Willow chewed and swallowed. "Why do you keep looking over at Cordelia?" she asked, fork held in midair.

"To see if she's coming over." Xander glanced at her, then twisted his neck to look over his shoulder at the table in question.

"First, we're halfway through lunch, so she obviously isn't, and, second, why on earth do you think she would?" Buffy carefully cut a small triangle from her chicken patty.

"I asked her to," Xander replied.

The Slayer coughed and held a napkin to her mouth. "Why did you do that?"

"Well, I didn't exactly invite her… we kinda ran into each other the other morning and I said we had an empty seat at the table if she was interested. What?" He was genuinely perplexed at the eye rolls offered by Buffy and Willow.

The girls exchanged looks, then Buffy shoved back her tray, rested her forearms on the table, then leaned toward her friend. "Okay, did you say something nice to her at prom?"

Xander's expression turned sour. "I apologized for being a giant jackass. It was about all I could do."

Buffy nodded and looked down at the tabletop. "So, let's reconstruct the timeline… On Saturday you graciously apologize for your, quote, total jackassery, end quote."

"I said I was sorry for being a giant jackass."

Willow twitched her shoulders. "Important thing was keeping 'jackass' in."

"Then, on Monday, you inform her that she's welcome back at our table?"

"I'm, I'm still not…" Xander looked across the table. "Oz."

The guitarist raised his hands. "I'm tapping out. You're on your own."

Buffy's gaze narrowed. "Do you see how that sounds…" she snapped her fingers. "I'm drawing a blank."

"Condescending? Patronizing?" Willow offered.

"Yes, either one of those. Both of them maybe."

Xander looked back and forth between the girls. "But… but… I didn't mean–"

Buffy placed her hand on her sternum. "I know that, Willow knows that, but… do you see how Cordelia, Cordelia would take it that way?"

"Plus," Willow said, "you've now spent an entire lunch staring at her like you want to wear her for a skin suit." She noticed the wide-eyed looks directed at her. "I rewatched Silence of the Lambs."

"So, should I explain that I didn't mean it that way?" Xander asked.

"No." Buffy and Willow's replies were simultaneous. The Slayer continued. "You didn't mean it that way, but you can't turn back time."

Willow shook her head sadly. "Not even Cher can do that."

Xander's face twisted into a frown. "So I took one step forward and two steps back."

"Oh, maybe not," the Slayer said. "Maybe it was more three steps forward, two back." She patted him on the arm. "You can't make some things happen… you just have to do your best and let 'em go. And I know whereof I speak."

Xander slumped in his chair. "Maybe I should keep my mouth shut and never say anything again."

Buffy stood and picked up her tray. "Not the worst idea you've ever had."

Bernie Perkins walked across the scuffed concrete of the common area, flanked by her lieutenants. Her name was actually Bernice Mae Perkins, but it had been so long since anyone called her that she had practically forgotten it. She had been in and out of many, many correctional facilities, mostly in Nevada, but a couple in California and once in Arizona. She'd cycled in and out of Clark County Detention Center enough times that whenever she came back, she automatically assumed her old position at the top of the pecking order. Once, another girl had tried to protect what she saw as her turf; they hadn't been able to reattach her ear. After that, if Bernie wasn't there, the throne was vacant.

Her two associates were no shrinking violets. Barbara Lamb had at least three stints in Clark County sandwiched around a nickel-and-dime at Florence McClure, where she did the full stint for trying to put another inmate's head through a wire mesh reinforced window. Winifred Duffy had a full jacket of break-ins and thefts that somehow always devolved into violence, which was never Wini's fault… at least not in her telling.

Besides histories rife with violence, each woman also had a crude tattoo on her neck: flames over a log. This was the symbol of the Burntwood Bitches, one of the major gangs in the Nevada penal system, and possibly the largest one that was white-oriented. None of the women had ever been on Burntwood Avenue, which ran through North Vegas. Very few of the gang's members had been; they just like the alliteration.

The destination of their journey sat alone at one of the round tables bolted to the floor. The girl looked up as the three women approached. Bernie, broad of shoulder and hip, stepped forward. "Hey," she said. "You're bein' standoffish. You should come with us."

The girl looked up, her dark eyes peering through the dark hair hanging in front of her face. "Fuck off."

Bernie nodded, a concerned friend. "You're feisty… I like that, I respect that. That's why we're askin' you to join the Bitches."

The girl pushed her hair out of her face, revealing pale alabaster skin that practically glowed. "And if I decline your invitation?"

Bernie scratched the back of her neck. "Well, Clark County's short time, that's true, but if the grapevine's true, you're gonna be goin' to Florence. There's a branch of our… social club there. Being one of us could be very beneficial. You gotta belong somewhere. They–" she jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the knot of black prisoners in the far corner "-ain't gonna welcome you with open arms. Neither are they." This time she gestured toward the Hispanic inmates gathered around a couple of tables. And if you, what was it, decline our invitation, you got nobody to look out for you. You got three sets of enemies instead of one set of friends, so you probably wanna join the Bitches."

The girl's eyes smoldered. "First, I don't belong anywhere. Second, I have no friends, and third, I'm already a bitch, so just fuck right off."

Bernie looked over her right shoulder at Barb. "Kids," she said genially, clenching her fists. "Okay, honey, you–"

The punch was already on its way as she turned back. The flattened knuckles crushed her trachea, then, as Bernie's hands flew to her throat, the girl kicked her in the midsection, sending her back into Winifred Duffy. Barb was already stepping in, fists clenched, when the girl flipped her foot up, caught her shower sandal as it flew into the air, and slashed it across Barb's face, catching her right in eye with the edge of the shoe. The orbital socket cracked and Barb's eyeball shifted. The girl brought the sandal back around and hit Barb square in the ear, then she lunged forward and crushed the older woman's nose with a head-butt. Wini untangled herself from Bernie just in time to catch an elbow arcing through the air to dislocate and break her jaw.

The whole 'fight' took maybe fifteen seconds. All three women were down and corrections officers flooded the area. Four of them took the girl to the ground, but only because she didn't resist.

"Hey, Casey." Willow dropped her backpack on the desk.

"Oh, hi." Casey Porter glanced up from her monitor. "Did we have a meeting today?"

Willow shook her head. "No, I'm just meeting someone here. Are you working on something interesting?"

Casey shook her head, dark hair flying. "Just a digital art project for Ms. Homer."

"Cool."

"I need to finish this and save it to disk, then I'll be out of your hair."

Willow looked puzzled. "You're not in my hair."

"Sorry, I just, you know…" Casey shrugged and looked down and her fingers began to work; the keyboard clacked at a rapid pace.

Willow worked her mouth back and forth. "Casey, can I ask you something?"

Casey jumped a little. "Uh, yeah, sorry, what? What could you ask me?"

Willow glanced over her shoulder; no Tyler. "This is… it's kinda… I don't, weird, maybe personal… you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Casey looked at Willow through her shredded bangs and chewed her lower lip. "I'm, uh, I'm kinda getting nervous… have I done something wrong… Am I not doing a good job in computer club?"

Willow covered her mouth with one hand and shook her head. "No… I mean, it's a club, you can't exactly get graded for it." She held up both hands. "I'll start over. Again, if you don't want to talk about this, I understand, but… could I ask you about last fall? Homecoming?"

Casey's brown eyes widened. "Oh, you mean when we got kidnapped? No, it's okay… honestly, I kinda wondered why you hadn't asked me about it before. You were one of the people who came and got Cordelia and… I guess I thought you'd ask me about it sometime… but you never did."

"I didn't think you'd want to talk about it." Willow's forehead crinkled.

"No, I'm good with it. What do you want to ask?"

Willow licked her lips. "What… what happened? I mean, Cordelia–"

"She saved us." Casey's hands rested on the keyboard.

Willow blinked. "Wait, what?"

Casey nodded. "Oh, yeah. Those guys were gonna kill us the first night we were all together, but she kept talking about phases of the moon and magic knives to get them to wait… and she kept telling us someone would come find us… which they did, duh, you were one of them, even when that one guy–" Her mouth clamped shut.

"When that one guy what?" Willow frowned and leaned forward.

"Cordelia's never told you about it?"

Willow blinked. This had rapidly entered an unexpected space. "When she wants to, Cordelia makes Marcus Aurelius look like he's wearing a lampshade on his head." She caught Casey's puzzled look. "Roman emperor. Famously stoic… actually, famous Stoic."

Casey shook her head. "If she hasn't told you, I don't want to… I really can't… "

"Casey." Willow lowered her voice. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything else."

"I don't… I mean, it wasn't… you know.. but it was gross and way wrong." Casey put her hands to her face, muffling her voice. "And I didn't do anything, you know. I was scared, really scared… and ever since, I've felt like… like I should have done something, but I didn't."

Willow stared at the other girl. "Casey, what could you have done?" She awkwardly scooted her chair over and put a hand on the other girl's arm. "Whatever happened wasn't your fault. I mean, you were kidnapped, you didn't kidnap anybody. The three guys who did that are responsible."

"I know, I know." Casey dropped her hands and nodded. "But I just… she was really brave, and when I should have helped I didn't."

Willow sighed. "Have you felt… have you felt guilty since last fall?"

The other girl nodded. "Kinda, and I keep trying to thank her and let her know how much I appreciate what she did, but I think I just look kinda stupid every time I try."

Willow sat there, open-mouthed. "Casey… you… you admire Cordelia?"

Casey shrugged. "Kinda, I guess."

"I'm a little late," Tyler announced as he came through the door. "Teacher had to talk at me." He saw Casey and stopped. "Oh… hi."

"Hi," she said, then looked at Willow. "I'm gonna get back to work." She began typing quickly.

"Okay." Willow gathered her things. As they walked down the hallway, Tyler looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"You okay?" he asked. "You look sorta funny."

"Yeah," Willow replied. "I just… I got a new perspective on something."

He shrugged. "Whatever. What're we doin' today?"

Willow shook her head, snapping out of her funk. "I've gone… over there, and something's wacky, but I can't tell what, because when I try to look at it I… fall out, you know, like I do."

"And you want me to steady you so you can get a look at whatever it is."

Willow touched a forefinger to her nose. "You betcha."

The shotglass full of dark-red liquid clinked down on the tabletop. Angel picked it up and stared at it, swirling the glass slightly, catching highlights and shadows. He brought it to his lips and sipped, then placed it on the table.

"Know anything?" he murmured.

"Nothin' concrete." Willy wiped down the table in the booth behind Angel; to all appearances he was just getting ready for the next customer. "But there's a little buzz among some of your lower life lowlifes."

Angel sipped. "What kind of buzz?"

"Apparently the job market is warming up."

Sip. "How so?"

"From what I catch, it's nothin' skilled, strictly per diem muscle work… like somebody's collecting bodies, but ain't too choosy."

Sip. "Any thoughts?" Angel could hear the damp rage sliding along the table top.

"Thoughts are dangerous in my business."

"Willy?" Angel's warning tone was low and hard.

"Okay, okay. I think somebody's grabbing cannon fodder."

"For an attack?" Angel heard the rustling sounds of the bar owner tucking the rag inside his apron.

"Not with the guys I been hearing brag about it. I think, and this is what I think, I can't be held responsible for any actions based on this, it's for some kind of security, strictly dumb work, strength in numbers, not brains."

"Any idea who's doing this?"

"C'mon, Angel, even you should be able to figure that out."

Angel tapped his glass on the table. "How about a refill."

"Sure thing." Willy whisked the glass away and returned, placing the new drink on the table.

"I think," said Angel, "that the Reverend doesn't pay for anything, he doesn't have anything to protect anyway, and Mr. Trick would like to keep his core people in one piece in any upcoming festivities."

Willy shrugged. "Whatever. I don't get paid to draw conclusions."

"So, what are we doin'?" Tyler and Willow stood under the pine tree. He looked up at the beams of the afternoon sun filtering through its branches.

Willow looked out at the street and hugged herself. "I've been seeing something strange when I go over there, but I can't get a look at it without getting kicked out."

"Are you cheatin' on me, goin' over there with someone else?"

"What?" Willow snapped, jerking her head around to look at him. The sharpness of her reply caught off-guard.

"Hey, hey, I'm just kiddin'," he stammered, raising his hands as if warding off a blow. He looked pretty comical with his broomstick arms and his short-sleeve plaid button down.

Willow wrinkled her nose in irritation. "Well, it wasn't funny."

"Sorry." He puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. "Okay, so just…?"

"Yeah." Willow nodded, then turned toward the school. The afternoon sun created sharp reflections on the windows, and when she felt Tyler's hand on her arm, she slipped.

"Well, gentlemen, I just got off the phone with our chief of police. It seems he was on some sort of internet bulletin board thing for law enforcement–"

"A what?" Florestan asked.

Trick cast a bland look in the demon's direction. "Probably a Usenet group… law enforcement dot discussion or something like that."

"Thank you," the Mayor said. "I was a little fuzzy on it myself. Anyway, a very interesting topic arose. Apparently, one of the…" He looked at Trick.

"'Participants' would be fine." The slick vampire kept his eye roll internal.

"One of the participants was with the Las Vegas police department, and he had a very interesting story to tell."

"You do realize that anyone can claim to be anything in those groups. I could go into dot orthodoxy and say I'm the Metropolitan of Moscow." A little irritation seeped into Trick's voice. The Mayor looked at him until Trick shifted his weight slightly. "Sorry. Go on."

"This purported member of the LVMPD told a very… relevant story. It seems that they arrested a young woman over the weekend."

Florestan smirked. "I imagine that's a fairly common occurrence in Las Vegas."

"Gentlemen, are you going to continue to interrupt, or will I be allowed to finish my story?" Wilkins rested his elbows on his desk and tapped his fingertips together. "All right, then. Yes, the arrest of a young woman by itself is of no interest, but…" The Mayor smiled "...apparently it took four detectives and two patrolmen to apprehend this young lady. Seems she was the suspect in a string of assaults, although her conduct toward the police seems to put 'suspect' in quotation marks." He placed both hands flat on the desk. "Now, here is where it gets interesting. She is described as being average height, dark hair and pale skin, disturbing anger issues."

Florestan and Mr. Trick exchanged looks. Florestan accepted the challenge. "Sir, that's a very general–"

"She has an abstract tribal tattoo on her right upper arm." Mayor Wilkins smiled blandly. "Any more objections?"

"Well, if it is her, at least we know where she is now." Trick slouched slightly in his seat.

The Mayor swiveled in his chair, looking away from them for a couple of heartbeats, then turned back. "I'm going to make sure."

Florestan and Trick swapped looks again, more concerned this time. "Why would you want to do that?" Florestan asked.

"Because it's better to know than not to know." Mayor Wilkins looked lost in thought. "And, if it is her, we might find some use for her."

Now, Trick and Florestan edged closer to alarm. "What do you mean?" Trick asked. "You're not considering bringing her back here, are you?"

The Mayor shrugged. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Florestan leaned forward, taking pains to keep his volume low and his tone neutral. "She is a piece that has been removed from the board. If this is her, then so much the better. She's in jail with serious charges waiting to be filed. I don't… I don't see any part she has to play in our endgame."

The Mayor nodded, his lips compressed into a thin line. "Well, out there–" He pointed in a way clearly meant to indicate the world beyond the office walls "-she is a wild card, a loaded gun pointed at our heads. Do you really want her waltzing back into town at just the wrong moment? Hmmm?"

Florestan ran a hand over his gray silk tie, then rubbed his hands together. "But she is presently in jail… in another state. Even if she manages to secure her release, or escape, she left Sunnydale of her own free will. What are the chances that she would come back?"

"And, if I may," Trick held up a long index finger, "if she does come back, we have a contingency plan for that."

"I realize that," Wilkins said. "Your little marionette act is still in the playbook… but I'm not talking about letting her run free. We will prepare… customized accommodations for her. She will be neutralized and we will know exactly where she is." He spread his arms wide. "It's the best of both worlds."

Florestan made a clicking sound with his tongue. "You have already decided, haven't you?"

The Mayor shrugged and smiled a small smile. "I've given the police department the specifications for her special room."

Florestan nodded and stood. "Well, if it's done, it's done." He exchanged a significant look with Trick. "If you will excuse me." He left the room in three long, elegant strides.

Mayor Wilkins sighed and turned to Mr. Trick. "I don't think he's happy."

Trick's face was blank and closed. "No, I don't think he is."

Wilkins searched Trick's face. "And what do you think?"

Trick considered his reply. "I think that you have explained your position very clearly, and if you have decided this is the way we should proceed, then I will work within those parameters."

The Mayor grinned. "Mr. Trick, I believe you have a future as a diplomat."