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.

Although she hadn't been a vampire that long, Tara still found the sunlight disorienting. She wondered if this was a permanent response of her demon to something that was normally fatal—Ring of Amara or no. But then she saw her target and banished such thoughts.

Tara made it to his car before Ben did. He looked a little startled, then relaxed in recognition. "Miss Maclay. Hi."

"No, that's fine. But a friend of mine has been looking for someone, and I have an idea you might know where he is."

She took a snapshot out of her pocket, handing it to him. "His name is Warren." Ben took a long, hard look. Before he said anything, Tara already knew.

"Psych ward. Had a sudden and unexplained mental collapse. There's been a lot of that going around." He looked anything but happy about that. "Do you want to see him."

"No. But I think I'd better." With a shrug, he motioned her back towards the hospital. "I should mention," Tara said as she started walking, "there're some people hanging around the hospital I don't want to see me. Nothing illegal, just—awkward."

Willow felt better now that she was in her own clothes. And almost free—of this room, anyway.

Anya answered before Giles. "On patrol with Riley. Looking for Tara, I think." Willow's look of alarm brought a reaction from her. "But I don't think they'll find her."

"I for one hope they don't find her. Tara has been really nice, helping out with Xander and everything."

"Anya," said Giles, "did it never occur to you to ask why she was being so helpful."

"No. Just to wonder why the rest of you weren't. Except Willow." Giles sighed. In exasperation. And maybe some guilt. Willow liked to think he felt some guilt. "Anyway, its not like Tara hurt anybody."

"May I remind you this is a vampire we're talking about? One who fed from Willow?"

"That," said Giles after a moment or two, "was hardly the sanest act you've ever committed."

"Could have been worse," she answered. "For example, I could have gotten together with a bunch of Satanists and raised a death-worshipping demon to go around possessing people to kill us all off." Giles twitched. That hit home. Anya looked between them, sure she was missing something—quite rightly. She waited for someone to explain. When no one did, she make a little sound and looked at Willow.

"We don't know what's causing it," said Ben, "but the number of admissions for mental disturbances has been a steady flood for months. Something in the water, maybe. Then, about a week or so ago, things got worse. A lot worse."

Every single bed held a patient, twitching and moaning (in some cases snarling) against heavy restraints. More than a few erupted into peals of laughter, while one seemed to be mooing like a cow. The din was a terrible thing to hear, like what Tara imagined hell might be like. She gazed at every face in the room, over three dozen in all. Not one focused back at her.

"Very." For some reason Ben's puzzlement seemed to grow over this. "And sudden. I've never seen anything like this."

"Its as if whatever caused this first wave of madness had something added to it," mused Tara.

There! Warren, the builder of April, was whimpering against sweat-soaked sheets, not so much struggling against his restraints as pulling away from them.

"No...no...she'll get me, she'll find me...got to get away..." His voice came out in ragged gasps.

"Yeah. But he knows better than anyone..." Tara stopped herself before going any further. She abruptly turned to go. "There's something else going on here," she said in a low voice.

After two full days of having people hover over her Willow was ready to scream. To distract herself she dove into what research she could find about Glory. Fortunately, this proved to be absorbing and she managed after a few hours to dull the ache of not seeing Tara. Of course the good news—that Buffy hadn't managed to find her—helped. What didn't was the blasé assumption on the parts of Buffy, Riley and Giles that she was a victim. Poor lonely Willow, so down in the dumps she fell for the first sweet-talking vampire to come along and ask for the Ring of Amara. None of them used those words exactly, but where they got the notion she was this stupid baffled her. Like she couldn't figure this out? The only thing keeping her from tossing a few spells around in frustration was hope they'd eventually come around. Plus she tried to give them credit. Last time any of them had trusted a vampire it had very much ended in tears. So she waited. Impatiently.

"Find out anything new?" asked Anya as she landed next to Willow at the back of the magic shop.

"Nope." Willow took a cursory glance at her notes, all color coded for cross-indexing. "Glory. Also known as Glorificus. One of three hellgods who rule a demon realm, blah blah blah, banished to Earth, etcetera, needs to consume human mental energy in order to stay this side of sane." Remembering again what had happened to Xander, Willow stopped. "Sorry. Its just there doesn't seem to be anything more specific in here about anything. And I get frustrated."

"That's okay." Anya nodded. Her attention didn't seem to be on what Willow was saying. Instead her gaze swept the store. Willow looked as well. Jocelyn was selling another crystal ball. Several local blessed-wannabes from campus were gazing at the herb racks. Anya cocked her head. "Something's missing." Rising, she headed for the bottles of tinctures, herbs and salves. "Hey," she called to Jocelyn, "did you know you're out of frog's breath oil?"

Jocelyn finishing ringing up a sale before answering. "Yeah. This odd couple bought all we had a couple of days ago."

The half-demon shrugged using only her eyebrows. "Pretty young blonde with an old guy. Coke bottle glasses, you know?"

Anya looked puzzled. "Yeah, but what would they use it for? I mean, frog's breath oil doesn't have many uses. It doesn't go in any potions. The only ritual that requires it takes place on the summer solstice. Other than that..."

"Hello, my name is April." She was back. And exactly as precisely cheerful as before. Willow's heart skipped a beat. A message from Tara?

The blonde turned prettily and headed for Willow. Anya trailed, intrigued. "Since I am new in Sunnydale," April recounted, "and I only know you, I was hoping you would be willing to show me a good place to shop for shoes." She nodded as she finished.

In the corner of her eye, Willow saw Giles taking all this in. He looked suspicious. Damn.

"But I made my offer first to Willow. It would be rude for me to withdraw my invitation."

"Who says you have to? Willow, you could use a break. The three of us can make an outing of it for a few hours?" Anya looked at Willow as she said this. Privately, the red-haired witch squirmed. She wanted to be alone with April, find out what message Tara might have for her (and find out who this April was, anyway). On the other hand, she could probably find some time alone with the blonde during the shopping trip, right? And with Anya along, Giles and company were less likely to be suspicious.

At that thought, Willow suddenly noticed the look Anya was giving her. Not a come-along-and-have-fun look, no. This was a read-my-mind-because-we-can't-talk-here look. Willow felt her eyes grow big.

"Okay. Yeah, that sounds like fun." Goddess, Willow hoped that didn't sound as fake as it felt. "And—it might help me recharge the old research batteries, too." Careful not to move too quickly, she gathered up her coat and purse. "Giles?" The Watcher came closer, still plainly concerned. "I'm going shopping."

"Yeah. Its something we female types do from time to time. Not so much me, usually, but I think maybe this'd be a good time. Don't you worry—here're not one but two escorts for me." She smiled. Deliberately. And so did Anya. Between them, so did April. Did she ever not smile?

Giles took off his glasses. Then put them back on. At last he nodded. "Enjoy yourselves."

If Tara's heart beat, which it didn't, it would have skipped a couple as the door to Anya apartment opened. Of course Anya was the first to come in. It was her apartment, after all. Then came the robot April.

"Thank you." April obediently took the bag and sat on the sofa to see what Tara had chosen. She needed to know the prices and location of the shoe store for later reference. Not that Buffy and the others were likely to get that suspicious, but better to be safe. All these thoughts flowed through Tara's mind like quicksilver, then ended abruptly as She came into the room.

From the front room of the apartment, Willow heard a door open and people come in. She also heard voices. Reassuringly, they were Anya and the robot April.

"It still does seem wrong, somehow. Your boyfriend is the one who should be taking care of you."

Willow turned to look at her beloved. Tara's breasts grazed her back and her arms wrapped around her middle. One hand was lazily circled her navel, almost making Willow want to giggle. "Time to get dressed" she whispered.

"Must we?" whispered back the vampire. At Willow's reluctant nod, Tara mockingly pouted. "Ruthless."

It didn't take long for them to get dressed, even interrupting each other as they did for mutual kisses. Willow would have willingly offered her throat to Tara. She trusted her lover absolutely, and knew she'd not take too much blood. But with the others so paranoid right now fresh wounds were the last thing she wanted anyone to find on her person. And Tara herself hadn't pressed. She didn't feed from Willow for food. They both knew that.

Several minutes later, they emerged from the bedroom and found April cleaning. Anya watched with a curiously satisfied expression on her face, as she sat on her boyfriend's lap. Xander himself seemed vacant, but pleased in an abstract kind of way. Happy perhaps that Anya was there, although not completely aware of the fact? Seeing him like this dampened Willow's happiness. That, and the fact nearly all her friends were trying to hunt down and kill her beloved.

"That is good." She nodded cheerfully as she continued to clean. Willow shot a look at Anya.

After less than a moment's thought, Willow decided to let that go. The robot seemed happy to be doing it, and who was she to judge how other...beings...found joy? As long as they didn't hurt anybody.

"I was doing some research back at my lair," began Tara, "about different kinds of madness, and their causes?"

"Yes. But there seems to be something else at work here. The people at the psych ward, they've been getting worse. Or some of them have. And besides, there's something else."

"Buffy," said Tara. "Along with Riley and Giles. Okay, I'm a vampire so maybe my expectations are a little skewed, but don't you think they're overreacting just a little?"

"Its gotta suck," added Anya, "finding out your significant other lost hers to a bloodsucking demon spawn. No offense."

Tara shrugged. "Still, you'd think Buffy would at least listen to you. Or Giles."

Willow thought about it for a few moments. "So you're saying something's affecting them?"

"Maybe. And there was something else. The other night, when I was with Dawn at the Magic Shoppe, there was something different about it. I can't quite remember what, but something."

"Oh! I noticed something!" Anya piped in. Everyone looked at her. "The frogs breath oil. Jocelyn said somebody bought it all."

"List each use this frog's breath oil has. Then correlate that data with observed phenomena to see if there is any potential cause and effect. From there, you look for any similar facts to corroborate the initial hypothesis." She smiled.

Everybody else (except Xander) looked at each other. "Sounds like a good idea," said Anya.

"Consecrates the Summer Solstice sacrifice for the demon Gl'hrrgh," offered Anya.

Anya interrupted "He only accepts rabbits in sacrifice. So that's all good." She seemed very satisfied.

"Its rumored to be some kind of aphrodisiac for werefoxes," said Tara, "but they're native to Japan. And its only a rumor, anyway."

"And some people use it as a part of a warding spell against Baba Yaga!" said Anya.

"Old, old evil witch in Russian folklore. Trouble is, that warding spell doesn't work. Not that it needs to, anymore. She's been dead for centuries. Still, that's why people usually buy the stuff."

"Fine," said Willow, "but that doesn't sound useful to our situation right now. Is there any other reason somebody might buy frog's breath oil you can think of? Have you ever used it?"

Anya shrugged, "A bunch of us whipped some up five hundred years ago. Back when I was a demon." It took her a moment to register the looks she was getting from Willow and Tara. "Oh. That was the last time anyone had a Moon Demon Hunt. Frog's breath oil is poisonous to them."

"Its not so much a species as a disease. Kind of like diabetes. Wiped out centuries ago. Used to afflict any type of demon. Moon Demons become living embodiments of insanity, preying on humans and demons alike. But like I said, they're all gone now. Too bad, really."

Even though Tara could walk in the day, she still found nighttime more comfortable. It just felt more natural. And in this case, it certainly seemed a better environment for the mission at hand. Following Jocelyn. The Magic Shoppe was closed, and the half-breed demon girl was wandering through downtown Sunnydale. Fortunately, the terrain made it easy enough for Tara to remain unseen. Plenty of shadows and alleys. Or, in this case, rooftops.

First was the elderly couple that started fighting next to Jocelyn at the coffee shop. Loudly. Then they left separately in a huff. Coincidence? Possible. Just like the graffiti artist who resisted arrest and went into hysterics. Nothing too unusual in that. But when that vampire tried to bite what was obviously a priest—complete with crucifix—the pattern seemed to be fairly clear. Each incident happened within fifty feet of Jocelyn. And now she was headed towards the same park where Buffy had had to kill a snake creature months before—said creature a thing of Glory's. It had been on its way to tell Glory where to find the Key. So Glory almost certainly lived somewhere in the vicinity.

Tara quietly drew her sword. If need be, she'd act. Ruthlessly. But first, she had to be sure. Left to her own devices, Tara thought simply killing Jocelyn right now had a certain safe logic. But Willow and Anya would be upset. And she needed to know if Jocelyn actually was a Moon Demon before going to all the trouble of cutting out her heart.

Jocelyn went into a bar. Tara headed for a fire escape to go to street level. Hiding her sword within the long coat, she also stepped inside the bar. The fact no one reacted to her apparent youth said volumes. But maybe they couldn't tell. Shadows blanketed the room. Without heightened senses, Tara doubted she could have found Jocelyn—who had parked herself in a booth. More interestingly, she'd reverted to her demon form. Pale blue skin, prehensile tail, etc. A quick glance around the bar revealed she wasn't the only non-human. So maybe it wasn't so odd they hadn't checked her ID...

She sat in the booth next to Jocelyn. A waitress came up. "We have bottled blood for a reasonable price," she offered.

"So...how's the Glorious One?" Tara nearly gasped out of habit. She gripped the handle of her sword. If need be, this place was about to become the site of a massacre.

Ben sighed. A very tired sigh. With an undercurrent of anger. "What do you want?"

"Thought maybe Glory might like to chat. You know, swap stories, share a few jokes."

The waitress brought a wineglass to Tara, over two-thirds filled with blood. She paid and took a sip. Not bad. Some preservative but it had clearly been microwaved in an attempt to bring it up to body temperature. Not quite there, but still.

While sipping, Tara pondered the seeming innocence of the conversation she was listening to. All kinds of silent alarms were going off in her head. Clearly, this Ben—the doctor—he was a messenger between Jocelyn (or "Joculatrix") and Glory. Maybe they were talking in code? Yes, that could easily be it...

"You and I aren't friends. Neither are you and Glory. She has worshippers and enemies, not friends."

Tara readied her sword. She was carefully laying out her next moves. By going all out, she was sure killing Ben would be no problem. There was not way anyone short of a Slayer could match her speed. The problem was—how many other minions might Glory have here? Following Ben? As backup, or just insurance.

If only I'd thought to bring some hand grenades, thought Tara. As it was, all she could think to do was set fire to the bar after locking all the exits. Waiting outside, she could behead everyone leaving, one by one. But how best to manage it?

"Not from that!" He got up to leave. Damn! Tara realized she'd have to follow him. She moved as stealthily as she could. En route to the door where Ben was headed, though, a clawed hand reached out and touched her arm.

"The Initiative? Yeah. Nice to see you got out alive. See you later." Ben was getting away! Tara nearly ran out the door.

Anya took a quick look around. They were having a picnic in the middle of the UCS quad. She nodded. "But she changed her mind soon after."

"Joculatrix. That's her real name. And that does explain why Tara got so willing-to-do-violence all of a sudden."

"Yeah! I mean, she drives people crazy just by being near them! How do you attack somebody like that?"

"In the old days we used build golems to do the work for us. Arm them with arrows dipped in frog's breath oil."

The ensuing silence seemed a lot longer than it was. Anya finally said "Tara has an idea."

Willow and Anya watched and listened. It occurred to Willow this was a very odd situations—having a vampire explain things to a robot. But then, this was Sunnydale.

"You are saying that Warren has been hurt by demons?" April had stopped smiling. For the first time in days. Possibly ever.

"Warren has been driven insane. He doesn't recognize anything around him. The fact is, he's in worse shape that Xander.
Anya's boyfriend?"

"What you need to do," interrupted Tara, "is help us cure him. That way, he won't be in any danger any more. And he'll know who you are."

Even though she was sure it was her imagination, Willow swore she could hear circuits blowing out inside April's head. In fact, she was sure the robot simply remained still while processing this. Yet the pause had the same effect. Evidently, this wasn't a scenario Warren had installed in her behavior parameters. Not surprisingly.

"I think you are correct," said April. "I must help cure Warren. Do you know a way I can help cure Warren?"

"Warren loves me," was the robot's answer. "And I love Warren. I must do whatever I must."

Tara nodded. She glanced at Willow, who smiled back. Now came the ugly part. The only cure they were sure of for both Xander and Warren was to feed them the heart of a Moon Demon. Part of her was glad to have discovered that Jocelyn, the halfbreed she'd brought from Los Angeles, was one. In fact, it made a kind of sense. The Caritas Host had said she had to bring Jocelyn—or Joculatrix—back to Sunnydale. At the time she'd wondered why. Now, it made a kind of sense. But it made an icky, terrible sense. She knew this demon, had enjoyed her company. Plus, her attitude towards demons had undergone a radical change after falling in love with Tara.

Now it was Tara who reached out to touch Willow's hand. "Its not just for Xander and Warren," she reminded Willow. "Jocelyn knows about the Key. And she wanted to talk to Glory."

"Doing what? What do I have to do?" inquired April. Before anyone could answer the phone rang. Anya immediately sprang across the room, reaching it before the second ring had finished.

"Hello" she said. "Yes, Willow's here." She looked at the others and mouthed the name Giles. Then the expression on her face froze. In shock? Fear? Both? Anya's jaw moved, as if she was trying to find something to say but could think of nothing. What had happened? For a terrible moment Willow feared something had happened to Dawn. Then Anya pinned Willow with her eyes, holding the phone out to her. Clearly, whatever the news she'd heard had struck her dumb.

Refusing to let go of Tara's hand, Willow crossed the room and took the phone in hand.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but...its Joyce." The silence stretched long enough for Willow to know what was coming next. "She's dead. Buffy found her."

A sound made Willow turn around. There was Anya, seated on the sofa, and emitting another nearly-inaudible sob.

After the tears and the silences and Anya babbling about how life didn't make sense. Sensing her distress Xander had become hysterical, until Tara managed to get him to swallow some medication. In the end, she'd gotten Anya to take a sleeping pill.

Then came the funeral, which Tara heard about second hand. Buffy had gone strongly silent. Riley wouldn't leave her side. Giles was drinking. And Dawn, poor Dawn. Coming apart one moment, the next withdrawn to untouchability. She, at least, was snapping back to something like normal. Unless that was a symptom of something worse.

Willow still found herself weeping at odd moments. That's when Tara felt her unbeating heart, as it seemed torn out of her chest. Having lost her own mother, Tara recalled too well how it hurt. Joyce Summers had clearly been something of a mother to all the Scoobies. Including Willow.

Somewhere in this neighborhood, muttered Tara to herself like a mantra. This was the area of Sunnydale where Buffy killed the snake creature. And here was where Jocelyn met Ben. Glory's home must be somewhere here. Buffy had described Glory's minions as "hobbits with leprosy," according to Willow. So Tara scanned carefully for hobbits.

Or Ben the friendly intern. Tara was prepared to search all night, even well into the day if need be (thanks to the Ring of Amara). Unfortunately, the plan to take out Jocelyn had to take a back seat right now. Once they were sure Glory hadn't heard about Dawn being the Key, then they could act. Not until. So here she was, scouting this part of Sunnydale for the third time in as many days since Buffy and Dawn's mother died.

But...wait. What was that? A hooded figure, short, scurrying in the shadows towards a rather nice condominium. Only because she was a vampire could Tara see his face. Like an elf molded from meat going bad. Or a hobbit. He was leading someone—a little man with short white hair. More than anything else he reminded Tara of a friendly grandfather. She hadn't had one of those, as it happened, but the archetype was pretty much universal. The slight crinkle of lips, coupled with an abstracted glance around his surroundings, plus the shuffle of his steps. Oh yes, the image was perfect. And Tara would bet image was all this was.

They entered the condo. And Tara settled in to wait. She couldn't take Glory by herself, so she'd have to focus on getting information. After an hour or so, she noticed someone else searching the same area. Three men, scanning the area with a military precision. More, she noticed an interesting detail.

Willow thought maybe her head was going to explode. It was too much. Having to deal with Joyce's death was horrible, but carrying on a secret love affair her friends were all (or almost all, remembering Anya) convinced was akin to heroin addiction fairly shredded her nerves. Plus having to protect the Key. And being one of the few to realize Jocelyn was driving everyone around her mad.

Still, Willow managed not to show it as she arrived (with Riley as over-protective escort) to the Magic Shoppe for the meeting. The reason for this meeting remained a secret, so she had a sinking feeling the reason involved her.

Inside, a large assortment of weapons was laid out on the table. Axes, swords, a mace. Buffy, Dawn and Giles all wore simple, rugged clothes. They also pretty much radiated purpose. Giles had been pacing. Seconds after Willow entered, she was pinned by Buffy's stare.

"Better. And I'll be better yet." The smile that went with those words did anything but reassure. Visions of medical experiments came to Willow looking at that smile. Dawn, seated, looked up at her sister adoringly. This. Was. Bad. "Wil," said Buffy as she neared her best friend, "I've been doing some research."

Buffy began picking up the weapons and passing them out. She handed a battleaxe to Willow, who looked at it with more than a little worry. Whatever her insane friends had planned, it certainly looked unpleasant.

"You see," said Giles, testing the heft of a broadsword, "the egg of a Ghora is the essential ingredient in the resurrection spell."

"Exactly!" Giles seemed absurdly pleased at Willow's repeating his words. He even grinned.

Buffy smiled at her sister, the both of them aglow. "That's right, Dawn," she said encouragingly, "we're bringing her back."

"That's...I mean...isn't that a really, really tricky kind of spell to be trying, Buffy? I mean, think of all the things that could go wrong!"

"I am thinking of that Wil. That's why we need you to actually do the spell itself."

Willow looked at the four sets of eyes, each aimed at her full of confident hope, and wanted very much to run away. Fast. Or, maybe turn invisible.

"The spell itself," offered Giles, "is surprisingly simple. All that's truly, truly difficult is getting the ingredients. Hence," he indicated his broadsword. "Oh! It might interest you to know that the Ghora demon may be the basis for legends of Cerberus, the three headed hound said to guard the underworld."

Xander wailed. There was no other word for it. He made a sound halfway between a sob and a scream—or maybe simply a mix of the two. Anya's heart bled hearing him. She might have cried, if she weren't so busy struggling with her insane boyfriend as he thrashed. His arms flailed in nearly every direction they could. Meanwhile his eyes bulged, frightened by a vision only he could see.

And he was stronger than Anya. Only the fact he was uncoordinated gave her a chance of keeping Xander from harming himself.

That the front door was opening, then shut, barely registered with Anya as she struggled with Xander. Until Tara reached over and held Xander down. Her vampiric strength (plus his own tiredness from exerting against Anya) did the trick. Anya wasted no time. She worked the tranquilizer in between his teeth, then put the cup of orange juice to his lips.

Maybe because he was now tired, Xander didn't put up any struggle. He just swallowed, his eyes never once leaving Anya's. For a moment or two, Tara thought he resembled a beaten puppy. Quietly, he just lay there, doing nothing but stare at Anya. Once she noticed, Anya herself could hardly take her eyes off his. Tara felt something of a voyeur, seeing that look.

At last, Xander visibly relaxed. Horribly, it looked halfway between death and a puppet having its string cut. Both eyes unfocussed, every limb went slack. Tara let Xander go. After a moment, she quietly grabbed a tissue from the box on the side of the bed, using it to wipe away a touch of drool.

When she looked back at Anya, she saw a lone tear dropping from one eye. Tara wiped that away as well.

Willow felt as if everyone in the room had x-ray eyes directed right at her. The fact everyone—even fourteen-year-old Dawn—had a weapon in hand only made it worse. So she did her best to appear cheerful. On their side.

Buffy nodded. She'd done the brunt of the fighting, although nearly everybody had gotten splattered in blood. Well, the Ghora had been protecting its eggs. Willow privately thought a smaller party would have had better luck. An assault by no less than five heavily armed people on the demon's nest was bound to set off every defensive instinct the creature had.

Almost all. Willow had the last intact Ghora egg in her hands. She wanted to drop it, but by now she was fully convinced all her friends were insane. Their reaction to such was not something she chose to risk right now.

"I was just a tad worried," offered up Giles, "when Riley cut off the first head. It was just barely possible another would have grown in its place. Perhaps more than one."

"Any idea where I should put this?" asked Willow, holding out the Ghora egg. It was roughly the size of a basketball. Giles immediately took it off her hands.

"Must be especially careful," he muttered, "no telling when another Ghora might show up."

"Just think of the possibilities this offers up." Buffy spoke as if Willow hadn't said anything.

"Aren't they obvious?" asked Riley. He looked jazzed. Willow shrugged in puzzlement.

"Kendra," said Buffy, as if that explained everything. Which, after a moment, Willow realized it did. To her horror.

"You want me to resurrect Kendra?" Breathe, Willow said to herself quietly. Breathe!

"Not just her!" Oh no. "In theory we can bring back all the Slayers. And why should we stop with them? Think, Willow, about all the people we've lost. Jesse. Larry. Forrest."

Buffy looked at Giles fondly. She reached out and touched his hand. "Yeah," she said quietly, "Jenny." Then Buffy looked right at Willow. "You do see now, don't you? If this works, how much good we can do?" She looked so earnest.

Willow felt so terrified. And she didn't dare show it. "That kinda depends, doesn't it?" she offered weakly.

"On whether it works, for one thing! Then, you know, to do this again we need to go get some more of those Ghora eggs! Major operation there, I think! I mean, even finding those things is gonna take plenty of time and effort! Yessir—lots of effort!" She shut up as Buffy stood and got practically nose-to-nose.

Dawn came bounding down the stairs. She had large cooking bowl in her arms, full of stuff. Under one arm was a picture of her mother. "We have ingredients!" Willow couldn't decide if her grin was madness or typical puberty-driven energy. Or both.

"I know. But what? Joculatrix is a Moon Demon. If we kill her, then her heart can cure Xander's insanity as well as Warren's. Maybe some other people's too. Guess that depends on how much of the heart needs to be eaten." Tara looked at her hostess inquiringly. Anya thought about it for a moment.

"Then we have to figure out if she's told Glory about Dawn being the Key. She certainly was talking to Ben—and we know he's somehow involved with Glory. I wish I knew how."

"Me too," agreed Anya. "But if we don't kill Joculatrix, doesn't that increase the odds she'll tell Glory?"

Tara thought about that one for a few moments. "Yes," she finally said. "Where's April? She's the only one who can get close to a Moon Demon without going crazy."

"I don't know. She was supposed to be here to help me with Xander." There wasn't nearly as much spit and fire in Anya's voice as Tara was used to hearing. Even her complaints lacked the energy they usually had. More evidence, if such were needed, of how draining her taking care of Xander had been. Proof, too, of how much he meant to her. "Souped up Barbie Doll," she grumbled, "what's the use of having superstrength if you don't use it to help out?"

April walked in the front door. Well, thought Tara, maybe the gods have a sense of humor after all. Or timing, anyway. The pretty robot had a neat package in hand, roughly the size of a shoe box. She smiled—but then, April almost always smiled.

"Shoes?" growled Anya. "You were shopping?" Exhausted as she was, Anya clearly was building up towards an explosion.

"Hello, Anya," replied April. "No, I have not been shopping. If I had, I would have asked if you wanted me to get you something." Of course, she spoke with such a precise sincerity it seemed fake. In fact, her sincerity was utterly real. April herself was fake. Or, at least, artificial. Tara wasn't sure what the precise difference was.

April repeated herself. "Jocelyn's heart." She even handed it to Tara—who could indeed detect the distinct coppery scent of blood. Carefully, she put the box on the kitchen counter and opened it. Inside was...something...wrapped in butcher's paper.

"I put her body in a cave near the campus. There were plenty of rats." Her smile was unaffected by this, or its implications. Tara was impressed. She shouldn't have been, she realized. Computers (and that's what April was, really) were nothing if not practical. Or so she'd been given to understand.

"Just to make sure I understand," began Anya, "you did kill Joculatrix—or, Jocelyn. Right?"

"By breaking the bones of her upper vertebrae, severing her spine from the cerebellum." Again, the cheerful smile. Tara felt a little one of her own growing. "Then I used a knife to remove her heart, hid her body, and brought the heart back here so you can use it to help Warren."

"Wow." Anya shared a look with Tara. "And she didn't even muss up her nails." Tara looked. Anya was right.

With a shrug, Tara smiled. "I prefer redheads, anyway." She looked back at Anya. This was her apartment, after all. "So..."

Anya was already checking a small bookshelf next to the refrigerator. "I think there's a recipe for stew in one of these..."

"Any ideas on how long that'll be?" This from Buffy. Her sister, curled up beside her on the coach, asked the same question with her eyes.

"Uh...well...not long." He said this with such certitude Willow knew he was lying. It didn't help that all of them now looked at her.

Willow still felt everyone was looking at her. She continued to wait. And worry.

Tara was a little surprised to find out Anya could cook. Not with any great skill, as it turned out, but adequately. She also had help, in the form of April who (predictably) was programmed with all the skills of a master chef. It took them nearly an hour to prepare the meat, the herbs and vegetables, then to simmer them in a mushroom and wine sauce.

"The stew really should simmer for another hour," advised April as Anya readied a small bowl.

"Fine," said Anya. "I'll remember that when I want stew to just taste good. Right now, I want Xander back." And with that she carried the cupfull of stew into the bedroom. Tara and April followed.

Xander sat, eyes unfocused, atop the bed he and Anya shared. He was humming a tune, or maybe two—he seemed to shift back and forth randomly. Anya took a seat in front of him.

"Xander?" Her voice sounded unusually childlike. It was almost startling. But as Tara considered how she herself reacted to Willow, she wasn't surprised.

"Honey?" Anya tried to get Xander's attention. He lifted his head, looking at her with something like pleasure. At least he stopped humming and a tiny smile creased his face. Just a shadow of one, but real. Anya smiled in return and used a fork to pick up a steaming slice of meat from the stew. "C'mon, Xander. Num num. Really." For a moment it looked as if Xander couldn't remember how to open his mouth. Then his jaw moved and he managed to aim his mouth at the fork. He chewed slowly, eyes never leaving Anya's, as if looking for approval. Or maybe she had become his anchor in a world that made no sense. Tara hoped never to find out. Chewing took longer than normal, but at last he swallowed.

"Good," said Anya. "Here, have another." Again, the same routine, like feeding a child—vaguely hideous for an adult. Some gravy remained on his lips, though. With practiced skill, Anya made a gesture and Xander licked his lips. She nodded approval. And he nodded back.

"Not right." It was the first words out of Xander's mouth since taking his meds.

"Can't be right," he said, looking around the room. His sunken eyes took in Tara, then April, then Tara again and one more time at April. "Can't be," he muttered.

"Anya?" He almost whispered, then took time to swallow some morsel still in his mouth. "Anya," he asked when done.

"Am I...crazy?" His eyes looked unusually bright. Feverish, even. "Or...is Britney Spears really in your apartment?"

Okay, she wasn't imagining it. Willow knew everybody was looking at her. Staring, really. Hard. After two and a half hours, there was still no sign of the resurrected Joyce. She had performed the ritual. They were going to blame her. No, were already doing so.

When the phone rang, Willow felt relief. Dawn was the one who reached it, picking up the receiver. "Hello?" she said, impatiently. "Oh, okay Anya." She looked at Willow. "For you."

"The cemetery? Which one?" Out of the corner of her eye, Willow noted Buffy and the others perk up.

Over the phone, she heard the receiver change hands. The next voice she heard was a man's. "Willow?"

Willow felt her jaw drop, and her eyes pop. "Xander?" All around her, alertness shot up as everyone realized to whom she was speaking.

"Just now." He sounded very matter-of-fact. "As for how—well, lets just say that can wait. What can't is getting everybody to the Restful Acres cemetery as soon as possible, maybe sooner."

Xander paused. His voice had a different timbre in his voice as he answered this time. "I can't tell you how I know this. Because, truth is, I don't really understand. But this much is certain—that place is calling me for some reason. And Wil—its calling for help."

"Uh, how much has Anya told you about what's been going on?" In Willow's mind, a terrible thought had taken root.

"No, that's not what I mean. Did...did Anya tell you what happened with Buffy's mom?" Every single person in the room was staring at Willow again, but this time more thoughtfully, less maniacally. "Xander," she said slowly, "that's where she's buried."

Silence. Willow strained to even hear Xander breathe. Nothing. Then, one word. "Hurry."

All in all, Tara was impressed with how quickly Xander was coping. Over one month of insanity had left him out of touch with all sorts of events. Joyce Summers' death clearly hit him like a cannonball. And finding a Britney Spears-lookalike robot responsible for his recovery by cutting out and feeding him the heart of a Moon Demon was at the very least confusing. Plus learning he now had to trust a vampire, one who was sleeping with his oldest friend, made for a lot to handle. Tara suspected he was blinking rather more than needed. But all in all, his reaction to all this had been impressively calm.

Even more impressive—and unexpected—was the strange certainty he had something was Terribly Wrong at the cemetery. She found herself believing him. Hence she and Anya joined him in heading there. Fortunately, he could drive. Which helped in terms of speed.

"They haven't been catatonic or raving at all," added Tara, "but they have behaved strangely. Extremely so."

"Well, sounds like they've been through a lot. I mean, a lot! Couldn't it just be stress?"

"True," said Tara. "At one point I nearly set fire to a bar, just out of paranoia."

"But not a pyromaniac." Xander had to nod at this. He really was a bright person, despite the sometimes-silly demeanor.

"If she wasn't a Moon Demon," pointed out Anya, "then eating her heart wouldn't have cured you."

"You're welcome," replied Anya happily, hugging his arm, clearly oblivious to his discomfort but wildly happy to have him back. Tara quietly smiled at the sight. Xander himself relaxed slightly at Anya's touch. But he didn't slow down in his driving.

The sign at the graveyard was wrought-iron, a fairly wide arch above a two-lane road. Xander pulled in and parked as close as he could to the cemetery's center, in a circular area designed for funerals. All three of them popped out, Tara drawing her sword. Xander took the lead, headed straight for the northwest corner. Neither Tara nor Anya mentioned that was where Joyce Summers had been buried. They also didn't ask how he knew to go there. Tara in particular paid attention to every shadow, every sound.

Mrs. Summers' grave was simple. A plain headstone above plain grass, with flowers laid in memory by various visitors. Tara herself had left a bouquet of white roses the previous night. Now, those roses were scattered, along with the remnants of other flowers. Likewise, the grass was ripped up, revealing a gaping maw in the earth.

Slowly, the three of them approached. Even Tara found it uneasy looking directly into the violated grave. The casket lay open. And empty.

"We need to find out something." She examined the lid and interior. Unlike the others, she didn't need a flashlight. "This was opened from the outside."

"But," Tara added, "the lining has been torn. By someone lying inside the coffin." She looked up at the couple standing above her.

"So what're you saying?" Xander asked after a moment, more than a little hesitant. Anya beside him looked less puzzled, but only slightly less upset.

It was Buffy's voice—icecold and furious—that replied. "And what do you know about that, I wonder?" Xander and Anya looked away from the grave, starting at the sound of the Slayer's voice.

With a powerful leap, Tara reached ground level. She landed to see Buffy, Riley and Giles all armed to the teeth less than forty feet away. Dawn and lovely Willow were bringing up the rear. Tara deliberately sheathed her sword. What was needed right now—desperately—was listening and thinking, not fighting. She instantly resolved to go one step further. The Slayer was already approaching, stake in hand. Tara held up her gloved hands. As slowly as she dared, she pulled off the right glove, then removed the Ring of Amara. Everyone here knew that as long as she wore it, neither stake nor sunlight nor pretty much anything else could physically harm her. Deliberately, she tossed it to Buffy.

That certainly got her attention. Buffy stopped. She waited, long enough for Tara to pull off her other glove, revealing no rings on either hand. Now she knew—even if the one she'd tossed was a copy, Tara was not wearing the Ring of Amara. And she'd just made sure the Slayer knew it.

"Never mind about me," interrupted Tara. "You need to find out what happened to your mother."

"The resurrection spell," answered Willow. "Buffy and the others, they made me perform a spell to bring Mrs. Summers back."

"I thought not disagreeing with all of you was a good idea! None of you saw the looks in your eyes!"

Nobody said anything for the longest time. Tara recognized a standoff when she saw one—conflicting desires, plans, options all leading to a tension-laden pause where no one did anything. She herself didn't dare be the one to break it. Only Anya or Willow really were wiling to listen to anything she might say. Waiting was the only option Tara had.

Xander finally broke the silence. "Buffy, you wanted to use magic to bring your Mom back to life?"

"Let me guess—you asked in full Slayer mode, am I right? As in I'm-asking-but-this-is-really-an-order?"

"HA!" Everyone glanced at Anya. "Sorry. I just couldn't help it." She didn't look sorry.

"You know, Buffy," ventured Riley after a moment, "you do lean kinda hard on folks sometimes."

Now Buffy turned to Willow. It actually hurt Tara to see how Willow reacted as if she'd been slapped. But for all their sakes, she didn't dare intervene. She repeated that thought to herself like a mantra.

"I didn't want to raise the dead," said Willow. "But the way you were acting, I was afraid not to."

"Afraid of what?" She took a step towards Willow, who flinched and stepped back. "Of what?" Then, she noticed what had just happened. Her face softened, clearly upset. "Of me?"

Silence stretched again. This time it seemed to last even longer. After a minute or two, or maybe forty, Buffy shifted weight. She dropped the wooden stake in her hand. Her eyes shot between Willow, then Dawn (looking paler than ever), then nearly everyone else. But she did nothing but look.

Riley, dropping his battle axe, went to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Soon, the sound of muffled sobs were heard coming from his chest, where Buffy had buried her face. Gently Riley stroked her hair.

Life, Willow pondered, was aided a surprising amount by lots and lots of little rituals. They gave people shape, she decided. And some kind of purpose. Not really big, grand purpose, of course. At least not the little rituals. But purpose, all the same. Like dinner.

Willow decided Xander was showing uncommon sense in having everybody sit down at the Summers dinner table and share a meal. It was very civilized. And it reminded everybody to be civilized—something she thought her friends had lost track of lately. She could understand why, sympathize even. But all in all, it was better when they remembered. Dawn looked better seated in her regular chair, between Giles and Buffy. The Slayer herself seemed calmer. Riley next to her helped, she guessed. Willow sat on the other side, with Anya and Xander.

The only thing she wasn't quite sure of was having Anya serve everybody dinner—her own effort. No, Willow thought, she shouldn't complain. Anya's stew wasn't bad, really. Maybe a bit gamey, but better than cafeteria food by any measure. Besides, it felt good to just sit down with everybody and talk.

"Buffy," said Willow, "do you still want me to go around raising more dead people?"

"Nope." Buffy smiled a little at Willow's obvious relief. "Guess that wasn't the brightest notion ever."

"Yes, well..." began Giles, but he didn't finish. Just took another bite of stew.

"Still," began Riley, "having a love affair with a vampire." Although critical, his expression was mild. He questioned her. But he didn't condemn.

Willow shrugged. "She saved you life. My life. Buffy's life. Dawn's life. I think she's earned some trust from all of us."

"Trusting her is one thing," said Giles. "Accepting your relationship with a demon is another." He didn't say this with anger, though.

Neither did Tara reply with anger. "Don't you trust Willow?" Which brought on some more silence. At least this time the silence wasn't so much angry as embarrassed. For a full minute or more no one said a thing.

Xander coughed. "I'll tell you later." Anya started to open her mouth, but Xander stopped her with a shake of his head. "Later" he repeated firmly. Dawn furrowed her brow, annoyed at the eternal adult conspiracy to keep her uninformed. Willow remembered it well. Interestingly, she caught her sneaking a peak at Tara—who didn't actually wink back. Not quite, anyway. One more secret ally on our side, thought Willow to herself.

"Can we agree on a truce for now? At least in regards to me?" Tara directed this directly at Buffy, who reluctantly nodded. "Good. Because I need to know—where did you find out how to raise your mother?"

Buffy waited a beat before answering. "What, you're against coming back from the dead?"

"I'm a vampire, not a hypocrite. From what I've read, those magicks tend to get mixed results, but if you're willing to take the risk, fine."

Tara's eyebrows rose slightly. "Somebody knew to dig her up. All of you were together. Who else knew you were going to try?"

Willow enjoyed Buffy's reaction just a little too much. She had the same look Willow had seen on dozens of students in years-worth of classes—usually right after confidently giving an answer that turned out nowhere in the vicinity of correct. Kinda like getting a psychological tennis ball right between the eyes.

An hour and a half later, Tara was glancing over her personal occult library. "I give up."

"No, don't do that," Willow urged her from the desk on the other side of the subterranean room. "The answer's here. Well, it might be."

Tara shook her head. "Buffy didn't know enough about this Doc person for me to do much more than guess what he is. I saw him visiting Glory, so odds are he isn't human, but that's all."

"Maybe they'll find something at his place." She smiled hopefully. Riley and Buffy had loaded up on weapons before heading to the place where she'd met Doc. Upon learning he'd been hanging around Glory's minions, Buffy had been especially eager. Giles, Xander and Anya were researching over at the Magic Shoppe. The sun would be up fairly soon, so Tara headed here. Willow had insisted on coming with, and despite some odd looks, no one said anything. Nice to know something had been salvaged from the recent disasters.

"If I were him, I'd've already relocated. He's got to realize she'll suspect him."

Willow wilted a little at this line of reasoning. But she didn't argue. Looking at her, Tara found herself drawn to the lovely witch's side. She quietly stroked her cheek, the warmth tingling in Tara's fingers. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't." Her hand came up, pressing Tara's and leaning into it. "I should be looking at the bright side."

"No denying that." The slightest of piercing smiles graced Willow's lips. "Then there's the bestest news so far."

My heart didn't really skip a beat, thought Tara to herself. After all, it doesn't beat. Feels like it did, though. "You mean," she asked, "now April will get Warren back?"

Goddess. "We...found a cure for the madness Glory inflicts. But there wasn't enough for all her victims."

"Really!" Now her eyes were getting big again. And her jaw dropped. The whole picture was too, too adorable. "Can you make more?"

Her puzzled expression was interrupted by a movement from the corner of the room. Both of them turned and saw the source. Only Tara was not surprised. Padding out from behind a bookcase was a black and tan kitten, nearly eleven weeks old. Huge green eyes framed by big pointed ears and a pink nose took in the scene. Willow's expression was transformed, to Tara's delight. She'd hoped, believed Willow would like this revelation.

"My kitty." Reaching down, Tara twitched her fingers and the kitten came over to receive the scratch she'd learned to expect. "Not a familiar, you understand. Just a pet." A pet who acquiesced to being picked up and deposited on the desk. Sensing a cat person, she took a step towards Willow and cocked her head. The tiny yelp she made was deliberately plaintive.

"What sentimental reasons?" Even entranced as she was by the furry sphere of cuteness, Willow clearly wanted to know more about Tara's past. This fact made Tara want to explain all she could.

"My dad—he wouldn't let me have a kitten growing up. Called them the devil's beasts. But there was a girl at school—a very special friend...."

"No. But I wouldn't have minded if she had been. I had an awesome crush on her. And she let me play with her cat."

"Soooooo?" By now the kitten was busy, having successfully stalked and captured Willow's hand. Now her forepaws held it firmly while her hindlegs went through the motions of disemboweling her prey. She even gnawed at the young woman's wrist with tiny, pin-like teeth.

"So—I named my kitten after her. My first real crush. Never even got to kiss her."

"Every day for over a year. Then she moved away. And I cried for a solid week. Dad thought—I never knew what he thought. But my brother stopped picking on me for a couple of months after that."

Slowly, Willow reached out and turned Tara's chin to face her. The two of them looked at each other for a long moment. "What was her name?" Willow whispered.

Tara leaned forward, brushed her lips against those of her love. She spoke in a low voice, so low Willow would not have heard her if she'd been even another inch away.

"Well," breathed Willow, "that's probably just as well." She grinned. "I get jealous."

Tara didn't have anything to say to that. Neither did Willow. For several hours.

From the driver's seat, Xander chuckled. He also had the good grace to look embarrassed. A little, anyway. "C'mon, Wil. Its a time honored tradition—checking out your female friends for hickies after a date."

Willow hit him. Not hard, just playful punch in the arm—to which he responded by mock screaming. They continued on for a few minutes before she spoke up again. "Aren't you going to ask?"

"How could I get involved with Tara? Everybody else keeps asking." She said this as lightly as she could manage.

"Nah, I'm too dazzled with the thought of chick-on-chick action to give it much thought." Which earned him another hit. "Hey!"

"Seriously," Xander said after a moment, "my girlfriend used to be demon. Your girlfriend still is one. I figure we've got the makings of one wacky self-help group here. Given this is Sunnydale, we should do a booming business. And besides—are you happy."

At that, Willow felt a grin coming. She let it arrive, and despite everything enjoyed the ride all the way to the Magic Shoppe. Privately, she noted a major shift in her internal clock on the way. Ever since finding out about vampires and the Hellmouth and everything, dusk had been a scary time. No longer. The setting sun now meant Tara could go out without fear of burning. Go out and come to her. Willow's grin broadened. She watched the horizon go red and sky an ever darker blue. Each color so entranced her she didn't even notice when Xander parked.

When she finally did notice, she also noted the look of worried shock on Xander's face. Looking in the direction he was staring soon revealed the reason.

"I will never tell you anything! My lips are sealed in the service of my god! You cannot make me talk no matter what you threaten!"

"Shut up!" Tara's general good mood was evaporating as the robed minion of Glory's went babbling on about how silent he was going to be. Not, she reflected, a situation without some irony. But very, very annoying. "You haven't stopped talking since I nabbed you."

For some reason this penetrated the minion's brain. His beady little eyes blinked in his withered, unhuman face. Now he took a quick look around the alleyway. It was, of course, empty. At least for now. Tara wasn't stupid enough to swipe one of these creatures and interrogate it in an alley where people were likely to wander across them.

"Well..." the minion began, "I won't say anything that will impede the mighty Glorificus!"

"You have no means that could make me say one word that might so much as inconvenience...AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Tara had ripped half of one overlong, pointed ear from his head and tossed it to the ground. "I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING!"

"About time," Tara mumbled under her breath. Before she could say anything else, though, a familiar sound echoed slightly behind her. A not unpleasant sound in and of itself, but one that could hardly mean anything good in current circumstances. Especially since the sound was followed two more identical to it—the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

No time to waste. Using all her vampiric strength, Tara spun and tossed the minion towards whoever-it-was behind her. Three tall, muscular men in chain mail stood there. The nearest wasted no time but gutted the minion in midair.

"His death does not matter, Creature of Evil" said the Knight in the lead. He was the shortest of them, with a neatly trimmed beard. The other two were white, while he was black. "None of the Beast's minions shall be given succor."

"Plots among the Beast's minions for her favor are no concern to us." All three of the Knights began to advance.

"Who're you calling a minion?" Tara drew her own sword. "I was trying to interfere with Glory's plans. Not that you're likely to care." Each continued to advance, forming a circle. "Thought not. I could guess from your choice of weaponry the idea of actually thinking before attacking is too advanced for you to manage."

"Perish the thought," replied Tara. Self-righteous idiots. For a moment she felt a wave of deja vu and remembered her family. Well, at least no one could complain if she fed once these three were disposed of. Looking at how expertly they were handling their swords, she amended her thoughts to "if."

Just before any of them could strike the first blow, the middle Knight suddenly collapsed as if struck from behind. Which, it turned out, he had been. The striker stood—or rather posed—for all to see. She almost negligently picked up the fallen Knight's sword. Hefting it, she tested its weight and balance.

"Oh dear. I fear my hosting duties are ending up neglected. One of the perils of bachelorhood, I fear. Can I get you anything? Some tea? Cocoa? Perhaps some homemade cookies? I have some..."

"That's alright. My name doesn't matter, really. I'm one of those people who's pretty much his job and not much else. Its been ages since anybody has called me anything else. Truth to tell, I think I've forgotten my name." Chuckling. "But you can call me Doc. Everybody does."

Willow followed Xander into the Magic Shoppe reluctantly. Despite everything, this was one place she did not want to be right this second. It was too much. Not that the universe cared, of course.

Even expecting it, seeing him was a shock. Curiously enough, the shock was cushioned by some others. He's wasn't alone.

"Hey." Willow's first boyfriend almost smiled as he turned and saw her. Gunn and Wesley, sitting nearby, said nothing. Perhaps sensing this was something private? And what were they doing here anyway?

"Ah, Willow," said Giles, coming from the back room with Buffy and Dawn in tow. "You're here. Excellent."

"I'm here," agreed Willow, "and Xander and Buffy and—oh yeah, Oz! Along with Wesley and Gunn. Why not?"

"Faith insisted on going on a patrol," added Wesley. "In case you were wondering."

"But what the hell are all of us doin' here, is that it?" offered Gunn. "Faith, she gets this dream she's needed back at the Hellmouth. We're her backup."

"Don't," he said. "Went to this karaoke bar in LA. This psychic told me to come here."

Willow sat down. She needed to sit down. Needed it real bad. "You see," continued Giles, "it seems we've been given aid at what I assume is a crucial time in our struggle against Glory."

"Not as sorry as he's going to be." If anything, Buffy managed to look grimmer. Silence followed for a moment, then the telephone rang. Giles went to pick it up. He spoke in a low voice.

"What are we going to do now?" asked Dawn. She'd obviously been trying not to cry. "Where's Mom?" Her sister put her arm around her.

"From what Giles has been telling me," began Wesley, "the Powers That Be certainly take a dim view of Glory achieving her objective. Unfortunately, as things stand at present, someone close to Buffy is in all likelihood being held by her—or her worshippers. Quite honestly, I fear what that may portend."

"Talk English!" Dawn almost yelled. Her voice cracked, and she turned, hiding her face against Buffy's chest.

Wesley looked abashed. He spoke again only after several seconds of uncomfortable silence. "Glory or her people have your mother. They can force her to get them things. Or threaten her to get Buffy to do the same." Nobody wanted say anything after that. Willow could see why. She couldn't imagine one word to make things better. But worse—that was easy. One thing in particular came to mind. A horrible, maybe supremely needful thing if they were to save Dawn. But Willow couldn't bring it up. Not now.

Giles came back from the phone. "Willow," he said. "Anya is at the hospital with your friend April. She said to tell you that Warren Is Himself Again. I trust you understand what that means?"

Just then, Riley entered through the front door. "Hi everybody," he said before stopping short. "And I do mean everybody," he finished, taking everyone in at a glance. "Or nearly. Where's Faith and Tara?"

"Tara said she was going to try and get information from one of Glory's minions. She knows roughly where in town she might find one."

"Yeah." She felt just self-conscious enough to let her hand stray to her collar. Good. That'll keep him from looking at your throat. Just wave your hand in that vicinity and Oz'll be sure to ignore that.

"Not to be too much of a downer," said Riley, "I've got some bad news. But there's some good news on top of that."

"I checked with some guys I know in the SPD. Seems over a dozen citizens have spotted bands of men wearing chain mail wandering in alleys, parks, cemeteries over the last forty eight hours."

"Religious fanatics," answered Wesley, "among other things devoted to defeating Glorificus and all her minions."

"This is bad?" said Gunn. Wesley, in an eerie echo of Giles, took of his glasses before replying.

"Unfortunately, yes. You see, as far as they're concerned, the Knights alone have the purity and even the right to combat evil. Everyone else is either a dupe, a victim, or evil themselves."

"Gotta love those wacky conservatives," muttered Xander. "Especially the ones still trying to stomp out this printing press fad."

"Plus the fact they want to destroy the Key," added Buffy between her teeth. She looked at Riley. "You said you had good news?"

"Kinda," he replied. "I called in a favor. Within one week an X-Ops Team will be here for the express purpose of dealing with Glory and her followers."

Riley shrugged. "The government knows demons and things like them exist. And that Sunnydale is a hotbed. Glory's been preying on ordinary citizens plus she's been amassing what looks like a small army right on the Hellmouth. It wasn't too hard a sell."

"Well, a small army is what's on the way. I figure with all of us as backup that should increase our odds at least some."

Tara hurt. She hurt more than she had since dying, and that had hurt plenty. Of course this time she wasn't going to die, but in some ways that didn't help. What did help was the knowledge that she'd heal faster now that she was a vampire.

And towards that end she did what she had to. Sunnydale wasn't a large city. The alleys and back streets she traveled by were not rat-infested. In nearly half a mile she'd only caught five, draining each one dry. Disturbingly, three had gotten away. At last she'd done something that bordered on treacherous. Next to a dumpster near campus she found another vampire feeding. He looked like he might have been an athlete in life—built like a barrel, broad shoulders, the like. The woman in his arms was already dead, but he was still drinking, sucking the blood from her neck with slurping sounds.

Slowly, carefully (in part because of her still-healing broken hand) Tara drew her sword. Its tip was snapped off. A pity. Not that it mattered for her purposes. With skill, she approached the other vampire from behind. Deliberately, she made a noise.

He looked up. Faster than any human (although slower than usual) she swung and took his head. Dust sprayed in every direction as he died.

Wasting no time, Tara fastened her own mouth onto the dead woman's gaping throat wound. And drank. It took her a surprising amount of time before she was full. By then, she found her hunger no longer pounding in her ears or tempting her to bite into her own arms to drink.

Limping, she made fairly good time to the Magic Shoppe. The front door seemed heavier now, or at least turning it required more effort. Lights inside disoriented her for a moment, but she heard the sounds of people. Gasps, chairs moving, a smothered curse. Hopefully, those weren't customers.

"Tara!" Like some kind of guardian spirit she was there, eyes full of worry. And love. Enough to rekindle anyone's will to live. Or so it seemed to Tara.

"Willow..." Was that her voice? It sounded like a raspy frog. "Danger," she managed to get out. After that, she was dizzy. Falling, or did it just feel like falling? No, it was indeed falling—or would have been but for Willow catching her.

She didn't even mind feeling her broken bones grind together, if that was the price of being in Willow's arms. I must be delirious, thought Tara to herself. Otherwise, I really should try writing romance novels...

"Eventually, of course. The only reason you can't right this moment is because we're trying to get your memory back. Not having them here helps."

"Well, that too. But there is another possibility. We can use your understandable desire to see them as a tool, a device for helping recover your memories. Do you understand?"

"Here are a series of photographs. As you can see, they are all the identical size. Roughly half of them show things which are important to your past and to your memories. The others have nothing to do with you at all. What we need is for you to choose the ones who do have meaning for you."

"Ah, your conscious mind doesn't remember, that's true. But your unconscious most certainly does. This exercise is to help you access those memories. Are you ready?"

"Very well. I can't say why but these pictures of an axe, a sunrise and a crucifix just drew me somehow."

"That's very good. It means the process is working. And I can tell you this much—all these choices do indeed reflect things from your past?"

"Now, now—no hints. That would be counterproductive. You've one more choice to make. Which picture?"

"Maybe...yes. For some reason, I'm sure. But what would be so special about a picture of a key?"

Willow paced. It wasn't something she usually did, but she'd found a hidden talent at it now. And so she paced.

She also listened. Riley was speaking. "Okay, I gave her a transfusion of blood."

"Thanks, everyone," said Willow. A small chorus of 'you're welcomes' echoed her words.

"Fortunately, my basic first aid training was sufficient. I couldn't really kill her with an air bubble or anything, Tara being a vampire and all. Plus that eliminated the need to do any type-matching." Riley took a deep breath. "I'm kinda amazed at her condition, though. What could have done that to her?"

Buffy nodded. "Glory. Had to be." Which made sense. Anyone who could wipe the floor with a Slayer would have no trouble pounding a relatively young vampire into a pulp. The image made Willow's stomach ache.

"Willow said she was going to try and gain information from some of Glory's minions." Giles looked at Willow. So did everybody else. Willow nodded.

"Not to go all obvious or nothing," asked Gunn, "but what does this hellgod want?"

Tara opened her bruised eyes and saw Dawn. She was out of focus. But definitely Dawn.

Dawn inched a little closer to the prone vampire. She was clearer now—her young face slack with worry and guilt. Her eyes red from tears.

"Not...really," Tara answered. "But...I will be." She looked at Dawn, who clearly wanted to tear her gaze away from Tara's but couldn't bring herself to. Oh dear. Didn't know it was that bad. "Probably looks worse than it feels."

"Well...yeah." Tara smiled. It hurt. "But remember? I'm immortal. Give me time and I'll be dancing." Dawn didn't actually smile in response, but she did seem to relax a little. Good.

"I knew it." The bitterness in her voice was tangible. By an effort of will, Tara made her eye stay open and focus on Dawn. "Because of me. She did this to you to find out about me, didn't she?"

No point in lying. "Yeah." Dawn turned away. The shudder in her frame was very, very slight. But Tara caught it. Just as she knew what kind of savagely stifled sobs caused it. "Not your fault, you know."

"Bull!" Something in the delivery made Dawn turn back to Tara. "What, didn't you hear me?"

"Hey—word to the wise." Tara wet her lips. "No, from the wise. Right now you're being silly. If somebody kidnapped you to get at your sister—would you blame Buffy?"

Dawn was smart enough not to fall into that kind of verbal trap, of course. "No. I guess not." Unless she wanted to, of course. Evidently she did.

"Dawn. I know exactly whose fists did this." She made a gesture towards the bruises she was sure decorated her face. "And it wasn't you. So...stop it with the delusions of grandeur, okay? You didn't hurt me. Not to be crude—you can't. Okay?"

The teenager didn't say anything. Hopefully, that meant she couldn't find any way to argue.

Buffy and Willow stepped inside the workout room. The concern in the latter's eyes, and how she rushed to Tara's side on the stacked floormats, stirred weird thoughts of gratitude for the beating if she got this response. Very, very weird thoughts. Still, it was pleasant to feel the redhead's hand in hers.

"Now," insisted Buffy. Dawn did so with only a little pouting. Buffy didn't say anything more until the door closed behind her sister. "What happened?" She knelt beside Tara.

"Knights of Byzantium interrupted me. I was questioning a minion. Then Faith interrupted them."

Tara shook her head, which made her a little dizzy. "She and I were interrupted again."

"Yes. She beat us both. Didn't even work up a sweat. Faith ended up wrapped in chains and carted off. Me, she let go with a message."

Buffy's face had never looked more frightened, at least not to Tara. The fact her features weren't moving was worrying enough. That she wasn't blinking was, frankly, worse. "What shape was Faith in?"

"Not too bad. Knocked out. So was I, for that matter. Glory woke me up to finish...well, this."

Buffy took a deep breath before her next question. And another. This was so not going to be pretty. "What's the message?"

"Glory said: You can't take her. None of us can. She knows the key is someone you know. If you don't hand it over, Glory will go to everyone you know and make what she did to me look like a pedicure. Right now, she's got Faith. Tomorrow, Faith gets her heart ripped out."

Silence. And again, not a flicker of an expression on Buffy's face. Fury, even weeping, would be better somehow. But...nothing. Instead, Buffy just stood up. "Thanks," she said. Then she headed out the door.

Willow watched her go, then turned all her attention to Tara. Gently, she pressed her lips against Tara's own. "What do you need?" she whispered.

"I know. And I know you still need to heal. We need you." Her eyes seemed to shine. No, not really. There were tears there, ready to flow. "I need you." Deliberately, Willow undid the first few buttons to her blouse. She pulled back the collar, revealing the mostly-healed scar there.

"Yes," was Willow's answer. "Because more than you need blood, I need something." A beat. Her voice sank lower, but fiercer. "I need to know it is me who helps you heal. To feel my strength go into you. I need this, Tara. My love." Willow cupped the back of Tara's head with one hand, bringing her throat to Tara's mouth. Unplanned, Tara felt her face alter, brow becoming furrowed, teeth stretching into fangs.

Fangs pierced. Blood flowed. Tara placed her mouth over a wound as small as she could manage, then began to suckle like a child. Willow moaned, holding her tight.

"Never mind. This one's a little too fragile, anyway. And what good is she if she's broken?"

"Hips such as yours deserve nothing save praise, O Reason For My Every Breath. By 'vast' I referred only to your excellence, which eclipses all others that ever have been or ever might be. This unworthy servant begs forgiveness."

"Okay. Yo! Minions! Take this down and let it rest. Guess I'll have to wait till it heals before asking anything else, the rude bitch. What is it you wanted again?"

"The Summers woman certainly knew the location of the Key. Her memories are returning, and at a good rate. Within one day, no later, I should be able to identify the Key."

"Doc! Doc, you withered little wizard you! If I gave Christmas bonuses you just earned yours!"

"Up till now, the Key could've been anything! A cup, a shovel, the shoebox some kid keeps his baseball cars in! Now we can narrow it down!"

When Willow came back into the main shop, she noted Anya had arrived. Xander's girlfriend sat beside him, clutching his arm in relieved and possessive style. They were part of what could be called a council of war. Right now, Wesley was speaking. Or maybe droning was a better word. No one seemed to like what he was saying.

"True, we don't know precisely what Glory's ultimate intentions are, yet presuming them to be anything other than malevolent in the extreme would be the depth of folly."

"Quite right," said Giles. Nearly everyone looked at him in surprise. After all, the two Watchers didn't exactly get along. "We need to face the consequences of our actions. The fact is, we dabbled in extremely dark magicks and as a result Dawn is in far greater danger than she was before. Faith is missing. Tara has been badly wounded. And Joyce," he faltered for a moment. Then he looked directly in at Buffy and Dawn. "And Joyce is almost certainly resurrected, but in the clutches of Glory. I shudder to think of the implications."

No one said anything after that. Although each managed to etch their own version of misery into their faces. Poor Dawn looked cried out, while Buffy had that utter stillness that meant she was trying not to feel anything. Riley was watching her, of course, but sensed she didn't want any contact. Xander was frowning, he and Anya clearly taking some comfort in each other. Giles looked devastated, at least to Willow's eyes. Gunn and Wesley seemed about as uncomfortable as humanly possible without bleeding.

"I..." Wesley began. Then coughed. Clearly, he didn't need to. "I take it we are all agreed on our objectives?"

"Good. I agree. However, those are no less than three goals. Am I right in believing that the protection of Dawn has first priority?"

Giles spoke before Buffy could open her mouth. "Dawn," he said, "that isn't the decision your mother would have made. And besides, we don't know what...condition...your mother is in at the moment. Whether she even is your mother." H went on inexorably, despite the near-total lack of color in the girl's face. She was listening. In horror. "The ultimate test of such is this—what would your mother want?"

"Perhaps. But you do." Giles spoke quietly. Intensely. "The only question is whether you'll admit it."

At this, Buffy slowly stood up. She made her way over to a knapsack she'd dropped earlier. It was in the corner, next to Anya's purse as well as Dawn's backpack and Willow's own canvas bag full of homework. Buffy took something out of the bag. An envelope. One that Willow recognized, so she wasn't surprised in one way when Buffy took out the photograph of her mother. In another way Willow was shocked.

"Maybe," said a voice from the back of the store, "but you shouldn't have to do it." Tara, still limping and bruised but much better than she had been, took a few steps into the room. "You know where Glory is now. Go. All of you. Rescue Faith while you still can. I can hide Dawn. Willow knows where."

"Maybe you can rescue her, too." Tara shrugged. And winced. "But if you can't..." She reached over and took the photo from Buffy's hands.

Tara had trouble getting down the ladder, but not too much. Oz preceded her, and was ready if catching a falling vampire proved necessary. But it didn't. Both of them were ready as Dawn came down as well. But it was Tara who could turn on the lights. For one thing, she could still see in the dark. And for another, she knew where the switch was.

Hundreds of tiny candelabra lights flickered. Dawn's eyes blinked, hopefully not just from the sudden light. A faint smile seemed to promise this was the case. Oz...took it all in quietly enough. So far that's how he seemed to take everything.

"Wow," Dawn was saying. "This might be the nicest vampire's lair I've ever been in. And I've been in a bunch." She stopped. "Proof, if anyone's listening, that I don't have a life." Scowling, she parked herself on a sofa and took another look around. "No TV?"

Although she felt sympathy for Dawn, Tara's attention was on Oz. He sank to the floor, taking a seat there with no fanfare. Nor words. He took in the room with a simple glance of the area—exactly as she would, Tara realized. As a predator. Nearly a year ago he'd returned to Sunnydale, borderline ecstatic upon having found a way to control the wolf. Everyone had welcomed him home, forgiven him his trespasses and celebrated the success of his quest. Tara had watched from afar. She'd noticed how things remained tense between Oz and his former paramour Willow. Understandable. Maybe even inevitable. And she'd been there when it all came to an explosive collapse—Oz losing his temper, his own shocked terror as what was happening became obvious. His voice screaming to Willow "Run!" had quickly descended into a growl. Then the calm, almost zenlike musician had changed, morphed into a beast, while loathing twisted his face even more. Tara was honest enough with herself to think at the time she had killed a werewolf once before. Not that it had been necessary. Following him, she'd seen the Initiative soldiers capture the creature. Later, she'd been the one to tell Willow what had happened, although the rescue operation that followed had happened without her aid. The Apostate had wondered why she'd gone even that far. Her motive, so she'd claimed, was to win the Slayer's trust.

Now, Oz crouched in her lair, hidden behind dark eyes and a kind of rigid self-control she recognized. What to say? Or, was there anything to say? Did he know? Given his own powers, the answer to that was almost certainly positive. More importantly, what would he do?

Sure enough, Xita had made an entrance. Black and tan, she approached the fascinated teenage girl on the sofa that was usually hers. Dawn did nothing but wait, and watch the sleek kitten. She sniffed at Dawn's shoes, before uttering a trilling sound halfway between a growl and a plea. Then she made the same sound again, insistently.

Dawn reached for said drawer, under an attentive feline's gaze. Xita's tail began to twitch. As the box of kitty treats came out, she began to pace, her eyes never leaving the box and uttering several more trills.

"You want this?" cooed Dawn. "Here ya'go." She held out her hand with three or four of the morsels in it. Xita stared at her. Then trilled. Dawn looked at Tara.

Obediently, Dawn did so. The kitten inched closer, quickly snagging one piece with her teeth then retreating a full five inches to munch down. Dawn, along with Tara and Oz, watched. Soon, Xita swallowed and began inching back for another treat.

Willow braced herself. After all, she was probably as safe as possible. Riley and Xander were both strong and muscly. Buffy was here in all her slayer-ness. Plus Giles, who really understood all kind of weapons when you came right down to it. Anya was no slouch either. Not terribly skilled but enthusiastic and anything but clumsy. So it followed logically that Willow was as safe as she could probably be—under the assaulting-the-stronghold-of-a-god circumstances.

So they made their way into the lobby of what looked like a rather nice condo. Buffy was in the lead, battleaxe in hand. Willow herself almost nervously repeated to herself the spell she'd been practicing. Not really practicing, really. Not in a real way. As in really casting the spell. But she'd gone over it in so many ways and she was pretty sure it would work. Probably.

Everyone nodded. They headed to the stairwell. Just in time, it turned out, as the elevator doors began to open. Everybody managed to get around the corner with relatively little noise. Willow herself was one of those peaking around the corner.

A man emerged from the elevator. Short, a bit wizened, in a nice black suit. From Buffy's description she thought this must be Doc, and glancing at Buffy's face as she looked at him pretty much confirmed it. The two robed minions flanking him made for pretty good clues as well.

"Her Worshipfulness," a minion was saying, "shall no doubt reward those most loyal to her."

"Few could doubt, of course, and those who did would be fools indeed, your own great loyalty to the wonder that is Glory."

"Go on," Doc urged. His face had a kindly, patient expression. The minions cowered at it.

"Put in a good word for us?" blurted out his compatriot. Before wilting as Doc fixed his gaze on the creature. Then, smiled.

"I suggest," said the old man in a low voice, causing the others to go utterly silent, "you prepare for the rescue mission the Slayer and her friends are undoubtedly planning. Secure the brunette. Guard her."

"Even now, she awaits the Splendid Curvy One's return!" offered one minion in a rush.

"You interrupted me," Doc pointed out gently. The minion sank to his knees, weeping. "Never mind. Just get upstairs while I continue working with the woman. Go now." The two of them nearly tripped over each other heading back into the elevator. Doc, almost serenely, headed outdoors into the night.

Fully six seconds after he'd left the lobby, Buffy turned to everyone else. "Anya, Willow—you're the ones Doc hasn't seen. Follow him to where ever he's got my mom. We'll go up and rescue Faith."

"You heard what he said. Glory's not here. If we hurry, we can get Faith out before she gets back. Willow," Buffy said intensely, "I'm counting on you." And with that she headed up the stairs. Riley and Giles followed. Xander was the last, sharing a quick kiss with Anya then a thumbs-up sign to Willow.

"Okay." Willow made a quick pace out of the lobby and onto the street. Doc, it turned out, wasn't far. They followed him. "I just wish Tara was here."

"Thanks for the ride," said Tara at last. She'd been thinking what to say to Oz for what seemed like forever. Probably two whole minutes.

Which effectively cut off the next thing she was going to say. Not an easy thing, this talking with Oz. A year and a half ago, when he'd driven her and Faith to Los Angeles, it had been easier. Or had it? Yes, it had. They'd all had a goal, and had understood enough that silence came easily, comfortably. None of them had really wanted to talk.

"Your kitty," Dawn suddenly spoke up. "She really is just a pet, right? Not some kind of snack?" The girl looked worried.

"Good," proclaimed Dawn and went back to petting Xita. The kitten, meanwhile, realized she'd found a soft touch and was milking the situation for all the scratching and tasty treats she could get. Clever creature. "Has she ever brought you a mouse or a bird or anything?"

"No." Why bother the girl with the truth after all? Blood is blood. Dawn's little sigh of relief told Tara she'd done the right thing.

Several more minutes of playing with the kitten were followed by an offhand remark. "Don't suppose kitty wants to get too close to you," Dawn said to Oz. "Dogs and cats, you know."

"Doesn't know what she's missing," Dawn pronounced. Oz slightly (very slightly) smiled in response.

Tara suddenly had a thought. She'd grown up, learning from childhood the women of her family were demons in desperate need of control. Not as far back as she could remember had she once doubted this. Her sojourn to Sunnydale had only been a temporary respite before her destiny. Or so she'd believed. In fact, soon after arriving Tara had met a demon—The Apostate—who'd made her into what he was, a vampire. And then she'd discovered something. Until awakening the next night, Tara had believed herself part demon. Once she actually became part demon, the truth was viciously obvious. She'd been human. Completely. Obviously. Without doubt. The temptation to go home and have her entire family for dinner had been considerable.

Now, another lie clarified in her mind. Here she was, a demon. And she was in love. More, she was loved. In the room with her was a werewolf. Together they were protecting a little girl—not for hope of using her themselves but out of a genuine desire to protect. Not the behavior she'd learned to expect from demons. Her father had been wrong. No, both of them. For the Apostate had been just as blindly certain of his "truth" as Ezekiel Maclay.

Less than two yards from Tara, Oz was staring at her also. Both he and Dawn seemed very alert. Worried. Xita Kitty hissed, jumping off of Dawn's lap and scurrying under the desk. Not for another few moments did Tara realize why. Reaching up, she touched her now-furrowed brows. Running her tongue along her lips, she felt fangs. With an effort of will, she returned her face to its human visage.

"Sorry." Her voice was quiet. "I was...thinking about something. Remembering, actually."

"It wasn't anything I did, was it?" Dawn tried to smile as she made the joke. She almost made it. The grin wasn't quite right, and her eyes tried to laugh but failed.

Willow and Anya followed Doc for nearly an hour. He made his way through downtown Sunnydale, eventually ending up outside a half-empty office building. Doc went inside, forcing both young women to be more careful. Fortunately, he made his way to the second floor with little enough trouble. They watched him, first from the street, then the stairwell. Upstairs, a long hallway was empty.

Nodding, Anya did so. Willow herself followed suit. The first had no sounds behind it. For that matter, neither did the second or third or fourth. She stole a glance at Anya, whose disgusted look on her face showed the same results. Both put their ears to the next doors.

Anya motioned for Willow to approach. She did so. They each pressed their ears to the door, listening with all their might.

"...which ones?" Doc's muffled voice was difficult to hear. And harder to make out.

But the voice that answered was female. Worse (or better) it was also achingly familiar, even if neither could make out a single word. She seemed to be explaining something at length though. Whatever it was, she ended it with a question.

"Excellent," murmured Doc from behind the door. Steps. Not many. The woman's voice asking something. And asking again. He didn't reply. Instead, he spoke to someone else. With a little shock, both Willow and Anya recognized the quality of his voice with the first words he spoke. He was on the phone.

As one, Willow and Anya stared at each other in horror. In sync, they tried the door. Locked. Then they began pushing at it, kicking. It held. Behind the door, they heard Doc raising his voice. "Tell her Magnificence that the Key is in the form..."

"CONFIGRERE!" Willow shouted, focusing her will. The door shattered inward! Both women rushed inside!

Doc was at an old, battered desk, a phone receiver in one hand. He looked up, his face clearly visible in the light from the streetlamp outside. Other than this, only a reading lamp on the desk provided any illumination. As Doc looked at them, both eyes went pitch black. With what was probably supposed to be a battle cry, Anya rushed at him, raising her mace as if to strike.

A tongue shot out of Doc's mouth—six feet worth. It struck Anya, sending her flying across the room into the wall. Then Doc turned to Willow.

Willow had taken out a handful of herbs and some consecrated dust. Her actions seemed in slow motion, at least to her. So do did those of the creature before her. Slowly, he braced himself in the direction of the red haired witch. Willow drew her arm back. Doc lowered his lower jaw, exactly as he had moments before when striking out at Anya. And Willow threw her arm forward, releasing the herbs and dust, which flew across the room in Doc's direction. Inside Doc's mouth, a tongue seemed to undulate and coil as the the herbs and dust made their way in a scattered arc in the air. Then, the tongue began to emerge—even as the dust and herbs struck its owner.

Doc vanished. Willow had just enough time to realize blood was gushing from her nose before a thousand migraines pounded her into unconsciousness.

Oh no. That wasn't the world. Just seemed like it because all the pain and throbbing the entire world was supposed to contain had somehow ended up inside her head. How had that happened?

And now Anya was screaming at her. Okay, whispering. But it felt like screaming.

"Stop...just...quiet, okay?" Every word out of her own lips echoed against Willow's skull. She opened her eyes to blinding light. Not enough to see much, but still—blinding. Somehow, she lifted all forty tons of her hand, reaching her face in just over seven hours. Or half a second. She wasn't sure there was a difference right now. Sticky. Her hand was sticky now. With deep red stuff.

"Willow...?" Anya ventured again, at what must be the lowest decibel level possible for anything human. "You need to wake up."

Damn. Why did that have to be true? But it was. She began to move her limbs, which set off a dozen new explosions behind her eyes and made her groan. Hands—Anya's presumably—helped her sit up. The impulse to vomit was great, but controllable. Barely. No more teleportation spells, Willow vowed. She peered around the dim room. "Doc" she asked?

"Gone. Went poof. Too late to keep him from telling about Dawn, as it turns out, but the spell worked just fine."

"What about Dawn?" said a woman's voice from the shadows. It was a pleasant contralto, kindly in tone. But there was something in the sound of that voice Willow didn't like. A liquid something. She knew that voice, had known it for years. Nothing liquid had belonged to it before. Of course, that voice's owner hadn't died before then. She gazed at the direction of the voice—managing to spot a blurry shape in the shadows.

"Why...yes. I believe so." She remained seated on what Willow presumed was a sofa. Probably fairly beaten up if it matched the rest of the furniture. "Do I know you?" The shape of the head tilted.

The silence that followed set off all sorts of tiny alarms in Willow. A quick look at Anya set off some more—she looked queasy. Anya wasn't one to turn queasy. "Wil. Low." Joyce Summers voice repeated. "Willow. Are you my daughter?"

"No! But...she and I are friends. Best friends!" Willow found herself rapidly, a little desperately, nurturing a hope that the only thing wrong with the resurrected Mrs. Summers was a touch of amnesia.

Just a shade too slow, the shadowy figure turned to Anya. "Then you're my daughter?"

"Oh. Dear." But now the figure lapsed into another silence. Willow stood up. It still set her brain sloshing around inside her skull cavity but by gritting her teeth she managed. She took a couple of unsteady steps to the door. Towards the light switch. As her hand reached for it, Anya's voice piped up.

Willow hesitated. She suspected Anya was right. But there was an awful decision that might have to be made, and she'd have to make it. The switch moved, flooding the little office with light. Then Willow turned around.

It was the eyes that were the worst. Joyce Summers had had very nice eyes—kind, clear, intelligent. These were unfocused, but worse, they were nearly colorless. Each iris was grey, a pale grey that seemed almost white. A latticework of red veins surrounded them, while each pupil was no more than a tiny black pinprick. On closer observation, though, her skin wasn't much better. Pale lips were the most noticeable, making the polite smile she aimed now at Willow somehow ghastly. Oh yeah, the teeth. Yellow. Or brown? No, both.

"Do you know where my daughter can be found?" the shape of Joyce Summers asked. Willow just kept staring. Against her will, but without pause. Very faint mottling marred the surface. Right now she was as pale as Tare, but vampires don't have bruise-like purple splotches. That liquid quality in her voice hadn't really grown worse, had it? "I know she's the key to...something. That's what I told my doctor."

At the hospital, Tara and Oz escorted Dawn into the Waiting Area. They were met by Buffy, Giles, Riley and Xander.

"Bad," answered Buffy in a flat voice. "They're going over her now. She's got broken bones, and probably a concussion." Her voice cracked a little at this last. Riley quietly took her hand and squeezed. She took a deep breath before going on. "But she'll be alright. She's a slayer. We're tough. Any word from Anya and Willow?"

Buffy looked at her sister. "No sign of her at Glory's." The two of them hugged.

Giles coughed after a few moments, breaking the awkward silence. "So Tara," he said, "you seem fully recovered."

"Nearly," Tara agreed. "And a good thing, too. You're likely to be needing me. Is there any word from Gunn or Wesley?"

"Actually, they checked in a little while ago," said Riley. "Got the Knights of Byzantium staked out, but nothing further to report."

"Gotta love three-sided apocalyptic battles," muttered Xander. "I mean, it just gets too easy good guys versus bad guys." Which earned him a little smile from both Buffy and Dawn.

Now a familiar-looking Doctor approached them all. Tara felt every sense go alert as she recognized him. Ben. He looked very concerned, terribly sincere, but Tara knew he was somehow connected with Glory. And his being here could not be good.

"Ah...Miss Summers?" He took a step back as the entire party glared at him. Each had a different level, but in unison they were all anything but friendly. Tara hoped he was most frightened by her, but wasn't quite upset enough to shift her features and make sure. "Oh. Kay," the intern began, "I just wanted to come and give you a report on your friend." He took another little step backward. Then plunged ahead. "She has multiple fractures in one leg, a compound fracture in an arm, and a broken collarbone. You were right, by the way, there is a concussion but not too serious. Evidently. In fact, she seems quite a bit healthier than she should be. All things considered." As one, Buffy and her friends continued to stare. "Well. The lacerations and bruises are pretty superficial, although they probably sting like hell. And—this isn't too horrible but she probably needs to see a dentist—Faith has lost a molar. It seems to have been yanked out. Anyway, she's under observation right now so there's no reason..."

"Whether you get the reasons or not, I don't care. Do you understand my orders?"

Ben looked like he was about to argue, then thought better of it. "I'll tell someone. Trade off for another case. Okay?" When Buffy didn't say anything, he scampered off.

That was when Willow walked in. Against her will, Tara felt herself react to her presence. Some muscles automatically relaxed, while her senses sharpened just a little bit. And when the redhead's eyes pierced her, she felt worse and better at the same time. Oh how I fear that anything might happen to you, thought the vampire to herself. How mightily you shape my life now. You look hurt, exhausted and unwell. Did someone cause this? How can I keep myself from slaughtering whoever was responsible...? Because you would not approve. Tara trembled in self control.

"What happened?" This from Dawn, clearly appalled at Willow's appearance. She was visibly pale, and holding a paper towel stained with blood against her nose.

"Oh, just some magic that really was too much to handle. Almost. Uh, Guys? Can I talk to Oz and Tara please? Alone?"

Like the red sea, everybody parted and looked at the werewolf and the vampire in the rear—the two who hadn't moved. Tara realized in a flash that Oz had had the identical reaction as herself. And now they acted in unison again. Each walked up to Willow and joined her around the corner in a hallway...

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Never the Twain

By Zahir

zahir@brainlink.com