"So, what am I looking at?" Trick leaned over to look at the monitor.
"Encrypted transmission." The vamp at the terminal executed a few keystrokes; the flickering green gibberish on the screen decomposed and swam about, then resolved themselves into text.
Trick scanned the message, then nodded. He straightened and took a slow, deliberate breath. "Have you verified this?"
The tech vamp nodded. "Yes, sir, every way we can."
"So, we are looking at a projected arrival between seventy-two and one hundred-twenty hours, am I reading that correctly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, good." Trick squeezed his underling's shoulder in a congratulatory manner, but his mind was already far ahead. "Delilah," he said as he walked away, "get me the Mayor's office."
"Hey, Will, why the long face? And I do mean long. You could give Seabiscuit a run for his money." Buffy fell into step beside her friend as they crossed the parking lot.
"I have a moral quandary." Willow ran her thumbs under the straps of her backpack.
The Slayer's mouth turned down. "A little heavier than I was expecting, but… What sort of quandrage is staring at you?"
Willow sighed. "I kinda gave my word to someone that I would do something for them, but I wouldn't involve someone they asked me not to involve, but now it turns out I can't do the thing that I promised to do unless I get the help of the person I promised not to involve."
Buffy nodded as they walked along. "Willow, that sentence eats itself."
"Sorry. It's all I can say."
"Which, if I know my Willow, and I do, means that I probably know at least one of these people. Yes or no?"
Willow shrugged and said nothing.
"I'm going to eliminate Xander for obvious reasons, and Oz for… also obvious reasons. I know it's not Cordelia, and, since you're asking me, I'm thinking this has something to do with the wonderful world of the Hellmouth. So, the logical, for certain meanings of logic, conclusion is that you're talking about Giles. I will assume your silence means I'm right." They walked a few more yards. "Okay, Will, spill. Don't share too many of the gory details, just confess your sins." Willow did. As they reached the edge of the parking lot and continued onto the sidewalk, the Slayer listened to her friend unspool a lightly edited version of her adventures in the Never Never. "So, let me see if I've got this… you've done a Buckaroo Banzai across the Eighth Dimension and now you can see the Red Lectroids?"
"Buuuut, I don't have an oscillation overthruster-" Willow began.
"That's whoever this mystery person is that you need."
"Oh, well then, I guess that's not too far off." The redhead frowned. "But does that make me Emilio Lizardo? I don't want to be Emilio Lizardo… or John Bigboote'."
Buffy put a reassuring hand on her friend's arm, "Oh, you're definitely Buckaroo… maybe Sidney Zweibel… John Parker at the very least."
"That is better." Willow seemed relieved.
"And Giles has asked you to monitor it, but to freeze out the person who's been helping you?"
Willow nodded. "And without h… them, I can't do it. I get kicked out."
Buffy looked up at the blue sky. "So, if anybody's being Emilio Lizardo, it's Giles."
"I suppose." Willow looked dubious.
The Slayer looked down at her feet as they scuffed along the cracked concrete. "How dangerous is it?"
Willow considered the question. "It isn't. I don't know why, but he… shoot."
"It's okay."
"Anyway, he's the only one who can help me stay in the Never Never. That's all I need him to do."
Buffy shrugged and held out a hand, palm up. "Sometimes it's better to apologize than ask permission."
"That's very good to hear. Thank you." Mayor Richard Wilkins touched the button on his phone that broke his connection, then punched in a three-digit code. "Chief, this is Mayor Wilkins. Do you remember the discussion we had a few days ago? Yes, that one. Well, upon further reflection, I think it would be best if we requested a transfer. I know, I know, but, well, you know the old saying, 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer'? That's kind of how I feel now. Yes, I'm aware of the stress this would put on your department, that's why I've contracted with a private company to oversee the prisoner's detention, at least until we can figure out a permanent solution. No, none of your officers or personnel will be responsible… the most I'm asking of you is a set of keys to the jail wing of the public safety building. Yes, she'll be in the basement, you won't even hear a peep from her. I understand, but I'm not asking for input here. This is the way it will be. Good, glad to hear it. Have a great day." The Mayor hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, and looked up at the ceiling, a small smile on his face.
"Just mark thirty seconds. I don't need to be in very long, I just need to look at something." Willow shook her shoulders to settle herself. Tyler sat across from her; the bookstore's afternoon traffic hummed around them. The gangly scarecrow of a boy reached out and, as Willow looked at her reflection in the poster mounted on the wall, laid his hand atop hers. Her eyes did that thing, the thing where they unfocused in a way that said she was not looking at nothing, but rather at something he couldn't see. Thirty seconds crawled by and he slid his hand away. She shivered and gasped; her hands jerked back on the table, but otherwise she remained upright as she pressed her hands to her eyes and blinked. "Wow," she said as she pushed back from the table and started to stand, then noticed the way he twisted his hands as he looked off to the right. "Is everything all right?"
Tyler nodded, but didn't meet her eyes. "Yeah, everything's fine."
Willow looked at him and tilted her head. "I think I spy with my little eye a lie."
Tyler's face screwed up. "Okay, I, uh, I kinda want to ask you somethin'."
The corners of Willow's mouth turned down. "Okay, shoot."
Tyler looked down at his lap and over the railing that separated the cafe and its coffee cups from the stainable stock. "That, uh, that girl who was in the computer lab… the other day?"
"Yeah, Casey." Willow looked at him blankly.
"Does she have… I mean, is she… ?" Tyler winced and rubbed his hands together so hard his knuckles turned white and the fingertips went bright red.
Willow stared at him, then the light bulb went on. "Are you asking me if Casey has a boyfriend?"
"Uh, maybe." Tyler pulled back, shoulders rounded forward in a defensive shell. "She's… I thought she was cute… and you kinda know her, right?"
"She's… in a club with me, but that's… why don't you just talk to her?"
His expression morphed into a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Why not? I'm built like a broomstick and my mom cuts my hair. I'm not… I don't do very well at that kinda thing."
"You want me to.. what, pitch you?"
"It wouldn't hurt," he mumbled.
Willow started to stand again, but a splinter of information had worked its way into her consciousness. "Why does your mom cut your hair?"
Tyler shrugged. "I guess it's probably habit now, since I'm the only one left at home, but it started 'cause a money. Costs a lot to cut eight kids' hair."
Willow's eyes popped. "There are eight kids in your family?"
"Yup, Janie was first, then a couple of my brothers, and Mom and Dad kept tryin' for another girl until they figured out it wasn't gonna happen."
"Wait, wait." Willow waved her hands and closed her eyes; when she opened them, she said, "There are seven boys in your family? And you're the seventh?"
"Yeah, I'm the baby." Tyler leaned forward over the wood-grain tabletop. "Listen, I just want you to-"
"Just a minute, just a minute." Willow took a deep breath to calm herself. "Is your dad from a big family, too?"
"Yeah, it's a runnin' joke. Compared to Dad's family, we're pretty small."
"How many kids were there? In your dad's family?"
Tyler looked at her as though Willow had sprouted a third ear in the middle of her forehead. "What? Why are you askin' me all-"
"Just how many, please." Willow's emphasis on please made the statement seem like anything but a request.
Tyler blinked. "Uh, eleven."
"How many boys, how many girls?"
"Seven boys, four girls." Tyler frowned. "I don't-"
"What's the pattern?" Willow demanded.
"Pattern?"
"You know, are they boy-girl, boy-boy-girl, what?" Willow's eyes burned and a flush crept up from her throat.
Tyler lifted one shoulder. "I got two aunts, then my six uncles, then two aunts."
Willow leaned forward. "Where's your dad in that order?"
Tyler made a small noise of exasperation and disbelief. "He's the youngest boy."
"Seventh son of a seventh son." Willow slumped back in her chair and her chin dropped onto her chest. "You're the seventh son of a seventh son. Son of a-"
"Yeah." Tyler rolled his eyes. "There's an old song about it… my dad used to halfway sing it, I guess it's supposed to mean something." He twisted his hands again.
Willow sat there, dumbstruck and wide-eyed. Finally, she said, "Okay, if you promise, I mean, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die promise, to not tell anyone about-" she made a circling motion over the table "-this, I swear that I will put in a good word with Casey, okay?"
Tyler looked confused. "Wait, I'm not supposed to tell anyone… now?"
Willow slung her backpack over her shoulder. "Have you told anyone up until now?"
He shook his head. "No, it's not the sorta thing that comes up in everyday conversation… and I don't talk to that many people anyway."
Willow nodded, her feet already headed toward the door. "Okay, keep it like that. This is really important. Don't talk about this to anyone." She stepped away quickly and pushed through the doors, leaving him open-mouthed and confused.
The barista on duty looked at him and smiled as she wiped down the next table. "You guys are a really cute couple," she said. "It's sweet that way you're always holding hands." Tyler looked at her as though she spoke Urdu.
"Where is Sunnydale?"
"California, that's all I know. Frankly, I don't care. She's been a pain in the ass since she got here and I'm glad to be rid of her."
"Have you looked at these orders?"
"I made sure they had the times filled in and the right signatures. Anything else?"
"Did you notice these conditions?"
"Yup, and, frankly, based on the way she's behaved, I don't think those are enough."
"I've never heard of this transport company before."
"I looked 'em up. Licensed and bonded, so once we hand her off, we're free and clear, and did you look, there, on the third page? They're sending their own custody team to bring her out. We don't have to do nothin' but sit back and watch the fireworks."
Rupert Giles sat in the library office, an elbow resting on his desk and his forehead resting on that hand. He kneaded his brow like a baker facing a deadline. He had been in this posture for some time, a man fervently praying but receiving no answer, bent over a fan of papers on the desktop, a small piece of a larger stack that rested close at hand. He heard the library door clack open, sounding much farther away than it actually was.
"Giles?"
The Watcher gathered the papers together and hastily returned them to the stack, then placed the stack in a large accordion folder, which he dropped in the bottom drawer of this desk. Evidence hidden, he took a moment to compose himself and stepped out of the office. "Yes, Willow."
"Hey." The redhead shuffled her feet nervously. "I, uh, that… thing we talked about the other day?"
The librarian exhaled slowly. "Willow, what did I say about ending every sentence as a question?"
She winced. "Don't do it."
"Correct." The Watcher looked directly at the girl. "You have put yourself in direct contact with the supernatural. I… I wish you had not, but you did and wishing accomplishes nothing at this point, nor does being angry with you. Neither does hiding behind a vocal affect. We are where we are. I fear that this will, in the long run, prove very difficult, but… since you have already foolishly rushed ahead, let us at least face it squarely and try to use it to our advantage. Agreed?" She nodded. "Proceed," he said. "In a normal tone of voice."
Willow nodded, chastened. "I went… there," she began and froze when the library door opened.
"Yes?" Giles said.
"Um, I'm supposed to get some book on Supreme Court cases. It's for a paper for American Government."
The librarian nodded. "I see. Do you have an exact book in mind?"
"Yeah, the teacher wrote it down for me."
Giles held up a finger toward Willow. "Excuse me." He stepped around Willow, plucked the Post-It note from the student's hand and disappeared into the stacks. The student, a girl with large brown eyes and straight hair parted in the middle, followed him at a distance. Willow looked around, mentally tapping a foot in irritation. Giles reappeared, student still in tow, with the designated volume in hand. He went behind the counter and performed the small ritual of checking out the book, which he handed to the girl. She took it with a heavy sigh, turned on her heel, and left. The Watcher and the witch waited for the door to stop swinging after her exit.
"Well," the librarian said, satisfied that there would be no further interruption, "continue."
Willow tugged at her ear. "I… went there… again."
"And?"
Willow's face grew pinched. "It's… Remember, I talked about the light? Well, it's brighter."
Giles nodded slowly. "How much?"
"Quite a bit. It's washing out everything… it's hard to see anything else." Willow bit her lip. "I saw spots in front of my eyes when I… came back. It's like, you know those days in the summer, when the sun is so bright that it kinda hurts to look at anything, because of the glare?" She noticed Giles's puzzled expression. "Oh, that's right, you grew up in England. Um… anyway, that's happening. Whatever's doing it, it's getting… I guess, worse is the word. Definitely brighter."
The Watcher nodded and was silent for a moment. At last, he looked at Willow and spoke. "I suppose it could be something else, but I'm inclined to think it has something to do with the Seal, and if we use Occam's Razor, it's probably a harbinger of the Seal's arrival." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Is there anything else, even if it seems trivial? Can you pinpoint its source?"
Willow shook her head. "No. It's not like a spotlight, or the sun. I can kinda tell which direction it's coming from, but that's all. It's just too powerful."
Giles nodded. "You said that it's affecting you in this world when you return. That is a very worrying sign. If it has become that potent, you should stop until this matter is resolved."
Willow gave a small nod. "Okay."
The Watcher leaned in toward her. "Willow, I am very serious."
She offered a wry grin. "You're always serious."
"Promise me, promise me, that you will stop."
"Giles, I-"
"Willow, do you realize how you have exposed yourself?" The librarian's voice was sharp enough to make the girl blink. "You are actually, somehow, in a realm where the raw magic of this object appears to reside. We have no way of knowing what could happen. It's possible you might even expose yourself to some sort of possession, or be used as a conduit. People have died doing this, and they were trained and prepared. You are a high school student. We should thank our lucky stars that something terrible has not already happened. You have been hasty and unwise, but it appears that you have not been adversely affected, yet. It seems that you have obtained all the information possible, so let's maintain that state of affairs." He looked sternly at her.
"Okay, I promise." Willow shrugged.
"Thank you. Now, do you know where Buffy would be?"
Willow glanced at the clock. "Bell's about to ring for fifth period. She's in History of the West, she''ll be heading to Algebra II."
"All right. I have to find her." The Watcher went around her and in three strides was out the door.
Willow looked down at the crossed fingers of her left hand. "I'm a terrible person," she whispered.
Buffy walked out of the classroom and almost ran into her Watcher, who waited in the hallway. She stopped short and stared up at him. "Hey, Giles, looming much?" The librarian glanced around nervously. "It's okay," the Slayer said. "I guarantee you that none of these people with actual lives are interested in what you have to tell me."
He nodded. "Probably right… I know you have a class, so I'll make this brief. I have to ask you to do something difficult."
"Oh, something difficult. Well, now I am worried, because everything has been so easy up until now." She took a step to the side and headed down the hall. "We'll have to walk-and-talk."
Giles stared blankly after her, then hurried to catch up. "Yes, well, this is difficult in a different way."
"In what way? Do I have to try and bring back pedal pushers?" She slowed as a thought occurred to her. "Although, are pedal pushers that much different from capris?" She shrugged. "It's a puzzle."
"Buffy, I have reason to believe that the Seal's arrival is imminent."
The Slayer glanced at her Watcher. "Imminent covers a lot of territory."
"I'm afraid it's the best I can do. My… informant was not able to supply many details."
"So, we have a vague idea that the Seal is about to arrive sometime soon, although soon is unspecified. Giles, you need to upgrade your subscription at Snitches'r'Us."
"I, I think it might be a good, good idea if you, if you, um, began watching the docks," Giles stammered.
Buffy stopped dead in her tracks. Students eddied around her as she stared at her Watcher. "Difficult? Difficult?" She shook her head. "Angel is on the docks."
Giles nodded. "I know."
The Slayer set her mouth in a grim line. "Boy, the world better be about to end."
"Nice place for a meeting." Mr. Trick looked around the basement of the Sunnydale Public Library. "Makes me feel smart."
"It's adjacent to one of your sewer tunnels and probably the most isolated place in the city." Florestan leaned against an industrial-strength metal bookshelf.
"Yeah, I would say it's as silent as the grave, but cemeteries in Sunnydale are like Grand Central." Trick rolled his shoulders. "What's on your mind?"
"He's doing it, you know." Florestan stayed very still and watched Trick's face.
"I know." The smooth vampire shrugged. "And I know it's a damn-fool thing to do, but what do you want to do? Cut off his hands so he can't dial the phone? Tear out his tongue so he can't make the call?" He ran a hand along the edge of a large book cart. "He's gonna do what he's gonna do. That part of this whole affair means nothing to me. I'm here to get rich or die tryin'."
"Don't you think this is more likely to make the second part of that statement a reality?"
"Possibly. Probably." Trick straightened and thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "This was always a high-stakes play, we're going to come home carrying our shields or carried on them. Any increased risk is only at the margins."
Florestan stepped closer. "Is that fatalism or bravado?"
"Neither. It's reality." Trick's eyes were half-closed. "I'm not the Mayor's partner. I'm not on his side. I'm an independent contractor. If I walk away now, I've gained nothing, and a lot of folks are going to be unpaid and underfed."
"Huh." Florestan turned and walked a few yards away.
"Besides," Trick said, "the cargo is almost here. My cryptanalysts are working around the clock. Assets around the Middle East are working to uncover the ritual, or at least bits of it we can use to reconstruct it. Your pet professor is working from his end and is, if you're being straight, ready to go whenever. Even if she arrives here, the window should be so small that she's a non-factor."
Florestan looked at a stack of paintings propped on a cart. "You certainly sound confident."
"My man," Trick said, "half of this game is confidence."
"Okay," Buffy murmured as she stood in the shadows. "What am I looking at?" She was in a small copse of trees on a knoll; the rolling terrain continued behind her until Kingman's Bluff rose up. The Sunnydale Shipyard spread out below and in front of her.
"Trick has a squad stationed there, on the docks." Angel stood a few feet away. "Probably to receive the Seal when it arrives."
"But…"
Angel pointed away to their left; it registered in the Slayer's peripheral vision as a darker shadow moving through the blackness of the night. "The Reverend has people on the perimeter. They're staying back, out of sight. My guess is that when the Seal is taken off the boat, they will attack Trick's force."
"And then we take it away from whoever is left standing?" Buffy looked out into the gloom, but she couldn't see anything beyond the chain link fence surrounding the docks.
"That would be a plan, but I've been doing a little exploring." Angel crossed his arms; the Slayer could hear the creak of his leather jacket. "There's a force out beyond them. I'm guessing Trick either understands Hampton or is paranoid. The plan is probably to catch the Reverend's group between a hammer and an anvil."
"And we wouldn't want to be in the middle of that," Buffy agreed. "So, when they're done throwing haymakers at each other, we go get it?"
"Workable plan. Let them punch each other out, then we hit the survivors when they're tired and confused."
The Slayer nodded. "Question. What's the… time frame for this operation? How will we know it's going down?"
"It takes 'em about forty-five minutes, an hour to get in position." Angel had moved closer; Buffy jumped a little as he spoke. "It'll have to be after sundown, so ships that have been unloaded earlier in the day can be ignored. That's also why I don't have to stay here all night. Trick's either going to have one of his goons go get it, or receive it directly from the ship." He fell silent.
"It feels like you weren't done talking."
Angel squinted, although the gesture was lost in the dark. "I'm thinking… guessing, really… that the ship it's on might have to stay in port an extra day. You're not listing a sacred artifact on the shipping manifest, and it's either in a hidey-hole somewhere, or hiding in plain sight with something else. Either way, it'll take some time to get it out, then, ideally, you make the exchange when there's not a lot of activity. The ship that doesn't leave when it's supposed to, there's a good chance that's the one."
"How do we know that?"
Angel nodded toward the docks. "You're in luck. Most of the ships turn around in three days, which means they're here for two nights. That bunch should be leaving tomorrow. If we get here tomorrow night and one of 'em's still here, that might be our baby."
