The Coven
The rise of the greatest Seeyo in history prior to the natural re-situation of Humanity in the Cosmic

Prologue Summary: A woman from the mysterious organization the Coven arrives in Sunnydale and helps 8-year old Willow Rosenberg unlock her latent powers
Description: Alt BTVS Universe. Contemporary. Supernatural.
Pairings: Willow/Other, Willow/Tara
Warnings: Violence, strong language, moderate to graphic sexual language/situations, character death

Tara and Willow and other characters from the television shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel were created by Joss Whedon.

PROLOGUE: Witch Maclay, Part 4

Twenty harrowing minutes and some kilometers later, the car came to a harsh stop, in a narrow alley between two large, lifeless warehouses. I had somehow gotten us to the south side of the city, to the industrial concrete park bordering the bad part of town where my apartment complex was. I had the half-formed idea that I needed to contact Jenny, and the only way I knew how was the magically-enhanced satellite phone I'd left in my apartment. But I was decidedly light-headed with blood loss and the car kept lurching in a herky-jerky way, in fact I'd sideswiped a couple of light poles and signposts, though thankfully just as I reached the park which by then had emptied of workers with the close of their work day an hour and a half earlier. I had to stop while I still had some motor skill coordination left.

Throughout the ride, Willow had been silent, weeping wordlessly and occasionally hiccupping, clinging to the armrest of her door as I shakily steered the vehicle in its trajectory away from the wreck that had been her life. My hands would slip from the steering wheel with the blood and sweat they were damp with and the car would lurch more violently than when I just over-steered as a novice driver. As the car finally slowed and stopped with a jerk, she slowly released her death-grip on the door frame and turned her tear-streaked face to me. I groaned, as much from the look on her face as the pain from my arm.

Willow threw the emergency brake on, opened her door, jumped out and raced around to my side. My door flew open. I barely noticed as she tugged the scarf from around my neck and began wrapping it around my arm. "Wait," I mumbled. I imagined my spell book as best I could in my haze, turning the pages in my mind until I found the right one. I groaned out the words of the healing spell and felt a little relief that the pain did lessen a little. My wound had not improved any that I could see, and really, how much improvement was possible with this deep a slash? But at least the pain was a little more manageable. Willow was tightening the tourniquet around my arm as I lost consciousness.

I dozed fitfully. It was dark, early in the AM, when my eyes suddenly snapped open, fully awake. My side felt once more like it was on fire. I tried the healing spell again, but the remedial effect didn't seem nearly as much as the first time. My energy to cast, without the adrenaline, had significantly ebbed. I definitely needed to get it tended to. After I called Jenny.

I turned my head, trying to move as little as possible, and looked at Willow. She was curled into a tiny ball asleep in the bucket seat to my right. Her limbs were tucked inside drawn close to her torso and I knew she was cold and likely hungry. I contemplated starting the car again to drive the rest of the way to my apartment for the phone as well as other supplies to keep us for the time we'd need to arrange an escort back to the Coven, but found it difficult to motivate myself to rouse Willow or myself to prepare for the ride.

Instead, I let my mind wander to the last few hours when everything had gone to hell. Shall we make a list?

Willow, quite possibly now an orphan, with powers that had heretofore lain dormant—powers that I had helped unlock, and were now making her a target of several deadly forces, number and identity unknown, but apparently both human and not. Forces that have killed and would by all counts continue to kill to have her.

Wood, a member of the Watchers Council, an organization of scholars of the mystical realms not unlike the Coven, except for the predominance of testosterone and technology and for the latter also fully vested in the mud world, shot in the chest and down—could very well be dead. Apparently he had been onto me, had been following me for how many weeks? And here I was, thinking I had been so careful.

Humans fronting organizations either using or being used by demons. Who was involved? Which groups? How did those alliances get forged? How deep did these connections run? Motherless gods, these questions were terrifying.

And then there's me, Willow's guardian by default, severely injured and still in the dark about half of what is going on, sorely lacking the knowledge and resources to get her to safety.

I watch Willow. Her face is screwed up even in sleep with the ferocity of her pain. She's lost her mother, possibly her father, her home, the world she's known. She's lost… so much.

In the dark, with nothing but our labored breathing to break the silence, I reflected.

Her troubles began as soon as Leigh Mack entered her life with tales of another world, a secret one, with magic and energy and karma and life. But Ms. Mack had failed to mention that any one of those things are two-faced. That there are demons within the Cosmic. And stupid prophecies that rule your life and take away your choices. And before Tara Maclay had worked up the nerve to set the record straight, to finally come clean, to give Willow the information she was entitled to—needed to protect herself and her family, the demons—both human and not—had come and destroyed it all. I reach out and push a lock of hair from her face. Baby, I'm so sorry.

There's one other matter, one that was still a bit of a mystery, even more so than the events of this day. Maybe less pressing than the immediate need to bring Willow to safety, but I couldn't help but feel it's connected, too, and maybe not in a bad way. Indeed, perhaps it's the one saving grace of this whole Artaggio affair. It's my vision, the one I had had so long ago before all this happened, of the two women. Or perhaps that's not quite true. Perhaps it was the vision that in fact prompted all this. Though I've lived in this life completely for the past eight years, I'll be the first to admit I was never able to put away all of my cynicism regarding its less logical elements. It's how I convinced myself that Donald would be a good fit for me when I was young and still desperate to fit in this world, the material one, the one without magic. But all this… It couldn't have been coincidence. Why had I been chosen for this mission? Cylla—the Cosmic was not so random…

The vision, I know, would be at least partially metaphor, despite its hyper-real feel—why else would Willow be Leda's age in it? But it's now with absolute certainty that I know it is her, just as I know the blonde with my eyes is my own daughter, even if not for ten years yet. I think I suspected the redhead's identity, though I never acknowledged it, the moment I saw Willow's huge emerald eyes in person. They're hard to miss, even if you're willfully blind as I was, or had been. Sheila's blood-red hair had been the clincher, though. I suppose Willow's auburn will lighten and brighten with age. And she'll cut it. The shorter style will make the bedhair look easier to pull off. Of course, it helps if you have just been fu…

Oh gods. You know how the image of your parents making love can burn a hole in your inner eye that can never be healed even with the most aggressive psychological therapy, including the liberal application of psychotropic drugs? Well, believe me, you can almost say the same thing for seeing your baby do the same, even if it is in some crazy metaphorical dream sent to you by apparently childless gods who haven't a clue of what this kind of vision can do to a mother…

I wonder if somehow, my anger at Donald, which I thought I'd kept carefully hidden away from my daughter, had in fact affected her, made her turn from men.

Gods, but that's dumb. Self absorbed much? As long as she's happy… As long as Willow makes her happy… what does it matter what her beloved has between her legs? I had no idea what to make of the aspect of the demon thing, but oddly I felt there was time to sort through that part of the vision later. There was no mistaking that in my vision, my girl seemed more than okay with the love bite, and some instinct inside me told me to trust that. I mean, come on, give her a little credit. She's an adult—or at least will be by the time the awkward eight-year old before me is old enough to do that to her…

Okay. Give me a moment to get used to the second dose of inner retina burn…

I took a deep breath. There would be time enough to adjust to Willow living with us at the Coven—and there was no doubt in my mind that she would join my family, after all that had happened—that is, if she would have us—or more to the point, me. I already knew she'd have my daughter. But me… I had a whole lot more to expiate than I thought just a day ago. But the immediate problem was getting back to the Coven. I had to get a grip, and have a plan for exactly how I was going to proceed to mitigate the damage I caused.

Willow's stirring. I rub her shoulder to speed up her awareness. Her eyes open, and she sits up awkwardly to look at me. Her eyes—those expressive emerald eyes, red-rimmed with crying—fill with more tears, and I know she's remembering everything anew.

Later, sweetheart. I promise. "Get ready, honey, we have to move."

Once I turned on the engine, I also switched on the radio to the local news station. I didn't want Willow to hear confirmation of what happened to Sheila and possibly Ira like this, but I needed a situation update, and I needed one now. We sat in the darkness for a few minutes, listening to the radio as the weather forecast played. Then the local news segment came on:

"In local news, an apparent home invasion or possible domestic dispute resulted in tragedy in the Montvale section of Sunnydale late Thursday afternoon. Police were called in to the Montvale home of Ira and Sheila Rosenberg on Beckridge Street shortly after 6PM by a neighbor who had returned to their home from work and noticed the Rosenberg's house alarm had gone off and their front door open. Inside, police found the body of 42-year-old Sheila Rosenberg—"

Willow gasped. I reached over and took her hand. It had grown cold and clammy.

"—dead from apparent blunt force trauma to the head. Apparently, the alarm had been sounding since a little after 5PM, but was not connected to the Sunnydale Police Department due to a power outage earlier that day that affected power to police and emergency services monitoring systems throughout the Montvale sector. Fortunately, this was apparently the only situation that the outage affected, and a spokesperson from Sunny D Power Company has confirmed that the earlier power outage has been resolved. Inside the Rosenberg home, police have confirmed that the back door to the residence was forced open and that there were signs that the victim struggled against her assailant or assailants. A preliminary inventory of the contents of the home did not uncover any known missing items, though Detective Wes Pryce of the Sunnydale police department was quick to point out that the investigation he is heading is at an extremely early stage. The broken door, tripped alarm, and ransacked home are in contrast to the lack of theft and the open front door near where the victim's body was found, and suggest the possibility of some rushed staging. Rosenberg's husband, Ira Rosenberg, could not be located. His employer, CPV Technologies, states the 44-year old programmer called in sick Thursday and has not been heard from since. Also missing is the couple's eight year old daughter, Willow. At this point, the police have issued an APB for Ira, 1.6 meters, 77 kilos, brown hair and brown eyes, and an Amber Alert for Willow, 1.25 meters, 34 kilos, brown hair and green eyes. If you can provide assistance, please use the Sunnydale Police Department hotline, 711-4-SD-TIPS. Calls may be kept confidential, however, anonymous tips become the property of the Sunnydale Police Department and the Southern California Territory. Otherwise, standard compensation for information leading to the apprehension of the perpetrators of this crime will apply. That's it for Sunnydale news. Territory news is next—"

I let go of Willow's hand to lower the volume of the radio, then turned back to her. "Willow," I said, hesitantly, not knowing what to say.

"There's still a chance…" I looked at her, shocked at the cold fury in her voice and the fire in her eyes. "…Still a chance he's alive, that they took him…"

I paused to let her steely words and gaze burn through me, before I recovered. "Yes. There's a chance."

Willow was silent for a moment. Her eyes shifted around, as she considered the information. "We have to go back, to my house—"

"Willow, we can't—"

"The police can find him—"

"Willow, they're already looking for him…" I hesitated before deciding it was best to speak my mind, lay out my reservations plainly for her. "And we don't even know if they're involved at all. The alarm—?"

"But they're not really looking for him to help him! They're saying that HE did this! That HE killed… killed m-m-my.." Her face fell. It utterly crashed.

"Baby," I said. I gathered her against me, ignoring the pain as my side protested. She howled against my chest. I let her for several minutes.

Finally, with a last sad hiccup and shuddering breath, she pulled away from me.

"I promise you, Willow, as soon as we can do so safely, we will contact the authorities to let them know that your father is not responsible for what happened to your mother and that you have not been kidnapped by him. But we do need to be careful about who we contact and how we do it so we can't go back to your house. Not yet. Maybe not ever." I took a deep breath, not knowing if it was the right thing to say, but it was what was in my heart at the moment, "Then when we find out who did this, I will cover them with oil and set them on fire—but only after you get your turn, first."

I didn't turn the headlights on for the drive to my apartment. I wish I could claim it was for stealth reasons in case we were being watched, but the truth was I'd somehow managed to knock both headlights out, probably against a couple of lightposts or street signs while I was learning to drive on our way to the industrial park. It forced me to be cautious, though, so between that and not knowing my way through the Sunnydale streets, the five kilometer drive to my apartment took a good fifteen minutes. We used the time to consolidate our information. Despite the tragedies associated with them, Willow recalled the details of the day with precision. From what she relayed of the appointments with corporate representatives and from my recollection of the bodies in the van, either the earlier appointments were unrelated to the afternoon events, or, as I thought much more likely, either one of the parties in the morning—Glory Enterprises or Altrea Corporation, had engineered the death-dealing of their corporate rivals in the afternoon. My suspicions rested heavily on Glory—Willow's description of their representative was pretty compelling. Willow's afternoon appointments with two representatives, one dark-haired male, one blond female of Genelecom at 3PM, and the 5PM appointment with the dark-haired female from MABELL who killed Sheila, corresponded to the suited bodies and the team of assassins in the van. I wondered if the male and female who attacked me and Wood were also demon, like their cohort in the house… I might never know, even if we do ultimately confirm which party they worked for. Neither of us had any explanation for the Englishman handling the headless demon. From the attack on the agent demon and from what he'd said in the kitchen, it seemed as if we had yet another powerful party vying for Willow's services.

Also unknown is the extent of the Watchers' involvement in all this. From the Coven's past dealings with their group, a fair many though not all cooperative, I knew they were typically a hands-off type of organization rather than pro-active, similar in philosophy to the Coven. To state the obvious, Watchers watched. Not to rule was The Coven's motto. Theirs is Knowledge first. I know—it's a toss-up as to which one is sillier. And apparently, while we thumb-wrestled, others were loading their shotguns.

Also adding to my suspicion that the afternoon carnage was related to the corporate scholarship interviews the Rosenbergs had been conducting was Willow's description of the Genelecom interview as having gone relatively poorly. The representatives did not seem prepared to make their presentation, the contract they brought offered much less than what had been promised by Glory, but was close to what Altrea had offered. Sheila and Ira had apparently not been impressed. I'm sure that if the agent representing MABELL had finished her appointment, she also would have made a less than compelling pitch—

Dear gods. I interrupted her. I was early and interrupted the bitch's appointment. The Rosenbergs' last appointment of the day. If I hadn't, it would have gone as the earlier one, unremarkable but… unremarkable.

Good gods… No. NoNoNoNoNo. Shit shit SHIT!

I almost crashed the car. I barely had the presence of mind to put us in park.

"Ms. Mack! Are you alright? Is it your arm?"

Willow's expression was a full-on panic. Sweetie, your pretty face is gonna stay frozen like that… I closed my eyes, feeling very, very tired, leaned my forehead on the steering wheel, then turned to her, my temple still resting on the leather. "Willow, did your parents know I was coming for dinner?"

"What? No, I…" The consternation on her face evaporated instantly into horror. "No! I didn't tell them! They thought you were coming another day! You mean I-I—?"

Stupid witch! I quickly reached for her to assure her that it wasn't so. "No, no, Willow, I didn't mean it like that at all… It wasn't your fault. None of this is your fault. I sure didn't mean it that way, honey…" Far from it. It's not you. It's me. My mistakes were piling up. I don't know if I'd ever do enough to make up for them all. I let her go and she sat back, the misery on her face mixing with confusion. I evened my breath. Don't panic her even more. "We have so much to talk about—or I do, and I'll need you to listen. You won't like what I have to say, you might want to curse me after all this is over, and I won't blame you, but right now, I think we need each other. I promise you, though, when we have a chance, I will try to explain myself as best I can, then I'll ask you to forgive me. Right now, though, I need to contact my people at the Coven. I need to get us to safety. Then we'll talk, and I'll explain, as much as I know. Everything I know. Okay?"

Still shaking, she nodded her acceptance.

I put the car back in drive and we continued in silence to my apartment.

The parking area is at the back of my apartment building. I parked the car as best I could and Willow and I got out and entered the building through the rear entrance. I had considered asking her to stay in the car and wait for me to fetch the phone, some food and blankets, and the medical kit I kept in my bathroom, but I didn't know if that was a good idea. This Kyle Reese gig was completely new to me. By the time we parked, however, I had completely given up the idea. She probably had to use the bathroom, and the only party I could think of that knew I was from the Coven and had anything to do with what happened Thursday night was the Watchers. As long as they were either on Willow's side—or at least, were not sympathetic to any demonic factions, which I was fairly sure of—or neutral, my apartment should be safe. Besides, it would've taken a crowbar to separate Willow's left hand from my right.

Mine was a working class neighborhood and on weekdays most of the building residents were indoors before six and left for the day by seven. Everyone kept to themselves. In the five months I'd lived here I hadn't met any of my neighbors, even the one on my floor who abutted my corner unit who I thought was a Hispanic male from glimpsing him briefly one morning I went to the school early, and from the name on his mailbox. But I couldn't be sure. The walls were well-sound-proofed and when you live alone, you tend not to make as much noise, anyway. Everyone either pointedly ignored everyone else whenever sharing the elevator or passing each other in the hall or wore a crazed scowl to provide a buffer against unwanted interaction. Like we were one big NYC subway car. That worked out in our favor as what Willow and I desperately needed more than anything else was to slip in, contact Jenny, and rest up to wait for whatever the Coven's version of the cavalry was to arrive.

The hall lights were on but everything was deathly quiet at that time of the night. Willow and I rode the elevator, which thankfully was working at the moment though typically sluggish, up to the twelfth floor where my apartment was. It was one bedroom, a shower, a combination kitchenette and living room. The place was admittedly a dive—the Coven's mud resources were somewhat limited; they couldn't put me up in anything better. I hadn't cared and still didn't. All I wanted now was the mystically-boosted satellite phone, the med-kit, some clothes and some food, and this could very well be the last night I spent here—indeed, in Sunnydale, period.

Somehow, I'd managed to hold on to my keycard besides Wood's car keys and the demon-agent's gun through everything that had happened. Deep pockets are good to have—literally, this time. I opened the door to my apartment and shoved the card into the slide lock and we spilled in, the heavy door automatically swinging slowly shut behind us and auto-locking. The lights and enviro system came lazily on. "Bathroom's to the right, sweetie, past the kitchen" I said. "Grab the medkit under the sink when you're done, okay?" She headed there to take care of herself as I went straight to my desk where the phone sat in its charger next to my computer and turned it on. It would take half a minute to boot to the MABELL logo welcome screen. I shoved the phone into my pocket then went to fetch some clothes from my bedroom. I hit the room lightswitch. The hackles on my neck rose.

"Darling! You're finally home," the Englishman said from where he leaned against the wall near the window on the far side of the room. His monster was reclining in the pancaked layers of my double bed to the right. To the left, a gaping, headless-monster-sized hole was in the wall, concrete and drywall debris and dust all over the floor. I guess now I never would be meeting Mr. de la Cruz properly. Creepy-human straightened and held his arms out wide.

I scrambled backward, out the door.

"Oh, come now, love, is that any way to treat someone who's spent half the night awake with worry, waiting for you in the dark?" He advanced, following me at a leisurely pace. His demon got up from the debris of my former bed and fell in behind him. "Now where's our little girl?"

"WILLOW!" I called as I reached the bathroom door. It opened inward and she stepped out. The look of confusion turned to horror as she caught sight of who was following me as I backed out of my bedroom. "RUN! Get out now!" Willow stood rooted in fear or shock or horror.

"There she is," he leered. Over his shoulder, without taking his eyes off Willow, he continued, "Finish the witch—but mind you don't harm the girl. You almost caught her last time with those careless skewers of yours, messy thing. Our Master Chaos wouldn't like that, after all he's been through to meet her… in the flesh."

I shoved Willow behind me as he fell back to let his demon do as he ordered, rearing one of its arms up and behind it to deal my death blow. But Willow sure has a mind of her own—she ducked under my restraining arm and eked out in front of me.

"NO!"

He screamed the word at the same time I did, and the creature hesitated.

Willow did not. She grabbed my hand and squeezed her eyes shut. I felt a sharp pierce of pain in my hand as she summoned her power, but held on tight in case she needed the contact. In an instant, dozens of faerie lights flared in front of the demon to hover and dance before and above it. Having no head and thus no eyes, the effect was negligible. Fortunately, the next instant, thousands flared up to reinforce the first, forming a wall of white light. The demon was not blinded by them since, again, no head, but they sure as hell must have burned. I could feel the heat of Willow's lights even as we scrambled back as the wall pushed forward into the monster and its human counterpart. As the wall passed through them, the man's scream filled the air. The light dissipated as it reached the rear wall of the hallway, revealing the human on his knees, his clothes and hair on fire. He was trying frantically to slap out the flames. Next to him, the behemoth also cowered, though unlike its master, it seemed unscathed by Willow's wall of white fire. Something clicked in my brain, and I knew… "Golem!" I shouted. "The human is the head!"

"Kill the witch!" The Golem rose shakily to its feet. It started uncertainly for me but hesitated as it considered there was more than one witch in front of it, and the little one seemed to be fronting all the really threatening mojo.

"The big one, fool! Do not harm the girl!" he screamed.

I saw Willow raise her free hand again, but she was looking at the man, the sorcerer, still frantically trying to put out the fires in his clothes. She was not looking at all at the Golem. She hesitated, and her grip on my hand tightened almost imperceptibly. I knew what she was considering and despite what I had told her in the car earlier, this was different. She couldn't make this decision. She shouldn't have to. Not like this. I yanked her by our still clasped hands behind me, breaking her rapt attention on the burning figure. "I don't think so, Boss! That kind of work's not for you!" I drew the gun I'd been carrying since the events in the Rosenberg kitchen from my pocket and aimed as best I could at the writhing monster—the human one. I got off two rounds and I'm sure at least one hit, as I saw a spatter of red against the off-white wall of my apartment. But then the demon fell on me, and things went dark…

"…Mack! Ms. Mack, please, I think he's waking up, oh gods, please get up! Don't be dead…"

"Not… yet… Not dead yet…" I gasped. There was something heavy lying across my chest—the demon's arm. It wasn't moving, but the sense of urgency in Willow's pleas told me this hell wasn't over. I managed to pull myself out from under it and looked over to the sorcerer. He was moaning. Not dead, either. But there was a dinner plate sized bloodstain centered by a bullet hole on the left shoulder of his now charred three piece suit. Parts of his face were starting to blacken and swell from the more severe burns from the fire. He must also have been knocked unconscious with the gunshot. I looked around me for the gun to finish him but couldn't find it. It was likely underneath the Golem's massive body. I struggled to my feet and stumbled to the kitchen to fetch a knife. The biggest one I had. The #10 titanium chef's special I used to chop my vegetables would do.

"M-Ms. Mack?"

"Stand back, honey. This won't take but a second," I said. I didn't want Willow watching. As I limped over to finish my task, he opened his eyes groggily. They widened as he saw me approach with my knife. Then Willow screamed. I turned.

Her power shoved me to the floor again as a blur of black and metal whipped past me. A pain so intense it beggared the previous slash on my arm shot through me from the back of my left upper arm to my left hip. I twisted as I fell by instinct onto my right side, dropping the knife. The human was awake, if just, the Golem was, too. It had slashed at me, nearly cleaving me in two. It would have, if not for Willow's split-second emotion-driven shove.

Willow was the only one with a clear head in the apartment as she ran to me and tugged me up by my right arm—my only working arm. I think I might lose the left one. Stupidly, I thought, at least it had ruined the same side. Part of my mind was still working if sluggishly but it sure seemed Willow was going to have to be both the brains and the brawn of our little outfit. But then it hit me that that needn't be the case. It wasn't just my arm—my left side in general wasn't working properly and I would only slow her down. I stopped her from fussing by grasping her forearm. "Willow, you have to run… Go to the car, call the police now, or… or wake up one of my neighbors and hide there, just leave me here. I'll give you my phone. Use the number 1 speed dial—"

"NO! I won't leave you!" she said adamantly. I was amazed that, rather than terror, it was a stubborn protectiveness that was motivating her. Protectiveness of me. The look on her face was one of pure resolve.

I groaned. Like I said, a mind of her own.

She kept tugging at my arm until I was able to roll over onto my knees and get shakily up. We stumbled out the apartment door with me limping and trailing blood. The blood part was bad—not because of blood loss, though that would be a concern and very soon, but because the sorcerer and his monster could use it to track us once he became ambulatory himself. Willow dropped my arm to run ahead to press the button to call for the elevator, but as soon as she came back to help me limp on, I pulled her to the emergency stairwell. The last thing we needed was to be stuck in the damned thing.

As the stairwell door closed behind us, the man and his monster stumbled out my apartment door. The demon had to squeeze past the doorframe as he was wider at the shoulder than the door. The man, clearly favoring his left side, looked about furiously, thankfully not down at my blood trail, saw the elevator light from where Willow had pushed the button ordering the car down, and headed straight for it. We watched, both of us with baited breath, as he limped over and insanely jabbed the button himself several times until the car finally arrived—thank the gods we hadn't tried to take it—and they piled in. The Golem had to scrunch itself up to fit inside next to its master, who looked like he'd been holding a firecracker when it went off. It was such a ridiculous image I actually laughed. But that made my side hurt like hell and I sagged against the wall. The doors closed and Willow opened the stairwell door before I could utter a word of protest and ran to the elevator control panel. I shuffled behind her and watched, my mouth open, as she popped the cover off the panel, considered the buttons intently a moment, and began rapidly jabbing a sequence of keys. I followed Willow's gaze up at the illuminated floor numbers. When the light was between '5' and '6', she hit the Enter button, and something whined behind the panel. The indicator light stopped moving. She looked up at me with a triumphant grin. Huh. "Good job, swee—"

Then she turned and ran back into my apartment. "Goddammit, Will—"

She emerged again mid-swear, with some towels and the medkit from my bathroom and the gun, which she promptly handed back to me upon seeing the look on my face. I shoved it back in my pocket and pulled out the sat-phone instead. She pulled me gently down by my elbow to sit against the wall and I admit I couldn't have stopped her, I was so weak.

Willow was half in my lap, trying to replace the blood-soaked and encrusted scarf that had been wrapped around my mangled arm as a tourniquet with one of the towels she'd fetched from my bathroom. I gently pushed her back and struggled to my feet. "No time, sweetie. Gotta find a better place to hide first." I headed back instinctively into the stairwell, breathing heavily with the effort, Willow by my side, carrying the supplies she'd taken from my apartment. The stairwell faced the east and through the frosted glass of the window I could see that the sun was just rising. The building would come to life in an hour or so, another workday for all, blue and white, to get through, the last before the weekend and temporary freedom. The nighttime lights were still on, though, and we started down the stairs as I hit the number 1 speed dial.

After two rings and a floor down, my call was answered. "I need some muscle!" I gasped into the phone.

"Sorry, hon, wrong number. That's one-nine-hundred, you want," Jenny answered deadpan, then laughed. "Jeez, Leigh, do you ever think of anything else?"

I groaned. First thing once we get back, kill Jenny.

She caught on quick, though. "Good gods, you're serious!" Jenny gasped.

My teeth ground, the vibration in my skull settling me a little. "We have GOT to work on your comic timing!"

"Is it you or Willow?"

"Willow's fine—well, physically, at least… She's here with me now... Me? Not doing so great."

"Is it bad?" Jenny Touched me, briefly. It's not her primary gift. She's not nearly as good at it as me, but she didn't need to be. I was broadcasting enough pain for a NYC hospital ER. "We'll get someone over there now… I'll come get you myself!"

I stumbled on the tenth floor landing and I hissed with the sharpness of the pain. The blood was dripping down my side. "Hurry, Jenny."

"Hang on, Tara…" I could hear the sound of furious key-tapping on the keyboard. "I have your coordinates… Or I did. Are you moving?"

"Kinda… have to… We're… uh, being chased by a couple of monsters."

"Monsters?"

"'splain later…"

More keyboard tapping. "Shit! I have to close my end, but keep your phone on, I'll work something out…. Hang on, hon."

The line went dead as she closed the connection to do whatever it is she had to do. I shoved the phone, still on, back in my pocket then immediately gripped my upper left arm. Blood spurted from between my fingers.

We made it down another couple of flights to the eighth floor before the pain made breathing an issue. I sunk slowly to the floor of the landing, next to the window. Willow hovered helplessly by me, looking up and down the stairs. "Ms. Mack… we have to keep going. It's not safe here."

But I couldn't. Now that I'd managed to contact Jenny and she was making the proper arrangements, somehow I'd turned a corner in my heart and mind. It had turned out to be a long-fought for and hard-won accomplishment and the effort drained me. "Come here, Willow." She knelt, not touching me, still hovering. I took a long look at her. "It's hard to picture now, but I guess she could do worse." I teased wryly. I wanted to touch her hair, but couldn't release my grip on my arm to do so. With the sunlight coming in through the tiny stairwell window and bathing her in its light, her hair almost looked like it was on fire, just like in my vision. Time seemed to blur a little, and I was once more in the room with the white-washed walls and high gauze draped windows with my girl and her beloved in their marriage bed. Only now, they are aware of me. There are tears in my daughter's eyes, and Willow's arms are around her, comforting her, even as her own face is one of sorrow. I remembered the demon, but felt somehow that that part was a lie. Still, my baby had been through so much already. I was her mother, and I would protect her any way I could. The only way this would be worth it, the only way she'd ever forgive me for not being there for her myself, was if Willow was worth it instead. "You'd better take care of her. Or I swear, I'll come back and haunt you 'til you're stark raving mad. You hear me?"

"Ms. Mack, please, the tourniquet isn't working, you've lost a lot of blood, and you're not making much sense!"

I laughed, which made me loosen my grip on my mangled arm again. Love that honesty… Now it was my turn to come clean, there might not be much time later. "Aw, honey, you can stop calling me Ms. Mack… It's a funny name, but it's not… not me. Not the real me."

"What?"

"Maclay. My name's Maclay… Or…" My eyes kept closing against my will. I forced them open, but the effort left me so weak. "No. It's Tara. But I'm shedding that one, too. I'm great at that. Pick up names, then give them away when I can't use 'em any more. But I think now it can go to someone who'll make better use of it. When you get back, tell Jenny that she can take it with all my blessings, and my apologies."

"Who take what?"

Panic. It's rolling off Willow in waves. Now that we've made a connection, it's like I can't shut if off. Can she feel me, too? "Tara…" Willow was right. I wasn't making much sense and I was scaring her. I couldn't do that. Witch Maclay of the Coven still had a job to do, until my relief arrived. But performing my duty didn't preclude being a friend. And to be true friends, I had to be honest about who I was, first. I sat up, let the new jolt of pain wake me up more fully again. "My-My given name is Kera, I'm pleased to meet you, finally, Willow. On my official records, my full name is Kera Maclay, but Maclay is a name I took for convenience' sake, it's not really mine. I have a daughter, a few years older than you, whose given name is Leda. The women of my family are witches, Willow. Long before I joined the Coven we were. When we come to our own as women, if we have Talent, we take on the name of a relative, a grandmother, many, many times removed, the first witch in our line, very powerful, who was called Tara."

"O-Okay." Willow now looked skeptical besides frightened out of her mind, but honestly, can I make this stuff up? It's a wonder any of the women of my family end up sane. Okay, moot point, that.

It didn't take Talent to know Willow was still confused, and not a little scared that her guardian was starting to lose it. But I had to go on. I realized, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly, in the base of my being, that I might not make it back. "Leda will be fifteen this October. She's preparing for that day when she'll take on that responsibility and right…" Only problem is, so many of us have taken that one name, Tara, it's almost become a millstone. The onus of the Tara witches. What a troublesome thought. It's one that's bothered me for awhile. Perhaps my daughter should take a new one, start a new tradition. I hope she gives away Leda, though. That was her paternal grandmother's name and Donald chose it for her, ignoring where it came from, the mythology behind it. I always hated the name, though there was never a second I didn't love my baby girl. It was one of the first of many things he had his way with, but I came to accept it. I guess in my mind, her name may be Leda, okay, but on the inside, she's really just Tara-in-waiting. "It's a day I really wanted to see with my own eyes…" My voice was tinged with regret and I fought against the self-pity that I knew could easily overwhelm me. But what Willow had told me that time during meditation, at what seemed years ago, about Leda's happiness and my own came back to me, and I realize what I want for my daughter won't matter. She'll have to make her own decisions about these things.

"You'll meet a woman when you get back to the Coven named Jenny. That was her on the phone. Tell Jenny I said it's okay for Leda to take that name, alright? She never said anything, but I know she was a little worried about that, about there being two of us. But she can take it and still be her own woman—if she wants it, that is. But she shouldn't be afraid of it, and she shouldn't resent it, despite the baggage it comes with. For me, I think it'd suit her well. Always did. And… And tell her that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't keep all my promises."

"You'll tell her yourself when you get back!"

Oh gods. "Yeah, I will. But just in case, okay?"

"O-Okay, just in case."

"Good." I could almost not feel the pain anymore. That's a bad sign, I think. One more thing, though. "I'm so sorry about your family, Willow. I should have explained some of this to you sooner, so you could make your own decisions, make your own plans. I guess we're all children in a way, struggling to become adults. It's not always possible, and there are forces stronger than us whose wills supercede our own, but we need to at least have to believe we can make a difference… Have the knowledge to make informed decisions, even if we really can't control what happens in the end… 'Cause not knowing… that's really a bitch, isn't it? What chance do you have then? So I should have told you, what was being said about you, about who might be watching. I don't know if it would've saved your parents, but I'm not a seer. Maybe it would have made a difference. Maybe it was a mistake, but I was following the orders of people who I thought knew best. I know that sounds lame, like it's an excuse, but to be honest I still don't know that I was wrong. There's so much that I'm still in the dark about myself."

Willow didn't say anything.

Maybe I wasn't making sense again. "It's so scary, having to grow up. Especially like this. But there'll be good stuff, too… Wonderful things…" Baby girl. "Take care of Tara, Willow. Treat her well."

"I-I will! I promise…"

In the end, that's the best a mother can hope for.

A loud crash from below us, a couple of flights down, followed by a shudder through the building frame startled us. "…by all the gods of hell and their demon spawn children, too! Watch my arm, you blundering idiot!"

Willow and I froze. Had they found us so soon?

"Why couldn't the Master just make you more compact and efficient? But no, everything must be super-sized with him! No wonder he picked America to kick off his big Hello Humanity, How Nice to Eat You tour!… Just stay behind me—no, wait. You go first!"

We were still holding our breath as we listened. After a few seconds, the echoing sounds of their footfalls, one loud and lumbering, the other much lighter but uneven, began to recede. Down. They were heading down. We released our breath simultaneously and just looked at each other for a long moment.

Willow had that look on her face again. The scary one, with the slightly furrowed brow and the set jaw. Her resolve face. I braced myself.

"They think we've left… We need someplace more secure… Someplace to stay so Jenny can find us…" Her expression remained purposeful, even as her eyes darted to consider the options. When she spoke again, it was not a suggestion. "We should go back to your apartment!"

Good gods. Tara's going to have her hands full.

tbc