Mr. Trick thrust his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. He did this for a specific reason-it pushed his open trench coat behind his forearms and gave the long black garment a fabulous drape. Too bad he couldn't catch a glimpse of it in the long window beside the door to the mayor's office. That was one of the few things he missed about being human. He would have loved to gaze into a mirror again and see just how good he looked.

The receptionist offered him a cheery smile as he swept into the room. "You can go right in," she said. "He's expecting you." The smile stayed fluorescent-bright in the face of his scowl as he passed.

The Mayor was trimming the dead leaves from one of his plants. He used a silver scissors. Trick stopped just inside the door, his eyes drawn to the huge man sitting on the sofa. "Hope you don't mind," the Mayor said, his back to Trick. "I've asked Nicholas to join us." Trick tried a stony glare on the security chief, but he might as well have been glaring at a stone. The massive troglodyte just sat there, oblivious. Trick moved to a chair on the opposite side of the room and sat down. He said nothing; let the Mayor do the heavy lifting. The silence filled the room and swelled like wet cardboard until the Mayor placed the scissors on his desk and sat down behind it. He straightened his tied and folded his hands on his desk before he spoke.

"I have some real concerns, Mr. Trick," he said.

Trick almost sighed. This was the part he hated, the hand-holding. They always got cold feet. He almost smiled at his mixed mental metaphor. "I don't believe there is any cause for alarm," he said, "but if you would enumerate your uncertainties I would be glad to deal with them."

"My sources tell me that your organization is under attack by another groups of vampires. It seems to me that you can't give complete attention to our project if you're simultaneously fighting some sort of turf war."

"It's no turf war." Trick sounded as bored as he felt. "The Clampetts have decided we're the enemy, yeah. So what? We have a contract. That's the top priority, not a pissing match with a bunch of pentecostal rednecks."

"What if they deplete your organization?"

Trick's chin dropped to his chest and his emotionless eyes stared at the mayor. "The organization is me. Unless they kill me, my company is still in business. Any other losses are simply collateral damage."

"That's very masculine, but it seems to me that I'm the one taking the actual risks." The mayor tilted his head toward Trick and raised his eyebrows.

Trick shrugged. "Yeah, you're taking the bigger risk, but you stand to get the bigger reward."

The mayor pursed his lips. "A little bird has whispered something about a ritual in connection with the object."

"So? There's always a ritual. Or a curse. Or a demon guarding the door, or a hellhound to pursue you. There's always something. Difference is, this time we have to reconstruct the document as well as find the object. I'm not surprised. We are talking about a very smart man, after all." Trick stood. "I have to go. I know you're thinking about voiding the contract, so let me just leave you with this little tidbit. You've already taken the biggest chances. You're more than halfway across the river. If you cancel now and what you've already done becomes known, what do you think will happen?" He watched the mayor grow pale. "Yeah. So now's the time to grow a pair." He smiled. "Trust me. I always watch out for my clients." Trick grinned and touched two fingers of his right hand to his brow in a mocking salute, then wheeled out of the office.

***

"So when do you wanna do it again?"

Willow was annoyed even before she looked up from her notes. Tyler leaned over the table, his palms resting flat on the surface and his stick-like arms forming inverted V's. Willow had a quick mental image of a giant spider with two other spiders at the end of his legs, instead of feet. She shook her head, as much to dispel that picture as in disagreement. "Did I say anything about wanting to do it again?"

He frowned, looking a little puzzled. "Sorry, we must not be on the same frequency."

Willow leaned forward, her voice hissing through her teeth. "Maybe I don't want to do it again. Maybe I found it disturbing. Maybe it was a big letdown. I didn't ask to be bothered."

Tyler flopped back in his chair, a flabbergasted expression on his face, an expression that transformed into a sly grin. "You have thought about it. What happened, did you get scared? Come on, you can feel it pulling at you. Overcome your fear. You're not scared of it anyway."

"Then what would I be scared of?" Willow demanded.

Tyler shrugged. "It's bigger than you. You couldn't manipulate it, control it, you probably couldn't even understand it. That would scare you."

Willow's nostrils flared as her eyes widened. "Shut up! Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because it's true. You like your little Wicca games, you love that Kabbalah, because they both promise that you can bend the universe to your will, but that's not true. You can't control it, you can only let it flow through you, and the thought, the idea of letting go like that scares the pants offa you."

Willow waved a dismissive hand. "You are so... full of it." She realized that she was shouting. She saw the passing students staring at her, all the heads in the lounge turned toward her and heat raced up her neck and enveloped her face. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "It was awful and creepy."

"So," Tyler said as a crooked grin spread over his freckled face, "when do you wanna do it again?"

***

David Mangwana's head lolled back, rolling loosely on his neck. He blinked and stared at the unremarkable ceiling of the room. He moved his arms and legs gingerly, even though he knew that there was no risk of injury. The memory of the pain produced its own caution.

He remembered the first time he'd heard of the gauntlets. Years ago, as a young man studying to be a Watcher. There were so many fascinating objects-magical spears, blessed swords, enchanted daggers. At first the gloves had seemed rather pedestrian. Certainly, no one sneered at a weapon that allowed the wearer to inflict grave bodily harm by touch or gesture. There was an undeniable coolness about the ability to snap an enemy's arm from across the room, but the old instructor, what was his name.... Ridcully, yes, that was it, Ridcully had waxed positively emotional about them. One of the novices had asked what was so special about them.

"Why, lad, they can repair their own damage," Ridcully had explained. It seemed that the gauntlets could heal any wounds they had inflicted. There were some caveats-they could not cure the injuries inflicted by other weapons and if the wearer pushed too hard and killed his antagonist, well, they couldn't resurrect the dead. The class was still blasé. The enchanted daggers seemed much sexier.

"You stupid prats," Ridcully sneered. "Don't you see? They're the greatest interrogation device ever made. Y'can inflict pain t' the point of death, then make it all better and start over again." He had waved his hand in disgust. "Great fools the lot of ya."

Mangwana agreed now. Kirkwood's effective demonstration convinced him. There was one other facet that Ridcully had failed to mention. Sitting and listening to one's bones snap, screaming in pain as ligaments were torn loose from joints and cartilage shredded, knowing that all would be put right and the process repeated was quite strenuous on the sanity. To make matters worse, Kirkwood's innate timidity and caution guaranteed that he would not slip and offer David the relief of accidental death.

Mangwana groaned and shifted as much as his shackles allowed. Time alone was not to be wasted. He reached out with his spirit and began to probe the magickal wards that guarded the room.

***

"Hey, Will, shake a leg. Giles needs us in the Batcave." Buffy slipped an hand inside her friend's elbow and deftly pulled Willow away from her locker.

"Wait, we've got a Batcave?" Willow stammered.

"Figure of speech," Buffy explained. The last straggling students were heading toward the exits. Another day was done at Sunnydale High and the two girls' footsteps echoed off the tile as they made their way through the hall.

Xander and Cordelia were already seated at the table. Giles stuck his head out of the office and held up one finger. Buffy shrugged. She pulled out one of the hard wooden chairs and took a seat. Late afternoon sun slanted sharply through the windows.

"It's almost golden hour," Xander said.

"What are you talking about?" Giles asked as he sat down at the head of the table.

"It's the time between sunset and dark," Xander said. "Best time for shooting a movie."

"I read they shot Days of Heaven completely during golden time." Oz slid into the chair beside Willow.

"Are we going to get started any time soon?" Cordelia asked.

"You have somewhere else to be?" Buffy asked.

"Duh. Only tonight's game against Brookhaven." Cordelia shook her head. "Honestly, don't any of you have any school spirit?"

"I have lots of school spirit," Oz said. "I plan to be at the game."

"Me too," Willow said. "But I suppose that might be obvious. What about you, Buffy?"

The Slayer shook her head. "Gotta study. Test tomorrow."

"Speaking in short, guttural phrases to conserve brain power. Excellent idea." Xander turned to the librarian. "So, let's shake a leg, Giles and get this train rollin'."

"I can't." Giles polished his glasses and put them on. "This meeting was requested by someone else. We have to wait for them."

"Who?" Buffy said.

The voice came from behind her, and up high, toward the entrance in the stacks. "Sorry we're late. Sun's still up."

The Slayer swiveled her head and her heart jumped into her throat. It was Angel.