Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, if I did, Tara would've never died or would have returned from the dead, as she does here. While I do not own Willow, Buffy, Anya or anyone else from the show, I do own the following characters: Shannon Reese Witlock, Agatha Marie Duncan (nee Witlock), Kiley Paige Duncan, James Walter Duncan, Paul Reginald Duncan, and Emily Siobhan Duncan.

Full Summery: S7+ AU. Tara's back from the grave, having been returned to life to prevent a future apocalypse, her magik much stronger. Meanwhile, the First is on the move and the apocalypse it intends to bring is on the horizon, and Willow is still struggling. Tara x Willow, Anya x Xander, Buffy x Faith (possibly).

Warning: This fanfiction contains the following; femmeslash, violence, minor character death(s), major character death, black magik, general magik, return from the dead, non-cannon events, and bunnies. Many, many bunnies (they breed like mad).

Chapter One: Returning

-The Magic Box, Sunnydale-

Anya flipped the sign on the door as she headed in, it was their grand reopening of the store, having had it closed for repairs over the past few months. Something bothered her however, a nagging feeling, as if nothing was quite as it should have been.

She frowned. As far as she knew, everything was exactly as it was supposed to be: the birds were singing, the sun was shining and there were no bunnies in sight.

She breathed a sigh of relief, glad that she could find nothing wrong with the world, perhaps there wouldn't be another apocalypse after all. Anya's brow furrowed as another wave of dread washed over her, more powerful than the last as this one was triggered by a release of magik which seemed to come from the Southeast, just outside the town. She wished she still had her demon powers, because then she could have teleported to the source and know what was happening. Whatever it was, it was big and it was, without a doubt, bad: and she'd just have to wait until it came to fruition to find out what it was. Her brow furrowed further as she realized what she'd been thinking about, perhaps she'd jinxed them...

-Elsewhere in Sunnydale-

The blonde looked around, everything was dark and the air was heavy, her hands brushed the ground, the feeling of the wood stirring something in her. Her brow furrowed in the dark, wherever she was, it felt wrong. Something about the dark room, the heaviness of the air, didn't feel right, and she jumped to her feet. Her eyes peered out into the darkness around her, she saw nothing, and tentatively took a step forward through the thick air. It slid around her like water, offering greater resistance.

She crashed to the ground as she completed the step, finding herself in a brighter room lit by the soft glow of dying candles. The blonde looked back, not quite understanding what had just happened or what was happening. She looked down at the floor, feeling ridges in it under her feet and palms, there were carvings embedded deep into the wood and she didn't know why-didn't understand their meaning. She also didn't understand why the only light came from the nearby candles, or why she was naked. Her brow furrowed even more and she bit her lip, everything was so strange and confusing. She didn't even know her name, let alone what was happening.

Suddenly, a loud noise-screaming, shrieking-filled the room and her head. She grabbed her ears and tried to block it to no avail, and quickly found that the sound was accompanied by a bright light which blinded her. She rose to her knees, quaking with fear and pain. She felt a strong hand grab her forearm and pull her up, the other person hauled her up a flight of stairs and into what appeared to be a kitchen, which was connected to a small dining room. She quaked with fear and confusion as the pain faded and she took in the sight, the feeling of sunlight (which streamed through the curtains) stinging her skin, as did the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. Behind her she could hear a door being shut, and she peered back at her savior as they dropped a cloak about her shoulders.

The man stood a good head taller than her. His hair was strawberry blond and his eyes a pale, icy blue. He adjusted the cloak, fastening it for her as he came around, his eyes darting up to meet her's, he gave her a gentle smile then ran his hand through his hair with a sigh.

"Can you recall anything?" he asked, taking a seat at the table, his fingers rapping against the wood of it, his tone showing displeasure.

She shook her head 'no', not trusting her tongue though she did not know why, her eyes on the ground as she pulled the garment closer. Her body recalled things, vague memories, of how she was to treat people. She was to submit, her body seemed to scream, she was to be submissive for that was her place. The feelings, the powerful, almost instinctual need, to avert her eyes (among other things) left a foul taste in her mouth. The man sighed, holding the bridge of his nose with one hand, he looked back up at her.

"Paul wants to see you in his study, but you'll need to be cleaned up first. Do you remember Paul?" the man asked, his eyes hopeful.

"P-Paul?" she asked, the name sounded familiar but she couldn't put a face to it, her brow furrowed and she shook her head.

"It doesn't matter anyway," the man continued, standing up again, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

He grabbed her arm gently, spotting the look of fear on her face and seeing it for what it was. His expression became grim, and he lifted her chin so she looked him in the eye.

"Tara, I'm not your father, you don't have to act like this," he said in a steady voice, his kindness showing through, he released his hold on her, "you don't have to act like this for anyone, you're better than that."

The blonde's brow furrowed. Had he just called her by her name? Tara? Yes, it was her name, it certainly felt like it. She chewed her lip, processing everything else the man had said. If he was not her father, which was rather obvious given his young age, but did not deny that he was related to her: then what was he to her? She had the feeling he wasn't her lover. No. He was definitely not her lover. Brother, perhaps? Another thought occurred and she wondered: had her father hated her? Had he abused her? Or simply been strict? She tried to remember her father, but her mind drew a blank save for a deep aching pain which did not seem at all akin to the pain of mourning. Perhaps he had abused her. She was certain that the feeling in the pit of her stomach was not that born of love.

Tara followed the blond man, her feet falling into step behind him as they climbed a staircase which led to the second story of the house. He turned right and she followed, waiting by a door as he entered someone's room. She peered inside. The room was well lit, being on the same corner of the house as the kitchen and dining room below. It housed a normal sized bed, which sat against the wall next to the door, as well as a smaller child's bed off to the side. She could see the child as well, as they slept in the bed, their little body sprawled across it. They whimpered and it almost broke her heart, she watched as the man soothed the child and wondered if she was his daughter. He looked like her was the right age to have sired the small child, but she could not be certain. The child in question did not look much like him though (her features softer, and her hair a shade of golden blonde), and that made her wonder who the girl's mother was, and who her father was if it was not the man before her. The blond man stood, heading over to the closet and pulling out a woman's dress before heading to a nearby dresser and gathering some other garments. Tara's brow furrowed. Who lived in this room besides the child? No doubt it was their mother, but who was there mother? Did the man live in the room as well? Her thought process was interrupted as the man returned to the door, passing over the threshold and heading back down the hall. She followed him.

They stopped before another door and he opened it, leading her into the bathroom. He set the clothing down and pulled out a towel for her to use as well, showing her where the shampoo and body soaps were, and how to operate the shower. He smiled at her, about to leave the room so she could clean up.

"Everything there should fit you, you and Emily were pretty close in size, come down when your done, I'll be waiting in the kitchen," he instructed, his hand on the doorknob as he stood in the hall.

"W-Wait," Tara called out, stopping him, "w-wh-what's your n-name?"

"Silly me, I should have told you sooner but it slipped my mind. I'm James-your cousin-James Duncan," he replied with a smile, closing the door behind him.

Tara stood there, trying to remember him. She wasn't quite able to, all the few memories of him she could conjure up being blurred and mute. He'd said Emily, and Tara processed that name as well, immediately she was able to recall who Emily was. Emily Duncan, James's fraternal twin, her other cousin on her mother's side of the family. If the clothes he'd brought her were Emily's than it was safe to assume that the bedroom down the hall was Emily's as well. She thought about the little girl, then remembered, rather suddenly, that Emily had written her that she'd had a daughter. She couldn't recall the exact contents of the letter, the date, or any of the other documents which had arrived alongside it, but she remembered that there had been one. What was the girl's name again? She wondered for a moment, chewing her lower lip. Kiley, Kiley Paige Duncan. How could she forget? Paige was her middle name as well, and her grandmother's first name, though she still couldn't recall her own last name. Tara grinned, things were coming back rather easily for her-so far.

She stopped trying to recall everything and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't know why she'd been in the basement, why she couldn't remember anything, or how long she'd been down there for, but she guessed she'd been out of it for a while because she got the feeling her hair hadn't been down to the middle of her back the last time she'd checked. Tara frowned, her brow furrowing, exactly what had she been up to? Why couldn't she remember everything? She shook her head clear then set about starting the shower, letting it heat up as she stripped off the cloak James had placed around her shoulders. Why had she been naked in the basement? What were the markings on the floor for, and what had been happening?

The more she thought about things, the less they seemed to make sense, and she decided to drop her line of thoughts for the moment, stepping into the shower instead. The hot water felt pleasant as it ran over her skin, taking with it a thin layer of dust, relaxing her. She worked methodically to clean herself, determined to be out within a reasonable amount of time and without using all of the hot water up. Without warning, a searing wave of pain washed over her and she stumbled, grasping the point where the pain was worst, her chest. The pain subsided, leaving her shaking in the water, quaking with fear. She looked down at her chest, not sure what-if anything-she would see which could explain the sudden pain. Her brow furrowed as her eyes found a scar. It wasn't large, but it was right over her heart, and strangely shaped. Three lines, two which intersected at the third, which was vertical. Her hand rose, brushing over it.

There was no pain there at first, but it felt strange, tingly. Her eyes shot wide open, her back arching as another wave of pain hit her and sent her stumbling again. She remembered. She remembered a flash of pain much greater than that which she was experiencing, she recalled the words which flew from her lips as her breath was spent, her body as it fell forward. Most of all, she remembered the look on the redhead's face as she fell, she remembered the blood stains on the woman's shirt.

Tara recovered, finding herself on the floor of the tub, thankfully undamaged by the fall itself, she pulled herself back up, shutting off the water as she finished her shower. Her shaking stopped, her eyes were wide with confusion. Her lips trembled as she repeated what she knew were her last two words over and over again.

"Your shirt," she muttered, the image of the redhead still fresh in her mind, "your shirt."

Tara ran a hand through her hair, in a state of shock, sliding to the floor of the tub again, her back against the cold tiled wall. She repeated the words, her voice loosing strength each time they passed through her lips. She realized why her hair had grown longer, why she couldn't remember anything: she'd been dead. She didn't know how long she'd been dead for, but she knew it had to have been a while. She didn't know how she'd returned, but she supposed it had something to do with what had happened in the basement. A few tears slipped from her eyes as she began to sob, goddess what a mess.

She didn't know how long she'd been crying for, but she heard a knock at the bathroom door and silenced herself, wiping away her tears and pushing herself up.

"Are you all right in there?" James asked from the other side of the door, his voice laced with concern.

"F-F-Fine, just give me a m-m-minute," Tara replied, steadying herself, reaching for the towel and drying herself off, "I'm not fine actually, I don't think I'll ever be fine, I don't understand what's happened to me. I don't understand why, or who, or how, and I don't think I ever will fully understand."

"All right, I've got to go, Kiley's up and she's cranky, I'll see you downstairs," James continued from the hall: she could hear his footsteps as he walked away.

Tara quickly put on the clothes he'd left for her, wiping at the mirror and studying herself in it. Her eyes were puffy but not so much that he would notice, she hoped. She combed through her hair, still trying to process what had happened. She'd died, but she had returned. How?

The blonde finished up, hurrying out of the bathroom and downstairs. The dress her cousin had given her was shorter than she liked, stopping below the knee in a way she wasn't sure she enjoyed. She found her cousin in the kitchen, giving his niece a banana to eat, the three year old enjoying it very much.

"Your ready to see Paul now, I think, unless your hungry-it's only eight so it's not too late for breakfast," he said, looking up at her, "So...I can get you something to eat if you'd like."

"N-no thank you," Tara muttered, her voice soft: she wasn't hungry.

"Yeah, come to think of it, it's probably best you don't eat anything right now. Some of what my father has to say might be upsetting," James continued, standing, putting a protesting Kiley down on the floor.

The taller man then led her through the house to a small room where another man waited. Paul Duncan, Tara thought, uncle Paul-her aunt Agatha's husband. Her brow furrowed, why hadn't she remembered before? Where was her aunt anyway? Where was Emily for that matter?

She took a seat before her uncle's desk, feeling uncomfortable with her new found knowledge of herself and her past, which was still very much lost to her. James left the room, closing the door behind him.

"It's good to see you Tara, you look well," Paul said from where he sat behind the desk, taking off his reading glasses as he put down his book, "I'm certain you have some questions, feel free to fire away my dear, I'll be more than happy to answer them for you and even add in some other details for your sake."

Tara chewed her lower lip, not sure what to ask first, she picked a relatively safe question, one which was still important.

"W-w-what's my last n-name? I k-know yours is D-Duncan, and my grandmother's w-wa-was Witlock, but I can't recall m-my own or my m-m-mo-mother's," Tara said, feeling a stab of pain in her chest as she remembered her mother, remembered that Laura was dead as was Paige for that matter.

"Maclay. You were born Tara Paige Maclay on October 16th 1980. Your mother's last name was Maclay as well, but she's...gone...now," Paul replied, folding his hands before him.

"I-I k-k-know, she d-died when I w-was seventeen," Tara replied, recalling her mother's death, her sorrow evident within her blue eyes.

"No, Tara, she died when you just turned seventeen. The day your birthday after if I recall correctly," Paul retorted, his expression mixed, he grew serious again, "What else would you like to know?"

"W-W-Wh-When d-d-did I d-d-die?" Tara asked, her stutter growing significantly worse as she became increasingly upset about the situation, about the life she couldn't recall and didn't know of, the death of her mother-the pain of it still sharp in her hazy and half-blank memory.

"May 7th," Paul replied gravely, running a hand through his thinning hair and sighing, "You died on May 7th Tara, you've been...gone... for about five months now."

"F-Five months," Tara repeated slowly, stuttering slightly, shock and disbelief filled her face as it contorted in a mix of confusion and several other strong emotions, she sat back, taking it in, "F-Five months."

"From the morning of May 7th until today-the twenty-third of September 2002," Paul supplied, watching as his niece continued to cope with her death and revival, "If it's any consolation, Emily wanted to bring you back sooner-she wanted to preform the ritual on the summer solstice, and she fought Aggie right up until the very last minute trying to revive you sooner."

"Y-Yeah, it m-m-might have been e-easier to h-h-ha-handle," Tara joked halfheartedly, still soaking in the information, "H-how d-d-did you b-bring me b-back? You s-s-said something about an r-r-ritual?"

"Yes, they used a powerful ritual to return you from the gates-you were lost, but not gone, gone but not lost. Had you been both lost and gone, even they could not have returned you to us, only the higher powers could have then," Paul explained, stopping when he saw the look on Tara's face, "but I'm getting ahead of myself. All you really need to know for now is that it involved a complex ritual, and magik."

"M-Magik?" Tara inquired, looking skeptical, she chewed her lip, a habit which felt as though it had not been used in a long while, thinking it over, "S-s-sounds feasible."

Paul smiled, folding his hands before him again. Observing Tara as she seemed to think things through again, his eyes darker than they should have been-as if he knew why she'd been brought back and worried about it, or perhaps he was worried about something else.

"I did die...for five months...and they (they?) brought me back using magik... Paul is my uncle, through marriage to my mother's (Laura) oldest sister Agatha (Aggie). Emily and James are both my cousins, the only one's on my mother's side because aunt Shannon never had children or got married, and Kiley is Emily's daughter. There's something about Kiley that I can't remember, something else in a letter Emily sent me that I can't recall... But then there's my death. Goddess, my death.

My first death. Most people don't have multiple deaths, except, maybe... I think I know someone who did die multiple times. I can't remember them, but I'm pretty sure they aren't, or weren't, that redhead who was there when I died. Who was she anyway? I can't remember her name...I can't remember anything about her really. Her shirt...It was stained, with my blood, but I don't think she stabbed me. No. I felt a lot of pain at the moment, a lot of pain for a little while, I remember a lot of pain, but I don't remember her being the cause of it. She looked...absolutely stunning...No! Get that out of your head! Your trying to remember who she is! How she looked, emotionally wise.

Yes, she was happy, and then the pain came, and the blood...and she was horrified, only for a moment though, I only remember that for a moment...I died. I fell, goddess, she saw what happened. I died in front of her, that poor woman. Who was she though? She feels important, but try as I might I just can't remember her! It's like a dream.

It's like a dream in that I remember parts of her, feelings of her. I remember her being happy, I remember her being extremely sad, I remember the emotions she showed when I died, I remember the fear she showed when we first met-truly first met, but I can't remember her. Or anything we did together. Just parts of her, just pieces, fragments...and it hurts. I feel I should know her, but I don't know if she was just a figment of my imagination, if she's not real and just the product of a playful forgotten memory.

Goddess! Why can't I remember her? Or anyone else? Why can I only remember my family now? Why can't I recall my childhood, or my adult life? How can I remember my family without remembering what I've done with them-to them? This is incredibly difficult! Incredibly painful and confusing and a lot of other little emotions which I can't quite grasp or understand! I feel like a child, a stranger in my own mind! Why? Why has death taken so much from me? What else has it taken? How much has it taken? If I can do magik, if it exists and I knew, then why can't I remember that? Why can't I remember the redhead, at least? Is this a game? Am I being toyed with by some higher power? Or is this the price of coming back? Goddess, I'm so lost!" Tara thought, closing herself off from the rest of the world as she withdrew into the shell which was her mind, her inner sanctum.

-England-

Willow cringed, something wasn't right, something didn't feel right with the world. There was a disturbance near Sunnydale, as if some powerful new entity had come into the plane of existence she called home. No, she thought to herself with a frown, it wasn't as if they'd just arrived, it was more like they had returned. That wasn't all either, she could feel their power, it was so bright and familiar-though it was kept hidden by the being, as if they knew they held something special, and meant to hide it for as long as possible. She wondered where someone tapped into that kind of power, how they gained so much and still retained such purity, it was almost like Tara's power.

It had a soft warm glow to it, inviting almost. Earthy. Stable. Safe, but not so toothless as to be powerless, for it was magik, though it was good in nature. Willow shook her head as she stood up, having felt the power-it's warm light a beacon shining brightly beside the dark maw which was Sunnydale-disappear. As if the entity had vanished: died: passed the power into another being or many beings. It was strange, for so much pure magik to disappear like that, but the being was near Sunnydale and the entity's death, or any other scenario, seemed likely given that information. She shook her head clear again, as thoughts of her lost love filled her head.

"Tara," she said softly, voice wrought with emotion, still shaking her head as she started back toward the coven house.

-Duncan Residence, Sunnydale-

Tara looked around as she sat in the den, she could have sworn she'd just heard her name being called, but she must have been mistaken. Her brow furrowed. She had to have been mistaken, there were no other women around and she was positive the voice was female, and she was certain Kiley (the only other being around) couldn't talk. It was concerning, her hearing voices, and she didn't like the thought of it so she didn't dwell.

Instead she turned her attention to the tiny tot before her. Kiley was content to play by herself most of the time, but since Tara was there, she wanted the older woman's attention. She was being extremely fussy about it as well, demanding that Tara devote her all of her attention to her. Being smarter than the average three year old, she fussed, knowing-or sensing-that Tara was thinking rather than playing with her. The older blonde was quickly brought out of her disturbing thoughts and set to work pleasing the demanding child, finding that Kiley was more willing to compromise and allow Tara to sit back and watch, so long as she had the woman's undivided attention. Tara didn't understand why Kiley was doing it, but she was thankful the girl was keeping her from her thoughts. Perhaps Kiley didn't even know why she was doing it either, but she knew she had to. Tara started thinking again, but was quickly brought out of her thoughts by the child's hand on her leg.

The little girl looked up at her, a smile on her face, Tara grinned back and picked her up, letting Kiley settle into her lap. The tot seemed to enjoy the attention, clinging to Tara and finding new ways to distract her from her thought process. Tara allowed the child to roam across her lap, and the couch she sat on, making sure Kiley didn't fall or climb on the back or arms of the seat. After an hour or two of the two bonding, James walked in-looking rather distraught.

"W-W-What's w-wrong?" Tara asked, looking up from where she had moved to, her hand on a wooden block as she handed it to the little tyke.

"Nothing," James stated sullenly, watching as his niece continued to build without the help of Tara, he changed the subject, "what can you remember of magik? What can you remember at all? Anything coming back yet?"

"Y-Yes, n-n-nothing K-Kiley n-needs to h-hear though," Tara replied, standing and following James into the kitchen.

"So what do you remember?" he asked, leaning against the counter, watching her as she took a seat at the nearest end of the table, turning to face him.

"M-My d-d-death, or m-most of it," Tara replied, thinking it over again, her face contorting: she couldn't get that redhead out of her thoughts, "P-P-Pain. F-Feelings. Emo-Emotions, m-m-mostly."

"Nothing else? Nothing definitive? People, places, events...just emotions?" James asked.

"N-No, s-s-some," Tara replied, fidgeting slightly, "it-it-it's h-hazy though. I r-r-remember you a-and Emily a l-little, b-b-but it's all m-mute a-a-and h-hazy. A-And I remember, I re-remember j-j-just before I d-d-died-a r-redhead. She was there, and s-she was...she was f-f-frightened."

"I can imagine she was more than frightened Tara, after all, you were shot in your own bedroom," James supplied, less than content with the situation, he fiddled his fingers, shooting a glance back up at his cousin, "What do you remember about magik? Anything?"

"No," Tara replied with a sad half smile, "N-Nothing, I don't think t-that I was able to d-do it, u-use magik, was I?"

"No. You were able to cast Tara, you were great at it-a natural, like most of our family," James replied, his eyes hooded, "powerful."

"I w-w-was?" Tara asked, brow furrowed, she didn't feel powerful.

"Yes," James responded, folding his arms under him as he leaned, "you couldn't use all of your power, but you had it and it was grounded and pure. When I saw you before you went to college, when you were eighteen, it was so dim. It was there, but you weren't using what you could, you weren't confident. Then I saw you in town one day, about two years later, and you were bright and shining. You had power all along, but you didn't come into it until a little while before you died."

Tara's brow furrowed further-she could almost recall that day. Almost. It was so hazy though. She'd been headed somewhere, meeting someone, when out of the corner of her eye she'd seen James across the street. She'd hurried away, a strange sense of guilt hanging in her chest-as if she were doing things she shouldn't have, doing things her mother's family wouldn't have liked. But what? She bit her lip and frowned slightly.

James watched his cousin, his heart heavy, she looked so much like his sister. They were around the same hight and size, and their hair color was but a fair shade different. However, Tara's eyes were blue, whereas his sister's eyes had been green-like his mother's. A little voice in the back of his head whispered that the two were different, would always be different and were very much so. Tara could never be Emily, just as Emily could never take Tara's place. He grit his teeth thinking about it. If only Emily, or anyone else, could have taken Tara's place. If only they hadn't had to bring her back. He looked down and sighed, things would be difficult-Tara needed her old identity, she needed everything she could get of her life so she could do what she'd been brought back to do. He and his father had been casting nonstop the past few days, ensuring that everything would say Tara had never died. The last remnants of her death, the things they couldn't erase from people's memories and records, were her headstone and the scar she bore on her chest. They could never erase the death from her memory, never, and they weren't about to try.

James was not a fool. He knew Tara would never be the same, that some people would still remember, and he was prepared to do as much as he could to prevent them from hindering her. She had to find the child, she had to stop them at all costs. If the child became the beast, the world would fall to darkness, and his sister's work would have been for naught. Her death, his mother's death, and that of his aunt: all would have been for nothing. The idea that their last wishes, their life's work, could ring hollow because of a few people hindering his cousin: it frightened him, and angered him. If Tara showed weakness, he would act, and he would act as he thought how, he would from the child and he would stop them. He would stop them no matter the cost.

-England-

Willow played with the food on her plate, pushing it around with the teeth of her fork. She wasn't hungry, she was worried. She'd had a bad day, lost control again-if only for a moment-and things had only gotten worse. That, however, was not what was worrying her-but rather, the strange new presence in Sunnydale was the cause of her worry. She knew Sunnydale was the Hellmouth, and strange things happened there all the time, but the entity she'd felt earlier. Her brow furrowed and she frowned.

The entity was so much like Tara had been before she died. Strong. Stronger, in fact. However, it wasn't the sheer volume and force of their power and how it shone so brightly which worried Willow, which made her think of Tara. It was the signature of the entity. It was an exact copy of Tara's magical signature, right down to the smell of the magik. This tortured the witch, made her wonder what kind of demon could steal the signature of a dead person, if that was their camouflage.

She looked up from her meal, seeing that the clock said it was only six now. She stood and abandoned her untouched meal, deciding to make a call to Sunnydale. It would be around ten there, and she was certain that if she couldn't reach Buffy, she could reach Anya at the magic box. Anya would probably know more about it anyway, as the ex-demon still retained her ability to feel astronomical magik events such as these. Willow sighed as she reached for the phone, debating whether to call. She'd apologized to Anya profusely after wrecking the magic box, and even sent funds to help pay for the repairs and new inventory, and though the ex-demon seemed friendlier, she still wasn't sure if Anya would help. In the end, she did call.

"Hey Anya, it's me, uh, Willow," she began after the ex-demon picked up, she could hear shouting in the background and assumed some customer's were fighting, "I was wondering if anything out of the normal has been going on in Sunnydale."

"If you mean that spike earlier today, then I don't know anything. It's probably another big bad. Other than that though, some of the local magik-dabblers are kinda jumpy. So far this week two powerful witches have disappeared, they've been presumed dead by everyone in the occult community including myself," Anya began, her voice growing soft, "I knew them Will, you might have too, they came here all the time and even visited the apartment when the shop was being repaired. Shannon Witlock and her sister, Agatha. They were old magik, came from a long line, and very powerful. The Witlock name is only whispered of in the demon community. For something to kill them... It's... Well, it's difficult to comprehend. They were the strongest witches I've ever met besides you Willow. First them and now this energy spike, I'm starting to think that the apocalypse might actually happen this time."

"Should I come back?" Willow asked hesitantly, still not sure if she could control her power.

"If Giles thinks you should, then yes, you should. We could really use your help Willow, and I'm not just saying that. I'm over a thousand years old and I've never felt a spike like that without something going horribly wrong. I'm worried," Anya finished, her voice growing ever the more soft as she went on, she concluded strongly, "I've got to go, the customers are getting antsy and I hate to lose a sale."

"Okay, thanks Anya, goodbye," Willow said as she hung up, back against the wall as she slid to the ground, "I can't control myself, but these occurrences...and the way Sunnydale looked when I saw it...It can't be ignored, I'm going to have to tell Giles. He'll need to know, and maybe he'll know more about the witches who disappeared, these 'Witlock' sisters."

She righted herself with a sigh, heading off toward Giles' room. She could only hope that he wouldn't be busy.

-Duncan Residence, Sunnydale-

Tara flopped down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. James and Paul had been trying to re-teach her the ways of Wicca all afternoon and into the evening. She understood it, even remembered some of it from when her mother had taught her. She smiled to herself, she remembered the days when her mother would take her up into the attic and teach her from a great black book she kept. She also recalled the evenings when her father and brother weren't around and her mother and her would practice spells, but the memories always ended just shy of preforming the spells. She frowned at that.

She could remember everything, every little detail, right up until she actually did the spell. It was strange, and she couldn't be sure she'd ever actually succeeded in casting a spell. Tara rolled onto her side, and searched the wall for answers. James had told her she'd been a powerful witch, perhaps coming back had taken her magik from her. They couldn't be certain after all. No. James had mentioned something to Paul earlier, something about her being brighter than before-but in a different way. He'd been talking about her power having grown since her death and from what it had sounded like, he'd been moderately pleased and displeased at the same time. Pleased she'd grown, but displeased that she couldn't utilize her power or apparently natural ability. He didn't seem to know, or care, that this confused her as well.

She sighed and rolled back onto her back, tucking herself in under the blankets of the bed. She was ready to sleep and hoped that if she woke up, when she woke up, things would be a little bit less confusing than they were. With that thought, she turned out the light, hearing the gentle breathing of Kiley nearby. She rolled toward the three year old, her eyes probing the darkness of the room as she spied the girl in her bed, the child was tuckered out-already deep asleep. Tara smiled to herself, Kiley seemed unaffected by the events going on around her, and for that she was thankful.

-Inside Tara's Dreams-

She stood beside a fresh grave, her black dress flapping about her meek form, she leaned against her mother. Her mother ran her finger's through the blonde child's hair, not once speaking. Tears were in the eyes of both, as well as the eyes of many of the other people around them. Tara couldn't believe she would never see her grandmother again, never wake up and find that Paige had come for a surprise visit. She would never again wake up and find relief from her father, never see her grandmother's smiling face. Taste the woman's cooking or hear stories about her childhood. Never learn anything new from her ever again, never do anything else with her grandmother ever again. She cried.

Paige had been a wonderful grandmother, had tried so hard to get Laura to leave Tara's father. When she'd failed, she'd tried to help, she'd called child services but they couldn't do anything. When that failed, she came to visit as often as she could. Her visits bringing both Tara and Laura much joy, giving them two or three days of rest from the beatings they endured at the hands of Mr. Maclay. Tara loved her grandmother, loved her dearly, and she couldn't understand why they were burying her. Why she was dead.

She pressed tighter against her mother's side, wiping her tears on the woman's dress. Her mother's arm wrapped tight around her, soothing her. Things would be worse when they went home, things always got worse after her grandmother left, and this time, Paige wasn't coming back.

She was young, perhaps eight in age, and gentle: frail of nature but not fragile. She stood beside her mother, clung to the older witch as the woman cast a circle.

"Tara, this spell locates demons. If what your father says is true of the both of us, then we'll show up on here, but if we don't...You understand right?" Laura Maclay asked her daughter as she gave the girl a handful of sand.

Tara nodded her head yes in response, following her mother's lead as the older witch began to cast the spell. Before it could be completed, however, her father returned home and violently pushed Laura away from the circle before grabbing Tara by the collar of her shirt.

The child was flung across the room, hitting the wall and sliding to the ground like a broken doll. She watched in horror as her father beat her mother before finishing and moving on to her. He was more gentle with her, knowing they would be watching her in school, and merely threw her in the closet-locking her in the dark little space. He would let her fears take care of her-for now.

Tara looked down at her mother's grave one last time, kneeling and placing one fragile flower upon it. As her fingers left the flower, it grew and more came to reside beside it. She smiled meekly, looking up at the headstone. She traced the name with her fingers, disliking the feel of the cold stone beneath her flesh. Laura Katherine Maclay, born November 1st 1952, died October 18th 1997, age forty-five

Laura was gone, with Paige now, and she wouldn't return either. Tara hated that her father had been the cause of her mother's demise, hated that he hadn't even allowed her to attend the funeral or say goodbye. It had been over a year since then, and Tara was ready to leave, ready to get out of the hell she lived in. She had things she needed to do, and they couldn't wait.

She stood, saying her last goodbyes before heading out of the cemetery to the little black car which waited for her. She opened the door, took a seat beside her cousin, and looked out the window as the car drove away-taking her from her old life, her old home, to Sunnydale California-hundreds of miles away-and her destiny. She didn't know if she was a demon, but she knew she had to try before she came back. She had to try to find it, and to stop it (though the time was not yet upon her), she had to stop the child before it was too late.

A/N: Questions, comments? I'd like to know if things don't add up or are confusing so I can fix them (if possible) before going on. I'd like to review what's changed. In this AU:

-Tara's alive (if you couldn't tell)

-The Magic Box has been reopened after going through repairs.

-Anya and Xander did get married, after being trapped in a hell dimension together for two years (one human day) over the summer.

As for time (episode wise, where we are in season seven) it's the end of September, set after 'lessons' but before 'beneath you'-which will be covered in the next chapter, though (obviously) greatly changed. Next chapter up soon, hopefully.