(INTERLUDE)

"Tara! Hey, Tara!"

Rats. She'd hoped she would be able to get back to the motel room without having to talk to Linda. Not that she had anything against her, exactly, but... She sighed and stepped into the office. "Hi."

"Hey! Haven't seen much of you two. Guess you've been pretty busy, huh?" Linda winked at her.

"Actually, Willow hasn't been feeling well." Tara suddenly felt she was being stared at like an exotic animal. Possibly a lemur. This girl was way too hung up on her and Willow.

"Oh. Whatever, I just think it's really cool that you two... you know... I've never actually met any... you know... anyway, hate to bother you about this, but otherwise the boss will have my ass... the money thing. You owe us for three nights."

"Yeah, I was just in town... the, um, ATM didn't work. I'll stop by the bank tomorrow."

"Could you? That'd be great, because as much as I like you two, Mr Felder will be knocking down your door tomorrow afternoon if you haven't paid by then. You don't have a credit card or anything?" She looked at the Visa Tara handed her and frowned. "Look, it's OK if you don't trust me enough to say where you're really from, but I checked every single map I could find and there is no Sunnydale in California or anywhere else in the US. So there can't be a First Bank Of Sunnydale either. No wonder the ATM didn't 'work'. Good fake, though."

"Oh." Somehow that made sense to Tara. She'd completely forgotten about... what was it again? She put the card back in her wallet and started rummaging for cash. There wasn't nearly enough. "But tomorrow will be fine?"

"Oh, sure!" Linda was all smiles again. "Just as long as I get it before three o'clock tomorrow."

"No problem." After all, Willow's card would surely work.

Tara got back to number 19, undressed and got into bed next to her girlfriend. Willow didn't wake up, but snuggled up to her in her sleep. Tara kissed her forehead and closed her eyes. Safe.


Chapter 12: Nativity In Black
In which the warrior of the people crosses over. So to speak.

He kept telling himself he was just playing along. Getting her to cooperate, to learn. Jonathan owed Buffy a lot, and he didn't want to leave her in the ground. For that, they needed Willow... um, that vampire. And for that, he needed her to think he was on her side. And so, he played along. That was all.

Except for the part where he'd lie awake at night knowing that wasn't all. He had given her a way out; one that someone of her experience couldn't possibly... probably... hopefully use for anything else than a small chance to get away. He shouldn't have. She was evil. And it's not like he was actually considering becoming a powerful vampire overlord. But... he'd always had a thing for Willow, and to have her
(IT'S-NOT-HER!)
returning it was just... while he was teaching her she'd never take her eyes from him, and the way she'd smile, move, the way she could make even the most mundane words sound like an invitation... but also the way she would cower helplessly whenever Xander or Angel spoke to or hit her. It wasn't right. He couldn't just let her die. Besides, they had let her go last time, this was no different. And if anything went wrong, there was a failsafe. She was his responsibility, and he'd take care of her one way or another.

"Earth to Jonathan, hello?" He snapped out of it. Xander was waving his hand in his face. "Sorry to interrupt your daydreaming... nightdreaming... whatever, we've sort of got a spell to cast here?"

Jonathan looked at the others, sitting around Buffy's grave with lit candles in their hands. Xander and Angel staring at Willow with grim determination, Giles mostly looking at the headstone as if searching for a sign. He cleared his throat. "Alright. Let's do this." He cast a glance at the crossbow next to him, briefly patted his pocket to check that the talisman that would ground him here was where it should be, and then picked up his candle and lit it.

Willow, sounding utterly bored, started intoning the spell. "Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, hear us..." As the cuts started appearing on her arms, ripping her outfit to shreds, she smiled and a moan of pleasure escaped her lips. She'd always liked pain.

Xander looked away in disgust. No matter what, that thing was not surviving tonight. He couldn't bear to see what had been Willow like that.

She was enveloped in bright red energy as the blood in the urn started boiling and evaporated into a red fog, which spread over the grave and sank into the earth. The energy followed it, and Willow sat back with a dazed grin on her face. "Wow. Magic is fun."

"So, is that it? Is she back?" Xander reached for his shovel – tool and weapon in one. He could barely see anything; a second ago the whole glade had been lit up like a Christmas tree, and now there was just the fading bonfire.

"Almost. Just one more thing." Faster than anyone could react, she pulled out the powder Jonathan had given her and blew it against them. "DISCEDE!" She clapped her hands, and in a flash they were gone... except Jonathan, who within a second had his crossbow aimed dead center at her chest. She smiled at him. "Whaddyaknow. I kinda figured you might expect that. I bet you even hoped we'd get some alone time, baby. Why else would you teach me that... telewhatsit spell?"

"Teleportation. Where did you send them?"

"Don't know. Don't care. Now put that silly thing down and –"

"No." It was all a blur as he fired, she ducked and rolled and kicked him in the chest, landing on top, straddling him.

"Now that was downright rude. I thought you liked me, Jonathan." She ground her ass against him, and in spite of his fear his body couldn't help but react. She giggled. "Aw, you do like me. That's sweet." He wanted to look away as she bent over him, her hair like a curtain around his face, but he couldn't. "So very sweet..."

Dark. That was her first thought. Absolute darkness, like nothing she'd ever known. Then came the feeling of being trapped. She fumbled around her, finding no more than a few inches on any side before touching on walls that were soft, but unyielding. She gasped for air and realized there was none. Madly scrambling for leverage on the plain surface in front of her, clawing, scratching, tearing her nails out against fabric, padding and finally bare wood. There was no room to pull back for a proper punch, but she was strong and soon she heard planks start to break under
(above)
her fists. Bones cracked in her hands, but she couldn't afford to let the pain stop her. It wasn't until dirt started pouring into her eyes, nose and mouth that she allowed herself to realize where she was.
(coffin oh god I died I'm buried I died I'm buried ALIVE)
Screaming with the last oxygen in her lungs, stars dancing before her eyes as he started to pass out, Buffy finally sat up straight, breaking the top of the coffin open with her forehead. The pain flashed like lightning, giving her the few extra seconds she needed to start crawling in mad panic through the hole, the jagged edges tearing at her dress, skin, flesh. She swam through the earth, reached up and felt her fingers touch grass, then air... and the second before she finally lost consciousness, she felt a hand grab hers and pull.

When she came to, she was lying on the grass. She opened her eyes... and looked straight into Jonathan's face, just a few inches from hers. His eyes were open, but they'd never see anything again; the blood was already starting to dry on the bite wound in his neck, and even in her confused state Buffy knew a dead body when she saw one. There was a sharp pain on her calf, and she realized her dress
(shroud)
had ended up in the fire she was lying next to. She flailed at her legs with broken hands, somehow putting the fire out. As she sat there gasping in the ashes someone crouched down next to her and she spun around.

"W-Willow?"

"Hey Buffy. How you doing?" Her best friend gave her a tired smile.

"What... how... where... "

"Yeah, right there with ya. Don't like this place anymore than you do."

Buffy looked around her. Darkness. Fire. And something next to her... a tombstone. She tried to get her eyes to focus, reading the words BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS several times before she understood them. "What... Is this... hell?"

"Oh, not quite yet", Willow beamed. Then she vamped out. "But let's see what we can do about it." As teeth sank into her neck Buffy tried to struggle, but she was simply too weak, and she felt her life draining from her as everything grew dimmer and more distant. When Willow let her go she was already too far gone to even move. Her last conscious thought in what turned out to be a very short life was that the thick, rich, cold liquid that suddenly filled her mouth tasted like blood.

Swallowing it was pure instinct.