Chapter Eight

Healer at Work

Tara sat quietly in the cab of Ethan's truck. He kept stealing glances at her as they drove through the near-darkened streets of Los Osos. She could feel those eyes on her, burning her with questions. The silence between them was dark, uneasy, and she fleetingly wished that everything could have stayed the same. It seemed that Willow, without realising it, would change everything about Tara's life. Tara's soul was conflicted. How much should she tell?

Gods, she was tired. But every time she closed her eyes she could see the burning eyes of the preacher, and she shuddered in the memory. Ethan half-turned to her, and opened his mouth as if to ask something, to shatter the wall of dark silence between them, but it was too thick, too high, and he closed his mouth again. He pulled his truck up to the curb outside her ancient home and shot out like lightning to open the door for her and solicitously take her arm.

"I'm not an invalid, Ethan," Tara said, forcing a laugh at his ministrations. If he kept treating her like she was breakable, she'd have to have words with him. After her visitation with the goddess, she knew she was likely the least breakable thing on earth.

"And I'm not really a gentleman," he stolidly quipped back. "Best way I know of to cop a feel."

Tara laughed out loud as he escorted her to her darkened doorway, and wondered if the neighbours were watching. She pulled out her keys and opened the door, leading the way into her home. Ethan had been here once or twice and gestured as if to open the drapes. She nodded, and the dusky twilight invaded her living room. She flipped the light switch and soft lamps turned on, along with her long strings of white lights, illuminating her eclectic selection of arts and knick knacks. Her home was a place of comfort, and she finally felt herself relax.

Tara motioned Ethan to have a seat on the couch and she bustled into the kitchen. Once again she was starving, but her stomach still heaved and roiled from the filthy touch of the

(the long preacher)

man holding Willow hostage, so she merely put the kettle on for tea. Her mind whirling, she quickly rotated through a dozen different conversations with Ethan, all with varying bits of truth. The kettle started to sing and she still hadn't decided what tactic to use. How would she explain her gifts, her visit with the goddess, her strange imprisonment?

Goddess, guide me.

Of course, my blessed child.

Tara whirled around; almost expecting to see the pert form of the child-goddess perched on her counter, so real was her voice. There was nothing there, but a feeling of warm hands encircling her head, and a warm breath caressing her cheek. And it was enough.

Feeling old beyond her years, tired beyond mortality, and rumpled in her scrubs Tara returned to the living room bearing two cups of tea. Ethan rose to accept his and she waved him down again, sitting on the opposite end of the faded paisley couch, tucking her knees under her. She saw him trace a scratch in the upholstery and he said, "You must miss her."

Tara felt a wave of grief pass through her as she looked around her living room, remembering the antics of her darling cat. Misty had been such a playful kitten, and such a devoted cat, one who loved to curl herself around Tara's ankles when she got home from work, and liked to perch on the windowsill beyond the drapes and watch her world as if from a royal throne. Now it seemed as if her very house mourned the kitten's loss. Since then she had thrown herself into her work, spending longer and longer hours at the hospice.

(no wonder the rabbit wasn't enough)

Tara could feel Ethan's eyes on her as they both sipped their too-hot tea. She wondered if she should say something first, before he could ask a question she didn't know how to answer. But she just didn't have the words, and she desperately cast her eyes about the room as if looking for inspiration.

"You've never been gone that long, Tara," she heard him say, and she slowly whirled her head around to look at him. In the last glow of sunlight setting off beyond the ocean she could see his face half-cast in shadow, his eyes filled with concern, and once again she wished, oh she wished she could have Ethan for Donny. "I kept checking and you still didn't come out."

"I know," she answered. Tara stared at her tea, her mind spinning out of control, unknowing what to say, for what would he believe? And would he hate her afterward? What if she could never look him in the eye again?

And the goddess whispered in her ear, and Tara suddenly sat straighter, and looked at Ethan with tender strength in her eyes.

(for you, the truth)

"Ethan, what I have to tell you is something that can never be repeated to anyone. This is in the strictest confidence you can imagine." His head nodded and he smiled, and she lowered her voice and quickly shut down her own smile, looking at him with sad intensity, willing him to understand how serious she was. "Ethan," she whispered. "My life depends on it."

His smile faded.

"Turn off the l-lamp," she quietly ordered, blinking, and he did so, casting the room into long shadows of twilight. She was hideously reminded of the strange netherworld of darkness in Willow's mind and couldn't resist a shiver. And yet he sat, his face filled with concern, and she mourned the loss of his innocence.

Can't be helped. I need him.

Tara closed her eyes and concentrated, muttering two words in Latin. Opening her eyes again she held out her hands with her palms up, and a ball of brilliant light suddenly there appeared, and Tara could see Ethan's face slacken in shock.

"Ethan, I'm a witch."

And the goddess continued to whisper to her.

(tell him everything)

It was well after midnight when Ethan finally left, his eyes glazed over with information overload. They had both shared secrets in the past few hours; Ethan was amazed by Tara's ability to mindsurf, a talent she shared by placing her hands on his head and plucking out a childhood memory of visiting Italy with his grandparents. That was all the proof he needed.

And Tara was similarly amazed by Ethan's account of what had happened in Willow's room. She deciphered that the same time the preacher was blasting portions of Willow's tree was when Willow had her cardiac arrest. And Ethan saved Tara's life, by giving her an injection to make her come out of Willow's mind.

Most astonishing was the flight of the goddess from her locale in Willow's mind. As soon as the goddess left, Willow's hair returned to its normal shade of burnished copper. Tara was happy now that the goddess was free to roam once more, especially as she had kept receiving hints and inspirations from the child on how to deal with Ethan.

And now that Ethan had left, all Tara wanted to do was sleep, but the goddess wouldn't let her.

Too much to do.

For three more hours Tara listened to the promptings of the tiny goddess, opening books, studying passages, and a clearer picture of her most dangerous task began to form. She finally sat with a book open to a section describing the goddess Thespia, who Tara knew to be the guardian/potential jailer of demons. Tara was staring at a picture of an amulet, which Aranaea calmly told her was absolutely necessary for her task.

By this late hour, Tara had abandoned all pretences, and addressed the invisible goddess verbally. "How do I get it?" she asked out loud.

(the witch doctor)

"I can't phone him now, it's the middle of the night."

(do it now)

Tara wearily picked up the phone and opened her address book. Her contact was surprised to hear from her, and even more surprised when she asked to borrow the Amulet of Thespia. "How do you know about it?" he demanded.

"I'm a witch," she painfully reminded him. A grinding headache had settled deep in her fuddled head, and she felt a little dizzy and short-tempered.

"Right. Well, I have some more questions, but now isn't a good time. Come to L.A. tomorrow and I'll have the amulet ready for you."

"Fine." Her contact gave her the address and Tara hung up the phone, fleetingly grateful that tomorrow was Friday and she would have the whole weekend off.

"Now can I go to sleep?" she asked the empty air, a trifle petulantly.

(sleep, my daughter, sleep)

Morning came way too fast for Tara, and as she ruefully made her bed, showered, and ate cold cereal for breakfast she reminded herself to never fall victim to the whims of an invisible child-goddess, no matter how insistent.

When she arrived at the hospice Penny was already there, of course, and Tara compulsively looked at the clock. Two minutes early. She'd never cut it so close before. Penny took one look at Tara's expression and immediately saw past the makeup and the forced cheery appearance. "Long night?" she asked, pouring Tara a cup of coffee.

Tara could hear a note of curious desperation in Penny's voice and she knew that Penny was dying to ask what had happened last night. No one but Ethan knew she was gay, and it was logical to assume that everybody would be wondering just what happened between Ethan and Tara last night. Time to put budding rumours to rest.

"Yeah, Ethan and I talked a bit last night, and then he went home. Then I got caught up in a really good book and stayed up too late." The partial lie flowed too easily from her lips and she just about grimaced in personal dismay.

Tara took the cup of coffee and started to walk down the hallway to Willow's room, when Penny stopped her. "Uh, Tara, a bunch of us girls are ditching our boyfriends to have a poker night tonight. Um, would you like to join us?" Tara could see the multitude of questions behind Penny's eyes and suddenly knew that her earlier lie wouldn't be enough to satisfy her. What would Penny think of her now when she said no?

"I'd really love to, Penny, but I'm going to Los Angeles tonight. S-some other time, for sure."

"Ooh, what's in L.A.?" Penny asked, her eyebrows lifting near off her skull.

Here comes another lie. "Oh, just a friend. Haven't seen him in a while." That much at least was true, and Tara quickly scuttled away before Penny could shower her in more questions and innuendo. She had always been a poor liar, and she absolutely hated telling lies. But when the truth is even more unbelievable, which would you rather believe?

She entered Willow's room and approached the bed with a little trepidation. This little comatose woman had already caused such a welter of emotion in Tara, and she shuddered to think of her task.

(the amulet, you need the amulet)

She was also a little shocked by the red hair, even though she had seen it through bleary, pain-ridden eyes last night. Tara picked up the clipboard at the foot of Willow's bed and stolidly got to work.

Throughout her long, ten hour shift, Tara cleaned Willow's cuts, played music for her, rotated and exercised sore limbs, and smiled every time Willow opened her eyes. She even managed to have a somewhat normal conversation with Ethan as he came into the room to do his own rounds. She was worried that he would treat her differently, but he didn't flinch or ignore her, and she counted her blessings.

By the time late afternoon came, Tara knew she couldn't put her true work off any longer. She had wanted to start working on Willow's broken skull, but when she opened the bandage covering Willow's gut, Tara got concerned. The blade that so nearly eviscerated her must have been dirty, for the edges of the foot-long wound pulsed in infection.

Am I ready for this?

Steeling herself against the inevitable pain, Tara sat down next to Willow's still body and lightly placed her fingertips on the jagged stitched wound. She closed her eyes, and calmed her breathing. This was trickier than mindsurfing. A mindsurf was a one-way flow, as she softly penetrated her patient's minds. Merely taking pain was also a one-way street, as all she did was pull the pain out through her fingertips. And the ritual sacrifice, the death of the animals, there was no other flow there, just liquid death through her fingertips.

Healing was altogether a different matter.

It was taking pain in one direction, and giving energy in the other. So Tara bent to her chore, opened her eyes, and felt the numbness in her fingers as she began to draw out the pain and the infection in Willow's gut wound, feeling it invade her body with dull thuds of pain. Then she closed her eyes again and began to draw out a tiny procession of her own healthy cells, a mini-parade of goodness, and she sent them across the barrier. With her mind held just so, she could almost see the new cells knitting together more perfectly, feeling a measure of their joy as they fulfilled the purpose of their creation.

And she fulfilled the purpose of hers.

(for this task have I created you, the greatest healer in the world)

And suddenly she wasn't merely drawing cells out of her willing body, she was drawing light out of her vessel, and her ears roared with a resounding whoosh of blood. With her eyes closed she could see a raging flood of white god-light surge through her veins, battering down the barrier of her fingers, and surging with enormous strength into the hideous wound of Willow Rosenberg.

And the edges of the wound cleared of infection, and they began to knit together, cells meeting in that joyous celebration of life, unwelcome stitches dissolving away, a long thick red line that turned pinker, and smaller, until it was only a thin pale scar to testify of Tara's sacrifice.

Tara gasped, and wrenched her fingers away.

Even as vast pain engulfed her body, clenching her in waves of terrifying, insistent force, even as she turned and vomited again on the floor, her head lighting up with such exquisite hurt that she felt her eyes would simply burst, she could see, oh she could see the white perfect expanse of skin and the thin white line where a vicious gut wound so recently lived.

(Goddess, what have I done? What have you done to me?)

Once again her mother's training took over. Tara closed her eyes and visualised the pain, compartmentalising it, placing it in little boxes in her mind. But there was too much, far too much to lock away. She shuddered in the leftovers, and it took her fifteen minutes to raise her trembling limbs off the floor. She stood, clutching Willow's bed, willing herself not to faint, her stomach roiling with the stench and the agony. When she recovered enough to move, Tara quietly and resolutely went to the hall closet to get the cleaning supplies. She had to do it herself. She couldn't tell anyone what had happened.

Ethan. She could tell Ethan.

No, he was freaked enough as it is. No use telling him too much, too soon. Wouldn't want him to break.

As she shuffled back into the room, Tara looked at Willow's abdomen once more, drawing her trembling fingers over the clear skin, tracing the miniscule scar, marvelling at the pain that had so swiftly incapacitated her. She sat down on her stool for another few minutes, panting heavily, even her joints aching fit to burst.

Then she finally cleaned up the floor, swaying again and again in nausea and debilitating pain. Gods, she needed an aspirin. Hah, she needed morphine.

She finally sat herself down on the soft brown loveseat and closed her eyes again. Still the pain flowed so deeply within her that she felt crippled by it and her eyes brimmed with tears. Silently she sat there and wept for the body-encompassing agony, and her heart despaired. How on earth was she going to take it all, if this is what happens? Maybe she should ask Ethan for a shot. The longer she sat in the clenched fist of Willow's pain, the bleaker she became, and she suddenly made up her mind.

What started out as a resolute walk to the phone became a limping shuffle, and she swiftly punched in his number and asked him to come to Willow's room. As she hobbled back to Willow's bedside, she thought, "You still there, goddess?"

I am here. I will always be with you.

Does it have to be like this?

Yes. Oh, yes. I cannot change the aspect of your power.

Then what good are you?

Ethan came bustling into the room, interrupting Tara's silent argument. He could easily see the anguish and pain written all over her beaten form, and he asked, "Tara, what happened?"

His kind voice dissolved her into tears again, so she merely pointed at Willow's abdomen. He seemed puzzled, and then stark astonishment lit up his face as he also traced the thin line. "Wasn't this," and he took a great gulp. "Wasn't this where she had been gutted?"

Tara nodded.

"You did this?"

She nodded again, her eyes blurry. "God, are you all right?" he asked, coming to sit beside her, drawing his arm around her shoulder. She couldn't speak, for a great lump had formed in her throat. Please let him remember.

"Wait, you told me last night that you take the pain." She nodded again, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder, brushing the stethoscope hanging around his neck. "Tara, are you hurt?" No nod this time, for she gulped back a tremendous sob.

It was answer enough.

"Okay, stay here while I get something for you. Don't come out, everyone's too curious about you right now and you can't answer any questions." Ethan gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, propped her up against the couch, and left the room. He quickly returned with a syringe in hand. Drawing up the arm of her scrubs, he swabbed her with disinfectant, and then she felt the welcome pinch and whoosh of drugs.

"Just Toradol," Ethan was saying. "We can't give you a narcotic, not while you're here. Besides, this won't make you fuzzy. You've only got two more hours on shift, so stay here. I'll come back in a while to check on you and Willow both."

As he was leaving the room, Tara looked up at him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't know why you're so good to me," she said quietly, almost hoping he wouldn't hear her. You may be the first person in my whole life who ever truly cared for me.

But Ethan stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Then he turned to face Tara again and there was a mischievous smile on his face. "Let's say it's in my own best interest," he said facetiously. Then his face sobered and he said, just as quietly as she did, "Besides, there is still one more thing you don't know about me." But then he left without more explanation, and Tara hurt too much to care, logging his eerie comment in the back of her mind for later reflection.

See? He won't betray you, Tara heard the near-petulant voice of the goddess say.

You're right, she thought back, melting into the brown couch. Thank God for that.

You're welcome.