The Girl from Away

Buffy collides with Spike and slides to the ground, dazed. Through blurry vision, she sees Tara’s back arch, her body contorted unnaturally. Then Willow lets go, and Tara collapses at her feet, a black handprint burned through her clothing and skin. Willow looks at them through the force field, as veins crawl up the side of her neck, spreading onto her cheeks. She licks her lips and looks at Amy. “Your turn.”

Chapter 14

Buffy stumbles back to her feet, shaking her head to clear the scene in front of her. “Don’t you—”

Amy flicks her wrist casually, and Buffy’s smashed back down, her skull connecting with the ground hard enough to make black spots dance in front of her eyes. Raising an eyebrow at Willow, Amy says, “Shall we take this somewhere more private? Too many flies here.” A wiggle of her finger sends Spike spinning away in circles before he can pounce.

“Let’s,” Willow says agreeably, before smiling at her friends. “Sorry to kick your asses and dash, but you know, places to go, people to see.” She looks down at Tara. Whispering a few words, she raises her palm, and Tara floats into the air, her limbs dangling limply from within the invisible hold.

They start to walk back toward the staircase they emerged from, when Willow pauses. She glances over her left shoulder and narrows her eyes. She reaches into her bodice, unearthing a small vial. She unscrews the top, then flings the contents free, seemingly in a random direction. They hit their target, and Marcie illuminates, blue light quickly covering the shape of her body. “Were you going somewhere?” Willow asks with a laugh. She mimics Amy’s spin move, sending Marcie off like a corkscrew, until the glow in the dark woman collapses again on the beach. Willow shrugs in disinterest, and the pair begin moving again, Tara floating along behind.

As they disappear up the stairs, Buffy manages to get up again. “No,” she mutters through gritted teeth, “you are not getting off that easy.” She looks down at Faith, a grim look on her face. “Spike,” Buffy commands as he drags himself up as well. “Take them to Selima.”

“You can’t go alone,” he protests immediately.

Buffy’s sharp look silences him. “Remember your promise.”

He grits his teeth and nods reluctantly.

“Thank you,” she says, real affection in her voice. Buffy looks down at Faith once more, tears swimming in her eyes.

Blue light announces Marcie’s arrival at her side. “I’ll go with you,” Marcie says, although her voice doesn’t sound anywhere near as strong as it typically does. “Don’t go alone.”

Buffy shakes her head gently. “They’ll see you now. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Marcie looks down at Faith’s pale face, anger clouding her mind. “I don’t care.”

Buffy reaches toward her, prodding her fingertips into Marcie’s side.

Hissing, Marcie pulls away, her arm dropping to cover her ribs defensively.

“Your shoulder’s down and you can’t help guarding that side,” Buffy tells her matter-of-factly. “Dead giveaway that you’ve got a serious sprain, maybe even a fractured rib. I can’t use you.” Sparing Marcie no further attention, she looks at Spike. “Go. I got this.”

Spike reaches into his pocket, unearthing the coin Selima provided him earlier. Marcie sighs, reaching out and grasping his sopping sleeve.

“Be careful,” Spike orders, before taking Faith’s limp hand in his free one. He pinches the coin in his other hand, and the three of them disappear with a quick burst of light.

Alone in the empty cavern, Buffy allows her shoulders to roll downward. “Damn it,” she mutters, tears quickly flooding her eyes. Her lip starts to quiver, then she bites down hard. Shedding her soaked jacket, she pulls a dagger free from her boot and holds it aloft. She blinks away the tears, then starts forward, up the stairs after Willow and Amy.

XXXXX

When Faith comes to, she’s hacking water out through her nose. She’s on her side on the stone floor, Marcie’s hands guiding her head down so the water splashes out beside her rather than rushing back down her throat. Faith gags, her stomach heaving in revolt as she tries to get her bearings. “What the hell happened?” She gasps. Her head feels stuffed with cotton. She touches the back of her head and pulls her hand away with a hiss. “Ow, fuck!”

“You’ll be okay,” Selima says decisively. She immediately stands up and disappears from Faith’s limited field of vision.

“You decided to be a human life raft for Tara,” Marcie says, helping Faith as she tries to sit up.

“Is she okay?” Faith asks, wincing as she turns her head to look around. “Where are we?”

“Uh,” Marcie says, “we’re back with the others. You kind of… died.” Off Faith’s shocked look, she adds, “Just for a minute! Or two…”

Faith looks at her in surprise, then notices the ring of people standing around them. Her eyes slide over each one, and then she looks back at Marcie, more clearheaded than she’s been since she woke up. “Where are Buffy and Tara?”

“You weren’t breathing,” Marcie says. “They took Tara, and Buffy went after them. Spike brought us back so Selima could heal you.”

“What?” Faith demands, glaring at Spike from the floor. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Spike sneers at her. “Save your ass? Yeah, that wasn’t one of my better decisions.”

Faith shakes her head, seriously enraged. She begins struggling to her feet, intent on throttling Spike.

“Hey,” Dawn says commandingly, seizing her just as she manages to stand. “Enough! We don’t have time to waste on this.”

Faith curls her lip threateningly in Spike’s general direction but lets it go. She shakes her arm free from Dawn, swaying a little on her feet as she does so. “You’re out of the box.”

“Ayan’s very resourceful,” she answers, shooting a smile at her friend. “While Selima and Giles were trying to make the whole thing disappear, she had another idea.”

Faith glances at Ayan, who shrugs bashfully. “I made a door.”

“Huh,” Faith mutters, totally not listening to the rest of the explanation about why this was easier. She can feel her slayer strength picking up where the witches left off. As her body heals, her mind only becomes more frantic. Buffy’s somewhere out there on her own; Tara’s hurt; and they’re not moving. “So what the hell are we waiting for?” She asks, hoping her voice sounds more ‘Go Team’ than annoyed. “Let’s go find them!”

“Hey,” Ayan snaps, “we need a minute to recharge. You’re welcome by the way, for saving your life.”

So not as yay team as she’d hoped. Faith nods, appearing chagrined. “Thank you. I mean it. But can’t we get moving while you’re recharging?”

The group exchange dark looks. “Faith,” Giles suggests, “go take a look around the corner, very carefully.”

Every part of her body aches, but Faith picks her way over to the doorway, and carefully peers out. They’re tucked in one of the halls leading away from the large chamber they’d started out in. The chamber is deathly still, but packed to the brim. The possessed residents of Sunnydale all stare directly at her, their glowing eyes eerily focused.

“Shit,” Faith says.

XXXXX

The stairs wind around and around, as Buffy trudges upward. The building is at most three stories plus a basement, but the stairs seem to go on forever. Much like the basement, the upstairs seems to play fast and loose with the rules of physics. Buffy struggles through a final turn only to come face to face with caved in walls blocking the rest of the stairs. She rolls her eyes heavenward. “Seriously?”

They must have Tara somewhere beyond the cave in, or else why destroy the stairs? Buffy starts back down, looking for one of the windows built in to the spiral staircase. Going down is easier than going up, and Buffy gathers her strength again as she moves. After what feels like five flights, a window finally appears. Buffy grabs the windowsill and pulls herself up. Standing in the tall window frame, she eyes the stained glass with regret. Bracing herself against the sides of the frame, she lifts one foot and kicks straight through the window. It shatters outward, and she takes the time to kick a clear, Buffy-shaped hole out. Leaning down a bit, she looks out through the window. She appears to be on the second story, with one more above her. Thinking of all the flights she ran up, Buffy grits her teeth in irritation.

She squats lower, swinging her leg out onto the outer ledge. Stupid, magical, too big inside building with stupid, magic stairs. The ledge is wide enough for her to stand comfortably. Holding onto the outer window frame, Buffy leans back, looking for a hint of their location. Lights glow from several windows down on the next floor. Leaving the window, Buffy shimmies down the ledge, looking for handholds she can use to get to the next floor. They’re few and far between, but hey, they don’t call her The Slayer for nothing. Buffy grabs hold of one protruding brick, swinging her opposite leg up and over to another simultaneously. She chances a look down at the ground and then quickly focuses on the wall in front of her again. “It’s just like rock climbing,” she mutters, stretching for the next hold. Not that she’s ever rock climbed. In fact the highest thing she ever climbed was probably Glory’s tower, and she’d taken a flying leap off. Heights are not at the top of her list of fun things to take on anymore.

She makes it to the ledge under the third floor windows without much trouble. When she grasps the ledge, the very tip of her middle finger touches something soft. Not thinking anything of it, she grabs the ledge with her other hand, and begin to hoist herself up. Her eyes clear the ledge, and she freezes.

Skinbats line the entire ledge, sleeping on the stone platform. They don’t hang as normal bats would but rather they’re curled into small piles. The tip of her finger is touching the wing of one of the grotesque creatures.

Buffy looks back at the way she came, trying to mentally calculate the amount of time Tara’s been alone with Willow and Amy.

XXXXX

Dawn lets out a yelp as one of the possessed gets in a lucky swing, connecting with her cheek bone and sending her stumbling to the side. Giles steadies her with one hand, swinging the end of his quarterstaff up and knocking the offending person out of the way. The possessed don’t seem to have any of the strange abilities Amy’s mutants have. Their main focus seems to be containing the Scoobs and slowing them down. As soon as they left the hall they’d clustered in, the silent group had converged on them, shoving and hitting them back toward the hall. Selima conjured them blunt weapons to fight back with. They don’t want to hurt innocent people who can hopefully be restored to their right minds, but they have to make progress toward finding their friends.

“This way!” Faith shouts from ahead, twirling and striking with her staff like the natural she is. Xander struggles along behind her, and beside him another staff cuts through the air guided by a glowing blue form. It’s extraordinarily slow. The Sunnydale residents won’t stop coming. They fall but get right back up. Faith’s pretty sure she broke someone’s knee, and he stayed down, but kneecapping what appears to be at least a quarter of Sunnydale’s population is probably not the best plan. Buffy definitely wouldn’t approve, she thinks, her stomach squeezing in fear as she thinks about the other slayer.

The stairs to the second floor are just ahead, if they can manage to squeeze through. Seeing the dilemma, Selima yells, “Everyone down!” As the Scoobs drop to their knees, she sweeps both arms out, energy spilling away from her like a wave that quickly clears a narrow path for them. “Go!” She shouts hoarsely, and Giles wraps his arm around her as he runs up beside her, pulling Selima forward. On top of healing Faith, trying to keep their path passable is taking a toll on her. Her face looks pinched and tired. She leans heavily on Giles as they charge the stairs.

At the second floor landing, Faith breathes a sigh of relief. It’s short lived when the sound of growling draws her attention to the end of the landing. A pack of animals files out. They’ve got the shape of coyotes, but their teeth are very, very large. “Up!” She shouts, blocking the doorway as the others run behind her. “Keep going!”

There’s a cacophony of yips and howls as the creatures start galloping through the second floor. Selima and Giles stumble behind her just as the first of the beasts reaches the doorway. Faith rolls to her back, swinging her legs up and brutally kicking it backward. It flies through the air, hitting its brethren like bowling pins. She doesn’t wait for them to regroup. Faith runs up the stairs behind the others. Behind her the heavy sound of footfalls reach her ears, as the possessed people follow. The howls from the pack grow confused as their path is blocked by stampeding people.

At the third floor, Faith barrels onto the landing, taking a quick headcount. Spike runs toward her, shouting, “Block the stairs!” Jumping, he grabs the door jamb and swings both booted feet into the chest of their closest pursuer. The man goes tumbling down the stairs, taking out several more people in the crowded stairwell. Spike stumbles away from the door, gripping his head.

The third floor landing is sparsely furnished with a few chairs, and Faith grabs the first one, breaking it over her knee. “Check the doors!” She says, and the group searches the nearest rooms. They each come back with more to dump down the stairs, as Faith mans the opening, using her quarterstaff to knock back anyone who reaches the top.

Dawn and Xander drag a couch free from the closest office and line it up with the entrance to the stairs.

“Perfect,” Faith mutters, lowering her shoulder and charging the fluffy furniture. Its frame strains, cracking in places as the strength of the impact forces it down the stairs at a weird angle.

“That ought to do it,” Giles pants, bent at the waist. No further people emerge from beyond the couch. 

Granted a momentary reprieve, the group tries to catch their breath. The third floor spreads away from them, the hallway looking longer than it has any right to.

“It’s like the basement,” Marcie says, standing at Faith’s side. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

It doesn’t, but they have no choice but to go this way. The way back is blocked. Aside from which, Faith’s senses are tingling. It’s like when she was a little girl and her grandmother was still alive. She would hide the smallest little things around the house for Faith to find. She had to go blindfolded, and each step would yield a response of either ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’ The gifts were silly things, but it was the game Faith loved. Her grandma’s long since passed on, but something is telling Faith they’re getting very hot.

“I think it’s this way,” she says, peering down the dark hall.

XXXXX

Buffy remains perched in the same position until her legs begin to tremble. The sleeping bats are taking up almost all the space on the ledge, but she’s determined to get up to the next floor. She closes her eyes and mentally centers herself for a long moment. Then she hoists herself up, her toe finding the smallest little bit of the ledge, and she’s standing on her tiptoes, body leaning in toward the wall, with hundreds of skinbats ready to attack her at the slightest disturbance.

She has no idea what their bite can do, but given the creations they’ve seen so far, she doesn’t want to find out. Splaying both hands on the stone wall, she moves laterally, her toes inching her down toward the lit window. She’s still several yards away from the glowing window when she hears the tiniest little chirping noise. Buffy immediately freezes, looking down in trepidation. Atop the pile at her feet, one of the bats stretches out its misshapen, skin-lined wings. Its beady little eyes open and the two look at one another for a moment. Then the bat begins to emit horrible screeching, far beyond the capabilities of a normal bat. Buffy gives up on her slow trek and steps fully onto the ledge. She runs down the narrow ledge, back the way she came. There’s a closer window into a darkened room.

The skinbats take flight, surrounding her into a flurry of grey, leathery bodies. She ducks her face behind her arms, running on slayer senses alone. They alight on her body, plucking at her head and sinking tiny claws into her clothing.

Buffy sees the dark shape of the window through her arms, and she flings herself to the side, crashing through it and into the room beyond.

The bats follow, and she quickly grabs one of the thick drapes, wrapping it around herself. Her eyes begin to sting as she runs toward the door. By the time she fumbles with the doorknob, thick warm blood is running from both eyes. Her vision is fading even as the pain behind both eyes gets sharper and sharper. Managing to wrangle the knob, Buffy yanks the door open, flings herself through it, and runs directly into the rest of the Scoobies.

Buffy’s vaguely aware of startled shouting at her appearance and the slam of the door as someone has the presence of mind to close it behind her. She throws off the drape, dropping to the floor and rolling in case any lingering pests remain on her. The satisfying crunch when she rolls onto her back lets her know at least one was successful in sticking with her. It was probably the one who left the bite she can now feel, warm pain rolling out from the spot on her neck where its razor sharp fangs made contact.

Faith lets out a horrified gasp when she sees the condition of Buffy’s eyes. There’s so much blood. The lids no longer hold the spherical shape eyes are supposed to be, but are rapidly deflating. “Help her!” She shouts, trying to drag Buffy’s hands away from her ruined eyes.

Ayan appears across from her, her expression mirroring Faith’s shock and fear. “Hold her hands,” she orders. “Selima!”

Selima hasn’t restored much energy in the time they’ve spent wandering the third floor, but she falls to her knees beside her sister anyway.

Faith manages to pin Buffy’s hands down. Buffy bucks in her hold, sobs bursting from her throat although her eyes can no longer cry.

Selima and Ayan join hands, each holding a hand over Buffy’s face, and begin to chant.

Kneeling at Buffy’s head, Dawn cries quietly, her fingers gently holding her sister’s head still.

As the witches speak, Buffy’s body trembles harder and harder. A warm light surrounds her face, and then Selima slumps over Buffy with a gasp. Ayan retracts her hands and moves to help Selima sit up.

“B?” Faith asks desperately.

Buffy’s face is tracked with blood, but she opens clear eyes to look at Faith. “I’m okay,” she mumbles, wincing. “That was unpleasant.” Truthfully her eyes are burning and Faith looks a little blurry, but looking at Selima and Ayan, she can see they’re in no condition to do more.

Faith laughs, capturing Buffy in a hug as soon as she begins to sit up. “Jesus,” she mutters against Buffy’s hair.

“I guess now we know what these do,” Xander says, nudging the crushed skinbat with his toe.

“How’d you get up here?” Dawn asks, as Buffy and Faith get back to their feet.

Buffy dabs at her bloody face with her sleeve. “I scaled the outside wall. Apparently the bats aren’t deep sleepers.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder. “There’s about a million of them out there on the ledge.”

“Yech,” Dawn shudders.

Buffy looks around the group. Everyone is tired and looks worse for the wear. Faith and Spike are still damp, and Marcie’s still glowing form slumps against the wall, hand pressed to her side. Beads of perspiration drip from Selima’s hairline, and she’s leaning against Ayan. Xander and Dawn are both pale, and dried blood cakes the side of Xander’s face. Giles’s glasses are cracked, and he stares back at her in concern.

Buffy looks the worst of all, her hair and face streaked with blood. Her voice is gentle when she speaks. “Why don’t we take a rest here for a few minutes?” She glances at Faith. “We can move ahead, do some scouting.”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” Dawn asks point blank. Buffy attempts to look innocent, but Dawn isn’t falling for it. “You want us to stay behind while you two go face off with Amy and Willow,” she accuses.

“About that,” Faith tries to interject, only to be cut off.

“Okay, so I do,” Buffy admits. “Look around. We’re not at our best right now. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“We’re already hurt,” Xander points out, “and Tara’s hurt worse. I’m not staying here while she’s with them.”

“Do you really wanna face Willow when she’s like this,” Buffy asks, not unkindly. She knows how much Xander loves Willow. If Willow’s gotta be put down, Buffy doesn’t know how she’ll do it, but she will find a way. She’s the slayer; she has to. Xander doesn’t have to—shouldn’t have to—see it.

Faith clears her throat, cutting through the emotionally charged atmosphere. “Here’s the thing,” she says when they all look at her. “I’m not so sure Willow’s gone to the dark side.”

“You didn’t see her,” Buffy says, her voice pained. “You didn’t see what she did to Tara.”

Faith’s not looking forward to revealing that she’s been keeping a pretty big secret, but now’s the time to spill the beans. “Willow and Tara had a plan,” she says. “Tara told me about it before we left. She asked for my help.”

“And did this plan involve Willow sucking Tara’s magic out through her freaking heart?” Buffy asks through gritted teeth.

The tick in Buffy’s jaw makes Faith’s muscles tighten defensively. She’s pretty sure Buffy’s not gonna hit her—she’s dramatically less punchy than the first Buffy—but if looks could kill… “Not exactly,” Faith admits, totally focused on Buffy. She tries to convey her apologies with her eyes. “But I don’t think she’s turned.”

“She put us in a box with a bunch of Amy’s pets,” Xander points out, gesturing to the ugly cut marring his forehead.

“Technically, she only put us in the box,” Ayan says thoughtfully. “Amy added the fun.”

“The possessed people,” Dawn starts to say.

“Also Amy,” Marcie says. “She didn’t look too concerned about nearly drowning us though.”

Buffy’s lips are pressed into a thin line. She looks at Faith. “What does your gut say?” She asks. Her voice is still hard, but she seems open to listening.

“It says we can trust her,” Faith answers honestly.

“If you’re wrong about this, we’re all dead,” Buffy says.

“Starting with Tara,” Giles adds. “Unless you’ve experienced it, you can never really understand how it feels to be taken under by magic.” He speaks from experience, his own and that of his friends who thought they were strong enough to mess with dark forces. They’d paid the ultimate price. “I don’t know if we can trust her,” he says, “not with Tara’s life and not with ours.”

Buffy looks torn, her tired eyes squinting in the dim light of the hall. She looks at Faith, who looks equally anguished. They both know the consequences of their actions if they make the wrong call. They carry the weight of the lives they’ve taken like boulders on their backs. Buffy’s not sure she’s strong enough to add another to the load she’s got. She doesn’t know what to do now. “I don’t know if I can believe in Willow anymore,” she says, glancing through the group before her gaze lands on Faith, “but I believe in you. If your gut says she’s on her side, then I’m with you.”

Faith swallows hard, nodding her head. Buffy’s confidence in her is wonderful, but it also means the whole decision is on her shoulders. She tries to appear confident.

“We’re right behind you,” Xander says, picking up his quarterstaff.

Buffy looks at her friends, each of them beaten down and bruised, but standing at the ready behind the two slayers. She knows there’s no use in arguing. They’re going whether she likes it or not. “Then let’s go crash this party,” she says.

XXXXX

Tara’s head lolls as Amy slaps her face roughly. She blinks wearily, trying to focus past the screaming pain in her chest. Over Amy’s shoulder, she sees Willow, watching her with dark, impenetrable eyes.

“Will,” Tara rasps, but Willow looks away, stepping around behind her so she’s facing Amy.

“Will,” Amy mocks, her voice high pitched. She laughs, standing up from where she’s been crouched in front of Tara. “God, your little Scooby gang is so pathetic,” she says to Willow.

Willow shrugs carelessly, appearing bored. “Why do you think I’m here?” She holds out her hand to Amy, who takes it and gladly lets herself be pulled against Willow. “Bored now,” Willow whines.

“Aww,” Amy says, her dark eyes flickering madly. “Let’s finish up here and then we’ll do something really fun.”

Willow perks up. “Like what?”

“Oh, I’ve got some ideas,” Amy says, finger walking up Willow’s arm to touch her neck. “I promise you’ll like ‘em.”

“Can you please kill me faster?” Tara wheezes from the floor. She’s supporting herself on her arms, feeling weak enough to pass out again.

Willow and Amy smirk at each other. Casually, Willow reaches down and yanks Tara to her feet. “No sense delaying the inevitable,” she agrees, gripping the back of Tara’s neck. Her grip is reinforced by magic and Tara winces, trying to appear unafraid as she glares at Amy.

“My turn, right?” Amy asks, studying the two of them carefully.

Willow nods, shoving Tara forward so she falls into Amy’s arms. “I’ve already had my fill,” she says disinterestedly, sneering at Tara.

Amy holds Tara up, her hold tight enough to bruise. She leans in close, her dark eyes peering intently into Tara’s light pair. “Did you really think you could keep her forever?” She asks curiously. She doesn’t wait for an answer, instead winding her hands into the struggling Tara’s hair. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” Amy promises, then she presses her palms flat, laughing as Tara begins to scream.

XXXXX

They’re already moving quickly when they hear Tara’s scream. All the doors here look the same, and even their slayer healing doesn’t pinpoint the sound for them. Selima  hesitates a moment, then points toward one of the doors. “There,” she says weakly. “I can feel it.”

Buffy nods tensely. “Giles, you stay with her.”

He looks torn, but agrees. Guiding Selima to the wall, he helps her sit down. “I’ll come running if you shout,” he promises.

Buffy knows he will. She waves the group forward, her and Faith taking point as they move to the door Selima pointed out. Up close, Buffy can feel the hair on her arms raise. Energy bubbles through the wood, too big to be contained. Buffy counts silently, then she turns and kicks the door in, charging in with Faith at her side.

Willow’s head whips toward them as they race into the room. “Down,” Buffy shouts, as an energy ball flies from Willow’s hand toward them.

Faith ducks and rolls, and she and Buffy manage to avoid the first blast. Spike and Dawn are thrown backward, their bodies immobilized by whatever Willow’s thrown at them.

Faith’s back on her feet and running forward, following Buffy’s long stride as she runs toward the scene at the other end of the large room. “No,” she hears Buffy cry, when she sees Tara trapped within Amy’s embrace. Blue sparks surround the two of them. They can no longer hear Tara’s screams, but they can see her mouth frozen in an anguished cry.

Willow moves ahead of the pair, reaching both palms toward them.

Buffy’s almost upon them, with Faith hot at her heels, when the air ahead of them flickers with magic. They both slow, managing to stop short of hitting the barrier crackling ahead of them. Taking a chance, Buffy throws her staff ahead of her. Rather than hitting Willow, it immediately burns, tuning to ash before their eyes.

XXXXX

Tara’s mind peels like an onion. Amy absorbs layer after layer, rooting through each and taking what she wants. It’s the kind of pain she’s only ever felt once before, with Glory. She goes dizzy. She can feel Amy getting further and further through her, down to the deepest part of her magic. Amy’s presence grows wary. She seems to be sensing something. She starts to pull back, but somewhere in the few seconds before falling unconscious, Tara’s instincts take over. She grasps back at Amy’s force, her own will exerting itself. The connection between them springs open like a jack in the box. Tara’s the jack and she finds herself flying, flying into total blankness. She twists and turns, but there is no sight, no sound, no sensation. She is nowhere and nothing, until finally, she sees the light. Tara moves toward it and falls in.

Amy is a girl who’s turned into a rat. The inside of the cage smells fresh. It’s been cleaned recently. Soft blankets line the bottom level, perfect for burrowing and hiding. There’s a large bowl with some brown pellets in it. Stringed wooden blocks dangle from the ceiling in case she wants to climb them. A hammock hangs from the bottommost shelf. She sleeps here most of the time. 

The big door opens, and she sits up, blinking little eyes warily toward the outside.

“Hey, Amy,” Willow says soothingly, as she carries a bowl toward the cage. “I brought you some snacks.” She sets the bowl down, pushing her long red hair behind her ear as she opens the cage door. “You wanna come out?” She asks, holding her palm flat. Amy scurries out, squeaking happily as her shoulders pass the open door. Willow strokes a gentle finger down her back. Lifting the bowl, she offers Amy some sliced bananas, which are gratefully polished off as quick as can be. Willow has homework, and they sit on her bed together. She reads the chapter aloud, and Amy perches on her shoulder, looking down at the book with eyes that remember how to read.

Eighty-seven days pass. She thought she knew what lonely was before, but oh boy, was she wrong. She sleeps almost all the hours of her life away, but she wakes up for dinner. Willow is almost always home for dinner. She comes to her room with her bag, kicks off her shoes, and checks the level of the water bottle on the cage. “Hi there,” Willow says sweetly, sticking a fingertip against the cage. Amy races to it every night, rubbing her nose against it and savoring the touch of a person, a real person.

One hundred and eighty two days since she became a rat, and Willow has graduated from high school today. She comes in very late, her clothing rumpled and dirty. Amy is awake, and she listens attentively as Willow sits down with a sigh and tells her all about graduation. She climbs the bars in her cage, coming to the door. She waits to be let out, to be held in a gentle hand, but Willow doesn’t notice. She’s very tired and she falls asleep. Amy climbs into her little hammock and winds her tail around herself.

Three hundred and twenty-two days after the incident, and Willow is beside herself over Oz leaving. She paces the room as Buffy tries to talk to her. Amy longs to climb Buffy’s pant leg and sit on her thigh where she can have a better view, but she is afraid of the tension she hears in their voices. When Willow sits, she burrows under the pillow behind them. Through the thick cotton she hears, “The only real witch here is fuzzy little Amy! She's got access to forces I can't even invoke! I mean she's a perfectly normal girl…”

For a moment she feels out of space and time, and then her eyes open and she sees legs in front of her. Real, human legs attached to human hands attached to her. She looks at Willow and Buffy, so relieved she could break into tears, opens her mouth to announce her presence, and—

“Then poof! She's a rat!”

By Day 400, whatever magic has kept her human mind active within this small form starts to fade. She loses track of words as she’s thinking them. They float away like the balloons her daddy used to get her at the carnival, gently bobbing out of her reach. Amy is afraid. She runs circles around the cage. She eats until her tummy hurts and then she lies panting on the floor. The clock outside keeps moving but Willow doesn’t come home. She gnaws the tip of her tail between her teeth until it’s raw and bloody. Human words are leaving her, but human emotions haven’t yet. This is despair. This is the agony of losing yourself bit by bit.

Willow comes home the next day with a new friend in tow. She notices the bloody tail, the nails too long from neglect, and she gently picks up Amy’s tiny body. The antiseptic hurts but afterward, Willow wraps her in a warm washcloth and holds her against her chest. “You’re okay now,” she says gently. “All better.” Amy is so afraid that she trembles. She wants to tell Willow about the words that are rushing away like a river, but her frantic chattering and teeth gnashing is drowned out by the sound of the movie Tara puts on. She settles for burying her face inside Willow’s hands. She smells safe.

Day 848. Tara brings the kitten home. She stalks around Amy’s cage, her thick paws bashing it repeatedly in an attempt to get in. “No!” Willow scolds her, removing the cat from the room. But she smiles when she says it.

Day 952. Amy is a rat that used to be a girl. The person parts are almost gone. She feels, as deeply as any rat has ever felt, that something is missing inside herself. They put her cage by the window, and sometimes she is too hot in the day. She has to retreat into her cardboard house where it is shady. Sometimes Willow still remembers that grapes are her favorite and she’ll put a whole bowl in to make up for the days she forgot.

Day 1043. Amy runs laps on the wheel aimlessly, watching the shadows it makes on the wall. She checks the bowl. There are no grapes. Back on the wheel. How much time has passed? There are no grapes. The big door opens and Willow strides to her cage. Amy looks. There are no grapes. Willow holds out a hand and Amy steps on, allowing herself to be carried out of the cage. She is deposited on the bed, and she quickly looks for grapes but there are none. “Are you ready for this?” Willow says, towering above her. Magic sparks in her hands, and then Amy Rat is gone.

Amy manages to free herself, and Tara feels herself falling backward, slamming into her own body. There’s no feeling of coming home, no warm comfort people describe after a near death experience. There is only pain as she collapses to the ground. Her lungs contract, trying to breathe though it seems impossible.

Her teary eyes lock with Amy’s, and for a moment, Tara allows herself to feel pity for the person before her. Then Amy snarls and takes a step forward. She reaches for Tara, but then she freezes, hands going to her throat.

Willow steps around Tara, her long dress trailing the ground behind her. She watches impassively as Amy gasps and chokes. Thick black smoke pours from her mouth, suffocating her. Amy falls to her knees, blind in the smoke and weakened.  

Willow stares down at her, black eyes blinking thoughtfully.

“Wha… what…?” Amy gasps, her trembling hand reaching for Willow’s feet.

Willow kicks her hand away like rubbish and then squats down to her level. “Did you really think I’d let you hurt her?” She asks, her black eyes slitted in anger. “Did you think you could touch Tara and I’d let you live?”

Amy recoils, dragging herself backward.

“It’s poison,” Willow informs her, unsmiling. “Down in the cavern—I didn’t take anything from her. I put something in.” She walks after the crawling Amy, her shoes slapping the stone harshly. “All that stolen magic… it’s all coming out.” She steps on the hem of Amy’s dress, trapping her. “It’s not going to kill you.” Bending down, Willow seizes Amy’s dress front and drags her up to her feet. “That pleasure is all mine.”

“Willow,” Tara’s voice is weak, “no!”

“I’m going to tear you limb from limb,” Willow promises, spit flying from her clenched mouth to hit Amy’s face. “Then I’ll put you back together just so I can do it again.”

Trapped on the other side of Willow’s barrier, Buffy tries to reason with her. “Will, it’s over.”

“Over?” Willow repeats, cocking her head to the side as if she’s never heard the word. “It’ll never be over. Not as long as she lives.”

“We can take care of it,” Buffy coaxes.

“I don’t think so,” Willow says dismissively. She puts a veined hand to Amy’s throat, keeping the limp witch standing with only that.

Tara grips the wall beside her, dragging herself to her feet. She’s lightheaded and nauseous. She almost falls trying to walk to them, but she manages. “Willow,” Tara says, touching her arm. “Let her go.”

“She deserves to die for what she did,” Willow says, ignoring Tara’s hand.

Tara maneuvers herself in front of Willow, her body shielding Amy’s. Willow has to extend her arm further to keep a hold of the other witch. “It’s not about her,” Tara says truthfully. “This isn’t you. You can’t do this, Will.”

Willow’s eyes flick to Tara’s, a faint hint of blue swirling through the black.

“Please,” Tara says, her trembling hands cupping Willow’s cheeks. “Come back to me.”

Willow shakes her head, red beginning to appear at the roots of her hair. She grits her teeth, the veins recede where Tara’s touching her, leaving a shaking Willow clear eyed and skinned. “Tara,” she says, her voice hoarse.

“Let her go,” Tara repeats. “Just let go.”

Willow releases Amy’s throat, and she falls to the ground, gasping. The barrier in front of the slayers disintegrates.

Tears flood Willow’s eyes, and she touches Tara’s hands on her face. “Tara?”

“It’s okay,” Tara promises. “It’s okay; I’ve got you.” Willow collapses against Tara, who rocks haphazardly. The two barely manage to stay standing.

Amy crawls forward, intent on reaching the doorway to the next room. A pair of tall boots steps into her path. “I don’t think so,” Buffy says, towering over her. A swift boot to the face knocks Amy out. “You were right,” Buffy says quietly, when Faith appears next to her. She looks over and sees Faith watching Willow and Tara. “We did it,” Buffy adds.

“I think they did it,” Faith says. She reaches for Buffy’s hand, clasping it tightly. The two of them stand watch over Amy, as the rest of the Scoobs move to meet Willow and Tara. Whoever did it, it’s done now. Amy’s control over Sunnydale is over. Now begins the harder work—cleaning up the mess she’s left behind.