Willow Rosenberg was one of the most powerful practitioners of the mystic arts on Earth. She was respected, even feared, among her fellow witches, warlocks, wizards, sorcerers, thaumaturges, and necromancers, both human and demon. Her deeds had won renown even in other dimensions. She was a powerful figure in the rebuilt Council of Watchers, and Slayers across the globe went into battle at her direction. None of that, however, made a bit of difference to her uncooperative legs, which were cramping something fierce.
"Ow, ow, ow! Dammit!" exclaimed Willow, painfully untangling herself from the lotus position she had been sitting in for over an hour. It was no use, she just couldn't calm her mind enough to meditate tonight. Sighing, she stood and walked out of the mediation room into the candle-lit hallway of the coven house. Willow headed down the hallway toward the sitting room. She needed counsel, and Amelia Harkness was certainly not shy about giving advice.
The coven in Devon, situated on the northern coast of the peninsula about midway between Ilfracombe and Lynton, was a place Willow found herself returning to time and time again. It was a place she could find respite from the pressures of her duties for the Council, where she could renew her connection with the earth, and where she could consult the wisdom of witches who were much more experienced - if not more powerful - than herself.
As Willow entered the sitting room, she mentally braced herself for the usual range of reactions she knew she would receive. As expected, the younger student witches, sitting together in the far corner, looked at her then quickly looked away and began whispering together. Some of the older witches in the room looked at her with disapproval or refused to meet her eyes at all. These were the ones who disapproved of her independence and use of certain dangerous magics. Other witches smiled at her, and some simply ignored her altogether, lost in their thoughts or a book. Miss Harkness rose from her seat by the fire, her dark eyes warm but penetrating, and smiled.
"Good evening, Willow," she said in her rich voice. "Come, sit with me." She sat back down as Willow took the empty chair next to her. "So," she continued, "how was your meditation tonight?" Willow made a face. "No joy," she said, gloomily. "I couldn't seem to clear my mind tonight." Miss Harkness looked concerned. "Is there anything weighing heavily on your mind lately?"
Willow waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing out of the ordinary," she replied. "Just the usual Council stuff." Miss Harkness leaned back into her chair and looked thoughtfully at Willow. She said nothing for a few minutes, and Willow found herself fidgeting under the older woman's gaze. In times past, she might have started babbling to fill the silence, but Willow had greatly improved her patience and self-discipline over the past year. Stilling herself, she waited silently for Miss Harkness to speak.
"It was not too long ago that you fought that terrible man," Miss Harkness said finally. "Are you still experiencing the effects?" Willow smiled to herself. "That terrible man" was the only way Miss Harkness ever referred to the Chinese sorcerer who had called himself (somewhat arrogantly) Yen Lo-Wang, the King of Hell, after a Chinese deity. What his real name was no one knew, but he had been old and clever and powerful, and had battled the Watchers' Council for control of all the new Slayers in China. In the end, Willow had faced and defeated him in a duel of magic, trapping him in a demon dimension. She hoped it was one with boiling oil, like the hell his namesake had ruled. The battle had been intensely draining, and Willow had spent the last few weeks recuperating in London and here.
"I think I'm fully recovered," Willow said. "My strength and control have returned, anyway." She frowned slightly, her brain focusing on what her body was feeling. "I have been feeling a little weird today, though" she continued, "like something's a little ... off, I guess. Or like there's something just at the edge of my vision, but I can't see it." Miss Harkness leaned forward and cupped Willow's chin in her hand. Willow waited passively as the older witch gazed into her eyes. "Hmm," she murmured after a moment, "your aura seems fine." She sat back into her chair again. "Perhaps you should sleep instead of meditating."
Willow shrugged. "It's probably nothing." She stood up from the chair. "I think I will get some sleep, though. I probably need to head back to London tomorrow." Miss Harkness looked up at her. "Whatever you feel is best, dear. You know you're welcome to stay here as long as you need." Willow smiled at the older witch. "I know. I'm grateful for your kindness." Alone of all the witches in the coven, Amelia Harkness had never displayed any fear of Willow. From the first day Willow had met her, Miss Harkness had simply taken her in and taught her the things she needed most - patience, balance, and harmony. In the two years since their relationship had begun, Willow had failed to remember those lessons more than once. The dark magics that she had absorbed and practiced were a part of her now, and she would never be entirely free of them. But Miss Harkness had demonstrated an endless patience for Willow's occasional stumbles that Willow would never forget, and for which she would always be grateful.
That night, Willow dreamed. A kaleidoscope of images passed before her eyes. She saw Angel, Spike, Wesley and Gunn battling demons. A dark shadow hung over the images, and she could feel alien presences watching with her. Or maybe she was watching with them. A towering rage suffused her being, and she felt dark magic welling up inside her. The images changed. Angel, Spike, Gunn, and something she couldn't quite see stood together in an alley she knew (the way one often just knows something in a dream) that they were behind the Hyperion Hotel. They were battling hordes of demons, and losing. Again she sensed gigantic presences watching with her, and their minds were now filled with unholy glee, as well as anger. She could hear a voice, calling out in a harsh, unknown language, and she could feel the flames of hell, and the pounding of drums. And she could smell smoke.
Some instinct warning her, Willow dragged herself up out of the dream with an effort of will. The chanting had stopped, but she could still feel heat and hear drums. As she came closer to wakefulness, she realized that the "drums" were the noise of someone pounding on the door to her room, and that it was very hot. Willow jerked up, wide awake, and stared in horror at a the far wall of her room. Something had been written on it in fiery letters, and there were flames licking up from the floor around her bed. She could hear voices out in the hallway calling her name, and the pounding on her door redoubled. For a heartbeat Willow was terrified that there were demons out there, trying to get her, but then she recognized the voices as coven members.
Willow could still feel the magic burning in her veins, she felt a panicked desire to blast her way out of the room. With a tremendous effort of will, she brought herself under control and focused her mind on calming the fires. Within a minute, the flickering flames had died down to nothing. Willow hopped out of bed and looked at the door to her room, still closed. She could feel that it had been sealed magically, although she didn't remember doing it. With a wave of her hand, she broke the seal and unlocked the door. Miss Harkness and three other witches piled into the room. "What happened?" gasped the older woman. Willow fixed her gaze on the hideous writing that spread across her wall, the letters now black ash against the white-painted wood. "I don't know," she replied in a quavering voice. "But I think something bad is happening in Los Angeles."
Miss Harkness was nothing if not efficient. After Willow related the events of her dream, the coven was quickly put to work preparing a teleportation spell. Willow got on the phone to the Council headquarters in London and e-mailed them pictures of the symbols on her wall she had taken with her digital camera. Since Willow had almost single-handedly brought the Council into the digital age, they already had samples of every known demonic script on their computers, and a program (that she had designed herself) for translating them. Soon after that, she was talking to a very grumpy Giles, who definitely needed his morning tea. It was already six in the morning, which meant it was ten o'clock P.M. the previous night in L.A. Willow felt time slipping away as she and Giles argued the merits of teleporting directly to the Hyperion or waiting for the translators to finish and contacting the Slayers nearest to L.A.
Willow and Giles had been in polite disagreement on the subject of Angel and Wolfram and Hart ever since they left Sunnydale, over a year ago. Willow, along with Buffy and Faith, had been certain that Angel and the others were up to some devious plan to destroy Wolfram and Hart from within, and that he could still be trusted. Giles had insisted that, even if they could trust Angel, Wes, Fred and Gunn, they had no way of knowing whether the people now working for them could be trusted, and that since the Council was particularly vulnerable in the early stages of rebuilding, it would be best to minimize contact. When Andrew had returned from his mission to retrieve that crazy Slayer from L.A. with the stunning news that Spike was alive, Willow and Giles had disagreed slightly less politely on whether to tell Buffy, who was living in semi-retirement in Rome by that time. Eventually, Willow had allowed herself to be persuaded to keep it a secret, and had even instilled enough fear in Andrew to make sure he didn't spill the news to the Slayer. But now it appeared that, whatever Angel's plans had been, he was having a permanent falling out with the Senior Partners. Giles warned Willow of the dangers of teleporting in unannounced, dismissed her concerns about the urgency of the situation, reminded her that the Council's needs took priority over Angel's, and finally outright forbade her to go. Willow told Giles to stuff himself, then squeaked out an apology and hung up.
Less than two hours later, the coven was ready. Willow stood in the center of the circle they made, calming her mind and mentally preparing some of her most potent defensive and offensive spells. Miss Harkness stepped over to her and said, quietly, "Be careful, Willow. You may have to do more than fight when you get to Los Angeles." Willow looked at her, confused. "In your dream, you were linked to those so-called Senior Partners," Miss Harkness continued. "They may attempt to re-open that link."
"And take over my mind?" Willow asked, gloomily. Miss Harkness nodded. "Or at least influence you," she replied. "Take care to guard both your mind and soul." Willow nodded in understanding. "I will," she said. Miss Harkness smiled gently at her. "I'm very proud of you, Willow. You have shown incredible strength of character in the face of great temptations over the past few years, and I have every confidence in you." Willow blinked back tears at this praise from her mentor. The two hugged tight for a moment (a very uncharacteristic and un-British display from Miss Harkness), then the older woman stepped back to the circle. The assembled witches began chanting, bringing their combined power to focus on Willow. She felt the tingle of the magic surrounding her as it built up, and then the powerful flare as the spell activated and space folded itself around her.
In the blink of an eye, the morning sunlight and green, woodsy smell of the coven's compound was replaced by the dimmed lights and hard floors of the Hyperion Hotel. Willow swayed as the backwash of the teleportation spell fluttered around her, then dissipated. She looked up to find herself staring at a blue-haired woman with penetrating eyes and a leathery-looking outfit. And behind the woman lay the limp, still bodies of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Charles Gunn. Willow felt a sudden anger flare up within her, and a desire to blast the strange woman from the face of the earth. She could feel the magic in her fingertips, aching to be directed out against the woman as fire and lightning and vengeance. Willow's heart thudded in her chest as she struggled to maintain control. She couldn't let herself make a mistake in haste and anger. Willow clamped down firmly on the power, bringing it and herself under control. She had to find out what had happened first. Willow glared up at the strangely familiar woman and said, "Who are you, and what the hell is going on here?"
TBC
"Ow, ow, ow! Dammit!" exclaimed Willow, painfully untangling herself from the lotus position she had been sitting in for over an hour. It was no use, she just couldn't calm her mind enough to meditate tonight. Sighing, she stood and walked out of the mediation room into the candle-lit hallway of the coven house. Willow headed down the hallway toward the sitting room. She needed counsel, and Amelia Harkness was certainly not shy about giving advice.
The coven in Devon, situated on the northern coast of the peninsula about midway between Ilfracombe and Lynton, was a place Willow found herself returning to time and time again. It was a place she could find respite from the pressures of her duties for the Council, where she could renew her connection with the earth, and where she could consult the wisdom of witches who were much more experienced - if not more powerful - than herself.
As Willow entered the sitting room, she mentally braced herself for the usual range of reactions she knew she would receive. As expected, the younger student witches, sitting together in the far corner, looked at her then quickly looked away and began whispering together. Some of the older witches in the room looked at her with disapproval or refused to meet her eyes at all. These were the ones who disapproved of her independence and use of certain dangerous magics. Other witches smiled at her, and some simply ignored her altogether, lost in their thoughts or a book. Miss Harkness rose from her seat by the fire, her dark eyes warm but penetrating, and smiled.
"Good evening, Willow," she said in her rich voice. "Come, sit with me." She sat back down as Willow took the empty chair next to her. "So," she continued, "how was your meditation tonight?" Willow made a face. "No joy," she said, gloomily. "I couldn't seem to clear my mind tonight." Miss Harkness looked concerned. "Is there anything weighing heavily on your mind lately?"
Willow waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing out of the ordinary," she replied. "Just the usual Council stuff." Miss Harkness leaned back into her chair and looked thoughtfully at Willow. She said nothing for a few minutes, and Willow found herself fidgeting under the older woman's gaze. In times past, she might have started babbling to fill the silence, but Willow had greatly improved her patience and self-discipline over the past year. Stilling herself, she waited silently for Miss Harkness to speak.
"It was not too long ago that you fought that terrible man," Miss Harkness said finally. "Are you still experiencing the effects?" Willow smiled to herself. "That terrible man" was the only way Miss Harkness ever referred to the Chinese sorcerer who had called himself (somewhat arrogantly) Yen Lo-Wang, the King of Hell, after a Chinese deity. What his real name was no one knew, but he had been old and clever and powerful, and had battled the Watchers' Council for control of all the new Slayers in China. In the end, Willow had faced and defeated him in a duel of magic, trapping him in a demon dimension. She hoped it was one with boiling oil, like the hell his namesake had ruled. The battle had been intensely draining, and Willow had spent the last few weeks recuperating in London and here.
"I think I'm fully recovered," Willow said. "My strength and control have returned, anyway." She frowned slightly, her brain focusing on what her body was feeling. "I have been feeling a little weird today, though" she continued, "like something's a little ... off, I guess. Or like there's something just at the edge of my vision, but I can't see it." Miss Harkness leaned forward and cupped Willow's chin in her hand. Willow waited passively as the older witch gazed into her eyes. "Hmm," she murmured after a moment, "your aura seems fine." She sat back into her chair again. "Perhaps you should sleep instead of meditating."
Willow shrugged. "It's probably nothing." She stood up from the chair. "I think I will get some sleep, though. I probably need to head back to London tomorrow." Miss Harkness looked up at her. "Whatever you feel is best, dear. You know you're welcome to stay here as long as you need." Willow smiled at the older witch. "I know. I'm grateful for your kindness." Alone of all the witches in the coven, Amelia Harkness had never displayed any fear of Willow. From the first day Willow had met her, Miss Harkness had simply taken her in and taught her the things she needed most - patience, balance, and harmony. In the two years since their relationship had begun, Willow had failed to remember those lessons more than once. The dark magics that she had absorbed and practiced were a part of her now, and she would never be entirely free of them. But Miss Harkness had demonstrated an endless patience for Willow's occasional stumbles that Willow would never forget, and for which she would always be grateful.
That night, Willow dreamed. A kaleidoscope of images passed before her eyes. She saw Angel, Spike, Wesley and Gunn battling demons. A dark shadow hung over the images, and she could feel alien presences watching with her. Or maybe she was watching with them. A towering rage suffused her being, and she felt dark magic welling up inside her. The images changed. Angel, Spike, Gunn, and something she couldn't quite see stood together in an alley she knew (the way one often just knows something in a dream) that they were behind the Hyperion Hotel. They were battling hordes of demons, and losing. Again she sensed gigantic presences watching with her, and their minds were now filled with unholy glee, as well as anger. She could hear a voice, calling out in a harsh, unknown language, and she could feel the flames of hell, and the pounding of drums. And she could smell smoke.
Some instinct warning her, Willow dragged herself up out of the dream with an effort of will. The chanting had stopped, but she could still feel heat and hear drums. As she came closer to wakefulness, she realized that the "drums" were the noise of someone pounding on the door to her room, and that it was very hot. Willow jerked up, wide awake, and stared in horror at a the far wall of her room. Something had been written on it in fiery letters, and there were flames licking up from the floor around her bed. She could hear voices out in the hallway calling her name, and the pounding on her door redoubled. For a heartbeat Willow was terrified that there were demons out there, trying to get her, but then she recognized the voices as coven members.
Willow could still feel the magic burning in her veins, she felt a panicked desire to blast her way out of the room. With a tremendous effort of will, she brought herself under control and focused her mind on calming the fires. Within a minute, the flickering flames had died down to nothing. Willow hopped out of bed and looked at the door to her room, still closed. She could feel that it had been sealed magically, although she didn't remember doing it. With a wave of her hand, she broke the seal and unlocked the door. Miss Harkness and three other witches piled into the room. "What happened?" gasped the older woman. Willow fixed her gaze on the hideous writing that spread across her wall, the letters now black ash against the white-painted wood. "I don't know," she replied in a quavering voice. "But I think something bad is happening in Los Angeles."
Miss Harkness was nothing if not efficient. After Willow related the events of her dream, the coven was quickly put to work preparing a teleportation spell. Willow got on the phone to the Council headquarters in London and e-mailed them pictures of the symbols on her wall she had taken with her digital camera. Since Willow had almost single-handedly brought the Council into the digital age, they already had samples of every known demonic script on their computers, and a program (that she had designed herself) for translating them. Soon after that, she was talking to a very grumpy Giles, who definitely needed his morning tea. It was already six in the morning, which meant it was ten o'clock P.M. the previous night in L.A. Willow felt time slipping away as she and Giles argued the merits of teleporting directly to the Hyperion or waiting for the translators to finish and contacting the Slayers nearest to L.A.
Willow and Giles had been in polite disagreement on the subject of Angel and Wolfram and Hart ever since they left Sunnydale, over a year ago. Willow, along with Buffy and Faith, had been certain that Angel and the others were up to some devious plan to destroy Wolfram and Hart from within, and that he could still be trusted. Giles had insisted that, even if they could trust Angel, Wes, Fred and Gunn, they had no way of knowing whether the people now working for them could be trusted, and that since the Council was particularly vulnerable in the early stages of rebuilding, it would be best to minimize contact. When Andrew had returned from his mission to retrieve that crazy Slayer from L.A. with the stunning news that Spike was alive, Willow and Giles had disagreed slightly less politely on whether to tell Buffy, who was living in semi-retirement in Rome by that time. Eventually, Willow had allowed herself to be persuaded to keep it a secret, and had even instilled enough fear in Andrew to make sure he didn't spill the news to the Slayer. But now it appeared that, whatever Angel's plans had been, he was having a permanent falling out with the Senior Partners. Giles warned Willow of the dangers of teleporting in unannounced, dismissed her concerns about the urgency of the situation, reminded her that the Council's needs took priority over Angel's, and finally outright forbade her to go. Willow told Giles to stuff himself, then squeaked out an apology and hung up.
Less than two hours later, the coven was ready. Willow stood in the center of the circle they made, calming her mind and mentally preparing some of her most potent defensive and offensive spells. Miss Harkness stepped over to her and said, quietly, "Be careful, Willow. You may have to do more than fight when you get to Los Angeles." Willow looked at her, confused. "In your dream, you were linked to those so-called Senior Partners," Miss Harkness continued. "They may attempt to re-open that link."
"And take over my mind?" Willow asked, gloomily. Miss Harkness nodded. "Or at least influence you," she replied. "Take care to guard both your mind and soul." Willow nodded in understanding. "I will," she said. Miss Harkness smiled gently at her. "I'm very proud of you, Willow. You have shown incredible strength of character in the face of great temptations over the past few years, and I have every confidence in you." Willow blinked back tears at this praise from her mentor. The two hugged tight for a moment (a very uncharacteristic and un-British display from Miss Harkness), then the older woman stepped back to the circle. The assembled witches began chanting, bringing their combined power to focus on Willow. She felt the tingle of the magic surrounding her as it built up, and then the powerful flare as the spell activated and space folded itself around her.
In the blink of an eye, the morning sunlight and green, woodsy smell of the coven's compound was replaced by the dimmed lights and hard floors of the Hyperion Hotel. Willow swayed as the backwash of the teleportation spell fluttered around her, then dissipated. She looked up to find herself staring at a blue-haired woman with penetrating eyes and a leathery-looking outfit. And behind the woman lay the limp, still bodies of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Charles Gunn. Willow felt a sudden anger flare up within her, and a desire to blast the strange woman from the face of the earth. She could feel the magic in her fingertips, aching to be directed out against the woman as fire and lightning and vengeance. Willow's heart thudded in her chest as she struggled to maintain control. She couldn't let herself make a mistake in haste and anger. Willow clamped down firmly on the power, bringing it and herself under control. She had to find out what had happened first. Willow glared up at the strangely familiar woman and said, "Who are you, and what the hell is going on here?"
TBC