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.

17. Cordelia's Ghost: A new weapon

"You sure you want to get out here?" Joyce said. "Not the mall?"

Cordelia smiled. "There's a jeweller's opposite."

And a realtor's was next to it, not the kind of place she normally went shopping, but Margo was paying.

Joyce nodded. "Buffy? Don't you want to look?"

"Not now," Buffy said flatly. "I'm meeting Willow in the mall."

"You sure you'll be OK by yourself?" Joyce said, glancing meaningfully at Buffy. "You've been ... quiet all morning. If something's upsetting you..."

"I was thinking about Angel," Cordelia said, before Joyce could get too motherly. How much should she tell Xander, and when? He needed to know Angel was a vampire, but if he learned too much his jealousy would get in the way.

That wasn't what had been preoccupying her though. Angel was important, like the hyenas, and Margo, and the strengthening hellmouth, but none of that was personal. Harmony was.

"Angel?" Joyce said.

"Just this guy we know," Buffy said too quickly, twisting round in her seat to glare at Cordelia.

Joyce glanced at Buffy again, this time suspiciously.

Good. Joyce wouldn't be able to stop Buffy falling for Angel, but she might be able to help keep those two apart, now she had a motive. Even if she couldn't, if she only delayed Angel's happiness by a few days, that would be a few days without Angelus, well worth it.

"Can we go?" Buffy said, "before you get a ticket."

"You'll phone when you want picking up?" Joyce said, looking back at Cordelia.

Cordelia nodded, tapping the slight bulge of her cell phone as she opened the car door, and got out, closing the door behind her — a little abrupt, but Joyce was too distracted to notice and Cordelia had an appointment to keep.

Joyce reversed out into the traffic, then drive off, a faintly harried look on her face.

Outside the jeweller's, Xander waved.

Cordelia checked the traffic — still light, this early in the morning, half the shops weren't open yet — then hurried across, before he could attract too much attention. Fortunately, Buffy hadn't recognised him, probably because she wasn't expecting him to be dressed like that.

"You noticed the limo?" Xander said, tugging at his collar.

"It is rather difficult to miss," Cordelia said dryly. "Wilfred's getting out now, and you can undo that top button."

"We're pretending he's our attorney, right?" Xander said, unfastening the button.

"He is the trust's attorney," Cordelia said, stepping back to look at Xander. "No pretence."

He was wearing the suit Margo had given him for the ceremony, without the tie, a bit more formal than Cordelia would have picked for this meeting, but it was the only suit he had, and a lot better than the clothes he normally wore. Had he turned up in those, the realtor would never have believed Xander was a serious buyer.

Dressed like this, he looked as wealthy as Cordelia herself, someone who could afford to throw away the amount of money Margo was spending on this scheme.

"Good morning," Wilfred said, stopping to look in the jeweller's window. "Do you both know what you are doing?"

"Buying a secret lair," Xander said. "Think they've got any caves?"

"I'm sure they've got plenty," Cordelia said. "All full of vampires. We're looking for somewhere safe."

"In this town?" Xander said, smiling sceptically.

"Indeed," Wilfred said, reaching into his jacket. "Even if you stay above ground, you may still encounter vampiric squatters. These should prove useful."

"Water pistols?" Cordelia said, as Wilfred pulled them out. They were a strange design; mostly wood, embossed with silver, and decorated with three crystals, but they were the right shape.

Wilfred nodded. "Holy water. It should have enough deterrence value to cover your retreat."

Xander grabbed the first pistol

"Until the water runs out," Cordelia said, taking the other one. Really, if there was any risk of vampires they should sending Buffy in first, but then she'd start wondering why Cordelia and Xander were buying an apartment together. The conclusion was obvious, and not one Cordelia wanted drawn.

"Dame Margo is an alchemist," Wilfred said. "These pistols can temporarily transform air to water, creating quite large volumes quite quickly. Contact with the sacred relics embedded within them then blessed the water, before it is ejected at high speed."

Cordelia frowned, remembering. "Relics? You mean the bones of a saint?"

"Not all relics are osseous," Wilfred said. "Each pistol contains fragments from a sword, wielded by many slayers."

Xander smiled. "Got one for Buffy?"

"She is the slayer," Wilfred said. "With her prowess she does not need to take the risk of using such weapons."

"What risk?" Cordelia said sharply.

"Elemental transmutation requires the manipulation of considerable energies," Wilfred said. "If the components should become misaligned, those energies would be released with explosive force."

"Is that likely?" Cordelia asked, knowing the answer would be 'Yes'.

"Those pistols are new," Wilfred said. "Wear and tear should not be a problem until they've been used for at least two dozen hours."

"But?" Cordelia prompted.

"However," Wilfred said, smiling faintly. "Any sharp knock could set them off. If you drop one, dive for cover, and pray."

"How big an explosion?" Xander said, looking suspiciously at his pistol.

Wilfred shrugged. "Relatively small. If you could conceal them about your person, we can begin this morning's business."

"Can't we have something that won't explode?" Cordelia said, something that wouldn't be more dangerous to her than to her enemies.

"Your aim is too poor to use a crossbow without backup," Wilfred said. "You will be safer with these than you would trying to tackle a vampire bare-handed."

"Not feeling reassured," Cordelia said, glaring at Wilfred. "Any other special features we should know about?"

"They have variably anisotropic inertia," Wilfred said, then, seeing their blank faces, added. "That means they don't have any kick."

Smiling at Cordelia, Xander tucked his pistol in his jacket. "I can carry yours for you."

He could, but she'd still get hurt if it exploded, and it would be harder to get at if she needed it.

"I'll carry it," Cordelia said grudgingly, slipping it into her handbag, "but there should be a safer alternative."

"I'm sure Dame Margo will be interested in your criticisms of her labours," Wilfred said. "You two should lead."

Cordelia nodded, ignoring the crude threat, then strode past him, and into the realtor's.

"Can we help you?" the receptionist said, looking doubtful.

Xander followed Cordelia in, Wilfred a step behind him.

"We sent you a letter of instruction yesterday," Cordelia said, with all the hauteur she could muster. "Did you not receive it?"

Wilfred coughed diffidently. "The Maxted-Turton trust?"

The receptionist smiled, pressing a button on his desk. "Mr Beedon will see you immediately."

"I believe you mean we will see him immediately," Cordelia corrected.

Xander frowned, shuffling uneasily.

"Of course, Miss," the receptionist said. "He's coming now."

"He should have been waiting for us," Cordelia said, "or does he not value our custom?"

"Sorry, sorry," Beedon said, striding briskly across his office, hand outstretched. "Tax returns."

"I quite understand," Wilfred said, smiling, and nudged Xander forwards.

Smiling broadly and burbling inanities, Beedon shook hands with Xander then Cordelia.

"Is everything ready?" Wilfred said. "We do have a rather tight deadline."

"Tax reasons, wasn't it?" Beedon said. "I'm in the same boat."

Wilfred raised one eyebrow. "I suspect you don't have quite the same potential liabilities. If contracts are not exchanged by noon—"

"Not a problem," Beedon said. "Everything's arranged. All the vendors are standing by their phones, waiting for your decision, and—"

"Then," Wilfred said, "shall we begin?"

---

"Cordy," Xander said, once she'd got in the limo, "did you have to be so—"

"Tough?" Cordelia suggested, then glanced at the driver. The limo company had supplied him, so he wasn't likely to be working for anyone else, and the passenger compartment was soundproof anyway. Wilfred was in Beedon's car, keeping him distracted, so no one could eavesdrop. She could talk freely, at last.

The limo drove off, following Beedon to the first apartment.

Cordelia leaned forwards, and lowered her voice; unnecessary, but it would help capture Xander's attention. "What we're doing looks a lot like fraud. One false note, and Beedon will—"

"It's not fraud," Xander said. "The—"

"But it looks like fraud," Cordelia said firmly. "People he's never heard of spending lots of money in a hurry. Business doesn't work like that. He'd have heard of the trust before, it if were real."

"It is real," Xander said. "Margo said the board set it up in the thirties. If Beedon checks up, he'll see everything checks out."

True, but until now the trust had been a dummy, nothing more than a name on a filing cabinet, waiting until some board member needed it as a front. It wouldn't stand up to a proper investigation.

Really, it would have been better if they could have bought the apartment normally, but they didn't have time for that. It was bad enough that they would have to spend ages reading boring books before they could rescue the real Harmony from the soulstorm; wasting weeks on legal and financial niceties would be intolerable, especially for Harmony.

And moving fast would also give Margo a chance to demonproof the place properly, before she died, in itself an advantage worth all the problems speed brought.

It would help if Xander understood those problems though. Then she'd be able to rely on him not to say the wrong thing, and land them all in jail. He might even be able to help.

"If we were fraudsters, everything would seem to check out," Cordelia patiently explained, hoping he'd listen this time. "Until he tried to spend the money we paid him. Then it would all evaporate, leaving him holding the check."

"That why we told him we were cheating on our taxes?" Xander said slowly.

"It's obvious nonsense, if we were really doing that we wouldn't have left it so late, but it would mean Beedon could get a lot of money out of us, so he wants to believe it. As long as we put on a good act, he'll be too busy counting chickens to ask awkward questions."

"You were acting?"

Cordelia nodded. "I've seen my dad do business. I know how these people talk to underlings," like her dad.

Xander frowned uncertainly. "Does it matter what he thinks? We're not—"

"Do you want to have to explain to Buffy why you were arrested on suspicion of fraud?" Cordelia said, smiling sweetly. "Remember, the truth is sub rosa."

"No," Xander said, reluctantly. "But I should be able to. We're all on the same side. We shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other."

They shouldn't have to, but they did, which was not what Xander wanted to hear. Cordelia looked at him, slumped against the limo window, his face regretful, and decided to change the subject. Xander was a good listener, sometimes, and he didn't have her biases.

"Xander," she said slowly, "what do you think about Harmony?"

"Which one?" Xander said. "The real one, or ghost girl?"

"Ghost girl," Cordelia said.

Xander looked at her, then smiled. "What do you think?"

Cordelia hesitated, then admitted. "I don't know. She's done bad things, and I don't like her, but she's me, sort of."

"Must be weird," Xander said sympathetically.

"Confusing," Cordelia said. She'd spent half the night trying to decide how she felt, and concluded only that Margo had bounced them both into acquiescence with her dicta on Harmony. If Cordelia had been allowed time to get over her surprise she'd have—

Well, she still wasn't sure what she'd have decided to do with Harmony, but it wouldn't have been as draconian as Margo's choice. Harmony didn't deserve that kind of treatment, and not just because she was actually a younger Cordelia.

"And I've got to curse her," Xander said, then hesitated. "We'll meet a doll with a human soul, won't we?"

"You know I mustn't talk about the future," Cordelia said reprovingly. That wasn't going to be easy to live with either. Certainly Harmony couldn't keep her stolen body, the real Harmony needed it back, but condemning her to life as a freak didn't feel right.

"I know," Xander said. "Just tell me, did it grow old?"

"No," Cordelia said. Sid could have lived forever if—

And so could Harmony, if they did that to her.

Shocked, Cordelia abruptly straightened up. "She'll be immortal. Same if we stick her in any fake body, I think. Only people grow old. Why would Margo want that? She obviously detests Harmony—"

"And there is an alternative," Xander said. "She said people have been cloned. Clones are human. We could clone you, and put her in that body."

"The perfect solution," Cordelia said. It'd leave everyone in a body that felt like the one they were born with, and it wouldn't make Harmony immortal, which she certainly didn't deserve.

Xander smiled. "That's why you should read comics."

"But Margo must have known this was possible," Cordelia said, thinking aloud. "Even if there's some catch, she can't be certain we won't find a way round it. Why would she want Harmony to be immortal? What is she planning?"

---

"You expect people to live here?" Xander said, staring at the wallpaper, apparently picked by the one person with worse taste than even him. Large purple roses alternating with small olive butterflies on a black background had never been fashionable, ever. The bloodstains and tracery of grey rot did hide the worst of the pattern, but an ambience of death was not much of an improvement.

"It has potential," Cordelia said, smiling brightly at Beedon. "Shall we see what the other rooms are like?"

"I'll show—" Beedon began.

"My clients have no need of your advice," Wilfred said flatly. "We shall stay here, and discuss the details of our arrangement. There are certain points on which ..."

Cordelia smiled, and nudged Xander towards the doorway. That would keep Beedon out of the way, if there were any vampires desperate enough to squat here, and give her more time to talk freely with Xander.

After a moment, Xander smiled and walked briskly through the doorway, brushing aside the cobwebs.

Cordelia followed him down the hallway and into the small kitchen, careful not to step on the dodgier looking floorboards.

"Why the act?" Xander asked.

"Beedon's trying to bounce us," Cordelia explained. "Show us all the bad places first, and when he finally shows us somewhere good we'll be so relieved we'll gladly pay three times the proper price, trebling his commission. It's common practice."

"Learned that at one of your dad's parties?" Xander said, looking thoughtfully at her.

"A few years ago," Cordelia agreed. A realtor had been boasting about his latest coup, indiscreet of him, but he had been drunk, drunk enough to proposition her within earshot of her dad.

Fortunately, the other guests had managed to pull them apart before anyone got seriously hurt.

"We're calling his bluff?" Xander said hesitantly. "If he thinks we might buy this place he won't risk showing us anywhere else like this?"

"You're learning," Cordelia said, smiling. "We spend five minutes in here, then go back to Beedon talking about how much potential this place has."

Xander frowned, then shrugged.

"You didn't sound shocked," he said, resuming their conversation from the limo.

"Autopilot," Cordelia said casually. "Showing weakness in front of Margo would not have been a good idea."

"What about the deal?"

"I still don't see any loopholes."

"But?" Xander prompted.

"She was too willing to make concessions," Cordelia said. "She must have some ulterior motive."

"More secrets," Xander said, sighing. "If she didn't have to make everything so convoluted, Willow and Buffy might be cured by now."

Xander paused, looking thoughtfully at Cordelia. "Can you tell me what happened to them yet?"

"Can you fake surprise convincingly?" Cordelia asked.

"You can cover for me," Xander said. "They're my friends too. I need to know."

"Hyenas," Cordelia said, a risk but worth it. Shared confidences would help bind him to her.

Xander blinked. "Hyenas what?"

"It's not certain yet," Cordelia said, "but they may be possessed by hyena spirits, like you were."

"More possession," Xander muttered. "Do you remember how I was cured."

"I wasn't involved," Cordelia said, and Xander hadn't wanted to talk about the experience. "All I know is you were cured when the zoo keeper was killed, by his own animals."

"We're not killing anyone," Xander said immediately. "There has to be another way."

"Of course," Cordelia said. "Margo'll will know how."

"But we're not allowed to ask her for help," Xander said. "We'll get Giles in trouble."

"Giles isn't allowed to ask for help," Cordelia corrected. "We're not him, and we won't be asking for help. We'll be sticking with our prior agreement."

Which meant Margo's promises should prevent her using that information against Giles.

"Good," Xander said, though he didn't sound reassured. "I want my Willow back. This one keeps staring at me."

---

"This property is considerably larger," Beedon said, "and affords ample opportunities for future improvement to the discerning buyer."

It was too large; Cordelia had only bought a few dozen books, she didn't need an entire mansion to store them in, and a place that size would take too much looking after. She was likely to be spending a lot of time wherever they bought, so it needed to meet her standards of comfort, which would mean employing a few maids and handymen, not a feasible option.

It also had a future. Angel would be living here in a year, if he became Angelus. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen now but it might be best to leave the place empty. Then they'd know where he was if that did go wrong.

And there were other problems.

"My clients shall decide that for themselves," Wilfred said. "Were you to claim an exemption under ..."

"This is more like it," Xander said quietly, as the two of them walked inside. "With a place like this—"

"It's too big," Cordelia said firmly. "We'd attract too much attention."

"You like attention," Xander said, smiling.

"Not this kind," Cordelia said. "What if you give Harmony a helpful curse?"

"Curse her to be helpful?" Xander said. "That—"

"No," Cordelia said. "A blessing in disguise. If you curse her to always know how what other people think about her, she might not like it at first but it'll be good for her in the end."

"You've been thinking about this," Xander said as they went into the next room.

"Of course," Cordelia said. "She was me, once."

"You don't act much like her," Xander said.

"I don't? Goo—" Cordelia paused, glancing sideways at the walls. No sockets in here, so she'd need an electrician too. "I can't have changed that much. It's not been two years."

"Two busy years," Xander said, looking up at the ceiling. "You're still the same most ways, only not. You're, um, facing different directions. You've both got a lot of ... drive. She focuses it on ... social stuff, but the school isn't big enough for her so she's ... you know. You've got a real challenge, something that needs all that drive, so you don't, um, —"

Cordelia waited until she'd got the gist — not how she'd have described herself, or her past self, but Xander should see things more clearly, looking at them from outside — then pointed out a pile of clothes thrown into one corner.

"This house has a future," she said, pulling out her water pistol. What Xander had said was too simplistic to be the whole truth, but it felt true enough to be useful.

"Vampires?" Xander whispered, going to examine the clothes.

"They shouldn't move in for a year," Cordelia said softly.

Xander held up a T-shirt; ripped, with a brown stain near the neck. "Think they're early?"

"No." It was far too soon for Angelus, "but others might have the same taste in housing."

Or the sewers might be full. This mansion had too many windows to be prime vamp territory, unless they were as arrogant as Angelus.

Xander nodded, pulling out his pistol. "On three. One—"

Cordelia scowled. That was not what she'd meant. They should be going for help, not planning to kick down the doors. Storming a vampire nest without Buffy would be near suicidal.

"Two,"

She'd only got her pistol to cover her retreat, in case they got ambushed, but Xander was too eager. He hadn't been doing this long enough to grasp the realities.

She couldn't stop him now though, not without risking a noisy argument, which would attract any lurking vampires, and leave them unprepared for an attack.

Cordelia stepped up to Xander's side.

"Three."

Cordelia gently pushed the door open.

The vampires looked up.

There were four of them sat round a table, playing cards, one male in seventies' fashion, and three females, more fashionably dressed, so probably younger.

Cordelia glanced quickly round the room, checking for other threats; crimson bedsheets tacked in front of the windows, a door leading into the garden, but no sign of any other vampires, or demons.

"Fresh blood," the male snarled. "Our lucky day. Get them, girls."

The three minions jumped to their feet.

"Nice and sunny in here," Cordelia bluffed, stepping backwards, away from the door. The vampires had tacked crimson bedsheets in front of the windows in their den, but they hadn't thought to protect the approaches and, standing in the red-tinted gloom of that room, they shouldn't be able to tell she wasn't in direct sunlight.

The minions hesitated, looking uncertainly at their leader. Definitely young, if they weren't sure of the rules.

Xander raised his pistol.

"The sun can't hurt you inside," the leader lied. "Get them, or I'll kill you myself."

Cordelia raised her pistol, then hesitated. Margo seemed to think it didn't matter if you died, as long as you took enough demons with you. Using a weapon she'd designed might be almost as dangerous as fighting the vampire barehanded.

Xander pressed the trigger.

The crystals lit up; red, green, blue.

The lead vampire dived underneath the table.

With a thunderous roar, water jetted out; not the feeble dribble of a normal water pistol, nor the gentle stream of a fire hose, but a river in full flood, water enough to sweep away an herd of elephant, frothing white with elemental fury.

It hit the leftmost minion full on.

For a split second Cordelia saw its flesh bubbling under the onslaught, then it was gone, killed too fast to scream.

The water pounded on, smashing into — no, through — the floorboards, and vanishing into the cellars.

The other two minions turned to flee.

Cordelia fired, two short bursts.

The dust drifted gently down, settling on the spreading waters.

The lead vampire looked frantically round, then toppled the table.

It hit the floor with a gentle splash.

The vampire stood up, holding the table as a shield.

Grinning maniacally, Xander aimed his pistol at the table.

Behind it, the vampire laughed. "You ca—"

The table cracked.

Water gushed through the gap.

The table fell from the vampire's dissolving hands, splashing up more water.

For a moment the vampire stood there, its face a blistered ruin, then it too was dust.

Xander stopped firing and pretended to blow smoke off the barrel. "We should take these into the sewers. We could—"

"If it were that easy," Cordelia said, "Margo would already have sent her people in to clear them out. There may be demons down there now that could laugh off these pistols."

That, and they were so overpowered they'd be in danger of bringing down the roof if they fired them underground.

"Margo should have given us these pistols last night," Xander said, then looked round the room. "What should we do now?"

"Go and tell Beedon this mansion has a plumbing—"

As Cordelia spoke, the water evaporated, unnaturally fast, the alchemy reversing itself.

"—that it looks like someone broke into this room," Cordelia said quickly, before Xander could suggest checking the other rooms for vampires. "So, you think if we give the old me a real challenge she'll become more reasonable?"

"About the unimportant stuff," Xander said as they walked back towards the front door. "If she sees you as a challenge, nothing would make her back down."

"And she does," Cordelia said, nodding agreement. If someone had stolen her body, nothing short of apocalypse would have stopped her getting it back. "She could become a real problem."

---

"This is a good place," Cordelia said. "The right size, a good neighbourhood, and fully furnished. You could use this room for your armoury."

That had been Xander's sole contribution to the negotiations. Pointless, of course, they had Buffy for the fighting, but he was probably still daydreaming about being the big action hero, rescuing his girls. Still, it wasn't much to ask for, just a few weapons, all safely unmagical, and some space to practice in, so Cordelia had shrugged and added it to the deal.

"It's too close to your house," Xander said. "I still like the mansion best."

"Too large," Cordelia said. "What's wrong with being near my house?"

"Apart from the monster in your basement?"

"It's our town. We shouldn't let a little thing like that frighten us away."

"Little?" Xander said. "You spend much time with Giles in the future?"

Cordelia shrugged noncommittally. "Anyway, we're going to find a way to kill that creature. I will not permit something like that to exist under my house. Do you have any other problems with here?"

"It's too close to your house," Xander repeated. "If I keep coming round here, people will notice."

"They might," Cordelia conceded, though that wouldn't be much of a problem. "And they might notice if we kept visiting the mansion."

Xander frowned thoughtfully. "This is the last place, isn't it?"

"That's what Beedon said," Cordelia confirmed, waiting to see what Xander was thinking.

"Neither of us wants the first house, or the apartment by the university."

Cordelia nodded. The first house needed demolishing, and that apartment was too out of the way. Being full of zombie rats hadn't helped its chances either.

"You don't like the mansion, and I don't like this place," Xander went on. "That leaves the apartment between the shops, and the one opposite the bronze. Any preferences?"

"Toss a coin," Cordelia said, shrugging, then picked up the previous conversation. "If we did the opposite of what we think Margo wants—"

"We'd be doing bad stuff," Xander said, getting out a quarter. "Heads for the bronze?"

"OK," Cordelia said. "Mostly, and she might have anticipated that."

"So whatever we do, she wins," Xander said, tossing the coin. "Does that matter?"

"If we don't want to be her puppets."

"Tails," Xander said. "What matters is doing the right thing. As long as we do that—

"—it doesn't matter if we're also doing what she wants," Cordelia agreed. That wasn't quite true, but as long as she stayed alert to manipulation following their moral compass should be safe enough. "Between the shops it is."

Xander nodded. "Let's tell Beedon. I want to get out of this suit."

"Shouldn't take much longer," Cordelia said, glancing at her watch — eleven thirty, so she'd have all afternoon to be normal. "We've just got to sign some papers."

---

An hour later Cordelia got out of the limo, next to the apartment she'd just bought.

"Our first house," Xander said, joining her at the door, still in his suit, then turned to look at Wilfred. "What's the hurry? Why couldn't I—"

"Dame Margo's instructions are quite clear," Wilfred said, handing Cordelia a bunch of legal papers.

"Bu—" Xander began.

"I would not advise keeping her waiting," Wilfred said, handing Xander a sheet of paper and a piece of chalk. "You will need these."

"She's in there?" Cordelia guessed.

"No," Wilfred said, smiling faintly. "If you will excuse me, I have other duties to attend to."

Cordelia looked suspiciously at the door; plain blue, and unmarked.

Shrugging, Xander got out the key.

Cordelia watched nervously as he opened the door, wondering what Margo was planning now.

The hallway still looked the same; white walls, beige carpet.

Cordelia followed Xander inside. "What's that say?"

Xander pushed the door shut behind him, then glanced at the instructions, and blinked. "She wants us to draw on the walls, where we're going to keep the books."

"Why?"

"She doesn't say."

Which left them with no option but to trust Margo, and comply. If they didn't, Margo would not be pleased. Admitting they'd been too nervous to write on a wall would not be an adequate defence, not against Margo's scorn, but that was the only objection they could raise, without knowing her reasons.

Together, they walked down the long hallway, sandwiched between a barbers and a card shop.

This apartment wasn't as good as the house Xander had rejected, no furniture and hardly any windows, but at least it was well concealed.

From the street, it wasn't obvious there was even an apartment here. The door could easily have belonged to either of the neighbouring shops. It was only if someone walked all round the block, counting doors, that they'd realise there was one too many.

They turned right, up the stairs.

They were narrow, hidden inside the back wall of the barbers, and steep. Getting any furniture, or her books, up here would be difficult, but Xander should be strong enough, and the steepness would help if they ever needed to defend the place against demons.

Halfway up the stairs, Cordelia glanced into the rubbish-strewn courtyard.

On three sides, doors opened onto it, from shops using it for deliveries, and for parking, but on the fourth side, the wall was blank, no doors, no windows. On that side there were apartments, perfectly normal apartments with clearly marked entrances on the street below.

Naturally, the people living there wouldn't want a view of this courtyard, so they wouldn't expect windows in their back walls, and neither would the shopkeepers using that courtyard. They'd both expect to see a blank wall, which was exactly what was there. None of them would ever guess what it hid. They'd only find out if they started comparing measurements, and they had no reason to.

They'd never realise that the apartments didn't back onto the courtyard, that there were ninety feet between their back walls and that courtyard, ninety feet into which was squeezed an extra apartment, hidden from prying eyes.

Beedon knew, of course, and a few other people would, but not many.

"Think there are any more like this?" Xander said as they reached the top of the stairs.

"In this town?" Cordelia said. "Not every would-be evil mastermind wants to hide in the sewers."

Admittedly, she'd never actually heard of any other hidden apartments, but there would be too much demand to only build one.

Xander nodded, then they turned left, into the first room, just a few feet from the stairs.

Cordelia glanced round it, a windowless box, lit by four fluorescent lights, with one other door, leading into the kitchen, and no trace of Margo.

Xander glanced at the instructions again. "Says I've got to draw a door on the wall, with a handle, and knock three times. Think it'll open?"

"Yes," Cordelia said, trying to think of a good excuse not to. Doing that didn't make any sense unless the door would open, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know where it would go.

Xander quickly sketched a door on the wall, a slightly crooked rectangle for its outline, and a small circle for its handle, then stood back.

"Ready?" he asked.

Cordelia reluctantly nodded.

Xander knocked once, then twice.

Nothing happened.

Again Xander knocked, and where he hit the wall, it flared with rainbow light.

Ripples danced across the plaster, spreading out from beneath his hand.

Xander stepped quickly backwards.

The ripples reached the chalk outline, then rebounded, travelling inward, and behind them the white plaster darkened, becoming mahogany.

Xander stared at the chalk. "It doesn't look magic."

"Enter," Margo said, and the door swung open.

Cordelia mentally shrugged, and went forwards. It was too late for caution now, and letting Xander go first would look bad.

"Those the legal papers, Mistress Cordelia?" Margo asked.

"Yes, dame," Cordelia said, glancing round the room; bookcases lining the walls, a dozen plush armchairs, each with a footstool and a low table close by, two desks, and, on the opposite wall, glass doors, leading into gloom.

Margo was sitting in the nearest armchair, surrounded by chalk markings, and candles, clear evidence of magic.

"Where are we, dame?" Xander said, looking round. "Another library?"

Behind him, the door swung shut.

"My parlour, Mr Alexander," Margo said.

And Margo was English. Cordelia stared at her a moment, then dashed over to the glass doors.

"That's not in Sunnydale, is it, dame?" Xander said.

"We're in Eyam," Margo said, sounding mildly amused.

"Where's that, dame?" Xander said warily.

Cordelia looked out through the doors.

In the valley below, street lights glimmered in the night, marking a tangle of roads.

Cordelia turned to face Xander, and Margo. "England. We're in England."

Margo had whipped them halfway across the world, without warning, leaving them at her mercy.

"Why?" Xander said. "Dame?"

"So that I can set up the protective wards on your flat, Mr Alexander," Margo said. "I'll need to use those legal papers to stand in its lieu, Mistress Cordelia."

"Do we have to stay, dame?" Xander said, reaching behind him for the door handle.

"That door now leads to my kitchen," Margo said. "Without those papers I could only create a temporary door, and that with not inconsiderable difficulty."

"How do we get back, dame?" Cordelia asked. "We don't have any passports."

"I need another twenty minutes to recover my energies," Margo said. "After that, it'll take another fifty minutes to create a permanent door."

"Why would we want one?" Cordelia said sharply. It'd make it far too easy for Margo's people to interfere. "This was not part of our agreement, dame."

"It is implicit therein, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said. "You asked for the best security I could provide in the time available. That includes a bolthole. If a god should overwhelm your defences, and it would need a full god to do so, you will be able to flee here."

"But," Cordelia began, marshalling her objections. She wasn't planning on fighting any gods, and—

"No one will be able to use your door, in either direction, without your explicit invitation," Margo said. "It will also be convenient should you wish to talk to my aides, and for transporting the books I'm giving you to your flat."

"OK, dame," Cordelia conceded, "the door can stay. You should have told us what you were planning."

"Why?" Margo said. "Would it have made any difference?"

"You c— shouldn't push us around like this," Xander said, unwisely. "We're not puppets."

"That is why I only make suggestions, Mr Alexander," Margo said.

"An offer you can't refuse," Xander quoted, in a mock Italian accent. "Dame?"

"Hardly," Margo said. "Mr Giles has had no difficulty rejecting my advice."

"He's used to talking to people like you, dame," Xander said.

"I proposed a similar arrangement to ours to Mistress Willow last night," Margo said. "She turned me down."

"Willow, dame?" Cordelia said, surprised. Willow wasn't smart enough to outthink Margo, and she lacked the willpower needed to stand her ground, but she had tried editing her mind the other night, and she was possessed. That might explain it.

On the other hand, Margo had not focused the full force of her personality on Giles, as she had on Harmony. She was holding herself back, sticking to tactics Giles could counter, probably part of her ethical code. If she'd treated Willow the same way, it might conceivably have been a fair contest.

"Do not underestimate her," Margo said. "No one who has lived so long on the hellmouth, and remained sane, can be lightly dismissed."

Margo paused, looking at Cordelia and Xander. "I have been assuming we share the same aims; the protection of the innocent, and the destruction of the enemies of life. Is this not so?"

"We do, dame," Cordelia said, a moment after Xander. They weren't the only things she wanted, but they were the most important.

"Taking my advice is the best way I know to achieve that," Margo said. "Not the only way, but the best. If I failed to offer you it, as persuasively as I can while having regard for your limitations, I would be remiss in my duty. Whether you accept it I leave entirely up to you. I do not tamper with free will."

Cordelia frowned. It sounded like Margo thought she was going easy on them, which did fit her restraint with Giles. It hadn't felt like Margo was going easy but perhaps she was, by her standards. By any normal standard, Margo was diamond hard, a challenge even for Cordelia.

Cordelia wasn't going to whine about that though. Asking Margo to go easy now, after Cordelia had matched her in many a conversation, would look pathetic. Better to change the subject.

"What are we supposed to do while we're waiting, dame?" Cordelia said, trying to wrongfoot Margo. It wouldn't be much of a victory, but it would still help.

"Read," Margo said, gesturing at the bookcases.

"De magicis artibus et cubiculi?" Xander said, glancing at the nearest bookcase. "That is not the kind of book I want to be reading on a Saturday afternoon."

Margo smiled and pointed into a corner. "The light reading is over there, everything from Christie to Wodehouse."

---

"It is not unlikely, sir," Cordelia read ten minutes later, smiling in anticipation. "Keep her quiet for a bit, what? Make her stop snootering—"

A bell rang; its cheerful chimes echoing in the parlour.

Cordelia looked up warily. That sound had come from the inside door, the same door she'd come through.

Margo stood. "My colleagues are coming."

"Watchers?" Cordelia asked.

"My other colleagues."

Xander dropped his book. "Aren't they—"

"You can not stay," Margo said. "They must not see you, or our agreement will be undone."

"But you promised, dame," Xander protested. "You said—"

"I will not break my promise," Margo confirmed, "but against the machinations of my colleagues it would be of no avail."

"Where can we go, dame?" Cordelia asked, putting her book down. "You t—"

"Into Eyam," Margo said. "Any closer, and they will sense you."

"It's night, dame," Cordelia said, and Eyam was small. There'd be nothing to do down there, other than hang around on street corners, in the dark.

"You can go in the pub," Margo said. "Hurry."

"But—" Xander began.

"You're not underage, in this country," Margo said. "You'll be allowed in."

"But we are foreign, dame," Cordelia said, standing up. Going in the pub would be better than staying out in the dark, and far better than getting grilled by Margo's colleagues, but Margo should have anticipated this potential problem, and planned for it.

"Eyam is popular with tourists," Margo said, urging them towards the door.

"This little place, dame?" Cordelia said sceptically. "Why'd—"

"Plague," Margo said. "Most of the village died."

Xander looked disbelievingly at her.

"Not recently," Margo said. "But it does attract the tourists. No one will notice you."

"We'll need money, dame," Cordelia said.

"Fifty pounds should be enough," Margo said, pulling the money out of nowhere, "each. Buy yourselves some lunch, and keep the change. I'll send you word when it's safe to come back."

"Can't you just zap us home, dame?" Xander asked, looking outside.

"Not without an anchor," Margo said, opening the door. "A thousand miles is my limit, so, unless you want dropping in the Atlantic?"

Xander quickly shook his head.

"Which way, dame?" Cordelia asked, peering into the dark. She could see a path vanishing into some trees, but no sign of a road nearby.

The bell rang, again.

Margo pointed left. "Go that way, out of the gate, then downhill. The path comes out by the cemetery. Turn left, and follow the road for three hundred yards. The Red Lion is just up the road on the right. If you see the ghosts, ignore them. They're harmless, this time of year."

Cordelia looked at the path, barely visible in the gloom, then back at Margo. "Couldn't you use your aides as an anchor?"

"Not without prearrangement," Margo said. "Now, I suggest you go."

She closed the door behind them, leaving them in the dark.

Xander looked at Cordelia. "You've been to England before."

"Once," Cordelia said. "To London. It didn't look like this."

"More buildings?" Xander suggested.

"Fewer trees," Cordelia agreed.

The bell rang, this time for longer..

Cordelia and Xander looked at each other, then started walking, heading into the dark woods, five thousand miles from home.

---

Cordelia put her fork down, and pushed her plate away.

"I ate a pig?" Xander said. "Was it cooked, and called bacon, or ... ?"

"Alive," Cordelia said, sitting back, "but not long."

"I ate a pig?" Xander repeated disbelievingly. "I mean, the whole trichinosis issue aside, yuck! Will Willow ... ?"

Cordelia shrugged. "If she does, she won't remember much. You didn't."

One of the bar staff, walking past the alcove with a tray of empty glasses, leaned in and scooped up Cordelia's plate.

"And there weren't any ... lasting effects?" Xander asked.

"No," Cordelia said, smiling. "Not that time."

Halloween had been different, leaving him with useful memories. Maybe she should get her costume from Ethan this time, though that would mean losing control of the situation, and she'd need to pick the costume carefully. Willow hadn't remembered how to walk through walls afterwards.

"That time?" Xander echoed. "I get possessed again? Do I have a 'for rent' sign up, or something?"

"Possession isn't that common," Cordelia said reassuringly. "You were just unlucky."

Xander frowned, then started counting on his fingers. "Willow, Buffy, and Harmony are all possessed. That's three. Amy and me have both been possessed. That's five. You're possessing yourself. That makes six, and they're just the ones I know about. I don't know if Giles has or—"

"He was," Cordelia said, "but he's the only other one."

"When?" Xander said.

"Years ago," Cordelia said with a dismissive shrug. "We don't have to do anything about that until Halloween, if that's still the same."

Xander looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head.

"So," Xander said, "all our friends are or were possessed, and—"

"You haven't been," Cordelia said. "That was super-hypnotism, and I'm different."

Xander sighed. "In the last month most of the people we know—"

"Bad luck," Cordelia said firmly. "It wasn't like that the other time."

Xander picked up the menu, flicking through the pages. "More changes."

"Will you be wanting dessert or the bill?" the waitress asked, the words clear despite her odd accent. It wasn't the normal English one, rather something much like the one Margo had faked the other night but weaker. They must be somewhere near Margo's birthplace.

Xander looked uncertainly at her.

The waitress sighed. "Do you want anything else to eat, or do you want to pay now?"

"Oh," Xander said, "eat."

Then he looked at Cordelia.

"No thanks," she said. The food was good here, considering it wasn't a proper restaurant, just a dozen tables down one side of the room, but she'd already eaten more than normal for lunch.

After stumbling down that so-called path, with an arctic wind chilling her to the bone, she'd needed an hot meal.

"What will you be having?" the waitress asked.

While Xander scanned down the menu, Cordelia glanced round the pub.

There were a lot of people in tonight; students with mud-stained boots, old men chatting at the bar, teenagers playing pool, a small crowd watching a soccer game on the pub TV, family groups chatting at the nearby tables, and drifting unheeded through them the spectral blurs of half-seen ghosts, but none of them sounded American.

No one had said anything though, or even looked twice, probably because they were too English to show emotion. Eyam might be famous in England, but it was hardly an international tourist spot.

"Bakewell tart," Xander said, "with cream."

"These aren't because of the hellmouth," Cordelia said, once the waitress had gone. It wasn't likely that anyone would be spying on them here, no one could have known they would be so far from Sunnydale, and there was too much background noise in the pub for eavesdropping, but it was still best to be cautious.

"Wh— Oh, the possessions?" Xander said. "You sure?"

"Amy and Giles were before I returned here," Cordelia said. "Buffy and Willow took your place and—"

"Why?" Xander said. "Bad luck, or the hellmouth?"

"It doesn't work that way," Cordelia said. "It amplifies bad magic, which draws in the night life."

Xander frowned. "I thought Giles said bad luck. Bad magic is bad luck."

"Maybe," Cordelia said uncertainly. "It didn't do that the first time."

Then Cordelia frowned thoughtfully. She hadn't noticed any extra bad luck, but she wouldn't have, not something as subtle as that, with all the other weirdness around. In fact, since she'd grown up on the hellmouth, she would have grown up thinking being slightly unlucky was normal, and might still be doing so.

Cordelia took another look round the pub, wondering what they all though normal luck was.

"It's getting stronger," Xander reminded her.

Cordelia nodded. That would explain why her luck had been worse since the wish. Well, a little extra care would counter that problem, which wouldn't last long anyway.

"We'll soon stop that," she told Xander. "We always do."

"We're good?" Xander said, smiling.

"The best," Cordelia affirmed.

---

Cordelia yelped as she slipped, sliding back down the steep muddy slope.

Xander steadied her. "You OK, Cordy?"

She grabbed a branch. "You can move your hand now."

He whipped it away.

"This is not a path," Cordelia said firmly. "Paths are flat, and paved, and properly lit."

They did not go up two-in-one gradients; they were not bare earth; and they were not lit solely by the dim glimmer of distant lights through the trees.

This non-path had been difficult enough, going downhill, but it had been dry then.

It was raining now, heavily, and the temperature had dropped another ten degrees.

"It's an English path," Xander said, a smile in his voice. "They're old-fashioned here."

"Not this old-fashioned," Cordelia said. "Margo is a century out of date."

"When she was born, they didn't have cars," Xander said. "Would it help if you took your shoes off?"

"I'd get my feet muddy," Cordelia said, looking down at her heels. "Margo should have sent someone, with proper equipment."

Instead, she'd just sent them a message, magically whispering 'return' in their ears.

"Isn't mud good for the skin?" Xander said.

"What's wrong with—" Cordelia snapped, then stopped. This was not Xander's fault, directly. The whole wish was partly his fault, his and Willow's, but it wasn't them who'd put her on this mud bank. That was Margo's fault.

Behind her, Xander sighed.

"Not this kind of mud," Cordelia patiently explained. "The mud they use isn't full of grass and pebbles."

"You've got to do something," Xander said. "That's the fourth time you've slipped."

It was, and if she slipped left, where the land fell away more steeply even than the path, she'd be lucky if all she got were broken bones.

Leaning on a tree trunk, Cordelia slowly took her shoes off. Red, with high heels, they'd been ideal for house hunting, but the English countryside was too much for them. If she'd known she was going to walking in these conditions she'd have picked a sturdier pair, more like Xander's, if she hadn't found a way out of getting yanked to England in the first place.

"Not much further to go," Xander said, smiling less than convincingly.

No, it was just another hundred yards through these trees, across a field full of sheep, with no shelter from wind or rain, into another wood, through Margo's gate, three hundred yards alongside a stream, which would surely be flooded by now, up a spiral staircase by the waterfall, over the bridge, then up more steps though the woods before they reached Margo's house; not far at all really, less than a mile.

It might as well have been a hundred miles, as far as Cordelia was concerned.

She could do it, of course, she wasn't going to give up or beg for help, but she shouldn't have to. Margo should have provided help, unasked. She must have known neither of them were dressed for this.

Xander handed her a fallen branch, five feet of solid oak with no twigs or leaves. "Try leaning on this. It might help."

It couldn't make things any worse. Cordelia grabbed hold of the branch with her right hand, dangled her mud-stained shoes by their straps from her left, and gingerly set off, up the slope.

"Is it helping?" Xander asked, following behind.

"A bit," Cordelia said. "Margo should have given us walking sticks, and umbrellas."

"I thought you were worried about accepting help from her," Xander said.

Cordelia brushed aside the overhanging branches. "When it comes with obligations."

"Cordy, when you do that," Xander said, carefully enunciating every single word, "could you not let go until I've got hold of them. Being whipped in the face with wet twigs is not nice."

---

Forty long minutes later, they reached Margo's house.

"You took your time," Margo said as they stepped inside, banishing the mud with an imperious wave of her hand. "Admiring the countryside?"

"Dame," Cordelia said firmly. "There was no path. You should—"

Margo smiled at Cordelia.

"When I came out this morning, dame," Cordelia said, swiftly changing tack, "I did not expect to be walking cross-country."

"So I can see," Margo said, glancing at Cordelia's shoes. "Fortunately, the path to Eyam is a gentle stroll, which should not have taken you an hour to traverse, unless you stopped to enjoy the scenery."

"It's nearly midnight, dame," Cordelia said.

"Gentle, dame?" Xander said, overlapping with her. "Have you been—"

"My aides regularly take that path to Eyam," Margo said. "They have reported no problems."

"Your aides—" Cordelia began.

"The latter half of that path," Margo said, "is the first segment of the Eyam to Abney footpath, which people have been walking for centuries."

"That," Cordelia said, "was before they invented proper roads, dame."

"Last year," Margo said, smiling, "over ten thousand people walked that route, several hundred of them after nightfall."

Odd, but they were English, though Cordelia couldn't say that. Insulting Margo's country to her face would be dangerous, even by hellmouth standards.

"There are no paths like that in Sunnydale, dame," Cordelia said instead. "We—"

"Does not your country have national parks?"

"My family preferred visiting the world's great cultural centre's, dame," Cordelia said. "New York, Paris, London."

The national parks had been too tacky for her mom's liking, full of people hawking cheap souvenirs. The major cities had much better shopping.

"Commendable taste," Margo said. "However, unless you have been completely indolent, all your life, that gentle stroll should not have stretched you unduly."

"I am not lazy, dame," Cordelia said. "I—"

"What did the board want, dame?" Xander interrupted, trying to sound curious.

Margo stepped sideways, revealing a blue bowl on the table behind her.

"—am not—" Cordelia said, then Xander interrupted her again, clearly trying to divert the conversation into safer channels, not without good reason. She'd made her feelings about that supposed path plain; arguing further wouldn't achieve anything.

"A goodbye present, dame?" he hazarded.

"It is called the Cup of Albion," Margo said. "It's normally kept in the Ragnarok vault."

Magical, then. At first glance, it didn't look much, just a translucent cobalt-blue bowl, eight inches across.

"Who's Albion?" Xander said. "One of your colleagues?"

"Albion, Mr Alexander," Margo said, "is a name latterly given to Ynys Prydain, a legendary land, over whose green and pleasant hills heroes uncounted have walked, a land where dragons still lie sleeping in forgotten caves, and the ancient magics are strong."

The bowl was skilfully carved, looking almost like flowing water, frozen in time, every sinuous ripple perfectly shaped, perfectly placed.

"Where is it?" Xander asked, somewhere behind her.

There were shapes embedded in the blue; whales, eels, and other creatures, less recognisable, but all carved with such superlative skill they looked almost more lifelike than the real thing.

"Not so very far away," Margo said, the hint of a smile in her voice. "You may go there one day."

The ripples moved.

Shocked, Cordelia leaned closer.

It wasn't carved to look like water; it was water, a piece of ocean, trapped in the shape of a bowl, and the creatures in its depths were real.

But whales didn't come that small. Were they really small, or—

"Don't touch," Margo said. "It is not entirely safe."

Distracted, Cordelia blinked then, realising how close she was, backed away. It certainly wasn't safe, not if it could draw her in like that.

"What is it, dame?" Xander asked softly, not looking away from the cup.

"It is Ocean," Margo said. "Not a ocean, but the Platonic ideal thereof. It embodies every ocean that ever was or will be, on this planet and every other, in this and every dimension."

"Bigger on the inside, dame?" Xander guessed.

"Indeed," Margo said. "Those are whales swimming in its depths; whales, sea serpents, kraken, and every other leviathan of the deep. All sea life is in there, down to the very plankton, but too small for your eyes to see."

"Powerful magic," Cordelia said. "What's it for, dame?"

"It is one of five great weapons, crafted by a forgotten race in a dimension lost to the encroaching dark long before the sun first shone upon our earth. Since then, they have passed through uncounted hands, both mortal and divine, before coming to rest in Albion. Many of their custodians have enhanced its magics with their own, adding powers now mostly forgotten, but its original purpose remains. It commands all that is liquid."

"You mean water, dame?" Cordelia clarified.

"Mostly water, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said, "but matter is not made up of four elements. That is a misconception that should have been buried with the ancient Greeks. There are four phases of matter; solid, liquid, gas, and plasma, and a weapon to command each of them."

"What about the fifth weapon, dame?" Xander asked.

"Energy," Margo said, "though, by extension, it has since been endowed with great power over the spiritual and magical worlds."

"What can the Cup do, dame?" Cordelia asked. More importantly, what was the minimum safe distance when it was used.

"Many things, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said, passing her hand over the top of the Cup. "Those who drink from it—"

In the Cup a crown appeared, floating in mist.

"—can gain many things; power—"

The crown faded, the gleam of its gems dissolving into a field of stars.

"—wisdom—"

The stars faded, the Cup filling with verdant green.

"—life eternal. Would you drink of it?"

"No, dame," Cordelia quickly said, echoed by Xander. Nothing worth having could be that easy. There must be some catch.

"Then you are not without wisdom," Margo said.

"Can you kill demons with it, dame?" Xander asked.

"I could drown a single demon in its own blood," Margo said, "or raise the oceans in wrath, and drown the highest mountains beneath the waves. If need be, I could call upon the ocean that swirls beneath our feet, the liquid heart of the planet, and rip the world asunder, leaving it no more than a cloud of gravel drifting through the endless void."

No chancing of getting to a safe distance then, unless the board's doors could go interplanetary. Cordelia would just have to hope destroying the world would not be necessary this weekend.

"Why they given it you," Xander asked, staring nervously at Margo. "Has someone booked an apocalypse without telling us, dame?"

"My colleagues thinks I will have need of it, when Pkhrxng Fshlfn Dhlkbch stretches forth his hand," Margo said. "I'm not entirely convinced it will be enough, but the board has never been wrong, yet."

---

"... cannot readily be harmed within these walls, save by your own hand," Margo said, explaining the defences she'd installed on Cordelia's apartment.

"Why the exception?" Xander asked. "Dame?"

"We might need our own blood, if we have to do any magic," Cordelia said. She wasn't planning to do anything that weird, apart from whatever little spells might be necessary to get the real Harmony back in her own body, and the fake in some suitable substitute, but Margo had been meticulous about covering all the possibilities.

As long as Cordelia didn't anger any gods, these rooms were now the safest place in Sunnydale. No one, human or demon, could pass the front door without permission, and anyone they did invite in would be completely unable to use any magic or special powers.

"Now, if we look upstairs, ... " Margo said.

Cordelia smiled as she followed her up the stairs. She could talk to Angel here without worrying about Angelus. Within these walls, he wouldn't be able to vamp out, his strength would be purely human, and the invitation wouldn't need magic to revoke, just her say so.

"This first room can serve as your inner library," Margo said.

"We've already got one library downstairs, dame," Xander said. "What do we need another for?"

"You will occasionally have guests in those rooms, Mr Alexander," Margo said. "This library will be for the books they must not see, including the majority of those I will be supplying."

"That only leaves us with one bedroom, dame," Cordelia objected. They wouldn't often need two at once, most night when she needed to sleep here Xander wouldn't, and vice versa, but sleeping in the same bed as Xander once had would still feel odd.

"It is large enough to hold two beds, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said, "and a simple screen will keep either of you from seeing anything untoward."

"You want me to share a bedroom with her?" Xander gasped. "But, dame —"

"You are both responsible adults," Margo said. "I am sure you are capable of doing that without succumbing to temptation."

"We can arrange things so we're not both in there together," Cordelia said, frowning at Xander. It was good that Xander wasn't too eager to share, but he didn't have to look repulsed by the notion either.

"We'll keep having to—" Xander said.

The sound of knocking filled the room, cutting him off.

"I have also incorporated several utility spells into these rooms," Margo said. "This is one of them, which makes any knock at your door audible throughout the flat. Say audivi."

"Why, dame?" Cordelia asked warily. That was Latin, so probably magical, and possibly dangerous.

"It means 'I have heard'," Margo said. "It will stop the knocking."

"We have to do magic, dame?" Cordelia said. "Is that safe, with the hellmouth?"

"The magic has already been done," Margo said. "Saying certain words triggers the spells I wove. You may think of it as a voice-activated remote control."

Xander smiled. "Audivi."

The knocking stopped.

"Wouldn't electronics have been simpler, dame?" Cordelia said, unimpressed. If this magic went wrong, fixing it would not be easy.

"Inviting anyone in creates a weakness through which the uninvited can squeeze," Margo said. "Thus, I have made it impossible for any other than yourselves to enter these upstairs rooms, under any circumstances, which provides you with an inviolable inner sanctum. Hiring an electrician would have compromised that. Now, say monstra, 'show me', and we shall see who is knocking. The image will appear on the nearest flat surface."

"Monstra," Xander said, and on the wall an image appeared; Wilfred, carrying a sheaf of papers.

"To speak to him," Margo said, "say audi, 'listen', or nobis audi, 'listen to us'. I will be leaving you a full list of the commands."

"Audi," Cordelia said carefully. "Does it only work for us, dame? It's—"

Wilfred twitched. "Mistress Cordelia? Is that you?"

"Only you, the owners, may command here," Margo confirmed, which would be why the magic hadn't been triggering on her voice. "Currently, Wilfred can hear only you."

"Is Dame Margo there yet?" Wilfred said. "I have the report on Norman Delapare's employer's here, for her."

"Would you invite him in?" Margo said. "I can't."

"What's the Latin, dame?" Xander asked.

"That would be ineas," Margo said, "but invitations fall under a different spell, so they can, and should, be issued in English."

"You can come in," Cordelia said, "today."

Margo nodded approvingly. "You should try and avoid offering permanent invitations."

As Wilfred stepped inside, his image faded away.

"Shall we go downstairs?" Margo said, moving towards the door. "It will be interesting to see what kind of people they are, that they have use for the de la Poers."

---

Giles looked questioningly at Cordelia, into the stacks, then back at Cordelia.

Cordelia glanced at Xander, who shrugged, then nodded.

"What do you want me to do?" Buffy asked Margo. "Will there be something to fight?"

"Very probably," Margo said. "If they are human, you will need to restrain them."

"What about me, dame?" Willow said, a glint in her eyes.

Giles slipped into the stacks, quickly followed by Xander.

"You may watch from concealment," Margo said. "You will not be able to contribute anything, but ..."

Cordelia quickly looked round, checking she wasn't being watched.

The Bodsworths were outside, setting up privacy wards in the car park for later, Buffy and Willow were too busy talking to notice anything, and Margo had her back to Cordelia.

Satisfied it was safe, Cordelia slipped into the stacks.

"— plausible deniability is all we need," Giles was saying to Xander as she approached them. "Dame Margo knows we are doing this, unofficially."

"Doing what?" Cordelia said.

"Dame Margo left this book out for me to find," Giles said, holding it up.

"De migratione animarum," Cordelia read, then risked a guess at the translation. "Animal migrations? Is this to do with the zoo?"

It had to be, given the context, and the words were close enough.

"It is," Giles said. "Your translation was almost right. This is 'On the migration of souls', a survey of the topic by—"

"Can you help Buffy and Willow now?" Xander asked.

"I may be able to do something tomorrow," Giles said, "when Dame Margo seals the death gate. I will need to research further, but I should be able to trap the hyena spirits within the soulstorm."

Not the way he'd originally done it, and hard on the spirits, who weren't really evil. Why had Giles chosen that method?

"Hyenas?" Xander said, in a creditable imitation of surprise.

"Hyenas," Giles said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I was able to use one of the rituals in here to identify the possessing spirits."

"What if this spell doesn't work tomorrow?" Cordelia asked, looking intently at Giles.

"Ah, well, if it doesn't, there are several alternatives in here," Giles said. "We should be able to get one of them to work before too long."

"Or what?" Xander said, looking sceptically at Giles. "Are there side effects?"

"Any magical changes induced by the possession will vanish with it," Giles said, "but second order effects may linger."

"You mean yes," Xander said, flashing an accusing glance at Cordelia. "What side effects?"

"Female hyenas all have high testosterone levels, and a pseudomasculine appearance," Giles said. "While they are possessed, Buffy and Willow's testosterone level will rise to a comparable extent, with effects much as if they were taking steroids. Since these are purely natural hormones, their effects will not be reversed when the possession ends."

"Sorry," Cordelia mouthed at Xander, not that she'd have done anything differently if she'd known this, she'd been trying to stop anybody getting possessed anyway, but it did sound like the potential effects were worse for girls than for boys and she might have been able to do more if she hadn't gotten herself kidnapped by Harmony.

"Bulgarian shotputters," Xander muttered, scowling at Giles. "You've got to do something."

"If we can end the possession quickly," Giles said, "the effects will be negligible. It is only if we take too long that we need worry."

Cordelia frowned, trying to remember what had happened to Rhonda afterwards.

"How long is too long?" Xander asked.

"The book is not entirely clear," Giles said, "but tomorrow should be soon enough."

Rhonda had been possessed for a few days, with no blatant changes, though she had left Sunnydale soon afterwards, so Giles was probably right. If his spell worked tomorrow, Buffy and Willow wouldn't suffer any serious permanent effects from her misjudgement.

If it didn't, she might need to buy Willow a razor for her next birthday.

"Are you sure?" Xander said, still looking at Giles.

"As sure as I can be," Giles said, "but I will need your co-operation tomorrow."

"Of course," Cordelia said, a moment after Xander.

"And," Giles said, "Buffy and Willow are not the only victims. There are another four affected."

"Can't you put the spirits back in their own bodies?" Cordelia said. "Wouldn't that be easier than meddling with the deathgate, and safer?"

"That was my first plan," Giles said, "but this book makes it clear that it would be unfeasible. Human bodies are better than hyena bodies, so the spirits do not resist the transfer. Going in the opposite direction, they would resist. Unless my performance was perfect they would escape into the nearest person who was feeling violent, and my performance would not be perfect."

"Who are the others?" Cordelia said, to get their names out.

"I can't tell," Giles said, leaving Xander still in the dark, officially, "but you should find them with Buffy and Willow tomorrow."

"OK," Cordelia said. "What will we have to do?"

---

"Think that's them?" Xander said, looking at the approaching car.

"It's not a teacher," Cordelia said. "None of them could afford it."

Hopefully, the lawyers wouldn't notice anything odd. Cordelia hadn't read Wilfred's full report, but she'd heard enough from it to know that they were dangerous. They didn't just sue people; they slew them.

Cordelia and Xander were well hidden, in one of the parked cars, and Willow in another opposite, thanks to a coin toss, but Buffy, Giles, Margo, and the Bodsworths were all completely exposed, standing out in the open, waiting for their visitor, and Margo's magic might not help much if the lawyers decided to hose all the cars down with a machine gun.

It might help, her magic was the most powerful Cordelia had seen, but she would be much happier if she never had to find out.

The car stopped.

Buffy tensed, ready for action.

A young man got out, in his late twenties and smartly dressed.

"Mr Rupert Giles?" he said, his words unmuffled by the glass, thanks to Margo. She'd done something to make it one-way, part of her preparations.

Giles nodded.

"I am Mr Nigel Malia," he said, handing Giles his business card, then glanced at the other watchers. "Are these your associates?"

"We are," Wilfred said.

"Here for a short visit," Agatha added, smiling disarmingly.

Behind them, Margo stayed silent. With the privacy ward up she hadn't needed a disguise, but she had been adamant she would not lower herself to talk to a probable wrongdoer, except to pass judgement, an understandable sentiment. Cordelia wouldn't have wanted to talk to someone as slimy as these lawyers either.

"You are Norman Delapare's attorney?" Giles said.

And a distant relative. That was not a common surname.

"He is my client," Nigel said. "On his behalf, we have obtained an injunction against you."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Giles said smiling, "but shouldn't I have been informed, the right to a fair trial and all that?"

Nigel smiled back. "The judge saw no need for that, after we presented our evidence, since you are in the country under false pretences. I believe the immigration service is looking for you now, which makes this injunction almost redundant."

"Those orders have been countermanded," Wilfred said, "and the officials involved placed under investigation. It seems evidence has emerged they were in receipt of bribes."

"I am confident they will be found innocent," Nigel said. "Our Washington branch has some very well connected lobbyists."

"As of five minutes ago, your Washington branch is being audited by the IRS," Agatha said, "and when you hand us that spurious injunction, the judge's name will be added to the list."

"Our London branch—" Nigel began.

"—is about to be raided by Scotland Yard." Wilfred said. "It seems they had connections with BCCI."

Nigel twitched. "You can not win this battle. We own the courts."

"That will be news to the governments of the world," Giles said. "I do not think they will be pleased."

"Subtitles?" Xander said, from the front seat.

"They're arguing over who has more influence," Cordelia explained. "Giles is winning."

"We own governments," Nigel said. "Challenge us, and you will fail."

"The Black Hand said the same thing, a hundred years ago," Wilfred said. "We are still here."

"The Crimson Brotherhood said the same thing, two centuries past," Agatha said. "They are no more."

"Many have made that claim," Giles said. "None have ever made good on it."

"We know where your headquarters are," Nigel said. "It would be a shame if some of our less salubrious clients found out, all those books, up in smoke."

"You wouldn't," Agatha said, looking convincingly horrorstruck.

It was an act, of course, well, mostly. Agatha might not like the idea of books burning but she knew the secret, that the council was just a front for the board. Destroy it, and the board would adopt another, after taking vengeance on the destroyers.

Nigel didn't know that, and neither did his bosses. They had no clue about what furies they might be facing, no inkling the board even existed, so they were doomed, and rightly so. They had supported the Delapoors.

Still, Margo should have used a subtler approach. There was too much risk of bystanders, like Cordelia, getting caught in the crossfire, and she'd put Giles in the front line. He had enough problems without being targeted by evil lawyers.

"Certain of our clients might," Nigel said, a genuine smile back on his lips, "if we are distracted by your unwarranted attacks on our good name."

"Naked threats?" Giles said, "Surely a breach of professional standards."

"Mere speculation on hypotheticals," Nigel said. "You will find no court that would rule otherwise."

Giles yawned, ostentatiously. "Are you going to spend all evening boasting of your illegal influence, or are you going to hand me that entirely spurious injunction? I'm sure you won't be bothered by the departure from standard legal procedure."

Grinning, Nigel handed over the injunction.

"Whereas," Giles read, "Rupert Giles is guilty of, oh, assorted adolescent indiscretions, for none of which I was ever charged—"

"Can't tell you yet," Cordelia said, to Xander's questioning look. He wouldn't need to know about the Ripper period until Ethan came to town.

"Our files are quite extensive," Nigel said smugly.

Considerably more so than the council's files on him, but Giles didn't seem bothered by that disadvantage. The watchers must be good enough at bureaucratic infighting that the handicap didn't matter.

"—and has entered this country without disclosing those offences, we find that he must be deported forthwith, in accordance with a superficially impressive string of citations."

"Which you will be," Nigel said.

Giles looked reprovingly at Nigel, as though he were a fingerprint on a library book, then back down at the injunction. "Furthermore, in the matter of Mr Norman Delapare, we find that the aforementioned Rupert Giles has attempted to interfere with Mr Norman Delapare's constitutionally protected right to freedom of religion. We therefore rule, in accordance with a rather dubious list of precedents, that the aforementioned, and all his associates, are hereby barred in perpetuity from coming within one hundred miles of the plaintiff or repeating any of their claims concerning him, on pain of a ten thousand dollar fine per breach of this order."

"That can't be right," Xander said. "The law isn't—"

"That's the point," Cordelia said. "Any appeal judge would overrule that travesty, unless they were bribed, or blackmailed. Nigel's saying they don't care about that, because they control the courts."

"Religious freedom," Giles said, "does not extend to rape, murder, tor—"

"That will be another ten thousand dollars," Nigel said, showing no surprise at the list of crimes. "Would you like to pay my client now, or shall we send the bailiffs round?"

"Neither," Giles said, ripping the injunction up. "You will withdraw your support for the de la Poers, and make amends, or you will face our justice."

"My client has never been, and never will be, charged with any crime," Nigel said. "You are now guilty of contempt of court. Perhaps a few years in prison will teach you proper respect."

Buffy started forwards, snarling, but Giles put his hand on her shoulder, murmuring calming words.

Stepping backwards, Nigel patted his pocket.

"We serve a higher law," Wilfred said. "You do know what the de la Poers do, don't you?"

"I don't care what they do," Nigel said. "My client—"

"You see nothing immoral in it?" Agatha said.

"Morality?" Nigel said. "Purely relative. One man's virtue is another's vice. There is no absolute standard of morality, no such thing as good or evil. All that matters is the pursuit of happiness, and the entirely legal exercise of power makes me very happy."

Nigel shrugged. "If other people get hurt along the way, so be it. They are clearly weaklings, undeserving of life."

"Why doesn't he just put a black hat on?" Xander said disbelievingly.

"He doesn't care what we think," Cordelia said. "He thinks he's got Giles beaten, and he won't get many chances to gloat."

At work, he probably spent most of his time crawling to his bosses. Outside work, he had to pretend to be normal. It was only at times like now he got a chance to say what he really thought, a chance he was clearly relishing.

"—out of date, old man," Nigel was saying. "Morality is dead."

"Enough," Margo thundered, a yard of steel in her voice, and Nigel grew pale. "By your own words you stand condemned. Do you have anything to say in mitigation before I pass sentence?"

Nigel slapped himself on the chest, over the heart, and his car's doors opened.

"You can't judge me," he said, his voice shaky as he backed away from Margo's glare, "or my client. You are vigilantes, with no legal standing. I am the law."

Two demons got out of Nigel's car; large demons, with orange skin, and horns on their noses.

"Attack me again," Nigel said, "and we will be forced to take extreme measures in self defence, and stop looking at me like that."

Giles took his hand off Buffy's shoulder.

"No weak spots," he said as she charged the demons. "You'll have to decapitate."

Buffy tripped one of the demons, pulled out a knife, then lunged at the other.

Smiling, Margo pulled out an audio tape.

The demon dodged Buffy, but she spun on one heal and drove her elbow into its gut.

"Norman Delapare, perimaris!" Margo said, and the tape crumbled into dust.

The tripped demon rolled away from Buffy and struggled to its feet.

"Your client is now dead," Margo said. "Do you wish to reconsider your position?"

Buffy slammed the other demon down, then jumped on its back.

As she began sawing at its neck the tripped demon looked at her, then backed away.

"You are bluffing," Nigel said. "No magic can p-p—"

"You know that's not true," Margo said. "Do you wish to reconsider your position?"

The standing demon charged at the watchers.

Margo held up her hand, and the demon reeled back, its clothes aflame.

"No," Nigel said. "You will not impress me with cheap tricks."

"I quit," the demon snarled at Nigel as it beat out the flames in its clothes. "I'm not being paid enough for this."

Nigel looked at Buffy, grinning as she sliced though the other demons neck, then into the shadows. "I'll give you a ten percent bonus."

"Not good if I don't live to spend it," the demon said, backing away. "I'm going."

"Nigel Malia," Margo said, "I find you a willing minion of the enemies of mankind."

As Buffy finished severing the downed demon's head, its skin began to shimmer and coarsen, becoming rock.

"I don't care what you think," Nigel said, edging back towards his car. "Your council is history."

Buffy looked down at the two boulders, all that was left of the demon she'd killed, then picked up its head and hurled it at the other demon.

"You can't run from true justice," Margo said. "Stand, and hear your sentence."

Nigel stopped dead, staring fearfully at her.

The other demon stumbled when the head hit it, looked over its shoulder, then began to run.

Laughing, Buffy chased after it.

"You have perverted the law in pursuit of evil ends," Margo said. "Thus I lay this doom upon you; you shall obey all the laws of the land, without equivocation."

"That all," Xander said, clearly disappointed. "He—"

"—won't be able to do anything now," Cordelia said as Nigel looked wildly around. "Do you know how many laws there are?"

"No," Xander said, "but—"

"Millions," Cordelia said. "You can't do anything without breaking half a dozen."

That was what her dad always said, when he'd been drinking. No matter what he did, they could find some obscure law against it, so he had no choice but to break the law, and give the politicians a chance to blackmail a hardworking business man.

That was an exaggeration, of course. No cared about the old laws mouldering on the statute books. It might still be illegal to drink alcohol before sunset within Sunnydale city limits, but any attempt to enforce laws like that would be laughed out of court. Her dad was just annoyed by all the petty regulations; he wouldn't break any important laws.

Nigel didn't have any choice though. He had to obey all the laws, even the ones no one had thought about in a century. Judging by the panic growing on his face, he was having trouble thinking of anything he could do.

"Think of all the old laws," Cordelia said, seeing that Xander still looked confused. "The ones everyone ignores. He can't. He ..."

As Xander listened to her explanation, he began to smile.

"You just going to stand there?" Agatha said, smiling broadly.

Nigel scowled. "I can't use my car, it's the proceeds of criminal activity, and I shouldn't be wearing these clothes either, for the same reason, but I can't strip in public."

"Catch twenty-two," Giles said. "You are also trespassing. My colleague did not have authority to invite you onto school property."

"I'll go," Nigel said, his face pained. "I'll be breaking fewer laws then, but this isn't over. The senior partners will destroy your council."

Cordelia watched him hurry away, then got out of the car and stretched. "Nice curse, dame. Can we go now?"

She'd been yanked around by Margo nearly all day so far, and in a few hours she'd have to deal with the fake Harmony again. She needed some time to herself in between, to recover.

Really, she should already have been home, well, Buffy's, by now, Margo hadn't needed her for this, but she'd insisted they all watch, claiming it would be educational, and Xander had liked the idea. He'd probably expected fireworks.

Willow got out of the car opposite, looked at Xander, just getting out, then hurried over to where Buffy was toying with the demon.

"Not just yet," Margo said. "Mr Giles, his business card?"

Giles handed it to her.

"Wolfram and Hart," Margo read, tossing the card up. "They are corrupt beyond redemption. They must be destroyed."

The card stopped at the top of its arc, frozen in mid-air.

"Audi," Margo said, and the card rippled.

"You don't need to take direct action, Dame Margo," Giles said quickly. "The council can deal with this, and it may restore some unity."

On the card an image slowly formed; a building, silhouetted against the sky.

"I'm not doing this because I need to, Mr Giles," Margo said. "I'm doing it because it needs doing. There will be work enough for the council, picking up the pieces."

Rainbow light flickered round the edge of the card, and it began to grow.

"They may be able to tell you're more than just a watcher, Dame Margo," Giles said. "You're imperilling the security of the board."

The card was a window in the air now, limned with flame, and through it Cordelia could see a skyscraper.

"How thoughtful of you, Mr Giles," Margo said. "But my sealing of the deathgate would by itself be enough to show there were powers at work greater than the council is known to wield. The measures the board is taking to obscure that will also obscure this."

There were lights coming on in the skyscraper now, and beyond it Cordelia could see the distant glint of sunlight on water. It must be Wolfram and Hart's office, in LA.

"Very well, Dame Margo," Giles said. "If you are entirely sure this is wise. Unnecessary escalation of conflicts as long been against our policy, to miminise the risk of innocent casualties."

"I am well aware of that, Mr Giles," Margo said. "I do know what I'm doing. This should not be unduly dangerous."

Cordelia backed away.

"Wolfram and Hart," Margo said, "Hear me, and learn your doom. Enemies of mankind I name you, defilers of the halls of justice and servants of the most vile, yet I am merciful. Any who truly repent of their crimes and seek to make amends, I shall let walk free. Upon all others, I lay these dooms; to have the rottenness of your souls made visible in your faces, to have—"

Beyond the window, something roared defiance, a tiger at bay. There were teeth in that roar, teeth and the promise of death.

Cordelia quickly looked round for Buffy, but she was gone, and Willow with her.

"That wasn't a demon," Margo said, "Maybe a godling."

Shadows gathered round the window, blotting out the flames, and the scene within shifted, becoming a ruined tower.

It had been tall once, and majestic, marble and ivory, beautifully carved, but now it was a jagged stump, smoke-blackened. Rank weeds grew in the gardens where once roses had bloomed. Boulders littered the ground, shards of the fallen tower, obscene doodles scrawled over their smashed carvings, and through the rubble three great beasts prowled; a wolf, a ram, and a hart.

"Dolor non sint eorum," Margo said. "Idem sint mea."

The three beasts looked down at Margo, their eyes the rusty brown of dried blood.

"Who are you," they said, three voices blending into one, "that you dare assail our servants thus?"

"I am a servant of mankind," Margo said, "a student of hidden arts, a shield against the dark. Who are you, to claim dominion over men?"

"We are the canker on the rose," they said, "the worm in the apple, the slow rot in the hearts of men. From within we shall tear down all they have built, and rule over the ruins until the stars grow cold. Withdraw your curse, and kneel before us. You could rise high in our service."

Cordelia grabbed Xander and pulled him further away.

"Cordy," he said, looking indignant.

"We can't do anything," Cordelia said, cutting him off. "That's too big for us to fight."

"I will not withdraw my curse," Margo said. "Nor will I serve you. I will defy you always, though it cost me my life."

"Fire," the three beasts said, and the car park erupted in flames.

They swirled around Cordelia, dancing over her skin, yet there was neither heat nor pain.

Above the flames the window floated, and the beasts beyond it laughed.

"Giles," Cordelia gasped, trying to spot him through the fire's glare. He might not be able to do anything, he'd be nearly as out of his depth as she was, but he would be able to explain it, better than not knowing. "Explain."

"... whilesoever I have breath," Margo said. "Cum omnibus meis viribus ..."

The flames died down, leaving the cars smouldering wrecks.

Xander looked undamaged, Giles and the Bodsworths too, but Margo had several mild burns. She must have taken the brunt of the blast.

"Mihi medeor," Margo said and the burns faded away.

"You have some small talent," the three beasts said. "Lightning."

Lightning struck Margo, blast after blast running, but as fast as they seared her skin, she healed it.

"Dame Margo is protecting us all," Wilfred said, shouting over the thunder. "All the hurts we should suffer will fall on her."

"Dame Margo has overreached herself," Giles said. "That trio subverted her portal. They must be considerably stronger than her, and —"

"That will be sapping a large portion of their strength," Wilfred said. "They can't keep this up for long."

"Pain," the three beasts said, and Margo stumbled, falling to one knee.

"You are making a rather large assumption about their total strength," Giles said. "We have to do something."

"Where's Buffy," Agatha said, looking accusingly at Giles. "She should be here."

"I think she saw another demon," Cordelia said, a guess, but plausible enough. More likely, the excitement of the fight had made Buffy think hyena, which meant they were probably safer with her and Willow gone.

"Close," Margo said, her voice strained, "claude," then other words, in other languages.

"She's trying to close the portal," Giles said.

"Incende," the beasts said, and the flames returned. "You can't last much longer."

Margo gasped in pain, then started chanting bad poetry.

"What can we do?" Xander said.

"In theory," Giles said, "if we could distract the trio, Dame Margo would be able to regain control of the portal, and close it."

"We need to get something through the portal then," Agatha said. "A bomb, perhaps."

"Know where to find one?" Giles said. "Even in America, they're not kept in schools. Could—"

"Any wine bottles in the staff room?" Wilfred said. "We should be able to improvise something."

"Mihi medeor," Margo said, her voice strained. "Mihi medeor."

Xander nudged Cordelia. "You got yours?"

"My what?" Cordelia said, struggling to see through the flames.

"Pistol," Xander whispered.

"No," Cordelia said. Carrying that around wouldn't have been safe, not when Wilfred had said it could easily explode—

Xander hurled his pistol at the portal.

—but an explosion was just what they needed, now. Simply firing it might not work, even with—

Light, blue-white, brighter than—

Thunder roar.

Cordelia blinked, and tried to work out what had happened.

She was laid on her back, unhurt—

Cordelia quickly sat up.

—at the edge of forty foot crater, centred underneath where the portal had been. It was gone now, and the flames with.

Cordelia stood up, brushing the debris off her.

Margo was at the bottom of the crater, her body twisted and smouldering, but she should be able to heal herself.

Xander, Giles, and the Bodsworths were all looking down at her, clearly themselves unharmed.

Around them, debris littered the ground, great chunks of stone blasted out of the crater.

'A relatively small explosion,' Wilfred had said, relatively small. This was not small, not by any reasonable standard.

Cordelia would obviously have to explain a few things to him, starting with the meaning of safety, and of small, later.

The Bodsworths were picking their way through the crater now, struggling towards Margo, but Giles was looking at Xander.

"What was that?" he asked. "How?"

"Old hand grenade," Xander lied. "My uncle brought it back from Vietnam. I thought it might be useful."

"They don't make hand grenades that powerful," Giles said thoughtfully. "It must have been some side-effect of the portal's disruption, or maybe a parting blow from the trio. Next time, warn me first."

While Giles started to make his way down into the crater, Xander looked at Cordelia and smiled. "No school, Monday."

Cordelia nodded. Not with all the windows shattered, it'd be a few days before they could repair this much damage.

"I'll live," Margo croaked, clutching at her broach. "Domu me fer."

Rainbow light flickered over her skin, and she vanished.

In the distance, sirens sounded, coming closer.

"A side-effect, I think," Wilfred said, heading back out of the crater. "I seem to recall reading about something similiar happening in Canada, in 1915."

"And there was that event on Bali, in 1742," Giles said, nodding.

"Talk later," Cordelia said. "We have to go before the they get here."

Spending the evening with Harmony might be awkward, but it would be better than spending it being interrogated by the police.