AUTHOR: Zahir (zahir@brainlink.com)
WEBSITE: http://www.virtue.nu/zahir
FEEDBACK: Well, yeah! And not simply compliments, if you're so inclined. Personally, I'd like some real constructive criticism.
ARCHIVING: Just ask is all.
SYNOPSIS: This is a sequel to "Never The Twain?" set in an alternate history in which Willow never completed the Soul Restoration Spell. Of all the changes that flow from that one, the biggest is that Tara is a vampire. Oh, and Faith never worked for the Mayor. She now lives in Los Angeles, along with her Watcher, Wesley. Following events in Sunnydale, Willow and Tara pay her a visit and are caught up in the machinations of Wolfram and Hart.
COUPLES: W/T, F/G, F/L, L/D
RATING: "R" (for violence and various adult themes)
SPOILERS: Up through and including S5 of "Buffy," halfway through S3 of "Angel." A few minor things after that, but I do mean minor.
DISCLAIMERS: The toys I'm playing with belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I promise not to make money off them and to put them back none the worse for wear. My hope is that they won't sue me. Besides, I don't own much. Honest.
NOTES: Okay, the story is taking a little more time than I'd planned. But that's fine. And I'm rather proud of the cliffhanger ending this time. What do you think?
***
Tara pushed the pile of debris down behind her. Enclosed by the walls of the sewer, the crash made a terrific noise--enough to let their hunter know where they were. If he didn't know already. She feared this would only slow him down.
"Patch! C'mon!" Faith had one arm around Willow, who limpled on a freshly twisted ankle. Tara wasted not a moment. She strode to the girl she loved and picked her up.
"Where to?"
"I've got an idea."
"Glad someone does." Tara followed as Faith raced down the tunnel. She clutched Willow to her, making the best speed she could. Almost, she prayed it would be enough.
Behind them, crashes echoed as the hunter smashed his way through the debris Tara had left behind. The animalistic growls he made were common enough. Vampire. And attacking in broad daylight. But from the moment he'd crashed through Faith's door and stormed in--without any invitation--they'd all known here was no ordinary vampire. Faith, acting with perfect instinct, had feinted an attack with enough skill to plant a wooden stake directly into his heart. One split second had followed, when they'd all begun to relax. A vampire had a stake in his heart. They all knew what followed. Dust. Skin, followed by hair and other soft tissue and finally his bones. All three of them had seen it countless times. In all, a process that lasted half a second or so.
Then, he'd pulled the stake out. Much of the rest of the fight was a blur to Tara. Yet some images could not help but replay over and over in her mind. How he'd stood in direct sunlight, not even smoking. The holy water tossed in his face that made him--wet. Upon his finger was no ring. Tara had looked. Pointless, that. Only one Ring of Amara ever existed and had been destroyed months before. It had been torn from Tara's finger by an enraged god who crushed it in her hand. So that clearly could not be the reason he survived holy water, sunlight, a stake through the heart and managed to enter a home uninvited.
Still, she had looked.
"He kept talking about how he loved her," muttered Willow.
"What's that, Red?" Faith was ahead only a yard.
"That vampire. He kept yelling about how much he loved her, how you're going to pay. Stuff like that." Her voice very nearly didn't tremble at all. But Tara, holding Willow in her arms, knew that was a front. She was shaking like a leaf.
"I don't much talk to 'em, Red." Faith dismissed her words.
"Maybe," ventured Willow, "its a clue."
"Yeah, maybe." But the Slayer clearly wasn't listening.
Willow looked at Tara. "Have you ever heard of a vampire like this?"
Tara shook her head. "Never."
"Oh." Clearly, she'd been hoping for a different answer. "Too bad."
"No argument there, Red," Faith said from up ahead.
Quietly, Tara agreed. No argument at all.
* * *
Lilah Morgan swallowed the dregs of her fifth cup of coffee. The coffee pot was large, surrounded by now with over a dozen used cups. When fresh, the brewed liquid inside had been strong enough to snap a hibernating bear into conciousness. Now, hours and hours later, it might qualify as battery acid.
She could feel herself on edge, but with too little sleep something had to be done. Leaning against the wall, she took in the scene of the conference room which had been given over to her. A variety of odd (some very odd) people were pouring over a variety of scrolls, books, journals and at least one pile of thin bronze tablets.
These occult scholars needed to be watched. Left to themselves, nine out of ten would dive into some esoteric piece of mystic fine print that offered the hope of solving some personal obsession. Johnson, for example, wanted to turn his mother back into a human being. To Lilah, this made Johnson not only irritating but pathetic. She'd never been close to her own mother, so that part of it wasn't really applicable. Her father, on the other hand--or Aunt Ceelee. Alright, imagine one of them had gone trying to steal jewels from a gorgon's cave (Dad? No. Ceelee? Possibly--but they'd have to be damn fine jewels) and gotten petrified for their trouble. Would Lilah have been upset. Sure! Enough to try and find some kind of cure? Probably. But after the first couple of decades Lilah felt sure she'd've learned to cope. Johnson's thirty year quest merely confirmed him as an epic momma's boy in her opinion.
A momma's boy who had to be watched like a hawk.
Diane Vickers wasn't much better, with her efforts to finally translate some scroll supposadely written in Vl'hrg on the hide of a unicorn. Right. Or Rocelli's endless re-calculations about the birthing cycle of cthonians.
What a bunch of losers.
But--expert losers.
Holland Manners breezed into the conference room, smiling his we're-all-one-team smile. "Lilah? Any news on the Congressman's nephew?"
"A few solid leads, sir," she replied, acutely aware the lead was solitary and tentative to be really optimistic, "but nothing nailed. Not yet, anyway." She looked at Endicott as she said this, thinking about how he'd react to being the one nailed. Literally. Mildly telepathic, he blanched and bent further over the tome he was perusing.
"Good, good" murmured Holland. "Listen, what with this Vampire With A Soul business your workload has increased quite a bit. At least for now." He lowered his voice. "Tomorrow night is important, and not just for the firm and the project. I'm speaking of your career, Lilah. You realize our visitor offers some real opportunities?"
"Yes, I do know that, sir."
"And you're not one to shy away from such, I know." He grinned. No, smiled. A warm, comforting smile that seemed to ooze goodwill. Holland was nothing if not a master liar. "But for that you'll need to be at your best. Well-rested, for one thing. So the firm has arranged for a room in a nearby hotel. Not five star, sorry to say, but four is not something to dismiss." In his extended hand was a hotel room key. Lilah took it. Not that she had much choice.
"Thank you."
Reaching out, he touched her hand. "Just taking care of our assets."
Lilah watched Holland leave the room, sweeping out like a Vizier having just checked on the progress of his master's pyramid. Which wasn't too far from the truth. She tapped the key against her hand. Now what was the real reason for this largesse? The phone would be bugged, naturally. Would the room be secretly videotaped? Most likely. But why? Holland clearly was in on this, but try as she might Lilah couldn't figure out what the goal here might be. Of course, the possibility existed this was simply a ploy to increase her loyalty to the firm. No, that didn't feel right. Had she been a squeaky clean associate--but Lilah's hands by now were not only dirty they had blood on them. So what was the goal?
"M-m-miss Morgan?"
It was Johnson, all two hundred seventy five pounds of him. As usual, wearing clothes both shabby and too small. Why, if he was going to let himself go like that (which was his business, after all), couldn't he buy clothes that fit?
"Yes?"
"I think perhaps we might have possibly found something."
* * *
After nearly two hours of running through the sewers, Willow was exhausted. Not that she'd been actually running. Her own efforts since spraining her ankle had been of the hanging on for dear life variety. But that hadn't made it any less tiring. Nor had knowledge that a seemingly invincible vampire still was chasing them done anything for her strength or peace of mind.
Besides, Faith and Tara were tiring. She could tell.
"SSSSSLLLLAAAAYYYYYEEEEERRRR...!"
The male voice echoed against the slimy walls of the sewer. By now they'd all heard it enough to recognize he was getting closer. Again.
"YOU'RE GOING TO SUFFER! THE WAY YOU MADE HER SUFFER!"
"Any idea who this She is he's going on about?" Tara's voice showed an edge. Carrying even a small person like Willow was bound to wear down even someone with superhuman strength. And it showed.
Faith shrugged. "I'm supposed to keep track of every single vamp I stake? Hell, if I did that I'd never have time to brush my teeth!" Yet neither one of them slowed.
"I have a theory," said Willow, weakly.
"Well, I'm listening!"
"You said something about a blonde vampire who gave you trouble last night?"
"Yeah, what about her?"
"Actually, that was the guy who's chasing you's chickadee." The man's voice came from around the next corner. Its owner turned that corner--and his eyes went huge as Faith picked him up by the front of his shirt to slam him up against the wall!
"Talk!" Not a girl to waste words was Faith.
"Whoa! Easy on the outfit!" The scruffy little man with a battered hat didn't seem nearly as upset as Willow would have been. Not even when Faith slammed him against the wall again.
"Ow." He whined.
"Whistler?"
Both Faith and Willow looked at Tara. "You know this creep?" the Slayer demanded. She looked very, very cranky. And that was very, very scary.
"Hey, we just met once is all," Whistler answered for Tara.
"About a year or so ago." Tara confirmed. "He pointed out a danger to Dawn."
That seemed to soothe Faith down some. She turned back to the...man...pinned to the wall. "Okay. And what do you know about Captain Invincible back there?" With a jerk, she indicated the direction from which they knew their stalker was coming.
Whistler gave a kind of shrug. "Quick version or long?"
SLAM!
"Okay, short version it is." He took a breath. "James was in love with Elizabeth. You killed her last night. Now he's out for your hide."
"But--" Willow spoke up quickly, "how come he can't be staked? And sunlight doesn't make him go poof?"
"There's this demon doctor that can do that for you. Involves taking out your heart and a lot of mystical mumbo jumbo. Problem is, the effect only lasts six hours. Then he goes bye bye forever."
"Oh! That's good." Willow said, then looked at the others. "Isn't it?"
As if in answer to her question, James appeared at the far end of the tunnel. He snarled in triumph at seeing them, his golden eyes feral. "AT LAST!" Each step he made was purposeful, dangerous, eager.
"This way, this way!" Whistler was squirming in Faith's grasp, pointing to the way where he himself had come.
"Dead end," growled Faith, her eyes locked on the approaching vampire.
"Not now!" Whistler hadn't seemed very nervous before. Now, he was. So, for that matter, was Willow. But then, she'd been that way for awhile now. Faith didn't seem to be listening. "I mean it! That's why I'm here! To save you guys."
Tara wasted no time. She headed straight for where Whistler pointed. Passing Faith--who was still staring at the nearing James--she hissed "Come on!"
Faith let Whistler go. He slumped to the ground, then got up. But Faith turned towards James, her stance ready for combat.
"Are you nuts?" Whistler demanded.
"Slaying vamps is what I do." James was grinning as he got closer.
"But he's good as toast already!"
Willow didn't hesitate. She focused her mind, conjured the image of what she needed in her mind. The familiar tingle began at the edge of her senses. Words came from her mouth--and a force erupted from her extended hand like a gust of hurricane wind. It didn't last long, just enough to push the vampire at least a dozen feet back.
"Faith!" Willow yelled. "We won't leave you!"
Her back showed a stance still ready to fight. She clearly wanted to battle it out with James, heedless of the fact he was now invulnerable to anything she could do. Or the fact that he'd simply die soon if simply left alone. Willow found herself more frightened by Faith than by the vampire. And for her.
"Faith!" She bellowed. What if she wouldn't leave?
But then, as James struggled to his feet, Faith at last turned around. Her face was grim, shaken, but no longer obsessed. "Let's go," she breathed.
Whistler led the way.
* * *
Tara didn't know how they got here. For that matter exactly what "here" was remained open to question. No, questions--plural.
"Uh," Willow's eyes were her patented huge as she tried to take in their environment, "I don't think this is a sewer."
Faith looked around as well. "No kidding."
Red curtains hung on every side, forming walls like billowing blood. Openings in the curtains showed more curtains, making corridors with T-sections. A uniform light--neither dim nor blinding--shone from the fearureless ceiling, reflected from the patterned floor of hard wood. The room where they--Faith, Tara, Willow and Whistler--stood was a neat square. No sign lay in any direction of a door through which they might have come.
"This is weird," ventured Willow, "but on the bright side, I don't see any unstoppable vampires following us, right?" This last was spoken with hope towards Whistler.
"Right," he said, nodding. But he didn't seem that happy.
"Okay, I'll ask," said Tara at last "where the hell are we? Assuming, of course, I haven't already guessed?"
"Not hell," answered Whistler.
"So you say." Faith shot him a glance while pacing, taking in the location. "Oh, and by the way, what are you while we're at it?"
"Demon. Technically. But hey--so's the redhead's honey over here."
"Exactly," interrupted Tara, "where are we?"
"This here is kinda an in-between place. Like..." he paused, seemed to gather his thoughts. Tara thought it likely he was about to try and explain something mystical without getting all technical or poetic. No small feat, if he could pull it off. "Okay," he resumed "most people think of time as a more or less straight line, y'know? But that's not really accurate, not in the big picture. Its a lot more like a spring that loops around in a circle. This place," he gestured with his head "is in between the coils of the spring. Between the way time went one way, and the next cycle, if you get my drift."
Faith looked baffled. Willow nodded in understanding. "You mean," she said, "we're outside of time."
"Exactly."
"And presumably," Tara went on, "from here we have access to other cycles of time?"
"More like they have access to you."
"Oh."
"Which means what?" snarled Faith.
The demon took a slow step away from Faith. "It means you're here to meet somebody. The Powers That Be wanted you two" he gestured at Tara holding Willow "to connect with somebody. And this was the best way to arrange it. Or at least," he added, "the best way they could find to arrange it."
Any further questions would have to wait, as all four of them reacted to the sounds of footsteps. Not the heavy, fast ones of their pursuer. These were slow, purposeful, but also physically light. Slight echoes came from one of the draped corridors. Getting nearer.
"The person we're supposed to meet, I take it?" asked Tara.
"I don't think so..." was Whistler's answer.
Less than two seconds later, the source of the footsteps turned a corner. She was wearing her hair long, with a simple braid down one side. High-heeled black boots were nicely set off by the full red skirt reaching mid-calf. Her top was the same red, as was a sari-like skarf draped along one shoulder.
"Hi guys," said Buffy to the astonished group before her. "Did you miss me?"
TO BE CONTINUED
------------------
"O let my name be in the Book of Love.
If it be there, I care not of
That other book Above...
Strike it out! Or write it in anew.
But let it be in the Book of Love!"
--Omar Kyam