Leather Queen - The 'how' is answered next - posting tomorrow as we skip to Season 4. Karma, as you will find out again and again, is a bitch in this reality...

Katharyn

Enjoy
K
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Title: The Sidestep Chronicle – The Calling I (Part 5)
Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. katharynrosser@hotmail.com
Spoiler Warning: Pretty limited. The story occurs in an alternate universe though reference is made to events that occur in both realities.
Summary: Now the story can really get moving – the scene is set… time to play. The Return of Willow. Dead, twice-ish, but never quite forgotten. Set during the time that would have been the beginning of “Hush” in the prime Buffy reality – i.e. the night after Buffy’s dream about the girl with the box and the Wicca Group. I’m sure you all remember that episode right? I think it marked the start of a lot of people’s devotion to a certain couple.
Disclaimer: I still don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc, etc. I am making zilch from this series of stories.
Rating: 15
Couples: Not just yet – but hey give me chance – oh right you did that already…
Notes: The Wicca Group in this fic is the one that was shown in “Hush” though obviously without W & T. I have taken the liberty of naming some members and altering some situations. In this reality, four years into the Master’s reign in Sunnydale the Wicca Group is less about bake sales and more about survival.
Also remember that certain things have not occurred in this reality… Switcheroo…
Thanks To: All those readers who have managed to accept the darkness I present and are sticking with this. I’ll do my best to ensure that you keep enjoying it. Jo, Kerry, Louise… as always.

The Sidestep Chronicle

The Calling I

By

Katharyn Rosser

The circle was finally completed with the arrival of Carole and Anne. They all been kept waiting long enough. The collective impatient sigh was more than audible. It hung in the air.

“Sorry we’re late.” Carole apologised for them both, “The softball team memorial bake sale ran over and then we had to help tidy up…” Broken down bus and the whole softball team had been killed. She hated this town. She fell silent as she noticed the look on the faces of the rest of the group and most particularly the dark expression on the face of the one who had become the defacto leader. Carole still wasn't sure quite how that happened. Maybe it was magic. It sure wasn't charisma. Maybe it was fear. It made her slightly better to feel that her rightful organisational position had been usurped due to everyone being terrified. Sometimes that leader was scary… she just got this look and it was like looking right down into hell. But there was no way to argue with her power.

In fact nobody argued with her power because nobody wanted to spend the rest of the meeting doing something embarrassing at which the others could laugh – rats had been known. And sometimes… sometimes it might have been worse than that. Sometimes group members had disappeared. But no one wanted to think about that much… they just all took a collective, unspoken, decision to shut up and bear it, Carole thought. Because they needed her to keep themselves alive in Sunnydale.

“You know that curfew is just a couple of hours away,” one of the others protested as they sat down in their assigned spaces and picked up the spell ingredients that had been left in front of their mats. “What about the rest of us? We come here to try and make things better and all you can worry about is bake sales?”

“Yeah,” another agreed, irritated too but mainly picking up on the mood of the group – which was set by just one person… and that person wasn't either Carole or Anne.

“Sorry,” Carole apologised again.

“Sorry,” her fellow latecomer added, thoroughly cowed, and wishing that she were matriculating anywhere but Sunnydale. Anywhere where power was being popular, rather than being able to protect yourself from vampires and other beasts that killed you in the night.

“Enough now okay. Just enough,” the group’s unofficial leader instructed. No one had ever given her that role. She had just turned up one day and taken it from Carole and Anne. Turned them away from fundraising and towards the magic arts. No one who had any interest in actual Wicca had any protests… even Carole and Anne had sort of come around to the power that they were demonstrating nowadays. Even if it was only in the group… not individually. Doing the same thing alone… didn’t work. For any of them.

It was power that had definitely helped them though. They might be five miles away from town here, but the student mortality rate was still shocking – even before the Softball team. But now, thanks to the newcomer, they all had wards in their rooms, protection against some creatures and they had been working at a more general ward to protect the entire campus proper. No one was even sure if it was possible, but if they could pull that off...

Actually there was one person there who knew exactly what was possible and what was not – knew that those spells they all liked so much were insignificant if you could just make things happen. Now that was power. Unfortunately some spells kicked your ass – mentally and physically… And that was why she needed this shower of wannabe’s. Wiccan wannabe’s no less.

Just save me from goody, goody Wiccans and find me a real witch.

Actually this town wasn’t big enough for more than one witch… she thought. They would do what they were told and then they would die. It was a natural progression and nature was sooo important to them all. “Now, do we have the remaining spell ingredients?” she asked them, though she wouldn’t be shocked if they had forgotten or picked up the wrong sort of bat’s legs. Fruit bats weren’t going to cut it here.

“Yes,” one of the more talented members, Diane, waved a bunch of herbs in the air. Before her were arrayed a number of bottles.

It might even be a shame to see Diane die. Not enough of a shame to stop it from happening though. “Then lets get to it,” she instructed as their leader, the cowl pulled up over her head as usual, her face shrouded in the shadows it created. They all thought they knew her name. They all knew her face. But for some reason she insisted on hiding that during the working of their arts.

Carole raised her hand. “Er sorry… get on with what?”

The robed young woman looked at Carole, wondering why it was that she had been instructed to work with such… amateurs. Her employers could so easily have secured professional services to achieve their aims – she could have arranged it herself but her instructions had been very clear on the subject. On the appointed day, this day, she was perform a calling. Just not the calling that this bunch of… Wiccans had in mind. Play nice, she told herself adjusting the large cross that hung around her neck beneath the robe. Just for a few more minutes.

“The Spirit of the Tree” she lied to them. “After all wood kills the vampires, this will help us better manipulate the wood for our defence and the defence of others.” The idea was actually sound. It was always better to bury a lie in the truth. If they had known anything though they would have realised that such a spell would be so far beyond the power of this group that they wouldn’t have stood a chance. Not without her boosting them as she had been doing for weeks now. And if she was going to boost them again… it was for her own ends. What a bunch of ignorant fools. When she had found them they had been nothing.

And they still were nothing. She was quite proud of that. She’d given them enough of a taste of power to keep them coming back but stopped any of them from getting… too powerful. There might even be one or two who had a sniff of the talent. Just a sniff mind, but she’d kept them on ritual based magic. They couldn’t begin to touch her spontaneous use of magic. Just in case one of them proved to be more than a nothing. You never could tell…

But soon they would just be… what? Breakfast… for the thing that she was truly calling into their circle. All she had to do was prevent herself becoming part of that meal and live to collect her payment. Nothing tricky then…

“Which tree Amy?” Anne asked.

“The willow tree,” she replied finding the lie quickly and easily. Not that a Willow would provide the best quality stakes. The wood was not ideal. Didn’t they see that?

“Cool…” came the collected replies as she smiled encouragingly at them from beneath the cowl.

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The destruction and death had been quite educational to watch. Educational and kinda fun. Drained by the severe demands of the spell many of the group had collapsed as the portal to places beyond closed once more. It was like the sucking air dragged the energy from them and back to that place they were bringing their objective from. A place of nothingness. But they soon found a very good reason to get up and move. Their leader couldn’t remember ever seeing anything quite like it. It, the creature they had summoned, had been confused at first, almost babbling as it was demanding answers from the corpses it had in its hands and scattered at its feet. Bodies soon lay strewn around the meeting room. Some were drained, others were just twisted and broken shells of the young women they had once been.

As the instigator – knowing what was likely to happen - she had remained calm and silent taking in the sights, the terrible sounds. The snarls, the screams, the sucking of blood from slashed arteries. The thing was very hungry and not just for blood. The stench of death was all around her and she felt blood spatter her robe, some on her face. But she did not move. If she did, if she presented a target, then she would join them in death. But remaining here, calm, silent, motionless… the vampire, as she had been promised, avoided her and went for the moving targets first.

And then at last with every one of the Wicca Group dead around her the vampire seemed to be sated. In its hunger at least. Just because it had filled itself up with the young women didn’t mean that she was any safer though. The questions it had been asking of their shattered and dying bodies still remained unanswered.

She had avoided the vampire’s fury. Expecting what had occurred she had deliberately chosen dark coloured clothing and given her fellows little magical pushes into the waiting vampire’s arms – keeping the red head occupied and, more importantly, away from her. She had been warned about this time… this most deadly time. Something recalled from nothingness… from that place in-between… was not going to react well to sensory overload back in the world. Let alone hunger. And once there was no one but her left… then the danger was still far from over.

There was just her and the vampire, which stood once more in the centre of what had been the circle, regarding her with curiosity. It was wondering why perhaps, like any sensible person, she hadn’t unlocked the meeting room door and fled. And there were those eyes… they burned into her like a yellow fire reading her soul until there was nothing left to hide. So she could not even be surprised when it calmly walked over to her and addressed her.

“You’re not what you say you are…” the red-headed vampire took and caressed her hand. That was actually the most worrying thing to Amy. After the initial blood lust had faded she had watched as the vampire toyed with some of her later victims. And it didn’t seem to be just killing play. But she was under instructions… She was not to do anything that might endanger that which they, she, had summoned. Besides the effort, though channelled through the now dead wiccans, had drained her a lot too.

“No I’m not,” she told it.

“You don’t belong where you are,” the vampire observed, not sounding sure of what it was saying, as if relying on instinct but wondering why it couldn’t believe its eyes.

“That’s a matter of opinion… mine is that I am right where I belong.” The fingers were at her neck now… fingers that she had seen tear open a throat before the still bloodstained lips drank from the gaping wound.

“You’re not afraid of me?” The vampire sounded surprised. Maybe disappointed. It dropped its hand from her and closed its eyes, head swaying gently as if listening to some tune.

“There are worse things than you”’ she finally replied and that was the truth. Besides she had backup, provided by a whole firm of things that were way worse than this vampire ever could be.

“You brought me back,” it said, figuring it out.

The vampire remembered dying then. That was crucial, they had been told, that it should know that it had died – that she couldn’t just lift it from one reality before that death occurred. That it should feel gratitude to her for her efforts. And if it asked she should tell it the truth. Always the truth. The truth, they had said, is your ally. She didn’t know about that. Lies had always served her pretty well too.

But it didn’t ask anything anyway. Amy simply nodded in response to the original question, not about to volunteer information that might be poorly received. That was all she had to keep her alive. She knew that her life hung in the balance, held there precariously by factors beyond her control. If the vampire decided to drain her, snap her neck or anything else there would be no time to defend herself or for her backup to come to her aid. Where was that backup anyway? But she was hoping that the vampire would realise… perhaps even feel some gratitude for what they had done. Of course it had to appreciate the world it was in to do that.

“Then you should be rewarded.” It looked down, saw her fingers making almost instinctive gestures, completing a spell that would carry this thing far away from her. But she didn’t have the juice left… she was too far-gone and needed to rest, recover. Maybe pay a visit and pay the price of a supercharge.

Was this what she was reduced to she wondered? Unable to complete a job because she was afraid… but the spell had not worked anyway… She looked into the vampire’s soul. Beyond the dangerous surface emotions, looking for something… a shred of lingering humanity. A morsel of mercy that might be dealt her way…. The soul itself. But there was nothing in this one. Nothing but…

“Your fingers aren’t working…? Awww… Mine are,” it told her.

The vampire interlaced its fingers with hers. The grip was incredibly strong between fingers that seemed so delicate. It held their hand up between them as if remembering… something. It was an almost gentle gesture, which had some meaning to the vampire. Or seemed to. The vampire started to squeeze, watching her carefully as she squeezed until the witch was sure the bones in her fingers would be snapped. The pain was so bad that she couldn’t even start to bring a spell to her mind. Even if she had could manage it… she was under specific instructions... ‘no magical damage.’ She had tried to violate that instruction – out of fear – but couldn’t. She remembered that that now. What they would do to her for breaking the terms of the contract was much, much worse than having her hand hurt.

But what if it killed her? She looked towards the door where she knew her backup should have been. Gave the tiniest nod. They had made allowances for this happening.

She contained her pain and managed to limit its expression to a soft whimper. That seemed to impress the vampire though it did not slacken the grip. But it didn’t get any stronger either. Constant pressure. Constant pain. It seemed to like it that way.

Then the vampires other hand shot out sideways, without looking and grabbed something that could not be seen. Her backup. Marcie. From the immediate sounds of choking it must have taken Marcie by the throat, squeezing her as tightly as it was squeezing her hand and tiny cuts opened up on that hand as Marcie must have struggled to free herself.

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Willow had the other by the throat, had sensed her enemy’s approach after the witch had nodded. A strange witch this one. Not that she had met any others before. But she was strange all the same. She wasn’t who she should be. Displaced. Wrong.

But better for it. What was wrong was just sooo right.

She squeezed with both of her hands intending to pop the head from the invisible one – some thing she couldn’t see but human by the feel and smell of it. Not to mention the choking sounds. It really might have been fun to see if its blood or its innards were also invisible. She could hear it all though. The slight cracking of cartilage. The grind of bone against bone. Such sweet music. And the smell of fear… she’d missed that so much she hardly even noticed the half-moon cuts on her hand and fingers.

There had been no sound where she had been before but it wasn't silent. There had been no sight but it wasn't just black. No smell… She didn’t like where she had been even if it was for just a few days… or a thousand years… of dreams. And if these two had brought her back then… they still should die. That was who she was. She was a killer.

But she was also confused… so she did not squeeze either any harder. It was…right and it was wrong. This was her place. Now that she could sense once more she could feel that this was her place. Somewhere she should have been. She could smell it. The resigned terror amongst her waking meals was familiar. They knew what she was and they feared her for it. They knew their place.

Not like that other, soft, bad place full of fuzzy pink versions of herself. Living ones. Ugghh.

Holding this hand like that though? Why was she doing that? She was doing it now to cause pain… but why hold the hand like that in the first place. Because, something told her, that was what you did with a witch. That was how you did hold her hand. But she had never known a witch… never. So how did she know that and what sort of stupid truth was it anyway? ‘That was how you held a witches hand’?

It was going round and round in her head and she didn’t like it – it was just like the dreams… getting in the way of what she was. Had she dreamt about the hands? The hands, like that. Holding. The rush of power through her as she knew that she could… Could what? She didn’t know. The only thing that she knew was that she was safe.

Safe?

Why safe? No something… she was remembering things that she had never done. Never done. Not yet. Thinking? Remembering? Dreaming? What was going on?

A waking dream again. And that face in the dreams… overlaid on the face of this witch.

The face of something that was hers… just made it clearer that this one wasn’t.

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“You’re not mine,” the vampire said to her.

Amy had to agree with that, whimpered again as the vampire squeezed once more, then released her hand and the relief that swept through her as fast as the blood into her hand was bliss. It released Marcie a second later and she must have collapsed to the floor. The witch hoped the young woman was not dead… her employers would not be impressed at the loss of that asset. Even to acquire this new one they obviously so valued.

Reduced to a whimper! The shame of it…but what the lawyers had paid her… with an oh-so-valuable ‘detayat’, the little trinket which would allow her to take and retain a body as required. Moving with ease to others, and back or keeping one indefinitely. When they had told her that they had one… she would have done this for just money, but for one of those rare treasures… That was definitely worth the effort and a little pain. Or even a lot. She would have taken much more for that reward. She could always vacate the ‘premises’ and allow someone else to do the recuperating for her.

But she was glad she didn’t have to. She had a hot date with a cute guy tomorrow and she knew this body so well now that she didn’t want to have leave it before that.

The vampire looked at her again, rejecting her mentally and then made for locked door of the room. Marcie had the key, she knew that. But it didn’t bother with the lock at all, just wrenching the door off its hinges and striding out into its world once more.

She just hoped that Wolfram and Hart regarded this as a success… otherwise she wasn't sure that either this, or the body of her birth, would be a safe place for her now.

A Madison reduced to a whimper…

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“So the matter is concluded satisfactorily?” Lilah checked as Holland listened over the speakerphone. The report was nothing like that which she would have ordinarily required of personnel working for her, but that was what you got for sub-contracting. It was absolutely necessary in this to have a cut-out. There could be no clear route back to Wolfram and Hart. Not for this. Not so soon anyway. One day they would make their involvement clear – in fact she understood that it would be crucial. But not just yet.

“If satisfactory includes having no feeling in my hand and that invisible woman you sent me being unconscious for two hours then I would say so,” the witch was not impressed by that, having recovered from her previous relief at actually being alive at all.

“You were both notified of the risks. Marcie is going to be alright?” Lilah asked with a professional concern. They had invested a lot in that young woman after salvaging her from that government program. A lot of time, a lot of retraining. Though this case had been a little out of her area of expertise.

“She’s conscious and talking. I did what I could. Tricky when she is invisible. But yes the spell worked. Another vampire is loose in Sunnydale.”

“Excellent.” Holland smiled at her, nodding his own satisfaction. “We appreciate your consideration for Marcie, Ms Madison and there will be a bonus to your payment. We will have that payment delivered to you in the next few hours as agreed. Will that be satisfactory?”

There was just silence from the other end of the line – though the call had not been terminated. “Hello? Ms Madison?”

For her part, on the other end of the line she was trying to speak, but when she opened her mouth nothing emerged but air. Not even a croak. Her voice had not just gone it had disappeared entirely.

Lilah ended the call. The operation had been a success, payment had been arranged. She didn’t need to know anything else about the witch or her body swapping activities. Nor about her being cut off. Strange though. But hardly a problem. Perhaps the witch had been eaten. Shame but payment would still be sent. It was in the contract of course. She shrugged.

“Lost her?” Holland asked.

“So it seems. Oh well. Drink?” she offered. Things were starting to come together. One back in the game and on the board. The other never out of it but still not quite there yet.

“Thank you,” Holland accepted the offered beverage. “Here’s to you continuing to make such excellent progress.”

She tipped her glass to him.

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Katharyn

This is just so exciting...I'm wriggling with glee!!

Oh,yeh...It's looking to be a damn good story too...

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There is fresh snow on the ground
I can see where you've been walking,
and I follow in your footsteps...

quote:

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Originally posted by Tiggrscorpio:
Willow taking out the Wicca group made me smile inappropriately. Was this wrong?

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Sort of glad that you can smile... as I said Karma is a bitch in this fic - this isn't the last time this sort of thing might happen.

quote:

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Originally posted by Charlie:
Its completely original, unemotionally written ... And I'm gonna stop ass-sucking now....!

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You can't ever have too much ass sucking... can you? Unemotionally written... mmmmn. I guess that is the appearance on the page. Part of me was screaming at me the whole time just to make it "nicer." Actually I have succumbed to that temptation. Believe me the original draft of the parts you have seen so far were much darker - uneccessarily so and defeating the object. The fic became, in that version, about the darkness and overcoming darkness. That is not the point at all... as I keep saying it is the journey.

Also that lack of emotion was a big part of my angst about whether this was suitable for Pens. Ultimately the final destination swayed me. Where it goes is definitely an okay place to be.

Thanks for the feedback kittens... it means alot.

Part 6(?) posts tomorrow at about 19.00 GMT - not that I think you are hanging on tenterhooks!

Katharyn

This one is all Willow, again not especially nice, a direct follow on to Part 5. Next we go back to Tara and find out what gets her to Sunnydale...

Enjoy

K

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Title: The Sidestep Chronicle – The Calling II (Currently Part 6)
Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. katharynrosser@hotmail.com
Spoiler Warning: Pretty limited. The story occurs in an alternate universe though reference is made to events that occur in both realities.
Summary: Willow is back… but this is “Hush,” remember? Not conditional on Buffy ever being in Sunnydale (as was pointed out to me,) so there are things a vampire has to do… And just because she’s back, don’t mean she’s at all nice…
Disclaimer: I still don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc, etc. I am making zilch from this series of stories.
Rating: 15
Couples: Wait until the next part… then you’ll be able to see it coming.
Notes: The three “Calling” parts, is not strictly in line with the canon timeline. Some things move faster, some slower. Live with it!
Thanks To: The usual suspects…. All the readers, the kittens, the mods, Jo, Kerry, Louise who all had their own parts to play in this fic.

The Sidestep Chronicle

The Calling II

By

Katharyn Rosser

As Willow made her way from the college campus into town she knew that she was truly home once more. The streets were still alive with the sounds of imminent death. The screams the lovely, lovely screams. Piercing, warbling, undulating. Cries of agony, simple pain. Terror. Whatever it was, she drank it all in. You’d think that the humans would learn to stay home…

But they never did.

Dumb.

It was good to be back home and out of the nothingness. No more freaky realities where the Slayers and the White Hats ruled…. Her old self, the weak little girl, the human… she would have liked to puzzle it out… about the realities. What sort of stupid place was it where she had never become? But, actually, she just couldn’t seem to care about that right now.

White Hats had killed her. Twice now – sort of. And she wasn't about to forget that either. She would have her fun with them. As she and Xander should have done long, long ago. They had played games for far too long when they should have been wiping the do-gooders from the face of the Master’s world. But you could have fun whilst being serious too.

‘Whistle while you work,’ she thought as a shrill cry rang out… Not quite a whistle but just what she wanted to hear. Close by…

Xander… he was all gone too. All gone. To find him there in that freak show, warm and breathing. It stirred those old memories that lived on inside of her of the time when she had been like her other self. The other self that had been sooo tempting. Now there was fun. It would have been better than any mirror could have been. She missed mirrors. She had never thought much about them when she was human… but there was something about them. Something special. It had been like looking in one meeting the fuzzy her… But having fun with yourself –and the mirror image still being another person as well. Maybe a little confusing but she could have concentrated. Kept track if she had to… definitely a unique opportunity for playing. Shame it had gone by unrealised – just a little teasing grope…

Shame. Still she was home now. In the world where every night was playtime. Where she and hers ruled that night. Where the world had fallen into the proper order of things. That was Darwinism wasn't it…? She remembered that too. Survival of the fittest. It was only right… why should the prey rule the predator? It was freaky and unnatural that other Sunnydale. Home again, home again… Good nights in Sunnydale…

But what was that home like now? It was similar, but things had also changed. And when was home now? How long had she been away… what had happened here? Where was the Master? The Slayer could not have gotten him… he was far too powerful to be killed by just a Slayer… he had seen dozen of them come for him and not one… not one had ever staked him… and she knew that if one had… there were ways. She was entrusted with that knowledge. She, Xander, Luke and Darla… alone amongst all his servants were his favourites.

Xander was gone… Darla had long ago disappeared. Which was a very good thing…

That just left her and dear Luke… who wasn't exactly the brightest orange in the apple tree.

When the day came… she would rule at the right hand of the Master. Funny though… it didn’t make her glad to know that.

Besides she had been gone. Things had moved on without her – they were bound to have - and it wasn't fair. There might even be another favourite in the Master’s court. And that… that did anger her. She’d have to do something about that…

She had missed things. She didn’t know just what yet, but there were bound to have been things. She caught a stray sheet of newspaper that was blowing across her path. It raged about the continued deaths in Sunnydale, demanding to know what the Mayor was doing about it. He was still here then. All she cared about though was that it showed that the world was more than a year older than when she had left it. In some ways it seemed like yesterday, and in others it was a thousand years. The great, much anticipated, day in the factory had been and gone and the cattle of Sunnydale were still here. The world was not yet a haven for vampires… with the humans rounded up in pens for blood and all the other needs they could help fulfil. The town though… it was still what it had been.

Hers.

But they had forgotten her. She had come across a vampire as he sucked at the neck of a sweet young woman. And he had looked up at her and not known who she was. He had challenged her when she tried to take the woman from him… just for a taste. He should have been glad to share… she was the Master’s favourite. So she had broken his extremities then drunk from the tender vessel. But the woman was… he had tainted her and so she just dropped the human still alive, if barely. Spoiled goods. Besides she was still all-full and warm from all that witchy goodness she had feaster on. He, the vampire, though knew who she was now and the word would spread. It would get back to the Master that his Willow was back. They would all know. The Master would welcome her… and the rest would hate and fear her. As it should be.

She would make sure of it. She had a lot of tension to work off. Dying so much had filled her with tension and a desire to… live out her desires.

Still sated from her culling of the herd of wannabe witches nothing appealed to her as she walked slowly into town from the campus, drinking in the atmosphere of fear and hatred. But she knew that she had to announce her presence in the best way possible. She had to let them all know that Willow was back to play. Back for good. And that she was still the same as she had been. That death had not changed her. That she was still worthy of sitting at the Master’s right hand come the ‘glorious’ day. Even though she wasn't sure just what made it so glorious. They already ruled Sunnydale… what point ruling a world you could never see and taste. Maybe a few more towns to play in… but the world? What was the point?

She didn’t know why that witch had recalled her. She had hinted that there was a purpose behind it. That there was some greater reason for it all... and she had sacrificed all those others for that reason. But Willow was way too bored with even thinking about it to care what that might be. She was back and she would not fulfil their purpose for her unless it was also her purpose. Just her own needs. That was what being dead was all about – you lived for others. Once you died it was all for yourself.

She needed a good, lingering kill, to motivate herself and bring her back to the old ways. Stop all this thinking and just get back to doing. It was like she had been tainted by her pink, fuzzy, other self. She shuddered and then she spied the victim she would bless, looking about herself nervously outside a store, waiting for something, and looking with even greater anxiety at the old church opposite. Who cared what concerned it exactly… The concerns of humans ended when the sun went down. After dark they were just cattle and playthings. Actually before dark that was kinda true too… you just had to be more careful.

But in general daylight sucked.

Boring…

Good job it was night time and that the hated sun would not rise behind her for many, many hours… hours she would spend teasing her new plaything. Working up an appetite.

Killing was all very well and blood… well she had more than enough of already, but just tasting the hint of the rich fear within her stolen victim had awakened a need. It had been so long since she had really played. They wouldn’t let her be long enough in that freaky world to do anything much… But she was home now. And who was there even to play with but the humans? The puppy was long since dust. Perhaps he had been called back too… No. Who would waste their energies of bringing that soul-riddled excuse for a vampire back into this wonderfully macabre world? No one would even notice he was gone… except for her. She had liked to pass the daylight hours causing him pain.

She trotted over to the young woman on the corner, looking about herself as if she too was a human fearing the attack of an undead fiend. A kindred spirit caught in the night with no one to protect her. The woman would cling to her out of fear… and Willow would drink it up. Perhaps being dead for so long would have its advantages. They wouldn’t know who she was. The human noticed her approach quickly and started to move away but then was convinced by her act and relaxed, waving her over with a sense of urgency.

“You too huh?” the human woman said to her. Small, blonde haired. Reminding Willow just a little of that Slayer that had killed Xander but looking older. Mid to late twenties. The resemblance though, that would make the kill all the sweeter. It was the least that she could do for him… playtime in his memory… after all she had no intention of doing anything more. Not for him anyway.

“Me? Yes. Me too.” She nodded fervently, remembering how she had used to be… once upon a time. Naïve… innocent and afraid.

“You saw them?” the woman asked. Actually she might have been thirty or so, but Sunnydale was hard on humans. They aged quickly. Perhaps it was all the undead that remained as young and pretty as the day they died. Perhaps they piled their aging on the humans that remained. Call it stress, anxiety. Who cared? Maybe the universe just wanted to balance the books.

Boring philosophy… moving on now.

“Them? Them. Yes. Definitely them,” Willow said. “Who are they?”

“I can see them moving. You see?” The blonde pointed over the street at the church, abandoned as long as Willow could remember even from her living days in the town. Willow moved behind her then followed the finger. The church was lit. Shadows moved within the boarded up windows. Perhaps only in Sunnydale could you discount the homeless as being the cause of that. This morsel was right something was in there… and it terrified the human.

The fear was nice enough but it wasn’t fair if it wasn't fear of her. It was definitely second best and Willow had never wanted to settle for second best. Not in anything… She grasped the pointing finger as if to draw it back and stop the revealing gesture from giving them away, but instead ran her own finger up the human woman’s bare arm, from finger to elbow and upwards.

But in her fear the woman did not even notice her touch. Or had more to worry about. No fair. “You’re cold,” Willow told her, “What are you doing out?”

“I- I’m waiting for, I mean I was waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up, then I saw them,” the woman whispered.

“What’s your name?” Willow asked twirling her finger along the upper arm, underneath it to the softer flesh.

“Sarah” the morsel replied. “What are you doing?” it finally asked her.

“Just saying hello Sarah.” Willow’s hand found the soft armpit and lingered there, provoking a reaction at last as Sarah clamped that arm down upon the fingers as they made for the edge of her top. “Hello.” But she still wasn’t even looking at Willow. She was still looking across the street. Willow’s attention though was firmly on the neck of Sarah which she bent to lick, thrusting her hand into the young woman’s top wondering whether she would finally object. It was hard to care what the morsel was so fixated on that would distract her from the attentions she was receiving.

Finally a real reaction. Sarah’s eyes left the church and as Willow heard a whispering sound the woman looked into her true demonic face. She smiled back knowing the effect it would have and Sarah opened her mouth to let out a scream.

But nothing came out.

Sarah tried again. There was nothing there.

But the screams, the pleas, they were the best bit, Willow thought to herself. Come on Sarah let me hear you scream. She said those words… and heard nothing from herself either.

She could still hear the sounds of the town… but not a shout. Not a word. Nor a scream. The humans. The vampires. All had fallen silent. Willow knew then that she could hear, but that she, like Sarah, had fallen silent.

It was no fun if they didn’t scream. You couldn’t play if you couldn’t take advantage of all your senses… that was why she had never much liked gags and blindfolds. Too limiting.

Across the street the church door opened. Securing her grip on Sarah who, if anything, was even more frantic at the movement of the door, she looked over at what emerged and Willow was immediately fascinated. New things were always fun and these were very new. Or they might be very old… Lifting the human woman off her feet with the arm that was hooked under her chin she moved her bodily forward towards the lurching figures that had emerged.

Straitjackets… she had never tried those. They fell into the whole blindfold and gag thing as being limiting… but she guessed that she could use them… And behind those lurching things… what?

----------------

Willow had never seen their like. The rattling of the straps on the straitjackets tinkled like music and the footfalls of the minions were heavy and flat. Moving like apes across the tarmac towards her. Some went by, others clustered around her, as she looked back to the far more interesting… floaty things. The lurchers seemed to be waiting for orders… they neither attacked nor ignored her.

The floaty things, human in shape but soooo obviously not human at all. Maybe they had been once. Just like her. And from their smiles they, like her, were glad to no longer be one of the throng of lowly cattle. Permanent smiles… and good teeth. Teeth any vampire would be proud have… They didn’t have to be pointed to rip our throats – just razor sharp.

Sarah was wild now, struggling, kicking and clawing at Willow’s arm. She would be all bruised by the time she went to bed in the morning – wherever that was, perhaps this Sarah’s house would do – just until she got back into the Master’s graces. Pretty patterns on her arms. They would be bloody where desperate fingernails scraped her cold, dead, flesh back. She would bear the scars of this night and it had been so long since that had happened that she had almost forgotten what it was like. Waking up with a reminder of what had gone on the night before.

That was strange. She knew that she had played shortly before her death…but she also was aware of the time that she had just not been. So long. She would bear the scars and Sarah wouldn’t. Sarah wouldn’t be anything by the time Willow bothered to notice them. The woman was right to feel fear but these things were not her problem. Willow was. But first she wanted to hear Sarah beg, cry and promise to be good for her. She wanted to hear Sarah scream and at the end as her teeth bit into that supple neck, or ripped open those wrists, she would want to hear Sarah moan. Till then Sarah was safe enough with her.

I’ll be like a White Hat and protect her. Just for a little while.

Being as she didn’t need to feed, she intended to enjoy herself. There was no need to hurry and she knew that these… whatever they were… were responsible for spoiling her playtime. Taking the screams away. Sun wouldn’t be up for a long while. She had time to find a place to shelter from its burning kiss. Sarah would never see that place though. Another heel struck her shins, stinging. Mmmmn.

She was totally surrounded now with the loping creatures. They too looked as if they might have been human once. What had brought them to what they were now she didn’t care. The floaty grinning things were what she was concerned about. Two pairs had already set off in different directions along the road. Two remained at the door of the church and two were facing her and Sarah. She loosened her grip on the human woman as they examined the two of them and allowed Sarah to stand on her own feet. The human seemed to understand that right now Willow was not the greatest immediate threat to her life. Though Willow was absolutely certain that she would be again. There was play to be had.

The grinning things looked at each other, tilting their heads as if silently communicating and asking each other for an opinion, then looked back at Willow once more. Tipped their heads once more then shook them and turned their attention to Sarah, terrified in her arms and if anything their grins widened and one gave an effete point at the human as the other nodded.

Willow might not be able to hear the human but she could certainly smell the increase in her fear. She could feel the heat of it on Sarah’s skin in the loose embrace that she still maintained. The sweat on the flesh making it clammy. Her reaction to the odour was something akin to how she had, as a human, reacted to the smell of freshly baked donuts. With jelly in the mix. It was delicious… as if she would let this go. They wanted Sarah. She could see it. The lurching things could see it and closed in their ring. And Sarah could see it, tried to break free and make for the tiny gap that remained in that circle. Willow’s arm though was like a steel bar over her throat. There was no pressure until Sarah tried to escape from it… and found it would not move at all.

Willow jerked her back against her so that Sarah fell off her feet and was supported only by resting against Willow’s body and by that taut arm. Willow started to stroke Sarah’s cheek, pleased to find that the gesture set off new tremors through Sarah. Fear was a beautiful thing, it would jump around from source to source. Perhaps the most beautiful thing she had ever sensed. She could smell it. She could taste it. She could feel it, see it and when things were working right she could hear it. She wanted to hear it. It wasn’t fair. She had been so long without playing and now one of her senses was being all deprived by these things.

Stroking Sarah’s cheek she allowed herself to revert to her vampiric visage and smiled as sweetly as she was able to with the impediments it put on her… right at the grinning things, which of course returned her smile. What choice did they have? It might have been centuries since their expressions had said anything else. Maybe they never had. Perhaps they had slipped into being like that from nothing? Created from the minds of the fearful. Who cared… bored with the whole thing now. She wanted to play now. Willow didn’t fear them. Sarah was hers and she wanted to hear her scream and moan before and during the kill. After was when silence was acceptable. Only after. She snarled at them.

It was a silent snarl of course but how could they miss her intent. She would rip them all apart if she had to. The human was hers. Not theirs. She had never given up a kill to anyone but the Master… and never, ever one of her little toys. She had no idea what they were but what did that matter compared to the kill and playtime? Let them have the rest of Sunnydale. They might even settle a few scores for her. This one was hers though. They looked at each other, then back at Willow and gave her the tiniest little nod before silently floating away from her. The lurching things rattling and slapping their feet as they ambled away before them and in their wake, and in seconds all was quiet.

And with them gone Willow stretched out with her own senses, ignoring Sarah’s panicked breathing and the wheezes that rang in her ears but still no words or cries. It wasn't the floaty things themselves that were making everything so quiet. She didn’t get that impression. There was something else. Willow started to listen. She had always been good at that… and some of the time she still had the patience for it. Listening for just where their voices had gone. Surely there was some trace… and to a vampire’s senses there was. The tiniest of whispers… in the old church. Where else but the place they had come from? And if Sarah’s voice was in there then she just had to get it back for her. Otherwise it would all be spoilt and no fun.

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The entrance was empty, revealing just the disused state of the building. And oh look… no crosses to get in the way either. Someone had been so thoughtful in removing them. Maybe the floaty things didn’t like them either… any god certainly wouldn’t like those grins. At least the kind of god that had churches and synagogues and mosques built for them… Perhaps those evil hell gods the Master talked of? Maybe they would appreciate those grinning things a little more. The floorboards creaked though, betraying the presence of the lurchy thing upstairs. It must have been them – only they were touching the ground.

Now… Just the precise amount of pressure on dear Sarah’s throat… right there. The woman was unconscious and now the main course could commence before she was ready, she looked at the peaceful Sarah, for dessert. To all the proper audio accompaniments.

She supposed she might have triggered some silent alarm as she went up the stairs because as she emerged at the top they were there waiting for her. The workings of the clock were arrayed before her. On a table beneath it several jars and containers. Which they were trying no doubt to keep her from – despite all being empty. Important to them? Not important to Willow. She just wanted Sarah’s voice back. She dropped the woman to the floor beside her and the briefly the things in the straitjackets were distracted. Not her intention but Willow was nothing if not an opportunist. She prided herself at taking the best from every situation… and playing with it. She grabbed at the filthy skull of one of them, using the weight to spin her body off and launch into a kick at the other. But keeping her arms locked, the things neck cracking as her boot connected with the other one. Mmmmn she would have to remember that one, such a lovely productive move.

And I bet I looked so good doing it too…

The one that she kicked was propelled backwards even as its fellow collapsed limply to the ground and from where she landed she could see the hideously charming grin of one of the suited floaters. Coming round the side of the clock machinery, waving a scalpel. It looked so sharp. Catching the light on the blade. So precise, not clumsy like a big knife. She kicked out again at the minion and felt her boot connect with its groin.

Human enough for that to have an effect.

She had never really played with scalpels. Knives of all descriptions – she hadn’t much liked them. Once you started out with a knife there was nowhere else to go. But never a scalpel. She would be able to do such lovely things to flesh… to skin. Delicate things… Flaying would be so much easier. To peel it back so daintily and precisely. Willow wasn’t there to fight though. She just want the human’s voice back. She just wanted Sarah to scream for her. That was all.

Not so much to ask… Maybe her own voice too…

She kicked the minion again, this time in the head and it snapped back with what should have been vertebrae crushing force.

Dead? She didn’t particularly mind. Death held no pleasures for her except when done for the best of purposes. Artfully applied. Fulfilling some desire. Self-defence just left her feeling so empty and bored. There were better things to occupy her time.

The grinning monster stopped about a metre away from her, waving its raised finger in a parody of the teacher scolding a naughty child. Which she might seem to be to it, who knew how old it was? Willow knew that she would exist forever… now that she was back… but also that she was just starting out on that infinite time. As she plucked out its eyeballs and nibbled on them it might have been interesting to listen, to force it to tell its stories. But not a one of these creatures, or their minions, had said a word and if they wouldn’t talk to her then that was just too bad. For them.

They had created the silence and she didn’t like it at all. It was the sound of boredom. But the silence was not total… there was still the tiniest hint of a whisper. Less than a TV on just-above minimum volume. Less than you might hear of a conversation on the street below from the top of a tall building. But it was there. She could hear it. Murmurs, whispers. They were loudest. The talking was in the background and the faintest of all were the almost silent screams. A thousand sounds playing around her ears. But only in here. In this room.

There in fact, behind her.

She turned her back on the floating thing and focused her senses feeling her back being slashed with the scalpel. A deep wound that would weep the blood of many of the humans she had killed today. Another slash. The sensation… the almost subtle parting of the skin. A slash that felt more like a graze as there was so little immediate pain. The sting. The wet fabric of her clothes as the blood of the witches of UC Sunnydale soaked it.

There.

The box. A small, wooden, box. Unremarkable in every sense. She walked over to it, glancing over at Sarah who was already coming round. Excellent timing… it was almost time to play. She didn’t look back but felt the floating creature come closer to her, attempted to kick back at it, but failed to calculate that it was in the air and ended up stumbling… another slash striking her arms. Her top was going to be ruined. It better not do anything to her trousers though. Those would be tougher to replace…

The box. It had just confirmed what she already knew. It was the box that created the silence, or enforced it. She picked it up and turned back to the creature, which had stopped dead. Waving that finger at her once more. No it was saying – in it’s own silent way.

Yes she nodded.

I want to hear her scream she mouthed at it… meaning Sarah. After that she didn’t much care. It might be useful to have the town silent. No actually… it would be so boring that she wouldn’t have lasted a night like that. How to open the box though? It looked simple, but even when she lifted the catch nothing happened. The lid would not lift. A puzzle box?

Never mind… She wasn't big on the sanctity of the property of others or much for puzzles. If you could rip the blood from peoples’ still living bodies with a song in your heart then you didn’t tend to care about boxes and mysteries much.

She looked over at Sarah who was opening her mouth to try and scream once more at the sight of her proximity to things that she thought would kill her. The head of a dead minion in her lap. The body on its back, but the head face down. Sarah was going to scream and scream and scream. Willow promised herself that.

She shook the box… nothing in it but the whispers. No rattle but the whispers grew louder as she moved it closer to her head. More agitated perhaps. Wanting to be free as much as she wanted to hear them Willow smiled and the grinning thing… it couldn’t stop smiling but it was a smile that was filled with fear now. Laced with it. It was afraid of what she would do… perhaps it would scream for her too. Beg…

She liked it being afraid of her.

She closed fist around the box and squeezed, tighter and tighter, the loose catch digging into her flesh until someone’s blood dripped on the floor and she could hear the joints of the wood move against each other. Creaking, groaning and then starting to crack before shattering completely.

The box was empty… she dropped it and stood there, idly pulling the splinters of wood from her hand. Sarah was moaning. Willow could hear that. And that was all she wanted. They could go now and find somewhere for their fun. She crossed to the quivering woman and ignored the floating thing, which was looking at the ruins of the box and seemed distracted by it’s loss.

She knelt before Sarah and raised her bloody hand to her face, leaving a sticky trail of the stolen blood that she would happily lap up later – perhaps with Sarah’s own. “Isn’t that so much better Sarah?”

Sarah did nothing but moan in reply, scrabbling backwards towards the steps but was held by the weight of the minion across her legs. And her fear was redirected again… which was good.

“Now Willow can make you cry…” It was a promise. Sarah didn’t have to scream until the end. But she decided to start early shrieking, terrified. Willow didn’t object… fear was always so much fun.

The green goo that settled across them a moment later did nothing to shut the human woman up, nor did the collapse of another body across hers. Some part of Willow, deep down, thought the reaction to the scream it was very interesting. The sonic vibrations must have set off a resonance cascade inside the grinning things skull. That was why they wanted silence… Oh well…Willow was really just interested in the screamer though.

She turned back towards Sarah, which was where her real interest lay. “That was nice of you Sarah. Now we don’t have to go anywhere else at all.” She was going to feed right here, after the terror, and her hands but not the scalpel, had worked its way on Sarah. It would be a first… here in a church – but somewhere away from the goo… that would just be icky. All green and sticky.

Willow preferred sticky to be blood red.

************

Katharyn
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You hear that baby?

I, too, am looking forward to more Tara. I can't wait until they are both in the same town and finally have some contact with each other. This is a very interesting story. I love reading it.

quote:

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Originally posted by BytrSuite:
I keep thinking it's kind of wrong of me to enjoy Evil Willow so much. But then I get over it. Evil Willow is just much too interesting.

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Thanks Pixie and Bytrsuite... disturbing is definitely the point. Vamp Willow offers great possibilities as a character and as a method of telling the story. The reader/writer is naturally drawn to her by her quirks (much as we are to Willow but in very different ways) yet we know that she is very, very bad.

Katharyn

Bring Tara...can't wait to see them together.

quote:

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Originally posted by jessan15:
Oh come on....its vamp Willow...anything other than warped would be unsatisfying. Some of us love that evil little pain-loving sex monger

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Yeah*S* But I can appreciate that it can be a little overwhelming too. You will only see one more instance of such long-winded focus on the nature of VampWillow - in a few parts time. She remains warped... just in mixed and smaller doses writing wise.

quote:

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Bring Tara...can't wait to see them together.

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Tara' route to Sunnydale is laid out in the next part - though I might split that one in two depending on the opinion of my beta reader.

Coming... sorry being... together takes rather longer.

Katharyn

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You hear that baby?

I love the update. You can just see that Evil Willow is still Willow with her patented quirks. More disturbing and evil though. Okay, I'll be over here now. I think I'm not making any sense here anymore.

Can't wait for the next update.

Edited to correct a very huge and embarrassing mistake. Sorry, Katharyn. Next time though I'll make sure I get my sleep first before reading all the updates and posting my kudos.

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I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul... - Pablo Neruda

quote:

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Originally posted by daydreamer:
Lisa, I also love the focus you're doing on VampWillow's nature.

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Gee is Lisa involving VampWillow in her fic too?*S*

Aaah well Lisa rocks enough for me not to be offended by that slip... but the point you make is bang on.

Katharyn

Glad to see that you are enjoying Katharyn's wonderful writing. Isn't it great to get such quick and regular updates?

That said of course, sometimes it is nice to take time to reflect and allow anticipation to build before the next part is posted. So I'm sure you will all understand if there is a slight delay before the next part, and would in no way consider blaming anyone involved. Especially not someone as insignificant as a poor old beta reader, who at no time decided to go to the pub instead of finishing the next part (and anyone who says that's what she did is a naughty liar).

Katharyn [QUOTE]

Oops! Now, that was really embarrassing. Messed up big time. Katharyn, I'm sorry for the mistake. I really am. I think it was past midnight when I tried reading all the updates. And there are just so many of them. And then I guess I read Lisa's fic then yours. And I think your fic was the one I wanted to read last before I log off because, you know, save the best for last.... And when I posted my brain's not just working anymore. Now, that was long but you forgive me? Please? You like chocolates?

And, wizpup, it's okay, just don't make us wait too long. And, oh yeah, just as long as you buy us drinks.

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I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul... - Pablo Neruda

I'm so interested in the progression of this story - especially in light of the instep/sidestep portions of the great Beginning Epic (which I read last night in one sitting. My eyes are about to fall out!).

While this story is dark, it has a strange beauty. Looking forward to the next update.

BM

I love what you're doing with this piece, I love the great set-up you have going with Tara's backstory, and I >adore< Vamp Willow taking out The Gentlemen because she wanted to hear the screams.

But most of all, I like this:
Holding this hand like that though? Why was she doing that? She was doing it now to cause pain… but why hold the hand like that in the first place. Because, something told her, that was what you did with a witch. That was how you did hold her hand. But she had never known a witch… never. So how did she know that and what sort of stupid truth was it anyway? ‘That was how you held a witches hand’?

And this:
A waking dream again. And that face in the dreams… overlaid on the face of this witch.

The face of something that was hers… just made it clearer that this one wasn’t.

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“You’re not mine,” the vampire said to her.

I can't even begin to tell you how absolutely perfect I think those bits are, except to say, "Hey, Katharyn! Those bits are absolutely perfect!"

So ... cool. And stuff. Except for the part where I'm going to be checking for updates every two seconds instead of doing something technically constructive ... but, y'know? Totally worth it. *G*

quote:

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Originally posted by Sassette:
So ... cool. And stuff

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See how good this fic is, Katharyn? Even *Sass* is at a loss for words!

So, all I can say is...um...yeah, what Sass said!

Lovin' it!
-Caoilin

quote:

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Originally posted by Sassette:
it's dark, but has a strange beauty to it. Kinda' like Vamp Willow.

But most of all, I like this:
I can't even begin to tell you how absolutely perfect I think those bits are, except to say, "Hey, Katharyn! Those bits are absolutely perfect!"

-Sass

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It had a strange attraction whilst writing it, I won't say beauty but a definite attraction to me as a writer - a work of passion on my part certainly and if there was just one reader (and there will always be one now a certain person is back with us) then I will keep it going to the end.

As for the "perfect bits" I can only say that those are virtually stream of conciousness. They just come spewing out. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. Often there is so much though that random chance has to give me a fair chance of getting one bit right*S*

Next part posts tomorrow evening approx 1800 GMT if you really want to know. Back with Tara... now that Wizpup has delivered the beta. No she wasn't on a romantic weekend and certainly not down the pub... oh no.

Take care kittens and thankyou all for not just putting up with this but taking the time to tell me you are! It means alot.

Katharyn

PS Sass... I avoided Answering Darkness due to not wanting to be spoiled... at the time... and now I have 29 pages to read??!! I will wander through it gradually*S*

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You hear that baby?

I can't keep from editing myself. What a hobby!

Well Done!

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~Mel

*Waves to Zahir* Been a long time since you first encouraged this Z! Glad you could stop by with your expectations... now where is Fusion?

Cicca... I saw your post after the edit, if you have a rant or concerns that you need to air feel free to e-mail me though I don't remember doing anything spoilery? (If that was what it was about??!)

To you all This is not ideal Kittens but I have had to break part 7 into two parts. What is posted as 7 below was originally linked to what will be part 8. They were the same fic and I would ask you to bear that in mind. The problem was that it was just too long to present intact - it was just too much. I intend to post 8 tomorrow night or early Saturday to get it out quicker for you though. What you have here in 7 then is the thought process that precedes both Part 8 and the decision that will conclude it. There was no natural break and no natural cliffhanger to use.... I try to avoid that and aim never to do it again. I hope that this way, at least, you get to analyse the thoughts of Tara more than you would reading "Kick Ass Tara" immediatly after.

Sorry bout that...

And now to the fic...

Enjoy Kittens...

Katharyn

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Title: The Sidestep Chronicle – The Calling III – The Call of Silence I (Part 7)
Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. katharynrosser@hotmail.com
Spoiler Warning: Pretty limited for this entire series. The story occurs in an alternate universe though reference is made to events that occur in both realities.
Summary: Over this and Part 8. Tara is “called” to Sunnydale. This story occurs in a time that is parallel with the BTVS Season 4 episode “Hush,” some of the events regarding “The Gentlemen” in which can be considered to have commenced without Initiative/Slayer interference. For reference the events in the previous 2 parts run concurrent with this and part 8 – which follows directly on from this. This is Tara’s thoughts before going on to Kiss Ass in Part 8.
Disclaimer: I still don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the Production Company, writers etc, etc. I am making zilch from this series of stories.
Rating: 15
Couples: None as yet but the first necessary decision is made.
Notes: Part 8 was originally a big part with this one. It was just too big to be easy to read. The split is not ideal, but we couldn’t find a better place to do it.
Thanks To: Jo “Wizpup” for getting the beta done in the nick of time which is always the best way to go. Jo “Thistle” for all the good news. Kerry – Shhheeee’s BAAAACK. Louise – my always.

The Sidestep Chronicle

The Call of Silence

By

Katharyn Rosser

It was just a motel room. Anonymous and cheap because it had to be to appeal to those whose budget was more important than how they lived. That was not the case with its current occupant though. To her, this place was a treat.

It was barely equipped beyond the essentials because its occupant didn’t need it to be. If she had needed more… or could have made do with less then she would have gone elsewhere, or found some basement she could secure. Bed, door, window, walls and bathroom. That was all she needed, but she had indulged herself this time. It had been a good week in most ways – including money-wise. San Francisco was still doing a booming trade in New Age charms, spells and the like as it always had – and some of those shops, well they were receptive to the more authentic magicks too rather just selling orbs as paperweights. When they could get their hands on them they snapped them up.

It was still a seller’s market, and unless someone found a way to automate magical production then it always would be. If – at least - you were a buyer who wanted the product to actually work. She’d spent the best part of her days since arriving in the city carefully laying out ingredients for ointments and poultices, checking her books and binding the charms that she could construct to order. She didn’t ask where they were for. Or who. That wasn't her business - even if some of them were far beyond the standard good health or luck bindings that most genuine, but uninitiated, New Agers would purchase as fast as they would scented candles. Werewolf repellent for one thing - she’d used it herself when traversing certain rural areas so she knew it worked. Poultices for hiding the scarring kiss of a siren. Someone who had met, escaped but been scarred by a Siren must want that. It had taken her two days to locate a grimoire that included such a rarely used ointment. All sorts of weird stuff whose use she should have questioned... if she’d had a concern for anything but the payment.

But she didn’t. That wasn't her purpose. The concerns of others… well they weren’t hers. She couldn’t let them be. She knew that she should… but where would she be then? Constantly chasing around after people that she didn’t know – solving their problems instead of her own. She was happy to help those in need – when she knew them. When they asked. She couldn’t take it upon herself to put the world to rights though. Tara was very aware that time was starting to run out on her – soon, soon now she would have to go there and face her destiny. Complete her mission.

She had a mission and that did not include werewolves, sirens, zombies or even other witches except in as much as she could learn from them. It made her the money she needed to survive and that was all that mattered. Survival was always the first order of business. She couldn’t afford to have sentiments about what earned her that survival in terms of acquiring money, skills, protection or a safe place to sleep. There were things that she would not do of course, but providing limited magical services was not one of those things. As long as she did not know the purpose to be evil… and even then sometimes she had been forced to stretch the point. Just a little.

Her standards had slipped inexorably though. Once upon a time she had offered only healthy, good services. Or maybe something stronger for protection only. She would have made certain what they were for – asked questions if she suspected they were lying to her. Now she didn’t even ask anymore. Just so long as they don’t tell me. That was why it was so much easier to sell to shops rather than the end customer. Working for unnamed and faceless customers saved her both time and emotional investment. Even if it cost her a little money she didn’t have enough of either of those to spare.

The clock was always ticking… counting down…

But now it was almost time to go out and to do what needed to be done. One last thing before she checked out and moved on. Doing what had brought her here to this city in the first place. What took her to any of the towns, counties and cities she had visited. A story. A rumour. A piece of news about them. This time it had even been profitable, she had managed to save a little for her next journey. Maybe some new clothes even. But it was always them that drew her from place to place. When she heard the rumours she had to come. She had to deal with it. Because it seemed that no one else would. Just her. Where were the good guys?

There are no good guys. Just me, she thought to herself.

Any vampire picking up a reputation outside of its own city… that was a vampire that she had to destroy. Its success or excesses taunted her. Dared her to seek it out and eliminate it. The common ones, who she destroyed nearly every night in the alleys, the streets and dark places. They were little more than duty to her… but the ‘famous’ ones. She took some deeper satisfaction in their destruction.

More and more it seemed. For now she actively sought them. She didn’t wait to hear of them. She asked. She looked. She waited. She even tortured vampires for information on them. And then when she had found them she would destroy them.

But first before all that… the end of the cartoons.

The television had been blaring out the sounds of the cartoons for over an hour now and she loved them. She’d made herself start to watch them again – when she could. But now she loved them – like she had used to all those years ago when she had sat on her mother’s lap… sometimes even Daddy’s lap… and they had laughed together. She had to force herself to watch sometimes, especially the ones she had seen recently. But really… she did enjoy them. She could make do with Mr Magoo and some of the newer ones, Pinky and the Brain perhaps. But the classics… for as long as she could remember Bugs, Elmer, Sam, Roadrunner and the Coyote… they’d been part of her life. Not quite all though. Hadn’t she stopped watching, grown out of it when she was about fourteen? But only in as much as she thought she should not be watching at that age. No one had ever told her that… but it had seemed clear. That was not what typical teenage girls did.

When was I ever allowed to be a typical teenage girl?

Between the magic, the restrictions that Daddy had put upon her and the shell she had hidden herself away inside because of being different.

I was never a typical teenager.

Most teens don’t have their mother in hospital for years… and then, just as she is getting better, have their brother and father murdered. Then losing her mother to a relapse – or grief - and being driven away from her remaining family.

Here Aunt and Uncle had been right though. They were right to fear her and send her away from them. They knew the timescale as well as anyone in the family and it wasn’t so long now. They had known it. They were afraid of liking her perhaps. Not so many months… and they would have had the beast to deal with…

Cartoons. She had never stopped finding them funny and whenever she had the chance she would tune in and watch the coyote or the hunter get blown up, crushed, dropped off a cliff or fried in infinite variety of acme ways. It always made her laugh. She couldn’t remember when she had last laughed at anything else. Or enjoying anything else much. Other than the hunt. Satisfaction - she got that from the completion of her goals… her work. But enjoyment? There was nothing but the cartoons and her dreams. Maybe the occasional book if she came across one abandoned on public transport. She was never anywhere long enough to join a library and all her ‘earnings’ were tied up elsewhere. But the cartoons… She’d made herself take an interest – because there had to be something else. Just something. They were pretty much all she had to look forward to now.

And the blissful reality of sleep. Dreaming of another world – which wasn’t this one. Was it?

Her whole evening, with the TV in the room had been based around the cartoons. The time she would go out, the time she intended to return… how long she had to lose any pursuer that she might pick up. It wasn't professional but it was necessary. She had worked out early that without something to bring her home she would stay out hunting and eventually she would tire. Maybe far from where she could rest safely. Then she might suffer for it. Something other than the hunt and the kill. There had to be. She admitted to herself that cartoons they might not be enough but they were something.

Anything had to do.

Cartoons… the hunt… and her dreams. They had come again to her last night… stronger and more powerful than they had been for a long time. The sort of dream that did not fade. She might have been dreaming every night… but she didn’t always remember her dreams… but the ones that she did… they nearly always they had a consistent theme.

Her flame haired goddess. The woman in the dreams… she had no name. That was just how she thought of her. Didn’t she have a name? Last night though… it was like… it was as if she should have known a name last night. Finally. But it wouldn’t come. It was there, hovering maddeningly out of reach. She had been on the tip of Tara’s tongue… in more ways than one. That was the first time... that she had… like that. Dreamt. But she was still nameless, and so she remained her flame haired goddess… for now. How she thought of her there - out of her conscious control and desires.

And she did desire that woman… sometimes. Sometimes they were doing things to each other, with each other that she had never done… but in her dreams she wanted to so badly that it hurt even after she woke up. Deep down inside of her. The physical manifestation of the tight chest, the lump in her throat and the sweat was nothing compared to the mental torture that the dreams inflicted upon her. It wasn’t the torture of what they did in the dreams – it was waking and finding out that you were…

That she was alone. Always alone.

No matter what the subject of the dream every time it rammed that home. She was alone in a world of horror. Sometimes she wished that this could be the dream – that she would suffer the nightmares every night – if she could just have that young woman with the red hair to hold as her very own.

Remembering that she was alone just reminded her of why. Of what the vampires had taken from her. And why she had to remove them from the world… all of them. To stop anyone else from having to feel this way.

The reminder of what she had lost was what drove her sometimes. Not all the time… but sometimes it was the extra that gave her the urgency, the willingness to take risks that she would not do otherwise.

The dreams reminded her. And so after she dreamed… then she would go out and the fury would express itself. Not that she was wild or uncontrolled… she just took risks after she had dreamed. The red haired woman drove her to that fury. It was passion that she dreamt of, passion that she had to try and control or it would get her killed. And then who would stop the vampires? The Slayer? Slayers came and went - more than one since she had been put on this road. She’d known one, slightly, from just after the calling until… the Slayer’s death shortly after. Back in New York. Kendra and her watcher Mr Zabuto had never left the Big Apple. They had died there. Why did Slayer’s restrict themselves to just one city?

What about the rest of us? Where was the Slayer to protect us? My family?

Why hadn’t a Slayer dealt with the Sunnydale situation? Why hadn’t a Slayer been waiting for those vampires that had killed her family? Then she wouldn’t have had to live like this… She could have finished school. Maybe she could have gotten away from home for a couple of years… before she had to return. College. She could have gone to college if there had been a Slayer in Sunnydale.

And her family would have been alive…

That wasn't fair on the Slayer though… Being in Sunnydale, the Slayer – whoever it was back then for it had changed since – might have died and it might all have been worse somehow.

Knowing what she had lost or missed or could never have… that was the worst thing. The woman in her dreams, she must be some sort of symbol. Of everything that she had lost. Her family, her home, her life. The chance to love perhaps too. Perhaps that was why she didn’t dream of her family… not even Mommy. Maybe that was why it the most beautiful woman she had ever seen – reflecting her tastes so precisely. Could she have had someone like in her life if they had not come and snatched the choices in her life away? Could she have been in the redhead’s life? The interpretation of dreams was something that had always interested her… but she’d had none except her own to comment on for so long that she didn’t really trust herself anymore. Wishful thinking could get in the way. The way she saw the redhead though? As a goddess is she something more than just a person? Tara was a Wiccan… by training and by birth. The religious aspects of that must shine through in her dreams. This woman… this goddess was a manifestation of all that she had ever wanted.

And everything she had lost.

Sometimes Tara was afraid of her dream woman. Sometimes things were… weird or bad. Sometimes she even terrified her. And sometimes she was afraid for her. But as with the fear of her… there was never a reason. Sometimes she was missing her, dreaming of lying alone but knowing that there should be someone, her, there in the bed with her.

Sometimes she dreamed of actually holding her and sometimes her dreams were more carnal and she would wake up feeling that desire to the very depths of her being.

But the worst thing… the worst thing was dreaming that they, she and her flame haired goddess, would kill. She the goddess. The goddess her. Each other… someone else. But when they would die at one another’s hands… She knew that her task remained undone, the hunt incomplete, as she was murdered by the woman who, in her dreams at least, she loved. And she didn’t care. She welcomed it and at that last moment before death took her she would often slip a stake into the other living, breathing woman. Why a stake though? But then why not? She used them every night. Every single night. And it was a dream…

And that was the truth wasn’t it? It was just a dream. That woman, her dream woman wasn't real. She couldn’t be because Tara had never seen her… and yet she was in her dreams. And if the Goddess wasn’t real then at least she couldn’t hurt her… or be hurt by the Goddess. So she could just keep longing for her.

Tara flipped off the TV and gathered up what was required. Her bag – loaded mainly with stakes – also contained a few vials of carefully mixed powders in separate pockets. And as always her most precious possessions, that she could not risk losing. She had to conclude, looking back on her thought processes, that there was a good possibility that she was starting to lose her mind.

It was a common enough problem amongst magic users. So her mother had always warned her and the texts seemed to confirm. The danger of getting drunk on your own power… getting so caught up in what it could do for you. Relying on the magic to accomplish things that you could take a little more time to do right – or things you should never even attempt. She was careful. Her magic was strictly for her mission. That was all… that and the selling of charms and stuff that supported her. But even the fear of slipping into the thrall of the magic – or entering the darker realms – the fear alone could unbalance a person in its own right. Or you could be turned by the magic. Careful as she was to avoid the darker powers there were times when she could feel it pulling at her. And her anchor? Her anchor was just the desire for justice. Was there as great a purity of purpose there as there should be? As there needed to be? There had to be purity of purpose to resist the darkness. If you got caught up in a desire to use the magic just for it’s own sake – never mind what you told yourself – then it was a short, slippery slope. So her mother had always taught her and everything Tara had seen and felt had shown how true it all was. What could she hold onto?

Her dream woman maybe? No… for all she knew that woman was the very manifestation of her descent. That was one interpretation of the dreams. In the days when she got depressed it was the one she often went back to. Hence the cartoons. She encouraged herself to look forward to them. To have something else to live for other than what it was she was about to go and do. Because without hope, anticipation and distraction she knew that she would find herself at the top of that proverbial slippery slope… and might not even mind the fall. One day she would be out… cornered through tiredness or lack of care and she would slip into the dark ways. Maybe to defend herself… but it wouldn’t end there. That was why she had to be careful… Always so very careful.

She slipped out of her room and ensured that the door clicked shut behind her. Whilst the wards she had in place would keep out more mystical visitors she had suffered theft from places she had stayed before. Fortunately they had not touched the things that she really cared about – and now carried with her wherever she went. She followed the balcony along past other rooms and went down the stairs.

“You like the TV honey?” the lady behind the check in desk called to her as she passed by. The woman always seemed more than a little lonely… needing someone to talk to. She had kept Tara there for nearly half an hour when she had checked herself in, insisting that the TV that was standard here anyway when Tara had checked that there was one. In great detail. To be honest Tara didn’t mind listening to people. She didn’t like talking to them because she embarrassed herself and the people she met didn’t have time to get used to her – or she to them. But listening that was fine – it made them both feel less lonely for a few snatched moments.

That was a good thing.

“Y-yes. Th-thankyou,” she replied, making herself smile at the woman but knowing it was hollow. What did she have to smile about? Even if she succeeded tonight it wouldn’t be anything to smile about. Just a few handfuls of dust added to the city’s pollution problem. She opened the door, prepared to step out into the night, hearing her bag of stakes rattle as she caught the strap on the door and almost dropped it. She gave the woman another smile, a little more genuine this time and freed the strap. Klutz.

She couldn’t afford to be Klutzy… she had vampires to go kill.

At the edge of the car park she avoided the main street and ducked instead into the dark alleyway that led behind the shops, picking her way amongst the trashcans and heading downtown along the most undesirable route she could find. The sort of places that vampires might choose to pick on stragglers… or to have eaten a take out. It wouldn’t do to miss out on those. It was like Daddy had always said, ‘Look after the pennies and the dollars will look after themselves Tara.’

Yes sir. Same thing for vampires. She wouldn’t go out of her way to look out for the small fry… but when she found one she would make sure to sweep it right up. Yes sir.

*************

This part is directly continued in Part 8.

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You hear that baby?

Oh, wait ... I am SO not in a counting mood. I guess I'll just talk about it.

First off, anybody who even attempts an AU story rocks ... because they're very VERY tricky. You have to really know what makes the characters tick, and just how the different situation of the AU would change them.

And Hot Diggety Darn, you're doing a great job on that ... she's Tara, but she's not OUR Tara. What I find so fascinating is how you portray her strength ... Tara has always had this core of strength that was just waiting to come out (excuse the pun ... it was unintentional). In the canon BuffyVerse, it's Willow's love that showed her her own strength ... nice, happy, girl/girl love. But here - oh, here ... heh heh heh ... adversity. Death. Pain. Violence. These things helped Tara grow into her power.

But Tara's power has always been her innate goodness, her kindness, her ... innocence, if you will.

And that's why I love the whole cartoon bit ... I can just see her trying - desperately - to hang on to something that will keep her sane and whole. I can see the childlike enjoyment she gets from the silly cartoons, and it just kind of makes me smile even as I shiver ... like she's a serial killer who never misses the Sunday Funnies or something.

That fine line, that delicate balance between innocence and terrible knowledge is beautifully done. It's like she's standing on a tightrope, and if she falls off to her right, she becomes this vicious killer who lets the ends justify the means, but if she falls off to the left, she descends into a kind of insane stupor where Elmer Fudd is running around with a stake trying to dust the Vampire Bunny and all she can do is rock back and forth curled up in the fetal position and giggle.

It's disturbing.

But it's great.

Y'know, I started this story wondering how Tara was going to save Willow, y'know? Now I'm wondering how they're going to save each other, because neither one of them is okay *G* God, I love a good AU fic *G*

Darn it, I'm rambling again. *sheepish look* I'm going to, uhh ... actually go back to working now.

-Sass
PS Sorry about the 29 pages thing ... I have a tendency to, errr, ramble. So, take your time - as long as it doesn't interfere with the regular posting of this fic, I'm a happy little kitten.

PPS Something about this fic just makes me miss English Class and writing five-paragraph essays. Is that wrong?