Gods Served and Abandoned by Antigone Unbound

Part 6

"Donnie, w-would you take Mom's iced-tea up to her? I'm almost done with the soup and toast, and it w-would save me making two trips." From her position by the stove, Tara looked at her brother warily. She never asked Donnie for anything, but she was so tired from the countless trips up and down the stairs, not to mention the late-night studying to keep her grades up, that she decided to risk it.

He grunted dismissively. "D-d-d-don't you th-th-th-think you c-c-c-could use the exercise, Sis? You got breeder's hips if ever I seen 'em." He laughed at his own joke, and the harsh noise drowned out the sound of their father entering the kitchen. Tara saw the hard slash of his mouth tighten even more as he glared at his son.

"Watch your language, Donald. You'll not talk to your sister in that way." Nathan Maclay looked over at Tara, who, despite his words, felt no warmth or protectiveness emanating from him. What she did feel, what she had felt almost constantly for the last several years, was resentment and bitterness.

What did I do, Daddy? Just tell me, and I'll apologize. But you have to tell me what I did.

Their father turned back to Donnie. "Get your lazy body out of that chair and help your sister. And apologize while you're at it."

Donnie glowered at Tara with an expression that told her what she could expect later, even as he sullenly muttered, "Sorry, Tara." He pushed his chair back from the table with an angry shove and made his way over to the stove.

"H-here's the tea. You can just put it on the t-table by her bed."

In a low voice, Donnie replied, "Really? P-p-p-put it on the table? I was thinkin' of puttin' it in her dresser with her socks."

Tara said nothing until he reached the doorway, and then called out, "Thanks, D-Donnie."

She looked nervously at her father, who glanced downward as soon as she caught his eye. When he looked back up, he seemed angrier than before, and Tara had no earthly idea why.

She hated these moments alone with her father almost as much as she hated being caught alone by Donnie. Her father always seemed so resentful toward her, and it felt as if the more she tried to placate him, the angrier he became. When it was just the two of them, her anxiety raged almost out of control. Should she try to speak to him, engage him in conversation? What about? Was there a safe topic? Anything he might want to talk about? Or maybe he'd prefer to be left in silence, without her bothering him. But what if he thought she was being rude, or stand-offish? Which was worse-to irritate him, or offend him?

Deciding that if he had wanted silence, he could have left the room, Tara ventured a question. "How's the p-planting going, Daddy?"

His frown told her she'd made a mistake. What? What did I say? They're planting corn all this week, aren't they?

"Have you looked outside, Tara? I know you don't dirty your hands much with the farm work, but even you should know that we don't plant corn when it's still so muddy from the rain."

The rain. Right, it rained hard these last two days. I knew that; I just forgot. But Daddy, don't you know that I'm taking care of Mom? Do you even notice?

Aloud, she said, "I'm s-sorry, Sir. I should have realized that." Now the soup was ready and the toast was lightly buttered, and Tara wanted to get it upstairs to her mother before it got cold. But if she left now, would he think she was being disrespectful? Walking out on him?

She looked at him uncertainly. "Would you like some soup, Daddy? It's tomato; home-made. And I could m-make you some toast?"

Did his expression soften, just slightly? "No, I'm heading back out to the barn. I'm fixing some machinery. Tell Donnie to come on out when he gets back downstairs."

"Yes, Sir. G-good luck with the machinery."

He turned to leave, and then paused in the doorway. Without looking back, he said, almost inaudibly, "Thank you." And then he was gone.

*****

Sitting in his hotel room, Donnie pulled out the small, silver key that would open the lock box. Moments later, he gazed down into the box's contents and smiled.

"Daddy, you poor, dumb son of a bitch. What were you thinking?"

*****

Tara and Willow huddled under the comforter, Willow resting her head on Tara's shoulder while Tara's arms lay protectively about her. The room was redolent with sandalwood, sage, and the very singular scent of really, really hot sex between two women. Willow's hand still nestled between Tara's legs-half relaxed, half proprietary.

When Willow opened her eyes, she was greeted with the very exquisite sight of Tara's breasts. And they're mine, all mine! Even in this sleepy state, she was consummately aware that if anyone tried to horn in on her babe, she'd reduce them to ash.

"Tasty Tara Tater-Tots," she mumbled. A low rumble of laughter answered this random observation.

"Tater-Tots? Are you hungry?" The arms tightened slightly; Willow felt a gentle kiss nuzzle the top of her head.

She pulled herself slowly to wakefulness. "You...Your body. All the sweet, savory parts...They're tasty Tara Tater-Tots. And they're all mine." She pulled back slightly to look up into Tara's eyes. "Nobody gets to eat you but me."

"Well look at you...Ma'am, yes Ma'am." Tara's eyes belied the gentleness behind the teasing. I never dreamed that someone would ever want me all to herself. And never somebody like Willow. "Rest assured that 'Tara's Terrace of Tender, Tantalizing Tater-Tots' only has one table, for one customer."

"Truly?"

"Trust me."

"Totally."

They lay in silence for a few minutes, each woman musing at first over other phrases they could use to prolong the consonance. Then their minds wandered back to the events of the day. In Sunnydale, it was hard to keep the Metro section of one's mental newspaper at too great a distance.

"I wonder how Buffy's doing tonight? I mean, God, how did she feel when she first saw Dawn, knowing she's the Key?" Willow frowned, and burrowed more deeply into Tara's warmth.

She heard Tara sigh. "I don't know, Will. I can't even imagine what it's like for her...not just with Dawn, but with her mom, too."

Wrapping her arms more tightly over Tara's belly, Willow murmured, "You were great tonight. Being there for Buffy..."

"Oh, Sweetie...Thank you. I think we all sort of make this...I don't know, mosaic, I guess, where we each try to add some piece that we believe we're good at. And the end product usually works pretty well, but it's because we've each given something unique."

Willow sighed. "God, metaphors make me hot."

"Well, you have your own endless supply of Tater-Tots right here," Tara laughed.

"Tara Tater-Tots," Willow admonished her. "Don't be fooled by cheap imitations." She nuzzled Tara's breasts and grinned like the supremely happy woman she was.

After a while, Willow broached another difficult subject-not because she wanted to, but because it was still hovering over them. "Baby, are you worried about Donnie? He didn't contact you today, did he?"

Tara's hands stilled just briefly on her back before resuming their gentle tracing. "No, he didn't try to find me after class or leave a message or anything." She sighed, a mixture of anxiety and sadness. "I'm hoping it means that he went back to Cold Springs, but I'm sort of afraid to believe it."

"But why, Tara? Why would he spend so much time and energy trying to get you to come back, if that's what he's doing? The two of you weren't exactly close." She shifted, moving to lay face to face with Tara.

"Since when do you go for understatement, Willow?" Tara's attempt at a smile left much to be desired.

"No, we're definitely not close. I can't bring myself to say I hate him, because I just don't want to invite that kind of energy into my life; but he's the only person I've ever wanted to hate, or thought I hated."

"So why's he doing this?" Willow was truly perplexed. She could feel Donnie's antipathy radiate off of him in the Magic Shop and outside of the Espresso Pump. True, he must have hated the idea of her being so independent and assertive, but it seemed that he would also want her as far away from him as possible. Wouldn't he?

Tara was silent, and remained silent, until Willow felt a cold horror start to spread over her. She felt almost paralyzed with the force of it.

Oh, goddess, no. Please, not that.

Should she ask? Would it be intrusive? Or would her silence, her decision not to ask directly, lead Tara to think that she couldn't handle such a revelation? She spoke softly, and tentatively.

"Baby, you don't have to say anything you don't want to, but I can hear whatever you need to say." She took a deep breath. "Baby...Did Donnie molest you?"

Tara's face seemed almost unbearably sad, and then she shook her head, very slightly.

"Actually, that's about the only thing he didn't do, Willow. I guess he gets points for that."

Willow propped herself up on one elbow, hot waves of anger washing through her. "No, he certainly gets no points for not molesting his sister. You don't commend a wife-beater for not breaking any bones."

She loves me. She loves me so fiercely.

"I know, Sweetie; I was just trying...No, Donnie doesn't get points for much of anything. But he didn't molest me," she added.

Willow touched Tara's face gently. "You know that even if he had, it wouldn't change my feelings for you; that you would still be my Tara, right?" She felt, intuitively, that this was very important, and she desperately wanted Tara to believe her.

"Yes, I know that, my love. And I know that you would change Donnie into a mongoose if I asked you to."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a hog, just before heading off to market." She pulled Tara next to her, cradling her in her arms.

"It's just...goddess, Willow, he was so cruel and I never, ever knew why. I tried to tell myself that it was just typical sibling teasing; big brother stuff. But I knew...I knew that he really wanted to hurt me; that he would have been more than happy if I-if I weren't around."

Willow felt her stomach lurch again. "Tara, Baby, did he try-try to hurt you really bad? Like...endanger you?" Without thinking, she tightened her arms around her beloved, as if the current protection could undo the past assaults.

Tara spoke so softly that Willow could barely hear her. "No...He didn't try to kill me. But I'm pretty sure he wanted me dead."

Willow felt a ripple of incredulous horror. What would it be like, knowing that someone who was supposed to love you wanted you dead? How could the world ever look normal to you?

She could only murmur, "My sweet Baby...I-I don't know what to say."

She felt Tara smile against her skin. "Neither did I, for eighteen years. I was always trying to find the right words, the words to make it stop, but I never could."

"Do you have any idea why? I mean, not that there's any justification for it; it's just...God, that kind of anger, and from someone who shares your genes. Tara, you're the gentlest person I've ever known. How could the two of you be siblings? How could he ever be mad at you?"

Tara edged back slightly, enough to look Willow in the face. "Maybe I was the only one he could get mad at; the only one who couldn't fight back." She tucked her head back snugly against Willow's chest. "But somehow that doesn't seem...enough, you know? I mean, it feels like there's more; like there's something so...personal about it."

Willow could think of nothing to say to this. The idea of anyone hating Tara, especially anyone who had spent more than five minutes with her, was simply incomprehensible to her.

"Was he this angry with your mom and dad?" She desperately wanted to understand what had happened to Donnie, why he was who he was. He was Tara's brother, and Willow would have been intrigued by him for that reason if no other. But he had hurt Tara; hurt the kindest, truest soul she had ever encountered. That made it almost imperative for her to understand it all, because if she understood, she could hopefully help protect Tara.

"Oh, he never raised his voice to Dad. He spent almost all his time with him, helping on the farm. You know, I'm almost sure Dad beat Donnie on a pretty regular basis. There were lots of times when I'd be outside for whatever reason and I'd see Donnie holding one arm funny, or looking like he was trying not to cry. Dad ruled that world with an iron fist."

"That world?" Willow echoed Tara's words.

"The world outside the house; the farm and the land. Dad gave the orders and Donnie followed them; I did, too. But inside, in the house...It was almost like there was another set of rules, at least for Donnie and for Dad. Nobody ever said it out loud, but Mom was the authority in the house, and she didn't get it through raising her voice or using a belt or anything like that."

Willow was fascinated. Tara had never spoken at such length about her family before, and Willow was almost afraid to breathe, lest she somehow interrupt Tara's narrative and silence her.

"Donnie knew that Dad would never tolerate him being disrespectful to Mom, so I never heard him say anything in anger. I'm-I'm not sure exactly what Donnie felt towards Mom, but he didn't say anything that would get him into trouble." Tara was silent for a moment, and Willow forced herself to remain quiet as well.

"And Daddy...I swear, Willow, I think he was almost afraid of her. I don't mean physically afraid of her, like she would just up and pull a gun on him some day. It was like she had some power over him and he didn't like it but he wouldn't, or couldn't, do anything about it."

Now Willow's mind was buzzing even as her heart held onto the ache she felt for her beloved. Power? But Tara's dad knew that his wife wasn't a demon, didn't he? Although Tara had said that she didn't think it was physical in nature. So what was it?

Now Tara fell silent again, until Willow began to wonder if she had fallen asleep. Just as she was about to try to shift slightly, to look at Tara's face, she heard her voice wafting up to her again.

"It's just so...so sad, Willow...We were supposed to be a family, and now look at us." She sighed heavily against Willow's chest.

After a moment, Willow let herself venture a question. "Baby, your mom sounds like such an incredible woman." She felt a tiny smile curving into her skin. "But-Tara, why didn't she protect you from Donnie?"

She felt Tara stiffen, and wished she hadn't broached something that clearly brought Tara pain. "Tara, Baby, you don't have to answer that; I mean, I'm sorry if it sounds like I was blaming your mom-"

"No, it's OK. I'd ask the same thing if our positions were reversed." Tara shifted and sat up slightly, looking evenly at Willow. "I truly don't think she knew, Willow. Goddess knows I never told-"

"But why?" Willow broke in, and instantly regretted doing so. Who was she to question Tara's decisions, the decisions of a frightened, abused child? "Tara, I'm sorry. I-I guess I keep wanting to...to read some version of this where it doesn't happen, and I keep trying to think of how it could have been avoided." She broke off, and stroked Tara's cheek softly. "But it couldn't have been avoided-not by anything you could have done. I know that."

Tara gave Willow a gentle kiss, and then pulled back, looking at her with eyes that suddenly seemed much older than they had an hour ago.

"I didn't tell Mom, because the only time I threatened to, Donnie flat-out swore he'd kill me if I did." Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. Willow, by contrast, couldn't speak at all.

"And then he hit me once more, hard-right in the stomach. After that, I gave up the idea of telling Mom."

Willow finally found her voice. "Do you think she had any idea?"

"I'm not sure... I think so, because she talked about that kind of stuff, indirectly, a couple of times. But I always said no. I wanted to tell her, I wanted to so badly; but there was no way I was going to risk it. I knew he'd find me." Her voice softened again, became almost inaudible. "Just like he's found me now."

Willow felt her heart squeeze with a sense of rage and protectiveness so piercing so that it burned. When she trusted herself to speak, she said, "He won't hurt you, Tara. I will never let him hurt you." To herself, she added a silent vow: I'll hurt him first if I have to.

*****

Cold Springs is a dull town, by anyone's standards. It's the kind of place where there's not much to distract you besides your own company after your work's done and the sun goes down. You have a lot of time to think in places like Cold Springs.

Beth Maclay was thinking now. She was nearly always thinking, always had been. Life had been harder to her, she knew, than to Tara or Donnie. Her own father-Uncle Nathan's brother-had run off and left her and her mother almost ten years ago, and for awhile her mother had let herself go. Barely kept a clean house; had any number of men coming around. Some had treated her mother with something approximating kindness; others had been unabashed in their singular intentions. Still others-the worst ones-had seemed to enjoy being around Beth almost as much as her mother. She cringed at the thought.

And then her mother had found God, and God had surely never been the same. Her mother dragged her to a church just outside of Cold Springs for awhile, an evangelical place that held tent revivals and encouraged speaking in tongues. Beth could still feel the unforgiving wooden pews of the church; she could still feel the fear and eventually the embarrassment she'd felt when her mother joined in the more histrionic paroxysms of Christian piety.

Finally her mother had eased back to a place just this side of frenzied in her faith, and starting attending the Cold Springs First Baptist Church. (To Beth's knowledge, there wasn't a second and certainly not a third Baptist church in the little town; she wasn't quite sure what the competition was all about.) Gradually, her mother's beliefs became her own and Beth attended the church now with something akin to true devotion. It was the church that her Uncle Nathan attended, which made it good enough for her.

Uncle Nathan was the father she should have had, she knew. She suspected that her father had run off because her mother had gotten lazy and fat; maybe she hadn't been a wife to him in all the ways that she was supposed to. But she also remembered her father as an angry, red-faced man who was drunk much of the time. Uncle Nathan, by contrast, was never out of control. He didn't let his emotions get the best of him; he didn't run around making a scene at bars or revivals. He was a good man, and yet Tara apparently thought she was too good for him. This angered her greatly.

Now Donnie was down in Sunnydale, trying to convince Tara to come back. "But she doesn't belong here," Beth muttered to herself, rinsing out the frying pan she'd just washed. "She never did."

So why had she helped Donnie by giving him Uncle Nathan's lock box, something that Uncle Nathan would surely never forgive her for if he ever found out?

Because Donnie had said Uncle Nathan would be grateful to her. Donnie had as much as said that Tara didn't belong with their family; that Beth was the daughter Uncle Nathan deserved.

But what was in the box? She'd shaken it gently, without an ounce of self-consciousness, but she hadn't been able to discern anything. A mild rustling; something sliding back and forth across the bottom of the box. She'd been afraid to try anything more strenuous, for fear that she'd break something. She still had no clue of what Donnie had been so eager to get his hands on. She only knew that he was sure it would have a huge impact on Tara and her decision.

She should have held out for more information. She should have made him tell her what was in the box before she agreed to give it to him. But he'd been so persuasive, assuring her that Uncle Nathan would appreciate her part in all of this.

Beth loved her mother in a kind of distant, obligatory way that held more than a hint of distaste. Her mother was still so lost, so bereft, and always complaining to anyone who'd listen (and to lots of folks who wouldn't) that her life had been so hard since her husband had left...raising her daughter all alone, trying to keep her fed and clothed, trying to give her good morals. Beth thought this was self-serving hogwash. Between her mother's whoring and her Holy-rolling, Beth figured she'd pretty much raised herself.

And now she was living in a warm, comfortable house with someone she could be proud to call a father. And Donnie...Well, she'd have to keep her eye on Donnie. She sensed that he saw more than she wanted him to see when he looked at her. She was used to being the one who could walk around unnoticed and see where the openings were. But Donnie had that skill in a different way.

Reaching for a drying towel, Beth decided that she would make Donnie her ally of sorts, at least for the time being. "Keep your friends close, and keep your enemies closer," her father used to say in his drunken voice, as if he were imparting words of great wisdom. Well, maybe he had been. As a Christian woman, Beth didn't like to think of herself as someone who would have enemies, or feel uncharitably toward someone. But there was Uncle Nathan to consider, and he'd been through enough already-first losing his wife, and then his daughter acting that way. Staying as close to the Maclay household as she could-it was the right thing to do.

*****

That night, Beth dreamt of a family picture, and Uncle Nathan saying, "Come on in here, Beth. You belong in this picture."

Donnie dreamt of a blond woman who never looked at him, just kept walking away from him, even though he yelled at her and begged her to turn around. She finally stopped, and he thought for a moment she might come back to him, but then her hair turned red and in his mind he could hear her saying, "That's much better. That's the way it's supposed to be."

Buffy dreamt of bimbos in high heels pounding on her door, until Dawn told her, "It's OK, I'll get it. I know it's for me."

Willow dreamt of walking on stacks and stacks of magic books back through time until she stood in front of Tara's house and whispered, "Tara-come with me. I'm here to save you," and then a little blond girl appeared in the window, fighting back tears and mouthing words that Willow couldn't understand.

And Tara dreamt of walking into her room to find Donnie looking through her spell book. He turned and grinned at her and said, "Cat's out of the bag, Little Sister," and then he plunged their father's hunting knife into his own stomach and winked at her as he slid to the floor.

*****

Part 7

Willow glanced around the Magic Box. All in all, she thought, they were doing a serviceable job of acting normal around Dawn; which is to say, Xander was trying to be funny, Willow was being bright and perky, Tara was asking Dawn about school and actually listening to the answers, and Anya was being nice.

Oh, shit!

This was no good at all. Dawn would surely realize that something catastrophic was afoot. Stealing a glance at Xander, Willow could see that he was too immersed in his attempts to catch Dawn's attention to notice Anya's behavior. (Dawn, Willow noticed, was too immersed in Tara to notice Xander's behavior.)

So it's up to me to explain to Anya why sometimes she shouldn't be that nice. And then maybe I'll attempt to reverse the earth's rotation.

Sighing, she walked over to the counter, just as Anya was asking Dawn if she'd care for a soda from the fridge-free of charge. Dawn looked up, eyebrows shooting north to disappear into her hairline.

"Um...sure, thanks," Dawn replied hesitantly, looking perplexed.

Perplexed. She's perplexed. Next comes nonplussed and then disconcerted and after that it's only a matter of time until-bam!-full-blown suspicion.

Willow waited until Anya returned with a Diet Coke and handed it to Dawn. "Could I talk to you for a minute? It's about the ledgers," she added, hoping that she sounded convincing. From under the counter, she grabbed a hefty book that looked as if it might pertain to money, and pulled Anya back toward the training room.

"What's up?" Anya demanded, the bright light of capitalism burning fiercely in her eyes.

"Um, OK-it's not really about the store's money," she began, trying to ignore the immediate halving of Anya's attention. "It's about Dawn; the way you're acting around her."

"What do you mean?" Anya's voice squealed off the track. "I'm being as nice to her as I can possibly be!"

"I know. And that's sort of the problem. See, we're all supposed to be acting normal around her, behaving like we always do. And you're not usually..." she trailed off, hoping Anya would help her out.

Anya didn't.

"Nice," she finished, flinching. She hastened on. "I mean, you're always funny and honest and you shoot straight from the hip, sometimes more literally than we might prefer, but you don't really specialize in the motherly nurturing behaviors."

To her relief, Anya didn't seem offended. "You're saying that she might think something's up if I act differently around her," she mused.

"Right! You got it."

"That makes sense. OK, it's back to business as usual." She turned and headed back toward the others.

"Thanks," Willow said to Anya's back, emerging into the front room just in time to watch Anya yank the Diet Coke out of Dawn's hand.

"Hey!"

"My mistake. I thought I was feeling generous, but it was just gas. That'll be a buck, missy."

"And people say teenagers are unpredictable," Dawn grumbled, digging into her jeans to find some cash.

Willow returned to her seat to find Tara looking at her with a wry smile. She knows exactly what that was all about. Nothing gets by her.

"So anyway," Dawn continued, tugging gently on Tara's arm, "Janice tries to say that magic isn't real and I tell her she doesn't know what she's talking about. I mean, you can do all sorts of neat things, Tara..."

Should be happening any minute now...

"...like, really special things that most people just can't understand..."

I'm guessing in...five, four, three...

"...and I'd love you to teach me..."

...two ...

"...one on one, maybe?" And here Dawn blushed a flaming, glorious scarlet.

Roger, Houston, we have facial blast-off.

Willow looked up as Buffy entered the store, eyes scanning the room until they rested on Dawn. They didn't linger there, but Willow could read the quick relief that flashed across Buffy's face.

"Any news on the Glory front?" Xander asked.

"It's more like a big Glory hole," Buffy muttered, then caught herself and looked around at the others, all of whom (except for Dawn) had caught her as well.

They even blush the same color. How can they not be sisters?

"I think glory holes are supposed to be a little more rewarding to plunge yourself into than this," Anya inserted, under her breath.

Dawn looked around suspiciously. "What? What sexual innuendo just happened that I don't know about?"

Buffy's hasty "It's nothing" competed with Anya's "I'll tell you later." Dawn sighed the grand, much put-upon sigh of a teenager and somehow managed to make slumping back in her chair very much resemble flouncing.

"So," Buffy said loudly. "Getting back to Glory...Will, remember the mental patient we ran into the other day at the hospital, when we were taking Mom for some tests?"

Willow grimaced. "How could I forget? He scared us all to death."

"Especially me," Dawn joined in. "Remember how he kept pointing at me and saying I didn't belong?"

There was a brief and uncomfortable silence while the experienced demon fighters struggled for something to say to the girl in front of them.

"That must have been so weird." Tara's voice was soft. "It totally would've scared me."

Dawn looked at Tara, opening her mouth to speak and then shutting it quickly.

She doesn't know whether to take the comfort or try to act brave.

Finally, Dawn shrugged her shoulders slightly and looked down at the floor. "Yeah-it pretty much freaked me out."

"Yeah, well, check this out." So saying, Tara leaned forward and whispered something in Dawn's ear. A huge grin broke out over the teenager's face a moment later.

"No way! Really? OK, now I don't feel so bad!"

"Care to share?" Xander asked, with no small measure of curiosity.

Tara just looked at Dawn and smiled. "Oh, I think we'll keep it between the two of us for right now." From that moment on, Willow realized, the conversation could concern anything in the world and Dawn would be fine with it because now she knew something private about Tara. Tara had entrusted her with a secret. What were mental patients and uncomfortable silences compared to that?

Willow caught Buffy's look of gratitude and then the Slayer continued. "Well, Ben told us that this guy had no history of mental problems; he also said that a lot of people had been checking into the Boo Radley Motor Lodge lately-none of whom had a mental illness history."

"Right. So?" Willow wasn't sure why the mental health climate in Sunnydale, long cloudy but never a subject of discussion before, should suddenly be an issue.

"Well, Giles found out that Glory is basically feeding off of people's minds. Somehow, she extracts their sanity. She needs it to keep from going completely bat-shit herself."

"I notice you say 'completely,'" Xander interjected. "Does this mean that Glory is never all that far from, shall we say, a liberal interpretation of reality?"

"Pretty much," Buffy nodded.

"So she takes people's minds," Tara said, so low that Willow barely heard her. Turning, she took Tara's hand in her own.

"Don't worry, Baby. We'll figure out a way to stop her." Willow tried to give her an encouraging smile, but the fear in Tara's eyes left her adrift in the effort.

"Nothing...nothing physical could match that," Tara murmured, more to herself than aloud.

"Hey, where is Giles?" Xander asked.

"He stopped back at his place to get some old manuscript that he thinks might have some useful info," Buffy replied. "Probably smells like the inside of a tomb," she added.

"Yeah, it was so rude of the ancient sages and scribes not to spritz a little rose water on the pages," Willow noted absently. She could still feel Tara's fear radiating through her touch.

We've faced scarier stuff than this before. Why does this have her so spooked?

*****

Later that night, Willow sat curled up in the welcoming curve of Tara's arms, watching a History channel special on the evolution of Judeo-Christian religious traditions. "Now there's a nice, tidy little subject," Willow mused. "So easy to sum up in an hour."

Tara leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "That's why they're devoting an entire week to it, Sweetie."

"Oh, well, an entire week...That should make everything abundantly clear." She shifted slightly and looked up at Tara. "You grew up going to church, didn't you?" She saw the quick shadow that passed over Tara's eyes whenever her past came into the present.

"Oh, yes. We definitely went to church...every Sunday morning, and either Sunday evening Bible study or Wednesday night prayer meeting." Her mouth twisted with the memory.

"Wow-twice a week. That's, like, very pew-intensive. Were you really that religious?" Willow's own history with the synagogue was a far more casual affair.

"Don't confuse religion with spirituality, Will. My father was definitely the former, not so much the latter." Again Tara frowned slightly.

"What about your mom? Was she into it?" Willow's curiosity about Tara's family continued to poke at her, nudging her onward to put this picture together somehow.

"Mom was what I'd call spiritual, but she went to church to keep the peace."

"So what church did you go to?"

"In Cold Springs? Nothing but Baptist will do, thank you very much." Tara's laugh conveyed very little in the way of humor.

"So what was it like?" Willow knew that Tara didn't like talking about her past, and yet it felt so incongruous to her, knowing such limited glimpses of Tara's history. They were so synchronized, it seemed, in everything else; each knew the other to the bone. And then there were the first eighteen years of Tara's life, that Willow was left to fit together like a puzzle whose pieces came to light only fleetingly.

"What was it like..."Tara murmured. "Let's see-lots of hellfire and damnation; lots of very loud, spit-flecked denunciations of the human soul. Only one way to salvation; submit your will to the Lord's; take a pass on pretty much everything that brings you joy; and then finally one day you get the immense pleasure of looking down on all the pagans roasting in the eternal flames of hell. I think that pretty much sums it up." She looked down at Willow with a wry smile.

Willow's answering grin was a very feeble one. "That fun, huh?"

"Oh, yeah...And yet, can you believe it-I didn't find it spiritually nourishing? No, for that I looked to Wicca, to that frame of spirituality. I actually thought that Jesus was a remarkable person-very loving, very open. But the idea of one door into paradise? That only a few people had the inside track on? Definitely didn't fit for me."

Willow puzzled over this family religious structure for a moment. "But didn't your dad get kinda, you know-testy about the Wiccan part? I mean, he couldn't have been too thrilled with the whole non-patriarchy deal."

"That's putting it mildly," Tara replied with a grin. "He was always after Mom to give it up, denounce it, say that there was only one god. He wanted her to get baptized; like, head-under-the-water baptized." Her smile faded. "He said it would cleanse the demon from her soul."

Willow sat up and faced Tara, taking her hands in her own. "Baby, do you think your mother really believed that she had demon in her? That just seems so...so contrary to how you describe her."

Tara remained silent for several moments. When she spoke, her voice was low and filled with pain. "I don't know, Willow. I've asked myself that so many times since my birthday. I mean, if she knew that the demon tale was just a scare tactic, why wouldn't she tell me? And if she did think she was part demon, why did she keep practicing magic?" Tara shook her head, blond hair falling over her face.

Willow touched her cheek lightly. "But Baby, you were going to keep practicing magic. I mean, you did practice it..." She didn't finish the sentence, though both of them knew what she was referring to. But Willow didn't want this to turn into a discussion of Tara's decision that night. Tara had already apologized; that conversation was past. "I don't think it's that black and white, do you?"

"Even when I believed I had demon in me, I didn't think the magic was bad," Tara replied, biting on her lower lip. "I thought the magic might protect me from the demon,"

Willow nodded. "So maybe your mom thought along the same lines you did."

Silence fell over them as they considered all of this. Willow looked at Tara with concern. Tara had always described her mother as so loving, so protective-yet if she did know that there was no demon in either of them, how could she have kept this knowledge from her beloved daughter? Or had Tara's mother gone to her grave thinking that she was, in fact, part demon-prone to evil and corruption? Had she died thinking the same of Tara?

This painful conversation was interrupted by the harsh ring of the telephone.

"I wonder if that's Buffy," Tara mused, untangling herself reluctantly from Willow's arms and legs to retrieve the phone. Willow hid a tiny smile. She knew that Tara was a very private person and not all that fond of the telephone, with its potential intrusion by any number of unwelcome personages. Since signing up for the Scooby life, however, she had little choice but to answer the phone. She didn't have Caller ID, and she hated answering the phone ready to do battle with the forces of darkness only to be asked if she was happy with her long-distance calling plan.

"Hello?" she asked with measured politeness.

One look at Tara's face told Willow that this was neither stirring call to duty nor irritating phone sales.

"Cousin Beth?"

Willow felt her eyes bug out, and quickly regained her outward composure because she suspected that this was not such a good look for her. But she was still stunned. She found herself wishing desperately that there was another phone in the room. When Tara motioned for her to come and listen in, she bounded over eagerly, putting her ear up to the shared receiver.

"Hi, Tara. I bet you're surprised to hear from me." Beth's tone was faintly wheedling.

"Um, actually, I'd be surprised to hear from Madonna. I'm shocked to hear from you, Beth." Tara looked at Willow, who silently mouthed, "What the heck does Ellie Mae want?" Though to be fair, Willow acknowledged, the girl on the Beverly Hillbillies had been considerably more buxom and a lot more fun.

"I know we didn't part under the best of circumstances, Tara," Beth was saying in her saccharine voice. "That's why I called."

"Beth, you called me a selfish bitch," Tara reminded her. Willow raised her eyebrows at this. She called my girl a bitch? OK, she's toast. "Was some there other insult you forgot?"

"Now, Tara, don't harden your heart against me, or any of us. You know that's not what Paul would want you to do."

"Who's Paul?" Willow mouthed. Placing her hand briefly over the speaker, Tara answered hastily, "Apostle Paul. Hated people like us."

So the girl's on a first-name basis with the original Christian Right? Figures.

Returning her attention to her cousin, Tara replied, "Frankly, Beth, I haven't spoken with Paul lately. I don't usually consult him about my decisions." Willow was amazed at Tara's bluntness, and the utter confidence with which she delivered it.

"Well, maybe you should," Beth said solemnly. As Tara began to argue, however, Beth changed her tone. "Oh, Tara-that's not why I called. I don't want us to fight."

"Beth, those last two sentences don't really go together. It seems to me that if you call, we're going to fight." Willow could see Tara struggling to keep her anger in check.

"But we shouldn't. Tara, we're family." Willow knew that that had made its way into Tara's heart, as much as her beloved didn't want it to. She remembered their conversation last night: "It's just so sad...We were supposed to be a family."

Her heart ached for Tara as she watched her blink back tears. "No, Beth, we're blood kin, just like Daddy said. That doesn't make us a family, not the way I define the word."

There was a brief pause, and then Beth spoke again, her voice full of conciliation. "Tara, I didn't call to give you a hard time. I just want you to know that I'll back you up whatever you decide to do."

Willow felt the earth tilt on its axis, and glanced at Tara to make sure she didn't fall over. Tara was looking at the phone as if it had suddenly grown flippers and snatched a fish out of her hand. "What did you say?" she finally managed.

"Tara, you're a grown woman and I may not approve of your...choices, but they're yours to make."

Tara drew in a deep breath, and then said, "Beth, I'm...I don't know what to say. I mean, I'm glad to hear it, but I never would have expected it."

Beth jumped into the half-opening that Tara had given her. "I know you're surprised, Tara. I've just done a lot of thinking since we left, and it seems to me that if you really feel like you belong there at school, then that's where you should be. Especially now that you don't have to worry about the demon," she added.

"Beth, did you know? That the demon story was a lie?" Tara asked, a sense of urgency in her voice.

"No," came the quick reply. "I was as shocked as you were." After a moment, she went on. "That was sort of what sealed it for me. Once I realized that there was no danger in you staying at college, well, it just seemed wrong to say you couldn't live your own life."

A frown stealing over her face, Tara asked suddenly, "Beth, what about Donnie? He's down here, I know you know that. He said that you all decided he should come."

Beth laughed, a not-altogether authentic sound. "Tara, you know Donnie. Once he decides how things should be, there's no changing his mind." Willow watched the pain roll over Tara's face, and felt her own darken in response. I'll change his mind, the little prick.

"He just got it in his head that he should give it one last try," Beth was continuing. "And Uncle Nathan..." Here her voice faltered.

"What? What about Daddy? Is he OK?" Willow could hear the fear in Tara's voice. He may not have been much of a father, but Willow knew that Tara still loved him; she always would.

"Oh, no-he's fine, Tara," Beth hastened to assure her. "He's just-he just hasn't completely accepted that you're an adult now. He still thinks he knows what's best for you."

"Beth, is Daddy thinking that Donnie can really bring me back?" Willow noticed Tara's fingers clenching reflexively over the receiver.

There was a brief pause, and then Beth replied slowly. "I don't know, Tara. I think Donnie sort of played on Uncle Nathan's fears; you know, about you being away at school. But I know that in time Uncle Nathan will realize that you can decide where you belong and what you want to do."

"I hope so," Tara said sadly, her voice almost inaudible.

"Well, that's really all I wanted, Tara. Just to tell you that I know you're happy at school and I think you can decide where you want to be."

Tara drew a shaky breath. "Well, Beth, if anybody would have told me ten minutes ago that I'd be saying this, I'd have passed dead away, but-thank you. Thanks for thinking about this, and for having the courage to call me and tell me."

"You're welcome, Tara. We all have to figure out where we belong, don't we?"

Tara laughed quietly. "Yeah, I guess that's half the battle...Thanks, Beth. Really."

"You're welcome. Take care, Tara."

As she hung up the phone, Tara turned to Willow. "OK, who was that and what did she do with my cousin?"

"I don't know, Baby, but it looks like you have one less Maclay trying to lasso you and drag you back home." Willow nuzzled happily into Tara's neck, kissing the smooth flesh.

"Well, it sounds like she doesn't agree with Donnie coming down here, at least not anymore. And Donnie...maybe he'll give up and head home. He hasn't tried to contact me again; maybe he's just using this as an excuse to get away from the farm himself."

Burrowing deeper into Tara's arms, Willow only nodded. Please let her be right. We have enough battles to fight right now.

*****

Returning the phone to its cradle, Beth checked once more that her uncle still hadn't come in from the barn. "Now, as long as Donnie doesn't find out. There's no need for him to know," she reassured herself as she made her way up the stairs. "If I don't look out for myself, who will? And Uncle Nathan will come around after awhile." Walking down the long hallway, she caught sight of Tara's high school graduation picture hanging on the wall. Her long blond hair flowed smoothly over her shoulders; Tara's blue eyes seemed shy, and her smile was tentative. Beth looked at the picture for a long time, taking in all of Tara's features. "You don't know how lucky you had it," she finally muttered, pulling away at last and heading into her room.

The heavy, crimson drapes were closed, leaving the room unnaturally dark. She sat beside the bed, cradling the bony hand with infinite tenderness while her mother lay sleeping. She gazed for long moments at the slender fingers, bringing them unconsciously up to her face as she remembered...

...hands bundling her into her winter jacket, long fingers sliding the zipper expertly into its clasp and up over her chest;

...hands brushing her hair, never rushed or impatient, easing the brush gently through the tangles and smoothing the golden strands in its wake;

...hands tossing lumps of dough down onto the ancient wooden counter, then punching the dough with a strength and sureness of purpose that characterized all of her work;

...hands gliding back and forth over a sewing machine, fingers nimbly edging the fabric into colorful, intricate patterns;

...hands rubbing lotion onto her chapped skin in the winter, blue eyes sparking as they looked down at her;

...hands checking her forehead for a fever, resting cool against flushed skin...

They were the most beautiful, capable hands in the world, Tara knew suddenly; no one had such wonderful hands as her mother. They had done everything; smoothed her own life as best as they could, and taught her how to grow herbs and weave fibers and play the piano. They were strong, with long, tapering fingers, faintly marked by tiny scars picked up in the business of living.

And they were warm. As long as they were warm, Tara knew, the sun hadn't deserted her. And somewhere, in a quiet room in her mind, Tara let herself believe that so long as she held her mother's hand, it would never grow cold. She would keep her warm with her own warmth, just as her mother had done for her. Tara would keep the cold away from her mother's body and her own soul. All she had to do was hold on.

She was surprised to feel her mother stir suddenly. After a moment, she opened her eyes. Morphine and her ebbing life force gave them an unfocused cast. Tara could tell that she was struggling to awaken, and to stay awake.

"Mama?" she whispered quietly, reverting back to the first name by which she had called this woman, the name she had used when she had so many years with her still ahead.

She watched her mother struggle to moisten her lips. "Mama, do you want some ice chips?" Her mother gave an almost imperceptible nod. Tara brought the cup close to the bed, grasping one chip in her own long fingers and holding it to her mother's lips. She watched as her mother took it gratefully and let the liquid dissolve slowly in her mouth.

After a moment, she managed to speak. "Hey, Bright Eyes. What day is it?"

Tara had to think for a moment before she could answer. "It's Tuesday, Mama. Tuesday afternoon," she added.

"I feel like I been in this bed forever," her mother whispered. In fact, it had been a little less than a week since they had brought her home from the hospital, back to her own room where she could see the trees starting to bud outside her window, knowing that she would not live to see them open.

"You wouldn't think it would be this tough," she continued. "All I got to do is lay here. But dying is hard work." She grinned at her words, too weak to summon a laugh.

Tara fought the urge to argue with her, to tell her that she shouldn't talk that way. She is dying. She knows that better than any of us. Nobody gets to tell her how to talk. Instead, she kissed her mother's hand and whispered, "I wish I could do something, Mama. I-I wish I could make it hurt less." She tried to get the words out without choking.

"This part here...this is just the mop-up, you know? Don't really mean that much. Life-that's the party, and Honey, you brought so much joy to my life." She closed her eyes with the effort of speech.

No, Mama-don't speak in the past tense! Please, stay with me!

Tara looked at her mother, absently feeling wetness splash over her cheeks. She wouldn't have thought that she had any more tears in her.

Looking at the frail, wasted figure before her, Tara realized that all of the Hollywood tear-jerkers and TV Movies of the Week and tragic novels were bullshit. Death didn't descend in one gentle, peaceful moment, with the dying person's eyes fluttering softly closed accompanied by one last, defiant breath.

Death was the thoughtless intruder who showed up whenever he felt like it; came in and ambled around your house, breaking everything you held precious and left abruptly, only to return just as capriciously. Death took his time and made himself at home and stole the person you loved bit by bit. Death didn't care about your feelings and he didn't care about your beloved's dignity and he didn't care about poignant moments of farewell. Death didn't answer to you; Death was oblivious to you.

Tara had watched her mother waste away, the palliation of the morphine demanding the sacrifice of precious final hours of lucidity. When she had finally accepted that her mother was dying, she had thought that perhaps there would be some final, infinitely touching exchange between the two of them. Now she realized that the goodbye would be patch-work in nature; moments when the pain unclenched its fist and let her mother think, speak, be. This was one of those moments.

Forcing some measure of steadiness into her voice, Tara replied, "Mama, you gave me life. Gave me so many incredible gifts...courage, strength, magic." She drew a shuddering breath and forged on. "Every good thing I have, Mama, I owe to you."

She watched, heart twisting, as her mother pulled Tara's hands to her lips and kissed them softly. "Bright Eyes...I hate that I'm gonna miss so much of your life...You're gonna have the most beautiful children, Tara; I know it." Her mother blinked against her own tears.

Funny how she's never mentioned my wedding day. You know, don't you, Mama?

Aloud, she whispered, "I hope I do half the job with them that you've done with me, Mama."

"You will, Honey. Just love 'em like there's no tomorrow." Her eyes grew unfocused, and Tara knew that her mother needed to sleep again.

"You rest, Mama. I'm right here." She felt exhaustion creep over her, needles of pain pricking into her back and neck from the hours spent in the chair, day after day. And still she held her vigil.

After perhaps an hour, she heard footsteps coming through the door behind her. Turning, she saw Donnie staring at their mother, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He was chewing on the inside of his lip-one of the few habits they shared. She couldn't read the expression in his eyes.

"She wake up at all?" He didn't look at Tara as he asked.

"Just for a few minutes. The pain didn't seem as bad as it did earlier." Tara watched him, hesitant to speak or move.

Looking at him more closely, she could see that he was clenching and unclenching his fists within his pocket. Eyes still locked on their mother, he asked, "Did she say anything?"

Like what, Donnie? You want to hear that she asked about you? Why should she? You only visit her once a day, and you never stay more than ten minutes. So what do you think she might have said?

But she only replied, "Nothing much. She was thirsty; wanted to know what day it was." She was unnerved by his quiet; by his unwavering gaze at the figure in the bed.

So low that she could barely hear him, he suddenly muttered, "She's really gonna die, isn't she?"

A wave of grief and rage crashed over her heart, finding new crevices to wash into and leave her raw. What tipped you off, Donnie? The portable IV with the morphine drip? The thirty-five pound weight loss in the last three months? Reverend Timson, coming around every other day and mumbling over her bed? She came as close as she ever had to telling him what she really thought of him.

And then she saw-or later, she would remember being sure she had seen-his eyes glistening. In the dimly lit room, his brown eyes seemed to glitter slightly, like rain on a dark stone.

She sat as if paralyzed, unable to take her eyes off of that which she had never seen before. "Donnie?" she practically whispered. And still he looked only at their mother.

"Do you want to s-sit with her for a bit?" she finally asked, even as she unconsciously braced herself against his taunts about her speech.

But he said nothing; it was as if he hadn't heard her. After a moment, he turned and walked out of the room.

*****

He looked at his mother, lying asleep in the old bed, and fought the urge to run out of the room. She was so bony and weak, and when she was awake-which wasn't that often-half the time she talked nonsense because of the drugs. He could practically see her life ebbing away, and he was terrified that she would die right before his eyes. He hated being alone with her, not wanting to look at her too closely and yet unable to look away, afraid she might stop breathing and he wouldn't notice. He knew there were only a few more times that he would look at his mother, and then he would look one last time before they closed her casket.

The only thing that scared him even half that much was his father-walking around like he was in a trance, barely speaking except to bark out orders. He didn't even criticize Donnie these days. He just charged him with some job and then went back to his own work and whatever horror film was playing in his mind. His mouth was carved into a permanent slash, it seemed. On three different occasions, Donnie came upon his daddy unexpectedly and found his eyes red and swollen. The first time, he had made the mistake of staring openly, a mistake which led to a back-hand across the jaw. "What are you lookin' at?" his daddy whispered hoarsely. Donnie just mumbled and looked down, knowing that there was no right answer for that question. He waited just the briefest of moments, and then turned and walked off in the opposite direction, not even knowing where he was going. After that, when he saw his father in such a state, he quickly looked away and went on about his business.

Did he love his mother? He wasn't even sure what the word meant. His parents were supposed to love each other, but he knew something was wrong there. She told Donnie she loved him; why couldn't he feel it? He knew her eyes didn't light up when they saw him. He wouldn't even know what the phrase really meant if he hadn't seen her looking at Tara that way a thousand times in the last seventeen years. She would have loved Tara even if they weren't related. His mother loved him, he suspected, because she was his mother.

Had it always been that way? He tried his best to remember, but everything seemed all jumbled up. He knew that he couldn't ever remember not being angry most of the time; and he knew that his anger had frightened her. After awhile, that was rewarding in itself, because at least it was something, some kind of gut reaction.

He knew that his mama had taught Tara all kinds of magic, even though she wasn't supposed to. He wondered if it had ever crossed her mind to teach him. Not that he wanted to learn that weird stuff...So Tara had learned how to float all kinds of things with barely a whisper of her breath. Meanwhile, he fought and kicked and cursed and it seemed like nothing moved for him, ever.

Except for Tara. She was always afraid of him. And that felt good, too...But even as he drank up the pleasure of terrifying her like a dog drinking from a puddle, he knew-somewhere, deep in his gut-that she wouldn't always be afraid of him. Little sister would grow up and leave him behind.

*****

Part 8

"I wonder if I could get some kind of course credit for demon fighting? Maybe something like criminal justice or modern culture." Willow was all about applying school to everything, and conversely.

"Modern culture?" Tara asked, digging into her coat pocket to find her dorm key.

"Oh yeah. Vampires are very hot nowadays. Dark, brooding creatures of the night are practically sex symbols, without the requisite tans."

Turning, Tara murmured, "I think I like my sex symbols light and quirky and given to boundless optimism."

Willow beamed. "How 'bout we make that singular? Your sex symbol. And I'd like to apply for the job, please."

Tara grinned at her and arched her eyebrows suggestively. "Care to come upstairs for an in-depth interview?" She was about to lean forward for a kiss when a grating voice called out.

"Hey Tara-bet you thought I'd headed back home." Tara wheeled about and saw Donnie smirking at her. She also caught his leering gaze at Willow, and this second fact fueled her response.

"Donnie, what the hell are you doing here?" Beside her, she felt Willow move into a familiar defensive posture. Donnie counts as a demon, Tara realized.

"I was lookin' for you; then again, you probably figured that out." He was rocking slightly back and forth on his heels, that same fake smile plastered onto his face. Tucked under one arm was a small lock box.

"I don't think there's anything left for you and Tara to talk about," Willow replied, her eyes narrowing practically to slits.

She felt her stomach clench as Donnie slowly and deliberately ran his gaze up and down her body. "Actually, Willow, this doesn't really involve you. This is family business."

Tara had followed his gaze as well, and now an incipient rage slid along her veins. "Willow is my family, Donnie. I'm not ashamed of that; in fact, I'm downright proud of it."

Donnie just laughed. "Oh yeah-what's that saying you all have? 'We're here; we're queer'?"

"We're fabulous, get used to it," Willow finished for him. "You know, you're pretty familiar with our lingo, Donnie. Wanna sign up?"

He flushed, deep crimson splashes washing over his face. "Shut up," he hissed. "I know what my parts are for, even if you don't."

Crossing her arms, Tara said contemptuously, "I think you're jealous, Donnie, because I have a better-looking girlfriend than you'll ever have."

"Listen, bitch," he muttered, taking a half-step closer to them. "I don't know why you turned out the way you did, but it's just one more sign that you're nothin' but a fucking freak." He practically spat the words out.

Feeling Willow's anger spiral close to explosion, Tara drew a deep breath and tried to center herself. "Donnie, as much as I enjoy these special moments, we really do have nothing to say to each other. Go home. Alone."

Now the oily smile was back in place. "Actually, Tara we got something pretty important to talk about. Since you won't come home, I guess I gotta bring it to you." He patted the box slowly, a gesture that seemed almost obscene.

Tara felt a shallow ripple of dread pass over her. But what was there to fear? Pulling herself up to her full height, she looked at her brother dismissively. "What's in the box, Donnie? A gun? Are you planning to shoot me, the evil lesbian witch? How cliched is that?" Beside her, she felt Willow's hand tighten in her own.

But Donnie only laughed. "Now Tara-do you really think I'd try to hurt you?"

This was too much for Willow. "Yeah, asshole, I think you'd love to hurt her. And I almost want to see you try, because then I'll have a good excuse when the cop asked me why I burned your eyeballs out of their sockets."

Tara knew that Donnie thought Willow was speaking metaphorically. You think I got power, Donnie? You should see her.

Donnie had turned away from Willow, after one more salacious leer, and addressed Tara. "I'm telling you one more time, Sis-you need to come home."

You look at my girl like that one more time, and I'll be the one ripping you apart.

"Or what, Donnie? My 'demon side' will come out? Everyone will see how Mom's 'evil' got passed on to me? Mom was so strong, Donnie, and it scared the hell out of Dad. And you," she added, glaring at him.

His mouth twisted with anger. "You think she was the only one with power, Tara? Huh? You think she was so damn special? She was nothing."

Tara recoiled as if slapped. She could feel the rage cresting again, and this time wasted no energy fighting it. "She was special, Donnie. I'm sorry you were too busy being pissed off at the world to recognize it, but that's your loss, not mine."

She took a step toward him, and spoke very quietly. "There's no demon in me, Donnie. Go home."

Donnie held his ground and spoke just as quietly. "That's what you think, Tara. But I got some bad, bad news for you."

Tara shook her head in exasperation. "What kind of game is this, Donnie? It's out in the open now-Mom didn't have any demon in her!"

Donnie laughed, a low, very unpleasant sound. "No, Mama wasn't a demon, Tara." He smiled, and patted the box once more. "But let's not forget about Daddy."

*****

Later, Willow would look back on the conversation and wonder if she could have done anything to change how it all turned out. As it was, she felt as if she were watching everything unfold in slow motion, her growing dread at the idea of what awaited them at the bottom of this spiral only heightened by the time it took them to reach it.

As Tara stared at her brother with a mixture of scorn and distrust, Donnie rocked back on his heels and smiled his oily smile. "Care to take this inside where we can have some privacy?" he asked with exaggerated politeness, emphasizing the last word with a suggestive leer.

After a moment's hesitation, Tara squared her shoulders. "Let's get this over with," she muttered, keying into the building. The three of them walked in silence along the hallway and up the stairs, Tara's hand never releasing its hold on Willow's. When she unlocked the door to her room, Donnie brushed past them and walked in, turning around slowly as he took everything in.

"Nice little set-up you got here, Sis," he said admiringly. "Look at all these candles and magic books and crystals all over the place." He looked up from his perusal and gave them a wide grin. "It's a lot fancier'n your room back home, ain't it?"

"This isn't a social call, Donnie." Willow had never heard Tara's voice sound so cold. "What's in the box? What does Daddy have to do with this?"

"Oh, so now you're all ears, huh? Now you wanna hear what I got to say. Aren't you even gonna offer me something to drink? Maybe a little hug from the both of you to make me feel welcome?" He looked at Willow as he said this, and took a tiny step toward her as he began to extend his arms.

"Touch her and I set you on fire," Tara said, raising her left hand slightly. Gone was any trace of her stutter, and only someone who knew Tara as well as Willow could have recognized that she was trembling inside.

Donnie stopped, cocking his head to one side like a homeless dog sniffing for carrion. After a moment, he dropped his arms and shrugged with mock remorse. "OK, I guess this won't be like one of those talk shows, where everybody kisses and makes up. Fine with me." He plopped down on the edge of Tara's bed, and Willow made a mental note to wash the comforter after he left.

Tara took a seat in the small study chair, Willow perched beside her on the edge of the desk. Willow watched with a mixture of dread and overpowering curiosity as Donnie unhurriedly took out a small key and unlocked the box. Willow could feel Tara stiffen as Donnie's fingers rested lightly on the gray metal lid. Part of her actually feared that Donnie was going to pull out a gun, or do something else violent and abrupt. Instead, he looked up and grinned at them.

"You know what they say, Tara-old sins cast long shadows." He eased the lid up and back, edging the box toward them slowly until they could see what rested within.

*****

Cold Springs, normally so sunny and pleasant at this time of year, had been hit with a freak heavy rainfall on the morning of Julia Maclay's funeral. By noon it was gone, but it made for quiet conversation among the mourners that gathered at the cemetery after the church service. It was as if the heavens recognized one girl's loss in the midst of their own gain, and they wept rare tears at the injustice.

She had died without sound or fury, late one evening when her husband was out milking and her son was helping him and her daughter had drifted off into a brief, halting sleep filled with fragments of dreams and the smells of sickness and herbs. As befit her character, she died when it was least inconvenient or painful to those around her.

At first, Tara reproached herself bitterly for falling asleep. I was supposed to hold on, Mama. I let go, and you left. I'm so sorry, Mama. I told myself I wouldn't let go but I did.

But then she realized that perhaps it hadn't been such a cruel coincidence after all. Perhaps her mother had died exactly when she planned to, sparing Tara the necessity of watching her draw her last breath. As it was, Tara snapped back to wakefulness to find her mother looking more peaceful than she had in months. Tara was seventeen and had never seen a living thing die before-surprising, really, for someone who lived on a farm-but she knew instantly that her mother was dead. She went through the motions of checking for a pulse and listening for some lingering, obstinate breath, but she knew before any tangible corroboration that the fight was over. And she knew she was alone.

Donnie stood beside her at the gravesite, looking equal parts lost and defiant. Her father watched with blank eyes as the minister concluded his words of would-be comfort.

"For verily I say, that whosoever believeth in me shall not die, but have everlasting life," Reverend Timson informed them in his sorrowful voice.

Did you know Mama thought you were a droning, narrow-minded hypocrite? Probably not. She was too gracious to let it show.

She found herself staring at the clenching along her father's jaw line. He seemed so angry; so incredibly angry at everyone, including his late wife. Did he think she had done this on purpose? His eyes were bloodshot and vacant, and he had barely spoken to either of his children that day or at the viewing the night before. Tara had helped him pick out her mother's clothes and casket. She had ironed his one good suit, and Donnie's as well. She had answered the phone and received the visitors bearing casseroles and sandwiches and throughout it all, she wished that her father would speak.

Donnie was silent too, and for this Tara didn't know whether to be grateful or afraid. All she really knew for certain was that her mother had run into a force stronger than her own considerable will, and now everything was different.

*****

"Go ahead, take a look. It won't bite." Tara heard Donnie's voice as if from some great distance.

Inside the box lay nothing so dramatic as a gun, or a human heart, or any other shocking sight. The contents were unremarkable indeed: a small reddish stone, no bigger than an infant's fist; and a plain white business envelope.

Tara suspected that her own face held the kind of confusion that she now saw on Willow's.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she asked harshly.

"'Fraid not, Sis. Read the letter." Donnie's voice held gloating, and anticipation.

Tara stared at her brother for a long moment, and then pulled the envelope out of the box. She saw on the outside the following written in her father's dark, spare handwriting:

To be opened by my wife, Julia Maclay, in the event that I precede her in death.

Nathan Maclay

Tara pulled a single sheet of yellow legal paper out of the already-unsealed envelope. The letter was dated the 28th of February, 1978.

I don't want to read this. I don't want to be related to either of these men. Mama? What's happening?

Drawing a deep breath, she looked at Willow once for comfort, and then lowered her eyes to the page.

Dear Julia,

If you're reading this, it means that I've died before you. You have to believe me that I want it this way, because it means that I don't have to keep going in this life without you beside me.

Tara found suddenly that she couldn't read anymore at the moment because the words were dancing crazily on the paper. Oh, Daddy...you really loved her, didn't you? Why did you try so hard to act like you didn't? She shook her head quickly, and felt Willow squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

I need to tell you something that I should have told you many years ago. There is no demon in you. There never has been.

The demon is in me. It comes from my father. He could hide his demon aspect when he wanted to. My mother had no idea who she had married until twelve years after the wedding. She saw him one day, by accident, when he thought that she had gone into town for the day. I remember it like it happened yesterday: she came to get me at school, and we drove off with two suitcases and the little bit of money that she had in the bank. He didn't even know that she had seen him.

I was 10 years old at the time, and Mother didn't tell me why we had left until I was 18. At first, she said he was cheating on her but that never rang true to me. I'll always believe that he loved her. I never saw my father again. I don't know if he's alive or dead. Mother never really recovered.

When I was 18, she told me the truth. I had always felt different, like there was some strange part down inside me that was pushing to get out. I'm not very good at describing how I feel, so I don't know if this makes any sense to you or not. It never came out or hurt anyone, but I always remembered what it cost my father when his wife found out who he really was.

When I met you in the drug store that day, I knew I had to find a way to meet you. I never told you that I dropped my umbrella on purpose, just to catch your attention. After you agreed to meet me that weekend for a movie, I spent the next three days wondering what to wear, which was funny because I only had three decent shirts. I fell for you so hard, Julia, and in the back of my mind all I could think about was what Mother did after she found out about my father. I was so scared to lose you.

So I didn't tell you I was part demon, which is bad enough, I know. But I was also so scared that I lied to you and told you that you had demon in you. I thought it would keep you bound to me, if you thought that you had some sickness only I could help you with. I'm not even sure how I did it. I just found myself saying the words and then I felt this kind of dizziness rising up in me, until it felt like I was only half there. And I could tell you believed me. You had this strange, faraway look in your eyes. Maybe that was the demon part of me. I don't know. But it scared me to feel that way, like I'd been drinking cheap whisky, one shot after another. I never tried to do it again, I swear. But I made you believe that you had demon in you, and that any girls we would have would also be part demon. Our children will have demon blood in them, but I swear I'll watch for it. If I see anything, I'll tell you everything, I promise.

I don't know if you can forgive me for this, but I just couldn't stand the thought of losing you. Now that I'm gone, I want you to know the truth. You're a free woman now, Julia. You don't have to be afraid anymore.

I know I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the best thing I ever did was marrying you.

Your loving husband,

Nathan

Tara sat back, scarcely feeling the paper between her fingers. Willow was looking at her questioningly, and without speaking Tara handed the letter to her beloved. In a matter of seconds, she heard Willow's whispered "Oh my God." For her part, Tara was beyond speaking.

It's not over. It'll never be over.

*****

Willow's mind scrambled like a child on a jungle gym, trying to find some reassuring angle from which to consider all of this.

"How do we even know your father wrote this?" she asked Tara, gripping her shoulder. "It could be something Donnie just made up-"

"It's Daddy's hand-writing," Tara replied dully. "I recognize it." She looked up to see Donnie grinning with malicious glee. You found me, didn't you, Donnie? You'll never let me go. Eyes narrowing suddenly, she asked, "How did you know about this? And when did you find out?"

Donnie leaned back casually, apparently more than willing to supply any information they asked of him since all the information he had would, he knew, be painful to them.

"It was right after Mom died. I woke up in the middle of the night; heard something moving around down stairs. I grabbed a ball bat and went down to check it out. And what do I see? Daddy, standin' there in front of the fireplace, readin' this letter and just cryin' like a baby. Big ol' tears just runnin' down his face. He gets done readin', and makes as if he's gonna chuck the letter in the fire, but then he changes his mind and folds it back up, puts it back in the envelope. He locks the box back up and then hides the key between two loose stones in the hearth. I guess Mom must have known where he kept the key, since the letter was to her," Donnie added almost as an afterthought.

Tara stared at him. "So you just decided to help yourself to his private things? Things that could make him cry at night after his wife had just died? God, Donnie, is there anybody you don't hate?"

His mouth twisted suddenly, and then his trademark plastic smile was back in place. "If I think of anybody, I'll let you know." He chuckled at his own words. "Yeah, I watched him pick up the box and head back toward the stairs. I high-tailed it back to my room, and listened from the doorway. He just went straight back to his room, so I knew it had to be in there somewhere. First chance I got, I took a look around."

He looked off, reliving the experience. "When I read that letter, you could have knocked me over with the tail-feather of a sparrow. So it wasn't Mom who was demon; it was Daddy. And that meant I was part demon, too." He smiled as he spoke.

"And you liked it," Willow muttered with shock. "You liked knowing you had something scary and evil inside you." She felt Tara wrench suddenly under her hand, and realized with sick regret what she had just said. "I mean, you liked knowing that maybe you had..." She trailed off, uncertain where to go.

"Oh yeah, I loved it," Donnie replied easily, and then caught her look at Tara. "Complicates stuff, doesn't it? First Tara lies about having any demon in her, then everybody thinks she doesn't have demon in her; and now...Sorta throws a wrench into the child-bearing plans, although who knows what you two were gonna try with that anyway." He laughed at the image in his mind.

Willow practically jumped to her feet, unconsciously placing herself between Donnie and Tara. "How do you explain what happened at the Magic Shop?" she demanded angrily. "Huh? How come Spike couldn't hit Tara without his chip setting off fireworks?"

"Hell if I know," Donnie shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe it only kicks in at a certain age. We don't even know what kind of demon it is." He seemed happy to consider the myriad possibilities.

Tara, meanwhile, was struggling to find her voice. I can't go back. I can't go through this again. Not now; not when I'm finally living the life I want to lead. I can't lose Willow. Whatever I have to do, I can't lose her.

Looking at her brother, Tara finally asked, "Why didn't Daddy say anything about this before? At the Magic Box? Why did he just turn around and leave?"

Again, Donnie only shrugged. "Got me. I kept waitin' for him to speak up, tell you the truth. Whether you got it from Mom or Daddy, doesn't really matter, does it? But he just turned around and practically crawled out to the camper. I finally decided that one of us had to act like a man."

Willow snorted. "No, you decided to act like a child throwing a temper tantrum because you didn't get your wish."

Donnie glared at her. "What do you know about it? Don't matter what you do or who you do it with, you still ain't got the equipment you need to take care of a woman."

Willow again had to fight the urge to fling magic at him with just the barest flick of her wrist and two, maybe three quickly chanted words. I can't do it. It's not what Tara wants...I think. Instead, she replied, "I know what you need. You need a good roll in the hay with a big, husky construction worker you call 'Daddy.' All this macho shit is just repressed-"

But Tara silenced them both using neither magic nor force. Holding a hand out to Willow, she turned to Donnie. "What about the stone? What does it have to do with anything?'

Donnie looked confused at her question. "Hell, I don't know," he muttered. "It's a damn rock. As whipped as Daddy was, he probably saw it on the ground on his first date with Mom and kept it for sentimental reasons." He scowled. "I never dreamed Daddy was such a pussy. Can you believe all that shit about droppin' his umbrella just to meet some bitch-"

It happened so fast that Willow wondered if she had imagined it, but the angry, red flares along Donnie's right cheek told her otherwise. Tara had slapped him, hard; and she looked ready to do it again.

"If you ever talk about her that way again, I'll do more than that. She gave birth to you, Donnie. Doesn't that mean anything to you? And aren't you glad to know that your parents loved each other?"

"Not if it made Daddy so miserable," Donnie shot back, rubbing his cheek. "Christ, Tara, did it look like they loved each other when we were growin' up? Did you ever see 'em hug or kiss or anything like that?"

Tara had no real answer for this. For a moment, the room was silent. Finally, Willow spoke, trying to keep her voice somewhere close to civil.

"Donnie, why are you doing this? Do you really want Tara to come back home? Is that what you want?" Even as she asked it, she felt her voice hardening.

Donnie had dropped even the pretense of brotherly love. "You bet I do," he muttered.

Tears finally made their way to Tara's eyes and began to spill down her cheeks. "Why? Why don't you want me gone? You hate me, Donnie. Why have me anywhere around you?"

Donnie was staring at Tara now with a quiet bitterness that frightened her more than his rages. "Because you ain't goin' off and leavin' me there alone. You don't get to leave, Tara, and just act like you don't even belong to this family. You don't get to head off to college and leave your white-trash family behind like you're too good for us."

For one, excruciating moment, Tara dropped her head, gazing at the floor with a resignation that Willow hadn't seen in months. But then she straightened, pulling herself to her full height, and gazed at Donnie until he was forced to lower his own gaze under the weight of hers.

"I'm not going back, Donnie. No matter what, I'm not going back. If you have any sense, you'll leave, too. But I'm gone; I always have been."

*****

It was well past lunch-time, but neither Willow nor Tara could imagine eating anything. Donnie had finally left, taking the box with him, but not before Willow snatched the small stone from its confines, ignoring his protests.

"This was in there for a reason. I'm going to find out what it is," she told him defiantly.

"Fine, whatever," he had muttered. "You know I'll be back, Tara. Why not make things simple and just pack your stuff?" And then he had slouched out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Willow was completely at a loss. She wanted to comfort Tara, but had no idea how to do so. What could she say-"Don't worry, Baby. I still love you, even if you are a demon"?

And that, she realized, was the problem. Would she still love Tara if Tara was a demon? Love her in the active sense of the word, not the abstract, from-a-safe-distance version? Could she go through that again, what she had suffered through with Oz? What if the demon aspect was hidden, or latent, until a certain age? Tara's father had certainly seemed to grow colder, more angry over time. What if that happened to Tara? Nathan Maclay's letter to his wife had been so full of love, even if his actions were profoundly misguided. What if Tara became bitter and resentful over time? Could she even imagine it?

And what if Tara one day felt the pull to one of her own, someone more like her-as Oz had done? Willow feared she might vomit at the thought. She couldn't have imagined being closer to someone, more kindred in spirit, than she was with Tara. But couldn't that change? If Tara did have demon in her, who could say that it wouldn't grow stronger and wilder until one day she, too, could no longer resist its pull and left Willow alone once more, just when she had grown to believe that she might never be left alone again?

Could she risk it? If this all proved to be true, could she stay with Tara?

And then, so abruptly that she almost gasped at the impact, she realized that the question was moot beyond words. Even if she did have to consider all of these questions, was there really any chance that she would choose to walk away from Tara? Was there really any chance that she would look into those eyes, into that soul that she loved beyond her capacity to describe it, and leave her?

Of course not.

It really was a matter of how, not if. And though this realization didn't exactly comfort her, it did somehow manage to lower the raging confusion within her mind and her heart.

She drew a deep breath, and pulled Tara gently into her arms. "Baby, we'll figure this out. You know Donnie would do anything to hurt you. We just have to-" She was stunned to feel Tara wrench violently out of her grasp.

"Yes, he would do anything to hurt me, because apparently he's part-demon. He has 'something evil and scary' inside him-remember?"

Willow took an involuntary step back under the force of Tara's hurt and anger. "Baby, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, or at least I wasn't thinking about you. Tara, you're the least scary, evil person I've ever met."

"Well, maybe not for long. Maybe Donnie's right; maybe it's dormant until a certain age. Who knows when it might kick in? When I might just turn evil and hurtful and destructive?" She began to shake as she talked.

Willow reached out one tentative hand and, meeting no resistance, gently stroked Tara's arm. "What-you're saying you'll go all 'Black Magic Tara' on me? That one day you'll go evil and try to destroy the world? And-what else?-oh, maybe your hair and your eyes will turn black and you'll hurt the people you love? Tara, that's ridiculous. That's the kind of stuff asinine TV plot twists are made of." She felt Tara calming, just slightly, under her touch.

Finally, Tara allowed herself to be enfolded in Willow's arms. "Oh God, Willow...I'm sorry. I just-I can't go through this again; I can't. I finally let myself believe it's over, that I've gotten away from my family, and now this. It's like they show up every time I start to believe I can be happy, and they try to take it away from me." Willow felt hot tears trickle down her neck as Tara wept softly against her.

"Baby, I don't know what the truth is, but I do know that they can't take you away from me. No matter what we find out, we're in this together, OK? You don't do any blind Cadria spells, and I don't turn Donnie into a sentient toilet plunger. At least until you give me the go-ahead," she added meaningfully.

Tara pulled back slightly and gazed at her, tears hanging unshed from her thick lashes. Willow thought that she had never looked more beautiful. How could she be a demon? How could I not love her, even if she is?

"I think we should tell Giles and the others about this," Tara was saying. "We need to know if it's possible that the demon aspect hasn't been...activated yet."

"Or if there's some other explanation for this," Willow reminded her. "Just remember-I'm with you, no matter what we find out. What the goddess has joined together, let no disturbed brother put asunder."

Tara managed a weak grin. "Ain't nobody puttin' us under, Sweetie. C'mon, let's go see that tea-drinking bastion of wisdom."

*****

Part 9

"You say you're sure the letter was written by your father?" Giles' tone was a mixture of confusion and curiosity. They were talking in the back room of the Magic Box while Anya took money up front and commended herself on contributing to the betterment of the nation's economy.

"Positive," Tara replied promptly. "I know his writing, and I know Donnie's, and this was his. Besides, Donnie would have misspelled half the words in there, including 'the.'"

"Fascinating," Giles murmured. "And more than a little upsetting to you," he added quickly, seeing Tara's expression.

"You could say that," she replied heavily.

"And it was dated in February of 1978? What was going on at that time? In your family?"

Willow watched Tara bite her lower lip, an unconscious habit when she was concentrating. "'78...Let's see...Donnie was born that October; I'm guessing Mom had just found out she was pregnant."

"So maybe your dad wrote the letter to her because he realized the stakes had gone up: he was going to be a father; the demon blood had passed into the next generation." Willow said this last part reluctantly, knowing how the implications would hit Tara.

"The next generation..." Tara echoed. "Nice legacy, Daddy."

"Yes, well, Willow may have a point," Giles said quickly. "If your father realized that he now needed to be watchful about someone besides himself, he might feel a particular urgency in writing the letter."

"But then he didn't give it to her," Willow argued, shaking her head. "He didn't intend for her to see it unless he died first, because then he wouldn't have to deal with her reaction. He wanted her to be set free of thinking she was demon, but only if it didn't cost him his marriage." She suddenly felt even more deeply for Tara's mother, who had gone to her grave thinking that she was demon, that she had passed that demon on to her beloved daughter.

"You're right, Willow. He tried to hide the truth from her so that he wouldn't ever have to risk losing her. It was a selfish thing to do." Tara's eyes were sad as she spoke, and Willow realized that she was remembering the spell she had cast only recently. She took Tara's hand urgently into hers, trying to tell her through touch and gaze that she was not her father.

"Tara, when were your parents married?" Giles asked suddenly, and again, she chewed on her lower lip for a moment before replying.

"1972. They met in 1971, Mama told me, and got married the next year."

"And Donnie was their first child?" Giles asked, almost as an afterthought. But Tara shook her head.

"No; Mama had a miscarriage in 1975. It hit her really hard, she said. She was sure that it was a boy; she already had a name picked out for him, even though she lost him in the second month."

Giles tilted his head at this information, as if trying to reassemble a picture within his mind.

"So Nathan meets Julia in 1971, and apparently falls quite hard for her. They get married in 1972, conceive but lose a child in 1975, and then your mother gives birth to Donnie in October of 1978. And you were born in November of 1980," he finished.

"Right," Tara concurred.

Willow picked up the narrative. "And in February of 1978, Nathan writes a letter to Julia telling her the truth, but clearly doesn't expect to give it to her himself. Julia dies before he does, and she never learns the truth." Willow looked sadly at Tara as she said this, knowing that she only had a dim sense of how much this must hurt her girl. Right now, probably everything hurts her.

"If Daddy did write the letter because he had just found out Mom was pregnant, why didn't he do it the first time she was pregnant?"

"I can't imagine," Giles murmured. "In fact, all of this seems incredibly mysterious." He sipped his tea absently.

"The biggest mystery to me is why Spike went into a limbic system melt-down when he hit Tara," Willow pointed out.

"I agree," Giles replied. "What we know is that Spike cannot hurt any living human without intense neuralgia in the cerebrum."

"You mean brain pain," Willow clarified.

"Well, yes. I just hated the way it rhymed," he admitted stiffly.

"That's my Giles," Willow said affectionately. "Ever the crusader against malice, mayhem, and monosyllabism."

"Giles, is it possible that I have demon in me that hasn't been...activated yet? Like some kind of latent or dormant strain?" Though she asked the question openly, Willow knew that inside, Tara was screaming for the answer to be no.

At Giles' sigh, Willow knew that the wish would go unanswered. "As much as it pains me to say this, Tara, I'm afraid there are instances of hidden demon aspects that do not emerge until the creature-er, the person is of a certain age, or under a particular set of circumstances. This is particularly true when the person isn't a full-blooded demon. Sometimes," he added, in a more hopeful tone, "the demon doesn't emerge at all."

"So I just have to walk around being very, very careful not to-well, we don't know what I need to avoid, do we? We don't even know what kind of demon we're talking about. Once we find that out, I just live my life in a plastic bubble, avoiding all known activating agents." Tara's voice was more bitter than Willow had ever heard. Suddenly she remembered sitting with Oz in his van, protesting that the wolf had emerged because she had upset him. "Well, so we're safe then," he had replied, in his ironic style, "cause you'll never do that again."

How do I go through this again? Goddess, why is everything so hard?

She realized that Tara was looking at her intently, her blue eyes cloudy with sadness and fear. Willow smiled at her gently, forcing her own fears to the back of her mind.

"There's something else I don't understand," Giles said, as if unaware of the painful dance that the two women before him were trying to navigate. "Why didn't your father say anything about this in the Magic Box when he came to take you home? After he admitted that your mother had no demon in her, why not tell you then?"

"Well, for one thing, he didn't know Donnie knew. He still doesn't. Maybe he was planning to regroup. I don't think he seriously considered that I wouldn't go back with him. That you all would stand up for me," she added softly, squeezing Willow's hand gently.

"Always," Willow murmured in response, and knew that it was true.

"Yes, it was clear he was a man not used to being questioned, much less defied," Giles nodded.

"And yet, that letter...I've never, ever heard my father talk like that. I certainly never saw him show anything like that kind of devotion when Mom was alive. But-I mean, what he did was so wrong, to deceive her like that, make her question her own soul; but in its own way, that was a love letter. He was crazy about Mom when he wrote that." Tara's voice sounded almost desperate with the need to understand all of this.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid that right now, we have far more questions than answers," Giles sighed.

"Ooh-the rock!" Willow dug into her pocket and pulled out the small, red-tinged stone.

"Mmm...It appears to be, um, well..." Giles trailed off.

"A rock," Willow finished for him. "And you don't have to worry about rhyming it with anything, like 'dock' or 'frock' or 'cock' and how about we just forget that last one, OK?"

"Gladly," the librarian and the lesbian sang out in unison.

"It doesn't appear terribly unique; then again, appearances can be deceiving," Giles mused, turning the stone over in his palm.

"True," Willow nodded. "I looked straight there for a while."

"Let's hear it for deceiving appearances," Tara replied, with a reasonable facsimile of her usual smile.

"Well, I'd like to study it more," Giles said, moving over to his desk and pulling out two musty texts. "We can discuss everything further tonight, since we already have a meeting scheduled. In the meantime, I suggest that the two of you try to get some food in you and maybe even some rest if you can. This has already been a traumatic day and it's not even mid-afternoon."

"Yeah, but in New Zealand, it's way past sundown," Willow said philosophically, though it was hard to know which philosophy she was drawing on.

"Yes, well...Imagine me making a suitable reply, if you would. I'm unable to do so myself right now." Reaching out, he folded Tara into a surprising but very welcome hug. "We'll resolve this, Tara; you'll not be taken away from us," he murmured softly.

Moments later, they emerged into the sunlight and turned down the sidewalk to head back to campus. Both of them were preoccupied with unsettling thoughts, and the walk home was an unusually quiet one.

*****

"OK, Giles, you know I love you, right? Before I met you, I was just a high school loser. And now...Well, now I'm a more mature loser. But in the interest of self-improvement-"

"Yes, Xander? What singular wisdom are you poised to impart that will catapult me into the very stratosphere of self-actualization?" Giles' head was tipped to one side, eyebrows slightly arched. The group, including Dawn, was noshing on scones, awaiting their liquid refreshments.

"Well, you always serve tea at these shin-digs. And that's great, but I was thinking maybe we could expand our repertoire to include coffee and soda." Xander looked as hopeful as a child awakening on his birthday. His hair added to the effect.

"Oh yes, that's exactly what we need-the lot of you thrown into an even greater level of agitation due to all the caffeine in your systems. I can just see it now: stakes and arrows flying hither and yon; faulty decisions based on jittery nerves. I hardly think it's prudent."

Xander frowned. "Giles, we're not talking about starting a heroin ring or turning Buffy into a crack whore. I just think a little joe would be...apropos." He smile in self-delight.

"Xander's right," Buffy chimed in. "We're out there facing the legions of hell night after night. I don't think coffee is gonna shorten our life span to any appreciable degree. Besides, it's very adult, and it has a certain ambience. Like those old Taster's Choice commercials, remember? Where the man and woman keep meeting at these dinner parties and such and he's always bringing the coffee and you can tell she's getting hot for him just watching him flash those grounds."

"I remember those commercials," Giles muttered. "Pure rubbish, and the acting was nothing short of abysmal." He poured himself another cup of tea. "Be that as it may," he continued, "I certainly acquiesce to the voice of the people. Henceforth, I shall be only too happy to contribute to your collective premature aging and artificial excitement."

"That's my boy," Buffy smiled. She turned to Willow and Tara, who had watched this exchange with muted expressions, and her own features grew serious. "Will? Tara? How you guys doing?"

"Been better," Tara replied softly.

Willow thought that her beloved seemed tired despite the two-hour nap they'd taken this afternoon. Willow had tried to get Tara to talk about what she was feeling, but her efforts had met with limited success. For the most part, Tara simply reiterated her bewilderment and her adamant refusal to return to that life.

"Well of course you won't return," Willow had said, shocked that Tara had even felt the need to state it. "We'll figure this out and we'll take care of it. I'm with you, Baby; I'd never let you go through this alone."

Tara had looked at her with a haunted, fragile smile and said, "And if you have to kill me, I know you'll do it gently."

Willow recoiled, feeling sick to her stomach. "Tara, don't you ever, ever say something like that again. Do you hear me? In the first place, we don't even know if your father was telling the truth, or knew the truth himself; in the second place, we don't know if it was passed on to you; and in the third, and most important place, I love you, regardless of your particular genetic make-up, and I will never let anything happen to you."

But Tara had just apologized softly, saying that she was tired and needed to sleep. Now, in the soft lighting of Giles' living room, she thought that Tara looked even more exhausted.

Giles had given the rest of the group an update before they had arrived, and to Willow's intense relief, everyone was as warm and easy around her as they had been. Anya, who had always been partial to Tara, was especially solicitous toward her. Willow reasoned that this had at least something to do with Anya's own history. She, more than anyone else, knew what it was like to have something inhuman within her.

But she chose to be a vengeance demon. The only reason she's not one now is that Giles destroyed her amulet. My baby didn't have any choice at all in this.

If she even is part demon.

Dawn, as Willow would have predicted, was being fiercely protective of Tara, sitting as close to her as possible short of elbowing Willow out of the way. It's so ironic...all those years when Tara only had one person trying to protect her, and now all of us are lining up to defend her. I wonder if she gets it; if she really believes it.

She realized abruptly that there was another irony at play: Dawn, who currently felt so average and unimportant compared to the rest of them, was the one person here who could actually relate to Tara...if she knew the truth about her own origin. Willow allowed herself a private smile as she thought about Dawn's reaction to this. She'd probably consider it a small price to pay to be that close to Tara...

She turned her attention back to the conversation at hand. "Yeah," she said belatedly. "I think we're still trying to wrap our minds around all of it." She caught Tara's glance, and squeezed her hand gently. Don't doubt me, Baby. Doubt your dad; doubt that prick of a brother of yours. But don't doubt me. Could she possibly convince Tara that she wasn't going anywhere?

"So do we know if Nathan was telling the truth?" Xander asked. "I mean, we only have Donnie's word that he found the letter the way he described."

"It's definitely Daddy's writing," Tara answered slowly. "I don't think Donnie could possibly have forged it."

Anya spoke up. "So you think Nathan really does believe he has demon in him? Couldn't he have written that letter, planning for it to be found, to mess with Tara's mind? He could have collaborated with Donnie on this whole thing."

"It's possible," Giles nodded. "They both want Tara to return home; it's conceivable that they came up with this after their initial trip proved unsuccessful."

"OK, so we can't really know for sure when Nathan wrote the letter and whether or not it's true," Buffy piped up. "What about the miscarriage? That seems suspicious to me."

"I think so, too," Willow replied quickly. "I mean, it seems odd that Mr. Maclay didn't write the letter the first time his wife was pregnant, even though she carried the child for two months before she lost it." Turning, she asked Tara, "Did you mom say anything else about that time that you can remember?"

Tara shook her head slowly. "She only talked about it once. I was about 14. We were looking through my baby album, and I said something about her having two children. That's when she told me that she'd been pregnant three times, but miscarried the first time." Her voice grew distant as she remembered. "She was so sad, even after all that time, talking about it."

"Well, I suspect it's something that would never lose its pain for her," Giles mused. "Did she say anything about the circumstances? Had there been any indication of a complicated pregnancy?"

Tara looked at him almost apologetically. "Not really. She did say that it was a surprise; that she'd been doing fine. And then, she lost him. I remember her saying that she knew in her heart that it was a boy. Then she started crying, and I just wanted to make it stop." Willow could see the tears in Tara's own eyes, and she ached anew for all of the pain that her beloved had borne and witnessed. She rested her cheek against Tara's shoulder, wanting to ease that pain somehow. Was it even possible?

"And there's no sign that Tara's father wrote any letter the first time they were expecting?" Anya asked.

"None that we've found," Giles replied, sipping his tea. "But I agree-the miscarriage does raise suspicions."

"And what about this rock?" Xander frowned, interrupting his pacing of Giles' floor. "Isn't there anything, you know...supernatural about it?"

In reply, Giles withdrew the rock from under a small pile of papers and handed it to Xander, who looked at it curiously.

"So far as I can discern," Giles was saying, "the rock appears to have no unusual qualities about it. It's a typical sedimentary stone, no different from a million others lying about."

"What about the red?" Xander persisted. "Maybe it's-"

"It's not blood," Giles finished for him. "I considered that, but the reddish tinge is part of the stone itself. I've looked through several texts, and I can't find anything that mentions such a stone or refers to any usage that it might have."

"But it's got to mean something," Anya muttered, crossing her arms. "It was the only other thing found in this box besides the letter."

"I agree," Giles nodded. "At present, however, we have no way of knowing what that might be."

Dawn spoke up suddenly. "But it doesn't matter, right? None of this matters, because we already know that Tara's not a demon. Spike hit her in the Magic Box, and then did his whole girly scream thing, and the chip only activates when he tries to harm a human being. So we can play Nancy Drew and figure out the 'Mystery of the Mean Maclay Men,' but it doesn't really change anything for Tara," she finished, her last words uttered hopefully.

"If we're playing Nancy Drew, I get to be George, the athletic one," Willow said quickly, drawing a tiny smile from Tara.

"I dunno, Will. The athletic one? Seems like that should be me," Buffy said decisively.

"The athletic one who was always so very, very protective of Nancy," Willow added significantly. "And who never seemed to show any interest in boys."

"OK, so maybe you're George," Buffy capitulated. "Anyway, Dawn's right. Spike's chip has never failed before, so far as we know. We have to believe that means Tara's not a demon."

"Too bad he didn't slug Donnie while he was at it," Xander mused regretfully. "Not only would it have given us useful information, it just would have been a gas to watch. If Donnie has demon in him, Spike kicks his ass. If he doesn't, Spike goes down for Round 2. Either way, it's good clean fun for the whole family."

"Maybe we could just take Spike to the next Maclay family reunion and have him walk around hitting people," Willow suggested, only half in jest.

"Tell him to give Cousin Beth a good smack in the mouth," Tara added, allowing herself a small grin. "Maybe it would stop her simpering for a little bit." Her expression turning serious again, she continued. "But it's not that simple. There's the chance that the demon could be dormant inside of me; that I have to be a certain age or exposed to a certain stimulus for it to become active."

There was silence at this. No one wanted it to be true, yet no one, including Giles, could offer proof that it wasn't. After a moment, Buffy spoke.

"What about Donnie? Did he ever change suddenly at a particular age, or in a particular circumstance?"

Tara's laugh was short and bitter. "No, it seems like Donnie's pretty much always been a sadistic bastard. I can't remember any specific time when he turned into more of one." There was an uncomfortable silence at her harshness. "Sorry, guys," she said simply. "This hasn't been the best day of my life. For the better part of twenty years, I believed I was a demon. And then, one night, all of that changed. I was free of it, and I had a real family." She struggled to regain her composure. "And then it turns out that I may have demon in me after all, just passed through a different parent. And I just want this all to be over. I want to know the truth."

The room was quiet as Willow rubbed Tara's back. Suddenly, though, Tara squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath.

"And if I want to know the truth, there's only one place to find it." She turned away from the others, gazing intently into Willow's eyes. "I have to go home."

Willow started to protest, and then realized the truth of Tara's words. She nodded slowly, and then said, "And I'm going with you."

*****

The table had been cleared; the dishes were washed and put away; one last load of laundry had been put in the dryer. Now Beth and her uncle were watching television. It seemed to be one of those earnest drama shows on Pax, which was one of the few channels her uncle ever watched. Beth herself paid only scant attention to the fictitious proceedings before her. Her mind kept whip-lashing between this domestic scene and countless other evenings in that other house, the one she'd grown up in. Uncle Nathan didn't talk much, but that was OK. He didn't shout or walk around half-drunk. She liked the quiet.

She tried to remember if her father had always been that way-brash and outspoken and so very fond of his whiskey. She could dimly remember him as a happier man, one who gave her horse-back rides through the house and whose laughter wasn't so harsh, so bitter. But in the ten years since he'd left, her memories of him had grown blurry and she wasn't sure she trusted them anyway. It was hard to have any real sense of him, especially with her mother damning him to the fieriest torment Hell had to offer. Her tone ranged from full-throated condemnation to mewling, sanctimonious "forgiveness," but no matter the key, the score could best be titled, "Quinn Maclay is Going to Hell."

"Your father is nothing but a drunken, whoring sinner who abandoned his wife and child to fend for themselves."

"We're better off without him. He brought nothing but shame to this family."

"I hope he's seen the error of his ways. He's a lost sheep; that's what he is. And on Judgment Day, if he doesn't come to the Cross on bended knee, he'll have to answer for his sins. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,' and I believe it. It's not for me to judge; God will do that."

Uncle Nathan, by contrast, was polite, if terse; and he never raised his voice. He had been the sole parent for two children, neither of whom could be described as easy.

Donnie was so angry all the time; Beth had no idea why. Even his grin made her uneasy. It reminded her of some of the booths at the Fair, the ones that were all bright and lit-up, but when you actually stepped up to the counter to play the game, everything was dirty and the prizes were cheap and tacky.

And Tara...Beth unconsciously frowned as she considered her cousin. If ever a girl had it made...Uncle Nathan didn't make Tara do the hardest, dirtiest chores on the farm and as a result her hands were never all stained and roughened, unlike Beth's, who had already performed more physical labor than most women twice her age. Tara had two parents, and it was plain her mother adored her. If Uncle Nathan was a little less affectionate, it was just because he wasn't a showy person. Tara had that long blond hair and those blue eyes and apparently she had all sorts of book-smarts; at least she should-she was always reading.

Beth had bounced to a couple of different schools over the course of her mother's spiritual journey, and so she had only heard bits and pieces of what people said about Tara. She knew her cousin wasn't popular; Beth figured it was because she was too stuck-up to be friends with regular people who didn't happen to keep their noses in a book all day long.

As a commercial came on, beseeching viewers to make the phone call that would change their lives, Beth turned to her uncle, sitting in his easy chair on the other side of the living room.

"Uncle Nathan, would you like something from the kitchen? A glass of iced tea?"

Nathan Maclay seemed momentarily surprised to find another person in the room with him. He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then said, "No thank you, Beth. Actually, I think I'm going to call it a day." So saying, he rose and headed out of the room. "Good night," he said, almost as an afterthought.

"Good night, Uncle Nathan," Beth called after him. She had considered asking him earlier how he thought Donnie was progressing in Sunnydale, but quickly discarded the idea. He had been virtually mute on the subject since Donnie had left, even though there were huge gaps of silence between them in which Beth suspected they were both thinking about that very thing. But she learned quickly how to anticipate his moods and most of all how to avoid broaching subjects-like Tara-that clearly made him upset. She didn't need to add any fuel to the fire; she certainly didn't need Uncle Nathan getting angry at her. She had taken over Tara's room, and she was in no hurry to relinquish it.

As the sincere, white, church-going family took shape once more on the television, she remembered evenings, many years ago, sitting in front of a much smaller set trying to ignore the arguments around her.

"Where have you been all night? We waited supper for you for over an hour!"

"I was out, OK? I just felt like seein' some of the guys down at the Fire Hall. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? You don't call to say where you are; you could be layin' dead in a ditch somewhere for all I knew. And you stink of booze."

"Jesus Christ, woman, would you back off? I'm not dead, and I didn't drink that much. Besides, half the time I drink just to get away from you."

"Were you out with some trash? Did you pick up some whore down at Benny's?"

"I told you-I was at the Fire Hall. You wanna call down there and check out my alibi?"

"Did you see her? Was that where you were?"

"I don't need this shit. I'm going to bed."

"Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you!"

So many nights like that-the screaming and cursing and threats, and through it all, she acted as if she weren't even there because for all they cared, she wasn't. It was a handy skill to have, she gradually came to realize-the ability to fade into the woodwork and see everything that went on. People forgot that there was a witness to their crimes.

*****

Part 10

"So, um, what should I pack? What's appropriate attire on a farm?" Willow was bustling nervously around her room, pulling out a small suitcase. After returning from Giles' the previous night, they had decided to leave at noon that day.

"Sweetie, we're not setting out for the New World. And we won't be staying overnight. I want to hear what he has to say and then leave." Tara sat down heavily on the bed. "Willow, are you sure you want to come with me?"

Willow called a halt to her stress-induced planning, and walked over to sit beside Tara. Taking one slender hand in her own, she replied, "Baby, there is no way on this earth or in any other dimension that I would let you go back to that place by yourself. You left there alone; you're going back there with a partner." Kissing Tara's cheek, she added, "Who will kick every ass on the homestead if need be."

Tara gave a small laugh. "Oh, honey...So tiny, yet so butch." She pulled Willow onto her lap and rested her cheek against her breast.

Willow held her tightly, relieved to see Tara expressing something besides exhaustion and fatalism. She had realized last night that while Tara wasn't afraid of having to return home, she was afraid of having demon blood in her. Well who wouldn't be? She herself was worried about that possibility; she could only imagine what it was like for Tara.

"Baby, can we talk about this a little bit? I mean, I know you're reeling from everything, but it's hard to sit by and wonder what you're thinking." She spoke tentatively, torn between wanting to respect Tara's need to mull things over in her own head for awhile, and needing to be inside of this somehow, with her.

"Yeah," came the mumbled reply, Tara's breath warm against her neck. "I mean, we're lesbians, so we have to process this, I know." Her attempt at laughter was valiant but unsuccessful. Willow cupped her chin and tilted her head until she could look into Tara's eyes. When she could, she held her gaze for a long moment, and then kissed her gently and fully. As they parted, she heard a slight hitch in Tara's breath, and then saw tears splash down over her cheek.

"Oh, Tara, I'm so sorry you have to go through all of this. I wish I could just make it all go away." She felt tears threatening in her own eyes.

"Willow, what if it's true? What if I do have demon in me? How can I live like that? How can..." She trailed off, lowering her eyes.

"What, Baby? How can what?"

Tara was silent for a moment, and when she looked back up, her eyes were filled with a pain that Willow hadn't seen (and had hoped never to see again) since the night she had told Tara that she was giving Oz another chance.

"How can you live like that? How can you be with someone who's...tainted like that? Again?" she added softly.

Willow felt her heart and mind aching simultaneously. Tara was in such pain, and her primary thought was of their relationship. And she wanted to comfort Tara-she would comfort Tara-but she couldn't lie to her and say that the thought had never crossed her own mind. She slid off of Tara's lap, but only to be able to look her more easily in the eye.

"Baby, I won't try to tell you that I'm not scared, too. I am. More than anything, I'm scared of how this is affecting you inside, how you're feeling. I hate seeing you in pain; it makes me want to move heaven and earth to put that smile back on your face. And yeah, I'm scared of how we'll handle this, because it would be something we couldn't just ignore. But Tara, there's nothing we could find out that will make me leave you, or want to leave you. It's just not an option."

"But Willow, what if I'm dangerous?" Tears were falling faster now from the fathomless blue eyes.

"Then we'll figure out how to deal with it. Don't you see, Tara-no matter what's inside of you, you're inside of me. Life has never been sweeter than it is with you; why would I ever chose to leave it? Besides, I've lived through three alleged ends of the world, not to mention kissing Xander. Do you really think this can shake my resolve?"

This last bit earned her a small grin from the lovely woman before her. "That's true. Kissing Xander is not for the faint of heart, I suspect."

"Nor the gay of spirit," Willow confirmed. She brushed some of the tears from Tara's face, her fingers lingering over full lips.

"I just know what you went through with Oz," Tara said softly, pain creasing her features again.

Willow fell silent, considering her own experiences with the werewolf. After a moment, she answered truthfully, "Tara, the worst part of that was how it ended-the first time, I mean. The werewolf part wasn't exactly a day at the Science Fair, but we handled it alright; or so I thought. What hurt me was finding out that he was drawn to another werewolf instead of me; that he wanted her in some kind of primitive, animalistic way. And he didn't tell me; he didn't let me in on what he was feeling. He just shut me out and tried to take care of it himself, coming to the wonderful solution that he should lock the object of his desire inside his cage with him. Can't imagine why that plan didn't work..." She gave Tara a wry smile.

Tara's eyes narrowed as she considered this. "That's why it's so important to you that we talk about this, isn't it? I mean, I know you want to help me with this, but you also don't want to be on the outside, do you?" She stroked Willow's cheek with soft fingers.

Willow sighed. "I guess you're right. It just hurt so much to find out that he was feeling all of these things and didn't tell me about it. So yeah, I want to be on the inside of this, with you, figuring it out together. I can handle anything that the two of us go through, so long as we go through it together. I'll fight anything by your side, Baby, but don't ask me to go get some coffee while you figure out what to do."

Tara grinned, and now it was her turn to kiss her girlfriend gently in silent reassurance. "No coffee-check."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, and then Willow pulled back slightly. "So it's agreed? We face everything together, and we tell each other when we're scared, and when we get coffee, we do it as a team."

"It's agreed." Tara looked at her watch. "I guess we should get going soon. We need to go to Xander's and pick up his car. God love him for loaning it to us."

"You sure I shouldn't pack extra clothes? Just in case we decide to stay overnight at some little bed and breakfast, or maybe some tawdry no-tell motel where we can play all sorts of naughty games?"

Tara laughed, and Willow basked in the full, rich sound that filled the room. "Oh right, because we never play naughty games in our rooms." She shook her head. "Well, you may be right. Better to be prepared."

"That's my motto," Willow replied enthusiastically, pulling extra clothes out of her drawer. "Say, Tara, I was thinking about something. Your dad's letter made it sound like he was an only child, but what about your cousin Beth? Is that on your mom's side?"

Tara pulled on her jacket as she answered, "No, actually Dad has two half-siblings. His mom remarried when she settled in Cold Springs. Beth's dad is his half-brother, my Uncle Quinn."

"What's his story?"

"Well, apparently he was as loose as Dad is uptight-in more ways than one. I know he drank a lot, and I think he cheated on Aunt Margaret pretty regularly. He left-I guess it's been about a decade ago. Nobody's talked to him since, as far as I know."

"So he wouldn't have any demon blood, if your dad's telling the truth." Willow emphasized this last part.

"No, and neither would Aunt Beverly. That's Dad's half-sister," she added, anticipating Willow's question. "She never got married. Maybe that's where I get it from...I think she was on the bus, too, although she certainly never came out to me. She left Cold Springs when I was about four, I think. Also without much fan-fare; pretty much as soon as she graduated. Really kept to herself. We get Christmas and birthday cards from her, but that's about it. She's in Dallas now, teaching high school."

"So simpering Cousin Beth has no excuse for her behavior?"

"No, she's just a natural-born holier-than-thou sneak."

"Very attractive," Willow noted, tucking socks into a corner of her bag and zipping it.

"Not so much, actually," Tara relied. They headed toward the door and opened it to reveal two Scoobies, a Slayer, one Watcher, and a Key.

Xander's hand was in knock position; he quickly lowered it and stepped inside, followed by the others. A jumble of voices filled the room, each contributing a separate account for their presence.

"Whoa, hold on, kids." Willow gestured for quiet. "What's with the send-off party? You guys planning on busting a bottle of champagne over Xander's car?"

A brief silence greeted this question, and then Giles-apparently the tacit choice for spokesperson-ventured forth.

"Actually, it's not a send-off party. We discussed it last night, after the two of you left, and we all felt that, well, perhaps you would do well with some moral and tactical support."

"We're coming with you," Anya announced, reducing Giles' explanation to a pronouncement.

"To lift spirits, watch your backs-" Buffy began.

"And kick some ass," Dawn finished, willfully oblivious to Buffy's consternation. "If necessary," she modified slightly, blushing as Tara smiled at her.

"You guys, I don't know what to say," Tara replied, looking at each person in turn. "I mean, this is so incredibly kind of you, all of you. To take time off from work, and school, and-" She looked at Dawn again, frowning. "And school, as in, high school. Dawn, Sweetie, you can't just miss all your classes."

"Can. Will. Am." The teenager crossed her arms over her chest.

"Trust me," Buffy said with a sigh, "we've been all through this. Short of tying her up or threatening to publish her journals-which I can't do, since it would incriminate me on some things I'd just as soon not come to light-there was no way to keep her from coming."

"Besides, I want to see where you grew up," Dawn added. "Maybe not the people so much, because they're kinda poopy, but your house, where you used to play, all that stuff."

Willow refrained from rolling her eyes, but caught Buffy's grin in her direction and had to smile in return.

"Are there pictures of you from when you were younger?" Dawn was asking, moving to Tara's side as they walked out of the room.

"Or drawings on refrigerators, held up with magnets? I understand that's a very common custom in families." Anya's curiosity was a thing to behold.

"It's a veritable field trip," Giles remarked, smiling affectionately at Willow as she followed him out of the room. "Perhaps we'll stop for ice cream."

*****

The trip to Cold Springs took place in Joyce's 4-Runner. Buffy insisted that her mother was feeling better today and that a friend was spending the day with her. Joyce had actually suggested the use of her vehicle when Buffy explained the situation to her. It was certainly far more comfortable, even with its full passenger load, than Xander's beat-up Tercel would have been.

And there was indeed a stop at an ice-cream parlor, where Xander grilled Tara on farm life.

"So did you have indoor plumbing?" he asked, brows furrowed as he slurped on his bittersweet mint milkshake. Willow was about to smack his arm in exasperation when she caught Tara's slight shake of her head. So my baby wants to have some fun, huh?

"Actually, we didn't," Tara replied sincerely, avoiding meeting Willow's eyes. "We had an out-house by the barn."

Xander stopped in mid-slurp. "Wow...That must have gotten so cold," he said, eyes wide.

"Oh yeah, especially in the middle of the night. Worse than that, though, was hauling the water up from the creek for dishes and baths."

Willow kicked Buffy under the table, who looked at her and stifled her own laugh.

"You had to haul water inside? From a creek? Man, you guys must have been working all the time." Xander was growing more impressed by the minute.

"Pretty much," Tara nodded in stoic remembrance. "And when we weren't working, of course, we were busy in-breeding."

Xander spat out a mouthful of half-melted ice cream.

"Honestly, Xander, you've watched 'Deliverance' one too many times," Willow said, shaking her head at his misinformation.

Tara nodded earnestly and spoke in an exaggerated drawl. "Oh yeah, we done got one o' them talkin' picture boxes what you can watch 'Hee Haw' on. Talk about yer good times!"

Willow watched her girlfriend lay waste to her oldest friend and smiled in momentary contentment. I don't care what we find out today. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with this girl.

The remainder of the trip was spent in more serious discussion: how to approach Nathan Maclay about the truth.

"He'll probably be out at the barn," Tara said. "When we get there, I think I should go get him and ask him to come back to the house. I'll tell him I've brought friends, but if you guys wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate you waiting in the kitchen while we talk. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm being rude, after you came all this way to support me," she added anxiously.

"No, nothing of the sort," Giles quickly responded. "I suspect that he would either explode or shut down completely if we were all in the room talking to him. We'll be out of sight, but near enough to be there in an instant should you need us. And he'll know you're not alone."

Willow kept silent, but wondered if she were to be relegated to the kitchen as well. It was Tara's father, after all, and she should do what she thought was best...

And then, in one of those moments of synchronicity that shouldn't surprise her anymore but still did, she felt Tara take her hand.

"Will, Sweetie, I want to tell Dad about us when I get him at the barn. I want to do that with him one-to-one. But when I come back to the house, I'd like you to stay with me. Is that OK?"

Willow tried to speak, but found that the constriction in her throat was making it difficult, so she only nodded and squeezed Tara's hand.

"What about Donnie?" Buffy asked. "Do you know where he is right now?"

"Well, he said he was coming back," Tara replied. "If he did, I don't know about it. I spent the night at Willow's. For all I know, he's pacing around in front of the dorm, waiting for me to get there."

"I supposed it would be too much to hope that he doesn't show up today," Giles remarked.

"He doesn't know we're on our way to Cold Springs. There'd be no reason for him to suspect it," Willow reasoned.

"Ah, but the fireworks wouldn't be nearly so dramatic without him," Xander pointed out, "and fusty old Professor Experience says that the Scoobies never do anything without maximum pyrotechnic impact."

"Well, if some bizarre plot twist puts him on stage, so be it," Buffy said philosophically. "The more, the...louder."

The trip continued in this manner, with Tara pointing out various land-marks from her youth as they drew closer to the small town in she was raised.

*****

She should have been back by now. She hadn't come back last night, but by the time he decided she wasn't coming back at all, he had missed seeing whether or not she was at the redhead's dorm. Of course that was where she was. They'd probably been up half the night talking about the letter and...doing those things they did together. It filled with him a strange, hot anger, thinking about it as he lay in his bed back at his hotel room.

When he got tired of waiting at Tara's the next morning, he decided to go to the magic shop where that whole scene had taken place only a few nights ago. But it was locked up and dark, and the sign said "Closed." Then he went over to Willow's room just after lunch, but no one answered his insistent knocking.

"Where the hell is everybody?" he muttered, feeling distinctly ill-at-ease with the sudden black-out.

*****

Tara could feel her heart begin to pound more emphatically the closer they got to Cold Springs. By the time they pulled off of Rte. 132 onto the gravel road that led to her house, she was surprised that no one in the 4-Runner had mentioned it. Maybe they were all just being polite. Well, no, that wouldn't explain Anya's silence.

And then she heard herself saying, "It's the next driveway on your right. Actually, it's the only drive-way on this side of the road for quite a while." In a matter of seconds, the battered mailbox came into view. It was bare now, after all those years when first her mother and then Tara herself had planted morning glories around its base.

As they pulled up to the house, she took a deep breath. Who ever said that taking a deep breath helps steady your nerves? It just makes my heart-beat sound louder.

Everyone piled out of the vehicle and walked slowly up to the front steps, taking in the sight of Tara's home. Tara raised her hand as if to knock, and then changed her mind and walked in. I'm not knocking on my own front door, even if I don't plan on living here ever again. A creeping sense of surrealism was beginning to take over her mind.

I've just learned that I may have demon in me, right after learning that I didn't. I read this totally confusing letter from Daddy, sounding like I've never heard him sound. And now I'm back here, on the farm, surrounded by Willow and my new family, and I'm about to ask my father if he really is a demon. Oh, and I'm coming out to him, too. With my girlfriend here with me. Just another day...

The group was gathered in the living room, looking at various pictures.

"That's your mom?" Willow asked softly, pointing to a framed photograph of a woman with laugh lines around her eyes, graying blond hair, and sapphire blue eyes.

"Yeah," Tara replied simply, smiling automatically at the image of her mother kneeling in the garden mulching the tomato plants. Tara had taken that picture herself.

"Well there's no questioning where you get your beauty," Giles remarked, looking closely at the photograph. Tara blushed, feeling Willow's hand on her shoulder.

"Um, would you guys like something to drink? Before I go to the barn?" She headed into the kitchen, pulling up short when she saw the note on the table:

Uncle Nathan-I went to the store. Be back soon. Beth.

"Looks like Cousin Beth is playing live-in maid," Buffy mused, peering over Tara's shoulder.

"Live-in substitute daughter, more like it. I suspect Beth would just as soon I never came home," Tara replied softly. "I think she always wanted to be a part of our family, instead of her own.

"How's that for irony?" Xander asked, smiling gently at Tara. She knew that his own family was hardly the stuff of touching TV movies. She nodded, returning the affectionate grin.

After pulling out a pitcher of iced tea and some sodas, Tara faced the group and sighed. "I think it's time for Act I, Scene II of 'Show Down on the Back 40.'" Kissing Willow unabashedly in front of everyone except Dawn (who was still looking for pictures of Tara in the living room), she headed out the door and down the dirt path to the main barn. Get ready, Daddy...Your little girl's come home, and she brought back-up.

Scientists say that smell is the sense most closely linked to memory. So it wasn't particularly surprising that Tara watched herself grow up as she drew closer to the old wooden barn, red paint peeling along the boards that rose from ground to sky. The barn had been a hiding place from Donnie; a hiding place from the world. A warm, soft bed of straw had been her favorite reading spot, light pouring in through the east window in the loft. Tears stung her eyes as she smelled the familiar mustiness emanating from within-cattle, and hay, and machinery oil.

And then she saw her father, rounding a corner in the back section of the barn.

"Hello, Daddy," she said simply, giving silent thanks that she hadn't stuttered.

Nathan Maclay halted abruptly, the five-gallon bucket in his hand suspended over a feed trough. He stared at her dumbly for several seconds, and then set the bucket down soundlessly.

"Tara." He made no move to come toward her; to hug her, or raise his hand to her. He kept his distance. After another pause, he asked, "So you've decided to come home after all?"

"Only for today, Daddy. And only to ask you some questions."

His mouth drew down into its familiar slash. "You send me away on your birthday; you speak to me with more insolence than I've ever tolerated...And then you show up to ask me questions and then leave?"

"That's right." She couldn't believe her boldness. I must be channeling Willow. Or maybe Anya. "I've learned some things and I want to know if they're true. And then I'm going back to school. With my friends, who came with me." Definitely Anya.

Her father walked toward her now, incredulity covering his face. "You've grown very willful, Tara."

"Yes, I suppose I have. I'm not trying to be disrespectful, Daddy, but I have to know the truth and you're the only one who can tell me." She stretched to her full height. You're so beautiful, Bright Eyes. Don't slouch over like you're ashamed to be tall!

Her father regarded her silently for a moment, and then said, "What is it you want to know?"

She swallowed, and then replied, "Before I ask any questions, Daddy, there's something I want you to know." Oh my God, I'm about to say the g-word, I'm really going to say it, oh goddess, here it goes, Ican'tbelieveI'mgoingtosaythis- "I'm gay, Daddy. I've known for awhile. Willow, the girl in the store who asked me if I wanted to go home-she's my partner."

She waited expectantly for the earth to tilt on its axis. When it didn't, she began to breathe again.

Her father frowned even more deeply. "I can't say I'm surprised by this. I always wondered about your...unnatural tendencies. All of them," he added significantly.

"I'm sorry you think it's unnatural, Daddy, because I don't. It's the only thing that's ever felt natural to me, besides magic."

"You would say that. Just to hurt me; to throw it in my face." Nathan Maclay suddenly looked older than Tara had ever seen him.

"No, Daddy. It's got nothing to do with hurting you. I just won't lie anymore, to anyone. I'm not ashamed of it, and I'm not ashamed of Willow."

There was another long pause, and then her father asked, "Did Willow come with you?"

"Yes. So did everyone else who was at the Magic Box that night, except for Spike. The one who hit me." She unconsciously lifted her hand to her face as she remembered the pain of his fist.

"You brought that woman into my house?" His voice rose, and Tara took an automatic step back.

"I brought her into our house; it's mine and Mama's, too. They all came here with me, to support me. I know you probably can't believe that, but it's true." She could see the anger flaring in his eyes. She summoned up Willow's image in her mind, steadying herself.

"There are questions I need to ask you, Daddy. And I think we should talk at the house." Hardly daring to believe her temerity, she turned and headed back into the sunlight.

"You think I can just leave off my chores like this? In the middle of the day?" His voice called after her.

She turned only slightly, and answered over her shoulder, "I think you have to, Daddy. Isn't it about time to face what really matters?" And then she continued her march back to the house.

Moments later, she was standing in the living room. Beth still hadn't returned. Willow ran forward to meet her, and Tara gave her a shaky smile. "Well, one big secret is out in the open," she said, scarcely believing she'd done it.

She turned at the sound of boots on the front porch, and then gave the group a small nod to say that she would be OK. And I will be. I can do this. I'm not alone. They murmured their support and good wishes, and then retreated to the kitchen. Willow stepped back from Tara, wanting to be nearby for her beloved but also recognizing that this drama began long before she had ever entered Tara's life. She would be within arm's reach at all times.

When Nathan Maclay saw Willow-again-his jaw clenched, and a flush crept over his cheeks. He stared at her for a moment, and then turned his attention to Tara. Apparently, Tara realized, he was going to act as if Willow simply didn't exist.

"You don't want to talk about this in private?" he asked sharply, his only acknowledgement of Willow's presence.

"Whatever I find out, Willow shares it with me," Tara replied evenly. When did I get so bold? I love it, but when did it happen?

Nathan Maclay made no reply to this. Instead, looked grimly at Tara. "So-what is it you need to ask me?"

Tara took what felt like her five hundredth deep breath of the day, and plunged in. "Donnie came to Sunnydale; you know that."

"Yes. He was going to try to talk some sense into you." Still the eyes were cold and hard.

"Well, it didn't work. And when it didn't work, he decided to pull out some bigger guns. He showed up at my dorm room with a gray lock box, and-" She didn't get to finish the sentence.

"What?" Nathan Maclay's face had turned ashen, and his breathing grew labored. For one awful moment Tara thought he might have a stroke. "What did you just say?"

"Daddy, are you alright?" Her father only nodded, sinking into a chair. Finally, she resumed her narrative. "He brought along this lock box, and he had a key to it. He opened it, Daddy; he showed me what was inside."

At this, Nathan Maclay lowered his head and groaned softly. "You were never meant to see that. Neither of you. I can't believe he knew about it...he took it."

Tara felt her heart soften just a bit at the sight of her father, sitting broken before her. "He said-he said he heard you one night, after Mom died. He saw you looking through the box, and he saw where you hid the key."

"I'll kill him," her father said suddenly, and Tara had a cold, terrifying suspicion that he wasn't just using a figure of speech. "I will kill him with my own hands..."

"Daddy, no; please. No more. No more hitting, and no more secrets. Please, Daddy-I have to know: is it true?"

Time passed very slowly, it seemed. Tara and Willow would later both recall hearing the steady ticking of the old clock on the mantel. There was no sound from the kitchen; there was no sound from any of them.

Finally, Nathan Maclay lifted his head and looked at Tara with eyes that had aged, it seemed, twenty years in those few minutes.

"It's true."

Tara felt herself grow dizzy, and wondered dimly if she would faint. Fainting would mean a few more minutes where she didn't have to face the truth. But then her vision cleared, and she could feel Willow's hand on her arm, guiding her to the sofa. She sank slowly into the old cushions, Willow joining her.

"Why, Daddy? Why didn't you ever tell us? How could you-how could you let Mama think it was her?"

Her father laughed, a dry, brittle sound. "You wouldn't think a man in love would do something like that, would you?"

"I know you were scared of losing her, Daddy. But even at the end? You let her die thinking she had demon in her." Tara's voice sounded very far away to her own ears.

"Things change over time. Lots of things changed between when I wrote that letter and when your mother died." His eyes told them that he was watching some movie in his mind to which they weren't privy.

Finally, a sob broke from Tara's throat. "And your children, Daddy? Did things change with us, too? How could you not tell us?"

"I wanted to protect you," he said dully. "Although that doesn't really matter, I guess."

"Protect us? By keeping the truth from us?" Tara suspected that her laugh bordered on hysterical.

"You didn't need to know, Tara." His voice grew firm again.

"Yes we did, Daddy. Maybe you were trying to protect me, but I deserved to know." Her voice trembled with the force of both anger and pain. "I'm not your little girl anymore."

Nathan Maclay looked at her, his gaze almost unspeakably sad.

"You never were."

*****

Continued...