[A/N: I actually did some thinking about this story and I realized I have no idea how much more this particular installment has to go before it’s finished. The funny thing is, while I was at WriterCon, at the writer’s block workshop, I mentioned that I was suffering from a bit of a block and described what was going on. . . and one of the panelist quipped “maybe that’s because the story is over” and the truth is, this story is far from over (and by the by, that was probably 20 or so chapters ago). And, just in case anyone’s wondering what the reaction was, I think Tam nearly bit her tongue when that was suggested. Addie Logan just laughed, coz she knows exactly how much of a story I have planned. . . . Title and quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers, as always, prove I own nothing. My thanks again to Tam for the superb beta work.]

Previously: Buffy is meeting with the Seelie Court; Spike and Wesley took Tara to the hospital, but then Spike stormed out; Faith and Jenner are getting to know each other. This picks up shortly after the last installment.

Book Two. Chapter Sixty-Eight. Wither Into Truth

Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.
W.B. Yeats, The Coming of Wisdom with Time

We know the truth, not only by the reason, but also by the heart.
Blaise Pascal, Thoughts, Chap. x.


Come by the hills to the land
where fancy is free
And stand where the peaks meet the sky
and the rocks reach the sea
Where the rivers run clear and the bracken
is gold in the sun
And cares of tomorrow must wait
till this day is done.

Come by the hills to the land
where life is a song
And sing while the birds fill the air
with their joy all day long
Where the trees sway in time, and even
the wind sings in tune
And cares of tomorrow must wait
till this day is done.
Trad. Irish Song






Spike stalked through the silent streets of Sunnydale, his thoughts and emotions in a whirl. Nothing was making much sense, his brain unable to focus on any one single thought. Everything came circling back – every thought returned to one thing. His lodestone, his true north. Buffy. He could feel her, teasing at the edges of his awareness, their bond stretched far, but still vibrant, still strong.

It centered him, kept him from howling his anguished confusion at the night sky. Kept him anchored and focused on what he needed to do.

What he wanted to do was work off the nerves and excess energy buzzing through his muscles, keeping him from being able to stay and wait in hospital with Wesley while Tara got sorted out. But nothing demonic was stirring. Everything was quiet.

And really, he should have had enough violence for one night. They’d come through the confrontation with Angelus relatively unscathed, nothing but minor wounds here and there. Scraped knuckles, wrenched knees, a bite or two. But not much more, and Tara was the only one seriously hurt, though she would survive.

He was restless, unable to calm the ragged edges of his frayed temper. Worry for Buffy – it’s a helluva lot easier to worry ‘bout her than it is about . . . Spike refused to even think the boy’s name, knowing the sharp pain riding his gut was all about the little one. Nipper’s gonna. . . .

A rolling growl ended his thoughts and Spike forcefully turned his steps back toward the house. He’d been gone over an hour, closer to two, and hopefully, Giles and Anya had some answers for him.

The thought of Connor being on his own, defenseless and scared, fodder for whatever haunted the godforsaken place Willow may have banished him to, made him break into a run.

Can’t leave him alone. . . . Gotta find him.


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


She woke up as Spike was carrying her into the emergency room, but Tara didn’t move, nor speak until he was gone. The tension in his limbs easily communicated itself to her and Tara couldn’t think of anyway to help ease it. Wasn’t hard to figure out what had him so upset. The list was endless, or nearly so. . . . they’d won – or whatever it could be called but at what cost?

Buffy had gone with the Huntsman to who knew where – Willow – to judge Willow. Tara stared at the bland walls of the hospital room, trying very hard not to think of her former girlfriend. Yet she couldn’t wipe the image of her darkness from her mind’s eye. Willow didn’t even look like herself. Dark eyes matched with even darker hair. . . . A soft hitching sob broke from her and Tara held her fist against her mouth, stifling the tears.

This wasn’t going to help, crying about Willow, about all the really horrible things that had been happening. Gotta focus on what can be done. What I can do to help. Tara forced her tired brain to remember exactly what she’d said and done to protect Connor.

All through the doctor’s examination, through the stitching, Tara replayed those moments in her head.

She and Wesley were halfway home when the answer dawned. “Wes?”

He glanced at her, noting the drained look in her eyes and the pallor of her skin.

“I think I know where Connor is.”

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


Buffy stared down at her feet, nervously chewing on her lower lip. Every couple of seconds her eyes would stray to either Willow or the woman, trying to come up with an answer.

Would I save Willow?

The silence seemed to last too long, leaving Buffy without any sense of direction.

Should I save Willow?

Was the girl lying on the floor the same girl who’d been her best friend? Buffy was suddenly struck with the idea that she barely knew this girl. Couldn’t reconcile shy, geeky Willow with this powerful, power-hungry woman. Was there a part of her that remembered?

Do I wanna save Willow?

Is there anything left to save?

A soft groan sounded from Willow and Buffy stepped back away from her. Not ready for you to wake up just yet. The redheaded woman must have somehow understood Buffy’s distress or read her mind somehow, because she stepped closer, the hem of her gown brushing against Willow’s feet. She wasn’t looking at her though, her steady gaze remained focused on Buffy. “Rest easy. She cannot awaken until I bid her so.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Buffy didn’t move any closer though, preferring to keep her distance. As much as she used to trust her friend, this was not that Willow.

“Perhaps, Reiht Aonair, it would help for you to understand what was taken without care or proper obeisance.”

She waved a hand, and one of the others moved from the crowd, coming to stand before them. The redheaded woman spoke quietly, the language rippling like water over a brook, in words Buffy couldn’t understand.

“Um. Not that I wanna be rude or anything, but what did you call me? And who are you?” The words blurted out of her before she could stop them and Buffy blushed brightly, an apologetic look crossing her face.

Instead of reacting angrily, as she expected, the first woman threw back her head, emitting a short bark of laughter. “Taken to task by a mere slip of a girl, how ridiculous.”

The second woman spoke, raising an eyebrow at the first. “Perhaps then you should give her your name.”

“I’d forgotten in all the rush that the Slayer does not know of us.” Addressing Buffy, she inclined her head. “Forgive me. I am Arianrhod and this one who reminds me of my manners is Ceridwen. It was she whom the witch called upon to return you from my hall.”

Buffy stared at her, her mouth hanging open. “I was never. . . . I don’t remember . . . anything like this.” Her voice trailed off, tears suddenly springing to her eyes. “You mean I wasn’t in heaven?”


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


The only noise in the quiet house was the constant shuffle of turning pages and the almost silent movement of pen on paper. Giles was frantically looking for any clues, any information, anything that would help them find Connor. Time was not something they could readily afford to waste. Connor was scarcely three months old. If they were lucky – and that was a huge if – Tara had been able to divert the boy, saving him from certain and immediate death. But that might only be wishful thinking.

Their luck wasn’t always of the best, though Giles was shouting random prayers inside his head as he looked for answers, but they somehow managed to pull through. Hopefully that would be the case again.

He glanced up when Anya slammed a book shut. “We aren’t going to find anything here.”

“We have to keep looking. The answer must be here somewhere.” He stared at the few notes he’d written and a soft sigh escaped him. “We cannot stop, Anya, we have to find a way to save the boy.”

Her sharp features softened and her lower lip wobbled. Hastily she wiped the few tears seeping from her eyes, then slammed her fist down on the table. “I hope they’re doing something about Willow. She’s insane, Giles, crazed with power.”

“I know.” Silence fell between them, because there was nothing more for Giles to add to her comments. They both knew Willow had crossed a line. Visibly forcing himself back to the matter at hand, Rupert glanced at the page in front of Anya. “What is that?”

“Everything Joyce said to us and what the Huntsman just said.”

Rupert felt a jolt at her words and gestured toward the page. “May I?”

“Sure, here you go.” Anya slid it across the table, watching him closely. His eyes slid down the page, flicking quickly through the words.

“Good God.” He lifted his head up, eyes meeting hers. “I do believe you’ve done it, Anya. The answer is right here.”

“What answer?”

“Blood is the Key.” He reached for her hand. “I know how to get Connor back.”


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


His hands weren’t cold. They should have been. There should be tremors, shivers wrought by the touch of cold fingers on hot flesh.

There were shivers – but not from cold.

Everywhere he touched her, cold fire erupted, igniting her skin.

Holy fuck. . .

He barely touched her, fingertips trailing over her flushed skin, skimming atop her breasts, blunt teeth nipping. Faith tried not to react, tried to hide her response to him, but Jenner forced her to acknowledge him. To see him – he wasn’t going to let her hide behind the sex.

Jenner slid his fingers over her slick pussy, his teeth clamping down gently on a distended nipple. He pulled on her clit, with a dip and a swirl, watching her arch and writhe against his firm touch.

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Only an incoherent grunt greeted his request and Jenner rumbled a low laugh against the top of her thigh. Faith squirmed, fighting to get away and to get closer.

Every inch of her skin was aflame, heat radiating from beneath. No spot was immune, no part of her able to resist his touch. Her body rose to his fingers, fought her brain’s feeble commands to fight against the need.

A tiny rational part of her brain was screaming to get away, while her body wanted to feel every last nuance.

Jenner focused his attention on the dark-eyed girl, delighting in her resistance. Her surrender would be so much the sweeter. He nuzzled the bare flesh of her pussy, biting just hard enough to raise tiny welts. Her pulse thrummed loudly against his ear, the blood rushing through her veins as enticing as other fluids. Jenner spread her legs wide, no longer caring about keeping her trussed and bit down hard on her wildly throbbing femoral artery.

Faith bucked, thrashing jerkily, her voice moaning, stifling the scream building in her throat.

Jenner surged up, his hands slapping down on either side of Faith’s head. Wedging his hips between her legs, Jenner growled softly into her ear. “Goin’ to take you now, Slayer. Goin’ to make you scream my name.”

Faith glared up at him, fires burning in her dark eyes. “I’m not a screamer.”

His laugh went through her, and his right hand slid between their bodies. With a flick and a hard twist, Jenner slid his cock balls deep into her warm channel. Faith caught herself, stopping the shriek of surprise before it could rattle the walls.

“You will be, little girl, you will be.”


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



If she could toss and turn, she would have been, but because of her still very sore broken ribs, Dawn was forced to lie very still.

I really hate sleeping on my back. Really. The ceiling is only interesting for so long anyway. Why am I up here?

Oh right. Wesley brought me up. Said I should rest. Yeah. Right. Like that’s possible right now. I’ll just lie here and be all useless while everyone else tries to figure out what the hell happened to Connor and where Buffy went.

Dawn stared up at the ceiling, knowing she wasn’t going to get any sleep any time soon. She could hear movement downstairs, straining to catch any stray noise.

How sucky is it that I got vamp DNA and no cool extra perks? Like extra good hearing would be really useful. Or super fast healing. Instead, I get to be a glowy green can opener. That so sucks.

A car door slammed and moments later another. Mere seconds passed before the front door creaked open and Dawn counted the seconds until it, too, was closed.

Huh. Who was out. . . . and why?

Giving up completely on trying to sleep, Dawn struggled to get out of bed.

In less time than she expected, Dawn was heading down the stairs, listening to the others discussing ways to get Connor back. When she hit the landing, Tara was speaking, her voice strained and low, but devoid of any hesitation. Dawn let the gist of them wash over her, though she paid more attention after Tara mentioned ‘other dimensions’.

But it was Giles’ words that had her moving at a faster clip down the stairs. “Anya wrote down everything Gaia told the girls earlier and also what the Huntsman said.” He paused and Dawn held back the inappropriate giggle that was threatening – he’s so cleaning his glasses – and then gasped.

“Gaia told you ‘the price isn’t permanent and only a dead man can cross the boundaries’. Couple that with what the Huntsman said, ‘blood calls to blood and blood is the key’. I think we have our answers right here.”

Dawn shook as she finally placed her feet firmly on the first floor. Her bare feet were silent as she rounded the dining room door, but her voice didn’t waver once when she spoke into the sudden silence.

“You need me to open a doorway. I’m the Key. Blood is the only. . . my blood will do it.”

Wesley got to his feet, preparing to argue, when Giles looked up. “I’m sorry, Dawn, but yes, I do believe that will be necessary.”

“Will it work without draining me?”

“I believe all we need would be three drops, provided we have some way to either keep the portal open or a way for Spike to open it from the other side.”

She paled a bit, more from the strain of getting down the stairs than the thought of having to bleed, but Wesley misinterpreted it. “You don’t have to, Dawn. We can find another way.”

“It’s okay, Wes. We don’t have a whole lot of time.” Dawn slowly slid into the chair he’d just vacated, smiling sadly up at him. “Besides, it’ll be nice to have my blood do something good for a change, instead of something destructive.”

Wesley stared at the top of her bowed head, not really sure he was understanding what Dawn had just said. “You do know the Key is neither good nor evil, it just is. How it’s employed relies solely upon the intentions of those seeking to use the Key.”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Dawn shifted in her chair, warily eyeing Wesley.
“A pen is just a pen, correct? It is neither good nor evil. Its only purpose is as a tool for writing. The same applies to the Key. Your blood is just a tool. It’s virtue depends on the intentions of the user.”

“Great. So now I’m just a tool. Thanks, Wes.”

He rushed to apologize, realizing too late he’d actually hurt her feelings, but Dawn brushed him off. “It’s okay. I get what you’re trying to say.” She looked around, feeling uncomfortable with their sympathetic stares. “So, you need my blood. How soon are we gonna do this?”

“Not until ‘m satisfied there’s no other way to do this, Bit.”

Spike stood in the doorway, an implacable look on his features.

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


“Heaven is a Christian concept, child. Do you think non-Christian heroes go there or do they have their own idea of an eternal resting place?”

Buffy stared at the two women, her mind totally blank. She shook her head, mainly because it appeared to be what they expected, but she couldn’t comprehend what was being said.

“Long before there were Christians, there were heroes and slayers – those who died protecting the world, or their portion of it. Do you honestly think they all went to your version of heaven?”

Arianrhod looked kindly at Buffy’s continual confusion and explained further. “Even after, there have been slayers who were not Christian. There have been numerous slayers from the East and yet others who followed no religion at all.”

She leaned forward, whispering so only Buffy could hear. “Truth is; I had to fight long and hard with the Vikings. They wanted you badly, my dear, but I won in the end.”

The Goddess looked so happily smug that Buffy couldn’t help herself. She burst into laughter, then fought the sobs that sprang up suddenly. “So I wasn’t in heaven?”

Shaking her head, Arianrhod tried again. “Dear one, you were in a kind of heaven. A place where only heroes are welcome. A place of reward and rest.”

Ceridwen snickered, teasingly adding, “Just no Christians to speak of.”

Arianrhod straightened to her full height, raising an eyebrow. “Hush. Don’t scare the girl.”

Another snicker greeted that statement, but the blond Goddess held her tongue, waiting for her counterpart to finish. “Do you understand me, child?”

“I think so.” Buffy nodded her head, comprehension finally dawning. “The place where I was, was like a sort of heaven.”

“Yes.” Gwyn spoke again, interrupting the women. “Ladies, we haven’t much time.”

Arianrhod sighed. “Very well.” Motioning to Ceridwen, she continued, “Show her.”

The other goddess smiled a bit sadly, then pointed an elegant long finger at the closest alcove. Nestled inside the alcove, partially obscured by a sheer goldish-indigo curtain, was a large, highly polished cauldron. The outside was hammered gold, though it rested on a low, squat tripod of rough, dark metal. Wisps of steam rose above the surface and the blond goddess motioned Buffy toward it.

“Come look.”

Ceridwen watched her approach it, and just before Buffy could reach out a hand to touch it, she spoke again, “Don’t touch. Look into the depths and learn.”

The waters on the surface rippled, lapping at the edges, then stilled. “You cannot judge the betrayer without knowing all.”

Images of Willow searched through books and on the computer began forming, though there was no sound. Ceridwen watched for a moment, shifting her attention to the dumbfounded Slayer.

“It begins.”

Everything Willow had done, from lying to Xander first – to the last, stealing Connor and threatening everyone, played out in the waters. Only this time with a running commentary in Willow’s voice of her thoughts as it all happened.

By the end, Buffy was a shaking mess, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “Why did she do this?” Lifting wounded, tear-filled eyes, Buffy again asked the two goddesses. “Why?”








I'm sorry about the delay, but for a little while, updates are going to be a bit slower. And thanks to all the new people who've found all my stories and have left reviews. I so appreciate them.