Van Rosenberg by Alcy

Rating: PG-13
Uber-Setting: Van Helsing/Dracula/Tomb Raider
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Buffy, Tomb Raider or Dracula characters. This fic is of course AU so no spoilers for any season.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Through the Looking-glass
Feedback: Yes please.
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: Diary entries are going to be in italics but hopefully they will not be confused with thoughts as they will be mostly placed at the beginning of a chapter. This fic borrows thematic elements from several sources, most notably Bram Stoker's Dracula and the 2004 film, Van Helsing and structural elements from Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian. The story itself and several of its characters are my own.
Webhost's Note: Special thanks goes to Chris Cook of Through the Looking Glass, MKF and Artemis for the graphics, wallpapers and source coding. Thanks, Chris!
Pairing: Willow/Tara

Summary: The discovery of a diary and the journey that follows will disrupt everything Willow has ever known, including her own identity, and reunite her with a love she never knew she lost.

It would seem that I can scarce hear myself think over the beating of my heart. With my body trembling as I write these words, my script is sprawling across the page in a manner that would have my tutor cringing. I must however commit the memories of this day to paper for I cannot speak of them to a single soul. Not even in my own dear mother can I confide as I could only imagine the look of horror on her face if I were to inform her of the event that transpired today…event, how can one call such a momentous occasion a mere event!

I shall describe what happened as best I can…although if anyone were to read these words…

I have oft said I despise the Marlborough's annual picnic, one can scarce move for all the bores and cads vying for one's attention. I often marvel at the fact that they do not burst, so hard they are trying. Edward Walsh followed me around like a sad little spaniel all day and I half expected his tail to start wagging when I allowed him to sit next to me while I watched a game of bowls. As my attention wavered from Edward's well-meaning but dull attempts at conversation, I noticed a new face, a young woman I had never laid eyes on before. I thought was strange as I am of course well acquainted with everyone of note in the district. I could not possibly see how I could have failed to notice her. Curiosity overcame my usual reservations and I excused myself from Edward's attentions. I boldly followed the young woman on her walk which led into the stables. After her initial surprise at seeing someone else there, we finally had a chance to make our introductions. W, what a strange and yet beautiful name. As she explained that she and her brother had recently moved to the district I remembered my mother telling me that Sir Clifford's estate, Hagley Park, had passed to his nephew (I do think my mother was hinting that I should make his acquaintance. I'm sure he is a very fine young man who will make someone a good match but my interest lies with his sister!) She endeared me from the moment she confessed that she had no love of large gatherings and had decided to hide in the stables despite her fear of horses!

Even now I cannot remember how long we spoke for, I think she had me captivated by some sort of witchcraft for I could not draw myself away from her presence. We spoke of all manner of things and would have definitely proven Edward wrong in his belief that women are incapable of debating politics or difficult moral issues. W is undoubtedly a woman possessed of a sharp mind but that was only part of what had me enthralled. I found myself watching the tilt of her chin as she spoke, the adorable manner in which her lips moved and curled so easily up into a smile. Her green eyes danced as she talked with animation I never thought possible, the very words she spoke seemed to tumble forth from her mouth as though she could not stop even if she wanted to.

As dusk fell outside still we had not stirred from the stable. No doubt the rest of our party had retired indoors for supper. I could not even feel guilty for the thought that Edward was probably searching high and low for me. He was farthest from my mind. It was the chill wind whistling through the stable that finally forced us indoors but not before W leaned across and brushed her gloved hand against my cheek. I closed my eyes to savor the moment and suddenly found soft lips pressed up against mine. She had leaned forward to kiss me! I cannot possibly describe the experience in words, so gentle was her touch and sweet was her taste. My lips parted only slightly and I heard myself gasp with delight. I knew full well that such behavior was scandalous and I ought to push W away from my body. Instead I found myself leaning closer, close enough to feel the small curve of her breast through the fabric that separated our skin. I feel a hot flush rise into my cheeks even now as I relive the moment through words. I know I cannot write anymore without craving W's touch. Oh, I am wicked indeed but I want more of her. Everything about that kiss was forbidden…but I do not care…

"Good gracious!" Willow Rosenberg exclaimed as she glanced at the pocket watch she held in her fumbling hands.

The day hasn't even started yet and already I'm behind! Willow thought in exasperation, mentally beating herself with a large stick. She was running desperately late on the one day she simply could not afford to be late.

She swung her legs onto the cold wooden floor of her flat and took a brief moment to compose herself. The date on the calendar tacked to the wall read 19 October 1897. It was jammed between a picture of her parents and a newspaper cutting sensationalizing a reported haunting in Watford. Willow exhaled loudly in the calm before the storm. With a huge exertion of willpower she tore herself away from her bed to attend, very quickly, to her morning toilet.

Her cramped bedroom was little more than a closet leading off from the main room of her apartment. It ought to have contained relatively little owing to its size but a washstand, wardrobe and a duchess surrounded the narrow bed jammed beneath the window. Almost every useable inch of wall space was covered by framed photographs, newspaper cuttings, pages torn from magazines and pencil sketches and watercolors done in Willow's own hand. There was no one constant subject that held Willow's fascination, everything was represented on her wall from Petrie's latest Egyptian dig, Oscar Wilde being released from prison and a rather sinister watercolor of a dark cave.

At that moment, Willow was hopping around on the rag rug trying to lay her hands on necessary items of clothing. She wrinkled her small nose at the sight of her only clean shirt lying squashed behind the door. She had of course forgotten to iron it and smoothing the wrinkles out with her palm was completely useless. Willow shrugged and tugged it over her undergarments, deciding that the shirt would be fine if she kept her jacket and waistcoat on.

A few moments later Willow stood in the middle of her rug and glanced down at her outfit, a rather rumpled matching three piece grey pinstripe suit that completely concealed her un-ironed shirt save for the stiff collar. Willow quickly snatched up the last few items she needed, her pocket watch and a bright red tie that had been hanging on her bedroom doorknob. She only paused in her combined kitchen and living room long enough to grab her lunch and satchel.

Following a brisk walk and a tram ride spent checking her pocket watch every minute, Willow jumped out at her destination. She took one last look at her pocket watch, groaned audibly and jogged up the steps.

The sign to the left of the door she entered read British Museum – Employees Only Entrance.

As she made her way through the endless corridors that made up the bowels of the British Museum, Willow tried rather ineffectually to review a large stack of papers in her hands. She was busy scribbling pencil notes in the margin of one particular page when she rounded a corner and collided with a cup and saucer full of tea. The tea sloshed all over Willow's papers and the front of her jacket. The cup and saucer clattered to the floor and promptly smashed. Willow's jaw dropped as she looked up at the culprit who had been holding the offending beverage.

It was a young man, cheek length brown hair flopping forward over his boyish face. His eyes were wide with horror and the position of his jaw mirrored Willow's. Myles Cavendish was supposedly employed as a runner, the lowest of the low amongst the museum's white-collar workers. He was supposed to fetch, carry and generally be on call for whatever task was needed. However, Willow had never actually seen Myles carry out these tasks for anyone else; he had attached himself to her as an unofficial personal assistant and always seemed to appear at the times when he was least appreciated.

"You clumsy oaf, Myles!!" Willow wiped ineffectually at the damp patch on her jacket with her papers, "I'm late enough already."

Willow then realized that she was trying to do her cleaning with important documents and she stopped, staring down at the inky mess on the top sheet.

Myles whipped out his pocket-handkerchief and instinctively began dabbing at the wet patch that had spread across the front of Willow's jacket without realizing that the placement of his hands was far more intimate than their relationship warranted. Before Willow could protest, his cheeks flamed bright red as he realized where he was mopping so intently. He snatched the handkerchief away and instead went to work picking up the pieces of shattered crockery.

"I'm sorry, Myles," Willow hunkered down next to the young man, joining him in placing the shards into the damp handkerchief.

"It's alright, Miss," Myles glanced up, his cheeks still ruddy with color, "I just thought you might like a spot of tea before your meeting, seeing as you never have breakfast and all…but it was cold anyway because you're…"

"Late!" Willow finished his sentence as she jumped to her feet, "I really must get going Myles, the Director will be waiting."

Willow didn't stop running even when she reached the impressive oaken door that was the entrance to the offices of the Director of the British Museum. She shoved the door open at full tilt and flew into the room on the other side. A cold voice greeted her as soon as she slid to a halt.

The voice belonged to an exceptionally prim young woman who managed to look down on Willow through her spectacles even though she was sitting behind a desk where Willow was standing. Her brown hair was coiled perfectly atop her head, cosmetics applied in all the right places and, from what Willow could see, she was wearing a simple but flattering dress with an amethyst brooch at her neck. A neat little plaque on her desk read: Cordelia Chase. Cordelia looked as though she had been at work, seated behind her typewriter, for several hours already.

If Willow had been less of a well-mannered young lady, she would have muttered a barbed comment or at the very least scowled in annoyance. Instead, she turned around and tortured herself in a different way by examining her appearance in the full length mirror that Cordelia had carefully positioned opposite her desk. The secretary snorted in contempt at her view of herself being blocked by the decidedly shabby researcher. Willow was only saved from further dressing down by Miss Cordelia Chase when another woman joined them in the room.

Gratefully turning her back on the mirror, Willow smiled as she saw her colleague and friend, Faith Winters, enter the room. However, she took one look at the expression on Faith's face and knew she would prefer to listen to Cordelia. It was like a storm about to unleash itself, dark and cloudy with a hint of thunder. Like Cordelia, she too was neatly attired but the matching skirt and jacket she wore was plain in the extreme. No lace or brooches adorned her body.

"Will, for blooming heck, I've been looking for you for the past thirty minutes!" the young woman growled in lieu of a greeting.

"And good morning to you too, Faith," Willow was beginning to feel a little like a pincushion.

Faith was Willow's age, and they both worked in the same department of the Museum but that was where the similarities ended. Faith was the embodiment of sensuality, almost exotic in her dark features despite the fact that she was British to the core. Where Willow was scholarly and clumsy, it was all too obvious that Faith was a woman of action. She was poised and graceful in all her movements, even as she threw up her hands in disgust.

"I told you to wear a dress today!" Faith snapped, looking Willow up and down with a disapproving expression.

"Why should I when you look silly enough for the both of us?" Willow snickered but, in response to Faith's withering glare, quickly wiped the smile from her face and threw up her hands in an admission of defeat, "I'm dreadfully sorry Faith, I must confess I forgot all about the meeting until I woke up this morning already late. I was up until dawn reading those fascinating new texts you brought back from your last trip East…."

"And what the devil is that mess all done your front?" Faith gasped at the dark stain spread across Willow's jacket.

"Errr…breakfast," Willow replied, wiping ineffectually at the damp patch, "Courtesy of Myles."

"That young man is disaster on two feet! You're both as bad as each other!" Faith huffed in exasperation as she reached for Willow's jacket and began to peel it from her shoulders, "Turn around."

Willow obliged, turning so Faith could pull the offending soiled garment from her shoulders as she muttered to herself about the incompetence of those she was forced to work with. Once the jacket was removed, Faith tossed it so it landed precisely across Cordelia Chase's typewriter, effectively silencing the clack-clacking of her keys.

"Hang that up would you, your Highness?" Faith asked, winking in response to Cordelia's stare of glacial murder.

As soon as she had shrugged out of her jacket, Willow realized that she was left standing in her waistcoat and shirtsleeves. Eyes wide, she glanced down at each arm in turn to reconfirm the reason for wearing her jacket in the first place. Her sleeves were wrinkled beyond all acceptable standards.

"Please don't tell me you've spilt something on your shirt too?" Faith saw the look on Willow's face but with Willow's quick shake of her head she sighed with relief, "Good…or you'd be going in to see Croft in your undergarments. Come on, she'll be furious, she's been waiting for over an hour."

Willow stopped in her tracks and reached out to grab Faith by the elbow, "Do you think she's found a fault with my work?"

Slightly annoyed at being held up yet again, Faith spun around to face her colleague. Her annoyance vanished in the face of Willow's earnest expression. She was so paranoid as to the quality of her work that her grip on Faith's elbow had tightened to the point of being painful. Gently, Faith pried Willow's grip open with her own fingers. Looking a little sheepish, Willow folded her arms across her chest.

"Your work is perfect, as always," Faith reassured her, "You're also indispensable to the organization, so she won't fire you no matter how angry she may get this morning…keep a stiff upper lip Willow, and you'll be fine!"

"She's a monster," Willow turned her head slightly towards the door that lay before them, "Honestly Faith, I think I need to find a new job…one where I don't fear for my life upon entering into a meeting with my employer."

Faith arched an eyebrow as Willow turned back to face her, "Croft isn't so bad…and besides, haven't you always wanted to battle the forces of darkness, learn the secrets of the netherworld and keep mankind safe and blissfully unaware of the real world that lurks around them?"

Willow thought about this seriously for a few seconds before replying, "Not particularly…no."

Faith grunted in annoyance, although a small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. It was hard for her to remain angry at Willow for more than a few minutes, no matter how vexed she had been. She continued onto the door and rapped on it twice. After the command to enter, Faith paused to wink at Willow.

"Methinks you fear something other than the Director's bristly demeanor…something more along the lines of her full lips and ample bosom?" Faith whispered conspiratorially, seconds before she whipped open the door.

As a result of Faith's unexpected question, Willow's face was frozen in a tortured expression in full view of the Director of the British Museum. Faith added further insult to injury by placing her hand in the small of Willow's back and shoving her forward into the room. Willow stumbled for a few steps before straightening in front of the extraordinarily large, highly polished desk. The desk set the tone for the rest of the room with rich, oaken wood throughout. It made up the heavily laden bookshelves which stretched upwards, all the way to the ceiling several meters above. Hung from the bookshelves at various intervals was a collection of savage looking wooden death masks, their feather adornments browned with age. It was rumored that they were from tombs that the Director herself had raided in her youth. Guests in the office were often struck by the masks and found themselves constantly looking over their shoulders to confirm that they did not move. The atmosphere was completed with the outside light filtered into odd lines by the partially closed velvet drapes. A thin line of sunlight cast downwards, slicing over the desk and down onto the worn Oriental rug upon which Faith and Willow now stood.

A figure sat behind the desk, body entirely in shadow. Little more than an outline could be seen until the figure moved its feet from where they were perched up on the desk and swung them down onto the floor with a loud thud.

"Winters and Rosenberg, given that both of you are fully aware of my appreciation for timeliness, it strikes me as extremely odd that you would choose to be tardy," the figure flipped the pocket watch in her hand open with a savage click, "One hour tardy to be precise."

The speaker then moved forward into the sunlight. As the light streamed in, it illuminated an exceedingly beautiful woman's face. Like Faith, her features were almost exotic and further enhanced by the way she dressed and carried herself. Even sitting down she exuded an air of strength and confidence. Her brown hair was done up in a sleek, plaited arrangement from which a single hair did not dare to escape. As Faith had commented to Willow, her lips were indeed full, although now pursed together in displeasure. While the fashion of the time was baring as little flesh as possible when it came to day wear, her low cut dress revealed the cleavage of an ample bosom…exactly where Willow was trying her best not to look. Willow brought her gaze back up to the Director's large, piercing eyes.

The severity of the situation disintegrated as soon as Faith smirked and opened her mouth, "Our reasonable explanation is Willow being Willow…she has absolutely no concept of time."

"I do too!" Willow protested, turning to confront Faith, "I am punctual, efficient and highly reliable…even though the present circumstances would seem to disagree."

"Indeed," the Director intoned serenely, "You statement would also seem to be at odds with your appearance…which by any standards is disgraceful. I do believe young Cavendish dresses better than you."

Willow folded her arms in an effort to disguise her shirtsleeves and willed herself to disappear through the floorboards and back to her basement office. She was also fairly sure that Faith was enjoying every moment of her humiliation.

The Director sighed as though Willow was a lost cause and pursed her palms together, "Well, we've lost enough time as it is and I have a meeting with the Greeks at eleven, something about wanting their marbles back. Why don't the two of you take a seat and we'll get started."

Willow and Faith each chose one of the Ottomans that sat in front of the Director's desk, Faith crossing her legs demurely while Willow sat with her legs apart and elbows resting on her knees. Even after only a few moments of sitting she began to fidget, reaching out and picking up the rather dusty name plaque which sat on the desk in front of her. Swiping her fingers across the brass plaque, she removed a thick layer of dust to reveal the name beneath: Lara Croft, Director. Willow glanced up to find Lara staring directly at her and she winced, attempting to place the plaque back on the desk a little too quickly she dropped it to the floor with a loud thud. When she finally managed to get the plaque safely back into its rightful spot, both Faith and Lara were glaring at her with raised eyebrows.

"Um…shall we get started?" Willow suggested helpfully, she then sat back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap as though that would stop them from wandering.

"I've read through Rosenberg's research, "Lara began, keeping one eye trained on Willow for a few moments longer before turning to the papers sitting in front of her, "And I am of the opinion that this might just be the information for which we have been searching."

Lara lifted her head and looked directly at Willow, a small congratulatory smile played across her full lips. The redhead's face blanched immediately and her hands unclasped to begin picking absently at the wooden arms of her ottoman.

"It was simply a matter of cross-referencing several known documents…nothing really, I'm sure other scholars would have arrived at a similar conclusion…eventually," Willow explained modestly, "And of course without a firsthand exploration of the monastery it's still mere speculation…I would be the first to admit that while you can learn a great deal from books, nothing quite compares to gathering data in the field."

"And yet everything you say claims the contrary," Faith winked conspiratorially.

Willow glared at Faith as though her words were not perfectly true. It was well known that Willow would do virtually anything to avoid being sent out into the field and away from the safe confines of the British Museum. While the wider population was blissfully unaware of the true evil that lurked unseen in the world around them, Willow knew full well that each old folktale, wild rumor and spirited conjecture had its grain of truth. Those noises in the dead of night were something to be feared; whatever her mother had once told her. She was now quite happy to carry out the research and send Faith out to do the dirty work…although the brunette was notoriously sloppy with her field notes.

Lara largely ignored the banter between the two friends as she continued talking, "Which is precisely why the Council and I have decided to send Faith to the ruins of the monastery at Tirgsor as soon as possible."

Only half-listening, Willow had picked up a small sixteenth century Dogon horseman and was making it trot across Lara's desk. She did not look up to see the piercing expression on Lara's face at the sight of the priceless African artifact being used like a child's toy.

Faith's eyes lit up, her attention focused somewhere other than Willow, "Dracula's library…no doubt there is an exceptionally powerful guardian keeping watch…"

"His name was Vlad, Vlad Tepes," Willow's interest returned as her keenly tuned ears picked up the historical inaccuracy perpetuated by second-rate authors and scaremongers, "And to the best of my knowledge there is nothing guarding the library…"

"Like there was nothing guarding that burial cave in Southern France last year?" Faith reached out and snatched the Dogon artifact from Willow's hand.

"How was I to know a daemon hound was taking refuge in there?" Willow protested her innocence.

"A bloody great wounded daemon hound," Faith stressed the word 'wounded' as she placed the African artifact back on Lara's desk, "The beast was starving and I nearly sated its hunger!"

"Back to the task at hand!" Lara announced even as Willow was about to launch into an explanation that would prove Faith thoroughly enjoyed her meeting with the beast, "I believe your main goals should be…"

As Lara continued briefing Faith, Willow fumed. She knew full well that Faith had reveled in entertaining her colleagues with the story of how she battled the wounded hound with her only weapon being a table fork. She would have had the head stuffed and mounted if not for the necessity of burning the corpse and scattering the ashes in water to avoid the resurrection of the beast at the next full moon.

Willow soon found herself drifting off from the conversation altogether as Faith and Lara turned to discussing uninteresting matters regarding travel plans and contacts. Her eyes roamed Lara's study for a good many minutes even though she had virtually every volume of text in her own office and she could not bear to dwell on the hideous death masks for long before she felt chilled and uncomfortable. For someone involved in her line of work, such a reaction in the presence of a mere death mask was not something you readily admitted to.

While Willow's mind had wandered, Lara had continued her discussion with Faith, "I want Giles to provide you with all the appropriate accoutrement for this type of operation, and I have already passed him a list of items you will require including an ample supply of silver bullets…"

Ugh…weapons, Willow thought with a slight twitch of her nose. It was Faith's favorite subject so she was riveted, making additional suggestions that made it seem as though an army was setting out instead of just one woman. Willow's wandering gaze fell onto the Director, Lara Croft herself. As unaccustomed to flattery and appraisal as she was, Willow could still appreciate that the Director was a sensuously beautiful woman possessed of that rare ability to captivate people's attentions with a mere look. She hated the thought of admitting it even to herself but Faith was right, she did fear Lara's full lips and ample bosom. Just the mere thought of either sent her heart racing uncontrollably. Willow had researched her own problem extensively and had ended up with extensive notes concerning love and lust. Although neither topic had been explained fully enough to satisfy her need for conclusive, textual proof, Willow had decided that she was most definitely not in love with Lara Croft. Lust on the other hand was a reasonable hypothesis but she did not know how to conduct the experiments necessary to draw some sort of conclusion. She had probed Faith for a suitable method but her friend's prying and embarrassing questions had quickly turned her off the idea.

For all official purposes, this was where her research ended. It was only when she was alone in the depths of night, tucked up in bed with her mind continuing to work overtime that she allowed herself to dwell on something other than research. She allowed herself to dream that there was a woman out there somewhere, waiting for her. Her dreams had begun to concern her of late, for no longer did she feel that was all they were. Her instincts told her that this woman was real, even though Willow could not find a face, or a name. Willow could not explain it…and anything the red-haired researcher could not explain, was very dangerous indeed.

Willow snapped back to her senses and realized she had been unconsciously drumming her fingers in a steady beat on the arms of her ottoman. She immediately stopped and gripped the ottoman's arms as though to prevent herself from floating away.

"No, of course not…" Willow swallowed uncomfortably, "I mean, there's nothing more important than a meeting with you Lara…I mean Director Croft. I'm sorry…it's just that I've a huge pile of work to get through."

"Now what she really means to say is that being in a crowd of three is getting to her and she would like to run back to the safety of her little basement office," Faith translated Willow's seemingly innocuous explanation.

Lara audibly ground her teeth in the presence of her two troublesome subordinates. She had often imagined how gratifying it would feel to banish them both from her museum for good. It was an impossible whim. While it would mean freedom from their bickering she would lose two invaluable staff.

Willow was undoubtedly the most gifted researcher she had ever come across. Not only could she translate almost a dozen ancient languages and not bat an eyelid at reading firsthand accounts of all manner of supernatural activity, she had never taken a sick day, worked all the waking hours of the day and did not constantly lobby for a larger office. Even though the little redhead's quirks bordered on the edge of reclusive insanity, she was quite fascinating.

Faith was something altogether different…and Lara knew that she could definitely not find another Faith.

As she sat across the table from the two women, Lara found herself annoyed at the circumstances that kept her relationship with them anything other than strictly professional. Both would have made good friends…and Faith possibly something more. Lara had to stop herself from running the tip of her tongue over her lips as she dwelt on that possibility. As it had to be, she sat forward in her seat and affixed her sternest expression possible.

"For your sakes I hope that the pair of you do not behave like this in public or I will find out and both your heads will roll, mark my words!" Lara growled in an even tone, "Faith, you are leaving for Eastern Europe tomorrow so I suggest you attend immediately to your preparations and Willow, you may return to work and…do whatever it is that you do. If Faith needs any further information from you, see that she has it without delay."

"Yes ma'am," Faith and Willow replied in unison, before beating a hasty retreat from Lara's office.

Hardly subdued, Faith delivered a rather cheeky look over her shoulder back at the Director that Willow did not see. The door closed on Lara's secretive smirk.

Once safely out of Lara's office, both Willow and Faith passed the prickly presence of Cordelia Chase. The secretary gave them a level stare, not taking her eyes off them as though they might purposefully break something just to spite her. As they left the office, Faith turned and jabbed a painting hanging on the wall. The frame tilted and it hung decidedly askew.

"Feeling okay?" Faith asked as she closed the door on the beginning of Cordelia's predictable rant, she gave Willow a playful nudge, "Or is your heart beating a little faster after being in her presence?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about…my heart palpitations are completely normal!" Willow protested a little too vehemently, "You affront me grossly Faith…its Croft we speak of! Not to mention the fact that she's a woman."

Faith cocked an eyebrow and sighed, "Willow, I'm your closest and dearest friend, when are you going to open up to me and admit the desires of your heart?"

"I have no desires." Willow replied all too quickly, "Other than to get back to my office, I'm working on the most interesting document, a fifteen century French translation of a Greek scholar's account of what he thought were simply very odd murders, but I think it is evidence of vampirism in Ancient Greece, imagine…"

"Will, look, it's a beautiful autumn's day outside," Faith interrupted Willow just as the beginnings of a feverish excitement were showing in her expression.

Faith grabbed the scholar by her elbow and dragged her to the nearest window, pointing to the bright sunlight that bathed London's streets in a warm, golden glow.

Willow followed Faith's finger and squinted slightly at the harshness of the sunlight, "That's nice."

"Well, aren't you going to go out and enjoy it? You sit from dawn until dusk in that little office of yours and then you go home and sit alone in your apartment. You're as pale as can be and you do nothing but work…go outside, take your lunch and your camera and just look at everything…who knows, you might even talk to someone new!"

Willow's eyes bulged in mock horror, "Gracious, meet someone new? I don't think so Faith."

Faith growled which Willow took to mean that she had better leave the building or else something very unfortunate would befall her. Given the various weapons that Faith kept concealed about her person, Willow thought she ought to comply.

"Right, that's settled then. Giles wants to see me in the lab, said he's got something new for me," Faith's eyes were wild like a school child's in a candy shop, "Now off with you!"

Willow stood at the entrance to the rather brown looking park with a small trace of annoyance in her expression. In one hand she held a little tin lunch box containing her lunch which she had intended to eat as she usually did, with one hand while continuing to work with the other. She did not intend to waste the time completely as she had brought along her beloved Kodak camera, hanging from a leather strap around her neck.

It took her a few minutes of standing and staring to realize that the reason everything was so brown was that it was actually autumn and the leaves were falling in droves, coating the green grass in a spotty looking coat. Every so often a soft breeze would pick up a few leaves and waft them up into the air. Willow spied an empty park bench and as she walked towards it she realized she had forgotten how pleasant this particular park was with its meandering paths and little stream. Despite the fact that the season heralded the arrival of cold winter weather, it was pleasantly warm and Willow did not miss her overcoat.

Willow ate with her head down, constantly worried that other park users were watching her, this little pale creature who dared to venture out from her basement office. It was only when her lunch was finished that she dared risk a peek to see who else was out and about. It was a diverse range of folks, mostly looking as though they too had escaped from their employment to catch a brief spot of fresh air. Bowler hats and umbrellas tucked beneath arms were in abundance. As Willow scanned the park she began to realize that watching people was actually quite fascinating, although she did feel slightly guilty for staring at particularly odd looking individuals.

There was one in particular whom Willow could not help but stare at. Standing on the other side of a small path was a young woman who for some reason Willow thought was not escaping from some secretarial position in one of the downtown offices by reason of her appearance. Firstly her pale blonde hair was unbound, falling down her back and partially obscuring her face. Willow could only see the curve of a pale cheek. She found herself smirking at the thought that there was someone out there who saw even less sun than she did. The blonde hair fell down over a black coat, apparently made of leather, which obscured the entire length of the woman's body. Willow so desperately wanted to see the woman's face the she stood and shifted slightly to the right, revealing a pair of full lips and a handsomely appointed nose.

Willow instinctively lifted her Kodak and framed the mysterious woman in its viewfinder. She paused for a few moments as a strange feeling of familiarity coursed through her body while looking at the young woman. It was such an odd sensation that Willow felt she ought not to take the woman's picture. She was about to lower her camera when the woman turned and looked over her shoulder, directly at Willow.

The redhead received such at frightful shock that her poised finger jabbed downwards and the shutter clicked audibly. A flush of embarrassment flooded Willow's cheeks as she lowered the camera and found herself eye to eye with the young woman standing on the other side of the path. For the first time she saw that her eyes were an almost too brilliant shade of blue, a piercing look that was oddly warm and yet chilling at the same time.

At the point where a bolder individual may very well have strode across the path and made a dashingly apologetic introduction, Willow raised her hand and gave the woman a silly little wave. She stopped her wave abruptly as though realizing its silliness and tried to make a graceful exit. In her haste, she tripped over her own feet and made the first few steps of her getaway look like a circus act. Willow practically ran from the park with her head down, clutching her Kodak tightly to her chest. Her lunch box remained forgotten on the park bench.

If Willow had glanced back over her shoulder she would have seen the sad but knowing smile on the woman's face, as though Willow's antics were all too familiar. A scene from a book she had not read for a long time.

With Willow out of sight, she crossed the path and folded herself gracefully onto the park bench upon which the redhead had sat. Her black coat fell gracefully about her as she picked up the tin lunch box Willow had forgotten.

Tonight unfolded like any other of the season. Sir John's party was gay enough to be sure. All the names were present but I was fearfully bored. Father has been waylaid in Plymouth this past week, so Edward escorted mother and I with his approval. I must note that father expects Edward to ask for my hand soon and I know he shall give his consent for it is a very fine match. I do not wish to dwell on it but I should think that this time next season, for better or for worse, I shall be Mrs Edward Walsh…though I know full well my heart yearns for another. Someone who is intelligent where Edward is slow- witted, interesting rather than dull and so very handsome when compared to Edward's rather homely features. Oh I know looks should count for naught but if you could just see W! Wonderful, precious W whom I have not seen for months. W whom I was delighted to reacquaint myself with tonight at Sir John's party. The moment our eyes met, it was clear that neither of us had forgotten the last, lingering kiss we shared in the Marlborough's stables that windswept spring day. I would have liked for nothing more in the world than to resume that kiss, for W to sweep me close and smother me with those lips. As we stared at one another, my bosom heaved as though the kiss were a reality and not mere fantasy. I found myself imaging W's hands roaming over my flesh. I was lost. It was a summons from Edward that broke me out of my reverie and I awoke from the dream in W's eyes. I barely had time to whisper a promise of a more intimate meeting before W too was summoned away by Abraham and I stood alone in the crowded room. The whole time we had laid not one finger on each other, nor even taken one step closer together, yet I could remember the touch of her hands on my flesh.

When I returned to Edward he questioned me as to what W and I conversed about, "The state of the roads and the weather," remarked I (for both have indeed been dreadful this season).

If Edward detected my lie he said nothing and continued in his boring voice, "W does look particularly well."

Willow Rosenberg was in her element. She was perched behind a desk every bit as large as that belonging to Lara Croft. The fact that it had seen better days did not seem to worry her in the slightest. The desk's entire surface was stacked high with all manner of books and manuscripts with no apparent rhyme or reason to their organization. Even the space directly in front of Willow was stacked with paper. Every so often she scribbled with mad energy on the topmost sheet, dipping her pen in an ink jar balanced atop a stack of books. She would them resume reading the text that lay in her lap until her next bout of scribbling.

A loud rap startled Willow. She jerked upright from where she was hunched over the text and one hand hit the lip of her desk. If the desk had been any less solid, there would have been a disaster involving puddles of ink and priceless manuscripts. As it was, Willow shook her hand up and down furiously as she turned to see Faith standing in her office doorway.

Faith glanced up at the single light bulb that dangled overhead and squinted at its feeble light, "It's a wonder you do not go blind Will, how can you see anything in this gloom?'

Willow's brow furrowed and she studied her tiny office as though she had not noticed. A small amount of natural light filtered down from the slit of a window just below the ceiling. The overcast skies outside and heavy grill covering the glass combined to make it smaller still. In response to Faith's question Willow shrugged, she could see everything just fine. There were walls of books stacked to the ceiling and more stacked on the floor. In fact, besides the desk and a rag rug on the floor, books were the only real furnishings. There was little else in the room besides a few artifacts that Faith had brought back from her travels around the globe. A Native American dreamcatcher above her desk (as Willow tended to do most of her sleeping there), an assortment of rather wicked looking African war spears stacked in one corner, sever idols crammed into available nooks on the shelves and a cavalry saber that had been in Willow's family for generations in pride of place above the doorway.

"I have excellent eyesight," Willow answered quickly, she appeared a little furtive and her gaze kept twitching back to the manuscript in front of her, "What do you want?"

Faith arched an eyebrow. She knew exactly what that tone in Willow's voice indicated. Whatever it was that she was working on had engrossed her to the point where she could not bear to be interrupted.

"A better question is what is so important that it could keep you from coming to see me off before I leave for the dark and mysterious depths of Eastern Europe from which I may never return?" Faith fired the question back at Willow.

"Yes I know, 'these texts were so fascinating that I could not draw myself away to say farewell to my dearest friend,'" Faith imitated Willow's scholarly tone, "You should be ashamed of yourself, Rosenberg, now come and assist with my preparations to atone for your crime!"

Faith reached down and grabbed Willow's wrist in order to haul her up and out of her seat. Willow protested only at the movement of her crooked and stiffened limbs. She was made to move much too fast, too soon but Faith did not seem to notice or care.

Willow's office may have been in the basement of the British Museum but there were other levels deeper down and far more private than her little den. This was where Faith now led her, into the warrens where the majority of their department was based far away from the museum's day-to-day staff. A solitary black-coated man let them through a rather rickety looking elevator at the end of a dark corridor. To an outsider, it looked like the repository for the Museum's garbage. Their department's staff had perpetuated that appearance by never cleaning the rusty wrought iron cage and there was one spot in the elevator's wooden floor that was completely rotten where all knew not to put their foot.

If anyone asked Willow or Faith what their department was actually called they would simply reply 'The Department of Oddities' and not offer any further explanation. However Faith once went as far to reply to one dismissive curator that it was the department of 'phenomena that everyone else ignores.' Both Willow and Faith liked that particular explanation as it summed up the truth of their world quite nicely. No one else wanted to believe that creatures such as vampires, demons and ghouls walked the shadows of the world. Faith had saved countless people from a hideous death and they had been none the wiser for it and not in the least bit grateful. Once Willow's research and Faith's brawn had saved the world from the hell god, Ataxerxes, preventing his resurrection and subsequent storms of fire and brimstone…again, the rest of the world had not paused to notice save for a page two reference in The Times to the wanton vandalism of an ancient Persian tomb. Faith had destroyed the tomb in order to prevent a repeat performance seven hundred and fifty years later.

The corridors two stories below ground were much the same as those above, although of course lacking windows. An abundant smattering of paintings covered the walls attempted to compensate for lack of a view. While picturesque landscapes could have served the purpose, most of the paintings were of old men in stiff, formal poses. There was one particular painting of the formidable 'Abraham Van Helsing,' that Willow hated to look at. Old 'Abe' as Faith called him, unnerved Willow every time she passed. Faith also teased her mercilessly about her resemblance to the old man, Willow could see very little of this other than that they both had bright green eyes.

Willow passed old 'Abe' now, and he appeared to be staring down his nose at her just as he always did. She turned up her own nose in defiance as she passed and gratefully followed Faith through a door bearing a heavy brass plaque stating, 'Implements and Inventions.' Someone had affixed a ratty piece of paper above the plaque bearing a single name, Dr Rupert Giles.

"Faith, Willow, come in ladies, come in!" the very man himself greeted them warmly as soon as they entered, even though they could not see him in the gloom.

The room was in complete darkness. Willow shivered as the shadows pressed in on her from all sides, she hated the dark. Subconsciously she began edging backwards towards the door and the lit corridor outside. Icy fingers gripped her arm and she yelped audibly. Spinning around she found the outline of Myles' face staring back at her, his white teeth flashing in a smile.

A beam a light suddenly cut through the darkness, and then a second. Willow shielded her eyes with her fingers as it shone directly into her eyes.

"Giles, what is that?" Faith asked with some excitement, Willow saw her move forward to the source of the light.

Willow sighed with relief as the room was once again light up completely to reveal Giles perched on his stool behind his work desk. He held in his hands two metal tubes with bulbs at one end. A small switch on the side was flicked and the bulbs went out.

"I call it a beamlight, some chap was designing a decorative device for potted plants, would never make any money of course…but I saw its potential for this!" Giles waved one of his tube devices excitedly, "A simple tube containing batteries connected to a bulb. The original zinc-carbon batteries ran down too quickly but I simply switched them to ones of my own creation with an alkaline/manganese core and voila, portable electric light for all those dark places."

"Great idea…stupid name," Faith commented as she accepted the pair that Giles handed her.

"Here's one for you too, Willow," Giles passed another of his little tubes across the table.

Willow nodded her thanks and looked down at the portable light, for someone who was afraid of the dark, it was a great gift.

Willow shared a close relationship with the inventor, she thought of him as a father figure, although would never actually admit it to him. Although in truth she had spent more time with him than her own father and known him almost as long. Giles had been her very first tutor, or rather, her brother's tutor. At first she had hid in the closet during Alex's lessons until an inadvertent sneeze had given her away. Rather than banish her from the schoolroom, Giles had allowed her to stay. He even stood up to her mother's protestations that little girls did not need to receive the same education as boys. As a result, Willow had started early on Greek, Latin and the Classics up until Giles had been dismissed shortly after her brother's death. Giles remained a figure throughout her childhood and on into adolescence although their communication was almost solely through the mail. He would send her books on archaeology, puzzles and ciphers for her to work out, and translation lessons to complete and post back for marking. While Willow continued to have a succession of tutors appointed by her mother, her real learning took place by mail.

She did not see Giles again until she was seventeen, at which time she had learnt of his approach to her parents with the suggestion that she attend Girton College, the first residential college for women in England. Willow remained uncertain exactly why her father had taken up Giles' suggestion and allowed her to enroll in the College despite the fact that public opinion would deny women access to higher education at all. Giles himself remained close-mouthed on the conversation that had taken place between him and her father. For someone who enjoyed unraveling mysteries as much as Willow, it was a source of constant irritation.

The College taught women on the same level as men although they were not allowed to take degrees. Willow had however excelled in every subject and examination. Her path from Girton to the British Museum had also been surprisingly easy, especially as Willow had prepared herself to face the realities of her sex upon leaving the college at the age of twenty. She did not expect to find gainful employment of any kind, let alone an occupation as stimulating and with as much scope as the one in which she found herself. Giles had once again stepped in with an invitation to work in the Department of Oddities at the British Museum. While Willow had found her initial induction into the Department's weird and dangerous doings hard to stomach, she soon found that it was still just research…although infinitely more fascinating.

"Willow doesn't need a bloody light!" Faith protested as she saw Giles pass one to Willow, "She doesn't leave London let alone travel to the dark places I do!"

"Faith," Giles growled, "Stop being ungrateful, "Besides, I've several other items here that might also interest you…"

As Faith allowed herself to be distracted by a self-loading crossbow that fired silver bolts, Willow and Myles found an immense amount of enjoyment in trying out the beamlight. The two acted like children as they crawled beneath the benches in Giles' office and discovered all manner of discarded bits and bobs on the floor with the light. Giles did not even notice their antics until he had finished loading Faith's bag full of weird instruments almost half an hour later. He glanced up to see Myles and Willow poking and prodding at a glass jar containing a large, pink, gelatinous object swimming a clear liquid.

"You two, put that down!" he squeaked, practically leaping across the distance that separated him from the two troublemakers.

"What is it?" Myles asked in fascination, allowing Giles to take the jar out of his hands.

"The heart of a Cretan Minotaur," Giles replied, "He now stalks the halls of the British Museum as a ghost, slicing the hands off little boys who touch things that they ought not to!"

Willow giggled at the horrified look on Myles' face and turned her attention back to Faith, who was strapping up the hefty bag Giles had given her. She put on her best apologetic expression as Faith noticed she was looking and glanced across at her.

"Faith," Willow began in a small voice, "I'm awfully sorry about how rude I was earlier but I was wondering if you would be able…"

"Yes Willow, I will bring you back as many books as I can carry," Faith did not even need to hear the rest of the researcher's question to know exactly what it was she would ask for, "Satisfied?"

"Yes, very…safe travels, Faith," Willow said sincerely, "I guess we'll see you when you get back…with an armload of books."

"Don't get up to any mischief while I'm gone…either of you!" Faith warned, pointing her finger at Willow and Myles in turn.

Faith took a few last minute instructions from Giles before she hefted the bag onto her shoulder. Willow did not doubt that she would soon see the brunette strolling through the exact same door with a plethora of new tales to tell…and hopefully a few new books from a forgotten library. As Faith left, she spied a thin volume on Giles' desk with a promising title and began flipping through it.

Myles glanced up at Willow as Faith shut the door behind her. He poked her in the arm to get her to look up from the book she was browsing.

"Don't you want to ride off with her?" asked Myles with clear longing in his voice, "Just once?"

"Absolutely not," Willow replied promptly, "There's more than enough adventure for me in here."

"Well, it seems awfully exciting to me," Myles sighed wistfully, "But then the most exciting thing I usually get to do is polish the swords."

Myles picked up a wickedly sharp looking dagger with a carved handle inset with rubies and absently picked at the wooden desk beneath it.

"And that's all you'll be doing for the rest of your very short young life if you do not stop gouging holes in my table!" Giles snapped yet again, he then saw Willow trying to hide one of his books behind her back in order to sneak it out with her, "Out with the both of you…out!"

On Saturday afternoon of that week, Willow found herself standing on the top step of a quaint, well-proportioned terraced house owned by Ira and Sheila Rosenberg. She reached up to knock on the pale blue door but paused before she brought knuckles down as though contemplating turning around. However she knew that would only delay the inevitable. In order to play the part of dutiful daughter, she had to actually spend time with her parents once in a while no matter how unpleasant the task was. Besides, she had donned a skirt and shirt for the occasion so she thought she may as well torture herself further.

Willow knocked on the door twice and barely had to wait two seconds before a stiff backed butler swung it open to allow her entrance. She had barely placed a foot over the threshold when she was engulfed by a tiny storm in mauve taffeta and white lace. Willow drew in a huge gulp of air before arms went around her neck and threatened to strangle her. It seemed like an eternity as the taffeta clad strangler danced around her much too enthusiastically. On the verge of passing out, Willow was forced to push the miniature storm away and hold it at arm's length.

Shelia Rosenberg finally accepted that her daughter did not appreciate the over-enthusiastic greeting and allowed her a minimal amount of breathing space. She did however maintain a strong grip on Willow's elbow as though fearing she might run away again.

Shelia carried the same shade of red hair as her daughter but while Willow's hair sat straight and plain down to her shoulders; hers was piled atop her head in an elaborate mass of curls in an attempt to add height. Where Willow had hardly any meat on her bones, Sheila was in danger of having too much. Her bosom strained against the taffeta trying to keep it at bay. She carried with her the faint but sickly aroma of chocolate and candied fruit as well as far too much apple blossom fragrance in an effort to disguise the former.

"You'll forgive your mother won't you Wilhelmina, we don't see you very often!" Shelia beamed, rosy cheeks sparkling as she sized her daughter up.

Willow sighed heartily at the sound of her given name, "I prefer Willow…everyone else I know is more than happy to use it."

"Well your father and I are not 'everyone!'" Shelia replied shortly, for some reason she was pinching the flesh on Willow's upper arm, "No parent in their right mind would call their child Willow."

Willow had to physically fight her own body to stop herself from stomping her foot in angry exclamation as she had done so many times as child. The urge was fixed by turning her left foot inwards and standing on her own right foot.

She suddenly noticed just how hard her mother was squeezing and she yanked her arm away. Shelia looked slightly take aback by the vehemence of Willow's reaction but she brushed it off with a small chuckle as though Willow was just being silly.

"You're awfully skinny darling, are you not eating? Well, it's a good thing cook has prepared the most sumptuous meal because you are in danger of fading into nothing!"

Willow nodded as though she were looking forward to the meal although in truth eating with her mother always ruined her appetite. Sheila was in the habit of talking constantly throughout the meal, barely giving Willow a chance to take a bite of anything before demanding conversation. Having grown up in such company, it was why Willow now preferred to eat alone.

Sheila led Willow through the house, all the while talking in an animated voice. Willow paid scant attention but all she was really required to do was nod at appropriate moments and largely agree with her mother's every word.

"Colonel!" Shelia bellowed suddenly as they entered the formal dining room, "Colonel!"

Despite Sheila's bellows, Ira Rosenberg did not see fit to join his wife and daughter until they were halfway through the first course. He did not appear to be the sort of man who would be ordered about by his wife. He too was of small stature but rather than compensate with his hair, of which he had none, Ira made up for it with his bearing. He carried himself with the military precision possessed only by someone who had spent the greater part of his life in the army which indeed Ira had. For nearly thirty years he had served in Her Majesty's Army, making a name for himself in the colonies and eventually being given a staff post in India. It was in India that he met Shelia who was a High Commissioner's daughter and where his two children were born. It was only with great reluctance that he retired and returned to England for his son's education. His military background persisted into civilian life and he was always referred to as 'Colonel,' even by his own wife.

He now paused to deposit the barest graze of a kiss on Willow's cheek with a murmured, "Daughter."

Willow caught a whiff of brandy as he leaned in close, it had always been present but now smelt stronger than ever.

"Good evening, Father," she replied, never being able to bring herself to call her own father 'Colonel.'

Ira quickly moved to his seat at the head of the table without a further glance in his daughter's direction. Willow sighed discreetly and ate another spoonful of the rich and creamy chicken soup; it was tasteless in her mouth.

The courses then flew by in a whirl of one-sided conversation. Shelia was exceptionally gifted at getting her point across with her mouth full and another forkful on the way. Willow just shifted her food around on her plate with her fork and felt what little she had eaten start to congeal in her stomach.

Willow desperately wanted to escape after dinner but before she knew what was happening her mother had ushered her into the sitting room and left her with no choice but to sit down. She deliberately chose the most uncomfortable chair in the room so as not to fall asleep when Shelia began plying her with suggestions of potential husbands, describing the merits of each in great detail. Her mother poured a large glass of red wine for herself and took a hefty gulp before starting on an all too familiar rant.

"Now that young Swainson lad, a year younger than you but I don't think he can afford to be picky with skin like his, now he would make a fine match. His family are involved in wool in Wiltshire and have a fine estate just outside of Westbury, it is Westbury isn't it Colonel?" Sheila craned her neck in her husband's direction but was nonplussed by his resulting bored shrug, "Well, I'm sure it's Westbury…wouldn't be too far for the Colonel and I to come and visit often."

Willow nodded in response, she was sure the 'Swainson lad' was nice enough whether he had skin problems or not, she was just not in the least bit excited by the prospect of marriage. The thought of her parents 'visiting often' almost brought on a small fit.

"Oooh!" Sheila exclaimed with delight and clapped her hands together as though she had just won at bridge, "Sir Joseph Pharazyn's wife died last month in childbirth, the poor thing was always a bit frail…it's a bit too soon to make a move now but perhaps next month we can invite ourselves to Banbury for tea. I've heard his children are very well-behaved, not that you have to worry about the children…that's what nannies are for."

Willow was sure that she had heard her mother state on several occasions that the seven Pharazyn children were horrid little devils. Although Willow had nothing against children, she did not think she could handle seven children…spawn of the devil or not.

Sheila pursed her lips together thoughtfully as she considered further options, "There's always Sir Joseph's brother, Robert, you've met him haven't you?"

"He stole my copy of Thucydides when we were ten," Willow growled as though it were the worst crime anyone could commit, "I haven't spoken to him since."

"That's wonderful dear, so you two will have something in common…I've heard he will be at the Barton's party next week where they're announcing Beth's engagement. Honestly, I don't know how a trollop like that could have landed a nice young man like Matthew Phelps. She is awfully homely…still, I suppose her dowry was 10,000 pounds and the Phelp's have never recovered from the old man's gambling debts," Sheila paused as though she had lost her train of thought, "Where was I? Oh, Robert…yes, you will have to attend the Barton's party. We should go to Crozier's this week to size you up for a new gown, I'm sure those ones I had made for you last season will hang on your body like sacks, you've lost so much weight."

Willow glanced downwards, quite sure that she was exactly the same size as she had been the previous year. In fact, she did not think she had gone up or down a size in the past ten years. Once she'd hit fifteen, she had stopped growing in any direction.

"I'm not much for parties," Willow managed to squeeze a word in as her mother took another gulp of wine, "I think…"

"Well…" Willow wanted to say that she would prefer it if no one ever noticed her but Sheila had other ideas.

"You're actually quite pretty Wilhelmina…red hair is definitely not in fashion of course but that never prevented me from being snapped up by your father…"

"…if you did something with your wretchedly awful hair and applied some more color to your face…you would have no trouble in attracting scores of men. You're twenty-six…"

Sheila did not miss a beat, "…and sooner or later people will start calling you a spinster to your face…they already do behind you back and how it vexes me so! It's a reflection on me as much as you."

Willow quite liked the idea of being labeled a spinster. Women in her mother's circle said the term in the same tone of voice as they might say 'leper' and she liked the prospect of being untouchable. Perhaps then her mother would leave all this talk of marriage and move onto more sensible topics of conversation like politics and war. Willow glanced across to her father, longing to discuss with him the major military buildup in the Cape Colony and the likely prospect of another war. Instead he remained immersed in his paper. She turned her attention back to Sheila as she poured another glass of wine.

"Mother, I think I should…" Willow had had more than enough of her mother for one day.

"Or what about Foster's son, you know him," Sheila gestured at her husband with her wine glass, "Foster served in the 107th with you didn't he Colonel?"

"No backbone whatsoever," Ira grumbled over the top of the fourth page of The Times, his only addition to the conversation, "Won't have my daughter marrying the son of a coward!"

Sheila shrugged and took another long gulp from her glass before continuing with a list of further names.

On the whole Ira Rosenberg said very little, he remained seated on the very edge of his chair as he read his paper as though he were about to get up and leave at any time. He looked for all the world as though he wanted this torment to be over as soon as possible. It would not have bothered Willow so much if she did not remember sitting on his lap while he spoke of his adventures in the East, of foreign sights and spices. She could not remember exactly what he said, but always she would plead, "Tell us more Daddy!" The 'us' was referring to herself and her brother. Alexander was three years her elder and the apple of her father's eye. He often sat straight-backed on his stool in a manner imitating his father but always had patience for his sister. When Willow was five years old, the serious but kind-hearted boy was suddenly struck with a wasting illness. In just three days Alex was dead and both Ira and Shelia Rosenberg were forever changed. Ira retreated into the glory days of his past now that he was unable to live the life he had imagined through his son. Seemingly removing herself from all responsibilities as a mother, Shelia became self-centered and intent on allowing herself enough food and drink to satisfy an entire household.

Willow had then grown up under the care of a succession of nannies and tutors, most being driven away by her mother fairly quickly. It had been a lonely childhood until Willow had discovered that she had all the friends she could ever want between the pages of books. She devoured every written word that her eyes fell upon, beginning with the simple children's stories that adults saw fit for her to read. However, being an incredibly sharp young girl spurred on by interesting mail from Giles, Willow soon became dissatisfied with fairy tales. She discovered that behind the door of her father's study lay an entire world waiting to be discovered. There the young girl had wandered Ancient Greece with Odysseus, fled the fall of Troy with Aeneas, journeyed to the center of the Earth with Verne and by the age of ten was grappling with Tolstoy. She suspected that her father had sent her to Girton not out of any progressive sentiments, but simply because he could see that she would not make a good wife for any man…she was wed to knowledge. Sheila however, had never come to this realization and persisted in her match-making efforts much to Willow's disgust. She had even invited potential suitors to dine with them until Willow had refused to come to dinner unless the practice was discontinued.

Willow was saved from further humiliation on this occasion by the Rosenberg's butler entering with a tray of assorted chocolates. Shelia rubbed her hands together gleefully at the sight of the sweets and as she shoveled several in her mouth at once there was finally a pause in the conversation long enough for Willow to finally announce that she was leaving. It drew a most predictable response from her mother.

"But Wilhelmina darling, stay and have a drink with us!" Shelia pleaded even as she continued to chomp on the sweets crammed in her mouth.

Sheila rose from her couch and stumbled a little on her plump legs as she reached out to Willow. As the wine glass in her hand swayed dangerously, the antique Persian at her feet was saved only by the fact that the wine remaining in the glass was barely a stain at the bottom. Quite disgusted at her mother's lack of restraint, Willow took a noticeable step backwards in the direction of the door. She watched as her mother implored her with chocolate stained fingers. Her father remained seated, back stiff as a ramrod, on his perch. Willow knew, without him saying a word, that he did not care if she left. As soon as she was gone he would banish his wife to her own parlor and retire to his library to relive his life in India by drowning himself in brandy and smoking several thick cigars.

"I don't think so mother, you've had quite enough for the both of us," Willow replied bravely, further digging the grave marked for an ungrateful child.

Not normally driven to outright disrespect, Willow's nerves were completely frayed by the extended audience with her parents. For someone who relished solitude, being in the company of Shelia Rosenberg was like being in a crowd with everyone trying to talk at once.

Only the sound of such disrespectful words could have moved Ira Rosenberg to join in a conversation in which he had wanted no part. Talk of marriage was best left to his wife; his only part would be to bestow the blessing on a future son in law.

"You will apologize to your mother, Wilhemina," Ira rumbled quietly, stabbing his finger in Willow's direction.

Willow knew for a fact that her father expected his answer post haste. However, though the words were already on her lips, she found they would not come. Instead, she stared at the squat little man with his chin thrust forward, waiting for her to utter the apology and felt rebellion creep into her body. She knew full well that she should fight such thoughts down, keep them under control, but she was so tired of playing the dutiful daughter when her parents gave her absolutely nothing in return…nothing except an awful headache.

"I'm sorry Mother…" as Willow began she saw her father nod approvingly, "but I was just speaking the truth, you do drink too much and I for one would wish you to stop."

Willow turned on her father, "You would wish her to stop too…if only you actually cared."

As she turned to leave, Willow could hear Ira's teeth grinding and her mother making little strangled noises as she struggled to draw a proper breath. She half expected her father to physically stop her from leaving and demand a second, sincere apology but there was no move made. As soon as she was out of that stifling room, Willow ran the rest of the way to the front door and out of the house. Once outside she slowed to a fast walk but did not turn and look back.

Without realizing it Willow's feet did not take her back to her little flat as she had originally intended. Instead she found herself tracing a path that she rarely used, past the brightly lit windows of London's finest stores. She dodged strolling couples uncomfortably, feeling as though their eyes were always on her. Men in tipped their bowler hats to her and most often she barely managed a shy smile in return as she scurried past. Willow thought of her homey flat and wondered again why on earth she was walking the streets of London, alone and nearing dark, when she could be tucked up with the Thomas Hardy novel that she had been trying to find the time to read.

Her internal question was answered several minutes later when she found herself standing in exactly the same spot in which she had stood the previous afternoon. She surveyed the park, no longer lit up with bright sunshine but descending into the long shadows of night. One thing was the same however, sitting on the park bench exactly where she had left it in such a hurry, was her tin lunch box. She crossed to the bench and picked her favorite lunch box up with some relief. Her fingers traced its familiar lines as though there was something about it that was different. The feeling was so intense that she half expected to find something odd concealed inside. All she found were a few sandwich crumbs.

Willow rapped her knuckles on the lid of the box, a hollow sound in the almost empty park. When a few passersby scurried past her as though she were quite mad, Willow realized that she had been staring at the spot where she had seen the mysterious blonde woman. Her lips parted slightly as she drew in a breath, trying to work out a rational explanation for her actions. Rather than accept the possibility that she'd walked several blocks to stare at a spot where a stranger had once stood, Willow concluded that she had come to find her lunchbox.

You've got your lunchbox Willow, she thought, tucking the ordinary tin box under her arm, There's absolutely no other reason for you to be standing in the park…alone…and it's getting dark…

As Willow made her second hasty exit from the park in as many days, she too began to believe she was quite mad. She glanced up ahead and saw the one place where she knew she could restore her sanity and put what had been an awful day behind her. At 5.30pm on a Saturday evening, Willow Rosenberg ducked through the employee's entrance to the British Museum. Security guards and cleaners greeted her warmly as she passed by on her way down to her basement. While Willow managed a smile for each, she did not stop until she reached her office. Only when the door was closed firmly behind her did she feel like her old self. The papers on her desk beckoned like old friends and she eagerly sat down to bury herself in something she could actually understand.

Myles found her still at her desk in the morning when he started work…sprawled fast asleep across her papers with an ink-stained thumb.

I know I am getting ahead of myself but my mother is insufferable! She cornered me as I was reading in the sitting room this evening. In truth I was not reading at all although I am usually quite fond of the Bard's work. I was engaged in the study of a small portrait I had tucked between the pages. I had been tracing the familiar chin and lingering over those perfectly proportioned lips which, though they were pursed together in a somber manner, I imagined curling up into one of her fantastically warm smiles. For all the talent of the artist, the portrait could not do her justice. Her locks were not red enough, nor her eyes green or as sparkling as they are in reality. I have not seen her since September but her eyes burn as brightly in my mind as though I saw them just yesterday. (It is this horrid weather which keeps us all indoors and starved of parties or picnics, or any other opportunity I might have to see her!).

I was forced to snap my worn little volume closed as my mother approached without announcing herself until she was almost on top of me. Her immediate conversation came across a little forced. She inquired what I was reading, to which I replied, 'As You Like It.' I noticed her dismissive glance at the mention of the comedy, I suppose she would rather have me reading something dreary like 'Romeo and Juliet.' I rather wickedly added that I very much enjoyed Rosalind in her mannish disguise and her expression became distraught indeed. At that moment I realized what deceitful daughter I was, concealing the truth of my feelings for another woman from my own mother who has naught but my best interests at heart.

She then proceeded to drill me at length on Edward's merits. By the end of her speech even I thought that he was some saint, perhaps George in his shining armor slaying dragons and winning the hearts of fair maidens. But as she continued, with fervor in her voice that frightened me, I began to see through her words for the fakery they were. It is a sad day indeed when a young lady realizes that she can no longer depend on the council of her mother.

I began to see just how serious she was about the whole Edward affair when I dared question her careful plans. I merely suggested that Edward may not be the one for me and it was as though the very fires of hell were unleashed. She swiftly moved from exposing Edward's merits to naming me an 'ungrateful wretch.' From what I could then gather of the torrent of words flowing from her lips, it was my duty to marry well in order to salvage the last scraps of the Maclay reputation. Her words did shock me somewhat, while I was aware that money was perhaps not as abundant as it ought to be, I was not aware that father's debts had eaten into almost everything. Mother made it clear that my marriage to Edward was not just a formality, but a necessity. My duty was clear, when Edward asked me to marry him I would say yes. There was no other answer to give. Until then I would attend functions on his arm, hang on his every word and be in all outward appearances the model of a perfect young lady. Mother was in tears by the time she had finished and my own eyes burned fiercely. With W's portrait concealed within my volume of Shakespeare, I made a hasty exit from the room lest I say anything that would cause my mother further heartache. As I made my way through the house I felt oppressed, as though the very walls were conspiring against me.

As I felt suffocated, I ran to my bedroom window and threw it open, shivering as a cold blast of winter air hit me like a wall. I gazed out into the darkness that surrounded the house and willed the wind to carry me away. I imagined soaring away from my mother and the walls of the house which I now saw as my prison, it would carry me over field, stream and wood until I reached Hagley Park. W would be waiting for me there. I would fall into her arms and never again dwell on the thought of being forced to marry Edward Walsh. It was a simple wish, just for two people to be together.

The harder that I wished this miracle would occur, the more freely hot tears splashed onto my cheeks. They lingered there for but a second before being driven away by the wind. It did not pick me up and take me away. I was left standing at the window with the curtains whipping into a frenzy around my body. I cursed my fate to be born into such a cruel world, a world that forced people to marry against their wishes and not for love. I curse the world still. More anon diary, for I cannot write another sentence on this night.

Willow's brow was furrowed and the very tip of her pink tongue protruded from her lips, both signs of intense concentration. Her white shirt sleeves were rolled back, up over her elbows and her waist coat hung open in a relaxed fashion. She worked a pencil across a sheet of paper in front of her, pausing every few moments to review her work before continuing. As the time passed, the lines spreading across the paper formed into a shape from her memory. It was an image that burned behind her eyes, even almost two months after seeing it for the first time.

Her furrow brow deepened when she was not happy with some aspect. She picked up her eraser and wiped a portion of the drawing from the page before continuing. Her pencil worked for a few more minutes before she held the end of it in her lips to free up her fingers and create shading. She smeared the pencil at appropriate points, the pencil between her lips swaying with her movements.

The tip of her index finger blackened, Willow retrieved her pencil from between her lips and added a few more necessary touches. A small smile spread across her face as the sketch neared completion. Willow paused again, drawn before her was an almost perfect representation of the woman she had seen in the park.

She could not begin to explain it, but even two months after their fleeting encounter she could not forget the pale stranger. Although had lasted mere minutes in one day of her busy life, Willow felt as though their meeting had some sort of significance. A week after the meeting she had tried to shrug it off with the simple explanation that the woman was exceptionally beautiful, why would she not create a lasting impression? Two weeks later and she was still on Willow's mind, interfering with her research and whatever personal time she had. When she slept, she would see her face. In the absence of a name or a voice, her face was all Willow had. Two months later, her symptoms had not changed and the desire to know more was driving her insane.

Willow could not bring herself to develop the photograph she had taken of the woman on her Kodak. As much as she wanted to, she felt as though she had violated the woman's privacy. Although at the same time, she could not bring herself to destroy the roll of film. It was tucked away at the back of the bottom drawer of her desk…hidden but not forgotten.

An irreverent yell burst through her concentration by scaring the living daylights out of her. Willow jumped sharply, stabbing the lead of her pencil down so hard that the lead snapped off. She stared with irritation at the resulting dark spot on her portrait but was thankful it had not been on the nose or anywhere else noticeable. As the whirlwind that was Myles Cavendish entered her office, Willow shoved the scrap of paper beneath a partially unraveled scroll. She turned and was pleasantly surprised to see a second person following the boy.

"Miss me?" Faith swept into the room, still clad in her dusty riding leathers and a badly rumpled travelling jacket.

"Faith!" Willow greeted her friend with genuine warmth even as she gave Myles an annoyed glare for his spontaneous and unannounced entrance.

She scraped her chair back and stood to join the others. Willow took one look at Faith's dirty clothing and neatly sidestepped any potential embrace.

"I'm not touching you until you've changed!" Willow yelped as Faith back her up against her chair.

Faith glanced down. She was covered, as much as she could see, in dust as well as a generous splattering of mud. Her boots were caked in the stuff and small clumps had been tracked across Willow's rug. When she glanced back up she was pleased to see that Willow was so pre-occupied with her return, she had not noticed the accompanying mud.

She did of course realize that much of Willow's preoccupation was not to do with her own presence, but rather the satchel which was thrown over her shoulder. Willow had her eyes fixed on it, shifting from one foot to another as though she were about to launch into a dance.

"Before your head explodes…" Faith began as she swung the satchel from her shoulder so she could open it, "The library was mostly empty…"

"Empty!" Willow cried in despair, it was as though her entire world had just come crashing down, "How could it have been empty…was it cleared out by thieves or perhaps Dracula's…I mean Vlad's cohorts?"

"The church I believe," Faith replied quickly, not wanting to prolong Willow's distress, "There were several painted inscriptions on the walls to ward off evil spirits…I tried to glean additional information but there was little to be had other than that every scrap of parchment may have been burned almost 150 years ago. No evidence of fire with the actual ruins of the monastery itself, or the library so I would say they had it taken away."

"They burned the books," Willow whispered in abject horror, there was hardly a more heinous crime in her opinion.

Faith flipped open her satchel and withdrew an armload of leather folders and several books, "Will, calm down, all was not lost, I discovered a secret compartment and within lay these…I had not the opportunity to discern their contents but I hope they at least make up for some of your disappointment."

Willow accepted the armload gratefully, "Well, I don't know if any small amount of material will compensate for burnt books…but thank you."

Willow scanned through the leather folders which all held sheets of parchment covered in a foreign scrawl. She instantly noted that most were in Latin, with a few more exciting prospects bearing the runic Rovas script native to Hungary. Those folders she set down on her desk and scanned the book titles. Of the four that Faith had brought back with her, two were account books, one was a library catalogue – a cruel reminder of what had been lost – and the other was an anomaly.

"It's a diary," Willow said with a small frown flipping the fourth book over in her hands

"I know, I had a quick look at it," Faith nodded, "The initial text is in English and most of the dates I can make out are eighteenth century so I'm not at all sure how it even came to be at Tirgsor…not to mention hidden in a secret compartment with papers of real historical significance…just seems to be sentimental feminine rubbish."

Willow was flipping through the diary as Faith spoke, scanning dates and noting that it was written in a clear, almost elegant hand.

"It mostly appears to be talking about marriage…as you would expect of an eighteenth century woman's diary," Faith continued with a dismissive shrug.

"A woman's diary!" Myles craned his neck to catch a better glimpse of the worn volume, "Any naughty bits?'

"You wouldn't know a naughty bit if I slapped you in the face with it, Myles," Faith cuffed the lad lightly over the back of his head.

"I agree…although the text changes half way through and I can't decipher it. It's not any language I'm familiar with, or can recognize…which is strange as I can recognize most," Willow voice betrayed her slight professional annoyance at not being able to recognize the script, There's an address inside the front cover though…"

Willow flicked the pages aside and looked at the inside of the leather bound cover, it was more than a little strange. There was an address somewhere in Hampshire that she was unfamiliar with, it had been struck out with a single, heavy black line. A small inscription in the same hand followed.

"Dearest W, Farewell – May this token of me provide you some comfort," Willow read aloud before squinting to read the single letter following, "And then what looks like a J…or a T perhaps."

Willow ignored them both and traced her fingers over a second address which followed the inscription. It was written in the same heavy black pen that had struck out the first address. It was an address in Bloomsbury, written in a clear and precise hand that Willow immediately admired for its penmanship. She set the diary aside, tossing it on one of her stacks of books that littered the floor before turning her attention back to the real gems Faith had brought.

"This catalogue could keep me going for months, Faith," Willow ran her fingers over the tooled leather cover, "And it's all in Latin, thank goodness, as my Hungarian is awful…"

The diary sat forgotten as Willow turned page after page of the catalogue and ignored both Faith and Myles. Faith was looking on indulgently while Myles kept casting covetous at the diary which lay within reach of his fingers. However, Faith was quicker and as he reached out to pick it up she seized his wrist and squeezed tightly.

Faith released her hold on his wrist and he rubbed it gingerly. She knew full well his intention had been to search out any so called 'naughty bits.'

"Myles, it was written in the eighteenth century, I don't think women in those days knew how to be naughty, let alone write about it so I assure you, you're not missing out on anything," Faith placed her hand on the young man's shoulder and gently steered him towards the door, "I think Giles might need some help unwrapping the artifacts I found concealed in the ruins…there is a wicked looking gauntlet covered in spikes that I believe may have belonged to Dracula himself. Just don't try it on…I think it has been bewitched with a possession spell."

Myles' eyes widened as though he could not wait to get his hands on the gauntlet and do exactly what Faith had warned him against…trying it on. He mumbled a few nonsensical words, presumably excusing himself, and left the room at a dead sprint. A few moments later there was a very loud crash somewhere down the hallway and an angry voice condemning all boys who did not look where they were going to the depths of hell.

With Myles safely out of the picture in Giles' capable hands, Faith could now focus her attention on Willow. Her friend had had returned to her chair while she had been talking to Myles and was now looking up at her with wide eyes. Faith quickly realized that Willow was not waiting for her to deliver any further information from her trip or simply have a friendly conversation. Willow was waiting for her to leave so she could get back to her work. She sat poised with her pencil in one hand and the other hand gently holding open a ratty looking scroll. Faith gave an angry snort and reached down to snatch the pencil away. When Willow made a desperate lunge, she hid it behind her back and out of reach.

"What have you been doing with yourself these past months, Will?" Faith asked in a distinctly motherly tone of voice, betraying her sincere concern for her friend, "You look bloody awful…and stop looking at my hand like that; you're not getting your pencil back anytime soon!"

"I just haven't been sleeping well lately," Willow shrugged, "It's nothing serious, my mind has just been working so much I find it hard to relax…it's just a phase and will pass in time."

Faith pursed her lips together, "And I'm sure you also haven't been eating, nor taking walks outside…honestly Will, I don't know how many times I have to tell you to look after yourself."

"It's nice to know you care…" Willow began, managed at small smile as she was truly touched by her friend's concern.

"Damn right I care!" Faith interrupted, lunging forward to plant both her arms around Willow's shoulders, despite her dirty clothing "Your parents don't seem to give a toss…and you certainly don't seem to care about yourself either."

When Faith pulled back a few moments later, Willow's cheeks carried a slight pinkish tinge. She was definitely unused to being embraced, even by her best friend.

"I'm fine Faith, will you please give the pencil back, I'm in the middle of something very important."

"Only if you tell me what you're working on?" Faith dangled the pencil within Willow's grasp.

As she moved, she lost her grip on the scroll and the paper snapped back into it tight roll to reveal what was hidden beneath. Willow could not recover the portrait before Faith spied it and snatched it away. Mortified, Willow leapt to her feet intent on recovering the drawing before Faith could examine it closely. A tussle began between the two as Willow tried to grasp at Faith's arm. After avoiding Willow's rather pathetic attempts, Faith reached out and grabbed Willow's flailing hand with her left. In one swift movement she had twisted the small woman's arm around her back.

Willow yelped in pain as Faith held her arm pinned at an uncomfortable angle. She had to cease her struggling or continue to feel as though her shoulder was being popped out of its socket. This left Faith free to examine Willow's pencil sketch with impunity.

"Here I was thinking I'd interrupted some vital departmental research…and all you were really doing was drawing pictures!" Faith chuckled lightly and then let out a low whistle, "So who is she?"

"No one," Willow mumbled, feeling her cheeks flaming. In response, Faith cruelly twisted her arm a little higher up her back and she let out another yelp, "Okay, okay…it's a woman I saw…"

"And continue to see?" Faith asked with excitement clearly registering in her voice.

"Saw…once!" Willow clarified with a strong emphasis on both words, "I just saw her once in the park."

"You saw her once in the park and she made such an impression that you had to sketch her portrait?" Faith asked, this time in disbelief, "And exaggerated more than a little too, no one can be this beautiful…you've got rich tastes, Will."

Now that she had her answers, Faith released her grip on Willow's wrist. Willow reached around Faith and snatched the drawing back. She folded herself back into her chair and set her drawing back down on her desk. With her thumb she smoothed out the wrinkles in the corner where Faith had held it. One finger gently traced the curve of cheek she had drawn in exact imitation of the one she had seen that had remained fixed so boldly within her mind. Just gazing upon that face made her forget any anger she may have felt towards Faith for dragging the truth from her so cruelly. A small laugh even escaped her lips when she realized just how silly she was being.

When Willow kept her head down and did not speak, Faith's brow knotted in concern. She feared that she had dreadfully wounded the red-haired girl's feelings with her tactless and somewhat brutal questioning. Willow's laugh she mistook for a choked sob.

"Willow, I'm awfully sorry, you know me…no manners or anything," Faith felt ridiculous and more than a little stupid, "I'll just go and leave you to…well, whatever it is that you were doing."

"I did not exaggerate," Willow replied quietly as she heard Faith back up towards the door, she swiveled in her seat, "Faith, she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes upon."

Her smile had morphed into a dreamy sort of expression usually reserved for those smitten with a potential lover. Faith was a little unnerved at first; she had never seen Willow look quite so dopey. However, nor had she seen her look quite so tired and promptly decided that it was her duty to help her friend find this woman.

"I'll help you find her again," Faith promised, pausing in the doorway with one hand resting against the frame.

Managing to drag herself away from the portrait in front of her, Willow swiveled in her chair to face Faith. A sad smile flitted across her tired face.

"I don't see the point," she whispered, stifling a yawn that betrayed her exhaustion, "Even if I did find her I wouldn't know what to do…and she certainly wouldn't feel the way I do about her…"

"Faith!" Willow hissed, eyes darting to the door as though every employee of the British Museum were standing there listening in on the most private conversation of her entire life.

Cheeks tinged with red to match her hair, Willow studied Faith's expression carefully for traces of anything other that acceptance and friendship. She had never expected to tell another living soul of the way she felt about women, even her best friend.

"Faith, I would appreciate if you did not speak of my…inclinations to anyone, if my parents were to find out that I am a…lesbian…"

The word came out in a barely audible whisper and Willow's cheeks flamed further.

"Would you really care if they did?" Faith interrupted Willow before she could continue with her awkward statement, it was obvious she was hardly surprised by Willow's revelation, "You don't depend on them for a thing…and you certainly wouldn't miss their company."

"I know," Willow replied, biting her lip for a moment, "But they're still my parents…and you really don't care?"

"Why would I care Will? You're the dearest, kindest, bravest soul that I know and the fact that you're of the sapphist persuasion only serves to confirm all that…I love you, you know."

"You're not? Why ever not?" Faith said in an incredulous and very serious tone, a split second later she burst out laughing, "I meant I love you in a strictly platonic manner…"

"And don't worry about your mystery woman. Such matters work themselves out…always," Faith replied encouragingly, "Besides, if you find her and she tells you to bloody leave her alone at least you'll be able to stop mooning about like a sick puppy and get a good night's rest."

Willow smirked with genuine mirth, "You always know how to make a girl feel better."

"You have no idea," Faith winked suggestively, laughing when Willow's cheeks reddened for a second time.

Willow glanced at her pocket watch and her eyes widened in mock horror, "Leave work at 4pm? Gracious Faith, I don't think I've ever been quite so daring."

"Call it a start, you're going to have to get a whole lot more daring in order to ensnare this mystery women of yours," Faith fetched Willow's satchel and coat which, in the absence of a coat stand, were tossed on a stack of books, "You didn't catch her name did you?"

Willow allowed herself to be dragged up out of her chair. She held out her arms as Faith pulled her coat on and even moved to do the buttons up. Although it felt somewhat odd being buttoned up by another adult, Willow found it was comforting in a strange way.

"I've no idea, I feel as though it should be something grand and beautiful to suit her face…" Willow tried to imagine what a grand and beautiful name would be but she had no idea, "It is just as likely to be Jane or Anna."

"Well, your first task is to find out her name," Faith decided as she passed Willow's satchel over her head and settled it at her side, "Once we know who she is and what kind of people she comes from…we can work out a plan of attack."

What if I never see her again? was the only thought that ran through Willow's head…although she could not bring herself to say it aloud and deflate Faith's optimism.

With an air of finality Faith bodily shoved Willow out of her office. In order to ensure that her work-bound friend did not double back, Faith walked her all the way to her tram stop before leaving to return to work. She muttered something about reporting back to Croft. There was a wicked gleam in her eye not usually associated with reporting that made Willow suspect that Faith knew a little too much about the 'sapphist persuasion' she spoke of earlier.

Willow was left waiting for the next tram, never one to stand still and do nothing she began to feel antsy after only a minute or so of waiting. Although she now did not regret leaving work early, she was slightly miffed that she had forgotten to pick up a stack of papers or a book to while away her tram ride. Digging around in her satchel in the hope of finding something to occupy her mind, her fingers closed on a book spine. She drew it out to find the diary Faith had brought back from Eastern Europe. A small frown creased her forehead; she did not remember ever putting it in her satchel. Not quite knowing why, she flicked it open and found the same notations just inside the cover, the strange dedication and the two addresses. While Hampshire was much too far to walk, Willow again noted that the second address was mere blocks from where she stood waiting for her tram. As Faith's challenge echoed in her head, Willow ignored the approaching tram and made what she thought was a very daring decision indeed.

After a quarter of an hour stroll, Willow had lost much of the rash impulsiveness that had led her to sleuth out the address in the first place. Actually standing in front of the house was an entirely different story. Willow gazed up at the generously sized townhouse towering imposingly above her head and immediately felt intimidated by the austere façade. The stone used was a steely grey and in the dull light of a winter's afternoon it appeared almost black. There was little ornamentation of any form save for the ivy which dared to creep up the left side just above the ground floor windows. Three floors rose up from the ground before the sharply pitched tile roof angled away from her. Several dark gable windows punctured the roof's surface. She imagined the writer of the diary to be inside, bent over a writing desk and still scribbling madly.

1777…even if they lived until they were old and wrinkled they'd be long dead…

Willow shivered, the house itself unnerved her despite the light shining from several of the windows. Although someone obviously lived there, Willow felt as though the house should be empty. She couldn't quite place the exact feeling, but it was of one of emptiness…emptiness and waiting.

Just my luck that the person who owns it now will be one step away from the asylum. Willow shuddered at the thought of some wizened old creature, starved of company, inviting her in for tea and never letting her leave again.

Willow was still plucking up the courage to approach and knock on the massive black door when she glanced upwards once more. A chill seized her entire frame. A pale white face stared at her from a dark gable high above. With her blood pounding in her ears, Willow fought for calm but it would not come. Although the glance lasted seconds before she wrenched her eyes away, Willow could not remember exactly what she had seen other than that she knew it was a face, and it had been looking directly at her. There was no question of her knocking on the door now…

Hello…I'm Willow Rosenberg, you don't know me but is the ghost that lives in your attic friendly?

Before she knew quite what she was doing, her feet were pounding on the pavement. The chill did not leave her body as she ran the entire distance between the house and her tram stop. Even when she was on the next tram, her body pressed against a seat warmed from a previous body, Willow could not shake the cold fear brought about by the house. She immediately made up her mind not to tell Faith. To flee as fast as possible from a common, run of the mill ghost was a case for tarring and feathering in Faith's book. Or even worse, she could have been running from the sight of a child playing in the attic. Willow felt exceptionally foolish and even more resigned to the fact that she was not suited to fieldwork.

Something crawled between her shoulder blades. Willow felt as though she were still being watched…although by what she had no idea.

This should have been one of the happiest days of my life, of any young lady's life…so why then do I feel a melancholia settling over me like a cloud? Right from the very moment Edward stepped across the threshold I knew why he had come. The atrocious weather has kept all other guests away this past week, but not Edward. I knew there was only one reason even he would have braved the weather. He was typical of his sex, mind made up he could wait no longer. I was on the landing when I heard the butler greet him at the door and for some reason I was not surprised to see him. As I moved cautiously down the stairs I saw my father arrive to greet him warmly and usher him into the house proper. No doubt straight in the direction of his study with its roaring great fire. Edward glanced up at me as he passed, with his dark hair whipped across his cheeks and eyes sparkling with the exertion of riding through the rain I could see the man that he is. Tall, handsome to a fault and powerfully built and yet it is all superficial. I know what sort of man lies beneath that flawless exterior, the sort of man that I cannot spend the rest of my life with. Most women will not look farther than outward appearances and social position, but I crave companionship, mutual trust built on love and conversation of which I will never grow tired. I have found all that, and it is not with Edward.

Mother summoned me down half an hour later, a half hour which I had spent in front of the mirror composing my reactions to Edward's question. While a simple 'no' came all too easily in just my own company I knew that I could not afford to give such an answer to Edward. I rehearsed surprise and embarrassment but would not let tears fall because I knew they would not be in jest. I was whispering W's name as I rose from the seat at my bureau and made my way downstairs with tremulous steps.

Edward was waiting for me in the blue sitting room, his hair tousled and partially dry. I could tell he was nervous, for all his handsome appearance he is no great conversationalist. I think what happened next unfolded according to every girl's dream. I remember a folded knee, his hands clasping my own and an awkward but no doubt sincere confession of his undying love for me just before the words slipped out of his mouth in a great hurry. 'Tara, marry me,' although it sounded more like one word than three. All my rehearsals before the mirror counted for naught as I reverted to my painful stutter. As I tried to formulate an answer, I was nothing like the composed and elegant young woman I imagine myself to be. I could not, would not, utter any of the simple words of agreement that would have sufficed but nor could I tell him I loved another. Imagining it was W down on one knee in front of me did not improve matters in the slightest and I almost began to weep.

He took my choked silence to mean that I was overcome with emotion. Displaying an incisiveness that I had not previously credited him with, he apologized for expecting a swift answer from me. He then went on to say that he did not expect the fairer sex to be capable of marshalling their wits following such a proposal and promised me time enough to arrive at my decision…adding that he expected it to be 'yes.' I believe he thinks me an insipid fool, incapable of making a decision – the exact sort of wife that all men aspire to obtain. He begged his leave without stopping for tea and I was immediately accosted by my mother demanding an account of what had transpired between us. While I had thought she would be vexed at my lack of a definite answer, she acted as though I had sad yes and was quite beside herself for the rest of the day.

I retired early to write this diary entry and now that the words are on the page I can see clearly what sort of predicament faces me. I do not want to join the ranks of women who suffer in marriages without love, but I cannot see a way to avoid it. If only I could see W.

With no small amount of satisfaction, Willow deposited the wretched little diary back in her office the following morning. Her encounter, or whatever it had been, the previous evening had completely ruined what was supposed to be a relaxing night. It had left her unable to sleep soundly or do anything remotely productive. She jammed the leather book beneath several, much larger volumes and returned to her desk. With a slight exhalation of breath, she withdrew the picture she had drawn yesterday from beneath the scroll. The woman's serene face stared back at her and Willow could not help but think she was mocking her irrational infatuation. With a sigh, she tucked the picture within the pages of a first edition copy of A Treatise on Witchcraft and turned to library catalogue that Faith had retrieved from Tirgsor.

She was still ensconced with the catalogue almost three hours later when Faith burst into her office, chest heaving as she struggled to draw a breath. Willow was about to make a rude remark regarding the number of times she seemed to be interrupted, when Faith reached out and dragged her to her feet by her shirt collar.

"Faith! Unhand me this instant!" Willow demanded, struggling against her friend's firm grip on her clothing.

"You're coming with me, Rosenberg," Faith replied with determination in her voice, "And grab your coat, it's cold out."

Faith offered no further explanation and Willow was forced to lunge backwards and snatch her coat from the back of her chair. She almost stumbled as Faith dragged her out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the exit. When it became obvious that she was following along, she felt Faith release her hold on her garments. Willow straightened her shirt and jacket as they walked, a slight huff escaping her lips.

"We just received reports of something nasty in a warehouse down by the river, the owner was running an inventory when he saw a shape move in the darkness," Faith's voice was as rushed as her walk, she swung open the elevator door with a loud crash and pushed Willow inside the cage.

"That's nice," Willow said sarcastically as she narrowly avoided a collision between her forehead and the cage, "It was probably a thief…since when are we responsible for cleaning up crime?"

"Thieves generally aren't blue with foot long spikes protruding from their heads," Faith gave Willow a calm glance and began checking each of the weapons she had strapped about her body.

"Well, demon or no, I still fail to see why you're dragging me along!" Willow protested as they reached the ground floor, "Would you care to explain."

"Because I thought it would be good for you," Faith smirked at Willow's horrified expression for a moment before wiping it off to show that she was quite serious, "Willow, I have no idea what sort of demon is blue with spikes coming out of its head let alone how to kill it!"

Willow's eyes narrowed in frustration as they passed out of the Employee's entrance and straight into the waiting carriage with its stomping black steeds and drawn curtains. She waited until she was seated in the dark interior to give the woman sitting opposite her a piece of her mind.

"It's a Atramen demon you idiot, it was one of the demon's I listed in a report I filed six months ago, you should have read it," Willow folded her arms across her chest, tapping her figures impatiently as she waited for Faith to respond.

The brunette appeared nervous, furrowing her brow as though she were trying to remember. Her concentration did not last long and she simply shrugged her shoulders much to the annoyance of her friend. Willow moved to the edge of her seat as though she were about to launch into a lecture but Faith was quick to cut her off.

"Willow, you file a report each week and I simply don't have time to read each one, especially not when I'm travelling. And I don't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday let alone something I may have read six months ago."

Willow's mouth was set into a tight line. Faith had unintentionally managed to dismiss her beloved job as unimportant and bureaucratic and it did not sit well with her at all. However she managed to keep a level head, predominantly due to the fact that she knew her job was without doubt the most important in the entire organization. Without her carefully conducted and presented research, everything would fall apart.

"You never eat breakfast," Willow stated matter-of-factly, "And my report examined recent Atramen sightings in Glasgow, Brighton and Watford and concluded that someone or something may have several under their control…which is relatively easy if you have mastery of the correct spells of course."

"That's a conclusive report," Faith replied with a wry twist to her mouth, eyes sparkling in the dim light of the carriage, "I'm sorry I missed it."

Willow couldn't help but smile in return at Faith's brazen sarcasm, but she was quite serious as she continued, "Honestly Faith, reading reports could save your life…what if I wasn't around to tell you how to defeat the foes we…or rather you, come up against?"

"But you're always around," Faith noted simply, "So how do we defeat this thing?"

Willow shrugged, "If you had read the report then you would know that I have no idea."

Willow and Faith extracted themselves from the carriage ten minutes later to find themselves in front of a rather non-descript warehouse. There was not a soul to be seen, no doubt the owner had made him scarce after a fleeting encounter with the netherworld that he would be only too happy to deny ever happened.

Willow felt rather under prepared as she glanced across at Faith and saw the vast array of weapons she carried about her lithe frame. Strapped around her waist were two matching, beautifully tooled belts with silver inlays. Hanging from one, on her left hip, was a slender sword with a practical, no- nonsense hilt and leather grip. On her right was a long dagger, also meant for business rather than show. She grasped in her capable hands the self-loading crossbow which Giles had recently invented for her, fully loaded with ten silver bolts. Willow knew without looking that she also had a dagger concealed in each of the leather riding boots that reached almost to her knees. The leather pants she wore clung to her thighs almost scandalously, and the jacket and shirt she wore also left little to the imagination as they hugged her figure.

Glancing down at her own rather drab attire, one of the two three-piece suits she owned, Willow wished she could wear the same scarlet hue of which Faith's jacket was made but at the risk of looking completely silly she continued to wear dependable grays and blacks. As Faith moved towards the building, she knew she ought to start worrying about the Atramen demon and the fact that she was completely unarmed.

"Um, Faith, I don't need to come in do I?" Willow asked nervously, "I mean, what would I do if it rushed at me?"

"Absolutely nothing," Faith replied in a low voice, stealing stealthily inside the door which was slightly ajar, "You can be bait."

Once they were both inside, Faith motioned for her to be quiet and lifted her crossbow to her shoulder as she went down into a stealthy crouch. Willow followed suit, but felt incredibly silly as she inched along behind Faith. As much as she tried to look the part of an intrepid demon hunter, she felt like a fool…and an unarmed fool at that.

The warehouse was eerily silent, and all too dim for Willow's likely. In the gloom of an overcast winter's day, shadows crept between the mountains of crates stacked within. Any one of those shadows could have concealed something sinister, biding its time to do them some harm and Willow imagined shapes moving everywhere.

Faith glanced over her shoulder at the researcher, somewhat amused to see her skin had gone a nasty shade of green, "You wouldn't know what to do with it…anyway, nothing's gonna happen to you with me here…"

No sooner had the words left Faith's lips that an inky black shape engulfed her, knocking her straight to the ground. Her new-fangled self-loading cross bow clattered to the ground and slid several meters away. As she leapt to her feet and drew her sword, she got an eyeful of what it was they were up against. By itself, the Atramen was of similar height and build as a man, however, foot-long spikes added to its height and gave the impression that it was much taller than it actually was. True to the warehouse owner's word, it was a dark blue in color…almost the color of ink. Its shiny skin rippled between blue and black as it moved. Willow backed away a few steps as it turned to face her, giving her full view of its massive white eyes and lipless mouth. She almost wet herself when it bared an array of spiked teeth.

With a cry to turn its attention towards her, Faith surged forward with her sword raised. The Atramen turned its attention away from Willow and towards the real threat. They began a deadly dance across the warehouse floor, each slice Faith made with her sword was deftly sidestepped by the lightning fast demon. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword and she brought it to bear once more, stepping forward in a determined series of slashing attacks. The demon caught her with several solid punches to her face and she stumbled backwards.

Willow was looking on helplessly before she realized that Faith's cross bow was lying mere meters from where she stood. She scrambled to pick it up and lift it beneath her arm into what she hoped was an appropriate firing position. With very little in the way of aim, Willow jabbed her forefinger on the trigger and absolutely nothing happened. She tried several more stabs but the crossbow remained lifeless in her hands.

Oblivious to Willow's struggles with the crossbow, Faith groggily shook her head and regained her stance. Unbalanced by her quick revival, she caught the Atramen off guard and the tip of her sword sliced through its chest. A thin line of skin burst and spewed forth a thick, blue liquid. Faith was determined to press home the wounding move but as her sword sliced through the air in another stroke, the Atramen seemed to regain its strength and caught her fist in its own. Faith looked surprised for a moment before it wrapped a single hand around her neck and hurled her several meters through the air. Her body slammed into several stacked wooden crates which smashed beneath the weight and collapsed around her.

Willow waited for Faith to exact herself from the crates but seconds went by with absolutely no movement. When the Atramen spun around and hissed, she knew it was coming for her. With no weapons and no clue, Willow could see no alternative but to turn and run like the coward she was. She had barely made several meters when a dark shape passed over head. The Atramen had leapt over her and no stood directly in her path. With no further warning it sprung and slammed her back against the ground beneath its body weight. With one hand, it ensnared both her own and held them above her head even as she squirmed and writhed in disgust.

Trapped beneath the demon and staring up into its white eyes, Willow felt as though it ought to be sightless. However, judging by its reactions to both her and Faith, she knew that was not the case. It had parried Faith's every move and now Willow could not even think about trying to hit it with both arms trapped over her head and the creature's disgusting face hovering just inches above her own. It seemed to be smiling at her discomfort, at least that's what Willow thought it was baring its teeth for…it could have been about to bite her head off. A great gob of saliva dropped from its mouth into her eyes and she squeezed them shut as it burned fiercely. The Atramen hissed in short bursts, a sound which Willow quickly realized was its laughter.

She twisted and struggled as her eyes remained shut, burning fiercely. Something warm and sticky slithered up her neck, trailing a path up over her jugular and onto her chin. Willow tried to wrench her head aside, desperately trying not to imagine what part of the demon was touching her face. She let out a sudden screech that continued until she realized the weight no longer pressed down on her. The demon was gone and her hands were free. Willow urgently scrubbed at her eyes, having to practically claw the sticky substance from her face. As she writhed on the ground she could hear the sounds of a struggle in the background. Then there was the sound of a decidedly feminine grunt, Faith was back. Willow opened her eyes the merest fraction as she lay on her side. She saw a blurry figure standing in front of her but even with her impaired vision she knew it was not Faith. Her friend was wearing red…the figure standing opposite her almost melded with the shadows in black clothing. The only parts of the figure that stood out were a pale face and long, white- blonde hair. It was her…

"W-who…" Willow tried to reach out a hand towards the shape when a solid object slammed into her body.

Willow was sent flying, rolling over several times before she hit a crate and came to a halt. Someone bent over her, their hoarse breathing sounding loud in her ears.

Willow was picked up by the scruff of her shirt and dumped on her feet. She wavered a little but managed to grab onto the crate beside her and remain standing. Her vision had cleared somewhat and she could see Faith grab and wrestle the demon by its spikes. As her senses cleared, she remembered her hazy view of the blonde-haired figure. Something already told her that she would be gone but Willow looked for her anyway. She was gone. The word 'fire' still rang inside her head, and it was only after staring at the fight taking place between Faith and the demon that she realized what it meant. She turned and staggered away from the wrestling pair, searching for something, anything which catch fire. It was a task made all the more difficult by the darkness in the warehouse but Willow spied a kerosene lantern hanging near an exit door. She snatched it down and was patting down her pockets for something to light it with when she remembered she didn't smoke. An image of Faith puffing on one of her disgusting cigars popped into her head.

"Faith!" Willow moved a little closer to the two combatants, "Do you have a matchbook?"

Faith glanced up from where she had the Atramen in a headlock, her expression clearly annoyed, "Of course I've got a bloody matchbook, now's not the time to take up smoking, Will!"

"Stop your whining and give it to me!" Willow snapped, even as the Atramen gained the upper hand and flung Faith to the floor.

As the demon pressed down on her, Faith reached into the pocket of her scarlet jacket and pulled out a small cardboard box. With some difficulty she managed to toss the little box to Willow who scrambled to retrieve it when it landed short of where she stood.

Placing the lantern on the ground, Willow struggled to light it with a match. The first two broke in her trembling hands and the third went out as she lowered it to the wick.

"Bloody heck, get a grip, Willow!" she growled at herself, even as she heard a cry of pain from her friend.

She glanced up to see Faith clutching at her shoulder, her hands bloody. Hands shaking even worse, Willow willed the next match to light. She successfully lowered it into the glass and the wick caught. As a warm glow filled the space around her, she picked up the lantern and loosened all the sc

Van Rosenberg

by Alcy

Copyright © 2007

annagreaves@yahoo.co.uk