Trick brought electricity with him as he walked into the room. It was a big room and most of his crew, particularly the tactical side, was already there. He strode to the middle of the room, then raised his hands.

"You may have heard," he began, then paused to let the last echoes of conversation die. "You may have heard that we have suffered a setback. You're probably trying, among yourselves, to figure out what this means. I am going to tell you what it means." He scanned the room, making as much eye contact as he could. "It does not change our timeline or expected results at all. The body that was outside this morning was a subcontractor, hired for language fluency. He can, and will be, replaced."

Trick allowed a snarl to appear on his face and his voice to roughen. "On the other hand, it does change my disposition. This was an attack against us, a slap in our face. It won't stand." He made a production of calming himself. "We're about to embark on the final phase of our project. It will require the greatest degree of discipline from every one of you, but tonight… tonight we have a score to settle. Everybody gear up."

Angel slipped behind the trunk of a tree and watched the exodus of vampires from the CRD complex. This was no blood run, no small group out for a little fang-heavy R&R. This looked like every vamp in Trick's employ was on the move. The suspicion was more or less confirmed when Trick himself left the building, bringing up the rear.

Angel slipped through the trees, shadowing the mob from a safe distance.

Old books, pizza boxes, and bodies that had been in the room too long under too much tension gave the library a distinct, undeniable ambiance. Buffy's head drooped forward, then snapped back. She blinked and shook her head. Willow leaned back from the monitor and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. Xander had a book open on the table in front of him, but his head was propped on one hand, and his eyes were vacant. Even the adults looked slightly punchy.

Stefan leaned back and yawned, not even bothering to cover his mouth. He finished with a mighty gust of breath, then slapped a hand on the table. "That's it," he announced. "I'm calling it." A general aimless stirring greeted his statement.

"I believe we have reached the point of diminishing returns for tonight." Gerard closed one book and placed it atop another. "We will accomplish nothing more. Everyone should get some rest." He turned a questioning eye to Giles.

The librarian nodded. "Yes, you're right. At this point, we're just spinning our wheels."

"Literally and figuratively," Willow said. "I haven't found anything in the last hour."

Xander blinked and massaged his cheeks. "I haven't either."

"Big surprise there," Cordelia snarked.

"Everyone go home." Giles joined Gerard in carrying books to the office. "We'll resume tomorrow."

"What are the chances of finding anything then?" Stefan asked.

Giles hesitated. "I don't know, but… we're sure to find something."

Stefan opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the phone, its volume startlingly loud in the quiet library. Giles answered it on the third ring. "Hello?" He lowered the handset, covering it with his hand. "Buffy, it's for you." She shot the librarian a puzzled look as she took the phone.

"Yeah?" She listened, then said, "Gotcha. Be there ASAP." She hung up, then looked around. "Angel needs me to meet him. Oz, can I get a ride?"

Oz pulled the van's keys from his pocket. "Sure."

"Let's scoot." Buffy grabbed her backpack and pushed through the door. Oz looked around the room, then nodded and followed her.

"Well, since our fearless leader is gone, I guess it's okay for the rest of us to shuffle off to Buffalo." Xander caught himself. "Sorry, Giles, didn't mean to imply that you aren't our… y'know, not saying…"

"Do shut up," the Watcher responded. "And go home."

"Aye, aye, cap'n" and Xander left. Matti and Stefan exchanged quiet words, then Matti trailed by Cordelia, exited the library.

"So, uh, you, uh, you need a ride home?" Stefan asked Willow.

"What?" Willow looked up from the computer. "Uh, yeah, thanks, um… I'll be there in a minute."

"Tell you what, I'll go get the Expedition and just meet you at the circle in front, okay?"

Willow nodded, and he left the room. She shut down the computer and stared at the monitor as it faded to black, then looked around the room. Her final glance was over her shoulder toward the office. She could hear the voices of Giles and Gerard; she got up from the stool and took two steps toward the office door, then shook her head and went out of the library into the dark hallway.

Oz pulled to the curb, put the van in park, and looked over at Buffy. "You need me?" he asked.

"No," she said. "You go home. Call everybody, make sure they got home okay. I'll see you tomorrow." She slipped out of the van and looked back through the window. "Thanks, Oz."

He looked through the windshield. "Be careful. Stay safe. If anything happens to you, Willow'll kill me." He put the van in gear and pulled away. The Slayer watched his tail lights disappear, then away from the street. A tall figure slipped out from between two houses.

"Come on," Angel said.

"Hey, at least pay a girl a compliment first." Buffy followed between two houses. They turned left in the alley and went between the rows of homes until they reached another street. Angel put out a hand, stopping her.

"There," he said. Buffy's eyes followed the direction of his nod toward the building that dominated the street corner opposite. It was a church, but the state of the roof and the realtor's sign in the lawn confirmed that it was an ex-church.

"Okay," she whispered. "Abandoned church in Sunnydale. Is this an exciting real estate opportunity?" Angel responded by pointing, and now Buffy could see movement in the dark, bodies behind the church, creeping toward it from the right, and just beyond, a group taking a position to them in the building on three sides. "Trick's?" she whispered.

"Yeah, and I think that church is where the Reverend washed up after Faith burned out the other house."

Buffy nodded. "Okay, they've got it surrounded on three sides. What about…?" She slowly turned and looked over her shoulder. "Oh, crap." The location of the detachment for the fourth side of the building was clear. They were in the alley; Buffy and Angel were between them and the goal. "Well," she said, bringing up her fists, "at least I get to burn off some energy after spending the evening in the library."

The vamps charged. Buffy and Angel were outnumbered, but the narrowness of the alley was their ally. If the creatures could have spread out and encircled them, they would have had no chance, but the vampires were caught in a natural choke point. Buffy pulled a stake from her belt. "Here," she said, tossing it to Angel, "don't say I never gave you anything." She drew another stake and took up a fighting stance. The first rank of attackers reached them and the world dissolved into a whirl of kaleidoscopic impressions: an open mouth, fangs bared; a pair of hands, nails grown to talons, reaching for her; an incoming blow to be dodged.

The Slayer ducked, whirled, kicked, thrust. Ash stung her eyes and fouled her mouth; jagged nails snatched at her clothing. She avoided a vampire's blow and struck back, but the creature dodged and she lurched forward, stumbling, off-balance. A snarling vamp lunged forward, but its fangs snapped closed on empty air as a hand grabbed the back of Buffy's shirt and pulled her back. She regained her footing and glanced over at Angel. "Owe you one," she said and returned to the fray.

The fight lasted for a few heartbeats; it lasted for eternity. She ducked, stabbed forward, and was rewarded with a shower of dust over her head. She pulled back, weight on the balls of her feet, and realized that there was nothing else in front of her. "Hey," she said to Angel, "we did it" as she breathed hard.

"Yeah," he said, looking across the street, "and now might be the time to retreat."

Buffy looked past him. A handful of vampires had exited the church and spied them. One of the vamps went back into the building; the others descended the steps and turned toward the alley.

"Agreed," the Slayer said. "Let's haul ass." And they did.

"I think we lost them," Angel said, slowing to a jog.

"I think we lost them about a quarter-mile ago, but I want some margin for error." Buffy bent over, hands on knees, breathing heavily. "What do you think that was?"

Angel looked back, hands on his hips. "Pretty sure it wasn't a peace overture."

"Agreed." Buffy stood up and stretched, leaning back from her hips. "I'm gonna go home and wash those guys out of my hair, then tomorrow I'll bring Giles back, and we'll see what we see."

Angel nodded. "I'll head back to CRD, see if anything changes."

Buffy toweled her hair vigorously as she entered the living room. "You might wanna keep an eye on the upstairs bathroom. Lotta sludge got washed down that drain. May have to call a plumber." She shook her head and stood with the towel hanging from her hand, her wet hair dampening the shoulders of the black Portishead T-shirt she wore over gray sweatpants, her feet bare.

Joyce sighed. "Why do I tense every time you really, really need a shower?"

"You exaggerate." Buffy sighed and flipped the towel over her shoulder. "I'm going to bed… I'm beat."

Faith stared up into the darkness and tried to find a comfortable position, but that was easier said than done. Her stomach ached from the hose; she didn't know what the psi on it was, but you wouldn't use it on your car for fear of peeling the paint. Her ankle burned and throbbed; the manacle had rubbed it raw. She closed her eyes and willed herself to go to sleep. She needed to rest, had to rest, had to be tough, because no one was coming to save her.

Buffy was waiting for Giles when he came out of the teachers' lounge. "Okay, so here's the sitch, Angel and I tracked Trick's merry band to some old church, which is apparently the Rev's HQ now. Seemed like something big was going down, but we couldn't check it out before we were spotted and had to book."

Giles blinked and rescued his cardboard cup of tea from its precarious perch atop a stack of books. "Excuse me?"

"Jeez, Giles, try to keep up." Buffy whirled to face him. The librarian stopped short and almost dropped his papers and his tea. "We need to go on a field trip. Whatever happened, it was big. How about fourth period? My grade's pretty good in that class, so I can skip without too much of a hit."

"I-I suppose that's possible," her Watcher stammered.

"See you then." She nodded once and turned on her heel, leaving Giles blinking and stunned.

"Ready?"

Giles looked up. Buffy stood in the office door, one foot tapping. "Yes, yes," he said, shuffling some papers to one side. He followed her through the library, hurrying to match the Slayer's pace. They were halfway down the hall when the voice cut through the air.

"Mr. Giles! Miss Summers!"

Giles winced. "Principal Snyder."

"May I ask what you two are doing in the hall? Summers, don't you have a class to attend?"

"Um, um," Giles gritted his teeth in frustration.

Buffy bent at the waist and groaned. "Can we just go to the nurse?"

"Yes, yes." Giles placed a hand on the Slayer's shoulder. "We are headed to the, to the nurse."

Snyder's eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

Buffy shook her head. "My stomach," she moaned pitifully.

Snyder looked at Giles, a sour look on the principal's face. "I don't think a student requires an escort to the nurse's office because they have an upset tummy and might throw up."

Buffy bent her knees slightly. Her face was cherry red. "Vomiting's not the problem… Oooooohhhhhh." She reached out toward Giles with a trembling hand. "I don't think I'm gonna make it."

"We need to go now," Giles said, "unless you want to take responsibility for what is about to happen."

Snyder's eyes narrowed to slits. "All right, go on to the nurse's office. I'll just watch to make sure that's where you're headed." The Slayer and her Watcher went down the hall; Buffy hunched and Giles glancing over his shoulder with every other step. The principal stood in the middle of the hall, hands on his hips.

"Stop looking at him. You might as well wear a sign saying 'I'm guilty'," Buffy muttered. "Let's just go." They reached the nurse's office and went in; Buffy leaned back to stretch her spine.

"Can I help you?" the nurse asked.

"Uh, yeah, I need some of those wooden things that press down your tongue," the Slayer said.

"You mean tongue depressors?"

Buffy snapped her fingers. "That's it. I'm not good with medical terminology."

The nurse looked at the librarian, then back at the Slayer. "Why do you need tongue depressors?"

Buffy's face lit up. "Oh, for a project in… art. An art project."

The nurse looked stern. "Young lady, tongue depressors are sterilized medical equipment. You want craft sticks."

Buffy turned to Giles. "See, I told you we need to go to the hobby store." She looked at the nurse. Giles cracked the door and looked down the hall, then nodded at Buffy, who said "Thanks. I told him this was a bad idea. We'll just get out of here."

As they hurried across the parking lot, the Slayer asked, "Do you think Snyder really left?"

Giles shook his head. "He was doubtless watching from somewhere, but we have no time to worry about it." He unlocked the Citroen's door, then reached across to lift the lock button. "We should waste no time." He started the car, looked in the rear view mirror, and yipped. Buffy whipped her head around, opened the passenger door, and stepped out onto the parking lot.

"What are you doing?"

Xander held up a hand. "Exactly the question I was going to ask you. Imagine my surprise when I look up and see you two heading toward the parking lot."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "How did you see us? Don't you have Short Stories with Mr. Miller?"

"Don't change the subject, young lady." Xander pointed a stern finger at the Slayer.

"Whatever. Get in." She flipped the seat forward. As Xander scrambled in, Giles looked at Buffy, his eyebrows raised. "It's easier to take him than argue. Let's go."

The late morning sun filtered through the eucalyptus leaves, dappling the lawn. Buffy, Giles, and Xander stood on the sidewalk in front of the derelict church. The Citroen's engine ticked as it cooled. They looked at the grass, unable to adequately express what they saw.

"That's… that's a lot of dust," Xander muttered.

The steps to the foyer were gritty underfoot. Buffy didn't look down, but she was sure that, if she had, a thick layer of ash would cover the treads. Inside the entryway, the remains of ex-vampires were piled atop each other.

"It's like a bunch of tiny little bonfires," Buffy murmured.

"Wouldn't want to eat the Smores made at this cookout," Xander replied.

Giles crouched beside a mound of ashes. "This was a war."

"More like a massacre from what we saw last night." Buffy looked around the small vestibule, then pushed open the door to the nave. It took some effort; two of the hinges were broken. The dim interior of the sanctuary stretched away down a central aisle flanked by rows of simple wooden pews, some overturned or pulled askew. The atmosphere held the smell of mildew and rot. Four simple stained-glass windows marched down either outside wall; a few of them had been broken, allowing soiled shafts of sunlight to illuminate the swirling dust and dissipate some of the odor of decay; they also shrouded the front of the room in deep shadow. The Slayer, her friend, and her Watcher stood just inside the door, surveying the tale of devastation laid out before them.

"That is one big crucifix," Xander said, looking toward the platform area.

"It's not a crucifix," Giles muttered as he examined the detritus against one wall. "This is a Protestant church. Unless they're Lutheran or Anglican they don't use the image of Christ on the cross… well, the Orthodox do as well, but–"

"Whatever," Xander said. "There's somebody on that one."

A deep sense of dread filled the Slayer as she went forward down the aisle. Her gut and her brain wanted to leave, but her feet kept moving forward. Her sneakers kicked up small puffs of ash as she scuffed through the remains of so many fallen foes. She passed from shadow into dirty sunlight, then back again. She was dimly aware that Xander and Giles were behind her. She finally came to the steps leading up to the platform, stopped and looked up. She went pale and felt faint.

"God." Xander turned away and retched, but kept the contents of his stomach in his stomach. "What– What is that?" he gasped.

Giles placed a trembling hand on the back of one of the old pews. "It's called–" his voice caught; he cleared his throat and began again. "It's called the blood eagle, although the lungs are usually… pulled out through the back after the ribs are severed from the spine." He gasped. "The… uh, the… victim usually dies."

Xander's voice was hoarse. "Guess that's kinda hard when he's already dead."

Buffy stared, eyes wide. One one level, she knew exactly what she saw; on another her mind rebelled and refused to comprehend.

It was easy to describe: the Reverend Othniel Hampton stretched upon the large wooden cross that loomed over the pulpit, his wrists affixed to the wood by two large nails through each wrist. An identical spike transfixed his ankles. His chest had been flayed open and the ribs cracked away from the sternum, which was shoved to one side. Someone (she had a fair idea who) had reached through the resulting opening and pulled the heart forward, leaving it exposed, black and glistening. Buffy lifted her gaze from the carnage and stared into the glittering eyes of the Reverend. Even in his agony, the hate that emanated from him was like a physical blow. They stared at each other for a second, a millennium.

The Slayer nodded. "Sucks to be you." She turned on her heel and pushed past Xander and Giles.

"Buff, are you just gonna… leave him?" Xander asked.

Buffy whirled and pointed at the grotesque parody of a crucifix. "He killed Lindsay. He broke Faith. He started this." Her voice was thick with fury and unspilled tears. "He can hang there for eternity. He deserves it." She turned and stalked toward the door. Giles and Xander stood frozen, watching her retreating figure.

And the Reverend laughed.

It was a harsh, grating sound that started as a wheeze and ended as a painful sigh and froze the Slayer in her tracks. She shuddered, then reached behind the pew to her right. There was a dry cracking sound, then she wheeled and sprinted up the aisle, the broken length of hymnal slot in her hands. Xander and Giles recoiled as she ran between them. She raced up the three steps to the platform, then leaped, arms extended, the improvised stake in her hands. She came down with all the force her body weight and two arms could muster, piercing the obsidian heart of the mutilated monster on the cross.

She bounced off the rough wood and landed on her back, stunned, as the mortal remains of Othniel Hampton drifted around her. Giles and Xander rushed forward; her Watcher knelt beside her, checking for injury while Xander bent over her, hands on knees. "You really didn't think that one through," he said, and received a sharp look from Giles for his trouble. Satisfied that the Slayer was uninjured, the librarian helped her to her feet and started to put his arm around her shoulder. Buffy shook him off.

They stepped outside into a sun that seemed less warm than it had ten minutes ago. Silence enveloped them as they got into the car and remained in place as they drove back to school. Xander got out of the car without saying a word and headed toward the building, head down. Buffy looked at the school, her face set in a stony squint.

Giles cleared his throat. "What… why did you decide to… what changed…?"

Buffy looked at him, her eyes glistening. "When he laughed… the demon understood what I was feeling… it got it, and was cool with it." She looked down at her feet, then back up at her Watcher. "I don't wanna be like that."

Giles nodded and looked off into the distance. "Well, it was a kind gesture."

"Kind?"

"Yes." Giles touched his tie in that familiar gesture. "To be nailed to a cross would be blasphemy to anything that might have been left of the real Othniel Hampton. To leave him there would be torture of the cruelest form. Perhaps you gave him some peace."

Buffy cocked her head. "You think that's possible?"

Giles looked directly at her, and his voice was firm. "Yes, I do." He placed his hand atop the car's roof. "What are you going to do now?"

Buffy grimaced. "Wash my hands, then eat lunch."

END OF "DIES IRAE"

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