The last few days had been a torrent of mixed emotions that were
slowly driving Willow insane. Her call to Xander had upset her terribly.
Knowing that her best friend was so mentally exhausted, never mind slightly
crazy had her wanting to rush back to Sunnydale so she could throw her
protective arms around him and never let him go. On the other hand, the
same phone call had gone disastrously wrong, with Buffy interrupting,
allowing images of the blond and Oz to fill her mind. It was painful to
think about going home, both because she wanted to, and because she was
terrified of the idea.
Her heart hated her and loved her. How could she willingly abandon
Xander in his time of need? They were better than brother and sister, they
were family in a way that mattered more because they'd specifically chosen
each other years ago. And yet, she couldn't deny the fact that to return
to Sunnydale was out of the question, she just couldn't. She couldn't face
Buffy, couldn't face Oz, not because she wasn't strong enough--no the magic
that had risen it's powerful head was only growing strong as time moved
forward--instead it was because she wasn't ready yet. When she went back
to Sunnydale it would be to accomplish one task and one task only, she was
going to kill everyone that had ever hurt her.
How odd that she felt only numb and resigned to the knowledge that
her return home would mean the deaths of many people she had called family
and friends. But in reality, it wasn't so odd at all. She'd lived the
life of the living, she knew what it was about, what it required of those
that lived it, and she was tired of it. Her new life, here in Ireland with
Spike, it was the life of a vampire, of a great Queen and her mate that
would one day be recorded in history books. This was the beginning of a
new life for her, but for the time being her old one had to stay unresolved-
-so that when the time came, no one would ever forget that it is always the
meek that inherit the earth.
A thousand happy, sad, worried and confusing thoughts swam through
Willow's head and she sighed before turning to look at the softly ticking
clock next to the bed; two in the afternoon. Turning in the opposite
direction, Willow watched Spike as he laid as still as death beneath the
covers.
Handsome in that way of Greek sculptures. His features were chiseled
and angular; they were the makings of the most skilled craftsmen the world
has ever known. Over the last four months his hair had grown a bit longer
so that the ends just slightly curled in that adorable way that made him
look like a cherub. Then there were his eyes. She couldn't quite place
what it was about them that was so different now, but she knew it was
profound. Spike had never been as hopelessly lost as she had, but he was
most certainly drifting with the current. Now however, it was as if he'd
found his inner glow, as if something had returned that he'd lost so long
ago, which now flooded his life with new meaning. Oh who was she kidding?
It was her. Spike loved her, maybe even more than she loved him. He
needed her because he was a man, wanted her because he was a vampire, and
loved her because he was both. She didn't know what it meant to live
centuries, to move with the flow of time for so long, but she was beginning
to understand how lonely that could be, and she was never going to let
Spike feel lonely again.
Lifting her hand she scrubbed delicately at her eyes, biting back a
hiss from the sting that accompanies sleepless nights. Too many thoughts,
too many worries. Spike had wanted to give her a few tried and true
sleeping pills in the hopes that she'd get one decent nights rest this
week, but she's refused and they'd settled for warm milk. Obviously that
wasn't working.
Knowing that to remain in bed would only awaken Spike, and also
knowing it was far to early for him to be getting up, she resigned herself
to leaving the bed.
That was one of the drawbacks about sleeping with a vampire, they
always know their surroundings--well either they do, or their demons, which
are basically the same thing. The first lifting of the covers roused him.
"Willow? What's wrong?" Came that beautiful sleepy British accent.
Cursing her luck, Willow turned around and brushed back a few curling
strands of blond hair. "I'm gonna walk for a bit, try and tire myself out
so I can go back to sleep. I'll be back in a little while."
Spike struggled to sit up. "I'll come with you."
Shaking her head, Willow pushed on his chest until he lay back among
the black and burgundy pillows. "No reason for you to get up too. I'll be
back in a few minutes, you won't even know I'm gone."
Those gorgeous blue frost eyes locked with hers and Willow felt a
rush of warming heat at his words. "I always know when your gone, Luv."
He paused then, weighting the pros and cons before closing his eyes and
sinking back into the covers. "Right, don't be gone too long, there's a
storm outside and the house'll be drafty as all hell."
She nodded, leaning over to kiss him and reveling in the kiss he
returned before she climbed the rest of the way out of bed and pulled up
the covers to keep him warm. She'd learned that vampires could feel things
like hot and cold, and that Spike was one of those perpetually cold people.
He'd told her once that's why he liked to cuddle so much, and she didn't
have the heart to tell him it was probably just due to a lack of
circulation.
Her feet slipped into soft, warm slippers as she moved to the door
and opened it. In the hallway she turned to look one more time at her
sleeping lover before closing the door soundlessly and moving down into the
darkness. Memory guided her steps as she moved down the staircase. At the
second floor she went to the library and selected a book before resting her
tired body in one of the high-backed chairs by the dormant fire.
Spike was right, she thought as the wind whistled over the chimney
top, sending a wicked draft into the room that curled about her shoulders.
With only the slightest hesitation, she raised her right hand to the cold
fireplace and extended her palm to face it.
"Ignite."
A sudden bust of magical energy raced from her body and erupted into
the fireplace with a blaze of heat that settled the draft immediately. Her
experimentation with magic had taught her many things. The first thing,
concerned her power level. Spike's library contained a multitude of
magical journals and books, but most were fairly strict that power levels
were extremely low in new witches, except for those born to wield magic,
those select few chosen by the Goddess for something greater. The books
hadn't been specific about what a natural witch could or couldn't do, but
after a lengthy conversation with Spike, they'd come to the conclusion that
her magic was no where near a new witch's level.
The second thing she'd learned was that magic did not need fancy
words to work. The intent of the spell was the only thing required. Some
witches needed help focusing their energy, which is where magical words
came into being. However, the words themselves held no real power, and so
the archaic Latin could easily be converted to English equivalents.
However, Willow held a secret; she didn't need the help concentrating when
she did magic. Wordless magic was another sign of power among witches, it
was a mark that some of the texts labeled as that of a natural witch.
She's kept the secret from Spike so far, wanting more than anything to
surprise him with it when she was sure she no longer needed the verbal
trappings. She couldn't wait to see his face.
The third and final thing she'd come to understand was that her
abilities weakened the further away she moved from the earth. Her magic
was stronger on the first floor of Windemere than it was on the second, and
even weaker on the third, while outside, under the full light of the moons
glow, the magic in the earth seemed to flood her every sense, filling her
warm affection and familiarity. With her toes in the grass she could feel
the flow of power beneath the crust of the earth, feel the movements of
magic through the air as if witnessing the breeze. It was almost
overwhelming, catching her off guard the first time.
But like in town, the magic also had its peculiar and frightening
side. Under the influence of power Willow felt almost there was another
person inside her body. Fear was a foreign thing while drawing magic, and
more than once her personality shifts had alerted Spike to the otherwise
invisible action of drawing magic. She was more in control, more sure of
herself, as if she was assured that no one could harm her, as if fear had
no place. She was equal parts kindness and cruelty, as if she were truly a
neutral being, caring little for those not within her circle of protection,
and guarding those that were with the ferociousness of a lioness protecting
cubs. It was like she was a mimic of her own Goddess, the ultimate bringer
of life and death. It was at once awe inspiring, and terrifying.
As the heat in the room built up, Willow engrossed herself in the
book she was reading. While it was common knowledge that Alice In
Wonderland was nothing but a man's trip though a drug induced haze, it also
presented a drastically different view of the world, one Willow had heard
glimpses of in the way Xander spoke during their conversation. In the book
the characters never spoke in a straightforward manner, or confused Alice
with double meanings. Xander wasn't so different, he saw the world
differently now then others did, it was a strange twisted place, and Willow
wanted to know more about it so she could help him find a way out.
A sudden idea had her looking up from her book. She couldn't go back
to Sunnydale, she just couldn't, not with Buffy there, not before she was
dead and yet living. However, there wasn't any reason why Xander couldn't
come and be with her. Spike might object, but once he realized how
important it was to her to have Xander there so she could care for him, her
vampire lover would understand, he had too.
It was with a great amount of relief that Willow rose from the chair
and set her book on the side table. She'd call her parents on the
satellite phone, tell them that she needed to talk to Xander again and that
they needed to get him to the house. Once she'd talked her parents into
arranging another conversation with Xander she'd explain to Spike that her
childhood friend had to come, that she needed him to be with her so she
could care for him. A wicked thought crossed her mind as she moved out of
the library towards Spike's office. She knew what Xander would be like as
a vampire, she'd heard all about it from her doppelganger counterpart.
Xander was cool and driven, easily becoming one of the Master's right hand
men. She clapped her hands and did a little twirl as she entered the dark
green office, this was perfect, Spike would love Xander! The two of them
would work so wonderfully together, the three of them, partners in this new
life they would create.
Willow sighed, lost in thought as she absently opened the case
containing the satellite phone, which had been left on the stained desk.
The curtains were open across the one window in the room, and Willow's
attention was caught by the pounding rain that drummed against the pane of
glass. Outside the world was dark and gray, covered in thick clouds that
wept tears to ease the earth.
Suddenly, she shivered, caught by a strange feeling that something
wasn't right, that something was about to go horribly wrong. Unnerved, she
powered up the phone before stretching her hands out in front of her
towards the window, seeking the flows of energy that seemed to weave
through this majestic island. But the power receded, pulling way from her,
as if to say, "you must see and deal on your own, this is your task alone".
Startled, she considered leaving the study for the ground floor,
maybe even the garden in hopes of determining why the magic shied away, but
reason overruled, and Willow quickly picked up the bulky phone and enter
her parents telephone number.
It'd been less than a week since she'd talked to her family and she
imagined her father would be quite upset at her for hanging up before
talking to him last time. She doubted very much that he had anything to do
with Buffy being there, in fact she rather thought it was her mother's
doing, but without proof she preferred to tell herself that Buffy had just
caught wind of the phone call and broke in.
The phone rang once.
A streak of lightening, far off the coastline flashed brilliantly,
illuminating the room. Willow counted to four Mississippi before the boom
of thunder rattled the house.
The phone rang once more.
Awkwardly, she moved around the desk, looking out across the grounds
towards the cliffs, watching as the giant sea waves sent spray up to battle
against the rain.
Three rings.
At the click, Willow straightened her shoulders, prepared to make her
demands.
"Hello, you have reached Ira and Sheila Rosenburg. We would like to
thank all those that kept hope alive that our daughter Willow was still
with us. We are happy to say that our prayers have been answered and
Willow has indeed been found alive and well. After much celebrating, Ira
and I are continuing our lecture circuit. Please leave us a message and
we'll be happy to get back to you as soon as we possibly can. Thank you,
and god bless."
At the beep, the heavy phone slipped from Willow's numb fingers and
crashed to the floor with a dull thud. It's funny the things that make it
through shock. As Willow's large tear filled eyes took in her reflection
in the window, she couldn't help but think she looked ridiculously silly in
one of Spike's black shirts. Wordlessly, her hands moved to the buttons,
undoing one after the other until the fabric gaped open and fell silently
to the floor. Tears fell, but she that fact didn't make it through. She
was under dressed, and she just where to find the perfect outfit.
Feet whispered across the carpet as she moved down the hallway and up
the stairs. One, two, three, she counted the doors to her right as she
moved past them, stopping at the door that had originally been her room.
Opening the door she glided inside, her mind empty except for the image of
a single dress that would fit her purpose nicely.
Drusilla's clothing had been moved from the bedroom closet, replaced
here, in the room Willow hardly even entered. A soft click had the doors
opened and Willow smiled to herself, tasting saltwater tears as she reached
inside and pulled out the five foot wide hoop skirt. She'd seen it ages
ago in Spike's closet, and now as she slipped it over her head and tied the
laces, she was pleased to find that it fit beautifully.
There were a million other underclothes that should have come before
the hoops, but Willow bothered with none of them. Shaking hands reached
inside and withdrew a gown she'd only admired from a distance, fearful of
ruining it.
It was the most pure and delicate white she could imagine. The dress
was old, and yet timeless, with off the shoulder sleeves made of lace, and
satin panels that ran from the front of the bodice down to a point at her
center. The rest, beautiful and classic was made of rich white velvet,
littered with sparkling threads made from true silver. Beneath was toul at
least a foot thick, and as Willow slipped the deceptively heavy dress over
her head, she basked in the scratches that the fabric left across her body.
The back was made of crossing laces of satin, and Willow clumsily
grasped both ties and tightened the dress to fit properly across her chest
and waist. With a stressed exhale she moved into the bathroom, the layers
upon layers of dense fabric swishing about her like thick mist.
Once inside the dark room, she uttered not a word before the candles
inside lit up, casting the room in orange firelight. At the mirrors she
examined her appearance. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes swollen as
tears leaked from her eyes. But her dress, that was a sight to see. She
was like a scorned woman returning from a ball, now eager and willing to
end her own suffering.
The corners of her mouth turned up at a sudden thought as her eyes
danced with inner happiness at the idea. With a dramatic turn that caused
cascades of fabric to swirl bout her, Willow raced for the doorway and
bolted out. Through her room she maneuvered, the heavy metal hoops
knocking into chairs and doorframes as she raced down halls, staircases,
and past rooms.
The torrent of rain that blasted into her face the moment she threw
herself into the storm shocked her for a moment, throwing her fractured
mind together.
She should have expected this, should have known it was coming and
been prepared for it. Her parents were self-absorbed, self-important
influences of the people; how could they possibly be expected to hold their
book tours and speaking engagements? Her mother had probably rescheduled
the moment she'd gotten off the phone two weeks ago! And her father.she'd
never forgive him.
Rain mingled with tears as she swept into the storm. Her legs,
slowed by the weight of the water soaking into the reams of heavy fabric,
pressed harder, her toes slipping in the mud as she ran across the estate
towards the cliffs.
When there was more at stake, too much at stake, there was only one
thing left to do.
* * *
Years later, centuries later, he wouldn't know what awoke him this
night.
With a start, Spike awoke, his body turning instantly towards Willow.
But his beautiful Queen was no where and his mind raced to remember where
it was that she had gone. He relaxed when he recalled she hadn't been able
to sleep, that she'd wanted to take a walk to clear her head. Groggy, he
turned to the small ticking clock.
3:30pm, she'd been up for an hour and a half.
Worry flooded his veins, making him hypersensitive to the world
around him as the demon pressed forward looking for its mate. He stilled,
his predatory hearing searching for her heartbeat, but with the storm
raging outside it was hard to hear anything clearly.
Throwing the covers off he moved to the door, demon present and
smelling the air for any trace of his woman. The door yielded as he threw
it open, the handle crashing into the wall behind it, breaking the wood for
all time.
He caught the smell of fire on this floor and the next, and on quick,
stealthy feet moved to Willow's old room.
Something about this was eerily, terrifyingly, familiar. Half
panicked, half the calm predator that was a master vampire, Spike stalked
the hallway before throwing open a bedroom door hardly used since Willow
came to his bed.
Inside the smell of burning wax flooded his senses and he turned
towards the bathroom. Candles burned in that room, he could see the
firelight escaping from around the door. But he didn't have to close his
eyes, he didn't have to concentrate to hear, there was no heartbeat in this
room--his mate was not in this room.
With a roar of rage and all consuming fear, the demon turned from the
room and raced to the second floor, tearing open the library doors to see
the warm fire burning in the hearth. Again however, its mate was not in
this room.
Turning, it used eyes trained for two centuries to stalk pray and
found the anomaly. The door to Spike's study was open. With a frantic
push the door banged open, and the demon took in the unruly sight before
it.
The case was open, the handset cord dangling across the desk. It
crossed the room and saw the handset swinging back and forth in the
disturbed air. She'd tried to escape!
NO! Came the voice of reason, of a poet long dead. No, she wouldn't
leave, something's happened. Hands reached and turned the case around.
The computer log was opened and Spike searched the call list. There it
was, Willow's parent's number, dialed not half an hour ago, the call itself
lasting three minutes.
Three minutes. What could have been said and destroyed in three
minutes; the life they'd built, the love they shared, or the spider silk
threads that held Willow's mind and body together? Three minutes, all the
time needed to destroy the woman he loved, needed, could not exist without.
Lightening flashed, illuminating the room in a burst of light that
momentarily blinded the predator. The storm was so violent, rain pounding
against the window demanding entrance, demanding destruction.
He watched the rain as his mind raced to find a place Willow might
have gone. There were the gardens both inside and out, or the stables, she
might have gone to see Jack and Mary. So many places to hide, so many
places to be injured.
The demon roared at him, demanded that he stop thinking and just go
find what was theirs.
And then, as another flash of lightening ripped across the ocean, he
saw in the brilliance a most ethereal sight. Hair the unmuted color of the
sun, skin like porcelain, and a dress, so white and pure it shone like snow
kissed by diamonds. Willow, in a gown made for laughing balls and gay
parties, was racing towards the cliffs, racing to.
"WILLOW!" His fisted hand slammed into the glass, shattering it into
a thousand pieces that were instantly swept into the room as the storm
found a weakness in the seemingly impenetrable estate. Be it the noise, or
fate, or something even more powerful, he watched her turn, watched as the
dress tore around her, a she took one last look at her home, and then
disappeared over one of the cliff's.
He didn't stop to think as the demon and poet merged fully in their
quest to retrieve their mate. With feline grace he leapt to the windowsill
before jumping to the slanted roof that jutted out across the first floor.
Feet slipped on inches of water, but demon claws were faster, digging into
the shingles before pressing forward.
Another jump, two, three, and he was on the ground, his bare feet
sinking into the thick mud as the sky wept tears of sorrow. Without
another thought, without anything more than a command to his legs, the
vampire tore across the estate, across grass and mud, across rock and dirt.
At the edge of the cliffs he looked down and with a feral roar filled
with more emotions that just rage and fear, he saw her, and did not
hesitate.
