They took an elevator to the basement, then went along a fluorescent-lit
corridor to a nondescript steel door. Trick paused a moment, his hand on
the knob. He looked Delilah and Quisling. "Here we go. Watch me work."
He went in.
The room was a square, no more than twelve by twelve. When CRT was up and running it would have been the cubicle of some flunkey from accounting, or a supply room. Now a gray metal table stood against one wall. Various implements were laid out on it. Two fluorescent tubes cast a sterile white light and emitted a faint hum. A straight-backed metal chair was chained to the opposite wall. Lindsay Maeda sat in the chair.
Duct tape wound around her calves, securing them to the front legs of the chair. Her arms were bound to the chair back by tape just below her elbows. Her wrists were taped to the back legs. The binding was tight; her fingers were turning purple. Her face was bruised and puffy; blood oozed from her nose and trickled from a split lip.
Trick studied her for a moment, then picked up a pair of latex gloves and a paper smock from the table. As he put the gloves on, he spoke to the vamp standing guard. "I assume she fought?"
The guard nodded. "Oh yeah."
One corner of Trick's mouth lifted in a sneer. "Glad to see you were able to subdue her." He crossed the room to Lindsay, kicking a crumpled pile of cloth out of his path. "Sorry about your coat," he said. "It looks like it was nice."
Lindsay raised her head and stared at him, saying nothing. The back of Trick's fingers brushed a lock of hair from her face. "No snappy comment?" he said. "No spitting at me? Glad to see you're not falling back on cliches."
Lindsay swallowed. "Why don't you just go ahead and kill me? That way I don't have to listen to you." Her voice was a hoarse croak.
Trick shook his head. "Couldn't resist an attempt at bravery, could you? Quisling, would you hand me that?" Quisling picked up a metal rectangle with a hole through the center. Trick hefted it in his hand, studying Lindsay. He nodded. "I think the right pinkie. That should do nicely." The guard slashed the duct tape with a single stroke and grabbed her arm. Lindsay's eyes widened; the tendons in her neck stood out in sharp relief as she struggled against his grip, but he was too strong and she had no leverage. Her arm was held out straight in front of her. She balled her fist. Trick sighed. "Why you wanna make this hard?" he said as he grabbed her hand and began to unbend the little finger. A dry pop echoed in the room as her finger broke at the first joint. Lindsay gasped as her hand relaxed of its own accord. Trick slipped the metal rectangle over the finger and nodded to the guard. The big vamp locked his arm over Lindsay's, immobilizing the limb. Trick took a deep breath, let out slowly, and looked over his shoulder at Quisling and Delilah.
"These things are good for so much more than just trimming cigars," he said and slammed the blade down. A grinding crunch split the air. Blood spattered on his paper surgical gown. Lindsay screamed and fainted as Trick caught the severed pinkie before it hit the ground.
"Bandage her hand," he said to the guard as he examined the bloody digit. His latex glove was smeared with crimson. He held the gory bit of bone and flesh toward Quisling. "Let's get this boxed up so we can get it delivered."
***
"Hello."
"B, it's Faith. Have you seen Lindsay tonight?"
"No, I've been home all night studying. Why?"
"I just got in and she isn't here."
Buffy recognized that thin, metallic edge in the other girl's voice. "Faith, calm down. She's probably in the library with Giles. Or she went to see a band at the U or Crestwood." She glanced at the clock. "Why don't you sleep over here?"
"I think I'm gonna wait for Linz."
"Faith, here's a news flash—Lindsay's the grownup, you're the kid. You went out, she went out, she's getting in late. Come on over. You'll see her tomorrow." A pause followed, so long that Buffy thought the connection might be broken, then Faith said, "Okay. You're probably right, I'm being paranoid. See ya in twenty."
Buffy hung up the phone. "Mom, Faith's coming over. I'll make up the guest room."
***
Lindsay concentrated on not moving her right hand. Since it was once again taped to the chair, this seemed like an easy task, but it wasn't. Her right arm seemed to end in a lump of hot iron that had somehow acquired a pulse. The pain had diminished from the screaming agony of the moments following the amputation of her finger to a slow, rise-and-fall wave that throbbed through her being. The red haze had faded as the pain changed, but she still couldn't concentrate. Probably a concussion; easy to get one when someone kicked you in the head. They had bandaged her hand with crude loops of gauze and tape. Blood had soaked through the dressing almost immediately and was now forming a crust as it dried. The drippings had collected on the concrete floor. An involuntary shudder passed through her as she remembered how the guard stooped and swirled a finger through the scarlet puddle, then lifted it to his mouth, like a kid licking cake batter off a spoon.
A hollow banging sounded a long way off, then she realized that someone had opened the door. Auditory senses playing tricks on her… probably the concussion again. Someone squatted in front of her. It required an intense effort to bring Trick into focus. He looked at her, his handsome face bland and impassive.
"It's a bitch, ain't it?" he said as if remarking on a freak thunderstorm that had ruined a picnic. "You just doing your job, chasing that hillbilly, and you end up here." Lindsay didn't reply. Her tongue felt dry and swollen. Somewhere in the random firing of synapses a flash of memory flared—it had been hours since her last drink of anything. Trick examined the sodden, crusty wrapping on her hand then stood. "It'll do," he said. "Long enough."
***
Buffy drained the dregs of her orange juice as Faith entered the kitchen. The brunette's hair was disheveled and she wore the same clothes as last night.
"Mom had an early appointment at the gallery," Buffy said. "Toast is probably the best I can offer for breakfast."
"Don't sweat it." Faith was already at the back door. "I'm gonna swing by the hovel, grab a shower, bust Lindsay's chops." She stepped out the door, then stuck her head back inside. "Thanks for the sleepover, B. Hey, who knows, maybe Linz met somebody and got her ashes hauled last night."
"Your limitless capacity for romance leaves me breathless." Buffy shook her head. "See you at school."
***
Xander shambled toward the steps. The cuffs of his magenta and burgundy shirt were unbuttoned and flapped in the breeze of his passing as his battered Airwalks scuffed along the concrete. He reached the bottom of the stairs just as Buffy emerged from the crowd. The Slayer looked sharp in a long-sleeved lavender T over black pants. "Hey, Buffarino," he said.
"Don't ever call me that again," she said. "It's lame."
"Okay, lameness noted. What's with the short sharp shocked today?" The first two fingers of his right hand brushed his neck. "Bandage too tight?"
"No. Just making my feelings known."
"Always a good thing." Xander squinted in the sunlight, looking toward the school.
"How's things with you? You and Cor look more at ease in one another's company." Buffy hitched up her backpack and shifted her weight to her right leg.
"We are. Things are getting better."
"Has she told you about…?" Buffy let the question hang there, unasked.
"Not yet, but I think we're moving toward it. She's opened up a little, you know, a little crying, a little laughing."
Buffy looked up at him and smiled. "You're a good guy. Just hang in there."
Xander smirked. "I'm hanging. Funny thing is, I'm kinda liking it, you know, being solid there-for-you guy."
Buffy's grin widened. "Be careful. Down that road lies wacky sidekickness." She glanced at the school. "Uh-oh."
Xander followed her gaze. "Why is Giles standing there looking like that?"
"I've seen this look before. It's the 'Buffy-you've-failed-again' look."
Xander glanced at her, his head cocked to one side. "I'd say someone's a glass half-empty gal."
Buffy threw him a sardonic glance. "Nonsense. I'm content with my glass. Giles thinks it's half-empty."
"Ah." Xander squeezed her shoulder. "Be strong, as I will be strong in Chem."
"Coward." Buffy detached herself and jogged up the steps toward the librarian. Giles stood just outside the double doors. He looked agitated and even more pale than usual. Buffy stopped in front of him, arms swinging loose at her sides. "Gee, Giles, I seriously think it's time for decaf."
The humor flew over his head. "Have you seen Faith?"
Buffy shrugged and made a pouty mouth. "Yeah, she spent the night at my house last night."
Giles flicked at his glasses. "Do you know where she is now?"
"She was gonna check at the motel. Lindsay was out late, Faith wanted to touch base before school." Buffy's nonchalance turned to galvanized shock as Giles' knees buckled and he staggered, catching himself on the doorjamb. "Giles, what's wrong?"
He pulled himself upright, shaking his head. "Not here," he said, his voice trembling. "The library." Buffy's puzzlement grew as she followed him. He was moving so fast that she had to practically run to keep up.
Giles made a beeline through the library for his office. Buffy stopped just inside the doorway. "Do you want to explain what's wrong?"
Giles leaned heavily on the desk. "I think something has happened to Lindsay."
"Why?" Buffy's forehead puckered in a frown. "Grownups do get to stay out late, you know. You should try it sometime. It's one of the perks."
Giles took a deep, almost gulping breath. His hand scrabbled across his desktop and clutched a small box. It looked like it came from a jewelry store. He thrust it at the Slayer. "When I arrived this morning, this was on my desk."
Buffy's frown deepened as she took the box. She looked at him again, then opened the box. She jerked back, barely keeping it in her grip. "Oh God," she gasped. "Giles, there's a finger in here."
"I know," Giles said. "Do you recognize it?"
Buffy stared at the disembodied appendage. "Giles, are you telling me that this is Lindsay's finger?" Giles nodded. Buffy noticed that he was flexing his right hand. She closed the box. "I'd better find Faith."
"Yes," he said. "I think that would be wise."
***
Willow recognized the chunky black boots propped on the table in the lounge. She leaned over the back of the sofa. "Hi," she said.
Faith looked at her and frowned, then twisted the headphones off her ears. "Hey. What's up?"
Willow made a not-much face. "Whatcha listening to?"
Faith brandished the headphones. "Letters to Cleo."
Willow nodded. "They're good."
"You're familiar? Huh." Faith leaned back on the sofa. "I figured you for Sara MacLachlan or Natalie Merchant, y'know, sensitive white girl with pretensions to soulfulness."
Willow's smile grew a little stiff. "Well, hanging with Oz has broadened my horizons."
"Faith." Buffy sounded a little breathless as she hurried up to them. "Giles needs to see us in the library, right now."
"Coming." Faith levered herself off the couch in a smooth, easy movement. "Lindsay there?"
Buffy hesitated then said, "No." The Slayers set out down the hall. Willow shrugged, then tagged along.
***
"Hey Oz."
He turned at the sound of his name. Trey Garcia, hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded jeans, tossed his long hair back. Adrenaline surged through Oz's veins. He ran a hand over the front of his T-shirt, feeling the stiffness of the Guadalcanal Diary logo under his palm. "Can I do something for you?" he asked.
"Depends," Trey said. "What are you doing after school?"
"I'm sure I can think of something." The only change in Oz's expression was a slight narrowing of the eyes.
"Well, why don't we jam a little? If you don't have your Tele I've got a guitar you can borrow."
Oz looked away to his right. "I don't know. I may be all out of jam."
"C'mon. Just for an hour or so."
Oz started to make up an excuse but stopped. You had to deal sometime, might as well be sooner as later. "Okay. Meet me at the bottom of the front steps."
"Got it. See you then." Trey ran both hands through his hair as he sauntered down the hall. For an instant Oz felt the urge to growl.
***
Giles looked up as the girls came through the library doors. He glanced over Faith's shoulder to Buffy. Her eyes widened and she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Faith dropped into a chair. Buffy sat beside her. Willow hung back just inside the door, her internal radar pinging like crazy. Something bad was happening here.
Giles stood at the head of the table, his fingertips brushing the polished surface. "Faith, have you had any contact with Lindsay this morning?"
Faith frowned. "No. Haven't you?"
Giles swallowed. "I… No, I haven't. Faith, I'm afraid that something may have happened to Lindsay."
Faith shot up out of the chair. Buffy came up with her, one hand going around the other girl's shoulders in a gesture that was half hug, half restraint. "Wh-what happened?" Faith demanded. "Has she been in an accident?"
Giles shook his head. "It seems to be something much more… premeditated than that."
Faith looked from Giles to Buffy and back again. "This is bullshit. What does that mean?" Her gaze whipped back and forth. Her lips trembled as a weird, panicky light shone in her eyes.
"Faith." Buffy hugged her close. "Giles thinks someone… has Lindsay."
"What?" The dark Slayer sagged and Buffy released her. Faith lowered herself shakily into the chair. "Why do you think that?"
"I really don't--" Giles stopped when he saw Buffy's face.
"She's the Slayer," the blond girl said. "She should know."
Giles looked at her for a moment, then went into his office and returned carrying a small box. He placed it on the table in front of Faith, his fingers lingering for a moment. She gripped the edge of the table, staring at it. Willow was torn between wanting to lean forward or shrinking back into the corner. Faith swallowed hard and reached out with a trembling hand. She lifted the lid from the box.
Her scream split the air like a siren. Giles and Willow jumped; even Buffy, who thought she was prepared for any reaction, flinched. The shriek rose in pitch and intensity and then cut off. Faith stared at the open box, eyes wide, her face bleached of all color. The room felt as though a giant spark of static electricity had just been discharged. Chicken skin puckered along Willow's arms.
"What is going on here?" Principal Snyder entered the room like a bad smell. The top of his head gave off a glow that was practically self- righteous as he scanned the library. "I said 'What is going on'?"
"Uh, drama," Buffy blurted. "Faith's thinking of auditioning for the school play."
Snyder regarded her through narrowed eyes. "The student production this year is The Wizard of Oz, Miss Summers. What part would require the noise I just heard?"
Willow swallowed. "The Wicked Witch. Of the West. She screams a lot." Snyder jumped and turned to look at her. His entrance had carried him right past her, unnoticed.
"That's right," Buffy said. "The Wicked Witch." She snatched the box from the table just before Snyder swiveled to look at her.
"So you see--" Giles began.
"Quiet!" Snyder barked. He pointed at Faith. "Is this all about the school play?"
Buffy held her breath. Faith still looked shell-shocked, pale and shaky. She could lose it right here. She looked at Snyder, her eyes wide. Buffy held her breath as a short movie played in her mind, a movie where Faith came right over the table and put her fist through Snyder's face.
"Yeah," Faith said. "It might help me with my shyness."
Snyder looked at them again, eyes blazing and mouth working. He so wanted to spit out some venomous retort, but all he did was glare, then spin on his heel and stalk out of the room. As the door clicked shut behind him the very room seemed to exhale in relief. Faith got to her feet. Her eyes looked down, seeing nothing but some inner vision. Her fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles stood out in red relief.
"We find him," she said in that low, quiet voice common to true believers and psycho killers. "We find him and then I cut off his finger and stuff it down his throat before I stake his ass."
"Whoa there," Buffy said. "We don't even know what's happened to Lindsay."
"Yeah, we do." Faith turned her bleak stare on the other Slayer. "We followed him here. This is his style. The Reverend's got Lindsay."
A moment of silence ricocheted around the room before Giles said, "That may well be, but we don't know where he is."
"But we know someone who would." Buffy looked at the box in her hand, shuddered, and handed it to Giles. "I'm going to see Willie."
"I'm going with you." Faith was around the table in a flash.
"Probably not a good idea." Buffy extended her hand like a traffic cop. "I want to talk to Willie, not beat him into pudding."
"I'm going, B, ain't nothin' you can do to stop me." Faith's arms spread wide, hands open. "You think you can, take your shot."
Buffy looked at the other girl and tried to imagine what she would do in that situation. Hell, she knew what she would do. She'd already done it last May. "Okay, but the most we do to Willie is scare him, got it?"
Faith grinned, a terrifying expression. "Five by five. I can be pretty scary."
***
Willie's bar was dark and cool, two traits vampires and other demons appreciated in a hangout. That made the shaft of sunlight that lanced through the door even more disturbing. Angel shifted in his seat, unconsciously pulling away from the light. The door closed behind the Slayers. They looked around the room. The bar was almost deserted, which was usually the case in the late morning. Buffy's eyes ran around the room's perimeter, passed across Angel, came back to him. Their gazes locked. The world stopped for a heartbeat, then the girls headed toward the bar. Angel kept his head down, his hands toying with his glass as his eyes followed them.
Buffy was in the lead as they approached Willie. She spoke to him but her voice was too low for Angel to overhear. Willie shook his head. Buffy said something else. The snitch shook his head again and took a step backward. Faith's fist flashed past Buffy's head. The blond Slayer threw up a hand, deflecting the punch just enough for it to glance off Willie's shoulder instead of caving in his sinuses. The force of the blow still spun him around and caused him to lurch back into the bar, knocking a bottle onto the floor. The bottle shattered, spraying prismatic nuggets across the hardwood. Willie held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Buffy pointed at the bar. Willie scribbled something on a napkin and gave it to her. She tucked it in her pocket and the Slayers toward the door.
Angel slipped out of his booth and moved along the wall. He timed it so as to meet Buffy just as she reached the door a few steps behind Faith.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"It's under control," she said, making a point of looking at the door.
"Better keep her on a short leash. Could be trouble if she gets loose."
"Yeah, well, maybe it's justified." Buffy looked into his eyes. Angel almost winced.
"Do you need my help?" he said.
Buffy opened her mouth, stopped, then started again. "Thanks for the offer. I think we're all good." She looked at the door again, then back to Angel. "You said you ran with the Reverend. Would sending a severed finger as a message be his style?"
Angel's face clouded. "Yeah, it would. Is this about him?"
Buffy hesitated again. "It might be." She moved toward the door.
"Wait." She turned back. He pointed at her neck. "How's the…"
"Healing." She glanced toward the interior of the bar and back to him. "As long as I don't pick at the scab."
He flinched. "Well, you better go."
"Yeah, I better. Faith's probably halfway to wherever she's going by now." Angel stepped back as she opened the door, an involuntary, reflexive movement away from the light that warmed her and would sear him. He could hear her footsteps on the sidewalk, heard them echo in his head long after he knew she was gone. He turned, head down. Willie was trying to sweep all the shards of glass into a dustpan. Angel slid into his booth and pointed at his glass.
"Hit me again," he said. "And put something extra in it."
The room was a square, no more than twelve by twelve. When CRT was up and running it would have been the cubicle of some flunkey from accounting, or a supply room. Now a gray metal table stood against one wall. Various implements were laid out on it. Two fluorescent tubes cast a sterile white light and emitted a faint hum. A straight-backed metal chair was chained to the opposite wall. Lindsay Maeda sat in the chair.
Duct tape wound around her calves, securing them to the front legs of the chair. Her arms were bound to the chair back by tape just below her elbows. Her wrists were taped to the back legs. The binding was tight; her fingers were turning purple. Her face was bruised and puffy; blood oozed from her nose and trickled from a split lip.
Trick studied her for a moment, then picked up a pair of latex gloves and a paper smock from the table. As he put the gloves on, he spoke to the vamp standing guard. "I assume she fought?"
The guard nodded. "Oh yeah."
One corner of Trick's mouth lifted in a sneer. "Glad to see you were able to subdue her." He crossed the room to Lindsay, kicking a crumpled pile of cloth out of his path. "Sorry about your coat," he said. "It looks like it was nice."
Lindsay raised her head and stared at him, saying nothing. The back of Trick's fingers brushed a lock of hair from her face. "No snappy comment?" he said. "No spitting at me? Glad to see you're not falling back on cliches."
Lindsay swallowed. "Why don't you just go ahead and kill me? That way I don't have to listen to you." Her voice was a hoarse croak.
Trick shook his head. "Couldn't resist an attempt at bravery, could you? Quisling, would you hand me that?" Quisling picked up a metal rectangle with a hole through the center. Trick hefted it in his hand, studying Lindsay. He nodded. "I think the right pinkie. That should do nicely." The guard slashed the duct tape with a single stroke and grabbed her arm. Lindsay's eyes widened; the tendons in her neck stood out in sharp relief as she struggled against his grip, but he was too strong and she had no leverage. Her arm was held out straight in front of her. She balled her fist. Trick sighed. "Why you wanna make this hard?" he said as he grabbed her hand and began to unbend the little finger. A dry pop echoed in the room as her finger broke at the first joint. Lindsay gasped as her hand relaxed of its own accord. Trick slipped the metal rectangle over the finger and nodded to the guard. The big vamp locked his arm over Lindsay's, immobilizing the limb. Trick took a deep breath, let out slowly, and looked over his shoulder at Quisling and Delilah.
"These things are good for so much more than just trimming cigars," he said and slammed the blade down. A grinding crunch split the air. Blood spattered on his paper surgical gown. Lindsay screamed and fainted as Trick caught the severed pinkie before it hit the ground.
"Bandage her hand," he said to the guard as he examined the bloody digit. His latex glove was smeared with crimson. He held the gory bit of bone and flesh toward Quisling. "Let's get this boxed up so we can get it delivered."
***
"Hello."
"B, it's Faith. Have you seen Lindsay tonight?"
"No, I've been home all night studying. Why?"
"I just got in and she isn't here."
Buffy recognized that thin, metallic edge in the other girl's voice. "Faith, calm down. She's probably in the library with Giles. Or she went to see a band at the U or Crestwood." She glanced at the clock. "Why don't you sleep over here?"
"I think I'm gonna wait for Linz."
"Faith, here's a news flash—Lindsay's the grownup, you're the kid. You went out, she went out, she's getting in late. Come on over. You'll see her tomorrow." A pause followed, so long that Buffy thought the connection might be broken, then Faith said, "Okay. You're probably right, I'm being paranoid. See ya in twenty."
Buffy hung up the phone. "Mom, Faith's coming over. I'll make up the guest room."
***
Lindsay concentrated on not moving her right hand. Since it was once again taped to the chair, this seemed like an easy task, but it wasn't. Her right arm seemed to end in a lump of hot iron that had somehow acquired a pulse. The pain had diminished from the screaming agony of the moments following the amputation of her finger to a slow, rise-and-fall wave that throbbed through her being. The red haze had faded as the pain changed, but she still couldn't concentrate. Probably a concussion; easy to get one when someone kicked you in the head. They had bandaged her hand with crude loops of gauze and tape. Blood had soaked through the dressing almost immediately and was now forming a crust as it dried. The drippings had collected on the concrete floor. An involuntary shudder passed through her as she remembered how the guard stooped and swirled a finger through the scarlet puddle, then lifted it to his mouth, like a kid licking cake batter off a spoon.
A hollow banging sounded a long way off, then she realized that someone had opened the door. Auditory senses playing tricks on her… probably the concussion again. Someone squatted in front of her. It required an intense effort to bring Trick into focus. He looked at her, his handsome face bland and impassive.
"It's a bitch, ain't it?" he said as if remarking on a freak thunderstorm that had ruined a picnic. "You just doing your job, chasing that hillbilly, and you end up here." Lindsay didn't reply. Her tongue felt dry and swollen. Somewhere in the random firing of synapses a flash of memory flared—it had been hours since her last drink of anything. Trick examined the sodden, crusty wrapping on her hand then stood. "It'll do," he said. "Long enough."
***
Buffy drained the dregs of her orange juice as Faith entered the kitchen. The brunette's hair was disheveled and she wore the same clothes as last night.
"Mom had an early appointment at the gallery," Buffy said. "Toast is probably the best I can offer for breakfast."
"Don't sweat it." Faith was already at the back door. "I'm gonna swing by the hovel, grab a shower, bust Lindsay's chops." She stepped out the door, then stuck her head back inside. "Thanks for the sleepover, B. Hey, who knows, maybe Linz met somebody and got her ashes hauled last night."
"Your limitless capacity for romance leaves me breathless." Buffy shook her head. "See you at school."
***
Xander shambled toward the steps. The cuffs of his magenta and burgundy shirt were unbuttoned and flapped in the breeze of his passing as his battered Airwalks scuffed along the concrete. He reached the bottom of the stairs just as Buffy emerged from the crowd. The Slayer looked sharp in a long-sleeved lavender T over black pants. "Hey, Buffarino," he said.
"Don't ever call me that again," she said. "It's lame."
"Okay, lameness noted. What's with the short sharp shocked today?" The first two fingers of his right hand brushed his neck. "Bandage too tight?"
"No. Just making my feelings known."
"Always a good thing." Xander squinted in the sunlight, looking toward the school.
"How's things with you? You and Cor look more at ease in one another's company." Buffy hitched up her backpack and shifted her weight to her right leg.
"We are. Things are getting better."
"Has she told you about…?" Buffy let the question hang there, unasked.
"Not yet, but I think we're moving toward it. She's opened up a little, you know, a little crying, a little laughing."
Buffy looked up at him and smiled. "You're a good guy. Just hang in there."
Xander smirked. "I'm hanging. Funny thing is, I'm kinda liking it, you know, being solid there-for-you guy."
Buffy's grin widened. "Be careful. Down that road lies wacky sidekickness." She glanced at the school. "Uh-oh."
Xander followed her gaze. "Why is Giles standing there looking like that?"
"I've seen this look before. It's the 'Buffy-you've-failed-again' look."
Xander glanced at her, his head cocked to one side. "I'd say someone's a glass half-empty gal."
Buffy threw him a sardonic glance. "Nonsense. I'm content with my glass. Giles thinks it's half-empty."
"Ah." Xander squeezed her shoulder. "Be strong, as I will be strong in Chem."
"Coward." Buffy detached herself and jogged up the steps toward the librarian. Giles stood just outside the double doors. He looked agitated and even more pale than usual. Buffy stopped in front of him, arms swinging loose at her sides. "Gee, Giles, I seriously think it's time for decaf."
The humor flew over his head. "Have you seen Faith?"
Buffy shrugged and made a pouty mouth. "Yeah, she spent the night at my house last night."
Giles flicked at his glasses. "Do you know where she is now?"
"She was gonna check at the motel. Lindsay was out late, Faith wanted to touch base before school." Buffy's nonchalance turned to galvanized shock as Giles' knees buckled and he staggered, catching himself on the doorjamb. "Giles, what's wrong?"
He pulled himself upright, shaking his head. "Not here," he said, his voice trembling. "The library." Buffy's puzzlement grew as she followed him. He was moving so fast that she had to practically run to keep up.
Giles made a beeline through the library for his office. Buffy stopped just inside the doorway. "Do you want to explain what's wrong?"
Giles leaned heavily on the desk. "I think something has happened to Lindsay."
"Why?" Buffy's forehead puckered in a frown. "Grownups do get to stay out late, you know. You should try it sometime. It's one of the perks."
Giles took a deep, almost gulping breath. His hand scrabbled across his desktop and clutched a small box. It looked like it came from a jewelry store. He thrust it at the Slayer. "When I arrived this morning, this was on my desk."
Buffy's frown deepened as she took the box. She looked at him again, then opened the box. She jerked back, barely keeping it in her grip. "Oh God," she gasped. "Giles, there's a finger in here."
"I know," Giles said. "Do you recognize it?"
Buffy stared at the disembodied appendage. "Giles, are you telling me that this is Lindsay's finger?" Giles nodded. Buffy noticed that he was flexing his right hand. She closed the box. "I'd better find Faith."
"Yes," he said. "I think that would be wise."
***
Willow recognized the chunky black boots propped on the table in the lounge. She leaned over the back of the sofa. "Hi," she said.
Faith looked at her and frowned, then twisted the headphones off her ears. "Hey. What's up?"
Willow made a not-much face. "Whatcha listening to?"
Faith brandished the headphones. "Letters to Cleo."
Willow nodded. "They're good."
"You're familiar? Huh." Faith leaned back on the sofa. "I figured you for Sara MacLachlan or Natalie Merchant, y'know, sensitive white girl with pretensions to soulfulness."
Willow's smile grew a little stiff. "Well, hanging with Oz has broadened my horizons."
"Faith." Buffy sounded a little breathless as she hurried up to them. "Giles needs to see us in the library, right now."
"Coming." Faith levered herself off the couch in a smooth, easy movement. "Lindsay there?"
Buffy hesitated then said, "No." The Slayers set out down the hall. Willow shrugged, then tagged along.
***
"Hey Oz."
He turned at the sound of his name. Trey Garcia, hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded jeans, tossed his long hair back. Adrenaline surged through Oz's veins. He ran a hand over the front of his T-shirt, feeling the stiffness of the Guadalcanal Diary logo under his palm. "Can I do something for you?" he asked.
"Depends," Trey said. "What are you doing after school?"
"I'm sure I can think of something." The only change in Oz's expression was a slight narrowing of the eyes.
"Well, why don't we jam a little? If you don't have your Tele I've got a guitar you can borrow."
Oz looked away to his right. "I don't know. I may be all out of jam."
"C'mon. Just for an hour or so."
Oz started to make up an excuse but stopped. You had to deal sometime, might as well be sooner as later. "Okay. Meet me at the bottom of the front steps."
"Got it. See you then." Trey ran both hands through his hair as he sauntered down the hall. For an instant Oz felt the urge to growl.
***
Giles looked up as the girls came through the library doors. He glanced over Faith's shoulder to Buffy. Her eyes widened and she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Faith dropped into a chair. Buffy sat beside her. Willow hung back just inside the door, her internal radar pinging like crazy. Something bad was happening here.
Giles stood at the head of the table, his fingertips brushing the polished surface. "Faith, have you had any contact with Lindsay this morning?"
Faith frowned. "No. Haven't you?"
Giles swallowed. "I… No, I haven't. Faith, I'm afraid that something may have happened to Lindsay."
Faith shot up out of the chair. Buffy came up with her, one hand going around the other girl's shoulders in a gesture that was half hug, half restraint. "Wh-what happened?" Faith demanded. "Has she been in an accident?"
Giles shook his head. "It seems to be something much more… premeditated than that."
Faith looked from Giles to Buffy and back again. "This is bullshit. What does that mean?" Her gaze whipped back and forth. Her lips trembled as a weird, panicky light shone in her eyes.
"Faith." Buffy hugged her close. "Giles thinks someone… has Lindsay."
"What?" The dark Slayer sagged and Buffy released her. Faith lowered herself shakily into the chair. "Why do you think that?"
"I really don't--" Giles stopped when he saw Buffy's face.
"She's the Slayer," the blond girl said. "She should know."
Giles looked at her for a moment, then went into his office and returned carrying a small box. He placed it on the table in front of Faith, his fingers lingering for a moment. She gripped the edge of the table, staring at it. Willow was torn between wanting to lean forward or shrinking back into the corner. Faith swallowed hard and reached out with a trembling hand. She lifted the lid from the box.
Her scream split the air like a siren. Giles and Willow jumped; even Buffy, who thought she was prepared for any reaction, flinched. The shriek rose in pitch and intensity and then cut off. Faith stared at the open box, eyes wide, her face bleached of all color. The room felt as though a giant spark of static electricity had just been discharged. Chicken skin puckered along Willow's arms.
"What is going on here?" Principal Snyder entered the room like a bad smell. The top of his head gave off a glow that was practically self- righteous as he scanned the library. "I said 'What is going on'?"
"Uh, drama," Buffy blurted. "Faith's thinking of auditioning for the school play."
Snyder regarded her through narrowed eyes. "The student production this year is The Wizard of Oz, Miss Summers. What part would require the noise I just heard?"
Willow swallowed. "The Wicked Witch. Of the West. She screams a lot." Snyder jumped and turned to look at her. His entrance had carried him right past her, unnoticed.
"That's right," Buffy said. "The Wicked Witch." She snatched the box from the table just before Snyder swiveled to look at her.
"So you see--" Giles began.
"Quiet!" Snyder barked. He pointed at Faith. "Is this all about the school play?"
Buffy held her breath. Faith still looked shell-shocked, pale and shaky. She could lose it right here. She looked at Snyder, her eyes wide. Buffy held her breath as a short movie played in her mind, a movie where Faith came right over the table and put her fist through Snyder's face.
"Yeah," Faith said. "It might help me with my shyness."
Snyder looked at them again, eyes blazing and mouth working. He so wanted to spit out some venomous retort, but all he did was glare, then spin on his heel and stalk out of the room. As the door clicked shut behind him the very room seemed to exhale in relief. Faith got to her feet. Her eyes looked down, seeing nothing but some inner vision. Her fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles stood out in red relief.
"We find him," she said in that low, quiet voice common to true believers and psycho killers. "We find him and then I cut off his finger and stuff it down his throat before I stake his ass."
"Whoa there," Buffy said. "We don't even know what's happened to Lindsay."
"Yeah, we do." Faith turned her bleak stare on the other Slayer. "We followed him here. This is his style. The Reverend's got Lindsay."
A moment of silence ricocheted around the room before Giles said, "That may well be, but we don't know where he is."
"But we know someone who would." Buffy looked at the box in her hand, shuddered, and handed it to Giles. "I'm going to see Willie."
"I'm going with you." Faith was around the table in a flash.
"Probably not a good idea." Buffy extended her hand like a traffic cop. "I want to talk to Willie, not beat him into pudding."
"I'm going, B, ain't nothin' you can do to stop me." Faith's arms spread wide, hands open. "You think you can, take your shot."
Buffy looked at the other girl and tried to imagine what she would do in that situation. Hell, she knew what she would do. She'd already done it last May. "Okay, but the most we do to Willie is scare him, got it?"
Faith grinned, a terrifying expression. "Five by five. I can be pretty scary."
***
Willie's bar was dark and cool, two traits vampires and other demons appreciated in a hangout. That made the shaft of sunlight that lanced through the door even more disturbing. Angel shifted in his seat, unconsciously pulling away from the light. The door closed behind the Slayers. They looked around the room. The bar was almost deserted, which was usually the case in the late morning. Buffy's eyes ran around the room's perimeter, passed across Angel, came back to him. Their gazes locked. The world stopped for a heartbeat, then the girls headed toward the bar. Angel kept his head down, his hands toying with his glass as his eyes followed them.
Buffy was in the lead as they approached Willie. She spoke to him but her voice was too low for Angel to overhear. Willie shook his head. Buffy said something else. The snitch shook his head again and took a step backward. Faith's fist flashed past Buffy's head. The blond Slayer threw up a hand, deflecting the punch just enough for it to glance off Willie's shoulder instead of caving in his sinuses. The force of the blow still spun him around and caused him to lurch back into the bar, knocking a bottle onto the floor. The bottle shattered, spraying prismatic nuggets across the hardwood. Willie held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Buffy pointed at the bar. Willie scribbled something on a napkin and gave it to her. She tucked it in her pocket and the Slayers toward the door.
Angel slipped out of his booth and moved along the wall. He timed it so as to meet Buffy just as she reached the door a few steps behind Faith.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"It's under control," she said, making a point of looking at the door.
"Better keep her on a short leash. Could be trouble if she gets loose."
"Yeah, well, maybe it's justified." Buffy looked into his eyes. Angel almost winced.
"Do you need my help?" he said.
Buffy opened her mouth, stopped, then started again. "Thanks for the offer. I think we're all good." She looked at the door again, then back to Angel. "You said you ran with the Reverend. Would sending a severed finger as a message be his style?"
Angel's face clouded. "Yeah, it would. Is this about him?"
Buffy hesitated again. "It might be." She moved toward the door.
"Wait." She turned back. He pointed at her neck. "How's the…"
"Healing." She glanced toward the interior of the bar and back to him. "As long as I don't pick at the scab."
He flinched. "Well, you better go."
"Yeah, I better. Faith's probably halfway to wherever she's going by now." Angel stepped back as she opened the door, an involuntary, reflexive movement away from the light that warmed her and would sear him. He could hear her footsteps on the sidewalk, heard them echo in his head long after he knew she was gone. He turned, head down. Willie was trying to sweep all the shards of glass into a dustpan. Angel slid into his booth and pointed at his glass.
"Hit me again," he said. "And put something extra in it."