Everything is increased. Speed and strength, you know about that. But what you lose is what's most interesting."

"I suppose. But what seems missing to me are all the inhibitions, the little cowardices, the self-imposed limits. Gone. And that is so very, very addictive." Willow was listening. She seemed interested. A good sign. "I think that must be what it'd be like to get drunk. Or really high on drugs. Most of us—I've noticed—get swept up in the sensation. They find the high and do everything they can to stay there."

"Oh, yes I did. The first time I killed—you can't imagine what that was like. Being born couldn't have meant more. If someone had disemboweled me, it couldn't have hurt as much. Yet a thousand orgasms couldn't match it. No other kill is ever quite like it. Not that I didn't try." She could tell this frightened Willow. But didn't terrify her.

"He wanted to get my attention. It worked. Honestly, I'm not sure anything less...drastic...would have."

After another eternal ten minutes, Tara stopped. With a glance, she indicated they'd reached where she was headed. Two stories of moldy bricks and boarded-up windows. She went inside. Barely hesitating, Willow followed. Tara entered through a side door, padlocked several times on the outside as well—it turned out—as inside. One stark lightbulb was the only source of illumination, showing dust and clutter. A surprising amount of time and effort had gone into creating this effect. Four carefully placed mannequins, for example, helped create an atmosphere both unsettling and profoundly abandoned.

Tara made her way to a large wardrobe. Pulling aside the door, she then pushed the mildewed clothes hanging there. One carefully placed push of her hand then revealed the ladder.

Willow's eyes were huge. Not as huge as they could've been, but...big. Still, she gamely followed Tara. The ladder's rungs were steel, and built into the reinforced concrete. Down. Further down. Nearly fifty feet down.

At the bottom, Willow turned around and stared. Tara couldn't help but giggle at the shock on her face.

"Used to be a bomb shelter," noted Tara as she switched on the extra lights. An affectation it might be, but she was almost childishly pleased at the effect of nearly a hundred candelabra light bulbs flickering from all over the room. Curtains hung everywhere, some of them draped over various pieces of furniture. Well, the couches hadn't matched. Besides, they were ugly. The bookcases and desk had been nice though. Now they overflowed with books.

Books Willow headed for like a vampire to blood. Her excitement grew as she scanned some of the titles.

"You...how...Tara, this library...Giles would fall in love with you!" The second she said it Willow did a take.

Tara decided to be nonchalant. Or to try, anyway. "My sire's legacy. There was no one else with any claim to his things, so..." She shrugged. "You are welcome here."

"Gone. Joined a self-help group for vampires, if you can believe it. She was a mistake, anyway."

"Loneliness. She was pretty. Different. I got careless, took too much. So instead of letting her die, I brought her across. Do you mind if we don't talk about her?"

How long the silence then lasted Tara couldn't possibly have guessed. It felt like a million years. And for the first eon or so, neither she nor Willow did more than look at each other. Then, Willow took a tiny step. Forward. Not back. Closer to Tara. Then another.

Lightning fast, her hands reached out to each side of Willow's face, bringing their mouths together in one hungry movement. Somebody whimpered. Who? Did it matter? Or as long as they were at long, long last where they should be—touching, feeling each other, holding each other tight, tighter, tighter still—while this was true, what else could concern them? Details—never mind details.

When the kiss ended, it didn't, really. At least, it didn't feel so much an end as a pause. Both of them gasped. Willow had to. Tara simply did so from habit, perhaps. Now they looked at each other. Just looked.

"You're so warm," whispered Tara. "Like blood. Like life." Her voice sank, nearly inaudible. "Am I cold?"

Their next kiss lasted even longer. As did the next. Later, neither could recall precisely when they fell to the pillowed floor—though both could not forget the feeling as limbs entwined and hands, then fingers, began to explore. It was sweet beyond words, and bittersweet because each remembered doing the same. Then, one of them had been different. Yet in some ways identical. So this dance of flesh and nerve tip was all mixed up with regrets and confusions, coupled and coupling with joyous abandon. It took a lot of courage to shed their pasts along with their clothes. Yet they did it.

And they met together in pleasure more than merely physical, blinding though that part of it was.

Never again alone. Forever bound. Heat and cold. Living and undead. Mortal and hellspawn. Yet—alike in their hearts, beating or not.

Hours later, when Willow offered her throat, she felt no fear. And Tara felt no shame. She bit deeply. She drank. Her lover moaned, but did not die. Nor would she, vowed the young vampire with all the raw might of her will.

The expression on Buffy's face was a very fixed smile. Very. As in artificial. Fake. Willow stole a quick glance at Riley, anxious he was going to feel hurt. But no—he looked as genuinely pleased as a child winning a checkers. Meanwhile, Buffy looked down at all the weapons manuals she'd just removed from the wrapped box. The wrapping paper was mismatched pastels.

Willow stole at glance at everyone else at the party. Joyce was smiling with what seemed like warmth. Giles was nearly as good. Xander, drugged into quietness, just stared at the colors. Only Anya, holding his hand, tilted her head in honest confusion.

(Note to self, thought Willow, don't keep wearing turtlenecks around Anya once the weather warms up.)

Riley looked at her as if she'd just admitted to getting polka-dot tattoos. He didn't say anything. Which seemed wrong, somehow.

"For future reference," stated Buffy. "Thanks, honey," she said, adding a loud smooch on her boyfriend's cheek. His smile was entirely too cartoonish for Willow's taste.

Willow nearly handed hers to the birthday girl, but Giles beat her to it. Giles? I must be more tired than I thought. Must remember to take those vitamins and follow the doctor's diet. At the same time, not let her best friend and roommate notice anything was different. So far, not too difficult. Enough travails were wandering around in Buffy's life right now—specifically, a bleached-blonde hellgod looking to find her little sister for Who-Knows-What-Purpose-But-Odds-Are-Something-Evil. So Buffy was distracted. It hadn't really registered on her that Willow was spending a lot of every night away from their dorm room. Or that she was weaker than usual. Yet Buffy was smart enough that if one word of Willow's "anemia" came to her attention, she'd remember how her best friend had managed not to let anyone see her neck in over a week. And the violence would ensue.

"Upstairs," shrugged Buffy. "The angst of the newly minted teen at someone else's birthday."

"All shiny," muttered Xander, "and bright and pretty. Like a doubloon in the pirate's treasure."

Everyone was silent for a moment. United in discomfort. Everybody looked at their good friend, now a wasted remnant of what he'd been. His eyes continued to be vacant, with the occasional twitches in each limb. Anya brought him to her in a comforting hug. Xander mewled. Willow was reminded how she and Tara had been doing some research into maybe healing her oldest friend. Had his insanity been natural, it would have been far too dangerous. But this condition had been caused by magic. Magic, at least in theory, could undo what had been done.

Dawn spun around at the sound of Tara's voice. For the barest of seconds, she had the look of a kitten caught in headlights. But she recovered quickly.

"Fair enough," answered Tara. She emerged from the shadows of the tree outside the Summers' house. Dawn did a little take.

Tara touched her face. "Its glass. Pretty good, don't you think? I can't see the effect, myself."

Dawn stepped closer to get a better look. Privately, Tara was pleased to think the Slayer's sister wasn't afraid to get this close to her. The teenager peered into the vampire's face.

"They look alike. Pretty much, anyway. The same color blue." Dawn nodded. "How does it feel?"

Dawn pondered this for a bit. Then she gestured. "Not here. Let's get out of big sister range."

The teenager led the vampire away, to somewhere they could talk. As they left, Tara took a quick look back at the house where Willow was. She shouldn't feel anxious, she knew that. Later tonight, they'd be together. But this was one of the symptoms of love, she supposed. No way she could get enough of the sight of her beautiful red-haired witch.

The party continued, quiet in its way but also slightly manic. Willow thought everyone's reaction to cake was just a little over the top. Even her own. Joyce offered a slice to Giles in a decidedly flirtatious way. Buffy glared at them hard enough they parted ways. Riley just would not sit down half the time, insisted on remaining at parade rest. Weird. And the way Buffy insisted on playing Monopoly! It was...odd. Especially as Buffy would cackle everytime she got to buy something or any player had to pay her rent. Stranger—and more disturbing still—were the cracks about beating up anyone who insisted she pay up when landing on their properties. After a while, the way she kept getting out the weapons manuals Riley got her, flipping through the pages and muttering "See, with this one no one could get out alive" really got on Willow's nerves.

"I'm putting it down to stress. Her mom getting sick. Glory the hellgod wanting to grab her sister. After a vampire tried to drain said sister."

The deliberate cheerfulness in Anya's face faltered. "Xander." She looked so sad for a moment, so devastated, Willow decided to be a little reckless.

Carefully, Willow raised the volume of her voice. "Me and Tara." She shot a quick glance at Buffy, who was far too cheerfully demanding her mother pay up or face the wrath of the chosen one. "She has these amazing books on demonology and magic. Besides, she knows more about Glory than anyone, because of what the Apostate told her. Anyway, there're these references to various healing demons."

"No. I was a vengeance demon. But I got to know a lot of other types of demons over the centuries."

"They usually do. But sometimes they act in concert for a common goal. Like when they belong to the same cult. Or a moon demon hunt. Plus sometimes there's a big ceremony where everybody who's anybody has to show up, bring sacrifices, that kind of thing."

"Yep." This was not said with anything like optimism. "As a rule, they're mercenaries of a type. You have to pay them to get their help—usually in pain or body parts." She sighed. "Not that they'd help any friend of a slayer, anyway."

Willow wished she could dispute any of this. Unfortunately, Anya was the expert here, and she had the fiercest motivation for healing Xander. She'd practically put herself in orbit around him.

Dawn considered this. "But the shop's getting broken into all the time, anyway."

"No reason to get sloppy." Tara's voice was firm. Dawn subsided, waiting as patiently as a 14-year-old can while Tara tried to pick the magic store's lock. Not very successfully.

"Not exactly." Tara nearly welcomed the distraction. For one thing, she preferred intelligent inquiry to adolescent nagging any night. Besides, she'd been trying to articulate this very thing for a long time. "Vampires are demons. Demons are predators, and we have all of a predator's instincts."

"Right. I think humans use their soul to feel some emotions. For us, though, the potential is there but atrophied. Most vampires just ride wherever their instincts take them."

Both teenager and vampire jumped as the door to the magic shop suddenly swung open. Jocelyn—in full demon face—peeked her head out, taking them in.

Buffy nodded in a very control-mode kind of way. Oh dear. Willow felt less than thrilled as her best friend turned to Riley with the air of an officer giving orders. "Willow's going for a walk," she said, "go with her."

"Wil, Sunnydale's dangerous enough and now Glory's out there. You're a lot safer with an escort."

Riley was very nearly at attention. What was it with people lately? Giving in to the inevitable, Willow nodded. At least Riley seemed pleased—give the boy a job, any job, and he felt the better for it. Okay. But before she could even take another full step towards the front door, Willow noticed Joyce coming from upstairs, looking distressed.

Everybody (except Xander) instantly went on the alert. Buffy turned to Willow. "Could anybody have gotten past that warding spell without you knowing it?"

"No! No way. I mean—it wouldn't do more than slow anybody down, but it's make plenty of sound is anything demonic or even supernatural broke the circle."

The slayer's face drained of any emotion, gaining that focus Willow knew by now meant she was going to put up with nothing that even smacked of nonsense. Or dissent. "Riley. Willow. Do a circuit around the neighborhood. Anya, you and Giles head for the Magic Shoppe."

Willow gestured towards Xander, rocking on the sofa, Anya's arms protectively around his shoulders, her expression a mix of appalled and defiant.

"Anya needs to stay with Xander," Willow said to Buffy's puzzled expression. Rather more slowly than it should have, Buffy's face registered what she'd said. She looked around.

"Mom? You stay here. Dawn might simply come back on her own. I'll go with Giles."

Jocelyn proved more than cooperative. When Dawn (rather brazenly, in Tara's opinion) asked to see Giles' most recent journal, the half-demon picked the drawer's lock with no trouble and presented the book to her with a flourish. Now she crouched atop the counter, tail flicking back and forth while Dawn read.

Tara herself looked around the shop, quietly noting how a few books and amulets had been rearranged since she was here last. Nothing very obvious. But something tickled at the back of her mind. Some little detail. A clue?

"The monks," read Dawn aloud, "had to make sure the Slayer would protect the Key with her life. So they gave it human form." She said these last words with no inflection. Then stopped. For what seemed like forever.

"I wouldn't put it that way," answered Tara deliberately. She watched the unmoving Dawn while she spoke. "From what Giles says, Dawn is completely human. She's even Buffy's sister. They altered reality to give the Key a form, but that form is just as real as anything else."

"Still," insisted Jocelyn cheerfully, "its not like she's really fourteen. Or like Mrs. Summers is really her mother."

"Yes!" Tara was a little startled at how forcefully she said this. "If I did a spell, for example, that shrimp no longer existed, then I would have changed reality. Shrimp wouldn't pretend not to exist, they really wouldn't. And if I did it right, shrimp would never have existed and no one would remember them. The world wouldn't be full of invisible shrimp nobody could remember! I'd've created a different, but true reality."

"Its exactly the same thing!" Still no reaction from Dawn. This was not good. "If Dawn really is this Key, then she's real. Even if somebody magically created the form she's in now, that doesn't change the fact her form is real. Its kind of like finding out you were reincarnated. Only with some bells and whistles."

Tara fumed. "I am not your..." She stopped herself. "Anyway, the whole point is that Dawn is human. However she got that way, she's human now. And she's who she is, even if how she got here is rather...exotic."

"Exotic?" Dawn's voice was so low Tara might not have heard it if she wasn't a vampire. From Jocelyn's turn of head, clearly she heard it as well. "Exotic means weird. Unusual. Freakish."

Silence followed. Cut into suddenly by Tara. "Unique. Individual. Extraordinary. And exotic also means pretty, valuable, rare."

Tara strode over to where Dawn sat, hunched in and looking at no one. She sat beside her, putting one arm around her. Each shoulder felt like steel, she was so tense. But she didn't react to Tara's presence at all. Memories of her human mother's death came unbidden to Tara.

"Dawn," Tara repeated. "How do you know we aren't all Keys? Or something else? Maybe that's all the universe is, a place for magical some things to have form. Remember last year, when everybody thought Jonathan invented the internet and starred in The Matrix?"

Tara paused. "For all any of us know, the world began five seconds ago, complete with a bunch of memories created along with the trees and iguanas and pizza parlors and everything."

Atop the counter, Jocelyn cocked her head. "I like that idea," she almost hissed.

Ignoring her, Tara leaned in closer to Dawn. Pitching her voice low, she spoke with an surprising intensity. At least surprising to her. "Listen to me. This is something I know—it doesn't matter. Not in any way that counts. Whether you're a Key, or a changeling left by fairies, or a vampire or a clone, or simply a little girl whose sister happens to be the Slayer—you are what you think, and do, and feel. That's why people care. And in the end, that's why they love."

Dawn trembled. Only for a moment, and only slightly but Tara felt it. Maybe she was getting through to her? She could hope.

"You," began Dawn, "really believe that?" A deep, almost shuddering breath. "How can you?"

Tara nodded. She could feel the girl's stare boring into her. On an impulse, she hugged her. After a moment or two, Dawn hugged back. Tara rocked the girl gently, feeling the first few deep breaths that came before crying. In some part of her mind, Tara was surprised she still recognized all this. Perhaps she hadn't lost as much as she thought when the Apostate had sired her. Or when she and Willow together had reunited the demon and the human. This was a subtle pleasure, to be sure. Delicate even, giving comfort to a confused and horrified young woman. Yet she welcomed it.

Buffy stood in the front door, teeth bared, her entire body ready to spring. The axe in her hand only added to the effect.

Dawn pulled away from Tara. Her eyes were red, puzzled, angry. Hurt. She stared at her sister.

Buffy spoke through clenched teeth. "Dawn! Come to me!" The girl hesitated. "NOW!"

"You," said Dawn sullenly, "aren't my sister." Buffy's eyes widened. "I don't have to obey you."

"Do what she says," whispered Tara. "The truth is—she loves you." Dawn took this in reluctantly. With a certain awkward grace, she stood and headed towards Buffy. It took her longer than it should have. But when she got there, she looked the Slayer straight in the eye.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The indignation in Dawn's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. "Why?"

"She was trying to protect you," added Tara from across the room. "In her heart—where it counts—you are her sister."

Now Buffy snarled. She stepped past Dawn, almost ignoring her. From the counter top, Jocelyn watched with fascination. Buffy looked on the verge of a berserk rage.

"You already know." Buffy advanced in a murderous frenzy. "Bunch of Glory's minions tried grabbing her and Riley. In the fight, Willow fainted. Riley administered first aid." By now her eyes nearly glowed. "Guess what he found on her throat?"

What happened next very nearly seemed to be in slow motion. Buffy's axe swept in an arc towards Tara's neck. The vampire managed to duck only barely, then rolled away as fast as she could manage. She was only just fast enough as the axe's blade sliced through a part of her coat and imbedded itself in the floor. Dawn was screaming her sister's name. Jocelyn had stood up, her tail now swinging back and forth like a whip. Tara herself jumped beneath a table, putting its solid bulk between herself and the slayer. It wouldn't work for long, but she needed these few moments. She reached into her blouse as fast as she could, then dashed out towards the back door.

Buffy did something superhuman. She jumped over Tara and landed at the door before her. One spinning kick sent the blonde demon flying to the floor. Without a pause Buffy had her wooden stake out. She leapt with unerring aim, driving it deep into Tara's heart! It went all the way through and its tip hit the shop's floor.

The slayer's eyes went huge. After that, they quickly went to each of Tara's hands. What she was looking for was on the left—the Ring of Amara. Rendering any vampire who wears it immune to the sun or the stake.

"Wrong!" Tara focused her will. With a word, she pushed Buffy off her and into the air. She landed with a thud. Tara herself jump up, and quickly pulled out the stake. In one movement, she raced towards the front door, tossing the stake at Dawn as she did.

Once into the night, she fled into the shadows where she knew the slayer could not find her. From alleyway to rooftop, via parking lot and even through a few abandoned buildings, she carefully avoided leaving a trail. She did not stop moving for at least an hour. When she did, she found herself at a motel. The parking area was filled with people, almost all of them her own age. Loud music blared. Pictures were projected onto the wall. Nearly everyone's clothes were...well, odd. One whiff told her that pot as well as crack was being smoked, along with the more usual tobacco. A rave. It must be. Good. The kind of place even a berserk slayer would not turn into a battle zone. Assuming, of course, she even managed to trace Tara here. Wait for an hour or two. Perhaps find somebody in a wacked-up enough mood from whom to feed. Then, back to her hidden lair. Only Willow knew where that was.

Willow. Thoughts of the redhead made Tara pause. Freeze, actually. With fear. Not of death, for in truth she'd died once and since then she'd found a surprising courage. Perhaps a legacy of her demon. But fear of losing Willow.

The tap on her shoulder brought her out of that mood. She turned to see an impossibly perky young lady smiling at her. For a moment, Tara didn't recognize her. When she did, it was all she could do not to drop her jaw.

"No," said the girl, a shade too precisely. "My name is April. Have you seen Warren?"

Willow moped. The locale had something to do with this, being a hospital and all. And the gown they made her wear did nothing for dignity or comfort. But the fight she'd had last night weighed her down in very many ways.

Ultimate evidence of that fight was seated next to the door. Giles sat there, obviously standing guard. Against Tara, of course. He wouldn't listen to her, of course. That much had been made excessively clear. Goddess forbid anyone imagine for one instant she might know what she was doing. Or that the risks of her relationship might be something she'd thought through and accepted. Funny how nobody freaked this way when she dated a werewolf. And Buffy herself had dated a vampire. So it wasn't as if she was breaking really new ground here.

The weary anger in her voice must have penetrated. He took off his glasses. "You have friends who love you, Willow."

"It isn't your fault," he said in what was probably meant as a soothing voice. It didn't soothe. "Whatever sorcery or the like this Tara creature used, we'll discover."

The patient look on his face made Willow want to slap him. "You believe you do."

"Just like you believe you care about Buffy? After all, maybe that just some magic that's part of being a slayer. Their watchers just start caring for them more and more and more—but maybe its not real. Maybe its just magic."

He wasn't going to listen. She could talk from now until doomsday (which, in Sunnydale, might be next Thursday so that might be the wrong homile to use but anyway) but that alone would never let him believe himself wrong. Not about this. And one really nasty thought came to Willow as she watched Giles patiently take his seat again by the door. Would he be reacting this way if Tara had been a boy? For that matter, would any of them? Because Buffy and Riley in particular had been acting...well...kinda crazy about the whole thing. And not just about that.

Giles snapped to attention as the door opened. The fact it was day no longer made any difference in his mind, obviously. Well, what did anyone expect? Did they really believe Willow wouldn't try everything she could to protect her girlfriend? Okay, maybe she shouldn't have stolen it, but...

Willow did a take. The person who walked into her hospital room could not be walking into her hospital room.

"Uh...hi." Something about the way this girl talked seemed...familiar. And not in a Britney-Spears-kinda-way. "This is my friend, Rupert Giles."

"No. But we have a mutual friend. Someone from Los Angeles. Her name is Rose." She said all this with the identical smile throughout. And much the same intonation. But—much more importantly, she was from Tara. The bit about LA and "The Rose" was a dead (or undead) giveaway.

"She said to tell you she is fine. And she said I was to ask how you were." Again with the cheerfulness.

"Just a bit of anemia. You know—college student, not eating right, that kinda thing."

April nodded vigorously. "Good nutrition is terribly important. So will you be in this hospital for long?"

Willow eyed Giles, who looked equally puzzled and titillated. "I checking out today. Then I'll be hanging around as usual."

"Oh good! Then maybe Rose can come over for a visit. I think she would like that."

Giles stared after her. Then stared at Willow. She did her best to appear innocent.

Main What's New Fiction by Author Fiction by Pairing eBooks

Subject Index Submissions Gallery Forums Links Awards Contact Us

If you find problems on these pages please email your host.

Never the Twain

By Zahir

zahir@brainlink.com