Forty Nine
Dawn looked around nervously. Things like this were only supposed to happen in movies. Or awful nightmares. With no context of sense or logic, she stood at the center of a broad pillar, rising high into a blackened sky. From far below, where the bottom of the pillar was obscured in darkness, mournful cries resounded. Her name was being called. Her names.
“Dawnie,” Buffy called from below. Dawn dropped to her knees on the cold surface of the tower and looked down. She could see nothing, but the calls continued. “Dawnie, come down.”
“Dawnster,” Xander called from almost the exact other side of the pillar. “What are you doing up there! Come on down!”
“Nibblet?” It was Spike’s voice. “What are you up to? Quit foolin’ around!” But as her head moved from one direction to another, the voices overlapping and growing more urgent, they too became more distant. Without knowing how, she knew the pillar was rising, taking her away from them all. Too far away to hear or be heard.
“Dawn?” Giles called from below. “Enough of this foolishness. Come down at once.”
“I can’t!” she cried, tears welling in her eyes. “Make it stop!” She looked about her in panic as the voices grew fainter and fainter.
“Dawn!” Buffy’s voice was sick with worry as she shouted from below. “Dawn, come down, this isn’t funny!”
“Buffy, help me!” the girl screamed as the pillar drove higher and higher into the night sky.
“Daw-”
“-nster, get down here now!”
“-awnie, come on now, enough games!”
“Dawn if you don’t—”
“Little bit’s got `erself into—”
“Da–”
“Help me!” she cried, collapsing back onto her elbows at the center of the column. Looking up into the darkness that sped towards her, sped past her, she heard another voice.
“Daughter.”
Dawn’s eyes snapped open. She was sweating. She lifted her head from the text book on her desk and slowly wiped her eye. Her lamp was still on. She must have dozed off. Her palm moved to her forehead to mop up the cold beads of sweat there.
“Dawn?” and the girl jerked. In an instant, however, she composed herself and turned to see Tara standing at her bedroom door. “Are you okay?”
18 June, 2002, Sunnydale
Dawn shrugged weakly. “Yeah, I just fell asleep and I think a chapter on organic polymers is now imprinted on my cheek.”
Tara laughed, and shrugged mildly herself. “It could be worse. It could be some embarrassing chapter on anatomy.” There was a pause while they both chuckled. Finally the witch raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay? You look sort of... pale.”
Dawn dismissed this, more aggressively than she had intended. “It’s just the lamplight. And...” she added when she saw that Tara was about to accept her lame-ass excuse, “and this kinda... creepy dream I just had.”
Tara was silent for a moment, then looked down at the floor. “Can I come in?”
Dawn looked confused for a moment, then remembered Tara’s incessant politeness. “Oh, yeah, sure.” She furrowed her brow when the older girl closed the door behind her before sitting down on the barely made bed. “You know stuff about dreams, right?” Dawn asked, shifting in her chair to face the witch. “I mean, like in a magicky, wicca-wisdom kinda way?”
Tara laughed. It was sweet and pure. “A little.” She made a little shrug. “I know that when I have bad dreams, I like to talk to someone about them. I don’t need wicca-wisdom to tell me that the dreams go away faster that way.”
Dawn shifted uneasily. “B- but what if...” she searched for the words, “w- what if your dream is trying to tell you something. What if it isn’t supposed to go away?”
“All dreams are trying to tell you something,” Tara answered. “Sometimes, it’s ‘Hey, you’ve got one sexy redhead laying next to you-’” she stopped herself as Dawn’s eyebrows went up. “O- or sometimes it’s ‘You’ve nearly got bitten by a vampire, quit taking so many risks!’ Even stupid dreams or funny dreams. They all tell you something.” She waited a moment for a reaction, but Dawn merely sat, pondering. “What do you think this dream was trying to tell you?”
“Not so much the sexy redhead,” the teen said quietly. “I- it was like...” she grappled with the single overwhelming feeling that followed her from her dream state. “It was like I was leaving everyone else behind. I was going somewhere, and they couldn’t follow.” The feeling only got more poignant as she vocalized it. “I- I wanted them to follow— I didn’t want to go. But they couldn’t get to me.” She felt her throat tighten. “It sucked. Big time.”
Tara made a weak smile. “I bet. If I were to get all wicca-wise on you, I’d be sitting here telling you right now that what you had was a signpost dream.”
“A- as in like ‘pedestrian crossing’ dream?” Dawn raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Tara’s smile grew. “A signpost dream lets you know that somewhere inside you, you’ve been divided. Your unconscious isn’t sure which way to go, and it’s trying to tell you to make up your mind already. A wicca-wise person would be telling you that the dream was a manifestation of one of the paths laid before you. One that means leaving everyone else behind, either socially, physically, spiritually... or pretty much anything. It’s that path that scares you.”
“Why does this sound like a hypothetical conversation?” Dawn asked, frowning. “You keep saying ‘a wicca-wise person would be saying...’ You and Willow are the two most wicca-wise people on the planet, practically.”
Tara’s smile faded. “I wouldn’t say that. I just know that telling people for sure what their dreams mean is a dangerous hobby. I could tell you that you’ll be going on some kind of quest eventually, to try to resolve the split inside you, but that might just end up causing all kinds of trouble.” She stopped suddenly. “Tha- that’s not what I meant,” she said quickly, her eyes wide. “I- I only mean you may have to do a little soul searching—” she jerked her head, as if censuring herself mentally, “–I m-mean a w-wicca-wise person m-might tell you to–”
“It’s okay,” Dawn said frowning. “I get it. You didn’t say anything, and I heard nothing.”
Relief flooded over the witch’s expression. She nodded and finally stood. “Willow and I are going out tonight,” she glanced at the text book, “study hard,” she added with mock sternness. Then with a smile she opened the door and left.
Dawn turned back to the desk. The words were slowly coming into focus on the page, but soon drowsiness was gnawing at her again. Within half an hour, she was tucked into bed, sound asleep.
19 June, 2002, 60 miles West of Chamdo, Tibet
Charlie stared through crazed eyes at the girl cowering in the corner. He couldn’t force his face back to its human form, as he would very much like to do, since its effect on her only increased her appeal. He could hear her heart beat as if it were his own. He could smell her sweat, taste her terror.
But he would not feed. Two more days and he would be home free. Some sacred mumbo jumbo, then carte blanche for all the blood he could drink. All the... blood... He began to salivate unconsciously. The girl whimpered.
The monk stood beside Loki on the other side of the heavy wooden door. “What is the purpose of these tests?” the monk asked. It was not impertinence, nor was it even irritating. This was a learning opportunity for young monks who wanted to learn the ways of the sick and twisted, but also the crafty and cunning.
“The illusion of the girl is meant to acclimatize him to a victim’s presence. I want to know now if he can handle himself before we introduce real... people.” Loki stood with his arms crossed, staring through the slit in the door. Time was running short. He had places to be, things to arrange...
The monk nodded absently, also staring through the door. “What if he only manages to hold his composure until real people are introduced?”
Loki raised an eyebrow. “I never said there wasn’t risk involved.”
20 June, 2002, Los Angeles
Angel frowned. “It’s been a long time.” They stood by a big oak tree in the cemetery. This was where the two had first met. Their first meeting had, ironically enough, been about the same topic. “What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait?”
“I need to talk to you about Dawn,” Loki replied, his face a mere convergence of shadows in the darkness. His shirt was motionless, as there was no breeze, making it easy to mistake him for one of the many, flowing, grey, stone statues scattered around the necropolis, like people from some occult, unearthly realm, frozen in place mid-wail and mid-prayer.
Angel was silent for a long moment. “What do you know?” It was the only thing he could think to ask that wouldn’t give away any information beyond that of Dawn’s existence.
Loki picked up on this immediately and smiled. “I know more than you do, believe me. I am the engineer of her... unique origins.”
Angel was silent for an even longer moment. “You were one of those monks Buffy was talking about. Of the Order of the Dragon.”
“Order of Dagon, actually,” Loki corrected. “And I wasn’t really one of them. I just worked with them.” He sighed, wistfully. “She was by far my greatest creation.”
Angel stiffened. “What do you want with her?”
Loki snapped out of his nostalgia. “When I created her, I hadn’t intended for her to become so... real.” He blinked, almost with a guilty expression on his darkened face. “At the time, she was a project. A vessel for something that... something very important.” Something that I wanted very badly, he almost said, and still do.
“She’s human now,” Angel defended. “And there’s nothing you can do about it. She’s not a tool anymore.”
Loki nodded. “Of course. That wasn’t what I meant.” He sighed. “I made a mistake. I-” he winced, though it was almost unseen, “I didn’t make her whole. I couldn’t make her whole. Because I’m not whole.”
Angel’s brow furrowed. “Whole in what way?”
Loki licked his lips. “Whole the way you are, Angel. Whole the way Angelus isn’t.”
The animosity in Angel’s voice slowly faded. He nodded. “What do you need?”
“I need you to stay out of my way for this,” Loki said calmly. “I need you to keep the others out of my way. This is moving too quickly. It’s all too risky, I can’t afford delays.”
“What’s risky? Is Dawn the one at risk?” Angel frowned and made a threatening step towards the conjurer. When no response seemed forthcoming, he took the specter by the shirt. “What are you going to do?”
Loki kept himself from obliterating his friend on the spot. “I’m going to do for her what I did for you. What others have done for you. Make her whole. In that, there’s always a risk.” He slowly felt himself being let down from the vampire’s iron grip. “I’m glad you understand.”
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