"Against the demon's wrath they stood, as only true-born heroes could," Giles sang. "Against darkness, they pitted light, and the demon fled, afraid to fight."

That had to be the end of the song, nothing hellmouthy had happened since then —unless Margo counted— so the ceremony must be nearly over, far too soon for Cordelia's liking.

It had given her twenty minutes to think, twenty minutes to prepare herself to face Margo, but twenty minutes was barely enough.

"Such are the deeds of these, the children of the hellmouth," Giles said. "If they are not worthy of the slayer, none are."

"Condignus hastae augustissimae est." Margo said. "Comrades-in-arms, I name these three, banes to the foes of man, guardians to the innocent. To this high company I welcome them, for so long as their light endures. Hail!"

"Hail!" Giles and the Bodsworths shouted, then bowed low to Cordelia, and the others. "Hail! Hail!"

Cordelia smiled, enjoying the well-earned praise. Giles had never treated her like this. He'd just taken her invaluable help for granted, never giving her the recognition she deserved, not until Margo forced him.

Well, Giles was wrong.

Not completely wrong, of course. The Latin and the unflattering clothes really were pointless, but those were only superficial details.

At its heart, this ceremony was about recognising how heroic Cordelia and the others were, and that could never be a waste of time, whatever Giles thought. Surely they could manage an afternoon a month to celebrate their achievements, even with all the hellmouth weirdness.

Cordelia smiled broadly, imagining Xander, Giles, Buffy, and Willow taking turns to congratulate her selfless bravery, then hurriedly jerked her thoughts back to the present. This was not a good time for daydreams, however pleasant.

OK, this once, Margo was half-right, but that wouldn't help her.

Cordelia knew how to resist flattery, how to savour the bait yet escape the trap. Margo would not be able to sweet-talk her into surrender, not even with her unfair advantages.

Margo looked up at Buffy. "You may go now, hasta augustissima."

"The ceremony's over?"

"Yes, hasta augustissima."

"At last." Buffy said, smiling broadly, then looked at the clock. "Too late for class, we can-"

"Mr Giles's acolytes shall be stay here, hasta augustissima. We have much to discuss."

Cordelia hesitated, then decided she could tolerate Margo's demeaning description. It would be difficult enough to force Margo to back down on the important issues without fritter away her energies on endless minor disputes first.

"We do?" Willow muttered as Buffy said, "Without me? And don't keep calling me Augustissisti"

Margo nodded. "The slayer should not weary herself with the tedium of research, nor taint her purity by the study of darkness."

"You mean I can skip all the boring bits?" Buffy asked. "Giles never lets me do that."

A typically self-serving remark. Buffy often got out of research duty by claiming she needed to train or go patrolling.

Buffy looked apologetically at Giles. "I don't mind though, honestly."

"Thus is the extent of your pernicious influence revealed, Master Giles," Margo said.

"I see no need to apologise, Dame Margo," Giles replied, "for arming the slayer with knowledge, the most deadly of weapons. It was through her research that the virgin-thief was slain."

"Mr Giles," Margo said scornfully. "My Helga would have needed no such assistance. She could have slain that puny creature bare-handed and blindfolded."

Giles smiled. "I am sure Buffy is pleased that was not necessary, thanks to my policies."

Buffy nodded, then scowled at Margo. "Anything that makes slaying easier is good."

"So might a man say of a crutch," Margo said, "until he discovers himself unable to walk without it."

"If you understand that simple truth, Dame Margo," Giles said, "why would you see such excesses lavished upon the slayer?"

"Dare you suggest, Mr Giles, that my Helga, the greatest slayer for two centuries, was weakened by my support?"

"Dame Margo, I am confident my Buffy will soon surpass your Helga, without needing three chefs in her entourage."

Cordelia nodded. A few professional hair stylists and beauticians would be much more useful to Buffy than some chefs; none of them would be any help with the slaying, but looking good would help Buffy's morale.

"Have school lunches improved since my day, Mr Giles?"

Xander smiled. "They're still serving your leftovers, um, dame."

Margo looked at him. "Potatoes hard as billiard balls and custard like glue, Mr Alexander?"

Xander nodded.

"Just like my old school," Margo said, then smiled. "We used to stick our crockery to the ceiling with the custard, then bet on how many potatoes it would take to knock it off.

That was obviously meant as an endearing anecdote, but Cordelia was not so easily fooled. Every word Margo said was carefully chosen; none should be taken at face value.

Margo looked back at Giles. "The slayer should not have to eat such offal, Mr Giles, nor shall she while I am here."

Giles looked at the Bodsworths. "Which of you is the chef?"

"Neither, Mr Giles," Margo said. "She will dine at Le Jardin Noir."

The third most expensive restaurant in Sunnydale and, according to Cordelia's dad, the one with the best chef. Margo definitely had good taste, and good sources.

Margo looked at Buffy. "You shall eat as a slayer should; the richest meats, the choicest fruits, the finest wines."

Not an easy offer to turn down. A refusal would just make Buffy look ungrateful, giving Margo the moral high ground, but acceptance would set an undesirable precedent.

Hopefully, Buffy would not make the obvious riposte.

"I eat what my friends eat." Buffy said flatly.

Margo smiled. "I have already booked them a private room for all our meals. I am confident they'll enjoy their reward."

Xander looked pleased, hardly surprising considering the calibre of his normal diet, but Willow frowned. "Um, Dame Margo, we're all too young to drink."

"Nonsense, Mistress Willow," Margo said. "Our cause is eternal; those laws, ephemeral. They mean nothing to us. We cannot constantly be trimming our sails in blind obedience to the whims of the mob. We must steer a steady course through treacherous seas, with the great moral truths as our guiding light."

Easy for Margo to say; no court would dare convict her. Cordelia wouldn't be able to muster enough hauteur to get away with that attitude for a few years yet.

"Dame Margo," Giles said, "I am not entirely convinced that breaking those laws would serve any higher purpose."

"Mr Giles, have not these three taken on duties most adults would shirk?"

Giles could only nod.

"Then, Mr Giles, we are obliged to treat them as adults. To do less would be to demean them. Is that your desire?"

Flawed logic that, but if Giles tried to take advantage of the holes in Margo's argument he'd end up looking like a rule-obsessed pedant determined to stop Cordelia and the others having any fun, not a good move.

"I had not previously considered the matter in that light, Dame Margo," Giles said, neatly abandoning a failed attack without conceding an inch.

Margo looked at Buffy. "Agatha will escort you to Le Jardin Noir."

Buffy scowled. "You can't make me go anywhere. I will eat lunch with my friends."

"So, Mr Giles," Margo said, "you have failed to teach your slayer how to accept good advice."

Giles winced, then looked pleadingly at Buffy.

Buffy hesitated, then smiled brightly. "Let's all go."

"We shall all eat there this evening, hasta augustissima," Margo said. "And on many other occasions, but not this time. I refuse to burden your pure soul with my dolorous counsel."

"If bad things are coming, I need to know about them." Buffy insisted.

"My Helga didn't. Armed only with the sacred weapons and a pure soul she slew demons more terrible than any you have yet slain."

Not quite as impressive as it sounded, since two of the big demons Buffy had fought had run away and the third killed itself. That only left the fog dogs but Buffy had killed one of those without forewarning so she couldn't be that much worse than Helga had been, if at all.

"I need to know." Buffy repeated.

"I have already rebutted that claim," Margo said. "I should not need to do so again, not if you have been properly taught."

"Dame Margo," Cordelia quickly said, before Buffy could get Giles deeper in trouble, "What about us? Le Jardin Noir does not deliver."

"Mistress Cordelia, ubi pecunia dicit quisque audit."

Cordelia thought quickly, trying to work out what Margo had just said. An audit was a financial checkup and pecuniary had something to do with finance so, if those words had come from Latin, Margo must have said something about money, which did make sense in context.

"You bribed them, dame?" Cordelia guessed.

Besides her, Willow nodded in agreement.

"Mistress Cordelia, to be bribery it would have to be in pursuit of immoral ends."

Margo looked back at Buffy. "Are you ready to accept my generosity, hasta augustissima, or do you wish to continue with this unbecoming display of petulance?"

Buffy looked at Giles, who shook his head, then sighed. "OK, I'll go, but I won't enjoy it."

Cordelia smiled sympathetically as Buffy trudged to the library doors, where the Bodsworths bowed.

Margo waited until Agatha had led Buffy away, then smiled. "Since you three are not accustomed to dressing properly, I will not insist on any sartorial standards for these meetings."

Margo waited a moment, then frowned. "I see your manners are less than polished."

"Thank you?" Willow said hesitantly.

"Better," Margo said. "You have five minutes to get changed. Go."

Hearing Mr Bodsworth step behind her, Cordelia leaned sideways so he could reach in and take her soup dish away.

"Mr Giles," Margo said. "The board believes that this 'ooze demon' is the same demon as assaulted a fishing boat four hours later, slightly to the west of Easter Island. Their description was incoherent, but the essentials appear to match."

"That's about three thousand miles," Willow said, then passed her dish to Mr Bodsworth.

Xander smiled. "I guess Buffy really scared it."

"Or there's something there the demon wants." Cordelia said. "There are lots of weird statues there. Some of them might be evil."

"Some of them are," Margo said. "But Easter Island was not the demon's target. Radar traces indicate it continued due south from there."

Giles frowned. "Those cities were never cleansed."

"What cities?" Willow asked.

"The demon cities of Antarctica," Margo said. "They are sealed deep beneath the ice, and guarded by agents of the Board. The demon should not be able to penetrate them."

"The council is in disarray, Dame Margo," Giles said. "We won't be able to keep that demon out."

"Other agents of the Board, Mr Giles."

"The demons had cities?" Willow said. "Um, dame?"

"Haven't you told them anything, Mr Giles?"

"I told them what they needed to know, Dame Margo, in accordance with council policy."

"Mr Giles, once they had proved their worth in battle you should have told them somewhat more."

Giles looked faintly disapproving, but said nothing.

"The old ones did have cities once," Margo said. "They had a high civilisation, perhaps more advanced than our own. Then the First came, and the old ones fell, becoming demons. Civilisation crumbled into barbarism and worse, an Hobbsian war omnis contra omnem that raged for unnumbered millennia, until at last this very universe rejected their corrupted souls, with the encouragement of the precursors of the Board, banishing the demons into the outer dimensions."

"Can't you do that again? Get rid of all these demons?" Willow asked.

"No," Margo said, frowning faintly. "The demons have taken countermeasures, or else there would be none present. Now, their civilisation did not fall overnight. Its twilight lasted perhaps a thousand years, during which the once great cities became citadels of evil, their armouries brimming with weapons forged of the blackest magics, their libraries filled with the honeyed words of the First."

"When the demons fell, we cleansed those cities, before the evils they contained could corrupt mankind, but there were some cities we could not reach."

"The ones in Antarctica, dame?" Willow guessed.

"Indeed," Margo said. "During the twilight years the nascent demons turned the energies that had once held back the ice on each other. Blinded by …"

Hearing a clatter behind her Cordelia covertly angled one of her knives until she could see a reflection. Turning round would not have been a good idea, not after what had happened when Xander had yawned, but she needed to know what was happening.

Mr Bodsworth had just left six plates on the library counter, next to a bottle of white wine, and was now hurrying back to the door.

Should she drink the wine? Getting drunk would leave her vulnerable to verbal trickery from Margo and spoil her image with everyone else but one drink wouldn't hurt and it might help impress Giles and Margo with her maturity.

Mr Bodsworth backed into the library, then turned round, revealing he was carrying a large covered tray.

" for several months," Margo said.

Mr Bodsworth started putting the plates on the table, starting with Margo.

"What are we having now?" Xander asked, looking curiously at the library counter — easy for him to do, since he was sat opposite Cordelia.

"Salmon, Master Alexander," Margo said. "The second course is always fish."

"Second course, dame?" Cordelia asked, spotting the implication. "How many are we having?"

"Four main courses," Margo said. "Soup, fish, meat, and dessert, followed by coffee and biscuits, to round the meal off."

"To round us off," Willow muttered, looking down at her cutlery. "Um, dame? You said something about all our meals. Are they all going to be like this? The amount that is, not the quality."

"Yes, Mistress Willow," Margo said. "Why, is there some problem?"

Cordelia's family dietician would certainly think so. The soup alone, though irresistibly delicious, had been more than Cordelia would normally have eaten in an entire day.

Cordelia looked toward Margo, being careful to avoid meeting her gaze head on. "Dame Margo, we don't want to eat all that."

Margo frowned with faint annoyance, and Cordelia shuddered in anticipation.

"How long has Mistress Cordelia had this problem, Mr Giles?" Margo asked.

"What problem, Dame Margo?"

"A poor appetite is a sure sign of poor health, Mr Giles."

Mr Bodsworth passed Willow her plate, then went back to the counter.

Giles smiled. "Dame Margo, these girls are simply concerned about their weight."

"Poor mental health then, Mr Giles." Margo said. "Neither of these women should have any reason to worry given the amount of exercise they get, or have you fallen short of your duty?"

Cordelia silently fumed. Treating Margo the way she deserved for that slur would be suicidal, but she could not let it pass unchallenged. She had say something, if only she could think of something safe.

Giles nervously adjusted his glasses. "Yes, well, standards are not what they were, Dame Margo. Now that we've finished reviewing the events of recent weeks perhaps we should discuss your mission here."

Icy politeness should work. Margo used it herself, so she couldn't object to it on principle, and it should keep the stakes low while getting Cordelia's message across.

Xander looked at Willow, at Cordelia, back at Willow, then opened his mouth, probably to make some tension-breaking joke.

"Dame Margo fforbes-Hamilton," Cordelia said, before Xander could spoil the moment, "Would you care to clarify your last remark?"

"With respect, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said, in a tone of voice normally reserved for disobedient pets, "I would have thought my meaning clear, even to those somewhat lacking in mental capacity. Due to the demands of the training Giles is putting you through, you should have no problem remaining girlishly slim whilst eating like this at every meal. Indeed, to eat much less might well prove less than healthy."

Giles blanched.

"What training?" Willow asked, and Giles groaned.

Cordelia absent-mindedly leaned sideways, so Mr Bodsworth could serve her salmon.

Giles clearly didn't want to answer that question, which must be why Margo had provoked Willow into asking it, simultaneously giving Margo a chance to reinforce her authority and to prevent Cordelia from responding to that last insult. Anything Cordelia said now would easily be dismissed as unimportant, compared with Giles's alleged misdemeanour. Margo had got away with her intolerable arrogance, again.

"The training the Board asked Mr Giles to give you." Margo said, then looked at him. "You have followed our advice, I presume."

Giles hesitated, then clutched his throat, his eyes opening wide.

Margo waited a few moments, then smiled. "Mr Giles, when you stop trying to lie, you will be able to speak."

"W-what?" Giles stammered. "How?"

"One of the incidental fruits of my alchemical studies, Mr Giles," Margo said. "I can neither lie, nor be lied to."

But there were many ways to deceive, without actually lying, and Margo would know them all, giving her an enormous advantage against anyone not accustomed to speaking under that constraint.

Fortunately, since Cordelia was scrupulously honest but had been compelled to deceive by the wish, she had some experience at bending the truth, enough to spot Margo's evasions.

"Now, Mr Giles," Margo said. "Would you care to give me an honest answer?"

"I fully intend to follow them, Dame Margo," Giles said, "at the appropriate time."

"The appropriate time, Mr Giles, was three weeks ago."

"With respect, Dame Margo, I am forbidden from substituting your judgement for my own. I must give it all due regard, of course, but the final decision as to how best to do my duty must be mine alone."

That didn't sound good. Giles hadn't even attempted to defend his actions, appealing instead to a watcher rule Margo had already broken, in all but name. Calling her orders advice did not make it advice, especially not when her followers were willing to kill any who disobeyed.

Either Giles thought his actions indefensible, unlikely, or he didn't want to admit his real motives.

"With respect, Mr Giles, that provision is intended to prevent corrupted watchers from exploiting the loyalty of their subordinates, not to enable lazy watchers to evade their duties."

"With respect, Dame Margo, I am not lazy. I am simply doing what I think best for these three."

"With respect, Mr Giles, you should be helping equip them to do as they think best."

"Giles," Willow said hesitantly. "Are you talking about the occult training you mentioned the other week, after those phone interviews? It's the only training you've mentioned for us, that I remember, but that wouldn't keep us slim, unless you teach us cosmetic spells, but why would you do that?"

"Mistress Willow," Margo said. "We quite strongly advised Mr Giles to teach you three the rudiments not just of occult lore, but also of self-defence."

"You wanted us to learn kung-fu?" Xander said smiling. "Why didn't you do that, Giles?"

That explained why Giles didn't want to defend his actions. If he did, Xander would be tempted to take Margo's side, giving Margo another victory, and Giles would still be in trouble for disobeying orders.

"Xander," Giles said, "how to teach non-slayers was not part of my training. I would not be able to devise a suitable course overnight."

That couldn't be the real reason or Giles would have mentioned the self-defence at the same time as the occult training, but the false implication should be enough to keep Xander happy, provided he didn't get too long to think about it.

Presumably Giles did have some good reason for not wanting to teach self-defence, since he hadn't done it in the original history either, but now was not a good time to find out why. Maybe later.

"What would this training involve?" Cordelia quickly asked, hoping to divert the conversation into territory less uncomfortable for Giles.

"The first lesson, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said, "will be in running away."

Xander stared at Margo, "That's, that's -"

"Not quite what you were expecting, Mr Alexander?" Margo suggested. "Our experiences that you will be spending most of your time either hurrying to fetch the slayer, racing to stop a dark ritual or trying to lure a demon away from innocents."

"But it's not just running?" Xander persisted. "Dame?"

"No," Margo said. "Running will also improve your general fitness. Once your speed and stamina are sufficient, Mr Giles will begin the second lesson, unless he, like Travers, wishes to place himself in a position of deep disfavour with the Board."

"That will not be necessary, Dame Margo," Giles said hastily, conceding another defeat.

"You will find a suitable manual for the training amongst the books the Board provided, Mr Giles," Margo added, removing Giles's last excuse for delay.

"What's sufficient?" Willow asked warily, then shuffled sideways so Mr Bodsworth could serve her.

"A hundred yards in twelve seconds for speed, Mistress Willow, a mile in six minutes for stamina. You should only rarely have to run more than four miles at one time."

"I can't do that." Willow gasped.

"You three are in your prime," Margo said. "Unscarred by age. You should have no trouble meeting that standard if you eat properly, unless you are somewhat lazy."

Margo was probably right about that, and being able to run for help faster certainly would be useful. Arguing with Margo on this topic would just make her look good.

Cordelia smiled brightly. "Now that's decided, what shall we talk about next?"

Mr Bodsworth sat back down in his chair, directly opposite Margo.

"Dame Margo," he said, "has generously chosen to share her wisdom with you."

Margo nodded, then passed the salt left, to Giles. "I will answer any remaining questions you might have about recent events, or about occult generalities."

"Dame?" Willow began, then Xander interrupted her.

"Dame," he said, "people keep saying things about bells and laughter and me. The blood demon did, and the witch, and you said something about laughing bells. What's it all mean?"

"Aah," Margo said slowly, "Are you sure you wouldn't like to ask a slightly easier question, what song the sirens sang perhaps?"

"No, dame." Xander said flatly.

"It would be easier to nail down water," Margo said. "The cliff stands firm against the rising sea, and the laughter in the trees is the pealing of bells upon the heights, except when it is otherwise. The cliff crumbles before the advancing sea, and the laughter of the waves is the tolling of bells drowned in the deep, except when it is otherwise. Fey are those who have heard the silent bells, those whose feet know the dance of the dog, and no web binds them, except when it is otherwise."

Margo paused, looking at Xander's uncomprehending face. "That is the most lucid answer I can give you without lying. Now, does anyone have a simpler question? One I can answer without riddles?"

Cordelia frowned thoughtfully as she swallowed a piece of tomato. If that was the clearest answer Margo could give Xander was definitely involved in something really weird, something that would need investigating.

Willow looked thoughtfully at Xander, then shrugged. "Dame," she asked, "why did"

"Very well, Dame Margo," Giles said thirty minutes later, "but what are you going to do in Sunnydale?"

Cordelia sliced herself another piece off her T-bone steak, a bit large but mouthwateringly good, then looked curiously at Margo. Presumably she wasn't here just to cause trouble, but anything she felt needed her personal attention would have to be big. People like her didn't leave their offices and get their hands dirty unless there was no one else who could do the job.

"In the medium term, Mr Giles," Margo said, "the board has decided we need to depopulate Sunnydale. Once the town is gone the hellmouth will be unable to sustain a significant demonic population and the deathgate will have no new dead to empower. After that's done the site will no longer need a slayer's presence; a team of watchers will be sufficient."

"You can't do that," Willow said. "If all the hellmouth weirdness hasn't driven people away, nothing will. They wouldn't leave unless you killed them, um, that is the people you kill wouldn't leave, they'd either stay in their graves or enjoy the deathgate ambience; it would be their friends that would leave if you did that, but you don't kill people, do you, dame?"

"No, Mistress Willow," Margo said, smiling faintly. "Fortunately, there is an alternative method."

Giles put his wine glass down. "Do please enlighten us, Dame Margo."

"My pleasure, Mr Giles," Margo said, her smile as false as Xander's supposed love had been. "People who would not notice a demon at ten inches will spot a rat at one hundred yards."

As Giles frowned disapprovingly, Willow smiled. "Of course!"

"Like the pied piper, backwards." Xander said, then speared a mushroom with his fork. "Won't they just put poison down, dame? A lot easier than moving."

Cordelia nodded. "Property prices are low here, a third what they should be," according to her dad, anyway. "It'll take more than rats to drive people away."

"Rats are just the beginning," Margo said. "The spell I shall cast will summon an unending tide of vermin — rats, mice, ants, fleas, lice, termites, flies, and more — until even the least fastidious leave. Naturally, your houses and persons shall be exempt."

That would be a great comfort, when everyone else was knee deep in bugs. The thought of Harmony scratching at her lice did have some appeal, but Cordelia would have preferred a cleaner solution. Why couldn't Margo simply make everyone want to leave town?

"How long will this take, dame," Willow asked. "You said it was medium term so —"

"A few years, Mistress Willow," Margo said. "The vermin must appear to be a natural phenomenon, or people will strive to ignore them, which forces us to move slowly."

Not an immediate concern then, but it did give her a chance to bring up Parandol without sounding paranoid if she was wrong.

"Does it matter if our houses are only rented, dame?" Cordelia asked, feigning curiosity.

"Not for this spell," Margo said.

"Why?" Willow said, looking askance at Cordelia, just as she had planned. "You own that house, don't you? Or rather, your parents do."

"They got an offer yesterday," Cordelia said. "Someone wants to pay five million for it, then rent it back for just an hundred a month."

"Some people do have more money than sense," Margo said, "but I would suspect ulterior motives."

Xander nodded. "Must be dirty money, drugs or something."

"Were any other households made this offer?" Margo asked.

"Four others, my dad said, all on the same block, dame" Cordelia said, knowing Margo would get the implication.

"On all four sides?" Margo said, checking.

Cordelia nodded.

Margo looked at Giles. "Mr Giles, I suggest you investigate the history of those properties, and of the would-be purchaser."

"I will, Dame Margo." Giles said. "However, I must object to your scheme. It violates the Hepwhite convention."

"I know that, Mr Giles. The Board is not bound by the council's conventions, only by the great oaths and its own decrees."

Giles scowled. "The council will repudiate you for this, Dame Margo. They will impeach the board, as Travers wished."

"The council has broken, Mr Giles. It is no longer capable of such action," Margo said, then hesitated. "In truth, it never was."

"With respect, Dame Margo," Giles said hotly, "esteemed beyond all measure though the board may be, it remains a subcommittee of the council, and subject to its sanctions. It is only the board of directors of the fund for the maintenance of the libraries of the council, after all."

"With respect, Mr Giles," Margo said, steel in her voice, "would that be the advisory council called by the abbots of what is now the West Riding to investigate the reports of ungodly activity, and to recommend countermeasures?"

Giles's silence was answer enough.

"With respect, Mr Giles, you must not confuse the nominal with the real," Margo added. "The official records are an accurate description of the superficialities of the current council's creation. The inner truth is somewhat different, as the words of the 'blood demon' should have made clear."

Very different, if those official names were correct. An organisation founded by monks would not be swearing oaths older than the planet without outside intervention. Some other older group must have taught the early council those oaths; possibly the board, after they'd use a subcommittee to take over, possibly another group, working from the shadows.

Cordelia had heard talk of similar manoeuvres while gracing her dad's parties, backwards takeovers they called them, but they hadn't been secret. Doing that to the early council without it realising must have required a degree of political acumen greater than she had dreamt possible.

Cordelia pulled her thoughts back to the present, and looked at the others. Willow had put down her knife, and was staring thoughtfully at Margo, but Xander appeared to be completely ignoring the conversation.

"It was telling the truth?" Giles gasped. "But it was a demon, Dame Margo. It may have --"

"Mr Giles," Margo said, then hesitated again. "There are secrets in play, which it would unnecessarily endanger these three to hear. I will discuss this matter with you later. Until then, you must assume that neither the Board nor its members will heed the strictures of the council."

"Very well, Dame Margo," Giles said slowly, "but summoning vermin does not require your personal intervention. Why are you here?"

Margo smiled. "To put a gate in the deathgate, Mr Giles. At the moment, it is unwarded. Demons of great power can enter our world at will, provided they are dead."

"Giles put a seal on the morgue, dame." Willow said.

"Fried all the zombies that touched it, dame" Xander added.

"That was commendable of him," Margo said, "but it was only a sticking plaster. By itself, it could hold the soulstorm in for a few months, before being corroded by the presence of the hellmouth. Unfortunately, the new prophecies indicate that Loki will attempt to pass the death gate next week, once he's managed to kill himself. The seals will not be able to hold him."

"The evil Norse god?" Willow said. "Dame, wouldn't that start Ragnarok?"

"It would, Mistress Willow," Margo said. "We can not let him pass."

"So you're going to wall up the deathgate, dame?" Cordelia asked, hoping she'd remembered Giles's metaphors correctly.

"The Board does not have quite that much power, Mistress Cordelia. We can only install a gate across the dimensional breach, and lock it securely. Like the hellmouth, it will be unpassable without appropriate rituals, and far harder to open from the other side than from this, but its necrotic aura will no more be contained by the ward than is the hellmouth's malign aura."

"How?" Giles asked. "How can you hope to bar the path of a god, Dame Margo? No human magic is strong enough."

"Not with human magic alone, Mr Giles, but with a human soul freely sacrificed. That will tap into the most ancient magics, created when the last first came ravening out of the dark, and unleash forces against which no god born of earth can hope to prevail."

For a long moment Giles stared at Margo.

"That", Giles finally said, "is the most audacious plan I have ever heard. It sounds about as easy as redeeming a vampire, but if you think it's possible, Dame Margo, I will back you to the hilt on this one matter. It's not as if I could even begin to offer an alternative."

"It is not unprecedented, Mr Giles. The Board used the same procedure to ward a hellmouth when Stonehenge was young, and there are fragmentary records of earlier uses. Indeed, some of our records suggest that the very hellmouth on which this town stands was thus ward, when the world was young."

"Do you need a volunteer, Dame Margo?" Giles asked.

Cordelia tried to discreetly shuffle out of Margo's eye-line. Saving the world was a good thing, but not at the cost of her soul. Mr Bodsworth would be a much more suitable volunteer.

"Not just any soul, Mr Giles," Margo said. "It must be the spellcaster's own, and they must have begun the great work."

Giles took another sip of wine. "You mean your soul, Dame Margo."

She nodded. "I will stand at the centre of the soul storm and kill myself, then transform my naked soul into a gate, separating the quick and the dead, and there I shall remain until the end of time. I expect it will be quite a painful eternity, but the world is worth far more than any one soul. I've lived a fairly long life, and my supporters will continue my work, in the proper manner. That is all the consolation I need."

How could Margo think like that? How could anyone?

Cordelia was prepared to make sacrifices, or she wouldn't be in this library now, but only so she could continue to enjoy life, rather than being killed in an apocalypse, and maybe get some revenge for the way she had been betrayed, both very tangible rewards.

Margo was prepared to sacrifice everything and submit herself to what, allowing for Margo's fondness for understatement, she expected to be an eternity of unbearable agony, all for no more reward than a few pages in the watcher's annals.

It was a magnificent gesture, but pure folly nonetheless. Any sensible person would have persuaded someone else to volunteer.

Cordelia wasn't going to try and stop Margo though; she might succeed. Someone was going to have to sacrifice themselves for the world's sake, but so long as the sacrifice wasn't her, Cordelia didn't much care who it was. Whoever they were, Cordelia would benefit.

Satisfied with her conclusions, Cordelia turned her thoughts to the political consequences. At first glance this sounded like it would be good for Giles; dead, Margo would be unable to punish him for his supposed misdeeds, but she did have followers, followers who would be inspired by Margo's noble self-sacrifice. They would be filled with new fervour, devoted to fulfilling her final commands, and their fury at her enemies would be unquenchable.

Giles would have to be even more careful stay within what Margo considered the bounds of acceptable dissent, or he would become their target.

Xander looked at Margo. "There must be some alternative. There must."

"The library of the Board is to the library of the council as the sea is to a garden pond, Master Alexander, yet it can suggest no alternative."

"You can't be certain, dame," Willow said. "Even if the council's library were only twice the size of this one-"

"It is far larger," Giles said, his eyes dreamy, "Floor upon floor, packed with books from floor to ceiling, shelves that stretch for miles.

"The library of the Board is somewhat larger than London," Mr Bodsworth said.

Willow looked at him, clearly surprised. "Where do you keep them all? Something that size would show up in satellite photos. Even if you buried it underground, there'd be a heat signature."

"A little thought should show you why we should not be expected to answer that question, Mistress Willow," Margo said, almost gently.

Willow nodded. "Anyway, the board's library's catalogue alone must be bigger than the entire council libraries, so big it would take years to find the right catalogue entry —unless you digitise it, which would also take years— and those entries must be several pages long, or they wouldn't be able to distinguish among the thousands of similar books you must have, and that only helps if there is a catalogue entry relevant to your question. No, catalogues wouldn't be enough to find stuff in a library that size. Nothing would be. Computers aren't clever enough, yet; the book you want would be lost in a list of ten thousand others that aren't quite right, and human memory isn't good enough, dame."

"Our librarians say much the same every time their budget is up for review, Mistress Willow," Margo said dryly. "But if nothing better has been found in three thousand years of searching, it is hardly like to be found in the next three days."

"Kill Loki when he comes here, dame," Xander suggested.

"A somewhat daring proposal, Mr Alexander." Margo said. "Perhaps you could find a way to defeat Loki, and all the other gods that would follow after, perhaps, but at what price? What would you have to become, to win those battles? I know only that you would all be changed by such battles, forged anew in a crucible of magic, but whether for good or ill I cannot say. There are possibilities here, set against which the return of the old ones would seem small beer, possibilities I dare not risk."

"I think she means we might become supervillains." Cordelia mouthed to Xander.

Xander nodded, mouthing "Dark Phoenix."

"No," Margo went on. "My duty is clear. I will not demean myself by trying to escape it, nor whine about the unfairness of it all."

Margo paused, and looked at each of them in turn.

"I will do my duty, without thought of wealth or glory, my only regret that I have but one life to give in the service of mankind. I can do no other."

"—go straight back to England," Xander snapped, as they walked away from the library.

Cordelia looked behind her, checking they were a safe distance from Margo, then nodded. "No one talks to me like that, not in my, um, not to any of us.

"She's spent too long in her lab," Willow added, scowling. "She's forgotten how to talk to normal people."

"She's forgotten what language we speak," Xander said, then looked curiously at Willow. "Did you understand any of her gibberish?"

"It was Latin," Willow said, "I recognised a few words, but I don't know the grammar, and she shouldn't expect us to."

"She shouldn't," Cordelia agreed. "She expects too much."

Willow frowned. "Not too much, precisely. Nothing's too much if it helps Buffy—"

"Of course," Cordelia hastily said, half a second behind Xander's "Nothing at all."

"—but she's too rigid. We can help Buffy in our own way, not her way."

Xander smiled. "You tell her that. You're a genius; you'll be able to make her understand what she's do wrong."

Willow paled, "I don't think anyone's dared make her do anything in decades. She's clever too, and she's had a lot more debate practice than me. You saw what she did to Giles."

Cordelia nodded. By the time Margo announced her real mission, Giles had been so punch-drunk he'd begun making elementary mistakes, leaving himself wide-open to her ripostes.

"And she's supposed to be on his side," Xander said, scowling at the wall.

"I think she thinks its the other way round," Willow said. "She's worse than—"

Willow stopped mid-sentence and looked at the floor.

"We have to make her loosen up," Xander said.

Cordelia stared at Xander a moment, then blinked away the disturbing images. She'd seen quite enough of that when Ethan had tampered with the candy.

"We don't have that long," Cordelia said, paused, then in a quiet voice added, "She hasn't got that long. Um, perhaps we should makes allowances for her. If she's going to save the world I can put up with her rudeness for a few days. It'll keep her followers off Giles's back too."

More importantly, doing that should keep them all safe from Margo's followers, but using that argument now would be premature. Convince Xander and Willow to act sensibly without mentioning personal considerations and not only would she keep them all safe, she'd also gain credit for her high moral stance.

"We can't just watch her die." Xander protested.

"Of course not," Cordelia said. To see Margo die they'd need to be in the middle of the soul storm themselves, one inch from death. "But what can we do?"

"Keep Loki alive," Willow said.

"Willow," Cordelia said gently, "He's on the other side. We should be trying to kill him, not save him."

Willow smiled. "If he's alive he can't pass through the deathgate, and we won't have to fight him. He's supposed to be tied to ... a special tree, and guarded by a giant snake which keeps poisoning him."

"I've heard some of those stories," Cordelia said, then looked at Xander. "The god sees some attractive mortal, turns himself into a giant ant, and seduces them. Save Loki, and he'll probably turn himself into a swan to sleep with us, either that or we'll have to sleep with the snake to save him."

Only a guess, but it should put Xander off.

"I'm not letting Willow do that," Xander immediately said, "or you, Cordy."

"That's Zeus," Willow said. "He's Greek. Loki's Norse."

"He won't turn himself into a animal then?" Xander said.

"I think he did turn into a mare once, but only to, um, seduce a magic horse, and he was the one who got pregnant."

"Not feeling reassured here."

"Anyway," Willow said "it's Odin who'd reward us."

Cordelia smiled. "What does animal does he turn into."

"He doesn't," Willow said. "He's a fighter's god. If he likes you, he kills you before you can get old and feeble, so you can fight for him at Ragnarok, but only if you're really good."

"Like Buffy?" Cordelia asked.

"Yes, but not Buffy herself, he only likes men, for fighting, I mean, not, um, the other thing," Willow said, her face reddening. "Thor was the one who pretended to be a woman, which doesn't mean anything but, um, anyway-"

Willow paused and took a few deep breaths. "Anyway, Odin wouldn't do anything, um, inappropriate. He was a good guy, and married."

"So was Zeus," Cordelia said. "Didn't he once turn into a eagle and kidnap a handsome boy to be his ... special servant?"

Xander scowled. "I'm not liking this plan."

Cordelia nodded. Coping with Margo was hard enough, and she was only human. Dealing with gods would be worse; one false step and zap! Maybe in ten or fifteen years Cordelia would be able to negotiate with gods on even terms, if she stayed involved in the weird stuff, but right now she'd be a little out of her depth.

"It's the only way of keeping her alive," Willow said.

Cordelia smiled. "Let's see what Giles thinks."

"Anyone want that?" Xander asked, looking at the only piece of cake left in the room.

Cordelia hesitated. It was a tempting sight, two inch-thick slabs of extremely rich chocolate cake bound together with a layer of chocolate syrup then topped with a second layer of the syrup and lavishly decorated with an elaborate design done in soft chocolate icing, but after eating all those other cream buns, fancy pastries, fruit tarts, shortbread biscuits, buttered crumpets, and half a dozen roast beef sandwiches Cordelia was feeling uncomfortably full.

It was all Margo's fault, looking at them that way. Even without words, her message had been quite clear: eat up, or else.

Xander and Giles both went for the cake, then hesitated, looking at each other.

Margo quickly leaned in and snatched it up, then turned round. "Buffy shall eat it."

"No, thanks," Buffy said, "Give it to Giles."

"Mr Giles is not the slayer," Margo said.

"I've had eno—"

Margo quickly broke off a morsel of cake and dropped it in Buffy's mouth.

Buffy swallowed, then pushed Margo's hand away. "I can feed myself."

"After your behaviour this evening, hasta augustissima, I am not entirely convinced of that," Margo said. "Mr Giles may let you dawdle round your patrols, but while I am here you will be expected to meet a higher standard, to do which you will need to be properly fed."

Buffy looked at Giles, who shook his head.

"I had Le Jardin Noir make this cake especially for you," Margo said, "to my own recipe."

Buffy looked straight at Margo, meeting her expectant stare head on, as Cordelia watched, almost afraid to breath.

After a few seconds Buffy shuddered and looked away. "OK, I'll eat it."

Margo calmly placed the cake in Buffy's outstretched hand, as if nothing had happened.

"Mistresses Cordelia and Willow," she said, "you may get changed for the evening now. Agatha will show you where."

Cordelia quickly stood up, picked up her bag, and followed Agatha out of the room, grateful for the chance to get away from Margo, if only for five minutes.

"Here, ladies," Agatha said, opening a door.

Cordelia stepped inside, looking for a mirror.

Willow looked at Agatha "Are you patrolling in that?"

Agatha looked down at her grey outfit, the one she'd been wearing during the ceremony. "This? If I were I would be, but I will not be with you tonight. Dame Margo has assigned my husband and me other duties."

"We can't get changed in here," Cordelia said. "There's no mirror."

No furniture at all, in fact, just a few marks on the floor where a table normally stood. This must be another of the private dining rooms, commandeered by Margo for use as a changing room, but not properly converted.

"You do not need a mirror," Agatha said. "You have each other."

"What about Buffy," Willow asked.

"Dame Margo herself will help the slayer dress," Agatha said, before walking off.

Cordelia looked at Willow. "Buffy will enjoy that."

Willow laughed, then pulled some clothes out of her bag. "Do you think Margo will approve? It's the best I could find, with so little warning."

"She should have told us at dinner," Cordelia said, but Margo hadn't. She'd just waited until half past three, then sent a note round, saying that she would be would be assessing the skills of Cordelia, and the others, during that night's patrol, and 'reminding' them to dress suitably.

"And, since when do we go on routine patrol anyway?" Cordelia added, remembering another grievance. "That's Buffy's job."

"It's probably standard practice for trainee watchers," Willow said, pulling out a pair of low-heeled shoes. "And that's what she's treating us like. Probably the only way she can fit us into her world view. Anyway, what do you think?"

Cordelia looked critically at the clothes Willow was holding up. "They don't match —"

Willow grimaced.

"—they should do," even though they were an appalling mix of dark reds, dark blues, and dull browns. They'd help conceal Willow but not restrict her movements.

"I don't have an enormous wardrobe like you, Cordelia," Willow said.

Cordelia shrugged, then began undoing her dress.

"... shouldn't expect too much. If she—"

"The slayer comes," Agatha announced from the doorway, interrupting Giles, "with Dame Margo. Stand ready for inspection."

"When did we join the army?" Xander said quietly, looking at Willow.

"You volunteered to help the slayer," Agatha said. "Dame Margo's methods are the best way to do that."

"Not proven," Giles snapped.

"Giles," Cordelia quickly said, before the two watchers could start arguing again, "you getting changed next?"

"Mr Giles does not need to," Margo said as she entered the room. "Watchers have been dressing much like him for a century, without problems."

Buffy entered a step behind, smiling broadly despite the bright yellow and pink striped dress she was wearing, definitely not something Buffy would have chosen for herself.

"Margo's going to change," Buffy said, almost laughing. "You'll love this."

"My security is not a laughing matter," Margo said, her voice cold, and Buffy's smile vanished.

"Of course," Willow said, "You don't want to be recognised by your enemies, dame. Going to wear a mask?"

"No, Mistress Willow," Margo said. "They always fall off at the worst times, and they would not disguise my voice. Stronger measures are required to protect me from the risk of assassination."

Giles smiled. "I imagine there are many people, and demons, who want to kill you, Dame Margo. Perhaps you might like stay here, for safety's sake. Naturally. I will be sure to inform you of everything significant that happens on patrol."

"Mr Giles, that will not be necessary. The Board has a standard protocol for these circumstances, which I am assured will be quite sufficient," Margo said.

Then she changed, clothes and body both.

One moment she was a grey-haired woman, seemingly a few years older than Giles, still wearing the same grey outfit as she had that morning; the next, she looked like a girl in her late teens wearing a blotchy grey duffle-coat, a lock of bright red hair just visible under her hood.

A quick change, achieved without apparent effort. She hadn't needed to chant anything, the way Willow and Catherine had, or to use the candles and chalked patterns Giles had to resort to, she'd just changed herself, as easily as breathing.

Cordelia might have been impressed, if it hadn't been for the one glaring flaw in Margo's new look.

Margo's face now looked like a cartoon, paper white skin, perfect pink circles for cheeks, a straight red line for a mouth, large blue eyes — Cordelia could even see the pencil lines.

Xander hastily put his hand over his mouth, muffling his laughter.

"If one has sufficient willpower, and meets certain other less than stringent requirements, Mr Giles," Margo said, "it is a simple matter to maintain a pan-sensory illusion indefinitely."

"It would appear your willpower is not quite sufficient, Dame Margo," Giles said. "If you can do no better, perhaps you should stay here."

"I could imitate you perfectly if I chose, Mr Giles," Dame Margo said. "But to do so would be a lie."

"And this isn't, dame?" Cordelia said. It certainly wasn't her real appearance, unless England was much stranger place than it looked on television.

More likely, spending all those decades alone in a lab full of weird potions had left Margo a little out of touch with the normal world.

"Of course," Willow said, after a only moments hesitation. "It's like a metaphor. They're not really lies, dame, though they are technically false, because no one takes them literally. You're not saying, 'This is what I really look like,' which would be a lie. It looks like you're saying that's what you look like, but that's so obviously false it doesn't count, anymore than metaphors do —unless there are some really bizarre demons around, and if there were some that looked like that, you'd have chosen a different look. Anyway, what you're actually saying is, 'This isn't what I really look like,' which is true, and doesn't give anything away."

"Mistress Willow is correct," Margo said, "though she would be well advised to learn how to express herself more succinctly. A falsehood is not a lie if it is not intended to deceive."

So everything Margo said wasn't the literal truth. What did that mean for Cordelia?

"Wouldn't it be less conspicious to do Marilyn Monroe, Dame Margo?" Giles asked.

Everything Margo said would either be plain truth, a partial truth intended to deceive, or a falsehood she genuinely thought so obvious it couldn't deceive anyone, which meant Margo's twisty logic wouldn't be a problem. Cordelia was too familiar with the use of partial truths to be tricked that way, and if Margo wrongly thought something was obvious the worst that could happen was a few moments confusion.

"Mr Giles," Margo said. "Even if I could be confident no one was so ignorant as to think that actress still lived, in this town the dead walk. Nor need you worry about attracting unwelcome attention. I walked here from the school in this guise, and no one looked twice."

"Do the voice," Buffy said, still smiling.

Margo started speaking gibberish, in a deep male voice.

An effective disguise for her voice, but why had Margo stopped speaking English?

Or had she? The gibberish was beginning to sound familiar, almost meaningful; English, but spoken with such a strong accent it was barely recognisable.

"Dame Margo," Giles said. "Is it really necessary to fake that broad an accent?"

"Midah spock this way, Mr Giles," Margo said, the words getting clearer as Cordelia adjusted to the weird accent. "Everyone near Baahnsli did when I were young. When I go, so will all living memory of my da, and of my childhood pals. I'll not apologise for paying a final tribute to the lot of them."

A nice sentiment, but not very practical. There had to be a better way of doing things, one that would not look, or sound, so ridiculous.

"Most people would just put a flower on the grave," Cordelia said. "Isn't sounding male enough?"

Margo turned to face Cordelia, only the rainbow fires of her eyes visible amidst the deep shadows of her hood, and Cordelia gulped, realising she'd made a minor error of judgement. Underneath that ludicrous disguise, Margo was still the same person as had forced Harmony to her knees by pure strength of personality.

Margo could disguise herself as a cute little kitten, and she would still be the most dangerous person Cordelia had ever met.

"Mistress Cordelia," Margo said, her voice cold as the grave, "If tha's nowt sensible to say tha should say nowt."

Pinned beneath the contemptuous glare of those eyes, Cordelia shuddered. Willow had looked at her that way, in the nightmares, just before she had forced Cordelia to poke out her own eyes with a screwdriver.

"D-dame Margo?" Cordelia forced herself to say. "I was surprised. I didn't mean any harm. Um, perhaps you could tell us about him, so we can remember for you."

Margo glared steadily at Cordelia, apparently unmoved by Cordelia's offer, for several long seconds, then smiled. "He were a carpenter on t'estate; made all my toys himself, and my first stake too, when the council found me. He were so proud, once they explained what I might be."

Margo paused, her eyes misty.

"Dame Margo was a potential slayer once," Mr Bodsworth said quietly, "but the Call passed her by. Thus it is that she knows the needs of a slayer as well as any non-slayer can. Disdain her advice at your peril."

Margo looked back at Cordelia, a warm smile drawn on her cartoon face.

"Tha needs to learn tact, Mistress Cordelia," she said. "But tha could go far, tha knows. Tha's a lot like I were at tha age. Not quite as smart, of course, but that can be remedied, in time, if tha's willing to set aside all pursuit of fripperies and devote thaself to what truly matters. All three of you might."

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Being as powerful as Margo, and as long lived, was tempting, but not at the price Margo had paid. Follow that path and Cordelia would never get to bask in the adulation of the multitudes, the way she deserved; she would have to spend eternity in the shadows, her greatness unrecognised.

No, that path might appeal to watchers, but it was not for Cordelia.

Cordelia smiled. Margo had just treated her as if she were a watcher, only a small mistake, but proof she wasn't perfect — unless she'd done it on purpose to trick Cordelia.

She would have to think about that, later. For now, it would best to switch to a less emotive subject.

"I'll think about it," Cordelia said, smiling at Margo. "Weren't you going to inspect us?"

Margo nodded, her illusion fading. "Line up. Agatha, their weapons."

Agatha picked up a bag from the corner, and began putting weapons on the table; the two fans first, then the trick cane.

"You seem to have forgotten your personal weapons," Margo said. "They were gifts of which I suggest you should take full advantage."

Cordelia picked up her fan, wondering how she could carry a big shiny lump of gold around without attracting unwelcome attention.

"Any of you ever use a crossbow?" Margo asked, as Agatha put the first one on the table. "Apart from Mr Giles."

Cordelia hesitated, then nodded. "Not long after I found out about all this, but we've got Buffy now, dame."

A year after she'd found out, actually, but at Margo's age a year must seem like yesterday.

"I've never used one," Buffy said, looking at Giles as she snatched a crossbow off the table. "Goodbye stakes, hello flying fatality."

"You must first become proficient with the basic tools of combat," Giles said. "The crossbow comes later."

"Mr Giles," Margo said. "If your slayer is not yet ready for the crossbow, either she is slow or your teaching is inadequate. Which is it?"

"Neither, dame," Willow said quickly. "How many slayers still lived with their parents? The council took you away when they thought you might be. How many others? It makes a difference, less time with the watcher."

Not much of a difference, Kendra had been taken from her parents while young, and she had been no better than Buffy, but that was enough of a counter argument to dampen Margo's thrust.

"Excuses," Margo said, then looked at Cordelia.

"Anyway, Mistress Cordelia, you still need to be able to defend yourself. Buffy cannot always stand guard over you." Margo said, passing Cordelia a crossbow and bolt. "If you would care to demonstrate?"

Cordelia looked at the crossbow, reminding herself how it worked. Giles had only given her a quick demonstration, before Buffy returned from her summer sulk, but that should be enough. All she had to do was point it at the enemy and press the trigger. It'd be a lot easier than trying to fight a vampire hand-to-hand, armed with just a fan, and safer too.

"If you would hold a plate at arms length," Margo said, looking at Buffy. "Mistress Cordelia, you may fire when ready."

Buffy looked thoughtfully at Cordelia, then picked up a large plate and stood in the far corner, well away from everyone else.

On her third attempt, Cordelia managed to crank the bow back fully, then slotted the bolt into place and pointed it at the plate, her arm wavering only slightly.

Buffy tilted her head sideways, away from the plate.

Cordelia released the safety catch, then pressed the trigger.

Buffy jerked her arm up.

The bolt thunked into the wall, less than an inch below Buffy's wrist.

"There is room for improvement," Margo said, "but you should be able to make some use of a crossbow tonight, without unduly endangering your comrades in arms."

"When do we get one, dame?" Xander said, picking up a crossbow.

Margo rapped his knuckles, making him drop it. "Not tonight, Mr Alexander. I believe Mr Giles will be free next weekend."

"I should be able to give some brief instructions, Dame Margo," Giles conceded.

"As for your outfit," Margo said, looking at Xander's gym clothes, "you may find it somewhat cold tonight."

"You said we'd be running around a lot, dame," Xander said.

"You will need to run every night, not necessarily all night long, Mr Alexander," Margo said. "You may occasionally need to spend half an hour hiding in a bush, without your teeth chattering, an eventuality for which your outfit is less than suitable."

Margo stepped sideways, and looked at Willow. "Adequate, Mistress Willow. You should be able to hide well enough from anything without unnatural vision, but you too may grow cold in the long watches of the night. Next time, wear a wrap."

Sensible advice, if you lived in England, but Sunnydale didn't get that cold at night. Margo was being inflexible again.

Margo stepped sideways again, then leaned forwards, fingering Cordelia's earrings. "A sensible choice of jewellery, Mistress Cordelia. The crosses will provide a measure of protection. However, your colour choice is ill-informed. Monochrome black is more visible in the half-light of an urban night than one might think. Mistress Willow's ensemble better matches the true colour of the shadows, and will break up her outline somewhat. Next time, listen to her advice on your outfit, and do not forget a wrap."

Margo stepped backwards. "There are other shortcomings in your outfits, but not quite enough to render them unsuitable. You may take up your weapons."

Xander picked up his cane and began playing with it.

"Dame?" Willow said hesistantly, "if you agree being able to hide is a good thing, and you seem to, from what you've said, why have you made Buffy wear that dress?"

"Mistress Willow," Margo said, "I did not compel her; I merely gave her good advice."

But Buffy was not strong enough to resist Margo, not yet. Maybe in a few years Buffy would be able to shrug off Margo's so-called advice, but right now her best efforts against Margo only made Buffy look sulky, and at great risk to Giles's life.

Margo might have used nothing more than words, but she had forced Buffy into that dress as surely as if she had done so at gunpoint.

"She says her Helga wore a dress like this," Buffy said, scowling. "She says her Helga caught a lot of vampires with it."

"It does work," Giles said, "but there's no need for that strategy in Sunnydale."

"Mr Giles," Margo said, "your slayer may not always be in Sunnydale. It is better to practice these skills now than when the need is urgent."

"What skills, dame?" Willow asked, "How can you catch anything with a dress?"

"At least two ways, Mistress Willow. The wretch Harmony could tell you of one, but I cannot ask the slayer to sink to such depths."

"No," Buffy said, "you just want me to skip down dark alleys."

"While whistling blithely," Margo said, with the barest hint of a smile. "Do not forget the whistling."

"That works?" Xander said, staring at Margo. "Dame?"

"Mr Alexander, most of our enemies are too consumed by their dark hungers to spot even this obvious a trap. Any more questions?"

"No, dame," Cordelia said, before Willow could speak.

"Then," Margo said, both disguise and accent returning, "let's go give the vamps a neete to remember."

"Who are they?" Buffy asked five minutes later, looking into the alley. "How do I slay that?"

Twenty yards down the alley, the demon threw one of the vampires against the left-hand wall.

"Tha doesn't need to concern yourself with such matters, hasta augustissima," Margo said, "Simply heed tha slayer's intuition."

Buffy scowled. "My intuition says I need to know more."

"I will not serve you," the top vampire said, lounging against the right-hand wall while its minions fought. "I have only one master. You will serve us, or you will die."

"This weakness in the slayer is tha fault, Mr Giles," Margo said. "My Helga would have slain them all by now."

"You can not hope to kill me," the demon said, tripping a vampire up then stamping on its head. "I am a beloved of the third lord of slaughter, gifted with might beyond your feeble imagining. Your master will crawl at my feet and ..."

"Perhaps, Dame Margo" Giles said. "At her height, but not in her first year. What harm will it do to tell Buffy what you know?"

Cordelia smiled as a vampire grabbed one of the demon's tentacles in both hands, and squeezed, making the demon yelp. Her enemies were killing each other, always a good thing, and, even better, they were so busy doing it that they hadn't noticed they were being watched.

"What harm followed when tha learnt the name of the sleepwalker, Mr Giles?" Margo said.

Giles winced, almost imperceptibly. "This is different, Dame Margo."

"Is it, Mr Giles?" Margo said. "Tha doesn't know from whence the slayer's power truly flows nor what might awake should dark knowledge taint her mind. I do."

"Where does it-" Willow began.

"Buffy," Xander said quickly, interrupting Willow. "Slice and dice. That always works, right, Giles."

"Mostly," Giles said. "Sometimes special measures are required."

"If they were, Mr Giles," Margo said, "I'd do em after Buffy beat the demon up, but there's nowt special about this demon."

"May I remind you, Dame Margo, that this demon claims a blessing from its master."

"It lies," Margo said. "It's all mouth and no trousers. Look at it, Buffy; barely able to hold its own against just six third-rate vampires. Tha's no cause for caution, so stop dawdling, and follow tha calling."

Buffy looked sceptically at Margo. "How many vampires have you killed?"

"I've not fought owt so piddling as vampires for twenty years, Buffy," Margo said, "but I think I lost count somewhere around four score."

Then Margo turned and looked down the alley.

"Hey, you fiends!" Margo shouted, half a yard of steel in her voice. "The slayer's here."

Cordelia quickly stepped backwards.

The combatants all turned and looked towards Cordelia, their fangs gleaming in the dim light.

"What!" Buffy snapped at Margo.

The top vampire pointed to two of its minions. "You, go and kill them all."

"Tha duty was plain," Margo said. "But that made excuses to delay the fight. Such behaviour is unworthy of the slayer. Nor will I tolerate it."

"I wasn't —" Buffy protested.

Margo shoved her in the back, pushing her toward the oncoming vampires. "Go!"

Buffy stumbled down the alley, recovering just in time to block a punch from the first vampire.

"With respect, Dame Margo," Giles said, pale with anger. "I must protest."

"With respect, Mr Giles," Margo said. "Whining is always easier than accepting responsibility for one's own faults."

"You waited too, dame," Cordelia said.

Willow nodded, glaring at Margo, while Xander scowled. "Did you treat your Helga like that?"

"Mr Alexander, my Helga never dawdled," Margo said. "She knew her duty. And as for thee, Mistress Cordelia, I was giving Buffy time enough to recognise her duty without pressure, a most generous gesture."

Buffy staked one vampire, then kicked the second into the wall.

"With respect, Dame Margo," Giles said. "You have no right to interfere with my slayer, unless you have found me derelict in my duty, and neither of us want to see the consequences of that calamity. Need I remind you of our recent, private, discussion?"

"Need I remind thee, Mr Giles," Margo said, "that there are others whose support would be sufficient to avert those consequences. Tha's my first choice, but hardly my only."

So Giles had something Margo wanted. That would strengthen his position, definitely good news.

Buffy staked the second vampire, then turned to face the third.

Giles smiled. "If I am your first choice, none of your followers can be suitable, Dame Margo. Whoever these others are, you will have to put aside your factional loyalties to gain their support, a sacrifice I am sure you are capable of making for the greater good."

"You can't change the way we do things in only a few days, dame," Willow added. "And you expect to be gone by Monday. Don't try to do the impossible; just give us the benefit of your superior experience."

"You can keep giving us free food though, dame," Xander said. "You have got some things right."

"Half right," Cordelia said, give Giles a supportive look.

"Tha logic is flawed, Mr Giles. Nonetheless, I will concede I may not have due allowance for the effects of tha laxness, Mr Giles," Margo said, after a moment's hesitation. "Next time Buffy is unbecoming slow to do her duty, I will let tha prompt her. Tha's my apologies, of course. Would tha like me to do any penance?"

Cordelia hid a frown. If Margo was willing to make that kind of concession, whatever political game she was playing with Giles must be for high stakes; higher still, if Margo's political weakness was fake.

"No," Giles hurriedly said, clearly unwilling to push his luck too far. "If you would just give Buffy all the help you safely can, I'll ask Buffy to forgive you."

Margo smiled, then fired her crossbow, the bolt striking the demon in its third eye.

"It's harmless now, love" Margo shouted to Buffy as the demon collapsed, then fired another bolt at the top vampire.

"Thanks," he shouted back, snatching the bolt from the air and turning it against Buffy.

Margo smiled coldly, and the bolt ignited, forcing the vampire to drop it.

While he was distracted, Buffy slammed his head into the wall, then spun and staked the vampire creeping up behind her.

"We'll need to burn the demon's spleen," Margo said. "The rest should be plain sailing."

"Anything you can tell us about the vampires, Dame Margo?" Giles asked.

Buffy staked the last of the minions, then smiled at the top vampire. "Feeling lucky?"

Margo shrugged. "That's Eric the Defiler, Darla's second spawn. He likes to drink blood from young ladies' ... private areas, Mr Giles, especially at that time of the month. We think he fell out with the Master around 1720. They've not been seen together since."

"Then why is he here now, Dame Margo?" Giles said thoughtfully. "The deathgate?"

Cordelia nodded. Either the deathgate itself, or the Master's extra powers.

"The Master will have been enhanced by the deathgate, Mr Giles," Margo said. "He may now be able to summon those of his blood to his service."

Then Spike and Drusilla would be in town soon, just what Cordelia didn't need.

Eric stumbled backwards, and tripped over the demon's corpse.

Buffy jumped on top of him, plunging her stake into his heart, then stood up and looked at Margo.

"You pushed me," Buffy said scowling. "Why didn't you shoot earlier?"

"Dame Margo's not accustomed to our methods," Giles said quickly, his tone placatory. "She has apologised."

Buffy looked at him, then back at Margo. "Don't do that again."

Margo bowed, then smiled. "Any volunteers for the —"

Behind Buffy, Eric pulled out the stake.

"The deathgate?" Willow suggested quietly, and Margo nodded.

As Buffy turned to face him, Eric grabbed her left ankle and yanked it sideways.

"The deathgate, love," Margo agreed. "The older vampires will no longer die so easily."

Buffy staggered a few steps, then tripped over the corpse.

Eric ran.

Margo sighed. "Can't chase him now. We've got a demon to dispose of. Any volunteers for the spleen removal?"

Ten minutes later, Cordelia stepped out of the alley and turned left, following Margo and Buffy.

"Cordelia?" Harmony shouted. "That you with those freaks?"

Cordelia looked across the road.

Harmony was standing there, with two of the other girls.

"They're not freaks," Cordelia shouted back, a quick denial that should score points with Xander and the others.

Harmony said something to the other girls, then crossed the road.

"What's she want?" Willow muttered.

"Get rid of the wretch, Mistress Cordelia," Margo added, Buffy nodding agreement.

"Feeling cold?" Cordelia said, looking at Harmony's full-length coat. With the collar turned up like that, and a pair of gloves on, she looked ready for a snow storm.

Harmony scowled. "You do remember the mad old woman in the library? What she made me promise? I can't dress normally when she might see me."

"She's not mad," Cordelia said quickly, conscious of Margo standing just behind her.

Harmony glanced at the rest of Cordelia's group, then smiled. "Who's the 'toon? Another of your freak friends?"

"Good evening, wretch," Margo said, steel in her voice.

Harmony shuddered, then forced a smile. "Can't it even speak English?"

What did—

Then Cordelia remembered. Of course Harmony wouldn't understand. She hadn't had a chance to get used to the accent yet.

"That was English," Giles said. "Yorkshire English."

Xander smiled. "She said, 'Good evening, wretch.' I think she meant you."

As realisation dawned, Harmony blanched and step back three paces. "Her?"

"Yes, wretch," Margo. "Me."

Trembling, Harmony took another step back.

"You wanted something?" Cordelia said offhandedly, before Harmony could recover.

"Um, yes," Harmony said, her voice weak. "People have noticed you're hanging with a ... different crowd. They're wondering if you've lost it."

Not good news that, but easily fixed.

"Mistress Cordelia has lost nothing of value, wretch," Margo said. "She's found a purpose."

"You're fah-ound ap puss?" Harmony echoed, looking puzzled. "Um, well, I knew you wouldn't like them saying that, so I though I'd give you a chance to convince them."

"Yes?" Cordelia said, carefully pitching her voice menacingly low.

"We're all meeting up at your house, Saturday night," Harmony said quickly.

If she dropped the Scoobies for that, it'd hurt her standing with them, but not going would strengthen the rumours. Either way she lost, or so Harmony thought. Cordelia was not so easily trapped.

For now, best to let Harmony stew in anticipation.

"You may go now," Cordelia said, like a teacher dismissing an unruly child.

Harmony hesitated, looking at Margo, then scurried back across the street.

Buffy staked the vampire, then watched it crumble to dust.

"Competently done," Margo said, then glanced at the alleys surrounding them.

"Competent, Dame Margo?" Giles said. "What shortfall are you alleging now?"

"Fighting too cleanly, Mr Giles." Margo said, then pointed left. "That way."

"Wait," Xander gasped. "Willow needs more time, dame."

Cordelia looked at Willow, still leaning wearily against the wall, and nodded. They'd spent the last hour running from one fight to the next, with little chance to catch their breath, a level of exercise neither Xander nor Willow were accustomed to.

Cordelia was doing better than those two, thanks to her cheerleader training, but she was still growing tired.

"Five minutes, dame," Cordelia said. "We're not used to this."

"They should be, Mr Giles," Margo said. "They would be, if tha'd listened to our advice."

"Normally, Dame Margo," Giles said, "we do not run from fight to fight."

"You dawdle, Mr Giles?" Margo said.

"Normally, Dame Margo, we do not meet quite so many vampires and demons in one night. When they are relatively infrequent, it makes more sense to walk."

"Unless tha knows where they are, Mr Giles, and Buffy should."

"How?" Buffy asked, scowling at Margo.

"Tha's the slayer, love," Margo said. "Tha should be able to feel the unnatural aura of the undead."

"Buffy's gifts lie in other areas, Dame Margo" Giles said quickly, then looked thoughtfully at her. "How are you finding them so quickly?"

"A simple enhancement to my sensorium, Mr Giles," Margo said, "one of my essays in the great work."

"Dream made flesh," Willow said quietly. "Alchemy isn't just about eternal youth, is it, dame? It's about remaking yourself, in both body and mind, the ultimate self-improvement program, and if you can do that—"

Willow paused, her face caught between surprise and awe. "—you can make yourself smarter. You have, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have, Mistress Willow," Margo said. "The first step in the great work should always be to make thaself clever enough to take the second step."

Cordelia frowned. If Margo's mind was pumped up on mental steroids no normal person would be able to outwit her, unless they had a few aces up their sleeve. Any time Margo appeared to lose was almost certainly part of some labyrinthine plot, beyond normal human comprehension.

Fortunately, Cordelia did have a few aces up her sleeve.

Willow looked greedily at Margo. "How? Tell me how. I have to know. I have to. I have to."

Buffy sighed, then muttered something to Xander.

"Spend thirty years studying the unique contours of tha own mind, the mysteries of the soul, and the secrets of the lower arcanum," Margo said, "and tha might be ready to take that first step, but be warned. Most who attempt it succeed only in destroying their own minds, becoming, at best, drooling imbeciles."

Willow did not look deterred.

"You don't need that," Xander said, lightly patting Willow's arm. "You're already our genius."

"But if you succeed ..." Giles said, then started polishing his glasses. "There is no spell in the council's archives that can grant deathsight for more than five minutes, and that at ruinous cost, yet to you, Dame Margo, it comes as easily as breathing. To be able to do that ... Some risks are worth taking."

"Not just deathsight, Mr Giles," Margo said, "the full spectrum of othersight, and at a price paid in a coinage tha knows nowt of. Tha only knows of the magics of the lower arcanum, but alchemy is of the higher. No lesser magics can safely ma—"

Mid-word, Margo stopped.

"Dame Margo?" Giles said.

Margo smiled. "Under normal circumstances, Mr Giles, useful deathsight is beyond the scope of the lower arcanum, but circumstances are not normal, and the scope of the lower arcanum is ... wider. Buffy, there's a vampire forty yards down that alley. Could you bring it here? I'll need its blood."

Buffy looked at Giles, then ran down the side-alley Margo had just pointed out.

"This spell will show you much," Margo said, looking at the four of them. "You'll find it an educational experience."

"You're giving us super vision, dame?" Xander asked. "What kind? X-ray? Heat vision?"

"Deathsight," Giles said. "It's the ability to sense undeath, and the necrotic energies that sustain it. Some slayers have it, to a small extent."

Giles paused as the sound of fighting came from the side-alley, then looked at Margo. "And you can give us this, Dame Margo? Without the duration problems or the ... unfortunate side-effects?"

"I can, Mr Giles," Margo said, "for a limited time, and tha deathsight will not as good as mine. Even with the power of a deathgate behind it, the scope of the lower arcanum is still limited."

"Can't you use the higher arcanum, dame?" Willow asked. "Like you did on yourself."

"The power to do that is the power to reshape tha mind like clay, love," Margo said. "I will not foul myself with such magics. Anyroad, sticking to the lower arcanum means this spell is simple enough for Mr Giles to master."

"It is?" Giles said, staring at Margo. "Dame Margo, that's, that's ..."

"Are you sure it's safe, dame?" Cordelia interrupted, remembering some past incidents. Margo hadn't actually said there'd be no side effects.

"Safe enough, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said.

Xander looked at Cordelia. "That means no, right?"

"The spell does use vampire blood," Margo said, as if that meant something. "There's a small chance that it could vamp thee."

"How small a chance?" Cordelia said carefully, wondering what Margo considered an acceptable level of risk.

"Don't worry, love," Margo said. "If owt goes wrong tonight, I'll destroy the demon before it can get tha body. Tha might get a little headache, but nowt worse."

"I can't do that, Dame Margo," Giles said, as Buffy dragged a vampire round the corner.

"If they have the Mikhelite cleansing before and after each casting, and tha doesn't use it more than once a month, it'll be safe enough."

A desperation tactic, then.

"Dame," Buffy said, "I can't hold her much longer."

"Fiend —" Margo said, her voice the thunderous roar of a charging army.

Cordelia covered her ears and backed away. There were trumpets in that voice, and the rattle of swords being drawn, but mostly there were ten thousand knights riding across a battlefield, a force as unstoppable as the tides.

Margo really had been holding back against Harmony, just as Cordelia had suspected.

Cordelia swallowed nervously, reminded again just how dangerous Margo really was.

"—be still," Margo said. "Be silent."

The vampire went completely still, its face a rictus of terror.

"Now," Margo said, her voice friendly again. "We can begin the spell. Watch carefully, Mr Giles."

Margo nudged a jewel on her fan, exposing the blade, then grabbed the vampire's left hand.

Willow winced, and looked away.

Margo raised her fan to shoulder height, then swung it down fast, slicing off the vampire's hand.

The vampire didn't even dare wince.

Margo carefully passed her fan to Buffy, then held her left hand under the vampire's wrist, letting its blood pool in her outstretched palm.

After a few seconds she stepped away. "I'll need tha blood too, Buffy. Cut us a finger, would you?"

"Go on," Giles said, when Buffy looked at him.

Wincing, Buffy carefully cut a finger with Margo's fan, then squeezed out a few drops of blood.

Margo looked down at the blood. "Sanguis viviae et mortui, calice hoc carnis meae nunc miscete!"

The blood swirled in her palm.

"Tenebrae, mea! Te ministerio hominis dedico."

The blood shimmered, and Margo smiled triumphantly.

"Dum haec nox durabit, visum donanto mortuorum qui ambulant."

The blood started glowing pink.

"All close your eyes," Margo said. "I'm going to draw the rune of sight on your foreheads, Mr Giles."

Cordelia briefly hesitated, then closed her eyes.

After a few moments, something wet touched her forehead, leaving her eyes tingling.

"Open your eyes," Margo said, a few moments later.

Cordelia opened them, then blinked, trying to make sense of what she now saw.

"Put tha human face on, fiend," Margo told the vampire.

It did, but under that face Cordelia could still see the vampire's true face, shimmering as though seen through water. From that face a pulsing black column ran down the vampire's neck, feeding into a dark whirlpool where its heart should have been.

"They all look like that?" Xander asked.

"Pretty much, love," Margo said. "Tha'd have no trouble finding the heart now. Kill it, Buffy."

Buffy stuck the stake into its heart, into the centre of the whirlpool, and the vampire dusted, its undead energies melting away.

Behind the wall, something moved.

Cordelia squinted then, realising this must be deathsight not eyesight, relaxed and waited for it to come into focus.

A dozen dark whirlpools and something else, a twisted knot of dark energies wrapped round a single floating eye. Beyond them, more dark shapes moved; smaller, so probably further away — unless they really were small.

Twelve vampires and a demon then, hidden not far behind that wall, and beyond them other demons and undead.

"It's not quite x-ray vision," Margo said, "but there is little that can block deathsight and tha don't really need to see their actual bodies."

Cordelia quickly spun round, trying to see what else was out there.

Five vampires, a demon, a pentagram, seven vampires, a lone vampire, a shadowed dome, another demon, a demon with three vampires, a gigantic black pulsing column, five more vampires, another pentagram, two demons with fifteen vampires, a large blob of dark mist, four more vampires—

After a quarter turn, Cordelia had seen enough.

"Dame?" Willow said. "How far can we see?"

"Tha, Mistress Willow, can see perhaps a thousand yards," Margo said. "My deathsight extends somewhat further."

So there were several dozen vampires within half a mile, and around twenty demons; many more than Cordelia would have expected. Had Sunnydale always been this bad?

"What is all this stuff, dame?" Xander asked, then quickly added, "the short version."

"Vampire, undead demon, necromantic spell," Margo said pointing. "All this mist's unfocused necrotic energy. That fog bank'll be a graveyard, and that—"

Margo pointed at the gigantic column. "—is the deathgate. Well, not the deathgate itself, but the primary necrotic flux from it."

Wave after wave of black magic surged up the column, then spread out at the top, separating into dark ropes that snaked through the sky, eventually dissipating into mist.

"Notice how it permeates the clouds," Margo said, then smiled. "When was the last time any of you saw the sun?"

Tuesday. The weather had been cloudy the last few days, unusual in Sunnydale, but it did happen.

"You mean," Willow said, "the deathgate's responsible, dame?"

"Not the deathgate alone," Margo said. "Its aura has blended with the hellmouth's to do what neither alone could manage; bend the very weather to the needs of the dark forces. This town'll never see the sun again, which should help reduce the population."

An understatement, but Margo was from England, a country where they only saw sunlight twice a month. She was used to living in perpetual gloom; she couldn't understand how much normal people would miss the sunlight. Once the tans started to go, so would the people.

"And if you look down," Margo said, "you'll see your enemies' true strength."

Cordelia looked.

Under her feet, rivers of black mist flowed, dark spells littered the ground, dozens of demons lurked, and, everywhere, there were vampires, hundreds of them.

"Now you know the true scale of the task you've chosen," Margo said, "I trust there'll be no more dawdling."

"Just sensible caution, dame," Cordelia said. "Killing all this lot will take a plan."

This undead face of Sunnydale would need a lot of thinking about, which must be what Margo wanted.

"A commendable ambition, love," Margo said, nodding respectfully, "but this spell will only last 'til dawn. Buffy, would you like to pick the next target?"

Buffy looked around, then smiled. "That eye thing."

"Did you ... see what ... I did?" Xander asked, three hours later.

"Can't talk ... and run," Cordelia said. She needed all her breath just to keep up with Buffy.

She had seen, of course. He'd been flailing around with his cane, during that last fight, and got a lucky hit in, dusting one of the vampires. Nice for him, but not worth talking about.

Margo stopped, and stared to the left.

"Ghouls!" she spat. "Which way to that graveyard, Mr Giles?"

Giles winced.

Cordelia looked left. The graveyard was a dim blur on the edge of her deathsight, half a mile away, but she could half-see indistinct shapes moving through the mist.

"Next left, Dame Margo," Giles said, "straight on down Stevenson Street until the end, and the gate's fifty yards on the left. Do—"

Margo darted off, leaving them all behind.

"Bad news?" Buffy said, looking at Giles.

Giles nodded solemnly. "Individual ghouls aren't dangerous. They're not much stronger than humans, and mostly less intelligent."

"Then why ... ?" Willow asked, looking at Margo.

"Ghouls killed her slayer," Giles said. "Dame Margo might get a little ... overenthusiastic."

"Her Helga was killed by weaklings?" Xander said, smiling. "And Margo claims she was better than Buffy?"

"Helga was outnumbered, one thousand against five."

Margo looked over her shoulder. "Don't stand there nattering. We've got ghouls to kill."

"One thousand?" Buffy said, as she started running. "Will I have to fight that many?"

"I shouldn't think so," Giles said. "Ghouls are normally solitary creatures, though from necessity not choice. They only eat corpses at least three days dead, and any form of respectful burial provides a protection against their depredations akin to that which prevents vampires entering uninvited. With their food so scarce, ghouls are perforce likewise scarce. It is only at times of mass death, when the earth is piled high with unburied corpses, that ghouls can gather into packs."

Giles, Cordelia noted sourly, didn't seem to have any trouble talking while he ran. Embarrassing, when he was over twice her age.

It must be part of watcher training, a necessary skill if they were to keep up with their slayers in the field.

"Locusts," Willow gasped, visibly struggling to keep up. "Deathgate?"

"An apt comparison," Giles said. "The deathgate may reduce the ghoul's need for sustenance, but of itself it can not create ghouls. It should take months for the ghoul numbers to increase, theoretically."

Then why had Margo said 'ghouls', plural?