Along Came a Spider
by Kirayoshi
Walk Into My Parlour
[reviews]
Chapter 2;
Walk Into My Parlour
"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show when you are there."
"Oh, no, no," said the little Fly; "to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."
--Mary Howitt
"The Spider and the Fly"
UC Berkeley
As the weekly wiccan group dispersed and its members returned to their homes and dorms for the night, Tara stayed behind to speak with the group's leader. "Miss Lafayette," Tara handed her new mentor a paperback copy of Marian Zimmer Bradley's "The Mists of Avalon". "Thanks for letting me borrow your book."
"My pleasure, little one," the tall brunette smiled warmly. "How did you enjoy it?"
"I loved it, ma'am," she answered. "I never looked at the Arthurian myths that way before."
"Thank you," she answered. "But that's not a surprise; most variations of the legend of Arthur were told through a male, Christian perspective."
"Yeah, I guess," Tara demurred. "But the thing that surprised me was that Morgan wasn't treated like the villain in this version."
"Of course not," Lafayette nodded. "After all, it was her story more than Arthur's. By her lights, she was doing what she felt was necessary for survival of her people and her faith." She glanced at her watch, adding, "But perhaps we should table this discussion until the next time. I look forward to seeing you here next week, child."
"I'd like that," Tara beamed at Miss Lafayette's warmth and open friendliness. "I'll see you then." She waved goodbye, and headed out to the Student Union Building, hoping that the latte stand was still open.
She almost didn't see the tall man trying to cross the plaza in front of her until it was nearly too late. She had to stop suddenly to avoid a collision, and would have lost her balance if the tall man hadn't reached out suddenly to take her hand. "Easy, girl," he spoke softly. "We almost had a little spill, didn't we?"
"Whoa," she breathed. "Sorry 'bout that, sir. Thanks for the save though."
"Think nothing of it," he answered. Extending a bony and immaculately manicured hand, he said, "My name is Webb. Aaron Webb."
"Tara McClay," the blond answered as she accepted his strangely cold handshake. Almost instinctively, she looked at him through her own senses; as she did with most strangers, she tried to view his aura. She felt the darkness to him, but no more than she saw in Spike, or Giles when he let his guard down. She regarded him with caution.
"So, you were exiting the meeting hall. Were you attending Miss Lafayette's Wicca group?"
"Uh, yes," Tara answered, not volunteering any more information. She noticed that his voice was strangely silky, smooth, nearly musical. He spoke in a strangely cadenced tone, a subconscious rhythm. A rhythm that Tara found so easy to listen to. Like African tribal drums, so basic, so simple, so hypnotic...
"Ah, yes," Webb commented, "I know that charlatan very well. Poor thing, she actually believes that pabulum about nature and harmony and love and the Goddess."
It occurred to Tara that she shouldn't listen to this man, especially as he berated the first real friend she had made since transferring to UC Berkeley. But all she could do was nod and listen. Listen to the voice. Listen to the drums.
Listen as her heartbeat slowed to match the tempo of the drums.
"Why do you continue to attend her meetings, Tara?" Webb asked.
Tara answered quietly, almost unaware that she was speaking; "Because I want to learn from her."
"What do you want to learn?"
"To be more powerful," she answered. "To be a stronger witch, more capable. Like Willow." A faint voice in the back of her head warned her not to tell him about Willow, but she ignored it. "She's really powerful. Like a super-witch."
"Power, is it?" Webb chuckled, and even his laugh seemed to match the drums. "Tara, what if I told you that I can give you the power you desire?" Tara raised her head, hope and terror mingling in her eyes. "You have known fear, haven't you, Tara? I can take that fear from you, child, and replace it with strength. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Y-yes," Tara sighed.
"And all you would have to do is trust me," Webb continued, droning on slowly, in a measured monotone, matching the drums that Tara now felt more than heard. "You can trust me, can't you."
"Uh...yess..." A sudden sound of a car alarm in the background shook her out of the trance-like state she had drifted into. "Uh, sorry. Look, I have to get back to the Student Union Building, I promised to meet some friends." She started to turn away, but a gentle yet firm hand stopped her.
"Please," Webb pursued the matter further. He fished a card out of his jacket. "Here's my home number. If you wish to discuss my offer further, please call me at anytime." He handed the card to Tara with a ceremonial flourish. Tara hesitated at first, but ultimately accepted the card, slipping it in her pocket.
She left silently, intending to forget the card, and the strange man who gave it to her. Behind her, Aaron Webb regarded her with a strange smile. The spell was cast. The fly was snared. Soon, the spider would feast.
She grabbed a chicken sandwich at the local café, but her meal was accompanied by the steady cadence of African drums. She made it back to her dorm and stripped out of her street clothes, preparing for bed, only to hear those drums. She tried to shut them out, but they continued their unceasing tempo in her mind. The beating, the constant beating, slowly insinuating itself into her mind, her soul, her psyche. The drums invaded her dreams, the sonorous voice of Mr. Webb chanting, entreating and seducing her to follow him.
She awoke with a jump, awash in sweat, her heart hammering in her chest. Hammering like a drum. There was only one way to silence the drum. She got out of her bed, located her jacket and retrieved the business card from her pocket. She slowly dialed the number on the card.
"Hello, Tara," he greeted her without even waiting for her to speak.
"What do you want me to do, Mr. Webb?"
Webb smiled hugely; the prey was snared. "This Willow you mentioned. She is powerful, is she?"
"Very," she answered. His voice compelled, and she followed without hesitation.
"I want to meet her," Webb told her. "You will meet me at the Plaza in the morning, and we will make the arrangements."
"Yes..." she whispered, allowing the last of her free will to desert her, "Master."
========
Three days later;
Sunnydale Community Center
"So," she asked as the lady across the desk looked at her resume. "What do you think?" Buffy sat on her hands as her potential employer read the papers in front of her. Miss Mitchell peered over her glasses at the applicant, who fought the urge to squirm in front of her. Her brown hair, tied in a bun at the back of her head, her conservative fashion sense, her unsmiling and angular face, all spoke of a businesslike manner. But she didn't regard Buffy as severely as some of her former teachers did. At least she wasn't dealing with a clone of Mr. Snyder.
"I'd be a little more comfortable if you had a teaching certificate," Miss Mitchell stated, "but your credentials look sound. And anyway, we've had a difficult time filling this position; most of our previous instructors tended to disappear quickly." Buffy winced at that statement; she had an idea why they disappeared before, with the local demon and vampire population. Fortunately, she knew how to handle that sort of complication. "But I'd like to see you in action first. Do you have time from a demonstration?"
"Sure," Buffy answered. "What did you have in mind?"
"Follow me," Miss Mitchell rose from her desk, and led Buffy to a nearby gymnasium. The center of the gym floor featured a number of weightlifting benches. Buffy gawked slightly at the sight of a muscle-bound fellow on the bench, lifting a huge barbell over his head.
"Hey, Jerry!" The boxer placed the barbell on the rack behind him, sat up and greeted the two women. "I'd like you to meet someone." She gestured toward the young blonde. "Buffy Summers, this is Jerry Morales, our resident boxing coach. Jerry, Miss Summers is applying for the position of self-defense and martial arts instructor." Jerry gave Buffy a firm handshake, which Buffy tried to emulate without making it a competition. She appraised his figure through his white t-shirt and blue shorts; muscular, without being overly muscle-bound, lean and firm. Short black curly hair framed a chiseled face, and blue eyes sparkled with intelligence. For someone who wasn't a demon or hellgod, he looked formidable.
"Is that so?" Jerry regarded the slight-looking young slip of a girl in front of him. "You think she can handle the job?"
"That's why we're here, Jerr," Miss Mitchell answered. "We need you to play mugger for a demo."
"Ah, sure, the old stereotype," he mock-grumbled. "Get the big guy to play the heavy." He got up from the bench, and ambled over to the mat. "What did you have in mind, Miss Summers?"
"Uh," Buffy joined Jerry on the mat. "Okay, how about I turn around first, and you try to take me from behind. And try and be quiet about it, 'kay?"
"Sure," Jerry stood briefly, while Buffy turned her back to him. Jerry slowly stalked behind the young woman, closing in slowly. Buffy stood there nonchalantly, examining her left forefinger for a hangnail. He started to maneuver his arms around Buffy, intending to overpower her with his sheer size.
Before he could get a good grip on her, Buffy moved her arms over her chest. She then thrust her arms apart, knocking Jerry's arms back. Not giving Jerry the chance to react, she spun around suddenly and stuck her leg between Jerry's. She hooked his left leg with her own, and yanked on it quickly, causing her assailant to fall gracelessly to the floor. Jerry staggered to his feet, glaring at the young pixie-like girl who was now walking away from him. "You wanna try that again, sister?" growled Jerry.
"Bring it on," she said quietly. Jerry roared softly and charged at the girl. Buffy stood calmly, waiting for her opportunity. As he charged her, she ducked under him, moving forward. His momentum carried him into the mat behind her in a hard thud. Jerry rolled and stood up again, preparing for another charge. He plowed forward, intent on avenging his wounded pride.
This time, when Buffy ducked under him, she lifted from her crouched position at the proper moment, connecting hard with his solar plexus, and throwing him several feet to the left, where he landed firmly on his back. She stood up and walked over to where Jerry lay sprawled. "Hey, you need a hand up?"
Jerry now regarded the slight young girl with a new respect. As he took her hand and allowed her to help lift him to a standing position, he turned his head toward Miss Mitchell and said, "Hire this gal."
Miss Mitchell smiled. "I just did. Miss Summers, if you'll join me, I have some employment forms for you to fill out."
Ten minutes later, Buffy handed in the forms and set up a class schedule. They agreed to two hour long classes a day to start, at twenty-five dollars a class. Buffy smiled inwardly; the first chance she had, she had to thank Tara for giving her this idea in the first place. "Oh, one more thing," Buffy asked before leaving Miss Mitchell's office. "You think I can use Jerry for demos in my classes?" Miss Mitchell just smirked at the suggestion, and said they would work something out. Jerry put his hand on his forehead, feigning a headache at the prospect.
As Buffy left the office, she nearly collided with someone passing from the left, and knocked a sheath of papers out of his hand. "Oh, sorry," she fumbled an apology as she steadied herself, and offered to help pick up the gentleman's papers.
The gentleman stopped her with a curt movement of his hand, collecting the papers himself. "I had my lesson plans prepared in a specific order," he announced in a thin, reedy voice laced with contempt. He finished picking up his papers and righted himself. He stood at least two heads higher than Buffy, his impossibly slim body dressed in a black silk suit. Dark eyes regarded her disdainfully from behind a long thin face, his cheekbones and nose sharp enough to cut paper. He muttered something to the effect of "Foolish child," and strode away in a measured methodical gait.
Buffy kept her eyes on him until he turned down the hall and disappeared. "Sociopathic much?" she asked herself. Miss Mitchell emerged from her office, a sardonic expression on his face. "So," Buffy asked, "Who was the party animal?"
"His name is Aaron Webb," Miss Mitchell answered, spitting out the name like it was a poison on her tongue. "He recently started a series of lectures here, sort of an alternate faith seminar." Buffy noted the way she said the words, measuring the discomfort in her voice.
"I don't have any problem with alternate faiths," Buffy commented. "My best friend's a full-fledged pagan."
Mrs. Mitchell snorted; "The only thing he worships is the almighty dollar. He's a charlatan, Buffy, a snake-oil salesman. Unfortunately, he signed an iron-clad contract with the community center, and paid us for use of the auditorium for the rest of the month, so we're stuck with him."
Buffy regarded Mrs. Mitchell's words, and her first impression of Mr. Webb, with a deep concern. She didn't tell Mrs. Mitchell anything, but as she watched Mr. Webb depart, she sensed something about him. Her 'spider-sense', as she referred to her slayer's intuition, could feel the darkness surrounding him, the genuine power that he possessed. This man was more than a con-artist, that much Buffy could sense easily.
She was doubly glad that she had taken the job at the community center. She would have to keep an eye out for Aaron Webb.
=========
"So," Willow asked Xander as he held the door of the Magic Box open for her, "what's this about you working for David Xanatos?"
"You heard of him, Wills?" Xander raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Only the same way you've heard of Bill Gates," Willow answered. "Six years or so ago, he set himself up as the new wunderkind on the block. Electronics, software, biotechnology...odds are that half the circuits in my computer carry his copyright. He's been on the top half of the Fortune 500 for the last four years."
"I heard about this fellow," Giles commented. "Supposedly a self-made multimillionaire by age thirty. Diverse corporate holdings, some rumors of clandestine activities. I suppose all rich people have those rumors dogging them." He continued pricing incense burners while Anya was polishing the display counter.
"Hey," Anya smiled, "if he's too rich, maybe he wouldn't mind giving Xander some of that money." The others looked at her oddly, causing Anya to smile a little too broadly. "She joked." She had learned from Xander to add that sentence whenever the others started to glare at her when she said something awkward.
"Actually," Xander smiled as he leaned toward his fiancée, "considering the money he's putting into the construction of his new West coast HQ, you'd think that's just what he's doing. This job's gonna pay for our wedding." He pulled Anya into a slow and enjoyable kiss.
"Tonight, on a very special 'Who's Line Is It Anyway?'" Buffy's voice called out cheerfully, as the Slayer entered the shop. Willow chuckled as Xander and Anya reluctantly broke off their kiss. Giles gave Buffy a warm smile, as the Slayer joined Willow at the table.
"So, Buffy," Willow asked her. "How'd it go at the community center?"
"I got the job," Buffy answered happily. These words caught the attention of the others, who suddenly gathered around the Slayer in surprise. "What job is this, Buffy?" Xander asked.
The cat, it seemed, was out of the bag. Buffy grinned hugely as she made her announcement; "You're looking at the new Self Defense and Martial Arts instructor at the Sunnydale Community Center. Two classes a day, five days a week, twenty-five dollars a class to start." This news met with cheers from the others.
"Wow, this is huge!" Willow smiled as she gave her friend a congratulatory hug. "Proud of you, Slayer."
"Thanks, Willow," Buffy answered. "I've got a good feeling about this job. It pays well, it's something I can feel good about doing, it'll help me afford to go back to college..."
"And best of all," Xander piped in, "you'll never have to use the phrase, 'Would you care to super-size that?'" Anya slapped him playfully on the arm, and he gave Buffy a fake-mollified look. Buffy just smiled at her friend. A rare sense of peace and happiness suffused her soul, and she simply chose to enjoy the buzz while it lasted.
"Buffy," Giles announced, "I know I don't always...well, vocalize my emotions, but I do want you to know that I have always been proud of you. And I sincerely hope that your second life is less heartbreaking than your first, and that the... sorrows you experienced this last year will give way to happier times."
"Thanks, Giles," she said quietly, blinking away a tear. Willow noticed her expression, and touched Buffy's arm, conveying her love and support in a wordless gesture. "Thanks, all of you. I guess I was pretty impossible to live with this year. Well, that Buffy died saving the world last May, doing her impression of the final scene from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I'm the new improved model, and I'm not going anywhere for a while."
The others applauded her speech, and she stood up slightly and gave a quick bow. She then thought of something; "Say, Wills, is Tara coming in this weekend? She's the one who gave me the idea to apply for the community center job, I wanted to thank her."
"I dunno," Willow answered. "I was expecting an email from her today. I mean she's practically religious about writing to me. But I haven't heard from her yet."
"You getting worried, Willow?" Xander asked.
"Probably me just being the nervous girlfriend, but I worry, y'know? Ever since..." She couldn't get herself to continue the statement. It wasn't necessary. The others knew. They were there when Willow took care of her beloved Tara, then a frail shell, unable to communicate, to function. All because she ran afoul of a Hellgod named Glory.
Willow caught the concerned expressions on the others' faces, and smiled sheepishly. "Well, leave it to me to suck the air out of the room. Hey, I'm just being paranoid here. She's fine, she'll write me another of her X-rated emails and everything'll be fine."
"And when you get that email, send me a copy, huh?" Xander grinned, only to get a smack in the shoulder from Anya.
"Why wait for the email, honey?" Tara's voice rang out from the front door. "I'll be glad to give you a personal message later tonight." Tara walked through the door and directly toward Willow. She draped her arms around Willow's neck, leaning toward her face for an openly affectionate kiss, which the surprised Willow returned happily.
"Now that's the way to say hello," Anya smiled approvingly.
"Hey, Tara," Willow finally broke off the kiss long enough to say. "What are you doing here? I mean, beside the obvious. Didn't you have a class tomorrow?"
"It got cancelled," Tara announced, "so I thought I'd surprise you with an early visit. Uh, that is if it's all right with you, Buffy."
"Total lack of problem here, Tara," Buffy nodded. "A happy Willow's a healthy Willow. Besides, I wanted to thank you."
"Me? What for?"
"Last week, when you asked me for self-defense lessons?" Buffy asked. Tara just nodded. "It gave me an idea to teach at the Community Center. I got a job with them now."
"Hey, that's great, Buffy," Tara said, giving her friend a hug. "But I'm gonna have to pass on our personal session this weekend. Sorry, but there's a magic seminar I want to attend that day. In fact, there's an early preview of the seminar tonight, Willow. You game?"
Willow beamed. A chance to do some magic with her girlfriend. "I'm game, Tara. When does it start?"
"In just a couple of hours," Tara announced. "How about dinner at Luigi's, then we'll go meet the man."
"Sounds like a plan," Willow smiled as she stood up and joined her girlfriend. "Uh, we'll be back around, uh, later."
"I won't wait up, Willow," Buffy waved the two lovebirds off. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Willow stuck her tongue out at Buffy as she and Tara left.
"Uh, Buffy," Xander looked puzzled at the Slayer. "I thought you were straight."
Buffy regarded Xander with a knowing wink. "I may be straight, but not narrow." Anya chuckled while Xander looked completely lost.
========
"Man, do they even feed you at Berkeley?" Willow asked Tara as they strolled along the park after dinner. "You went through two whole servings of lasagna."
"After that huge plate of linguini with red clam sauce you put away?" Tara teased her beloved. "Besides, doing magic makes me hungry, so I thought I'd eat first before the seminar."
"Great," Willow nodded. "So when do we meet the man?"
"As soon as we get to the community center," Tara answered. Willow reined in her curiosity, simply content to be with Tara, even if only for a little while.
But something was different about Tara. She was never the most chatty person in the world, but she could open up to Willow easily. But somehow she seemed to be closed off to her. Like she was keeping her guard up, hiding a secret. And given the Scooby Gang's track record with secrets in the past, Tara's reticence made Willow worry.
"Here we are," Tara announced as they reached the community center. She opened the door for Willow, and walked just behind her. "Room 104," she directed her as they cleared the lobby, "just to the left." Willow found the room, and the two witches entered.
"We must be early," Willow observed, looking at the empty chairs. "You sure this is the right room?"
"Patience, Willow," Tara said sweetly. "It'll be okay."
A tall thin figure stepped into the room and walked toward the two wiccans with an almost liquid gait. He brushed his hands lightly at the lapels of his silk suit, and smiled at the blond. "Tara, greetings," he glanced down at her from behind a long straight nose. "I see you brought a friend with you."
"Uh, hi," Willow waved meekly at the tall figure. "I'm Willow Rosenberg. I'm with Tara."
"Enchanté," he stooped with balletic grace to bow before Willow, took her hand in his and kissed her knuckle. "I am Aaron Webb. Welcome to my seminar." Willow felt her stomach roll as he touched her. There was an unhealthy aura around him, some darkness that stood out in Willow's mind's eye like a beacon. She glanced at Tara, who was completely blind to Webb's darkness.
"Um, Tara," she smiled artificially in front of the stranger who seemed to be eyeing her like a T-bone steak. "Can we talk privately?"
"Is there something the matter, Willow?" Tara's blatant lack of concern regarding Mr. Webb was starting to scare Willow. "Don't you want to take the seminar?"
"The new initiates can be uncertain, Tara," Mr. Webb purred in his dark chocolate voice, still eyeing Willow hungrily. "But once she's come to know the truth, she will take the power of Anansi to heart."
"Tara, we're getting out of here," she tried to take Tara's arm, but Tara yelped suddenly, yanking her arm away from Willow's grasp. Willow took in Tara's hard glare, shocked at her behavior. A quick glance at Tara's arm displayed a mark that Willow hadn't seen there before, a tattoo that resembled a spider-web pattern. Now she was scared. "I'm serious, Tara," she begged her girlfriend, but Tara remained unmoving.
"Oh dear," Mr. Webb tut-tutted, "it seems that you are not worthy of Anansi." He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the air around him seemed to shimmer. As if from thin air, two enormous figures, resembling spiders but standing six feet tall, emerged from the shadows behind Mr. Webb. "Servants," he said calmly. "Kill the redhead."
The two arachnids leapt past their master and toward Willow with near lightning speed. "TARA!" she shrieked as she dodged the spider creatures, desperate to reach her beloved, but she stood still, a silent and unmoving witness to the attack. With no recourse remaining to her, Willow ducked out of the door, the two arachnids in hot pursuit.
She scrambled down the hallway, toward the lobby. The arachnids were capable leapers, but the hallway was narrow and low-ceilinged, making it difficult for them to maneuver. When she reached the lobby, she was still several paces ahead of the arachnids. She spun around and held her hands out toward the lobby, while muttering a string of arcane Sanskrit. The arachnids loomed closer and still closer, faster and still faster, ...
Only to hit a wall of invisible force, slamming into the field hard enough to stun them. "Yes!" Willow gave a sigh of relief, as she rushed out the door. "Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug!"
Clear of the community center, she looked over her shoulder quickly, just long enough to assure herself that her two pursuers were still inside.
"Hang on, Tara," she whispered as she rushed back home. It was time to call the troops.
========
"Forgive me, I failed you, Master," the entranced blond spoke tonelessly, as Mr. Webb looked on. "I was unable to give you Willow."
The bloated thing in the center of the room sat unmoving, several of its many eyes trained on Tara. "Yes, my drone," it spoke in a voice that resembled ground glass, as one of its legs pointed menacingly to her. "You have failed me. But you may still serve me." A strand of webbing shot out of the thing's body, hitting the insensate witch's chest, and slowly covering her body. "As sustenance. And you, Mr. Webb," the monster's voice rasped, "you will not fail me. The red witch and her friends will come to us, to save her love. Then, we will have her."
"It will be as you say, Lord Anansi," Webb promised.
========
"Hey, Dawnie," Buffy's voice called for her just as Dawn was about to open the window. Dawn shucked her denim jacket, glanced at her mirror, straightened out her hair, pulled up her chair and cracked open her homework. "C'mon in," she answered.
Buffy opened the door and glanced into her sister's bedroom. "So, Dawn, how's the quest for knowledge going?"
"Slow and painful, Buffy," Dawn answered. "I've decided what landmark I'm going to do my report on, though." She showed her an encyclopedia she was reading. "The cathedral at Notre Dame," she pointed to the photo of the majestic Parisian cathedral. "For the next two weeks I'll be immersed in the wonderful world of stained glass and flying buttresses."
"Sounds like fun, squirt," Buffy grimaced at the thought.
"Yeah, I wanted something spooky, maybe haunted or something," Dawn commented. "Mr. Swanson's giving extra credit if I can find something weird and supernatural about it."
"You have a strange teacher," Buffy observed.
"I think it's his way of making sure we actually do some research on the subject," Dawn said, "instead of just rewording the dictionary definition."
"I guess," Buffy conceded. "Okay, munchkin, I'll let you get back to the spooky stuff. I'm about to go on patrol. G'night."
"Night, Buffy." Dawn lifted her head up, giving Buffy a quick kiss on the cheek. Buffy smiled and left her sister to her studies.
As she came down the stairs, she heard the front door being opened rather abruptly. Buffy quickened her pace, and saw Willow at the front door, flushed and out of breath. The worry in her face was clear enough for Buffy to rush toward her, collecting her in her arms. "Willow?" she asked, concern edging her voice. "What's the matter?"
Willow panted with exhaustion for a few seconds before she could speak. Finally, she was able to blurt out a few quick words; "Buffy...Tara's...in trouble...community center..."
"Okay, Willow," Buffy soothed her friend as she guided her to the living room sofa. She let Willow slip down in the sofa, then headed for the phone. "Just rest up, honey, I'll call the gang." She started dialing Giles' number, hoping her Watcher was still awake.
This was going to be a long night.