[A/N: I’m trying so hard to get these words on paper. . . and it’s a struggle. . . . I hope you all enjoy this. I’d like to take a moment to thank KarGrif, who made the pretty banners for Origins (go look!!!!!) and she’s making me more too. She does really good work and it’s totally true to my vision. Thanks sweetie, for putting up with my temperamental fits and starts. Title is from one of my favorite poems by Alfred Lord Tennyson, and probably one of his more famous works (The Lady of Shalott) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers are, as always, in full force and effect.]

Previously: Giles decided Faith was going to undergo the trance; Dawn is resting; Buffy and Spike are having a discussion with Kirsten, who has revealed some startling facts. . . . . this picks up shortly after the last installment.

Book Two. Chapter 44. Shadows of the world appear

When one tears away the veils
and shows them naked,
people’s souls give off such a pungent smell of decay.
Octave Mirbeau, 14 September,The Diary of a Chambermaid.

There was a door to which I found no key:
There was the veil through which I might not see.
Omar Khayyam

Shall any gazer see with mortal eyes,
Or any searcher know by mortal mind?
Veil after veil will lift
-but here must be
Veil upon veil behind.
Edwin Arnold

Shrouded by the night
and by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
while all within lay quiet as the dead
Loreena McKennitt, The dark night of the soul,
from the album The mask and mirror, 1994




Slow breaths. . . .

In. . .

Out. . .

Slow . . .

She could feel her lungs contracting. . . . count. . . two. . . three. . . four. . expanding. . . six . . . seven. . . eight. . . nine. . . contracting.

Faith repeated the process until she was focused only on the breathing. . . . until awareness of everything else faded.

The Christmas lights blurred, twinkling, fading. . . . getting stronger . . .

Turning her head, Faith focused on the baby’s playpen, expecting signs of magic woven around it. Instead there was nothing, the area was free of any trace of magic.

Rising slowly to her feet, Faith turned, missing when an entire pile of Christmas gifts disappeared from beneath the tree.

Still breathing slowly, on near silent bare feet, Faith paced through the living room, making her way past the tree into the kitchen.

Nothing was out of place, everything was where it belonged. Makes sense, didn’t really expect to find anything in the kitchen.

The voices in the dining room fell silent as her footsteps echoed on the tiles.

The rasp and hiss of air escaping from her lungs was loud in her own ears, the pounding and humming of blood through her body a steady back-beat. White noise filled her head like the echoing static of seashells against covered ears.

She felt insubstantial, achingly unreal in a place of make believe. Nothing was real . . . . not the floor beneath her feet nor the walls enclosing her. Passing her hand in front of her face took ages and yet it was over in an eye’s blink.

A grocery list on the refrigerator wavered, the concise clear handwriting morphing into a more feminine hand, curled and flowing.

Steps around the counter, hand sliding along the top. This is real . . . solid. . .

More footsteps.

The dining room doorway loomed ahead of her, the lintel feet away. Reaching out a hand, the molding was suddenly in her grasp.

Eyes closed. . . . open. . . the air is thick, almost tangible. . . muted colors flickered and faded, then lightning flashed, blinding her eyes, burning images into her brain.

Giles . . . . lights wavered growing . . . stronger, then fading. . . . He was covered in magics.

Wesley. . . . lines of fatigue bracketed his mouth and he stared, silent . . . . magic covered him, but fainter, less intense. . .

Anya . . . . is that her name? . . . Her features grew veined, the skin hardening, changing. . . . demonic . . . . then flashed, reverting back to human. . . . and the magics were similar to Wesley’s sitting lightly upon her. . .

Tara . . . . unwittingly, Faith reeled back as if struck. . . . darkness . . . . wrapped around her . . . . covered in whatever this was Faith moved through it, pushing her hand toward the miasma, meeting resistance. . . . It clung to her, coating the other girl like a second skin. . . . .

Anya started to speak, but Giles laid a hand over hers, stopping her comments, while he gauged Faith’s reactions.

Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. Faith waved her hand around Tara, appearing to the others as if she were trying to push something off her. “Bad stuff here. All over her.”

Slowly shaking her head, Faith moved away from them, almost gliding into the hallway. Her foot on the bottom step, she turned back to look at Wesley and Giles. “Watcher man. You better follow. Major badness up here.”

With that she turned back to toward the steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The hold he had on his temper was fraying by the second, the rage feeding on itself, building toward an explosion of volcanic proportions. Lacking a proper outlet, Spike fell back on anxious pacing, his eyes darting between the three females in the room. The real implications of Kirsten’s admissions were hitting him hard.

Dawn shouldn’t be on that bed.

Buffy was staring at him, watching him carefully for signs of the explosive blow-up she knew was brewing. Anger and fear were swirling thickly in the room, fueled by the sole male. It angered him, she knew, the inability to protect those he viewed as his, and this was no exception. Buffy hadn’t missed Kirsten’s admission about Dawn – it had been in the back of her head when the beepers had sounded, the feeling worsening as the night progressed.

Dawn was supposed to be . . . . gone.

Spike swept past her, tension radiating from every muscle. His elbow clipped her shoulder and Buffy reached out a hand, catching the back of his shirt in her fingers. The silence was palpable as he turned back to look at her. His blue eyes swam with emotions, some of them she readily flinched from unwilling to go there just yet. Her lower lip quivered and in the next instant, his arms had curled around her, enclosing her in his embrace.

Neither one spoke.

There was nothing either one of them could say. Too much had happened for either to make sense of it, too much information had been uncovered in the last few hours . . . . Spike’s jaw flexed, as he fought off the tears that were threatening.

This was his place, here, now, with Buffy, surrounded by each other and somehow, some way, something evil, some force had tried separating them. Buffy’s fingers rubbed restlessly against the fabric of his tee-shirt, her face buried against the crook of his neck. His hand slid down from shoulder to waist, dipping beneath the pajamas she wore, calloused fingertips brushing the soft skin at the small of her back.

His eyes focused on the bed, intently gazing at the sleeping teen. Dawn was nestled beneath the blanket, her long hair dark against the light sheets. I have a daughter. . . . he blinked, glancing over at Kirsten. Two daughters. . . An’ could’ve lost them both tonight. Not gonna happen again. . . .

A low rumble sounded in his chest and each one of his companions reacted.

Buffy knew that sound. Uhoh. . . . temper’s up again. . . .

Kirsten knew it . . . and shrunk back away from it, knowing that anger, if it wasn’t released soon, would have only one outlet. . .

Dawn shifted in her drug induced sleep, whimpering for his attention. . . .

Spike tightened his arms around Buffy, laying a kiss on her temple, then released her. Short steps took him to Dawn’s bedside and his hand rested lightly on her injured cheek. He whirled, reaching for his discarded duster, fixing a stern look on Kirsten. “Best still be here when I get back, princess, not done with you yet.”

Wide-eyed, she shook her head, knowing to disagree would only make things worse.

Buffy’s voice saying his name stopped him at the door. “Spike?”

“Be back in a bit, Slayer. Go on now to bed.”

“Spike?” He froze, waiting for her to say something, knowing she was going to try and talk him out of leaving. When no further words came, he half turned to look at her. His raised eyebrow broke the silence. Her concerned whisper nearly undid his resolve to leave. “Don’t. . . . please be careful . . . and come home soon.”

He shook his head again. “Don’t wait up.”

And he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Faith heard his footsteps before she started up the steps, the heavy tread of his boots pounding loudly, the soundwaves thrumming against her bare feet.

She paused, staring up at the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the newel post. Spike hesitated at the landing, spying her waiting at the bottom. He eyed her quizzically and it took him a moment to realize she was staring past him, through him, not at him as he first thought.

Her eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated and he sniffed, idly noting her slowed heartbeat and the unmistakable smell of incense. Abruptly, his temper soared higher. More fuckin’ magic. Will these people never fuckin learn. . .

The patter of light footsteps sounded behind him and Spike knew it was her. Buffy’s voice was a bare whisper, just his name on a breath, but it was enough to halt him in his tracks more effectively than Faith’s odd presence.

Ignoring the silent figure at the bottom of the steps, Spike half turned to face Buffy and was unprepared for her pleading expression or words. “Don’t go. Please, Spike, the sun’s almost up. . . you’ll get caught and I won’t be . . . please. Don’t go.”

“Kitten. . . “ he couldn’t explain to her, he knew she understood his need for violence, to get rid of the tension, to vent his frustration in violence and bloodshed. Spike shook his head, negating her request.

“Spike?” She reached for him, her small hand grazing his chest.

Unconsciously he leaned into her and they both forgot their audience. “Buffy just go to bed, I’ll be back in a bit.”

His hand brushed her hair away from her face, the touch feather soft despite the rage and repressed power lining his muscles. “Need to go out. I’ll be back.”

Faith’s increased heart rate and heavier breathing caught his attention, but it was her soft exclamation that drew the attention of all of them. An involuntary tear slid from her eye, her body’s defense against the bright light shining between the two superhuman beings at the top of the stairs. Giles appeared at her right, Wesley right behind him, his eyes following Faith’s line of sight to the tableau above them. To his eyes, it was just Buffy and Spike, caught in a moment, where no one existed but the two of them. For Faith, they were bathed in a golden light, her hand resting on his chest and his on her shoulder. The light was strong, like sunlight breaking through dark clouds, and it was then she realized there was darkness surrounding them. Even as she watched, though, the light broke through, momentarily overpowering it.

“I’m not going after him. Not now.” Neither one had to voice the name to know who Spike meant.

“Promise?” She stared into his eyes, knowing he couldn’t hide his intentions from her.

A wry grin split his lips, “yeah. I’ll promise.”

it was as much of a guarantee she would get from him. Spike needed to go, but he wouldn’t seek out Angel on his own. Unspoken between them was the knowledge that if the two vampires accidently encountered each other, Spike would not back down. And she understood him, understood why he needed to go. She nodded her head once, leaning up to place a kiss on his lips. “Remember that.”

And she let him go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


They’d waited, bodies poised for action the moment the traitor appeared.

Watched while others arrived, retreating back into shadow, ignoring the humans that weren’t prey. The youngest hounds grew restless, prowling, tails twitching, soft whines emerging from their throats, almost asking for permission to attack.

A low, rolling growl from the alpha was the only response and as one the hounds slunk down to submissive positions.

A door slammed somewhere inside and the alpha pricked his ears, then relaxed.

Another noise. . . a human departed. . . the alpha male.

The alpha female growled a question at her mate, who just barked once in answer.

She loped off, following the vampire to the end of the block, then disappeared after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The two slayers stared at each other, recognition of the moment flaring between them. On some level, Buffy was aware of what Faith was attempting and she approved. However, there was another part of her, a rather large part, that resented Faith for her presence, for her abilities and for what she’d just witnessed. Buffy hated being vulnerable, hated showing any kind of weakness and Faith had just witnessed a very needy Buffy practically pleading with Spike not to go. Anger flared within her and she came very close to picking a fight with any one of the three people at the bottom of the stairs.

Faith could almost see the anger rising from Buffy and for once held her tongue. Much like Kirsten had done earlier, she chose not to comment on the intimacy she’d just seen. There were some things that defied commentary. So instead Faith just stared at her counterpart, trying to discover what was the current spell and what was not. It was easier to see, now Spike was gone, what tethered them together. Colors flickered and faded around Buffy, sickly browns and oily greys Faith had no trouble identifying as part of the current spell. A jagged flash of arcing white light pulsed and Faith was forced to close her eyes in reaction. Like a negative in her mind’s eye, the outline of Buffy’s form flashed against a black background, then behind her she could just make out Spike’s shadow.

Opening her eyes again, Faith stared up at Buffy, and the lights belonging to her and Spike flashed gold and silver, forcing Faith to focus once more. Trailing away from Buffy, like some stream of continuous light, was a triple band – braided together and running like liquid gold along the wall, down past her and, as she turned to follow it’s path, out the door. Assuming that was the mystical manifestation of her link with Spike, Faith involuntarily reached for it. The light flowed through her, uncaring of her interference or presence. With her hand playing through the light, Faith turned her head slightly to look up at Buffy.

“Its beautiful.”

The exasperation on Buffy’s face was replaced with curiosity. “What is?”

The answer was simple. “You and Spike.”

At the mention of his name, the light intensified, pulsing with warmth and arcing little silver sparks. Her lip quivered, tears sprung to her eyes and all Buffy could do was nod her head in acknowledgment of Faith’s declaration.

But Faith’s next words stole her breath. “Too much bad stuff though. Any idea who’d wanna break up you two?”

“I don’t know.” More fear than she was willing to admit to colored her voice and Buffy shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stomping sound of his boots rang softly in the pre-dawn morning as Spike stalked his way through the still dark streets of Sunnydale. He hated this town, some days. Really truly loathed it with a deep and abiding passion.

Every plan, every good thing, always got completely fucked up in this place. Nothing ever went smoothly.

He paused, his ears pricking at the faint sounds of a scuffle going on off to his left. Even as he listened, the sounds died away, making him sigh with disgust. Can’t even find m’self a decent fight.

The two fledges he’d staked weren’t any more than appetizers, teasers, merely whetting his appetite for destruction. Violence. . . . need to beat the livin’ hell outta somethin’.

Not much night left. . . maybe I should go back . . . . Spike half-turned, then thought better of it. He couldn’t go back to Revello Drive – not just yet. If he went back now, he’d only end up hurting Buffy and that was something he wasn’t willing to do. They could’ve sparred in the basement, but the knowledge of her pregnancy held him back. He needed to unleash the raging beast within him, not restrain it.

And it wasn’t just his demonic nature calling out for blood – the long dead Victorian poet was also screaming for blood – and not just any blood.

His whole being was in accordance with just whose blood needed spilling.

Angelus. . . .

Fucker needs to bleed. Needs to hurt the way m’girls do. . .

Spike didn’t understand what drove the older vampire to constantly, consistently attack those who garnered his attention. Whether it was Drusilla or Darla or Buffy or countless others that caught his eye. . . . Why was it that he wanted to eradicate them?

Even as a fledge, he hadn’t so little self control. The only unthinking indiscriminate act he’d committed had been done out of concern. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her – had, in fact, been trying to save her. His actions had backfired horrifically but his intentions had been of the best.

And why was he thinking about this now? Almost visibly throwing off his introspection, Spike stalked off towards the Alibi Room, hoping for some action there.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Lawson slipped quietly into the mansion, hiding from prying and questioning eyes. He had spent the hours between the fight in the hospital and now hunting, looking for, not just a meal, but answers as well. The evidence of his own eyes startled him. His memory of William the Bloody was vivid, a vampire without remorse or conscience, inflicting bloodshed and mayhem on a small group of men stuck at the bottom of the ocean.

Yet now, here he was, fighting alongside the Slayer. . . . which just – Lawson was having real trouble wrapping that thought around his brain. The famed Slayer of Slayers, who’d battled more slayers than some vampires had ever even seen, was fighting beside one.

Sam headed for the room he’d commandeered for his own, uncaring of the minions he passed, effectively ignoring their presence. Angelus had instituted a rotating watch, to insure neither the slayer nor any of her people would be able to slip into the mansion again, so there was always someone awake, watching the doors. Ray, the vampire who’d luckily missed the rescue, was in charge of that and he and two others were walking about on silent feet.

His room was quiet, dark floor length curtains covering the windows and he dropped his peacoat on the only chair, running his hands through his hair in the same motion. He paused when the scent of blood and patchouli reached his nose and he looked around sharply in the dark, seeking the source of both scents.

“Why are you here?” He could barely make out her pale form in the darkness, covered as she was in dark clothing, blending into the dark curtains.

A low quiet laugh sounded in the air between them. “Question is where’ve you been. . . out chasing little girls?”

He moved further into the room, sitting on the bed to unlace his boots. “Why do you care where I’ve been?”

“Questions within questions, dear boy. . . . perhaps one of us should answer.” She moved away from the window then, her eyes on his back, watching him closely for signs of unease.

Lawson stilled, all senses alert as she moved closer. “So which one of us is going to answer first?”

Cool fingers caressed the back of his neck, running down his back, across his shoulder. “Must be you. . . . should always take care to answer big sister’s question. So tell me, baby brother, where were you?” She paused, coming round to face him, her large dark blue eyes boring into his. Sam ducked his head, avoiding her mesmerizing gaze. “Come now, sweets, tell me true. . . . “

“Drusilla. . . What do you want?” Lawson stiffened at her giggle.

“Want you . . . . “ she slid into his lap, her fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck, long nails scratching his skin.

It took him a moment to realize what she was implying and he tightened his hands, pushing her away from him. “What the hell? Drusilla. . . What about Angel?”

“Daddy’s sleeping and his baby girl wants to play.” She stroked his face, her nails drawing blood.

“He’d kill me. And I don’t want to be dusty, so what’s the real reason you’re here?” Sam didn’t believe for one second that Drusilla was here because she wanted sex – there had to be more than that on her mind and he knew the least of what she was trying to discover was where he’d been earlier.

“What Daddy doesn’t know. . . . pretty kitty wants to play. . . “ Dropping her hand beneath her, Drusilla palmed his cock, feeling it lengthen despite his protests. Her grin widened, a low growl emerging from her throat and her tongue licked a path across his cheek. “Delicious you are. . . come play with sissy. . . “

“He’ll be able to smell us Drusilla and he’s not stupid.” Trying one last time to force her away, Lawson dug his fingers into her upper arm. “This is not a good idea.”

Giving way, she allowed him the momentary illusion that his strength equaled hers, then slowly began pushing him back. “Now, now. . . Little boys shouldn’t hurt pretty girls, especially their sisters.”

Before he knew it, Sam was flat on his back, staring up in the beguiling dark indigo eyes of Drusilla. His last coherent thought was he needed to leave before Angelus smelled what they were about to do.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Flashes of light, muted now and slower than before, flickered in Faith’s eyes as she walked the second floor hallway. The trance was beginning to loosen its hold on her and she knew there wasn’t much time left. Saying as much to Giles and Buffy as they trailed behind her, Faith hesitated outside the door to the room that used to belong to Joyce.

“Last stop kiddies.”

Neither of her companions spoke, hoping her concentration would hold for just a bit longer. Buffy hadn’t been surprised when Faith mentioned the magics surrounding the two teens, knowing what she did about both girls. She’d been more surprised to find Connor’s space was free of any magical influence. His crib was a “free zone”, although she was surprised and dismayed to discover her bed was surrounded by magics, but again, it appeared most of it was being blocked by the mating. The last place to look in was behind the closed door, where Willow was currently sleeping.

Faith hesitated so long beside the door her two companions thought perhaps she’d come out of the trance. Lifting stricken dilated eyes toward Buffy, Faith shook her head. “Can’t . . . too much in there.”

And it was only because of the blond’s supernatural reflexes that she was able to catch Faith before she hit the floor.







Again, thanks to all the people who left lovely reviews. . . and please, be kind enough to leave another