FIC: The Coven, Prologue, part 1 of 14, (M)

[binky]

THE COVEN

The rise of the greatest Seeyo in History prior to the Natural re-situation
of Humanity in the Cosmic.



By Binky (binky29AToptonline.net)

Description: Uber. Science Fiction. Mid-21st century.

Spoilers: None. This is 100 percent AU/uber

Pairings: Willow/Other, Willow/Tara.

Rating: Mature

Summary: A woman from the mysterious organization The Coven appears in
Sunnydale to help eight-year-old Willow Rosenberg unlock her latent powers

Warnings: Violence, strong language, moderate to graphic sexual
language/situations, character death

Feedback: Yes, please, including criticism (the gentle kind)

Distribution: Please email before copying/archiving.

Notes: *text* denotes italics



Tara and Willow and other characters from the television show *Buffy the
Vampire Slayer* were created by Joss Whedon.



--------------------------------------------------



Prologue: Witch Maclay

Part 1



--------------------------------------------------



Power is only safe with those who don't want it. I used to want it and it
made me a monster.



I wouldn't want that for our children. I'd want them to be free. If one of
ours were to have that ambition, then I know that we had failed. Most likely
because you weren't there to teach them, which would mean that I had failed.



I'd rather have the simple things. To be comfortable, to feel safe, sharing
a home with you. To not be hungry, except for the hungry ache deep within
that never really goes away, even if it's temporarily sated, just for you.
The warmth of your body around mine. I want to be entertained. I am, by your
look, in wonder at the beauty or the cruelty of nature or humanity, the
rapture in your eyes as they shut when you tumble over the edge I brought
you to. Your stories, the source of your words, how they were prompted. To
be your wanting that makes you wet. At times, I feel like I want the
roundness of your belly and the soft but strong heartbeat underneath its
delicate surface. but not now. Now, only you, my darling.



The most precious possession one can own is the freely given love of a good
woman.



-------------------------



Innumerable years ago.



"She's doing it in her head." A look of panic quickly erased the strained
rapture on Ethan's face as the second-hand images currently being generated
in the mind of one eight-year-old Willow Rosenberg flooded his
half-conscious, half spell-entranced mind. The mystically-forged link
between them was tenuous, weakened by distance and the time lag and her
magically untempered nature. Still, the girl's responses to the test
questions were so rapid and multi-layered, Ethan could barely make any sense
of all the strands of logic as they were woven in her apparently very busy
brain. The coordination was anathema to him, as a worshipper of Chaos.



Beside him, under black robes that did little to disguise his hulking bulk
or the scales covering his demon face, Chaos rumbled, "That is why this
little one needs to be turned."



-------------------------



Two weeks later.



"Her potential is. unmappable. Pure power." the mentat mused in awe. The
lights covering the surfaces of the large domed helmet it wore blinked with
such rapidity, the room, darkened to allow it to focus on the multitude of
computer screens lining its nest, was awash in the bursts of tiny yellow and
red lights.



"There's nothing pure about power," said Glory from over its shoulder. She
had been standing a good two meters from it but had to get closer to peer
herself at the myriad screens. Her delicate nose wrinkled at the stale odor
the shriveled little former-man with the huge head and the poor teeth,
rotted from lack of use, emitted. Mentats were notorious for their poor
hygiene, especially when hooked to their Machine, all essential nutrients
and excretory functions taken care of by the intravenous solutions and
draining apparatuses that could not fully suppress the odors of the natural
body functions they superseded. And this particular one had been attached to
its Machine for the better part of the past 72 hours. "Which is why it can
always be transferred to another holder. I want it." She turned to the
closest EA, one of her mid-level minions, a frightened-looking woman of
forty-five or so. How she had managed to survive so long in Glorificus'
company was a wonder that fortunately for the sake of the better than
average pay Glory was far too busy to pay mind to. "Does she have family?"
Her eyes seemed to naturally narrow at the last word, before she shook her
head in impatience. "What does it matter. Not at all. You'll get it for me."



And with her master's direct authorization, the EA arranged to send an
A-level retrieval team to Sunnydale.



-------------------------



"Extraordinary," muttered Giles. He pulled his glasses from his face, and
began to wipe them with his pocket square as he looked at the printout
Andrew held to him.



"Oh, I don't know. All you have to do is be wired into a supercomputer or
something," said Andrew. "It wouldn't be too hard."



"No, not too hard, unlike, actually having resource to said supercomputer?"



Andrew thought about it a second. "Oh," Andrew said sheepishly. He wasn't a
practical applications type of thinker.



"Oh," confirmed Giles. "By the by, how many supercomputers are left that
could handle that task in the less-than-eight seconds it took her to
complete?"



"Yeah, and that." Andrew trailed off.



Giles replaced his eyeglasses. "Keep her monitored-and me informed, of any
changes, no matter how slight, to the young lady's circumstances."



-------------------------



"If it's something that Glory wants, then it's something we need," the
MABELL Veepico-Acquisitions said. All the Veepicos looked and sounded the
same, down to their carefully maintained professional androgyny. One could
only distinguish them by the descriptive following their title. Luckily,
they wore name badges prominently displayed as per corporate policy, above
the left breast pocket of their standard heather grey business suits.
Imbedded into the badges were transmitters that allowed their movements
within the corporate offices to be tracked and permitted them access,
unlocking the portals and corridors that segregated them into their
respective areas. The Veepico-Acquisitions seemed to have more clout than
the normal Veepico. It had a thin white stripe patterned into its heather
grey suit. "Draft a proposal to secure whatever resources are necessary to
close it. Convene The Board. Push it through today. This hour. Get her." The
lawyers scurried.



-------------------------



"Genius level, huh?" Ira looked down at his small daughter, from the top of
her brownish-red hair to her sneaker-clad feet, then back again to the
scholastic aptitude test summary he held in his hand. Sheila beamed down at
the girl over her husband's shoulder. She was a good half foot taller than
Ira, so it wasn't hard. "Still? Guess all those video games you play haven't
made your brain all mush yet, huh?" The corner of his mouth twitched upward
in teasing. His daughter was more wont to take apart the video games and
then put them back into functional but different working order than actually
play them like other kids. Being a programmer himself for a small firm that
catered to the financial industry but never quite able to break the
mid-level class or pay level with the decades-long glut of qualified
programmers currently on the market, he was quite smug in his pride of his
little prodigy. Of course, it didn't bode well for her having a truly
lucrative career like in entertainment-sports, or movies or teevee or such.
Still, the pay could be quite good if you got up over to the upper tier.
Then the big players like Glory or MABELL could even recruit. Ira just had
to keep her interested in it until he could get her into a decent trade
school. He and Sheila had started a savings account for that, and he
doggedly put in 3 percent of his bi-weekly pay into it. Sheila put in 20
from her job at the college. A lot of their family's hope to break out of
the lower-middle-class Sunnydale district rested on Willow's thin shoulders.



Willow looked back at her parents solemnly, with her characteristically
soulful, large green eyes as wide as they got. She smiled, a bit sheepishly,
and shrugged. She had felt a little twinge at the back of her brain
throughout the testing, like someone was standing over her shoulder as she
typed in the answers. After a moment's discomfort, she had let it go. Truth
be told, she didn't care if one or all 50 of her classmates copied off her
exam. The puzzles the mathematical equations posed were kind of fun, like
fiddling with her video games, though without the physical challenge of
manipulating a controller. "It was actually pretty easy." The smile faded a
little. Her friend Xander had not found it so easy. His father had beat him
when his scores arrived. She had seen the purpling on his upper arm, under
the sleeve of his tee shirt this morning. He had tried to hide his shame
with a flippant shrug of his shoulders.



Ira shook his head, still smiling. "Oh no you don't. Don't be embarrassed
that you're the smartest or the best of your class, pum'kin. Never be
ashamed of being more than everyone else, if that's what you are. If it's
who you're meant to be, you have to fill that potential." He winked at her
and turned, in effect dismissing her. It had been a long day, his eyes hurt
and his left wrist was acting up again, and he was about ready for a nap.



Willow turned and scampered to her room. She had found an algorithm that
replicated itself 843 steps down a decanumeric system.



She had to write it down with her different colored pens before her busy
brain moved onto a new mystery and forgot this one. They made such pretty
patterns.



-----

end, Witch Maclay, part 1

[binky]

I have to apologize for how the formatting for part 1 came out. It's been a
while since I've been on Usenet and I apparently have forgotten how to use a
text editor. I'm trying regular notepad now so hopefully the spacing this
chapter will look more the way I want it to. If not, oh well, there's twelve
more parts to experiment with.
----------

THE COVEN
The rise of the greatest Seeyo in History prior to the Natural re-situation
of Humanity in the Cosmic.

By Binky (binky29AToptonline.net)
Description: Uber. Science Fiction. Mid-21st century.
Spoilers: None. This is 100 percent AU/uber
Pairings: Willow/Other, Willow/Tara.
Rating: Mature
Summary: A woman from the mysterious organization The Coven appears in
Sunnydale to help eight-year-old Willow Rosenberg unlock her latent powers
Warnings: Violence, strong language, moderate to graphic sexual
language/situations, character death
Feedback: Yes, please, including criticism (the gentle kind)
Distribution: Please email before copying/archiving.
Notes: *text* denotes italics

Tara and Willow and other characters from the television show *Buffy the
Vampire Slayer* and *Angel* were created by Joss Whedon.

--------------------------------------------------

Prologue: Witch Maclay
Part 2

--------------------------------------------------

*Eight months earlier.*

A nude, slender redhead reclines in the bed, lying heavily on her side in
the stark, brilliant white sheets. She is perhaps twenty years old. Next to
her lies another girl of the same age, slightly heavier, with a haler frame,
a blonde. Their limbs cross languorously, meeting at multiple physical
planes that echo the multivalent metaphysics of their lying abreast, just
so, among the crisp waves and folds of the bedding as daylight streams in
through sheer, flimsy gauze over ceiling-high windows. The plane of the
redhead's inner thigh rubs against the top of the blonde's. Their skins are
damp but not soaked, creating an intimate friction that pulls the flesh over
taut, flexing muscles as they make their slow, deliberate motions. The
blonde widens the angle of her legs, spreading Red even more as their hands
find each other. The blonde girl simultaneously moves back, pulling the
redhead to her. At that angle. They gasp at the sudden lack of distance.

Red smiles at the blonde, who returns the expression by half, though the
effect is wholly complementary. Perhaps she's just feeling lazy. The blonde
has my eyes.

Their breathing becomes heavy as they rock against each other slowly,
steadily. My viewpoint circles their nest of mussed sheets and pillows so I
now watch, a voyeur, over the blonde's shoulder. Perhaps her eyes--my
eyes--close so they don't see what I, an impartial observer, see. Red's
eyes, a lustful green, had turned a brilliant yellow. Her mouth open, first
in a pant, then wider, in hunger. I can see her fangs glint in the murky
light just as they descend on the other girl's neck.

I would scream a warning, but as I finish my turn around their bed, the girl
underneath is well aware of the change in her lover. Her hands are pressed
to the other's shoulders, holding the leaner woman close. The look on her
face is one of unadulterated rapture.

-------------------------

"Uh, no. I mean it was really and truly weird. I've had wet dreams before. I
know how to recognize them, usually because I wake up. er, wet. This wasn't
one." I frowned, recalling the decided lack of sexual excitement I felt upon
waking violently that morning, sweating not with arousal, but with anxiety,
the sheets bunched around my tensed limbs, my heart in my throat, caught and
half-swallowed with the cry of warning that died before my teeth as I
crossed back into awareness. The dream had made me a bit. uncomfortable, and
in a way I realized I probably wouldn't have felt if it were a female and
male stranger rather than the two nubile young women I watched in my vision.
Even so, there was more to my dread than that, something more sinister that
underlie the gender of the two lovers, though gender was the easier of the
two problems to deal with. Even so. I tried to push the thought down, to
forestall the question poised on Jenny's pursed lips and slightly screwed
eyes, the only way I knew how--self-deprecation. "Besides which, you know
me. No matter how hard it hurts, I need a little wood to shiver me timbers."

At that, Jenny smirked. "The mouth on you, Ms. Maclay!"

"Exactly my point!" I grinned.

Jenny shook her head. "Okay, so despite the resemblance, it wasn't you?"

I hesitated. "I don't think it was."

"But you're not sure?"

"No. I'm not. I mean, the girl was familiar, somehow, but damn it, she was a
stranger, too. I mean, she looked like me maybe fifteen years ago."

"Well, did you ever.?"

"Uh, no. Not even close. Not even a thought."

"Oh, c'mon. That's kind of hard to believe. You mean to tell me you've never
thought of another woman that way?"

"Well."

Jenny grinned.

"I mean, I'm only human. I have needs, plus, living in a mostly women's
commune the past seven years? I'd have to be made of stone. But really,
being completely and totally honest about it, I see a woman with nice tits,
usually the first thing I think is, 'I wish mine were as good as those.'"

"Well, childbirth and all," Jenny said.

"Yeah," I sighed.

"And age takes its toll."

I frowned.

"And just. gravity."

"Hey!" Jenny giggled, giving in. But I nudged the conversation further, to
steer completely clear of the topic. "So, I guess this means that you've.?"

"Sure. Never said I hadn't," Jenny said with a shrug.

Huh. You learn something new about someone, even someone you regard as your
closest friend, every day. Thankfully, though, it did the trick and she let
it drop. She had a class to teach, and I was on my way to conference room 4
at the bequest of Cylla, at whose pleasure I, like the other Coven witches,
served.

Later, I let myself feel a little guilty. I wasn't being exactly forthright
with Jenny. The dream did bother me more than I let on. It had been so
vivid, almost Technicolor, but more colorized, kind of flat, outside me. It
worried me.

I've had prophetic dreams before, but the rule of reiterability didn't apply
to me. I could count the number of prophetic dreams I've had on one hand.
But dreaming of dropping and destroying a favorite piece of crockware and
doing the same a day later was a far cry from a fair maiden, a stranger and
yet not, sexually communing with a demon. Would this be the vision that
destroyed me?

-------------------------

Conference room 4 was part of the small hall where Cylla, our senior witch,
our mother superior the younger witches snidely called her, resided. I have
to admit, I agreed with their assessment though I had the good manners and
sense to not laugh along, given the old bird is a borderline TP--doesn't do
to have an undisciplined mind, much less mouth. Of course, reading a fellow
witch would be a violation of the Code that we live by to govern our
Talents, but you can never be too careful. Always govern yourself first.

Still, living at the Coven with its emphasis on the ascetic life of quiet
scholarship and meditation, sometimes it did feel like a convent. How ironic
that witches were persecuted for centuries in pre-modernity by the Juxes,
often falsely accused of deviant sex practices and demon worship, when in
truth most of them are as boring as Jux nuns. Things certainly have a way of
coming full circle--or less diplomatically, karma sure can be a bitch. Now
it's they who are persecuted for their quaint faith in a single omnipotent
Divine.

The hall was on the southern part of the Coven's campus, at the base of
Mount Corda, and on the far side housed Cylla's personal chambers, library,
and her sanctum sanctorum. On the near side were the conference halls.
Reasonably, with her mangled leg and arm, she held all her conferences
there. At times I wondered if the disfigurement were the reason she had
steered her Coven into solitude. Invariably, I would decide it could not; it
would have been rather a personal bias for such a political position.

I made my way through the neatly kept lawns to the courtyard outside the
open air corridor to the conference room indicated on the invitation I had
received earlier. However, upon entering the chamber, I was surprised that
we were not alone. A projector and terminal with what appeared to be an
outside feed was set up on the long table behind which Cylla and Alise, the
coven counselor, sat. Alise didn't surprise me, however, as much as the
feed. Aside from being a separatist, Cylla was the old-fashioned type. The
use of technology, not to mention the link to the world outside, the world
of mud, was a little unusual.

Neither woman was known for their social graces, which suited me just as
well. The better to receive my directive and be on my way. They were the
most powerful women within the Coven and they used as few words as possible
to convey their intent. I don't generally try to attach myself to powerful
people. They tend to the dour, like these two. I was curtly acknowledged
with a nod of Cylla's head into the seat opposite them.

Our elder witch began typically without preamble. "Tara, something
unexpected has happened." She paused before adding with the slightest bit of
emphasis, "Regarding the Artaggio Codex."

The Artaggio Codex? The one that's been discredited by all reputable
scholars in the already-not-so-reputable field of prophecy study in the five
centuries since its writing by Artaggio, the mad druid?

I guess my disbelief must have been obvious, as Cylla continued. "Yes, the
Artaggio Codex. I ask that you suspend your personal disbeliefs until the
end of our meeting, at which time I will ask you to make a great personal
sacrifice for the betterment of the Coven--in fact, perhaps, for us all."
She gestured toward the projector as she depressed a button from the room's
mechanics control in front of her and the lights dimmed. "Alise, we should
begin."

-------------------------

*The twins in soul were separated but will once more become one. The joining
will mark the end of the many, all but one will to be done. Rise, Seeyo,
rise.*

Artaggio wrote that, but in some dead tongue five centuries plus ago.
Perhaps something was lost in the translation to post/modern English.
Perhaps not. Who knows?

It was the last thing entered into his journal when the rescue party found
his remains in a crevasse on the upper summit of Mount Turinto in what is
now the Western Russian state of the European Union. History held that the
druid Artaggio had been driven insane by prophetic visions of a world ending
apocalypse during a meditative retreat assumedly popular in the day that
somehow escalated to a full-blown religious ecstasy. Oh, it began quietly
enough at the foot of the mountain, in a nice, fairly comfortable and
well-appointed lodge. Too well-appointed, I suppose, as he began an ascent
to the summit after efforts to communicate with The Powers That Be at the
base in the shelter of the structure proved fruitless. The gods apparently
favor the reckless or insane. He had received the visions after attempting
to reconcile the coming of the demon Ka'as, as foretold in one of the
founders of his order, Jacob the Elder, with the rise of the great
corporations. A lot of what he had written, needless to say, doesn't make
sense. Much of it had to do with interpreting the congloms as demon houses.
Still, he did okay for a 17th century kook. The congloms came well after his
time, and are certainly full of demons now. Maybe Ka'as is sitting on the
Board of MABELL.

Of course, it's all ridiculous. Still. Still ridiculous. I'm no better off
than some crazy druid freezing various body parts off stuck on the side of
some gigantic mountain above the clouds, waiting for enlightenment from
Above. I'm still a slave to higher powers, even if they now wear human
faces. Being flesh and blood rather than spirit and mojo just means they can
now literally reach out and touch me, which is not generally a Good Thing.

In fact, the latest "blessing" on me and mine had me in a bit of a seethe.

I looked down at an open file folder before me holding some 5 or 6 data
sheets, on top of which is the 2D portrait of a shyly smiling seven-year old
girl, one Willow Rosenberg. It was one of those school photos, the headshot
ones, with the kid set against a stock fake sky background. Long, brown
hair--auburn, I think is what they call the shade, quirky, pert mouth and
dimpled nose, and eyes that look almost too big for her head. Cute kid.
Kinda dorky looking, as most seven-year-olds are.

I sighed, long and deep. This was my special project? The reason I would be
leaving my own child, the home we had made for ourselves, my students for
the next year, and perhaps more? I was not impressed. And I was not happy.

My displeasure was palpable. I have never been able to guard my emotions
well--I know, ironic, for an empath.

Jenny was grimacing, her expression sympathetic. But an ungrateful part of
me was resenting that, too. Had Cylla sent her to placate me? I know my
resentment was also obvious to her. I had to vent.

"If she's so damned important, why not send Catherine?" I referred to our
resident power practitioner. I'm empathic, for godsakes. I know only
defensive spells.

"Cylla thinks Catherine would be overkill."

I snorted. I had to admit, that one word just about summed up Catherine.

"The nature of this project is critical, but sensitive. Subtlety is
required, which is not Catherine's signature style. You're there strictly--"

"Yes, I know. Strictly to observe the girl, perhaps nudge her in the Coven's
direction if the opportunity presents itself? I understand. It doesn't
explain why you need a master grade babysitter. Surely one of the older
journeymen could--?"

"You know it's not my call," Jenny cut me off, a brief flash of impatience
lighting in her dark eyes before she mastered herself. "Believe me, Tara, if
it was, I'd do it myself, just so you wouldn't have to. You know I've done
this kind of thing in the past."

Immediately, her eyes closed, contrite, as mine widened at the not-so-subtle
chiding. "Sorry. I didn't mean it that way." Her voice lowered even further.
"I know you're concerned about Leda--"

"No, no. Leda will be fine. She's doing great. I'd just." I took a deep
breath. I didn't want any extra attention given to my daughter, or to the
fact of her continued fragility, something we'd both gone to pains to mask.
Her sonuvabitch father had given her reminders to last a lifetime. And we
didn't need any well-meaning sympathy from any of our Coven sisters, either.
But Jenny. I could trust her. I do trust her. Implicitly. In the eight years
I had known her, she had earned it many times over, the first by befriending
me, the second by helping me escape with my daughter, intact, from the bad
decision that had been Tom. Escape to the Coven. But did I owe them as a
result? I earned my keep, and still do. But Jenny. Yes, my debt to her was
not a quid pro quo matter. It was immeasurable, and eternal. I dragged the
file back to me, then immediately flipped it closed and lifted my eyes to
meet Jenny's. "Will you take Leda in?"

Jenny smiled. "Always." She shifted in her seat. "I realize this is a
delicate time for her. She's almost ready to pass forward. I know that's why
this seems like it couldn't have come at a worse possible time--"

"No, it couldn't."

"But if the assignment goes as planned, you'll be back in time for her
rite." Jenny smiled. "She's turning into an extraordinary young woman.
Catherine is jealous. Amy isn't doing half as well."

"Oh, is that all? Amy isn't even eight. Leda will be 14 next October.
Someone needs to give Catherine a reality check. And I don't want her
looking in on my daughter. She doesn't need the pressure."

"I agree," Jenny said, "but you must know Leda has caught more than just
Catherine's eye."

I knew what Jenny was referring to. Cylla had praised her at the last
solstice dinner, for winning the trials of her age group. She had been
singling out my daughter for similar things more and more lately. It made me
anxious. It feels like it's too soon for her, but then, maybe I'm being
overprotective. She's done so much better since we arrived--well, anything
was better than what we left. "If she exceeds me in her Talents, that's
enough." I know I was frowning. My attention was pulled back to the file in
front of me as the doubts of something amiss, something not being shared
with me, returned, like a persistent itch just underneath the skin. "And
that's another thing. All I've seen about this girl indicates she's made for
mud. What do we want with her?"

"It's not what we want so much as what Cylla wants."

My left eyebrow shot up. "Oh? So you're not united in this?"

"I don't always just follow the party line," Jenny said softly.

I winced. "I didn't mean--"

"No, it's alright. I understand where you're coming from. Believe me."

I looked at Willow's picture again. I wonder what gods you pissed off to
warrant the kind of attention you're about to get. "Poor kid," I muttered.

I think Jenny heard me, but said nothing. Say what she will. She is, at the
end of the day, a witch of the Coven.

----------
end - Witch Maclay, part 2

[AGOL]

Intriguing. I hope the next ep. is up-coming soon?

AGOL


"binky" <***@optonline.net> wrote in message news:M7dAi.1$***@newsfe12.lga...
| I have to apologize for how the formatting for part 1 came out. It's been
a
| while since I've been on Usenet and I apparently have forgotten how to use
a
| text editor. I'm trying regular notepad now so hopefully the spacing this
| chapter will look more the way I want it to. If not, oh well, there's
twelve
| more parts to experiment with.
| ----------
|
| THE COVEN
| The rise of the greatest Seeyo in History prior to the Natural
re-situation
| of Humanity in the Cosmic.
|
| By Binky (binky29AToptonline.net)
|

[binky]

AGOL - Sorry. It's a PITA redoing the italics and section breaks but at
least I got the paragraph spacing the way I wanted with part 2. I will try
to finish reformatting and post a few more chapters at one time instead of
dragging. The pace really doesn't start to pick up until chapter 6 or so...
----------

THE COVEN
The rise of the greatest Seeyo in History prior to the Natural re-situation
of Humanity in the Cosmic.

By Binky (binky29AToptonline.net)
Description: Uber. Science Fiction. Mid-21st century.
Spoilers: None. This is 100 percent AU/uber
Pairings: Willow/Other, Willow/Tara.
Rating: Mature
Summary: A woman from the mysterious organization The Coven appears in
Sunnydale to help eight-year-old Willow Rosenberg unlock her latent powers
Warnings: Violence, strong language, moderate to graphic sexual
language/situations, character death
Feedback: Yes, please, including criticism (the gentle kind)
Distribution: Please email before copying/printing/archiving.
Notes: *text* denotes italics

Tara and Willow and other characters from the television show *Buffy the
Vampire Slayer* and *Angel* were created by Joss Whedon.

--------------------------------------------------

Prologue: Witch Maclay
Part 3

--------------------------------------------------

*Three and a half months later.*

Willow, her nose in a book as she walked slowly down the hall, oblivious to
her surroundings as was her unfortunate habit, felt the paw against her
chest followed by the quick shove before she could even utter a protest at
the unwanted contact. She was sent sprawling, already barely in balance with
her school bag hanging low against the small of her back, filled to capacity
with books, both for school and the five checked out from the library-five
was the limit, the new librarian Wood had told her, else she surely would
have taken more. The book she had been so engrossed in fell from her hands
and the edge caught her lip as she tumbled down, her behind smacking the
linoleum hard. She tasted blood.

Kevin Connor grinned as he loomed over her, his fists on his hips and his
stance wide, his girlfriend Cordelia smirking behind him. All around, the
other students drew back but around, interested to watch Kev's latest
bullying incident and relieved it didn't directly involve them this time.
"Didn't you hear me, geek? You have to step to the side. We've got important
stuff to ferry through for the school assembly." Cordelia held the school
banner across her arms. She and Kev were apparently on their way to the
school auditorium in preparation for Principle Snyder's monthly assembly, or
as he secretly referred to it, juvenile offenders roundup. The irony of
using one such offender as his lackey of choice for the menial tasks beneath
his own esteem was completely lost to the mean little man.

Tears filled her eyes, leaving Willow no time to react as a blue and black
colored blur entered her field of vision from the right, smacked into Kev's
larger frame, and sent both forms crashing into the lockers lining the
corridor. Xander was on his feet first, though holding his right arm
awkwardly. "Keep your freakin' hands off her, asshole!"

Willow cried a warning as Kev scrambled up and pulled his arm back, his hand
curled into a fist impossibly meaty for a ten year old. Surely he had been
left back more than the two years he admitted to? Xander's eyes screwed
shut, but he stood his ground.

Before the fat fist could propel forward to smash her friend in his nose,
its momentum was stopped by a hand with long tapered fingers wrapping around
it and pulling him back. Kev was spun around to look up at the new history
teacher, Leigh Mack, as she glowered fiercely at him. "What are you doing,
boy?"

"He started it!" Kev ground out. The blonde woman had, probably unknowingly,
twisted his wrist painfully when she had spun him around to face her. He
yanked his arm from her grasp, and brought himself to his full height. He
was a little taller than the slight woman, despite his age and the boots
with a good heel she wore underneath her long skirt. Still, for some reason
or another, her presence seemed to overwhelm him.

Leigh looked from Kev to Xander, still cringing and cradling his elbow from
where it had impacted against the locker after tackling the larger boy away
from his friend. When she turned back to Kev, her expression was
incredulous. "Are you seriously offering that as your answer?"

"It's true, Ms. Mack! Kev and I were on our way to deliver these things to
the auditorium for Principal Snyder for the assembly this afternoon when
Xander-"

Leigh turned to Cordelia. "Ms. Chase, please be quiet. I'm not a fool, and I
don't mind telling you that you reveal yourself by trying to play me for
one." Cordelia quieted instantly. Leigh turned her attention back to Kev.
"Mr. Connor, I'm surprised you'd attempt to hurt a boy half your size when
there's nothing in it for you aside from a suspension and the momentary
satisfaction of proving the obvious, that you can. What you really ought to
remember is that no matter how big you are, there's always someone bigger.
There will always be someone bigger. I suspect your father may be one such a
person. l expect either he or your mother to answer my call tonight, at 7pm,
to discuss this foolishness, and an appropriate punishment. You and Ms.
Chase are dismissed to run your." she looked at the cloth banner draped
across Cordelia's arm, "errand?" Again, her expression was incredulous.

Kev colored at the inflection of her last word-it stung worse than the
preceding scolding, in fact. He stomped off, Cordelia trailing behind him.
Xander sunk to his knees, his adrenaline finally ebbing and leaving him a
little wobbly.

"The rest of you should be getting to your next classes as well." The crowd
seemed to magically disperse at Leigh's softly worded suggestion.

At that point, Willow hiccuped and sniffled. Leigh turned her attention to
the small girl still on the floor. They locked eyes for a moment, Leigh's
sea-blue gaze piercing into Willow's green before she reached out to help
Willow onto her feet, though Willow immediately knelt again, by Xander.
"Xander," she sighed unhappily. "Are you alright?"

"I'm okay, Will."

"Mr. Harris, go to the infirmary and have your elbow looked at," Leigh
ordered. Her attention barely wavered from Willow.

Xander hesitated, obviously not wanting to leave Willow with the blonde
teacher, who was a bit of an x-factor still. She had come in mid-year to
replace Mike Russell, the school's 30-plus-year regular history teacher
after his suddenly decided early retirement. She seemed to keep to herself
and had successfully avoided all the usual traps students set for
substitutes, chief among them the standard Internet investigations into her
off-duty life. She had weathered them all, and was still here at Sunnydale
elementary and middle school, as much an enigma as the day she had shown up
with her piercing dark blue eyes and dirty blonde hair and long skirts and
full-collared shirts.

Xander thought her creep factor unusually high, though being
not-too-bad-on-the-eyes for an older lady softened the creep for most of the
student body to a more manageable mysterious. Apparently very cool, too, for
saving him from a face-smashing by Thug Connor, but still creepy
nonetheless. He straightened. He was grateful for the rescue, but he
regretted nothing and would have done the same and risked himself for Willow
again in a heartbeat. His heart sank as he realized he would now still have
to look out for an ambush from the fat bastard after school, at least for
the next couple of days. Thank the gods the fucker was as dumb as he was
big. Maybe he'd forget sooner rather than later. Out of sight out of mind
for Bronto Connor.

"Xander?" Willow's soft voice finally reached him. "It's okay, Xander,"
Willow whispered. "Get your arm taken care of. Thank you for taking care of
me."

Xander nodded. Willow helped her friend up to his feet and he reluctantly
went off.

"Thank you," Willow finally addressed Leigh.

"Thank me? For what?"

"For not punishing Xander for calling Kevin a bad name."

"Bad na-? Oh." Actually, Leigh had thought 'asshole' had been rather mild.
By her standards, anyway. "You're welcome, Willow," she said smoothly. "Or
do you prefer Ms. Rosenberg?"

"Willow's fine," Willow said in a quiet voice.

Leigh helped Willow with the books, grunting with the weight of the
backpack. Willow quickly took it from her. Leigh picked up the book the girl
had been engrossed in at the beginning of the fracas. "Fundamental
Principles of Neo-Kantian Ethics ? A bit of light reading before gym class?"

Willow reddened. Wood had recommended it to her, after she'd gone through
the library's collection of the humanist's primary works.

"Sorry, I was joking." Leigh cleared her throat. Some empath, she chided
herself, then reached out just slightly with her Talent to get a better feel
of the child before her.

Oddly, her Talent came up with nothing.

Okay. That hadn't happened in a while. At least by someone not trained in
the Art. The girl seemed to be somehow deflecting the gentle probe. Rather
than attempting a more forceful read, Leigh decided to try a different, more
mundane if blunter tack. "You know, Willow, I only saw the tail end of what
happened just now so I'm giving Xander the benefit of the doubt that he had
a good reason for stepping in as he did, but I do think that you need to
take a little responsibility. You have to be a little bit more careful
yourself. I'm referring to the reading while walking thing? You live in a
world that can at times be dangerous-much more so than a pre-teen bully, you
need to be mindful of it. Not that it's a bad thing letting a good book take
complete hold of you!" Leigh hurried, as Willow blushed so crimson with the
mild reproach it shamed Leigh's naturally empathic heart, too. "But there's
a proper time and place for everything. Okay?"

The rebuke softened, Willow nodded.

"By the way, there's something else I'd like to discuss with you, if I may.
I'd like you to come by my office after school today, just for a little chat
about what you might be doing with your history elective next semester. I'm
thinking of staying on, maybe set up an advanced studies program that I
think you'd do very well in. Do you think you can drop by to discuss it?"

Willow was grateful for Ms. Mack's intercession and not coming down on
Xander for calling Connor an asshole, but meeting with her alone was the
last thing Willow wanted.

At least she's a dreadful liar and has absolutely no ability to dissemble,
Leigh realized. "It's okay if you'd rather not. In fact, I'm still at the
planning stages, so it's probably not the best time, anyway. But maybe if
you have a free moment, alright? Any time you want, actually. I like meeting
some of the more serious students, but it's hard, you know? When you're shy,
like I am."

Willow's eyes widened at that, but got an okay vibe from Leigh's warm,
sincere smile.

"Anyway, you're welcome to drop by, even if it isn't class-related. When I'm
not teaching, I'm usually in my office. It's B-18."

Willow's eyes relaxed in relief. "Thank you, Ms. Mack. I might. Visit, that
is."

"Okay. You'd better go off too. Do you need a note or something since you're
late?"

"N-no. I have study hall."

Leigh nodded and watched as Willow walked off under her bag of books,
looking back just once, before she too turned for the stairwell for the
basement and her makeshift sanctum sanctorum.

----------

I think Jenny set up the "Leigh Mack" name as my alias just to see the look
on my face when I read through my mission briefing. Thomas Maclay was so
self-righteous about his family name and sharing the honor with me, his
blushing bride, I'm sure if he knew how I've mangled it for my own purposes
he'd have an apoplectic fit. Not that I give a damn anymore. I've used and
discarded so many names in my 34 years, sometimes I hardly know which one I'm
using one day to the next. Memories of lessons my mother taught me came
unbidden from the repository of my brain. "The ability to take and give away
a name shows that one is not tied to the material world." I can see the
truth in it. Plus being able to divest oneself of the baggage associated
with a name-always a plus, though that does raise the interesting conundrum
of why anyone would take up someone else's name if it's already burdened
with its own history.

Gods, sometimes I think myself into a corner. Tara is a fine name for a
witch.

Anyway, I'm half-convinced Tom's given up looking for us by now, so the
benefits and disadvantages of fooling around with an alias is moot. The last
time I checked, Agritech had relocated him to Old New Mexico as a foreman
for the upcoming Spring and Summer seasons, so he should be occupied with it
for 8 months more, certainly at least through the end of September. I hope
by then my tour with Willow-watching will be over and I'll be back in the
safety and seclusion of the Coven with my own daughter.

To that end, after setting up shop as the mid-year replacement history
teacher for Sunnydale Elementary (highly recommended, of course, with my
fake credentials), I quickly set about my surveillance of Willow. Her school
file revealed nothing out of the ordinary, but that didn't discourage me.
The record-keeping system of most middle and high school systems is normally
pretty proprietary from bordering-on-violating-civil-liberties meticulous to
downright negligent. Sunnydale's was somewhere in the middle of the
spectrum.

Two weeks later, I hadn't made much headway into my directive. What about
this girl had caught the collective inner eye of our Coven seers in their
review of the Artaggio event? Sure, Willow's a good student. A great
student, even. But that's not too unusual. Every district, especially in the
old Western states where the public educational system's become entrenched
and hegemonized, tends to have one or two really good prospects. Usually it's
enough to set up some kind of state or cross-state academic competition or
even just a standardized test, let them have at each other, then throw
scholarship money or even guaranteed employment to the winner. Doubtless,
Willow would have a good shot at one of these types of competitions. But a
player in an apocalyptic prophecy? I found nothing on the surface to suggest
her role as either one of the twins or the seeyo, a term that besides
meaning the obvious, though pre-modern Artaggio would never have known, also
translates to "hammer" or more generally, "instrument" in his dead
tongue-presumably, the instrument of the apocalypse.

Likewise, her family was utterly mundane. Daughter of Ira, 42, programmer
for CPV Tech, a smallish, still mostly privately owned, corporate inventory
system vendor, and Sheila, 38, clinical psychologist, currently unemployed
due to a lapse in her accreditation and licensing-she had left her position
at a private institute to devote five years of her life to raising Willow.
She had yet to recover from that professional hiatus. Fairly typical lower
middle-income family. In fact, other than the incident of being unable to
read her this morning, I honestly had no inkling that Willow was anything
other than an ordinary girl, though gifted with extraordinary intelligence.

In other words, the first two weeks have been very quiet, though perhaps
things will pick up now that I've made direct contact with Willow-that is,
if I haven't permanently scared her off with the scary disapproving adult
routine. The inability to read her was, of course, a curiosity and worth
noting, which I did when transmitting my weekly report back to Jenny. But I
wasn't overly concerned. I had blind spots as much as any other empathic
witch, though it's not immodest for me to say I have fewer than most, as it's
true. It's also not uncommon for first "contacts" to take more than one
meeting to develop, even with a young child like Willow who still wears her
emotions up front, especially in those huge eyes. Magic, much as some would
argue otherwise, isn't science.

The lack of immediate success did allow me to pad the second part of my
weekly transmission. Along with my second report reiterating much of what
the first did, I sent another personal note to my daughter. Of course, she
had taken my new assignment hard. I fully intend to make this up to her upon
my return. Maybe take her somewhere for a trip away from the Coven, as long
as it's not Old New Mexico (Tom) or Sunnydale (land of the unchanging
seasons). In the meanwhile, we'll have to make do with the personal missives
piggy-backed on the secure, encrypted weekly summary. Of course, this type
of communication is one-way, mostly. I so hope that Leda is doing better,
but the few brief lines Jenny manages to secure for her in the briefing
responses back don't satisfy the hole in my heart. I miss her fiercely, too.

It's hardened my resolve to finish my business here, and go home. I'm
grateful it's gone fairly simply so far. It would have been impossible to
begin without securing a position where I could watch Willow with an
unimpeded view. Convincing Russell to take early retirement hadn't been too
hard. He was working on his 35th year, and teaching can wear even the most
dedicated of people down. Many, many years ago, at the beginning of the
technology revolutions in the late 20th century, there was an advertising
campaign jointly financed by the nationalistic States and baby congloms, to
encourage young professionals into education as a career. The promotional
materials stressed the joys of service as its primary draw. Of course, there
was little corresponding salary augmentation, like they did for their own
field of employees. So instead we ended up with the beginning of the
centuries-long glut of lawyers and system programmers, analysts, and
salesmen, while doctors and teachers are still on the outs due to lack of
incentive and the increased regulation regarding accreditation peculiar to
each field. Over the years, the ethical sense of duty and self-sacrifice,
the practical difficulties of mediocre compensation and the juridical
hurdles set up to legislate professional accreditation did the trick, and
now no one with a practical mind wants to be a doctor or a teacher.

The latter was to be my profession, had I never felt Tom's last blow eight
years ago that sent me, unconscious and internally hemorrhaging, to the
hospital, and Jenny's subsequent rescue-Leda's "kidnapping" and our escape
to the Coven. But in a way, it's what I ended up doing, anyway. I wonder if
I'll be so lucky some day as to be offered a nice retirement package by a
mysterious charitable organization, after I'm through shaping the minds of
young witches thirty years down the road?

Eh, I doubt it.


----------
end - Witch Maclay, part 3

[binky]

NB: Please mind note 2 RE. tense shift - Scene with Mack and Willow in
Mack's basement office is offset with indent. I hope it doesn't post all
funky...
----------

THE COVEN
The rise of the greatest Seeyo in History prior to the Natural re-situation
of Humanity in the Cosmic.

By Binky (binky29AToptonline.net)
Description: Uber. Science Fiction. Mid-21st century.
Spoilers: None. This is 100 percent AU/uber
Pairings: Willow/Other, Willow/Tara.
Rating: Mature
Summary: A woman from the mysterious organization The Coven appears in
Sunnydale to help eight-year-old Willow Rosenberg unlock her latent powers
Warnings: Violence, strong language, moderate to graphic sexual
language/situations, character death
Feedback: Yes, please, including criticism (the gentle kind)
Distribution: Please email before copying/printing/archiving.
Note 1: *text* denotes italics
Note 2: Alt/memory scene denoted by five-space indent

Tara and Willow and other characters from the television show *Buffy the
Vampire Slayer* and *Angel* were created by Joss Whedon.

--------------------------------------------------

Prologue: Witch Maclay
Part 4

--------------------------------------------------

*Two and a half months later.*

Xander sighed and unconsciously picked at the small dots of the strawberry
scab on his forearm-three weeks old, from when Connor pushed him to the
pavement after school as the latest of the ongoing payback for the incident
over two months ago. Will was late again.

She was probably hanging out with Mack, as she seemed to do more and more
these days, helping out with her mysterious projects, or if not, in the
library where she lost track of time buried in the dusty stacks of books too
old and fragile or too out-of-date-deemed useless or irrelevant today to
have been digitally transferred and made portable, freed from its paper (or
in some of the most rare cases, parchment) restraints.

Regardless, it seemed Will had forgotten him again. He would give her just
five more minutes before he gave up and went home. Waiting for him was the
most recent release of a shooter-immersion game that they had been, up until
two months ago, just before the incident with Kev and Mack, anticipating
with barely controllable 8 (Willow) and just-turned-ten (Xander) year old
impatience. It had taken all his strength of will to not tear the box open
as soon as he'd gone home after school last night to find it had arrived in
the day's mail. Instead, he had vowed to behave and wait for Will to share
the honors after school today. Even being a year-and-a-half older than her,
gaming was the one thing he could consistently hold his own on with Willow.
Shooting aliens was often more instinct than intellect and he had plenty of
the former, even if Willow outclassed him in the brains department-as she
did most of the older kids at school. Also, his larger hands and quicker
feet made manipulating the controllers easier. It made gaming one of the
things that balanced out the relationship between the two very different
friends, though sometimes she'd insist on taking apart the game after they'd
played through it. Xander didn't mind too much, since she usually put it
back after she was done. Will was a little weird that way. Plus she had a
way of having her tongue peek out from the corner of her mouth when she was
really deeply involved pulling the guts out of a chipboard that was kind of
cute.

Xander shook his head fiercely. He had to stop thinking like that, or else
he might slip and scare Will off. She didn't seem into those things. Not
yet, anyway.

The allotted five minutes came and went, then five more. Finally, as he
gathered his bag to really (really) leave this time, Willow came barreling
around the corner of the main building, weighed down as usual by her own
bag, out of breath. "Xan! You waited!"

"Of course I did, Will." He stood patiently as Willow dropped her bag at her
feet and bent over, her hands on her knees, taking deep gulps of air. When
she straightened a minute later, they wordlessly traded bags with practiced
ease and started out of the courtyard toward Xander's home.

"So, what was it today? Library or dungeon?" Xander referred to Mack's
basement office with the latter.

"Ms. Mack," Willow admitted sheepishly. "We started some, uh, advanced maths
last period and kind of didn't hear the bell."

Xander nodded and said nothing, though the back of his neck felt a little
hot, and not, he knew, from the afternoon California sun. Jealous, he
realized. He was jealous of Mack, and all the time she was getting to spend
with his best friend. Finally, in a quiet voice, he said, "Don't know why
you need to study so hard, Will. Last time I checked, they were talking
about bumping you up a couple grades anyhow." Out of your league, Harris, he
thought. She's out of your league, too.

Willow felt the slight undercurrent in her best friend's voice then a sharp
stab through her heart. She didn't ever want to lose Xander. He was the best
thing to happen to her in. well, forever. Before Xander, she'd had no
friends. Without him, she'd have none again, except, maybe, now, for Ms.
Mack, and possibly Wood, in the library. But two adult non-parent authority
types didn't really count for friends. She had to explain, make things
right. Plus, the secret she had been keeping was threatening to make her
head explode. Surely Ms. Mack would understand if she let Xander in on what
they had been doing? Maybe she could even tutor Xander as well, then it
would be like having the best of both worlds. She realized that Xander hadn't
said anything, and in fact, had been waiting for her to respond. She
hesitated a second more, before deciding she couldn't. Not without saying
something to Ms. Mack first. They continued awkwardly a while before she
thought of a compromise. "The kinds of stuff we do isn't so much class
stuff. More like, um, arts, I guess."

Xander frowned. "Arts? Like what? Painting?"

"With our minds," Leigh said. "Knowledge isn't just what you find in
books and files."

"Are you talking about experience, too?" Willow ventured.

"Well, experience is its own category that produces knowledge, yes, but
the distinction
between written knowledge and practice is often overstated. After all,
everything that's
been written has already been experienced, contemplated, filtered, then
presented in the
author's own words, own interpretation of the event. Do you
understand?"

"I-I think so." Willow thought about it some more. She was only eight
and a half, but the
brain capacity she'd been able to unlock and put to use was already
incredible.
Something she'd read recently came to the forefront of the cacophony of
thought. "You
mean, like, pure reason?"

Leigh paused a moment as her own mind re-aligned to the line of thought
to which the
young girl had connected. She thought of the book Willow had been
toting when they
officially met, the one the librarian had given her-Wood. Like herself,
a recent addition
to the school faculty. She got a strange vibe from him and she knew, by
use of her Talent
when she visited the library after her curiosity about the fellow from
Willow's constant
mention of him got the better of her, that he got the same from her. He
had given Willow
the book on the neo-Kantians. What had Wood been thinking giving her a
book like that?

Willow's eyes had become so bright at the connection, Leigh didn't want
to quash it. On
the contrary, she needed to nurture that desire for deeper
understanding. "Yes, something
very like that, but push it beyond, if you can."

"Beyond?"

"Beyond reason altogether."

"Not exactly," Willow said evasively. They walked on. Xander's house was six
blocks south from the school, Willow's two blocks further north from the
Harris home. Both were well inside the lower-middle-income zone, though
Willow's was better kept. Xander's mother wasn't much one for housework.
They crossed the street to the midway point of the short travel. "It's kind
of hard to describe. It's more like. mental arts."

Xander's look was clearly doubtful, and Willow sank back into deep thought,
to find a better way to phrase it.

"Through the years, humans have had a number of names for what lay
beyond
comprehension. Most of those names referred to a Divine or a group of
divine beings.
After we outgrew our Gods-Parents, left their home and set ourselves up
in our own, the
perspective shifted. The old mystics and philosophers described it as
the Sublime, the A
Priori. When we were outstripped by our technology, it became
self-perpetuating technology,
or the perfect machine, with perfect intelligence. In digi-speak, it's
the Code before all codes,
the one that unlocks the rest and gives them meaning. Still others took
a little of all the
definitions, including the primitive ones, and identify it simply as
the Cosmic, and leave it at that.
That's how we describe it in my own tradition."

"Your own tradition?"

Leigh hesitated just briefly before beginning. She had already decided,
when Willow began
visiting just a few days after the incident with Connor and her friend
Xander, that honesty
would be the best route to take with handling the young prodigy. Not
long after the visits began,
Willow had overcome her initial shyness-indeed, had shown little fear
in asking whatever
question came to her curious mind. "In my own family, along my mother's
line, we follow a
tradition that favors animism and a general respect for all of nature.
When I grew older, and
started a life on my own and a family of my own, I joined an
organization that tolerates a number
of different, though ultimately similar or at least compatible views on
the underlying purpose of
human life to see, experience, interact, feel our connections, our
smallness but our ability, yet not
to rule. We call our group the Coven."

Willow frowned. "Like a coven of witches?"

Leigh did not hesitate on this question. "Yes," she said firmly. At the
girl's suddenly concerned
expression, she laughed. "But not bad witches." She grinned and added,
"At least not all of us."

"Kind of like. doing puzzles," Willow said, "like, uh, brain teasers."

Xander's dark eyebrows shot up, still skeptical that any extra time spent in
school that wasn't mandatory could be anything but punishment. "And that's
fun?"

"It is, sometimes," Willow defended, though she was a bit deflated that
Xander still didn't understand, and didn't appreciate the value of her
after-class sessions with Ms. Mack. But she didn't completely blame him. Her
explanation had been pretty lame. She hesitated, knowing she was treading in
dangerous waters as far as disclosing the secret she'd been asked to keep.
"Ms. Mack is actually pretty funny. She says she's a witch. She even showed
me a little magic."

The point of light hovered between them, dancing briefly to Willow's
delight before Leigh snuffed
it by closing her fist around it, then opening her hand to prove its
disappearance.

"How'd you do that?" Willow asked. With an eight year old's lack of
tact, she grasped Leigh's
hand in the both of hers to examine it more closely.

Leigh laughed and let herself be inspected. "It's just a parlor trick.
Any witch in her second year
could do it. I'll show you some time."

Willow looked up at Ms. Mack with awe clear in her eyes. Her expression
shifted then, to one
of concern. "It didn't burn?"

Leigh's heart leapt. And just like that, she softened to the girl and
to her assignment. She recalled
that Leda had had the same expression on her face once when she was
five or so, after an
incident, one of the earlier ones, when Tom restrained her from leaving
an argument and had left
a bruise on her wrist. Until then, she had been able to hide her
marital problems from their young
daughter. It was only when the concern on their daughter's face had
turned to fear a year later
that she truly started to resent her husband's need to control, then
eventually despise the man
himself. Willow's gentle probing manipulation brought her back to the
task, literally, at hand. "No.
Tickles, actually." You're a good kid, with a big heart, still. I hope
your parents know how lucky
they are, and keep you that way. If they can. As long as they can.

"Magic?" Xander's expression was still a little mystified.

Willow nodded, knowing the explanation wasn't sufficient, but bound by her
promise to Ms. Mack to not provide more-at least not without asking her.
"You know, uh, tricks with lights and stuff. But mostly it's serious stuff.
reading and-and extra math and world history. That kind of thing."

Xander said nothing though the somewhat disgusted look on his face at the
last made his position known. Willow accepted that, and just hoped he was
okay with the explanation, for now.

They crossed the final street to his block. His was the third house down.
Xander held the fence door open for Willow and the two friends made their
way past the side of the building to the back entrance. It was closer to the
stairs to the basement where Xander's play room with his various consoles
set up on the family's throwaway wraparound multi-screen with the blown
television tuner was.

"Is your mom home?" Willow asked. She wanted to be polite and say hello to
let Xander's mother know she was visiting. Else, Mrs. Harris might never
know she had anyone else in her home since she never seemed to interact with
her son when he got home after school. That suited Willow fine. She got
along with Mrs. Harris well enough. It was Mr. Harris she found a little
scary, with his loud voice and boisterous manner and sometimes smelling of
alcohol. But he worked a late shift as a mechanic in the Uni-Train depot and
thankfully shouldn't be home until late, Xander had told her.

"Nope. Not today. Do you need to call home?"

Willow shook her head. She had already told her mother she would be staying
late for a school activity-which was mostly the truth, as she did visit and
in fact extended her session with Ms. Mack. The visits were never scheduled
but somehow had become regular, and she visited Mack's basement office at
least twice a week, from fifteen minutes to an hour. Today's visit had been
fairly short and she still wouldn't be expected for at least another couple
of hours before dinner. She hadn't mentioned going to Xander's house to pass
the time until then. Her parents weren't fond of Xander, or more to the
point, the Harrises. They headed for the basement.

As Xander was loading the cartridges and Willow read the blurb and
screen-shots on the back of the now-empty product box, he unexpectedly
picked up the previous conversation again. "So you do all this studying,
that's really not studying?" He thought some more about it. "You know, word
is she came in from some private school in Montana or Arkansas or Brazil or
someplace like that. Some kind of weird alternate-method school or
something."

Xander handed her a hand controller and booted the game. "Yeah. I heard
that, too."

Xander's voice became suddenly soft. "You gonna transfer, Will?"

Willow laughed. "What?"

But Xander didn't say anything back.

"Transfer? To her school? No!" They watched the backstory of the game scroll
past, both only paying half their attention to it. The backstories were
always the same or similar for urban shooters like this program. Either you
played the undercover cop, the mercenary hired by the victim's family to
take revenge, or, if you had the right codes, the soldier in the crime
syndicate. The narrative ended and Willow opted for the cop scenario. She
always played that one, while Xander favored the mercenary. Later, they
might try the other roles, though Willow never played the soldier. The
warnings on the product box about the particularly adult nature of the
violence and graphic sex of that scenario scared her more than it tickled
her childish curiousity, as it did Xander's. Plus you had to pay extra for
the special code that unlocked that narrative, so Xander, restricted by a
boy's typical lack of funds, often just got the clean(er) version.
Regardless, his parents never checked. "It's nothing like that, Xander. I'm
not going to transfer. In fact."

"I, um, wanted to thank you again for taking the time to tutor me. The
things we talk about.
They make things so easy. The Regents. we're taking them this year like
always, in a couple
months, and what you've shown me. it makes everything so clear. Like I
know the question
before it's even asked."

Leigh nodded, remembering a similar feeling when she was in Willow's
position many years
ago when her own mother had started taking her on walks together
through the woods around
their family farm. Of course, she would not have put it in the same
terms Willow was using.

"Or-Or it's like the answers are written in the questions." Willow
hesitated, then found she
couldn't continue.

"What is it, Willow?"

"It's just that. I'm not sure what the point is, anymore. I mean, I'm
grateful for you showing
me what you've shown me, but now that I know what the game is, is there
anything else but to
play it out?"

Leigh frowned. "I'm afraid you've lost me, sweetie."

"I mean, everything makes sense, now. But will it make a difference?
After the Regents, I'll
place into the next levels of school, have a scholarship, and take a
few degrees, like my father.
Then I might get an internship at one of the big companies, be hired,
work until I retire, then
watch the teevee or game all day long as I live off my retirement plan.
Isn't. Isn't there
anything else?"

The question momentarily stunned Leigh. Aside from Willow's conception
of what one did
as a retiree in the late years of one's life, it was an adult question,
yet it was not. And how do
you provide an honest answer to a question you hadn't found the answer
for yourself? It would
be easy to become flippant, advise Willow it wasn't a question for an
eight-year old, but that
would tip her hand to the perceptive young girl. She would know Leigh
was just like all the
other adults in her life. Her father and mother. Her teachers. Snyder.
Leigh had to tread carefully.
"Well, I can't tell you the answer to that, Willow. The truth is, I'm
not sure. What we talked
about before, remember? I've had experiences that you wouldn't
understand, would never
understand, and vice versa. In my case. I told you, I have a daughter?
She's a few years
older than you. Everything I do now, she's always the first thing I
think about, my first
consideration. I think what works in my situation is that if she can
exceed me, that would be
enough. I would think the sacrifices I've made were worthwhile, if she
exceeds me."

"Exceeds you?"

Leigh considered it before answering, "In whatever she does that gives
her joy. Her craft, for
example. A husband and family, maybe, though that better be many years
down the road."
She smiled at her musings. "Whatever. It would be enough if she was
happier than I was. Or
am."

Willow frowned. "What if she doesn't want to be happy that way?"

"What?"

"What if being, um, not happy suited her more?"

Leigh found her mouth opening and closing a couple of times before she
huffed, "Well, that's
just ridiculous."

Willow's expression let Leigh know what she thought of that answer.

Reluctantly, Leigh relented. "You know what, Willow? You're right."

"I am?"

"I don't know what I was thinking, putting that kind of pressure on
her. She needs to live for
herself first. Even if that means the choices she makes aren't ones
that make me happy. Thank
you for pointing that out to me."

Willow smiled sheepishly and shrugged, but enjoyed the acknowledgement.
"Does she go to
the school you usually teach at?"

"The Coven.? Well, yes, I guess you could say she does... attend
there."

"It sounds like a nice place," Willow said.

This is way too soon, Leigh thought. But if she handled this correctly,
perhaps she could make
more headway in her assignment today than she had in the months she'd
already been here.
"I think it is. It's, um, not anything like Sunnydale."

"And you miss it." It was a statement.

"I certainly do. It's where my daughter is. But more than that. " Leigh
hesitated. "I left this
society some years ago. It's. difficult being back here. In this way of
life, I mean. The things
we just talked about? About what's expected of you here? It's very
different in the Coven.
There are pressures there, too, of course, though I find them more
tolerable than the ones I had
with the life I used to live here. And it's not possible to cut off
these two places from each
other." Leigh trailed off, more inside herself than out. She had not
had to think about these
things in a while.

Willow noticed and let the woman sit with her own thoughts. But she was
a child still and began
to squirm, the silence making her feel a little bored.

It brought Leigh back to the present. She shook her head in
embarrassment. "Sorry."

Willow smiled and shrugged. "It's okay. I daydream sometimes, too."

"Do you really-?"

Willow quickly inserted herself before Mack could ask the next obvious
question. "Maybe I
could visit?"

"The Coven?" Beat. "Why not? Yes, you might like it. It may suit you."
Leigh paused again to
consider it further. "We even have an accredited high school and
college degree program for a
number of disciplines, believe it or not, though from what you've told
me, your parents are more
the traditional type and would probably not favor our. free form
approach to education." Leigh
realized she was sounding more and more like a college brochure and
tried to ease back out.
"But you're more than welcome to just visit. In fact, let me extend a
personal invitation, and my
formal offer. If you decide to visit, ask me, and I'll make the
arrangements."

"Okay."

Had it been anyone else-child or adult-Leigh would have thought she'd
been blown off. But
she was satisfied with the answer because she knew Willow was sincere
and would at least
weigh it seriously.

"We talked about the Regents and where I might end up after, and I'm pretty
sure her school is not for me." Unconsciously, she began playing her story
as Xander set up the mercenary on his own screen.

"So she's just helping you prepare for the Regents next month?" There was a
little color back in Xander's voice.

"Kinda."

"Gods, I hate taking that thing. Why do they have to give it to you every
year?" but Xander was back to being good old Xander. Willow was relieved.

Leigh checked the clock on the wall. "We still have some time left. Did
you want to try the
meditation again?"

Willow smiled and nodded. She enjoyed meditation. It was when the most
extraordinary ideas
came to her. She was beginning to see patterns in the quiet. At first,
Ms. Mack had guided her in
the white space with her soft voice, had set the context for the
wanderings. She would bring them
into forests dense with old-growth trees, or barren, icy mountains
incapable of supporting life of
any kind but the hardiest and most primitive. Or again, caves lined
with the dark leathery skins
and pinpoint eye-lights of bats and filled with the crackling whisper
of centipede feet. Gradually,
the silence itself was enough to start the journey, and she no longer
needed the assurance of Leigh
taking the lead.

Oddly, it was also usually the time she felt the woman opened up to her
the most, when she knew
her teacher was sincere in genuinely enjoying Willow's visits, else
Willow might have ceased
coming long ago. Ms. Mack seemed a bit. lonely. Even in talking about
her home at the
mysterious Coven, or her brief mentions of her daughter who she
shielded from any or all prying
eyes, certainly not when she was lecturing in a classroom full of
students in various degrees of
attentiveness or lack thereof, she seemed. not completely there. Had
Willow been more
experienced, she may have thought that strange, that the woman's
priorities were, more often than
not, somehow askew.

"Did you have anything in particular you wanted to bring into the quiet
time?" Leigh was a
practiced empathic witch, and sensed that she was the object of Willow's
meditation. She wanted
to stop that, reassert the boundaries between mentor and student, adult
and child.

Her softly worded intrusion worked and Willow ceased that exploration.
She shook her head and
returned to the quiet. But she took the hint. No matter. Lately,
meditation had been very enjoyable.
She felt like she was on the edge of something in the quiet time, all
her own. A breakthrough was
waiting for her.

"We, um, do some reading, and discuss things. There's some really good
practical things. Like shortcuts. They make understanding math problems
easier." She thought back at how easy it was now to grasp the Calculus
concepts that had made her pause just three months ago. Yes, she had been
able to do them before, but they took a lot of time. Now, she could actually
see the solutions. They seemed to instantly fall into place as she looked at
the equations, as if she could see the concepts behind the theories, down to
the level of the symbol-the glyphs and characters making up the mathematical
language. Surely it would help in the Regents next month. Maybe if Ms. Mack
agreed to tutor Xander, he'd score well enough to get into some accelerated
courses next year, too. Then they could study together.

Willow's eyes had closed as she recalled another topic of conversation,
the one from last time when
she had first felt it, that thing that had stirred something deep
within her soul. "Tell me more about
your brand of knowing."

"What do you want to know?"

"You said that by your tradition, in your Coven, you seek
understanding. What do you do with it
when you've found it?"

Leigh considered it, then said, simply, "The best you can.
Unfortunately, for most that means simply
surviving."

"But there's more?"

"Honestly? I wouldn't know." Leigh shrugged apologetically. "I count
myself among the majority
on that."

Willow nodded at the honesty of the response. She left Leigh's side and
went on. She thought she
understood. The pleasure of *Knowing* filled her, and Knowing seemed
just as pleased back. It was
warm and happy to find a child in its home, after so long alone. "And,
uh, if it finds you? What do you
do with it if it finds you?"

"Do with it?" Leigh had to pause at that.

In her mind, Willow reached out.

"Oh gods." she heard Ms. Mack mutter. "What did you. How did you-?"

"Holy shit, Will, what the fuck was that?" Willow opened her eyes to Xander
peering at her, hovering next to her, concern all over his face. "Are you
alright?"

"I'm fine. why? What happened?"

"You went all glowy! Then the program played through to the end, in, like,
10 seconds." He ejected the cartridge and peeled back the cover to look at
the disc, as if he could see a physical flaw that would explain what he had
just seen.

"I. went all glowy?"

Xander put down the cartridge and frowned. "Well, your hands did, at least.
And some of your arms, too." He reinstalled the cartridge. It booted as
normal. "I guess I'll return it for an exchange. Bummer, though. Now we know
how it ends, and how to fight the Boss. You sure you're okay? How are your
hands?"

"Th-They're fine."

Xander was still frowning. "Maybe it was the controller and not your hands?"
He took the device from her slightly trembling grasp. It seemed to be
functioning normally enough. As he fussed with the buttons he did not notice
how Willow had become pale, her eyes closing again as every bit of
information from the program replayed itself in her mind in excruciating
detail-not just the cop scenario, but the mercenary and the soldier, too,
all within seconds, simultaneously. The product box warnings had not been
exaggerated. The soldier's story was particularly violent and gory, the
fucking explicit, and-oh, so cold because both were pointless. She felt
nauseous, about to pass out.

Willow opened her eyes. Ms. Mack's entire basement office, was, in
direct contrast to its
normal poorly lit gloom, brilliant in the glow of thousands of pixie
lights hanging and dancing
around them.

"Oh," said Ms. Mack, finally. "You don't need me to show you how to do
this one, then."

----------

END - Witch Maclay, part 4

[binky]

Ugh, this didn't post right at all. I also didn't edit the subject tag. Let
me try again. Please disregard the post above.

NB: Please mind note 2 RE. tense shift - Scene with Mack and Willow in
Mack's basement office is offset with indent. I hope it doesn't post all
funky...
----------

THE COVEN
The rise of the greatest Seeyo in History prior to the Natural re-situation
of Humanity in the Cosmic.

By Binky (binky29AToptonline.net)
Description: Uber. Science Fiction. Mid-21st century.
Spoilers: None. This is 100 percent AU/uber
Pairings: Willow/Other, Willow/Tara.
Rating: Mature
Summary: A woman from the mysterious organization The Coven appears in
Sunnydale to help eight-year-old Willow Rosenberg unlock her latent powers
Warnings: Violence, strong language, moderate to graphic sexual
language/situations, character death
Feedback: Yes, please, including criticism (the gentle kind)
Distribution: Please email before copying/printing/archiving.
Note 1: *text* denotes italics
Note 2: Alt/memory scene denoted by five-space indent

Tara and Willow and other characters from the television show *Buffy the
Vampire Slayer* and *Angel* were created by Joss Whedon.

--------------------------------------------------

Prologue: Witch Maclay
Part 4

--------------------------------------------------

*Two and a half months later.*

Xander sighed and unconsciously picked at the small dots of the strawberry
scab on his forearm-three weeks old, from when Connor pushed him to the
pavement after school as the latest of the ongoing payback for the incident
over two months ago. Will was late again.

She was probably hanging out with Mack, as she seemed to do more and more
these days, helping out with her mysterious projects, or if not, in the
library where she lost track of time buried in the dusty stacks of books
too
old and fragile or too out-of-date-deemed useless or irrelevant today to
have been digitally transferred and made portable, freed from its paper (or
in some of the most rare cases, parchment) restraints.

Regardless, it seemed Will had forgotten him again. He would give her just
five more minutes before he gave up and went home. Waiting for him was the
most recent release of a shooter-immersion game that they had been, up
until
two months ago, just before the incident with Kev and Mack, anticipating
with barely controllable 8 (Willow) and just-turned-ten (Xander) year old
impatience. It had taken all his strength of will to not tear the box open
as soon as he'd gone home after school last night to find it had arrived in
the day's mail. Instead, he had vowed to behave and wait for Will to share
the honors after school today. Even being a year-and-a-half older than her,
gaming was the one thing he could consistently hold his own on with Willow.
Shooting aliens was often more instinct than intellect and he had plenty of
the former, even if Willow outclassed him in the brains department-as she
did most of the older kids at school. Also, his larger hands and quicker
feet made manipulating the controllers easier. It made gaming one of the
things that balanced out the relationship between the two very different
friends, though sometimes she'd insist on taking apart the game after
they'd
played through it. Xander didn't mind too much, since she usually put it
back after she was done. Will was a little weird that way. Plus she had a
way of having her tongue peek out from the corner of her mouth when she was
really deeply involved pulling the guts out of a chipboard that was kind of
cute...

Xander shook his head fiercely. He had to stop thinking like that, or else
he might slip and scare Will off. She didn't seem into those things. Not
yet, anyway.

The allotted five minutes came and went, then five more. Finally, as he
gathered his bag to really (really) leave this time, Willow came barreling
around the corner of the main building, weighed down as usual by her own
bag, out of breath. "Xan! You waited!"

"Of course I did, Will." He stood patiently as Willow dropped her bag at
her
feet and bent over, her hands on her knees, taking deep gulps of air. When
she straightened a minute later, they wordlessly traded bags with practiced
ease and started out of the courtyard toward Xander's home.

"So, what was it today? Library or dungeon?" Xander referred to Mack's
basement office with the latter.

"Ms. Mack," Willow admitted sheepishly. "We started some, uh, advanced
maths
last period and kind of didn't hear the bell."

Xander nodded and said nothing, though the back of his neck felt a little
hot, and not, he knew, from the afternoon California sun. Jealous, he
realized. He was jealous of Mack, and all the time she was getting to spend
with his best friend. Finally, in a quiet voice, he said, "Don't know why
you need to study so hard, Will. Last time I checked, they were talking
about bumping you up a couple grades anyhow." Out of your league, Harris,
he
thought. She's out of your league, too.

Willow felt the slight undercurrent in her best friend's voice then a sharp
stab through her heart. She didn't ever want to lose Xander. He was the
best
thing to happen to her in. well, forever. Before Xander, she'd had no
friends. Without him, she'd have none again, except, maybe, now, for Ms.
Mack, and possibly Wood, in the library. But two adult non-parent authority
types didn't really count for friends. She had to explain, make things
right. Plus, the secret she had been keeping was threatening to make her
head explode. Surely Ms. Mack would understand if she let Xander in on what
they had been doing? Maybe she could even tutor Xander as well, then it
would be like having the best of both worlds. She realized that Xander
hadn't
said anything, and in fact, had been waiting for her to respond. She
hesitated a second more, before deciding she couldn't. Not without saying
something to Ms. Mack first. They continued awkwardly a while before she
thought of a compromise. "The kinds of stuff we do isn't so much class
stuff. More like, um, arts, I guess."

Xander frowned. "Arts? Like what? Painting?"

"With our minds," Leigh said. "Knowledge isn't just what you find in
books and files."

"Are you talking about experience, too?" Willow ventured.

"Well, experience is its own category that produces knowledge, yes, but
the distinction between written knowledge and practice is often
overstated. After all,everything that's been written has already been
experienced, contemplated, filtered, then presented in the author's own
words, own interpretation of the event. Do you understand?"

"I-I think so." Willow thought about it some more. She was only eight
and a half, but the brain capacity she'd been able to unlock and put to
use was already incredible. Something she'd read recently came to the
forefront of the cacophony of thought. "You mean, like, pure reason?"

Leigh paused a moment as her own mind re-aligned to the line of thought
to which the young girl had connected. She thought of the book Willow
had been toting when they officially met, the one the librarian had
given
her--Wood. Like herself, a recent addition to the school faculty. She
got
a strange vibe from him and she knew, by use of her Talent when she
visited the library after her curiosity about the fellow from Willow's
constant mention of him got the better of her, that he got the same
from
her. He had given Willow the book on the neo-Kantians. What had Wood
been
thinking giving her a book like that?

Willow's eyes had become so bright at the connection, Leigh didn't want
to quash it. On the contrary, she needed to nurture that desire for
deeper understanding. "Yes, something very like that, but push it
beyond,
if you can."

"Beyond?"

"Beyond reason altogether."

"Not exactly," Willow said evasively. They walked on. Xander's house was
six
blocks south from the school, Willow's two blocks further north from the
Harris home. Both were well inside the lower-middle-income zone, though
Willow's was better kept. Xander's mother wasn't much one for housework.
They crossed the street to the midway point of the short travel. "It's kind
of hard to describe. It's more like... mental arts."

Xander's look was clearly doubtful, and Willow sank back into deep thought,
to find a better way to phrase it.

"Through the years, humans have had a number of names for what lay
beyond comprehension. Most of those names referred to a Divine or a
group
of divine beings. After we outgrew our Gods-Parents, left their home
and
set ourselves up in our own, the perspective shifted. The old mystics
and
philosophers described it as the Sublime, the A Priori. When we were
outstripped by our technology, it became self-perpetuating technology,
or the perfect machine, with perfect intelligence. In digi-speak, it's
the Code before all codes, the one that unlocks the rest and gives them
meaning. Still others took a little of all the definitions, including
the
primitive ones, and identify it simply as the Cosmic, and leave it at
that. That's how we describe it in my own tradition."

"Your own tradition?"

Leigh hesitated just briefly before beginning. She had already decided,
when Willow began visiting just a few days after the incident with
Connor
and her friend Xander, that honesty would be the best route to take
with
handling the young prodigy. Not long after the visits began, Willow had
overcome her initial shyness--indeed, had shown little fear in asking
whatever question came to her curious mind. "In my own family, along my
mother's line, we follow a tradition that favors animism and a general
respect for all of nature. When I grew older, and started a life on my
own and a family of my own, I joined an organization that tolerates a
number of different, though ultimately similar or at least compatible
views on the underlying purpose of human life to see, experience,
interact, feel our connections, our smallness but our ability, yet not
to rule. We call our group the Coven."

Willow frowned. "Like a coven of witches?"

Leigh did not hesitate on this question. "Yes," she said firmly. At the
girl's suddenly concerned expression, she laughed. "But not bad
witches."
She grinned and added, "At least not all of us."

"Kind of like... doing puzzles," Willow said, "like, uh, brain teasers."

Xander's dark eyebrows shot up, still skeptical that any extra time spent
in
school that wasn't mandatory could be anything but punishment. "And that's
fun?"

"It is, sometimes," Willow defended, though she was a bit deflated that
Xander still didn't understand, and didn't appreciate the value of her
after-class sessions with Ms. Mack. But she didn't completely blame him.
Her
explanation had been pretty lame. She hesitated, knowing she was treading
in
dangerous waters as far as disclosing the secret she'd been asked to keep.
"Ms. Mack is actually pretty funny. She says she's a witch. She even showed
me a little magic."

The point of light hovered between them, dancing briefly to Willow's
delight before Leigh snuffed it by closing her fist around it, then
opening her hand to prove its disappearance.

"How'd you do that?" Willow asked. With an eight year old's lack of
tact, she grasped Leigh's hand in the both of hers to examine it more
closely.

Leigh laughed and let herself be inspected. "It's just a parlor trick.
Any witch in her second year could do it. I'll show you some time."

Willow looked up at Ms. Mack with awe clear in her eyes. Her expression
shifted then, to one of concern. "It didn't burn?"

Leigh's heart leapt. And just like that, she softened to the girl and
to her assignment. She recalled that Leda had had the same expression
on
her face once when she was five or so, after an incident, one of the
earlier ones, when Tom restrained her from leaving an argument and had
left a bruise on her wrist. Until then, she had been able to hide her
marital problems from their young daughter. It was only when the
concern
on their daughter's face had turned to fear a year later that she truly
started to resent her husband's need to control, then eventually
despise
the man himself. Willow's gentle probing manipulation brought her back
to
the task, literally, at hand. "No. Tickles, actually." You're a good
kid,
with a big heart, still. I hope your parents know how lucky they are,
and keep you that way. If they can. As long as they can.

"Magic?" Xander's expression was still a little mystified.

Willow nodded, knowing the explanation wasn't sufficient, but bound by her
promise to Ms. Mack to not provide more--at least not without asking her.
"You know, uh, tricks with lights and stuff. But mostly it's serious stuff.
reading and-and extra math and world history. That kind of thing."

Xander said nothing though the somewhat disgusted look on his face at the
last made his position known. Willow accepted that, and just hoped he was
okay with the explanation, for now.

They crossed the final street to his block. His was the third house down.
Xander held the fence door open for Willow and the two friends made their
way past the side of the building to the back entrance. It was closer to
the
stairs to the basement where Xander's play room with his various consoles
set up on the family's throwaway wraparound multi-screen with the blown
television tuner was.

"Is your mom home?" Willow asked. She wanted to be polite and say hello to
let Xander's mother know she was visiting. Else, Mrs. Harris might never
know she had anyone else in her home since she never seemed to interact
with
her son when he got home after school. That suited Willow fine. She got
along with Mrs. Harris well enough. It was Mr. Harris she found a little
scary, with his loud voice and boisterous manner and sometimes smelling of
alcohol. But he worked a late shift as a mechanic in the Uni-Train depot
and
thankfully shouldn't be home until late, Xander had told her.

"Nope. Not today. Do you need to call home?"

Willow shook her head. She had already told her mother she would be staying
late for a school activity--which was mostly the truth, as she did visit
and
in fact extended her session with Ms. Mack. The visits were never scheduled
but somehow had become regular, and she visited Mack's basement office at
least twice a week, from fifteen minutes to an hour. Today's visit had been
fairly short and she still wouldn't be expected for at least another couple
of hours before dinner. She hadn't mentioned going to Xander's house to
pass
the time until then. Her parents weren't fond of Xander, or more to the
point, the Harrises. They headed for the basement.

As Xander was loading the cartridges and Willow read the blurb and
screen-shots on the back of the now-empty product box, he unexpectedly
picked up the previous conversation again. "So you do all this studying,
that's really not studying?" He thought some more about it. "You know, word
is she came in from some private school in Montana or Arkansas or Brazil or
someplace like that. Some kind of weird alternate-method school or
something."

Xander handed her a hand controller and booted the game. "Yeah. I heard
that, too."

Xander's voice became suddenly soft. "You gonna transfer, Will?"

Willow laughed. "What?"

But Xander didn't say anything back.

"Transfer? To her school? No!" They watched the backstory of the game
scroll
past, both only paying half their attention to it. The backstories were
always the same or similar for urban shooters like this program. Either you
played the undercover cop, the mercenary hired by the victim's family to
take revenge, or, if you had the right codes, the soldier in the crime
syndicate. The narrative ended and Willow opted for the cop scenario. She
always played that one, while Xander favored the mercenary. Later, they
might try the other roles, though Willow never played the soldier. The
warnings on the product box about the particularly adult nature of the
violence and graphic sex of that scenario scared her more than it tickled
her childish curiousity, as it did Xander's. Plus you had to pay extra for
the special code that unlocked that narrative, so Xander, restricted by a
boy's typical lack of funds, often just got the clean(er) version.
Regardless, his parents never checked. "It's nothing like that, Xander. I'm
not going to transfer. In fact..."

"I, um, wanted to thank you again for taking the time to tutor me. The
things we talk about. They make things so easy. The Regents... we're
taking them this year like always, in a couple months, and what you've
shown me... it makes everything so clear. Like I know the question
before it's even asked."

Leigh nodded, remembering a similar feeling when she was in Willow's
position many years ago when her own mother had started taking her on
walks alone together through the woods around their family farm. Of
course, she would not have put it in the same terms Willow was using.

"Or-Or it's like the answers are written in the questions." Willow
hesitated, then found she couldn't continue.

"What is it, Willow?"

"It's just that... I'm not sure what the point is, anymore. I mean, I'm
grateful for you showing me what you've shown me, but now that I know
what the game is, is there anything else but to play it out?"

Leigh frowned. "I'm afraid you've lost me, sweetie."

"I mean, everything makes sense, now. But will it make a difference?
After the Regents, I'll place into the next levels of school, have a
scholarship, and take a few degrees, like my father. Then I might get
an internship at one of the big companies, be hired, work until I
retire, then watch the teevee or game all day long as I live off my
retirement plan. Isn't... Isn't there anything else?"

The question momentarily stunned Leigh. Aside from Willow's conception
of what one did as a retiree in the late years of one's life, it was
an adult question, yet it was not. And how do you provide an honest
answer to a question you hadn't found the answer for yourself? It
would be easy to become flippant, advise Willow it wasn't a question
for an eight-year old, but that would tip her hand to the perceptive
young girl. She would know Leigh was just like all the other adults in
her life. Her father and mother. Her teachers. Snyder. Leigh had to
tread carefully. "Well, I can't tell you the answer to that, Willow.
The truth is, I'm not sure. What we talked about before, remember? I've
had experiences that you wouldn't understand, would never understand,
and vice versa. In my case. I told you, I have a daughter? She's a few
years older than you. Everything I do now, she's always the first thing
I think about, my first consideration. I think what works in my
situation is that if she can exceed me, that would be enough. I would
think the sacrifices I've made were worthwhile, if she exceeds me."

"Exceeds you?"

Leigh considered it before answering, "In whatever she does that gives
her joy. Her craft, for example. A husband and family, maybe, though
that better be many years down the road." She smiled at her musings.
"Whatever. It would be enough if she was happier than I was. Or am."

Willow frowned. "What if she doesn't want to be happy that way?"

"What?"

"What if being, um, not happy suited her more?"

Leigh found her mouth opening and closing a couple of times before she
huffed, "Well, that's just ridiculous."

Willow's expression let Leigh know what she thought of that answer.

Reluctantly, Leigh relented. "You know what, Willow? You're right."

"I am?"

"I don't know what I was thinking, putting that kind of pressure on
her. She needs to live for herself first. Even if that means the
choices
she makes aren't ones that make me happy. Thank you for pointing that
out to me."

Willow smiled sheepishly and shrugged, but enjoyed the acknowledgement.
"Does she go to the school you usually teach at?"

"The Coven.? Well, yes, I guess you could say she does... attend
there."

"It sounds like a nice place," Willow said.

This is way too soon, Leigh thought. But if she handled this correctly,
perhaps she could make more headway in her assignment today than she
had
in the months she'd already been here. "I think it is. It's, um, not
anything like Sunnydale."

"And you miss it." It was a statement.

"I certainly do. It's where my daughter is. But more than that. " Leigh
hesitated. "I left this society some years ago. It's... difficult being
back here. In this way of life, I mean. The things we just talked
about?
About what's expected of you here? It's very different in the Coven.
There are pressures there, too, of course, though I find them more
tolerable than the ones I had with the life I used to live here. And
it's
not possible to cut off these two places from each other..." Leigh
trailed off, more inside herself than out. She had not had to think
about
these things in a while.

Willow noticed and let the woman sit with her own thoughts. But she was
a child still and began to squirm, the silence making her feel a little
bored.

It brought Leigh back to the present. She shook her head in
embarrassment. "Sorry."

Willow smiled and shrugged. "It's okay. I daydream sometimes, too."

"Do you really--?"

Willow quickly inserted herself before Mack could ask the next obvious
question. "Maybe I could visit?"

"The Coven?" Beat. "Why not? Yes, you might like it. It may suit you."
Leigh paused again to consider it further. "We even have an accredited
high school and college degree program for a number of disciplines,
believe it or not, though from what you've told me, your parents are
more the traditional type and would probably not favor our... free form
approach to education." Leigh realized she was sounding more and more
like a college brochure and tried to ease back out. "But you're more
than welcome to just visit. In fact, let me extend a personal
invitation, and my formal offer. If you decide to visit, ask me, and
I'll make the arrangements."

"Okay."

Had it been anyone else--child or adult--Leigh would have thought she'd
been blown off. But she was satisfied with the answer because she knew
Willow was sincere and would at least weigh the offer seriously.

"We talked about the Regents and where I might end up after, and I'm pretty
sure her school is not for me." Unconsciously, she began playing her story
as Xander set up the mercenary on his own screen.

"So she's just helping you prepare for the Regents next month?" There was a
little color back in Xander's voice.

"Kinda."

"Gods, I hate taking that thing. Why do they have to give it to you every
year?" but Xander was back to being good old Xander. Willow was relieved.

Leigh checked the clock on the wall. "We still have some time left. Did
you want to try the meditation again?"

Willow smiled and nodded. She enjoyed meditation. It was when the most
extraordinary ideas came to her. She was beginning to see patterns in
the quiet. At first, Ms. Mack had guided her in the white space with
her
soft voice, had set the context for the wanderings. She would bring
them
into forests dense with old-growth trees, or barren, icy mountains
incapable of supporting life of any kind but the hardiest and most
primitive. Or again, caves lined with the dark leathery skins and
pinpoint eye-lights of bats and filled with the crackling whisper of
centipede feet. Gradually, the silence itself was enough to start the
journey, and she no longer needed the assurance of Leigh taking the
lead.

Oddly, it was also usually the time she felt the woman opened up to her
the most, when she knew her teacher was sincere in genuinely enjoying
Willow's visits, else Willow might have ceased coming long ago. Ms.
Mack
seemed a bit... lonely. Even in talking about her home at the
mysterious
Coven, or her brief mentions of her daughter who she shielded from any
or all prying eyes, certainly not when she was lecturing in a classroom
full of students in various degrees of attentiveness or lack thereof,
she seemed... not completely there. Had Willow been more experienced,
she may have thought that strange, that the woman's priorities were,
more often than not, somehow askew.

"Did you have anything in particular you wanted to bring into the quiet
time?" Leigh was a practiced empathic witch, and sensed that she was
the
object of Willow's meditation. She wanted to stop that, reassert the
boundaries between mentor and student, adult and child.

Her softly worded intrusion worked and Willow ceased that exploration.
She shook her head and returned to the quiet. But she took the hint. No
matter. Lately, meditation had been very enjoyable. She felt like she
was
on the edge of something in the quiet time, all her own. A breakthrough
was waiting for her...

"We, um, do some reading, and discuss things. There's some really good
practical things. Like shortcuts. They make understanding math problems
easier." She thought back at how easy it was now to grasp the Calculus
concepts that had made her pause just three months ago. Yes, she had been
able to do them before, but they took a lot of time. Now, she could
actually
*see* the solutions. They seemed to instantly fall into place as she looked
at the equations, as if she could see the concepts behind the theories,
down
to the level of the symbol-the glyphs and characters making up the
mathematical language. Surely it would help in the Regents next month.
Maybe
if Ms. Mack agreed to tutor Xander, he'd score well enough to get into some
accelerated courses next year, too. Then they could study together.

Willow's eyes had closed as she recalled another topic of conversation,
the one from last time when she had first felt it, that thing that had
stirred something deep within her soul. "Tell me more about your brand
of knowing."

"What do you want to know?"

"You said that by your tradition, in your Coven, you seek
understanding. What do you do with it when you've found it?"

Leigh considered it, then said, simply, "The best you can.
Unfortunately, for most that means simply surviving."

"But there's more?"

"Honestly? I wouldn't know." Leigh shrugged apologetically. "I count
myself among the majority on that."

Willow nodded at the honesty of the response. She left Leigh's side and
went on. She thought she understood. The pleasure of *Knowing* filled
her, and Knowing seemed just as pleased back. It was warm and happy to
find
a child in its home, after so long alone. "And, uh, if it finds you?
What
should you do with it if it finds you?"

"Do with it?" Leigh had to pause at that.

In her mind, Willow reached out.

"Oh gods..." she heard Ms. Mack mutter. "What did you. How did you--?"

"Holy shit, Will, what the fuck was that?" Willow opened her eyes to Xander
peering at her, hovering next to her, concern all over his face. "Are you
alright?"

"I'm fine. why? What happened?"

"You went all glowy! Then the program played through to the end, in, like,
10 seconds..." He ejected the cartridge and peeled back the cover to look
at
the disc, as if he could see a physical flaw that would explain what he had
just seen.

"I... went all glowy?"

Xander put down the cartridge and frowned. "Well, your hands did, at least.
And some of your arms, too." He reinstalled the cartridge. It booted as
normal. "I guess I'll return it for an exchange. Bummer, though. Now we
know
how it ends, and how to fight the Boss. You sure you're okay? How are your
hands?"

"Th-They're fine."

Xander was still frowning. "Maybe it was the controller and not your
hands?"
He took the device from her slightly trembling grasp. It seemed to be
functioning normally enough. As he fussed with the buttons he did not
notice
how Willow had become pale, her eyes closing again as every bit of
information from the program replayed itself in her mind in excruciating
detail--not just the cop scenario, but the mercenary and the soldier, too,
all within seconds, simultaneously. The product box warnings had not been
exaggerated. The soldier's story was particularly violent and gory, the
fucking explicit, and oh, so cold because both were pointless. She felt
nauseous, about to pass out.

Willow opened her eyes. Ms. Mack's entire basement office, was, in
direct contrast to its normal poorly lit gloom, brilliant in the glow
of
thousands of pixie lights hanging and dancing around them.

"Oh," said Ms. Mack, finally. "You don't need me to show you how to do
this one, then."

----------

END - Witch Maclay, part 4

[binky]

Well, part 4 was quite a problem with the indents. Only chapter like that
but the italics were a real chore this part too. I am posting this over at
fanfic.net and will probably just finish there instead, despite the
deafening, awkward silence. Thanks for putting up with this experiment.

----------

THE COVEN
The rise of the greatest Seeyo in History prior to the Natural re-situation
of Humanity in the Cosmic.

By Binky (binky29AToptonline.net)
Description: Uber. Science Fiction. Mid-21st century.
Spoilers: None. This is 100 percent AU/uber
Pairings: Willow/Other, Willow/Tara.
Rating: Mature
Summary: A woman from the mysterious organization The Coven appears in
Sunnydale to help eight-year-old Willow Rosenberg unlock her latent powers
Warnings: Violence, strong language, moderate to graphic sexual
language/situations, character death
Feedback: Yes, please, including criticism (the gentle kind)
Distribution: Please email before copying/printing/archiving.
Note 1: *text* denotes italics

Tara and Willow and other characters from the television show *Buffy the
Vampire Slayer* and *Angel* were created by Joss Whedon.

--------------------------------------------------

Prologue: Witch Maclay
Part 5

--------------------------------------------------


*Five weeks later...*

Things are moving too fast, way too fast to convey in just a terse weekly
data transmission. Jenny had to set up a phone line so I could call in at
will. The problem now is there's no way to completely ensure a clean line,
so to normalize it, make it look not too unusual that the calls were
anything but mundane, I'm allowed to call in every few days regardless of
need. Jenny also calls me or returns my calls, but less frequently. Our
cover is old college friends who had recently reconnected after losing touch
with each other. I was elected the loquacious one, apparently. No surprise
there.

We're very careful during our conversations, often relaying the gist of the
communication in the preliminary greeting--"How are you doing?" Okay, fine,
good, great. The important details we keep for the weekly e-letter, so the
rest of the conversation is often pure fluff.

In fact, we're so careful, I'm still not sure what Cylla's reaction was to
this last month's exponential success of my meetings with Willow. Was she
pleased? Angry? Or just indifferent, as normal? Was this welcome progress?
Or did I screw up royally by helping Willow unlock the door to the world
that lies beneath her own? Once opened, it's impossible to close again.

A week after the incident with the faerie lights in my office, Willow had a
similar episode at her friend Xander's house. Her parents were not aware
that she was with the young man, who evidently they don't quite approve of.
Sheila was quite surprised when he called her that afternoon, in a full
panic, that her daughter had collapsed and was lying passed out on the floor
of his basement. Of course, it came to light that she had been visiting with
me earlier. Much phone calling and accusations and admonishments and,
unfortunately, Snyder involvement later, it was safe to say that I had made
full contact with the alpha Rosenbergs. When it came to light that I had
actually been sort of tutoring Willow with advanced history lessons since
the standard ones offered by Snyder's school were so insufficient for her,
of course, I was forgiven, though Xander was now firmly on Ira and Sheila's
shitlist. Poor kid.

Willow had mentioned him a few times during our conversations before the
incident. The impression I got was that they were strictly Platonic,
comrades in unpopularity--and really, how far can you go in the smoochies
and naughty touching department when you're only eight years old and your
"old man" ten? I know I've been out of the loop way too long to have a
realistic idea about what mud kids are doing these days, but can it be
really very different than what kids in the Coven get up to? Then again...
thank the gods there are so few boys in the Coven for Leda to get all insane
and teen angsty about.

Or I could just be in denial. I have to admit, don't ask, don't tell has
been my policy since Leda started getting her menses earlier this year. So,
expert at the younger species? Not exactly.

Which is I guess why I can't really question Sheila for putting Willow in
lockdown with respect to Mr. Harris. Willow looked utterly miserable the
next time she came to visit. Also apologetic that the incident had uncovered
our unscheduled "tutoring" sessions. Still, true to her word, she hadn't
revealed the actual nature of our meetings. I felt bad about that, about
asking her to keep the whole lessons in witchcraft and alternative
metaphysics thing in her strictest confidence, because I know she's a
naturally open child and not used to secrecy. But everything would go to
hell rather quickly if what we were doing ever came to light. From what she
told me after things had settled down and our visits got her parents'
official approval, her fainting spell had everything to do with an impromptu
second visit to the Cosmic. I feel guilty that Xander and his "too intense
and pornographic" video game bore the brunt of the Rosenbergs' wrath
instead, but I can't risk reaching out to comfort him. I'm sorry, Xander.

The upside of the situation is that I've been invited to dinner at the
Rosenbergs next week. This week, they will be busy enough as Willow and the
other students of Sunnydale Elementary prepare to take their annual Regents
exam. This is apparently a Big Deal, as it's a placement test and will
determine the child's educational curriculum and applicable scholarships for
the coming year. Willow seems quite calm about it, and I'm glad that our
sessions have given her confidence that she can perform even better on it
than she has before. To understate the matter, school is very important to
Willow. Ira and Sheila are just as conversely excited--hence, their
gratitude for my tutoring their gifted daughter, who was not nearly
challenged enough even with her already advanced placement within the
California education system.

As far as Willow's unexpected Talent goes, since her fainting spell she's
had a number of additional episodes--many of them in my presence, so at the
very least I was able to help her manage them while not keeping her
altogether from further exploration, guided or independent. As to what
exactly that Talent is, I still don't have enough knowledge of it to offer
Jenny a hypothesis. It's not easily categorized, like Empathy, Telepathy, or
Kinesis. From the light show, I know elements of the last are definitely
present, especially given that Willow's faerie lights actually radiated
heat.

As to the first two, I still haven't been able to establish a consistent
connection to Willow to say if her Talent is at all proactively mental. I
get flashes here and there, but I'm still relying mostly on instinct, on
being able to read her open face and expressive eyes. But I've been
*reading* reading since I was 15. Why the hell can't I read her? Quite
obviously there's something there to read-hello, human girl we're dealing
with here, but still, she's mostly a cipher to me, like we're not on the
same page. Perhaps it's me. The Coven is slightly out of sync from this
external world. Perhaps living there for almost eight years has made me out
of phase, too? I don't believe so. I could scan others--Xander, the bully,
Cordelia, Snyder, Wood--well enough. The logical conclusion is that it's
Willow who's unique. But whatever the reason for her opacity, it's getting a
bit frustrating that I can't get through it.

On an altogether different note, I'm sorely disappointed I can't use this
new method of communication to widen my contact with Leda. Of course, we
still have the weekly letters, but those were never enough to begin with. I
have to admit, though, it is good to hear Jenny's voice, a little touch of
home, such as it is. On our last call, I played up to Jenny that Leda was
actually her daughter and inquired after her, ignoring the stab of jealousy
I felt that Jenny could see and talk to her every day, while I most
definitely can't. Jenny caught on right away, so I know Leda is physically
well and that Jenny is trying to keep her busy with her studies and
preparing for her "debut."

Golly. Do girls still debut these days? It was an honest enough gaffe,
especially since Jenny's been out of the mud even longer than I--virtually
her entire life, as her family is Gypsy, but I just about lost it. I hope no
one was listening to that conversation, because I was fairly incoherent with
trying to stop laughing for a solid two minutes. But Leda seems okay, which
is all I want. Anyway, although I hate to admit it, the issue of how I can
increase my communications with my daughter is truly secondary. Right now, I
have to focus on Willow. I'll see Leda soon enough.

-------------------------

"Mr. Giles? I think I have something." Andrew's face popped up on the
video-com.

Giles put down the book he had been reading--the Artaggio Journal, in middle
Italian. He could tell right away from the young man's somewhat annoyingly
smug expression that Andrew's "something" was not something small. "Yes.
Come in, then."

"Actually, sir, it's something we recorded off the feed we're tapping. Your
terminal isn't set up to play it properly. Can you come to the lab instead?"

Giles nodded, placed a marker in his book and gathered himself for the short
trip down the hall to his assistant's laboratory. Although he would not
admit it, he welcomed the break from the tomes he had been reading in his
somewhat dusty old-world style den for the coolness of Andrew's computer
lab. Andrew kept it at a consistent 20 degrees, for the sake of his many
machines. The young man motioned him over. A telephone conversation was
playing softly. "Listen to this!" He triumphantly turned up the speaker
volume.

*"...So, um, how is your daughter? Dana is her name, isn't it?"* That was
Maclay, the field operative.

Brief pause, then Maclay's handler, Calendar: *"She's fine. Doing well, in
fact. Of course, right now, school's her biggest thing, as it should be, and
the boys..."*

*"Oh really? The boys, huh?"*

*"Well, you know how teenagers can be. All hormones and acne cream."* There
was an audible smirk in Calendar's voice. Giles enjoyed the sound and
wondered idly if her face was as pretty as her voice. He found himself
having to consciously maintain his detached expression. He had to, as Andrew
was watching his face for his reaction to what he clearly thought was a
significant discovery. Calendar continued, a little more seriously, *"She'll
be fourteen in a few months. We've already started preparing for her debut."*

Pause. *"Her what?"*

*"You know. Her debut. For her fourteenth birthday?"*

Pause. Maclay snorted.

*"What?"* Calendar seemed genuinely confused.

Maclay chuckled.

*"Okay, what?"* There was an annoyed edge in Calendar's voice.

Maclay burst out in a guffaw. It went on for some time. Enough for the
corners of Giles' mouth to start twitching as well.

*"What?!"*

*"S-Sorry,"* Maclay gasped. *"It's nothing... Soooo, I, um, I'd like to get
her a present, if that's okay with you, for her, um, debut."* Maclay tried
unsuccessfully to suppress another chortle. *"Has she, um, mentioned
anything about what she might like from her Aunt Leigh?"*

*"Oh yeah. A makeup kit. Make sure it has 'Harlot' shade lipstick--she was
pretty specific about that. And purple eyeshadow,"* Calendar said, her voice
dripping with sarcasm. *"And, oh, she did mention she'd like to start birth
control. But you know, that's something I'd really like to get her
myself--kind of a mother-daughter thing, you know...?"*

Andrew decreased the volume level as Maclay's belly laugh alternating with
the sounds of her gasping for air began to overwhelm the tiny computer
speaker. He turned to Giles excitedly. "So, what do you think?"

Giles had had to cover his mouth with his hand listening to the intercepted
conversation. He kept it covered for several seconds as he composed himself.
Finally, he ventured, "Why don't you tell me what you think?"

-------------------------

*"...Well, it's significant, I'd say. All that codespeak about a debut? Don't
you think it means that this Rosenberg thing is about to go all atomic?"*

"That's Wells, the research assistant and their systems operator," Jonathan
said. He adjusted the volume on the monitor and accidentally glanced at the
impassive face of his demon lord. He grimaced. He had been trying to avoid
doing that. "Uh, you know. Like me. Except him. For them."

Chaos nodded. The names and titles meant nothing to him.

*"Hmmm... And you think there's no possibility that they were merely
discussing a young lady's... birthday celebration?"*

"And there's Ripper, my old mate, actual name Rupert Giles--Head Watcher,
and pretentious boor--"

Chaos forestalled Ethan's chatter with a raised hand.

*"Zero possibility. I mean, come on, 'debut?' Pretty dead giveaway. Plus all
that stuff about makeup and birth control...?"* Wells trailed off.

*"Yes?"*

*"I, uh, was hoping you could explain those."*

*"I'm at a complete loss."*

*"Oh."*

*"Miss Rosenberg turned eight in December, did she not?"*

*"Yeah."* Pause. *"Oh. You mean the teenager thing? Well, I figure the
fourteen-year old stuff was part of the code. Maybe they're making their
move on the fourteenth? That's just three weeks away."*

*"Hmmm..."*

*"Think about it. How old is Calendar? 31? 32? On the young side to have a
fourteen year old daughter, don't you think? And we haven't found anything
about a kid on her file."*

*"Still, not impossible... What happened just before that?"*

*"Very little. They said hello, how're things at work? And the school? Blah
blah blah, that kind of thing. Normalizing the conversation, I'm sure, to
disguise the real stuff. Maclay confirmed what Wood told us, the whole
school's caught up in the upcoming annual state exams. Gods, I remember
those. Terrifying. Honestly, I don't think there was anything there."*

*"Has Wood confirmed if he's detected anything else?"*

*"Nothing yet."*

*"Check with Wood. Let me know right away what he says, what's going on over
there."*

*"Roger. Will do."*

*"And send me a full transcript. I want to go over it myself."*

*"Sure thing, Mr. Giles. But I really think it's this debut thing we should
look hard at. Shake the witches down on that--"*

*"Andrew, just write it all up, and send it to me. Email it or whatever it
is you do."*

Jonathan stopped playback. "That's all. Giles left the room and Wells
continued alone." He entered some keystrokes as he began the breakdown of
his laptop. "Don't know how important any of that was, but at least we can
confirm that we've got the Council. Anything Wells finds, we'll know, too. I'm
feeding it 24/7 to the dataroom on 17. Password P-one-zero."

"Very well," Chaos said. "You may go."

Jonathan left without another word, leaving the demon lord and Ethan in the
latter's office.

The office was the top floor suite of MirageTech's corporate headquarters in
NYC, New York. It was a real private corporation, specializing in corporate
and government data and financial services. It was a lucrative business and
financed--perfectly legally--Chaos's growing enterprises in the human realm.
Ethan was its head.

He poured himself a couple of fingers of Scotch from the bottle he kept in
his office pantry. "Well, that was typical Watcher for you. Much hemming and
hawing and posturing at intellect while delegating the actual work to lower
level flunkies--"

"There was something to his minion's musings."

Ethan stopped, frowning. "What? Wells? All that about the cotillion or
whatever the hell those two witches were nattering on about?"

"I feel something, tugging at the fabric of the Cosmic. It is the little
female. The minion of your rival is correct. Something will happen soon. My
window here is closing. It must be coordinated, or this opportunity will be
lost. I need the little female, and I cannot wait for your rivals to uncover
what is occurring. By then it may be too late for this chance and there are
no signs of another. You must look into this, now."

Ethan paused to let his master's words sink in, before throwing his head
back and downing his drink in one swallow. It burned all the way to the
bottom of his gut. He had feared this. Using the Sight hurt like hell. Or
more specifically, like Qum-ak-atar. Like your brain's on fire, he thought,
among other more delicate parts. He wanted a better idea of where to look
before he put himself through the pain of a prolonged, blind Seek. He poured
himself another few fingers, and downed it like the first. Well, as long as
he remained in the Present, it shouldn't be *too* bad...

"Come here, Ethan." Chaos motioned to the large office chair behind Ethan's
desk.

Ethan obeyed and dropped into the chair with as much nonchalance as he could
muster, then braced himself for the demon's touch.

Chaos placed a large hand on his servant's shoulder and squeezed slightly.

Ethan felt a brief flash of pain that soon enough flared sharply to a
constant roar of negative sensation. He gritted his teeth as the demonic
energy penetrated his skin. Very mundane images of a young girl's life shot
rapid-fire through his brain, raced down his spine, to be expelled through
his very fundament, forced out by the next as his capacity was quickly
reached. Xander, I'm sorry... Yes, Mom, I did it already... What does it
mean? What does it mean? Ms. Mack, what does it mean? Hello, Wood. Hi
Daddy...

"What else do you see? Look deeper. Deeper," Chaos ordered.

Oh gods, I won't be able to walk straight after this as it is... Ethan's
eyes watered as Chaos pushed him forward, into Willow's near future, to some
type of... standardized school test?

As the images stuttered on the functional MRI dome being lowered over Willow's
head, it occurred to Ethan that selling his soul to a powerful demon and
acting as its liaison and seeyo to the human world was turning out to be not
as much fun as he thought it would be.

----------

end - Witch Maclay, part 5