invisiblecompany

Willow was having a much needed shower, alternating between the icy cold and the burning hot, her senses on a high after the intense session.

The nymphlets were professionals alright, taking the pain and screaming their pretty human lungs out as she instructed. They had even been suitably thankful to their mistress when they left her house, with very sore backs, asses and other body parts inside and out. But very well stuffed purses.

She made a mental note to thank Mr Xia for his generosity next time they meet. And she knew without a doubt there will be future meetings. By accepting the gift of the 2 girls last night, she acknowledged that she now owed him a favor, that if anyone were keeping count it would be Wicked 0, Creepy Club Owner 1. He had mentioned problems with the Russian mafia that he may need external and unconnected help and perhaps she knew someone?

She turned the water up even more, until it was so scalding hot that a human would not have been able to stand more than a nanosecond underneath it. Echoes of the girls' screams floated into her mind and she felt a small tingle moving from the jetstream, down and across her breasts and spreading into her navel. She closed her eyes to try to keep the feeling alive and tight. Slowly and steadily she moved her hands down her sides, further south and inside.

She came hard against her own fingers, her lover's name a wordless scream at the tip of her tongue. It was a much needed release of pent-up emotions, but there was no pleasure. The sensation left her as quickly as it appeared.

She turned the water back to ice cold and stood there, shivering, for 5 minutes.

She felt it half a second before she heard it. The mechanical beep of her communicator announcing an incoming connection. She padded into the living room for better reception.

"Angel," a half-forgotten voice, no not forgotten really, but a voice she almost wanted to forget.

"Accept," she instructed. Their last parting had not been the most amicable, which was why she knew he would not be calling without a good reason.

An Angel-shaped hologram beamed into the room, and he promptly shielded his eyes when he saw his naked and dripping-wet childe staring at him with an annoyed expression.

"Willow, some clothes please," he pleaded.

"And hello to you too, Angel-dad. 'Sides, nothing you ain't seen before," she retorted, though she did grab a robe to wrap round herself. "You can open your eyes now."

"How're you doing, childe?"

He looked haggard. He had always been way too broody, but this was pushing the I-think-too-many-thoughts-for-my-own-good look an interstate too far. She had not seen him this, this, troubled, not even when he was her puppy and she was in her most horrid master mode.

"Pretty good actually. But this isn't a social call." she decided to get straight to the point. "You look like shit, Angel. Either you're even more down with the big guilt trip or something's bugging you. Spill."

He looked so lost for words. "I don't know where to start."

"From the top usually works for me," she suggested.

He regarded her for a long minute with a mixture of trepidation and sympathy, then finally, "May be you should sit down."

She swallowed the retort that was at the top of her tongue, wrapped her robe tight around herself and sat on her couch, folding her legs under her.

And patiently watched while he paced a virtual groove in her carpet.

"Lorne, well Lorne, Harmony and I found this girl under strange and I would say mystical circumstances. She was unconscious, we've been taking care of her but very shortly after she woke up she did a magical spell without thinking about it. She's been kinda freaked out since then," he paused.

She frowned. "No offence but we haven't spoken for years and now out of the blue you come to me with a magic problem? I don't think ... wait, it's more than that, someone I know, isn't it?" she said as she finally figured out the probability, but drew a blank when she tried to think about who it might be.

He sighed. "I think it's better if I showed you."

Butterflies had started their insane flapping in her stomach, with his last ominious comment they turned into bats. She said that once, about butterflies and bats.

He moved aside and expanded the view. She recognized the interior of the Hyperion, noticing that they must have renovated recently. Her vision followed him as he moved upstairs, knocked on one of the rooms and entered reverently.

The bats turned into flying buffalos.

The blonde hair was the same, even with the communicator image she could feel their softness. Her fingers tingled with memories of feeling those strands, of slowly stroking them, of making braids every night. The body was much thinner, she was too shocked to even make the mental note to ask Angel. Long, delicate fingers. Loose-fitting pajamas barely covering full breasts.

But as she looked into the eyes she had to stifle a gasp at the shock.

Petrified. Dull. Empty.

"I didn't believe it either at first," Angel whispered gently back at her.

"This isn't real, I know this isn't real. I buried her, I chose the casket and the plot and the inscription. I was there —" all sorts of emotions were assaulting her from all sides and her voice finally broke. "Tell me what's going on, Angel."

"I don't know. We found her, she told me her name's Tara, I ran her facial contour through the matcher. You have to see the results, they're unbelievably close. Her memories are all screwed up, and she's been like this since she froze a cup of spilled tea in mid-air," he said.

"I, I ... don't move," she terminated their connection abruptly.

A heartbeat later (not that either of them had one), she teleported into the room. He was surprised she could exert the control needed for the spell considering what she would be feeling. He could sense her emotions, a cacophony of confusion, distress and anger tinged with a small amount of hope and, was it shame?

"She told you her name's Tara?" she asked hesitantly.

"Maclay." She froze. "She hasn't said anything else."

"Can, can I talk to her?" she said, in a small voice.

"I don't know if she'll respond."

She moved slowly toward the slumped figure of the girl with a face she thought she would never see or touch again. She took a deep breath to see if she could smell any familiar scents but there was nothing.

"T-tara?"

No reaction.

She reached out a tenative hand and placed a gentle touch on her arm.

"Tara?"

Eyes became clear for a second.

A flicker of recognition.

Then the screaming started.