The Price of the Wish

by Robert2

Cordelia thinks before she wishes, but not deeply enough. She returns to the day Buffy first arrived, confident her foreknowledge will guarantee a perfect life, only to find events slowly spiralling downwards as new enemies stir the darkness.

11. Cordelia's Ghost: New faces

"You sure you don't want us to wait?" Willow asked.

Cordelia nodded. "Go home, let your parents pamper you. You've been through enough already without spending hours listening to the whine of the dentist's drill."

And, with them gone, she'd be able to look for the old books she needed to keep Giles fooled.

Willow and Xander looked at each, then Xander gently said. "And we don't want to watch you suffering."

"Think of it as an opportunity to practice your meditation." Giles added.

Buffy smiled brightly. "Remember, the Bronze, eight o'clock. We're going to have fun, not like last night."

Buffy scowled, as if at some unpleasant memory, then Xander nudged her.

Cordelia watched as the other four got into Giles's car, half-listening to their subdued banter, then turned round and stepped into the dentist's, trying not to shudder.

There were so many things he could do to her, once he got her in the chair, so many things he had done, in the background of her nightmares. Quite apart from the normal tortures, he had plenty of sharp instruments and a drill that could pierce bone as easily as enamel.

Cordelia paused on the doorstep, struggling to force the memories down. Her dentist had never done anything like that the first time round, at least not to her, so she had nothing to fear.

Besides, if she started avoiding the dentist she'd end up with ugly teeth.

After a few brief words with the receptionist Cordelia sat down in the waiting room and tried hard not to think about what might happen next.

Meditating was beginning to seem like a good idea.

Two hours later Cordelia looked around to check no one was watching, then slipped into the fifth second-hand bookshop of the afternoon.

None of the others had been much use, they only stocked trashy paperbacks and discounted textbooks, but the proprietor in the last shop had dismissively suggested this might be a good place to visit, just before he suggested they discuss her literary tastes in the local wine bar.

Cordelia frowned indignantly at the memory. The man had looked almost sixty, far too old for her, and his beard had been full of crumbs. Did she really look that desperate?

"Can I help you, madam?" the proprietor asked.

Cordelia quickly glanced at him, then nodded.

This one didn't look too bad. He was middle-aged, a slim man with neatly combed hair and an immaculate tweed jacket. In fact, he looked a lot like Giles, but he couldn't be a watcher. They were all English; this man had a definite French accent.

"I'm looking for, um, esoteric materials." Cordelia said, carefully watching his reaction.

He didn't smirk or start laughing; he just looked slightly puzzled. "Relating to folklore and mythology?"

"And demonology." Cordelia said. "But not fairytales."

Reading 'Hansel and Gretel' would not help create the right impression with Giles.

"A strangely popular subject," the man said, heading for the shelves. "Those books are over here."

"New in town?" Cordelia asked as she followed him.

"I opened last month," the man said, then pointed at the shelves on the left. "Do let me know if you require any further assistance."

Cordelia nodded absent-mindedly, her attention focused on the books. They certainly looked like the kind Giles had, handmade and leatherbound, and some of the titles seemed vaguely familiar.

She picked up the first one, 'Bristow's demon index', and flicked through the pages, comparing the pictures with the things she'd seen.

Ten minutes later she had a large pile of books, all of which looked like ones a watcher might read.

"Hey!" Cordelia shouted. "Help me with these."

She picked the four smallest up herself, leaving the other twelve for the proprietor to carry.

He looked at the pile, then said "One moment, madam," and hurried away.

It wasn't long before he returned, pushing a shopping trolley.

"May I presume you have your own transport?" the man asked.

"I can call a taxi." Cordelia replied, wondering how she would unload them when she got home. Doubtless the taxi would be willing to wait, but the longer it took the more chance someone would notice her uncharacteristic behaviour.

She really should have thought about that before, and about where she would put them. Her friends sometimes came in her room, so the books couldn't go in there without raising awkward questions, and anyway she didn't have any bookcases. Piling them on the floor would look messy and keeping them on her dad's shelves would risk more awkward questions.

Whatever solution she thought of, it would need to fit with her story.

"How will you be paying?" the man asked.

Cordelia handed over her platinum credit card.

She was planning to tell Giles the books had been left behind by Winston. If that had really happened, what would she have done?

No watcher would have left the books with her without making sure she had somewhere suitable to put them so she would only have them if she'd collected them herself from Winston's place, which wouldn't have been any easier than getting them from this shop. It would have been easier to leave the books in his rooms, where there was no chance anyone would see her looking at them.

"I do have more books on this subject," the man said. "I haven't unpacked them yet, but the auction catalogue has the complete list."

"Auction?" Cordelia said politely, waiting for the man to finish wrapping her books.

"The disposal of the Lindcroft estate," the man said, as he ducked behind the counter. "Apparently, he was a well-known local collector of such works."

"What happened to him?" Cordelia asked, not wanting to buy trouble.

Lindcroft's books might be useful, but if it sounded like he'd been killed by some demon trying to steal the books, she'd let Giles have them. He'd be able to use them too, and he'd know what to do about any problems they bought.

"Lots thirty-seven through fifty-one." the man said, passing Cordelia the catalogue. "Suicide, three weeks ago. He told his maid he couldn't face the new future, whatever that means."

Cordelia had a good idea. She made her wish three weeks ago, changing the future. Buffy had suffered horrible dreams the next night, and she hadn't been the only one, according to Giles. Lindcroft must have been one of the others.

Unfortunate, but at least that meant his books were safe.

Strange that the proprietor had been so open about the suicide though. That was the kind of detail that normally put people off their shopping. Could he have some ulterior motive?

Cordelia hesitated then dismissed the idea. If he didn't want to sell the Lindcroft collection he wouldn't have mentioned it, and it was his first month in business. The man just wasn't very good at selling things.

Satisfied with her reasoning, Cordelia glanced down at the catalogue, then smiled. The collection included a complete set of Dramius, an occult encylopedia which the book she'd been reading that morning had repeatedly cited as an authoritative guide.

These books would definitely be useful, and much safer in Cordelia's hands than in the bookshop, where any would-be dark sorcerer could buy them. There were considerably more books in the collection than she'd planned on buying but the sheer number would also help support her story, and she was sure she'd find some way of dealing with the storage problem.

"I'll buy them all, if they are in good condition." she said quickly.

She didn't want to sound too eager or the man might put the price up.

The man looked faintly disbelieving. "You are aware that many of these books are in archaic languages?"

Cordelia patted her school bag. "I've bought some textbooks."

She didn't have the time to waste on mastering dead languages but knowing a few sentences would help make her story more believable. Basic Latin couldn't be that hard to learn; it was only old-fashioned Spanish. Greek would be harder, since they didn't use the proper alphabet, but she could manage a few words, enough for her purposes.

"May I see?" the man said, pointing at her bag. "I may be able to make further recommendations."

Shrugging, Cordelia pulled them out. Having lots of language books wouldn't hurt her story, and her dad would be paying the bill.

The man frowned. "The Latin primer is adequate, but that book is on modern Greek. The language has changed somewhat over the last three thousand years."

He paused. "You will need comprehensive dictionaries of both languages, and a guide to Classic Greek. I can provide this."

"Ok," Cordelia said. "But I want to see the Lindcroft collection first."

Examining her purchases was always more pleasurable than hanging around shop counters, even if they were only books.

"Very well, madam," the man said. "This way."

Cordelia followed him into a back room, where he pointed at a stack of crates.

"All those?" Cordelia said, looking uneasily at the size of the stack.

There was a dozen big crates there, each over three foot across. She'd never be able to fit them all in a taxi. They might not even fit in her bedroom.

"There were another two crates, which I had started unpacking."

Cordelia groaned inwardly. "I'll have to hire a van," which would be hard to do anonymously. " Can I pay a deposit now, and collect them later?"

"Of course, madam," the man said. "It will be a pleasure to be of service."

Cordelia smiled, then began discussing terms.

Forty minutes later, Cordelia leaned against her gatepost and smiled. Now she was home, she could finally relax.

She'd spent half the last twenty hours facing nightmares and demons, and the other half engaged in tedious research and brain-straining conversations.

None of that could bother her here. She could just go straight to her room, put on a CD, and lay back, untroubled by the cares of the world.

Smiling broadly, Cordelia began walking up the drive.

Halfway to the house, her mom looked up.

"You're early," she said, inaccurately. "Get bored?"

Annoyed by the interruption, Cordelia stopped and looked down at her mom.

Despite the overcast sky, she was slumped across a sunbed, wearing only a bikini and G-string combination more suitable for someone half her age.

Her mom had never let unpleasant facts bother her.

"There was an accident in the science lab." Cordelia replied. "They sent us home."

Her mom smiled. "Lucky you."

"I was hurt." Cordelia said sharply, holding out her injured hand.

Her mom glanced at Cordelia's hand, then quickly looked away, grimacing. "That's hideous. You'll have to hide it. Wear a glove, or something."

"It wouldn't fit over the bandage." And it would look conspicuous. A little makeup, carefully applied, would do the same job far more discretely.

Cordelia's mom shrugged, dismissing the issue. "Your father wants to speak to you."

"What about?"

Her mom smiled. "Who cares? It's bound to be something nice."

Cordelia knocked on her dad's office door, then waited.

It was inconvenient, having her dad do so much work at home. When she needed something from him, she couldn't just find him and ask, she had to check she wasn't interrupting anything important first.

His clients didn't like it either; meeting him in his own house put them off-balance. He lost out on a lot of business that way, but Cordelia's mom was more important. If she had another of her episodes and the maid couldn't fetch her husband in time she might have to go to the clinic again, not a place Cordelia wanted to see her mom.

It wouldn't do Cordelia's reputation much good either.

Cordelia knocked again, louder.

Her dad shouted "Come in."

Cordelia pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Dad -"

He shushed her, and pointed at the TV.

Cordelia sighed as she turned to look. Her dad knew she thought the business news was a complete bore. If that was what he'd dragged her in here for

The TV wasn't tuned to the business news.

A tank was rolling through the streets of a burning city, its turret slowly turning from side to side.

For a moment Cordelia glimpsed a pile of severed heads, then the camera abruptly jerked up, taking the sidewalk out of shot.

Cordelia quickly looked down at the station logo; CNN, so this was really happening.

" more on the crisis in the Middle East soon, but first news of the other terrorist incidents."

Her dad turned the sound off.

"Isn't there always a crisis in the Middle East?" Cordelia asked, hoping this was just a coincidence. Giles had said last night had caused problems over there, and Willow had mentioned something about riots, but neither of them had suggested anything on this scale.

"Some idiots defaced the wailing wall," her dad said, "then released hallucinogenic gases. The first rioters levelled the dome of the rock, then the situation escalated. Now they are talking war."

Cordelia hastily sat down.

It was the shadow tree that had defaced the wall, according to the watchers, which made all this its fault but Cordelia was almost certain it had only been able to act because of some unwanted side-effect of her wish, which meant this mess was also partly her fault.

Not by much, not when she'd been tricked into making the wish, without full knowledge of the consequences, but it still wasn't a comfortable thought.

"There's going to-" her dad said, as he turned to face her. "What happened!"

"There was an accident," Cordelia said casually. "In the science lab."

"Another one? It's only three days since they took your cast off."

"Don't you remember what it was like when you were in school." Cordelia said, rather than risk attempting an explanation. The less she said, the less chance her father would catch her in a lie.

Her dad's face twitched with hastily concealed emotion, then he smiled. "I remember Jamie Nicoll. Some days, he couldn't cross the classroom without tripping himself up and breaking both legs."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. Happened four times in tenth grade, then his family emigrated."

Cordelia's dad paused, then looked thoughtfully at her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." She still hurt a little, but not half as much as when she'd been impaled by that metal bar.

"Anything I can do?"

"No." Not unless she told him the whole truth, and then he'd probably ground her until she was thirty.

"If you're sure," her dad said, sounding uncertain.

"I'm sure."

Her dad frowned, then turned back to face the TV.

"Mom said you wanted to talk to me." Cordelia said quickly, before he could forget she was there.

"Oh, yes," her dad said. "What have I told you about my phone number?"

"It's only for emergencies."

"So why did you give it to your friend. You've got your own number. Use it."

"I haven't told anyone." Cordelia said. "Who was it?"

"I've got the message here somewhere," her dad said, riffling through the papers on his desk.

Cordelia stood up and looked over her dad's shoulder.

"What's this?" she asked, putting her hand on the map. It looked like a map of the neighbourhood, but her dad had circled five of the local houses, including Cordelia's, then drawn lines joining them all up, lines which formed a pentagram inside a pentagon.

That was not a shape Cordelia wanted to see near her house.

"Strange, that." Her father said. "I got an offer for the house this morning from Parandol Properties. Five million dollars, and the opportunity to rent the house back for just one hundred a month."

"Sounds like a fraud." Cordelia said. Either that, or the would-be purchasers weren't interested in money.

In Sunnydale, when people did peculiar things, the hellmouth had to be the first suspect.

Her dad smiled. "I started asking questions. Parandol were only formed three weeks ago. The directors are proxies for a consortium of private companies whose beneficial owners are completely untraceable. They've made the exact same offer for these other houses, but the properties aren't contiguous; they have nothing in common not shared with the other fifteen houses on the block."

Cordelia listened carefully, memorising the details. Giles would know if they were significant.

He rubbed his forehead. "I can't see what's in it for them, and if I can't do that I'll never be able to make them give me a cut."

"They might not be after money." Cordelia said, tapping the map. "Isn't this shape one of those superstitious things?"

Her dad laughed. "Then they'd be fools with money, an unnatural state of affairs easily corrected."

He pushed the map to one side, uncovering a small notepad.

"We need to talk about last night. Phone me between six and seven. Angel." her dad read, pulling the sheet out of the notepad. "The number's at the bottom."

Cordelia sighed. That would not be a fun conversation, and it might make her late for the Bronze.

"Who is he?" her dad asked, "Your latest boyfriend?"

"Hardly." Cordelia scoffed. "He's this boy Buffy knows."

"So why is he phoning you, on my private line?"

"He probably wants help with Buffy." Cordelia said. It better not be Angel's first priority right now, but he definitely needed help if he wanted Buffy.

"What do you get out of it?" her dad asked, looking concerned.

He always asked questions like that, every time she mentioned a new boy. It was sweet of him, she supposed, wanting to protect her from conmen and Casanovas, but it was also annoying, going through the same old questions time after time.

Didn't he trust her judgement?

At least he'd stopped hiring detectives to follow them round, after the unfortunate incident last summer with Ben and the pineapples. Quite what would have happened if he'd tried that with Angel, Cordelia didn't want to guess.

Cordelia sat back down and began answering her dad's questions, carefully slanting her replies to imply that Angel was a perfectly safe normal boy who should never be allowed in the house.

An hour later, Cordelia was sitting in a cafe, sipping surprisingly good coffee and wishing Angel would hurry up.

It was a seedy little place; faded posters peeling off the walls, a slimy patina of grease on the formica tables, clouds of cigarette smoke drifting out of the kitchen, but it did have one advantage.

No one she knew would come in here.

Even if they walked past, they wouldn't see her, not through the grime-smeared windows, and none of her friends were likely to come down this alley anyway. Certainly Cordelia wouldn't have, if she hadn't been looking for a good bookshop.

"Cordelia." Angel said, slipping into the seat opposite her. "What happened? Is Buffy all right?"

"She's fine." Cordelia said sharply, "She's got magic healing powers, unlike me."

Buffy was not half covered in bruises, with scars on her face and hands that would never fade, nor had she seen the horrors festering beneath the branches of the shadow tree. Even through the make-up, Angel must be able to see how badly she had been hurt and yet he'd had the effrontery to ignore her injuries.

She would need to teach Angel how to show proper respect.

Angel looked carefully at her. "What happened to you? You look terrible, and those bruises They're fresh, not from last night."

"I had to fight a demon."

"You shouldn't be fighting. Leave that to Buffy."

Cordelia scowled. "The demon gave her an headache, left her curled up on the floor."

"Then you should have run."

"And leave Buffy behind?"

She couldn't have run anyway, the demon had sealed the door by then, but Angel wouldn't want to be bothered by those little details.

Angel grimaced, then looked down at the table, clearly unable to think of a reply. Instead he trailed one finger through the grease, then asked "You know how long this cafe's been open?"

It looked like it had been open for decades, without ever being cleaned, so that couldn't be the right answer.

"It doesn't look new." Cordelia said, carefully stressing the 'look'.

"Two weeks," Angel said. "Before that, this was a cleaning agency."

Then the dirt had to be deliberate. No one could get a place this filthy this fast.

Hopefully, they were just using the cafe as part of some big fraud, but Cordelia would have to assume the worst.

"Did you know that?" Angel asked.

"Why do you think I chose it?" Cordelia answered quickly, ostentatiously not looking over her shoulder at the counter.

She could get Giles to find out what the cafe owner's were up to later; right now the details didn't matter. As long as nothing she said made her look bad it wouldn't matter if anyone was listening, and if things got violent Angel would protect her.

Angel looked up from the table. "Places like this get two types of customer, the desperately poor and friends of the staff."

"Three types," Cordelia said, before Angel could get the wrong idea. "Other cafes will want to see if this place might be competition."

"But they don't come back." Angel said. "Will you?"

She certainly hoped not. Even if she could stand the filth there'd be too much risk of getting caught up in the cafe owner's secret plans, and she already had more than enough intrigue in her life.

"I shall do what is required of me." Cordelia said, her words carefully chosen to make Angel, and any eavesdroppers, think she had major obligations, an impression her feigned slip into Giles-speak would bolster.

"What did happen last night?" Angel asked. "Was Buffy-"

Cordelia glared at him.

Angel half-smiled, as if at some private joke. "Were any of you hurt?"

"Owen was killed. The rest of us escaped unhurt." Well, not physically hurt. The nightmares were worse than any physical injury could have been, but talking about them wouldn't help anything.

"How's Buffy taking it?"

"Don't get any ideas." Cordelia said firmly. "Buffy doesn't need you to comfort her. She's got me."

"Why aren't you with her now?" Angel asked, playing straight into Cordelia's hands. He never had been able to think straight where Buffy was involved.

"Because you wanted to talk to me," Cordelia said flatly.

Angel winced.

Before he could recover his composure Cordelia moved to take control of the conversation.

"I think you wanted to know what happened."

Angel nodded.

Cordelia shrugged. "Some big evil ripped open a death gate. Giles bottled up the soul storm, but some of the demon ghosts had already escaped. Now this town has two permanent interdimensional portals, and a lot of new demons. One of them tried to kill us this afternoon. It failed."

Looking startled, Angel leaned forwards. "Demon ghosts? That's impossible."

"I saw them."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Cordelia said firmly. "What else do you need to know?"

"Everything. I -"

"We don't have time for that."

"Thi-" Angel began, then Cordelia interrupted.

"I'm meeting Buffy at eight."

Cordelia paused and looked thoughtfully at Angel. "Tell me what you saw and I'll explain the important bits."

She knew he wouldn't have seen much, he'd spent most of last night in the sewers, at a safe distance from the action, but asking the questions would help set the proper tone for their relationship.

"The Master is stronger."

"Because of the necrotic aura of the death gate. It will make all the undead stronger," or so Giles had said, not that it mattered much. The Master was no longer the biggest evil in town.

Cordelia smiled sweetly. "How about you? Feeling any stronger? More powerful?"

Angel looked thoughtful, then picked up the salt cellar and squeezed.

Cordelia watched carefully, jumping slightly when the glass cracked.

Angel put the salt cellar down and stared at the cracks. "You're right."

"Of course."

"The Master is stronger in other ways too. He shrugged off the demon's hellfires and battled it mind to mind."

"Makes sense," Cordelia bluffed. "He must be a magnet for the necrotic energies. What demon?"

"He called himself Dumuzi Abzu."

"What did he look like? What did he do?"

"I thought you were in a hurry." Angel said.

"Buffy needs to know about this now. You can wait."

"I need-" Angel began.

"I'll give you the full explanation later," Cordelia said. "Or do you want to keep Buffy waiting?"

"No," Angel said vehemently.

Cordelia smiled encouragingly.

Angel looked at her. "When I saw all those demons I thought the Master must be responsible, so I went to spy on him. He was ranting. He said the walls of Nastrond were burning, and the gates of Abbadon stood open. Then Dumuzi came."

Angel paused, a faint smile on his lips.

"Describe him." Cordelia said.

"He looked-" Angel paused again, clearly struggling for words.

Cordelia gently tapped him on the arm.

"He looked," Angel said, "like a young god; golden hair, bronzed skin, rippling muscles. And his voice! Deep syrupy tones, a joy to hear. He wasn't just a pretty face either. He moved like a tiger, feline grace allied with immense power, and he radiated authority. Just looking at him, you felt here was a leader you would gladly follow into hell itself."

Surprised, Cordelia stared at Angel. She'd never heard him talk that way before, not even about Buffy. Dumuzi must have been using magic.

"What was he?" she asked. "Some kind of super-incubus?"

Probably not, but showing off her knowledge would help to give everyone listening a good impression.

"Could be," Angel said. "I've seen incubi have the same effect, on men as well as women, but vampires are supposed to be immune to such glamours."

Tell that to Drusilla. Xander's love spell had certainly worked on her. If vampires thought they were immune they were just deluding themselves, a popular hobby.

"Vampires may be more resistant," Cordelia conceded.

Angel grimaced. "Not to Dumuzi. They all knelt before him, except for the Master."

"And you." Cordelia said confidently.

"I had Buffy," Angel said, his voice strained. "I clung to the memories of her beauty, and told myself that she was the real thing. Her beauty doesn't come from dark magics; it is the outward reflection of her kind and gentle heart."

Cordelia clenched her teeth, struggling not to laugh. Buffy's supposed beauty came from a bottle, no match for Cordelia's own natural good looks, nor would she have ever lifted a finger to help anyone if she hadn't had the misfortune to be chosen.

She didn't think Angel would want to hear that though.

"I struggled to think only of her," Angel said quietly, "and to ignore the demon's siren call."

Cordelia glanced at Angel's gloom-laden face and shuddered. Best not to ask if he'd succeeded, or at what mental cost. Some things were best forgotten.

Instead she forced a smile. "What did the Master do? I bet he wasn't pleased."

"He spoke in our heads. He ordered us to obey only him, and to kill Dumuzi."

"Telepathy," Cordelia said. "That's new."

Angel nodded. "There are rumours of rituals which can give old vampires many powers over those of their blood, but the Master does not know them."

"Or he'd have done them years ago." Cordelia said.

"And yet, somehow he has gained those powers."

"The death gate," Cordelia said. "What happened next?"

"Dumuzi and the Master struggled for control of our minds. It was a disturbing experience."

"Who won?" Cordelia asked, making a mental note to find ways of protecting herself if anyone tried to take over her mind. Perhaps her new books might say something useful.

"No one," Angel said. "When the mental battle deadlocked Dumuzi set the air on fire."

"Air doesn't burn."

Angel shrugged. "That's what it looked like. The entire cavern was filled with flames."

"How did you survive?"

"I wasn't in the cavern. I saw all this through a half-inch crack in the tunnel wall."

"Because you were spying." Cordelia said, kicking herself. She should have realised Angel would have been well hidden.

Angel nodded. "Only the Master survived the flames, but the other vampires took longer to die than they should have."

"The death gate," Cordelia repeated. "You'll be less vulnerable to fire too."

"I'm not going to test that," Angel said, sounding almost amused, then went back to his story.

"When the screaming stopped Dumuzi let the flames go out, and the Master charged. I've never seen anyone move that fast. He was like a whirlwind, with fangs and claws. I'd have been dust in two seconds flat, but Dumuzi met him blow for blow."

Cordelia leaned forwards, impatient to hear who had won.

Fifty minutes later Cordelia walked through the light drizzle, still thinking about what Angel had said.

When a second demon had turned up in the Master's lair, apparently looking for control of the hellmouth, the Master had hidden himself at the bottom of his pool, leaving the two demons to fight.

Before they'd got very far, two more demons had rolled into the lair, already fighting. Dumuzi immediately ran away, but the other three fought to the death.

Just as the half-crippled winner was starting its triumphal rant, the Master had crept out of his pool and stabbed it in the back, then cut its head off.

Angel had left the lair after that, deciding he couldn't learn anything there, or so he claimed. Cordelia suspected he'd just been looking for somewhere less dangerous to lurk.

She detoured round a large puddle, then scowled.

It had been good to hear how eager the demons were to kill each other, and save Buffy the work, but the numbers were worrying. If four major league demons had visited the Master in under half an hour there must be hundreds more roaming the sewers.

The way her luck had been running lately, half of them were probably going to try and kill her.

Still, she couldn't do much about that. She needed to concentrate on the problems she could actually solve, such as where to meet Angel next.

She couldn't go anywhere decent, since she'd be recognised, and she never wanted to go back to that cafe again, or anywhere else like it.

The moment she'd got home from there, she'd jumped straight in the shower. It had been fifteen minutes before she'd felt clean, which had left her barely enough time to get ready for the Bronze.

Unfortunately, ruling out anywhere that was either popular or unclean left her with a choice between sex clubs and demon bars; two equally unattractive choices.

She couldn't meet him anywhere private either. If they met in his apartment, he'd get too big a psychological advantage, and she'd never invite him into her house.

Cordelia stopped walking, suddenly struck by a brilliant idea.

Just as she needed somewhere private to meet Angel, so she would have needed somewhere equally private to meet Winston, had he been real. He wouldn't have wanted to invite a teenage girl into his apartment, in case the neighbours talked, and everywhere else would have been just as unsuitable then as it was now.

Rather than think up two different secret meeting places, why not say they were the same place?

At first glance, that didn't make the problem any simpler, but it did give her a new angle to look at it from.

What would Winston, a wealthy rogue watcher, have done?

He'd have used his money and influence, bought somewhere neutral, and met her there.

She'd never thought about property investments before, she'd always assumed that could wait until after she'd left home, so she wasn't entirely sure what she'd need to do, but her card did have a $3,000 dollar limit. That should be enough to rent somewhere nice, and persuade people to back up her story.

It'd also give her somewhere to keep her new books.

Smiling broadly, Cordelia crossed the road then turned left; another fifty yards and she'd be out of this rain.
There might be a few technical problems with her idea, but none her dad's money couldn't solve, and the advantages were obvious.

Angel wasn't the only person she might want to meet in secret.

Still congratulating herself, Cordelia strolled inside the Bronze and looked round.

Harmony wasn't there yet, which solved one problem, but neither was Buffy.

"Cordy! Over here!" Xander shouted, standing up and waving vigorously. Clearly, he'd never heard of discretion.

Cordelia checked her watch then sighed. She didn't mind spending time with Xander. He could be good company, when he wasn't betraying her. Willow wasn't. She babbled incessantly about the most boring things, and she stole boyfriends.

Still, Buffy should be arriving soon, and it would look a lot better if all her friends were sat together. Cordelia could tolerate Willow's inane prattle for ten minutes, and Xander did make it more bearable.

Half way to their table, Cordelia started smiling.

She could see now why Xander had been so eager. Willow was leaning forwards, explaining something with her customary overenthusiasm. At first glance, Xander looked like he was listening intently, but Cordelia wasn't so easily fooled. To her expert eye, he was clearly struggling not to yawn.

"Most of them just went catatonic," Willow was saying as Cordelia reached their table. "But some of them decided to enact the dark visions."

Cordelia sat down, next to Xander. "Let's talk about something more cheerful."

"I told her it had just been a joke." Xander said, smiling at the memory.

Willow giggled. "She offered him another hundred dollars."

Buffy started laughing.

"I tried to explain," Cordelia said, "but Harmony thought I wanted to keep them all for myself."

"You mean," Buffy managed to say through her laughter, "she still believed that, that-"

Cordelia smiled at Xander as Buffy collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"Remember when-" Willow began.

Out on the dance floor, someone screamed in agony.

"What was that?" Buffy said, straightening herself up.

"Another demon?" Cordelia suggested as she stood up, trying to see what the problem was.

The screaming had stopped now, but the dance floor was too quiet.

"And the evening was going so well." Xander said dryly.

It had been too. For a few brief minutes Cordelia had felt like a normal girl, with normal worries.

More people stared screaming, only to be quickly cut off.

A skull rolled out of the crowd, stopping at Cordelia's feet.

"Not a vampire," Buffy said, rummaging through her bag.

Cordelia looked down at the skull, then edged away.

Willow scowled. "One demon a day is enough."

People were running from the dance floor now, heading straight for the exits.

"More than enough." Cordelia said, peering through the thinning crowd.

She could see some bodies now; three people who looked like they'd been trampled in the rush and five headless corpses.

And in the middle she could see the demon; a furiously bubbling mass of black slime oozing out of the ground.

A dozen mouths opened in the slime, each crying "Tekeli Li!" in a high pitched voice, then vanished.

The slime bulged up, forming a dome five foot across, and growing.

Buffy pulled a large salt canister from her bag.

More mouths opened in the slime, each repeating the same nonsense words, then they too vanished.

"Get the injured out of here," Buffy said, then tossed a box of matches onto the table. "If it doesn't look like I'm winning, set the building on fire. It won't hurt me."

Xander picked the matches up. "You can't loose."

"I lost Owen," Buffy muttered, then walked boldly toward the demon; the salt held in one hand, her Osirian amulet gripped tightly in the other.

"Hey, demon!" she shouted. "Do you know what we do to gatecrashers?"

Cordelia winced as the demon slammed Buffy against a wall, the sound of her bones shattering clearly audible even at Cordelia's distance.

At first, she had thought Buffy would win easily. The salt and the amulet had seared the demon, forcing it back, and its wild blows hadn't touched Buffy.

Then the floor under Buffy had disappeared, dropping her into darkness.

Before she had fallen two feet, the demon surged out of the new hole; a geyser of black slime bursting out of the floor, crushing Buffy against the ceiling as the demon swelled to its full height.

Buffy had never really recovered from that setback.

"Who's got the matches?" Cordelia asked.

"Xander," Willow said, "but we also need something to burn. The cushions are flame retardant, I think, and the tables are, um, too big for a match. Alcohol might work, not beer, too watery, but spirits. Does the Bronze stock them?"

"Great," Cordelia said. The bar was on the opposite side of the room, just a few feet from Buffy. If they tried going near there, the demon would get them.

"We could burn our clothes," Willow suggested, looking sideways at Xander.

"Not mine," Cordelia said sharply, "I'm not stripping in front of you, Xander. And Willow won't either."

Both of their outfits deserved to be burnt, but half-stripping Xander would have other benefits.

Willow nodded, looking slightly embarrassed, then quickly knelt down and started rummaging through Buffy's bag.

Stammering objections, Xander looked nervously around, then his gaze settled on Buffy.

The demon had knocked her down, again. Now it was oozing toward her, a twenty foot ball of bubbling slime shouting nonsense words in a thousand voices.

"Ok," Xander said quietly.

Willow stood up holding three stakes. "If we wrap the rags round these, we should get a big enough flame to burn the tables."

Cordelia looked thoughtfully at Xander's T-shirt. "Is there enough material for three?"

"I'm not taking anything else off," Xander said firmly. "Not in front of you girls."

"Do you really think either of us actually want to watch you strip?" Cordelia asked with feigned sarcasm.

"Willow's not that kind of girl. She doesn't think about those things."

Cordelia glared at Xander. "And what kind of girl am I?"

Looking annoyed, Willow dropped the stakes onto the table. "We don't have time to talk."

Cordelia glanced back at Buffy.

The demon was dripping slime on her, little droplets that ate away at her flesh, exposing the bone beneath.

Buffy wasn't in any physical danger, not with her new superhealing, and she should have the mental strength to endure such torture for days, but her clothes wouldn't last five minutes.

Buffy would not be happy if she ended up naked in front of them.

"She's right," Cordelia said quickly. "Get your shirt off, Xander."

Willow nodded, a faint smile on her face as she waited.

Xander dropped the matchbox on the table, hesitated, then pulled his T-shirt off and dropped it on the table.

Cordelia suppressed a smile. Xander's body wasn't quite up to his swimming team standard yet, that would take a year of running around after Buffy to achieve, but he was already a lot easier on the eye than his clothes suggested.

Xander shifted uneasily under her gaze, then crossed his arms and turned away, obscuring her view.

"I don't look that bad, do I?" he asked nervously.

"You'll do." Cordelia said noncommittally. She deserved some compensation for having her evening ruined by a demon, but telling Xander what she was thinking would make him nervous.

Instead she looked back toward Buffy, still being tormented with acid drops.

Buffy rolled across the floor, away from the demon, toward where she'd dropped the amulet.

The demon casually reached out and yanked her back.

Willow finished tying the T-shirt round the stake, then lit a match.

Cordelia frowned suspiciously. The flame was blue-white, not the normal yellow-red, and it was much too steady. Where had Buffy got that matchbox from?

Willow gingerly touched the match to the cloth, which began to burn with the same unnatural flame.

Cordelia grabbed the matchbox from Willow, then began reading it.

"Ignis hastae", she said, sounding out the unfamiliar words. "Made by blind monks from a rowan tree grown on the grave of a slayer, these matches burn with a sacred flame guaranteed to enhance all benign magics and to protect against the forces of darkness. Leto quoque custodiunto nos."

Cordelia looked up. "Must be watcher matches," she said, carefully putting the matchbox back on the table.

Xander picked the matchbox up, squinted at the small writing, then turned it over.

"All guarantees will be null and void," Xander read, "if these matches are used in Antarctica, Afghanistan, France, Haiti, Tokyo, or Transylvannia, or if they are used for defence against any dark power of godling rank or higher. If a failure of this product should leave you dead, undead, inhuman or soulless, please do not complain in person."

Xander smiled. "So, at least if we die Giles will get his money back."

Cordelia glanced over at the demon, currently busy trying to dissolve Buffy's knees. If that was a god, it was a pathetic weakling. A real god would just turn Buffy into a ant, then step on her.

"This will work," Cordelia said, looking at the flame. "Willow, what do we set fire to next?"

"Everything."

"When you said everything," Cordelia said as they watched the Bronze burn, "I didn't think you meant my hair."

Willow winced.

"Cordy," Xander said. "It was an accident. Willow just tripped, and she did put the fire out."

"With a bottle of beer," Cordelia said, one hand plucking at her damp top. "Do you have any idea what I look like?"

Inwardly, Cordelia smiled. For once, she didn't have to restrain herself. She could tell Xander and Willow what she honestly thought of them, and they wouldn't hold it against her.

"My cousin Gwen," Xander said, smiling tentatively in what was obviously a feeble attempt to divert Cordelia's justified anger.

"Exactly," Cordelia said sharply. "Reme-"

Cordelia swallowed the end of the word. Xander didn't remember telling her about Gwen's problems, because he hadn't yet. Now he was looking curiously at her, clearly puzzled by what her objection to Gwen might be.

"Um, guys," Willow said nervously. "I think the demon's doing something new."

Grateful for the interruption, Cordelia turned away from Xander.

She couldn't see much, just two fast moving shapes silhouetted against the flames but if Willow thought something was going to happen she was probably right.

"Is it getting smaller?" she asked, looking uncertainly at the burning demon.

"Maybe," Willow said. "Volume is cubic. If it lost half its mass and, um, not fifteen, sixteen cubed is, um, we'd barely notice, but that's not what I meant. It's stopped fighting Buffy."

"That's good, isn't it?" Xander said.

"Last time we thought that," Cordelia reminded him, "it dissolved the floor underneath Buffy."

The demon flowed into a new shape, a single tall cylinder, higher than the flames.

Buffy stepped backwards.

The demon quivered, then fired a ball of black slime out of the top of the cylinder.

Now free of the flames, the ball began to reshape itself as it fell, while beneath it the cylinder slumped down into the flames, and was consumed.

"That's definitely different," Willow said, blushing.

Newly formed wings beating frantically, the demon lurched through the air, crashing into the roof of the building opposite.

Buffy walked out of the fire, stepping over the burning rubble as blithely as if she was strolling through the mall, not a hair out of place, not a mark on her skin.

Unfortunately, the blood demon had not extended the same protection to Buffy's clothes.

Xander gulped, then looked away.

A moment later Willow elbowed him in the ribs.

"Where'd that demon go?" Buffy asked, her posture alert.

Willow silently pointed up at the roof behind her.

The demon was shifting into a new shape, sleeker but still winged.

Buffy scowled. "How am I supposed to fight something that can fly?"

"Buffy," Cordelia said slowly. "You're not really dressed for fighting."

"What!" Buffy said, brushing herself down, then "Oh. Right. Not much left, is there?"

Nothing at all, as far as Cordelia could tell, only a smearing of ashes.

"Got anything I could borrow?" Buffy added plaintively, while ineffectually trying to cover herself with her hands.

"We burnt it all." Xander said.

Buffy glanced at Xander's bare back. "So I see."

"Fortunately," Xander said smiling, "people round here are very unobservant."

"Not that unobservant." Willow said. "We'll have to find her some clothes."

The demon sprang into the air, circled once, then swooped down to attack.

Buffy snatched the matches from Willow, lit one, and held it up high.

The demon immediately swerved, flying into a wall.

Cordelia blinked.

The demon had gone straight through the wall, its acid touch dissolving a neat, almost cartoon like, hole.

"Must be switchable," Willow muttered as the demon surged through the roof.

It circled overhead once more, at a safe height, then with a final cry of "Tekeli Li!" flew away, soon disappearing into the clouds.

Two seconds later, the sirens started, fire engines rushing to the blaze.

Suspiciously convenient that, but it would have to wait.

"Looks like all the excitement's over," Cordelia said with what she hoped would be impressive calm, "See you tomorrow."

"-or maybe a flame thrower," Xander said the next morning, looking at Buffy.

"They're not traditional," Willow said. "Giles wouldn't use something that modern."

"Greek fire," Cordelia said, remembering a conversation six months hence. "But there are too many things that could make the fuel tank explode. Now, can we please talk about something normal."

Ever since they'd all met up this morning, Xander had been going on about what fancy stuff Giles might have that Buffy could use to kill amorphous demons, like the slime demon and blood demon they'd met yesterday.

A natural enough line of speculation, of course, but quite pointless. It would be a lot more sensible, and discreet, to wait until they actually met Giles rather than talking about weird stuff in public.

"Too late," Buffy said, smiling, as she pushed open the library doors.

"Ooh!" Willow said, looking at the table. "More new books."

Cordelia glanced at the new pile of boxes, then at the line of crates still waiting to be unpacked. "I don't think so."

The books had been packed into sturdy crates; these new boxes looked like flimsy cardboard, far too weak to be filled with books, and the one emptied box appeared to be lined with white tissue paper.

"Giles!" Buffy shouted.

Xander walked over to the table and opened one of the smaller boxes.

"Definitely not books," he said, pulling out a woman's black shoe.

Cordelia took it from him; low-heeled and plain, at first glance it looked like the kind of thing Willow wore, but it smelt expensive. It was definitely quality leather, and hand-stitched too.

Someone had spent a lot of money on a deeply unfashionable shoe.

"Oh, good," Giles said as he came out of his office. "You're here. Did you sleep well?"

"The meditation worked," Cordelia said quickly. She'd still had a few nightmares, each filled with the imagery of despair, but nothing she couldn't live with. "What's all this for?"

"Dame Margo is coming."

"Your boss?" Willow said tentatively.

Definitely bad news. If she started interfering it'd make it a lot harder for Cordelia to guide events, and there was a good chance Margo would be able to expose Cordelia's little deceptions.

"Why?" Buffy said.

Xander nodded. "You said they were going to leave us alone. You made me come here at the weekend so they'd leave us alone."

"That was before the council split." Giles said.

"What's she want?" Willow asked. "She can't make us stop being Buffy's friends."

"Dame Margo agrees it's too late for that," Giles said. "She said she was coming for the death gate."

"So she's not stopping." Buffy said.

"She'll only be here a few days," Giles confirmed. "But we'll need to tread carefully around her, hence the clothes."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Cordelia said sharply. Judging by the shoe, Margo had lousy taste.

"They didn't wear clothes like that when Dame Margo was young," Giles said, smiling faintly. "She is prepared to tolerate them as casual wear, -"

"How generous," Buffy said as Xander asked "How old is she?"

"Those records are sealed." Giles said. "But her slayer died in 1916."

"So she's an alchemist," Willow said.

After a moment's thought Cordelia nodded. Margo must have been around Giles's age back then, and that was eighty years ago, so she had to be at least one hundred and twenty now. People could live that long without using magic, but only just and they were all far too decrepit to actually do anything. Margo must be using magic to stay alive, and the only such magic Cordelia had heard of was alchemy.

"She spent forty years in her lab after her fall, mastering the basics."

"Slow," Xander observed.

"Alchemy is hard," Giles said. "Most watchers who attempt the great work die of old age before they can learn how to hold back the ravages of time."

"Why?" Willow asked. "Can't they just do what the last one did?"

"This isn't science," Giles said. "The rituals that would give me eternal life would kill you, and vice versa."

Seeing the intrigued look on Willow's face Cordelia quickly spoke, before the conversation could get completely sidetracked.

"So what are the clothes for?"

"Ceremonial purposes," Giles replied. "Dame Margo is fond of ceremonial."

"She wants us to dress up?" Xander said.

"Only for her presentation to Buffy. As civilians, less is expected of you."

"She's going to give me a present?" Buffy said, looking slightly confused.

"No," Giles said. "First she'll deliver the shortened ritual greeting of the slayer, that should only take an hour, then-"

"An hour!" Buffy exclaimed. "What's she going to do."

"We're lucky Dame Margo isn't staying long," Giles said. "The full version takes three days. Then, after that, these three will be invited into your presence. I will, um, 'proclaim their heroic deeds', then she will declare them worthy. Old-fashioned nonsense, but Dame Margo insists."

Or in plain English, 'I'm really on your side. Margo is making me do this.' Giles had to trying to make sure Margo's eccentricities didn't reflect badly on him.

"But haven't done anything heroic," Willow said. "Buffy's the hero. We just help her."

"That counts," Giles said. "Use a few stock phrases and some archaic language, and it'll sound a lot more impressive. Really though, it's enough for Dame Margo that you've chosen to help Buffy. Everything else is just to satisfy her love of pomp."

Cordelia nodded, remembering how she had bluffed Darla. "Did not we battle the minions of the master of flesh and blood beneath the dread gaze of the lords of Knn-Yrr?"

For a moment Willow looked strangely triumphant, then she put on her poker face, an expression so clearly fake it stank of ill-concealed secrets.

Cordelia quickly reviewed her last few words, then smiled inwardly. She had accidentally fuelled Willow's suspicions, but her slip had been so unspecific it would just reinforce Giles and Willow's misconceptions.

Xander smiled. "Cordy's always been good at boasting."

Cordelia deliberately smiled back, as if she had been complimented, then looked at Giles. "I'm not wearing those shoes. They're ugly."

"Dame Margo insists," Giles repeated.

"So?" Cordelia said. Margo was Giles's boss, not hers.

"It will save much trouble if we humour Dame Margo."

"Until the next time she comes."

"It should give my party time to prevent her returning."

Cordelia hesitated. Giles knew more than she did about the internal politics of the watcher's council, so he was probably right. Humouring Margo probably would give his friends in the council time to stop her coming back.

Still, Cordelia wasn't a watcher. She shouldn't have to follow their rules. Surely Giles could sweet-talk Margo by himself, without requiring her to wear ugly clothes.

Willow carefully lifted a black silk dress out of one of the boxes. Floor length, with a pleated skirt, and a high neck line, it looked expensive but several decades out of fashion. The silvery crosses embroidered on the bodice looked like a good idea though.

Buffy looked disdainfully at the dress. "Find another way."

"I think this is supposed to be for you," Willow said, passing a top hat to Xander.

"You want me to wear a suit," he protested. "I'll look silly."

He couldn't look any worse than he normally did. In fact, given how little men's fashions changed, he'd probably had the least to complain about.

"It would only be for twenty minutes," Giles said. "It's supposed to be a sign of your respect for the slayer."

"But I don't want him to." Buffy said.

"It's not for you, as such," Giles said. "It's like the difference between respecting the presidency and respecting the incumbent."

Xander half-smiled, then pulled a silver-topped cane out of one of the boxes. "I'm not old. Why do I need a walking stick?"

Giles took the cane then, holding it parallel to the ground, then pressed his thumb down.

A six-inch wooden spike sprang out of the base.

Xander smiled, and took the cane back. "Now that, I like."

"Dame Margo's party believe those who fight the dark forces should never go unarmed. Sound in principle, perhaps, but not very practical with modern clothes."

"What do we get?" Cordelia asked, wondering how many supporters Margo had in her party, and how influential they might be. "A spring-loaded parasol?"

Giles carefully pulled two boxes from the bottom of the pile, then opened one and took out a gold-encrusted fan; very shiny, but too gaudy for Cordelia's liking.

"Dame Margo once killed a vampire with one of these," Giles said, opening the fan to reveal an oil painting of an old man in a library reading by candlelight.

"When he asked her for a dance," Giles said, "she held out her hand to be kissed-"

Giles nudged one of the jewels.

Silently the steel emerged from under the gold, a sharp-looking blade running along the leading edge of the fan.

"The vampire bent down to do her the honour-"

Giles whipped the fan down, hard.

"-and lost its head."

Margo must have had strong nerves. Personally, Cordelia would have liked a slightly longer ranged weapon.

A hundred yards sounded about right; just close enough to tell they weren't human.

Giles smiled as he put the fan down. "They're also heavy enough to make a decent club."

"There are only two," Willow said. "Why?"

"Buffy's slayerhood is felt to be weapon enough."

"There are only two dress boxes, as well," Buffy said. "And Xander's suit. What does she expect me to wear?"

"Um, yes, well," Giles said slowly. "The ceremonial dress of a slayer is of somewhat older vintage."

"How old?" Buffy asked suspiciously.

"Our records don't say," Giles said. "Um, I'll just fetch it, shall I."

Giles hurried back into his office.

"What do you think?" Xander asked. "Medieval, roman, or cavewoman?"

Giles wheeled the costume out, without offering any excuses.

The boots were passable, Cordelia supposed; dove-grey was not a good colour but the knee-high legs would be flattering; and the leather miniskirt would have looked nice if someone hadn't covered it in metal studs.

The top wasn't much better; a leather T-shirt, in the same drab shade of grey, with a white tree painted on the front and, resting on its trunk, a scroll and a spear. Cordelia knew she was attractive enough to get away with wearing that ensemble, but Buffy certainly wasn't.

Not even Cordelia had enough poise to carry off the helmet though.

No one wore hats these days, especially not metal ones, and even when they had they'd only walked around with a few feathers in their cap, not an entire bird.

This helmet had a stuffed seagull mounted on top.

The strangest thing, though, was that someone had mounted the entire outfit on a life-size copper statue of Buffy, not something Cordelia would have expected Giles to have.

"I am not wearing that thing," Buffy said flatly.

"Who made the statue?" Willow asked. "You couldn't have had the time."

"Dame Margo," Giles said, not looking at Buffy.

"How?" Willow asked. "They've never met."

"There are many spells that can summon the image of the slayer," Giles said. "Dame Margo must have cast one, then used her alchemy to make it real. She'll have done the same to get your measurements; used a recording of your interview with the board to conjure your image, then solidified it."

"You mean she's got a statue of me?" Xander said. "With, you know, nothing missing?"

"I don't think she'll keep it long," Giles replied. "Not unless you really impress her."

And Margo was much too old to be impressed by that kind of thing. At least, Cordelia hoped so.

For all she knew, thanks to her alchemy Margo might now look twenty, with two lifetimes of experience. Competing with that would be difficult, even for Cordelia.

"I'm not wearing that," Buffy repeated. "I'll bet she won't be."

Giles looked down at the table. "Dame Margo will be making other sacrifices."

"Such as?" Buffy challenged.

"You'll be sitting over there, on the top step," Giles said, pointing.

"Dame Margo will enter through the library doors," Giles said, "on her hands and knees. She will then crawl across the library, stopping every five yards to sing a hymn of paean to the slayer. When she finally reaches you she will kiss the ground at your feet, then beg for your permission to serve the slayer."

"So that's why it'll take an hour," Cordelia said quietly. "How long has she been mad?"

The singing was merely eccentric, but crawling around on the floor was undignified, especially at Margo's age. No sane person would volunter to do anything so demeaning.

"Why?" Buffy asked. "I don't want people crawling at my feet. Tell her she doesn't have to do it."

"Dame Margo wants to." Giles said. "She thinks if she doesn't abase herself she will start to place herself above you."

Giles scowled. "Completely unnecessary, of course. I've never done anything like that, and I have no difficulty remembering that it is you who is on the sharp end. I've never thought of you as merely a weapon in my hand, and I never will. None of us do. We all know the truth, without need of obsolete ceremonies to remind us."

"So tell her that." Buffy said.

"I have," Giles said. "But there are very few people who can out-argue Dame Margo, and I am not one of them. She is determined to perform this ceremony, irrespective of our wishes."

"If I don't come, she won't be able do it."

Giles sighed. "Dame Margo might not let that stop her. Time permitting, she will hunt you down, force you into the appropriate costume, and pay her respects, even if she has to use magic."

"Strange way to show respect," Xander muttered, while Buffy silently fumed.

"Her party often does seem to pay more respect for the position than for the person."

"They influential, much?" Cordelia said, deliberately giving Giles the opening he seemed to be angling for. Normally, she wouldn't have been interested in the internal politics of the council, but now it looked like she might be about to become entangled in it.

"I'm not supposed to speak about such things, but since you asked ..." Giles said, smiling.

"There have always been many factions within the council, many different views about our proper role, and that of the slayer. Dame Margo's is a old faction, discredited since the twenties, after the scandal over her expenses. As its then leader, she was forbidden to hold any office, and placed under house arrest, but she is an adroit politician. She quietly studied alchemy while the memories faded, then traded her continued silence for a place on the committees, where she caught the eye of the board."

Giles scowled again. "Travers was highly placed in my party, until his rebellion. We have controlled the council for seventy glorious years, but now Travers's idiocy has placed all that in jeopardy. If he'd had enough self-restraint to confine his protests to the traditional channels, you would never have heard of Dame Margo, or her discredited policies, but instead he threw a tantrum, and brought our party down. Now we must pay the price for his folly."

So the council was leaderless, and the fanatics running loose? Not good news.

No doubt Giles's friends would regain control soon, it sounded like they were the only sane candidates, but until then the council would be more hindrance than help.

"Could Margo take over the council?" Willow asked.

"You mustn't call her that." Giles said quickly. "Address her as Dame Margo, or Custos Sophiae Veterrimus. The board does not permit its members to take any other position of authority within the council, but Dame Margo's reputation may be enough to garner support for her party. They are considered moderates, and they do have recent-"

"I don't care about the politics." Buffy said sharply. "I'll call her what I like."

"Dame Margo will acccept that from the slayer," Giles said. "But if the rest of us are disrespectful she will be most disappointed."

"I can live with that," Xander said.

Willow looked down at the table. "Can Giles?"

Cordelia caught her meaning immediately. Giles had said yesterday there were squads of watchers hunting down everyone who seemed disloyal, and Cordelia was pretty sure they wouldn't bother with a fair trial, not when the council was in the middle of a civil war.

Anything that might make Giles a target would definitely be a bad idea. He wouldn't be in any actual danger, Buffy would see to that, but fighting off vigilante watchers would be a distraction from the main battle.

Buffy frowned. "I won't let Margo do anything to you, Giles. Ignore her."

Giles winced. "It is not quite that simple."

Cordelia nodded. "We already have enough problems with the hellmouth, without having to fight watchers as well."

Xander scowled. "They're supposed to be on our side."

"They are," Giles said. "But they're not sure if I am."

"So we should tread carefully now," Willow said, "to avoid trouble later."

Xander looked down at the suit. "What's the worse they can do? Take away his library card?"

Giles did not respond.

"Get him deported?" Xander suggested, more hesitantly this time.

Giles looked at Xander, but stayed silent, neatly disassociating himself from the emotional blackmail he was relaying.

"They wouldn't kill you, would they?" Xander said quietly. "Not for that?"

"Dame Margo would not give such orders," Giles said, not exactly a denial.

Willow looked briefly uncertain, then smiled faintly. "But her followers might hear them."

"There is precedent-" Giles said.

"Thomas á Becket." Willow interupted.

Not a name that meant anything to Cordelia, but Giles clearly recognised it.

"Among others," he said. "If Dame Margo were to deem me unsatisfactory in this time of crisis, there are many who would take it as proof of my supposed disloyalty, and some who would attempt to satisfy her presumed wishes with my head."

"So make her say she doesn't want you dead." Buffy said firmly.

"That will only work if Dame Margo sounds like she means it, which means humouring her."

Buffy hesitated, then looked uncertainly at Giles. "Margo doesn't have any other strange ideas, does she?"

"Dame Margo holds somewhat idiosyncratic views on many topics-" Giles said.

"He means yes," Cordelia interpreted, thinking about the way Giles was talking.

He'd condemned Margo's policies, and rightly so, but he'd been very careful not to overtly criticise Margo herself. Why? Was it out of fear, or out of respect? If fear, then Margo didn't take criticism of her policies personally; if respect, Giles would not be a reliable protection against her dictat. Cordelia needed to know to be able to deal with Margo effectively.

Ignoring Cordelia's comment Giles continued, "but she will only be here a few days, not long enough to do much. At worst, you might put on a few pounds."

"Why?" Buffy asked, looking puzzled.

"Dame Margo likes slayers to be well fed."

"Don't you?" Willow asked.

"I don't quite think Buffy needs to dine on champagne, chocolate and caviar every single day," Giles said smiling.

Well, that explained Margo's problem with her expenses.

"Once might be nice," Buffy said, looking intently at Giles. "Will you tell us all her other strange ideas?"

Giles nodded.

"Then I'll do this silly ceremony," Buffy said slowly, "for your sake."

Cordelia waited patiently while Mrs Bodsworth carefully searched, looking for bugs. It was embarrassing, standing around in her underwear while some prim-looking elderly woman looked her over but, after hearing what Margo herself could do with a recorded voice, she could understand the necessity. Creating a statue might be mostly harmless but there would certainly be other, more sinister uses for that technique, uses with which Margo's enemies were probably all too familiar.

"Are you sure nobody will come in here?" Willow asked, for the fourth time.

"Dame Margo's magics do not fail," Mrs Bodsworth said, glancing meaningfully at the classroom door, where the ward hung.

Mrs Bodsworth claimed it was a powerful piece of magic that would leave anyone without permission unaware the classroom even existed, but to Cordelia it just looked like a dozen grey feathers stuck in a lump of clay.

Still, Cordelia had seen enough real magic to know it didn't always look spectacular. She was prepared to take trust that piece of apparent junk, for now. Besides, if it did happen to fail the leverage that failure would give her over Margo would be worth the embarrassment.

"Wouldn't it be safer to simply lock the door?" Willow persisted.

"Dame Margo felt this was the most effective way of achieving her aims," Mrs Bodsworth said.

Then Margo had a very casual attitude to the use of magic, more so than anyone else Cordelia had seen, which fitted with what Giles had said about her.

"But what do you think?" Willow asked.

Cordelia suppressed a sigh. Mrs Bodsworth was Margo's aide, and had been for over twenty years. There was no way Willow's crude tactics would get her to say anything against her boss; they would only annoy her.

"Dame Margo is never wrong," Mrs Bodsworth said in tones that scorned the possibility of doubt.

"Must be nice, working for her," Cordelia said, trying not to sound sarcastic. "No worries, no doubts."

Mrs Bodsworth half-smiled, then grabbed a handful of Cordelia's hair. "Dame Margo will not like this."

"What?" Cordelia said sharply. "I have good hair."

Willow smiled.

"Too easy for an enemy to grab hold of," Mrs Bodsworth explained. "For now, I'll put it up, but Dame Margo will insist on it being cut."

There was a lot Cordelia could have said to that, but it would be pointless arguing with Mrs Bodsworth. It wasn't her opinion Cordelia needed to change; it was Margo's.

Instead Cordelia looked pointedly at Miss Bodsworth's outfit, a grey dress in the same drab style as the black ones Margo had sent, but with a grey shawl worn over it, and faked a thoughtful frown.

"I thought you'd wear white," she said, trying to sound curious. She wasn't really interested in hearing about Margo's fashion tips, not when the woman was decades out of date, but the answer should give her a better feel for Margo's personality.

Mrs Bodsworth smiled. "We're human, creatures of the grey lands, where sunlight fades into shadow. We can not dwell in light undimmed. Its full glory would blind us as surely as its absence, and abomination would follow thereafter."

Mrs Bodsworth paused, her lips pursed in concentration as she threaded a silk ribbon through Cordelia's hair.

"No," she went on. "The light is not for the likes of us. Better to wear grey, and remember our human failings, than to aspire to the white, and fall short."

That wasn't a sentiment Cordelia could ever agree with, far too defeatist for her liking, but it did help suggest what arguments Margo would be vulnerable to.

"I suppose Margo wears white," Willow said. "She can't have many failings, not if she's never wrong."

Cordelia winced as Mrs Bodsworth's hands tightened in her hair. Willow did have a point, the humble words of Margo's aides didn't really fit with Margo's own arrogance, but this was not a good time for an argument.

"Dame Margo has wisdom enough not to speak while doubt remains," Miss Bodsworth said firmly. "Do not think to judge her, child. You could not even begin to grasp the subtleties of her thoughts."

"Bodsworth," Willow snapped. "You can't tell me what to think. Th-"

Mrs Bodsworth rapped Willow across the knuckles with the hair brush. "You will address us with proper respect."

"I'm afraid Willow's parents are very progressive," Cordelia said hastily, before Willow could dig herself deeper in. They needed to concentrate their fire on Margo herself, not waste their energies scrapping with her flunkies. "Perhaps if I have a quick word with her?"

Mrs Bodsworth stepped back and looked at Cordelia, then nodded. "You'll do. See if you can talk some sense into her, and ask for help should you have any trouble with your underskirts."

Willow scowled as Cordelia dragged her to the far side of the classroom.

"Why-" Willow said, far too loudly.

"Quieter," Cordelia said softly, her glare silencing Willow. "Do you want her to hear? And don't whisper either. That wouldn't look good."

"You're not taking her side?" Willow said quietly. "I thought-"

"Our argument is with Margo, not with her flunkies, and if we butter her up ..."

Cordelia waited for Willow to get the implication.

"You think she might give stuff away. You want to cross-check what Giles told us?"

Cordelia nodded. "Next time, remember to read between the lines. I know you're smart enough."

Willow had no hope of ever matching Cordelia's social skills but if she put her mind to it she should be able to do well enough, by more normal standards.

Looking half-apologetic, half annoyed, Willow began babbling.

"I was doing that, with her. I didn't have to expect to do it with you as well, not because I think you're not smart enough to do it, which you are, smart enough I mean, not doing it, though you are that too, but because you're, well, you. And you shouldn't have talked about my parents like that, or dragged me-"

Cordelia gently tapped Willow on the arm, before she could say something unforgivable. "Mrs Bodsworth is waiting for you."

"For Giles, right?" Willow said.

Cordelia nodded.

Willow sighed, then walked slowly over to where Mrs Bodsworth stood waiting.

"Have you done something to your hair?" Xander asked, looking at Cordelia and Willow.

"Apparently," Cordelia said, patting her bun, "Dame Margo is worried someone might try pulling our hair."

"But nothing can get in the library. The board gave Giles magic stones to prevent that, right?"

"Dame Margo did," Mr Bodsworth said, "but there is a principle to be upheld."

Ignoring him, Willow smiled nervously at Xander. "How do I look?"

Xander hesitated. "Good."

Cordelia didn't believe him. The classroom hadn't had any mirrors, so Cordelia hadn't been able to get a good look at herself, but one glance at Willow was enough to show the dresses were putting ten years on them.

Cordelia did not appreciate being made to look like some twenty-five year old spinster.

Xander's outfit did make him look older too, but for him that was a good thing. Xander looked like a man of the world now, not a callow youth. The skillful tailoring of the suit helped too, making Xander look subtly taller and slimmer.

Xander had definitely got the best of the bargain.

Mrs Bodsworth stepped out of the library. "Everything's ready now."

"Finally," Xander muttered.

"Patience is a virtue," Mr Bodsworth said sharply. "Waiting two minutes should not test yours."

"You have had your instructions," Mrs Bodsworth went on. "Try not to disgrace Mr Giles."

"We won't, Mrs" Willow said, glancing sideways at Cordelia.

Mrs Bodsworth looked at her husband, who nodded back, then they fully opened both halves of the library door.

Cordelia looked through the open doors, trying to see Buffy, but she was too far to the left.

"Three seek audience," Mr Bodsworth announced.

"I will vouch for their worth," Giles replied, his voice ringing out from within the library.

"Stand forth, and be recognised," Mr Bodsworth said. "Master Alexander of Sunnydale,"

Xander strolled into the centre of the doorway, halfway between the Bodsworths.

"Miss Cordelia of Sunnydale,"

Cordelia stepped gracefully forward to stand at Xander's right.

Now she could see Buffy, in full costume, sitting on the top step, a box of chocolates in her lap.

She didn't look happy.

Cordelia quickly glanced at Giles, looking rather out of place swathed in his grey cloak, then looked down at the foot of the steps, where the cause of all this needless fuss was sitting, a grey-haired old lady with a contented smile.

Cordelia was not fooled. Everything else about Margo, from her ramrod straight posture to her unwavering gaze, spoke of a lady of iron will, long accustomed to trampling over all opposition. Others, far stronger than you, have challenged me, Margo's face seemed to say, and failed utterly. What hope have you?

It was a look Cordelia had often tried practising in the mirror, with only limited success. She'd developed a glare that could silence the likes of Willow and Harmony, a useful addition to her social armoury, but she knew she didn't look anywhere near as intimidating as Margo. Not even her aunt could have managed that feat.

Still, Cordelia was not daunted. Margo was on her terrritory now, among people who cared nothing for her reputation, who did not respect her supposed authority. Formidable though Margo clearly was, she would be accustomed to manipulating watchers; her techniques finely tuned to exploit the shared habits of thought ingrained in them all by their common training.

Against Cordelia and her friends, none of whom had shared that training, most of those techniques would be useless.

"These are the three who would be admitted to the company of the slayer," Mr Bodsworth announced, breaking Cordelia's concentration.

Dame Margo looked at Giles. "Ausa cane sua, tutor hastae augustissima, ut censeam suum pretium."

Cordelia had only understood one word in all that gibberish, but she recognised the language: Latin, just as Giles as warned them. Apparently, Margo thought dead languages sounded more impressive, which showed how little she understood her current audience.

Cordelia took a second look at Margo, carefully comparing her clothing with Mrs Bodsworth's. Margo's dress had more embroidery, her shawl had a lace edging, and she was wearing an ugly green broach, presumably all signs of her status in the watchers, which should make mocking them a good way to knock Margo off-balance.

Giles smiled. "Of their deeds I shall sing, oh custos sophiae veterrimi, that you may marvel, for these children of the hellmouth have done such things as should be the wonder of the age. Truly, their names should be revered throughout the land; their deeds celebrated in song and story."

Cordelia half-smiled. That was true, of course. Her name should be revered, and the others deserved a little fame. Giles didn't really believe that though, he was just using the standard laudatory formulas, which made the compliments much less satisfying.

"Bellum nostra secreto bellandum est," Margo said. "Clamare populi nobis erit numquam. Si veritatem tuum verbum est, nos unica suum ausum potest meminisse."

Margo did have a beautiful voice, perfect for voice-overs, but Cordelia still wasn't impressed.

"Then I shall sing," Giles said, "lest their names be forgotten, and their deeds fade from all memory."

"And so they went," Giles sang ten minutes later, "where few would dare, the place of death, the reaper's lair, daring battle to save a friend, that he not meet early his end."

Which had been just two nights ago, so Giles couldn't have that much left to sing about.

At least Giles had a good singing voice, not as nice as Margo's but still decent, and his words were pleasant to hear. It would have been better if he'd skipped over the verses about Xander and Willow, neither of who deserved such praise, but the verses about her, those she could have listened to for hours on end.

Margo seemed to like the song too. She'd been saying 'venite propius' every few verses, and beckoning them closer, just as Giles had said she would if all went well.

Now, they were halfway to Buffy, and the ceremony was nearing its end. Soon it would be over, and Cordelia would get the chance to show Margo how little her status among the watchers meant here in Sunnydale.

"But behind them others followed," Giles sang. "To danger blind they walked death's road."

"Halt." Margo said abruptly, the first English word she'd spoken. "Someone comes."

She paused, fingering her broach, then looked at Giles. "Mr Giles, you have erred, and endangered my security. Was this on purpose?"

"Dame Margo," Giles said quickly. "I assure you I know nothing about this. I'd never seek to harm you, never."

"Incompetence, then, Mr Giles," Margo said. "But one must make allowance for the follies of youth. I will exact no penance."

Hearing the unspoken threat, Willow winced but Cordelia smiled. Margo wouldn't be wasting time with her posturing if she thought their unexpected visitor a threat, not if she was even half as competent as she looked.

Looking unruffled, Giles glanced at the doors then asked, "Dame Margo, I am at somewhat of a loss. I was under the impression nothing short of a full god could penetrate your wards."

Cordelia carefully watched Margo's reaction to the covert insult, half expecting trouble, then relaxed. Judging by the way Margo's lips had twitched, Giles's information about her had been right. She really did relish verbal combat, so much so she was prepared to overlook minor transgressions rather than deny herself the thrill of the fight.

That would make Cordelia's life much easier. She'd be able to confront Margo overtly, without endangering Giles, as long as she heeded the rest of Giles's advice; to act respectfully, lose gracefully, and show no emotions.

"Mr Giles," Margo said, "need I remind you of the power inherent in an invitation, however illicitly gained?"

Buffy leaned forward. "Just tell us who's coming."

Dame Margo smiled. "Patience. She will be here in three seconds. You may stand at ease."

As she finished speaking, Margo leaned back against the stairs and closed her eyes.

Cordelia half-turned, then took one step backward, giving herself a clear view of both the doorway and Margo.

The doors swung open.

Harmony stared into the room, her initial composure swiftly giving way to unconcealed shock migled with a hint of fear.

She quickly hid her emotions behind a scowl, a moment too late. "What weird stuff are you freaks doing now?"

"Play rehearsal," Xander said, staring at Harmony.

"For Boadicea," Willow added, glancing at Margo. "You know, the Shakespeare play you saw us rehearsing once before. Doesn't Buffy's costume look great?"

Cordelia just stared at Harmony, wondering who could be desperate enough to use her in their plans. She couldn't be here by pure chance, even if some slip of the tongue had given her an accidental invite she still wouldn't have gone anywhere near the library under normal circmstances, so someone must have arranged this, but why? What use could Harmony be?

Harmony started to look at Buffy, then stiffened, her gaze locked on Margo.

"Why are you here?" Giles asked.

"This is a library," Harmony said, still looking thoughtfully at Margo.

"I don't recall ever seeing you here before." Giles said pointedly.

Harmony finally looked away from Margo. "No, I have a life, not like these freaks. Who's the lady?"

"A colleague," Cordelia said. "Why did you come here, today?"

Harmony hesitated. "I won't let you hang round these freaks any longer. It's bad for my -"

"Harmony," Cordelia snapped, her hand tightening on her fan, "Do you enjoy being popular?"

Harmony laughed. "Did you?"

"I always will," Cordelia said, unphased by Harmony's empty threat. "You are-"

"Of course," Harmony said. "You wouldn't have heard. You've been spending so much time with these freaks that-"

"Harmony," Buffy said, her voice dangerously low. "I am not a freak. None of us are."

Harmony laughed again. "Looked in the mirror lately?"

"That's a costume." Xander said hotly.

Harmony looked scornfully at him. "One you picked, no doubt. It looks like something out of your comic books."

"I-" Xander began, then Willow leant over and whispered something in his ear, silencing.

Harmony looked back at Buffy. "You are a freak. You can't hide it. You could have been normal, like me."

Harmony hesitated thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps not quite like me. You don't have my natural beauty, or my way with people, but I could have helped you disguise those flaws. If you wore quality clothes, not your normal rags, and had your hair and make-up done professionally people wouldn't notice how short and fat you are, or how grotesque your nose is."

"Cordelia," Buffy said quietly. "How long has your friend been mad?"

"Thirty-six hours," Cordelia replied smiling, hoping the detailed knowledge falsely implied by her precision would unsettle both Harmony and Margo.

Ignoring the quick exchange, Harmony rambled on. "-normal inside, but you aren't. Normal people would have avoided those two losers, and that monstrosity."

Harmony spat the last word, pointing at Cordelia, her face contorted with hate.

"Harmony," Giles said. "You-"

"Shut up." Harmony shouted. "You don't know anything important. You're as bad as Buffy, wasting time on saving losers while the real cri-"

"Enough," Margo said, her voice a silk-wrapped sword, and Harmony stopped midword.

"Furis cassum pretium sunt verba," Margo added, looking steadily at Harmony.

Cordelia looked at Margo, then suppressed a shudder. Margo had dropped the sweet-old-lady act.

Harmony winced, as if struck, then looked down at the floor.

"Look at me, wretch," Margo said softly, and Harmony's head jerked back up.

After a few seconds Harmony began to shake.

Cordelia started rethinking her plans. She was stronger than Harmony, of course. She wouldn't crumble beneath Margo's gaze, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of personality now visible in her eyes, but still it might be best not to provoke Margo too much.

"What was that gibberish?" Harmony said; a brave show of defiance undermined by her unsteady voice.

"Not just ill-mannered, but ill-educated too," Margo said. "There would not be much doubt about your future profession, even if your clothes did not proclaim it."

Willow smiled.

Margo looked at Mrs Bodsworth. "Agatha, you will cover her up."

Mrs Bodsworth looked around, fingered her shawl hesitantly, then scowled and dashed into Giles's office.

"Mr Giles," Margo said. "You may have the honour of translating my words."

Mrs Bodsworth -no, Agatha- dashed out of Giles's office, carrying the overflowing wastepaper basket and a roll of sellotape.

Giles frowned, almost imperceptibly, as Agatha began sticking the cardboard from the parcels to Harmony, who shifted uneasily but, still transfixed by Margo's gaze, did not dare protest.

"As you wish, Dame Margo," Giles said. "The words of a thief are worthless."

"Hey!" Harmony said hotly, then paled beneath the lash of Margo's redoubled stare.

"I'm not a thief," Harmony added, her voice barely audible.

Margo toned her gaze back down a notch, then smiled, showing perfect teeth. "Did you buy that supposed dress? No. You did not. Nor did your mother, or your father, or your latest beaux. No, that dress was not bought for you, was it."

Harmony's expression shifted, from initial shock, through impotent fury, to realisation. "You know?"

"Answer my question, wretch," Margo said, the steel now showing through the silk.

"No, it wasn't," Harmony admitted, her voice a broken reed. "But I had no choice."

"The oldest excuse." Margo said disdainfully. "There is always a choice."

Cordelia frowned, digging through old memories. It had been nearly two years ago, for her, four months for the rest of the world, but she was almost certain she'd seen Harmony buy that dress.

Yes, that sounded right. Late December, it had been, for the Christmas parties.

And yet Harmony's admission had sounded genuine, and her whispered 'You know?' seemed to confirm its truth. How could that be?

"It wasn't really theft." Harmony muttered. "Friends share everything."

"And where is your friend now?" Margo asked. "In what hell did you abandon her that she could not follow you hither?"

"I'm the one whose been through hell." Harmony feebly protested. "You should-"

"I will not take instruction from you, wretch," Margo said. "And the third party has not insulted the slayer."

"Dame Margo," Giles said, looking uneasily at Harmony. "Does this matter truly fall within our jurisdiction? Insults to the slayer, however grievous, are-"

"Mr Giles," Margo said, the steel once more masked in silk. "I would never exceed my authority. This matter would fall to me even were not its resolution entangled in prophecy."

"Dame Margo," Giles said. "May I remind you that, as tutor augustissimae hastae, I hold amongst my perogatives the prosection of violators of the ancient law."

"Mr Giles," Margo said, turning to face him. "Your failure to interpret this prophecy imperiled my security, a lapse which places the matter into my hand."

"My apologies, Dame Margo," Giles said unconvincingly. "May I at least know what this prophecy is."

Margo smiled. "Translated from the original Tibetan, it reads, in part: 'When the old man first dances before the great mother on the day of the sea-foam's daughter, then shall the exiled queen battle for her former throne.' Now do you understand your error, Mr Giles?"

Harmony looked briefly thoughtful, then nodded to herself, clearly pleased.

"That's tomorrow." Giles said, "but I do not see the relevance, Dame Margo. That girl is neither a queen nor a throne."

Harmony smiled, apparently amused by Giles's incomprehension. She must think she knew what the prophecy meant, implausible though that sounded; unless, perhaps, she knew some other secret that fitted with it.

"I see the relevance, Mr Giles. Do you wish to dispute my judgement?"

"No, Dame Margo," Giles hastily assured her.

Buffy leaned forward, scowling. "Harmony isn't worth talking about. Get rid of her, and we can get on with this ... ceremony."

Harmony looked nervously at Margo, who was still facing Giles, then scowled back at Buffy. "Selfish, much?"

Margo turned to face Harmony

Harmony squealed in terror as she stumbled backwards, into Agatha.

Cordelia couldn't blame her. Her gaze upped another notch, Margo now seemed aglow with fury, a figure of menace to rival Angelus at his worst. This was a woman who fought the dark for untold years, a woman whose wrath even the demons must fear, and now it was focused on a single helpless girl.

Harmony might as well have challenged Buffy to a wrestling match.

Cordelia smiled, wondering how long it would take her to learn that look. It should certainly prove useful next time she needed to negotiate an extension on her homework, or an increase in her allowance.

Agatha helped Harmony steady herself, then cuffed her across the back of the head. "You were warned, wretch."

"Um, sorry, dame?" Harmony stuttered.

Margo smiled, a shark's smile.

Giles frowned, clearly displeased.

"What, I wonder," Margo said slowly, "do you think should be the slayer's priority? Waiting on you, hand and foot? I'm sure we'd all love to hear what passes for wisdom in your empty head."

Willow and Buffy both smiled, but now Xander was looking uncertain.

"I was thinking about that exiled queen." Harmony said quietly, an obvious riposte.

Too obvious, in fact. Margo was considered verbally adroit even by watcher standards; she would not make such slips accidentally.

Margo turned down her gaze to almost friendly level, a move Cordelia watched with grave suspicion. If that weak apology had been enough to appease Margo, she would have stood down immediately. She hadn't, so she must still be planning some punishment for Harmony's insult.

"Are you going to help her?" Harmony continued with growing confidence. "Could you do something now?"

"One might almost think you had a personal interest," Margo said, her tone dismissing the possibility.

Harmony shifted uneasily. "Could you?"

That really did sound like personal concern, despite Margo's implication, but Harmony had never cared about anyone except herself. Harmony must know some secret, one that suggested the prophecy was all about her, which knowledge might also explain her recent strange behaviour.

"I could," Margo said, "but side stepping prophecy is a hazardous business for we whose souls do not echo to the laughter of the bells."

Xander looked sharply at Margo, a question hovering on his half-open lips, but then he hesitated, and chose silence, the wisest thing Cordelia had seen him do in months.

"So, the queen will have to wait until tomorrow?" Harmony said. "Will you help her then?"

Buffy yawned, then looked at Giles, who shook his head.

"I might," Margo said, "If I were convinced she would be a better tenant of that throne."

Harmony blinked at that setback, then asked, "If this queen didn't know how to get her throne back, wouldn't you have to tell her how?"

"Indeed, I would," Margo said. "Lest prophecy be denied. I would have to arrange for the necessary items to come into that queen's possession."

Or, in plain English, Margo would help this queen get ready for the fight tomorrow, not something she'd have bothered telling Harmony unless Margo too thought her to be that queen, and if Margo thought that she was almost certainly right.

That must also be why Margo had maneuvered the conversation onto that topic; temporarily deferring her revenge for Harmony's last insult.

Harmony smiled, blissfully unware of her impending doom.

"Agatha," Margo said, "I believe the wretch's outfit is now adequately modest."

By Victorian standards, perhaps. From neck to ankle, Harmony was swathed in cardboard, a level of coverage that was, by any reasonable standard, almost nunnish.

Agatha nodded and stepped back.

"Harmony," Margo said, the steel back on display, "will you promise that in public, from now on, you will wear only your current apparel, or some other no less decent?"

"Dame Margo!" Giles protested. "Is this really-"

"It is for her own good, Mr Giles." Margo said, not looking away from Harmony. "Respectable men will find her modesty becoming, and the wretch clearly has no other hope of advancement."

Margo might believe that, she was certainly old enough to, but she must know Harmony didn't. She wasn't doing this for Harmony's sake; she was doing it to punish her for insulting Buffy.

It wouldn't work, though. Harmony would have that outfit off three seconds after she left Margo's sight.

Harmony hesitated, a transparent attempt to feign the reluctance Margo would expect, then mumbled, "OK."

"Speak your promise, in full," Margo said.

Harmony sighed. "I promise that from now on I'll never wear anything less decent than this in public."

"Then you may go," Margo said.

Harmony turned to leave.

"Stop, wretch!" Margo snapped, her voice the very essence of command.

Harmony stopped, absolutely still.

"Face me," Margo ordered, her gaze now back to its full-

Cordelia stopped herself midthought. Margo had been turning that look on and off to order, too smoothly for it not to be under full conscious control. This was not Margo's full fury, just a carefully calibrated act.

Quite what the real thing would look like, Cordelia wasn't certain she wanted to know, not firsthand anyway.

She definitely wasn't going to lie down and let Margo trample all over her, but the lady was going to need extremely delicate handling.

Still silent, Harmony looked at Margo.

"You have not the right to turn your back on the slayer, wretch." Margo said. "You will kneel."

Unable to resist, Harmony knelt.

"Now crawl, wretch," Margo said. "Crawl backwards, until you are gone from our sight, and then let Agatha search you."

Cordelia frowned, troubled. Harmony's recent insults had certainly needed punishing, but they didn't quite merit this kind of treatment.

Besides, Harmony wasn't Margo's to punish. Only Cordelia had that right, a privilege earned by all the time she spent giving Harmony good advice.

Harmony started crawling backwards, moving just slowly enough not to tear off the cardboard.

Margo looked up at Buffy. "That is how the unworthy should treat you, how they would treat you were your watcher one of my party."

Buffy said nothing, but looked distinctly unimpressed by the possibility.

Giles waited until Harmony and Agatha had gone, then looked at Xander. "Now I understand the seventeenth charge of Dame Margo's impeachment proceedings."

"Those charges were all dropped, Mr Giles," Margo said, only the faintest hint of steel in her voice.

Cordelia mentally nodded. Giles was getting a lot more leeway from Margo than Harmony had, probably because she had more respect for him, but he'd said this whole ceremony was about proving Cordelia and the others worthy of respect. Given how seriously Margo was taking it, going through with the ceremony might actually force her to be gentle with them too.

Giles nodded. "They were dropped, Dame Margo, after you agreed to resign your position as head of the council."

Margo shrugged. "Back to your places. You may resume your song, Mr Giles."