TITLE: Never The Twain? (Part 11/31)
Author: Zahir
FEEDBACK: You're kidding. Of course!
ARCHIVING: Just ask is all.
SYNOPSIS: This is an alternate history in which Willow never completed the Soul Restoration Spell. Of all the changes that flow from that one, the biggest is that Tara is a vampire.
COUPLES: W/T (kinda, again), X/Ay, B/R, D/M (figure that one out)
RATING: PG13, unless you're very squeamish indeed.
SPOILERS: Up through and including "No Place Like Home" as well as "To Shanshu in LA."
DISCLAIMERS: Most of the toys I'm playing with belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I promise not to make money off them and to put them back none the worse for where. One other toy belonged to a now long deceased English writer to whom I don't legally have to make the same promise. And don't.
NOTES: The part of Marcie for this installment can be played by Miss Thora Birch. At least she is in my mind's eye.

* * *

Willow sat down, exhausted. More in spirit than body. Across from her sat Anya, looking more of both.

"He's asleep?"

Anya nodded. "The tranquilizers helped."

Now Willow nodded. She felt weirdly uncomfortable, yet relieved. Xander's girlfriend had always gotten on her nerves. And still did. More, she'd been frightened on behalf of her oldest friend. Anya had a dark side. That had been proven beyond doubt. Yet she also seemed utterly devoted to Xander, and was proving right now.

"I just wanted to say..." the pause in Willow's speech became a silence.

"What?"

"That, I'm glad you're taking care of Xander." There. She'd said it.

But the dark-haired girl's face frowned. "Why wouldn't I be taking care of Xander? I love Xander!"

"No! I mean--I'm glad you're the one doing it! That someone who cares went ahead and...and...and..." The need to defend herself sputtered away as she saw Anya's hostility fade. Not vanish completely, but shrink. And certainly its aim was no longer directed at Willow.

"Its not like his parents" in Anya's mouth those words were expletives "were going to do anything. Just let him rot in the county psych ward was their plan." Even in exhaustion, Anya's fury was crystal clear. "What kind of parents are those?" This last was lower, tiredness taking the place of rage. Willow found herself warming to Anya.

No one--not even Giles--could figure out what had happened to Xander last week. He'd been found wandering the streets of Sunnydale, eyes vacant and talking nonsense. Since then, he'd only responded to Anya, and then sometimes. Willow tried not to think of how Xander had flailed at first, and how he'd broken down crying about seagulls attacking him, curling into a ball at Anya's feet while his girlfriend tried
not to weep--and failed. Anya had wasted little time bullying Xander's parents into letting her take him to her apartment. Since then she'd barely gotten any sleep. And only later in a moment of guilt did Willow admit to feeling anything other than sympathy. Envy. How Willow longed to feel that kind of devotion! Or to receive it!

The doorbell rang. Waving Anya to stay seated, Willow headed to answer it herself.

And saw Tara waiting outside.

She waited nearly twenty seconds before opening the door. Tara (how much remained of her Tara?) gazed levelly back at her. Lacking an invitation, the vampire made no effort to cross the threshold.

"Hello Willow." Simple enough words. In truth, they'd exchanged the same countless times. Now, Willow said nothing. But neither did (could) she look away.

"I was sorry to hear about Xander," Tara finally said.

"Thanks." No harm in that.

"You need to know something. Xander isn't alone." Tara waited after saying this. And waited.

"What do you mean?"

"Other people are being found in the same condition. And that's not a coincidence." The vampire paused for effect. "My sire knows a great deal about what's happening. But he won't help the Slayer for nothing. He has a price. You already know what that is." Her manner was very cold, matter of fact.

Anya appeared behind Willow. "You know what happened to Xander?"

Tara didn't stop looking at Willow. "Basically."

"But can you reverse it? Make him better again?" Willow cringed at the abjectness in Anya's voice. Disturbingly, Tara barely flinched. She merely stared at Willow, then turned and left.

Willow shut the door, putting her arm around Anya. "Did I tell you," she asked, "that Xander had just gotten promoted at work?"

"Yeah," Willow tried to smile. She hoped she was succeeding. "You did."

* * *

Is it wise to try and deny your own nature? Tara had been thinking about that for what seemed like forever. Of course the answer would appear to be a resounding "NO!" But what her nature was remained the mystery.

So here she was, a vampire in fascination (maybe even love) with a human being. Following said human being (Willow lovely name Willow) through the night towards the home of a skilled killer of vampires. Madness? Well, no. Madness would have been to disobey her Sire's commands. But as a general rule this hardly seemed a smart thing to do. Tara was herself very smart, so she could tell. What really amazed her, though, was the self-knowledge that even if she hadn't been ordered to follow the red-haired witch by the most terrifying creature she'd ever met--she'd still do it.

Does that make me a fool?

Probably.

Not foolish enough to get close to the Slayer's house, however. Until she had to. From across the street, in the shadows, Tara watched Willow go inside Buffy Summers' home. And waited. Lately, the Slayer had been especially fierce in her duties. No reason to antagonize her.

Tara waited for over an hour across the street. At last she became distracted at seeing a window open on the second floor of the Summers home. Focusing, she was bit surprised to see Dawn, the Slayer's sister, inch her way onto the roof, then down a tree to street level. Making as little sound as possible, the girl headed up the street.

"Notice anything?"

Vampires are rarely surprised. For one thing, their senses are incredibly sharp. And for another, when they are surprised, they tend to do exactly what Tara did--morph into their demon face and snarl at the surpriser.

He didn't react at all, this vastly ordinary looking guy in jeans, T-Shirt and flannel shirt. Just squint at her, then at the moving Dawn. "Well?"

"Who the hell are you?" Tara didn't quite growl.

"Funny you should put it like that. Whistler's the name. And we've got some stuff in common. Like the fact we're demons."

She looked him over. "You don't look like a demon."

"Neither do you. Most of the time. Anyway, notice something odd about Buffy's kid sister?"

An intuition led Tara to contemplate this. She looked for a long time at the retreating figure. "Odd? Well, she is going out unescorted in Sunnydale. Almost anybody knows better than to do that. Or they don't live that long."

"Good point. We should probably follow her then." Whistler--if that was his name--set out at once. After a moment's hesitation, Tara followed. The so-called demon went on talking as if there'd been no doubt. "But that wasn't what I meant. Notice what she was wearing?"

"Jeans. Sneakers. Blouse. Scarf. Pullover sweater.

"Hey, you get the gold star! Any part of that ensemble seem out-of-character?"

By now Tara wondered if maybe she was getting lured by one of the Minions of the Beast, Glory. But from everything the Apostate said, Glory tended to use more fawning-type creatures. Still, she remained on her guard.

"I don't notice clothes that closely."

"Buffy does. Weird thing is, it actually helps her slaying. Girl can spot a vampire whose fashion sense is years out of date without half thinking about it. Useful."

"Yeah, I can see how that could be."

"I'm nowhere in her league." Had Whistler been human, he'd be out of breath by now, so rapid was his pace. Yet he continued without a pause. Tara, of course, had no such problem. "And yet--here's a tidbit. When was the last time you saw a girl her age wear a scarf?"

Now they turned a corner, following Dawn--who was busy entering a private house without knocking. Interestingly, there were no lights on, nor did any car lie in the driveway. The front lawn was in fair condition, but the homeowner was clearly no gardener. Whistler didn't even hesitate. He made straight for the mailbox in front. But he was careful to open it as silently as possible. Dozens of envelopes were stuffed inside.

"Hm. Doesn't check her mail, do she?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Take a look for yourself," offered Whistler, handing her some mail. "Junk mail really does treat everybody the same, huh?"

Tara took a glance at the names on the letters--all of them solicitations in one way or another. Each had the same name on them, although some were misspelled. Something like a ping went off in her brain.

"Ah! Do you see it?"

"I'm not sure."

"Bet you I can tell you someone who can figure it out if you can't..."

* * *

Willow couldn't tell who was more startled at seeing Tara at The Magic Shoppe--Buffy or herself. But there the blond vampire was, pouring over books with Giles.

"Giles!" Buffy's voice was on edge. As was she. "What. Are. You. Doing?"

"Buffy, where is Dawn, do you know?" Giles looked worried. Very worried. This was bad, of that Willow had no doubt. But what did Tara have to do with all this?

"She's back at the house, asleep."

"No she isn't," Tara didn't even look up from her skimming of a thick tome. Willow recognized it as a work on the Qabala.

Buffy nearly bared her teeth. "If you've so much as touched my sister..."

"Stop it!" This time it was Giles who snapped. "This is important! Tara believes Dawn may be in great danger, although she's not sure why. For some reason, I agree with her. But neither of us is sure precisely what it is..." The watcher looked frustrated, as if he'd been trying to invent a new color or something. At the table, Tara picked up another book. Giles picked up one of a handful of what looked like...junkmail?

"Do you know this name--Marcilla Karsten?"

"Marcie? Yeah, she's one of Dawn's friends."

Willow took one of the envelopes and looked at it. "Since when does a schoolgirl get letters from investment firms?"

Buffy took this in. "Must be for her mother," she said.

"Perhaps." Giles looked unsure. "But there's something that doesn't feel right."

"Oh my god." Tara looked up at Giles. "Look at this." And handed the book she had to him.

Giles put on his glasses, and read aloud. "The Karnsteins were the most notorious of all Austrian noble houses. For centuries they were reviled as demon-worshippers. Even their name is an anagram of the demon lord s'K'ran. Although most Karnsteins were killed during the first World War, it is commonly believed that one of their number--a Countess Mircalla--preserved them as her human servants. This fiend was transformed into a vampire during the seventeenth century, and has stalked the night ever since. Unusually, she prefers to drink from only one type of victim--young girls approximately the same age she was herself when reborn into darkness."

Silence.

Then Tara spoke.

"Mircalla. Marcilla." She looked directly at Buffy. "An anagram."

"Giles," asked Willow, "how old was Mircalla when she died?"

"Fifteen."

"And I spotted Dawn," added Tara, "sneaking out of her house earlier this evening. She went into a nearby house. This one." She lifted one of the letters. "That name! There was something about that name..."

Buffy's face looked more and more horror-stricken listening to all this. She tore out of the shop in less than a second.

* * *

In the rush to the house where (presumably) Mircalla Karnstein was, Tara managed to join without much dissent from Buffy. All four somehow fit into Giles' sportscar. But of course things changed soon enough. Buffy looked behind her into the back seat, where Tara and Willow sat side by side.

"Just to make things clear," she began, "if I get so much as a hint, the slightest clue, if I find myself seriously suspecting for one single instant this is a setup--"

"You kill me."

Buffy's face defined grim. "No. I make you wish I had."

Tara didn't doubt that for an instant. Strangely, the fear she should be feeling right now didn't seem real. And the reason was just too, too obvious. She was seated next to Tara. Making Tara forget how much danger she was in right now. Not good. Foolish, in fact. Terribly foolish.

Willow glanced at Tara. And the vampire felt glad to be in the world.

This simply cannot continue. It cannot. Must not.

But what to do?

* * *

Willow braced herself for the worst as the four of them made their way around the house where "Marcie" lived. But a tiny voice deep inside wondered what the Worst would be. To have to rescue Dawn? Or not having to, because this was all a ruse by the vampire remnant of a girl Willow had fallen in love with?

Tara herself quickly solved one question. She calmly walked up to the front door and opened it, walking in. The owner of this house was either dead--or not human.

Once inside, the bareness of the front room was ominous. Buffy pulled out her favorite stake, Mr. Pointy.

All of them fanned out. Secretly Willow followed Tara, who headed to the left. The room they found was--odd. It was bare except for one chair, that chair very low yet wide and strewn with pillows. Across, facing the chair were dozens of framed portraits, daguerreotypes, a few pen and ink drawings, plus at least one professional (and recent) photograph. Each had the same subject. Dark hair, blue eyes and a round, pale face.

"Pretty," remarked Tara.

"Is that..."

The vampire nodded. Without another word, she headed back to the main room. And Willow followed her. She wasn't sure why.

* * *

Upstairs they found Them.

In a forward room upstairs Buffy, with Giles and Tara and Willow behind her, heard something like a muffled groan. She did a take at the sound, then headed straight for the door. She wasted no time but kicked it in. Tara was immediately behind.

Dawn was on a chaise lounge, gasping for breath. Kneeling beside her, mouth fastened to Dawn's throat, was the same black-haired girl as in the portraits downstairs. At the sound of the breaking door, she lifted her head. Blood dripped from her lips. But oddly, her face showed none of the demonic visage other vampires did when feeding. Yet fangs protruded from her lips.

Buffy howled as she leapt across the room. Mr. Pointy was in her hand and she landed on the vampire, forcing the creature onto the floor. In one swift, practiced blow she drove the stake directly into Mircalla's heart. Then she gaped. Not only did the vampire not dissolve into dust, she laughed. A nasty, leering laugh.

"Mine, Slayer," she whispered loud enough for them all to hear. "She's mine now!"

"...Buffy..." Dawn's voice was weak.

Mircalla's hand went to one side, then across Buffy's face with enough force to send her backwards. Rising, she almost contemptuously pulled the stake from her chest. Tara had no idea how she could still be alive. But keeping her from Dawn was a priority. Moving with the supernatural speed of her kind, Tara raced to Dawn's side and picked her up.

"...help...Buffy..." Another oddity. Mircalla must be one of those who like to drink slowly. But something to be thankful for. Dawn's eyes flickered open, saw Tara, was frightened. But Willow reached across (her touch! Willow's touch!) and put her hand on Dawn's shoulder. "...ring..." breathed the Slayer's sister.

Willow and Tara looked at each other. Tara didn't know what Dawn meant. Willow, glancing over to where Buffy and Mircalla were trading blows, did.

"Buffy! She has the Ring of Amara!" Willow yelled.

The Slayer clearly heard. She focused on Mircalla's hand. Tara could see a ring. A magic talisman? Buffy's efforts to fight the small vampire were renewed. Yet she didn't seem to be winning. Tara reached out and took Willow's hand.

"Concentrate!" Tara told her. Willow did as she was told, joining her will with Tara's. And as their minds met--not thoughts but feelings and senses of selves--they reached out to affect the world about them. Changing the world. Moving what they willed.

Moving the ring off Mircalla's finger.

In time for Buffy to drive Mr. Pointy right into her heart!

* * *

Willow met Tara at the Bronze. The place was crowded, as usual. But she had no trouble finding the blonde vampire. In truth, she was so beautiful. Far too beautiful.

"Hello, Willow."

"Hello, Tara."

"I wanted to tell you..." She hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Two things. Actually."

She waited.

"I like you."

Tara blinked. And continued to listen.

"And...I'll do the spell. Give your sire back his soul. But I'm not sure how."

TO BE CONTINUED