Chapter Text
The sun glinted off the water fountain as Buffy and I crossed the quad. Cordelia was already there, drinking like she owned the plumbing. She looked up when we approached, her gaze sweeping over me with that laser‑precise judgment she'd perfected.
"Willow! Nice dress," she said, the smile not reaching her eyes. "Good to know you've discovered the softer side of Sears."
The words hit harder than they should have. My smile wobbled, and Buffy stiffened beside me, surprised by the sudden venom. I forced myself to answer lightly, the way Old Willow would.
"My mom picked it out," I said, trying to sound apologetic instead of small.
Cordelia didn't miss a beat. "No wonder you're such a guy‑magnet."
The sting landed cleanly. I stepped back automatically when she asked if I was done at the fountain. "Oh," I murmured, barely audible even to myself.
She shifted her attention to Buffy, launching into her usual social‑hierarchy lecture. "First rule: know your losers. Once you can identify them on sight, they're easier to avoid."
Buffy watched her bend down to drink, then glanced at me as I turned away. I could feel her sympathy like a warm hand on my shoulder, but I didn't slow down.
As soon as Cordelia's eyes were off me, my lenses flickered to life — a faint, invisible shimmer across my vision. I scanned her automatically, checking for temperature anomalies, undead signatures, anything out of place. Nothing supernatural. Just Cordelia being Cordelia.
My neuralink hummed softly, logging the interaction, tagging her behavior pattern, filing it under non‑supernatural threat: social aggression. My cybernetic left arm tingled beneath my sleeve, the holy‑tempered alloy always on alert, always ready, even when the danger was nothing more than a mean girl with perfect hair.
I kept walking, letting the mask settle back into place.
Cordelia saw a girl in a Sears dress.
She had no idea what she was really looking at.
The sun was bright, and the fountain in the quad sparkled as I unpacked my lunch. I'd chosen a spot with good visibility, habit more than preference, and laid out the food my mom insisted on calling "a balanced meal." I took a moment to appreciate it anyway.
Footsteps approached. I glanced up to see the new girl — Buffy — heading toward me with a hesitant smile.
"Uh, hi. Willow, right?" she said, offering a hand.
I blinked, surprised she even knew my name. "Why? I mean—hi. Did you want me to move?"
She shook her head and sat beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Why don't we start with 'hi, I'm Buffy.' Then we segue directly into me asking you for a favor. It doesn't involve moving, but it does involve you hanging out with me for a while."
I stared at her, trying to reconcile this with the fact that she'd been orbiting Cordelia earlier. "But aren't you… hanging with Cordelia?"
Buffy shrugged. "I can't do both?"
A tiny smile tugged at my mouth. "Not legally."
She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Look, I really want to get by here. New school, new everything. Cordelia's been nice, but I also have this burning desire not to flunk all my classes. And I heard a rumor that you're the person to talk to if I want to get caught up."
That lit something warm in my chest. "Oh! I could totally help you. If you have sixth period free, we could meet in the library—"
Buffy cut in with a playful grimace. "Or somewhere quieter. Or louder. That place gives me the wiggins."
I laughed softly. "It does that to most kids. I love it, though. Great collection. And the new librarian's really cool."
As I spoke, my neuralink hummed faintly — a background process, cataloging Buffy's tone, posture, micro‑expressions. Not for threat assessment. Just… curiosity. She wasn't like the others. She wasn't pretending.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I had to pretend either.
Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "He's new?"
Buffy laughed at my rambling about Giles and his museum‑curator past, and for a moment I felt warm and seen instead of awkward. Then I caught myself babbling and blurted out the question that always haunted me: am I the dullest person alive? Buffy assured me I wasn't, and I believed her more than I expected to.
Before I could say anything else, Xander and Jesse appeared like a pair of chaotic satellites entering orbit. Xander announced their arrival with the confidence of someone who never asked permission to interrupt. Buffy greeted them politely, and I introduced everyone, watching Xander immediately launch into one of his dramatic monologues about how he and Buffy were practically lifelong friends. Jesse teased him for it, which only made Xander flail harder.
Buffy tried to keep up with their energy, but I could see the confusion in her eyes. Jesse, ever the flirt, tried to charm her, and Xander followed up with a barrage of questions about her hobbies, her type, her secrets — all delivered with the subtlety of a marching band.
Buffy looked overwhelmed, and I couldn't blame her.
Then Cordelia materialized behind Jesse like a judgmental shadow. She asked Buffy if we were bothering her, and I instinctively tried to smooth things over, telling Cordelia Buffy wasn't actually hanging out with us. Jesse greeted Cordelia with a hopeful smile, and she dismissed him with a flick of her hand.
She turned her attention to Buffy, dripping disdain, and announced that gym class had been canceled because someone had been found dead in a locker. The words hit me like a cold splash of water. Buffy's eyes widened; mine probably did too.
Cordelia reveled in the attention as she explained that the body had been stuffed into Aura's locker — "very dead," in her words. Xander added a sarcastic comment about degrees of deadness, which Cordelia ignored before shooing us away like we were clutter in her line of sight.
Jesse tried one last time to flirt, offering Cordelia a shoulder to cry on — or nibble on — which earned him nothing but disdain.
Buffy, clearly shaken, asked how the person had died. Cordelia shrugged, annoyed that Buffy was asking questions she hadn't bothered to get answers to. When Buffy pressed about marks, Cordelia accused her of being morbid.
Buffy excused herself quickly, saying she had to go. We all watched her leave, curiosity and worry mixing in the air.
Cordelia watched her too, but with none of the concern — only irritation. "What's her problem?" she muttered.
I didn't answer.
Because I already knew Buffy's "problem."
And it wasn't a problem at all.
It was a calling.
The Bronze was a wall of sound and motion, the bass from the thrash band vibrating through the floorboards. Bodies moved in waves, the coffee bar buzzed with noise, and the balcony above flickered with shadows and whispered conversations. I stood at the bar waiting for my soda, letting the music wash over me while my eyes drifted toward the stage.
Buffy appeared through the crowd, weaving between dancers with that mix of confidence and uncertainty she carried everywhere. When she spotted me, her face brightened, and I felt a little spark of warmth in my chest.
"Oh—hi!" I said, louder than I meant to, but the music swallowed the awkwardness.
She leaned close so I could hear her. "Are you here with someone?"
I shook my head. "No, just me. I thought Xander might show up, but… no sign yet."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh. Are you two dating?"
I laughed, though there was a tiny ache behind it. "No. We're just friends. We used to date, but that was ages ago."
She tilted her head. "What happened?"
"He stole my Barbie," I said, eyes drifting toward the stage. "We were five."
Buffy nodded like that made perfect sense. "Ah."
I sighed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "I don't really date much. Lately."
She asked gently, "Why not?"
I fidgeted with the condensation on my soda cup. "When I like someone, I can't talk. Not cool, not witty, not… anything. I make vowel sounds and then I run away."
Buffy laughed softly. "It's not that bad."
"It is," I insisted. "Boys like girls who can talk."
She gave me a look that said she understood more than she let on. "You really haven't been dating lately."
I studied her for a moment. "You don't seem shy."
She hesitated, then said, "I have a philosophy. Want to hear it?"
I nodded. "I do."
"Life is short," she said, eyes shining with something older than she looked.
I repeated it quietly. "Life is short."
"Not original," she added, "but true. Why waste time being shy? Why worry about someone laughing at you? Seize the moment. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed."
The words hit me like a soft shock. "Oh… that's… actually really nice."
Before I could say more, her attention snapped upward toward the balcony. Something moved in the shadows. Her posture shifted — alert, focused.
"I'll be right back," she said.
I tried to make it easy. "You don't have to come back."
She smiled. "I will."
And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
I watched her go, whispering her words under my breath. "Seize the moment…"
The crowd surged toward the backstage door, and I moved with them, clutching my books to my chest. To anyone watching, I looked exactly like I always did — nervous, overwhelmed, trying not to get stepped on.
Inside, my HUD had already tagged the boy approaching me.
THERMAL SCAN: 0.0C
CLASSIFICATION: VAMPIRE
RISK LEVEL: MODERATE
He smiled, trying for charming. I let my shoulders hunch, let my breath catch, let my fingers fidget with the strap of my bag. The shy‑girl act was second nature by now.
"Oh! Um—hi," I stammered, because that's what Willow Rosenberg did when boys talked to her.
Internally, I was already mapping exits, calculating his reach, estimating how long it would take Buffy to cut through the crowd. My nanobots cooled my blood, steady and precise.
He leaned closer. "Heading backstage?"
I squeaked on cue. "N-no! I mean—no thank you, I… have to go somewhere else. Very elsewhere."
My HUD pulsed.
PREDATORY INTENT: CONFIRMED
Externally, I looked like prey.
Internally, I was a machine of calm logic and holy alloy.
When he brushed my left arm, he hissed in pain, jerking back like he'd touched a hot stove. The blessed metal beneath my sleeve had done its job.
I widened my eyes in perfect confusion. "Oh! Static shock?"
He didn't know what hit him.
And I didn't feel fear at all.
Just the quiet satisfaction of a system working exactly as designed.
The night pressed in around us as we walked, the kind of dark that made normal people uneasy. I made sure to look uneasy too—arms wrapped tight around myself, shoulders hunched, eyes darting like a startled rabbit. It wasn't hard to fake. Everyone already expected Willow Rosenberg to be nervous in situations like this.
Inside, my HUD had been calmly flagging him for the last three minutes.
THERMAL SCAN: 0.0C
HEART RATE: NONE
CLASSIFICATION: VAMPIRE
RISK LEVEL: MANAGEABLE
"Sure is dark…" I said, letting my voice wobble just a little.
"It's night," he replied.
"Right! Yes. Night. Very… dark time. Traditionally." I added a nervous laugh for authenticity.
He didn't react. Predators rarely care about the noises prey makes.
We walked a few more steps. I kept my gaze low, pretending to study cracks in the sidewalk while my lenses mapped the treeline ahead, calculating angles, escape routes, and how long it would take Buffy to catch up.
"I still can't believe I've never seen you at school," I said brightly, because that's what a flustered girl would say. "Do you have Mr. Chomsky for History? He gives pop quizzes like he's trying to start a war."
He didn't answer. Just stopped walking.
My HUD pulsed.
BEHAVIORAL SHIFT: PREDATORY FOCUS
I stopped too, blinking up at him like I didn't notice the danger. "Um… the ice cream place is down this way. Past Hamilton Street. They have sprinkles. Lots of sprinkles."
He took my hand.
Externally, I gasped—small, startled, shy.
Internally, my nanobots adjusted muscle tension, readying my left arm beneath the NUskin.
"I know a shortcut," he said, tugging me toward the trees.
Of course he did.
Vampires always know the shortcuts.
I let him lead me into the dark, playing the part perfectly—small, nervous, oblivious.
But inside, I was already three steps ahead.
THREAT TRAJECTORY: PREDICTABLE
ALLY ETA: SHORT
OUTCOME: FAVORABLE
I wasn't scared.
I just made sure he thought I was.
The graveyard opened around us like a mouth, rows of headstones jutting up like broken teeth. I made sure to walk a half‑step behind him, arms wrapped tight around myself, eyes darting nervously. That was the Willow everyone expected — the girl who got spooked by her own shadow.
Inside, my HUD painted the world in quiet, clinical overlays.
THERMAL SCAN: SUBJECT 0.0C
UNDEAD CONFIRMED
ENVIRONMENT: HIGH RISK, LOW VISIBILITY
ALLY ETA: UNKNOWN
"Okay," I said, letting my voice wobble, "this is… nice and scary."
He didn't answer. He hadn't answered much since we left the street. My lenses tracked his gait, the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept glancing toward the mausoleum ahead.
"Are you sure this is faster?" I asked, injecting just the right amount of tremble.
Internally, I was already mapping the graveyard's layout, calculating how many seconds it would take to reach the nearest exit, how many steps until Buffy realized I'd been led off‑path.
He stopped at a small mausoleum, its entrance a rectangle of pure black. My HUD dimmed the contrast automatically, but I pretended to squint like a girl struggling to see.
"Hey," he said softly. "You ever been in one of these?"
"No thank you," I replied, shrinking back.
Externally: timid.
Internally: holy alloy warming beneath NUskin — vampire proximity confirmed.
He moved closer, too close, his hand sliding around my waist like we were on a date instead of a hunt. I let myself stiffen, let my breath hitch, let my eyes go wide.
"Come on," he murmured. "What are you afraid of?"
Not you, I thought.
But I widened my eyes anyway.
He shoved me into the darkness.
The air inside the mausoleum was cold and stale, thick with the smell of stone and old earth. I stumbled just enough to sell the fear, catching myself on the edge of the central tomb. My HUD adjusted instantly.
LIGHT LEVEL: CRITICAL LOW
STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS: STONE, 19TH CENTURY
EXIT POINTS: 2
HOSTILES: 1 (IMMEDIATE), 1 (APPROACHING)
I turned slowly. The vampire boy filled the doorway, his face swallowed by shadow.
"That wasn't funny," I said, voice small, breathy.
He didn't respond. He stepped forward.
I circled away, edging toward the exit, keeping my movements jittery and uneven — the perfect picture of a terrified girl.
"I think I'm gonna go," I whispered.
"Is that what you think?" he said, voice stripped of all pretense.
I took another step back, then another, then—
WHAM.
I collided with someone behind me.
A squeak escaped — half scream, half instinctive Willow noise — but inside, my nanobots were already spiking my adrenaline, cooling my blood, preparing my arm.
Darla smiled down at me like a cat finding a mouse.
"Is this the best you could do?" she asked the boy.
"She's fresh," he muttered.
"Hardly enough to share."
My HUD flashed a new alert.
SECOND HOSTILE: DARLA
THIRD HOSTILE: INCOMING
Footsteps. A familiar voice.
"Hey, wait up…"
"Jesse!" I gasped, rushing toward him — because that's what Willow would do.
Internally, my HUD was already flagging the blood on his neck.
He swayed, dazed. "I think she gave me a hickey…"
Darla smirked. "I got hungry on the way."
My stomach twisted — not with fear, but with calculation.
"Jesse, let's get out of here," I said, grabbing his arm.
"You're not going anywhere," Darla hissed.
I lifted my chin, trying to look braver than I felt — or rather, braver than I pretended to feel.
"Leave us alone," I said.
Darla leaned in, her face inches from mine, breath cold.
"You're not going anywhere," she whispered, "until we've fed."
Darla leaned in until her face filled my vision, all teeth and hunger and smug certainty. To her, I probably looked like the perfect snack—wide‑eyed, trembling, breath fluttering like a terrified little bird.
I let her think that.
It made everything easier.
Inside, my HUD was steady and bright.
HOSTILE: DARLA
DISTANCE: 0.1 METERS
HOLY ALLOY: FULL CHARGE
SPELL MATRIX: FULGOR — LOCKED
She hissed, "You're not going anywhere until we've fed."
Externally, I let my breath catch.
Internally, I was already lifting my right hand.
My palm pressed against her chest—right over the dead, silent heart. She smirked, mistaking the gesture for fear.
I whispered the word like a secret meant only for the metal under my skin.
"Fulgor."
The holy alloy flared, channeling the spell through my arm in a clean, perfect line. Light erupted beneath my palm—white, sharp, electric. Darla didn't even have time to scream.
She burst into dust.
One moment she was there, leaning over me with that awful smile.
The next, she was a collapsing cloud of ash drifting across the mausoleum floor.
My HUD blinked.
HOSTILE: DARLA — STATUS: TERMINATED
I lowered my hand, still shaking on the outside, still perfectly calm inside.
And that's when Buffy stepped into the doorway.
"Well," she said, taking in the settling dust, "this is new."
The last of Darla drifted to the stone floor, a soft gray snowfall settling around my shoes. My right hand still tingled from the spell, faint sparks dancing across my palm before fading. I didn't bother pretending to be scared anymore. There was no point. They'd all seen it.
Buffy stepped into the mausoleum with Xander close behind her. Both of them froze when they saw the dust, then me, then the faint scorch mark on the wall where Darla had been.
Xander's mouth opened first. "Willow… what—"
Buffy cut him off with a raised hand, eyes locked on me. Not hostile. Not afraid. Just… recalibrating.
The remaining vampire — Vincent — stared at the empty space where Darla had been, then at me, disbelief twisting his face. "What did you do?"
I didn't shrink back this time. Didn't hunch my shoulders or hide behind my hair. My HUD was still active, quietly mapping the room, but I didn't need it to know I had the advantage now.
"I defended myself," I said simply.
My voice didn't shake.
Buffy's eyebrows lifted. "That's one way to put it."
Vincent snarled, stepping forward. "You little—"
Buffy moved between us in a blur, her posture shifting into something sharp and ready. "Uh‑uh. You had your turn."
Xander hovered near Jesse, still staring at me like he was trying to reconcile the Willow he knew with the one who had just vaporized a vampire with her bare hand.
Buffy glanced back at me, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "So… lightning. That's new."
I shrugged. "It's complicated."
"Most things in this town are," she said, turning back to Vincent. "But this part? This part is simple."
Vincent lunged.
Buffy didn't even bother turning around. She pulled a stake from her jacket and drove it backward in one smooth, perfect motion. Vincent impaled himself on it, eyes going wide.
He hit the ground and dissolved into dust.
My HUD blinked.
HOSTILE: VINCENT — TERMINATED
Buffy shook the dust off her hand and finally faced me fully.
"Okay," she said, "we're going to talk about that."
I didn't flinch.
Didn't hide.
Didn't pretend.
"Yeah," I said. "We are."
Jesse was still swaying, one hand pressed to his neck, eyes unfocused. The smell of blood hit my sensors before it hit my nose — copper, sharp, too much of it.
My HUD pulsed.
ALLY: JESSE
STATUS: BLOOD LOSS — MODERATE
TREATMENT: AVAILABLE
I stepped toward him, no longer bothering to hide the steadiness in my movements. The shy‑girl act had already shattered the moment Darla turned to dust. There was no point pretending now.
"Hold still," I murmured.
He blinked at me, confused. "Willow… what's—"
I lifted my right hand — the same one that had just ended Darla — and pressed two fingers gently to the torn skin at his neck. Holy alloy hummed beneath my skin, nanobots aligning the spell matrix with practiced precision.
"Sana vulnus," I whispered.
Warm light spread under my fingertips, soft and gold instead of the sharp white of fulgor. Jesse inhaled sharply as the wound knit itself closed, the blood drying, the skin smoothing over like it had never been touched.
My HUD blinked green.
HEALING COMPLETE
Jesse stared at me, wide‑eyed. Xander stared too. Buffy didn't stare — she assessed, recalculated, and filed the information away like a Slayer does.
I stepped back, wiping my fingers on my jeans out of habit more than necessity.
"Xander," I said, meeting his eyes without flinching, "you should get Jesse to the hospital. He lost a lot of blood."
Xander opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Willow… you just… you—"
"Later," I said. Not harsh, just firm. "Buffy and I have to talk."
Buffy nodded once, slow and deliberate. "Yeah. We really do."
Jesse leaned on Xander, still dazed. "Will… since when can you do magic?"
I didn't answer.
Not yet.
Xander guided him toward the door, still glancing back at me like he wasn't sure whether to be impressed or terrified.
When they were gone, the mausoleum felt quieter.
Heavier.
Honest.
Buffy folded her arms, studying me with new eyes.
And for the first time tonight, I didn't pretend to be small
Jesse swayed on his feet, still pale, still dazed. Before Xander could drag him out, I stepped forward and pressed two fingers gently to the torn skin at his neck.
"Sana vulnus," I whispered.
Warm gold light spread beneath my touch, soft and clean. Jesse inhaled sharply as the wound sealed, the blood dried, and the pain faded. My HUD blinked green.
HEALING COMPLETE
"Xander," I said, meeting his eyes without flinching, "get him to the hospital. He lost a lot of blood."
Xander didn't argue. He just nodded, wide‑eyed, and guided Jesse out into the night. Their footsteps faded down the stone steps, leaving the mausoleum suddenly quiet.
Buffy and I were alone.
She didn't speak at first. She just watched me — not scared, not angry, just… recalibrating. Trying to fit the Willow she knew with the one who had just turned a vampire to dust with lightning and healed a neck wound with a whisper.
I exhaled slowly. No more pretending.
"I know you have questions," I said.
Buffy crossed her arms. "I think that's fair."
The air felt heavy, but not hostile. Just honest.
"I couldn't stay ignorant," I said. "Not in this town. Not with everything that happens here."
Buffy's expression softened a fraction. "Most people manage."
"Most people don't notice things," I replied. "They explain away the impossible because it's easier than admitting the world is dangerous."
I met her eyes, steady.
"But I've never been good at pretending I don't see patterns."
Buffy didn't interrupt. She just listened — really listened.
"When I was five," I said, "I realized things didn't add up. Stuff I saw happen… other people remembered differently. Or didn't remember at all. It was like the whole town was under some kind of denial fog."
I tapped my temple lightly.
"So I used the only resource I had. My mind."
I could still remember the feel of those first books — cheap paperbacks with dramatic covers, the kind adults assumed were fantasy. Magicae Malitiae. Artes Obscurae. Titles meant to scare kids away.
I bought them with my allowance.
"I started learning Latin at five," I said. "Not school Latin. Real Latin. Ritual Latin. The kind that actually does things."
Buffy's eyebrows lifted. "And you just… taught yourself magic?"
"I followed the logic," I said simply. "Magic is just another system. Another language. And the more I learned, the more the world made sense."
I shrugged, small but unapologetic.
"That's how I became a Maga. Not because someone chose me. Not because I was destined. Because I refused to stay blind in a town that eats blind people alive."
Buffy let out a slow breath. "That's… a lot."
"Yeah," I said. "And that's not even the whole story."
She stepped closer, her expression shifting — not fear, not suspicion, but something like respect.
"Okay," she said. "Then let's talk."
And for the first time tonight, I felt like we actually could
The library felt too bright for what we'd lived through. Sunlight spilled across the table where Buffy and I sat, both of us looking like we'd been awake for days. Giles paced the upper level with a stack of ancient books, his expression grave.
"This world is far older than most realize," he said, voice echoing slightly in the quiet room. "Demons once walked the earth freely, shaping it into their own hell."
Buffy leaned against the railing, arms folded. "And vampires are what's left."
Giles nodded. "A human body, a demon soul. A corruption passed from one to another."
I tried — for about three seconds — to slip back into the Willow everyone knew. The nervous one. The overwhelmed one. The one who fainted at the sight of danger.
"Um… wow," I said weakly. "That's… a lot. I think I need to sit down."
Buffy didn't even blink. "You're already sitting."
"Oh. Right. Good for me."
It was a good performance.
But Buffy wasn't buying it.
She came down the stairs slowly, eyes locked on me with that Slayer intensity that saw through everything.
"Willow," she said, "don't do that."
I swallowed. "Do what?"
"That." She gestured at me. "The shrinking. The pretending. You lightning‑bolted a vampire into dust last night. You healed Jesse with a whisper. You don't get to pretend you're the girl who panics over homework anymore."
Giles froze mid‑page‑turn. "Lightning‑bolted?"
Buffy didn't look away from me. "Yes. Lightning. From her hand. And then she patched Jesse up like she was doing first aid with Latin."
Giles blinked. "Latin?"
I sighed. The mask slipped completely this time — not shattered, just… set aside. My shoulders straightened. My voice steadied.
"I couldn't stay ignorant," I said quietly. "Not here. Not in Sunnydale."
Giles descended the stairs, curiosity overtaking shock. "Explain."
"When I was little," I said, "things didn't add up. I'd see something happen — something impossible — and everyone else would remember it differently. Or not at all. It was like the whole town was wrapped in a blanket of denial."
Buffy nodded slowly. "Yeah. That tracks."
"So I used the only thing I had." I tapped my temple. "My mind."
Giles frowned. "Your mind?"
"When I was five," I said, "I started learning Latin. Real Latin. Classical. Ritual. The kind that isn't taught anymore because it actually does things."
Giles inhaled sharply. "You learned artes Romanae on your own?"
"I followed the logic," I said simply. "It's a system. A language. A structure. And once I understood the structure… everything else followed."
Buffy's expression softened into something like respect. "So you're a… what? A Roman‑style witch?"
"A Maga," I corrected. "Not new‑age. Not crystals. Not 'magick' with a k. Just… the old artes. The real ones."
Giles stared at me like he was seeing a rare artifact come to life.
Buffy stepped closer. "Okay. Then we're doing this together."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
"Yeah," I said. "We are."
The computer lab was a graveyard of beige Apple IIs, their fans whining like they were begging for retirement. The machine in front of me took a full five seconds just to register a keystroke. Five. Seconds.
Externally, I kept my shoulders rounded, my expression mild, the picture of patient, harmless Willow Rosenberg.
Internally, I was screaming.
PROCESSOR SPEED: ANCIENT
MEMORY: LAUGHABLE
RESPONSE TIME: UNACCEPTABLE
COMPARISON: MY ARM COULD RUN THIS ENTIRE SCHOOL
Literally true.
The micro‑rig in my left arm — the one I built myself, the one the size of a deck of cards — could run simulations that would make any modern lab jealous. I could pull it out, slot it into its port, upgrade it, rewrite it, rebuild it. It was elegant, efficient, and mine.
This Apple II was… not.
The screen flickered as it tried to load the assignment window. The drive made a noise like a dying grasshopper.
I sighed softly, pushing my glasses up my nose in the most Willow‑ish way possible.
Cordelia groaned two seats over. "Why do we even have to write these programs? Isn't that what the nerds are for?"
Harmony poked at her keyboard like she expected it to explode. "I think we broke something."
Cordelia leaned sideways, trying to peek at my monitor. "What is she doing?"
I clicked back to the assignment — the simple syntax‑matching program I'd finished in under a minute — and gave them a small, nervous smile.
"Just… working on the project," I said, voice tiny and harmless.
It worked.
It always worked.
Harmony whispered, "She's doing something else."
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Whatever. She lives for this stuff."
I ducked my head again, letting my hair fall forward, hiding the flicker of irritation in my eyes.
Externally: Willow Rosenberg, quiet computer girl.
Internally: a Maga with a micro‑supercomputer in her arm, forced to use a machine that belonged in a museum.
The cursor froze again.
I exhaled through my nose.
If I could vaporize a vampire with a spell, I could survive this.
Probably.
The computer lab buzzed with the familiar chorus of ancient Apple IIs wheezing through their startup cycles. The machine in front of me took so long to load a simple directory that I could have translated a paragraph of Cicero in the meantime. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, patient on the outside, quietly dying on the inside.
SYSTEM RESPONSE: GLACIAL
EFFICIENCY: 3%
PERSONAL MICRO‑RIG: IDLING IN ARM PORT, WAITING PATIENTLY
I kept the mask on — shoulders rounded, hair falling forward, posture small. Just Willow. Just the quiet girl who liked computers and never caused trouble.
Next to me, Cordelia and Harmony were locked in mortal combat with their assignment. Cordelia typed with the confidence of someone who assumed the universe bent to her will. Harmony typed like she was afraid the keyboard might explode.
They were talking loudly, as usual — gossip, drama, the new girl, the bathroom incident. Their voices drifted over me like static.
I kept my eyes on the screen, pretending to focus on the assignment. In reality, I had a minimized window running a cross‑reference of Latin fragments I'd flagged before class. The school computer struggled to keep up, but my micro‑rig quietly handled the heavy lifting in the background, feeding the results through the slow machine without drawing attention.
Cordelia's voice cut through the room. "She's totally unhinged."
Harmony nodded eagerly. "Did you hear she got kicked out of her old school?"
A guy leaned in. "Why?"
Cordelia didn't hesitate. "Because she's a psycho."
The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because I'd seen Buffy last night — not unhinged, not dangerous, just… real. Honest. Trying.
Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.
"No, she's not."
Silence fell like a dropped book.
Cordelia turned slowly, eyes narrowing as if she were trying to identify a strange noise. "What did you just say?"
My heart thudded once — not from fear, but from the shock of hearing my own voice contradict her. That wasn't something Willow Rosenberg did. Not in public. Not to Cordelia Chase.
I swallowed. "She's not… what you said. You don't even know her."
Cordelia stared at me like I'd malfunctioned. "Who told you you're allowed to talk during my conversations?"
Harmony snickered. The guy smirked. The familiar sting hit my chest — the one I'd learned to hide years ago.
I looked down, letting my hair fall forward again. Mask back on. Shoulders small. Voice quiet.
The printer beside me whirred, spitting out the pages I'd queued earlier. I stood, gathered them, and headed for the door.
As I passed Cordelia's desk, she muttered, "Finally, the nightmare ends. Now how do we save this stupid thing?"
I paused just long enough to say, softly, "Use the deliver key."
Cordelia blinked at the keyboard. "Deliver? Where—oh."
She pressed the key labeled DEL.
A long pause followed.
Then the sound of a program vanishing into the digital void.
I didn't turn around.
I didn't smile.
I just kept walking.
Externally: Willow Rosenberg, quiet, harmless, forgettable.
Internally: a Maga with a supercomputer in her arm and a mind that refused to stay small.
The library doors swung open and Buffy and Xander stepped inside, both looking like they'd been dragged through a nightmare and back. Their clothes were rumpled, their faces pale, and there was a heaviness in the air that made my stomach twist.
I stood from the table, heart thudding. "Did you find anything?"
Xander nodded, but it wasn't a good nod. "Yeah."
Buffy sank into a chair, shoulders slumping. "We were too late. They were waiting for us."
A cold ache settled in my chest. "I'm just glad you're both okay."
Xander kicked a trash bin hard enough to send it skittering. "I'm done pretending vampires are just spooky stories. They're monsters. Real ones."
Buffy didn't argue. She just looked tired.
Giles closed the book he'd been reading and stepped forward, expression grim. "I'm afraid the situation is worse than we thought."
Buffy gave him a look that said she already expected bad news. "How much worse?"
Giles took a breath. "There's an old vampire — ancient, powerful — trapped beneath this town. He came here decades ago, not to feed, but to open something."
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "A portal."
"Exactly," Giles said. "This town sits on a weak point between realities. The early settlers called it a mouth to the underworld. He tried to open it once before, but an earthquake swallowed half the town and trapped him."
Xander rubbed his face. "So he's stuck down there?"
"For now," Giles said. "But tonight is a ritual night — a rare one. If one of his followers feeds under his influence, he can draw power from them. Enough to break free."
I felt a chill crawl up my spine. "And if he gets out…"
"The world ends," Giles finished simply.
Buffy straightened, resolve settling over her like armor. "So we stop the one he's using."
Giles nodded. "The chosen vampire will bear a mark — a three‑pointed symbol. Destroy that one, and the ritual fails."
Buffy pushed to her feet. "Then that's the plan."
Xander frowned. "Where would they even do something like this?"
Giles began listing possibilities, but Xander cut him off. "They'll go where the most people are. Somewhere crowded. Somewhere dark."
I swallowed. "The Bronze."
Buffy nodded. "Makes sense."
Giles glanced toward the windows. "We need to move quickly. Sunset is close."
Buffy headed for the door, determination in every step. "I need to grab a few things first."
Giles blinked. "What sort of things?"
Buffy didn't slow. "Supplies."
And then she was gone, Xander right behind her.
I stood there for a moment, the quiet settling around me like dust. The mask stayed on — the small, nervous Willow everyone expected — but underneath, my mind was already running calculations, spell matrices, and threat models.
The world was shifting.
And I wasn't going to stay small for it.
The Bronze sat ahead of us, pulsing with music and oblivious teenagers. The front door didn't budge when Buffy yanked on it — the lock clanked with a finality that made my stomach tighten.
"Locked," she said, frustration simmering under the word.
Giles caught up, breath uneven. "That means the ritual has already begun."
Buffy shot him a look. "Grounding wasn't on my schedule tonight."
Xander eyed the door like he wanted to punch it. "Can you break it?"
Buffy shook her head. "Not this one. Reinforced. You two take the back. I'll find another way in."
Giles nodded. "Come along, both of you."
We started to move, but Buffy called out, "Wait."
We stopped.
She held out her bag — stakes, holy water, the whole Slayer starter kit. But her eyes flicked to me, not Xander, and there was no mistaking the meaning.
She trusted me to handle this.
Not the mask.
Not the persona.
Me.
I took the bag without hesitation. "We'll cover the back."
Xander blinked at me — still adjusting to the new version of Willow who didn't shrink or stammer or hide behind her hair. But he didn't question it.
Buffy nodded once, sharp and sure. "Good."
Then she turned and sprinted toward the side of the building, already searching for her own way in.
Giles gestured for us to move. "Quickly. Sunset is nearly complete."
I tightened my grip on the bag, my mind already running through spell matrices, structural layouts, and the likely energy signature of a ritual in progress.
No mask.
No pretending.
Not with them.
We headed for the back entrance at a run.
The backstage hallway was chaos — terrified teens flooding past us, tripping over cables and each other. Giles and I pushed them toward the exit, shouting for them to keep moving. The air vibrated with fear and the low, hungry growls of vampires somewhere in the dark.
My pulse was steady.
My mind was clear.
The mask was gone.
A scream cut through the noise.
I spun toward the main floor just in time to see Buffy slam her boot into Luke's chest. The impact sent him crashing backward into a stack of speakers. He hit hard, but he was already pushing himself up, fury twisting his face.
Buffy lunged to finish him—
—but her eyes flicked sideways.
A vampire was closing in on Xander, who was too busy shoving panicked kids toward the exit to notice the claws reaching for his throat.
Buffy pivoted, grabbed a cymbal from the drum kit, and hurled it like a discus. It sliced clean through the vampire's neck. The head hit the floor with a dull thud.
Xander stared, stunned. "Uh… wow."
But Luke was already rising.
And Buffy was out of position.
I stepped forward, heart hammering but hands steady. The spell matrix formed in my mind instantly — old, familiar, precise. A binding charm, sticky and heavy, meant to hold an enemy fast.
I raised my right hand, palm outward.
"Tene inimicum meum quasi in pice."
The words left my mouth like a command, not a plea.
A thick, invisible force snapped into place around Luke's legs and torso. He froze mid‑lunge, eyes widening as if he'd suddenly been submerged in tar. His muscles strained, but the spell held, anchoring him to the floor.
Buffy didn't waste the opening.
She launched herself at him, stake raised high.
Luke roared, trying to break free, but the binding clung to him like molten pitch. His arms jerked uselessly, his feet glued to the ground.
Buffy drove the stake home.
Luke exploded into dust.
The spell released with a soft snap, the air clearing as the last of the ash drifted away.
Buffy turned to me, breathing hard, eyes bright with adrenaline and something like awe.
"Nice timing," she said.
I lowered my hand, the last traces of the spell fading from my skin. "I figured you could use a second."
Xander stared between us, still processing. "Okay. So. Willow can freeze vampires now. That's… that's a thing."
Giles adjusted his glasses, voice trembling with equal parts fear and academic fascination. "That was… Roman. Very old. Very potent."
I nodded once. "I know."
Buffy grinned. "Good. Because we're not done yet."
And for the first time, I felt like I wasn't just helping.
I was part of the fight.
Sunnydale High looked exactly the same as it always did — bright sun, loud chatter, students drifting between classes like nothing in the world had ever gone wrong. The denial field was practically humming. I could feel it brushing against my mind like static, trying to smooth over the edges of last night.
It didn't work on me.
Cordelia swept past with her entourage, animatedly recounting a version of events that had only the faintest resemblance to reality. Something about rival gangs. Something about Buffy knowing them. Something about a "freak show" she couldn't quite remember.
Her friends gasped and giggled in all the right places.
I let them pass without a word.
Buffy, Xander, and I crossed the quad in the opposite direction. Xander still looked like he was waiting for the world to acknowledge what had happened.
“I mean,” he said, throwing his hands up, “the dead rose. That feels like assembly‑worthy material.”
Buffy shrugged. “Sunnydale doesn’t do assemblies for the undead.”
Giles adjusted his glasses, falling into step beside us. “People tend to rationalize what they can and forget what they can’t. It’s a survival mechanism.”
Buffy nodded. “I’ve seen it happen.”
I shook my head. “I have too. When I was three, I had a friend named Beth. One day she was just… gone. And even her family doesn’t remember her. Isn’t that right, Xander?”
Xander blinked, startled by the sudden shift. “Oh. Uh—yeah. I mean, I thought she was my imaginary friend for years. Like, capital‑I Imaginary. Turns out she was real. Willow remembers everything. I don’t remember anything.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable but honest. “It’s weird. I know she existed because Willow says she did, and Willow doesn’t make stuff up. But my brain just… doesn’t have her in the files.”
Buffy frowned slightly, not pitying, just listening. “That’s… unsettling.”
I shrugged. “Sunnydale does that. People forget things they shouldn’t.”
Giles gave me a small, approving look. “Good. Being prepared is half the battle.”
Xander groaned. “Half the battle? There’s a next time?”
I answered before Giles could. “Of course there is. The Master’s still down there. He’s not done.”
Giles cleared his throat. “Quite right. We prevented him from escaping, but he will undoubtedly try again. And not every threat will be a vampire.”
Buffy rolled her eyes skyward. “Great. Variety.”
Giles continued, “This town sits on a convergence point. We may very well be the only line between the world and total catastrophe.”
Xander looked at Buffy, horrified. “This is… not encouraging.”
Buffy smirked. “I’m trying to stay positive. Maybe I can still get kicked out of school.”
Xander brightened. “That’s a plan. Lots of schools aren’t built on top of hell portals.”
I added, “You could blow something up. Schools are very strict about explosions.”
Buffy grinned. “I was thinking something more subtle. Like aggressively not doing homework.”
We kept walking, the three of us falling into an easy rhythm — the kind that felt like the beginning of something real. Something solid.
Behind us, Giles watched with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“The world is in trouble,” he murmured.
But for the first time, I felt ready.