DISCLAIMER:  We both know I don't own Buffy, Faith, or any of the other characters that are making Joss Whedon and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich.  If I did, this whole college tuition thing would be much less of an issue.

      Also, this is my first Buffy fanfic, so be nice.

      ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting.  Use your head.  If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine.  Not that anyone cares but me.

      SPOILERS/BACKGROUND:  Everything from Season 1 to Season 5 and Angel Season 1 to Season 2; this picks up after S5/S2.

            *           *           *           *           *

      CHAPTER 7:

      PUTTING THE PIECES TOGETHER

      "Wow … Willow, how do you deal with it?" Buffy asked, almost horrorstruck at the thought of what her friend had to be going through.

      "Well, I won't lie, it isn't easy," Willow answered.  "And there's never any end to them; take care of one, and more keep coming, it's just the way of the world."

      "I had no idea you'd been facing this kind of stuff since I was gone."

      "You had to face things like these for a while, too, you know," her redheaded friend reminded her.  "Or at least, the other you did.  Almost ate you out of house and home, but you fought 'em off."

      "See?  Slayers' capabilities really do get better as they age," though the last was distracted a little bit as fragments of memories of dealing with crises like this in the past floated back into her consciousness.

      "It's true," Willow nodded her assent, furrowing her brows at the endless rows of numbers and symbols in front of her.  Eventually, she passed them across to Buffy.  "This one's from the phone company."

      Buffy snatched the bill away from her, scanned it for a moment, then made a mock-disgusted sound as she slid it into a file box.  "You know, I'm still now exactly sure about how I feel about you owning my house, but I'm glad the bills are coming to you now."

      Willow actually looked a little hurt.  "Well, I'd really give it back to you, Buffy, I really would, it's just …"

      "… I'm still officially dead?"

      "Well … yeah, kind of."

      "I wasn't born yesterday, you know."

      "Just reborn."

      "So not the same thing."

      "Nope.  Good thing, too.  I'd hate to have to change your diapers."

      Buffy wrinkled her nose at Willow.  Willow grinned impishly.

      "Still, we can't laugh it off forever," Buffy added, more seriously.

      "I know.  Giles and I are going to work on that.  It probably shouldn't be too hard to get the death certificate invalidated; people that are missing and presumed dead show up again from time to time, so there has to be some provision for it.  Most of the people who were at your funeral already know that you're back."

      "What about the fact that I've been gone for three months?"

      "We're working on that, too.  Giles is suggesting you've been studying in England; I was leaning towards staying with your dad in L.A.; Spike suggested you were kidnapped and held hostage by Bangkok drug lords—and added a few more details that don't bear repeating; Dawn said you should have been on vacation in Florida or traveling around the country; Xander suggested that you had been in an accident and had been comatose like Faith for a few months."

      "I actually kind of like that last one."

      "Yeah, but the question is, where do we say you were?  No hospital is going to have records of anyone taking care of you."

      "Maybe just someone out in the woods somewhere?"

      "A mysterious hermit?"

      "Stranger things have happened in Sunnydale."

      "True, but most people don't know about them and want a nice comfy-cozy explanation for how things 'actually' happened."

      "Well, that would be pretty comfy-cozy considering what did actually happen," Buffy pointed out.

      "True.  We'll work on it some more.  Obviously saying you were studying or traveling would have the same problem; no one would be likely to presume you dead if that were true."

      "Hey, maybe we can go with the kidnapped by Thai mobsters idea, then!"

      Willow shuddered.

            *           *           *           *           *

      Night was falling over Sunnydale as a sleek, dark limousine pulled off the Sunnydale freeway exit.  It ghosted its way to a vacant office building on the west side of town, a dilapidated two-story structure on which a "for rent" sign appeared to have hung undisturbed for months.  There was a parking lot in the back, into which the limousine turned.  It stopped, and the driver got out.  In the shadows of the unlit lot, it would have taken a keen observer to notice that the driver was not human, unless it were a grossly disfigured invalid, which was clearly belied by the power in his movements.  He extended a brown, iron-muscled claw to the passenger door in the rear and pulled it open with as much grace as his gnarled form could muster.  Out stepped a pair of Prada pumps, followed by a pair of legs and the rest of an attractive but somehow simultaneously menacing woman, even though she stood well shy of six feet even with her heels.

      "Well, your Eminence, it may not be up to your standards, but welcome to the headquarters of the Order of Turaca, Sunnydale," the driver announced.

      Glory wrinkled her mouth disdainfully.  "Did I ever tell you that your Order needs style pointers in the worst way?"

      "I'll be sure to tell them," Hascinth responded dryly.

      "Shouldn't they be coming out to meet us?  They could have at least left me a red carpet."

      "They?"

      "Your demony partners in crime at this headquarters?"

      "They're dead.  They were killed by the Slayer and her friends four years ago.  This place has been abandoned since."

      "Hah!  I didn't know you and that little blond brat had a history.  Bet they were some of your 'best,' too!"

      "They were," Hascinth's voice was utterly emotionless, but a flame flickered behind his eyes.  He was far too intelligent to try to make a counterpoint on the fact that the Slayer had also halted the Beast's plan as well.  He and his skin were fond of each other and did not want to be separated.

      "You seem to have a rather dismal record against Slayers recently."

      "Indeed."

      Glory sighed.  "But nonetheless, you're still some of the best, and you still owe me.  Are there going to be more of you coming?"

      Hascinth hesitated a moment, then nodded slowly.  "The Order is small.  We keep it that way.  There aren't many of us left in California, or North America, for that matter, but when word gets out that the Slayer is still alive, those that are out there will come.  Ten, maybe fifteen total."

      Glory gave the slightest nod of her head as she took that in, but her expression was truly pouting.  "That's really not that many, you know."

      "With all due respect, we're a little more … skilled … than your other minions."

      Suddenly, Glory actually laughed uproariously.  "Ah, Hascinth, Hascinth," she said, using his name for the first time.  "Rhyzie was right.  Your Order's intelligence is slipping.  Did you seriously think those little gremlins were my only thralls?  I don't even need magical circles or artifacts to bring them to my side, either."  She suddenly vanished into the distance, her form blurring in the direction of a bus stop on the main street visible between two buildings at the far side of the parking lot.  There was a brief flash, and a figure at the bus stop suddenly collapsed to his hands and knees on the pavement and began fumbling around on the ground as though lost.  Glory reappeared a moment later, crossing the parking lot in moments.  Hascinth's eyes narrowed at the sight, however.  Quick as she was, she was several steps slower than she had been before whatever had happened here three months earlier; he was sure he had seen her stoop and remove something from the body before returning, and she would have been too fast even for his eyes to make out such a small motion of hers at the height of her power.  Then again, she had disemboweled his entire cell in front of his eyes, so he wasn't about to dwell on it.

      She held up the prize that she had taken from the man at the bus stop.  It was a mobile phone.  "All I need is this," she said.  "And every girl should have one anyway."

            *           *           *           *           *

      "I take it you have no idea what this hell-goddess is doing in L.A.?" Faith asked, after an uncomfortably silent walk to a nearby vegan eatery.

      "None," Janna answered, letting out a frustrated breath.  "She was supposed to have died along with Buffy.  I heard that from several credible sources—even Rupert himself, though he didn't know I was listening.  The battle was supposed to have killed both of them."

      "So assuming that that's not the case, why would she come to L.A.?"

      "I can't figure it out, either.  If she had really killed Buffy and survived, she would have wanted to return home.  That was the whole purpose of her opening that portal in Sunnydale.  She wanted to leave."

      "Seriously, that's it?  Why didn't Buffy just let her go?"

      "Because that portal was so powerful that all dimensions were bleeding together.  It was basically a gateway to every level of Hell, and many other dimensions besides, not all of which are the faerie Otherworld."

      "So she was going to just damn this world to Hell on her way out the door?"

      "Or damn Hell to this world, however you want to look at it."

      "OK, I get it, she's a first class bitch."

      "You have no idea."

      "So why is she killing demons?  Any ideas there?"

      "Nothing specific," Janna asked.  "My guess is that they failed her in something.  She was never the most forgiving deity."

      Faith's blood suddenly ran cold, and she could see the same thought had occurred to Janna, too.  "Like … killing me?" Faith suggested.

      "It does seem a bit much to be coincidence, doesn't it?"

      "Coincidence?  No such animal."

      "I've seen a lot of strange animals, too, and I don't remember that being one of them."

      "All right, going on that, why would she want me dead?  I was in prison, never knew any of this was going down, there's no way I could have been a threat to her."

      "I don't know.  Slayers seem to rack up enemies, I guess."

      "True, but usually because we tick them off and don't follow up with the big slay to keep them permanently out of our hair."

      "I'm reaching here, too.  Great Watcher I'm making."

      "Hey, don't sweat it, you're new.  I think you've got potential."

      Janna laughed.  "Thanks for the confidence."

      "But I think we need to go back to Wes for this one."

      "Wes?"

      "Wesley.  Wyndham-Price, I think his last name is, but I just call him Wes."

      "Oh … is that the name of that British man staying with Angel?"

      "Yep, that's the one.  He's an ex-Watcher but he's probably the best idea in town, unless Angel decides to come out of hibernation or Wolfram & Hart decide to switch sides."

      "Not likely on either point."

      "So to Wesley it is, then."

      "Does he know you?"

      "Yep.  Which is why you're the one going."

      "Me?!"  Janna's eyes widened.  "Faith, you do know that Cordelia is there, right?"

      "Yeah, so?"

      "So, she remembers me from Sunnydale."

      "So?  She hangs out with dead people all the time.  She works for one."

      "Hey, keep your voice down," Janna said in a forced whisper.  Faith looked around.  It didn't look like anyone was watching them, and the booth they were in was out of the way, but simply thinking about reminded Faith of something.

      "That reminds me, did you happen to see if anyone else was around at that club?"

      "Just now?"

      "Yes, just now."

      Janna's eyes narrowed and seemed to grow distant, and she leaned back in her chair for a moment.  "Not in the club, no," she said slowly.  "There were some people moving around in the alley outside, but they could have been just ordinary people.  Maybe homeless."

      "I think one of them might have been watching us.  A woman."

      "Maybe …" Janna still seemed a bit inattentive, as though most of her mind were occupied with something else.  Suddenly, her eyes snapped back into focus and locked with Faith's, and Faith tensed.  Janna's eyes had suddenly changed color, to a brilliant, piercing violet.  "But someone outside is suddenly leaving in a big hurry."

      Faith leapt to her feet, ignoring the startled looks of the half-dozen others in the restaurant, and bolted for the front door.  Janna called out for her to wait, but the call was only halfhearted.  Faith reached the curb just in time to see a black late-model Chrysler careen away around the corner at the end of the block.  She was sprinting for the corner before she even realized she had decided to do so, spinning and dodging around passersby as though she had just been caught picking someone's pocket.  She was already to the corner before she remembered  that she wasn't supposed to be attracting attention to herself like that, but she threw the thought aside for the moment.  The car was stopped at a red light at the end of this block.  Faith set off at a run again, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground as she moved; she actually wondered as she ran how fast she was moving, as it felt almost like she was back in the woods outside the California Institution for Women again.  She was almost to the car when the light turned green.  She could see the car clearly now, a Chrysler 300M, and her eyes narrowed.  There was something uncannily familiar about that car.  The driver, alone in the car, was wearing a hooded jacket so that Faith couldn't see anything about his or her features, but somehow it tugged at the edges of Faith's memory anyway.

      Janna had left the restaurant and met Faith at the corner on her way back.

      "I paid," she said.  "We might want to think about leaving."

      "Yeah," Faith agreed, her adrenaline subsiding and her reason taking over again.  She should not have risked attracting attention like that.

      They reached Janna's car in safety, and no sirens—or other alarming noises—disturbed the night air.  As Janna settled into the driver's seat, she asked "Did you get a good look?"

      Faith shrugged uncomfortably.  "No, but something inside me is telling me I've seen her before."

      "Her?  You're sure it's a woman?"

      Faith hadn't even thought of that, but once she did, she was sure.  "Yeah, I am, actually," she said.

      Janna nodded.  "I got the same feeling back in the restaurant, too."

      "Yeah, that reminds me, just what exactly can you do like that?  Oh, hey, go right here, make for Angel's."

      Janna sighed and did as Faith asked.  Then she answered the original question.  "Janna had begun teaching me some of the arts of Seeing before I came back.  I had a knack for it, but I was still only learning when the rift opened."

      "So what exactly can you … See?" Faith asked again.

      "It's hard to describe.  I don't see pictures or hear sounds, it isn't like any of the five senses.  It's more like … intuition, sixth sense, I don't know.  I just … sense things."

      "So you couldn't see who was in that car?"

      "No, sorry.  It doesn't work like that.  At least, not at my level.  Maybe if I'd had more time …"

      "Never mind.  You had to do what you had to do."

      Janna grinned.  "Maybe I'll teach it to you sometime, and you can tell me how it works."

      "I could learn it?"

      "I think so.  Anyone with a sharp sixth sense and ties to the supernatural is usually a good candidate.  And you already have the seed of it in you … that little voice in the back of your head that tells you when you're being watched, or when you're close to something important or dangerous, or what your opponent's next move is going to be.  That's the start of it."

      Faith didn't say anything as she digested that.  "Hey, maybe later, can't hurt.  Right now we need to talk to Wes, though."

      "We're almost there.  You sure you want me to do this?  Why can't you?"

      "Because the last time Wes and I met … well, OK, besides about five minutes yesterday … I tortured him nearly to death.  That five minutes I spent visiting Angel's yesterday kind of told me that he hasn't forgotten."

      Janna's eyes widened.  "Oh."  Then she brightened.  "He might get over it though.  Heck, the last time Angel and I met, he killed me.  I'm not holding any grudges."

      "You know Angel's changed.  I don't think Wes knows that I have."

      "Maybe you need to convince him, then."

      "There isn't time."

      "I think we're both going to have to speak to them eventually, though.  Seriously, Faith, this is your thing.  You go in first.  I'll come in if I have to."

      Faith was going to continue arguing the point, but couldn't find the words, and eventually settled for, "Fine, but you know you're going to have to."

      "We'll see.  We're here."

      Janna pulled the Porsche into the alley behind the Hyperion, just in case any unfriendly eyes should happen to pass by.  Both of them got out; Janna waited by the car, while Faith approached the front door.  She was not about to sneak in the windows this time.  She did gird herself with Kalia, though, just in case either Wes or his new partner were in a shoot-first-and-answer-questions-later mood.

      Cordelia was sitting at the reception desk when Faith walked in the front doors.  The skinny-legged Texan—Fred, had someone called her?—was with her.  Wesley and Gunn were nowhere to be seen.

      Cordelia had been watching the entrance intently, and stood up quickly when she saw Faith in the doorway.  Faith stopped, not wanting to risk antagonizing anyone by coming farther.

      "Hi, Faith," she said.

      "'Hi, Faith?!'" Faith repeated.  That was unexpected.

      "Wes and Gunn will be back any moment."

      "Hey, how'd you know I was looking for them?"

      "I didn't.  I was more saying that to reassure myself just in case you were harboring any more S&M fantasies about me and were thinking this looked like a good time."

      Faith actually grinned.  "Mmmm, tempting," she said, "but actually, I really do need to talk to Wes, and not with him tied to a chair, either."

      "Oh really?"

      "Yes, really.  Look, a lot of stuff is going down and they need to know about it, and I need to know whatever he knows about it."

      "You can start making sense any time now."

      "Buffy's killer is still alive, all right?" Faith blurted.

      "What?"

      Well, at least something could penetrate her suspiciousness, Faith thought to herself.  She continued, "Buffy's killer is here, in L.A., or at least was as of yesterday.  She killed the group of the Order of Turaca that tried to kill me in the pen, then took off.  We … I haven't a clue where she went or what she's doing now."

      Cordelia looked at her appraisingly for a moment, then breathed, "you're serious."

      For some reason, that set Faith's teeth on edge.  "Cor, do you really think I'd come back here if it weren't important?"

      "True, but that isn't the only important thing that could be going on, you know."

      Faith nodded.  "You don't know the half of it."

      "Well, why don't you sit … all the way over there … and you can tell Wes and Gunn the rest when they get here.  They're out on patrol … had you noticed the sun was down?  They should be coming back any minute, though.  I called them and told them you were coming."

      "Say what?"

      Cordelia smiled secretively.  "I've picked up a few tricks."

      "Well, good for you, then.  I guess you have to in this line of work."

      "It has its ups and downs."

      Faith accepted that silently, taking the seat across the lobby from Cordelia that the older girl had pointed to.

      She had barely sat down when Wesley and Gunn burst into the room at a run; Wesley had a crossbow in his hand and a short sword at his hip, and Gunn was gripping a battle-axe.  Faith immediately raised her left hand in a gesture of parley; her right hand instinctively crept towards Kalia's hilt.  The two newcomers froze at the top of the short flight of stairs down to the main floor of the lobby.

      "Faith."  Wesley's voice was ice.

      "She do anything?" Gunn asked.

      "Not really," Fred answered.

      "I'll handle this," Cordelia told the other girl, then turned back to Gunn and Wes.  "Not really," she said.

      "Really?" Wesley did not even try to hide his skepticism.

      "Wes, there isn't time for this, I need to talk to you," Faith said.

      "To me?  Not to Angel?"

      "I'd talk to Angel if he would listen but he won't, and I need your brain."

      "Well, really, well I hope that doesn't involve removing it from its present location, I rather like it there."

      "It's fine where it is," Faith said, "but I need to know whatever you know about Glory.  She's back."

      Wesley lowered the crossbow.  Gunn looked at him quizzically, then did the same with his axe a moment later.

      "You saw her?"

      "Just her work.  Crazy people, massive carnage wrought by a woman in high-heeled shoes."

      "Where?"

      "The back room of a nightclub called the Pendulum a couple of miles off.  She dissected a group of the Order of Turaca then took off.  I have no idea where she went or what she's doing, hoped you could help."

      "The Order of Turaca?  They're in town, too?" The skepticism had not faded from Wesley's voice.

      "Were," Faith reminded him, "Unless there are more of them somewhere else."

      "And Glory killed them, you say?"

      "Apparently.  I think it was because they tried to kill me on her orders and didn't quite get results."

      "I see."

      "Hey, I hate to call time out here, but just who is this Glory?" Gunn interjected.

      "I'd sort of like to know this, too," Cordy added.

      "Glory is a hell-goddess, confined to this world a long, long time ago.  I forget the details, actually.  She resurfaced last year in Sunnydale intent on getting her hands on Buffy's little sister, Dawn, to use her blood to open a door back to her homeworld and destroy this one in the process.  I heard that she and Buffy killed each other in their final battle.  Now Faith says she's back, or survived somehow."

      "Survived and didn't kill everyone else once Buffy was out of the way?"

      "That's what I came here for," Faith said.  "I don't know what she's doing in L.A.  I'm even more confused now because I didn't know that B's little sis was her big prize the whole time, and she's still in Sunnydale.  I was just coming here to ask why she would want me dead.  And no more wisecracks about me having enemies, Wes, I'm serious."

      "I see," Wesley said, finally moving from where he had stood since coming in the door.  He was drifting over towards the phone on the reception desk.  Everyone was watching him.  He reached for the phone, laid a hand gently on it, but didn't move to pick it up.

      "I'm sorry, but I still have trouble believing you," he said at length.

      "I don't," said a voice from the shadows of the corner where the stairwell to the basement lay.

      "Angel!" Faith's eyes lit up.

      "Angel?" Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn murmured in unison.

      "You been listening the whole time?" Faith asked.

      "Most of it," Angel replied, coming into the light.  His face was worn and he had the look of someone who hadn't eaten or slept in days.  His eyes were focused, however.  He looked over at Wesley.  "I believe her, Wes," he reiterated.

      "Angel …" Faith began softly, and when Angel turned his eyes just slightly in her direction, her voice dropped a notch again, but she managed, "Thanks."  Angel simply nodded.

      Wesley let out a deep breath.  "I'll get on the line with London," he said.  "The Council is going to want to hear about this."  He picked up the phone.  "And I should probably call Giles, too."

      Angel nodded his agreement, then turned back to Faith.  He sat down on the bench at the center of the lobby nearest Faith, facing her.  Cordelia inched out from behind the reception desk, and Fred came with her.  Gunn went over to the cabinet to put away the weapons he and Wesley had been carrying.

      "I believe your story, Faith," Angel addressed her, "but I don't think you've quite told me everything.  In fact, my gut is telling me that you haven't told us half of it."

      Faith nodded simply.  "True enough.  You've been … occupied.  Where should I start?"

      "Why didn't you come and see me when you first broke out?"

      "I tried."

      Angel shot a disapproving look at Cordelia and Gunn, who were both sporting guilty expressions.

      "All right, we'll deal with that later," Angel continued.  "How did you know it was the Order of Turaca that attacked you in jail?  For that matter, how did you even know about the Order of Turaca?  Buffy never knew about them and she had a Watcher for a lot longer than you, and hers was one of the best."

      Faith suddenly found herself wrestling with herself.  She did not want to reveal Janna when Janna didn't want to be revealed, and she also didn't want to lie to Angel.  "I …" she began, then trailed off.  Then something occurred to her, and she settled on a half-truth.

      "I didn't know about them at the time.  I went to the Ancient Eye to try to get the scoop on whatever it was that attacked me.  It was a Chameleous Thanator, and it was wearing this."  She pulled the ring she had taken from the corpse of Officer White out of her pocket, and tossed it to Angel.  He took a look at it and nodded, but when he responded, he spoke slowly.

      "No one in their right mind would forge one of those, not even Wolfram and Hart," he said, "but something tells me that isn't the whole story."

      "It's … sorry, Angel, I'm not going to make up anything, but that's the most I can tell you."

      "Why?"

      Faith didn't answer, and shifted uncomfortably.

      "You're not lying to me," Angel mused, his voice even slower now.  If he was starting to doubt her, he gave no sign, but Cordelia and Gunn did not appear to be as believing.  "I can tell that.  But you're not telling me everything.  Why not?"

      "I … just can't.  It's complicated.  I promise I'll explain everything, just give me time."

      "We can't all operate on your time," Angel responded, though his voice was calm, and there was no sign of anger in his eyes.

      "It isn't on my time," Faith answered reflexively.

      Angel's eyes widened.  "You're protecting someone."

      Faith nodded.  There was no point in trying to make up any other story on the fly.  Angel seemed to be able to read her like an open book anyway.

      "Did you get that sword from this person, too?"

      Faith nodded again.

      "And the clothes?"  Another nod.

      "You seem to have made quite a friend, or more than one, in a short amount of time."

      "You think I'm back at Wolfram & Hart?" Faith asked.

      "I somehow doubt that," Angel answered.  "They might have given you clothes and money, but I doubt they would have told you about the Order.  And I don't think they'd have given you that, either," Angel added, gesturing at Kalia.  "Can I have a look?"

      Without a second thought, Faith slid the Gypsy sword within its forest green sheath off her belt and tossed it to Angel.  He caught it and slid it free of the sheath. 

He made a few slow passes with it in the air, then idled over to his weapons cabinet.  He withdrew a small, round, iron-bound oaken shield from the back, and tossed it into the air.  Suddenly, he tensed, flexed, and lashed out with the blade, once twice, three times, so quickly that Faith could barely follow his movements.  Thin, faint, translucent arcs of energy burst from the blade each time it was just about to touch the shield.  The shield clattered to the floor in six pieces, cloven as smoothly as though cut by a laser.  The arcs of energy lingered a moment as after-images, then dissolved and drifted away like weightless dust in a breeze.

      "You didn't just get this at a pawn shop," he said, sheathing it and handing it back to her.

      "No, I didn't," she admitted, still a little awestruck.  "Though I had no idea it could do that."

      "Faerie swords are few and far between," Angel said.  "I wouldn't think even Wolfram & Hart would have any.  Keep talking Wes, you're still on the phone."  Wesley had suddenly trailed off at the sight of Kalia's pyrotechnics, mild as they were.  Remembering himself, he went back to talking to whatever Watcher was handling calls at whatever time it was in London at the moment.

      "I didn't get it from Wolfram & Hart."

      "I believe you," Angel replied.  "I already said that."  He sighed.  "I see you want to protect your friend or friends' identity.  Fine.  Just answer me this, then, and no runarounds.  Do you believe that, whoever they are, they're serious about stopping Buffy's murderer?"

      "I do," Faith answered at once.  Angel's eyes were intense, and Faith remembered many times both during the time she had spent here before turning herself in, and her time face to face with him across the visitors' window at CIW, that she had been unable to meet his gaze when he looked at her like that.  She held firm now.  She realized it wasn't like her to be trusting someone she hadn't even known for three days yet, but she had been hanging out with Janna for most of the time and the sixth sense that alerted her to trouble, that had actually been growing during her time in prison, had been utterly silent.

      Angel nodded a moment later in acceptance, and Faith could see he believed her.  There was a long silence, eventually broken by the voice of Wesley in the background, who had apparently finished talking to the Watchers' Council and was now greeting Giles.  Angel opened his mouth to break the silence, but another voice beat him to it.

      "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Faith," Janna said from the doorway.  "It means a lot, coming from you."

      Cordelia's hands sprang to her lips to muffle a frightened squeak, and she keeled over on the bench, but no one was looking at her.  This was because Angel had leaped backwards with a startled yelp—there was no other word for it, it was definitely a yelp—and had not only cleared the circular bench in the middle of the lobby but the entire rest of the lobby as well, crashing into the wall at the back.  Faith doubted she could have thrown him that far if she had hit him with all of her strength.  Gunn reacted defensively, grabbing his axe again and taking shelter in the doorway of Wesley's office, expecting to be under attack.  Fred, startled at Angel's reaction, had already ducked behind the reception desk.  Wesley had swung around at the disturbance and was still trying to talk to Giles, and was clearly wondering if it might not be a better decision to hang up and call back later.

      "Is this that hell-goddess woman?!" Gunn called from his hiding place.

      "No, no!" cried Faith, intent on settling everyone down before anyone did anything rash.  "This is Janna, this is who I was … protecting, I guess.  I didn't really think of it like that."

      "It's all right, Faith," Janna breathed.  "You managed to talk to Wesley.  I needed this, too."  She drew in another breath.  "Hi, Angel."

      "Hi, Jenny," Angel began slowly.  He seemed to be deciding if he should reach for a weapon or slap his cheeks to try waking up.

      "It's been a while."

      "It has."

      "You know, I'm not even going to start asking questions.  There's only so many stories I need to hear in a night.  No more surpr …"

      "WHAT?!" Wesley's sudden shout suddenly made everyone in the room jump.  Even when he was angry or excited, he was never the shouting type.  He put his hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver and called to the room, "Buffy's alive!"

      There was a brief silence.  "What I was about to say," Angel said nonchalantly, "was 'no … more … surprises.'"  Suddenly, he collapsed.

      "I didn't know vampires could faint," said Fred.

      "I think Angel just died of a heart attack," Wesley said back into the receiver.  "Yes, apparently vampires can faint.  Fascinating, really.  What … ?  Oh, yes, I imagine he's going to want to come up to Sunnydale as soon as he wakes up, of course."  Janna was inching towards the phone, and Faith noticed a touch, just a touch, of complete impishness in her poise.  With a start, she realized what Janna intended to do, and couldn't figure out if she wanted to simply laugh, cheer her on, or restrain her.  Wesley was continuing, "yes, of course … no, Rupert, I am not joking.  How would you react if someone you loved and thought was dead suddenly turned out to be alive?"

      With a deft flick of her wrist, Janna reached out and plucked the receiver out of Wesley's hands and put it to her lips.  "Hello, Rupert," she said cheerfully.

            *           *           *           *           *

      COMING SOON: Chapter 8, "Reunions."  Word begins to spread that Glory is back in action, as the Council starts sounding the alert and her other servants begin to gather once again.  The AI gang heads south to meet up with the Sunnydale gang, and, as Spike would cheerfully summarize, "wackiness ensues."  The person shadowing Faith and Janna continues to do so.  As always, one or two other characters from [the awe-inspiring] early seasons may resurface.

      I think I was a little better about updating this time around; I'll try to be a little more timely in the future but, as always, no guarantees.  (As my fellow fanfic writers are well aware, this doesn't pay the bills.)  I'm getting towards the part of the story that's more fun for me to write, so that should help things.  Comments, suggestions, and all related reviews are well appreciated (but if you have guesses as to who that mysterious figure trailing Faith and Janna might be, don't give anything away)!