"Hey, Giles, what are you doing?"
He sighed but didn't look up. An open box sat on the counter. "Strange as it may seem, the school expects me to actually perform my duties as librarian from time to time." He took a book from the box, crosschecked it against a master list, then affixed a bar-coded sticker inside the back cover.
Willow watched for a second, then burst out, "Giles, I really want to talk to you now!"
He closed the book and pushed it to one side. "Very well."
Willow wrung her hands together. "I'm worried."
"About what?"
Willow blew air through her nose. "I'm not sure, but I've been bothered ever since I had that... thing that told us where to find Cordelia."
Giles nodded. "I would just point out that your vision did not exactly lead us to Cordelia."
Willow shot him a look that let him know what she thought of his nitpicking. "Giles, focus on the real issue."
He slid the book a few inches to one side and leaned on the counter, his arms crossed in front of him. "All right then. These episodes are growing in intensity, is that correct?"
Willow nodded. "Yeah."
"They seem more specific, less vague?" Willow nodded again. Giles pushed upright and went into the office. He returned holding piece of lined paper. Willow could see handwritten notes on it. He held the paper up. "This escalation bothered me as well, so I did some research."
Willow wanted to grab the paper from his hand but restrained herself. "What did you find?"
Giles shook his head and dropped the paper on the counter. "Nothing very concrete, I'm afraid, but I do have a theory or two."
Willow took a deep breath. "Okay. I'd like to hear them."
Giles rubbed his forehead. "I believe it's entirely possible that your near-death experience has made you even more sensitive to these... intrusions. You opened the door when you performed the spell that returned Angel's soul. When you were in that hospital bed, it opened wider." He dropped his hand and looked at her, a thin, pale girl in moss-green painter's pants. Her eyes glimmered with unspilled tears.
"Why is this happening to me?" she said. "I just tried to do a good thing. That's all."
"Please, Willow, for once in your life, do not trust me too quickly." Giles tapped the sheets of yellow paper. "It is only a theory."
***
The sun filtered through the thickening clouds and cast intermittent patches of light on the trees. Most of them were evergreens, old pine and fir grown high and straight, their branches breaking up the light even further until the trail was a kaleidoscope of light and shadow.
Buffy took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of pine sap, dust, and fallen needles. The class filled the air with chatter and laughter. Up ahead she could make out Ms. Brannigan. The teacher was easy to spot with that guitar lashed to her pack. The woman must be strong as a horse. Buffy could not imagine toting a guitar for ten miles. The Slayer looked behind her. Cordelia was back in the pack, favoring her right foot. Buffy could see the suppressed wince in the other girl's face as she took each step.
A voice floated back from around a bend in the trail. "Hey, that must be that bridge." Buffy rounded the bend and stopped. It was a suspension footbridge, all right. It must be safe. Why would they let people cross it otherwise? Still, it looked spindly as it stretched across the deep gorge. Ranger Young had called it a 'major ravine.' Buffy found herself agreeing with the ranger. It certainly looked major to her, the steep sides nearly vertical and strewn with boulders, only the occasional scrawny pine sapling clinging to the slope. It stretched away in either direction as far as Buffy could see, a gaping slash in the earth's crust.
The class began to bunch up. No one seemed too eager to race across the swaying trestle. Ranger Young stepped out onto the planking and crossed at a brisk, almost speedy pace. When she reached the other side she turned and waved, a grin splitting her face. Ms. Brannigan began to send the girls across one at a time. It was going to take a while. Buffy slipped off her pack and lowered it to the ground. It made a handy chair.
She looked up as a shadow fell across her. Cordelia shifted from one foot to the other.
"Feet hurt?" Buffy asked.
"I'll be fine," Cordelia replied in a snappish tone. Sweat trickled from her hairline and disappeared behind the lenses of her sunglasses. Buffy opened her mouth for a retort but a sudden chill raced up her spine. She stood, trying not to draw attention as she did so.
"Did you feel that?" she asked Cordelia.
"What?" Cordelia said.
"I don't know... something weird." Buffy hugged herself and rubbed her arms in an attempt to quell the gooseflesh that had suddenly appeared.
"We're in the woods," Cordelia said. "This whole thing is weird."
***
"What was that?" Devon asked, swinging around to look at the band. Oz looked at Doug. Doug looked at Oz. Geoff looked at both of them.
"Don't we end on F sharp?" Doug asked, running a hand over his fresh buzz cut.
"No," Oz said. "We end on C."
"Wow," Doug said as he shook his head. "No wonder it sounded shitty."
"You know," Oz said, "we've been playing this song for eight months. We should know the ending."
"Hey, man, don't soil yourself." Doug pinged a couple of harmonics to test his tuning. "We'll do it again."
"That's not the point." Oz struggled to keep his voice steady. "We need to do it right the first time. And get it in tune."
Doug threw him a sharp look. "It's in tune."
"No, it isn't. The A is still a little flat."
"Fine." Doug slipped the instrument's strap over his head. "You want to play it too?"
Oz murmured, "If I had four arms I would." His voice was louder than he intended. Doug flushed a dark red.
"Hey, Oz?" he said. "Screw you." He slammed the bass into its stand and stalked out of the garage.
Geoff tapped his drumstick together. "Uh, is rehearsal over?"
***
The sun was low in the sky when they came out of the woods and saw the campsite Ranger Young had selected. It was a meadow, located in the swale between two hills and carpeted in thick, ankle-deep grass that was turning yellow and crisp in the autumn air. Buffy estimated that from where she stood at the edge of the trees it was probably a hundred yards down the slope, across the floor and up into the trees opposite. To the left and right it stretched away for probably half a mile. She stepped out of the trees and felt a quick, light crawling sensation between her shoulder blades.
The gaps in the clouds were narrowing; light passed through only in narrow slits. The students fanned out and began to set up camp. Buffy looked around. Cordelia was just making her way out of the trees, hobbling as though her boots were lined with hot coals. Buffy selected a spot where the incline leveled off. She let her pack fall to the ground and untied the tent.
"Better hurry," she said to Cordelia, then turned her attention back to the tent. Out of the blue nylon bag, it was revealed as an enormous mass of yellow nylon and black fiberglass tubes strung on elastic.
"Do you know how to set this up?" Cordelia asked, wincing as she shifted her weight.
"Nooo," Buffy said. "But I'm guessing these instructions will help." She studied the sheet of paper for a few seconds, then picked up one of the fiberglass tubes. "These snap together to form the poles. Here," she thrust the assembly at Cordelia, "you do that while I figure out what to do with them once they're assembled." There were a couple of false starts, but Buffy soon figured out the procedure. She snapped the last retaining clip onto a pole and stepped back.
"Do you think it's big enough?" she asked. The tent was at least ten feet long and nine feet wide.
"It's the six-person model," Cordelia said as she schlepped her pack toward it. "I wanted to be able to get some distance between us."
"Gee," Buffy said, unzipping the flap, "why don't you twist the knife counterclockwise now?"
***
The door of unit #6 was flimsy enough that a firm knock caused it to vibrate like a tuning fork. Faith yanked it open. Xander stood on the concrete pad. He wore faded cargo pants with frayed cuffs, a dark, rather shapeless sweater, and an eight-inch long cross. Faith looked at it, amused.
"Y'know," she said, "size doesn't make 'em work any better."
"Yeah, yeah," Xander said, waving a hand. "Size doesn't matter. And chicks don't dig rich guys."
Faith shrugged. "Can't argue with that. At least tuck it inside your sweater."
"Boo-yaaa." Xander complied.
"Just a sec." Faith disappeared from the doorway. Xander leaned forward and peeked around the frame. Faith was bending over the bed, her hand resting on Lindsay's forehead.
"Lindsay," Faith said. "Lindsay, I'm going out to patrol."
"Be careful," Lindsay said. Her cheeks flushed a bright red. "I wish you'd take the night off."
"Hey, no can do. Lotta bad guys out there; they're not taking the night off." Faith looked back at the door and flashed a quick smile. "Besides, Xander's going with me."
He gave a brief wave. "Hi. Oh, Giles said he'd come over and check on you later."
"See?" Faith smiled at her Watcher. "Everything's five by five. You rest and when Giles comes over you and him can talk about Watcher stuff, okay? Meanwhile, Xander and I will be inflicting major hurt on the pointy-toothed bad guys. Ciao." She patted Lindsay's hand.
"Let's go," she said as she passed Xander. "Time's a-wastin'."
***
Buffy picked her way through the deepening gloom. The ankle-deep grass crunched beneath her boots. Several of the girls were collecting wood for the bonfire; most of the tents had smaller fires already going. The air was filled with the smell of wood smoke and the sound of laughter. The clouds were thickening, accompanied by the first faint, almost inaudible rumblings of thunder.
The mood changed when she unzipped the flap of her tent and ducked inside. A small battery-powered halogen lantern cast a bright illumination, but since it was placed on the tent floor near the back wall it was, to be charitable, a highly stylized lighting. The tent's interior was a rococo scene of white light contrasting with black, angular shadows.
Cordelia sat on her sleeping bag, her boots tossed behind her. She was peeling her socks off; a process that required great care since the fluid from several large, broken blisters had effectively welded the thick cotton to her skin. Buffy tossed a small tube in her direction.
"Here," the Slayer said as she stretched out on her own sleeping bag. "Put that on your feet."
Cordelia picked up the ointment and eyed it with great suspicion. "Where did you get it?"
Buffy stared at the roof of the tent, her arms crossed behind her head. "Does it really matter?"
"Did you get it from Ms. Brannigan?"
Buffy raised up on one elbow and half-turned her upper body toward Cordelia. "Yes, I got it from Ms. Brannigan. She had it in a first aid kit. Now, will you just put it on your feet?" She flopped back down.
Cordelia began to spread on the unguent. To judge by the blowing and waving of hands its application entailed, it must have stung. "Jeez," Cordelia said, "is this stuff supposed to help or just burn my feet off?"
Buffy muttered, "Why don't you put some on your tongue?"
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing." Buffy listened to the sounds of Cordelia trying to relieve her discomfort. The Slayer sat up and turned toward the other girl. "How long have you known Bryn?"
Cordelia waved a hand over her feet, trying to create a cooling breeze. "Since fourth grade."
Buffy tried for an oh-so-casual tone. "Why don't you like her?"
It did not work. Cordelia forgot her feet as she glared at the Slayer. "Why don't we quit the girl talk, okay? We're not going to bond this weekend. If you're looking for someone to play Truth or Dare, or braid your hair, or make Smores with you, leave the tent now, okay?"
"You make it sound so tempting. And I'm not being sarcastic."
Cordelia blew on her feet. "You don't want to be here, what's stopping you from leaving?"
Buffy resisted the urge to spring across the tent and pummel the other girl. It took a great effort, but she resisted. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I'm not enjoying this any more than you are. We've fought the undead. Let's try not to kill each other out here in the woods." She turned as she unzipped the tent flap. "Better get your feet taken care of. It's almost time for the bonfire. I understand we're going to sing."
***
Oz bit his lip as he brought the measuring spoon from the Zip-Lok bag to the rim of the cup. He tipped the spoon over, emptying its contents into the mug, then tapped it twice to insure that the spoon was empty. He placed the spoon on the desk, then picked up the cup and looked inside. He shook it slightly to mix the ingredients and took a deep breath.
He ran the water for few minutes. This was always easier to do if the water was lukewarm. When the temperature was right, he filled the cup and stirred it with his finger. He placed the cup on the counter. He told himself he was doing it to let the mixture steep, but he was lying to himself.
He picked up the cup. No use lying to himself any longer. He looked at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, raised the cup and said, "Cheers." He drank the mixture in one long swallow, shuddered as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and fought the urge to spit in the sink.
When the shudders passed, he looked at his reflection again and said, "I hope you think this is worth it."
***
"I don't see anything, do you?" Xander looked around the cemetery, a stake clutched in one hand.
"No, and we've covered almost every inch of this cemetery." Faith looked around, trying to will some vampires into existence.
"So we're almost done?"
She looked at him. "No. After we're finished here, we have two parks and the Bronze. Didn't you say you'd been on patrol with Buffy?"
Xander shrugged. "Yeah, but by now she's usually killed the bad guys and we're headed home."
Faith looked disgusted. "Well, jeez, where's the fun in that?"
Xander held up his hand, the thumb and forefinger very close together. "Is it possible that you enjoy this a little too much?"
Faith grinned. "Hey, as far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing as too much. Get the bag." She hiked off into the night as Xander hustled to keep pace, the Slayer bag thumping against his leg.
As they entered the park, Xander felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. A park was always fertile vamp territory, probably because it provided so many stationary, defenseless targets. He rummaged in the bag and pulled out the crossbow. Faith gave him a look.
"Better safe than sorry," he said.
"Yeah, well, be careful," she said. "I don't want to find an arrow sticking out of my ass."
Xander had no reply for that, so he followed her into the park, the weapon in his right hand and the bag slung over his left shoulder. The area around the playground equipment was clear. Faith stood by the teeter-totter, looking around as she pushed down on the upraised end. Her head abruptly snapped to the left. The teeter-totter continued its lazy inversion.
"Come on," she said, "I hear something over here." She raced away down a walking trail.
Whatever sense Slayers had for finding vamps was accurate once again. Xander rounded a curve in the path and skidded to a halt; Faith had already found and engaged the target. The male vamp was half-a-head taller than her and outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. He was also no novice. He blocked Faith's first attack and countered with a quick left-right combo followed by a side kick. The Slayer slipped the punches, but the kick caught her a glancing blow on the right shoulder and spun her half-around. The vamp closed on her, but she jabbed back with an elbow and caught him in the solar plexus. She dropped and swept her left leg around, but the vamp had the presence of mind and the agility to hop over the maneuver. Faith sprang back, putting some distance between them.
Xander watched open-mouthed as they joined again. Faith's speed and strength were astounding, even compared to Buffy, but the vamp's advantage in height and weight kept her from exploiting her skills to the fullest. The vamp's strategy became clear; he was willing to trade non-lethal blows in order to get close to her and punish the body. He landed two solid shots to the ribs in one exchange and Faith reeled back. A wicked grin-'Do vampires have any other kind?' flashed across Xander's mind-creased his ghoulish face as he moved in for the finish.
Ducking or retreating would be the textbook moves, but instead Faith ran at her foe and leaped into the air, planted her hands on the vamp's shoulders and executed a complete flip. She landed with knees bent, whirled, and grabbed her opponent, her arms shooting around his shoulders and her hands locking behind his neck in a full nelson. The vamp screamed and jerked his head back and forth to no avail. He relaxed, then planted his feet firmly and began to push back. His superior height gave him enough leverage to bend Faith backwards.
"Hey," she shouted, her voice revealing the strain of holding the demon, "little help."
Xander snapped out of his fog and lifted the crossbow. Faith's eyes grew large and round as her life flashed before her. "No, you dumbass! Stake! I need a stake!" He dropped the crossbow and scrambled for the bag. The crossbow landed on its stock; the impact jarred the trigger mechanism and the weapon discharged with a loud twang. The bolt shot straight up into the air. Xander pulled a stake from the bag and turned toward Faith, his feet slipping on the grass as he started to run to her. He caught himself before he went sprawling and managed to keep his feet. Faith's hands were beginning to slip by the time he reached them. He plunged the stake into the vamp's chest. The demon screamed but did not disintegrate. Xander pulled out the stake, stabbed again and missed again. The vampire threw back his head and roared. Xander bit his lower lips and thrust again. This strike was true and in a heartbeat he stood there, stake still in hand and pointing at Faith.
The Slayer grimaced, flexed her hands and arms, and then snatched the stake from him. "Thanks, but you could have been a little faster."
"Hey, I'll admit it wasn't my finest hour, but--"
"Forget it." Faith pushed past him and chucked the stake into the bag. "The job got done. Don't sweat. But what were you thinking with the crossbow? You could have killed me."
Xander shrugged and at that precise moment the crossbow bolt plummeted from the sky and buried itself in the ground between them. Xander stuck his tongue in his cheek, then said, "I don't suppose that's going to look good on my resume either, is it?"
Faith rolled her eyes. "Hey, no harm no foul."
***
Lindsay Maeda raised her head from the pillow. "Just a second," she said, wrapping the blanket around her as she shuffled to the door. She covered her mouth with her right hand to stifle a cough as she opened the door with her left.
"My goodness," Rupert Giles said, "you should be in bed."
"I was," Lindsay said and sniffled as she shambled across the room and crawled back under the covers.
"I'm terribly sorry," Giles said as he stepped into the room. "But from Faith's description you sounded near death."
Lindsay smiled. "Faith tends toward the melodramatic."
"Still, you're definitely under the weather. Are you taking any medication?"
Lindsay punched her pillow with her right hand. "Not really. It hit pretty sudden."
"Well," Giles said, "I've brought you a few things." He reached into the bag he carried with his left arm. "Here is some, ah, Sudafed, Excedrin Cold and Flu, and my mother's personal remedy." He placed the bottles on the dresser.
"Mr. Giles," Lindsay asked, "are you trying to get me drunk?"
"What?" Giles caught her meaning and flushed a deep red. "No, no, of course not. I assure you that nothing of that sort entered my mind. I simply... My mother always believed that a shot of whiskey with a tablespoon of honey to be a very effective remedy."
"Probably not that much different from Ny-Quil," Lindsay said. "Sorry about embarrassing you."
Giles made a noncommittal hand gesture. "It's all right. Working with American teenagers should have made me immune by now. Can I get you anything?"
"A couple of the Excedrin," Lindsay said. "Then pull up a chair. Maybe there's something good on TV."
***
The last chord floated away across the meadow, its shimmering harmonies expanding until they stretched into gossamer thread of sound, then broke apart into thousands of tinkling echoes that drifted off in the cool breeze. The bonfire snapped and hurled sparks into the air, its orange glow mirrored on the faces of the laughing girls. To her surprise, Buffy was laughing as hard as anyone. When Ms. Brannigan had hauled out her battered Baby Taylor guitar many of the girls had rolled their eyes, but the teacher had a surprisingly sweet, strong voice and her repertoire was not what they'd expected. Buffy had no idea who Tom Paxton was, but he could definitely write a funny song.
Ms. Brannigan placed the guitar in its padded gig bag. "Well," she said, turning to her charges, "I think it's about time for us to turn in tonight. We'll be up with the sun tomorrow morning and we have a full day ahead of us, so try and get plenty of sleep."
The group began to scatter as Buffy switched on her flashlight and headed for the tent. The beam passed across a taller figure walking ahead of her. "Hey, Cordelia," Buffy called, "wait up."
The declaration was unnecessary; Buffy caught the limping Cordelia with ease. "How's the feet?" Buffy asked, shining her flashlight on the appendages in question. Cordelia had foregone shoes. Instead she wore thick, absorbent socks and Teva sandals with all the Velcro straps unfastened. Her gait was somewhere between a hobble, and a shuffle.
"You want me to carry you?" Buffy asked. She didn't need the flashlight to feel the glare that Cordelia threw at her. The Slayer felt a tinge of guilt about the smile that crept over her face.
They crawled into the tent. Cordelia snapped on the lantern as Buffy flopped on her sleeping bag and unlaced her boots. She glanced across the tent and her fingers froze. As Cordelia peeled off her socks Buffy could see the bright, shiny pink patches where the blisters had burst, leaving raw flesh. Small strands of white skin, the remains of the top layer, curled around the edges of the wounds and clung to the thick layer of ointment. A large blood blister had formed on the little toe of the right foot. Angry abrasions ringed Cordy's ankles.
Buffy looked away, concentrating on removing her own socks. Feet bare, she wiggled her toes, her perfect, unblemished toes. She glanced to her left. Cordelia was re-applying salve to her feet. Buffy slipped out of her shorts and into her sleeping bag. Turning her back on the other girl, she closed her eyes.
***
Lindsay woke with a start. The room was dark, lit only by the glow from the television. She blinked, unable to recognize the program, then looked across the room. Giles sat in a chair, right leg crossed over left as he watched the show. Some of Lindsay's movements must have caught his eye. He looked at her, miniature images of the TV reflected in his glasses.
"Ah, you're awake," he said, stating the obvious.
"Yeah," Lindsay said, her voice raspy in a dry throat. She pointed at the television. "What's on?"
Giles looked at the TV briefly, then back to her. "Shadow of a Doubt. In my opinion, Hitchcock's best movie and one of Joseph Cotton's best performances."
Lindsay shook her head. "Don't know it. Must be before my time."
"A bit before my time as well. Although not as far."
Lindsay glanced down at the blankets then at Giles. "I don't know any good way to say this, so I'm just going to be blunt. I have to go to the bathroom, and I'm not exactly dressed for company."
"What? Oh, I'm sorry." Giles stood and began to turn his chair to the wall.
"Mr. Giles," Lindsay said, "I'd really rather you bring me my robe. It's hanging on the back of the bathroom door."
"Yes. Certainly." Giles crossed the room with all deliberate speed and disappeared into the bathroom. He came out with the robe held in front of him like a matador. He dropped it on the bed and returned to his chair, turning his face to the wall, not turning back to the television until he heard the bathroom door close.
Lindsay came out in a few minutes, looking a little shaky. "I think my fever's down," she said as she slipped back into bed. "A couple of days and I should be good as new."
"That's good." Giles looked at the screen and rubbed his hands together. "I'd like to apologize for the bit of farce involving your robe. I don't know what came over me."
Lindsay smiled in spite of her greasy hair and body aches. "You're a nice man, that's what came over you. Just be glad you don't have to deal with Faith. That girl has a lot of good points, but modesty isn't one of them." The look on Giles's face caused her to laugh in spite of her illness. "I'm sorry," she said as she pointed at the TV. "I didn't mean to embarrass you again. Now, what's this movie about?"
"Ah." Giles leaned forward, pointing. "The girl is Little Charlie Newton. She's named for her favorite Uncle Charlie. He's played by Joseph Cotten..."
***
The Bronze was free of vampires but crowded with high school students. Xander looked around at the crowd on the dance floor and tried not to burst into flames.
He was the center of attention, or rather, his partner was. Faith shook and shimmied to the music, glimpses of her face visible through a curtain of dark hair. Every so often her hands would rake the hair back, an act that seemed to fascinate a large percentage of the male patrons. She did not notice; Faith was lost in the rhythm. Xander was no fool. He might have been there, but Faith was dancing with herself. He was just a prop to occupy space.
The song ended. Faith's eyes unglazed and focused on him. "How about something to drink?" she said. Xander headed for the bar. By the time he reached their table, five guys already surrounded Faith. He stood on the periphery, drinks in hand. Faith caught his eye over the heads of her admirers.
"Xan," she shouted. "Pull up a chair." Her hangers-on parted so he could slide into the chair. "Tell you what, guys," she said as her fingers pulled her sweat-soaked shirt away from her body, "why don't you give us some space?" They grumbled, but word of Faith's method of dealing with unwanted male attention had made the rounds and they left. She took a long drink and slumped back in her chair, eyes closed.
"Man," she said, "every so often you gotta just party like a brain-damaged test monkey." Xander watched the sweat trickle down her neck and collect in the hollow of her throat, then spill over and disappear beneath her shirt. He swallowed hard.
"I... I'm surprised you got rid of those guys," he said.
"Nah." She opened her eyes and leaned forward. "They're just meat. You and me, on the other hand, we've shared a kill." She winked and leaned back.
"Oh," Xander said. "I suppose it's a step up from spitting in our hands before we shake."
"No, I'm serious." Faith looked at him and the distinct image of a tigress watching an antelope while she sprawled across a rock flashed across Xander's mind. "You showed some pretty serious nad out there. Although I still might kick your ass for the crossbow."
"Tell you what, I'll carry it tomorrow night and not threaten your life a single time." Xander's statement surprised him.
It must have jolted Faith a little too. "Already looking forward to tomorrow night?" She took a drink and placed the cup on the table. She ran an index finger around the mug's rim. "I, uh, I..." She sat back and looked away, then tried again. "About you and Cordelia... I..." She clenched her fists, eyes closed. "Shit, I so suck at this."
"My, but you are the glib one." Xander took a sip and made a point of looking at one of the posters on the wall.
"So, what is it with you and her?" Faith asked.
Xander shrugged. "I don't know. It's a thing."
"What sort of thing?" Faith's forearms rested on the table, her hands cupping her elbows as she leaned forward.
"A thing."
"Doesn't sound like much of a thing."
Xander ducked his head, his fingers combing through the hair on the left side. "It's complicated. I used to think I knew Cordelia. We all did. She was the queen and we were the peasants. Then she got drawn into our little circle of shame and it was like I could see another side of her."
One side of Faith's mouth lifted. "That's when you guys hooked up."
"Are you using hooked up in the sense of hooked up or..." Xander made a circle with his left thumb and index finger and hooked the index finger of his right hand through it.
Faith rolled her eyes. "That's when you guys started dating, okay?"
Xander nodded. "Yeah. But instead of knowing more about her, I think I know less. There are parts of her that are just... opaque."
"Like the virgin thing?"
Xander took a deep breath. "You can't leave that alone, can you? But you're right. I didn't know. I had no inkling. Now I wonder what else I don't know."
***
"Wow," Lindsay said, "that was really good." She wiped her nose with a tissue.
"I told you." Giles snapped off the television. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late."
Lindsay waved off his apology. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you earlier." Her hand plucked at the thin spread. "It was nice having someone in the room, at least someone I wasn't responsible for."
Giles nodded. "I understand. Being a Watcher may be a high calling, but I wonder about its effect on mental health."
"Yeah, being so bonded and identified with one person." Lindsay glanced toward the door. "It's so easy to lose yourself."
Giles rested his weight on the dresser, one foot still on the floor. "I come from a long line of Watchers. What about you?"
Lindsay's eyes widened. "Me? Oh no. I'm a recruit. I spent a semester studying in London, and that's where they found me."
"Really." Giles tapped his upper lip with a forefinger.
"Yeah. And then I'm finishing up my Ph.D. at Brown and mailing out resumes when they contact me and tell me to get to Boston and find the next Slayer. I went and the rest is, you know." Lindsay tried to stifle a yawn.
"You need rest," Giles said, standing up. "And I must be going."
***
"...so because somebody spends four years in a paper hat asking 'You want fries with that?' they get to call it life experience? He gets to put that on a college application. Meanwhile, I've been devoting my evenings to stealth and world saving. I've got to think that would impress a prospective employer." Xander swatted at a low-hanging branch. "So what I'm asking is, can I get some kind of credit for this?"
"Do you think about this all the time?" Faith was equal parts irritated and fascinated.
"A lot, yeah." Xander looked at the sidewalk. "I'd like to put it in the yearbook, y'know, 'Skulking 3,4.' I need something on my activities list."
"And you were asking if I took this too seriously?" Faith shook her head. "At least I know why I do it."
"Why?" Xander asked.
"Why what?"
"Why do you do it?"
Faith thought, then tossed her head. "Because I'm the Slayer. Lindsay showed up at my school one day and some of my friends who were actually there told me she was looking for me. The next day I meet her at a diner and that night I'm in a cemetery watching something I'd only seen in movies come clawing out of the dirt. Lindsay tells me it's my job to kill it. I ask how, she just tosses me a stake. The vampire comes charging at me and bam! It's like the light bulb goes on. He's going down and I'm the one to do it." Faith grinned at the memory. "It was a wicked rush. I looked at Lindsay and she said 'That's the job' and I said 'Where do I sign up?' I was ten feet tall and bulletproof."
They came to an intersection. Xander pointed to the right. "I'm down this way." He shuffled his feet. "I, uh, I enjoyed it." His voice rose at the end of the sentence, giving it the shading of a question.
"Me too." Faith grinned. "Good to run with new blood. You still up for it tomorrow night?"
"Uh, yeah." Xander glanced in the direction of his house. "Soooo, I'll see you at school."
Faith smirked. "Yeah, I guess. See, there's the difference between us. You think the vampires are weird. I think school is. That's what I never expected about this gig." She took two steps away and turned back. "Hey, thanks for the dancing, too." She did a slow hip shake. "Maybe we can do that tomorrow night too." She disappeared into the night.
Xander stood there on the corner, feeling the concrete beneath his shoes and the breeze on his cheek. His nerves hummed and he could hear the blood rushing through his ears.
"Get a grip," he said aloud.
***
Buffy's eyes snapped open, staring into the dark. The sky was tinted a dark, murky yellow...
She realized that she was looking at the roof of the tent. The illumination came from the dying bonfire. She turned her head to the left. She could make out Cordelia's silhouette; the other girl's feet were elevated on her pack. Buffy looked back up at the tent. Why was she awake? After the bus ride, the hike and the evening activities, she should be sleeping like a log.
Instead she slipped on her boots and crept out of the tent. The night was cool and smelled of coming rain. The breeze was stronger and thick, woolly clouds obscured the sky. The occasional rumble of thunder followed a flash of lightning. Buffy looked around, rubbing her arms to keep warm.
Lightning flashed and something flickered at the edge of her peripheral vision. She turned, looking out across the meadow. The lightning arced across the sky again, and she saw them. Six figures raced across the meadow. They were thin and angular and moving much faster than human beings. They were heading toward the tents. Lightning flashed again and they slowed ever so slightly.
Buffy screamed, "Cordelia!" as she searched the ground for a weapon. She continued shouting until the tent flap opened and Cordelia's head appeared.
"What?" she said in a voice thick with sleep.
"Wake everybody up," Buffy said, hefting a branch a little smaller than her forearm.
"Why?" Cordelia mumbled. Buffy pointed. Cordelia saw the figures. They were much closer. Buffy placed one end of the stick on the ground and stomped. The branch cracked, creating a functional if rather inelegant stake. Buffy's shouts had roused some campers; voices could be heard coming from tents. Cordelia stumbled out of the tent and began to limp from tent to tent, yelling at everyone to get out.
There was no time for more warning. As the girls began to straggle out of their shelters their attackers were on them. Lightning flashed as the creatures reached the tents; Buffy had an impression of a vaguely human face, but very long and angular, with a pointed chin and high, jutting cheekbones. Long arms ended in appendages that might have been hands, but which most definitely had claws. They moved with a speed that even Buffy found daunting. She swung her makeshift weapon at the leader and missed completely.
After that it was just a rolling brawl lit by flashes of lightning. Most of the girls were paralyzed with fear. A few picked up rocks and sticks and tried to fight. Buffy raced through the melee, punching, kicking, stabbing. One of them had a girl pinned to the ground. The Slayer slammed her stake through its back. It screamed and whirled, swiping at her with grimy claws. She flipped back, the stake pulling free. As she came to her feet, she saw Deena swing a long black flashlight at one of the attackers. The blow missed, but as the beam passed across her foe it flinched. Buffy looked around and realized that the monsters were avoiding the center of the campsite.
"The fire," she screamed. "Get to the fire!" An agonizing stretch of time passed before the other girls understood her instructions. They bunched around the guttering flames.
"Quick," Buffy said, glancing over her shoulder. "More wood." The others began to toss fuel from the gathered pile onto the blaze. Soon the flames caught and rose higher. The creatures began to prowl around the outside of the area. Buffy relaxed for a moment, but then she realized that these things weren't going away. Their circuits were growing smaller. As the students realized this, they packed in tighter. Buffy remained outside the crowd, watching the creatures as they circled. A high-pitched gibbering filled the air. Buffy felt someone beside her and turned, arm raised to strike.
"Whoa," Deena said, the black flashlight held in her right hand. Her left arm dangled at a strange angle. One of the attackers swooped forward. Buffy turned, but Deena was closer. She brought the flashlight down on its head and it swooned back, screaming with pain. It fell to its knees and two others rushed forward to drag it away. The others surged forward. Apparently their anger had overcome their fear and loathing.
The light went on over Buffy's head, or rather the flashlight went on over Buffy's head. "Flashlights," she shouted. "Point your flashlights at their eyes!"
Deena did so without hesitation. The yellow-white beam caught the leader full in the face. The creature growled and veered off course. The other girls noticed; lights began to pierce the darkness. Perhaps a third of the students had flashlights, but that was enough. The attackers began to retreat, swatting and pawing at the air in front of them. Whenever a beam slipped away from a face, that monster would advance, only to halt when the light struck it again.
"Group up," Bryn shouted. "Each group concentrate on one of them. We can run them off." The girls responded, splitting into squads of three or four. Some of those who had no flashlight grabbed burning sticks from the fire. It was all very Frankenstein as they drove the creatures away. When they reached the edge of the campsite the fiends abandoned their assault completely and raced back across the meadow. Buffy watched them as they fled, straining to see them in the midnight dark.
As the adrenaline rush faded and the immediate danger passed, sounds of crying began to ripple through the group. Buffy turned back to the camp. It was an eerie sight. Girls sat on the ground, heads in hands. Some wandered about looking shell-shocked. Worst of all, several lay on the ground, arms and legs outstretched. By the garish, flickering orange light of the fire Buffy could make out dark pools around the bodies, puddles that were already soaking into the trampled earth. The ghostly wails of the living floated above the tableau, disembodied and chilling.
"Are you all right?" The voice startled Buffy. She jerked in alarm, then calmed herself. She turned. Bryn stood just behind her.
"Yeah," the Slayer said, taking deep breaths. "Everything seems to be working."
Bryn looked around the group. She took Buffy by the arm and pulled her to one side. "This is bad," the taller girl said. "What was that?"
Buffy shrugged. "I have no idea." That much was completely true.
"Did you see them coming?" Bryn swallowed.
"I was outside. I had to use the bathroom." Buffy shivered a little, partly from cold but mostly from her body's attempts to relax. She was suddenly very, very tired. Bryn ducked her head. It took Buffy a second to realize that the other girl was crying.
"Hey, hey." Buffy gripped Bryn by the arms, bending down so she could look into the girl's face. "We made it. They're gone. We'll be all right. You've got to pull it together. We've got to get through the night. Fall apart tomorrow. We need to find out who's hurt and how badly. Can you do that?" Bryn said nothing; she dissolved into sobs. Buffy looked around. The girls had gathered into small groups, holding each as they cried. There was one exception, one solitary figure that stood apart from the crowd. Cordelia looked at Buffy and the Slayer could read the challenge on Queen C's face: what are you going to do now?
Buffy ignored her. "Bryn. Bryn. I know this is hard. But we can't break down. Where's Ms. Brannigan?"
Bryn shook her head, tears flying into the night air. "I don't know. I haven't seen her."
"Then go and find her. Find Ranger Young, too. People are hurt. We need to help them, okay?"
Bryn nodded, her sobs diminished to sniffles. "I'll go find them." She stumbled off into the night. Buffy slipped around the group to look at the bodies. The first one was a girl with dark hair and braces. She lay just in front of her tent, a gaping hole where her throat had been. The Slayer closed her eyes for a second to fight off a wave of dizziness. A hand touched her on the shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Bryn. The look on the taller girl's face was not encouraging.
"I found them," Bryn said in bleak, flat voice. "They're both hurt really bad. They might even be dying."
Buffy nodded. "Okay, Bryn, you have to take charge. You've got to tell everyone what to do."
Bryn's eyes widened. "Why me?"
Buffy touched the girl's shoulder. "Because they'll listen to you. Can you do it?"
Bryn swallowed, an action that took some effort. "I'll try."
"Okay. Find someone who knows something about first aid. Take them to where Ms. Brannigan is. She had a first aid kit, so did Ranger Young. Find those and start treating who you can."
"Okay." Bryn bit her lip and walked away. Buffy watched her for a moment, then turned. She saw Cordelia watching her. Buffy motioned for the other girl to join her. Cordelia showed no great enthusiasm as she approached.
"How the hell did those things get here?" Cordelia asked.
Buffy shook her head. "I don't know, but they're here. Listen, stay with Bryn. Help her out."
"What?"
Buffy's anger flared. "Cordelia, put a sock in it. I don't give a damn what your issues with Bryn are. You know what's out there. She doesn't. Help her take care of the injuries, and while you're at it, see if you can find Ranger Young's radio." Cordelia's eyes practically shot sparks, but she turned to go. Buffy said, "Cordy."
Cordelia looked over her shoulder. "What?"
"See if you can find anything else that might be helpful."
Cordelia snorted. "Like what?"
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you'll know it when you see it. And remember, it can't get any worse."
There a simultaneous blue-white flash of lightning and a ripping crack of thunder. Something hit Buffy on top of her head, then the sky opened and the downpour began.
Cordelia looked at Buffy. "Oh yeah?" the cheerleader asked, then walked away into the rain. Buffy turned and faced the forest, watching as the water streamed down her face.
He sighed but didn't look up. An open box sat on the counter. "Strange as it may seem, the school expects me to actually perform my duties as librarian from time to time." He took a book from the box, crosschecked it against a master list, then affixed a bar-coded sticker inside the back cover.
Willow watched for a second, then burst out, "Giles, I really want to talk to you now!"
He closed the book and pushed it to one side. "Very well."
Willow wrung her hands together. "I'm worried."
"About what?"
Willow blew air through her nose. "I'm not sure, but I've been bothered ever since I had that... thing that told us where to find Cordelia."
Giles nodded. "I would just point out that your vision did not exactly lead us to Cordelia."
Willow shot him a look that let him know what she thought of his nitpicking. "Giles, focus on the real issue."
He slid the book a few inches to one side and leaned on the counter, his arms crossed in front of him. "All right then. These episodes are growing in intensity, is that correct?"
Willow nodded. "Yeah."
"They seem more specific, less vague?" Willow nodded again. Giles pushed upright and went into the office. He returned holding piece of lined paper. Willow could see handwritten notes on it. He held the paper up. "This escalation bothered me as well, so I did some research."
Willow wanted to grab the paper from his hand but restrained herself. "What did you find?"
Giles shook his head and dropped the paper on the counter. "Nothing very concrete, I'm afraid, but I do have a theory or two."
Willow took a deep breath. "Okay. I'd like to hear them."
Giles rubbed his forehead. "I believe it's entirely possible that your near-death experience has made you even more sensitive to these... intrusions. You opened the door when you performed the spell that returned Angel's soul. When you were in that hospital bed, it opened wider." He dropped his hand and looked at her, a thin, pale girl in moss-green painter's pants. Her eyes glimmered with unspilled tears.
"Why is this happening to me?" she said. "I just tried to do a good thing. That's all."
"Please, Willow, for once in your life, do not trust me too quickly." Giles tapped the sheets of yellow paper. "It is only a theory."
***
The sun filtered through the thickening clouds and cast intermittent patches of light on the trees. Most of them were evergreens, old pine and fir grown high and straight, their branches breaking up the light even further until the trail was a kaleidoscope of light and shadow.
Buffy took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of pine sap, dust, and fallen needles. The class filled the air with chatter and laughter. Up ahead she could make out Ms. Brannigan. The teacher was easy to spot with that guitar lashed to her pack. The woman must be strong as a horse. Buffy could not imagine toting a guitar for ten miles. The Slayer looked behind her. Cordelia was back in the pack, favoring her right foot. Buffy could see the suppressed wince in the other girl's face as she took each step.
A voice floated back from around a bend in the trail. "Hey, that must be that bridge." Buffy rounded the bend and stopped. It was a suspension footbridge, all right. It must be safe. Why would they let people cross it otherwise? Still, it looked spindly as it stretched across the deep gorge. Ranger Young had called it a 'major ravine.' Buffy found herself agreeing with the ranger. It certainly looked major to her, the steep sides nearly vertical and strewn with boulders, only the occasional scrawny pine sapling clinging to the slope. It stretched away in either direction as far as Buffy could see, a gaping slash in the earth's crust.
The class began to bunch up. No one seemed too eager to race across the swaying trestle. Ranger Young stepped out onto the planking and crossed at a brisk, almost speedy pace. When she reached the other side she turned and waved, a grin splitting her face. Ms. Brannigan began to send the girls across one at a time. It was going to take a while. Buffy slipped off her pack and lowered it to the ground. It made a handy chair.
She looked up as a shadow fell across her. Cordelia shifted from one foot to the other.
"Feet hurt?" Buffy asked.
"I'll be fine," Cordelia replied in a snappish tone. Sweat trickled from her hairline and disappeared behind the lenses of her sunglasses. Buffy opened her mouth for a retort but a sudden chill raced up her spine. She stood, trying not to draw attention as she did so.
"Did you feel that?" she asked Cordelia.
"What?" Cordelia said.
"I don't know... something weird." Buffy hugged herself and rubbed her arms in an attempt to quell the gooseflesh that had suddenly appeared.
"We're in the woods," Cordelia said. "This whole thing is weird."
***
"What was that?" Devon asked, swinging around to look at the band. Oz looked at Doug. Doug looked at Oz. Geoff looked at both of them.
"Don't we end on F sharp?" Doug asked, running a hand over his fresh buzz cut.
"No," Oz said. "We end on C."
"Wow," Doug said as he shook his head. "No wonder it sounded shitty."
"You know," Oz said, "we've been playing this song for eight months. We should know the ending."
"Hey, man, don't soil yourself." Doug pinged a couple of harmonics to test his tuning. "We'll do it again."
"That's not the point." Oz struggled to keep his voice steady. "We need to do it right the first time. And get it in tune."
Doug threw him a sharp look. "It's in tune."
"No, it isn't. The A is still a little flat."
"Fine." Doug slipped the instrument's strap over his head. "You want to play it too?"
Oz murmured, "If I had four arms I would." His voice was louder than he intended. Doug flushed a dark red.
"Hey, Oz?" he said. "Screw you." He slammed the bass into its stand and stalked out of the garage.
Geoff tapped his drumstick together. "Uh, is rehearsal over?"
***
The sun was low in the sky when they came out of the woods and saw the campsite Ranger Young had selected. It was a meadow, located in the swale between two hills and carpeted in thick, ankle-deep grass that was turning yellow and crisp in the autumn air. Buffy estimated that from where she stood at the edge of the trees it was probably a hundred yards down the slope, across the floor and up into the trees opposite. To the left and right it stretched away for probably half a mile. She stepped out of the trees and felt a quick, light crawling sensation between her shoulder blades.
The gaps in the clouds were narrowing; light passed through only in narrow slits. The students fanned out and began to set up camp. Buffy looked around. Cordelia was just making her way out of the trees, hobbling as though her boots were lined with hot coals. Buffy selected a spot where the incline leveled off. She let her pack fall to the ground and untied the tent.
"Better hurry," she said to Cordelia, then turned her attention back to the tent. Out of the blue nylon bag, it was revealed as an enormous mass of yellow nylon and black fiberglass tubes strung on elastic.
"Do you know how to set this up?" Cordelia asked, wincing as she shifted her weight.
"Nooo," Buffy said. "But I'm guessing these instructions will help." She studied the sheet of paper for a few seconds, then picked up one of the fiberglass tubes. "These snap together to form the poles. Here," she thrust the assembly at Cordelia, "you do that while I figure out what to do with them once they're assembled." There were a couple of false starts, but Buffy soon figured out the procedure. She snapped the last retaining clip onto a pole and stepped back.
"Do you think it's big enough?" she asked. The tent was at least ten feet long and nine feet wide.
"It's the six-person model," Cordelia said as she schlepped her pack toward it. "I wanted to be able to get some distance between us."
"Gee," Buffy said, unzipping the flap, "why don't you twist the knife counterclockwise now?"
***
The door of unit #6 was flimsy enough that a firm knock caused it to vibrate like a tuning fork. Faith yanked it open. Xander stood on the concrete pad. He wore faded cargo pants with frayed cuffs, a dark, rather shapeless sweater, and an eight-inch long cross. Faith looked at it, amused.
"Y'know," she said, "size doesn't make 'em work any better."
"Yeah, yeah," Xander said, waving a hand. "Size doesn't matter. And chicks don't dig rich guys."
Faith shrugged. "Can't argue with that. At least tuck it inside your sweater."
"Boo-yaaa." Xander complied.
"Just a sec." Faith disappeared from the doorway. Xander leaned forward and peeked around the frame. Faith was bending over the bed, her hand resting on Lindsay's forehead.
"Lindsay," Faith said. "Lindsay, I'm going out to patrol."
"Be careful," Lindsay said. Her cheeks flushed a bright red. "I wish you'd take the night off."
"Hey, no can do. Lotta bad guys out there; they're not taking the night off." Faith looked back at the door and flashed a quick smile. "Besides, Xander's going with me."
He gave a brief wave. "Hi. Oh, Giles said he'd come over and check on you later."
"See?" Faith smiled at her Watcher. "Everything's five by five. You rest and when Giles comes over you and him can talk about Watcher stuff, okay? Meanwhile, Xander and I will be inflicting major hurt on the pointy-toothed bad guys. Ciao." She patted Lindsay's hand.
"Let's go," she said as she passed Xander. "Time's a-wastin'."
***
Buffy picked her way through the deepening gloom. The ankle-deep grass crunched beneath her boots. Several of the girls were collecting wood for the bonfire; most of the tents had smaller fires already going. The air was filled with the smell of wood smoke and the sound of laughter. The clouds were thickening, accompanied by the first faint, almost inaudible rumblings of thunder.
The mood changed when she unzipped the flap of her tent and ducked inside. A small battery-powered halogen lantern cast a bright illumination, but since it was placed on the tent floor near the back wall it was, to be charitable, a highly stylized lighting. The tent's interior was a rococo scene of white light contrasting with black, angular shadows.
Cordelia sat on her sleeping bag, her boots tossed behind her. She was peeling her socks off; a process that required great care since the fluid from several large, broken blisters had effectively welded the thick cotton to her skin. Buffy tossed a small tube in her direction.
"Here," the Slayer said as she stretched out on her own sleeping bag. "Put that on your feet."
Cordelia picked up the ointment and eyed it with great suspicion. "Where did you get it?"
Buffy stared at the roof of the tent, her arms crossed behind her head. "Does it really matter?"
"Did you get it from Ms. Brannigan?"
Buffy raised up on one elbow and half-turned her upper body toward Cordelia. "Yes, I got it from Ms. Brannigan. She had it in a first aid kit. Now, will you just put it on your feet?" She flopped back down.
Cordelia began to spread on the unguent. To judge by the blowing and waving of hands its application entailed, it must have stung. "Jeez," Cordelia said, "is this stuff supposed to help or just burn my feet off?"
Buffy muttered, "Why don't you put some on your tongue?"
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing." Buffy listened to the sounds of Cordelia trying to relieve her discomfort. The Slayer sat up and turned toward the other girl. "How long have you known Bryn?"
Cordelia waved a hand over her feet, trying to create a cooling breeze. "Since fourth grade."
Buffy tried for an oh-so-casual tone. "Why don't you like her?"
It did not work. Cordelia forgot her feet as she glared at the Slayer. "Why don't we quit the girl talk, okay? We're not going to bond this weekend. If you're looking for someone to play Truth or Dare, or braid your hair, or make Smores with you, leave the tent now, okay?"
"You make it sound so tempting. And I'm not being sarcastic."
Cordelia blew on her feet. "You don't want to be here, what's stopping you from leaving?"
Buffy resisted the urge to spring across the tent and pummel the other girl. It took a great effort, but she resisted. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I'm not enjoying this any more than you are. We've fought the undead. Let's try not to kill each other out here in the woods." She turned as she unzipped the tent flap. "Better get your feet taken care of. It's almost time for the bonfire. I understand we're going to sing."
***
Oz bit his lip as he brought the measuring spoon from the Zip-Lok bag to the rim of the cup. He tipped the spoon over, emptying its contents into the mug, then tapped it twice to insure that the spoon was empty. He placed the spoon on the desk, then picked up the cup and looked inside. He shook it slightly to mix the ingredients and took a deep breath.
He ran the water for few minutes. This was always easier to do if the water was lukewarm. When the temperature was right, he filled the cup and stirred it with his finger. He placed the cup on the counter. He told himself he was doing it to let the mixture steep, but he was lying to himself.
He picked up the cup. No use lying to himself any longer. He looked at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, raised the cup and said, "Cheers." He drank the mixture in one long swallow, shuddered as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and fought the urge to spit in the sink.
When the shudders passed, he looked at his reflection again and said, "I hope you think this is worth it."
***
"I don't see anything, do you?" Xander looked around the cemetery, a stake clutched in one hand.
"No, and we've covered almost every inch of this cemetery." Faith looked around, trying to will some vampires into existence.
"So we're almost done?"
She looked at him. "No. After we're finished here, we have two parks and the Bronze. Didn't you say you'd been on patrol with Buffy?"
Xander shrugged. "Yeah, but by now she's usually killed the bad guys and we're headed home."
Faith looked disgusted. "Well, jeez, where's the fun in that?"
Xander held up his hand, the thumb and forefinger very close together. "Is it possible that you enjoy this a little too much?"
Faith grinned. "Hey, as far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing as too much. Get the bag." She hiked off into the night as Xander hustled to keep pace, the Slayer bag thumping against his leg.
As they entered the park, Xander felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. A park was always fertile vamp territory, probably because it provided so many stationary, defenseless targets. He rummaged in the bag and pulled out the crossbow. Faith gave him a look.
"Better safe than sorry," he said.
"Yeah, well, be careful," she said. "I don't want to find an arrow sticking out of my ass."
Xander had no reply for that, so he followed her into the park, the weapon in his right hand and the bag slung over his left shoulder. The area around the playground equipment was clear. Faith stood by the teeter-totter, looking around as she pushed down on the upraised end. Her head abruptly snapped to the left. The teeter-totter continued its lazy inversion.
"Come on," she said, "I hear something over here." She raced away down a walking trail.
Whatever sense Slayers had for finding vamps was accurate once again. Xander rounded a curve in the path and skidded to a halt; Faith had already found and engaged the target. The male vamp was half-a-head taller than her and outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. He was also no novice. He blocked Faith's first attack and countered with a quick left-right combo followed by a side kick. The Slayer slipped the punches, but the kick caught her a glancing blow on the right shoulder and spun her half-around. The vamp closed on her, but she jabbed back with an elbow and caught him in the solar plexus. She dropped and swept her left leg around, but the vamp had the presence of mind and the agility to hop over the maneuver. Faith sprang back, putting some distance between them.
Xander watched open-mouthed as they joined again. Faith's speed and strength were astounding, even compared to Buffy, but the vamp's advantage in height and weight kept her from exploiting her skills to the fullest. The vamp's strategy became clear; he was willing to trade non-lethal blows in order to get close to her and punish the body. He landed two solid shots to the ribs in one exchange and Faith reeled back. A wicked grin-'Do vampires have any other kind?' flashed across Xander's mind-creased his ghoulish face as he moved in for the finish.
Ducking or retreating would be the textbook moves, but instead Faith ran at her foe and leaped into the air, planted her hands on the vamp's shoulders and executed a complete flip. She landed with knees bent, whirled, and grabbed her opponent, her arms shooting around his shoulders and her hands locking behind his neck in a full nelson. The vamp screamed and jerked his head back and forth to no avail. He relaxed, then planted his feet firmly and began to push back. His superior height gave him enough leverage to bend Faith backwards.
"Hey," she shouted, her voice revealing the strain of holding the demon, "little help."
Xander snapped out of his fog and lifted the crossbow. Faith's eyes grew large and round as her life flashed before her. "No, you dumbass! Stake! I need a stake!" He dropped the crossbow and scrambled for the bag. The crossbow landed on its stock; the impact jarred the trigger mechanism and the weapon discharged with a loud twang. The bolt shot straight up into the air. Xander pulled a stake from the bag and turned toward Faith, his feet slipping on the grass as he started to run to her. He caught himself before he went sprawling and managed to keep his feet. Faith's hands were beginning to slip by the time he reached them. He plunged the stake into the vamp's chest. The demon screamed but did not disintegrate. Xander pulled out the stake, stabbed again and missed again. The vampire threw back his head and roared. Xander bit his lower lips and thrust again. This strike was true and in a heartbeat he stood there, stake still in hand and pointing at Faith.
The Slayer grimaced, flexed her hands and arms, and then snatched the stake from him. "Thanks, but you could have been a little faster."
"Hey, I'll admit it wasn't my finest hour, but--"
"Forget it." Faith pushed past him and chucked the stake into the bag. "The job got done. Don't sweat. But what were you thinking with the crossbow? You could have killed me."
Xander shrugged and at that precise moment the crossbow bolt plummeted from the sky and buried itself in the ground between them. Xander stuck his tongue in his cheek, then said, "I don't suppose that's going to look good on my resume either, is it?"
Faith rolled her eyes. "Hey, no harm no foul."
***
Lindsay Maeda raised her head from the pillow. "Just a second," she said, wrapping the blanket around her as she shuffled to the door. She covered her mouth with her right hand to stifle a cough as she opened the door with her left.
"My goodness," Rupert Giles said, "you should be in bed."
"I was," Lindsay said and sniffled as she shambled across the room and crawled back under the covers.
"I'm terribly sorry," Giles said as he stepped into the room. "But from Faith's description you sounded near death."
Lindsay smiled. "Faith tends toward the melodramatic."
"Still, you're definitely under the weather. Are you taking any medication?"
Lindsay punched her pillow with her right hand. "Not really. It hit pretty sudden."
"Well," Giles said, "I've brought you a few things." He reached into the bag he carried with his left arm. "Here is some, ah, Sudafed, Excedrin Cold and Flu, and my mother's personal remedy." He placed the bottles on the dresser.
"Mr. Giles," Lindsay asked, "are you trying to get me drunk?"
"What?" Giles caught her meaning and flushed a deep red. "No, no, of course not. I assure you that nothing of that sort entered my mind. I simply... My mother always believed that a shot of whiskey with a tablespoon of honey to be a very effective remedy."
"Probably not that much different from Ny-Quil," Lindsay said. "Sorry about embarrassing you."
Giles made a noncommittal hand gesture. "It's all right. Working with American teenagers should have made me immune by now. Can I get you anything?"
"A couple of the Excedrin," Lindsay said. "Then pull up a chair. Maybe there's something good on TV."
***
The last chord floated away across the meadow, its shimmering harmonies expanding until they stretched into gossamer thread of sound, then broke apart into thousands of tinkling echoes that drifted off in the cool breeze. The bonfire snapped and hurled sparks into the air, its orange glow mirrored on the faces of the laughing girls. To her surprise, Buffy was laughing as hard as anyone. When Ms. Brannigan had hauled out her battered Baby Taylor guitar many of the girls had rolled their eyes, but the teacher had a surprisingly sweet, strong voice and her repertoire was not what they'd expected. Buffy had no idea who Tom Paxton was, but he could definitely write a funny song.
Ms. Brannigan placed the guitar in its padded gig bag. "Well," she said, turning to her charges, "I think it's about time for us to turn in tonight. We'll be up with the sun tomorrow morning and we have a full day ahead of us, so try and get plenty of sleep."
The group began to scatter as Buffy switched on her flashlight and headed for the tent. The beam passed across a taller figure walking ahead of her. "Hey, Cordelia," Buffy called, "wait up."
The declaration was unnecessary; Buffy caught the limping Cordelia with ease. "How's the feet?" Buffy asked, shining her flashlight on the appendages in question. Cordelia had foregone shoes. Instead she wore thick, absorbent socks and Teva sandals with all the Velcro straps unfastened. Her gait was somewhere between a hobble, and a shuffle.
"You want me to carry you?" Buffy asked. She didn't need the flashlight to feel the glare that Cordelia threw at her. The Slayer felt a tinge of guilt about the smile that crept over her face.
They crawled into the tent. Cordelia snapped on the lantern as Buffy flopped on her sleeping bag and unlaced her boots. She glanced across the tent and her fingers froze. As Cordelia peeled off her socks Buffy could see the bright, shiny pink patches where the blisters had burst, leaving raw flesh. Small strands of white skin, the remains of the top layer, curled around the edges of the wounds and clung to the thick layer of ointment. A large blood blister had formed on the little toe of the right foot. Angry abrasions ringed Cordy's ankles.
Buffy looked away, concentrating on removing her own socks. Feet bare, she wiggled her toes, her perfect, unblemished toes. She glanced to her left. Cordelia was re-applying salve to her feet. Buffy slipped out of her shorts and into her sleeping bag. Turning her back on the other girl, she closed her eyes.
***
Lindsay woke with a start. The room was dark, lit only by the glow from the television. She blinked, unable to recognize the program, then looked across the room. Giles sat in a chair, right leg crossed over left as he watched the show. Some of Lindsay's movements must have caught his eye. He looked at her, miniature images of the TV reflected in his glasses.
"Ah, you're awake," he said, stating the obvious.
"Yeah," Lindsay said, her voice raspy in a dry throat. She pointed at the television. "What's on?"
Giles looked at the TV briefly, then back to her. "Shadow of a Doubt. In my opinion, Hitchcock's best movie and one of Joseph Cotton's best performances."
Lindsay shook her head. "Don't know it. Must be before my time."
"A bit before my time as well. Although not as far."
Lindsay glanced down at the blankets then at Giles. "I don't know any good way to say this, so I'm just going to be blunt. I have to go to the bathroom, and I'm not exactly dressed for company."
"What? Oh, I'm sorry." Giles stood and began to turn his chair to the wall.
"Mr. Giles," Lindsay said, "I'd really rather you bring me my robe. It's hanging on the back of the bathroom door."
"Yes. Certainly." Giles crossed the room with all deliberate speed and disappeared into the bathroom. He came out with the robe held in front of him like a matador. He dropped it on the bed and returned to his chair, turning his face to the wall, not turning back to the television until he heard the bathroom door close.
Lindsay came out in a few minutes, looking a little shaky. "I think my fever's down," she said as she slipped back into bed. "A couple of days and I should be good as new."
"That's good." Giles looked at the screen and rubbed his hands together. "I'd like to apologize for the bit of farce involving your robe. I don't know what came over me."
Lindsay smiled in spite of her greasy hair and body aches. "You're a nice man, that's what came over you. Just be glad you don't have to deal with Faith. That girl has a lot of good points, but modesty isn't one of them." The look on Giles's face caused her to laugh in spite of her illness. "I'm sorry," she said as she pointed at the TV. "I didn't mean to embarrass you again. Now, what's this movie about?"
"Ah." Giles leaned forward, pointing. "The girl is Little Charlie Newton. She's named for her favorite Uncle Charlie. He's played by Joseph Cotten..."
***
The Bronze was free of vampires but crowded with high school students. Xander looked around at the crowd on the dance floor and tried not to burst into flames.
He was the center of attention, or rather, his partner was. Faith shook and shimmied to the music, glimpses of her face visible through a curtain of dark hair. Every so often her hands would rake the hair back, an act that seemed to fascinate a large percentage of the male patrons. She did not notice; Faith was lost in the rhythm. Xander was no fool. He might have been there, but Faith was dancing with herself. He was just a prop to occupy space.
The song ended. Faith's eyes unglazed and focused on him. "How about something to drink?" she said. Xander headed for the bar. By the time he reached their table, five guys already surrounded Faith. He stood on the periphery, drinks in hand. Faith caught his eye over the heads of her admirers.
"Xan," she shouted. "Pull up a chair." Her hangers-on parted so he could slide into the chair. "Tell you what, guys," she said as her fingers pulled her sweat-soaked shirt away from her body, "why don't you give us some space?" They grumbled, but word of Faith's method of dealing with unwanted male attention had made the rounds and they left. She took a long drink and slumped back in her chair, eyes closed.
"Man," she said, "every so often you gotta just party like a brain-damaged test monkey." Xander watched the sweat trickle down her neck and collect in the hollow of her throat, then spill over and disappear beneath her shirt. He swallowed hard.
"I... I'm surprised you got rid of those guys," he said.
"Nah." She opened her eyes and leaned forward. "They're just meat. You and me, on the other hand, we've shared a kill." She winked and leaned back.
"Oh," Xander said. "I suppose it's a step up from spitting in our hands before we shake."
"No, I'm serious." Faith looked at him and the distinct image of a tigress watching an antelope while she sprawled across a rock flashed across Xander's mind. "You showed some pretty serious nad out there. Although I still might kick your ass for the crossbow."
"Tell you what, I'll carry it tomorrow night and not threaten your life a single time." Xander's statement surprised him.
It must have jolted Faith a little too. "Already looking forward to tomorrow night?" She took a drink and placed the cup on the table. She ran an index finger around the mug's rim. "I, uh, I..." She sat back and looked away, then tried again. "About you and Cordelia... I..." She clenched her fists, eyes closed. "Shit, I so suck at this."
"My, but you are the glib one." Xander took a sip and made a point of looking at one of the posters on the wall.
"So, what is it with you and her?" Faith asked.
Xander shrugged. "I don't know. It's a thing."
"What sort of thing?" Faith's forearms rested on the table, her hands cupping her elbows as she leaned forward.
"A thing."
"Doesn't sound like much of a thing."
Xander ducked his head, his fingers combing through the hair on the left side. "It's complicated. I used to think I knew Cordelia. We all did. She was the queen and we were the peasants. Then she got drawn into our little circle of shame and it was like I could see another side of her."
One side of Faith's mouth lifted. "That's when you guys hooked up."
"Are you using hooked up in the sense of hooked up or..." Xander made a circle with his left thumb and index finger and hooked the index finger of his right hand through it.
Faith rolled her eyes. "That's when you guys started dating, okay?"
Xander nodded. "Yeah. But instead of knowing more about her, I think I know less. There are parts of her that are just... opaque."
"Like the virgin thing?"
Xander took a deep breath. "You can't leave that alone, can you? But you're right. I didn't know. I had no inkling. Now I wonder what else I don't know."
***
"Wow," Lindsay said, "that was really good." She wiped her nose with a tissue.
"I told you." Giles snapped off the television. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late."
Lindsay waved off his apology. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you earlier." Her hand plucked at the thin spread. "It was nice having someone in the room, at least someone I wasn't responsible for."
Giles nodded. "I understand. Being a Watcher may be a high calling, but I wonder about its effect on mental health."
"Yeah, being so bonded and identified with one person." Lindsay glanced toward the door. "It's so easy to lose yourself."
Giles rested his weight on the dresser, one foot still on the floor. "I come from a long line of Watchers. What about you?"
Lindsay's eyes widened. "Me? Oh no. I'm a recruit. I spent a semester studying in London, and that's where they found me."
"Really." Giles tapped his upper lip with a forefinger.
"Yeah. And then I'm finishing up my Ph.D. at Brown and mailing out resumes when they contact me and tell me to get to Boston and find the next Slayer. I went and the rest is, you know." Lindsay tried to stifle a yawn.
"You need rest," Giles said, standing up. "And I must be going."
***
"...so because somebody spends four years in a paper hat asking 'You want fries with that?' they get to call it life experience? He gets to put that on a college application. Meanwhile, I've been devoting my evenings to stealth and world saving. I've got to think that would impress a prospective employer." Xander swatted at a low-hanging branch. "So what I'm asking is, can I get some kind of credit for this?"
"Do you think about this all the time?" Faith was equal parts irritated and fascinated.
"A lot, yeah." Xander looked at the sidewalk. "I'd like to put it in the yearbook, y'know, 'Skulking 3,4.' I need something on my activities list."
"And you were asking if I took this too seriously?" Faith shook her head. "At least I know why I do it."
"Why?" Xander asked.
"Why what?"
"Why do you do it?"
Faith thought, then tossed her head. "Because I'm the Slayer. Lindsay showed up at my school one day and some of my friends who were actually there told me she was looking for me. The next day I meet her at a diner and that night I'm in a cemetery watching something I'd only seen in movies come clawing out of the dirt. Lindsay tells me it's my job to kill it. I ask how, she just tosses me a stake. The vampire comes charging at me and bam! It's like the light bulb goes on. He's going down and I'm the one to do it." Faith grinned at the memory. "It was a wicked rush. I looked at Lindsay and she said 'That's the job' and I said 'Where do I sign up?' I was ten feet tall and bulletproof."
They came to an intersection. Xander pointed to the right. "I'm down this way." He shuffled his feet. "I, uh, I enjoyed it." His voice rose at the end of the sentence, giving it the shading of a question.
"Me too." Faith grinned. "Good to run with new blood. You still up for it tomorrow night?"
"Uh, yeah." Xander glanced in the direction of his house. "Soooo, I'll see you at school."
Faith smirked. "Yeah, I guess. See, there's the difference between us. You think the vampires are weird. I think school is. That's what I never expected about this gig." She took two steps away and turned back. "Hey, thanks for the dancing, too." She did a slow hip shake. "Maybe we can do that tomorrow night too." She disappeared into the night.
Xander stood there on the corner, feeling the concrete beneath his shoes and the breeze on his cheek. His nerves hummed and he could hear the blood rushing through his ears.
"Get a grip," he said aloud.
***
Buffy's eyes snapped open, staring into the dark. The sky was tinted a dark, murky yellow...
She realized that she was looking at the roof of the tent. The illumination came from the dying bonfire. She turned her head to the left. She could make out Cordelia's silhouette; the other girl's feet were elevated on her pack. Buffy looked back up at the tent. Why was she awake? After the bus ride, the hike and the evening activities, she should be sleeping like a log.
Instead she slipped on her boots and crept out of the tent. The night was cool and smelled of coming rain. The breeze was stronger and thick, woolly clouds obscured the sky. The occasional rumble of thunder followed a flash of lightning. Buffy looked around, rubbing her arms to keep warm.
Lightning flashed and something flickered at the edge of her peripheral vision. She turned, looking out across the meadow. The lightning arced across the sky again, and she saw them. Six figures raced across the meadow. They were thin and angular and moving much faster than human beings. They were heading toward the tents. Lightning flashed again and they slowed ever so slightly.
Buffy screamed, "Cordelia!" as she searched the ground for a weapon. She continued shouting until the tent flap opened and Cordelia's head appeared.
"What?" she said in a voice thick with sleep.
"Wake everybody up," Buffy said, hefting a branch a little smaller than her forearm.
"Why?" Cordelia mumbled. Buffy pointed. Cordelia saw the figures. They were much closer. Buffy placed one end of the stick on the ground and stomped. The branch cracked, creating a functional if rather inelegant stake. Buffy's shouts had roused some campers; voices could be heard coming from tents. Cordelia stumbled out of the tent and began to limp from tent to tent, yelling at everyone to get out.
There was no time for more warning. As the girls began to straggle out of their shelters their attackers were on them. Lightning flashed as the creatures reached the tents; Buffy had an impression of a vaguely human face, but very long and angular, with a pointed chin and high, jutting cheekbones. Long arms ended in appendages that might have been hands, but which most definitely had claws. They moved with a speed that even Buffy found daunting. She swung her makeshift weapon at the leader and missed completely.
After that it was just a rolling brawl lit by flashes of lightning. Most of the girls were paralyzed with fear. A few picked up rocks and sticks and tried to fight. Buffy raced through the melee, punching, kicking, stabbing. One of them had a girl pinned to the ground. The Slayer slammed her stake through its back. It screamed and whirled, swiping at her with grimy claws. She flipped back, the stake pulling free. As she came to her feet, she saw Deena swing a long black flashlight at one of the attackers. The blow missed, but as the beam passed across her foe it flinched. Buffy looked around and realized that the monsters were avoiding the center of the campsite.
"The fire," she screamed. "Get to the fire!" An agonizing stretch of time passed before the other girls understood her instructions. They bunched around the guttering flames.
"Quick," Buffy said, glancing over her shoulder. "More wood." The others began to toss fuel from the gathered pile onto the blaze. Soon the flames caught and rose higher. The creatures began to prowl around the outside of the area. Buffy relaxed for a moment, but then she realized that these things weren't going away. Their circuits were growing smaller. As the students realized this, they packed in tighter. Buffy remained outside the crowd, watching the creatures as they circled. A high-pitched gibbering filled the air. Buffy felt someone beside her and turned, arm raised to strike.
"Whoa," Deena said, the black flashlight held in her right hand. Her left arm dangled at a strange angle. One of the attackers swooped forward. Buffy turned, but Deena was closer. She brought the flashlight down on its head and it swooned back, screaming with pain. It fell to its knees and two others rushed forward to drag it away. The others surged forward. Apparently their anger had overcome their fear and loathing.
The light went on over Buffy's head, or rather the flashlight went on over Buffy's head. "Flashlights," she shouted. "Point your flashlights at their eyes!"
Deena did so without hesitation. The yellow-white beam caught the leader full in the face. The creature growled and veered off course. The other girls noticed; lights began to pierce the darkness. Perhaps a third of the students had flashlights, but that was enough. The attackers began to retreat, swatting and pawing at the air in front of them. Whenever a beam slipped away from a face, that monster would advance, only to halt when the light struck it again.
"Group up," Bryn shouted. "Each group concentrate on one of them. We can run them off." The girls responded, splitting into squads of three or four. Some of those who had no flashlight grabbed burning sticks from the fire. It was all very Frankenstein as they drove the creatures away. When they reached the edge of the campsite the fiends abandoned their assault completely and raced back across the meadow. Buffy watched them as they fled, straining to see them in the midnight dark.
As the adrenaline rush faded and the immediate danger passed, sounds of crying began to ripple through the group. Buffy turned back to the camp. It was an eerie sight. Girls sat on the ground, heads in hands. Some wandered about looking shell-shocked. Worst of all, several lay on the ground, arms and legs outstretched. By the garish, flickering orange light of the fire Buffy could make out dark pools around the bodies, puddles that were already soaking into the trampled earth. The ghostly wails of the living floated above the tableau, disembodied and chilling.
"Are you all right?" The voice startled Buffy. She jerked in alarm, then calmed herself. She turned. Bryn stood just behind her.
"Yeah," the Slayer said, taking deep breaths. "Everything seems to be working."
Bryn looked around the group. She took Buffy by the arm and pulled her to one side. "This is bad," the taller girl said. "What was that?"
Buffy shrugged. "I have no idea." That much was completely true.
"Did you see them coming?" Bryn swallowed.
"I was outside. I had to use the bathroom." Buffy shivered a little, partly from cold but mostly from her body's attempts to relax. She was suddenly very, very tired. Bryn ducked her head. It took Buffy a second to realize that the other girl was crying.
"Hey, hey." Buffy gripped Bryn by the arms, bending down so she could look into the girl's face. "We made it. They're gone. We'll be all right. You've got to pull it together. We've got to get through the night. Fall apart tomorrow. We need to find out who's hurt and how badly. Can you do that?" Bryn said nothing; she dissolved into sobs. Buffy looked around. The girls had gathered into small groups, holding each as they cried. There was one exception, one solitary figure that stood apart from the crowd. Cordelia looked at Buffy and the Slayer could read the challenge on Queen C's face: what are you going to do now?
Buffy ignored her. "Bryn. Bryn. I know this is hard. But we can't break down. Where's Ms. Brannigan?"
Bryn shook her head, tears flying into the night air. "I don't know. I haven't seen her."
"Then go and find her. Find Ranger Young, too. People are hurt. We need to help them, okay?"
Bryn nodded, her sobs diminished to sniffles. "I'll go find them." She stumbled off into the night. Buffy slipped around the group to look at the bodies. The first one was a girl with dark hair and braces. She lay just in front of her tent, a gaping hole where her throat had been. The Slayer closed her eyes for a second to fight off a wave of dizziness. A hand touched her on the shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Bryn. The look on the taller girl's face was not encouraging.
"I found them," Bryn said in bleak, flat voice. "They're both hurt really bad. They might even be dying."
Buffy nodded. "Okay, Bryn, you have to take charge. You've got to tell everyone what to do."
Bryn's eyes widened. "Why me?"
Buffy touched the girl's shoulder. "Because they'll listen to you. Can you do it?"
Bryn swallowed, an action that took some effort. "I'll try."
"Okay. Find someone who knows something about first aid. Take them to where Ms. Brannigan is. She had a first aid kit, so did Ranger Young. Find those and start treating who you can."
"Okay." Bryn bit her lip and walked away. Buffy watched her for a moment, then turned. She saw Cordelia watching her. Buffy motioned for the other girl to join her. Cordelia showed no great enthusiasm as she approached.
"How the hell did those things get here?" Cordelia asked.
Buffy shook her head. "I don't know, but they're here. Listen, stay with Bryn. Help her out."
"What?"
Buffy's anger flared. "Cordelia, put a sock in it. I don't give a damn what your issues with Bryn are. You know what's out there. She doesn't. Help her take care of the injuries, and while you're at it, see if you can find Ranger Young's radio." Cordelia's eyes practically shot sparks, but she turned to go. Buffy said, "Cordy."
Cordelia looked over her shoulder. "What?"
"See if you can find anything else that might be helpful."
Cordelia snorted. "Like what?"
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you'll know it when you see it. And remember, it can't get any worse."
There a simultaneous blue-white flash of lightning and a ripping crack of thunder. Something hit Buffy on top of her head, then the sky opened and the downpour began.
Cordelia looked at Buffy. "Oh yeah?" the cheerleader asked, then walked away into the rain. Buffy turned and faced the forest, watching as the water streamed down her face.