New Blood

by Mandolin

Bloodlines 2. Stuck in Sunnydale, Mike Corbett tries to settle down... but he didn't arrive alone. And he's not the only new face in town.

2. Default Chapter Title

All disclaimers can be found in part one.

New Blood
by Amanda Ohlin

Part Two

Xander paused as Giles finished scribbling. "So what's the list look like?"

"Six students," Giles began as the doors opened to admit Mike and Faith. Surprised, he glanced up at the clock. "Sunset's not for an hour yet."

"Had nothing better to do," Faith answered. "And I got to visit Vortex Boy here at his new job, so I dragged him along."

Mike winced. "Keep calling me that and I'll turn you in, Mac."

"Vortex Boy," Xander echoed in a low voice. "I like that."

Willow perked up. "So you got that job? For real?"

"Yeah, and it pays pretty well," Mike responded as he took a seat across from Buffy. "I've got to work late nights, though."

"Hey, we can identify," Xander pointed out. "So what's this new job?"

Exchanging glances with Giles, Mike changed the subject. "I'll tell you later. What's going on?"

"Something seems to be adversely affecting a number of Sunnydale students," Giles answered, turning back to the list.

Willow jumped in. "A bunch of people have been passing out today. Well, not a bunch, we've only listed six, but even with the heat index they were way too drained for it to be just that."

Buffy nodded. "No such thing as coincidence here."

"Or leprechauns either," Giles murmured, his eyes still fixed on the list. Buffy shot him a look.

"So six people got smashed last night," Faith gathered. "Sure sign of the apocalypse."

Xander was shaking his head. "You weren't there. Compared to these guys, the walking dead look like party animals."

"Harmony didn't even bother to gel or curl," Cordelia put in.

"Well, although we've reached a consensus that their behavior is abnormal," Giles continued, "we're unsure as to the cause."

"I still say she was sniffing hair spray one too many times," Cordelia went on. "I mean, she wears so much lately her head is like a Glue Stic."

Xander coughed. "Cordy, as much as I agree with you right now, can we return to Earth for a few minutes?"

"I know a couple of these people." Oz seemed to be the only one attending to the topic, since he was effectively tuning out everyone except Willow. "I don't see what they have in common."

Willow took the yearbook from him, flipping through it. "That's - that's because they don't," she added. "None of the same friends, teachers, clubs, sports, interests, grade levels, grades--"

"Somebody's been hacking into the school records," Xander admonished, waggling a finger at her.

Mike was glancing over Willow's shoulder with moderate interest, and suddenly pointed to the photo of Jonathan. "Hey, I've seen him before."

"What, Jonathan?" Willow asked as she handed him the yearbook. "Yesterday morning, you mean?"

"No, last night at the Bronze." Mike drummed his fingers on the table. "I only remember that because he didn't try to get a fake ID past me."

"What was he doing at the Bronze?" Cordelia wondered. "Tuesday nights are, like, the most dead nights of the week. It's Must See TV."

Mike stared at her, muttering, "What is it with you people and--" Catching himself, he switched back to the topic. "Yeah, well, it was packed last night. And I clearly remember seeing that guy there."

"Okay, so what were you doing at the Bronze?" Cordelia pressed. Buffy and Giles exchanged looks as it dawned on them just where Mike was working.

Moving around the table, Faith wrapped her arms around Mike's shoulders, leaning over him from behind. "Guess who's tending bar down there now."

Xander was immediately at attention. "You're kidding." As Mike shook his head, he added, "So, you think you might be able to--"

"Forget it," Mike retorted. "I want to keep this job."

"Don't take it personal," Faith informed Xander. "I couldn't get through him either."

"Let me see the rest of them," Mike said, gesturing for the list. He glanced up at Faith, who, much to the others' amusement, was resting her chin on his head. "Faith? Do you mind?"

She pretended to pout, but relented at a sharp look from Giles. "Whatever."

Releasing Mike, she pulled up a chair beside him as Oz flipped through the yearbook. "Here we go. Harmony Perkins."

"Now that is a nasty yearbook picture," Cordelia observed. "I told her to come get a professional photo like I did, but did she listen?"

By now, Mike had learned to tune Cordelia out completely, and he tapped a finger on the photo thoughtfully. "Booth in the back. Had a shit fit when I wouldn't bring their Cokes over myself."

Willow found the next person on the list first. "Jeremy Scott."

It took Mike a minute to place the face. "Think he was getting killed at eight ball. I'm not sure."

"Gwen Albertson."

Mike frowned. "Can't place her."

"Ben Parker."

"Oh, yeah. Nearly broke his neck trying to crowd surf."

"Katherine Bennett."

"Again, not sure, but I think that's the one who made Tina cry." At the puzzled looks he received, Mike clarified, "Tina's a waitress there. She's okay, but she's kind of out to lunch."

Buffy sighed. "That's three definites, two possibilities, and one unknown."

"It's a start," Willow offered. "But what's at the Bronze that could be doing this?"

Xander leaned back in his chair. "Maybe the new guy mixed a few drinks wrong, huh?"

"For your sake," Mike muttered, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Whatever the reason, perhaps a trip to the Bronze is in order," Giles suggested. The others stared at him. "To - to assess any potential threats."

"The Watcher's actually telling us to go party," Faith murmured. "I could get used to this."

Buffy frowned. "Oh, wait, that reminded me. Mom wanted quality time tonight, kind of. She said to invite you all over for dinner. I think she's still trying to adjust to the Slayer thing."

"Really?" Willow exclaimed. "Sure!" She glanced over at Oz meaningfully. The musician smiled and nodded.

"Dinner with someone else's family?" Xander responded. "I'm all for that. Cordy?"

She shook her head. "Unlike some people, I have a social life."

"I'm in, B," Faith added.

Buffy turned to Giles. "Actually, I - I really have to get some more research done." The Slayer sighed and shook her head.

There was a silence, and Mike glanced up to see that Buffy was staring at him. "What?" A moment passed before he deciphered her expectant look. "Oh, uh, no, that's okay. I think your mom's going to have her hands full already."

"You working tonight?" Buffy asked.

"Not til late this time," Mike admitted. "But--"

Smiling, Faith leaned over to Mike, her lips almost brushing his ear. Low enough so that only he could hear, she purred, "Her mom makes wicked french fries."

Mike stared at her for a moment, trying not to laugh. It wasn't easy to keep a straight face with all the strange looks the rest of the Slayerettes were giving them. "All right, all right, you win," he answered finally.

As they wrapped things up and filed out of the library, Buffy pulled Faith aside. "Just what did you say to that boy?"

Faith smiled mysteriously. "Nothing special."

* * * * *

"So you're staying with Mr. Giles?" Joyce asked.

Mike looked somewhat embarrassed. "Well, just until I get back on my feet. It wasn't my idea, really."

"He wasn't conscious enough to have one," Xander mumbled through a mouthful of broccoli. Willow kicked him.

Fortunately, Joyce either didn't hear him or chose not to. "He must have been good friends with your father, then."

Coughing to keep from laughing, Mike nodded. They had given Joyce a cover story that he and Giles had cooked up the day before: that Mike's father was an old friend of Giles' - which was why when Mike had showed up asking to use the phone, Giles had given him the couch instead. So far, it seemed to be working. "Uh, yeah, I guess. But all I really needed was to use the phone."

"Get off the guilt trip already," Faith advised him. To Joyce, she added, "He's gonna start paying Giles rent if this keeps up."

As Mike took a dinner roll from the basket, entertaining the notion of throwing it at Faith, Buffy cut in before her mother could interrogate Mike any further. "When do you have to work tonight?"

"Seven-thirty," Mike answered, checking his watch. "I've got an hour."

Willow realized something and hurried to swallow before speaking. "Oh! The Bronze! Did we, uh, figure out what's going on there?"

"Not that I recall," Oz replied.

"What's this about the Bronze?" Joyce asked.

Buffy winced before explaining, "We kind of think something Hellmouthy is coming from there."

"So you know about the Slaying business too," Joyce surmised, looking at Mike speculatively.

Faith shrugged. "Corbett was in the wrong place at the right time."

"That's not exactly how I'd have put it," Mike retorted. "Anyway, I'm stuck here for the time being, I might as well deal with it."

Joyce was surprised. "Why don't you just call home?"

Mike and Giles had already concocted an answer to that question. "Actually," Mike replied, "if I do, it means I get to tell my folks I dropped out of grad school." He grimaced. "I'd rather dodge vampires, thanks."

"I can relate," Faith commented, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she egged him on. "But the fam can't be that bad."

Mike gave her a sharp look before continuing. "Uh, you don't know my Dad," he muttered. "I'd end up in military school before I knew what was going on."

"You'll have to tell them eventually," Joyce advised, glancing meaningfully at Buffy.

At her mother's look, Buffy smiled wryly. "Yeah, or they'll probably find out on their own."

"I will eventually," Mike insisted. "If I've got some money saved up when I do, I'll have a choice in the matter."

A brief silence followed, and Xander, of all people, broke it with a serious question. "So what's up at the Bronze anyway?"

Mike thought for a minute. "There wasn't anything special except for the crowd," he mused. "Although ... that new band Harry hired is getting a lot of attention. Maybe too much."

"New band?" Willow asked curiously. "What new band? I thought you said Screaming Ballerinas was going to be there all week," she added, turning to Oz.

Oz shook his head. "Their lead got attacked last weekend."

"Well, a replacement walked in on Monday," Mike continued, seeing that they were about to veer off the topic again. "Their name's Relish."

"Relish?" Buffy repeated. "What kind of a name is that? You can't name a band after something you put on a hot dog."

"I think they mean a different sort of relish," Joyce told her.

Xander looked perplexed. "Hamburger relish?"

"Whatever, these guys are weird," Mike interrupted. "They're pretty good, but every time they've started a new set, everybody acts like they're the greatest thing that's ever played."

Oz took another roll from the basket. "You don't share that opinion."

Helplessly, Mike shrugged. "No, I just get a headache. Maybe it's just because I'm not sleeping so well." At the concerned looks he received, he added hastily, "Hey, I'm still getting used to the couch."

"You might want to get some earplugs," Joyce advised. "I've heard a lot of stories about concerts and hearing damage."

She started to collect the dishes, but Buffy caught her. "Mom, I've got it."

"You're sure?" Joyce asked as Buffy tried to balance the stack of dishes.

Mike seized the opportunity and took a few plates off the top. "I'll help."

"You really don't have to--" Joyce demurred.

"Not a problem," Mike answered, following Buffy into the kitchen. Another moment of silence passed as the four teenagers and Joyce looked at each other.

Xander cleared his throat. "Uh, no dessert?"

* * * * *

"So how'd your Mom find out?" Mike asked once they were in the relative privacy of the kitchen.

Buffy sighed. "Totally by accident. A vampire attacked in the front yard, and she was standing on the porch. I had to stake it right in front of her." She shook her head, opening up the dishwasher. "She didn't take the news all that well at first."

"Don't see why she would," Mike pointed out. "My mother had a panic attack when she found out I joined the GSA, and that didn't necessarily involve hand-to-hand every night."

"Yeah, well," Buffy added, "she's still not all that comfortable with it. Which is why we went for the cover story. Nice job of covering, by the way."

Nodding absently, Mike set the stack of plates down by the sink. "Well, not all of it was bullshit. My dad - let's just say one of the reasons I joined the GSA was to get away from him."

"I wouldn't go that far with Mom," Buffy commented with a grin. "But she's still really paranoid and overprotective. She won't even let me drive. So there's a few things I haven't told her yet."

"Like what?" Mike inquired.

"Angel," Buffy said without thinking, her eyes fixed on the night sky beyond the kitchen window.

Seeing the faraway look in her eyes, Mike frowned. "What about Angel?"

The Slayer bit her lip. "No one told you about Angel, did they?" She sighed as he shook his head. "Angel's a vampire."

Mike stopped mid-rinse and stared at her, confused. "Wait a minute."

"But he's a good vampire, really," Buffy added hastily. She looked away, uncomfortable under his curious stare. "It's kind of complicated."

"Okay." Mike drew the word out uncertainly. He could tell it was a touchy subject, and didn't press for details. "Anything else you're not telling me?"

"Well," Buffy replied, her eyes travelling to the window. "Oh, that reminds me. Full moon starts tomorrow night. Better remind Will about Oz watch."

Mike cleared his throat. "You realize that went completely over my head. Oz watch?"

"Oz isn't that harmless three nights out of the month," Buffy explained. When he still didn't get it, she narrowed her eyes. "He's a werewolf. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Weirdness back home tended more toward monsters attacking in the park. This kind of weirdness is on a completely different wavelength," Mike responded flippantly. He didn't seem all that surprised. "Oz is a werewolf? How'd that happen?"

"I got bit," a voice answered, and they turned to see Oz leaning on the "island" in the middle of the kitchen. "You might want to find some dessert soon."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Xander the sugar addict. I think there's some rocky road in the fridge." She moved over to search the refrigerator.

Oz turned to Mike. "You don't have a problem with werewolves?"

"As long as I don't get mauled by one, not really." Shaking his head, Mike leaned back against the counter.

Seeing the look on his face, Oz smiled. "Not much of a surprise."

"For some reason, no."

"Then it's started," the guitarist declared. "You're getting used to Sunnydale. After that, there's no turning back."

Mike glanced out the window, where the nearly full moon gleamed brightly in the sky. "Great."

* * * * *

For once, the person at the bar actually sounded legal. "Hey."

"What'll it be?" Mike asked without thinking, and then caught himself as he realized that Angel was sitting at the bar. "Oh. I'm guessing I don't have anything you can drink."

Angel smiled wryly. "Buffy told you."

"Not everything," Mike admitted. "She never got around to explaining why you're on our side."

"I was cursed with my soul a while back," Angel sighed. "I've had to live with everything the demon inside me did for all those years before." He shook himself out of the memory. "Just give me an ice water, if you don't mind."

Mike complied, deciding this was another subject that was too sensitive to ask about. "If you're looking for Buffy, you just missed her," he explained as he set the glass in front of Angel. "They were watching out for the band for about two hours, but Relish hasn't showed yet. It's like they knew we were coming."

Angel was nodding. "I spoke to Giles - well, as much as I could under the circumstances," he added.

"Another long story?" Mike guessed.

"You have no idea," Angel replied as a commotion broke out near the back. The four band members, looking somewhat battered but no worse for wear, were hauling their instruments up to the stage. The patrons started cheering, and the last-minute DJ Harry had hired immediately started packing up.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mike muttered sarcastically, "Relish has entered the building."

They wasted no time in setting up, and did so surprisingly fast, with Lori handling a rather irate Harry fairly well. Mike watched her carefully; he couldn't hear what they were saying, but she seemed to be apologizing and explaining some convoluted excuse for their lateness. Harry was buying into it, but somehow it seemed as though her sincerity was just a result of carefully calculated acting.

"Who's the redhead?" Angel murmured.

"Lori. The lead," Mike explained. "You know her?"

Angel's brow furrowed as the band took the stage. "I think I've seen her somewhere."

As the music started, their conversation was put to a halt. Again the dance floor was crowded, and again the music had the crowd mesmerized. But this time, Mike realized, it wasn't quite the same. This time, the melody was a lot more potent. The people on the dance floor were moving and swaying to the music in a daze, as if they were completely oblivious to the world and the laws of physics. In fact, the entire club seemed to be in a trance, drinking in the music like it was an addictive drug.

Mike scanned the club and frowned, recognizing faces. Harmony. Gwen. Jonathan. Ben. Jeremy. And that girl hanging over the banister was definitely Katherine. Feeling the headache start to build, he ducked beneath the counter and pulled out the earplugs he'd picked up on the way. As soon as they were in, his head felt clearer.

Standing up, he turned back to the vampire. "Someone's got to get Buffy." Angel didn't respond. "Angel?"

But Angel didn't even hear him. To Mike's horror, the vampire was as mesmerized as the rest of them, his eyes locked on the stage. Or, more appropriately, locked on Lori, who was turned in their direction, looking straight at them as she crooned into the microphone. Slowly, Angel got to his feet, ignoring the untouched glass of water as he moved into the center of the dance floor. He merely stood there amongst the gyrating crowd, staring right at the lead singer.

Mike made to follow, but a glance over at the corner told him that was a bad idea. Harry was still keeping an eye on him. When he turned back to the dance floor, there was no sign of Angel.

As she belted out the chorus, Lori's gaze met his. There was almost a knowing smirk on her face as her green eyes glinted in challenge. The glance lasted only a moment, but as she turned away, Mike could not get rid of the chill that gripped him. How the hell did they know?

He sighed and turned his attention back to the bar, missing the worried and uncertain glance from the bass player.

* * * * *

"Mike. Yo, Mike."

Completely lost in his thoughts, Mike jumped in surprise when Nick poked him with a pencil. "Huh? Oh, sorry. What's up?"

Nick grinned. He was out of uniform, with a satchel slung over one shoulder. "It's after two, man. Harry said to pack up."

"Finally," Mike sighed, throwing the towel over a hook and locking the cash register. "Another night like this is going to kill me."

"No kidding," Nick said as they headed out the back door. "It's never been this nuts during the week before. I'm kind of dreading Friday night."

Mike laughed at that. "God forbid. Maybe I'll get lucky and get hit by a car or something before then."

"Then this is your lucky night," a voice answered.

Immediately, Mike spun in the direction of the sound, dropping into a defensive position on instinct as a pair of vampires stepped from the shadows, game faces revealed. "Nick, get out of here," he ordered the younger boy. "Go!"

Nick wasted no time and bolted for the end of the alley, only to be grabbed by a third vampire at the other end. The vampire threw the boy into the brick wall, letting him collapse into a pile of trashcans. "Dinner later, boys. We got business with the bartender."

Surreptitiously, Mike slid a hand into the pocket of his backpack, slightly relieved when his fingers closed around the stake he'd been keeping for emergencies. "What do you want?" Like I don't know.

"Take a wild guess," the leader answered before leaping at him.

Mike dived out of the way, slamming his pack into the vampire's midsection and knocking his attacker off-balance. He backflipped out of the small circle, stake in hand and back to the wall. As he'd hoped, the leader came at him again in a rage, too arrogant to have the other two double-team him. A crescent kick to the face stopped the rush, but only briefly as the vampire grabbed Mike by the shoulders and pinned him to the wall. The stake fell out of Mike's hand, and he was no match for the vampire's strength.

A crazy idea flashed through his mind, and without thinking, Mike slammed his knee into the place that would hurt the most. With a howl of pain, the vampire let go of Mike, who dropped to the ground, grabbed the stake, and shoved it through his attacker's heart.

He spun to face the other two, stake in hand. This time he wasn't so lucky as they rushed him in tandem. He managed to block a punch from one and kick the other in the gut, but couldn't block the second punch he received in the face. The sheer force of the blow sent him flying into the wall. Dazed, he slumped against the wall, only to be hauled back up to his feet. "I hate it when they fight back," one of the vampires muttered.

"Speak for yourself," the other answered. "I think this one might be a good addition to our organization."

Before Mike could react to that, a sudden cold wind erupted out of nowhere, blasting the vampires from behind and making them turn in surprise. "Holy - !" the first one gasped, his shock great enough to make him loosen his grip. Mike wrenched his wrists free and staked him before he could recover. The other vampire shoved him hard before turning and running down the alley.

Confused, Mike got to his feet, coughing and dusting himself off. When he saw the hazy, glowing form in the alley, he froze. "You." The specter did not answer. "Who are you? What do you want?" The feeling of paralysis was creeping up his spine again, but Mike gritted his teeth, shaking it off and stumbling back from the apparition. For a moment, it looked as though it would advance, but its glow flickered like a candle flame, causing it to hesitate.

Snatching up his discarded backpack, Mike dashed to the other end of the alley, where Nick was still lying in the midst of the trashcans. "Nick! Wake up!" He shook the other boy frantically. "Come on, man!" A glance told him that the specter was gone again, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Nick blinked at him, confused. "You get the number of the Mack truck that hit me?"

Sighing, Mike hauled him to his feet. "I almost ended up roadkill myself. Come on, let's get out of here."

* * * * *

He ran the six blocks back to Giles' apartment. Giles was there, having fallen asleep reading in an armchair, but he came to as Mike burst through the door. Mike was already sporting a bruise from the punch he'd taken to the jaw, and the Watcher started in surprise. "What on earth happened to you?"

Taking a few deep breaths, Mike forced his lungs to work again before answering. "Giles," he gasped, "we - we really need to talk."

* * * * *

Sunrise was coming.

The figure staggered through the trees, following a circuitous route as it weaved and stumbled its way home. It fell down a few times before picking itself up again and continuing with dogged perseverance. Sheer determination and self-preservation were the only things spurring it on as it reached the old mansion, literally falling down the steps as it reached the front door.

With a final burst of strength, the door was wrenched open, and Angel lurched across the threshold, slamming it shut behind him. In the safe darkness of his home, he only managed a few more steps before swooning limply to the stone floor.

* * * * *

Franklin Kwan hated his life.

He sat alone in the beat-up old van, guitar resting in his lap, plucking idly at the strings. Playing helped him think, especially when he was away from the other three. Any time he was away from them helped him think, actually. It made him realize just what kind of a fool he was.

Outside, Lori had just snared a catch. Frank couldn't see or hear it, but he knew instinctively. That was the only reason they needed him - well, the main reason. They had to have four, and each with some level of psychic ability. Right now, Lori was broadcasting hunger and viciousness, her pleasure in the hunt. Frank's stomach turned with revulsion as he picked it up. She wasn't bothering to shield, something she did intentionally to mess with his head. Empathy was a bitch.

Gritting his teeth, he shifted the guitar, retrieving the pick from his shirt pocket. As she moved in for the kill, he started to play, picking out a series of chords as his imagination provided them. Closing his eyes, he tried to lose himself in the melody, to let the rest of the world fade away as he always did. Yet the churning swell of emotions outside - hunger? fear? death? a mingling? - rose up, threatening to break through. His fingers moved even faster over the strings as he fought against it, the melody gaining a frenzied tempo. Still, at the very edge of his consciousness, the carnage was present, a reminder of what he had gotten himself into. Frank kept playing, determined to block it out. He wanted to scream in rage, to yell at her to stop.

Hell, he just wished he could scream.

The kill was made, and the miasma of hunger faded away, much to Frank's relief. He leaned back against the seat, unconsciously clutching his guitar against his chest as he tried to steady himself, to slow his breathing and the pounding of his heart. I can't take this anymore.

Molly climbed in from the cab, grinning like a maniac. Frank forced himself to relax, refusing to let her see his discomfort. She seemed to take pleasure in watching him squirm. "What're you doing in here?" she inquired innocently, as if she didn't know. "You missed the floor show."

He turned his head away, refusing to look at her. "What's the matter, Frankie?" she teased. "You don't like the feeding?" At the lack of response, she frowned. "Really, you can't tell me you don't feel the hunger too."

Frank closed his eyes, refusing to give her any satisfaction or response. "Come on," Molly purred. "It's just little me. You can talk to me." She knelt down beside him, leaning to whisper in his ear. "Talk to me, Frankie. You know you want to."

He didn't move, didn't even flinch or give any sign that he heard her. After a moment or two, she sighed and climbed back out the cab door. Alone, Frank sagged with relief, despite his internal frustration with her taunts. As infuriating as she was, and as tempting as it was, any retaliation would just make things worse.

Although Malik and Lori hadn't said anything to him - and Molly was always lost in her own psychotic little world - he knew that they were about to pull something worse than usual. Just because he couldn't speak didn't mean he couldn't think. Sunnydale was right over a Hellmouth, and Friday was a full moon. It was a definite setup for destruction.

He had to do something, to save his sanity if nothing else. But what? He racked his brain, trying to think of something, anything, some detail they might be missing.

Surprisingly enough, he came up with an answer.

* * * * *

Thursday

He was dreaming of running.

At first, he thought it was the same recurring dream he'd had since he was six; running up a hill that seemed to get higher as he ran, making it impossible to make any progress towards the top.

But he crested the hill easily to reach the fringe of the meadow, where the open land ended and the dense forest began. Uncertain, Mike slowed to a halt. Where was he, and what was he supposed to do now? As he stood there, confused, he caught a flash of color amongst the green. It was flickering between the browns and greens of the forest, a glint of golden yellow. Without thinking, Mike took off after it, plunging into the forest.

He ran without slowing or stumbling, following a random and roundabout path as he madly dashed after the figure ahead of him. As he threaded through the trees, his surroundings became a haze of light and color, and it seemed as though his feet were barely touching the ground. But he couldn't stop running, and as the mad chase went on, he couldn't tell who was chasing who. He thought he heard someone laugh... and then the ground disappeared from beneath him.

With a yell, Mike pitched forward, unable to stop his descent. He tumbled gracelessly down a steep, grassy slope, colliding with someone on the way down. They landed in a tangle of arms and legs, cushioned by the long, thick grass at the bottom. Coughing, Mike sat up, turning to meet the eyes of the girl beside him. Immediately, everything and everyone else he had been worried about seemed to fall away as he recognized her.

"Maya?"

* * * * *

Giles didn't notice it until after he had finished a hasty breakfast. Putting the plate in the sink, he happened to glance into the living room. It occurred to him that Mike had barely stirred at all during his morning routine. Normally, the slightest noise would cause Mike to thrash around and bury his head beneath the pillow as if he were trying to block out the sound of a train wreck.

Concerned, the Watcher turned off the tap and moved over to the couch. Mike was lying there, deep in slumber and even smiling in his sleep. Giles couldn't help but chuckle. Hastily, he scrawled a note, setting it on the coffee table before picking up his satchel. He spared one last glance at his guest before closing the door and heading off to work.

* * * * *

"Willow! Willow Rosenberg!"

Surprised, Willow looked up from her locker to see Amy Madison fairly jogging down the hall. "Amy? What's going on?"

The brunette brushed her bangs out of her face as she hurried over. "I've got to get a haircut," she muttered absently.

Willow noticed the nervous look in her eyes. "What's the matter?"

Amy glanced at the clock before responding. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Witch to witch?"

* * * * *

"How are you feeling?" Giles asked as Mike entered the library. He was a considerable sight better thanks to sleep, and the bruise on his cheek didn't look quite so bad.

Mike pulled up a chair, brushing his somewhat unkempt hair out of his eyes. "I've been better, but I'll live. Thanks for letting me crash late."

"You needed it, from what you've told me," Giles observed. "You've been seeing this apparition periodically since you've come here, I take it?" Mike nodded. "Have - have you been having any related dreams?"

The younger man frowned thoughtfully at the tabletop. "I've been having dreams, yeah, but I don't think they're related."

The slight edge to his voice was not lost on Giles. "Perhaps they might be," the Watcher suggested.

Mike was silent for a moment, but relented under Giles' stare. "All right, all right," he sighed, throwing up his hands. "There - there was this girl back home. Maya. The one who fell through the portal in the first place." he clarified.

He didn't continue, and Giles adjusted his glasses. "And?"

"Well, I've - I've been dreaming about her." At Giles' nod, Mike continued hastily. "Constantly. Vividly. I knew her for what, three hours, and I can't get her out of my head. I'm starting to think that this is how stalkers start out."

Giles was smiling. "You didn't seem so unhappy about it last night to me." At Mike's alarmed expression, the Watcher burst out laughing. "No, no, nothing that embarrassing. But when you weren't roused by my mucking around in the kitchen, I thought something was wrong."

"Yeah, well," Mike replied, "it didn't feel wrong. That's what's bothering me. I barely knew her - maybe a few hours - but now I can't get her out of my head."

"I suppose this could be due to - ah - homesickness, to put it simply," Giles proposed. "It's quite understandable, really, given your situation."

"No," Mike declared. "It's not just that. This kind of thing doesn't happen to me. I don't meet a girl and immediately..." He stopped, trying to find the right words to explain. "When she looked at me, my brain shut down for a second. Everything but Maya just faded into the background. I didn't follow her because it was the right thing to do," he admitted. "I couldn't stand the thought of not following her and letting her disappear. God, I sound like a psychopath."

"If you were truly going mad," Giles observed, "would you be questioning your sanity like this?"

Mike looked down at the table. "I don't know. Maybe I'm on the verge."

The Watcher was silent for a moment before speaking. "Speaking from personal experience," he finally answered, "love at first sight does truly exist."

Mike couldn't suppress a snort, but Giles was undaunted. "Well, it occurs on different levels, I suppose. For some it may be immediate and all-encompassing, and sometimes just a slight stirring that you don't even recognize."

He looked almost wistful as he spoke, and Mike's skeptical look vanished. "Who was she?"

"Oh, ah, actually, she was the - the computer teacher here," Giles replied absently. "Constantly insisted on defending those bloody machines any chance she got. She..." He stopped, realizing where he was. "It's a rather long story."

"I'm sorry." It was all Mike could think of to say.

"No, it's not your fault." Dismissing the subject, Giles slid the stack of books at his elbow over to Mike. "If you're not otherwise occupied, what would you say to a little research?"

* * * * *

"Okay, this is really starting to freak me out," Cordelia moaned as she came within earshot of Xander and Oz. "Broken air conditioning or not, everyone is totally wigging today."

Xander glanced up, smirking. "Hi, Cordelia. I'm fine, and how about yourself?"

"Mock me if you will," his girlfriend answered, not missing a beat, "but I'm serious, Xander." She continued as the three friends headed down the hall. "You know, I counted twelve people who looked like stoners today. People who normally don't even drink," she added at the dispassionate looks Oz and Xander were giving her.

"I counted twenty-two," Oz responded.

Surprised, Cordelia looked back at Xander. "I only got thirteen," he admitted.

"The Bronze theory seems to be accurate," Oz observed.

"Oh, that's just great," Cordelia groused. "So if I don't go to the Bronze, I get to stay a non-zombie, but I have no social life. If I do go to the Bronze, I get to have a life, but I end up as braindead as the rest of them." She frowned as something occurred to her. "You think I'd be wasted enough to wear something off the rack?"

Xander shook his head. "Cordy, the day you wear something store-bought is the day I buy it for you. Which won't be soon," he added, "because I'm broke."

"Pity we didn't get to see Relish play," Oz interrupted.

"You didn't?" Cordelia asked Xander, surprised.

"Nope," he replied. "Sat there for two straight hours and the band didn't show."

"Well, that's ridiculous," Cordelia stated. "If they're so popular, why would they not show for two hours? Unless they knew you were coming ahead of time and decided to avoid the Loser Squad."

"Hey," Xander said, ignoring the insult. "Maybe they did." He gasped, feigning shock. "My God, Cordy's had a breakthrough!"

She made a face at him, but didn't rise to the bait for a change. "Oh, come on. I mean, how could they know? Psychic powers?"

Ahead of them, a dark head was bobbing crazily among the rest. Nancy wobbled down the hallway towards the stairwell, too drained to care that her sense of equilibrium was all but nonexistent.

"We're on a Hellmouth," Oz pointed out as they neared the top of the stairs. "It could happen."

Suddenly, Nancy toppled forward, unable to catch herself as she rolled down the stairs, limbs flying every which way, until she landed in a crumpled heap on the linoleum at the bottom. She didn't move, and as the crowds gathered around, the three Slayerettes stared at the commotion below them. Snyder was there immediately, shoving his way through the crowd as he alternately put down students and muttered about lawsuits.

Cordelia paled. "I think I'm staying in tonight."

* * * * *

"The Bronze just reeks of Old Magick," a voice was explaining as Mike emerged from the stacks with his arms full of books. "Everyone I've passed today who's been there is bearing its mark."

The speaker was a girl he didn't recognize, but Giles was listening to her explanation intently. She was obviously a student, somewhat pretty and more than somewhat agitated, gesturing animatedly as she spoke. Willow was also present, and had taken up residence at the computer behind the circulation desk. None of them noticed his presence as he walked down to the lower level and plunked the books heavily on the table. At the sudden sound, Giles jumped, nearly dropping his glasses in shock as he spun around. "Good Lord!"

"Sorry," Mike apologized, not sounding entirely contrite. "What's going on?"

"Lunch break, I believe," Giles answered, replacing his glasses and glancing up at the clock.

Willow was glued to the computer screen, and didn't seem aware of the situation. "Are those files on ritualistic significance of four elements still here?"

"I wouldn't touch that machine on pain of death," Giles retorted. "You know that."

Obviously, answers weren't forthcoming from them. Sighing, Mike offered a hand to the girl. "Hi. I'm Mike, by the way."

Gingerly, she took it. "Amy." She looked over at Willow as if to say, Who the hell is this guy?

Willow caught the confused looks both were giving her. "Mike, Amy. Amy, Mike. He's okay, she's a witch."

By this time, Mike had given up being surprised. "Nice to meet you."

In her haste, Willow knocked a stack of papers off the desk, sending them tumbling to the floor. "Oops." She knelt down and quickly scooped them up, trying to shuffle them back into shape. "Giles, do these have to be in any order?"

"Hm? No, I don't think so," the Watcher answered. "Just make sure they're all together."

As she stood up again, Willow thought she caught a glimpse of something black sticking out from the upper corner of the cupboard. Before that could register clearly, however, her head connected squarely with the cupboard's rim. "Ow!" Forgetting about the black object, she staggered to her feet, replacing the stack and holding her head. She failed to notice that the impact had jostled the black thing as well.

"You okay?" Mike asked.

She nodded, waving them off with one hand and gently touching a tender spot on the back of her head with the other. "I think so."

"As I was about to ask," Mike continued as they walked over to the computer, "what's going on here?"

"Amy recognized the type of magic coming from the Bronze," Willow answered.

Mike and Giles looked over at Amy, who shrugged. "Like I said, whatever's coming from the Bronze is definitely Old Magick. Not only that, some kind of ritualistic merging of magics."

"Translation, please?" Mike asked.

Giles frowned. "It's not just one demon making everyone act like this. A couple of powerful entities, perhaps, not necessarily demonic, although they would need at least one supernatural being in their number."

"And there's lots and lots of complex rituals and variations," Willow put in. "I'm checking the Wicca bulletin boards. If Amy can pick up on the kind of magic they're using, maybe someone's heard of Relish and can clue us in."

"Try www.spook-squad.com," Amy advised. "They usually pick up underground information."

Willow nodded, her eyes glued to the computer. "Wish I had full names I knew were real. Then I could probably get records on these guys."

Something clicked in Mike's thoughts at that. "Willow, could you do that? Look up records just by full name?"

"I'd have to get through a few firewalls, but I could," the redhead answered as she typed. "And I'd need date of birth and maybe either social security number or a driver's license number."

At that, Mike turned away, looking thoughtful. If Giles had been paying attention, he would have recognized the look on Mike's face. It was similar to the expression Buffy would get when the first stages of an insane plan took hold.

"What sort of rituals?" Giles asked, turning to Amy.

The witch sighed. "I'm not entirely sure. Again, there's tons of variations to choose from, even if we narrow it down to what we already have. Four members of the band, possibly representing the four elements. They use music as the key. And they only seem to do so at night."

"Wait a minute," Mike said. "What about the full moon?" They stopped and stared at him. "Well, it's starting tonight."

Giles started at that thought. "Of course." He turned and selected a book from the stacks that were already on the table, flipping through it. "The full moon lasts for three nights, and on the second night its power is the most potent."

Willow was still engrossed in the computer, so Mike turned to Amy. "I'm still new to this. Help?"

"Basically, when there's a full moon, the concentration of psychic energy is greatest," Amy explained. "Especially the second night. Anyone with some psychic ability could tap into a much greater reserve than usual."

"Which means if they're planning anything big, it'll happen tomorrow," Mike surmised.

"That's still not enough," Giles sighed. "We'd still need to know how many members of the group had supernatural abilities, which type of entity was involved..."

Mike covered his ears. "All right, all right! I get the picture."

Willow finished typing and leaned back, breaking free of her cyber-trance. "I checked out most of the bulletin boards I know. No one's posted any mentions, but I sent out some inquiries. I'll probably get a reply or two later, I hope."

"Thank you, Willow, Amy," Giles said, wiping at his glasses. "This is becoming a rather difficult business. Usually, there's some sort of prophecy that would coincide, but I can't find a blasted thing."

Willow logged off and shut the computer down, patting Giles on the shoulder. "It's okay," she reassured him. "Sometimes stuff just happens."

As she spoke, the lunch bell rang. "Stuff like that," Amy groaned. "I'm never going to make it to Precalc in time."

"I'll never get to Chemistry," Willow added. "Unless a faculty member signs me a late pass."

"Late pass? Of all the blasted--" Giles began, but stopped as Willow pouted, turning her best puppy-dog stare on. "Oh, very well."

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of late slips, hastily filling them out before handing them to the girls. "You realize that if it was anything but the workings of the Hellmouth delaying you, I would not be doing this."

Amy and Willow exchanged knowing looks. "Thank you, Mr. Giles," Amy said with a grin as the two girls hurried out.

Giles sagged wearily against the desk, shaking his head. He turned to see Mike snickering. "And just what do you think you're laughing at, Vortex Boy?"

Somehow, that just made Mike laugh harder. He shut up when Giles shoved a stack of books into his arms.

* * * * *

"Uh, boss?"

Trick glanced up from the computer screen. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Yeah, boss, but it's kind of important," the lackey stammered as Trick glared at him. "The volume on the reception's a lot lower than it should be. Something might have gotten knocked out of alignment."

The three-piece-suited vampire smirked condescendingly. "So turn it up, then. You can do that by remote."

Nodding, the lackey swallowed nervously. "Uh, yeah, I can, but at this level that's kind of risky."

"Nothing serious, I hope," Trick surmised, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"No, but there's a chance of a feedback whine on the other end." The vampire winced under Trick's penetrating glare. "Well, a chance, anyway."

"Hmmm." Trick glanced at the screen. "If what I'm reading is right, the Slayer might not be our biggest problem now." He leaned back in his chair, thinking. "Crank it up. Not worth the effort to retrieve."

"Yes, sir," the vampire said, shuffling away.

Trick grinned. "Besides, what are the chances they'd find it?"

* * * * *

Mike rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of the text in front of him. After Willow and Amy's departure, Giles had decided to postpone further research into Relish until after school. Which meant the research went back to Mike's stalker. Not that he wasn't grateful for the help, but some of these books were incomprehensible.

From the way Giles shifted in his seat, suddenly becoming interested in the book in front of him, Mike could tell he'd found something. "What? Found something?"

"It's fascinating, really," Giles murmured. "Several accounts of spirit summonings. They seem to correlate somewhat to your appearance."

"Well, I'm not a--" Mike began, then stopped suddenly as a faint sound reached his ears. It was a high-pitched whine, like a siren coming from far away, or the whine of feedback from a microphone.

Suddenly, his conversation with Angel came back to him. "It's like they knew we were coming."

Slowly, trying to make as little sound as possible, he stood up, glancing around the room thoughtfully. If that noise was what he believed it to be, someone was listening in on their conversation. Which made perfect sense, he realized as he turned the events of that Sunday night over in his head. That attack had been calculated, planned, and executed when there were no Slayers about. Despite their best efforts, the attack had failed completely, with nothing and no one taken.

Or so they had been made to believe. In the midst of battle, who would notice a bug, a concealed microphone perhaps, being planted in some odd corner? From what he'd heard these past few days, Mike had gleaned that attacks like this were usually executed in order to acquire something, not plant something.

Noticing his confusion, Giles looked up. "Are you all right?"

Frantically, Mike waved at him to be silent as he replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a headache. You got any Tylenol in here?"

Perplexed, Giles nodded. "The desk in the office. Top drawer on the left."

Nodding, Mike gestured for silence as he moved over to the office, looking around for clues. He closed his eyes, trying to think back, to remember something out of place in that battle. Nothing came to mind until just before that specter had appeared; he'd noticed, out of the corner of his eye, someone crawling behind the circulation desk...

His eyes flew open. Of course.

He hurried to the desk, grabbing up a pen and the bottle of Tylenol before turning to try to clue Giles in.

* * * * *

"So Nancy's going to be okay?" Willow asked as the three friends walked down the hall towards the library. "I can't believe I didn't hear about this til after lunch."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, it was a zoo when I finally got out of English. Snyder was screaming about lawsuits, the nurse was trying to get him to get out of the way for the paramedics to get to her, and nobody was going anywhere near class."

"I heard she landed on her side, not her head," Xander added. "She's got a broken arm and probably some bruised ribs, but just a minor concussion since her shoulder took the brunt of the impact."

The girls stared at him. "How do you know all that?" Willow inquired.

He made a face. "Cordy got one of the paramedics talking." From his tone, it was apparent that he wasn't too happy about that.

"Mr. Stone got flooded with students claiming they were traumatized," Buffy remarked with a grin, changing the subject. "He packed up and left early."

"So Nancy's going to be all right, and Buffy got out of counseling," Willow finished. "I guess that's not too bad."

"Well, she was lucky," the Slayer continued as she opened the door. "This stuff could get worse if more people get this whacked out. We're going to have to figure this out soon."

She would have said more if Giles hadn't hurried up to them, waving his arms wildly. "Oh! Charades! I get it!" Xander exclaimed. "Let's see, first word..."

Giles glared at him and thrust a note into Buffy's hands, gesturing for silence. Buffy frowned and looked down at the note, Xander and Willow looking over her shoulder. No talking! it read in Giles' sharp-edged printing. Mike thinks the library is bugged.

Buffy blinked, confused, and Willow frowned, but Xander's eyes widened in understanding. He looked at Giles inquiringly, and Giles inclined his head towards the circulation desk. Nodding, Xander pulled a notebook and a pen out of his backpack and walked over to the desk as Giles beckoned Willow and Buffy out into the hall.

Mike was crouched behind the circulation desk, peering at something attached beneath the top shelf. Carefully, so as not to make any noise, Xander scooted in beside him to see what the newest member of the Scooby Gang was looking at.

One look and a memory from the Halloween incident told him that Mike's hunch had been right. The concealed microphone wasn't disguised as anything insignificant, but it had been planted in an insignificant spot. But from what Xander's military memories told him, the job was relatively sloppy.

He uncapped the pen and started to write. They planted this Sunday night?

Mike took the pen, answering on the same sheet. Yep. I remembered seeing one of them crawling behind here just after I got clobbered. He peered at the bug intently before continuing. I'm trying to figure out what the range on this thing is.

I think it's maybe a 15-foot range, but the place they stuck it might take that down a bit, Xander wrote back. As Mike stared at him in confusion, he added, Halloween. People turned into their costumes for a night. I went as an Army lieutenant. It was a slight fib, but Mike hadn't been there. Besides, a private wasn't as impressive.

Mike continued to stare at him skeptically for a moment, then shrugged it off as a sudden thought struck him. They probably don't know we're on to them yet.

Xander glanced again at the recording device, then at Mike. Obviously, they were thinking the same thing. Maybe we should leave it on for a while.

Nodding, Mike got to his feet. Xander got up as well, and the two of them hurried out into the hall, where Giles, Willow and Buffy were already deep in conversation. "...talk to Angel," Buffy was saying. "He might have heard something." The conversation abruptly ceased as Buffy noticed their presence.

"We found it," Xander announced as soon as the door was closed. "Stuck behind the counter in a little corner they thought we'd never see."

"Good," Giles said, relieved. "I suppose you've disabled it, or turned it off, or whatever?"

Xander shook his head. "Not yet."

The Watcher frowned. "Now wait a moment. I thought--"

"Think about it," Mike reasoned. "We turn it off, they know we're on to them."

"If they don't know already," Xander admitted.

Willow was nodding, seeing where the two of them were going with this. "But if we don't..."

Buffy finished the thought. "They only hear what we want them to."

* * * * *

Faith hopped up the steps to the school entrance, striding down the empty hallways towards the library. She was plugged in to her Walkman, and moved to the beat of the music, humming softly under her breath as she sauntered along. When she came into view of the library, she stopped short, surprised to see Buffy and Giles with their backs against the door. It was almost as if they were guarding the entrance. From Buffy's expression, she knew something was going on.

Switching off the Walkman, she pulled off the headphones, letting them hang around her neck. "We got a problem?"

"Sort of," Buffy answered, gesturing for her to follow. "But we know what that attack was all about."

* * * * *

"You want me to do what?" Cordelia exclaimed. "Are you insane?"

Mike wisely chose not to answer that question. He and Xander had caught her in the parking lot just in time to pitch Xander's crazy idea to her. Personally, Mike wasn't so sure it was a good idea himself - it was a little too risky - but he'd been outvoted. It still seemed that he'd be better off just doing it himself, although if he was caught they'd make the immediate connection to the Slayer. Cordelia was different. Cordelia hadn't been participating in most of their deliberations. Cordelia... well, Cordelia was an airhead.

Xander took a deep breath to steady himself. It seemed he'd been expecting such a reaction. "Cordy, you're the only one who wasn't there last night. You're the least likely to be recognized if someone sees you."

"I can't believe you're asking me to do this," Cordelia went on. "You guys were just insisting that going to the Bronze meant going braindead, and now you want me to hang out there tonight?"

"Technically, the band is the problem," Xander pointed out.

"Oh?" Cordelia snapped. "The band's going to be there, of course. Any idea how I'm going to get around that?"

"You don't have to come when they're actually playing," Mike explained. "They come in to set up and warm up at 4:30. They don't affect anyone until they have an audience."

Still, she wasn't convinced. "I don't know. Don't you think people are going to wonder if I show up all of a sudden after avoiding the Bronze all week? Without an excuse?"

Groaning, Xander swallowed his pride, literally dropping to one knee. "All right, Cordy, I'm grovelling now. Are you happy?" As she stared at him in shock, he added, "You're the only one who can pull this off. Please."

She sighed. "Get up. People are staring."

"Not until you say yes."

Cordelia looked to Mike for help. "I... think I'm staying out of this one," he decided. Crazy idea or not, getting between the two of them was probably even more insane.

As Cordelia and Xander stared at each other, locked in a stalemate, Mike's gaze wandered past the rows of cars to the clump of trees at the other end of the parking lot. Although the shadows partially concealed it, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a familiar dark figure. Sighing, he turned away. There just wasn't time to deal with that at the moment.

Finally, Cordelia rolled her eyes and tugged at the collar of Xander's shirt. "All right, all right. I'll do it. Now get up."

As he got to his feet, Xander gave Cordelia his most endearing, lopsided grin. "Thanks, Cordy. You won't regret it."

"Oh, I probably will," Cordelia answered flippantly as she opened the driver side door. "But it's better than you humiliating me."

* * * * *

"I don't think the Bronze is a good idea tonight," Buffy announced. "We go in, we either get hooked or we get a migraine."

With her free hand, she scribbled on a piece of scrap paper. Mike's headache? How do we explain that?

Xander cleared his throat, trying not to sound nervous. "Uh, yeah, G-man, you figure out what's with Vortex Boy's head?" Mike glared at him, and Faith covered her mouth to suppress a laugh. Standing over by the railing, they were pretending to be absent. The faces Xander was making, however, made it hard to be silent. Mike took a couple index cards and a marker from the desk.

"Actually, there's a number of references to head trauma and temporary immunity to sound spells," Willow piped up.

"Yeah, I guess tripping and falling over the railing would leave a mark," Xander responded, grinning evilly.

Mike held up a note. I'm going to get you for this.

Giles sighed. "Xander, please. But perhaps that concussion might have something to do with it."

"Okay, okay, but then what are we supposed to do?" Xander exclaimed. "What about Faith? She know about this?"

"Not yet," Buffy replied. "I checked around. Guess she'll show up when she feels like it." Faith smirked almost proudly at that. "Looks like Trick has a hand in this too. I think maybe some wide-range patrol could turn up a mole or two."

"Am I the only one who thinks we shouldn't ignore the Bronze?" Xander cried, overdoing the melodrama a bit.

Willow frowned. "You saw what happened last night. They're going to expect us to try something."

"Besides, perhaps we can figure out what connection the local vampires have to this band," Giles put in.

Buffy leaned back in her chair. "I think we need to pay our old pal Willie a visit." And while they wait for me there, I'll talk to Angel.

"I'll come," Xander volunteered quickly. "To, uh, provide backup."

"You just like seeing Buffy threaten him," Willow said.

He shrugged. "So it gives me a bit of a rush." I'm kidding, really, he wrote hastily at the odd look Buffy was giving him.

Mike stifled a laugh, then stiffened suddenly as he felt a hand on his backside. He glared at Faith, but she took no notice, looking straight ahead as if there was nothing wrong. Sighing almost inaudibly, he reached back, took her wrist and pulled her arm back to her side where it belonged. Faith caught his eye, giving him a coy half-smile.

Shaking his head, Mike glanced up at the ceiling helplessly. Folding her arms, Faith turned her eyes forward again, but the smile didn't fade from her face as the rehearsed conversation continued.

* * * * *

It was the perfect excuse.

Nick staggered towards the back exit of the Bronze, trying to carry a tall stack of empty crates. Quickly sliding around the bar, Mike caught the crates before they could fall. "Whoa, easy," he advised, taking the crates and steadying his friend. "You don't look so good."

"Yeah, thanks," Nick murmured, obviously dazed.

Mike frowned with concern. "Give me the keys, Nick. I'll take these round back for you." Nick wasn't in any shape to argue, and a moment later, Mike staggered out the back exit with the crates in hand, letting the door slam shut behind him.

"What took you so long?" a familiar voice demanded. Sighing, Mike set down the crates and turned to face Cordelia, who was standing there with her arms folded and tapping one designer shoe against the asphalt.

"It's quarter to five," he replied. "Not my fault you're early. I thought you didn't want to go through with it."

She sniffed. "I just want to get this over with. I can't believe I'm doing this."

"That makes two of us," Mike muttered under his breath. "Come on." He led her over to the door on the far end, the entrance to the back room. "The band usually dumps their stuff back in here," he told her as he unlocked the door. "Should be some ID, driver's licenses, stuff like that." He checked his watch. "I've got to get back. If you're not sure you're up to this, though--"

"And have Xander gloat over it for a week? I think not." She slipped inside. "Besides, the Bronze is the only place to go in town. I'm not going to let a band named after mashed pickles ruin it."

"All right," Mike sighed. "But be careful." He closed the door, leaving her alone in the dim room.

"Okay," Cordelia murmured as her eyes adjusted to the light. "If I was incriminating evidence, where would I be?"

She moved around the room, looking on empty carts and behind crates, when suddenly she spotted a swatch of purple in the dim grays of the room. On closer inspection, she discovered it to be a neon purple duffel bag stuffed behind an old desk. Beneath it was another backpack, but first things first. Cordelia grabbed the handle of the bag, tugging it from the cramped space with some effort before it came free.

"What do they keep in here, rocks?" she complained, setting it down on the floor and unzipping the duffel bag. Hurriedly, she rummaged through the contents. Her searching fingers found a couple dog-eared romance novels, a makeup bag that rivaled her own, an emergency change of clothes, a couple of New Age tapes, a water bottle, and a bag of tissues.

Eventually, she found the ID's, scribbling down the names, dates, and license numbers. Ohio driver's license, issued to Franklin Kwan, age 20. New York driver's license, issued to Malik Robinson, age 32. California driver's license, issued to Molly Leary, age 16. Oregon driver's license, issued to Lori Halverson, age 27. Reaching into her purse, Cordelia pulled out a small notepad and a pen, and quickly scribbled down the names, birthdates, and ID numbers.

She replaced the IDs and was about to close the bag up when she spotted the tiny notebook in the pocket. Curious, she pulled it out, flipping through the pages. The paper was covered with bizarre doodles and sketches in purple ink. None of them made any sense at first, although the same odd loopy symbol was repeated over and over. It looked like something out of Giles' books. As the doodles progressed, however, they began to resemble diagrams, formations, positions for people to be in. It almost looked like those football plays Mitch had tried to show her, the lines and O's and X's she never understood. She puzzled over the notebook for a moment, then gave up and stuffed it into her purse before zipping up the black backpack and shoving it back into its hiding place. Good enough.

Then the creak of the stage door reached her ears. She barely managed to stifle a squeak of fear as she whirled, half-expecting to be caught.

"...telling you, Pippi Longstocking, if I don't get a smoke soon, I'm gonna lose what little I have left!" The speaker only had the door half-open, and was leaning back towards the stage, unable to see her. If she didn't hide soon, she would have some major explaining to do.

Naturally, Cordelia froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.

* * * * *

Malik stormed into the back room, with Frank trailing behind him. "Get my water bottle," he echoed in a mocking tone. "Do this. Do that. What, does she think I'm her personal slave?"

Trailing behind him, Frank cracked a smile, writing something on his notepad. He handed it to Malik, who read it out loud. "'It's your own fault for calling her Pippi Longstocking.' Yeah, well, Frank, she was asking for it. And you don't have to do that now. No one's gonna know back here."

Frank did not respond, and Malik blinked and looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. There was no one in sight. "Where'd we stash the bags again?"

Rolling his eyes, the bassist snatched the notepad back and strode over to the desk, yanking the black bag free. Holding it by the strap, he tossed it over to Malik before shoving the notepad back in his pocket.

The drummer caught it, barely, stumbling back a step as it slammed into his chest. "Thanks for the warning." He reached into the bag, feeling around until his fingers closed on the pack of cigarettes inside. "Here we go." Dropping the backpack to the floor, he shook a cigarette out of the pack, lighting it up. "That's more like it."

As he took another puff, the drummer paused. "You hear that?" His companion looked at him blankly as a faint scuffling sound could be heard. "There it is again. Behind there. Go check for me, will you?"

Shooting the other man a baleful glare, Frank moved in the direction of the sound, checking behind rows of crates. He moved from row to row, finding nothing, and emerged at the other end of the room, shaking his head. Just as he was about to give up, he turned and saw her.

Cordelia was crouched on the lower shelf of an empty cart, hugging her knees against her chest and trying to keep her designer outfit from touching anything dirty while not making any noise. An old tarpaulin was draped across the upper shelf, hiding her almost completely from Malik's view. If not for the angle, Frank wouldn't have noticed her himself. She glanced up, and their eyes locked. Recognition flashed in her eyes, which grew wide as she realized that she was in deep shit.

"Yo, Frank!" Malik called. "See anything?"

Frank stared at her for a few more seconds before shrugging and shaking his head. He crossed back to the drummer and handed him another sheet of paper. "I am not paranoid, man," Malik protested as he stomped on his last cigarette and they headed back to the stage. "Can't accuse me of that in this town."

The door slammed shut behind them, and Cordelia sagged in relief. Then, realizing where she was, she jumped from the cart, brushing frantically at her clothes. "Dry clean only," she muttered as she shouldered her purse and slipped out the back door. "This had better be worth it."

* * * * *

Buffy opened the door a crack. "Angel?"

There was no response. Concerned, but wary, she stepped into the mansion, closing the door behind her. As it slid shut, she pulled a stake out of her pocket, moving forward slowly. She could hear a muffled groan down the corridor, and moved to investigate.

It was coming from the bedroom. Back to the wall, she eased around the corner, gripping the stake tightly. Another groan, and she stepped into the room, falling into a battle-ready stance.

Angel was in chains, slumped like a limp rag against the wall. Dropping the stake back into her pocket, Buffy hurried to his side. "Angel! What happened?"

He looked up at her with bleary eyes. "I - she - the Bronze--"

"Where's the key?" Buffy was casting about desperately. "I'll get you free in a second."

"No!" Angel cried hoarsely, with such vehemence that Buffy stopped and stared. "If I go, it'll get worse... it's like a drug..."

The situation was beginning to dawn on her. "You chained yourself up."

"I had to," Angel gasped. "I just keep slipping in and out. One minute, I need more, then the next I can't move..."

"Need what?" Buffy asked warily.

He didn't respond, and she suddenly noticed that he was shivering, despite the warm evening. My God, he looks like some kind of junkie... "Angel, listen to me! Who did this to you?"

Instead of answering, he suddenly leapt up, shoving and struggling to break free from his chains in a frenzy. Buffy jumped back in fright; the last time she'd seen him struggling like that was when he'd just returned from hell. "No," he gasped. "No, no, no..."

After a few moments, he stopped struggling, but remained tense, still trembling. "Buffy," Angel whispered. "Unlock the cuffs."

She crouched down to his level, but kept her distance. "I don't know where the key is."

"Above the fireplace." His eyes didn't seem to be focusing. "Unlock the cuffs."

"No."

Angel gritted his teeth. "Unlock the cuffs." She didn't say anything. "Let me go. I've, I've got to go."

"Angel, I'm not gonna--"

He shifted into his game face. "UNLOCK THE CUFFS!" With that, he threw all of his weight forward, trying to break the chains. Panicked, Buffy jumped to her feet again, this time falling into a defensive stance. The chains held, but Buffy could hear the creak and groan as Angel was jerked back, slamming against the wall again.

When he didn't immediately try again, she approached him cautiously, kneeling beside him. "You have to let me go," he moaned. "I need--"

Seeing that he was only somewhat subdued, Buffy cut him off with a hard slap to the face. Stunned, Angel dropped his game face, looking up at her with tired, bloodshot eyes. But this time there was actually some clarity there. "I..." he started, before inhaling deeply. He was still shivering a bit, but for the moment he was in control of himself. "Thank you."

"Angel," Buffy asked seriously, "what's going on?"

He took another deep breath before speaking. "I went to the Bronze last night around ten, but Mike said you'd just left. Then Relish showed up."

The Slayer snorted. "Yeah, that figures."

"When they started playing..." Angel hesitated again, trying to remain coherent through his obvious fatigue. "I recognized the lead, but it couldn't be her. A daughter, or maybe -"

Buffy tentatively reached up to put a hand to his cheek. "Maybe what?"

He licked dry lips before finishing his sentence. "Maybe she was immortal."

* * * * *

Giles looked at the vampire without pity. At the same time, however, there was no scorn in his gaze. Although he hadn't completely forgiven Angel, he could tell that the vampire was suffering enough without the condemnation of others on top of it. He'd arrived at the mansion in time to see Angel in the throes of a withdrawal attack, and it wasn't pretty. Once Buffy had explained what was going on, Giles could tell that Angel was going through an agonizing experience. Besides, this was a serious matter.

He had come at Buffy's urging, having one less excuse not to with the library still bugged. The implications of what she had told him - and what he was seeing now - bothered him greatly. From all appearances, not even the undead were immune to the spell that Relish had cast over half of Sunnydale.

None of the others could have come, anyway. Willow's mother was still demanding quality time, so Faith was keeping an eye on Oz while Xander was keeping an eye on Faith, so to speak. Mike was working, and Cordelia was elsewhere, busy with some mad plan of Xander's.

Buffy returned from the kitchen with a cup and a bag of preserved blood. Kneeling beside Angel, she poured some into the cup, making a face as Angel drank it dry. When he was finished, he looked slightly better, yet his features remained drawn and haggard. "You - you say you believe you've seen this woman before?" Giles managed.

"It was about a month after I was cursed with my soul," Angel affirmed, remembering. "I was wandering aimlessly around Europe then; I didn't really know where I was going, and I didn't care. So one night, I reached the banks of a river - I think it might have been the Rhine - and simply threw myself in." He frowned. "I suppose I thought I could drown myself, but all I succeeded in doing was knocking myself out instead.

"I woke up in a room in a nearby tavern a few hours later. It turned out that a singer at the tavern had pulled me out of the river. Whenever she sang at the bar, every male there would suddenly stop what he was doing and focus on her completely." His eyes seemed to go unfocused for a moment, and he tried to slow his breathing. "I'm sorry, I--"

Shaking her head, Buffy poured some more of the preserved blood into the cup, lifting it to his lips. She was too wrapped up in the story - and too concerned about Angel - to be all that bothered by the blood. "Easy," she advised, although she was anxious to hear the rest. "Take your time."

He drank greedily and swiftly before picking up the thread of the tale. "At first, I thought she was being generous, but she had known me for what I was when she pulled me out. Aside from the fact that she threw herself at every man she wanted to use, there was something wrong about her. I don't know what her ulterior motive was, but I didn't bother to discover it. Once she figured out I wasn't your typical vampire, she wasn't interested anymore. I left the next night."

Giles frowned. "Do you remember anything else?"

"I don't recall her name," Angel answered after a moment's pause. "I'm not sure if it's the same girl; the hair is different, but the voice... it seems almost the same. She could put any of the men she threw herself at into a trance. Which is why I left as soon as I could."

"Just the men?" Buffy wondered. "But everyone's been strung out on the music."

Angel inhaled deeply, trying to maintain his focus. "Except Mike."

"Mike is not from this reality," Giles reminded them. "Although that particular factor hasn't come up in my research, I'm afraid." He cleaned his glasses before continuing. "There are actually a number of creatures and demons - predominantly female - who employ song to drain or entrap others. Each one has different weaknesses. And although it's significant that vampires are not immune," he added, "that has only narrowed down the list slightly."

"Wonderful," Buffy groaned.

* * * * *

"I hate meatloaf," Willow groused for the third time as she sat down in front of one of the lab computers. Its blue-white glow was the only luminescence in the dim, empty lab, casting eerie shadows on her face as she typed.

Xander grinned and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "No end to the 'quality time' kick, I see."

She almost leaned into the hug, but caught herself, straightening up a bit in her chair. "She ignores me for months, then all of a sudden wants to know everything about me. And teach herself to make meatloaf while she's at it." She shuddered at that.

He leaned closer, scooting the chair as close as he could to hers. "Poor Will. Always carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders."

Willow turned to look at him then, their faces almost touching. The two friends stared at one another, lost in the moment, until the door opened and Cordelia walked in, picking strands of something out of her hair. "Xander, you had to give me the dirty job, didn't you?"

Immediately, Xander and Willow pulled apart, so violently that even Cordelia noticed the chairs skidding. "How much caffeine have you had?"

"A - a lot, actually," Xander stammered. "Did you find anything?"

She shrugged. "Got the driver's licenses, and the ID numbers. You think it's bugged in here too?"

"I doubt it," Willow replied. As Cordelia stood there, trying to remove something from her hair, Willow cleared her throat. "Names? Please?"

"Oh, right." Cordelia pulled up a chair to sit beside them. "Um... lemme find it..." She pulled the list out of her purse and handed it to Willow. Several minutes passed as the redhead hacked away. "Find anything?"

Xander was staring at the screen. "Oh, yeah."

"Malik Robinson," Willow read. "He's been convicted of fraud in three states, gambling, petty larceny, and acquitted of manslaughter. Wow, there's a whole file on this guy."

"What else?" Xander asked as Cordelia leaned over Willow's other shoulder.

Cordelia pointed. "Voodoo cult in Louisiana. He's certifiable."

Willow sighed. "Cordelia, Voodoo's a legally practiced religion. But this group..." She trailed off. "They were accused of murder, ritual sacrifices, disturbing the peace, but nothing was ever proven. Besides, this guy got out of it when he was 20."

"And our next contestant is..." Xander began.

"Molly Leary. A bunch of juvenile offenses, full psychiatric record, got let off because they ruled she was delusional." Willow scrolled through the data and stopped. "And according to this, she disappeared a year ago. She's only 15. No family records."

"What about the other guy? The bass player?" Cordelia wondered.

"Franklin Kwan. Class of '97, Lamont High School in Texas." Willow stopped. "That's it. No criminal record, nothing." She shrugged it off. "And last, but not least..."

Xander started drumming on the table. "Drum roll, please..."

"Lori Halverson. Family deceased, accused of a couple felonies, got off of all of them." Willow frowned. "There's less on her than the bass player."

"Well, this is helping," Cordelia commented.

Willow's eyes widened. "Wait a minute." She brought up a new file, of Lori's mother. "Check this out. Loretta Halverson." With a click, the image came up full-screen. "Look familiar?"

"Looks a lot like her daughter," Xander observed.

In response, Willow brought up a few more records. "And her grandma. Want to bet the resemblance goes all the way back?"

Cordelia looked blank, but Xander got it. "Yeah, if they're all the same person."

Willow grinned. "I think we've got our supernatural entity."

* * * * *

They took their positions on the stage deliberately, trying to make it look casual. Frank was having a harder time than usual in that respect, but fortunately the other three didn't notice as they set up. It was always the same: a triangle formation, with himself, Molly, and Malik as the points and Lori in the center. That was the position they had to start and end each set with, something that Lori had pounded into them time and time again.

Tuning his guitar, he scanned the crowd. No sign of the Slayers, or the others they had come with the previous night. But the bartender, who didn't seem to be under the spell, was already there. Frank bit his lip, somewhat disappointed. He'd hoped for more. Shoving away his disappointment, he turned back to the task at hand. You had to take what you could.

Lori was still tuning her guitar, so Frank leaned over to Malik, reaching into his pocket for his notepad. You don't need me tonight, do you?

The drummer favored him with a hard look. "Look, we had this talk a while ago. You gotta get used to it."

Mal, I made a deal, but I'm getting sick and tired of having to witness the feeding frenzy. I hate that shit.

"I don't know," Malik muttered. "The Slayer and her crew are out looking for vamps. If one of 'em happens our way--"

"We don't need you," Lori interrupted.

As the two men blinked, surprised, she turned to fix both of them with a glare. "Tomorrow night's the big one. Middle of the full moon. Everyone's going to have to be rested." Her cold gaze fell on Frank. "I still say you've got to get a backbone, but dragging you along tonight won't help that at all. You'll stay here and meet us at the back exit."

Frank didn't know whether to be relieved or afraid.

* * * * *

"Pretty good crowd tonight, huh?" the manager observed as Mike finished wiping down the counter.

Shrugging, Mike tossed the towel on a hook and turned to the sink. "Big crowd, you mean. Which means a big mess to clean up."

Harry yawned. "You're telling me. These guys are really packing them in, but it makes cleanup a bitch." He staggered, leaning against the counter for support.

Mike frowned, getting a better look at his boss. Harry looked rather pale, and was sweating more heavily than usual. "Harry, you feeling all right? You're not looking so good."

"Naw, I'm fine." The big man dismissed Mike's concerns with a wave of his hand. "Business jumps up like this, I'm bound to lose some shut-eye. Just need to catch up on my sleep."

For about a week, Mike finished silently. Harry was looking more than merely tired, and Mike had been seriously considering getting some of the waiters to strong-arm their boss into seeing a doctor. But none of the waiters were looking well either. Not as bad as Harry, of course, but at the end of every night the staff and patrons alike looked more and more exhausted - drained, as if the energy had been sucked out of them.

Which it probably had.

He snapped out of his reverie abruptly, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Then go home, boss. We're almost finished up here."

Harry wavered thoughtfully, looking around the empty nightclub. Mike wasn't fibbing; the patrons had long gone, and most of their trash and debris had been swept up. Almost all of the band had gone elsewhere, except for the bass player, who was leaning against the equipment, watching them curiously. "All right," he finally conceded, and Mike grinned. "But only because we're almost all done."

"Night, Harry," Mike sighed as the manager yawned, grabbed his coat and keys, and stumbled out the door into the night. Shaking his head, Mike turned to the task of washing glasses.

A tapping noise startled him, and he turned to see Frank sitting there, tapping a pen insistently against the counter. "What can I get you?"

For answer, the bass player pulled out a small notepad, wrote something on it, and turned it so Mike could see. You got a minute?

Glancing around to make sure everyone was too zoned out to pay attention, Mike nodded and leaned over the counter. "Yeah. What's up?"

Frank's brow furrowed for a moment before he picked up the pen again. Why doesn't it affect you?

"Why doesn't what affect me?" Mike wondered, lowering his voice to a whisper.

The music. Lori.

Mike tried to play dumb. "She affects me, all right," he muttered. "Every time she opens her mouth, I get a headache."

Frank almost smiled before continuing. That's not what's supposed to happen.

Now they were getting somewhere. Picking up a dishtowel, Mike pretended to be wiping off the bar. Under his breath, he added, "You know what's going on, don't you?" Frank hesitated before nodding. "People getting drained - this is what's supposed to happen."

It wasn't a question. Frank grimaced. I shouldn't be telling you this. If they find out, I'm a dead man.

Mike nodded and turned to the coffeemaker, pouring himself and Frank a mug. He set the mug in front of the bass player, sliding over the creamer before speaking. "The way it's going, a few people are gonna die if this keeps up." At the startled look on Frank's face, he added, "One of the girls who hung out here? Wasn't awake enough to catch herself going down the stairs and now she's in the hospital."

Frank's only response was to stare numbly into his coffee cup.

"All these half-conscious people are wandering the streets," Mike continued. "How much longer do you think it's gonna be until someone walks into the path of a tractor-trailer? Or drives a bus full of kids off a cliff? What's it going to take for you to tell the truth?"

The young man's lip curled, and he pounded both fists on the bar with enough force to make Mike stop short. Frank was glaring at him fiercely, and Mike forced himself to return a level stare.

Finally, Frank grabbed up the pen. It's supposed to be addictive. They come, they get hooked, they pack the house, Lori drains 'em, we move on.

"Lori drains them?" Mike whispered, confused. "What does she need you for?"

It's the 90's. Bands get in the door. With shaking hands, Frank poured in some creamer and took a gulp of coffee before continuing to write. Molly and Malik are into this stuff, too. Not me.

"Why don't you quit?"

Frank was shaking his head vehemently. Who's gonna take a bass player with no vocal cords, huh?

Mike set his coffee down, unconvinced. "Anyone who hears you play." He sighed. "Look. You can trust me. I've got some friends who can help. What's stopping you?"

For a moment, Frank merely stared at him, then let the pen slip from his fingers onto the bar. Mike's shoulders slumped in defeat, until the voice entered his mind.

This is what's stopping me.

If Mike had been holding his coffee cup, he would have dropped it in his shock. "Wait a minute... you..."

Frank looked sheepish. It works better than pen and paper. As Mike shook off his initial shock, he explained. This was my trade-off for joining up. If I split, they'll take it back.

"You've got to come with me," Mike insisted. As Frank scowled, he added. "Please. You're the only chance we've got, and a lot of my friends are dropping like flies." He extended a hand.

Frank glanced over his shoulder. I don't know. If they find out...

"You expect them back soon?"

The bassist checked his watch. In about an hour.

That wasn't a lot of time. "Trust me. We'll be back in thirty minutes."

With a resigned sigh, Frank took the proferred hand and shook it. I know I'm gonna regret this.

* * * * *

"How is he?" Willow asked as Buffy emerged from the bedroom. Xander and Cordelia had volunteered to do Oz watch, since Xander didn't want to deal with his parents and Cordelia had promised to keep him awake. How she planned to do that, Willow really didn't want to know.

Buffy sighed and shook her head. "He goes back and forth between hysterical strength and completely wasted. Right now, he's completely wasted, although he won't admit it. I finally made him lie down." She scowled. "If he goes anywhere in his condition, he's an easy mark for Trick and company. Xander could probably take him out without much trouble."

"I wouldn't tell Xander that if I were you," Giles advised, a wry smile creeping over his features. He had several books tucked under one arm. "I've gathered some research on the supernatural entities that could do this; unfortunately, there are still a few to choose from."

Hearing this, Faith hopped up from her seat beside the fireplace. "Come on. We know Relish is behind this. Hell, we know just which one of them's the supernatural freak. Why don't we just go beat it out of them?"

"Because not all of them are out to drain Sunnydale dry," a new voice answered, and Giles turned to see Mike coming through the front door with another person in tow.

It was a minute before Buffy realized who it was. "Are you crazy?" she snapped at Mike, stepping towards the bassist.

But Mike held up a hand. "Buff, calm down. He's here to help."

* * * * *

The full moon was coming.

Tomorrow night, the psychic currents would be at their most potent. He had felt stronger as the nights wore on, almost enough to make his move prematurely. It might have been possible tonight.

Yet... he'd felt the same way the night before, and had still failed. Patience, he told himself, was the key. Patience. There had been a brief moment when his chosen was alone in the alley, a perfect time to finish what he'd started. But he could only watch this time, instead of wasting all his energy. No, this had to be done at the right time and in the right place. Assuming nothing happened to the host.

Until then, he told himself, it was best to merely wait.

He would have his revenge in time.

To be concluded...