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Months of researching other dimensions had yielded nothing on how the Winchesters had arrived in Sunnydale or if they could get back, so Sam turned to researching everything else about the world they knew versus the world they were now living in. He’d come up with vessels, or more accurately, a lack of vessels.
Over breakfast he explained, “No one’s been possessed here. (Maybe Willow, but we can’t know.) People have been remotely controlled like I was by the Luxic demon, but not outright possessed. But demons live in vampires. So maybe there’s something about human souls here that just naturally keep the demons out.”
“Or the demons are too big and horny to get in people.” Dean chuckled to himself muttering, Horny.
Excited, Sam pushed his food to the side and leaned over the table. “But get this, there’s almost no record of vessels. No one has encountered angels, so maybe there aren’t any people here who can host them. Maybe that’s why you and I are verging on the edge of super powered here.”
“Okay, I’ll ride the crazy train,” Dean said around a mouthful of bacon. “You said almost no record. What kind of vessels are there?”
“Vampires, at least. It looks like demons can’t get in a body unless it’s dead, but there have to be more, right? I found a book in Greek that roughly translates to Vessels on Earth. It’s part of a collection of rare occult texts in Mesa, Arizona. I’m thinking we can go right after work, grab a motel for the night, and we’ll be home by dinner the next day. Just like old times.”
Sam considered this the whitest of lies. He did know about one other type of vessel in this world: The Slayer.
In his research, Sam had tripped across the Slayer origin story. A young girl tied down by her tribe’s elders – Shadow Men – and filled with “the essence of a demon” in order to fight the demons plaguing them.
The story didn’t add up. Details were sketchy at best; the tale predated writing. How could possessing a girl with a demon possibly be helpful? Why would the demon turn on its own kind? Then there was the fact that Buffy, the current carrier of this demon essence, bore none of the signs of demon possession.
Hopefully, Arizona held some answers.
Mustard, spaghetti sauce, milk, and one serving of broccoli rice. “I don’t feel Iron Chef enough to work with this,” Buffy said.
“Pizza?“ Willow suggested.
"Dawn is, like, ninety percent pizza at this point. It’s to the store with us.”
Wrapping up in their coats and hats, the girls headed into town. “Occasionally, I regret selling the Geekmobile. It’s like my summer brain blocked winter out completely.”
“When are the guys coming back?” Willow asked.
Buffy sighed at the reminder she’d be spending the night alone. “They should be back tomorrow. Sam couldn’t get a lot of time off.”
The pain of separation must have shown on her face. Willow grabbed Buffy’s hand, her eyes soft and concerned. “I can cancel my plans. We can watch something funny, zany even.”
Buffy shook her head. “It’s one day. I’ll be fine. What are your big sparkly plans tonight?”
“Big sparkly library. I’m almost finished with my notes for my Art History paper, then I can start the fun paper-writing part,” she said enthusiastically. “I know I’ve checked all the books for references to ‘It is watching,’ but I may give them another look. It-ness is just so vague. I prefer the vain evils that like their names in lights.”
“Good, that’ll add some bupkis to the bupkis we know.”
“I can be your bupkis supplier.” Willow paused. “That sounded dirtier than I wanted it to.”
“Unintentionally dirty Willow is welcome any time,” Buffy said with a grin.
“Speaking of welcome and maybe dirty, I forgot to tell you about this crazy – well, not actually crazy considering this is Sunnydale, but still loopy for me – thing that happened last week. I was studying out in the commons between classes, and this girl walked up to me. She had this cute blonde pixie and a nose ring that I also weirdly liked. Anyway, we chatted about classes, and she gave me her number. You know what I told her, Buffy? I said, ‘I don’t need a study buddy. We’re not the same major.’ Smooth, right? It wasn’t until after she left with this hurt puppy look on her face that I even realized she was hitting on me. It’s been so long, I forgot what it was like.”
“What was it like? In the feels department, I mean.”
“It was great. Talking with her for a few minutes, I wasn’t thinking about Tara. I was thinking about me and the future of me. Of course later, I cried big ugly snot bubbles of shame over not thinking of Tara.”
“I don’t think Tara would want you to lock up your heart and hotness. You can love her forever, and still move on, snot bubble free. That’s kind of where Angel and I ended up.”
“Only Angel’s not dead. Well, he is, but he’s not and – jeez, can’t you have uncomplicated relationships?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Dead or undead, you’ve taken some great baby steps, Will. Maybe the next step should be letting girls hit on you? How about we hit up The Bronze this weekend? Have some drinks. Get our dance on. You can practice flirting.”
“I was a little queasy when you said dancing, then you said flirting and lost me.”
“Girls’ night out it is!” Buffy said, squeezing her in a hug.
Willow was happy to spend an evening alone. The constant hustle and bustle of the house was like a warm blanket on a winter’s evening, but it was also a distraction. She still needed to head out into that storm. More like storms.
The prospect of a girl’s night out had her stomach in knots. She knew she needed to have fun more. Leave the house more. Engage more. But any form of healing felt like an unearned reward for her losing control. All of it felt like cheating on Tara.
Her second storm was Sam. Deep inside of sweet, nerdy Sam, something was wrong. Something was evil. When the pathway spell had failed, temporarily giving her insight into people, she could see a darkness swirling inside of him, tangled with the light. She didn’t think anything of it, after all, everyone’s insides looked a little different (except the matched set of Buffy and Dean), but then Spike showed up. Spike with his newly returned soul fighting with his demon passenger weirdly resembled what was in Sam.
Did he know? Willow had a million questions and theories about how this swirling darkness came to live in Sam, but she’d thought it best to poke around on her own before broaching the topic. Unfortunately, this new discovery had been quickly followed by Sam’s new relationship, so Willow rarely had the chance to do spells on the sly around him. He wasn’t charmed. He wasn’t cursed. He wasn’t controlled. So what was inside of Sam Winchester?
Sam was engrossed in one of the books they’d picked up, so Dean focused on the music pumping through the diner. Every game you play, every night you stay, I’ll be watching you.
The diner lights flickered.
Dean chuckled into his fries.
Sam looked up from his books. “Did I miss something?”
“The lights flickered.”
“So?”
“Exactly. Don’t mean anything.” Before Sunnydale, he’d have reached for his gun packed with iron-tipped bullets and grabbed the table salt. He’d have checked exits and looked for suspicious behavior in the other diners.
Not anymore. A flickering light was a flickering light.
Dean wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin before tossing the crumpled paper at his brother.
“Mature,” said Sam, tucking the projectile beside his plate.
“We getting a motel, or you wanna head back home an’ spend some real quality time with that book? Slow jams. Lube. Box of tissues.”
Sam gave Dean the exact tight-lipped bitch-face he was fishing for.
“Motel then?”
“You’re worried about her,” Sam said.
“Nah,” said Dean attempting to take a sip from his empty coffee cup.
“We can head back.”
Dean signaled the waitress. “Check?”
Having stayed late at school to work on a group project for History, Dawn was surprised to find the house dark on her return. There were two notes on the counter. At the library. Where else would I be? See you before bedtime, Dawnie! Love, Willow. The other one had ten dollars clipped to it. Not for pizza. – Buffy.
Dawn ordered a pizza. If she was going to be the queen of the usually packed house for a few hours, she would do as she pleased. This involved blowing off the rest of her homework, listening to the pop station she secretly loved, and snooping in Buffy’s room for secrets and clothes she wouldn’t miss.
Dashing upstairs, she pulled out the drawers in Buffy’s night stand. When she was dating Riley, she’d kept her diary in there. For a mystically chosen superhero, Buffy’s diary was shockingly dull. Killed a vamp. Killed two vamps. Killed a demon. Kissed a boy. The boy parts were Dawn’s favorite.
Buffy must have found a better hiding spot. The only things in the drawers were stakes, knives, sticky bottles, handcuffs, candy wrappers, and a long purple…not stake?
Not candy wrappers either.
Dawn rushed to the bathroom to wash her hands in the hottest water she could stand.
Buffy’s night had been weird. At the checkout line at the grocery store, she’d discovered she had left her wallet at home. After running back home to leave something for Dawn, she staked two vamps before grabbing some fast food. To top it all off, she’d called Spike. She hadn’t even noticed herself doing it until after she’d told him where she was patrolling.
Spike walked up to her, pretension stripped. He didn’t saunter. Didn’t prowl. “You and the missus need a hand?”
For the first time in weeks, only one vampire (that she knew of) was likely to rise that night. “No, I just wanted to see how you are with the hand and stuff.” She tried to sound light, as if they were meeting up for coffee.
“My hand?” He held up the completely healed appendage. “Weeks go by and you only talk to me to tell me where to be at night – always conveniently far from you. I go. I patrol. I kick some ass, thank you very much. But days after the fact, you suddenly want to talk about my hand?” He looked at her, into her, opening all the doors and drawers she wanted closed. “Guessing lover boy is out of town.”
Buffy started walking toward a new grave hoping the shadows would hide her face. “I just wanted to check on you. You seem better.”
“I’m not.” Spike hadn’t followed her. He pulled the last cigarette from his pack at glared at her across the chasm of smoke. “I’m peachy. Tip top. Practically skipping on clouds. Does that make you feel better? Lessen the guilt?”
Buffy felt slapped in the face. “Guilt? What do I have to feel guilty about?”
A smirk verging on snarl curled across his lips before he turned away. “You called me, pet. In the future, don’t.”
Willow woke with a start, a note card stuck to her cheek. She scanned the stacks around her, hoping no one had witnessed DroolFest 2002. For the moment, she was in the clear.
If she hoped to get anywhere on the elusive It, she was going to need more caffeine. Shoving her notes in her bag and putting her books on the return cart, Willow headed out into the brisk night air.
She turned off the path to the coffee house. Near a small pond the school called a lake, stood a scraggly old magnolia tree. Tara dubbed it “the most majestic tree on campus,” which was saying something as she made a point of visiting them all.
Willow ran her fingers along the low branches, feeling Tara’s sweetness in the air.
“Baby, it’s me. I miss you.” For once, Willow could say the words without tearing up.
“I’m sorry I haven’t tried talking to you. I’ve felt, I don’t know, dirty? Ashamed. Not myself. Not your Willow. I think I’m getting better though.
“Is it beautiful where you are? Of course it is, you’re there. I, uh, I haven’t gotten less cheesy.” Not that Tara would have minded. She was always one to revel in gooey affection.
“It looks beautiful from here,” said a familiar voice. An impossible voice. There, on the other side of the tree, stood Tara.
For good measure, Dawn stuck her tongue out at Buffy’s cream lace blouse before shoving it back in the closet. The closet-cleaning a month before had turned Dawn’s second wardrobe into Dullsville.
Pushing aside a tote full of purses on the closet floor, she found a forgotten black miniskirt. Dawn wiggled out of her jeans to try on the new treasure, already preparing arguments as to why she should be allowed to wear miniskirts to school.
“She’s such a hypocrite,” Dawn complained to no one as she continued to dig around the mess on the closet floor.
The lights flickered with a slight buzz.
Dawn sat back on her haunches and peered at the light, daring it to interrupt her with anything remotely similar to a chore.
Grabbing a tiny navy thing, she bounded to the mirror to hold it up. “Dress or top? I vote dress.”
The mirror cracked; blood streamed from the cracks and across her reflection.
Dawn grabbed a small dagger from the dresser and ran downstairs.
The front door blew open in front of her. Wind howled into the house though no trees moved outside. Dawn threw her weight into the door, eventually closing it.
Her heart pounded as the lights flickered again. She grabbed the phone in the kitchen and called Buffy. It rang without answer.
The back door creaked open. Dawn slammed it shut and shoved a chair in front of it.
Was something trying to force her outside? Just beyond the light of the windows, she could make out two men standing in the yard. Vampires. A vampire couldn’t have gotten into the house. A demon?
Gripping her dagger tighter, Dawn padded through the house in her bare feet, gathering books and ingredients for a protection spell.
The vampire Buffy’d just kicked in the face recognized her. This wasn’t the usual Finally, we meet, Slayer, sort of recognition. He was Jason Chen from her Geometry class at Sunnydale High. He was shy of six feet, muscular even through his suit, with dark shaggy hair.
“We sat next to each other all semester? I let you copy my test answers?” he said.
“Sorry, don’t remember.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. I wasn’t so great at math.” He ran his tongue over his fangs.
“Well, I passed, so thanks?”
He smiled at her, but not the hungry, cocky smile she was used to from vampires. “You know, I had the biggest crush on you.”
Heat rose in her cheeks despite herself. “Really? You never said anything.”
“I was pretty sure you didn’t know I existed. Looks like I was right. Plus, I heard a rumor you were dating some older guy and – Whoa, what happened?” He ran his hands over his now smooth forehead.
“You changed back into your human face. You can switch between human and vampire. I recognize you now. You’ve lost weight!”
Jason smoothed his suit jacket and beamed at her. “Yeah! I took up boxing in college and burned off the baby fat.”
“You look good for a dead guy,” she said and meant it. He’d been baby-faced and pimply in high school; now his features were sharp, and a glint of sex flashed in his eyes.
“Thanks! I feel good, too! Like I finally have a purpose in life – er, death.”
“I’m sorry about that,” she said, quietly.
He pointed at her cross and stake. “Guessing this isn’t new to you?”
Buffy shrugged. “Some people have careers; I got a calling.”
Jason shoved his hands in his pockets, casually letting her know he wasn’t afraid. “That explains a lot actually.”
“A lotta what?”
“You missed a bunch of classes, and you usually had cuts and bruises when you showed up. You seemed super sweet, but you were always in fights. People thought your boyfriend was some cult leader who was beating you up, but all this time you were Buffy the vampire killer.”
“Slayer.”
“Slayer?” He repeated it with skepticism.
“The girl called to kill vampires and demons. She’s called the Slayer.”
Jason grinned. “There’s a whole big world of darkness out there I need to learn about.”
Buffy shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jason, but you’re not going to survive the night.”
Quick on his feet, he spun to the side, beyond her reach. She swung into a round house, knocking him to the ground. He popped up, catching her ribs with a left hook, forcing all the air from her lungs. She elbowed him in the face, knocking him to the ground again. Buffy fell on him, pressing him into the grass with her knees, stake high.
Jason raised his hands in surrender. “I understand you have a grand scheme and all, but can’t we keep with the catching up?”
“You want a mini high school reunion in a cemetery before I kill you?” she asked, stake still raised.
“Why not? You make it sound like one of us isn’t going to make it to our tenth.”
“Who goes to the tenth? The twentieth is when people stop being fakey fakers,” she said with disgust.
He smiled, his deep dimples on display. “You’re confident you’ll live that long? Your confidence is one of the things I always liked about you.”
She climbed off of him and made herself comfortable on an elaborate tombstone. The idea of talking with a near stranger she could then kill appealed to her. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Lots of training.”
The vampire rubbed his face and shook away the blurry vision she’d no doubt doled out. “Do you just kill vampires? How did we get locked into being nemisises? Nemisi?”
“I kill lots of things that hurt people.” She was too tired for the spiel.
Jason took off his jacket, his dress shirt tight on his biceps, and sat on a nearby tombstone. “How do you know I’m going to hurt someone? This is a major case of guilty before proven innocent!”
Buffy cocked her head to the side, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. “You’re not a case; you’re a monster. You can’t tell me the idea of someone screaming and crying while you drink their blood doesn’t get you all a twitter.”
He smacked his lips. “Yeah, that does sound good.”
A question nagged at her every day, a question she rarely got to ask. “So why’d you do it? Why’d you drink the blood?”
The house was so eerily silent, Dawn swallowed to pop her ears. She tried to steady her breathing; Buffy was always on her case in training about her breathing. Closing her mouth, she took long, deep breaths through her nose and refocused on the protection spell ingredients spread out on the coffee table.
Behind her, something else was breathing.
Dawn spun around, but nothing was there.
A scream rose rose seemingly all around her before the television flicked on to an old horror movie with the volume turned up. She tried to turn it off.
Nothing.
She pushed all the buttons.
The woman continued screaming.
Dawn unplugged the tv.
The screaming did not stop.
Suddenly, everything flicked on. The radio blared a new pop song. The vacuum cleaner roared to life. The microwave began to cook. The lights burned bright until they hummed.
Dawn ran back to the spell book on the table. Lighting a dry rosemary sprig and tossing it in the metal bowl, she held a small mirror up to reflect the light. Over the screaming electronics she shouted, “I, Dawn Summers, cast you from this house, from this realm, back to the – AHH!”
In a flash, all of the electronics exploded filling the room with shards of metal, glass and plastic.
The eerie quiet was worse in the dark.
“You think that will scare me?!” she shouted, her face and arms stinging from the shrapnel. “I’m in high school!”
Bang!
The knocking came from inside the house.
Bang!
She trembled.
Bang!
Framed against the moonlit window stood a familiar shape.
“Mom?”
Lightning flashed, black smoke surrounded Joyce, squeezing her neck and ramming down her throat.
“MOM!”
The lights came back, like someone had flipped a switch, and Dawn was alone again in the wrecked living room.
Willow felt as if the ground opened beneath her, and she tumbled forever into the dark. She squeezed the branch harder, the bark biting her skin, pulling her back to reality. But in reality Tara was dead.
“How?” Willow choked through the rising tears.
Tara, her edges practically glowing, smiled a pained smile. “This isn’t how it’s normally done, but you’re special. I always knew that, but Heaven knows it too.”
“Heaven?”
Tara nodded. “They let me come to you.”
“Oh, baby!” Willow threw herself toward the woman she loved only to pass through her. The ghost left a tingle on her skin, a charge like being dangerously close to a lightning storm.
“You know I’m only here in spirit,” Tara said.
“Tara!” Tears blurred Willow’s vision. She wanted nothing more than to hold her lover one more time, kiss her soft lips, play with her silky hair.
“I have a message for you, a warning from Heaven.”
Willow wasn’t sure if she was more shocked that anyone in Heaven cared about her specifically or that whoever it was cared enough to warn her about something.
“You have to stop practicing magic,” Tara said. “You’ve become dangerous.”
“But–but Giles said stopping would be dangerous. He said small spells–”
“No, you have to stop completely, Willow. You have to stop, or you’re going to kill everyone.”
Jason sighed. “Have you ever been in a relationship that ripped your heart out? Not boo-hoo sad, more I-can’t-breathe grief?”
“Oh yeah.”
“She left me a month ago. I had a ring ready and everything, and she ran off with my best friend.” His voice almost cracked.
“God, that’s awful!”
“Finals were coming up. I was just so stressed and sad, I thought I’d come home for the weekend. Only no one in my family wanted to hear about it. Dad only cares that my grades are good; he wants me to take over his law firm. Mom was busy helping my older sister plan this giant wedding. My little sister, well, I think she was too high to notice I was home.”
“I’m sorry, Jason.”
She’d barely noticed him in school. He’d been a convenient way to pass Geometry. In fact, she couldn’t even remember who he had hung out with. How many days did he sit by her, yet another person not listening?
“Eh, I was bleeding out in a parking lot, and the offer of joining an undead army of evil didn’t sound half bad.”
“Army? Your sire used the word ‘army?’”
“‘Sire?’ Is that what I call the guy who made me all grr-argh? Sounds so formal.”
Jason ran his fingers through his thick hair while he inspected her, the hunger growing in his eyes. He would be ravenous by now. “Was your breakup recent?”
“Sorry?”
“You look sad, and when I mentioned bad breakups…It still hurts, doesn’t it?”
Killing Angel was a wound that would never heal, but him moving away? That was more scabbed over. She loved him still, but now it was more nostalgia for first love, the thrill of infatuation. He couldn’t give her what she needed.
As far as Riley went, she’d never loved him. The timing hurt more than his leaving.
But they were old news.
“No! I’m in a great relationship!”
He snapped his fingers. “Damn! You probably wouldn’t have gone out with me anyway, since I’m a vampire and all.”
She forced out a laugh of agreement.
“If your relationship is so great, why are you so sad?” he asked.
Suddenly, she knew why she’d called Spike. “It doesn’t have anything to do with my boyfriend. Not really. It’s just that my ex – not the one I loved – still comes around every once and awhile. He’s going through a hard time, and I don’t know how to be his friend. We’ve been enemies, confidants, lovers, allies, but I don’t know how to help him.”
“Did you know how to be his friend before the new boyfriend entered the scene?”
Buffy bit her lip and looked away. She and Dean had talked about Spike as much as they needed to – why he was still alive, how much he helped her after she rose from the dead – then she dropped it. The truth was, she had a hand in Spike’s suffering and didn’t want to deal with the fall out.
Jason stood up and stretched, a warm up. “Not gonna lie, that’s kind of crappy of you, but he’s got other friends right?”
“No, Spike is –”
“Wait, did you say Spike? British guy. Bleached blonde rock and roll type. Vampire?”
Her stomach sank as she gripped her stake. “Yeah, that’s him.”
The new vampire unleashed a deep, knee-slapping laugh. “Your friend, no your EX is a vampire?! Oh God, that’s hilarious!”
“How do you know Spike?”
“Spike’s the one who sired me.”
Buffy’s arms felt weak. Her knees shook. He had a soul and a chip. “No, he wouldn’t.”
Jason wiped away his tears of laughter. “I was leaving the gym after a workout. He grabbed me in the parking lot, said I could finish bleeding out or be part of something big–”
Before he could finish, Buffy lunged.
Sitting on the coffee table bandaging her feet, Dawn tried calling Buffy again. “Please! Pick up!” she cried. Hanging up, she whispered, “Mommy?”
The lights went out, when they returned a moment later, the words Daddy left us dripped down the wall in blood. The lights died again briefly and the message was gone.
The house started to rumble and shake, her own personal earthquake.
She grabbed the phone and dialed again, barely able to speak through the fear. “Dean? It’s Dawn.”
“Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” His voice was strong and alert, comforting.
She whispered, “Something’s in the house.”
“What? Like something demon or –”
“I think there’s a ghost and a demon and there’s a bunch of vampires outside. My mom is here, but so is something else–”
“Your mom? Sorry, but that ain’t your mom. You dealt with ghosts much?”
“Not really,” her voice drowning in tears.
“Listen, Sam and I are on our way; we’ll be to you in an hour. Make a circle with some salt. Sit inside. Do not let the circle break, okay?”
The house went dark, and Dawn could hear something growling. “Okay,” she whispered before hanging up.
Dawn ran to the kitchen, her feet stinging as the growling filled her ears, hot breath on her neck. Grabbing a large container of salt, she dashed back to the living room, tracing a thick line of salt around the coffee table and chair.
BANG!
Startled, Dawn fell back and knocked her head on the edge of the table, a small cry escaping her throat. A vampire stood at the window licking his lips.
It’s okay. You’re okay. Even if he breaks the window, he can’t get in. But no matter how many times she reminded herself, she didn’t feel better.
Dumping the ashen contents of the copper bowl, Dawn started over with her protection spell. Horehound tossed to the four corners. Cumin beneath her chair. Anise, angelica, mandrake in the bowl.
Joyce appeared in the living room. She tried to run to Dawn, but the black smoke smacked her against the wall. It held her by the throat as she screamed, “Don’t hurt my girls!”
“Hang on, mom!” Dawn lit the rosemary and held up a mirror to the flame. “I, Dawn Summers, cast you from this house, from this realm, back to the darkness you came from.”
A harsh wind ripped through the room, picking up bits of broken glass.
Focused on her mother, Dawn squinted to protect her eyes. “I, Dawn Summers, call on the power of the crone, the maiden and the mother, to cast you out. You have no part of this hearth. I, Dawn Summers, cast you back to hell!”
The mirror cracked in her hand, slashing across her palm. But beside her stood her mother, glowing and beautiful as Dawn always imagined an angel would be.
“You were so brave,” Joyce said.
Longing for her mother’s embrace, Dawn tried to hug her, but her arms passed through with a slight tingle.
“I want to hold you, Dawnie, I do, but you know I’m not back from the dead.”
“M-m-mom? Why are you here?”
Her smile was warm and kind. “I knew something bad was coming for you, and I had to protect you.”
“I-I tried to call Buffy,” Dawn said with a sniffle, “but she didn’t answer.”
Joyce’s smile faded and she looked away, struggling to find words. “Dawn, honey, Buffy was killed tonight.”
Willow wasn’t sure if she’d sat down on purpose or if her knees simply gave out, but she was on the damp, cold ground, clinging to her bag like it was a life raft. “Everyone, everyone? That seems like too many ones. Anyone is too many ones. I-I don’t kill people.”
Tara’s face turned dark. “Do you think I don’t know what you did? You murdered Warren. Is that what you thought I wanted?”
Bile rose in Willow’s throat. The tears came fast and hot at she reached out to Tara. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I lost control without you!”
“You don’t have control now, sweetie.”
“I do! I do. Giles took me to this coven in England and –”
“It won’t be enough. You’re going to slip up again. You’ll get drunk on power and then… Which of your friends do you think you’ll kill first? Buffy to get her out of the way? Or will you start smaller? Will you start with Dawn?”
“No! No!” Willow’s pleas turned into a cough, a furious need for air.
“There’s a way to make sure everyone you love stays safe,” Tara said, her voice like warm honey. “If you sacrifice yourself, everyone else lives.”
Willow sat up and wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. “Sacrifice? You mean kill myself?”
“You’d die a hero, honey, and we could be together again. Forever.”
Willow stood and glared at the image of Tara before her. “Who are you?”
Tara’s lips curled in a playful half smile. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m your Tara.”
“My Tara would never, ever push me to kill myself,” Willow said darkly.
“Suicide thing too much? Damn. Gotta give me credit for trying.”
Energy ran through Willow’s body, warming her, making her tremble.
The thing noticed. “What are you going to try to blast me with one of your cereal box magic tricks? You can’t touch me. I am older than time. I am older than earth. Reckoning is here, kid.”
“Reckoning? Big talk. Is the big bad gonna make us pay?”
The thing laughed. “Make you pay? Like you could give me anything. I’m done watching. It’s time to strip you of what you don’t deserve. There won’t be enough of you left to shiver in the cold when I’m done.”
Surprise replaced Willow’s rage for a moment. “You! You’re the one who watches?”
“And I’m going to love watching this.” Tara snapped her fingers, and suddenly she and Willow were floating a thousand feet in the air, the college a scatter of lights beneath them.
As Willow raised her arms, now glowing white, her body jerked, and she was free falling, Tara rapidly becoming a pinprick in the sky. She felt as if her body were tearing itself to pieces. The fall yanked her screams away to no one. As she hurtled to the ground, her vision whited out.
