Chapter 7—How Can I Escape This Irresistible Grasp?

How can I escape this irresistable grasp?--Pink Floyd, "Learning To Fly"

Anya picked up the phone as soon as the box arrived. “It’s here.”

“We’ll be over later.” Willow replaced the receiver in the cradle and looked through the bedroom door at a sleeping Tara. There were two more ingredients that she needed, and she needed to get them today.

She dressed all in white, fooling nobody. She went into her closet, her secret place, and brought out the spell book and the sacred knife, her athame, that she had blessed and purified for this alone, with fire, earth, air, and water. She pushed them both into a carrysack, and silently let herself out of the apartment.

Tara watched her go through half-lidded eyes. She dressed quickly, knowing she was on limited time. Grabbing the crystal, she headed toward the house on Revello.

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

They looked down at the simple crystal on the table. Muddy swirls had formed overnight, and the crystal looked more like a sparkling chunk of mud.

“What do you think, Glinda? What should we do with it?”

“I think that she’s planning on doing the spell tonight. It really isn’t the right time for it, by the stars and planets, but she isn’t really concerned about all that. All she cares about right now is easing her own guilt, not anyone else. Even me.”

Spike looked up at her with sharp eyes, and was glad that Dawn was out of the house. “Channeled a bit more than just the power, didn’t you, luv?”

Tara flushed, and looked uncomfortable. “Yeah. It was…kinda creepy. I found out a lot that I’m not so sure I should have. I can’t look at her the same, Spike. Not after this.” She nodded at the stone, and he found himself agreeing with her.

“Don’t have to, luv. Come live here with Dawnie and me. I’m sure that Buffy wouldn’t have minded. And I know Dawn will love it.”

She thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll move in soon. Right after….”

Right. After the spell that shouldn’t be done. He walked her to the door, and she paused. “I’ll call you…if it happens tonight…or going to. Will you come?”

“I’ll be there. Even if I’m not supposed to find out, I’ll wander through the cemetery and pretend. I can act a little, you know.”

She touched his face, and smiled softly. “Yeah, I know. You act a lot. The others don’t see, but I do.”

It warmed his heart, and he smiled at her, like he hadn’t smiled since Buffy left. He wanted to kick himself for being a ponce, but he knew the little witch needed the boost, and it genuinely felt good to be trusted and cared for. He closed the door behind her, and hoped that this didn’t end in blood. Magic had consequences.

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

Willow called the fawn to her with magic, just enough to sooth its head to lay in her lap.

She almost felt guilt, then dismissed it with a toss of her head. They wouldn’t want to know about this. This is taking a step too far, but who cares? I’ll do anything to get Buffy back, and if it means this, then so be it. Tara wouldn’t like it, but she’s not the boss of me, she’s just my girlfriend.

She slit the fawn’s throat, catching the blood in a purified jar. When the last drop spilled on her hand, she raised it to her mouth and licked it off, just like the ritual specified. Capping the lid, she split the carcass and found the heart inside, beating its last laden beats. She cut it loose, and it quivered in her hand, then stopped completely. She felt the power coursing through her hand, and reluctantly put the heart into another consecrated container before cleaning her hands off on the towel she pulled out of the bag.

She felt…weaker somehow. Like she had lost some of her power. Dismissing her doubts, she packed the acquired ingredients away, and started back toward her apartment.

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

The four of them had dinner at Anya and Xander’s, and as soon as the plates were cleared, Willow changed. They watched her change, from the look in her eyes to the lines around her mouth, and Xander and Anya shared a look and a shiver, realizing that what Tara had said was right. This was dark, and Willow was being consumed by it.

“I want to see it.” There was a demanding tone, one that hadn’t been there before.

Anya went into the bedroom and returned with a box from an overnight service. “I do hope I’ll be reimbursed for these expenses. It’s getting hard to cover it up in the books, and Giles is gonna figure it out.”

Willow scoffed. “By the time Giles gets a clue, it’ll already be done.” She watched Xander cut the binding straps, then waved her hand over the box, trying to sense any magickal surprises. She felt the power inside creeping out on misty tendrils, and it made her dizzy. “Open it up.”

Xander lifted the flaps, and the magic flowed out and around them, blowing their hair with a mystical wind. They stood unknowingly on the four points of the compass, just as was necessary, and Willow smiled secretively.

She reached out, and took the mystical object from Xander. She looked at it critically. Coptic markings ran down the sides and in rings around the top and bottom. She turned it over, and found it free of chips and cracks. It was in perfect condition.

She set it on the table between them, and pushed them to place their hands over the top of the urn. When the other three had their hands in position, she placed her own right hand on top, then with her left, shoved the still-bloody athame through all their hands.

She started chanting as the blood dripped down the blade into the urn below. “Osiris, god of the dead and beyond, we consecrate by living blood the urn of the dead. Anubis, release her soul to the ether, to return to the body that you protect. So it is written, so shall it be.”

The urn took on a rosy flush over the orangey-brown of the pottery. She looked up at the frozen faces of her friends and felt a flicker of guilt, then crumbled the Lethe’s bramble over the bloodied openings in their hands, binding the healing spell and forgetting spell together with their own blood. They would never remember what she had done.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she released them from the momentary control, and they blinked. “Wasn’t the urn kinda orange when you took it out of the box, Xander?” Trust Anya to notice.

“No, I think that it was always that reddish color. So, when are we doing this thing?”

“Tomorrow night. The moon will be right, and there are just a couple of things that I have yet to do before I’m ready. Meditation and stuff. There’ll be trials, you have to understand that. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can interrupt us once we start. If we do…it may harm Buffy.”

They nodded, spellbound. “We’ll meet here at 8, then go to the cemetery, okay?” She headed toward the front door, then released them completely, waving her hand behind her. They looked around confused, then Tara moved to join her.

The door snapped closed behind them, and Xander and Anya looked around. “Huh? Short meeting. Well, I guess we’ll get this done tomorrow, huh?”

“I guess.” Anya wrapped her arms around him, keeping her traitorous second thoughts to herself. “Let’s go to bed, and get some rest. Tomorrow will take a lot out of us.”

Xander looked down, surprised by Anya’s apparent lack of interest in sex. This was not like his girlfriend, but he appreciated what she was saying. She was right. This would take a lot out of them.

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

Twenty-four hours later, they stood around a too-familiar grave. The headstone mocked them with its austerity. ‘She saved the world a lot’. What an understatement.

They took the positions that Willow indicated, and joined hands. Willow dropped her head to her chest, and began breathing slowly.

“What’s going on here?”

They turned as a group, and Spike stepped out of the shadows. “Practicing magic, Red?”

“You should go. You shouldn’t be here.” She tried to push him with her mind, like she had the others, and found his complete resistance to her annoying.

“Your magic won’t work on me, Red. Now if I was a betting vamp, I would say that you’re doing a spell that you don’t need to be. And you know I’m a betting vamp. So, what’s the word? Resurrecting things better left alone?”

“I think Will’s right, Deadboy. You need to leave. This is for Buffy’s friends.” Xander’s tone implied the opposite of Spike, and he bristled.

“I have earned the right to be here, whatever you’re doing. I keep her house in order, I watch her sister, and I keep my promises to her. Did you?”

Shame infused their faces, and he knew that he’d struck a nerve. “So whatever you’re planning to do to the Slayer, I deserve to be included. No matter what you think of me, Whelp.”

“Spike’s right. He does deserve to be here.” The firmness in Tara’s voice shocked everyone, including her. “Buffy would want him here.”

“I think you’re mistaking what the Evil Dead wants for what Buffy—“

“He needs to be here.” There was a surety in Anya’s statement that stopped Xander’s gibe. “Let’s just get on with this, okay?”

“If you’re gonna try and raise her, you need to dig her up. Otherwise, you’ll have a live slayer in a coffin.” He shuddered, and they noticed.

“The voice of experience talking. Okay, but we have no shovels.” Xander looked around, and spied a shed not far away. “Come on, Spike. If you want to help, you can at least put the vamp speed and strength to work for us.”

An hour later, they stood around an open grave, the coffin still inside.

“Can we get started now?” Willow was petulant at the delay, although what Spike had said made sense. As they moved into the points of the pentacle, which was actually a more powerful positioning for the spell, she nodded. “All right. Light your candles.”

It must have been forethought that she packed five of the fat, white candles. They lit them in the circle, and Willow drew upon the magic to pull the circle tight, not allowing the magic to leak out. They all kneeled in their places, and Willow started to read from the bound leather book she now placed in front of her.

“Osiris, keeper of the dead, we call forth the protector, she who was chosen to keep the world from harm. Release her into her vessel, protected and sacred to Anubis, guardian of the dead and their physical forms. We offer you the innocent,” she intoned, pouring the blood from the fawn into the urn. “We offer a heart to weigh in her stead,” she said, dropping the heart in the urn as well. “We offer the blood of those who love her,” she canted, and passed the athame around the circle. They each cut a small gash at the base of their left thumb, and dripped the blood onto the ground inside the circle.

Tara and Spike both watched her closely, waiting for her power drain to become apparent. She showed no signs of flagging yet. They looked at each other across the circle, and their doubts were crystal clear in their eyes.

“We reach into the ether for the soul of the Slayer. We demand you release her to us, back to this plane, back to her form. We demand it by rite of blood and heart and life.”

The power built within the circle, holding them paralyzed. It built until their senses screamed with it, then there was a lull, and it became stagnant. Their mouths O’d in silent screams, and Willow broke concentration long enough to yell, “Tara, help me! I can’t get enough power, and we can’t stop halfway!”

Tara nodded, and began to chant under her breath, the magical roar loud in her ears. She looked across at Spike, and saw him chanting as well, surprisingly, and he dropped something dark and shiny to the ground. She understood then why he was here and what he planned to do. Doubt filled her, but she continued to funnel powerful and controlled magic into the wild card spell that Willow had created to attempt this magical travesty.

Their bodies shared one heartbeat as the magic pulsed, then Spike raised his boot and brought it down on the dark rock at his feet. Power exploded outward into the closed circle, and rebounded to its rightful owner. Willow fell sideways, her mouth still working the spell as convulsions from the shock of the energy convergence coursed its way through her nervous system, down magical nodes to the source and burned her magic from her, from the inside out.

Blood red mist settled over the top of the casket, then through to the contents. Hands enjoined in the final stages of the spell, and Willow raised her voice over the maelstrom of magic and power and nerve endings raw with mystical abuse, “So mote it be!”

The whirlwind died as Tara touched the ground, thrusting the magic into the gravedirt under her knees, and they watched in an eerie silence the hole in front of them. There was a noise, like a gasp for air, then a rending where a fist punched through a hole, ripping of cloth, and Buffy was standing there. Wonder, awe, surprise, and guilt warred on four of their faces. Willow lay on the ground where she fell, pride all over her.

Buffy stepped out of the grave, looking around at their faces. Bending down, she picked Willow up off of the ground, helping her to stand. When she was on her own two feet again, Buffy drew back her hand and slapped her in the face.

“How dare you, you ignorant little girl?”


A/N: Since in the States it is a holiday weekend, plus I have to work three out of the four days of it, I won't be posting again until Monday...Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, and may the Lord Give You Peace...

Thank you so much for all of the reviews! They make my day!!!