Willow and Oz met at the mausoleum and combined their preparation for Oz's transformation into a werewolf with a study date. With all that was going on, Willow had had little time to finish her term paper on inventors. Though it wasn't yet dark, Oz had just put a match to the wicks of a half dozen candles on the ledge by the cage.

"What I wonder is whether a trivial invention like breakfast flakes can be compared to the invention of television," Willow was saying.

"I like corn flakes better," said Oz. He sat opposite Willow in one of the lawn chairs they had brought from the Rosenberg's backyard, but he didn't face her.

"Well, the first cereal flakes were actually wheat flakes, not corn flakes," said Willow.

"Still prefer corn flakes," said Oz.

"Oz, not helping here."

"Oh, sorry. A little distracted."

"Yeah," said Willow, instantly sorry she had snapped at him. When she looked at him again, she could see that he was having one of his pensive moments. He had a lot of them, and it was one of the things that intrigued and frightened her. What was he thinking about?

"Let's not look at whether the inventions are useful or not," said Oz. "From what you've been saying, the real question is who made the crucial contribution."

"Well, yeah," said Willow. "John and Will Kellogg are both credited with inventing cereal flakes, and Philo Farnsworth and Vladimir Zworykin are both credited with inventing television. But in both cases, it was the first one's idea: John Kellogg and Phil Farnsworth."

"You're on a nickname basis with Philo Farnsworth," said Oz. "I'm jealous." Willow shot him a look of mock annoyance before he continued. "It boils down to the term 'crucial contribution'," he said. "Without Will Kellogg's contribution, his big brother, John, didn't actually have flakes, he just had cereal dust. It would be like eating slain vampires."

"Yuck!"

"Only with milk."

"Double yuck! Move on from the undead imagery," suggested Willow.

"OK," said Oz. "Without Zworykin, Farnsworth's television was technically still television. Zworykin made television better, but he didn't invent it, even though he's been credited with it."

"I get it!" said Willow. "Will Kellogg's contribution was more crucial to the invention of cereal flakes than Zworykin's was to the invention of television."

"Yes, although it depends on your point of view."

"How do you mean?" asked Willow.

"Zworykin lowered the amount of light the camera needs to see, which is fairly crucial if you're actually on TV. Farnsworth's lighting had to be so bright, people on TV would need sunblock just to read the news." Willow was laughing at the image of somebody reading the news with lotion on their face when Oz suddenly went into a spasm. The transformation was beginning. Outdoors, the light was failing. "Speaking of a lower amount of light," said Oz.

"Come on," said Willow. "Let's get you into the cage." She helped him—half carried him—through the open iron door. Oz was in genuine pain now. To Willow, it had seemed in the past that the pain was less and less each time, but up close she could tell that it still hurt him a lot. She could feel Oz's heart pounding, feel sweat pouring from his armpits and from the small of his back. The scent affected her strangely, both repellent and appealing at once.

She got him to the middle of the cage where, while thrashing about, he would be less likely to throw himself against the bars. She succeeded in tearing his clutching arm from across the back of her neck and shoulders; then she planted a kiss on his lips before reluctantly backing away. "I'll see you in the morning," she said, her voice breaking with a longing that surprised her: a longing for the Oz who was slipping away from her, who would be restored to her at dawn, but whose loss she felt now as if it were permanent. She went out and locked the cage door behind her.


Principal Snyder sat alone at his dinner table in his condominium apartment. It was a new building, and thoroughly secure, or so the brochure had said. It had every modern convenience, but the one draw back was that everything was rather small, including the distance from the dining through the living room to front door. Snyder was sipping coffee over a half-eaten slice of apple and a wedge of Velveeta cheese when the doorbell rang. He grunted his annoyance, checked his watch, and walked the few steps to the door. When he opened it, Snyder was shocked to see two of the missing students, Buffy Summers and Cordelia Chase, both wearing black leather outfits and standing there as if they had been invited.

"What's the meaning of this?" asked Snyder angrily. "Where have you been? You two young ladies are in a lot of trouble, I'll tell you that. Do the police know you've come back? Do your parents?"

"So many questions," chirped Buffy condescendingly.

"Yeah, aren't you going to invite us in so we can answer them?" asked Cordelia.

"Of all the nerve!" declared Snyder. But his beady eyes became fixed as he pondered his options. "Oh, very well. Come in, both of you, but only as long as it takes to clear this up. Then I'm calling the police."

"Oh, I don't think there would be any point in that," said Buffy, scanning the apartment as she walked in.

"Nah," added Cordelia.

"I'll be the judge of that, missy," Snyder said to Cordelia. He turned back toward his little dinner table. While his back was to the vampiresses, Cordelia made a face that said, fancy him. Buffy wrinkled her nose in reply, and, as she did, her game face morphed in and out. In a few steps, Snyder was again seated behind his coffee, pie and cheese. "Ms. Summers," he continued, "I never dreamed that you would once again give me the pleasure of having you expelled. If I had realized that it's more fun the second time, I'd have readmitted you sooner. Perhaps next year I would be willing to readmit you again, just for the pleasure of re-expelling you. Of course, you realize that these multiple expulsions—not to mention having to do senior year over again—are going on your permanent record, and if you have any dreams of going on to higher education or ever getting a decent job…."

Buffy brought her eyes within three inches of Snyder's. "I've got news for you, you cheese-eating little gnome: I don't give a crap about my permanent record." She put on her game face and watched the blood drain from Snyder's face. Without turning her glowing green eyes from him, she spoke to Cordelia. "Why don't you start this time?"

"Eww," said Cordelia. "Why do we have to eat gnome? Can't we find a couple of hunky guys to eat?"

"Th-that's right," said Snyder, "You d-don't want me. You want someone who-who's on the-the wrestling team. They're hunky."

"He's making sense to me," said Cordelia.

"He's just bargaining to save his ass, Cord," Buffy, still holding Snyder's terrified gaze. "Blood's blood. Besides, a gnome in hand is worth two hunks in the bush." Buffy broke off her gaze, half turning toward Cordelia. "And that didn't end up quite where I started."

"Can't say the image of hunks in the bush is a turnoff, though," responded Cordelia dreamily.

"Me neither," said Buffy. "Funny, but not long ago I would have blushed at my own double-entendre. Now I just feel… liberated."

"You're feeling like a horny slut," said Cordelia, "I always felt like that."

"No comment," said Buffy. "What do you say we make an appetizer of Snyde-man, here, and then go out and find you a jock boy-toy?"

"Sounds fine to me, sis," said Cordelia. As Buffy and Cordelia pressed their cold lips against either side of his neck, Snyder opened his mouth wide as if intending to scream, but the only sound heard in the room was his death rattle, accompanied by the satisfied slurping and gruntling of the two vampiresses.

Afterward, Cordelia asked, "What's that awful smell?"

"Eww," said Buffy, "Snyder peed himself. And his carpet."

"Some people just aren't civilized," huffed Cordelia.


"I am sure that this address is familiar," Giles said to Angel as they parked in front the condominium.

"Well, I guess it's also familiar to Buffy or Cordy," said Angel. The two men looked at Cordelia's "Queen C" vanity plate on the sportscar in front of them. A moment later, two figures came skipping out of the front door of the building.

"And there they are," said Giles. "You know that I love Buffy, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let her continue like this." Giles started out of the car with a stake in one hand and a vial of holy water in the other.

"Hold on," said Angel, but although Angel caught up with Giles quickly, so had Cordelia.

"Not exactly my idea of a jock toy, but this'll do," Cordelia said as she knocked Giles down and picked him up with one hand. The vial broke on the sidewalk beneath his feet.

"Let him go!" shouted Angel.

"Or else what?" asked Buffy stepping in Angel's way.

"Buffy," said Angel, and he did not say more, but only moved his lips helplessly.

"'Buffy! Oh, Buffy!'" mocked Buffy in a pittiful tone. "What? Cat got your tongue, Angelus?"

"The name's Angel," he replied.

"And more's the pitty," said Buffy, her lower lip protruding in a pout. Suddenly, Angel punched Buffy with all his speed and might, sending her sprawling on the pavement. He then swiftly smacked Cordelia across her bumpy forehead as she was about to eat Giles. With a yelp the regal vampiress fell back on her rump, but she recovered quickly, rolling away before Angel came in for the kill. He now held the stake Giles had dropped plus one of his own.

Once more, Buffy came at Angel—this time with a flying kick, but he dodged her and managed to get behind her before she could turn. He grabbed her arm in an attempted hold, but before he could follow through, it was she who had him in an armlock. He only freed himself by stomping her foot and then throwing her off balance with an elbow to her chest.

When they separated, instead of continuing to engage her, Angel rushed to where Giles was just climbing to his feet. He handed the watcher both stakes.

Cordelia chortled. "Two stakes are as useless as one for that meat sack," she said. Buffy kicked Angel, and soon led him away from Giles. Cordelia moved in to take him, but Giles crossed the two stakes and held them up to Cordelia's face. The vampiress shielded her eyes, squealing and stepping backward.

Meanwhile, Buffy managed to land a kick, knocking Angel over a low wall which retained the soil around the condominium's hedges. Buffy turned and walked swiftly to Cordelia's side.

"Let's get out of here," Cordelia suggested. "This is no fun." But in an instant Buffy was on top of Giles, forcing him to press the crossed stakes against her chest. With sizzle and smoke, the make-shift cross burned marks into her flesh.

"The trick is not minding the pain," she told him. "And, by the way, you do know you're supposed to stick the pointy parts in me, don't you? But then you never could admit you wanted to put your pointy part in me, you dirty old man." Buffy gave him the back of her hand. In the next instant, she was on her feet and taking Cordelia by the arm. "Let's book, girlfriend," she said to Cordelia.

Angel rushed over to Giles side; the watcher was stunned but all right. Then Angel looked up to see Buffy and Cordelia get into their car and drive away.


It was nearly midnight when Willow's head jerked up from her book. She thought she had just nodded off, but she couldn't be sure whether she had been dozing for minutes or hours. Her watch read 11:58. It was quiet, but when she listened carefully, Willow could hear a low growl. She looked over at the cage, and saw a four-legged beast where she had left Oz seven hours ago. It was curled up in the middle of the cage, moonlit through the high barred window.

Suddenly the door of the mausoleum crashed open, and Buffy came in, dressed in a black leather jumpsuit and walking in an easy, confident stride. "One of my old haunts," she observed cheerily. "How could you hope to hide from me here?"

A chill went through Willow, but she said, "I wasn't trying to hide."

"Should've. Especially since you're the only one who could perform that ensouling ritual. I have a problem with that."

"What problem?"

"I was miserable with a soul. I was miserable with that dreary excuse for a life. Could never have what I wanted. Ever." As Buffy paced back and forth in front of the door, Willow looked about the room for a way out, even though she knew there wasn't one. She saw Oz-wolf raise his head, looking with interest in Buffy's direction. "There are two ways to do this, Will. One is that I could just eat you. That would suit me fine, even though I'm not especially hungry. Just ate a few hours ago."

"Not anyone I know, I hope," said Willow, edging toward Oz's cage.

"Well, no one you care about anyway," replied Buffy. "But that's only option one. Option two is that I could turn you into one of me. Well, you wouldn't be me, exactly. You'd be vampire Willow, whatever that would be like. I'm going to leave it up to you. Actually, though, I'd be curious to see you as a vampire."

"No, thanks," replied Willow.

"Well, we'll see," said Buffy. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"N-nowhere," said Willow. "I'm just nervous. I'm moving around because you make me nervous."

"Aw, you don't have to be nervous—although I find it keenly flattering that you are."

"I don't suppose you'd give me until tomorrow night to think about becoming a vampire," said Willow.

Buffy laughed. "Oh, clever Will. No, I don't think I'll fall for that one, and neither did you, right? You know, I told Cordy about the choice I was going to give you, and she didn't want to come."

"Why not?"

"Oh, Will, you know. Cordelia never liked you. Still doesn't. Doesn't want to have anything to do with you. Says the last thing she wants to do is eat you, and if I bring you back as a vampire, she'll never speak to me again. Why does she think that's a threat? I wish she would promise."

"If you don't like Cordelia, then why did you turn her?"

"Good question. Wish I knew. I guess I didn't want to be lonely. No, that's not it. Cordelia made my life hell. I think I wanted a little payback."

"Then why make me a vampire?"

"Not because I ever liked you. Don't fool yourself. For some reason, though, I didn't hate you as much as I hated Cordelia. I remember that."

"I thought so."

"Thought what?"

"You only half remember Buffy's likes and dislikes because you're not Buffy. Buffy's gone."

"See, Will, that's what you call profound. With Cordelia around, I miss profound observations. All you get from Cordy is the obvious."

"You know," said Willow, "I've known the real Buffy for two years, and I actually thought of her as my hero. I would have given anything to be like her. Now, well, I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather die than become like you."

"I can live with that," said Buffy. Then, she cocked her head to one side. "Or should I say 'I can exist with that'? You see, I could have used you to check my grammar. Now I'll just have to get Microsoft Word."

"Their spelling and grammar checkers are full of bugs," said Willow. "You can't rely on them."

At that, Buffy lunged for Willow who hurled a chair at her. Buffy knocked it aside as if it were made of lightweight aluminum-which it was, in fact. Willow grabbed a candlestick in each hand and waved them near Buffy's face and hair. Buffy stepped back.

"Oops! Wouldn't want to burst into flame, would you?" taunted Willow, but Buffy had already moved in and fearlessly knocked the candles out of her hands. One landed on the volume of notes Willow had spent the evening writing. For a moment, Willow felt sickened to see all that work crisping and curling in the spreading flame; then she realized that that was the least of her worries. She rolled and tumbled across the floor and hit her head and shoulders against the door of the cage. It was enough to stun her, but only for an instant. Buffy was upon her in the next instant, dragging her to her feet by the throat. Behind Willow, inside the cage, Oz-wolf was thrashing around and growling now. He bounced off of the bars and made them rattle against Willow's back.

"Thanks," said Buffy. "I really needed to work up an appetite."

"No problem," rasped Willow.

"Still, are you sure you don't want me to turn you into a vampire? I could still do it. I think you'd make a badass vampire."

"I doubt it," replied Willow working her arms behind her. "Black leather doesn't suit me." With that, she turned the key, unlocking the cage. Then, with all her remaining strength, Willow placed the soles of her sneakers against the bars and launched herself forward. Buffy was only holding her up and was unprepared to prevent Willow's forward motion; Buffy nearly lost her own balance. She let go of Willow for just a moment but went after her almost immediately. She was picking Willow off of the floor when suddenly something sank its teeth into Buffy's left shoulder. She let go of Willow, brought the palm of her right hand across her body and over her left shoulder to meet the snout of Oz-wolf. The werewolf yelped in pain, but the impact of his pounce had been enough to bring Buffy down. Willow just managed to roll out from under them as the vampire and werewolf crashed to the floor, kicking up dust so that it nearly reached the high ceiling. Willow crawled into a corner and watched in amazement as the two creatures rolled across the room like some cartoon catfight. Oz-wolf maintained a grip on Buffy's shoulder however much she punished him with fists, elbows, knees and feet. "That's my Oz," said Willow.

Breaking free at last, Buffy faced off against Oz-wolf, but he fearlessly pounced again and again as Buffy barely managed to keep him at bay. Backing to the mausoleum's entrance, Buffy glanced ruefully in Willow's direction before opening the door with a foot and swiftly gliding through the narrow aperture. It closed firmly and loudly behind her.

Now Willow realized that she might have escaped the frying pan only to fall into the fire. Oz-wolf turned and glared at her, his eyes like burning coals. He growled and walked across the room. Willow tensed. Oz-wolf went back into his cage and curled up in the middle where he began methodically licking his wounds. Willow wobbled as she climbed to her feet, walked the few steps to the door of his cage and closed it again. Before she would lock it, she went to the mausoleum door and determined that the lock was broken. She spent the rest of the night sitting with the tranquilizer gun in her lap, daring neither to lock the cage nor fall asleep, and praying that Buffy did not return.