"If you look at the board, we've got a pretty fair number of incidents we can attribute to Little Red Riding Hood. Good job with the hospital reports, Robertson, Arakelyan. Yeah?"

"How sure are you?"

"Good question." Suarez pointed at the map. "Because our suspect appears to be operating alone, we eliminated all the outliers, anything west of the Strip, anything in the far east. We also disregarded reports where there were multiple assailants or a single male attacker."

"Why? They could be lying."

"True, I suppose, but how do we prove that? It's a bad assumption. Anyway, look at the board. We're not hurting for input." He used the laser pointer to trace a diagonal path. "We are working on the belief that the suspect lives somewhere along this line. Before you ask, take a good look at the map."

"Yeah," Robertson said. "East of there's no money, you're just rollin' drunks for fun."

"Exactly, and our suspect never gets too close to the Strip."

Arakelyan nodded. "Too much risk for a solo act, plus…" He glanced down at the copy of the still from the video feed and the artist's sketch made from it. "...she doesn't look like she's operating with a lot of resources."

"Which means that her options are limited. We've got a major north-south street running right here, at just about the eastern edge of our cluster and, as luck would have it, there are four no-questions-asked roach traps along this route."

"We gonna flash the picture and see what shakes loose?"

"No. I don't want to risk spooking her, and I don't trust any of the management not to tip her off. I'm giving the pictures to the patrol cars and asking them to keep an open eye."

"Think that'll work?"

"If you look at the cluster, it screams impulse. She's not a planner. She's not even bothering to hide her activities too much." Suarez shrugged. "I think she's depending on the guys being so embarrassed at getting their ass kicked by a girl that we'll never notice her."

"And we wouldn't if it hadn't been for Baby Huey."

"Thanks, Kasabian." Suarez sucked on a tooth. "We'll get eyes on her, then we'll stake out her residence, then we'll take her down. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."


Cordelia popped open her locker and made a great show of looking for a book (or something; it was a locker, who cared), but kept her ears wide open. It was the best way to catch gossip.

"I heard that Jen broke her leg and, like, six ribs. She's totally out of it on meds right now."

"Where did you hear that?"

"From Adrienn. Her mother is a nurse."

"Did you see the way her leg was bent? That was so gross."

"Yeah, I guess she broke the… is that bone the tibia?"

"No, the tibia's your shin. That's your femur."

"Well, I guess someone's not getting elected prom queen."

"She might get the pity vote."

"No way. Queen has to take the first dance. You can't do that in a cast all the way up to your butt."

"If she wasn't wearing a dress with a slit in it before, she will be now."

Cordelia leaned further into her locker, pantomiming a fruitless search for something.

"I just thought about this, guys. Do you think they might cancel prom?"

"No way. If they were gonna do that, they would have done it four years ago when my oldest sister was a senior. There was that car wreck two weeks before, and there were, like, three people killed in that, and they still had prom."

"That's good news. I finally found the perfect dress and it would suck if I didn't have a prom to wear it to."

"I know. My mom had to call in some serious favors to get my hair and nail appointments…" The group trailed away down the hall. Cordelia stepped back to watch them leave, eyes narrowed.


Buffy stepped into the library and came to a dead halt. A slender young woman with dark brown hair and matching eyes stood behind the counter, her hands resting on the granite top. The Slayer eyed her askance. "Is Giles here?"

The young woman shook her head. "No, Mr. Giles isn't here today. I'm Miss Hyde, his sub."

"Huh." Buffy frowned. "Is he sick?"

Miss Hyde offered a small smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know. They don't tell us why the teacher is absent, they just tell who we're covering for." She picked up a pencil. "Can I take a message?"

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary." Buffy whirled, nostrils flaring and fist tightening. Principal Snyder stood just inside the door, smug radiating from him like the stink lines off Pigpen in Peanuts. "I'm certain that there's no need to commemorate this visit, whatever its purpose." He took two tiny steps forward. "I'm surprised that you're here when Mr. Giles is absent. You do spend so much time in the library, not that your grades reflect it, and you two are so often together outside of school hours."

In the corner of her vision, Buffy could see the substitute librarian stand a bit straighter. She pushed down her anger and kept her voice as steady as possible. "Do you know where he is?"

"You know, most teachers do give some sort of reason when they're absent, but not Mr. Giles. He simply told the office that he was taking a personal day." Snyder looked down at his shoes and shook his head slowly. "That's well within his rights, of course, but it's… interesting that he hasn't shared his whereabouts with his favorite student." Snyder looked at the Slayer, and his eyes glimmered. "I know that you think you can break the rules and Rupert Giles will deflect the consequences, but that won't last forever. People who think they can flout authority often find that authority has the last laugh, and the judgment they think they've avoided comes swiftly, and with terrible power." A slow smile grew on the principal's face, his canines visible. "Think about that, Miss Summers." He winked and slipped out of the door.

"I'm confused," Miss Hyde said. "Should I write a note or not?"


"I really appreciate your mom letting me go dress shopping with you." Willow's backpack bobbed along as she walked beside the Slayer across the lawn. The stream of Sunnydale students fleeing the building at the end of the school day flowed around them. Buffy wore black tights and a horizontally striped lilac-and-gray boatneck top; Willow was decked out in a color-blocked long-sleeved rugby and thrift-store flared jeans with a daisy appliqued on the lower left leg.

"No biggie," Buffy replied. "I need peer feedback."

"Understood," Willow said. "Picking out a prom dress is an important coming-of-age ritual in our society, like the Apache Sunrise Ceremony when girls reach their first menses."

Buffy grimaced. "Coulda gone the whole day without hearing the word menses. Or connecting it to prom."

"Okay," Willow said. "Wanna change the subject?"

"Yes, let's." The Slayer glanced at her friend. "Have you seen Giles lately?"

Willow hitched up her backpack. "That's definitely a subject change. No, I haven't."

"He hasn't been here the last two days. Doesn't that strike you as weird, or at least weird-adjacent? When was the last time Giles missed school?"

Willow's face went through a series of expressions as she considered the question. "Never," she said at last. "He's never missed school, not that I know of." She frowned. "Are you worried?"

Buffy pulled a face and made a wobbling gesture with her hand. "I'm trying not to be suspish, but, c'mon, this is Giles… he probably dunked the thermometer in ice when he had a fever so his mom would send him to school."

"That does seem in character."

"Plus… when I was in the library, Snyder showed up."

Willow made a disgusted face. "Ick."

The Slayer rolled her eyes. "Ick to the tenth power. And… he said all this stuff about rules and how you can't break them forever."

Willow nodded. "Snyder rant number four."

Buffy stopped and laid on hand on her friend's arm. "It wasn't just that… he gave off an extra creepsome vibe."

"How so?"

"Will, you can't explain a vibe. It's just… vibey." Buffy frowned and they resumed their trek across the lawn. "Let's not share this with my mom, okay?"

"Okay." Willow lifted her chin.

"And… there she is," Buffy said as the black Jeep pulled up to the curb.

The Slayer buckled herself into the passenger seat as Willow clambered into the back of the Jeep. "Thanks, Mrs. Summers."

Joyce looked in the rearview mirror. "You're welcome, but I'm happy you're coming with us."

Willow's eyes sparkled. "I'm armed and dangerous. I have my mom's credit card."

Joyce put the SUV into gear. "Then let's go lay waste to April Fool."

The dress shop was fairly busy as they entered. A knot of people gathered in a far corner, a mix of girls, salespeople, and two adult women, one about the age of Joyce Summers and the other a good decade younger. They all gathered around a very petite, very blond girl on a circular stand who stared into the trifold mirror with an expression of utter blankness. Three of the store's staff scurried back and forth as a very restrained but heated debate bubbled along.

"What's up with that?" Buffy asked, nodding toward the scrum.

"Oh, that's Michelle Michaels."

"And I should know her why?"

"Well, her chance of being prom queen just went from twenty-five percent to thirty-three."

"Oh. Is that why she needs the entourage?"

Willow clicked her tongue. "Let's just say that if Cordelia used to lead the Crips, Michelle runs the Bloods."

"And the two ladies?"

"The older one is her mom. The younger one is her dad's wife."

Buffy winced. "Ouch. The tenseness is real."

A saleslady approached. She was tall and dressed in a discretely plaid skirt suit with dark hose. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you ladies are looking for prom dresses," she said.

"That is scarily accurate," Buffy said.

"Well, my name's Sandi, and I can get you set up. Now are these dresses together or separate?"

"Oh, no, I'm paying for mine," Willow said. Joyce coughed and covered her mouth. Willow's eyes widened. "No, I mean, we're here together, but not together, we're friends, just friends…"

Joyce extended a hand. "Thank you, Sandi. I'm Joyce, the mother of this one."

"Pleasure to meet you. I hope I didn't offend anyone."

"Not at all," Joyce said.

"No, no," Willow said. "I mean, I'm not, but if I was, I mean Buffy… she would–"

Buffy stifled a smile. "Quit while you're ahead. That hole's just getting deeper."

"Do either of you have a particular dress in mind?" When both girls shook their heads, Sandi cast a critical eye on them. "If you'll come this way, I think I have some ideas that you will like." As she led them toward a corner of the store and an open mirror, Buffy looked over her shoulder the buzzing hive of activity surrounding Michelle Michaels.

"She is uber-petite," the Slayer whispered. "Sparrows think those bones are too light."

"Definitely tiny," Willow replied. "I feel like Andre the Giant whenever I see her in the hall."

Sandi deposited them on a sofa and went to work. She returned with a dress that she held up in front of Buffy. "With your coloring, I would try this one," the saleslady said. "It's a lovely French blue with a princess waistline, which will look fabulous. Would you like to try it on?"

"I believe I would," the Slayer replied. She draped the garment over her arm and entered the dressing room. When she stepped out, Willow clapped both hands over her mouth.

"Buffy, it's gorgeous…" Willow's eyes sparkled. "In that dress, you could be in a John Hughes movie."

Buffy cocked her head. "Really?" She turned toward the mirrors. "I do love the Hughes oeuvre."

"It practically fits you now," Sandi said, stepping in and fussing with the garment. "We'll just need to make a few minimal alterations."

"It does look beautiful, honey," Joyce said.

"Well, since you have three 'yes' votes, would you be interested in looking at matching shoes?"

Buffy looked in the mirror. "Yeah," she said. The saleslady nodded and headed toward the other side of the store where the shoes were kept. Buffy kept looking at her reflection.

"Is everything all right?" Joyce asked, stepping close to her daughter.

"Yeah," Buffy said wistfully. "It's just, sometimes, I almost feel like a normal girl."

Joyce gave her daughter a quick hug. "I love you, and I'm proud that you're not 'normal'. Not happy about it, but proud."

The Slayer smiled, and her hand went to her shoulder to cover her mother's hand. "Thanks mom."

Joyce nodded firmly. "All of this prom business is giving me a flashback. I swear I can smell the Clearasil. If it's all right with you, I'm going to go look at blazers. Wave when you're ready for me to pay." As she moved away, Sandi returned holding three pairs of shoes.

"Here," she said. "I've selected three different heel heights, and one style is open-toed. I'll let you try them on while I get started on your friend's dress." She handed the shoes to Buffy and turned to Willow. "Now, are you looking for something similar to your friend's dress or do you have a different idea?"

Willow bit her lip and scrunched her nose. "I think I'd like something… fancier?"

Sandi nodded and looked the teenage witch up and down, then held up her hands. "Wait right here. I have an idea." Willow shot a big-eyed glance at Buffy, who gave a palms-up shrug in response.

"Well," the Slayer said, "I think I'm going to get changed before I somehow manage to ruin this dress." She entered the changing room and returned clad in her street clothes, the formal dress on its hanger. Willow held up her dress.

"Wish me luck," she said, then entered the changing room. She emerged in a few minutes.

"Here," Sandi said, "come stand in front of the mirror. This is a mermaid style with a high-low hem so the ruffle doesn't get in your way. You have lovely skin, so I chose a halter back, but we have other necklines if you don't like this one."

Willow giggled. "I have lovely skin," she said to Buffy.

"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times," the Slayer replied.

"Your hair is the shade of red that looks absolutely marvelous with this jewel green," the saleslady continued. "Are you planning on wearing it up?"

"I, I hadn't thought about it," Willow stammered.

"Well, if I'm not being too forward, you should think about it. It would be a very elegant look." She stepped back and looked in the mirror. "What do you think?"

"I like it," Willow said. "I like it a lot."

"Well, if you would like, we can pay for these today and I can put them back with your names on them, then you can come back for a fitting next week. We're a little busy today, but that should give us plenty of time to have them ready before prom."

"Fine by me," Buffy said.

"Yeah," Willow said.

"Very good," Sandi said. "Now, do we need to look at shoes?"

Willow shook her head. "No, I've got it."

Sandi nodded slowly. "Very good. And you?"

"I think I like these," Buffy said.

"Very nice," Sandi said. "Medium heel, open toe, I know we can get these in a matching color. Anything else?" The girls looked at each other and shook their heads. "All right, I'm going to go write these up–"

"Oh, I'm paying for mine," Willow said.

"Yes," Sandi said. "I'll write them up separately. Just give me a few minutes." She hurried away, the dresses draped over her arm.

"So, I'm going to be a mermaid," Willow said.

"You do have the hair for it, Ariel," Buffy said.

They stared at each other for a moment, then Willow pumped her fists and uttered a stifled squeal. "We're going to prom!"

"Didn't you always plan to go to prom?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah," Willow said, "but I always thought I'd go ironically with Xander, not really go to prom, and we didn't go last year, because–" She bit off her words. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," the Slayer said. "I didn't go to prom last year, either, but we're going this year."

Willow nodded. "Yeah, we are…" Her words came in a furious rush. "I'm so glad you're back."

"I'm glad to be back." Buffy ran her hand over a rack of dresses and her eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, then she shook her shoulders. "Let's go reveal the sticker shock to my mom."