Melvin hesitated, then turned back to Xander. "Starting up again. Just got one more block to fill in. How you doin', kid?"

Xander closed his eyes again. "Doing fine." He took a deep breath as the buzzing started and the sting came back. "Looking for a tattoo, Spike?"

"Nah," said the lazy voice, "had one back at the turn of the century, but it faded after a decade, so I figured why bother." He paused. "Turn of the last century, that is."

"Let me guess, blood and daggers and thorns."

"Little fish," he said after several moments. "Little burning fish. Chinese bloke did 'em."

Melvin grunted. "Chinese do good work with ink."

Xander thought he recognized the flat, remote tone of Spike's voice. It sounded a lot like that voice on his balcony that bad night. "You're probably the sort to do weird piercings, too."

That got a normal sounding laugh. "I've had more things pierced through my flesh than you can dream of, whelp."

"Not something I try to dream of at all, bleachie."

"I'm guessing you two know each other, then," Melvin said.

Xander and Spike both snickered.

Five minutes later, Melvin straightened and popped his neck. "And that's that." He picked up the hand mirror and angled it so Xander could see the finished product. "And there it is."

In the middle of a red, annoyed-looking spot was a deep black symbol about an inch high, permanently embedded in his flesh. A personal, perpetual place of quiet that would travel with him. He reached around to touch the edge of the red area.

"Stop that," Melvin said. He slapped a regular gauze bandage over the tattoo and taped it down. "Leave that be. You can show it off in the morning. And like your mother told you, don't pick at it or scratch it."

Xander pouted at little at having his new ornament hidden. "That's it? Nothing about treating it or if it starts mutating on me or anything?"

Melvin sighed and Spike snickered. "Gat," Melvin called to the gnarly thing that had been carving on the stone thingy and was now swigging a beer while he read an old People magazine, "where's the sheets with the newbie instructions for tattoos?" Gat headed for a file cabinet, dug around, then came back with a sheet of paper. Melvin glanced at it, then handed it back. "The human instructions, Gat." Gat shrugged, went back, and returned with a different sheet.

Xander took the paper and blinked at the amount of text, then he realized it was one paragraph repeated in about a dozen different languages. The instructions were little more than what Melvin had already said-including the phrase "like your mother told you"-so he decided a quick Google when he got home was a good idea.

He pushed himself off the chair, wincing at stiff joints and the pull of tape on his back. "So what do I owe you?" he asked as he pulled on his shirt. The waistband of his jeans rubbed against the bandage, so he unbuttoned the top button and let the waistband sag a little.

Melvin led the way to the front counter and the register. Xander raised an eyebrow at the credit card stickers on the register. "You guys take Visa?"

"It's the 21st century, kid-by human count, anyway. A modern business needs modern banking." He took Xander's card and ran it through the reader.

"The banks don't care that they're dealing with someone who isn't-" Melvin raised a furry orange eyebrow "-human?"

"It's the color of the money, not the color of the fur. Not everybody can cope, though." He nodded towards Spike. "Old vamps get lost easy."

"Oi!" Spike protested. "I cope just fine, thank you very much."

Xander snickered to himself as he signed the credit card receipt and added a tip, but he studied Spike out of the corner of his eye. The vampire had gone beyond lean and into gaunt. He watched the world around him, but his attention kept drifting to some haunted place behind his eyes, and his forehead knotted unhappily.

He handed back the receipt. "Thanks a lot, Melvin. I'll be sure to recommend you to any of my friends who are looking for tattoos."

"Much obliged, kid. Come on back if anything doesn't look right."

Xander nodded and headed out the door. To none of his surprise, Spike meandered after him.

Things were a little busier out on the street. Some nightclub type place had opened up down the block, with music coming out the open door and a crowd waiting to get in. Xander watched the activity for a bit, wondering what criteria were used in the demon world to determine who was hip enough to let into the hot spots.

"Is that the local equivalent to the Bronze?" he asked Spike, who snorted as he pulled out another cigarette.

"Just about. Desperate losers dancing stupidly to bad music and hoping to get laid." He grinned at Xander through the cloud of smoke. "You'd be very popular."

"Yeah, I don't think so." Xander hesitated, then turned the other way down the street.

"Didn't take you for the ink sort, whelp."

"Didn't used to be. But I've been thinking that my sort may not be completely figured out yet." He looked over when he didn't get a response. Spike walked beside him with his head hanging down and his eyes on the pavement. The tip of the cigarette in his mouth glowed as he inhaled, and he blew the smoke out of the other corner of his mouth. "Was the tattoo in China Dru's idea?"

Spike stopped walking and closed his eyes as he took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Be careful how you say her name, human," he whispered.

Xander swallowed. It had been a long time since he'd actually feared Spike. "Dude, I know it hurts like hell, but you are not the only person to wake up in the morning with the dust of someone you loved in the nooks and crannies of your clothes."

Slowly Spike turned to meet Xander's eyes. "She was mine for over a hundred years," he said softly, in a voice without any trace of the punk Xander was familiar with. "You lost someone you knew for, what, a decade or so?"

Somehow Xander kept from screaming at him. Maybe because he knew so well how it felt. "I knew Jesse all my life. I know that doesn't sound like that much to you, but whether it's sixteen years or a hundred years, all your life is all your life. It's everything you ever knew-and then it's gone."

A shudder went though Spike's shoulders and he looked away. The hand that raised the cigarette back to his lips shook. Xander took a deep, uneven breath and started down the street again. He didn't look over as the vampire tossed the cigarette aside and fell back into step with him.

"This Jesse," Spike said after a minute. "He wasn't-I didn't-"

Xander fought a smile. "No, you weren't even here yet. The Master got him."

Spike grunted. "Pointy faced freak."

"Excuse me?"

"The Master."

"But I thought the Master was some sort of vampire god thing."

"Pffth." Spike's shoulder relaxed some and he waved a hand in the air. "'I've been around forever and I look funny and I live in a hole. Fear me.'" He smiled slightly at Xander's snicker. "Please. He was smart, I'll give you that, stayed up on what was happening in the world, but he believed in all those rituals, the Anointed One and all that shite."

"Whatever happened to the Anointed One? He was supposed to be this big fearsome thing, but then we never heard about him again."

Spike straightened proudly. "I happened to the Anointed One."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Again with the excuse me?"

"I killed him. Right after St. Vigeous. Got sick and tired of him bleating about the sacred writings and how things should be done, and I tossed him into the sun."

Xander gave a laugh. "Well, yeah, that would do it, I guess."

Spike grabbed his arm and tugged him out of the way of a staggering green demon that was coming down the sidewalk towards them. Xander frowned, then he saw the chipped neon beer signs in the windows of the building next to them and the badly painted sign saying Willy's.

Spike smirked at him. "Fancy a drink, Harris?"

"It's undoubtedly the post-tattoo endorphins talking, but yes, I could go for a beer about now." He grinned at Spike's faint surprise and headed for the bar door.

At first blush, Friday night in a demon bar looked a lot like Friday night in any other bar. Smoke in the air, booze on the floor, indistinct shapes huddled together in corners. Junior Brown's classic "You're Wanted By the Police and My Wife Thinks You're Dead" came from the juke box near the bar.

Xander didn't look too closely at the patrons, just kept his eye on Willy as he strolled up to take a perch at the bar. Willy looked up from the beer taps and did a lovely triple take.

"When did you put country on the juke box?" Xander said, nodding towards the music. "I thought you were a classic rock kind of guy."

Willy gaped at him. "Uh, duh, um . . ."

Spike slithered onto the stool next to Xander. "Damn, looks like the brain worms got him. Hope they just ate the speech center, I want a bourbon."

Beer sloshed out of the glass mugs Willy held. "You-uh."

"Yeah, me. Bourbon. Now. Whelp?"

"Beer," Xander said. "Something unAmerican."

Willy stared a moment, then shook himself and hurried off.

Spike glared at the jukebox. "I think I'll kill it."

"Hey, I like Junior Brown."

"You would."

The drinks arrived with no comments from Willy, who disappeared quickly. Xander inspected the label on the bottle to make sure that it was at least from the Earthly dimension and relaxed at the recognizable German. He twisted the cap off and lifted the bottle to his lips.

"Human!"

"Oh, fuck," Spike muttered.

In the mirror behind the bar, Xander saw something large and blue-green and which he'd last seen knocking down his front door stand up from a booth on the other side of the room. The tentacles around its head writhed happily as the demon moved towards the bar.

"Crap," Xander muttered as he turned. "Hey, Reinhart."

Reinhart flung his arms around Xander and lifted him off the stool. "Well met, honorable human!"

Xander gasped for air, then wheezed when he was dropped back onto his stool.

Spike sipped from his glass, an eyebrow raised. "So you know each other, I take it?"

Xander waved in Reinhart's direction. "He challenged me to a duel."

Reinhart blinked when Spike turned the raised eyebrow in his direction. "The matter was resolved honorably." He turned back to Xander. "I am glad to see you, honorable human. I must speak to you of Anyanka."

Xander pulled himself up to his full height. "What did you do?"

The tentacles curled up tight as Reinhart shook his head. "Nothing, apparently. That is the problem."

"OK, what didn't you do?"

Reinhart frowned. "What is this festival she was talking about, this Christmas?"

"Oh-h," Spike said knowingly.

Xander nodded. "Presents."

Spike grabbed his drink and slid off his bar stool. "Mate, if you've got a woman talking to you about presents, than that requires more comfortable sitting than here at the bar." He led the way back towards Reinhart's booth. "Willy! Another round, over there!"

Spike hip checked Xander to get the spot in the corner of the booth against the wall, leaving Xander on the end of the bench with the entire bar staring at him with various degrees of suspicious interest. He focused his own interest on the demon accountant and the vampire. "So, Anya's been making hints about what she wants for Christmas?"

Reinhart nodded. "Yes, and I have heard vague things about this festival, reindeer and a baby and shepherds and a creature who can enter any residence and leave gifts. It is very confusing."

Spike lit up a cigarette. "Christmas is a human thing, but this one is worth the trouble. People wander around and visit each other and you can get invitations into just about anyone's house just for the asking-"

"Christmas started out as a religious holiday," Xander interrupted, "and it's turned into the biggest holiday of the year. You give presents to the people you care about, and you have parties and generally try to treat people as nicely as you're supposed to the rest of the year."

Reinhart frowned. "Presents. Anyanka said something about putting thought into it and not just buying the first thing that caught my eye."

Spike smirked at Xander. "Went out and grabbed something from the convenience store on Christmas Eve, did you?"

"That was the first year," Xander snapped, "and I didn't get paid till late. All the other years I put some effort into it."

"Ah ha!" Reinhart said. "Christmas is a competition to see who can bring home the most attractive prey!"

Spike thought a moment. "Yeah, that pretty much covers it."

Xander shrugged and nodded. "And if it's not up to her standards, you'll hear about it."

"And be careful of the blokes who might try to give her something better than you do," Spike added, glowering into his drink.

Reinhart frowned. "Cogs in Special Events has been asking questions about my plans. And he watches Anyanka with longing eyes."

"Guys, it's not just about the expensive presents," Xander said. "A woman likes a man who pays attention to her and makes her laugh."

Spike and Reinhart both stared at him, then Spike looked at Reinhart. "It's a human thing."

Reinhart laughed. "You are mostly human, vampire, for all that you have a demon inside you."

"I am not!"

"You don't look that much different," Xander said to Reinhart. "Except for the-" he gestured at the tentacles on Reinhart's head. "Two arms, two legs, stand upright. That's pretty humanoid."

Reinhart drew himself up. "I am not humanoid."

"Oh, sorry."

Spike took another slug of his drink. "The biped thing, that's mostly environment. You've got to be able to stand up and reach something at some point in evolution."

"Since when did the Victorians know anything about evolution, Spike?"

As Spike glared, Willy showed up with the next round of drinks. Xander realized his beer was already empty and picked up the new bottle. Willy collected the empties then looked around at the three of them. "So, uh, whose tab does this round go on?"

Spike studied his fingernails, and Xander shook his head. "My round, Willy." He reached for his wallet.

Willy took the twenty nimbly, then peered at Xander. "Are you sure you're old enough to buy booze, kid?"

"You ask me this *after* taking my money?"

Spike leaned forward. "The boy kills demons, git. I think he can handle a beer." Willy scurried away without any further argument.

Reinhart took his own bubbling mug and chuckled. "You humans are amusing."

"I already told you, mate, I'm not human."

Xander looked between Spike and Reinhard. "Could you turn him into a vampire?" he asked Spike, nodding at Reinhard.

"He could not, honorable Xander," Reinhard said. "Vampirism is something that happens to humans."

"So demons are, what, a different species? But there are demons that can have kids with humans."

Spike smirked. "You were reading *those* books in the old library, weren't you."

"I'm not talking to you." Xander looked back at Reinhard and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Reinhard looked-embarrassed. "Yes . . . there have been matings between humans and the creatures you call demons."

Xander frowned, trying to remember information from the biology classes he'd generally slept through. "So if humans and demons can have kids, then biologically they're not that different from each other. Which means we descended from the same ancestors."

Reinhard nodded. "There are many intelligent races on this world. It is not only humans who have raised civilizations here."

Xander looked around the barroom. There were several fully human looking people, but there were lots of other types of creatures in the place, too, things with horns and tails and multiple limbs. In the science fiction shows all the aliens looked like humans because all the actors were humans. This time, though, maybe all the demons looked like humans because they were in a human-friendly environment and the truly alien looking things couldn't survive in this environment. Like in Babylon 5, with the areas of the station with the non-human environments for the non-humans.

"Why do the others come here?" he turned and asked Reinhard. "What is so interesting about Earth that demons show up?"

Reinhard thought a moment, then shrugged. "There are so many different types of humans, for all that you look alike. You're so very creative and entertaining."

"And you taste good," Spike added, grinning. He snickered at Xander's glare. "You lot are never boring. You've got lives like mayflies, and you manage to come up with all these different ways to entertain yourselves."

"Your world changes so very quickly," Reinhard added. "Other races, we have much more sedate lives. Twenty years is nothing to my people, yet for you, your entire existence can be turned on its head."

Xander pulled out his cell phone and looked at it. "These were barely getting started when I was born, now you can buy one at the 7-Eleven."

"Dru hated those little phones," Spike said quietly. "She couldn't stand the push buttons. She loved sticking her finger in the holes on the dial and listening to the whirr." He hunched his shoulders and stared into his glass.

Xander let him be. "I once caught Anya in the bathroom, flushing the toilet over and over. I told her to stop wasting water, and she gave me a lecture on privies and moss and the poor schmuck who had to shovel out the garderobe." He subsided into his own depressed slump.

Spike straightened, then slouched back against the wall again. "So where did all this come from, whelp? Used to be, you were all 'Kill the vampires, demons are evil, slay 'em all.' Gonna start up a chapter of 'Demons are People Too'?"

"There is such a group?" Reinhard asked. "Gunnird keeps putting up fliers promoting a group he belongs to, named 'Humans, More Than Just Breakable Toys.'"

Xander blinked at him, then leaned on the table and laughed.

"Is he ill?" Reinhard asked Spike.

"Nah, he just gets like that occasionally. It wears off, but sometimes you've got to shock him to get him out of it. Speaking of which-Evening, Slayer, fancy seeing you here."

Xander braced himself on his arms, wheezing. "Yeah, right, Buffy's really standing right-"

He heard a familiar, female gasp of disbelief-"Xander?!"-and choked.

Slowly he raised his head to see Buffy standing next to him, staring at him in disbelief. He blinked for a few moments. "So," he said brightly, "what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

She blinked at him, obviously still fighting for words, until a floppy eared demon bounced up to Buffy's side. "Miss Buffy! Hi! I never thought I'd see you in here."

Years of Mrs. Summers' careful etiquette training apparently paid off. She still looked completely confused, but she managed a sincere smile at the the demon. "Oh, hi, Clem, how are you?"

Xander blinked, then turned to look at Spike, who was also looking flummoxed. Xander pointed back over his shoulder and tilted his head questioningly. Spike slowly shook his head. Xander turned back around. "Hey," he said to Clem. He took a quick breath and put out his hand. "I'm Xander."

Clem's ears perked up as he grinned and shook hands. "Hey, Xander."

He'd had social graces training, too. "This is Reinhard, and this is Spike."

"Oh, I know Spike, we play poker. Hey, Spike, hey, Reinhard."

Spike waved his bourbon glass, and Reinhard nodded.

Xander looked back at Buffy, who was still looking from person to person with a confused and uneasy look on her face. "What *are* you doing here, Buff? Not your usual hangout."

She focused on him with something that looked almost like gratitude. "It's not yours either." She frowned. "Is it?"

"No, I just wandered in here with Spike."

"With Spike? Since when are you hanging around with Spike?"

Spike smirked. "Oh, I just ran across the whelp in a tattoo parlour down the street."

Buffy stared at him, closed her eyes and shook her head hard, then grabbed Xander's arm and hauled him out of the booth. Xander managed not to yelp too loudly. "Excuse me, guys, I'm needed over this way."

He managed to dig his heels in enough to stop his progression before Buffy made it too far towards the door. Slayer-strong she may be, but height and mass did count for a little something in leverage. She turned and was about to speak, and he pulled them towards a nook between the bar and an empty table.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"That's what I was going to say, but you beat me to it. What are you doing?"

"Getting you out of here!"

"Why?"

Her mouth dropped open, then she took a deep breath.

"Don't yell," he added quickly.

The air whooshed out of her, and she took another, slower breath. "Why are you hanging out in Willy's with Spike after being in a tattoo parlour? Did you get a tattoo?"

He stomped down on his automatic defensiveness. "Yes, I did."

"Oh, my god, why, a tattoo? In some kind of filthy demon place, with the needles and ick, and why?" She even had her hands on her hips as she glared at him.

"Because I wanted to," he finally said after having to take a couple of breaths. "So, how do you know Clem?" he asked before she could finishing inhaling. "The two of you seem very cozy."

"I met him one night when I was out hunting." She flipped her hair back and raised her chin. "And how did you meet Reinhard?"

"He knocked down my front door by accident when he came by to challenge me to a duel over Anya."

She straightened up into Defender stance. "He challenged you-"

"Old news, Buff, that's all been settled. Anya granted him the right to try and woo her, and he wants to know what he should get her for Christmas."

Buffy relaxed and looked confused, but it morphed into a bemused smile. "Did you ever think that maybe our lives are weird?"

He gave her a fake-worried frown. "And this is only dawning on you now?"

She looked towards Reinhard and the others, then her eyes went to Spike, and all humor faded. "How can you just sit down and have a drink with him after what he did?"

"After what he-Oh. The Watchers."

"Yeah," she snapped, "remember them?"

Honestly, he hadn't, not really. Except as the reason for why Spike was so torn up over Drusilla. Even Angel's grief and rage had made more of an impression than what had happened to the Watchers. He had to face it, though, nearly a dozen humans had been killed by the vampire he had been chatting so casually with. That gut squirm of guilt and horror reassured him that not all his Scoobie instincts were dead, but life had been much simpler before his hat had turned grey.

Buffy's stern look faded a little. "You shouldn't be here, Xander."

"And you should be?" he snapped.

"Well, I am-"

He put up a finger. "And don't say because you're the Slayer."

"Well, I am! And this is my town, and I need to stay on top of things, and stuff is happening that I don't know about." She gave the room an all-inclusive glare. "Demons robbing banks, cameras in my house . . ." She shrugged angrily. "Willy sometimes knows stuff. I thought I'd come see if he'd heard anything."

"I don't know what it's worth," Xander said, "but I saw Jonathan coming out of a bookstore just down the street, and he was not at all happy to see me. He jumped into a van that drove away awful fast."

Buffy frowned. "Well, what the heck is he up to now, and who's he working with? Dammit." She mulled it over unhappily for a few moments, then looked back up at Xander. "You really should get home."

He managed not to say the first two things that came to mind. "I've got a drink and a conversation to finish."

"With the demon who wants to date Anya."

"Well, we hadn't gotten to that part, yet, we were talking about the comparative evolution of humans and demons when you showed up."

"Huh?"

He wanted to tell her what he was learning, about possible common ancestors and everything, but he suddenly remembered running home in the second grade to tell his mother about how cool the rocks looked under the magnifying glass Mr. Armstrong the Science Teacher had passed around, and his mother had blinked at him, half-drunk, and said blearily, "That's nice, honey."

"I'm going back over there, Buffy," he finally said. "Be careful going home or wherever." He turned to go.

"Xander-" She reached for his arm, and he spun and caught her wrist. She gaped at him, blinking, then looked down at his large hand clamped around her slender wrist. "Um, ow?"

"Fuck." He let go and backed away. Buffy stared at him and absently rubbed her wrist. "I'm-dammit. Good night, Buffy." She just nodded.

Spike, Reinhard, and Clem were pointedly not staring as Xander went back to the booth. Xander dropped into his seat and drained his beer.

"Something stronger would probably sit well at the moment," Spike observed over his glass.

"God, the last thing I need is something stronger." Xander rubbed his forehead and tried not to hate himself.

"You didn't hurt her."

"She said ow."

"You rattled her, that's all. She's not used to her minions using her own tools against her."

Xander glared at Spike. "We are not minions."

Spike shrugged and sipped his drink. "She just left, by the way."

Xander looked towards the door, which was closing on a Slayer-less bar. He took a deep breath and turned back to Reinhard, whose tentacles were coiled up tight in discomfort again. "So, Christmas. Anya. Has she given you a list yet?"

Reinhard fidgeted with his own glass. "Yes, she has, and there are many things on it I do not understand. What is lingerie, and why did she say I'm not allowed to purchase her any yet?"

"Oh, god," Spike muttered. "Oh, explain this, whelp, I want to hear it."

Clem looked between them. "I think I saw some of that on Home Shopping Network. It didn't make sense."

Xander rubbed his head again and wondered if wanting to laugh was a sign of sanity or what.

The morning was bright and sunny when Buffy opened the front door to a bouncing, smiling Willow. "Good morning, Buffy!"

Buffy smiled despite herself. "Hey, Wills, thanks for coming over. Tara couldn't make it?"

"No, she went to class. One of us should take notes."

"One of you?" Buffy tried to look stern. "Willow, are you cutting class?"

Willow looked dignified. "It's for a noble cause, summoned to aid the Slayer. Besides, when's *your* next class?"

"Three o'clock, so there." She gestured Willow in and closed the door. "But I am glad you could come. I need some help searching the house."

"For what?"

"These." Buffy pulled the little cameras out of her pocket and handed them to Willow. "I found them in my bedroom, and I'm afraid there are more of them."

"Euw, in your bedroom? These are spy cameras!"

"Yeah, double on the euw from my side. And if there are any in Dawn's room or Mom's room-"

"Euw! Who put them there?"

"We can check that after we find out if there are more of these little suckers."

Willow pulled off her backback and dug out her spell casting materials. She used a piece of canvas instead of drawing a circle on the Summers' carpet, then sketched out the circle and runes. She put the cameras in the circle, sat down next to it, and held out her hands. "Invenio," she said.

A group of tiny gold lights rose from the cameras, hovered for a moment, then flew out. One zipped to a vase of silk flowers on a shelf next to the TV, and one shot into the kitchen. Another went upstairs.

"Dammit," Buffy muttered. She hesitated between going to the vase or upstairs, then ran for the staircase.

Up in the hallway, a glow was coming out of the eye socket of a South American angel sculpture hanging on the wall across from the bathroom. Buffy hesitated, just in case, then remembered Giles had certified that sculpture as 100% supernatural influence-free. And someone had come into her house and messed with it. She reached into the eye socket and pulled out the glowing little camera. She scowled into its lens then crushed it in her fingers.

She ran back downstairs. Willow was peering cautiously into the vase on the shelf.

"Just pull it out and squish it, Wills," Buffy said.

"No, I think I can figure out where it's transmitting to. These things don't have a very long broadcast range. There must be something somewhere picking up the signal and boosting it." Willow drew a circle in the air above the vase, making glittery sparks of light appear. Waves rippled out from the vase, picking up the sparks. "Qua es vos iens," she muttered. All the sparks joined into one and shot out through the wall.

"Oh, now where," Buffy said, heading for the front door.

She looked around the house for a glowing spot but couldn't find one. Willow followed her out, frowning. "It couldn't have gone very far."

Buffy studied the cars parked on the street. There weren't any vans in view, and the only cars belonged to the neighbors. "Could it be going to a car?"

"None of those cars are glowing, and that spell showed it was being actively received somewhere." Willow's eyes narrowed, and she turned to study the house. "Aperio," she said firmly. The base of the rhododendron at the corner of the porch began to glow.

"Whoa," Buffy said. "What was that?"

"It was cloaked," Willow frowned. "Whoever put those cameras in the house shielded their receiver with magic."

"So not only are they Inspector Gadget, they're Mr. Wizard too?"

"Science and magic, yup." Willow tilted her head. "It's really kind of neat." Buffy glared at her. "Or not."

Willow pulled a long crystal out of her bag, tied a string around the middle of it, then performed a spell to track the signal. Buffy then took a deep breath, and they got in Joyce's car.

Buffy drove slowly, anxiously watching the road and the crystal direction finder. It led them to a residential district about a mile away from Revello Drive. Buffy carefully parked, running up on the curb only once.

Willow stared at her in wonder. "You just parallel parked!"

Buffy grinned. "I know!" She looked out at the street and shrugged. "Of course, it helps that there's nobody else on the street to bump into."

"Still!" Willow got out and looked admiringly at the distance of the wheels from the curb. "Oz tried to teach me how to do this once. He kept wincing when I hit the curb, though, so that lesson didn't last long."

Buffy joined her on the sidewalk. "You need to invent a car that parks itself by magic."

"Oh, that would be neat." Willow studied her dangling crystal. "That way."

The house they were led to looked a little shabbier than its neighbors. The lawn hadn't been mown in quite a while. They paused on the sidewalk in front to study the place.

"It stinks of magic," Willow said, frowning. "Dark magic."

The front door didn't look like it had seen much use. Buffy headed towards the driveway. Some of the oil stains on the concrete were still wet. The basement door in the side of the house wasn't latched completely.

Willow grabbed her arm just before Buffy stepped onto the concrete stoop in front of the door. "There's something in that bush." Willow picked up a small branch from under an unpruned rose bush and waved it cautiously over the stoop. Two spikes on wires shot out from the rhododendron on the other side of the stoop and into the rose bush. The rose bush shivered under an electrical discharge.

Buffy jumped back. "What the heck!"

"Taser," Willow said. "Boobytrap."

"Oh, whoever this is so needs their butts kicked."

Willow poked at the rhododendron, then pulled out a tiny laser emitter. "Here's their tripwire."

Buffy glared at it. "Do you see anything else?"

"Nope."

"OK." She kicked the basement door open. It bounced off an inside wall and would have slammed close except that it was cracked in three places.

Willow blinked. "So we're not going with the subtle approach today."

"Nope."

Buffy ripped off a piece of door and slid it down the stairs. At the third stair from the bottom, another taser shot out of the wall and embedded spikes in the opposite wall.

"If a boulder starts rolling down the stairs,"Willow said, "I am not going to be happy."

Buffy went to the bottom of the stairs and stopped, studying the room beyond. Workbenches and computers lined three of the walls, but three comfy recliners were gathered around a really big screen TV on the fourth wall. Potato chip bags lay around the chairs, and a Pringles can was upside down in one of the recliners. Several dozen Mountain Dew cans were scattered around, a few on their sides with soda still spreading out on the floor.

Buffy frowned. "They didn't leave that long ago."

Willow prowled through the equipment, tapping on keyboards. "It looks like they've all been erased. I guess they knew we were coming?"

"Squishing all their cameras would have been a big clue." Buffy picked a crumpled t-shirt off the floor with two reluctant fingers. "God, if there was ever a time when Slayer senses were a bad thing. This looks like your neighbors' room at the dorm."

Willow nodded. "The tech nerd's dream home. Huh." She began rummaging through a pile of papers stashed behind a bank of monitors. "What the heck?"

"What?" Buffy asked, coming over and stepping carefully over piles of things on the floor. She stared at a square empty space. "It looks like they took some stuff with them."

"Yeah, there are gaps in the mess. Look at this." She handed over some pages.

Buffy frowned at the diagrams of a female form, with added wiring and circuitry. "What is this?"

Willow bit her lip. "Robotics."

"Robotics? Like-creepy Ted robotics?"

"Uh huh." Willow folded up the pages she held. "It looks like they were building a robot."

"A girl-bot! Euw! They've got diagrams for the texture of-Euw!" She glared around. "Do you think it's around here somewhere?"

"They probably took it with them, if they'd gotten to the assembly stage." Willow crumpled up the pages and tried to stuff them in her backpack.

"What are those?" Buffy asked.

"You don't want to see them."

"More robot diagrams?"

"Really, you don't-"

"Oh my god, were they building a copy of Dawn!? Let me see!"

Willow started to argue, then winced and handed over the pages.

Buffy flattened out the pages and stared. The first page was a diagram of the robot's head-with her face. The next page was a full-body sketch. The next one was another full-body sketch-of her in a French maid's outfit waving a feather duster. The last page was full of scribbled phrases-"Yes, Master" and "You're so strong!" and "Isn't it a little warm for all those clothes?"

"Dialogue?" she gasped.

Willow wrung her hands. "I told you you didn't want to see them."

"They were making a robot version of me? To be their little slave?" She shoved the pages back. "Find them. God, is that why they had the cameras in the house? To get-ideas?" Her eyes went huge. "My missing clothes . . ."

Willow hugged her. "We'll find them, Buffy. And then we'll kick their butts."

Buffy put her arms around Willow. "What if they've already built it? What if they're . . . doing things with it?"

Willow moved her away and looked into her eyes. "Something like this would take a lot of work. And you wouldn't be able to get the parts at Radio Shack. I'll do some checks when I get home with electronics supply houses. And something that looked like you but wasn't you will be very easy to find magically. We won't let them get away with it. Let's see what else we can find here."

In the refrigerator, among lots of boxes of takeout food, were some bottles of glowing liquid. Willow didn't think they were a weird sort of soda and tucked them into her backpack. Buffy disabled another set of booby traps on the steps up into the house. The upstairs didn't look lived in except for three bedrooms and a very gross bathroom.

Willow winced at the mess. "Maybe they really do want the robot to clean up after them?"

"Yeah, I don't think so."

Buffy searched the bedrooms. She called in Willow to look at some magic paraphernalia in one room, and in another she found a photograph of three young men. "Hey, this is Jonathan!"

"From high school Jonathan?"

"Yeah, in the tower with the rifle. I don't recognize the other two." She looked at the picture more closely. The trio were wearing equipment harnesses of some sort. "I think they're playing Ghostbusters or something."

Willow came into the room, stuffing more things into her pack. She looked at the picture. "Those devices look like some of the diagrams I saw downstairs."

Buffy frowned. "Science doohickeys and all that magic stuff . . . they look like they're in a comic book. Willow, did you see anything that might be a freeze ray?"

"Um, like the notebook I found that said Freeze Ray on it? Oh! The jewel heist and the guard and all that!"

"Yeah, like that. And demons robbing banks."

"I found books on demon raising in one of the bedrooms." Willow shrugged. "Nothing really obscure, Giles had those books, but there were lots of bookmarks-and he dog-eared the pages!"

Buffy smiled and hid how much hearing her Watcher's name still hurt. Then she frowned. "He had books on raising demons at the Magic Box?"

Willow fidgeted and blushed. "Uh, yeah, at the store, um, behind . . ."

Buffy hugged her. "Yeah, I can guess what qualified as behind the counter stuff for him. Xander said he saw Jonathan coming out of a bookstore in the demon part of town last night," she added, changing the subject.

Willow perked up. "You saw Xander?" She frowned. "What was he doing hanging around demon stores?"

"He was-he was getting a tattoo. With Spike!"

"He and Spike got tattoos?"

"I don't know if Spike got a tattoo. But he and Xander were having a drink at Willy's, and they were hanging out with a real demon-y demon, and Xander didn't even seem to care!"

"Maybe it was a magic tattoo! Maybe Spike's controlling him somehow."

Buffy frowned. "If Spike was controlling him, I don't think he'd just be making him hang out at Willy's with him."

Willow grimaced. "Yeah, that does seem a bit . . . tame for Spike."

They both paused, and neither admitted what they thought Spike might be forcing Xander to do.

Buffy slumped. "Have you seen Xander much? What with summer school and the Watchers and the vampires and everything, I haven't been paying attention to him as much as I should."

Willow fidgeted. "Ooh, no, I haven't. I was doing school stuff-and studying stuff, then there was Amy, and-oh, I'm a bad friend."

"We're not bad friends, Will, we're just . . ."

"Bad friends."

"Yeah, probably, kinda. On a Hellmouth."

"Did he look OK?" Willow asked in a small voice.

"I-think so. He was laughing when I saw him."

Willow frowned. "He was talking to demons and laughing? But he hates demons."

"That's what I thought." She rubbed her wrist. "I tried to get him out of there, but he wouldn't go."

"He gets stubborn. I should call him."

Buffy nodded. "Me too." She looked around the bedroom. "And find these jerks. And finish that paper for Sociology."

Willow nodded. "I've got Information Management for the Sciences." She brightened. "And Amy needs some help with catching up in classes."

"She's only been back what, a couple of days? And she's in classes already? Doesn't she need a little more 'Hey, I've only got two feet, yay!' time?"

"She said she didn't want to dwell on that," Willow shrugged. "I took her by the high school. Or what's left of it. She was very impressed."

Buffy found herself nostalgic for the simplicity of blowing things up to stop the bad guy. "So she's doing OK? Does she have a place to live?"

"Oh, yeah! Sure! Turns out the bank has been paying the mortgage on her house the whole time, very handy, she's all set. And her college fund is right there, ready and waiting."

"Yeah, that's . . . handy." Really, really handy.

Willow jumped and looked at her watch. "Crap, I've got class in half an hour. We should grab these papers and stuff and get going. We can see about tracking these guys down later."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, I've got class too in a couple of hours. I should probably at least look at the cover of the book that has the reading that was supposed to be done."

"Poor Buffy. There's a spell I found that helps you retain knowledge, it's really handy during cram sessions!"

Buffy grinned at her. "So that's your secret, huh? Magical cheat sheets?"

"It is not! I don't cheat in class!"

The pout did not look faked, and Buffy hid her laugh. "Sorry, sorry, I know you don't, you don't need to." She sighed as they packed up more sheets of paper and headed towards the basement. "I can retain the knowledge. I just have to find the time to sit down and meet the knowledge."

Willow nodded decisively. "Like when Giles would go with you on patrol and quiz you on stuff. We need to find you a slayage tutor."

Buffy let her go down the basement steps first so she wouldn't see the wince at yet another memory of Giles. She used to go into the Magic Box when she was stumped in class, and Giles would look so excited about what she was studying.

"What's wrong?" Willow stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up.

Buffy hurried down. "I-I was just thinking about Giles. I miss him."

"I think he misses you too."

"As much as a vampire can miss a Slayer, I guess."

"Oh, but he-" Willow bit her lip. "When we were at the convent . . ."

Buffy sighed. "Wills, he's not Giles-with-extra-pointy-bits. He's a vampire. He goes by Ripper. He killed a whole bunch of Watchers. He probably knew most of them! He sure knew Quentin Travers!" She stopped at the threatening tears in Willow's eyes and hugged her. "I'm sorry, Wills. I know he was helping you with that spell and everything, but we can't forget what he is."

Willow hugged her back. "But-didn't the Watchers kill Drusilla? He got mad, didn't he?"

Buffy smiled and squeezed just hard enough to get a tiny oof out of Willow. Poor Willow, so eager to see the best in everyone. Everyone who wasn't Cordelia in high school. "Yeah, he got mad." She stepped back and kept her hands on Willow's shoulders, staring her in the eye. "But the Watchers can't let him stay like this. He's not eating pig blood, Wills. He and Spike hunt, and it's just because I haven't caught them at it that I haven't tried harder to stop them. And I'm going to have to do it eventually."

A tear escaped. "But-Giles."

She pulled Willow into her arms again. "I know." She hoped her sniff was hidden by Willow's own.

The dorm was full of people celebrating the end of classes for the day. Tara picked her way through the clumps clogging the hallway debating whether to go to the cafeteria for dinner or to go somewhere else, or whether to just get started with the drinking for the night. The group blocking Tara's dormroom was talking about blowing off the next day's classes and going down to Los Angeles for the weekend.

Tara had to excuse herself three times before the group shifted out of her way without acknowledging her. She used to appreciate being ignored, but her anonymity was beginning to irk her. The trouble was that it wasn't the attention of her feckless neighbors that she wanted.

"Sweetheart?" she called as she opened the door. "Willow?"

Miss Kitty raised her head from the middle of the bed and mewed.

"Hello, kitty." Tara put her book bag on her desk and went to sit on the bed and pet Miss Kitty. "Is your other mommy home?" The cat was far more interested in head skritches than in answering.

Tara let herself enjoy the peace of a happy kitty for a while before checking for herself. The bathroom was empty, and Willow's bookbag was missing. There was a pile of notebooks and paperwork covered in unfamiliar writing on her desk; one of the notebooks said Freeze Ray. Tara started to open the notebook, but she hesitated at the weird sticky stain on the cover.

Flickering light on the bulletin board caught her eye. A will o' the wisp danced on the head of a thumbtack holding a note. Tara thanked the wisp and released it, frowning slightly. Will o' the wisps weren't strictly living beings or actual spirits, but they had awareness and responded to the way they were treated. She didn't like the idea of one being used as an animated Post-It note.

She read the note and frowned again. Willow had gone out with Amy again. This time there wasn't even a reason given for being out. She crumpled the paper in her hand and muttered "Incendio." The next moment, she welcomed the bite of the tiny flash fire as punishment for using magic in anger. But she couldn't deny that she was angry. And afraid.

Was Willow so fascinated by Amy because Amy knew magic that Willow didn't? Or was she fascinated by blonde prettiness? Tara hadn't spent much time with Amy, the returned girl always seemed impatient to be out and about when she dropped by the dorm. Which was only to be expected, there was a whole world to reacquaint herself with. And Willow was eager to be Amy's guide. Tara had noticed them whispering together, and Amy kept touching Willow's arm while they talked.

The last time Tara had dared to question the time Willow spent with Amy, Willow had looked pleased and spent the evening trying to prove that any jealousy was baseless. That memory would be sweeter if it weren't followed by the recollection of Willow whispering her sleep charm in Tara's ear before slipping out again. This time Tara had heard Willow greet Amy out in the hallway as she closed the door, so she didn't think there was going to be another trip to see Mr. Giles.

Tara wiped the ash from her hand, sat down on the bed, and picked up Miss Kitty. She should tell someone that Willow was going off to visit vampires. Willow had said Mr. Giles had helped her with the spell that restored Tara's mind from Glory's grasp, and apparently the magic lessons were continuing.

Tara knew she wasn't nearly as daring as Amy, unwilling to wander off at a moment's notice for an adventure. Maybe Willow was tired of Tara's careful, stick-in-the-mud approach to life. Sometimes she felt so old compared to the people around her. It was normal for kids in college to be planning parties and running around yelling in excitement for the weekend. Her mother had called her an old soul, and taking care of the family had fallen to her early, after her mother had died. She hadn't been allowed time to be footloose, and she didn't feel any desire to make up for lost time.

She huffed into Miss Kitty's fur, debating being rebellious now. Then she had to laugh. Her idea of rebellion was waiting till only a couple of days before an assignment was due to work on the paper, or not rinsing out a glass as soon as she was done with it. Running off without a plan rarely worked well, she mused, flexing the hand that had been broken that spring. But there was running around recklessly, then there was putting off minor responsibilities in favor of other responsibilities.

The responsible voice in her said she should wait for Willow to come home, make sure she was all right. The voice that had made her gather her things and take a bus to California, however, stated clearly that it was very sad to hide in her room and wait for her lover to remember her existence. Before her responsible side could even put together a valid argument, Tara kissed Miss Kitty farewell, topped off the food and water bowls, and gathered a sweater to go out again.

Christmas decorations were starting to make an appearance, even though there were still a couple of weeks till Thanksgiving. In a balmy California evening, it seemed mildly ridiculous to be preparing for harvest festivals and winter holidays. Tara paused, though, to smell the faint bite in the wind and the smoke from an illegal leaf fire somewhere. Maybe she should take the bus down to the beach this weekend, it had been months since she'd been to the ocean. Her soul had very nearly giggled in delight the first time she'd heard the roar of waves breaking against the shore.

Or maybe a trip into the forest. She'd always wanted to see the giant redwoods. Such ancient living things would be wonderful to walk among. Back home she would walk through stands of old maples and oak, feeling the universe breathe against her skin. She would love to take Willow into an ancient, breathing forest, maybe get her to feel the deep life that fueled everything, the magic that flowed everywhere-

Tara's steps slowed, and she grimaced. Willow would be thrilled to feel that magic, but instead of immersing herself in it and feeling her connection to the world, she'd probably grin in excitement and start using it for something. She never seemed to see the point of simply experiencing the power in the universe, of feeling the ebb and flow of life and your own place in it. Whenever Tara managed to talk her into meditation, Willow would sit quietly for a few minutes, then start to fidget. Tara had observed her through half-open eyes, her eyes firmly shut but her fingers twitching, moving in half-formed spells before sternly clutching together to try and resist the temptation. It was only after making love that Willow's eager mind could seem to slow enough to bask in the universe. But they couldn't stay in bed forever.

Tara blushed and smiled to herself at the thought of trying, then she composed herself and continued walking. She found herself in the artsy part of town, near Mrs. Summer's gallery. She headed in that direction.

A string of Christmas lights had been hung along the porch in front of the gallery. Through the windows, Tara saw Joyce carrying pine boughs around the gallery, holding them against shelves and frowning. Tara hugged herself in quiet delight to see her moving around so freely, then headed in. As she opened the front door, she brushed her fingers against the door jamb, whispering the words to reinforce the charm she'd drawn months before to protect all inside.

Joyce looked up and smiled. "Hello, Tara." She glanced towards the doorway and the door closed. "You're on your own tonight?"

"Yes, just me."

"Now, it's never *just* you," Joyce scolded fondly. She held the pine bough in her hand against a shelf of kachina dolls. "Does this look right or does it just clutter up the view?"

Tara studied the arrangement. "I'm afraid it clutters up the view. Do you have any little twinkle lights you could put there?"

"I do, but I don't want the place to look like the Las Vegas Strip. I had to talk Anya out of a lighted animated snowman by the door out front holding a sign that said Christmas Specials."

"Not quite the image you want, no."

On the counter was an old cardboard box divided into sections. In each section was an old glass ornament. Tara looked them over, not daring to touch the fragile things. Joyce came over and gently picked up a blue and silver orb. "My grandparents had ornaments like these. They were always careful to hang them where Buffy couldn't reach them, though she tried very, very hard. A young man came in a few days ago with these and said he had no place to hang them but he couldn't bear to just throw them out."

"Are you going to take them home and hang them up?"

Joyce winced. "I was . . . but things happen at the house that are bad for breakable things."

"People are breakable."

"That's very true, but people can try to get out of the way when things are happening." She held the ornament up to the light. "I can't decide between hanging them in the windows with very secure hangers or putting them in a basket on the counter."

They arranged things for several minutes, and Tara put the basket of ornaments on top of the case that held the three remaining Hopi spirit bowls to see how the arrangement looked. The bowls had been rearranged in a triangular layout in the case; Tara shifted the bowl of ornaments to see if it interfered with the view of the spirit bowls. She let her senses drift a little, reaching for an awareness of the bowls' auras.

The red bowl muttered bitterly to itself, unaware of anything else. The green bowl buzzed in Tara's ears, making her think of locusts looking for somewhere to swarm. She felt the sense of something malevolent that had been bound, and wondered if the bowl had been used to counter a curse that had been cast on a crop. She sent only the briefest of touches to the brown bowl, feeling a sticky sort of wrongness that tried to settle in her lungs. She pulled away from the bowls completely, wondering uneasily what the black bowl had contained.

"Are you all right, dear?" Joyce asked, pausing as she arranged candles on a plate at the counter.

"I think so. The bowls-aren't very nice."

Joyce came over to peer into the case. "Do you think they're something that I shouldn't have around? Or should I send them over to the Magic Box? Anya has cases with magical shielding."

"I don't know. Mr. Wyndam-Price didn't think there was any harm in them, and most of the people who come here are looking for art, not magical tools."

"I wonder how that man knew they were here," Joyce said, looking at the door thoughtfully. "I wonder if he was tracking it." She looked at Tara. "Would Willow know if the bowls are safe?"

Tara hesitated, not willing to say anything about Willow and magic.

Joyce studied her for several moments, glanced at her watch, then went to the front door to lock it and turn the Open sign to Closed. "Join me for some tea, dear."

Tara started to protest, then followed Joyce into the back room.

Tea was something cinamonny and slightly spicy, accompanied by gingerbread. She bent her head over her cup, breathing in the fragrance and hating the way she had to fight down tears.

Joyce dropped a quilted cosy over the tea pot and sat down on the other side of the table. She picked up her cup and hummed happily as she sniffed the steam. She smiled at Tara. "Tell me what's wrong," she said softly.

With a deep breath, Tara did. She told how Willow slipped away at night, how Willow went to meet Amy, the disagreements over magic. "I-I think I'd worry less if I knew Willow was just talking to Amy about magic, but . . ." She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, her fear that Willow was finding her as lacking in love as she did in magic. And she didn't want to talk about the sleep spells. Just yet.

Joyce stared into the depths of her teacup. "I remember when I first-when I first suspected my husband was . . ." She shook her head and looked at Tara. "It was very hard. I wondered what I'd done wrong, what I could do to keep him." She sighed. "But you can't keep them, when they're already halfway out the door. And I hadn't done anything wrong," she added firmly. "And neither have you."

"I-I think I'm holding her back. There's so much she can do, I can't even imagine what kind of limits she might have."

Joyce frowned. "Are you frightened of her?"

"No, of course-" Tara heard the lie. "Not of her. For her. She doesn't understand that there could be anything more powerful than her."

"I don't know what to say about the magic," Joyce sighed. "You could ask her about Amy. Maybe it is just the magic."

"She laughs and says there's nothing to worry about. She-she acts like I don't know what I'm talking about!" Tara blinked, startled by her sudden anger.

Joyce smiled behind her tea cup. "Where instead you've been studying these things for your entire life."

"Yes. I have."

"You know, I think that's the first time I've seen you angry."

"I was always taught that a soft answer turneth away wrath."

Joyce's smile was a little bitter. "Don't make waves, be a nice, quiet woman, never show something upsets you."

Tara remembered her family. "Anger rarely makes things better."

"And sometimes people take advantage of the fact that someone doesn't stand up for themselves. Surely there is something that will make you stand up and say No."

Abuse of the helpless, abuse of power . . . Tara remembered her quiet mother finding a wounded deer in the woods, apparently shot by a hunter who hadn't bothered to track the animal after it ran off. She had slit the poor thing's throat, then driven into town to the bar where the hunters gathered, stood in the middle of the room, and told every single one of them at the top of her voice what she thought of people with guns who didn't care about the animals that suffered from their laziness. Half the room applauded, while the other half pulled down their camo hats and didn't meet anyone's eyes. Tara had been in awe when her mother came home and told the tale.

And she remembered her father yelling about how her mother had humiliated him. And her mother calmly saying she would do it again.

Joyce reached over and patted her hand. "It's not easy. But sometimes it's what you have to do." She pulled the tea cosy off the pot. "Would you like some more?"

"Yes, please. And some more gingerbread, please?"

"Of course."

Willow looked around Amy's new apartment as Amy went to find her coat. "This is such a nice place. I'm surprised you were able to get in here, I heard there was a waiting list."

Amy grinned at her. "Well, an opening just happened to come up when I was in the office, and it just took a little charm to get the manager to agree to rent to me."

Willow thought she could make a good guess as to what kind of charm Amy meant, but, really, jumping line for a nice place to live didn't seem too bad. "So the paperwork we put together for you was good enough?"

"More than. You did a great job with them."

Willow beamed. "What happened to your house?"

"Oh, I sold it. It was more than I wanted to take care of anyway."

"So you should be OK for rent for a while, then."

Amy paused, then smiled. "Yeah, I'm good for rent." She pulled on her coat and grabbed her bag. "Let's get out on the town and see what's going on."

They got into Amy's new car, and she headed towards the river.

"Where are we going?" Willow asked.

"There's a book store I've heard about, wonderful esoteric things, I've been wanting to check it out."

"Ooo, book store!"

As they drove into the neighborhood on the other side of the river warehouses, Amy glanced at Willow. "Have you ever been in this part of town?"

"I've been to Willy's a couple of times." She preened a little at Amy's look of surprise. "Have you been here before?"

Amy shrugged. "Once or twice. There's a little grocery store a block over that has really fresh things you can use for spell ingredients."

"Oh, that's a good idea. Anya won't carry anything that has to be refrigerated, and dried grin'gk eggs just aren't as good."

The bookstore was just inside an alley, and Amy parked on the street. As she locked the car, she put a finger on the roof and whispered. A web of sparks flared over the vehicle, then faded.

Willow cocked her head. "Anti-theft charm?"

"Yep."

A pleasant little bell rang as they entered the shop. The place smelled of cinnamon, and a holly garland hung along the fireplace mantle.

"Be right there!" called a frail voice from behind a curtain on the far side of the room.

"Take your time!" Amy called back.

Willow went up to the bookshelves, entranced. It looked like all the human languages were represented, English, something in a Cyrillic script, Greek, so many others. Intermingled with those were many in alphabets she didn't recognize. She pulled down one with a title that almost looked like Morse Code and turned it in her hands, wondering which was was up.

"I provide a translation service for a small additional fee," said a cheerful voice at her elbow. She squeaked and jumped. The small elderly man next to her smiled kindly. "So sorry to startle you," he said. "You may call me Doc."

"Um, hi, uh, Doc." She blushed and looked back at the book she was clutching. "What language is this?"

Doc took the book from her and rotated it 90 degrees before handing it back to her. "The courtly language of the Keemple tribe. They're very interested in the uses of butter."

"Butter?"

"Cow butter, sheep butter, human butter, Fyarl butter-if it has a trace of mammalian heritage, the Keemple will make butter and see what it does." Doc smiled and patted the book. "There are pictures."

"Euw." Willow carefully put the book back on the shelf.

Amy came up, turning pages in another book. "Is this one in Spanish or in Latin?"

Doc peered at a page. "Both, actually, or rather a combination of the two. That book came to America in the library of an hidalgo who arrived in 1683. He was rumored to be a sorcerer, and there are tales that he worked with the shamans of the local tribes."

Willow looked around in delight. "Oh, this is a wonderful place. Giles would love it here."

"Giles . . ." Amy said. "Oh, Mr. Giles, the high school librarian?"

"Yeah, him! He used to run the magic shop downtown, until . . ."

Amy winced. "Something killed him?"

"Well, yes, technically, I guess. He's a vampire now."

Doc took a slow step backwards. "Would this be the high school librarian who was the Slayer's Watcher?"

"Uh huh."

"You know Ripper."

"Ripper?" Amy repeated, blinking.

Willow shrugged, trying to be casual and cool about it. "He's been teaching me magic."

Amy frowned. "I remember him and my mother. I thought he said he'd never done magic before."

"I think that was a fib, more like it was the first time he'd done magic in a long time. He and his friends summoned demons when they were young."

Doc snorted. "And how many of them survived it?"

"Oh, um, two."

"Yes, it's no big trick to summon a demon. The trick is to make it go away without taking your soul with it." He bustled over to another wall of shelves. "But you might be interested in this, The Compleat Guide to Necromancy, very useful knowledge if you're consorting with the undead."

Amy stepped closer to Willow. "You're learning magic from a vampire?"

Willow shrugged. "I learned some before he was a vampire, too."

"He always seemed kind of stuffy, before."

"Oh, he's not stuffy anymore."

"I bet he isn't." She looked thoughtful. "Do you-think he would mind if you introduced me to him? The new him?"

"I think he'd be delighted! He always worried about you, the old you, the, um . . ."

Amy smiled. "The four-footed me?"

"Yeah. That you. I think he'd be happy to see you'd gotten better."

"And I would love to see what a vampire wizard could show me."