The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves,
Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves.’
Willow sighed internally as she looked in the mirror, lip-gloss in hand, ready to smooth on a final layer of the dusky rose shade. She was more than happy with her appearance, that wasn’t the problem. In fact she knew she was looking her best. She had grown her hair out since the Hellmouth battle, and today she wore the back section pinned up in a messy bun, while the rest tumbled silkily down over her bare shoulders. Her long bangs softly framed her face, bringing out the smoky tones of her eye shadow and highlighting her hazel eyes.
She stood back and appraised her outfit in the mirror. The chartreuse silk slip dress caressed her slim curves, the cross over V-neck dropping low enough to show a modest hint of cleavage, the vibrant shade lending warmth to her skin. The strappy, gold kitten heels added length to her slim legs and an touch of glamour to the ensemble. No, her appearance wasn't the problem, she was definitely looking smoking hot.
The problem was, there were two people on the other side of the bathroom door who no doubt agreed, and that was going to make for a very awkward afternoon.
Kennedy and the other members of the four recruitment teams had turned up at Ashdown on Monday, coming ‘home’ for a well-deserved week’s break after 21 days out on the road. She’d been full of the excitement and successes that she, Rona, Caridad, Robin and the Italian girl, Nisha, had achieved, a one hundred percent strike rate, with every girl on their list signed up and either headed for or already in residence at Ashdown.
Her team had made certain that they were there to personally welcome the second group of recruits that arrived on Monday afternoon, an idea that Willow was pretty certain was Giles’ not Kennedy’s, but you wouldn’t think it the way the Slayer had raved on about it.
And she’d also gone on endlessly about the sights and the fights – having taken out an array of supernatural beasties in a range of exotic locations across Mediterranean Europe.
Willow had diligently played the role of doting girlfriend, too full of conflicting and worrying emotions to do much else. Kennedy had lapped up all of the praise Willow had gifted her as if it were only fitting. She was proud of her team’s efforts and her own wielding of the leadership role she had been aching to slip into for so long. So wrapped up in her own achievements that she was unable or unwilling to invest any time or even interest in Willow’s achievements and ordeals.
That left Willow to shoulder the fall out of the previous week on her own. If she was brutally honest, she’d had some doubts about sharing her highs and lows with Kennedy anyway, the growing chasm opening up in their relationship leaching it of the level of trust needed to lay herself so emotionally bare.
Not that all of the dramas had been traumatic ones. She’d definitely had her triumphs too. Over a week’s worth of work to do with the school had been nothing but successful and satisfying.
The three Ofsted inspectors have arrived bright and early the previous Tuesday. After a tour of the facilities, both actual and planned, the other two Board members, Giles and Anthony Collins had joined them in the conference room to go over the proposed curriculum, staffing requirements, governance, compliance and financing issues. Anthony had been invaluable, his long-term role as Principal of Sackville Academy lending both experience and authority to their enterprise.
The day had gone well. The inspectors had been impressed by the work they’d already accomplished. They’d handed out a raft of approvals, adding suggestions for necessary changes and useful advice for those tasks still to be achieved. All and all, it had been a very long but very satisfying morning, one to be proud of. Nevertheless, Willow had felt the burden of responsibility weigh heavily upon her shoulders, and the long list of duties over tax her in-tray.
She’d spent the afternoon trying to tackle that list. She’d reviewed the resumes of the job applicants she’d be interviewing the following day, noting strengths and adding extra responsibilities to their roles in line with the Ofsted recommendations. She’d buried herself in a pile of paperwork; form filling, applications, furniture and I.T. orders – an endless sea of administration.
The following day, Wednesday, had been a highlight. She, Anthony and Giles had interviewed and appointed three of their teaching staff, including, unexpectedly, their Principal. Ashley Downer was a tall, blond 45 year old, an English teacher with a minor in languages. She’d been head of department at her last two schools and was presently on the establishment committee of the about to be opened Mossbourne Academy. These credentials alone qualified her for the job, but what took her over the top was the fact that she was an ex-potential.
The Council had identified Ash when she was only 14. Because she was so young, she was permitted to live at home. Her Watcher, John Townley, was appointed to her local secondary school, posing as a language teacher, specializing in Latin and Greek, neither of which the school had offered up until that point.
Three afternoons a week, she’d received individualized tuition, consisting of weapons training, demon research and enough instruction in Latin to get her through exams. Once she graduated at the end of sixth form, she got a part time job and trained more steadily, but as her 19th birthday came and went, they’d both accepted the fact that her chances of activation had dwindled to naught.
It had been time to start a new journey. She could have, as many ex potentials do, trained to become a Watcher herself, but she decided against it, choosing teaching as her career path. She met her future husband Geoff during her first year at University. He was a maths major; a tall, well-built guy who’d swept her of her feet. Their courtship was short and they were living together within six months and married as soon as she graduated.
Geoff knew about Ash’s background, the years spent training for a future that would likely have been short and violent. Even without activation she’d retained that extra athletic edge that most potentials seem to develop in their teen years, and she was always just a little faster, a little stronger than normal genetics could explain. He took the explanation of her mystical status in his normal, laid-back stride. Regular interaction with her old Watcher relegated no more fuss than a visit to a wealthy aunty or an eccentric cousin.
Still it had been a shock for both of them when they’d received the call that John Townley had been killed in an explosion at Council Headquarters. They had supposed that might put an end to that chapter of their lives; that their interaction with the mystical world of slayers and watchers had come to an end.
Their applications for the English and Maths positions had been pure coincidence, but a happy coincidence indeed. They’d both been appointed, and Ashley had also accepted the principal’s job. They were moving themselves and their two teenage sons up to Ashdown in a week’s time. Willow was looking forward to the support and guidance they could offer in the numerous jobs she still had to complete.
Finally, she’d appointed an ex Watcher to the position of head of History. She still needed a science teacher, but had a few more people to interview the following week. The Academy was ticking along nicely. The job of setting it up was exhausting and nerve wracking, but the outcomes were rewarding. If only she had someone that she could share her achievements with.
That deep-seated need was even more crucial by the time she’d stumbled back to her room on Thursday evening. She and Rowan had met outside Dana’s room at 10 o’clock that morning, hopeful that they could connect with the damaged Slayer inside her shattered mind, and somehow draw her back towards the physical world. Willow had let the young witch do the research and organization needed for the meditation.
Together they’d entered the Slayer’s room, Willow standing quietly by while Rowan set out the circle beside Dana’s bed and prepared an oil burner. As the room filled with the gentle, relaxing scent of herbs and spices, her experienced nose had picked out angelica and cinnamon for protection and healing, anise and frankincense to promote meditation and clairvoyance and the rich, woody undertones of sandalwood, used to aid spiritual communication.
Dana lay on the bed, sleeping fitfully. She’d been lightly sedated and her superhuman strength diminished due to the effects of Slayer’s Bane. Gracefully they’d seated themselves within the circle and Willow had relaxed her body and mind as she’d listened to Rowan’s words of invocation.
For they created the world,
The earth to hold,
The sun to warm,
The moon to guide,
The spirit to dream.
Let them guide our quest.
Let our minds roam free of our bodies,
Let our spirits be serene and at peace
That we may enter the sacred temple
Of our sister’s wounded mind,
Thus to hold and to heal.
So mote it be.”
Willow had relaxed further, letting her mind drift away. Slowly, she’d become aware of the change in her surroundings. A half-light, as of dusk, enveloped her, making it difficult to get a grasp on her bearings. She was hunched over, curled up in a tight ball, constrained by a low-lying structure directly above her back, a bed it seemed. As her eyes adjusted, she could see Rowan crouched next to her, and between them, the huddled up figure of a small, dark haired-girl, whimpering pitifully.
A woman’s scream, high pitched and agonizing had suddenly shattered the quiet. The sounds of violence and pain rumbled through the thin walls, the volume and vibrations indicating a setting close at hand. Shouting, wailing, begging and shrieks of anguish and terror were interspersed with slaps, punches, crashes and grunts, and even more disturbingly, cold, malicious bursts of laughter.
With every thud or moan that echoed through the room, the little girl had flinched and trembled, hunching in ever tighter upon herself as the sound of the assaults continued. Next to her, Willow struggled to remember that she was merely an observer in this scene, as adrenaline pumped its way through her own terrified system. Eventually the noises faded out, replaced only by the sound of harsh panting. Then a more horrifying sound had reached their ears, the slow, heavy thump, thump, thump of large booted feet thudding down the hallway towards them.
Young Dana, for that’s undoubtedly who the girl was, froze, drawing in upon herself a fraction more. The room was silent and utterly still as they’d heard the sound of a door handle turning and the squeak of the door being pushed open. There was a pause before a deep voice spoke, “Come out little rabbit; come out before I find you. Uncle Walt wants to play.”
Dana was shaking, rolled up in a little ball, her hands linked protectively over her bowed head, trying to make herself invisible. Maybe the man had heard Dana’s heart hammering frantically, or simply sensed her terrified presence, but either way, he strode straight over to the bed, flipped up the mattress and dragged the screaming girl out. He’d lifted the petrified child up off the ground and shaken her almost senseless. Then he’d bundled the trembling, subdued figure under his arm and stomped out the door.
Before either Willow or Rowan could react, the scene had cut away abruptly. Now they were in a dark, dirty basement, a cloyingly sweet scent perfuming the air. Dana was chained up in the corner, sobbing softly. Rowan tried to comfort her, but the girl hadn’t seemed to register their presence. Suddenly a man came down the stairs. He was dark haired, heavy set and whistled cheerfully as he’d approached her.
Dana immediately began crying and struggling against the restraints, but this seemed merely to amuse the man. He’d ambled over to her and laughed, “Good morning little rabbit. Excited to see your Uncle Walt I see. Calm down, it’ll be playtime soon enough.”
He walked over to an air vent set low in a side wall, removed the grill and reached into the hole. He pulled out a wooden box. He opened it as he walked towards her, sorting through the contents as he hummed to himself. Kneeling before her, he’d grinned down at Dana and showed her the contents of the box, various hypodermic syringes.
“Well little rabbit, what treat would you like Uncle Walt to give you? So many lovely choices! Yellow makes you weak. Brown makes you sleepy. Hmmm, yellow today I think, I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the fun.”
Calmly he’d removed one of the syringes, took the cap off and held it up, depressing the plunger just enough to eject a small shot of liquid. He’d approached the struggling girl, held her firmly and quickly stabbed the needle into her upper arm, depressing the plunger a short way. The girl had screamed and thrashed about, calling for help. “Hush now baby girl, no-one can hear you! Hold still now. Count backwards. 10... 9... 8... 7...” As Dana’s struggles tailed off, he’d closed the box and run a finger down the girl’s arm.
“Yes, we’re going to have so much fun,” he said as he’d unshackled her, picked her up and carried her across the room in his arms. He’d laid her unresisting form on a workbench and looked deep into her terrified eyes as he slowly pushed her thin nightie up and began to pull her underwear down.
Willow’s heart was pounding and she and Rowan were screaming and hitting at the man. But their actions of course were to no avail. Then suddenly, the scene changed again, three times, in quick succession. First, they’d been back in Dana’s bedroom, watching the child get dragged from beneath the bed. The scene flicked again, Dana struggling weakly as she was carried down the stairs into the basement. Once more the tableau transformed, this time settling on the view before them.
They were still in the basement, but now Dana was chained to the workbench. Some time seemed to have passed, as the child was more wretched and lost looking than before, her threadbare nightie now little more than a filthy, tattered rag.
The heavy footsteps and jaunty whistling signaled her captor’s arrival. Willow had felt the bile rise in her stomach as she saw the look of resignation pass through Dana’s eyes. Panic flooded her system at the thought of what they were about to witness. Rowan was bent over, close to the girl, urgently whispering in her ear.
Then he was there, a syringe in his hand. “Let’s try the blue one this time,” he’d leered. Dana’s head fell to the side, her glazed eyes staring blankly into the distance, resignation and helplessness seeming to create a protective disconnection between her mind and the impending violation of her body.
Rowan had shouted at the girl, trying desperately to gain her attention. “Come on Dana, look at me honey, let me keep you safe.” From somewhere close behind her, Willow had heard the rasping sound of a zipper being dragged down and the harsh panting inhalations of the monster himself. She’d trembled in fear and shock, unable to fathom the horror that she and Rowan were about to witness, helpless to intervene in any way.
Rowan had kept trying to get through to Dana, begging the child to look at her. Suddenly time had seemed to freeze as the girl glanced towards Rowan, confusion flitting across her features and lending lucidity to her gaze. “Help me,” she’d mouthed silently, as her eyes shimmered and a singled teardrop spilled over the edge and slipped down her cheek.
Instantly the light flickered and popped and Willow had found herself back on the floor of Dana’s room at Ashdown, Rowan trembling and distraught beside her. The young slayer lay quietly on her bed, unchanged but for the slight frown on her face and the silvery tear track that ran down her cheek.
The two witches were traumatized, horrified by the sights they’d witnessed, and sickened by the knowledge of the abuse Dana had been subjected to. Worse still was the awareness that Dana continued to relive that torture over and over, trapped in the endless loop of memories of that long ago torment. Rowan in particular was frantic with despair, unable to accept leaving the girl in that condition for even twenty-four hours more. Although exhausted, she’d immediately rushed off to the library, determined to find a way to connect with Dana and break her out of the nightmarish world she was stuck in.
Less than an hour later they’d been back in Dana’s room, Rowan armed with two tigers eye pendants. She’d gently threaded one over Dana’s head, centering the gemstone over the middle of the girl’s chest. The second one she’d slipped over her own head, confident that the stone’s ability to focus the mind, dispel fear and anxiety and see clearly, without illusion, combined with its protective powers, would help her get through to the trapped slayer.
Rowan had also placed a bonding charm on the two stones, linking them one with the other. This should allow her to connect physically with Dana within the girl’s dreamscape. Finally, they’d decided to place Dana within the meditation circle with them, still unconscious but propped up on a beanbag so that she was more or less upright.
These extra steps greatly increased the likelihood of drawing Dana out of her nightmare world, but, by strengthening the link between Rowan and the slayer they also boosted the chances of trapping Rowan in that world. Willow had volunteered to act as the young witch’s anchor, securing her essence to the physical world and drawing her back when it was time.
Finally they’d been ready, hands linked together, the scented oil once again perfuming the air and Rowan’s invocation aiding their meditative states. They’d slipped into the dream state easily, finding themselves once again back in Dana’s childhood bedroom. Willow could see Rowan huddled beneath the bed, pressed close to the child’s side, but realized that she herself was somewhat removed from the action, able to observe from a distance but not participate, much like a spectator.
The scene before her began to play out exactly as it had the previous time, but as the footsteps thudded along the hallway, Rowan turned to the trembling young girl and began to speak.
“Its alright honey, he can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt you ever again.”
Dana had lifted her head in shock, peering straight at Rowan in wide-eyed confusion. She’d glanced back and forth between the door and the young woman crouched next to her. A brief flicker of hope had begun to color her features before the sound of footsteps pushed it out.
Rowan spoke more urgently, determined to break through the child’s illusions. “Come on sweetheart, come to me. Let me help you, I’ll keep you safe.”
Fear had recaptured Dana’s attention. But, just as the doorknob began to turn, she’d turned back to the strange woman beside her and reached for her hand.
Immediately the scene had changed, the bedroom disappearing and the corner of the basement swimming into view. Dana had sat huddled beside Rowan, her small hand still clasped in the witch’s, a lifeline to safety. The young girl had stared up at her savior, listening intently to the older girl’s words of comfort, her promises of salvation. To their right they’d heard humming and scraping sounds, the child’s attention momentarily diverted, fear haunting her once more. But as the footsteps approached, Rowan’s quiet words and warm presence had strengthened Dana’s resolve and she’d turned back towards the witch, plaintively asking, “Can you help me?”
Instantly the setting had shifted, Dana’s small battered body once again lain across the workbench. Terror flooded her mind as she’d sunk back into the deepest recesses of her memories. Rowan crouched beside her, the girl’s limp hand clutched fiercely in her own, her words the only weapons she’d had to battle the nightmare world.
“Come on Dana, good girl, you can do it. You’re doing so well baby girl. The bad man is gone. He can’t hurt you any more. Hold on to me sweetheart, let Rowan help you.”
The footsteps had got closer and Dana was obviously terrified, but Rowan had felt it, a tiny but definite squeeze of her hand. She’d squeezed back and smiled down at the scared child. “Good girl, hold on tight, lets get you out of here. Look at me. You’re safe Dana, the bad man can’t hurt you.”
Dana had peered intently at Rowan. “Can't hurt me anymore?” she’d asked hesitantly.
“That’s right Dana, he can’t hurt you ever again. You just need to come with me. Hold tight, I won’t let you go. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” With her free hand, Rowan had reached over and brushed the girl’s bangs out of her eyes, capturing her focus completely. Dana’s eyes had followed hers as the witch reached down to clasp the pendant hanging around the child’s neck. “See this Dana, its just like mine. Hold on to it tightly and keep looking at me.”
Simultaneously the two girls grabbed hold of their tiger’s eye pendants, their eyes locked one to the other. Their view of the basement began to flicker and blur, wavering in and out of focus like a damaged VHS tape. From the right footsteps and whistling had drifted towards them. Dana’s eyes darted from side to side, she whimpered softly and slowly the scene sharpened and cleared.
Rowan had gripped her hand again and called the girl’s name, willing her to refocus. Once again the surrounding sights and sounds shuddered, then faded into the backdrop. Without delay Rowan had pressed home the advantage, dragging Dana’s attention back, wrapping her broken psyche in the warmth and safety of her words and her intent, flooding her in waves of love and protection, washing away the layers of nightmare.
With a cracking sound and a surge of golden light, Willow had found herself back inside the salt circle on the floor of the Dana’s room. Beside her the adult slayer sat, still clutching Rowan’s hand, her eyes clear and alert but anxious as she’d checked out the unfamiliar but innocuous looking space. She turned to her rescuer and asked “Safe?”
Rowan had nodded tearfully and embraced the girl, a woman now both older and taller than herself. She’d moved the two of them to the bed, gently stroking Dana’s back as they’d waited for Cat to appear and perform a cursory med check. There would be time enough in the days and weeks ahead to begin the long, arduous and somewhat unbelievable tale of the nightmares that had shuffled and trampled a decade and a half of Dana’s life into a jumbled maze of terror.
Willow had excused herself, the short distance between the infirmary and her rooms in the Lodge almost more than her exhausted body and distraught spirit could take. She’d spent the next day in bed, physically and emotionally burnt out by the sights and sounds that kept replaying in her head.
That was all the time she’d allowed herself, deadlines paying no heed to the effects of PTSD. She’d spent the next five days immersed in Academy affairs: curriculum development, further staffing interviews, furniture and resource orders; and overrun by the arrival of the second group of baby slayers and the return of the Recruitment Teams.
Kennedy’s return should have been the balm she so badly needed. But, instead of being able to turn to her partner for comfort and support, she found herself lumbered with the unenviable chore of being expected to spend her evenings massaging her girlfriend’s already considerable ego. After several attempts to describe the trauma she’d witnessed and the effects it had had on her, Willow had given up, sick of Kennedy’s immature, self centered ways, and increasingly doubtful of the girl’s ability to understand or empathize with her anyway. Quite frankly, she’d had enough!
Things had been further complicated by the arrival of an unexpected visitor. Oz! Fresh off the back of a three week European tour, his band were taking a ten day break, leaving him free to look his old mates up.
Willow had been in her office on Thursday when she’d heard knocking and the sounds of greeting carry through from the main foyer. Intrigued by the tingly feeling running up and down her spine, she’d made her way along the corridor only to have the breath knocked out of her. Seeing Oz standing there had been wholly different vibe than her simple delight at spotting an old friend at LAX.
Whether it had been because of the sense of reconnection they’d developed during Spike’s retrieval, or the naughty dream she’d had three weeks ago, Willow was uncertain. But whatever the reason, her reaction was instantaneous. Heat suffused her body, flooding her loins with moisture, just as surely as it stained her cheeks pink. She’d felt dizzy and confused. And hot! Wow, who knew England’s summers could get so hot!
Judging by Oz’s dilated pupil’s as he’d gazed at her, and the slight tremble in the stoic bass musician’s hands as he’d lightly hugged her in greeting, the feeling seemed to be mutual. So, one unexpected eruption of long dormant passion later, Willow was left in a very awkward position, caught between relationships past and present, not sure where the future would lead her, or with whom. But she had her suspicions all right!
Two events had clarified her thinking even further. A little bit of down time on the Thursday afternoon had fuelled the first, Willow choosing to spend her precious break showing Oz around the grounds rather than hang out with her girlfriend and undoubtedly end up feeling diminished by the other girl’s words and actions. That choice alone gave her pause for thought.
But as she and Oz strolled over the manicured lawns, past lush gardens and tranquil lakes, and meandered along the woodland trails, she found herself opening up to him, disclosing the harrowing images and experiences she’d witnessed inside Dana’s nightmare world. He’d listened quietly, his attention and concern just exactly the level of support she needed. The attraction was still there, but so too was the emotional bond. Oz was too much of a gentleman to do anything about it while Kennedy was still in the picture, but nevertheless, Willow could feel the connection between them pulsing and glowing, just waiting for the time and say so to blossom into something amazing.
The second incident had happened later that day. The old gang had been gathered in the lounge at the Lodge, reminiscing about old times, and sharing their recent challenges and toasting their achievements.
Kennedy had burst into the room, full of excitement and her own sense of importance. Along with Vi and Chao Ahn, Giles had offered her the position of leader of her own international squad. They’d just finalized the details. She would be based in Sao Paulo, responsible for overseeing the slayer recruitment drive for the whole South American continent, and for ensuring that the inhabitants of Brazil got to go about their daily lives free of the threat of supernatural malevolence. She was thrilled, gratified that her superior slayer skills and leadership qualities had finally earned her the recognition she’d always felt was her due.
Giles had allowed her to select one of the squad slayers, quickly approving her choice of Caridad, one of the Hellmouth alumni. But Giles wouldn’t negotiate on the selection of the squad’s Watcher. Kennedy had wanted Willow, arguing that they were already established as a strong unit. But Giles wouldn’t hear of it, arguing that Willow’s role in establishing the Slayer Academy made her presence at Ashdown indispensible. Willow had never felt a greater sense of gratitude for Giles’ obstinacy. Instead he’d suggested the established field Watcher/Slayer pairing of Luisa and Sofia.
The young Watcher and her 15-year-old charge had arrived at Ashdown a fortnight previous. They’d been stationed in Sao Paulo prior to the First’s strike. One night, Luisa had spotted Bringers lurking outside their base, and had managed to alert Sofia, the pair fighting off and killing two of the four creatures that had been sent to murder them. Her knowledge of the hidey holes and alleyways of the city she’d grown up in had been invaluable in helping the two women evade the First’s agents, and eventually the Bringers had given up, no doubt off to track down and kill other, less fortunate potentials elsewhere.
Luisa was quiet, but determined. She also had good instincts and a compassionate streak a mile wide. She might seem a pushover to the headstrong Kennedy, but Giles thought they’d make a good match. Little Sofia would fit in with the older girls easily.
So it was settled, Kennedy would happily head off to the other side of the world, distance and divergent roles set to put paid to their relationship more neatly and less unpleasantly than their growing disharmony would have done. Still, Kennedy was not above a final shot at diva before she left, and was determined to monopolize her unwilling girlfriend’s time and company before she flew out with her squad on Sunday.
Which left Willow in the extremely awkward position she now found herself in, locked in the bathroom while both Kennedy and Oz waited on her appearance in the lounge. If it hadn’t been such an important occasion, she’d have been tempted to sneak out the back door and go missing for the day. Oh well, there was no way out. Smoothing on a final layer of lipgloss, and sliding her game face neatly into place, Willow opened the door and headed off to greet her dates.