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Author's Chapter Notes:
Again thanks to the wonderful Jill, without her wonderful encouragement and beta'ing skills this story probably would have been abandoned.
Please review, it keeps me writing.
Spike was dreaming. He was back in the alley and he was facing the Dragon with Angel at his side.



Angel rushed forward holding an axe that he'd liberated from some demon he dispatched moments before, a wild grin on his face. He lunged forward in a mad leap, attempting to damage the monster before it had the chance to use it's apparently not so mythical fire breath.



Then suddenly in the way of dreams, it wasn't Angel, it was Buffy, and instead of completing the attack she turned to face Spike. The look on her face was heartbreaking and her words even more so.



"You finally left me Spike... you promised me you would never leave, and you left just like the others." There was such loss in her eyes that Spike felt his undead heart clench in pain as she stood, back turned to the danger behind her.





He started to move towards her... to reassure her that he hadn't really left her, not in his heart. But even as he took the first step the dragon behind her reared up. "Buffy..." he yelled, trying desperately to warn her of the danger.



"Its ok Spike... don't you remember? Death is my gift." she offered sadly as she turned to face the dragon's fire. She moved forward to meet its charge and Spike saw the flicker of the dragon's flames glint off the familiar curves of the Scythe.



For a moment, he was frozen in time as he watched the Slayer in all her lethal grace move forward and engage the huge beast. She raised her arm and with slayer strength threw the scythe with deadly accuracy. It pierced the dragon's hide exactly as aimed, right over it's heart.



The dragon roared, and with its last breath, it loosed a stream of molten flame enveloping the small form of the slayer.

Spike screamed in horror as Buffy turned to him, her clothes and skin alight, her hair seemingly part of the flame, so it looked to Spike as though she was completely made of the fire. She moved towards him reaching out her hands.



"I touched the fire Spike... I touched the fire and I got it back...

Look at me William I got it all back...because of you."



Spike lunged towards her, desperate to smother the flames. But before he could even touch her, the fire surrounding her form flared brighter than the sun and she crumbled to ash at his feet.



"BUFFY" he rasped as he lurched awake... "BUFFY NO..."



Argh! He shrieked, the pain of his many injuries waking with his panicked movement. He writhed on the bed as the torment from his dream battled with the agony of his wounds.



God, he knew he was dying, but he never expected dying a third time would be this painful. It was worse than burning up in the Hellmouth. At least back then it had been with the knowledge that the woman he loved would be safe and the pain, though agonizing, would be brief.



Now he felt like every part of him was on fire, he could feel his unlife slipping away by inches. The dream that had awakened him seemed to have made the pain intensify, and for the first time since he'd become corporeal again he truly wished he'd never been brought back.





"Spike...Spike, it's Ok Spike. It was just a dream" soothed a voice that was vaguely familiar, though right at the moment, he just couldn't seem to place it. He tried to open his eyes and it was with renewed horror that he remembered he couldn't see, that he was blind.





"Shhh" murmured the voice as he felt a cool hand settle on his cheek, the touch so light that at first he thought it was his imagination.



The familiar smell a mixture of spice and strawberry prompted his olfactory memory into volunteering the identity of the voice.





"God.... Red, please...Red... it hurts... why the bloody fuck am I still here?"

He moaned as her hand left his face and his body flailed in panic at the loss. "RED, GOD RED, don't go" he pleaded, voice rising in panic as the pain became near unbearable. "I need you to finish me Red... don't you bloody well leave me like this... not now"



Then she was back, her cool hand at the base of his neck and he could dimly sense she was holding something close to his ruined mouth.





"Drink, Spike, drink..." she urged gently "it will help with the pain. I'm not going anywhere Spike I won't leave you" she promised, tears welling in her eyes. "shhh, I'm here and I'm not going away."



Willow's brow knotted in worry as the vampire on the bed writhed in agony. The hastily prepared blood and herb concoction ignored, as his body bowed under the pain of his frantic movements.



"Spike" She called loudly and with a firmness she was far from feeling.

"Spike you have to drink this and you have to stay still. Drink" she commanded, trying to stop her own rising despair as the vampire writhed with a torment that Willow couldn't begin to imagine.



Hastily wiping away the tears that threatened to fall, she muttered a prayer of calming under her breath. Calling once again on the Goddess to lend her strength, she concentrated her will on immobilizing the stricken vampire.





Slowly his body stopped jerking, until only the odd spasm wracked his damaged frame and he was at last able to focus enough to take the offered straw and drink.



Willow sighed in relief as moments after he'd finished it he seemed to slip back into the arms of slumber.

Examining him closely she was relieved to see that he had done no serious damage to himself. His sleep seemed to be actual sleep rather than unconsciousness.



Settling back on her heels and observing him for a few more moments, she tried to gather her scattered wits.

Glancing at her watch she registered that she had slept for barely four hours, but she knew looking at Spike that four hours was all she was gonna get. She needed to call the book now. Sleep was a luxury she could no longer afford.



Getting slowly to her feet she stretched, bowing her head for a moment to prepare herself mentally for the spell she would have to perform.



Oh Tara, I wish you were here.



The thought was sudden, causing a sharp pang in her heart. It was times like these that she felt again just how much she had lost when Tara was taken from her.



Oh God baby, you were always so much better at this stuff than me... I just hope I remember how to do this right.



It was funny she thought, how she could go for days, sometimes a week without thinking of her former love with grief... then bang, something would remind her that Tara was truly gone, and the grief would come rushing back as fresh as the day she held her lover's body in her arms.



This particular type of magic was something Tara had always excelled at. She, in a way, being more connected to the earth than Willow, even though Willow's power was the greater.



Just the thought of the expression on her lost loves face, as she called upon the mother to help her with her casting, was enough for Willow's old wounds to break open and bleed there sorrow anew.



Lifting her head and blinking away the tears that had started to form yet again; she seemed for a moment to hear the echo of Tara's voice in her mind.



You can do this Willow... I believe in you. Trust yourself and the Goddess... the magic will come.



Smiling tremulously Willow gathered her resolve. Right... I can do this... I know I can do this... I'm the big gun.

Okay, one book coming right up,she nodded with grim determination.

Hell... after empowering an army of slayers there's no way I can't do this. It's a really basic spell... an easy spell... just cos you've never done it before doesn't mean you can't.





Pulling her athame out of her bag, she turned to the small refrigerator and searched for what she would need.



Let's see the spell calls for blood... too bad I can't use the bagged stuff,she thought with regret. God I hate the whole ‘it's always about the blood' thing, especially when it's mine.



"Ah ha" she muttered triumphantly. Finally finding what she'd been searching for.





Clearing a space off to the side of the bedroom under the window, she reached for the small silver bowl that someone had fortuitously left behind when the AI team moved to Wolfram and Hart.



She had to give Illyria credit for thoroughness; she seemed to have pretty much brought every magically related item left in the hotel, as well as a most of the kitchen.



Tipping the contents of the jar she'd retrieved from the refrigerator into the bowl, she braced herself before swiftly slicing her palm with the sharp kitchen knife she'd found earlier. Knowing, from painful experience, that her athame would not be up to the task.





Holding her palm over the bowl, she invoked the name of Hecate and asked that she help in the casting.



After deciding that she had bled enough to satisfy the requirements of the spell, she carefully bound her hand before taking her place, turning her attention to the space she had chosen for the working.



Shaking her head quizzically, she started to draw the outline of the pentagram with the contents of the bowl.



It's a good thing Spike's asleep, cos the garlic I just used for the spell would probably have had him sneezing his head off.



She remembered fondly, her amusement at Spike's reluctant explanation, (one evening during the months that Buffy was gone) that the reason he didn't like garlic on his pizza wasn't because it was deadly to vampires, but was in fact because vampires were actually allergic to the stuff.



Apparently sneezing your head off around the potential happy meals on legs didn't exactly inspire dread in an intended victim. Hence, the myth of it being deadly. It gave vamps a legit excuse to avoid the stuff, and the subsequent embarrassment.



Xander, of course, had given him hell about it, making sure to get extra garlic on every pizza for the next week. Anya finally noticed, telling him that if he came to bed smelling like garlic one more night she would refuse to give him orgasms for the following week. After that, the pizza was blessedly garlic free.







Finishing the last few lines of the pentagram, she laid the blade aside and stepped within the center of her labor. Sitting and crossing her legs, she rested her arms, palms up, and focused her mind on the task ahead.



First, she pictured the face of the books previous owner, Tara, and then she pictured the book that she needed to call.



Next, she tied the two together with a cord of silver light and pictured the light flowing from Tara to the book, slowly unwinding itself until it flowed back to the pentagram enclosing her.



Then chanting softly, she focused her energies on the image of Tara and the book.



"Let what was lost now be found

I summon from Gaia's embrace

That which is needed now

With her blessing I call it

With her power I ask it

If it be her will, it shall be found

In her name, by the power of the earth I beseech

Let what was lost now be found

So mote it be... so mote it be"



Breathing rhythmically, she continued to chant the invocation repeatedly. While in her mind, the picture of Tara and the book grew clearer and sharper. The silver cord that she had visualized as a link between the book and her lover glowing and expanding as it flowed towards its desired destination, the pentagram in which she sat.





She felt a tingle begin in the region of her stomach as she visualized the connection between her and her dead love that would allow her to claim ownership of the book.



Chanting the words, she worried briefly that the spell she'd used wouldn't be sufficient to transfer ownership from Tara to herself. She had, after all, had to tweak it a little as it was originally meant to call for something that was lost by the true owner.



Of course, with Tara being gone she supposed technically the book now had no owner. But working with the knowledge that failure might mean Spike's death, she had very carefully devised a way to (hopefully) get round the whole ownership thing.



She felt the tug of contact, sensing through the magical connection that what she needed had been found.



Concentrating even harder on the link joining Tara, the book, and herself, she pushed down her rising excitement and attempted to pull it towards her gently.





That's weird she thought, feeling the illusionary cord tug at her middle.



Hmm... something is blocking it. Maybe the residual energy from the Hellmouth was having more of an affect than she'd factored for?



She redoubled her efforts, never once losing sight of the image in her mind. Knowing that if she lost the link she had so painstakingly forged she wouldn't get another chance.



C'mon, she thought in frustration as she poured more power into the spell. C'mon... c'mon I really need this to work.





After several more minutes of faithful chanting and intense concentration, the book still seemed to be defying her efforts to summon it. She knew that the spell was working; she could feel the deep connection Tara and she had shared in life. She knew that she had fooled the spell into believing that Tara had shared ownership with her because of their bond. So she didn't understand what was holding the book back.



Sunnydale was nothing more that a huge hole in the ground and the Hellmouth was closed, so why the heck wouldn't the stupid thing just come?



Oh, screw it, she thought. I don't have time for subtle.



Closing her eyes, she turned her vision inward. Drawing magic from deep within herself, she used her recently awakened power to force her will upon the cord that linked the book to her.



She had used the power she acquired closing the Hellmouth sparingly over the past year, only calling on it in extreme cases of emergency.

This though, was the second time in as many days that she had occasion to use it.



A small voice of caution in the back of her mind whispered that what she was doing was too much like the quick fix attitude she'd had in the bad old days.



Firmly squashing her doubts with the very valid argument that A) this was an emergency and B) it was her only option, she threw the last of her caution to the wind.



Pouring all her will and power into the tug of war between what she now thought of as the Hellmouth and herself, she raised her voice and dug deep.



"Hecate I call thee," she chanted, her determined voice coated in demand rather than its earlier gentle supplication.



"In your name I invoke the power

By your will lend me strength

What is lost is found... what is found is claimed

What is claimed is mine

I call it to me by the power of your name, I command it

Let the hold be loosened

Let the bonds be freed

Bring what's mine to me..."



She felt it then, with sudden dread. She felt the outpouring of magic that she hadn't experienced since empowering the slayers. Without being told, she knew that her hair was a glowing white, and light, like the magic, was flowing from the very pores of her skin.





Oops... maybe I might have overdone it a tad, came the thought, as the backlash from the spell activated, snapping whatever hold had been stopping the spell from completion. With it came the return of the power, bringing with it what was lost.



Oh Goddess, I'm gonna have one hell of a headache, was her last conscious thought. Right before the tide of returning magic washed over her and she blacked out.







When Willow awoke... she wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but she suspected it was at least a couple of hours from the guttering of the candles she had lit earlier. Groaning in pain, she blinked blurry eyes and attempted to sit up.





Holy heck! What the hell? "Geez I gotta remember to never do that again," she mumbled, shaking her head ruefully.



"Talk about overkill. What the frick was that anyway?" she worried aloud, attempting to sit up.



I really don't remember Tara having that much trouble doing that spell... maybe I should have...



"Aaaakkk", she shrieked, her hand touching something warm on the floor next to her.



Scrambling away from the source of her fright, she scuttled backwards until she hit the wall directly under the window. Squinting in the gloom of the last of the dying candles, she tried to make out what she had touched, while at the same time she mumbled the words to a light spell.



The spell flared briefly, but as drained as she was it died before Willow could get a good look at what it was she had touched. It did however allow her to see that it wasn't so much a what, as a who.



Slowing her breathing down she deliberately stretched her senses.

Yes there it was... breathing... something was breathing... deep ragged disjointed breathing.



"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD" she babbled "OH GODDESS what the hell did I do?" She whimpered loudly, even as her internal monologue continued. Oh fricken heck I summoned a demon, oh my God... oh God... oh Goddess what do I do now? Hands flailing about in nervous uselessness, she attempted not to hyperventilate.





It was in the middle of Willow's full-fledged panic attack that the figure on the floor chose to roll over and groan rather loudly. The groan closely followed by the sound of a voice whimpering with fright.





Willow's head shot up, eyes widening in shock.



Hands stilling suddenly, she once again strained her eyes against the dimness. Listening attentively to the sound of what she was suddenly sure was a human voice.



Seconds ticked by and the sound from the still form on the floor continued. To Willow it sounded very much like a woman's voice... a woman in pain.



Gathering her shattered nerves, and deliberately ignoring the fear churning in her stomach, she stood and took a tentative step towards the figure. When nothing happened, she took another, then a third.



She was close enough now to make out the form as female, a naked female.



Glancing quickly to the bed where Spike lay she was relieved and at the same time alarmed to see that the magic she'd done, and their subsequent visitor hadn't disturbed his slumber at all.



For a moment she panicked, considered going to check on him before getting any closer to the room's newest occupant. However, just as she was about to move to his side the woman on the floor let out a harsh and somehow familiar sob.





Willow froze, and just for a moment she felt like she might actually faint.



In actual fact, her legs wobbled and she collapsed to the floor in shock. Breathing raggedly and trying to quell the sudden terror and hope roaring through her body, she crawled awkwardly towards the woman. Every inch closer caused her heart to beat at a faster staccato.



As the woman's form was revealed by the dim light of the remaining candles, Willow found herself holding her breath in dread as well as hope.



Even though her back was to her, Willow could see the fall of long hair that she knew would be a warm dark blond. Her figure was lush with rounded hips and thighs, the sort of figure made popular by painters in centuries past.

Willow knew, though the light was to low to show it, that on the left side of one rounded buttock there would be a small birthmark in the rough shape of a star. Just as she knew that if the woman were to open her eyes, they would be the color of a storm tossed sea.



Close enough now to reach out a trembling hand; she hesitated, as the fear and sudden terror that she might be right washed over her.



God, please let me be wrong, she prayed, even as her heart was singing in joyful recognition.



Her fingers touched the woman's shoulder tentatively, her whole arm singing with the familiarity of the connection.



"Tara?" she gasped "Oh God baby... I'm so sorry Tara," she sobbed out, giving up all pretense of not knowing the figure curled up in distress on the floor in front of her.





Tara started at the other's touch, but hearing Willow's voice, she jerked her head up and stared over her shoulder, straight into Willow's anguished gaze. Without thought the rest of her body followed and she threw herself into the redhead's arms.



It was of course at that moment that Willow's cell began to ring.





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