Chapter 26—My Watering Eye

Buffy threw herself down on the couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table. “Well, Eden is moved out with Fitzpatrick, now maybe things can get back to normal around here. What’s the what, Giles? Any new baddies who need ass-kicking?”

Giles looked fondly at his Slayer. “Actually, er, Eden will be taking over patrolling the Hellmouth, Buffy. You can consider yourself officially retired as of today.”

She sighed, and laid her head on the back of the couch. “Retired. That’s such a beautiful word, retired. No more patrol, no more life in danger, no more fighting bad guys—um, demons. Retired.” She breathed deeply, then raised her head to look at Giles. “So what do I do?”

Giles smiled. “Well, although they didn’t mention it to us, the Council was interested in having you come to London and train potential slayers.”

Buffy shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no, no, no, not me. I don’t want to be anywhere near the Council, especially not after Quentin decided that I was ‘expendable’. I still can’t get over his nerve….” She looked into the dining room, where Dawn sat doing her homework, her eyes going soft. “No, I think that I need to just keep things as low key and normal as possible for Dawnie, at least until summer. Not to mention, finding out more about the steward-thing, and Spike's soul, and—”

Giles' reply was forestalled by Tara's breathless arrival. She stood inside the front door, panting and trying to catch her breath as she leaned against the doorframe. “H-has anyone s-seen Willow? I missed her c-coming out of class, and I’ve b-been looking for her all day.”

Buffy stood, and went to assist the still-breathless girl to the couch. “We thought she was with you.”

As her breathing slowed, Tara leaned weakly against the arm of the couch. “I waited for her after class, but somehow missed her. I’ve looked everywhere for her. The Bronze, the café, our old apartment, everywhere I could think to look. I got scared because it’s getting dark, so I ran home as fast as I could.”

Buffy looked outside. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“And Willow's out there, with no magic to protect her! Buffy, we have to find her!” Genuine fear and concern were in the blond witch’s eyes, and Buffy's heart did a little fillip in her chest. Tara was right; Willow had no protection whatsoever now; although it never hindered her when she was younger, she’d grown used to using magic for everything. Now that it was gone, Buffy was afraid that Willow had forgotten how to deal with things the old fashioned way.

She wrapped her arms around Tara's shoulders, and gave her a squeeze. “Spike and I will go and look for her. Baby?”

He stood up, his lanky form belying the strength he possessed. “Ready when you are, pet.”

She grabbed her jacket, and they went out the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy turned to look at her beloved vampire. “Do the smelly thing.”

“Eh? What are you talking about, Slayer?” He asked, even as he raised his head and sniffed at the air, starting off in the direction of the college.

“Gross, but effective,” she commented, breaking into a trot beside him. She looked up at him, and said, “Does everyone smell different?”

He concentrated hard on Willow's signature. “That they do, Buffy. Usually Willow smells like linen and sandalwood, but since she burned herself out, she smells like…oh, electricity that’s smoldering…a burnt fuse. You know?”

“Uh-huh.” Spike changed directions, moving faster now to catch her friend’s fading scent, and she kept pace with him. They were in the residential section, not far from Revello, but still a part that seemed unfamiliar to Buffy.

Spike stopped in front of a modest single-story home. “I don’t believe it. The wanker.”

“Huh?” Buffy stopped beside him, looking up at his profile. “What is it?”

He looked down at her, and grabbed her by the elbow. “Her scent stops here. This is where Warren lives.” At her blank look, he supplied, “Warren? The Buffybot? The robot girlfriend?”

Understanding dawned in Buffy's eyes, and she started toward the house. Spike pulled her back by the arm, and gave her a glare. “Slayer, you stay here. Let me go in and suss out the situation.”

“But Spike—“ she started, and he interrupted her mid-sentence.

“Buffy, you don’t know this bloke like I do. He’ll hurt you, got a feeling in my gut. Just stay out here, unless you hear me yell, okay?”

She looked at him, unconvinced, and saw the fear in his eyes. Nodding once, she positioned herself by the door, waiting for his signal.

He entered through the basement door, just as he had so long ago for the damn bot. It only took a moment for him to realize what was happening.

Willow was tied to the floor, naked, in the center of a chalk-drawn pentacle. Her eyes were glassy, from drugs he supposed, and two other men were lighting candles around her. One held a large cow femur bone with glyphs on it, and the other had some type of large knife.

Warren sat in a comfortable chair, tipped back and relaxing, as he watched them prepare for the sacrifice about to happen. He grinned evilly, until Spike yanked him out of the chair and onto his feet.

Spike knew that he was at a disadvantage since they were human, so he yelled, “Slayer! Come on in, pet!”

Jonathan looked frightened. He held the bone in front of him like a shield, as Andrew looked for someplace to run to. Warren dangled from Spike's hand, trying to reach something behind him and failing as he looked at the angry visage of the vampire holding him off the ground.

Buffy came down the stairs, slowly and cautiously, until she saw Willow tied in the circle. She started toward her, and Jonathan jumped in front of her, shaking his bone at her. “Oh, for crying out loud, Jonathan!” she said, and grabbed the bone, snapping it in two pieces. He wailed, and magical energy filled the air, then dissipated quickly.

Stalking across the room towards Andrew, she stood for a moment, wondering how she knew him, then grabbed his knife-wielding hand and twisted it behind his back.

Andrew shrieked girlishly. “Ow! That hurts! Don’t!”

“Shut up, kid. Little boys should not play with knives.” She knelt next to Willow, and cut the ropes pinning her spread-eagle to the ground, then stuck the knife into the top of her pants. “Now, what were you planning on doing?”

Warren spoke as Jonathan and Andrew huddled together, terrified of Buffy. “You can’t stop us, Slayer. We’re onto you, and we are gonna rule this town. You will cringe at the mention of the Trio!”

“Trio? More like the Three Stooges, if you ask me,” Buffy said.

“She broke my bone, Warren! Do something!” Jonathan wailed. Andrew whimpered, still upset over the loss of his knife.

“Right, like I can do a lot from here. I can’t even get to my controller right now,” Warren sneered.

“What, this little thing?” Spike picked the gun-shaped item up off the desk with his free hand, and pointed it at the two sidekicks across the room, ignoring the sparkling pain that shot through his head. “If I pull the trigger, what does it do to them, wanker? Blow them away?”

“I’ll never tell you!” Warren shouted defiantly.

Spike turned the gun on him. “All right, then, I’ll point it at you. What does it do?”

To his surprise, his captive’s face crumbled, and he started to babble. “Don’t, please. Don’t point it at me, it might go off.”

Spike placed the barrel against Warren’s head, pressing it firmly against the temple. “What. Does. It. Do?” he questioned slowly.

“It subjugates the will! Makes a person do whatever I want them to; all I have to do is issue a command. Please, don’t point it at me!” He was blabbering, he knew it, but the gun was pressed to his temple, not the others’, and he knew that Spike was evil and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

“What did you use it for last? Like I can’t tell, but I want to hear it from you,” Buffy said, folding her arms across her chest.

“On her! We used it on her! To get her to come back here, and….” Warren's voice trailed off, as he realized the trap he’d fallen into.

The Slayer's eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward. “What did you do, you little creep?”

Jonathan spoke up from his cowering position in the corner. “He had sex with her, then decided we should sacrifice her for more power! It was his idea, his and Andrew’s!”

Buffy looked over her shoulder at her friend where she still laid on the chalk circle, still as death except for the slow, measured rise and fall of her bare chest. “How long will she be like this?”

Warren babbled again. “It wears off in about another hour. Please, don’t hurt me!”

She held out her hand, and Spike laid the gun in her palm, glad to stop the firing of the chip. “Jonathan, Andrew, move over here. Stand next to your friend.”

“He’s not my friend! Buffy, I promise, he’s not my friend!” Jonathan wet himself, fearing for his life. Buffy scrunched up her face at him and continued to motion for them to stand next to Warren.

“You’re here, and you were standing over Willow with some kind of bone, therefore I believe that he is your friend. Get over here.” She turned back to Warren as she examined the gun. “So, I take it this button here does something?”

Hatred filled his eyes, and for a split second, she was afraid. Shaking it off, she said to Spike, “You know what? I think I’ll just push it, and see what happens to them….”

Warren backpedaled quickly. “No, no—no need for that, Slayer. It—uh, that—that makes it permanent. The will is completely subjugated, and—uh….” He looked to Andrew and Jonathan, who were approaching him slowly. He tried to signal him with his eyes, then said, “Will you two make a grab for her? For god’s sake, do I have to tell you everything?” He watched, disappointed, as his minions fell over each other’s feet to land at the feet of the Slayer, his controller still in her petite yet deadly hands.

Desperate, Warren tried again. “Uh, Slayer, if you use that on us, isn’t that betraying your sacred oath or something? To protect humanity? Isn’t that what it says in the Slayer's Handbook?”

She looked down at the gun, then at him. “Huh. Never read the handbook. What did Giles say? Oh—‘it would be a complete waste of time, Buffy. I’d wager you wouldn’t adhere to a single rule or suggestion in it’.” She did a fair impression of the Watcher down to the expression, and Spike couldn’t help himself—he chuckled.

Warren turned his eyes to Spike then. “What about you? She’s a vampire slayer. Why are you helping her, anyway? She kills your kind.”

Spike set him down and stepped back. “If you think you can take her with human strength, go for it—I could use a spot of bloodshed, even if I’m not the one doing it.”

Warren cowered with his friends, now off the floor. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Slayer.”

She pushed the red button, and aimed the controller. “Actually, you don’t know who you’re dealing with. I could have forgiven you kidnapping Willow. She put herself in danger—at least it was you three idiots, and not someone really dangerous. No, you raped her too. That’s unforgivable.” Her hand didn’t even quiver as she pulled the trigger.

She was surprised. There was no report, no sound. Their eyes grew glassy as their will was suppressed, and they stood still, waiting for orders, it seemed.

Willow moaned, and sat up, rubbing her head. “What happened?”

Buffy rushed to her side, kneeling on the cold cement. She threw Spike's hastily shed duster over her friend’s shoulders, and helped her stand up, wrapping the leather around her to cover her. “How do you feel?”

“Ugh. Sore, and…dirty.” She saw Warren standing behind Buffy, and started to go around her. “That dirty bastard! He used me…like…Buffy, he….” She collapsed in the Slayer's arms, tears streaming down her face. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop it. He…told me not to move…and I couldn’t…and his friends…they watched…oh, Buffy….”

Buffy looked over her shoulder to Spike. “Make ‘em move.”

Spike looked surprised and confused. “Why? Where are we taking them?”

Buffy's smile was evil. “What good is the steward if she has nothing to do?”

Understanding dawned in Spike's eyes, and he frowned. “Buffy, are you sure it’s such a good idea?”

She and Willow turned to face him. Willow's eyes were red-rimmed, and filled with hate when she looked at the three zombies standing there. “Take them to Dawn. Let her do whatever she can do. But bring that thing too, just in case,” she said, jerking her chin at the gun-controller in Buffy's hand. “Just in case.”

Buffy shoved the controller in her jacket pocket, and shrugged. “So how do we get them to move?” she asked aloud, staring at the immobile beings.

“I’m guessing we just tell them to.” Spike looked at the glazed eyes of the three berks next to him, and said, “All right, boys, move it up the stairs and out the door.”

To his shock, they turned, and marched out of the basement. Spike, Buffy, and Willow followed them. When they reached the sidewalk in front of the house, they stopped, waiting for more orders. “Go to the Slayer's house,” Spike said, and he was surprised again when they turned the right way and made a beeline for Revello Drive.

Buffy looked at her friend and lover. “Okay—is nobody else nervous as to why they know where I live?”

“I’d wager they’ve been watching you, Slayer.” He looked askance at the backs of the powerless trio, walking quickly ahead of them. “Look—they’re going to the back door.”

“Okay, creep me…new locks tomorrow—dead bolts. Look, they’re going right in.” Buffy watched in horror as the trio of idiots walked right into her home.

Fortunately, they stopped in the kitchen. With blank faces, they waited expectantly for further orders. Buffy ushered Willow by the frozen statues, and urged her to go shower. “We won’t do anything until you are back…other than tie them up.”

Willow's face took on an evil cast. “Yeah, do that. I want them to be awake when it happens.”

Buffy watched Willow's back as she climbed the stairs, still wearing Spike's duster. She turned to look at him, trepidation in her eyes. “Spike, she still isn’t herself, is she?”

He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her back to rest against him. Disguising their conversation as a chance to neck, he rested his head on her shoulder and whispered into her ear, “I don’t think that Willow was right to begin with, pet. She was too addicted to the magic…and not nearly worried enough about consequences. No, she isn’t herself, and won’t ever be again.

Buffy looked toward the kitchen, then motioned for Spike to follow her. Together, they tied up the inept misfits that called themselves the evil Trio, and waited for Willow to come back downstairs.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Willow returned quickly, coinciding with the return of the boys’ awareness.

Jonathan immediately started whimpering about his innocence and his bone. Andrew shivered in his seat, totally silent. Warren alternated between smirks and glares. Willow folded her arms across her chest, and waited patiently.

Buffy went upstairs, and knocked on the door to Dawn's room. She knew Tara was in there as well—the girls had been nigh on inseparable since D’Hoffryn’s pronouncements a week ago. She didn’t want to impart the news, but she felt it fair that they know what they were getting into beforehand.

“Um—we have a case for the steward to judge,” she started, and Dawn looked up at her with wide eyes.

Buffy couldn’t look at either one, so she stared at her feet. “Spike an I found Willow…she was, uh…tied up…and, um…been coerced into having sex…with Warren.”

Dawn let out a piercing wordless yell. “Warren? The robot boy?”

“Um, yeah. She wants to have the steward judge them.”

Tara's soft voice was commanding in tone, yet held her concern. “Is she all right?”

Buffy's head snapped up, and she met the blue eyes of the guardian head-on. “Tara, she’s seriously freaky right now. I don’t want to be in their shoes, I can tell you that. If she had her magic, I’ll bet she would have torn their skin right off their bodies.”

Tara shook her hair over her shoulder. “We’ll be down in a moment.”

Buffy sensed she was dismissed, and she waited outside the closed bedroom door as soft, soundless chanting filled the air. It seemed that Tara was teaching Dawn centering exercises, and helping her control the enormous power buried inside her. I suppose this could be of the good, Buffy thought as she descended the stairs. After the first couple of appearances the steward had made, her sister seriously wigged her.

Dawn seemed older now, more mature and less like the 16-year-old she should be. Her eyes were still their familiar blue, but there was something old behind them, and it unnerved Buffy to look into them for very long. Why was she wigged by her flesh and blood, literally? Probably because she could take me out if she wanted to, Buffy thought, as she joined her friend and lover in the kitchen.

Warren had advanced to the talky stage, and was mouthing the crudest remarks he could think of. They were a deliberate goad, pricking the egos of both the people in the room opposite the three of them, and Buffy grabbed a large roll of duct tape out of a drawer and slapped a large piece over Warren's mouth. “I should have known you would brag, you dipshit. Even when you made that sick replica of me, you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Spike stared at her. “He bragged? About the bot?” he turned to Warren. “You bragged about the Buffybot?”

“Baby, it was all over town. He couldn’t stop talking about the fake Slayer he created for his minion the vampire.” Spike's face darkened, and he started to take a step, then looked at the Slayer's face. Reading her body language, he relaxed, then leaned against the cabinets lining the farthest wall.

“Yeah, pet, he said that he had the most fun breaking in your robotic twat.” With a smirk, Spike watched Warren blanch and Buffy redden, and Warren knew that they were gearing each other up to kill him.

He couldn’t talk; he could only widen his eyes further and further as he listened to their banter, and the redhead’s silence. He could feel the weight of every gaze, every look from each person in the room, even those of his friends.

He looked at them, and tried silently to remind them of their own guilt in this, which they readily ignored. He had told them what to do, not the other way around, and they would gladly let him take the fall.

There was a sound behind them as Xander and Anya stumbled into the room. They looked sleepy and disheveled, like they had just crawled out of bed, and looked around the room dazedly. “We—we were summoned,” Anya finally finished, then leaned against Xander. “Good thing we put clothes on. What is going on here?”

“Um…Willow wanted the steward’s services. I think that you’re probably, um, like witnesses,” Buffy started, then silenced by Giles' equally unnerved expression as he joined the throng in the rapidly crowding kitchen.

“Oh, dear. Perhaps we should move this to a larger venue?” Giles suggested as he cleaned his glasses.

“Good idea, Giles. Spike, grab Warren's chair. Xander, you get Jonathan, he’s the smallest. I’ll take Andrew.” She picked the man up, chair and all, and hauled him into the more spacious living room.

Spike and Xander were both behind her, Xander struggling slightly. She helped him set Jonathan down, then backed up to sit on the arm of the couch. Spike settled on the seat, and they both stared menacingly at the tied-up offenders.

A low hum filled the air, and all eyes were drawn to the staircase. Tara entered the room first, glowing softly in her role. Her eyes were blue mists in a blank face, and she took up her position closes to those the steward would judge.

Dawn glided down the stairs, the gangly teenager gone. Her eyes were closed and covered with a thin scarf. Its free ends drifted slightly on the eerie, gut stirring sensations of the strong magics swirling through the air, and she moved without look or pause through the room to stand before the men, hands graceful at her sides like resting birds.

Giles, Anya, and Xander sat with simultaneous thuds, stunned at the sight before them. Spike and Buffy exchanged a look, and then without reason, rose from their seats to stand to the side, in front of the fireplace.

Dawn extended her hand in front of her, and it hovered over Warren's heart. Green tendrils escaped his chest, and curled lazily around her fingertips, and she sighed low, from deep in her chest. It was a heavy, laden sound, and they felt the depth of sorrow inside each of them upon hearing it. It rattled their bones with the volume of certainty, though it was deceptively quiet.

“You have sinned against your fellow man, and are planning evil and sedition at this very moment. You would destroy each person in this room without mercy, given the chance. Your soul weighs heavy, and is foul with hate and contempt, especially of all that is female. You fear women, so you hate them. You see their power, and rail at your powerlessness, and so are threatened, for they hold the key to what you can never truly own—themselves. They sense your repugnance for those of their kind, and turn you away, so you seek to control and destroy them, singly or multiples, in every aspect of their being. You have harmed many such as Willow, and some have been forced by death to keep silent. Their souls weigh on you as well, Warren Meers, and for them you will be judged as well.”

Her hand stretched to Jonathan next. “You are too afraid of living to live, and too fearful of being noticed to be seen. You created a living monster that took life, and repented not what you had done, but resented your world was destroyed by the Slayer. You would have used magic for evil tonight with the spell that still weighs on your mind—mating and slaying a human and demon to call the denizens of the inner hells to do your bidding. You used magic for ill, and it is just; you, too, will be judged, Jonathan Levinson.”

Andrew shook as her hand approached his chest, and he jerked around in the chair until it started to topple over. Tara raised her hand, and the chair sat four-legged on the floor, with no movement whatsoever from Andrew able to get him away from Dawn's approach.

As the mist entered his chest, his body bowed within its confines, his eyes widened in a silent scream. Dawn flinched, and he flinched as well, as the essence of his heart was drawn into her open palm. “You are most troubled, Andrew Wells, and the difficulty is within you, not of without. Banning external influence, you are more damaging to yourself than you are to others. You have, however, been influenced to raise mischief and mayhem within the lives of the Slayer and her kith and kin, and called demons to battle for your friends. You assist in the deepest evil to earn approval, and willingly use your talents for the malfeasance they plan. For this, Andrew, you will be judged.”

She turned to Spike and Buffy where they stood at her side, their backs against the fireplace. “Do you know of your roles in this?”

“Not a clue, Nibblet,” Spike drawled.

She removed her symbolic blindfold, and opened her eyes.

They were still blue, but the swirled with ancient knowledge of man and his foibles and sins. They were aged inside her youthful face, and in their depths lay the essence of the Key as well. Thousands of years of wisdom lay behind those eyes and thousands of years of sadness as well. They were changeable as the rivers, memories flowing through them like flotsam and jetsam, churned by the passage of time and the ages.

It was, for them both, like looking at both a loved one and a stranger.

Dawn stroked her hand along Spike's cheek, and awareness filled his deep blue eyes. “You are Annit. You are my right hand, giver of justice, eater of black hearts that pass not through to Aaru. You are the bringer of eternal death and torment to the souls of those unworthy. You are Divine Retribution, made flesh. You are brother, lover, father, friend.”

She turned to Buffy, and the Slayer gaped silently at her face. Dawn smiled gently, and said, “You are Bes. You are the defender of good against evil, and the guardian of the righteous. You are fecundity embodied, sensuality worshiped, all that is good and pleasurable. You are the personification of Divine Benevolence. You are sister, lover, mother, and friend. You are guardian of mankind.”

She extended her hands to both, and led them to stand before the men she was judging. “It is you who carry out the sentence, perform the deed, for I cannot. It would sully truth and justice with the weight of souls, and I dare not overstep my bonds.”

She stepped back, and turned to Tara. “For Annit to carry out my hand, he must be whole. Would you please?”

Tara stepped forward. She touched her forehead to Spike's, and held her hand to the back of his head. Blue eyes clashed as they stood that close, and Spike could smell the magic burning the air, brimstone to his sensitive nostrils. She stood, and brought her cupped hand to rest between them, palm up, as she stepped back.

Spike looked down, and saw the chip lying in the palm of her hand. “Oh, Glinda, what have you done?” he whispered, and Buffy leaned forward to look and see what they were talking about.

Her eyes widened, and she tossed a glance over her shoulder to look at Giles. He was mesmerized by the scene before him, and couldn't see around Spike, so had no idea the import of what Tara had done.

Tara moved back, the chip still in the palm of her hand, and Dawn moved to stand in front of Warren. “I judge you guilty, and you will die the death of the million deaths. May you remember exactly, each and every death you experience, what brought your downfall upon you—hate.”

She moved her hand in front of Warren's chest, and the ghostly outline of a beating heart rested in her upturned palm. “Eat of his soul, then eat of his body, but do not drain him—it is not by you he will die.” She handed the misty form to Spike, who raised it to his lips, pouring it into his mouth. He then leaned forward and slipped into game face to sink long-unused fangs into the side of Warren's neck, drawing three mouthfuls, then pulling back.

Dawn turned to Buffy, and drew another portion of the boy’s aura into her hand. “You must show benevolence. Mercy. Consume and return what is good and right with the soul, so he may one day aspire to return, to attempt entry to Aaru.”

Buffy tipped her head back, and sucked the mist into her mouth with relish. She examined what little good was in this boy’s soul, and exhaled in his face, returning it to him. Awareness filled his eyes, and his cheeks flushed with shame at the memories of his actions.

Dawn turned to Andrew, and they repeated the process. Spike ate his heart’s essence; Buffy drank down his soul. Spike drank from his neck, and Buffy returned the good of him, and exhaled his demon knowledge into the air above her head.

They stood before Jonathan now, and Dawn intoned, “Of all, this one can be of the most danger. He must be stripped of magical knowledge completely, else we will see him rise in power again, without guidance, to perpetrate evil.”

Spike bent his head, and drank from him as Buffy discarded the magic, separating it skillfully inside her. As she bent to exhale into Jonathan’s face, she heard a grunt of realization, then a screech as Willow launched herself at Dawn.

“You did it! You stripped me of my powers, you little bitch!” She leaped onto Dawn, and was clawing at her eyes when she was removed by a wave of Tara's hand and held motionless in the air.

Dawn turned to Willow, her eyes stormy blue. Her voice boomed in the room, rattling their bodies and vibrating long after in their bones. “You tamper with things that you shouldn’t. I do not have that power, however. You have been judged. Do not tempt fate,” she added cryptically, her voice dropping down to her natural tone.

Willow struggled, and said, “It had to be you! You’re the only one who could have done it.”

“She didn’t do it, Willow. I did.” Willow stared, mouth agape, at her ex-lover. Tara met her eyes unflinchingly, without breaking her gaze. “You were dealing in dangerous magics, and you had shut us all out of what you were doing. You played us to go along with your schemes to bring Buffy back. You even bespelled us with Lethe’s bramble to keep us from remembering. You used blood magic, and slaughtered to obtain it. You went about it all the wrong way, Willow, and you should stop pushing now, before the judgement the Powers bestowed becomes harsher than what it is.”

Willow laughed weakly. “Like they can take anything else away from me? They took the one thing that made me useful and special to the gang. They took my reason to be here. The only thing left is my life, and the way it is now? They can have it.”

She sagged limply in the stasis field holding her still, and tears ran down her face. “I feel violated, not by these idiots, but by the people who loved me. Let me go.”

Tara let her feet drift slowly to the floor. Willow turned to the door, then turned back to Dawn. “Dawn, thanks for the judgements. I hope they suffer. I hope that you all suffer, too. You deserve it.”

Tara pressed a finger to each of the tied men’s foreheads, and they untied them. They moved slowly, as if sleepwalking, and exited the house through the front door. “I sent them home to sleep it off. They won’t remember anything about any of this,” she said, answering their silent question, her voice dull with exhaustion.

“Speaking of, what the hell just happened here? Buffy and Spike drinking misty air, Spike biting, Tara making magic, Willow leaving.” Xander stood, and ran his hands through his perpetually mussed-up hair. “What did you do to Spike, Tara?”

She held out her hand, and it lay in her palm, artfully crafted to look benign. A twisting gold wire edged the rim, and plastic surrounded the miniature controls. Giles peered at it over his glasses, and looked sharply at Buffy, then Spike. “Is that what I believe it to be?”

Spike shrugged. “Yeah. It’s my chip.”