A Canadian Werewolf In Sunnydale

by Audra Markwell

Sequel to Love is Wild. Ginger Snaps Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover. Not done yet, let me know what you think. Suggestions more than welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ginger Snaps or its characters or Buffy the Vampire Slayer or its characters. This was done purely for my enjoyment of writing it and for the non-profit reading enjoyment of others. No copyright infringement is intended

A Sequel To Sam's Story

Prologue

My name is Sam. Nobody knows my last name.

The truth is, no one really know me. Nobody understands me.

Except for Brigitte.

She was the only one who understood what it felt like to be alone, to be a loner.

Let me start at the beginning, when my life was completely fucked up, even more so than it is now.

Before I befriended Brigitte. Before I became a werewolf. Before I ended up in Sunnydale.

I used to live in Bailey Downs, a suburb of Ontario, Canada. The town was full of perky, stupid lowlifes. The adults, at least, were perky and stupid. The high school kids were just stupid.

I lived in Bailey Downs my entire life, but it wasn't until I was eighteen when I felt like part of the town. With my family gone, I inherited my family's greenhouse, and soon developed a decent green thumb and a liking for botany. I grew all sorts of plants, but my most lucrative plant was marijuana. To support myself, I sold the pot to the local high school kids. At the end of every school day, I would pull up in my yellow van and sell the dope to the stoners waiting outside. I ended up banging one of the popular girls there, Trina Sinclair, after she got stoned, and because of this, I earned the reputation of being a cherry hound.

Two years passed. I turned twenty. I was still selling pot to kids, which didn't bother me much, but I grew unhappy with my life. Other than my buyers, nobody spoke to me, really, and I felt that the only thing that made me worthwhile was my green thumb.

One thing that nobody knew about me was my interest in the supernatural. I completely believe in vampires, demons, werewolves, witches, ghosts, etc. Werewolves, especially, held my interests. I would read up on these supernatural beings in my spare time, but never dreamed that it would come in handy someday.

One thing that captured my interest was the mystery of "the Beast of Bailey Downs." Some freaky animal was killing the local dog population, and nobody ever cared about catching it. I didn't see the thing myself until one fateful night.

It had been a typical day. I came to the high school with my pot supply and sold it, Trina Sinclair begging me to call her. Of course, I ignored the bitch, and when I turned around to back out of the parking lot, a girl sitting on the curb caught my eye. She had been looking straight back at me. She was a pretty girl with poofy brown hair, and had the glummest look I'd ever seen on a girl's face. She had been sitting with her sister, a pretty redhead that was classified as "hot" by the high school kids I'd talked to. I found out later that the redhead was Ginger Fitzgerald, and the other girl sitting with her was her younger sister, Brigitte. The girls were each other's best friend, and loners like me. The thing that made them stand out from the rest was the fact that they were obsessed with death. I don't know what it was, but there was something about Brigitte that really interested me. This was odd because I didn't usually go for girls like Brigitte.

Later that night, I was driving back to Bailey Downs after selling my pot in a neighboring town. I had a joint in one hand and was stoned beyond belief. Suddenly, the Fitzgerald girls came running out in the middle of the street, being pursued by some huge animal. I slammed on my brakes, missing the girls but completely flattening the animal with my van. This snapped me out of my high, and as the girls scrambled away, I realized that Ginger was badly hurt. She had deep scratches all over her face on body.

After inspecting my bloody van and the pulverized body, I still had no idea what I had hit. All the possibilities that had come to me didn't make any sense. Having no other explanation for what I had hit, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, I had hit a lycanthrope – a real live werewolf. It seemed crazy to me, but I couldn't come up with any other explanation.

The next afternoon, I was cutting some brush with my chain saw on the high school grounds when I noticed Brigitte looking at the dent on my van that the collision with the werewolf had caused. She asked me what I had hit, and I told her that it looked like a werewolf to me. We were cut off after discovering some high school stoners and Brigitte's sister, Ginger, smoking my weed in my van. After kicking their asses out, Sinclair came up to me, with her pet Rottweiler on a leash. At the sight on Ginger, the dog started to growl at Ginger. The dog had never really done that before, so my beliefs that a werewolf had bitten Ginger were confirmed.

The next afternoon, I managed to talk to Brigitte more in depth, and I found out that she shared my beliefs about werewolves. She came by my greenhouse later that afternoon and told me that she felt that she was changing into a wolf. She didn't have me fooled (Brigitte was always a terrible liar), but I played along and gave her a silver earring, telling her that pure silver was known to clear infections and that if she were to pierce something, the werewolf virus was sure to be cured. That had been a stretch. I didn't know if silver really could cure lycanthropy, but I felt it was a good shot.

As the days passed, I read up on werewolves more, and discovered a cure for the virus: a plant called monkshood. Botany being my thing, this one really interested me. I knew that as a perennial plant, monkshood grew only in the spring. It being late October, I planted some seedlings in my greenhouse. Brigitte and Ginger came over that afternoon, and I told Brigitte about the monkshood. Brigitte seemed interested, but Ginger told me that I was full of shit and nothing but a pervert who fucked teenagers.

A few days later, on Halloween, Brigitte shocked the hell out of me when she showed up with two stems of monkshood that her mother had bought. Brigitte said that she needed to make the antidote immediately and asked how she was supposed to take it. She helped me make an injection of it: a concoction of the plant's crushed buds, and some rubbing alcohol. I then confessed to Brigitte that I knew Ginger was the one who was changing, and warned Brigitte that since we didn't know the exact dose to give Ginger, the cure would either cure her by being just the right amount, or kill her by being too much. Brigitte shrugged this off and left to cure her sister, while I prepped my greenhouse for my annual Halloween bash.

Later that night, while I was making baggies of pot, Ginger came into my room, dressed in a revealing get-up. This threw me off completely because I was expecting Brigitte. Ginger then advanced on me and began to kiss me, trying to get me to hook up with her. I knew this would hurt Brigitte's feelings, so I shoved her off of me. Man, I paid for that one. After Ginger fell to the floor, I touched her on the shoulder, only for her to snap my arm with her newfound strength.

Brigitte then ran into my room and began to scream at Ginger, demanding that she stop hurting other people and "take" her. To prove that she was on her sister's side (nothing could have prepared me for this), Brigitte took my knife off of my table, sliced open her palm and her sister's palm, and swapped blood with her, infecting herself with the werewolf virus as I looked on helplessly.

The girls then left, and, ignoring the pain in my broken arm, I went after them, grabbing a shovel as I went. I met the girls outside and knocked Ginger out with the shovel. This pissed Brigitte off, and she told me that the cure worked and explained why she infected herself with the virus. I then took her home, and Brigitte told me everything that Ginger had done recently: she'd killed a dog, her guidance counselor, the school janitor, and had even been responsible for Trina Sinclair's death (she had disappeared two days earlier, and Brigitte's mother found her dead in their garage, two fingers cut off and a nasty wound on her head). Brigitte asked me to cure her and Ginger and then run for my life. I told her that she was kidding herself if she thought that I'd leave her by herself.

When we got to Brigitte's house, we assumed that Brigitte would dart into the house, grab more monkshood, come back out, make the antidote, and we would cure both her and Ginger. It didn't quite go that way.

When we got into the garage, Brigitte and I got out of my van, Brigitte seeing if her father was home while I checked on Ginger. We realized that the door's lock was broken, and feared Ginger had gotten out. To see if she was still in there, I shined a flashlight into the cargo area. I then did a Superman when Ginger busted the door open, hitting me and causing me to fly backward and hit the wall. Ginger, now a fully formed werewolf, ran into the house while Brigitte and I listened in shock.

Keeping our eyes out for the werewolf, we grabbed the ingredients to make the antidote. I pulled Brigitte into her family's pantry and made the antidote with her help. I offered to stick Ginger with the needle, and Brigitte agreed to let me.

I never got to cure Ginger. On my way out of the pantry, Ginger pulled me out and mauled me, biting and scratching my face, chest, arms, legs, and head while I screamed my head off. I passed out from loss of blood and a few minutes later woke up in the house's basement. I was bleeding badly and could barely breathe. My veins felt as though as they were on fire as the werewolf infection went through my body. At that moment, I was more scared than I'd ever been in my life. I was terrified that I was going to die.

Thank God Brigitte found me at that moment, just as getting oxygen into my lungs was nearly an impossibility. She looked shocked to see me as the bloody mess, but I will never forget her eyes when she looked into her wolf-sister's eyes. Just as I thought the end had come for me, the Ginger-wolf attacked Brigitte, chasing her through the house. I passed out again, thinking that I was a goner.

When I woke up, I found Brigitte leaning over me. She had blood on her clothes, and told me that she'd been forced to kill her sister. I was thankful for this, considering I was nearly ripped to shreds by Brigitte's sister, but I simply comforted Brigitte as she cried. She then hefted me to my feet, intending to go to the hospital. It was then that I passed out from loss of blood.

Brigitte had later met up with her mother and together they got me to the hospital. After they poured a few pints of blood in me, they let me go home. Brigitte walked me home, and told me that the scratches Ginger's attack had left on my body had already healed to the point of looking like cat scratches.

That night, I had a dream in which I was attacked by a werewolf in the park where Ginger had been attacked. Later in the dream, Ginger almost ran me over with my yellow van. Later that morning, I woke up to discover that my broken arm had healed itself. Remembering that incredible healing powers were one of the characteristics of the werewolf, I ran into the bathroom and found that the scratches on my body had already healed to very light scarring and that my brown hair was turning white, like Ginger's had.

I then made the antidote and injected myself with it, thinking I was cured.

I was very wrong. A few days later, after dreaming that I'd killed a dog with my bare hands, I found the mutilated body of the same dog on my lawn. I realized that it wasn't a dream. The werewolf's lust for the kill had came to me, and I'd brutally killed a dog without thinking about it.

The next two weeks were torture for me as I tried to cure myself with every dose of monkshood I dared. Nothing worked. Brigitte found me in my room with my hair streaked with white and fangs for teeth. She caught me crying (I never cry), and assured me that I would be all right. I couldn't believe her, and she calmed me down by kissing me. This shocked me, but I appreciated it just the same. That kiss led to the happiest moment of my life: Brigitte and I slept together. We realized just how much we had come to mean to each other in the two months that we'd known each other.

My life took a drastic change a few days later. Brigitte came to me and told me that the monkshood only worked completely with the exact right dosage. Apparently, I hadn't gotten anywhere near to curing myself, and I thought I was fucked. Brigitte told me that silver nitrate would give me my sense of self when I transformed into the werewolf. It was the only plan we had, as we were running low on the monkshood, and spring had yet to come.

Later that night, as I was waiting for Brigitte to come back from the hospital with the nitrate, one of the stoners I sold pot to came up to me and started to rip on Ginger and Brigitte, telling me what sluts they were and that Brigitte needed someone to knock her down a peg or two. This really pissed me off, and I felt myself become the werewolf right in front of him. I had no idea who I was, where I was, or what I was doing there. I simply gave into the urge to kill as the wolf took over my body.

I chased the kid, Jason, into the woods and killed him brutally. Brigitte arrived in the woods with a syringe of silver nitrate and monkshood, and found her chance to inject me with it when I pounced on her, nearly killing her. The nitrate had an immediate effect on me, and I came to realize who I was and what I'd done while still in werewolf form. I ran off and changed back into myself. Brigitte found me later and took me home. To comfort me, she fell asleep next to me.

When I woke up the next morning, I decided to leave town. I needed answers as to why I was changing without the full moon (we thought that my emotions had a big part in it), why I was having access to Ginger's memories (I had two more dreams from Ginger's memories, one of me getting into a fight on the high school soccer field, the other of me killing the school guidance counselor), and whether or not a solid cure for the virus existed. So I left town that morning, promising Brigitte I'd keep her posted on what was going on, and promising her that I'd come back when I had my answers.

That was two years ago. I'm in California now, exhausted beyond belief from traveling around Canada and the United States. I've written tons of letters to Brigitte, but I've never gotten an answer. Every day I worry about her, wondering what she's doing and if she's OK.

I still haven't found any answers to my questions. It's been rough to arrive in a town and get my hopes up, and leaving it three weeks later, with no luck.

Lately, I've been feeling that I should head back to Bailey Downs and to Brigitte, and just live my life as a werewolf. Living as a tired, beaten-down drifter just isn't worth it. I miss Brigitte too much.

If I don't find what I'm looking for soon, I'm going home. Fuck being a werewolf. I just want to see Brigitte again. I'd rather be a vicious werewolf with Brigitte in my life than being a tame werewolf without her in my life. Living with Brigitte would be worth not having the silver nitrate to keep me sane.

Chapter One

In Los Angeles, California, Sam drove his yellow van down a dark road.

It was nearly two-thirty in the morning. Sam was exhausted. He'd been driving all day. He just wanted to sleep, but first he had to find a parking lot or rest area to pull into where he could set up for the night.

He didn't have the money for a motel room. The little money Sam did have was being saved for food. He'd be fucked if he didn't find a temporary job soon.

A temporary job in some greenhouse or flower shop would be fine for Sam. He was damn good when it came to botany, and the money that he earned would get him through another couple of months, if he was thrifty enough with it.

I can't worry about that now, Sam thought tiredly. I'll get a few Z's and worry about money in the morning.

Seeing a sign for a rest stop about a mile up ahead, Sam sighed with relief. He was so burned out and he could sense that he would need to inject himself soon. Very soon.

Sam then pulled into the rest area and turned off the ignition. He rested his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes, trying to summon strength to make his injection and to crash in the back of the van for the night.

Sam got out of the driver's seat, walked around to the side of the van, pulled open the double doors, and climbed into the cargo area, pulling the doors shut behind him. Once inside, Sam lit two candles, a larger one for light, a smaller one for his injection. Sam then reached under the passenger's seat and pulled out a stem of a certain purple plant. As shadows went across his face, caused by the flickering light of the candles, Sam stripped the plant of its buds. He crushed the buds, put them into a little aluminum cup, and poured a good amount of rubbing alcohol into the cup. The alcohol turned a faint purple as Sam put the cup over the flame of the smaller candle. Sam watched as the alcohol began to bubble, turning a darker purple. Sam took the cup off of the flame, and tossed a piece of cotton into the cup. As the cotton absorbed some of the liquid, Sam put a syringe into the cotton and filled it about half-full of the liquid.

With this job done, Sam reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a tiny vial of silver nitrate, one of his last two. Sam inserted the needle of the syringe into the vial and pulled the plunger backward. Sam watched as the silver nitrate went up into the purple liquid.

Sam then put the needle to a space of skin between his shoulder and elbow. He barely winced when the needle pierced his skin, and watched as the liquid went out of the syringe and into his arm.

With that done, Sam, feeling a little better but just as tired, cleared away his tools and made a bed in the back of the van. Pulling off his sneakers and using his gray hoodie as a pillow, Sam rested backwards onto the blankets and closed his eyes. Tired as he was, vivid memories of the last two years flashed through Sam's mind, as they did every night.

As he did every night, he relived his life, relived the horrible memories. He longed to see Brigitte, to hold and kiss her, to tell her how much he loved and missed her.

As Sam lay there, visions went through his head: Brigitte and her sister, Ginger; a werewolf attacking him, leaving him for dead as the werewolf attacked her sister; the pain he felt as the same curse that had killed Ginger went through his own body; the sight of a teenage boy, not much younger than Sam himself, lying disemboweled in some snow.

Don't think about that, Sam told himself sternly for the millionth time. It wasn't YOUR fault. It was the wolf's fault.

He couldn't stop, though. Sam thought about Jason, and the terrified look on his face as Sam, nothing more than a vicious animal, driven by rage, ripped him apart.

Sam shuddered, and, as always, focused on the only truly happy memory he had: the night that he and Brigitte slept together. This always brought Sam out of a funk; it was a great comfort, but just made him miss Brigitte, the only girl he ever really cared about, even more.

And then, with the memory of holding a peacefully sleeping Brigitte in his arms, Sam drifted off into an uneasy sleep, hoping his van would bring him somewhere worthwhile that morning.

Chapter Two

The next night, Sam sat in the local teen hangout, a beer in front of him.

It had been a long day, but he had at least found a temporary job in a local plant shop.

Thank God for that, Sam thought.

As the local teens passed him, some of them couples, Sam looked up at them and realized that yet again he was hanging with teens.

Can't get away from 'em, can ya? Sam thought.

Looking around at all the dancing couples, Sam thought of Brigitte and missed her more than ever.

He closed his eyes. Nothing had happened today when it came to questions about lycanthropy. He felt that his search was becoming fruitless.

If he found nothing in L.A., he was going back home. Back to Brigitte.

Fuck this whole thing, Sam thought. I want to see Brigitte again. I can deal with the virus if she's with me.

If nothing happens here, I'm heading the fuck back to Bailey Downs.

Sam felt someone looking at him. He looked up and saw some teens staring at him. Some with sympathy, some with interest.

Do I look that bad?

With a sigh, Sam got up from the bar and went into the mens' bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror.

He looked like he usually did – handsome face (Sam had never really thought that, but many girls back in Bailey Downs had), brown eyes, brown hair. But two years of being on the road had definitely taken its toll on him. He had lost weight, he was very pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

Sam knew that the werewolf virus also had a lot to do with how sickly he looked.

Sam went back into the club. He noticed immediately that a new band was setting up on stage. Sam went closer to the stage and watched the guys set up. A sign nearby read Dingoes Ate My Baby.

That's a new name, Sam thought.

Soon, the band had set up. Sam went back to his seat. He sipped his drink and watched as the band began to play. It was clear that they had played here before, because when they started up, they were met with loud applause and cheers.

As they played, Sam sat back and listened. It wasn't exactly the kind of music he liked (he loved loud rock and heavy metal), but it soothed Sam's nerves somehow. It felt great to just be sitting peacefully somewhere, listening to music, not worrying about his problems.

It was then that he noticed the band's guitarist. He was a short, handsome young man whose hair was clearly dyed black.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off him. There was just something about him. Sam knew he wasn't attracted to the young man in that way, but for some strange reason, Sam felt a strange connection to the young man.

A wild thought then entered Sam's mind.

I think that guy is a werewolf.

On the stage, Dingoes Ate My Baby played one of their favorite songs for the crowd. One with a soothing rhythm, but one the teens could really loosen up to.

Oz, the band's punk guitarist, playing easily playing his guitar as his best friend and groupmate, Devon, did the vocals.

The part of the song that was nothing but instrumental came. Oz had played this song so often that he knew the chords to it by heart, so let his gaze go over the crowd of dancing couples as his fingers did the work.

Oz's eyes then fell on a young man sitting by himself. He looked burned out, like he'd been traveling for a while. The young man looked up at him, and Oz felt a connection go between them. It wasn't a homosexual connection, or the connection he felt when he spotted his girlfriend, Willow, for the first time back in Sunnydale. It was a connection that was felt by two people who shared something big in common.

Especially if the something was supernatural.

Is the guy a vampire? Oz wondered. The guy was pale enough to be. His skin looked as if it hadn't seen daylight in a long while.

No, he couldn't be a vampire. Oz knew vampires and knew that by this time at night, they would've found a poor helpless victim and sucked her dry by now.

All in a rush, Oz realized what the guy was.

He's a werewolf. Oz thought in shock. The guy is a werewolf.

Oz wondered why this shocked him. After all, he lived on the Hellmouth, had seen werewolves, known vampires, and was dating a witch, Willow.

And he was a werewolf himself. He had been bitten by his ten-year-old cousin.

Oz wondered how the other guy had become a werewolf.

By the time Devon began his vocals again, Oz decided to talk to the guy after their set was done. The guy looked like he needed help, and Oz knew just the people who could help them.

True, he wasn't going home to Sunnydale for awhile, but he could tell the guy about Giles, Buffy, and the others, and point him in the right direction to Sunnydale.

If anyone could help this guy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and her Watcher could.

Chapter Three

By the time Dingoes Ate My Baby was finished with their set, it was late, about eleven-thirty.

With some of the few dollars he had left, Sam paid for his drink and got up from his seat.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw someone making his way towards him.

Sam looked up. It was the punk rocker that he noticed on stage, the one Sam had thought to be a werewolf.

Sam scowled at the guy and began to go for the door. He was and always had been the type of person who didn't really like the company of others. He knew what they thought of him.

A cherryhound. A pothead. A drug dealer who would never amount to anything worthwhile.

Only Brigitte had seen him for what he really was: a kind-hearted, if sharp-tongued, intelligent person.

Sam sighed and headed outside.

"Hey!" the guy said. "Wait up!"

Sam kept walking.

"Come on, man!" the guy said. "I wanna talk to you!"

Closing his eyes, Sam wheeled around and faced the guy. Opening his eyes, Sam noticed that the guy was at least a head shorter than he was.

"Look, kid," Sam said flatly. "I got no drugs on me. I can't help you with anything. All I wanna do is get some sleep, head outta here."

"What?" the guy said. "I don't need any drugs. I don't smoke. I just wanted to ask you something."

Sam noticed that his voice didn't have the rocker accent to it. His voice was deep and it was very clear to Sam just how smart this guy was just by the way he looked at Sam.

"If it's to dance or to get a room, I should let you know that I'm not like that," Sam said.

"Me, neither," the guy said, looking surprised. "I have a girlfriend back home. Willow. The smartest and sweetest girl I've ever met."

This statement made Sam think of Brigitte, because that was how he thought of her. His heart ached for her.

Not happy that this guy had made him think of Brigitte, Sam cut to the chase.

"Look, what do you want?" Sam asked.

"First, I've got a question for you," the guy said. "What's your name?"

"Sam," Sam said.

"I'm Oz," the guy said. "Come on, I gotta talk to you privately. You'll wanna listen to me."

Oz took Sam's arm and pulled him into a private alley next to the teen hangout. He looked up at Sam and looked seriously into his eyes.

"Do you believe in werewolves?" Oz asked.

Sam blinked. He could tell Oz was serious about what he asked.

"What?"

"Werewolves. Do you believe in them?" Oz asked. "What about vampires? Witches? Demons? Ghosts?"

"Why are you asking me this?" Sam wanted to know. Goosebumps had gone up and down his arms in reaction to how serious Oz looked.

"I'm asking you because I have another question," Oz said. "If you do, I can help you with what you're looking for."

Sam's heart went up into his throat. Was this guy gonna answer his questions? Was he gonna be able to go home to Brigitte with answers? Or was the guy simply bullshitting him?

Sam decided to answer truthfully, but twist the truth just a little.

"Yeah, I do," Sam replied. "Back home there was a creature who kept killing dogs. No one knew what it was. I was convinced it was a werewolf. It was killed and people ended up thinking it was a giant dog."

Oz frowned. "Where are you from?"

"Ontario, Canada."

Oz looked off into the darkness of the alley, muttering to himself, "So they're in Canada, too."

"Huh?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," Oz said. "Another question: Have you ever met a werewolf? I mean, a person who turns into one?"

"No," Sam lied.

"Well…." Oz said, his voice trailing off. "I've only shown a few people this, but look at this."

He held up his right hand, pointer finger outward. Sam looked closely at Oz's hand, and noticed a scar just above the finger's middle knuckle. Clearly, the scar had been a deep cut, and to Sam, it looked like something had bit him. Sam felt a sliver of sureness in his belief of the other young man being a werewolf.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"My cousin bit me when I playing with him," Oz said. "Let's just say he has an unusualness about him." Oz paused. "Never met a werewolf? Well, you're looking at one."

I knew it, Sam thought.

"Really," Sam said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Oz said. "Now, how did you become a werewolf? Who bit you?"

"What?!" Sam yelped. He looked around, making sure nobody overheard. He dropped his voice and looked at Oz. "How can you tell?"

"I'm very intuitive," Oz said simply. "Besides, I know a werewolf when I see one. It's part of being a werewolf. That, great sense of smell, and a whole lotta fleas."

Seeing Oz was teasing him, making the curse of lycanthropy a light subject, Sam chuckled. He never met anyone like Oz, who clearly had an optimistic attitude.

"So," Oz asked. "Who bit you?"

"A friend's sister," Sam said simply. He didn't really feel like going into the fact that, unlike Oz, he'd been mauled, not simply bitten.

"Why are you California?" Oz asked. "You look like you've been traveling a while."

"Back home, I got a friend," Sam said. "The friend I mentioned. Brigitte- that's her name- she helped me after I was bitten. It's a real long story, but I told her that when I find answers about lycanthropy, I'd come home. It's been two years since I've left, and I found nothing."

"You two sound like you're more than friends," Oz said.

"Never met anyone like her," Sam said. "She's the best thing in my life."

Just then, Oz and Sam heard a guy shout from outside the alley.

"Oz! Hey, man, where are you?" It was Devon, the band's vocalist.

"I'll be right there, man!" Oz yelled back. "I'm talking to a friend."

He turned back to Sam.

"Look, man, I gotta go, but I gotta tell you something. You really want help? You really wanna get home to your girl?"

"Yeah," Sam said. More than anything, he thought.

"Well, go to Sunnydale." Oz said.

"Sunnydale?" Sam asked. The name sounded so corny.

"Yeah," Oz said. "About an hour's drive from here. Get on the highway, head north from there. If you need directions, people will help you. Sunnydale's infamous."

"Why?" Sam asked. He suspected because of the corny name.

"You'll find out," Oz said. "Well, the first morning you get there, go to the high school. In the library, ask for Rupert Giles. He's a British guy with glasses. He'll help you from there. I'll see you."

Oz left the alley, heading for the band's van. Sam followed, utterly perplexed.

"How is this guy gonna help me?" Sam asked as Oz climbed into the driver's seat. Behind him, the other band member loaded the van and hopped in.

"You'll find out," Oz said. "Oh, one other thing."
He leaned out the window and looked into Sam's eyes, looking very serious.

"Sam, this is important: Be very careful after dark," Oz said. "Don't go anywhere by yourself at

night. During the day, you'll be fine by yourself. But at night, if you need to, camp out in the cave I used for my transformations. Safest place to do it. If you chain yourself down, you won't get anything, and nothing will get you. Got it?"

"I think so," Sam said, his head swimming. Nothing of what Oz said to him in the last five seconds made any sense. "But why can't I be outside by myself at night?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Oz said, starting the van. "Let's just say werewolves aren't the only threat in Sunnydale. I'll see ya, man. When you see Willow, tell her I said hi."

And with that, the van pulled forward, and drove out of sight. As soon as Oz's van was out of sight, Sam bolted for his own van. He climbed into the driver's seat, turned on the ignition, and drove towards the highway. As soon as he could, he headed north.

Oz's advice was too much to ignore. Sam was on his way to Sunnydale.

When it came to the dangers in the dark, Sam had had no idea what Oz was talking about. He'd faced a vicious, bloodthirsty werewolf. He doubted that there could be anything worse in Sunnydale.

He felt it was worth a try, however, to at least meet this Rupert Giles. There was no doubt that this guy had helped Oz with his wolfishness. Oz was a cool guy, considering he was a lycanthrope. Rupert Giles's help had probably affected his life in a huge way.

Sam, as he knew all too well, was a little rough around the edges. He didn't have Oz's optimism or popularity (Well, I do, just not in a good way). He didn't think this Rupert Giles would make him a better person, but that didn't matter. Sam hadn't come here for an attitude makeover.

He came here for answers. Answers for himself. Answers for Brigitte.

And, dammit, he was gonna get them in Sunnydale.

He felt sure of it.

Chapter Four

It was about midnight when Sam left Los Angeles.

It was at least two-thirty in the morning when Sam first saw a road sign for Sunnydale:

SUNNYDALE……………………1 mi.

Without Sam even realizing it, his stomach burned with excitement, but Sam's logical thinking caught up with his experiences and his mind didn't register any feelings, just what the sign said.Sam had learned through the prism of experience not to get his hopes up.

As soon as he saw the exit for Sunnydale, Sam turned got on it, but almost immediately stopped the van by the side of the road. He turned on the four-way flashers and shut his eyes.

A part of him, the part that was more logical and longed to see Brigitte again, wanted to turn the van around and head back to Canada. Lycanthropy be damned, he didn't care what happened to him anymore. He was exhausted and just wanted to go home and get on with his life. Werewolf or not, he'd quit selling the pot, put his botany skills to good use, be with Brigitte.

He'd be happy, damn it.

The other part of him, his relentlessly persistent spirit, opened his eyes, turned the four-way flashers off, and drove the car in the direction in the direction of Sunnydale.

He'd come this far. He'd been through over two years of hell while getting here, the place that he felt held the answers to his questions.

He felt this way about the other cities and towns he'd visited in the last two years, but this one was different. It had helped another person with the same problem. That person now had a normal, happy life with a wonderful girlfriend, and easily handled his existence as a werewolf.

Sam wanted that. More than anything.

Within twenty minutes or so, Sam was in the infamous Sunnydale, clearly downtown.

He felt disappointed.

It wasn't at all like he had pictured.

For some reason, he had pictured a town torn apart by these threats that Oz had mentioned. A chaotic place. A place that was the complete opposite of what Sunnydale really was.

Sunnydale was exactly like what Sam had pictured it to be when he first heard its name. It was a sleepy, suburban town that looked like……well, it looked just like Bailey Downs. Bailey Downs was the kind of town where nobody would have guessed that a sinister force threatened the citizens.

As he drove through the deserted streets, Sam, looking around, realized that he'd passed yet another cemetery. That had to be the eighth he'd passed in the last twenty minutes.

Jesus, what's with the cemeteries? Sam wondered to himself as he drove along. Either some epidemic flies around here, or the werewolves are really outta control.

As he drove down a residential street called Revello Drive, Sam yawned. His eyes itched with tiredness. He thought that he'd better find Oz's hideout and set up for the rest of the night. A couple hours sleep and he'd find the high school in the morning.

He consulted the map he'd gotten at a rest stop. It was a perfect map of Sunnydale, depicting every tourist attraction, street, landmark, and business attraction the town offered. Through his fatigue, Sam realized with dismay that not one cemetery was on the map.

Shit, Sam thought.

A guy at the rest stop said that there was a spacious cave in one of Sunnydale's cemeteries (at that time, Sam had thought "cemeteries" meant maybe four, not eight), and he had mentioned that the cemetery was called Weatherly Memorial, but he hadn't told Sam where it was in town or how to get there.

He decided to ask for directions.

But who the hell would be awake at this hour, let alone walking on the streets?

Just then, movement up ahead of him caught his eye. A man dressed in black was walking along the sidewalk, going towards Sam.

When they grew level with each other, Sam stopped the van and rolled down the passenger side door.

"Hey, man," Sam called through the open window. "D'you know where Weatherly Memorial is?"

The man stopped and stared at Sam, eyes narrowed. Up close, Sam could see that the man was not much older than he was, maybe mid- to late-twenties, had black hair that stood straight up, and had dark, penetrating eyes. Sam couldn't help but notice that the guy was paler than he was, as if his skin never saw daylight.

Up close, this young man gave Sam the creeps.

"Kid," the man said almost impatiently. "It's late. You'd better go on home. Everyone knows the town's not safe at night."

"I don't," Sam said coldly. He'd never been called "kid" before and didn't particularly like it. "I'm not from here. I'm looking for a place to crash, and I've heard that there's a place at Weatherly."

"You mean the cave?" the guy asked. "That's no place to spend the night. Why don't you spend the night in the next town over and come back in the morning. It'll be safer then. You can go to the cemetery then."

"Look, dude," Sam asked, the old malice coming back to his voice. He was tired, he needed an injection of monkshood, and was short on the patience that he did have. "Where the fuck's the cemetery? Just point me in the direction."

The man sighed and pointed behind him. "Head down this road, go to the first right, and go straight about two miles. You won't miss it. Weatherly's huge. Cave's at the very back."

"Thanks," Sam said, and drove off. He didn't glance back at the man. This dude had really given Sam the creeps.

The dark-haired man watched as the brown-haired boy drove his van away from him into the darkness.

Foolish kid, Angel thought. What fool goes to a cemetery at night in this town?

The only ones he knew were himself, Buffy Summers and her friends.

And of course the creatures of the Hellmouth, vampires mostly.

No one else did. They knew what haunted the town at night and were wise enough to stay away from the places where the Hellmouth's creatures lurked.

Angel's first thought was to just let the kid go to the cemetery and find out the dangers for himself. He knew the Slayer wasn't patrolling near Weatherly that night, and this foul-mouth kid would be lucky if anyone heard him scream, let alone helped him.

The conscience the Gypsies cursed Angel with tugged at his heart. He had more important business to attend to, but turning around, he set course for Weatherly.

The kid may be foolish, but no one deserved to be killed by unholy creatures.

He'd help the kid in the likely event of an attack, even if the Slayer couldn't.

After talking with Angel, Sam got to Weatherly within ten minutes.

Weatherly was a giant cemetery, bigger than any of the four cemeteries back in Bailey Downs.

Sam parallel-parked next to the cemetery's iron gate, stepped out of the driver's seat, and stepped up just outside the gate. He peered through the black iron bars.

The cemetery was huge. And dark. And creepy.

Sam shuddered. He wasn't sure exactly why he shuddered. He'd faced a huge werewolf with a mouthful of teeth. A cemetery was nothing to be wigged about.

He had the strangest feeling he was being watch.

Sam shrugged, and then went over the cemetery's entrance. The gate eerily creaked open when Sam pushed it inward. Taking a deep breath, he entered the cemetery. Remembering what the creepy guy had said, Sam made his way towards the back of the cemetery.

As he passed the tombstones, Sam couldn't help noticing that many of the stones were new, the graves freshly dug. One grave caught Sam's eye. It wasn't the name that caught his eye. It was the date of death.

THERESA KLUSMEYER

1981-1998

MAY SHE REST IN PEACE

This girl was seventeen when she died, Sam realized. Just seventeen.

As Sam looked at the other graves, he noticed that Theresa's wasn't the only young death. Sam found the graves of at least a dozen other young people. The youngest person Sam could find had been just seven when he died.

What the hell is going on here? Sam wondered.

Sam then looked up. Right in front of him was the mouth of small cave.

Sam smiled tiredly. It was very late, he needed to sleep, not to mention he needed to get to the high school in a couple of hours. He started to head back to his van for the things he needed to set up for the rest of the night.

Suddenly the feeling of being watched intensified.

Just then, Sam noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. On edge, Sam's eyes darted to his left.

A young man appeared from behind one particularly tall grave. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and wore a deep scowl on his face.

Sam stared at the guy. It wasn't the guy's sudden appearance that made him stare.

It was his appearance in general. His face was…..strange-looking. Something you'd see in a horror flick. A sudden thought occurred to Sam.

The guy isn't human.

The guy's forehead was triangular, his eyebrows were nowhere to be found, and his yellow eyes burned with a look that Sam had seen only once before in the eyes of a supernatural creature: hunger.

Sam's eyes and the guy's eyes met. The guy grinned menacingly, showing off what, in Sam's opinion, could only be called fangs.

Sam suddenly realized what Oz had meant by "threats". This town was not only the home of werewolves, but vampires as well.

"Hey," the vamp said. "What are you doing out so late? Only the gullible, tasty ones are out late."

"Just visiting," Sam said, backing away slowly.

Sensing Sam's fear, the vampire grinned and took a step forward.

"You're sweating," the vamp said. "Bet your blood is just pumping through your veins, all hot and sweet."

The vampire roared and, wasting no time, grabbed Sam. Caught off guard, Sam gasped at the vampire's incredible strength.

"Just the way I like it."

The vampire grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair and yanked his head to the side, hard enough that Sam felt several hairs part with his head. Mouth close to watering, the vampire leaned down to sink his fangs into Sam's throat.

Fruitlessly struggling, Sam, in his fear, could feel in the vampire's hot breath on his throat. He braced himself for the pain of the vamp's bite.

Suddenly, Brigitte flashed through his mind.

Brigitte, Sam thought. She's waiting for me.

Suddenly angry at the thought of never seeing Brigitte again, Sam felt himself tap into the werewolf within. The vampire had threatened his safety, and Sam knew that nothing pissed his inner wolf off more than threatened safety.

For the second time in his life, Sam felt himself change. He wasn't scared this time. He had taken the silver nitrate. He would become himself again.

With a roar louder than the vampire's, Sam pushed the vampire away with the wolf's strength. He could feel teeth forming, his body elongating, and his clothes tearing as he morphed into the vicious wolf that had already taken one life.

The Sam-wolf pounced, roaring. His yellow eyes wide with shock, the vampire staggered backwards. Blinking and shaking his head, the vamp regained his composure and began to fight back.

His brute strength may have matched the Sam-wolf"s, but the vampire didn't have the werewolf's deadly claws. The Sam-wolf ripped and slashed at his attacker, drawing blood that Sam had never known a vampire to have.

All of a sudden, he felt himself pulled off of the yelling vampire and was thrown aside. He hit a grave and began to whimper. Growling, the Sam-wolf readied himself for yet another attacker, but ceased growling when he realized what had happened.

A girl, pretty and blonde, not much younger than Sam, was currently battling the vampire that the Sam-wolf had been close to killing. The Sam-wolf backed off as he watched the teenager use some of the most amazing fighting skills he'd ever seen.

The girl picked up the battered vamp as though he weighed nothing and heaved him against the side of a mausoleum. Before the vampire had a chance to stagger to his feet, the girl whipped a wooden stake out of her pocket and plunged it into his heart.

Watching from the shadows, the Sam-wolf's eyes widened to their full extent as the vampire burst into a cloud of fine dust.

Brushing her hands off as though she fought deadly vampires every day, the girl straightened up and looked around her tensely, as though ready for another life-or-death battle. With the silver monkshood doing its job, the Sam-wolf had no desire to attack her.

Looking towards where he was hiding, the girl, frowning, began to walk towards Sam. Fearing the girl would open up a can of whoop-ass on him too, the Sam-wolf scurried to the cave of the back of the cemetery and hid in the shadows.

He watched as the girl came into the cave, looking around for him. Finding no one, the girl, frowning, slowly turned and walked out into the cemetery. She soon disappeared into the shadows.

As Sam turned back into himself, he emerged from behind one rock and stared after her, trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed.

"What the fuck?"

As the sun began to creep over the California horizon, the Slayer had had no idea what to make of the last of her night's slayings.

Sure, she staked a vamp. That wasn't anything new.

It was the fact that it was fighting something that didn't look like any demon she'd ever seen.

Buffy tried to memorize every detail she had gotten from the creature: the color, the light fur, the extreme fangs.

It never occurred to her that it was a werewolf. She'd seen werewolves before, of course, but none that looked like that.

She'd have to ask Giles when she went to school in a few hours. He would know.

As soon as morning hit, Sam woke up and headed for the school. He'd seen it the night before.

He'd talk to Rupert Giles today. With any luck, he'd get his info and be back on the road to Brigitte as the sun was setting that night.

After last night, he really didn't want to stay in Sunnydale any longer than he had to.

When Sam reached the suburban high school, he nearly gagged. It reminded him so much of the high school Ginger and Brigitte had gone to.

Just like Bailey Downs High, it was crawling with happy teenagers, oblivious to the dangers that roamed their town every night.

Sam pulled the van into the student parking lot, right next to a blue Corvette. He climbed out and walked towards the school, passing students who were clearly from the popular crowd, rich and snobby.

"Excuse me, but why is that junk machine parked next to my car?"

Sam looked up and saw a band of girls staring at him. They reminded him of Trina Sinclair and her band of brainless followers.

"Excuse me?"

"The loser section is over there," one girl, a stunning brunette, said snootily. She pointed to the left. "Freaks and losers park their so-called autos over there."

"Get fucked, bitch," Sam snapped. He kept walking. The girls stared after him, clearly never having been spoken to like that.

Ignoring them, Sam went to the front of the school and tried to be nonchalant as he waited for the students to go to their classes. Many girls watched Sam with curiosity.

Within five minutes, a bell sounded and the kids filed into the school. Sam waited another ten minutes for the classes to get settled before trying to find the library. He didn't really want anyone to know he was there.

Soon, quiet settled over the school. Sam got up and walked into the school as quietly as possible.

The inside was as Bailey Downs-like as the outside. Sam passed bulletin boards with "GO RAZORBACKS" above them. He soon came upon a trophy case, something that Bailey Downs lacked.

Looking down into it, Sam examined one trophy, this one a cheerleading trophy. It was made of silver and in the shape of a cheerleader, her arms stretched upwards, a pompom in each hand. There was something odd about the trophy. It wasn't until Sam's eyes looked into its silver ones when he realized what was wrong. The trophy was staring at him with almost a terrified expression. Sam moved from left to right, keeping his eyes locked with the trophy's. Its eyes followed his own. It was almost as if the trophy had genuine human eyes.

"Weird," Sam said.

"May I help you?"

Jumping, Sam looked up and saw a man in his fifties looking at him. He wore a tweed suit and had delicate spectacles on his nose. He had the appearance of a man who been through a lot and seen too much (Is that how I'll look when I'm this fucker's age?). In his arms he held a stack of books.

"Um, yes, I'm looking for the librarian, Rupert Giles."

"That would be me," said the man in a soft, British accent.

"Oh," said Sam, feeling taken aback.

"Would you be Sam?" Giles asked.

"How the hell-?" Sam began.

"Oz called me and said I would have a visitor."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm Sam."

"Come with me."

He followed Giles down the hall and through a set of doors. Sam found himself in the library.

It reminded him of a library is some mystery movie. Very dark, full of dusty books. Clearly not many students came in here.

Giles set the books down onto the checkout desk. Taking off his glasses, he turned to Sam.

"Now what can I help you with?"

Sam's tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. He had been waiting two years for this moment, but Giles looked so serious that Sam found he couldn't say anything.

"I-um…..didn't Oz tell you?"

Giles frowned, studying him. "No, he didn't. What can I help you with? Clearly, you're not here for help with homework."

Sam took and breath and counted backwards from ten before speaking. "Mr. Giles, do you know anything about……lycanthropy?"

Giles looked taken aback. He knew plenty of kids had an inkling of the existence of vampires, but he never expected someone to know the word lycanthropy. Even his favorite students looked blank whenever he mentioned that word.

"Well, yes, of course," Giles said. He smiled nervously. "That would be the scientific term for the condition of the werewolf. Of course, it's a myth. Why do you ask?"

"Lycanthropy is no damn myth," Sam said. "I've studied all about it."

"I see you're keeping up with your folklore. All very well and good, but why do you ask me if you know about it?"

"There's a few things I need to know about it."

"Into werewolves, are you?" Giles asked heartily.

"I am one," Sam said bluntly.

Giles glared at him. It was clear that that was the last thing he expected Sam to say.

"So that was this was about," Giles said. "Young man, I can't help you."

"What?" Sam asked, shocked.

"Plenty of people come to me with this same request. The curse of the werewolf cannot be reversed or taken away by any means. It's a permanent condition."

"There's no cure?"

"I'm sorry. It's in your best interest and the interests of your loved ones to lock yourself up at every full moon. That's really the only way I know of to keep you and others safe."

Sam frowned. Giles smiled kindly at him. "Sam, it's a serious thing, but I know people who make the best out of it, living their lives easily."

"You mean Oz," Sam said.

"Why, yes, of course. Oz, among other people."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Sam asked, angry. "I got a girl back home. I can't live my life knowing that she's not safe around me."

"I'm very sorry, Sam."

"Fuck you," Sam snapped.

Giles looked taken aback at this vulgar language. This young man was clearly desperate, and this girl was clearly special to him. People, he knew, did and said desperate things when they were in love.

"I'll tell you what," Giles said, after thinking for a moment. "Come to the library this afternoon, before school's out. I'll talk to you more then. I'll look into the condition this afternoon. There may be some new treatments. There are some plants that can help with it, but the plants are rare and have little chance of working.

"Sam, I can't promise you any cures, but I will help you, all right?"

"Thanks, Mr. Giles," Sam said. "I'll be back later."

At about one-thirty that afternoon, Giles was returning borrowed books to their shelves when he heard footsteps come into the library.

"Ah, Sam."

"Sam? Wow, three years together and you can't tell when your Slayer enters a room? I am deeply hurt."

Giles swiveled around and saw Buffy Summers standing in the middle of the room, smiling at him.

"Oh, Buffy, hello," Giles said.

"Whatcha been doin', Giles?" Buffy asked. She looked at the textbooks that lay open on a small table across from the library doors. "More research on werewolves? Oz isn't here."

"That's just my own, private research. Just thought I'd look at new books on them." Giles cleared his throat, changing the subject. "How was your patrolling last night?"

"Same old, same old," Buffy said. "You know, pummeled vamps, staked 'em, the usual."

"So nothing unusual?"

"Well, actually, there was one thing," Buffy said, remembering.

"Yes?"

"I came to Weatherly and saw a vamp fighting something……well, furry."

"Not a werewolf?" asked Giles.

"No, it couldn't be," Buffy said, frowning. "It wasn't a full moon outside. Well, anyway, I dusted the vamp, and went to fight the other thing, but it wasn't there. I checked the cemetery but didn't find anything."

"Describe what you saw."

"Big, muscley, light whitish fur, big fangs, roared when attacking."

"This does sound like a werewolf,"

"It didn't looked like any wolf I've ever seen." Buffy said.

"Well, you know, Buffy, there are other breeds of wolves. American, European, South American, Asian, Canadian, all sorts. A breed in every part of the world."

"I didn't really get the best look at it last night. I'll patrol again tonight and keep my eye out for it."

"Well, just remember-"

"Giles, I'm not gonna kill whoever it is, if it is a werewolf. I'll capture it, wait for dawn, and see who it is. Piece of cake."

"Will you be bringing Willow and Xander?" Giles asked.

"No, I don't think so, it'll be too dangerous for them. Have you got any information on this new Big Bad?"

Giles shook his head. This new evil that was currently threatening Sunnydale was very elusive and powerful. He'd never encountered anything equal to it. Sure, the Master and Angelus had been a real puzzle, but this new evil could change form and had powers that no demon that Giles had ever encountered possessed.

When last period let out, Willow Rosenberg walked across the Sunnydale High School quad.

She missed Oz.

He had been gone for almost a week now.

Willow looked around at all of the couples and sighed. She wished Oz was there with her.

"Hey, Will!" a voice yelled from behind her.

Willow looked around. A teenage boy with dark hair and a handsome faced practically bounced to her.

"Hey, Xander," Willow greeted her lifelong best friend.

"What's up?" Xander read Willow's face and saw the answer. "Still suffering from Oz-withdrawal symptoms, huh?"

"Yeah," Willow said. "I'm worried about him. His wolfiness, that's all."

"Will, he's a big boy, he can take care of himself," Xander said for the hundredth time.

"I guess," Willow shook her head. There were more important things to worry about now. "Giles say anything about our new brewin' Big Bad?"

"Nah," Xander said. "I've gotta feeling we're in for a night of books, boredom, and one frustrated Brit."

Willow smiled. Unlike her fellow Scoobies, Willow loved doing research on the creatures of the Hellmouth. But even she had her limits when it came to studying under Giles' sharp intolerance at finding no suitable information on a specific creature.

"Hey, you!"

Willow turned around and saw rat-like Principal Snyder hurrying across the campus towards them. To Willow's surprise, Snyder passed her and Xander and went for a guy with brown hair. He was leaning against a yellow van and smoking what looked like a cigarette. Neither Willow nor Xander knew the guy.

"You know the rules, young man," Snyder told the guy. "No smoking on campus."

He stopped and looked closer at the cigarette in the guy's hand.

"Is that……marijuana?" Snyder spluttered. He grabbed the guy's arm "All right, my office. Now."

"Who the fuck are you, man?" the guy asked, jerking his arm out of Snyder's grasp. "I don't go to this school. Leave me alone, you little rat-man."

"You can't fool me," Snyder spat. "I know my own students."

"I'm twenty-two, for fuck's sake! I'd be in college, not this shit-hole!"

"Watch your mouth, you little-"

Willow and Xander decided it was time to intervene. Student here or not, they didn't want to see this guy suffer Snyder's wrath.

"Um, Principal Snyder?" Willow said timidly. "This guy doesn't go here."

"Yeah, sir, you've got the wrong guy," Xander added.

"Who is this young man, then, Rosenberg?" Snyder asked curtly.

"He's, um, my cousin," Willow invented. She glanced at the license plate on the back of the yellow van. "He's visiting from Canada."

Snyder glanced at the guy. Behind Snyder's back, Willow and Xander gave the guy a "play along" look.

"Um, yeah," the guy said to Snyder. "She's my cousin. Haven't seen her in years." For good measure, he went over to Willow and put an arm around her. Willow could smell the hated smell of nicotine around him and tried to look at home with it.

"And the marijuana?" Snyder asked,

"Not pot," the guy said. "Just rolled-up cigs, completely harmless."

Snyder eyed all three of them. He sighed and began to walk away. Before leaving, he gave Willow a sharp look.

"I'm keeping my eye on you, young lady," he said.

"Yes, sir," Willow said.

Snyder walked off. As soon as he was out of sight, the guy let out a sigh.

"Shit, I thought he'd give me to the cops," he said. "Thanks, you guys."

"Who are you?" Willow asked.

"My name's Sam," Sam said. "Long story why I'm here. Just seeing Mr. Giles."

"Ooh,, we know Mr. Giles, too," Willow said. "My name's Willow Rosenberg and that's Xander Harris."

Sam smirked. "Xander?" he asked as he shook Xander's hand.

"It's short for Alexander," Xander said. "Personally, I prefer 'the Xand-man' "

"Wait, Willow?" Sam asked. "Oz says hi."

"You've seen Oz?" Willow asked in a surprised voice.

"Yeah, met him coming down here," Sam said. "He's a cool guy."

"I know he is," Willow said.

"Oh, hey, Buff!" Xander yelled.

Sam was shocked. The girl who had kicked serious vampire ass the night before came up behind them. Up close, she looked like a normal teenager. No one would have guessed that this girl had superhuman powers.

"Hey, guys," she said. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, Sam, this is our friend, Buffy Summers," Willow said quickly. "Buff, this is Sam…..well, we didn't catch his last name."

"It's no big deal," Sam said. "It's not really important."

"Well, anyway, hi," Buffy said, smiling at him. She turned to her friends. "Giles wants us to help him later in the library." She gave them a significant look.

"What'd I tell ya?" Xander asked Willow.

"So, I'll see you guys later," Buffy said. She looked at Sam. "Gotta get home, let Mom know I'll be gone for the afternoon."

"Yeah, I've gotta go," Xander said. "Got a date. With Willow. And books."

"Kinky," Sam said slyly.

"Come on, Xander," Willow said, smiling, but inwardly burning with guilt at the memory of her kiss with Xander on the night of the Homecoming Dance. No one must know about that.

"Thanks again, guys," Sam said to Xander and Willow. He nodded a good-bye to Buffy and headed back to the school. Watching him leave, Buffy frowned.

"He doesn't go here, does he?" Buffy asked. She'd been at the high school for three years now, but maybe she'd never noticed Sam.

"No," Willow said. "He's in his twenties. Snyder was heckling him for smoking. We kinda rescued him."

Still frowning, Buffy looked at her friends. "There's something weird about him. I get a creepy vibe off him."

"Buff, you can't be suspicious of every new face," Xander said. He thought about that. "Well, maybe you should be. I mean, this is the Hellmouth."

"And there is a new Big Bad," Buffy added. She looked at Willow. "Should I be suspicious?"

"You know, there is a such thing as road trips," Willow said. "He's from Canada. Maybe he's visiting a sick aunt or something."

"How d'you he's from Canada?" Buffy asked.

"License plate," Willow said, pointing to Sam's van. "Look, Buff, we gotta go. We'll see you later. Please don't dwell much on this, OK? There's no law saying that normal people can't be here."

She gave her best friend a small smile and walked off, Xander following as he gave Buffy a wave.

Buffy watched her friends walk off, and then went over to Sam's van and peered through the windows. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for, just something to confirm her theory that something was off about Sam.

Through the glares on the glass, Buffy couldn't see anything. She pulled open the door. She made a face when the smell of cigarette smoke hit her nose.

Upon first glance, everything seemed fine. It really did seem that Sam was just a traveler. The van did look as though someone had been living in it.

Buffy opened the glove compartment and a mess of thing tumbled out. A pack of cigarettes. A map of Sunnydale. Empty lighters.

Buffy's eyes went to a photo that had slipped out of the map. It was a snapshot of a glum-looking girl with bushy dark-brown hair. She was wearing a scowl that suggested that no one should ever take her picture.

Buffy wondered who the girl was. Sam's girlfriend? His sister, maybe?

She began slipping the items back into the glove compartment. She looked down and what she saw on the floor made her stop.

It was a syringe full of dark liquid. Shutting the glove compartment, Buffy straightened up and held the syringe up to the sunlight coming through the windows. The liquid inside the syringe had a purple hue to it.

Buffy frowned. She'd never seen anything like this. She didn't think the liquid was medicine, and as far as she knew, this wasn't any kind of drug.

After quickly shutting the driver's side door, Buffy slipped the syringe into her bag. She'd have Giles or Willow look at the liquid when she got to the library in an hour.