Through a Glass, Darkly
Ante Mezzanine (Chapter 3 of ?)
By Raspberryhat
Disclaimer: BtVS does not belong to me.
Background: Everything up to the end of Season Six happened as per canon.
Spoliers: Season three through six.
Distribution: Please ask me first if you’d like to distribute this.
Classification: This part of the story is rated PG-13.
Feedback: Feedback is appreciated, but please be gentle.
Draft: 2.0/ Oct 25th, 2005.
***
“Lifting the Veil” is one of several names given to the transition through which the corporeal world falls away, revealing to the Soul facet a path to the whole Soul. Following the path and joining with the Souls of all those other lives is the completion of the process. However, even after joining, the Soul continues to ascend its own understanding, coming ever closer to the Goddess.Finally, after months of methodical research, Tara had found a definition of the much referred to, variedly named and superficially polymorphous concept. It didn’t help. No matter how many times she re-read the text, she could not make sense of how it fitted with everything else she’d learned.
Her search for knowledge of the earliest roots of Wiccan practice had been frustrating and difficult. The pre-history was clouded with contradiction and rumor. Time and method had nevertheless begun to reveal elements of the history, each seeming logical in their own right and some even consistent with her own beliefs. This particular line of investigation had yielded startling results, filling in many gaps and offering a tantalizing and surprising glimpse of the era.
Tara looked up from the heavy tome and saw that once again she was alone. Here, immersed in a book, she could disconnect. She would normally enjoy the feeling of centered calm on emerging from a period of intense study to find she was the only one left in the building. This time though, she just felt frustrated and confused.
Once she’d come here regularly. Seated in her favorite spot, surrounded by books left haphazardly on tables or stacked casually on trolleys, Tara could feel very safe. Yet since taking a permanent post at the University, her need to visit here had been diminished. For her latest project though, the academic system had presented delays. Feeling she’d caught a glimpse of something significant and not wanting to wait, she’d sought other ways to satiate her desire for deeper knowledge.
Tara had come back to this quaint old collection with little real expectation of finding anything. The search gave her hope though. To her surprise and subsequent excitement she had found references. Quickly she had located the works she needed and settled herself to read. What she found, however, did not shed the illumination she had hoped for.
The rain streaked sash windows of the old-town library diffused the late afternoon Sun, filling the first floor reading room with a deep amber glow. She checked her battered Timex. The library would be closing soon. Accepting she was not going to find answers today, Tara began to gather the books she’d checked-out and carefully slide them into her cloth shoulder bag. Standing, she glanced around before shouldering her bag and heading towards the exit. As she picked her way through the tables towards the stairs, she allowed the tips of her fingers to glide over the surface of the tables, leaving delicate perturbations in the dust.
Standing on the deserted sidewalk in front of the library, Tara looked across the rain soaked street to the bus-stop and beyond to the misted windows of the small independent coffee shop. Frequented by academics and locals alike, the place always provided a pleasant way to relax after long periods of study. She checked her watch again. As she looked back over to the shop, her stomach growled. She grimaced and furrowed her brow, hunger conflicting with the need to catch the next bus back up to campus.
“Hey!”
Surprised, Tara spun to face the owner of the voice. “B-buffy? Where did—I mean, I didn’t see you.”
The petite twenty-something raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the jumpy one.”
Tara smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Head still in the books.”
Buffy carried on, oblivious to her friend’s distraction. “I was just in town shopping.” She twizzled the string handle of a stiff sided, glossy store bag. Tara could see it bore the stylized hallmark of some upscale boutique. Buffy seemed distracted but just as Tara was about to politely ask what her friend had bought, she continued, “And I thought I’d see if you were done at the library. Which I see you are. Wanna get something to eat?”
Tara’s brow furrowed again. She wished she hadn’t told Buffy her plans. With the anti-climax of her afternoon’s work, she really wanted to get up to campus and continue her research, looking into areas the University library was eminently better able to facilitate than the town library’s eclectic but essentially small collection. Apologetically, she began, “I really need to…”
Buffy cut her off. “Professor Maclay,” Buffy sounded out the honorific for emphasis, “you’ve been reading solidly for the last nine years. You’re the most respected and youngest Professor at UC Sunnydale. I know the University library stays open til 11.30pm now because that’s where I find you if you’re not home.” She put her hands on her hips. “Surely you can manage a couple hours out of your schedule for dinner with your best friend?”
Tara decided against arguing. Besides, dinner sounded good right now and she could use some light relief after hours puzzling over the books. She offered Buffy a lopsided grin. “Okay.”
“Good. You’ll like this place. It’s kind of you.”
Tara raised an eyebrow. “Me?”. Mild concern mixed with curiosity of what Buffy might feel was to her taste. Tara wondered what she was getting herself into. Buffy had grown a lot since graduation. The world of work, which had eventually come her way, had introduced her to people and experiences which had shaped her friend into a complex and interesting woman. A good friend. While Buffy was still very much the Chosen One, the almost thirty year old Slayer was far removed from the single minded zealot Tara remembered from the early days.
***
Tara looked around uneasily and was careful to keep close to Buffy who strolled confidently through the deserted and rundown streets beyond which lay the lower docks. Though Tara had never ventured here herself, her studies had led her deep into the history of human activity around the Hellmouth. Once a bustling inlet and trading hub, time had seen merchant shipping attracted north to the much larger ports, capable of offering more diverse trading opportunities. Life had migrated away. This part of town was best avoided by anybody who wasn’t fully able to take care of themselves. The denizens of the night presided now and it was wise not to risk the twilight. Despite being with the Slayer, Tara felt nervous. “Buffy, where exactly is this place?”
“Not much further. Just there in fact.” Buffy pointed towards the end of the street.
Tara followed her friend’s gaze. She couldn’t see where Buffy was pointing. “Where exactly?”
Buffy smiled. “Come on, you’ll see.”
Minutes later Buffy stopped them in front of what, from a distance, had looked like an abandoned chandler or some other business once vital to the commerce of the region. Up close, Tara found she was in fact standing before an immaculate but very discreetly decorated store front. The woodwork was painted matte black and heavy crimson curtains occluded any view of the interior.
Closing the door behind them, Tara allowed her attention to wander while Buffy stood before the narrow counter set just a few feet beyond the front door and spoke with a waiter. The air was heavy; warm and infused with the scents of exotic cooking. The only light was from candles set in the centre of each table.
Buffy turned back from the counter. “Come on, we’ve got my usual table.”
Tara raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Usual? You come here often?”
“Oh sometimes.” Buffy led Tara across the flagstones, towards the end of a row of booths.
Tara deferred to Buffy, allowing her to enter their booth first and get comfortable before settling herself. She dropped her bag next to her and pushed it towards the end of the comfortable bench seat.
Seconds later a waiter appeared. His attention was entirely focused on Buffy. As she looked up, the waiter’s expression seemed to come alive. “Bull’s Blood Madam?”
A small nod. “I think so.”
“Thank-you Madam.” The waiter departed.
Tara was staring at Buffy in surprise.
“What?”
“Er. Nothing, just, well you seem very at home here.”
Buffy busied herself with her purse. “Oh they love me here.”
Moments later, large wine glasses were being set before them and perfunctorily filled with deep red libation.
Buffy lifted her glass. “To…quiet times?”
Tara nodded. She was seeing a side of Buffy that she wasn’t even sure she’d known existed. ‘
Sophisticated Buffy?’ She still thought she saw a flicker of something else, behind the smile. Fear? “Quiet times,” she agreed.
Replacing her glass on the table, Buffy fixed Tara with an expression Tara couldn’t quite interpret.
“So what were you reading that’s got you so entranced?”
“Sorry?”
“What were you reading? Earlier, you said you still had your head in the books and that you wanted to go check something out at the university. Sounded urgent.”
Tara never really thought Buffy paid much attention when she talked about her work and for that reason she rarely talked about her researches in any detail. She took a breath, thinking about how to best explain. “Well, you see, the thing is I’ve been researching Wiccan pre-history and in particular, beliefs about spirit life.”
“Re-incarnation?”
Tara raised an eyebrow, surprised at her friend’s insight. “Well, it’s related. I’ve been studying pagan beliefs about what happens to the Soul when the body dies.”
“And what does happen?”
Tara smiled. She enjoyed Buffy’s direct approach. “Well that’s the hard part. There are different beliefs. You know? Every religion has a different take. I’ve just been looking at certain pagan beliefs and finding many permutations. But recently, I’ve been able to start to knit together a basic set of common principles. Most variations look different on the surface, or even far beneath the surface. But there are common elements.”
“So you’re building like some kind of grand theory of everything? Telling everyone that all their beliefs are actually the same? That’s going to be popular!”
Tara laughed. “No, not everything and not so grand. But you’re right, taken to its logical extreme and applied to every religion, it would probably be controversial. I’m not going that far though. I’m only looking at the basis of Wicca itself which is not exactly that well known and is certainly misunderstood by many. I’m just trying to see the picture as it’s developed over the ages. The trouble is--”
Buffy held up a hand. “Trouble is, you can’t get through a subject like this on an empty stomach. Let’s order.”
Momentarily frustrated at being interrupted as she was warming to her subject, Tara managed a grin. “You’re right.” She was fascinated at Buffy’s command of herself and comfort in a place that she never would have thought the woman she’d always seen as so happy-go-lucky, her less encumbered self, would be seen in.
“So okay, you were saying you’ve been trying to fit all the different beliefs about life after death together.”
Tara nodded, “Well yes, trying to dig to the underlying ideas. It’s difficult. Different beliefs rise and fall and the new beliefs can sometimes…aggressively replace the old.”
“And so what’s the big deal with today then? You found something important?”
Tara nodded again. “Well I’ve found that to get a defining view on a belief, you have to track it from inception. That’s very difficult as written records are patchy at best and often produced way after the fact so there is a degree of interpretation. Sometimes nothing recent exists at all so you have to try and work out when to stop searching and take what you’ve got as the definitive view.”
“I suppose some beliefs just die.”
“I don’t think belief ever truly dies,” mused Tara, “Things have a way of re-emerging.”
“I guess...What do
you believe about life after death?”
Tara thought about that. She was about to begin to form an answer when the waiter appeared, picked up the bottle and proceeded to top off their glasses.
***
Tara opened her eyes and immediately closed them again. The morning sunshine was painfully bright. For some reason her bedroom curtains were still open. More carefully this time, blinking rapidly, she opened her eyes. She sat up in bed and as she did so, blew a lock of ash blonde hair from her eyes. Pain reared in her temple. She had a headache. And her mouth was dry. In fact she felt extremely dehydrated. She pushed away tangled blankets and stumbled out of bed.
She turned on the bathroom light and then immediately scrabbled for the switch to turn it off again. The light hurt her eyes. ‘
Is this a hangover?’ Then memory. A restaurant. Buffy taking a highly unusual level of interest in her work. And wine. A lot of wine. Not something she was used to. Unsteadily, Tara leaned on the sink and peered at herself in the mirror. She didn’t like the look of the person staring back.
Memory unfolded as she went slowly about her morning ritual. She’d seen an unfamiliar side of Buffy and of herself. Where on Earth had she been taken? Pleasant emotions surfaced readily but details remained hazy. Suddenly she remembered the paintings. One in each booth. The lighting had been on the darker side of what modern interior designers liked to call ‘ambient’. She’d only cursorily glanced at the pictures, assuming them second rate prints. Yet curiosity nagged at her and drove growing frustration at the effort of trying to decipher indistinct memory.
Swiftly, she turned from the open wardrobe. She realized she’d been standing in reverie for several minutes. Tara strode back out the bedroom and into the central living area which housed among other things an extensive collection of art history books. Just as she was reaching for a particular slim volume that lay flat across the tops of a number of thicker books, the door bell chimed.
“Buffy?!”
“Hi!”
“Er, Hi, er…what are you doing here?” Tara found all thought of art history eclipsed by the surprise at seeing her friend at her front door in the
morning? Buffy’s sometimes endearing and occasionally annoying habit was to appear at her door, close to midnight, not at all sleepy and wanting to talk. ‘
Oh to have super power and be able to work on a few hours sleep,’ Tara thought.
“Bringing you breakfast sleepyhead. I figured you could use it.”
Buffy strode past her, down the hall and out into the kitchen. “Croissants,” Buffy exaggerated the French pronunciation with great delight, “and coffee.”
Tara shut the front door and followed her friend. She watched Buffy pull out one of the tall pine stools, sit down and peer through into the main living area. She smiled as she watched Buffy’s attention drawn back to the food in front of her. “I don’t have much time. I’ve already missed one class and have another in half an hour.” Tara knew she was late but somehow couldn’t summon the energy to rush.
“Tara, you live on campus, it’s a five minute walk.”
Tara walked back out the kitchen and entered the living area. She pulled up a stool opposite the counter top on which Buffy had opened up the paper bakery bag.
After sipping coffee., Tara turned to her friend, trying to think how to phrase the question in her mind. “Er, Buffy, last night…was I…”
Buffy looked at her friend. “Eat sweetie, we can talk about it later. You have class to get to.”
Tara smiled shyly and looked at the food before her. She tore off a piece of the buttery pastry and popped it into her mouth.
***
Tara glanced at the clock on the wall above the door. Only a minute to go. “Are there any questions?” She looked along rows of young faces and for once hoped there weren’t any questions. She usually relished the chance to engage with her students. She wanted to know they were hearing her and understanding the material, but more than that, the questions gave her a chance to try to go beyond the core of the examinable material. Today though, she just didn’t feel like she was quite connected with reality and doubted she could maintain her usual sunny disposition with her students. Another glance at the clock and it was over. No questions. “Okay then,” she announced with humor she didn’t entirely feel, “’til next time.”
Students filed out of the hall leaving behind a distant echo of conversation. The sudden silence reverberated in her mind. She decided she’d take advantage of the timely finish and grab another cup of coffee before her next class.
“I have a question.”
Tara looked up and was rather surprised to see Buffy sitting on a row end about half way up the middle block of seats. The hall was almost empty now. She glanced back towards the door and momentarily watched the last couple of students leave; a red-head talking animatedly to a slightly taller blonde. Tara hoped they were discussing the lecture. Hoped they’d learned something. She turned back to face Buffy and offered a slightly nervous smile. “So you’re in my class now?”
She started loading files into her bag. When Buffy did not immediately respond to her little jibe, she looked up curiously. Buffy’s expression was ambiguous, difficult to read. “What is it?” asked Tara, concerned now.
Buffy got up and descended the steps, approaching the front of the lecture hall. She sighed. “It’s nothing really, it’s just that…”
Her friend’s hesitation seemed painful. Tara wished she could do something to help induce the words.
“I wanted to ask you last night. But somehow, the wine and everything, I just never got around to it.”
Tara looked around the hall deliberately. “It’s just you and me. You can tell me.”
Buffy took a deep breath. “Well, you remember after Giles went home?”
Tara smiled as she thought of Buffy’s mentor. He’d been a good friend to Tara during some difficult times. “After the Intervention, he said there was just no point in him being around when you had the demon population of not only Sunnydale but everywhere in a thousand mile radius terrified to step out against you.”
Buffy couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, but do you remember what he said before he left?”
Tara thought back to what she hoped would be the last tearful farewell to the old Watcher in Sunnydale’s tiny airport. “He said that peace time could be just as challenging as war.”
Buffy nodded. “I just always assumed he meant that there’d always be something new climbing out the Hellmouth trying to break it all down. But…”
Tara willed her friend the strength to find the words to express herself.
“Well lately, I’ve found it difficult.”
“Difficult? Like how do you mean?”
Buffy hesitated. She grinned and looked down, rubbing the back of her neck distractedly. “Like, I worry. I worry it’s too good and that something’s going to happen. It’s not the fighting. They still come occasionally and it’s still easy enough to dispatch demons and stupid vamps. It’s not that, it’s wondering what the next big-bad will be.”
Tara stretched out her hand and lifted her friend’s chin with her curled finger. Suddenly she began to understand the often melancholy mood she found Buffy in when she turned up for her midnight visits. “Buffy, that’s perfectly natural. You spent years getting here. Years getting to a point where it could be this controlled. It’s understandable you’d worry that somehow it will all fall apart and the evil will come back. After what we did though…it may take longer than our lifetimes. You get to be the first Slayer to enjoy a living retirement.” She offered Buffy a hopeful smile.
But Buffy was not smiling. Tara examined her friend’s features and an idea began to form. She realized that her friend’s talent for understatement had perhaps matured. It was more than just ‘worry’. “Buffy, have you been sleeping well?”
When she looked back up, her friend had tears in her eyes. “I never needed much sleep, but I do still need rest. But now, I lie awake and all I can think about is when they’ll come back. That they’ll be redoubled in strength and I won’t be able to fight it. I’ve tried everything…I’ve been drinking more…”
Tara’s face became resolved. “Buffy, I can help. Sleep? Relaxation? Good things to be asking a Wiccan about. I’ve got plenty of things in my Book of Shadows.”
Buffy managed a small smile. “Got anything for paranoia though?”
“Well, you never know…” Tara was relieved to see a sparkle of mirth behind the fading tears. “I’ve got class to get to now, but meet me at my apartment at six-thirty and we can see what may help then? Okay?”
Buffy nodded.
***
Tara walked swiftly along her lobby. Approaching her front door, she was surprised to see Buffy sitting cross legged in front of it, eyes closed. Thinking Buffy might be in some kind of Slayer meditation, Tara slowed her pace and tried to reach quietly into her pocket for her keys.
“Hi!”
Tara stopped abruptly, heart thumping as she watched Buffy stand up, apparently wide awake and alert.
“Sorry I’m early. I just couldn’t wait. I was just trying to get in the mood with some breathing exercises.”
Tara smiled weakly at her friend. “Okay then.” She took out her key and carefully inserted it into the lock.
Tara placed her bag and key on the table next to the long mirror that hung from the wall to the right of the front door. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll go and fetch the book.”
Buffy nodded and wandered through into the main living space. She sat down on the course knitted rug in front of Tara’s small blue cloth couch. Tara entered her bedroom and then returned moments later carrying a heavy looking leather bound volume. She sat down on the rug opposite Buffy and crossed her legs.
“Here we go. The Book.”
Buffy looked apologetic. “I know it seems silly, but I’m run ragged. I just couldn’t think what else to try.”
Tara smiled shyly, glad she could help. “My only wish is you’d come to me sooner.” As she spoke, she reverently opened the book to the first page. She frowned.
Buffy looked at her friend’s expression quizzically. “What is it?”
For a long minute Tara didn’t answer. Then she began to page through the book, flipping from front to back, before stopping and looking up, concern and fear in her expression.
“It’s empty.”
Buffy raised her eyebrows in surprise. “How’s that possible? Could somebody have taken the spells?”
“I-I don’t know,” Tara managed.
Buffy tried to be logical. “When was the last time you used it?”
Tara looked up at her friend sadly. “Not for a long while.” She exhaled unsteadily and slowly inhaled, controlling herself.
“So, looks like we’ve got bigger problems than my insomnia. Where the hell has your magick gone? That is your book isn’t it? There’s no chance somebody wanted to steal it and replaced it…”
Tara threw her friend a withering glance, laced with a smile. Buffy’s ability to lighten a serious situation was sometimes extremely welcome. “It’s mine.” The book was old and deeply personalized, containing all her mother’s writings, her grand-mother’s magickal works and her own studies and research. Tara refused to accept the possibility it was all gone. Something had happened. She considered the different ways her book could have emptied.
“So,” asked Buffy, “what do you think could have happened? Are we dealing with something other worldly?”
Worryingly, Tara found that all the possibilities she could think of had serious implications. They all pointed to the use of significant power in a calculated way. Targeted at her. Why her? And Why now? She wished she had not allowed her practice to wane.
“What can we do?”
Tara did not answer her friend immediately, instead choosing to let gathering thoughts assemble further in her mind.
“Tara?”
Tara caught the concern in her friend’s questioning and looked up at her. “There might be a way…”
“What way?” urged Buffy.
“There’s a way to see if certain magicks have been used. It might work.”
Buffy looked worried. “But how will you recognize your magic from anybody else’s? There’s witches and demons all over this town experimentin’ the night away.”
Tara smiled, for once confident in her own knowledge. “If someone’s taken it somehow, I’ll be able to tell if the magick’s been worked nearby. Buffy, beyond the basics, spells are often very personal, created to focus power in ways specific to precise needs. Spells that focus a lot of power leave certain after affects that can be detected.”
“So like forensics for magic?”
Tara raised an eyebrow. She still couldn’t quite get used to how much Buffy had changed and chided herself for underestimating the woman’s understanding of the world. “That’s exactly right.”
“So how do we do it if you’ve lost all your spells?”
Tara smiled. “Well it’s actually a trance. It’s similar to the one we used for your mother. Don’t you remember? When your mother was ill and there was a chance it might have been a mystical attack?”
Buffy looked at her curiously. “You’ve lost me. So many spells, so many demons, I lose track.”
“Uh, right well, okay. It was a long time ago.” Tara didn’t like to drag up the past and figured Buffy was just uncomfortable talking about it. “I can do it now. It has been a while, but I’m fairly confident.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Er, nothing really. I just need peace. It could take several hours. You might want to go home.” She smiled at Buffy, her brow creasing with concern, not wanting to upset her friend but hoping she would understand.
“You don’t need any supplies? Mystic sands or voodoo herbs or anything?”
Tara giggled. “I’ve got what I need. Thank-you.”
Buffy got up. “Okay then. Gimme a call when you’re done. Call my cell, I’ll be patrolling.”
“I will.” Tara watched Buffy head to the door.
She decided the best place to situate herself was in her study. The expansive mahogany floor would be ideal. Again she wondered why she hadn’t felt the call to practice for so long. She’d had to go hunting for some of the items she needed but had found everything eventually. Most of it hidden beneath or behind stacks of books on various esoteric religions, philosophy, anthropology and other subjects important to her work.
Eventually she had everything arranged to her satisfaction. She closed her eyes and breathed.
Tara wasn’t clear how much time had passed. She could sense her awareness coming back slowly. It had been a long time since she’d performed a serious trance. The feelings were distantly familiar but she also felt more disoriented than she normally might have. The initial tingling of sensory consciousness returning to full completion and then to normal wakefulness could be an extended period. During the transition it was difficult to tell exactly where one was on the journey. ‘
Best not to rush it.’ She remembered the words of her mother. ‘
Just let the world come back to you.’
She could hear her mother’s voice so clearly. Despite the comfort the words brought her and the safety her ethereal presence offered, Tara still felt tainted with pangs of grief. Some part of Tara’s mind told her it was the effect of the trance that was altering the tone of her conscious memories, amplifying them.
Suddenly another memory arose. She thought of the night before. A darkened restaurant, a lot of wine and a deep slumber suffused with intense dreams details of which had been elusive. Only now the detail no longer eluded her. She remembered.
Sitting in the middle of a lecture theatre. Only this time she was student not teacher. She struggled to hear the professor’s words. The woman spoke softly. Tara enjoyed the cadence of her voice. Found it soothing. Yet the words were not clear. The sounds came but she could not piece together the actual words. However much she strained she could only hear only nonsensical scraps. She tried to write what she could but, when she looked down at her page, she couldn’t read her notes.
Tara’s returning consciousness smiled at the thought. Just the usual fears and worries arising. Nothing surprising there. As Tara had often found, dream memories returned in fragments. At the moment of her dismissal of her own sub-consciousness, another piece returned.
In her dream she turned to the student to her right to ask her what the professor had just said. The woman next to her had long flowing red hair that obscured her face. She didn’t seem to hear Tara’s request. Politely she touched the young woman’s arm to try to draw her attention. Opening her mouth to re-iterate her question, Tara froze. Suddenly she was afraid to see the face of the woman hiding behind her hair. The woman felt very cold. Tara snatched back her hand and her heart was beating quickly as she feared the woman turning to look at her. But the look didn’t come. And as quickly as it had arisen the memory settled.
Tara felt her heart slow and thought about the strange woman in her dream. Why had she felt so frightened of her? Frightened to ask for help? Maybe she should have majored in psychology. Interpreting dreams was difficult. The red-head seemed like any other student at first. In fact she seemed vaguely familiar. Tara felt she’d seen the girl before. In one of her classes maybe. Again memory sharpened. She had seen the girl very recently. Though she had not seen her face, Tara was certain it was the same woman she’d seen leaving her lecture earlier that day.
‘
Red-heads everywhere,’ she mused. Tara could feel she was nearly fully back in the real world now. Transitioning into and out of trance could often yield interesting and sometimes frightening experiences. Part of the training was learning how to deal with such things. Her mother had taught her carefully and purposefully, instilling in her the understanding necessary to handle the elements of Self and of the world that could suddenly come into sharp relief during trance.
‘
Just seeing what I want to see.’ She grinned.
Her grin faded suddenly and she lurched forward feeling nausea in the pit of her stomach. The room fell away as another memory arose in full three dimensional color before her eyes. The room darkened, the air changed and she was completely enveloped in one last ephemeral image.
Tara stood in the empty restaurant. Before her the series of booths. In each booth, a painting. She’d paid the art scant attention the other night as she headed towards the table allocated to Buffy and herself.
This time the works looked different. Although she was standing several feet away, she could feel the texture of the canvas and vibrant, emotive impressions in the paint. The passion in the artists mind flared at her, trapping her attention. With effort, Tara managed to pull her glance from the painting directly before her to the one in the next booth. The effect was the same. The work was beautiful. Real and powerful. The next picture was the same. Each one called to her. More than just oil on canvas. She recognized every piece. Rossetti, Millais, Collier, Hacker and Leighton.
The sickness in the pit of her stomach was driven from the theme she saw arising and the knowledge there was no chance a series of random events, dreams and memories could be quite so closely linked by mere coincidence. Her spiritual mind knew it meant something else.
She remembered every painting. Lady Lilith. The Martyr of the Solway. Lady Godiva. Fire Francies. And of course who could forget Flaming June? Tara’s eyes snapped open.
“What the hell’s going on?” she asked the room in general. She’d not found any evidence of use of her magick. Nothing. She’d sat in a peaceful void for, she glanced over at the clock on the study wall, nearly two hours and it was only when she’d begun to exit the trance that things had started to get strange.
Her eyes wandered the room as her mind spun through possibilities. She looked at the piles of papers arranged neatly on her desk. Next to the tallest pile sat the phone. Decisive, she stood up, walked over to the phone and picked it up.
***
“I told you, they’re not open on Mondays.”
Tara looked at Buffy, exasperated. “Why not?”
Buffy shrugged her shoulders. “They’re just not. Never have been. I’ve been coming here monthly for a couple of years and they’ve always said they’re not open Mondays.”
Tara released another sigh. “Okay, we have to find a way in.”
“What? What’s got you so riled up that you want to go breaking into legitimate businesses and be snooping around for…I don’t even know what it is we’re here for! It’s not clever to be in this part of town at this time of night you know!”
Tara deflated a little. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“Well, I did the trance and got nothing.”
“Nothing? Huh. So nobody’s been working the Maclay mojo then?”
Tara shivered and looked up and down the darkened street. She was beginning to question her own conviction. But they were here now. “I couldn’t pick up any sign of use of any of the spells from the book, no.”
“So,” asked Buffy pointedly. “Why are we here? Explain it to me.” She folded her arms across her new leather jacket and waited.
“Okay, well, as I was coming out of the trance, something happened.”
Buffy’s expression was patient. Waiting for explanation.
“Well, it’s just, those paintings on the wall, they’re strange. I wanted to look at them properly, up close.”
Buffy stood up and folded her arms. “You want me to break into this place so you can have your own private exhibition because a dream told you the pictures were
strange?!”
Tara cringed a little at the anger in Buffy’s tone.
It sounded ridiculous. Tara couldn’t easily explain the intensity of what she’d experienced and didn’t yet feel ready to share the dream and the memory of the woman she’d seen in the lecture theatre. “Buffy, I said it was hard to explain. I did the trance to try to get insight into what happened to the contents of my book and well, it showed me something. It wasn’t what I was expecting. Usually nothing significant happens on the way out of a trance, just random emotions and images, but this time it was different. I think it’s connected to the book.” She hoped Buffy would understand her urgency.
“This is serious isn’t it? Your book just appearing empty like that? That would have to be something major wouldn’t it?”
Tara folded her own arms across her stomach. “Yes. Anything or anyone who could do this would have to be powerful.”
When she responded, Buffy’s tone was even and determined. “Okay then. Let’s do this.”
***
Several minutes later, Tara was standing in a darkened restaurant. Weak moonlight silvered the edges of the clouds and offered some small illumination within the main dining room. “Buffy, I need to see. It’s too dark in here.”
Buffy sighed. “Use the table candle. Putting the lights on would draw attention.”
Tara stepped gingerly towards the first booth’s table. She located a wax candle mounted in a bottle. A match book lay conveniently at the base of the bottle.
As the light flared she glanced quickly back at Buffy before turning her full attention to the painting.
“Er, can we just get this done as quickly as possible?” whispered Buffy.
Tara didn’t answer. She was gazing at the Rossetti, fascinated.
“Are they all of red-headed women?”
Tara jumped, her reverie split. She turned to face Buffy who was standing, hands on hips looking up and down at the paintings in the first three booths. She seemed unmoved. Certainly not…captivated? Was that the word? Was it something stronger?
“Buffy, have you looked closely at any of these paintings? They’re stunning. Something about the way they’re framed, the lighting here. Something. They just draw you in.”
Buffy nodded. “They’re nice I guess. But why are they all of red-heads? I never noticed that before.”
Tara shook her head slowly. “I’ve no idea. Buffy, what did you notice before? Can you remember these paintings from before tonight? Was it always this set of pictures on the wall?”
“I guess. I never really paid much attention. They could have been different.”
“Hmm. I want to see the one in the booth where we sat.”
“Okay. I’ll keep watch.”
Tara walked towards the end booth. She stopped in front of the table. She stood very still, breathing slowly, focused entirely on the picture in front of her.
“Tara? Is it another red-”
“No.” Tara looked at the painting in awe. A forest. Old. Lush, verdant green and deep textured umber of the forest earth and huge old trunks clad in velvet moss gave an overwhelming sense of magnitude. The great old trees stretched into a distant sky, some broken, some topped with green, paled by a bleak sunlight. At the centre of the scene a clearing. The trees were evenly spaced, clearly marking the perimeter. At the centre stood a figure. Dressed in a long white dress, she knelt, face turned high, arms stretched to the sky, palms open as if reaching for something. Or receiving something. She smiled. She seemed blissful. Though the figure was tiny, Tara marveled at how her blonde tresses seemed to shine under the dim morning light filtering through the forest’s canopy.
The visage of the woman drew her closer, encircled her attention and focused her mind. The picture was magnificent, the artist truly gifted. Some small part of her mind wondered why she’d never heard of an artist that could produce such work. A picture that stimulated the senses and filled the room. Tara realized she could smell the earthy scent of the forest. She breathed in deeply and felt total calm descend in her mind. She felt deeply safe in the centre of the circle of old trees. She continued to observe the woman at the circle centre. Suddenly the woman opened her eyes. Tara gave a start. She’d thought the woman was in deep prayer. Meditation even. She didn’t want to step too close, to disturb her peace.
The woman smiled at her. “It’s okay. I’m finished now.”
Tara felt unsure of herself. Not clear what to say. She felt completely comfortable in the forest, surrounded by great old trees, but the woman was still a stranger to her.
“I-I didn’t want to disturb…”
“Tara. You didn’t,” replied the woman, still smiling.
“You finished your prayer?”
The woman nodded. “Do you like it here?”
“It’s beautiful. So peaceful. Far away from everything.”
The woman looked around. “It is a wonderful creation you have here.”
Tara was about to agree when she realized the words she’d heard didn’t quite make sense. She watched the woman, eyes open now, but continuing to search the sky. “Er…”
The woman turned towards her and waited for Tara.
“You, you said it’s a wonderful creation
I have here? What do you mean by that? It’s a beautiful place, but…”
“You made it.” The woman’s expression was still pleasant, patient, but also showed no sign of real mirth.
“I’m sorry, I-I don’t understand, I…”
Again, the forgiving smile. “How did you get here Tara?”
Again she hesitated. This conversation was turning stranger by the moment. “What do you mean how did I get here? I…” She stopped. Tara felt her heart flutter as for the life of her she could not summon the memory of where she’d been before she’d been standing in this forest. She tried again. “I got here…” But she couldn’t finish.
The woman reached out towards Tara, her hand extended, palm upwards. “Tara, it’s okay. Everything okay.”
Tara stared at the woman’s hand and then found herself moving toward it. As her finger tips grazed the woman’s palm she began to feel better. She took the hand proffered and felt her anxiety begin to ebb away. ‘
It is okay. I’m okay. She’ll explain.’ “What’s your name?” asked Tara.
The woman smiled. “I’m glad you asked me that. My name is Zoe.”
Tara felt she could ask her new friend anything and that somehow she would have all the answers. “Where is this and how
did I get here?”
“I told you. You made this place.”
The answer didn’t surprise her. Tara knew the innate truth of the assertion. “But what’s this place and if I did make it,
how did I make it?”
“You made it because you were ready to move on from your transition reality. You made it to meet me.”
Tara frowned. As they talked, Zoe invited Tara to sit. The two women, knelt opposite each other in the centre of the clearing. Tara could feel the sun warming on the back of her neck. Zoe still held her hand. “You didn’t say how.”
“Tara, I knew that when you finally got here you’d understand. Many never get past why or what.
How is the most interesting.”
Tara raised an eyebrow, waiting. She thought Zoe was about to laugh. “Your Soul is a rarefied beauty. This place sprang from there.”
As fragments of a dream will suddenly break the surface of conscious memory, Tara remembered and she understood. She knew how she’d gotten here and where she’d come from. Knew what was real and what was a warm fantasy to facilitate her adjustment. Life had seemed peaceful. Easy. Sheathed in her study with no real worry, little human contact. Only one real friend, a caricature of a woman she now clearly remembered. A faux life of elegant simplicity that had lasted, how long? She knew not. Just long enough to allow her Soul to transition to the next realm. Zoe had talked about the transition process. The world sprang from within her. When at last she’d been ready to move onwards, she’d been lead to this place. Another part of her. Marking the completion of transition and the first step towards something else.
Tara wondered what had started the process of her transition world peeling away. She remembered waking up in the library. Before that she could focus on very little. Her memory was just an under-painting. Enough to seem real if not examined too closely. And why would she want to remember when she was so happy with her simple “life”? But something strange had started to happen. Reality or real memory had started to bleed back in and pushed out her fantasy creation.
Things had started to go wrong. Buffy’s odd behavior, the empty book. Until the trance, she’d never tried any kind of magick in her dream world. The book had always been empty. It was just a symbol. To have done magick might have recalled life. The urge to do magick meant she was ready and then things started to alter their appearance. Only when the time was right…which was now.
The trance and the memories and thoughts it had surfaced were disturbing. Definitely not what she’d expected. The paintings. Potent and strange...All red-heads. Tara pondered. She thought she should feel afraid yet all she felt was curiosity.
Tara found it hard to remember what fear felt like. She thought about the beautiful Rossetti. Lilith. Her auburn hair the focus of the painting. Tara’s smile faded. There was still one other emotion that did exist here. Her spirit withered as grief flooded through her. She remembered Willow. Devastating and intense, she remembered everything. Just before the end. Being loved in unfathomable dimension. Momentary pain before the fall. She’d left her Willow all alone.
Zoe was still holding her hand and Tara felt deep reverential love flowing into her. Zoe was not perhaps what she seemed, just presented in a form that was easier for Tara to be with. Tara knew why she was here. She knew that somehow, some kindness of the universe allowed her adjustment to be a little easier. Made the grief of the loss of an existence just bearable. Her chest burned.
“Tara?”
Tara blinked her eyes, trying to focus through the tears.
“Tara, you know where you are now?”
Tara turned around. All she could see was the forest. Notionally, her transition reality lay out there. She’d found the exit and was about to move on. “I know.”
“We have to go.”
Tara nodded thoughtfully. “Go where exactly?”
“Into the mezzanine.”
***
TBC…