FROM HEROES ━━ buffy

ix. Cryptic

It's dusk when she pushes the heavy door open.

The air inside is cold and stale. Dust sits in the light spilling through the stained-glass windows. Cobwebs hang all over. A broken angel leans sideways against the wall. Spike's coat is tossed carelessly over a sarcophagus, a blood bag sits half-drunk beside a chipped mug. There's no bed yet, just old stone and a questionable blanket.

Lilith stands in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed. "So this is the crypt of a legend."

Spike is lounging on a slab, smoking a cigarette. He doesn't instantly glance towards her. "Wasn't expecting housewarming gifts."

She walks in like she owns the place, sidesteps a pile of dirt and ancient bones. She kneels beside his record collection—two cracked cases, some stolen vinyl. "You've got Bowie. Color me shocked."

"Dead men have taste too, pet."

She smirks but doesn't respond. Instead, she drags her fingers across the top of the coffin-turned-table, leaving lines in the dust. "You could clean. Just a thought."

"I could. But then who would I be disappointing?"

She sits on the sarcophagus across from him, legs swinging slightly, like she's forgotten how old she is. "Didn't peg you for a crypt guy."

"Didn't peg you for a dorm girl."

She smiles, unexpectedly genuine. "Tara keeps herbs on her windowsill. Smells like sage and safety. Drives me mental."

Before she leaves, she pulls something from her coat pocket and tosses it to him. A clean, unused pack of cigarettes. His type. "You were out."

She doesn't stay, but she leaves the door ajar on her way out.

☀︎

Lilith returns to campus. She's skipped her first two lectures of the day. Who let her pick an 8.00 am? She now knows why there'd been so few enrolled students for it. The other lecture she skipped is an 11.00 am which she didn't go to because she finds the lecturer insufferable. Now there's only her 4.00 pm lecture left, which she happens to like.

She's just gotta make a pit stop at her dorm and pick up her notebook, which might be mildly cursed. It stains the pads of the fingers with ink of anyone who dares open it behind her back. It's harmless but it lasts a week so it ends up being mildly annoying.

She doesn't know if she'll run into her roommate. Her witch roommate.

She has since learned Tara is a witch, just like Tara has learned Lilith is a demon.

☀︎

Lilith finds the first clue of it on the dorm door.

A tiny hand-drawn sigil on the back of a sticky note, half-hidden beneath a DO NOT DISTURB sign. It's harmless and sloppy but old magic nonetheless. Not the kind you learn from a Wicca club pamphlet.

Lilith doesn't mention it. She just presses her fingers to it gently, feels the warm thrum, and smiles faintly.

☀︎

There's been other little details too.

Candles burn strangely around Tara, almost as if they don't burn at all. Because that's another thing, they don't use flash bulbs to light the room, they use candles. Lilith can't recall if they've ever replaced any of the candles.

They mostly keep the dorm dimly lit. They've hung curtains with psychedelic designs. Sometimes there's herbs on the windowsill, once there was salt.

Lilith also briefly glimpsed a grimoire on Tara's bed. After Lilith returned from her lecture, the book was gone.

Once, Lilith played Fleetwood Mac, waited to see if Tara would make a comment about Stevie Nicks. She did.

☀︎

Lilith didn't confront her.

Instead, she joined Tara one night for a Wicca club meeting. The others were useless, posers really. Lilith caused trouble. Made snide comments and undermined the fake witches.

But not Tara.

Later that night, walking back to their dorm, Lilith said offhandedly, "You're the only real one there."

Tara didn't deny it. She only said, "You already knew that."

Lilith grinned, like she'd been waiting for the acknowledgment. "I like your quiet kind of power. You should let it be noticed more often."

☀︎

As for how Tara figured Lilith out, well, she noticed early on that Lilith knows things she shouldn't. Runes that aren't in the books. A knack for magical theory with no formal training.

Once, during a minor magical surge on campus (some other student accidentally opening a chaos portal), Lilith didn't panic. She just watched it crackle open, almost bored. "Portal's unstable. It'll eat itself in about 90 seconds. Wanna grab coffee?"

Tara's first real chill didn't come from the event. It came from how indifferently Lilith took it; what she knew about it.

☀︎

Lilith happened to know too much about magic. Like a witch but not quite. If only for her perspective on magic.

Tara was practicing a basic light spell when it backfired. Harmless but embarrassing.

From her bed, Lilith said, like if it was as easy as flipping a light switch. "You're pushing too much energy through it. Like trying to light a candle with a forest fire."

"I didn't ask—"

"I know. But I'm bored."

She joined Tara, adjusted the placement of her hands and guided her through it. The candle lit.

Tara noticed something. "You've done this before."

Lilith smirked. "I've done worse."

That day Tara thought Lilith a witch. She was wrong.

☀︎

Tara realized it a few days later during a tense confrontation—not a fight but a raw moment.

Tara's magic is being affected by an emotional imbalance. Her power shorting out, flaring. Lilith intervenes to stabilize it.

They're standing in a charged magical circle. Tara's heart is pounding. Her power won't settle. Lilith reaches for her hand and suddenly Tara sees her. The demon. The real her.

The glamour falls away, like a curtain. Her skin is pale, almost gray. It shimmers with translucent sigils. Her veins are black. Her eyes are like a void, there's an ancient quality to them. And her nails, they're almost like talons.

It's not terrifying. It's sad. It's beautiful.

Tara feels a swell of emotion. A mix of melancholy and longing—the kind Lilith consumes. It dims once Lilith's glamours returns.

"You're not human," Tara whispers.

Lilith meets her eyes, calm and a little tired. "Never said I was."

"I know," Tara says.

They finish the spell together. It's almost been a week since that.

☀︎

Tara is sitting crosslegged on her bed, flipping through a book of incantations, but she's not really reading. Her shoulders are slouched, her energy low.

Lilith, painting her nails black with unnerving precision, glances over. "You've sighed six times in the last two minutes. Is that a spell or just despair?"

Tara opens up, she's been doing more of that around Lilith. Almost like she feels safe around her. "I just thought Willow and I might...hang out tonight. But she's busy."

"Did she flake?" Lilith says, surprisingly protective.

Tara smiles, faintly. "No, no. It's fine. I don't have a lot of...people."

Lilith stands from her desk. "I'm a person. Come to the Bronze with me."

Tara hesitates. "I'm not really a club person."

"You think I am? I'm going to siphon the despair off lonely men and steal their cigarettes. Come on, you might accidentally have fun."

☀︎

The music is moody and loud. Tara is sipping something non-alcoholic, sitting at a table. Lilith is standing close, watching people with a predator's eyes but smiling like she's just admiring shoes.

They talk—about music, about dream logic, about the first spell they ever cast alone. Tara is laughing more than she expected.

Willow appears. She lights up when she sees Tara—until her eyes shift to Lilith. Her face closes slightly, confused but polite. Willow talks to Tara, "Hey, Tara! You're here?"

"Um, yeah. Lilith invited me."

Dressed like the club is her scene. In contrast, Tara is dressed in a long, flowy skirt and a graphic long sleeve.

Willow says to Tara, "I didn't know you were...into the Bronze scene."

"I'm not," Tara says. "But it was nice. I mean, it's been nice."

From the dance floor, Xander shouts out to Willow. Something about coming to join them, he's with Anya.

Willow glances at them, like she's debating whether to go over.

Before Willow makes a decision, Lilith steps in, briefly glancing at Tara then telling Willow, "Your loss, Red. She does this little shoulder dance when she's actually relaxed. It's adorable."

Willow flushes. It's like Lilith knows her feelings better than she does herself.

Lilith meets Tara's eyes and gives her a sly, almost warm smile. "See? Told you you were magnetic."

☀︎

Willow and Tara slip away to a quieter corner near the bathrooms. Tara is clutching her drink, unsure what just happened.

"So...you and Lilith are friends?"

Tara nods slowly. "She's my roommate. I guess we are. She's kind. In her way."

It's the first time she's called Lilith a friend.

"She's...intense. You know, kind of 'goth with a side of maybe-homicide'?"

"She listens. And she doesn't try to fix me. Just...sits with me."

Willow can't help the tinge of guilt in her eyes. She's been wrapped up in the Initiative, Buffy, things Tara hasn't even been invited into. "I didn't mean to make you feel alone."

Tara softens. "You didn't mean to. But it still happened."

Willow nods. Neither of them have defined what they have yet.

From across the room, Lilith watches, leaning by the bar and swaying slightly to the music. When Tara glances over, Lilith doesn't smile. She just tips her head like she's clocking every word, every tremble.

☀︎

When Tara returns to the dorm, Lilith is already inside, half laying on her bed and brushing out her hair in slow strokes. A record plays softly—an old Billie Holiday tune.

Lilith glances at her roommate. "She still doesn't know how to keep you, does she?"

Tara doesn't answer. Just slips out of her shoes and crawls into her bed, back to Lilith.

Lilith recalls the way Willow looked at Tara. There'd been unmistakable longing in her eyes. She'd know, as a demon who feeds on it. "She'll figure it out. Or she won't. But for what it's worth, you looked lovely tonight."

Tara's heart aches in a way she can't name.

Across the room, Lilith keeps brushing, brushing, brushing.

☀︎

The sky is bruised violet. The kind of night that smells like exhaust and regret.

Spike leans against the payphone, one arm braced against the booth wall, the receiver pressed to his ear. He's bleeding from the temple—something shallow but enough to sting. There's a crack in his voice when he speaks. Not from fear, exactly. From fury.

"Lilith. I need something."

☀︎

She's on her twin XL bed, has been pretending she'll go to sleep for the past hour or so. That is until the landline rings. She reaches for the corded thing, debating whether to be annoyed. It depends on the caller.

It's Spike, telling her he needs her help.

She's not annoyed. "This is romantic. You never call."

"The Initiative's sniffing around again. Some tosser in camo nearly spotted me outside the butcher's. You've got charms—wards, cloaks, curses—whatever you're pedaling this week. I need one. Something to block heat signatures or muddle trackers."

She exhales, like she's giving it some thought. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"If they catch you, they'll trace you. If they trace you, they find me. I like my skin unprobed, thanks."

"So that's it, yeah?"

"Goodbye, Spike."

He kicks the payphone's booth door. "Bloody hell—"

"Save it. You're not the only one running tonight."

The dial tone buzzes.

☀︎

It's sometime past midnight. Quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like waiting. Spike's back, bruised and fuming, pacing in half-light. One candle is flickering. He's cleaned his face up with whiskey and the torn sleeve of someone else's shirt.

He's mid-rant to himself. "Bloody typical. 'You're not the only one running.' Please. Bet she's halfway into a velvet robe and a bottle of Merlot by now—"

A knock. Not the crypt door creaking open. An actual knock. He approaches and opens it.

Lilith is standing there. Long coat, wind in her hair, arms crossed. She hesitates before speaking. "You look like roadkill."

"You hung up on me."

She shrugs, then tosses something at him. A small object wrapped in soft black cloth. He catches it, unwraps a dark obsidian pendant etched with strange markings. He stares at it. "You said no."

She shrugs, like it doesn't mean anything. "I changed my mind."

"What, got bored of ignoring me?"

"No, I just...didn't like the idea of them carving you open."

Before he can fully process what she's confessed, she brushes past him and into the crypt without waiting.

☀︎
Lilith isn't a spell-caster but she does do magic. Sorta. I'm excited to explore how and what. Think more sigil markings and ritual glyphs.