The demon was in control. Buffy could feel it. It was like… going to a movie theater in summer; taking that first step into the dark and the cool. Like a shadow falling over her. Part of her fought it, horrified by what was happening. The other part of her smiled. The latter won out.

Breaking from the arms of the vampire who held her, Buffy leapt from the porch and rolled forward, the demon inside of her powering her forward, driving her in search of that thing, that elusive thing that not all of her understood. All she knew in that moment was the sight of the thing in front of her, running, crying, stinking of fear and of blood. She knew that she wanted it. And she knew she could take it.

Mere steps overcame it. She made a sloppy tackle, bringing it down hard to the ground, covering its body with her own. It squealed and squirmed against her but she could feel it; the thumping, pulsing life of it and the darkness inside of her screamed to pull it out.

It was a poor stroke. Instinct drove the newly dead, but Buffy's was corrupt, contaminated by the soul that battled it, weakened by the manner in which it was driven into her. Her teeth had sharpened to a deadly edge as the shadow in her came to the fore, but the soul prevented it from biting as hard as it would. Misplacing the strike, her fangs broke the skin in a shallow bite on the inside of the forearm, just below the elbow where, typically, thick pads of muscle lay.

The chubby thing in her arms screeched as her teeth sank through a layer of baby fat, jerking back from her. The skin tore under the force, splattering her face with the hot, sweet blood she desired so badly. Keeping hold of the thing's wrist, Buffy lapped happily at the blood that ran down its arm, but just as she drew back for a second strike, her gaze zeroed in on the fluttering pulse of a slim and tender neck, thick arms banded around her and hauled her back.

She snarled viciously as she was pulled away, the smell of the bleeding little thing in the grass screaming at her as surely as the red-headed ghost was. She fought violently against the man that held her, thrashing wildly as the soldier boy came forward and lifted the bleeding thing in his arms, but it did her no good. The one who held her was too strong. He was like her, she could sense that, but he was old. Very old. She could not win this fight.

'Wait,' the shadow whispered again. 'Be still. Wait.'

So she did.

Angel almost sighed with relief when he felt Buffy relax in his arms. It would have been foolish though. He didn't need the breath. Nor was it wise to let his guard down, not while Buffy was still… whatever she was. He watched fearfully as Xander bent over the crying little girl in the grass, examining the nasty bite wound on her arm. Angel could smell the blood, and honestly it turned his stomach. Buffy could have killed that little girl, and then what would have become of her. He shuddered to think. Buffy was a light in the world, everything that was good, and to have the blood of a child on her hands… as it was he already feared the consequences of what had just transpired.

"She'll live," Xander said in his new soldier's voice, all business. "But she should be taken to a medic."

"We don't have time for that!" Angel snapped. "We have to figure out how to break this spell! Before Buffy…"

He didn't say it, didn't say any of the hundreds of horrible things that flashed through his mind, only looked down at the yellow-eyed blonde who stood stiffly in his arms. Catching his eye, she flashed him a toothy grin, the smile of a deviant for her mischief. He shuddered. Not just because of his fear of the thing that Buffy had become, not because of his fear for her fate. No. He shuddered because something in him curled up warmly around his heart at the sight of her like this. Part of him grinned and whispered deadly thoughts in his ear about all the fun they could have together. The havoc they could wreak.

"We have to split up," Willow declared.

Angel jumped at the sound of her voice, and for the briefest moment, she waited for Xander to make some reference to Scooby Doo and how splitting up was never a good idea. Then she remembered that her friend wasn't quite himself. In that moment, she missed him more than she ever had. They had to fix this. And not only for Buffy.

"Xander, get the girl to the hospital," she commanded, knowing that his soldier-self would respond to the order. "It's not far. While you do that, I'll find Giles. We'll meet in front of the Bronze and head over to the library. There's gotta be something in all those books that'll help."

Looking over at Buffy, who was glaring at her with hatred in her golden eyes, Willow felt her confidence shrink just a bit. Oh please God, let there be something.

"Angel, you have to take Buffy. You're the only one that can control her right now. Find an abandoned warehouse somewhere or something, just keep her off the streets until we get this figured out. When everything's back to normal we'll… well I guess you'll know when it's safe to let her go." She stared at the broody vampire, never so thankful for his presence in their lives as she was tonight. Though she wasn't sure if he would take to her demands as well as Xander had, he did nod, snugging his arms more tightly around Buffy's chest.

"I'll take her to my apartment," he said. "It's day safe, and the doors are good. I should be able to keep her there. I'll make sure she doesn't…"

Willow nodded. "That's good then. All right people move out."

Xander snapped her a quick salute, lifted the whimpering kid into his arms, and walked quickly into the night, his gun ready at his side. Willow felt tears in her eyes as she watched them go, and wondered how it was possible for a ghost to cry. Turning back, she saw that Angel was already dragging Buffy away, her elbow in the iron grip of his fist as she put up a token fight that it was clear she could not win. Time for her to go as well then. Wishing she could just *pop* and appear wherever she wanted like any Hollywood ghost worth its salt, she broke into a run.

"All I wanted was candy," she grumbled as she went. "Maybe to show off for Xander a little. But nooooo. Had to chicken out didn't I? Had to get turned into a ghost. Couldn't get turned into a hooker and actually sleep with him could I?"

Willow stopped in her tracks, a small eep escaping her before she clamped a hand down over her mouth, looking left and right into the dark to make sure no one had heard. Crap. No such luck.

"Sleep with who?"

"Cordelia, I don't have time for this!" Willow snapped, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. Great, she could still blush too. The brunette cheerleader opened her mouth to speak, but Willow cut her off. "Listen to me very carefully. You are not a cat, ok?"

"Well duh!" she replied. "What is your deal? Honestly, this costume isn't that great. Actually it's pretty uncomfortable. And hey, some weird little green kid tried to bite me and look!" She held up her arm for Willow's inspection, showing off a slash in the sleeve of her cat outfit. "Think Party Town will still give me my down payment back? I mean, it's not like it was my fault…"

"Cordelia stop!" Willow cried. "You… you don't think you're a cat?"

Cordelia gave her the patented 'are you really this stupid and unfashionable?' look that Willow had become so familiar with in middle school. "No," she replied. "Willow, what is wrong with you? Is there a gas leak around here or something? People are acting seriously weird."

"There was a spell," she explained in a rush. "We got turned into our costumes. Xander's a soldier, I'm a ghost, Buffy's a vampire."

"So wait, all those kids running around…"

"Yeah. So go home Cordelia," Willow said beginning to back away from her. "Get inside and stay there. I don't have time for this." Without another word, she turned and jogged up the street.

"Yeah whatever!" Cordelia called after her. "Like I need your help anyway," she said, more quietly this time as she looked around her in the dark. She could feel eyes on her, and she walked quickly in the direction of her car. Whatever was going on in this neighborhood, it was giving her the serious-wiggins that only an epic Halloween bash Bronze-style would cure.

"Did you hear that my friend," Spike purred softly to himself as he watched the two girls from the shadow of a nearby house. "Slayer's gotten herself some real bite."

He had been lucky to stumble on the red-head. He'd recognized her as one of the Slayer's group as she'd blazed by him, and had quickly ducked out of the light of the streetlamps to watch. The delight of the evening's mischief had lead him into the neighborhood, his demon relishing in the destruction being wrought by an army of tiny monsters, but his more logical brain wondered at the absence of the Slayer in the midst of such anarchy. Now he knew the reason.

This was something he had to see.