Through a Glass, Darkly Dissonance (Chapter 1 of ?) By Raspberryhat
Disclaimer: BtVS does not belong to me. Background: Everything up to the end of Season Six happened as per canon. Timeframe: The story begins three weeks after the end of Season 6/Grave. From that point on it’s AU. Spoliers: Seasons three through six. Pairing: W/T Distribution: Please ask me first if you’d like to distribute this. Classification: This part of the story is classified R. Warnings: Angst, some violence. Feedback: Feedback is appreciated, but please be gentle. Draft: 12a / 2nd February 2005. Note: Heartfelt thanks to Verdant and Astrangerhere. This would not have been possible without their patient and insightful support.
***
“Who’d think one little vampire slayer could contain so much blood?” mused Willow as she stepped carefully back from the edge of the crimson pool spreading rapidly across the polished boards of the hall floor.
“Now, where could those insipid slayerettes be hiding?” As she stood listening, Willow caught sight of herself in the hall mirror and paused to admire the image; framed by moonlight, a study in black. She casually brushed a stray lock of jet black hair from her eyes and then smirked. “Definitely more me.”
The metallic whisper of a knife being drawn from a block made her turn in the direction of the kitchen. As she crept toward the source of the sound Willow allowed the vermillion sparks of magick that cracked from her fingertips to coalesce and flow into a bright long whip like tendril that curled and danced in the air by her side. “Xander…Dawnie…I’ve got something to show you,” she sang out casually, “I just showed Buffy and she really liked it.”
***
“Willow, I am so sorry!” fussed Buffy as she looked around for a tissue to prevent the spilled tea from further staining the blankets.
Willow’s heart was still pounding as she cautiously opened her eyes. She blinked rapidly in the bright morning sunshine and experienced a fleeting sense of relief as she realised she’d been dreaming. Inhaling deeply she realised she could smell fresh mint and frowned as she noticed steam rising off a slowly expanding pale greenish patch on her favourite patchwork duvet.
Buffy fidgeted awkwardly as she watched her friend slowly reach out a hand and touch the mark on the duvet. She rushed on with her apology, “I am sorry sweetie. I just wanted to wake you with some tea, I was trying to move your books out the way to make room for the cup and they sorta fell on it.” She broke off and waited hopefully for some kind of recognition that she’d at least meant well. “I just thought you know, on your big day you might like to wake up with some mint tea--”
“Thank you,” said Willow, “that was nice of you.”
Buffy saw the faint smile fade. “Oh Willow, I wasn’t trying to remind— I mean it’s just that, well I know you’re nervous what with the trip to England and everything—”
Willow managed a wan smile as she looked up at her friend. “It’s not that.”
Gently as she could Buffy asked, “Bad dreams again?”
The memory was all too clear in her mind’s eye. “Thanks for the tea Buffy but I should start getting ready. I’ll see you downstairs.”
“Will, we’ve got plenty of time.”
“I should get ready,” came the quiet response.
Buffy paused then nodded. “Take your time.” She gave her friend a tight smile and left the room, pulling the door gently closed behind her.
***
Buffy was starting to wish she had hurried Willow now. She tapped a leather clad foot nervously on the dining room floor. “Willow?”
The red-head sat at the wooden dining table, intent on her laptop and seemingly oblivious to the world around her.
Buffy waited and thought about a suitable, wittily-sarcastic remark to gain Willow’s attention. As she was about to speak, her eye was caught by a book lying on the table next to Willow’s open laptop bag. What she saw scared her. She took a breath before casually walking over to the table and picking up the book. She lifted it to examine the cover more closely; glancing down at Willow as she did so, but her attention was still elsewhere.
Quietly Buffy sounded out the title of the book; “Neur-o-mancer”.
At that, Willow looked up and saw the look on her friend’s face.
“Willow, what is this?” Buffy tried to keep her tone questioning, not accusing.
Seeing the book and the expression on her friend’s face, Willow quickly realised what her friend must be thinking. The thought of doing anything to upset the delicate balance of their repatriated friendship terrified her. Jumping up quickly, she said, “Buffy, it’s not what you think,” seeing the scepticism on the Slayer’s face she added; “it’s a story. Science fiction? About hacking and computers and stuff. Just some reading for the plane.”
Clumsily she grasped the book from Buffy’s hand and turned it over, trying to show Buffy the critics’ exclamations on the back cover. “See, fiction? Not Magick. Not…what you were thinking. Just a story.” Willow couldn’t quite look at her friend as she spoke. “Buffy, I am still clean. I haven’t done any kind of Magick, not even read any spell books, nothing since,” she swallowed, trying to make herself say the words, “since I went after Tara’s killers.”
Despite everything, Buffy still couldn’t stop herself from rather bitterly thinking; ‘…and tried to do away with us and everyone else in the world in the process.’
Buffy couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Willow to have watched the lover she was utterly devoted to, die in her arms. She couldn’t feel too sorry when Willow had killed Warren. But Willow’s magickal fuelled rage hadn’t stopped there, it had gone so much further.
Despite everything Buffy found she felt an unexpected calmness about the whole situation. She reasoned Willow wouldn’t be tormenting herself with nightmares if she didn’t feel some kind of remorse for what she’d done to Warren and what she’d nearly done to everyone else. And the whole point of Willow going to England was to deal with the whole matter of what she’d actually done, and what she still had the power to do.
Now wasn’t the time to worry about almost having ended the world. Worrying about impending apocalypse wasn’t that uncommon in Sunnydale after all.
Buffy’s started to relax. “It’s just, I saw…the title…”
“It’s just a story.” Willow’s heart fluttered nervously, but she tried to make her tone reassuring. “Not communicating with the Dead. Just a story.” Seeing Buffy hesitate and her expression relax, Willow stuffed the book quickly back in her bag. She knew that although Buffy was trying hard to be supportive, the slayer did not trust her. Could not trust her. Willow hoped her time in England with Giles’ old teacher would help her learn control of the power she carried. Maybe then things would be different. She gave her friend a tight smile, and started to turn back to her laptop. ‘Just need to keep it together another couple of days,’she thought.
“Willow, we need to go. Xander’s got the car waiting.”
“Just a sec’, I just need to finish this.”
“You are going to miss your flight!”
Buffy found herself trying to stare down big sorrowful green eyes and a hopeful smile. “Okay!” she relented, “but seriously Willow, we don’t have long.”
Her best friend’s smile widened, “I am nearly done,” she said distractedly as she sat back down and resumed typing.
Buffy sighed, her resolve crumbled. How could she treat Willow with anything other than kid gloves?
“Willow, you’re taking it with you aren’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“Your laptop.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Well, can’t you can finish whatever’s so important on the way?”
The typing hesitated and Buffy raised her eyebrows, amazed to have got through to her intelligent friend with pure simple BuffyLogic.
Willow slowly pulled down the screen of her laptop until it clicked shut. She turned back to look at her best friend. “Sorry.”
Buffy tried to keep the sorrow from her eyes. “Come on, sweetie. You’ve got a plane to catch.”
Willow replaced the machine in her bag. Standing up she grabbed her tan suede jacket from the back of the chair, swiftly slid it on and grabbed her bag. “All set,” she said giving her friend a brisk smile.
Buffy wondered how Willow could seem so cheerful. Much as she doubted the veracity of her demeanour, she couldn’t bring herself to question it. “Come on then,” said Buffy, heading towards the door.
“Wait!” The high pitched voice preceded the heavy clattering of teenage feet down stairs. “Willow!” Dawn sprang off the last step and ran up to her older friend. “Willow. I wanted to say goodbye!”
Willow put down her bag and opened her arms tentatively. As she did so, Buffy’s younger sister quickly folded herself into a warm embrace.
“Bye Dawnie,” she whispered. Willow looked seriously into her friend’s eyes. “Be safe.”
Dawn pulled back, embarrassed, looking at her feet.
Seeing tears welling up, Willow quickly added, “I’ll be back before you know it. I would say call, but I am not sure if they have phones where we’re going.”
Dawn nodded seriously. The backward British country folk. She knew all about them. “You need to look for red telephone boxes. The book I was reading? It said they have them everywhere. Or,” she paused, thinking, “or was that mail boxes?”
Willow raised an eyebrow at the thoughtful looking teen. “I’ll see you soon.”
Picking up her bag, Willow looked at Buffy.
“Dawn—“
“I know, don’t open the door to anyone, don’t go out after dark and if anything happens, the weapons are in the chest that now lives in the kitchen.”
The Slayer smiled proprietarily. “See ya.”
Willow followed Buffy down the front steps towards Xander’s new car. She could see him through the windshield, he seemed to be frowning as he fiddled with something in the dash. With a grim smile, she remembered the classic he’d driven, years before. The anonymous sedan seemed more suited to the Slayer circle’s main breadwinner.
Xander looked up and smiled as Willow entered the front passenger seat. “Will! Ready for London?”
As Willow considered her answer to that question, Buffy interrupted. “Xander! We need to go now!”
***
Willow pocketed her passport and blinked tiredly. She turned her head slowly, casting her glance from side to side, gently stretching the muscles in her neck. She’d expected the airport to have been busier. A few lone travellers pushed trolleys slowly towards the exits at the front of the arrivals hall.
The terminal building was big. Probably bigger than the whole of Sunnydale airport. Willow looked through the windows of the endless snaking corridors and saw nothing that looked any different from the place she’d left. She figured most airport surroundings looked the same though.
“Right ho,” said Giles who didn’t seem to be in the least bit tired. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
Willow gave a wan smile. “Just tired is all.”
The journey from Sunnydale to England had started badly and descended into near farce. First having their direct flight cancelled. Then being made to wait hours for an indirect flight to Chicago, being delayed again, staying over night and then finally catching a long haul flight to England which arrived in the middle of a rainy night.
“I suppose we have been travelling a long time. You get used to it after a while. Sleeping on planes, dozing in airports.” As he spoke, Giles hands wondered through his pockets, checking; passport, tickets, everything properly organized.
“So,” said Willow jokingly, “where now? Which way to my executioner?”
Willow saw the sadness in Giles’ eyes and looked away, immediately regretting her words. Again she realised she just didn’t know how to be in the world and why anyone should feel anything but contempt for her. He’d tried to teach her to respect magick but she’d so quickly outpaced his abilities his words had seemed…irrelevant. Her most bitter regret was that with Tara she’d started to understand herself. But her own pathetic need to prove her self-worth had led her to reckless abuse of her innate magickal abilities. She’d driven Tara away from her and yet still her lover found it in her heart to forgive her and Willow had felt healed by their union. She always had. But when Tara was killed it all fell away. Leaving just power and the need for vengeance.
When Giles, Buffy and the others had tried to stop her she’d not only swept them out her way, she’d hurt them. Killing Tara’s murderer had been easy but it did nothing for her, so she’d turned her anger on the hateful world that could allow Tara to die.
In the last few weeks, Giles had spent hours counselling her. He’d explained how he suspected there was no justice this world could offer for what she’d done. She’d killed someone who was outside of human society and for the infinitely greater crime of directing her power against mother earth, who could administer justice for that?
There was only the practical and urgent need to help her master her power. He’d explained how he knew someone in England who could help her. The woman’s name was Elizabeth.
She may be able to help. A big part of Willow’s problem was she couldn’t accept that she could not be punished for what she’d done. For now the only way was to avoid thinking about any of it. Take each minute as it comes. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she opened them she smiled at her friend and asked, “Where does the great Elizabeth live?”
“It’s too late to catch a train to the retreat tonight. Elizabeth keeps a house in central London. We’ll stop there tonight and travel down to her tomorrow. Some rest should do us good.”
Willow smiled gratefully. “I remember sleep. It was nice.”
“Come on, it’s this way for the train into the city.”
Willow hauled her shoulder bag higher, grabbed the handle of her flight case and set off after Giles. She wished things could have been different. She and Tara had talked about coming to England together. They’d planned it all out; what sights they’d go see, where they’d stay. It would have been after graduation. A chance to decompress. She’d planned on writing a travel diary that she and Tara could look back on when they were older. After Tara had come back to her, Willow had even gone and bought a little book; a hundred or so pages of handmade paper. She’d marked the first page with a small notelet upon which were the lines of a short love poem in Tara’s neat script. Tears formed in her eyes and suddenly a tightness in her chest made it hard to breath. She stopped and closed her eyes, struggling to regain her composure. Looking up Willow wondered if the Goddess saw her. Every day since…what she’d done, she’d prayed for understanding of the point of her life. All she knew right now was she had to follow Giles.
***
The gentle rocking motion of the carriage and the comfortable seat made sleep a temptation. At first, she’d stared curiously out the window, watching the world travel quietly by. Industrial areas marked out by white floodlights gave way to the sodium glow of residential areas. As they drew nearer to the city, houses in turn gave way to more space efficient apartment buildings and then office buildings. Willow felt a very long way from home.
Looking across the aisle she saw Giles was asleep, head lolling forwards, bobbing gently with the movement of the train. She felt better seeing the older man was not completely impervious to fatigue.
She’d not been able to settle during the flight. Being around so many people was very hard for her. The noise in her head was constant. In the first few days aftermath of what she’d done, sleep had been difficult. Unable to trust herself even to open a book of herbal remedies she’d been forced to rely on conventional pharmacology to help her rest. Unfortunately, with sleep came dreams and the chances of real rest were little.
During her waking hours she’d started to become familiar with pain killers. With concentration she could quell the noise in her brain but that took effort. If she went where there was a lot of people or if her concentration slipped she would be left with a pounding migraine.
She knew she couldn’t go on this way for much longer. Maybe Elizabeth would be able to help her. Giles hadn’t really been clear on quite how she could help, but he seemed to believe in this woman whom he said he’d known many years. With a resigned sigh, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes.
***
“Come out, come out, where ever you are!”
Willow crept quietly around the old Yew and frowned when there was no one there.
“You can’t hide from me forever! You know I’ll find you.”
She looked around curiously and then smiled as she saw the old gazebo at the far end of the formal garden. A hexagonal affair, of wood, glass and an open door way. Perfect for a person to hide in if she crouched down tight against the wall. Willow walked nonchalantly towards the gazebo and stopped at the bottom of the wooden steps. Then in a stage whisper, said, “I wonder where that sneaky witch could be hiding.”
She smiled as she heard shuffling from inside the gazebo. She crept up the stairs, and spun around, pointing a finger accusingly at the blonde woman crouched beneath the wooden panel.
Still crouched, Tara looked up at her lover and small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. She stood up slowly, placing her hands on her hips.
Willow raised an eyebrow and smiled. She looked around, then, satisfied they were alone, reached out a hand and hooked her finger in the waistband of the blonde’s lilac velvet jeans and pulled Tara toward her. She looked into playful eyes, leaned forward and planted a tender kiss on sweet lips, then pulled away smiling contentedly.
Quick as a shot, Tara exclaimed, “My turn!” and ran off into the gardens. Willow stood looking surprised and staring after her girlfriend. She blew a lock of short red hair out her eyes and thought, ‘Where would Tara pick to hide?’
Willow placed her hands on her hips and counted slowly under her breath. She’d seen Tara run towards the maze. At the count of six, she grinned and headed out. Willow paused, trying to make herself very quiet. She pressed herself against the privet and listened intently for the noise she’d heard from around the corner. She heard a stifled giggle. Smiling, she took a breath and then leapt out from around the corner.
The verdant corridor ran to what she could see was the centre of the maze. Tara had sounded so close, just around the corner, she’d been sure. She looked around, confused. Then heard it again; gentle laughter. Smiling, Willow started walking towards the centre of the maze.
She emerged into the central square which was paved with well trodden grey slate. In the exact centre stood a sundial marking the hour with a deep black shadow. Willow looked around, bewildered. Tara could not have come past her and she knew it was Tara she’d heard. She looked again at the sundial and into the shadow of the hour. As she looked, she began to feel dizzy. The shadow seemed to grow longer, moving across the slate towards her. Then the darkness was at her feet and growing wider. She gazed into the blackness and could feel herself being pulled. As she started to lose her balance, utter, paralysing dread rose within her.
***
Willow shuddered and sat up, blinking her eyes and trying to remember where she was. Subdued lighting and quietly chattering slim TV screens in the train car wall. London. ‘Train carriage wall’ she corrected herself with a smile. She reached up an unsteady hand and pushed hair from her eyes. Her forehead felt clammy. The summer night was warm and humid. Again, not what she’d been expecting. She just assumed it would be raining all the time. Looking across at Giles, she was rather disconcerted to see the older man was wide awake and watching her over the top of his glasses. She offered him a friendly smile. “Much further to go?” she enquired.
He paused before answering, then looked at his watch. “We should be at Paddington in about five minutes. From there, the tube’ll take us into central London. Elizabeth’s house isn’t far from the station.”
***
Leaning on the extended handle of her upright wheeled suitcase Willow watched curiously as a little rat scuttled out from behind one of the track mountings, ran along the tunnel floor and then out of sight again. She looked up and down the length of the tunnel. Everything seemed old, overused and in disrepair. Strips of old advertisements hung ragged from the tunnel wall giving the place a rather neglected feel.
“It smells bad down here.”
“You get used to it after a while,” said Giles distantly.
She watched him curiously. He seemed a little nervous
“And it’s kinda dirty,” said Willow with moderate distaste.
Giles looked at her perplexedly. She looked tired, exhausted even. “It’s not far once we come out the tube.”
A warm wind on her face made her realise a train must be approaching.
“Ah. Here we are,” said Giles.
The train car seats looked comfortable but were littered with commuter detritus. Willow chose a clean spot and seated herself. It was hot in here. She picked up a newspaper from the seat beside her and fanned herself with it. As the train moved off, gathering speed, cooler air blew through the open carriage windows. The overall effect was rather soporific.
Willow’s eyes had barely been closed a few seconds when they snapped open again. Loud, urgent voices were everywhere. Her brain pounded against her skull as she struggled to keep her mental barrier working. As the train continued its journey into the heart of the city the noise in her head intensified. The energy of unknown people, densely packed into the city seemed to pulsate in time to some unknowable rhythm. Patches of quiet, just long enough for a microsecond’s hope that the next burst of pain wouldn’t come and then it would crash over her again. She screwed her eyes tight shut, wishing their destination closer.
***
Willow stepped off the top of the escalator and reached into her shirt pocket for her train ticket. The hot, thick atmosphere of below thinned out, giving way to a different but no less varied set of smells.
The station was almost deserted. At one end of the row of exit gates, an old man sat on a stool, body slumped against the wall. He stared off into space, unmoving. Willow looked at her ticket and then at the automatic gate. She flipped the ticket in her hand and then pushed it into the thin slot in the front of the machine. A brief whir and her ticket popped out the top and the gate slammed open, making a racket of metal on metal. She jumped at the suddenness of the movement and quickly lifted her suitcase up and walked briskly through.
She stopped a few steps beyond the gate and waited for Giles who was struggling with his bags. She looked around. The place was in some disrepair. There were a few basic amenities; ticket machines, an ATM and even a small news kiosk, metal shutters battened closed, the dull metal emblazoned with graffiti.
Exit signs to various streets pointed off in different directions. She didn’t know which way they wanted. Giles walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped again, feeling a rush of adrenaline and other, more primal energy pump through her body.
“Willow, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?”
She didn’t feel alright, but she nodded.
“Come on, it’s this way.”
They walked out of the main concourse and headed down a narrower, badly lit exit tunnel. Those lights that were functioning shimmered gently off puddles of filthy water. The tiled walls were stained with tribal markings and there was the unmistakable smell of urine. As they were about to round the next corner, Willow heard a thud and then what sounded like a stifled scream. She looked at Giles, eyes wide with concern.
Watcher and witch rounded the corner at a run and stopped suddenly at the scene before them. Within the weak illumination from the single remaining unbroken strip light, a huge, muscular man held his right arm around the neck of a terrified looking young woman. He gripped her so tight against him that her fragile body was lifted slightly from the ground. The fluorescent blue reflected unpleasantly off the girl’s tear streaked face.
Willow swallowed and found her throat constricted and dry. She saw that in his other hand the man held a large hunting knife to the girl’s stomach. The point of the knife had cut her pale summer dress. Around the cut seeped a crimson stain.
The man’s features were partially obscured by long greasy hair which brushed against the side of the girl’s face. Willow felt sick as she looked into his malevolent face and felt the simplistic emotions in his head.
Crouching at the girl’s feet, another man, this one was gaunt with unnaturally white skin and an expansive mass of tight curled black hair. His long fingers were riffling through the contents of the girl’s pocketbook. Seemingly not registering their presence, the gaunt man carried on going through the girl’s things, muttering to himself as he did so. Occasionally he’d pull an item out, study it momentarily and then throw it away. After some moments of this, he pulled out a plastic compact and examined it uncomprehendingly.
Willow saw the man’s finger nails were long and yellowed with jagged ends. He struggled to hold the device. Then figuring out how to operate the catch, he clumsily opened it. He looked into the mirror, turning his head slowly from side to side, his expression broadening into a grin. He looked down at the palette of colored powders and extended a bony fingertip into a tea rose red. He looked at the reddened tip, then lifted the finger to his face and began to trace a circle around his cheek. Replacing his finger in the powder, he lifted it again and painted a circle on his other cheek, as he did so, carelessly scratching the skin with his jagged finger nail.
He looked at his handiwork in the mirror and smiled broadly. Abruptly, he dropped the compact and looked up at Giles and Willow who gave an involuntarily start and took half a step back. The man—what she’d thought was a man—had dozens of dirtied, short, needle like teeth.
Staring intently at her, the creature slowly stood up. He looked at Willow thoughtfully before inclining his head in mock deference. He looked over at Giles who was standing a half step behind Willow and no longer smiling.
Addressing Giles, the gaunt creature spoke slowly and in what sounded to Willow like an east European accent. “Now then. What you need to do, is take your…friend here, turn around and go back the way you came.”
Giles didn’t move for a beat and then very slowly, hands raised in a gesture of calm he took a step forward to stand alongside Willow.
Willow’s eyes stayed locked with the gaunt man and her stomach tightened as she heard a squeal of pain. She broke away her gaze to look at the girl and saw her eyes, wide and tears streaming freely down her face. The red stain on the front her dress was much bigger now.
Giles turned his head to look at Willow.
She knew what he wanted. A feeling of overwhelming despair swept through her. This was going to keep happening. She’d never have a chance to get better because there’d always be something worthy of sacrificing herself. Maybe she deserved it.
“Willow, take my hand,” he whispered.
She turned her head minutely until she could see Giles out the corner of her eye.
Giles gripped the stone in his pocket tightly and whispered with more confidence than he felt, “Trust me.”
She hesitated only a moment before grasping his proffered hand into a tight grip and turning back to face their two antagonists. Speaking quietly, with an authority that despite himself, Giles found disturbing she said, “Obscuro.”
The sound of the word amplified, penetrating the tunnel walls and everything around. Willow felt Giles’ grip tighten and she jumped fearfully as a strangled cry of pain escaped his tight set lips. Something was wrong, but it was too late to do anything as the air had already thickened and taken on a grainy sepia quality that would soon become deep black as the magickal invocation completed. Willow turned back to their aggressors in time to see the thin man’s anaemic features form around a shrill cry before darkness closed over him. Then there was just deep ringing silence.
***
Standing very still, all she could hear was the sound of her own heart thumping. Her fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily and she felt sweat trickle down her palms. She closed her eyes and breathed deeper, trying to calm herself.
Willow knew the threat was gone. Quietly she whispered, “Recuro.”
The flickering light returned. Relief was fleeting as looking around, Willow realised that not only had the two creatures gone, but so had the young woman and so had Giles.
A metallic squeaking sound and Willow’s glance was drawn sharply back to her left and to an anonymous, featureless door set back into the side of the tunnel. Painted the same color as the tunnel wall, it was easy to miss. This must have been where the woman’s attackers had lain in wait. Or was it abductors? Had they taken her?
Willow was fairly sure she had seen the door as they’d come running to the woman’s rescue, but the situation in hand had allowed her to pay it little attention. Had it been open before? Would a service entrance in the underground be left unlocked? She doubted it. She looked around to see if anyone was coming. Satisfied she was alone and could hear no footsteps, she reached towards the door and drew it open.
Darkness. She stopped and reached into her pocket. She pulled out her keys which she’d stuffed in her pocket on habit when leaving Sunnydale. Attached to the ring was a miniature flashlight. She bought it a few months before, during her initial recovery period when she’d been trying to think how she’d be able to prove to Tara that she didn’t need magick for anything. She’d remembered her little Fiat Lux charm and decided to always have a flashlight with her so she didn’t need magick for everyday things like seeing in the dark. She’d looked forward to showing it to Tara but somehow there’d never been the chance.
The beam was quite feeble in the pressing darkness, but it provided enough for her to see she was standing in the entrance to a service tunnel. She felt around the wall on the inside of the door, looking for a light switch, but found none. Swallowing nervously and holding the flashlight up before her, she started to pick her way forward. Perhaps Giles had pursued the two creatures this way?
The tunnel sloped gently downwards which made walking in the gloom easier. She walked for some minutes before the tunnel wound to the left, lead her on for another couple of minutes before turning to the left again. The downward spiral continued for a few more turns, taking Willow deeper until, at the end of the next section she saw light.
The light was a crude affair mounted on the wall above a round hole in the tunnel floor. At the top of the hole, a rusty metal ladder invited her curiosity. Willow stopped for breath and to think. She’d no idea where the hole went or what kind of danger she could be walking into. Yet strong instinct told her to look.
Carefully, she lowered herself down, rung by rung. Soon the light was gone and she was just descending deeper into the darkness. She’d been counting the rungs at first, but soon became more concentrated on her breathing. A small part of her brain wondered if this actually went anywhere or what the chances were of the rusty metal breaking off and leaving her trapped down here. As she brushed that thought away, she heard a noise. Indistinct at first, but as she climbed lower it became clearer, more regular; percussive.
Then, below she could see warm flickering light and before long she was emerging into a long, curving low ceiling tunnel and incongruously, into candle light. Spaced neatly, every five feet or so, tall brass candle holders carried what must have been hundreds if not thousands of candles.
Seemingly alone, Willow turned around, trying to locate the direction of the percussive noise. The acoustic properties of the tunnel made it difficult to be sure. Now she listened the sound was all around, constant and intense. Again going on instinct she turned to her right and followed the curve of the tunnel.
The place was unsettling. Clearly this place was occupied, but by whom and for what purpose? The fact there was nobody around now, only suggested there would inevitably be so before long.
Then she saw the end of the tunnel in the centre of which was a neat black door. As she got closer, Willow saw, mounted on the wall next to the entrance, a small wooden framed glass case. Inside the case was a single sheet of white card. Willow read the black letters embossed on the card.
The Original Cavern Club Presents
One Time Only
Celebration of Life
Despite the fact that Willow knew she was going to go in, she dawdled by the door. She didn’t like what it said on the card. “Come on then, get it over with,” she told herself. She had to step to the side to avoid a battered mannequin that lay against the wall next to door, limbs disjointed, reddened lips pouting. She grimaced at the rather odd sight, before reaching for the handle.
To her mild surprise, when she pressed the slim aluminium handle, the door opened quietly and easily inwards. Another corridor. She grimaced. It was darker here, at the end of the passage she could see a single candle mounted either side of another door. The narrow corridor was lined with shelves stacked with plain cardboard boxes. As she walked, Willow thought she could hear voices. The percussion was definitely stronger and more pervasive here. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she tried to be very quiet as she walked towards the door.
She could hear voices beyond the door. A lot of people she thought. She reached for the round handle and turned it. Her heart gave a thump as the mechanism gave a quiet click and released. Very slowly, she eased the door open a fraction and looked inside.
The noise grew in volume. She grimaced as the stench of thick, stale smoke, drink and Goddess knew what else filled her nostrils. Carefully, Willow pushed the door open just enough so she could slip through. Trying to stay hidden in the shadows, she looked around. No one turned suddenly as she entered.
She was standing in vast cavern. Elliptical, high ceiling vaulted with great rusted iron girders. Towards the back of the cavern was a circular bar. A spiral of multi colored bottles rose high from the very centre. Busy looking ‘things’ were mixing complicated looking drinks in large glasses for the crowd pressing in around the edge of the bar.
Around the edge of the cavern, tables clustered in the shadows, drinkers hunched low and conversing in hushed voices. Above the persistent drumming, Willow expected to hear music, but there were only voices, loud and some in languages she didn’t know.
At the other end of the cavern, a crude stage. Empty right now and shrouded by a tattered red curtain. Willow approached an empty nearby table and sat down gingerly. She tried to be inconspicuous and not catch anyone’s glance.
There were all manner of creatures here. Young vampires dressed in shiny black leathers posed by the bar, holding up their drinks and downing the contents, smashing the glasses down on the bar top. And roaring for more. In the crowds moved colorful females, each dressed in silk clad bodice, thigh high leather boots and long silken gloves. Each carried a tray of glasses loaded with dark liquids.
As she was looking around, someone from a table across the other side turned suddenly and caught her glance. Willow recoiled, frightened. The woman smiled coquettishly. Her face was anaemic. Willow’s eyes were drawn to the bolt that pierced her nose. But the thing that frightened her, was her oily black eyes that roamed the room and had settled on her.
She looked away. Her observations were disturbed by a noise from behind her. The deep red stage curtain was slowly rising on creaking pulleys. People were turning towards the stage. Voices hushed and a murmur of anticipation rippled through the crowd. The curtain finally disappeared into the ceiling and the stage stood empty. The tension in the room built as hushed voices whispered excitedly. Willow felt an unpleasant prescience.
Along the front of the stage, limelights flared brightly and the drum beat became louder. Then, a man was walking with slow, measured steps onto the stage. He stopped about a third of the way across the boards and stood very still. He wore long silk robes of deep blood red. Around his waist, an obi tightened the robes to a thin waist. His white face was made up with tea rose rouge.
Willow gripped the edge of the table. The man wore fine white gloves and in his right hand he held a violin by the neck. In his left hand he lightly grasped a bow. Strangest of all, perched on the man’s nose were delicate pair of pince-nez. Willow thought he looked like some bizarre parody of Sherlock Holmes’ arch enemy, Professor Morriarty.
Expression impassive, he inclined his head to one side and the onlookers fell quickly silent. Willow edged further back against the wall seeking the safety of shadow.
Morriarty bowed low. With great ceremony, he raised the violin into position and with his other hand, readied his bow. The hall was now completely silent.
He began to play. Notes tumbled from the delicate instrument. Willow immediately recognised Paganini. How could she not? Within the dark texts she’d absorbed had been the maestro’s name. She felt a knot in her stomach and swallowed hard, trying to focus on the problem here and now.
She found her attention diverted from the musician to a rather extraordinary scene unfolding upon the centre stage. A cold, filmy mist was descending from the rafters above the stage. Light reflected off each droplet, making the mist sparkle and shine.
The violinist was becoming more animated as he worked his way towards the climax of his piece.
The mist fell in a perfect circle upon the stage and it began to thicken, creating a shining grey cylinder of light.
The violinist arced his bow to the top of the last scale and then drew it away from his instrument with a flourish, letting the last note hang in the air.
In the centre of the stage, the cylinder of light started to dissolve. As the mist descended to the stage floor, Willow was horrified to see, crouching on the floor, wet and frightened in the centre of the mist was the young woman from the underground.
Her first instinct was to rush the stage, but she thought better of it. Her lips curled into a smile as her second instinct began to take over and her own eyes started to darken. With the greatest effort, she managed to push her instinct back. Her heart fluttered as she thought frantically.
Then the bowman took up again. This time the piece started slowly, creating a ponderous buzzing around its victim.
The girl’s frightened eyes darted around, agitated and scared. Uncertainly, she stood up and as she did so, her hands unconsciously tried to smooth out her sodden dress.
Pausing momentarily, the violinist looked at the girl and his impassive expression became a hint of a smile.
Willow watched the girl’s eyes widen with fear. She seemed to be talking to herself, her lips moved, but Willow couldn’t hear the words. Then the girl stiffened and fell silent and stared down at the stage before her.
Leaning forward curiously Willow tried to see what had drawn the girl’s attention. She paled as she realised what it was. Her shadow was moving.
The girl’s black image seemed to swell and then began to lengthen, creating a misshapen visage. Independent of the light that gave it life, the shadow began to move around her. The darkness stood directly behind her, growing and tracing across the stage and up the white screen behind her.
Eyes still locked straight ahead, the girl’s shoulders tensed.
The girl seemed to be in a trance now. Could she sense the thing growing behind her?
The violinist’s playful buzzing tune increased in urgency and as it did so, the shadow stopped moving. It stood tall against the back screen, dwarfing the girl. The audience gasped and the sound seemed to shake the girl from her trance. The shadow was taking on substance, peeling itself out of the white screen, forming a completely black image of the girl.
Willow saw the girl shudder and try to turn her head, but fear prevented her. The young girl clenched her fists and with a look of determination, she turned around. At the sight of her adversary she fell to her knees.
The shadow moved slowly forward and in one smooth movement, began to contract. The shadow shrank until it was a completely black and perfect, equal sized replica of the girl. It stepped forward and knelt before its progenitor.
The girl, looked curiously into the blackness before her and smiled. The shadow inclined its head. Wishing she could stop her, but not knowing how, Willow watched as the girl reached out a hand.
The music soared high, faster screaming through the cadenza towards climax.
Mirroring the girl’s movements exactly, the shadow reached out its own hand towards the girl’s face. A dark hand gently cupped her cheek. This seemed to calm the girl, the corners of her lips curled into a smile.
The shadow’s hand descended from the girl’s cheek and rested over her heart. And then with no warning, the deep black hand simply pressed forwards, through cloth, into and through her skin.
Her mouth rounded into a scream, but there was no sound above the violin and thundering drums. The girl’s eye balls rolled upwards, leaving a milky white, sightless gaze.
Willow stared at the stage and as seconds ticked by she realised the room was becoming brighter. A kind of pale white light was emanating from around the shadow’s hand. The light intensified and Willow realised that it was actually emanating from within the girl, from within her heart. In bright white, the shadow was an even more menacing template of darkness.
Abruptly, the violin stopped now, but the drums beat on. The soloist stepped away from the unfolding scene, shielding his eyes against the glare.
The white light began to pulsate slowly and as it did so, those nearer the front began to stand and move closer to the stage. The energy flowing from the girl intensified further and with it, more people surged forward to feel the light. The pulse began to quicken, growing into a brilliant white strobe and the masses pressed forward, faces upturned, eyes closed.
Willow stared, a mixture of fear and disgust in the pit of her stomach. When the light touched her it raised within her an intoxication she had not felt since the height of her magickal addiction and that final power trip that had nearly ended it all. She felt sick at herself for her involuntary reaction as the poor victim’s life was drained away. She desperately wanted to resist her body’s desire for more and to do something to stop this horror. But, as the young woman’s body slumped forwards she knew it was too late.
Willow stood up, tears rolling down her cheeks. As the body expelled its final breath, a multi-hued, reflective halo surrounded her corpse, tendrils of colored energy tightly roiled, holding for an instant, before blowing outwards with savage force.
The wave penetrated everything in its path, leaving behind a warm turbulence. Willow watched it approaching with a horrible sense of inevitability. She managed only a regretful smile before it hit her. The Hyde-like transformation was swift.
She remembered the feeling of exhilaration during the transformation. It started with a darkening of the vision, before other senses heightened, revealing a world of dancing fibrous energy.
Willow gazed around at the crowd of onlookers, heads upturned, eyes closed, bodies swaying as they felt the power. She could see the veins in their bodies expand and brighten as they absorbed the energy flooding through the room. She smiled gently as her blackened locks blew out behind her.
***
TBC…
Last edited by raspberryhat on Wed May 11, 2005 3:09 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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