Chapter 2
Dawn is still at The Magic Box when I go for tarot reading time after my classes are done. I set up my little tarot “corner” at the round table we often do research on. I’ll be here for the few hours between now and the time Dawn is set to leave. Anya has, graciously, settled on a cut of $2 off every $10 for the use of her space given the extra sales the readings can bring in. I would do one on the whole Buffy situation but I feel I’m too close to it and I wouldn’t get any clear insight.
Soon, I have Dawn sitting down near me volunteering to be a guinea pig to see if an active reading would draw in more buyers though the store is fairly empty right now. I stop myself from my automatic spiel of needing parent or guardian permission which was one of the Giles’ rules.
She laughs, “You made a funny face.”
I give her a smile, “I almost went into client automatic speech.”
“Ah. These readings are for entertainment purposes only—” Dawn starts, “I heard you practicing it several times before…”
I pick one of the three decks I use and offer it to her to shuffle. I know she’ll like it because it’s full of dragons. She spreads them out on the table and swirls them around and then puts the deck back together.
“You’re just getting a three card draw.” I tell her, wishing at any moment Buffy might come through the door and scold me for filling Dawn’s head with crazy talk or pout that she didn’t get to go first.
I realize Dawn is suddenly hesitating, her excitement waning away, “Don’t those do past, present, future?” she says, “I don’t—I don’t have a real past, do I?”
“Oh, Dawnie.” I scoot closer, “Of course you do.”
“It was all made up though. I shouldn’t have asked—” she pushes the cards away towards the middle of the table.
“We are all just big glowing balls of energy, if you think about it.” I tell her, “At least how souls are shown on TV.”
She shrugs, “Not the greatest way to make me feel better.”
“If you’re angling for ice cream before dinner…”
She laughs, but only a little, “I mean always, but not—” and she hugs her arms around herself, “they screwed with you guys’ memories, don’t you want to know what you were actually doing when you were supposedly around me?”
“There is nothing I would rather have been doing.” I tell her, “You’re the sweetest, kindest—”
She sticks her tongue out, “Stop being gross.”
“My point.” I continue, picking up the cards, cutting them in three and stacking them but together in random order, “is that you’re a spiritual being experiencing a physical existence just like the rest of us.”
“Except Buffy and Mom.” She says, “Not anymore.”
I scoot as close as I can and give her a hug, “I know we can’t take their place but know we love you very much.”
She leans against me, “Thanks.” Is all she says.
“Do you want a reading?” I ask her, “We don’t have to do past, present, future you know? We can do other things—”
She shrugs, wiping the small tears which budded off with her hand, “Whatever they want to tell me, I guess.”
I have her shuffle the cards, again, as I push my chair away a little so we have more space between us for the cards, and I cut them again, and lay out the three top cards. She leans closer, though, she can see through the cards to the meaning underneath.
The first card I turn over is the Three of Cups.
She pulls a face, “Isn’t that the love suit?”
I nod, “It is, but love isn’t always romantic, is it? And this card is also about learning new information from people you love and or respect, and finding new balance.”
“A good balance would be adjusting the display over there.” Anya cuts in.
“Give me a minute.” Dawn pleads as another customer comes through the door, “Maybe my reading will get Tara some customers.”
“Fine. Fine.” Anya disappears with a warning to me about giving things away, which is funny given she’d want a friend’s discount herself.
“What’s next?” Dawn asks, “Can I flip it?”
I nod and she turns over the Prince of Swords. I pull another card to go with it and get the Queen of Wands. Buffy my heart decides even as I try to quell the thought it repeats and starts echoing. I realize when Dawn frantically demands, “What?!” that I haven’t kept the emotion from my face while I’ve been zoned out for probably longer than is helpful. Of course Buffy coming back would be an emotional conflict for Dawn, and it would be a long journey back to health for both of them. Even Buffy’s death itself has been a terrible, awful. You’re zoning again, Tara.
“Sorry.” I tell her, “Just—things have been emotional for you, so make sure you’re communicating clearly and not making assumptions that can cause you conflict, especially—” I hesitate as she points to the Queen, “Especially with Janice, of course, misunderstandings between friends are hard.”
“Misunderstandings? What misunderstandings?” Dawn asks. Oh, way to go, me.
“I don’t know. I can’t get specifics.” I wonder if Willow might, “It’s best never to make assumptions about what someone means when they can—when they can say things that sound one way, but mean another in their head but they just haven’t spoken as clearly as they thought, and especially because people have a hard time understanding something like another person’s grief and what might be appropriate to say.” Okay, good save. I hope.
Dawn muses on that before turning over the last card: The Tower. She reads the name and shudders. The card is reversed facing the outside world. She shakes her head in a way I know well when I’m trying not to think about what Glory did to me.
“What does it mean?”
“Bad trauma.” I admit, “but it’s upside down. The worst is behind you. It’s time to heal as slowly as you need.”
I get a humph for that but then she thanks me and goes back to doing what Anya asked her. I do get a few readings over the couple of hours I stay and then Dawn and I walk home before it gets dark. I have a few things I can do but nothing on the scale of Willow so I’m not sure how helpful I could be if we get attacked by a vampire and it’s just the two of us.
Today is my evening to stay home with Dawn while the others go out and hunt. Tomorrow Giles will be with her.
Willow is making alterations to Buffy Bot’s programming in the family room when we come in. The robot’s head is slumped as though she’s asleep in the armchair, but the fact her shirt is up and her belly is open, circuits connected to Willow’s laptop shatters that illusion.
Dawn’s face darkens at the sight, and I usher her into the kitchen because I know Willow will not have thought about dinner in the slightest. Dawn takes out whatever frustrations are brewing by helping me peel potatoes, and then shredding an entire brick of cheese which is, slightly, more than I need. I let her work through things a bit longer as she hacks the potatoes into pieces and I brown the hamburger, and take out some frozen peas to par boil.
Giles is going to be eating with us before Xander and Anya arrive and they all go hunting together so I thought I would try making a Shepherd’s Pie.
“She’ll never be Buffy.” Dawn snaps, eventually, tossing her head towards the other room.
“Willow’s not trying to make her a replacement.” I hope, “Just a bit less likely to be seen through by the vampires and things.”
Dawn shrugs at that, “Isn’t that exactly what a replacement would be?”
I sigh at that. Maybe those cards were about her complicated relationship with Buffy Bot. My intuition scoffs at that, but the other option would mean we could actually find an Urn of Osiris and every trail of any we’ve found has led to broken pottery and shattered dreams. Willow has been getting a bit despondent and I half hope we don’t find anything which makes me feel guilty because I don’t want to leave Buffy in some Hell either, especially given what I’ve heard and read time doesn’t run the same in them, so that could mean the few months she’s been gone has been years for her, even decades.
“Are you okay?” Dawn asks, nudging me just in time to save the hamburger meat from burning.
I nod, “Just had a moment.” I try for a reassuring smile and stir the meat speedily, “Bring me over that casserole pan, please.”
And she does.
I realize I should have cooked the potatoes before starting the peas and put it in the oven to stay safe while the potatoes boil.
Dawn sits down at the table and drums her fingers across its surface just as Buffy Bot comes in followed by Willow.
“Smells good, baby.” Willow tells me coming over to kiss my cheek.
“I can’t take all the credit.”
“All I did was potatoes and cheese.” Dawn says.
“That’s half the dish.” I remind her.
She shrugs, watching Buffy Bot carefully.
“I can clean.” Buffy Bot declares, looking around the kitchen.
“Not yet. Thank you.” I tell her, envisioning things I still need being whisked away into the trash by the overly enthusiastic automaton.
“Why don’t you clean the family room?” Willow suggests, “and compile some weapons for tonight.”
“Right!” Buffy Bot says, putting up a finger, “Tonight the vamps get what for!”
Willow cringes a little as Buffy Bot disappears, but then says, “It is better than what she was saying before, right?”
Dawn and I agree.
“I just feel weird when words I program come out of her mouth.” She explains, “You think people directing plays feel that way?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“You mean the writers?” Dawn asks.
“Probably.” Willow agrees.