by Nancy Holder
“I’d just feel better if I could defend myself,” Willow said meekly, and turned to look at the huge blade on the wall again. “I’d love to be able to use something like this. Nobody would mess with me if I had a big sword in my hands.”
“Especially if you were strong enough to lift it off the ground,” Buffy said, trying gamely to lighten the moment, to cheer Willow up.
And failing.
Willow brushed her fingers over the blade and up to the cloth covering the hilt of the sword. Beneath the crisscross pattern was a trio of metal disks that looked like they were made of bronze or something similar. There was some kind of weird inscription on them, and Willow tried to get a better—
One of the disks fell out.
“Whoops,” Willow said, trying to catch it.
A long drop to the floor, where it clanged like a fallen coin. Blushing, Willow bent to pick it up, and quickly tried to slide it back where it had come from. Her fingers found the blade instead.
“Will, I don’t know if you should … ,” Buffy started.
Too late.
Willow hissed and pulled her hand back. There was blood on the index finger. She’d somehow slipped and cut her finger. The sword was so sharp it had only stung, but the cut looked kind of deep.
“That’s gotta hurt!” Xander said as he stepped up behind them.
Willow spun on him in alarm, as if he were going to attack her.
“Back off!” she snapped.
“Whoa,” Xander said, eyes blinking his surprise. “What’d I do?”
Willow shook her head as she sucked at her cut finger, hoping she wouldn’t need stitches.
“Nothing,” she said. “Sorry, just edgy after Saturday, I guess. Let’s get out of here.”
“Sounds good,” Buffy said happily. “I guess we’ve stayed long enough for me to miss my math test.”
“Goody for you,” Willow said crankily.
Buffy looked taken aback, but suddenly, Willow didn’t much care. She didn’t feel well and she just wanted to get home and crawl under the covers. And Buffy’s cheeriness, even if it was for her benefit, wasn’t really cheering her up at all.
It wasn’t until the bus pulled into the parking lot at Sunnydale High that Willow realized she’d stuck that weird metal disk into her pocket. And as soon as she realized it, she promptly forgot again.
Willow went home sick just before fifth period.
CHAPTER THREE
By the time the bus pulled back into the school parking lot, Willow was feeling a bit nauseous.
“You look really pale,” Xander told her.
She waited for the requisite crack about vampirism, or ghostliness, or her usual less-than-bronze pallor, but it didn’t come. Xander wasn’t teasing her, just concerned. That was when Willow realized that she’d better go home.
Even Mr. Morse was nice to her.
“Really, Willow, it’s all right,” the history teacher said, nodding too much as he almost pushed her toward Giles in the parking lot. “I’ll tell Principal Snyder that you were ill. Go home and get some rest. You don’t want to miss my pop quiz tomorrow, do you?”
A joke, Willow thought, beginning to feel disoriented. Mr. Morse had made a joke. To make her feel better.
And, of course, it only made her feel worse.
Willow felt like she was seeing everything in a weird, out-of-focus hyper-reality. Almost like a VR game, but with snippets of her real life. Xander looked at her, all brotherly, and told her to get some rest and that he’d call to check up on her when school was out. Buffy promised to tell Oz she’d gone home sick. Cordelia made a face and asked if Willow was going to throw up on her.
Giles drove her home. She didn’t remember talking to him much. He made game attempts at small talk for a bit before giving up. In the end, he walked her to the door, where her mom made a big fuss as Willow had known she would, thanked Giles, and hustled her upstairs.
Willow fell into bed at one o’clock in the afternoon and didn’t wake up until it was time for school Tuesday morning.
She slept like the dead.
“Hello, zombie alert!” Xander quipped as Willow walked through the library doors the next afternoon when classes had ended.
She smiled. Her first smile since the day before, and it felt good.
“I know I don’t look my best,” she said, “but I feel a lot better. Much. Much better.”
“I’m glad,” Xander replied, and smiled. “I was worried when you didn’t call back last night. Your mom didn’t want to wake you up, so I stayed up all night, tossing and turning with my concern for your well-being.”
Willow raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even last until the news, did you?”
“Not even the ten o’clock,” Xander admitted. “Which doesn’t mean I wasn’t worried! I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”
She was pleased. “Yeah. Feeling better is good. I don’t know what was wrong with me yesterday. I just … I don’t know, I totally lost it there for a bit. I’ve never felt like that before. I mean, I’ve talked to people who have had migraine headaches, and it sort of reminded me of some of the things they said. Except for the part where your head aches. Mine didn’t.”
“That’s good,” Xander said encouragingly.
“I’m just happy to be human again,” she went on.
“Human is even better,” Xander agreed.
“So where is everyone?” Willow asked, looking around. “I’ve barely seen Buffy all day.”
“Oh, apparently she killed something else last night. Broke a centuries-old curse or something. Par for the course. The danger’s over, but it seems that Giles is still excitedly interrogating her off somewhere. I’m actually just waiting for—”
“You ready?”
Willow and Xander turned to see Cordelia standing in the open library door looking as impatient as always. Willow still didn’t get it, but she wasn’t about to interfere.
“Hey, Cord,” Willow said.
“Hi, Willow,” Cordelia replied. “Feel better?”
“Kind of tired, actually,” Willow said. “If I didn’t know I’d been practically comatose for seventeen hours last night, I’d say I pulled an all-night study session.” She glanced at Xander. “I’m much better, however.”
“All-night study session?” Cordelia asked, frowning. “You’re such a party animal, girl.”
Then Xander was pushing Cordelia out the door. Cordy waved to her, and Willow offered a halfhearted smile in return. After they were gone, she sat for a moment in silence, then walked over to the library computer that Giles always had her working on.
She spent a lot of time on her computer at home, and even more here at school, doing research, but also checking out blogs and message boards, meeting new people and surfing for information that might help Buffy and Giles. Too much time, she often thought. She had friends online, but she was never certain if they were real friends. If they were who and what they claimed. It was a lesson she’d learned painfully once before, and ever since, Willow had been less inclined to look into the Web world for a social life.
The real world was no picnic, but it was real. And she had friends who cared about her. Watched out for her. So, she wasn’t a warrior princess, that much was clear. But she knew enough to know that there were things she was good at, things she could do that the others couldn’t. For starters, of all the kids in school, she’d been asked to substitute teach Ms. Calendar’s computer course after the teacher had been … had been murdered.
Willow Rosenberg might not be able to do backflips or roundhouse kicks, or even punch really hard. But she was a sorceress when it came to the Internet. Online, she had power. She was confident. And when she’d woken up that morning, she’d known just what she was going to do: She was going to find her attackers. Or, at least, she was going to try. It was what she knew how to do. Then she would feel as though she had fought back in some small way.
And that was what haunted her still. She hadn’t fought ba
ck.
Willow began her search. The local papers, local and state police databases, crime reports from nearby towns. It was going to take a while, but Willow knew that if she was ever going to get over this feeling of helplessness, of horrible vulnerability, she had to do something.
Half an hour later, the library doors opened, but Willow didn’t even look up as Buffy and Giles came in.
“Think carefully, Buffy,” Giles was saying. “How many different demonic voices did you hear coming from inside the Monsignor?”
“Y’know, Giles, I wasn’t really counting,” Buffy replied, obviously tired of the subject. “I was just trying to stay alive. And I thought we’d already established that only one demon could ever exist inside a body at a time.”
“Yes, well, the Monsignor is—or rather, was—the exception that proved the rule. It seems a sixteenth-century Italian noblewoman, a de’ Medici, I believe, had her magician place a horrible enchantment on the Monsignor that acted as some sort of magnet for demons, attracting any of them within the city of Florence to occupy the poor man’s body. Naturally, the strain killed him, and he became a vampire. But the—shall we say—overpopulation of his body also drove the Monsignor quite mad prior to his unfortunate demise, and transformed the demons inside him into gibbering idiots.”
Willow looked up at last, intrigued by the conversation.
“This was the trouble you had last night?” she asked Buffy.
Buffy nodded. “Complete looney tunes. But Giles thinks he was a celebrity or something.”
Willow watched as Giles’s face went from surprise to wounded pride in milliseconds.
“Not at all.” He sniffed. “I merely found it fascinating that the Hellmouth continues to attract creatures that have been widely considered little more than myths for centuries. I have read the Watcher journal that stated outright that the Monsignor was nothing but a legend.”
“He might as well be, now,” Buffy said.
“Quite right,” Giles said happily. “You freed him from his curse.”
Willow had the impression that he couldn’t wait to write down Buffy’s latest exploit in his own journal. But the conversation was over, and the two of them moved on to more important things.
Sparring.
While Willow continued her search, Giles put Buffy through the hell she called “Slayer practice”: weapons and martial arts training that more often than not left poor Giles with large welts and bruises he would be hard-pressed to explain if he had a love life. That’s why Jenny Calendar had made the perfect girlfriend for him. She knew. Of course, her knowing had also gotten her killed.
Willow kept thinking about Ms. Calendar now. Thinking that maybe if she had known what Buffy knew, if she had had that training, maybe she would still be alive. Maybe she would have been able to escape Angelus, or hold him off until help arrived.
As she went through the motions of her search, this thought filled Willow’s mind more and more, and she paid less and less attention to what she was doing. Finally, she gave up altogether and turned to watch as Buffy launched kick after kick at a heavily padded Giles. Her fists and feet flew, then landed hard, each blow connecting with a confidence that Willow didn’t think she could ever feel.
Willow wasn’t a fool. She knew that Buffy was capable of things that other girls simply were not. But she also knew that she would benefit from a bit more than the basic self-defense she already knew.
When Buffy and Giles started to fight with long wooden poles called bo-sticks, Willow watched with wide eyes.
Finally, Buffy noticed her.
“Giles, could we take a break for a bit?” Buffy asked sweetly.
For his part, Giles seemed more than relieved to have a few minutes to rest between getting his pride as bruised as his body. He slipped out of his pads and disappeared. Off to the men’s room or the stacks—Willow wasn’t sure which because she honestly wasn’t paying all that much attention.
As soon as he was gone, Buffy strolled over, cocked her head slightly, and raised her eyebrows, studying Willow.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or are you going to force me to relive the nightmare game of charades that my mother made me play constantly as a child?”
Willow smiled. “I was just watching you,” she said. “I wish I could fight like that.”
Buffy chewed her lip a moment, then seemed to nod to herself, as though nobody else was watching or would notice.
“This is getting serious,” she said. She pulled up a chair and sat down next to Willow at the computer. “This mugging is really haunting you, isn’t it?”
Willow looked away, shrugged a little. She gestured toward the computer screen. “I’ve been kind of trying to track them down. See if there’s been a bunch of attacks like this lately or if anyone has been arrested.”
“So what did you find?” Buffy asked hopefully.
“Lots of attacks,” Willow reported. “Unfortunately, most of them sound more like vampires than bullies robbing kids for milk money.”
Willow heard the bitterness in her own voice, but she couldn’t help it. And when Buffy reached out for her hand to comfort her, she couldn’t help but draw back as if she’d been burned. She wanted help, not pity.
“Willow, there wasn’t anything you could have done,” Buffy said. “It wasn’t your fault, and it has nothing to do with being strong. If you had tried to fight them, you might have been hurt worse.”
Willow felt hot tears start to fill her eyes, and she gritted her teeth, determined not to let those tears fall.
“You’re missing the point!” she snapped. “There was something I could have done! I could have fought them, but I didn’t! Buffy, I just froze up—completely paralyzed with fear. I’ve been in situations with you where I knew for a fact my life was in danger. In this case, it wasn’t even that. They didn’t want to kill me, or I’d be dead.”
“Will,” Buffy began, but Willow shook her head.
“Angel wanted to kill me, once. He would have, too, if not for Ms. Calendar. Yes, I know that wasn’t really Angel, but that’s not what I’m talking about. He wanted to kill me, but I can still look him in the face. I can talk to him and turn my back on him. I can give him my trust.”
Buffy nodded seriously and looked as if she wanted to say something, but Willow couldn’t stop herself.
“Maybe that’s because of who he is, but I think it’s because of who I am too. Because when it comes to this life, to slaying, it doesn’t feel like just me, Willow Rosenberg, against all this horrible stuff. It’s us against them, do you understand?
“But alone in the dark. On that street with nobody around? I froze, Buffy. I didn’t even try to fight back. I haven’t admitted that to anyone, never mind to myself. That’s part of the reason I didn’t report it to the police …”
“You didn’t?” Buffy asked, staring at her.
“Of course not,” Willow said. “How was I going to explain where I’d been, where I was coming from, and why I was out without my parents’ permission?”
Buffy looked sort of embarrassed. “Will, I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault, Buffy,” Willow replied shakily. “It isn’t even my fault, I know that. But I could have prevented it. If I’d been better prepared.”
Buffy seemed to be at a total loss for words. For once, she didn’t know what to say. So she isn’t perfect after all, is she? a small voice in Willow’s head asked.
“Y’know,” Buffy said, “Giles and I are pretty much done now. If you really wanted, I could …”
She started to gesture toward the open area of the library, where she and Giles had been training. Willow flinched as if Buffy had slapped her. Now she offers, Willow thought bitterly. Now that I’ve humiliated myself.
Confusion spread though her in an instant. Where had all these bitter thoughts toward Buffy come from? She certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve them. Nothing except try to be a good friend.
But Willow co
uld not get over the pity she saw on Buffy’s face.
“Know what, I think we should try it another time,” Willow said. “I’m actually still not feeling completely better from yesterday.” She gestured to her arm. “I’m just going to work on this a while longer, and then I’m going to go home.”
“You sure?” Buffy asked, looking a little hurt and confused herself.
“I’m sure,” Willow replied, and offered a smile that she barely meant at all.
Later, when Buffy had left and Giles was toiling away in silence up in the stacks, Willow returned to her computer. But she abandoned her previous search efforts. This time, she began to search for information about weapons from around the world and their uses. She was a smart girl. She would figure them out for herself.
In fact, just looking at several of them—mostly the swords—she could almost feel their weight in her hands. Feel the heft and hear the whickering of steel through the air as her blade whipped down toward its target. Feel it slice flesh and snap bone.
Willow’s eyes rolled back in her head for a moment, and she nearly blacked out. Her lids flickered, and she heard a small voice—maybe the voice of her conscience, maybe another voice entirely—whispering in her head.
Yesssss, it hissed.
Her hands flexed around the hilt of an imaginary blade.
Willow’s eyes snapped open.
“Whoa,” she said to herself.
She stood shakily and gathered up her things. Maybe she wasn’t all better after all, she thought. She certainly wasn’t feeling normal.
Normal girls didn’t have daydreams about swords. About … murder.
CHAPTER FOUR
They are screaming.”
The Great Empress Wu bowed low before her own dragon throne, its jade wings outstretched, its pearl eyes gleaming evilly in the glow of oil lamps. Her vast silk robes shimmered across the floor like the Yellow River in a summer sunset. But it was winter now, and near dawn, and deadly cold inside her palace.
On the throne sat Lord Chirayoju, her former Minister of the Interior, who smiled and folded its hands across its chest. Its fingernails were sharp claws. Its teeth were fangs tinged with blood.
