While Giles was reading by candlelight, a tall dark-haired figure was walking the streets of Sunnydale, following a feeling. It tugged at him, a sensation of being drawn to a certain place, though he didn't know where. He'd only entered the town that night on a whim, passing through on his wanderings, and almost immediately the compulsion had taken hold of him. It was with a certain wariness that he followed - he had not lived as long as he had without learning caution. When his path crossed a graveyard, his caution doubled. Senses alert, he strode through with purpose, waiting to see what fate had in store for him this time.

He hadn't imagined it would be a blonde sailing through the air and right into him.

"Stay down!" she commanded, leaping back up and pulling a wooden stake from inside her jacket. Two men with horribly distorted faces and fangs came running towards her, murder and hunger in their cold eyes. With two fast and well placed stabs of her stake, they turned to dust.

"Behind you!" he shouted.

She turned and a third's dusty remains blew away on the wind. She turned back to look at him. "You ok?"

"Just fine, though perhaps a trifle surprised," he stood, dusting the grave dirt off his slacks, straightening his long jacket, "you seem no worse for wear yourself. That was quite impressive."

"Thanks," the stake went back into her jacket, "Probably want to hurry up to wherever you're going. Not safe to be out at night."

"I don't know where that is. Where I was going, I mean." The feeling he'd been following had vanished. "Doesn't matter now I suppose. If you could just point me to the nearest hotel?"

"Um. Sure," she looked at him oddly, and little wonder. "Go east down this street for five blocks or so, take a right. You'll see one."

"Thank you. Where'd a college girl learn to fight like that?"

"Girl's gotta know how to defend herself."

He cocked his head, amused. "There's self defense, and then there's shoving a stake into the chest of monsters."

She shrugged and turned to leave. "Get to that hotel. Fast."

"Can I at least know my rescuer's name?" he called after her, but she didn't answer.

The next day found Buffy at the Magic Box, where Willow and Tara were helping Dawn with her homework as they waited on word from Giles.

"Hey Buffy!" said Willow, "how's it going?"

"Ok. Something kind of weird happened last night."

"Uh oh. Weird like, 'oh how interesting and perfectly harmless' or weird like, 'oh no probably a sign of the apocalypse?'"

Buffy grinned. "The first one, I hope. Ran into a guy in the cemetery. Well, a vampire threw me into him. Then I dusted him. The vampire, not the guy."

"And why is this weird?" Tara asked.

"Just the way the guy acted. He seemed perfectly ok with the fact that I just staked a vampire in front of him. Then I staked two more. The he picked himself up off the ground, dusted himself off, smiled disarmingly and made a couple small talk type remarks with a grin on his face."

"So, you're freaked out that he wasn't more freaked out," Willow said.

"Yes. Is that weird?"

Willow and Tara looked at each other and shrugged.

Buffy sighed. "Any word from Giles?"

"Last thing we heard was that the town is small and kinda creepy and he was going to talk to a local historian of some sort," Tara said, "Barnabas Collins."

"Barnabas?" Dawn looked up from her textbook, skeptical.

"I like it. It sounds so formal and old-fashioned spooky," Willow said, repeating the name an octave lower and drawing it out slowly. "Baaarnabas Colllllins."

Buffy smiled. "Well, hopefully no news is good news, though it would be nice to figure out what's haunting the… no way."

"What is it?" asked Dawn.

Buffy was looking out the window. "It's the guy. The one from last night. He's crossing the street."

"Coming here?" Willow asked.

"The one with the 'disarming smile?'" Dawn grinned.

"He can see the shop's not open yet, right?" asked Tara.

"I don't think he cares. He saw me in the window," Buffy moved to the door, waiting for the knock.

Instead, a slip of paper slid under the door.

"I know your shop's closed, but please permit me to give the lady who saved my life a proper thank-you. I won't bite, I promise." Buffy read aloud, eyebrows rising at the last sentence.

"At least he's got a sense of humor," Tara smiled.

"There's that," Buffy muttered, and opened the door.

"Good afternoon," the tall, lean man said. In the daylight she could see his hair was brown, styled to have just a hint of sideburns, and his mouth seemed stuck in a perpetual smirk. "May I come in?"

"I'd rather not. Nothing personal, just, you know. Closed."

"Of course. Well, I wanted to say thank you, properly," he looked inside, over her head, "and this is quite the place. I know," he held up his hands, smiling as he beat Buffy to her rebuttal, "you're closed. Just making an observation... and what is apparently a poor attempt at small talk. I'll let you get back to," he glanced at Dawn, "homework. Thank you again." He started to turn away, but spun back, "Incidentally, when do you open?"

"When the owner gets back in town."

"I see. And are creatures like the ones from last night common on the streets after dark?"

"Yep."

"Then I suppose this really is a magic shop, not just baubles for housewives."

"Yep."

He looked at her a moment, hands in his pockets, genuinely puzzled. "Why are you annoyed?"

Buffy frowned a little, unsure herself. "I don't understand why you're still here."

"Doesn't anyone ever say thank you?"

"Not usually, no." The phone rang. Willow answered as Buffy softened, "I'm Buffy. I kill vampires. And other things."

"Those were vampires?" he looked genuinely surprised. "Do all of them around here look like that?"

It was a strange question. "As far as I know, all of them around everywhere do."

"Hm. Well, Buffy, my name is Quentin Collins, and it is an honor to meet you."

She couldn't believe it was just a coincidence. "Collins."

"Yes."

"Have you ever heard of a town called Collinsport?"

Quentin's smile became forced. "Yes. Charming little fishing town."

"You wouldn't happen to know a Barnabas Collins, would you?"

Quentin's smile vanished. "And where on earth did you hear that name?"

"That was Giles," Willow said, hanging up the phone. "He's on his way back from Collinsport, should get here tonight. He said he's bringing the local expert with him."

Quentin's brow rose. "Ladies, may I come inside? I feel like there is quite a bit we should discuss. Namely, how my cousin's name is known all the way on the other side of the country and why my hometown is of such interest to you."

Buffy let him in, locking the door behind him. "Don't try anything."

He smirked. "I wouldn't dream of it. Would you please explain what's going on?"

"Something's been haunting the college library. We've figured out it comes from Collinsport, but that's it. So our friend Giles went out there to see if he could find any info. Last thing we heard, he was going to try to meet with a Barnabas Collins to see if he could get any answers."

"Wait," Dawn said, "you're named Collins, and you live in Collinsport?"

"The family founded the town back in the 17th century, Miss…?"

"I'm Dawn."

"She's my sister," Buffy cut in, a touch defensively, "Tara and Willow are friends of mine."

"Ladies," he bowed his head, "Quentin, at your service," he turned back to Buffy, "and if you've got a spirit from Collinsport in town, I'm going to insist on being involved with whatever it is you plan on doing. There's a decent chance it's part of the family. I want to know everything that's been happening, and if possible, I'd like to see the library it's haunting."

"Part of the family?" Dawn asked.

"Almost everything supernatural in Collinsport has ties to the Collins family. Not always a direct link, mind you, but we're always involved somehow," he said with chagrin.

"We could at least take him to the library," suggested Tara, "they've kept it open, even with all the poltergeist-y things happening."

"Been kind of a deterrent to students, though," Willow added.

"It hasn't harmed anyone?" Quentin asked.

"Scared the bejeezus out of a bunch of people. Books flying, shelves falling, wailing, laughing as people run away, that sort of thing," Willow explained.

"But it could get worse," Buffy said.

"And it has been my experience that it probably will," Quentin nodded. "Lead on then. Let's go make this spirit's acquaintance."

Buffy shrugged. "Why not? You three stay here -"

"What?" they said in unison.

"Someone has to stay with Dawn."

"I'm not a child! I can watch myself in the middle of the day. Besides, I don't see why I can't come with you."

"And we're not letting you go talk to a ghost with a mysterious stranger," Willow stated like it should be obvious.

"Do you all usually go ghost hunting together?" Quentin asked, amused.

"All the time," said Willow. "We're Buffy's backup team."

"Then I don't see why now should be any different," he smiled.

Buffy sighed, and led the way. Quentin followed, curious about this young woman who could kill vampires so easily, not to mention the strange differences between the vampires here and his cousin Barnabas. The fact that they had an entourage - a 'back-up team' - was almost as ridiculous as the idea of a cheerleader fighting monsters. Still, he couldn't deny what he'd seen last night... and honestly, stranger things existed in the world.

Their group grew larger as they walked across the college campus. "Hey Buffy! Willow!" A young man with black hair and a blond young woman hurried up to them, "Tara, Dawn…"

"Stranger?" the woman finished.

"This is becoming quite the party," Quentin muttered. He didn't like the idea of so many onlookers when dealing with supernatural beings. It increased the chances of something going wrong.

"Xander, Anya, this is Quentin. We're taking him to meet the thing haunting the library," Buffy introduced them.

"Oh! Yes. Good. I always take everyone I've only just met to see ghosts," said Xander.

"He might know what it is," Willow rolled her eyes with a smile. "He's from Collinsport."

"He's a Collins," Dawn added with artificial pomp.

Quentin sighed, "It's been ages since I associated with children," he said to himself.

"Hey!"

He realized he'd spoken aloud. "Nothing personal, Dawn. Compared to me - never mind."

"Compared to you what?" Buffy asked.

Quentin grinned. "Oh, why not," he shrugged. They were clearly accustomed to ghosts and vampires, why not him? "I was just telling Dawn how it's been a long time since I associated with children. She was rightfully offended, though I meant nothing by it. Compared to me, that could describe all of you." A chorus of offense went up. He gave a short laugh. "How old do you think I am? Take a guess, any of you."

"Thirty?" Dawn hazarded.

"Twenty-seven," said Tara.

"Fifty-two and you've had work done," said Xander.

"One hundred thirty five," said Anya. Everyone stared at her. "What? You're all just naming numbers based on an assumption of him being human."

Quentin, still surprised by the insight, said, "You overshot it by a bit."

"How much is 'a bit?'" asked Buffy.

"Five years."

He made it a few steps before realizing everyone else had stopped. He turned back to face them, a wry smile on his face. "You kill vampires. And other things. Surely the idea of a one hundred thirty year old man isn't that shocking?"

"Most people we meet who are over a century old are also undead," Xander said.

Buffy came up to Quentin, a frown on her pretty face, a challenge in her eyes. He did not want to ever see this woman angry, that was certain. "Where were you going last night?"

"I don't know. I was passing through town when I felt something pulling at me, directing me. Then a beautiful young woman wielding a sharp piece of wood sailed through the air and knocked me over."

"Something in town was calling to you."

"I haven't felt it since then."

"How come you're so old?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell the short version."

"I had my portrait painted."

"You mean like the Picture of Dorian Gray?" Willow asked as the rest of the group came closer.

"Not exactly, but it's a similar idea. Of course, I like to think I've maintained a slightly more moral lifestyle, and I have clearly outlived the protagonist."

"He has a portrait that ages instead of him," Tara explained in a hushed voice to Dawn, Xander and Anya.

"I understood the reference," Xander protested.

"I didn't," said Anya.

"Shall we continue?" Quentin asked, "Or is there anything else you'd like to ask to ensure my trustworthiness?"

"I'm still not convinced you're trustworthy, but the library's right over here," Buffy gestured, leading them all inside.

The library was empty except for a scattering of students and one librarian that gave the large group a warning glance. No sooner had Quentin stepped onto the second floor than a breeze started.

"I think it would be wise for everyone to leave," he announced. The students looked up, puzzled. The breeze grew to a strong wind. Students on both floors hastily packed up their things and ran out the door, the librarian close behind, just as books started flying.

"There's no need for this!" Quentin shouted to the air as he dodged a thick volume. A bubbly sinister laugh rang out through the air, making him freeze, a grim smile on his face. "Angelique."

"Who dares say my name!" her voice shouted.

"Don't you know? You called me here, didn't you, Angelique?" he over-enunciated the name, giving it a mockingly heavy French accent.

"Quentin!"

"He got it to talk?" Xander said, shocked.

"Apparently they know each other," said Buffy.

A hazy image of a beautiful woman in a late 18th century dress started to form in front of them. "I thought I sensed your presence last night."

"How did you know I was in town?"

"I was reaching out, trying to determine where I was, and I sensed you, much to my surprise. The connection was weak, and when we were suddenly severed, I couldn't find you again."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was summoned - sort of. I'm stuck, with no idea of who brought me here or for what purpose."

"Huh. Well, I'll see what I can do to fix that."

"You must." As a slight afterthought, she added, "Please, Quentin."

His grin was both amused and sarcastic. "Since you asked so nicely. You'll hear from me later tonight, Angelique. In the meantime, try to behave yourself."

He walked away, his quiet command to the rest of the gang, "Leave. Now." spurring them to follow and not look back.

"So who was that?" asked Buffy once they were back outside.

"Her name is Angelique. She's a witch. She's also responsible for a decent percentage of all the suffering my family's been through over the the past couple centuries, though she'll be the first to point out she's also helped us on occasion."

"Wait. She's a witch?" said Willow.

"She's a bad witch," Tara clarified.

"Is there any other kind?" Quentin asked.

"Yes!" everyone shouted in unison, bringing him to a halt.

He stared at Willow and Tara. "You two."

"Yeah," Willow said, puffing herself up, "we are. Of the good type, I mean."

Quentin considered this for a moment. "You're human. Angelique's not. Her Dark Lord claimed her soul over two hundred years ago."

"Lovely," muttered Dawn.

"And your plan for getting her out of Sunnydale?" Xander asked.

"I don't have one yet. I'm hoping your friend Giles and his so-called local expert will have some ideas. I'm more concerned with how the hell she got here in the first place."

"She said she was summoned," said Anya.

"But by whom? And how?"

"And why?" Buffy added.

"I doubt that 'why' matters. Now that she's here, no one, no matter how powerful, is going to get her to do what they want."