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.

20. Cordelia's Ghost: Battle Preparations

Struggling to her feet, Cordelia looked around, trying to work out where the ghosts had dumped them.

"… greviously injured," Giles's gran was saying. "Her aides have taken her back to England."

It was definitely a graveyard, row after row of grey slabs marching down the hill, towards the gate, but that didn't help much. Sunnydale had too many graveyards.

"Should we still expect her tomorrow?" Giles said, his voice tinged with concern, as he brushed himself down.

The statues on the older graves were more useful. Three angels together over to her left, a carving of the occupant sleeping two graves to her right, another angel killing a dragon twenty yards down the hill; this was the Rowland St graveyard, five blocks from where her house had been.

"You should," Giles's gran said. "Nothing short of death could keep her away."

Five yards away Xander tossed a few pebbles over—

Cordelia frowned. There shouldn't have been an edge there; the hill should have continued up, rising towards her house, and towards her friends' houses.

The hill wasn't there.

A foot in front of Xander the ground stopped, dead.

A few faint lights glimmered in the far distance, well beyond where the hill should have been, but between them and Xander was nothing.

Harmony's house was, had been a block uphill from here, Aura's a little to the left, Gwen's just behind Cordelia's, from this direction, but now the hill on which they had stood was gone, and their houses with it.

Her friends were homeless, because Omega had somehow exploited her wish, and her mom was dead.

Well, Omega would pay for that. Cordelia would make him pay. No one could use her as a pawn in their foul games, twisting her good intentions into a weapon to harm her friends and family, no matter how important they thought they were.

Defeating Omega would be a challenge, but she was Cordelia Chase. She had looked Death in the face, and survived; she could win this battle. She would win it, for her mom's sake.

The price might be high, death, or worse, but so what? She had only had one mom, and Omega's plot had killed her. Vengeance for that crime would be worth any price, however high.

"How deep is this?" Xander said, looking down over the edge.

Giles stepped up behind Xander to take a look, then quickly grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back.

"Half a mile deep," Giles's gran said. "Nearly a mile wide. Unfortunate, but one cannot expect to subdue the likes of Pkhrxng Fshlfn Dhlkbch without some collateral damage. Indeed, it is a mark of Margo's skill that she did as much damage as she did to it as she did with as little damage to the surroundings as this."

"Subdued?" Xander echoed. "As much damage as she did? Why do I not like the sound of that?"

"You let it live?" Harmony snapped. "Can't you people do anything right?"

Behind her, Cordelia's other friends huddled together, looking nervously at the gravestones.

"We kept you alive," Giles's gran said. "Though that might not be the best counterexample."

"Fein Dahlk is gone," Cordelia said. "Isn't that enough for you?" It wasn't. Fein Dahlk had killed their mother; it had to be destroyed, but if Harmony tried arguing that point it would be easy to make her sound bad.

"What did happen to Fein Dahlk?" Giles said, straightening his glasses.

"The short version, pleases," Cordelia quickly said.

Giles's gran nodded. "You lack the necessary esoteric background to understand a detailed explanation so I will be succinct. In essence, Margo rapped Pkhrxng Fshlfn Dhlkbch across the knuckles, until it retreated, then nailed the door shut. It is barred from our world for a year and a day now, thus, unless some fool opens the way from this side, by the time it is ready to return the world shall have already perished, rendering that threat a moot point."

Xander smiled. "Six months, you think, Cordy?"

"Three," Cordelia said, smiling at Xander's naivety. There had never been any shortage of fools in Sunnydale, but there was no need to worry about that now. Three months was long enough to find a less destructive way for Buffy to fight Fein Dahlk.

"Pkhrxng Fshlfn Dhlkbch will not return before the world ends," Giles's gran said firmly, "unless you fail in your watch."

"Cordelia," Aura said tentatively, "Harmony, why are you talking to those losers? Shouldn't we be looking at the, um, damage from the, um—"

"Subsidence?" Giles suggested. "Interesting freak of geology. Comes of building your town on ground riddled with caves. If there's anything I can do …"

"Haven't you done enough already?" Harmony said, smiling sweetly. "Aura, let's go and see what the freak has done to our houses. This is not a cool place to hang out."

As Harmony shepherded the girls out of the graveyard she glanced back at Cordelia, her face twisted into an angry mask.

"I'll put you—" Giles began.

"No," his gran said. "What would people say?"

"Under the circumstances—"

"There would still be rumours," Giles's gran said.

Cordelia nodded. "My dad will get us a hotel room."

"Perhaps," Giles's gran said. "Perhaps not. Several hundred houses were destroyed when our circle was broken by Pkhrxng Fshlfn Dhlkbch's fury, leaving homeless the thousands we rescued as we regrouped. Rooms will be somewhat scarce tonight, and there are other concerns."

"Vampires?" Cordelia said. "They won't try anything tonight, not after this."

"They would," Giles's gran said, "if the Master commanded it, and he will be desperate to know what happened, but they are not what I was referring to. If your dad finds you with two men, wrapped in nothing but a blanket, how do you think he will react?"

"Bla- Oh, I'd, um—"

Cordelia clamped her mouth shut, before she could embarrass herself further. With all the excitement, it had been easy to forget what she was wearing, but Giles's gran was right. Before she saw her dad, she needed to get some decent clothes.

"He got a shotgun?" Xander suggested.

"No," Cordelia said sharply, her dad was not a redneck. He wouldn't reach for his gun, he'd phone for his lawyer.

"If she stays with me—" Giles began.

"Rupert," his gran said, "last time I looked, there were no women's clothes in your flat, unfortunately."

And Cordelia would not look good in tweed. Borrowing Giles's clothes would be slightly better than wearing a blanket, but not much, and spending the night with him would create too many blackmail opportunities.

"gran," Giles said. "These days- Unfortunately?"

"You should be married by now," his gran said. "Instead, the last woman in your flat—"

"You've been spying on him?" Xander quickly said, cutting Giles's gran off before she could go into detail.

Cordelia smiled thankfully, then looked out over the pit, thinking.

"Death has its perks," Giles's gran said. "I cannot see everything, but …"

Xander would certainly be willing to let her sleep over, but his family would be a real problem. His dad wasn't too bad when he was sober, but when he was drunk his hands started wandering. He probably wouldn't do much more than leer if he found an attractive girl sleeping in his house, but she had already had enough excitement for one night.

Anyway, Xander's mom's fashion sense was even worse than Xander's. Cordelia would rather wear tweed than anything from that wardrobe.

There was the secret apartment, of course, but there was nothing there apart from a dozen crates of books, thanks to Margo's watcher priorities. She could have had Wilfred fetch some furniture, start making the place habitable; instead, the moment she'd got the report on Wolfram and Hart from him she'd sent him to the bookshop to collect Cordelia's order, a necessary task, but hardly urgent.

Watching Xander manhandle the crates had been a pleasant distraction though, musc-

—but she shouldn't be thinking about that. Maybe after he'd been properly punished for his betrayal, but not now, and not while there was any chance Willow would be able to tempt him again.

And none of that mattered right now. There were only two things she should be thinking about, bed, and clothes. She needed both; she had neither.

"… never agreed with that rule," Giles's gran was saying. "If you were married, you would be better able to assist your slayer."

Well, since all the obvious choices were undesirable, perhaps she should follow her dad's advice, and look at the problem from the other end. What explanation would he find the most believable and what evidence would she need to support it?

"Cordy," Xander said gently, "did you hear what I said?"

"I've met your parents," Cordelia said, a guess, but she knew Xander. He looked after his friends, when he wasn't trampling on their hearts.

"Oh," Xander said, grimacing, then after a moment, "Hey!"

"I have," Cordelia repeated, smiling. "Several times."

By now, her dad must know several blocks had been destroyed, officially by freak subsidence, but Giles's gran had clearly implied most of the people in those houses had survived, and were now homeless, like her.

That was where her dad would expect to find her, in whatever emergency centre was being set up. There she would find a bed for the night, and clothes for the morning.

"They're not that bad," Xander said, looking meaningfully at Giles and his gran.

"Good point," Giles was saying, "but suppose …"

"They're worse," Cordelia said firmly, and Giles's gran would be goi-

Cordelia tensed, frowning suspiciously at the ghost. She didn't sound like she was going soon, more like she was settling in for several hours of friendly argument, and the Cup was extremely powerful.

"Cordy?" Xander said uncertainly.

"How long is she staying?" Cordelia asked, looking at Giles.

"Until dawn," Giles said.

"Or until a sidereal day has passed, whichever comes first," his gran said, then looked back at Giles. "If we consider the incident with the witch …"

Then Cordelia definitely wouldn't want to stay with Giles, even if she hadn't already thought of something less gossip-provoking.

"So, you'll stay with me?" Xander said. "I can sleep on the floor."

"No," Cordelia said. "I'll stay with the other victims."

And in the morning she could go shopping, a pleasant break from the weirdness.

"That is not sufficiently safe," Giles's gran said. "The nearest emergency centre is in your school."

Right on top of the hellmouth, but that shouldn't be a problem. Find some excuse to sleep in the library, and she'd be safe from anything short of apocalypse, thanks to those seals the board had given Giles.

"You could stand guard over me," Cordelia suggested, confident the ghost wouldn't accept the offer. She was too eager to spend the time talking with her grandson. "Or—"

Giles's gran tapped her chin, twice. "That might attract unwelcome attention, but there is a spell I could cast."

"And your clothes?" Xander challenged. "My mum—"

"—does not have your sense of style," Cordelia said. "I'll say I was in the shower when it happened. This blanket is all I could grab. Won't the seals on the library be enough?"

"The beds are being set up in the gym, not the library," Giles's gran said. "No, this spell will draw less attention, and it will not protect only you. If any evil enters the gym, I will be summoned to your aid."

Which would be useful, but not as good as actually being inside the library seals. Getting Giles's gran to back down would be difficult though, and standing around the crater, arguing loudly, would be considerably less safe than sleeping in the gym.

"Ok," Cordelia conceded. "Magic me."

---

"What is it this time?" Cordelia snapped, glaring at the ghost. She'd already been woken three times, for no good reason.

Oh, Giles's gran claimed she was doing it because she didn't want to insult Cordelia by implying she was useless in battle, but the ghost had to know she didn't think that way.

The real reason was obvious: Giles's gran thought watching her fight would be educational. That was why she'd paused, mid-battle, to lecture Cordelia on the weaknesses of her opponents. She wanted Cordelia to learn how to defend herself against the weirdness, and she only had a few hours to teach those lessons in.

It was not enough time, and the conditions were all wrong. Being woken from deep sleep to face a deadly menace might help some people learn, but not Cordelia. The memory of how the slime had glistened on the first ghost's ethereal tentacles as they had snaked up Aura's legs was crystal clear, unfortunately, but the accompanying lecture was long forgotten.

"Dawn is coming," Giles's gran said. "I thought I'd say goodbye."

"It's not even seven yet," Cordelia said, glancing at her watch. "I need my sleep."

"Rupert," his gran said, "has already been awake for the last hour, preparing for today, and he is somewhat older than you. At your age you—"

"I could stay awake all night," Cordelia said quickly, "if I had to. I didn't."

"Which is why I let you sleep so late," Giles's gran said, "but you too have a long day ahead of you."

"If you freaks are going to argue," Harmony said, propping herself up on one elbow as she rubbed her bleary eyes with the other hand, "could you do it somewhere else and let us normal people sleep."

"Normal?" Giles's gran said. "You still consider yourself normal? How refreshingly optimistic."

"I am normal," Harmony insisted, twitching only slightly under the ghost's knowing smile. "I'm not going to do any more weird stuff."

"You have walked as one dead," Giles's gran said, "and drunk the Hadean wine. You have looked upon the courts of oblivion, and not been consumed. One cannot hope to do such things and remain unmarked."

"Can't you talk straight?" Harmony said, vainly attempting to hide her confusion under a scowl.

"A little friendly advice," Cordelia said, faking a smile. "Don't start an argument with a watcher unless you're fully awake."

Harmony smiled back, equally insincerely. "What did she mean?"

"You can't go back," Cordelia said. "You've seen too much. You won't be able to forget it."

"I don't have to forget it," Harmony said. "I can ignore it."

"It will not ignore you," Giles's gran said. "Perhaps you will be able to retain a semblance of normality for a time, perhaps, but one day your destiny shall claim you."

"I have a destiny?" Harmony said, then her voice filled with sarcasm. "Just what—"

"You can escape it," Cordelia said firmly. If Harmony couldn't have a normal life, once they'd found a spare body for her soul, Cordelia herself would have no chance of normality, ever, since she was much more deeply involved in weirdness, but that conclusion was completely unacceptable, so Harmony must be able to have a normal life; either that, or there was no hope for Cordelia.

Besides, Harmony needed a few months of normality to get over the mental trauma of her time as a ghost.

"She has not heard the laughter of the bells," Giles's gran said, then smiled. "Your souls are twin, their destinies shrouded by the selfsame veils. Her path shall parallel yours, for a time; more I cannot see."

"Speak English," Harmony said, ignoring Cordelia warning glance.

"This night has ended," Giles's gran said. "Dawn—"

The ghost vanished.

"I am not going to end up like you," Harmony snapped.

"I don't want you to," Cordelia said, smiling reassuringly.

"Then stop dragging me into weird stuff."

"Harmony" Cordelia began, then hesitated. She had any every right to defend herself against Harmony's misconceptions, and the debate would be fun, but it would not serve Cordelia's long term goals.

"We could spend all morning bickering," she said instead, "and wake the others up, or we could go and grab the best clothes from the donation box while they're still asleep."

"Best?" Harmony said. "Have you looked in that box?"

"They've got to be better than a blanket."

Harmony said nothing, a blatant bluff.

"Suddenly," Cordelia said, feigning resignation, "tweed doesn't seem so bad."

Harmony nodded. "You do spend a lot of time in the library."

A completely false insinuation. Harmony clearly needed a little reminder of the advantages of experience.

"I suppose you might have enough poise to wear that dress," Cordelia said, her voice carefully pitched to suggest Harmony would find it easier to make a new one.

Harmony looked down at her dress, and scowled. Decades out of date, and lightly battle-stained, Harmony would have had difficulty wearing it with conviction, even if she hadn't slept in it.

"My gym clothes are in my locker," she said, her voice faintly tinged with well-concealed wariness.

"And the key?"

"They'll unlock it for me."

"They might," Cordelia said, "or they might tell you not to waste their time when they have so many people to clean up after, and there's a box of perfectly good clothes right there."

Stymied, Harmony switched back to her original line of attack. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to see Giles," Cordelia said, generously allowing Harmony a taste of victory, then ripped it from her. "After, I've checked in that box myself, just in case there's something you've overlooked."

---

"—heard of double blind tests," Wilfred was saying contemptuously as Cordelia approached the library doors.

"It's a fake?" Giles said, almost shouting. "Why—"

"To ensure the safety of the slayer," Wilfred said. "That is the rationale."

Cordelia quietly leaned against the wall by the doors, hoping they'd been too distracted to hear her approaching footsteps. If they didn't realise she was listening she could go in at the best time for Giles, rather than accidentally giving Wilfred the distraction needed to get off the hook, and she might learn something useful about Buffy.

"By poisoning her?" Giles said sceptically.

Poison Buffy? That didn't make any sense. Giles must be exaggerating for rhetorical effect. He would never hurt Buffy, no matter what, and while Margo and her aides were not nice people, they were good people. None of them would stay in an organisation that hurt the people they were supposed to be helping.

"It is clearly unsafe for her to have a watcher who would try," Wilfred said. "Such watchers must be identified, and removed. Similarly, if the invigilator attempts to enforce the official rules, they can be discreetly sidelined; permitted the appearance of the power they would abuse, but not the reality."

Which sounded typically overcomplicated. The council would need some way of weeding out unsuitable watchers, but there were simpler ways to avoid cheating than not telling watchers what the real test was.

If the test involved fake poison, and it did sound like it might, that was another strike against it. Someone might accidentally use a real poison.

"Find another way," Giles said. "The slayer's life should not be risked in some warped psychological test."

"That is what Dame Margo told the board," Wilfred said, "at great length, but Dr Spode was adamant that the safeguards were satisfactory."

"I—" Giles began.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Wilfred said, too smugly, "but isn't Dr Spode your faction's patron?"

"That—"

"And I seem to recall it was Dr Spode's current protégé who personally sponsored the traitor Travers's career."

Cordelia straightened up, mentally preparing her ammunition. No doubt Giles could rebuff Wilfred unaided but failing to help him when she could would be wrong. Giles was one of her allies; he deserved her help and he would get it, when the time was right.

Simply blundering into the library, the way Willow or Buffy might, would not help Giles at all.

"Are you casting doubt on Dr Spode's judgement?" Giles asked. "The board—"

"Never," Wilfred said quickly. "It is not for the likes of us to challenge the wisdom of the board. I was merely noting, as any competent listener would have discerned, that your faction is in disrepute, the implication clear to anyone of sense being that—"

"—decisions made while Dr Spode's faction was paramount will be reconsidered," Giles said, distancing himself from his former faction.

"Then—"

"But," Giles said, overriding Wilfred. "Your faction is no better. I will not give you a blank cheque, merely because—"

"Dame Margo's testimony gained you an exemption?" Wilfred said. "Have you no gratitude?"

"Dr Spode's faction is in disrepute," Giles said, a smile in his voice.

"But it will take a decade to repeal all the erroneous decisions made during its paramountcy." Wilfred said. "Your slayer will be eighteen in only two years."

"Then you repeal the fake test first," Cordelia said as she walked into the library.

"You were listening?" Giles said, sounding part surprised, part concerned.

Even Cordelia might have been fooled, if his posture had not been subtly off. He must have known someone was listening, and decided to keep them in reserve.

"You were shouting," Cordelia said casually, then looked at Wilfred. "What are you after?"

"How much do you know?" Wilfred asked, looking thoughtful.

"You test watchers," Cordelia said. "You give them fake poison and order them to kill their slayers. If they obey, they fail."

"Essentially correct, Mistress Chase," Wilfred said.

"But too simple for the geniuses who thought it up," Giles added, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Vampires are so easy to control."

"Dr Spode claims that is merely for verisimilitude," Wilfred said. "Supposedly, the safeguards would prevent—"

"What I want to know," Cordelia said bluntly, "is why you're telling him this now, here, where anyone could overhear you."

Normally, Cordelia would have preferred to take a subtler approach, but it was still early morning, and Wilfred was not Joyce. He worked with Margo; he would recognise what she was attempting. Better to leave the subtleties to Giles and play bad cop. That way there was a chance Wilfred would underestimate her, and if not, no loss.

"I thought Mr Giles would like to hear the good news," Wilfred said, "but he seems to be somewhat lacking in gratitude."

Cordelia laughed sardonically. "Not because you're trying to get something from Giles?"

"Please excuse Cordelia's brashness," Giles said. "She is young, and American." Then he started polishing his glasses. "Still, I do wonder at your timing. It may be naive of me, but I would have thought Dame Margo would give me this good news herself, not leave it for one of her aides to blurt out in the midst of heated discussion."

Wilfred winced, and rightly so. Had Margo played that card, she could have made Giles promise her anything; Wilfred had fumbled it, achieving nothing.

"I have Dame Margo's full confidence," he said haughtily, a faint tremor in his voice.

"What were you talking about anyway?" Cordelia said, casually feeding Giles a straight line.

"Our plans for today," Giles said. "They seem to be a little hazy in some areas. When I pressed Mr Bodsworth for the details, he got quite indignant, saying that I should trust Dame Margo's plan's unreservedly since she has done so much for us, which is where you came in."

So, Wilfred had refused to reveal Margo's plans, Giles had verbally boxed him into a corner, and Wilfred had played a surprise card rather than admit his secret. Whatever plan he was hiding must be important, and it affected Cordelia. She had to find out what it was.

"I'm sure Giles will thank Margo properly, when he next sees her," she said, a crude threat calibrated to feed Wilfred's prejudices, and set up Giles's next move.

Wilfred hesitated, then smiled. "I'm sure Dame Margo is looking forwards to that. Do you really believe she did not anticipate this conversation?"

Perhaps she had. Setting Wilfred up to be blackmailed by Giles had obvious advantages, and watcher politics was labyrinthine enough to explain why she daren't be more direct.

However, overestimating Margo was as dangerous as underestimating her. Overestimating anyone was, really. Rely too much on her friends, and she could be hurt when they failed; fear too much her enemies, and her own fears would defeat her.

If Wilfred was wrong, if this leak really was unplanned, then Wilfred had to go along with the blackmail, or damage Margo's reputation and that of everyone she had backed, including Giles, Buffy, and Cordelia herself.

If Wilfred was willing to risk all that, rather than admit Margo's plans for tonight, then perhaps Cordelia should be patient. Knowing too much could sometimes be as dangerous as knowing too little.

Giles looked speculatively at Wilfred for a few moments, then smiled. "Faith is a virtue, even when misplaced."

"So it is," Wilfred said, then fell silent.

The two watchers looked at each other, identical fake smiles on their lips, and waited.

Cordelia watched them both, considering her own options. She did need to know what Margo was planning, but not at any cost. Which way should she jump?

"Oblivii praeco tenebrae jecit in mentes illorum qui vidit," Wilfred eventually said, almost whispering. "Quam meditatio sola diu non potest arcere."

More Latin. Wilfred had found a way to tell Giles without telling Cordelia, which confirmed the secret was being kept from her specifically. Wilfred had probably only tried to keep it from Giles because he didn't trust Giles's discretion enough.

He should have. Giles would not deliberately endanger anyone. If a secret needed keeping, for Cordelia's safety, he would keep it. If it didn't, she should be told.

He could be wrong, of course, and he was sometimes overprotective, but mostly he was right. If he decided not to tell her everything, she would trust his judgement. In the meantime, all she could do was watch them carefully, and see if she could learn anything useful from their twitches.

"That," Giles said slowly, "would not be good. Are you certain?"

"Morley's 'The Fall of Irem' is quite clear," Wilfred said, looking sympathetically at Giles, "and Dame Margo has found confirmatory evidence in the annals of the board."

Both historical references. Wilfred must be worried about some past tragedy repeating.

"Documenta mihi videnda est," Giles said, then started polishing his glasses. "Quae consilia vestra est."

The first word had definitely been documents. Giles must want to check the evidence, but he didn't look like he had much hope Margo would be wrong.

"Haec nox," Wilfred said, "donabimus eis subsidium quos egent ne fiant dementes. Eorum jurandum votis quam maximo confirmabimus, sed nisi cogitata suorum lucri non habuerent deerit."

Cordelia couldn't begin to guess at the meaning of that, not without spending a few months studying Latin first, but Giles's twitching eyebrows suggested Wilfred had just told him the plan.

"A daring solution," Giles said. "Will it work?"

That confirmed there was a problem, and suggested Giles didn't think Margo's solution was itself dangerous, at least not in the short term.

"Of course," Wilfred snapped. "You have Dame Margo's guarantee."

Giles frowned. "Scis eventuus."

Great. Back to the Latin. The second word had to be event, but the first could have been anything.

Wilfred nodded. "Oportet, male."

"Perhaps," Giles said. "You have my provisional consent, pending proof of your claims."

"I hope I may trust your discretion," Wilfred said, then looked at Cordelia. "You do know why we didn't ask you to leave?"

"You forgot I was here?" Cordelia suggested. "I was being very quiet."

Wilfred half-smiled. "Mistress Cordelia, we are not so naive as to believe that, nor, I am sure, do you think us so. Try again."

Cordelia scowled. "It's seven a.m, and I haven't had any breakfast yet. Talk straight."

Giles put his glasses back on. "Isn't the canteen open yet?"

"Not until eight," Cordelia said, thinking. Wilfred hadn't been completely fooled by her brash act; he knew she knew the real reason for letting her stay, unless he was bluffing which he wouldn't be if he didn't suspect his bluff was true.

"I would have thought," Giles said, clearly buying Cordelia more time to think, "that this town would …"

Cordelia frowned, struggling to remember what she had said to Wilfred and Agatha that might have made him suspect her of being good at detecting hidden motives and to decide if he might have any ulterior motives for admitting not being deceived, then mentally shrugged. It was too early to be thinking about anything more complex than a basic triple bluff. Trying would just leave her more confused.

Instead, she should just stick to the unadorned truth. She'd be able to explain away any inconsistencies later, when she hadn't just woken up.

"… some indications of complicity," Wilfred said. "But following up on those should be within your capabilities. Mistress Cordelia, have you reconsidered your answer?"

"You wanted to know where I was," Cordelia said. If they'd let her out of their sight, she could have started telling people what she'd overheard. She wouldn't have, Giles might have got hurt, and talking would have lost bargaining power, but she might have. Others would have.

Wilfred nodded. "I can trust Mr Giles's discretion, now that he's been made aware of the circumstances. Can I trust yours?"

"I don't speak enough Latin," Cordelia said. "If you trust Giles, why didn't you tell him earlier? I wouldn't have overheard anything then."

"Mr Giles is human," Wilfred said. "Mistakes do happen, and you can be quite observant."

Giles smiled. "Not after sitting through three hours of ceremony. She will be just alert enough."

"Three hours?" Cordelia said, "That's—"

"The short version," Wilfred said. "Performing the ceremonies in full would take over two hundred years."

"Two hundred—"

"Unfortunately, we will not have time for that," Wilfred said, "nor even for the Rodriguez abridgement, but one does not casually stroll up to the gates of death. Dame Margo intends to march to her doom with banners flying."

"And we are to march behind her," Giles said, "part of the way. It will be exceedingly dangerous—"

"More dangerous than last night?" Cordelia suggested.

"Perhaps," Giles said. "You may need to fight off a horde of demons, by yourself."

"What will you be doing?"

"Fighting off a horde of demons, by myself."

"Oh," Cordelia said, faking a smile. "One of those plans."

It couldn't be quite that dangerous, or Giles would be refusing to co-operate. He must be trying to discourage her for her own safety, which meant this plan was risky but not suicidal.

"You can explain the details later," Wilfred said. "First, we need to discuss the other matter."

"The fake test?" Cordelia said. "I should tell Buffy."

Wilfred sighed. "Mistress Cordelia, we both know the score."

Cordelia nodded. "You have an agreement with Giles. You do not have one with me."

"Protocols have been agreed," Wilfred said, carefully not looking at Giles. "You cannot reasonably ask for more, and indiscretion on your part—"

"Will you stick to the letter or the spirit?" Cordelia asked, laying her offer on the table. "You've already told Giles about tonight so he—"

"There will be other favours Mr Bodsworth can do for me," Giles said.

"Nor would I attempt to twist my given word," Wilfred said. "Are we agreed?"

"We are," Giles said as Cordelia nodded. Being able to blackmail Wilfred would make working with him much easier.

Wilfred glanced at his watch. "I'm running late. Is there anything else we need to urgently discuss, Mr Giles?"

Giles smiled. "Your proofs."

"Dame Margo is expecting Mistress Cordelia at nine," Wilfred said. "I'll bring the references round for ten past."

"Why—" Cordelia began.

Wilfred looked at Cordelia. "Dame Margo said she wanted to see you. No further explanation should be necessary, nor did I ask for one."

Cordelia smiled sweetly at him. "So that's a morning of lectures, and a evening fighting demons. Is that it for today, or have you put me down for an afternoon in the sewers. I would like to know, since—"

She dropped the fake smile, her voice rising as she let her anger show. "—I'm the one who'll be doing it."

"Mistress Cordelia, if you are unwilling to assist in the battle against the dark, you—"

"Margo called me your comrade-in-arms," Cordelia reminded him. "Are you questioning—"

"Never," Wilfred said. "But—"

"I think," Giles smoothly interrupted, "the problem is that Cordelia is not entirely convinced that following Dame Margo's advice unquestioningly is necessarily the best course, not when she has spent fifty years under house arrest for poor judgement."

Wilfred bristled, but Giles ignored him. "Perhaps, if you actually told Cordelia what you can of your plans, and why you think them necessary, rather than taking her for granted, you might find her more co-operative."

"I suppose I could give Mistress Cordelia a brief précis," Wilfred conceded. "Allowances must be made for her extreme youth. She is not even thirty yet. Respect for inarguably superior authority was probably too much to expect of her."

Cordelia graciously let that attempted insult pass unchallenged. Wilfred had already lost this round, badly. Kicking him while he was down, in front of Giles, would only make her look bad and fuel Wilfred's resentment.

Wilfred turned to face her. "Dame Margo has just begun giving Mr Alexander the benefit of her wisdom on a subject unknown to me, for a reason of which I have not been informed. She anticipates that two hours will be sufficient to give him an adequate grounding in the subject, which takes us to nine o'clock. You are to join him then, so that Dame Margo can furnish you both with certain useful items, which I am not at liberty to talk about in front of Mr Giles."

"Join them where?" Cordelia asked. "Or shall I—"

"To name the location in front of Mr Giles would be somewhat less than discreet," Wilfred said. "However, this time you will arrive before nightfall."

Implying that last time she hadn't. He must mean Eyam. It had been dark there, and Margo had said something about supplying furniture and a small library for Cordelia's secret apartment.

Cordelia frowned. Watching Xander struggle with heavy crates and heavier furniture would normally be a pleasant way to spend a Sunday morning, especially if he took his shirt off, but not with Margo for company, and Xander might get the wrong idea. She did need the furniture though, and the books should be useful, as would the magic door. Eyam was conveniently close to London, and its great shopping. Once Margo was gone—

—which wouldn't be long now. By tomorrow, she'd be dead, her soul sealing the deathgate. Given that, Cordelia couldn't really complain about the way Margo treated people. It'd sound too much like whining. She would go to the apartment, and—

Cold metal brushed Cordelia's right palm.

She automatically closed her fingers round it, feeling its shape. A key, but no one was stood nearby. Where had it come from?

Cordelia hesitated, then held the key up in front of her. Large and gold-coloured, with a hexagonal head, it certainly looked like the apartment key she got yesterday, the one she'd left behind when she'd run out of her bedroom, just before her house had been destroyed.

Well, if the key could teleport into her hand the moment she thought about going to the apartment, it could have teleported out of a collapsing house. Margo hadn't mentioned anything about teleporting keys, but then Wilfred had arrived before she'd finished explaining how she'd magicked the apartment. Perhaps—

"You know where Mr Bodsworth means?" Giles asked, looking curiously at the key.

"This is not a key Winston gave me," Cordelia said, smiling as she put it away.

Giles nodded, apparently satisfied by her quickly improvised cover story, then looked at Wilfred. "How long will we have while they're with Dame Margo?"

"Over three hours," Wilfred said, "but my wife will be meeting me here at eleven, once she's finished at the TV station. Two hours should be long enough."

Giles frowned curiously. "What's she doing there?"

"Planting some gadget of Dr Pawley's. It'll keep the civilians out of our way tonight," Wilfred said, then smiled at Cordelia. "Nothing has been planned for this afternoon. You could spend the time enjoying yourself, or you could spend it girding yourself for the coming battle, as we will be doing."

Of course, the best way to do that was by enjoying herself. If she spent the afternoon in the mall, restocking her wardrobe, it would remind her why the world was worth fighting for. If she spent it dwelling on the coming fight, all she'd do would be unnerve herself, but she couldn't expect Wilfred to understand that.

"You will need to be here by eight for the ceremony," Wilfred went on. "If Mr Giles would like to tell you what he can about that, and about what will follow—"

Giles nodded.

"—then I really must be off."

Cordelia waited until Wilfred had gone, then smiled at Giles. "So, what can you tell me?"

---

"Are you sure?" Giles said, ten minutes later. "If you don't want to do it, I will back you up."

"Of course I don't want to," Cordelia said. "But that doesn't matter. It needs doing."

And Giles had to be exaggerating the dangers. He wasn't as romantic as the Bodsworths; he wouldn't throw his life away in a noble gesture, and yet he was planning to take part. He must be expecting to survive, with only minor injuries.

Margo was clearly expecting everyone to survive too, all her plans were based on that assumption, and she should know how great the dangers were.

If Cordelia hid in the library, letting others fight for her, only for them to return with nothing worse than scratches, her reputation would be ruined. If Margo was wrong, and Xander or Giles did get badly hurt, they'd inevitably blame her for not being there to help, and if the plan completely failed, letting Loki escape, everyone would die, herself included.

No, there was nothing useful to be gained by avoiding this fight.

Cordelia smiled at Giles as she picked up the last piece of toast, not her favourite breakfast, but it was all he had been able to offer and it did make a useful prop.

"If you are sure," he said, shrugging. "The double duality would be useful. Male and female, young and old; there is much we can do with that. Do you think Xander is more earth or fire?"

"The four elements," Cordelia guessed. "Can't you tell from his star sign?"

"That is a contributing factor," Giles said, "but not the sole determinant. Most people end up almost perfectly balanced between the four. This doesn't normally pose a problem when practising magic since there are ways to temporarily enhance elemental affinities; however, I've only got you two to work with."

Where had that last sentence come from? Giles wasn't going to be doing any magic of his own; he would just be reinforcing Margo from a safe distance. At least, that was what he had said the plan was.

Giles looked at Cordelia, then sighed. "You won't have read the paper yet, will you?"

"What's gone wrong now?" she snapped, scowling. She already had Margo, the deathgate and the hyenas to deal with; she did not need more problems.

"You remember where you last saw Buffy and Willow?" Giles said, vanishing into his office.

"Chasing a demon," Cordelia said. "Just before the car park blew up."

"They'll be repairing that today," Giles said, his voice muffled. "Avoid the contractors, and the police."

"But it's Sunday," Cordelia protested, then switched back to the first topic. "You think they went hyena?"

That would be bad news, in normal circumstances, but next to the dangers of helping seal the deathgate it was nothing. Still, Giles wouldn't deliberately add to her worries at a time like this, unless he needed her help, which he had just implied he did.

He must want Xander and her to help him get rid of the hyena spirits tonight, even though he knew she'd be busy helping Margo. If Giles was willing to interfere in her plans, and risk letting Loki escape, rather than simply waiting until tomorrow, when she would be gone, either there was another apocalypse threatening or Buffy was in mortal danger.

Cordelia leaned back in her chair, waiting to find out which. She could simply ask Giles, of course, but a direct question could be misinterpreted and he'd be telling her soon enough anyway.

"They need to replace the broken windows today," Giles said, "or they wouldn't be able to use those classrooms tomorrow. Several of the possessed students did succumb to their hyena instincts, but I don't know if Buffy and Willow were among them."

"Willow was," Cordelia said. She wouldn't have run off with Buffy otherwise.

"Hopefully not to this extent," Giles said, emerging from his office holding a newspaper, a grey folder, and a pile of large books reaching almost to his chin.

Cordelia stood up, going to help Giles. "How many deaths?"

There must have been at least one, for the paper to bother reporting the incident.

"One."

Then it must have been gruesome. A routine killing would only have got a two line obituary, too short to tell Giles anything useful.

"Eaten?" Cordelia guessed, remembering Flutie.

"Human teeth marks are quite distinctive."

Cordelia plucked the paper and the folder from Giles's fingers. "Which page?"

"Twenty-three," Giles said, then glanced pointedly at the top book.

Cordelia took two books off the pile, lightening Giles's load, then sat down and opened the paper. 'Last night Mr Charles Holt, 46, had an unexpected surprise when …'

"The folder and today's paper were left in my office," Giles said, putting the rest of the books down.

"By—"

"Don't," Giles interrupted. "Speculation on names or motives could fatally compromise me."

"Watcher politics," Cordelia said. It might make it harder for a corrupt watcher to take over the council, but it must also waste a lot of time.

"We may not know who provided them," Giles said, as if Cordelia had not spoken, "but my office is within the wards. Whoever they were, they were not hostile. We may reasonably assume them to be genuine."

Cordelia smiled. "If anyone asks, I'll tell them you said that."

Giles nodded, almost imperceptibly. "The paper's account is not very detailed."

Cordelia nodded. Most of the article was about Charles; the corpse he'd found in his drive only got one paragraph, and that all false. Supposedly the victim had been mutilated by stray dogs after being killed by a gang on PCP, but Sunnydale had neither stray dogs nor human gangs, thanks to the hellmouth.

However, there were probably dozens of demons that liked to leave half-eaten corpses on people's drives. Identifying the precise culprit from the newspaper story alone would be impossible.

Cordelia swallowed the last bite of toast, then opened the folder, and gagged.

She had not expected photos.

"Perhaps you should—" Giles began, his voice soft and tender.

"No," she said. "I've seen worse."

But not when she'd just eaten. There were some sights that did not go well with food, especially not when they were in full colour. Admitting that would make her look weak though, which was not desirable.

Giles looked thoughtfully at Cordelia, then pulled a typewritten report out of the folder, placing it on top of the photos. "The pattern of consumption is characteristic of hyenas, but the only teeth marks are human. Close examination shows the bites came from three different people—"

"And, judging by their jaw size, two of them were female," Cordelia said, summarising the report's next paragraph, "so there's a fifty percent chance Buffy and Willow didn't do this."

Giles hesitated. "We can hope—"

"But you suspect something."

"The writer of that report seems to have," Giles said. "They appear to have deliberately turned a blind eye to every line of evidence that might have identified a culprit. That would be extremely difficult to do if Buffy was guilty, her slayer strength would leave evidence even the most cursory examination could not overlook, but the same is not true of Willow."

"So they didn't want to know," Cordelia said, carefully ignoring the other possibility. "That doesn't change the odds."

Not for the worse, anyway. Willow and Buffy had started the night together; they had probably finished it together too. Margo knew that though, and yet still seemed to suspect Willow. Did she know something relevant Cordelia didn't, or was she playing a deeper game?

Either way, Margo would not have bothered explaining herself to Giles. Cordelia would have to wait until the next time she met the Bodsworths.

"Perhaps," Giles said, nudging his glasses. "However, if Buffy, and Willow, did not … partake, it was only because they were not there."

"Next time, they will?" Cordelia suggested, confident of the answer.

Giles nodded. "And Buffy was not born here. She is not so inured to horror as the others, and she is the slayer."

"Margo—"

"Is not entirely wrong," Giles said, frowning slightly. "If Buffy could fight against the possession, I'd have no doubts, but she cannot. When it is over, she will remember all she had done, and she will remember doing it willingly."

"But she didn't. She—"

"That is what it will feel like," he said. "She will remember how effortlessly the hyenas took her over, and wonder if it was because some part of her wanted them to."

"She'll have us to support her," Cordelia said. Giles might have had to cope with those memories alone, recovering from his Ripper days, but Buffy would not.

"They both will," he said, "and I have considerable training in this field. If Buffy were not the slayer, that would be enough. However, she is. She has been chosen to protect the innocent. Slaughtering them instead is an insult to the source of her power."

"So it kills the hyena spirits," Cordelia said, going with the most likely result. "Where's the problem."

Giles sighed. "Buffy's mind might be ripped asunder by the contending powers. It might not, but the precedents are not good."

Giles paused, and tapped one of the books. "The histories of slayers who have killed innocents are uniformly tragic. Even when the killing was accidental the slayers … embraced death, one way or another. When it was not an accident …"

"She's possessed," Cordelia reminded Giles, "She—"

"There are precedents for that too," Giles said sadly. "Mature slayers, inured to horror by long experience, have survived possession with only moderate lasting psychological trauma. Novice slayers have seldom been so lucky."

And Buffy had only been slaying a year.

Giles tapped another of the books. "I have found a spell which should work, but it can only be cast after sunset. There may be—"

"Buffy!" Joyce said, running into the library. "Buffy?" she repeated, peering frantically into every corner, the hope draining from her face.

"Can I help you, madam?" Giles said, reverting to his harmless librarian act.

"Have you seen Buffy, Cordelia?" Joyce asked, her voice tinged with fear. "They said she'd be in here."

"Sit down," Cordelia said gently, pulling out a chair. "I'm sure Buffy's OK."

And if Joyce went looking for her, she might find her.

"You are Buffy's mother?" Giles said, feigning ignorance. "Is she in trouble?"

"She's missing," Joyce said, slumping down next to Cordelia.

"Oh, dear," Giles said, overacting slightly. "She didn't seem like the type."

"She hasn't run away," Joyce said. "She was out last night."

"Last night?" Giles echoed. "I don't quite follow."

Cordelia frowned. He was definitely overdoing his act now. Even Joyce might notice.

Joyce stared at Giles. "You don't know what happened last night?"

"I understand there was a minor geological incident," Giles said. "How would that affect Buffy?"

"Minor?" Joyce gasped. "You've got a gym full of—"

"I said it wasn't a major earthquake," Cordelia lied, scowling at Giles. "I didn't say it wasn't major. People have died."

"Oh," Giles said, showing no emotion. "Would a cup of tea help?"

"No," Joyce said sharply. "I need to find Buffy. She was out there, and she hasn't come home."

"We'll help you find her," Cordelia said, smiling broadly. "Let's think where she might have gone."

Joyce couldn't be kept in the library much longer, Giles had things to do, but ten minutes should be enough time to decide how to keep Joyce and Buffy apart.

"I don't know," Joyce said, looking hopefully at Cordelia. "She could be anywhere."

Behind Joyce, Giles glanced sideways at the pile of books.

Cordelia winced.

Joyce hadn't noticed the books yet, she was too distressed, but she would if she stayed in the library much longer, and then she would get suspicious.

That was why Giles was overacting. He couldn't just take the books away, that would only draw attention to them, so he was trying to drive Joyce away without actually alienating her. If Cordelia hadn't interfered Joyce would have left the library by now, convinced Giles was completely useless, and perfectly safe for Buffy to spend time with.

"Surely the police can help," Giles said, distracting Joyce from Cordelia.

Joyce laughed bitterly. "They said I have to wait seven days before I can report her missing."

"That's not right," Giles said. "I shall write a most strongly worded letter of complaint to the paper."

Cordelia smiled. Joyce would be too focused on Giles now to notice the books for at least a minute, which would give Cordelia the time she needed to think.

It would be much easier to keep Joyce safe if they knew where Buffy was, but Cordelia didn't. Neither did Giles, or Buffy would be in the library cage by now.

Buffy shouldn't actually think she was a hyena, so she wouldn't be where a real hyena would; sleeping under some bushes in a park. She would be in the kind of place she normally went, making it harder to keep Joyce away from her.

Then Cordelia smiled. Hyenas were not peaceful creatures. Buffy wouldn't be doing anything relaxing, like shopping or ice-skating. She'd be looking for excitement, and to Buffy that meant graveyards and sewers, not the kind of place Joyce would expect to find her daughter.

Of course, it also meant Willow was probably trying to fight demons hand-to-hand too, but that wasn't a real problem. Buffy wouldn't let her pack-mate get killed, and any minor injuries Willow suffered would be no more than she deserved for seducing Xander.

"Buffy might have slept over with Willow," Cordelia said, interrupting Giles.

For a moment Joyce grinned broadly, her face filling with new hope, then she frowned. "But she hasn't rung."

"Willow was probably online all night," Cordelia began. "She—"

"Cordelia," her dad said, walking into the library. "You got out."

Cordelia looked at him, torn. She should be glad to see him, and she was, mostly, but he had been hiding her mom's condition from her. If only she'd known the full truth earlier she would have been able to save her mom, and her home. She could have just told Giles what her mom thought he'd seen, then waited for him to solve the problem.

Giles was smart, he would only have needed a few weeks warning, but her dad had fed her half-truths.

Now her mom was dead, and all her memories of her dad sullied by nagging doubts. What other secrets was he hiding? Why hadn't he trusted her? How much did he really know?

Until now she'd had no reason to suspect him, but he'd had the entire back of her house rebuilt, from the foundations up, and the bones had not been buried deep. Maybe he hadn't seen anything during the construction, and maybe he had.

And was it really just random chance that he'd been the first to find her uncle's body?

Cordelia thought so, she hoped so, but she could no longer be sure.

"Would you be Cordelia's father?" Giles said, breaking the silence.

Her dad nodded. "You're the school librarians?"

"No," Joyce said. "He is. I'm looking for my daughter. Have you seen her? She's—"

"At my age all pretty girls look the same," Cordelia's dad said gently, "Mrs … Summers, isn't it? You own that new gallery."

Cordelia looked at her dad a moment longer, then decided to let Giles in on her suspicions. He'd be able to probe her dad's background without him noticing and when he found nothing then she'd be able to fully trust her dad again.

"I got out," Cordelia said. "My mom didn't. I tried to get her to leave, but she wouldn't."

Joyce stared at Cordelia, open mouthed.

"She's dead?" her dead said quietly. "I had hoped she might be here — and don't blame yourself, Cordelia. She had problems."

Giles looked at him, a shade too casually. It was a minuscule error, unnoticeable if you hadn't spent many months with Giles, but to Cordelia it was a clear sign that he had noticed something wrong with her dad's last reply, which was more than Cordelia herself had.

"You didn't say your mom was dead," Joyce said. "You—"

"I couldn't help her," Cordelia said, taking the moral high ground. "I can help you."

Besides, if Cordelia spent too long thinking about her mom she'd start crying, and the vultures would descend.

"You're—" Joyce began then, abandoning words, leaned over and hugged Cordelia.

Cordelia's dad smiled, no doubt noting Joyce's moment of weakness. He regularly read the obituary columns, looking for people who were both wealthy and vulnerable; he wouldn't overlook the business opportunity revealed by Joyce's poor self-control. He'd probably turn up at her gallery in a few days, with some friendly advice.

"My commiserations on your wife," Giles said. "You must have loved her very much."

Cordelia's dad turned to face Giles, his gaze lingering on the books for exactly the right length of time, neither long enough to appear interested nor short enough to indicate deliberate avoidance. "Must?"

"She chose to stay in a collapsing building," Giles said, taking his glasses off and looking closely at the lenses. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that would seem to indicate a not inconsiderable degree of mental dysfunction, and yet—"

"She was happy at home," Cordelia's dad said.

"And she wasn't normally that bad," Cordelia said, her voice slightly muffled by Joyce's embrace. "Last night was the first time I heard about the thing she saw in the wine cellar."

"That must have been quite distressing," Giles said. "You need a nice cup of tea."

"She needs her father," Cordelia's dad said, staring scornfully at Giles, which was a big mistake.

Giles began playing with his glasses, apparently absent mindedly. "Oh, of course, goes without saying. Like mother, like daughter, eh?"

Joyce frowned, seemingly confused, though Cordelia wasn't sure why. There had been nothing cryptic about Giles's last comment.

"Indeed," Cordelia's dad said, a small twitch at the back of his neck the only sign of tension. "H—"

"Still, needs must, and nurses can't be cheap," Giles said, which was a point Cordelia hadn't considered.

If, as Cordelia's dad had led her to believe, her mom had only suffered from bouts of nerves, nurses would not have been necessary, but her father had not told the whole truth. He had fooled her, as good as lied to her, and that was never acceptable.

"We did not have any nurses," Cordelia said, looking accusingly at her dad. "We should have. Mom insisted nothing was happening even after her dressing table fell through the ceiling. She would have done the same if a short-circuit had set the house on fire, or if a killer had broken in. She should not have been left alone."

Unfortunately, that wasn't Cordelia's only problem with her dad's behaviour, but it was the only one she could talk about with mentioning weird stuff.

"Where were you last night?" Joyce said, looking sharply at Cordelia's dad, then hesitated. "A dressing table? You were still in your house after things had started falling through the ceiling?"

"I was in the room when it fell," Cordelia said, shrugging. "I had to pull my mom out of the way. Dad was at a party, with his business colleagues."

Joyce jumped to her feet, her face alight with anger. "You were out drinking," she said, her voice quickly rising to a disbelieving shriek. "You left your sick wife alone to go drinking?"

Cordelia's dad smiled disarmingly. "It is not every day I get an invitation from the Mayor."

That might be a good enough excuse for being away last night, when Cordelia's mom had needed him, and it was conceivable that Cordelia's mom had been less disturbed all the other times, when her dad hadn't had that excuse to attend his colleagues' parties, but it didn't explain why he'd never hired a professional to look after his wife.

On the other hand, Cordelia's dad had often insisted on working from home, despite the business it lost him, because he'd wanted to stay close to his wife. Whatever his motives really were, they weren't as simple as greed alone.

"It is not every day your wife dies," Joyce snapped, unreasonably.

"I know you're upset about your daughter," Cordelia's dad said, his voice tinged with false sympathy, "but—"

"You aren't," Joyce said. "You're acting like she only grazed her knee."

Cordelia hid a smile. Joyce didn't really care much about her, she was just using her dad as a punching bag to relieve her frustrations over Buffy being missing, but the pretence still felt nice, and there was a small chance Joyce would harry him into a slip.

"Cordelia is old enough not to need her hand holding," her dad said.

Giles nodded. "She needs that about as much as she needs a thousand dollar dress."

Joyce stared at the two men, a hint of confusion softening her glare.

Cordelia's dad twitched. "What would you know?"

Giles looked meaningfully round the shelves, all crammed with books. "Many things."

"About children?" Cordelia's dad said, almost smugly.

"Let me see," Giles said, walking over to the nearest bookcase, "Famous frauds, Chinese history, local history, the Aztec religion, old bones …"

"But not children," Cordelia's dad said, looking warily at Giles. "Cordelia, do you need anything?"

"Apart from my mom?" Cordelia said, looking at her dad's pocket.

He silently pulled out his platinum credit card.

"I'll make my own arrangements for tonight," Cordelia said, taking the card, "since I don't need my hand holding."

Her dad nodded, then briskly walked out of the library.

"You can stay with me," Joyce said. "He, um—"

"Thanks," Cordelia said, "but with Buffy missing …."

Without Buffy there, her house would be no safer than any other, and Joyce would be too watchful.

"Quite," Giles said. "Mustn't rub salt in, but I'm sure you'll find her soon."

"Of course she will," Cordelia said, smiling brightly, "with our help. I'll take Joyce to Willow's."

Which would get Joyce out of the library; it would be easy enough to double back afterwards to learn the rest of Giles's plans for the hyenas.

"I will have words with the police," Giles said, "let them know this is not some student jape."

"Don't you have any other relatives?" Joyce asked uncertainly.

"An aunt," Cordelia said, moving to stand next to Joyce. "She lives in Arkham, Massachusetts."

Joyce continued talking, but Cordelia ignored her, instead gently ushering her out of the library.

---

"Margo brought this?" Cordelia said, tapping one of the bookcases.

Xander nodded. "First thing she did, once I let her in."

"It's not bad," Cordelia conceded, looking round the room. At least it wasn't cheap self-assembly furniture, little better than cardboard; it was all hardcarved wood and real leather, heirloom quality. Margo must have bought out an antiques shop, without consulting Cordelia.

"You don't like it?" Xander said, sitting straighter on the sofa. "I—"

"I would have liked a choice," Cordelia said. "Our agreement with her says we always get a choice. You should have insisted—"

"I can't remember all those sub-clauses," Xander said.

Cordelia scowled at him. "You have to. We need the protection."

"You can take care of all that," Xander said, shrugging. "You enjoy intrigue."

"No, I don't," Cordelia said firmly. Intrigue was all about tricking people but she was honest. She didn't lie or trick people; she told them the truth, and if she wanted someone to do something she gave them clear instructions. Intrigue was not her style; she only did it when she really had to.

Xander looked at her, then smiled. "If I didn't know better—"

"I don't," Cordelia repeated.

Xander sighed. "I was with you yesterday. You were so pleased you'd tricked Beedon—"

"I enjoy winning," Cordelia conceded. "Everyone does, but I don't like scheming. Tricking people is dishonest."

"That why you didn't tell us the truth?" Xander asked, looking skeptical.

"I couldn't," Cordelia said. It would have meant losing her best chance for revenge on Willow and Xander. "You and Willow have been keeping secrets too, and Willow has tried to trick Giles into telling her stuff."

"Willow likes puzzles," Xander said. "Sometimes, she—"

Mid-sentence, he stopped, frowned thoughtfully for a few moments, then looked directly at Cordelia. "I told Giles everything."

"At once?" she said, playing for time. If Xander had been talking to Giles behind Willow's back, that was yet another layer of deception. Keeping straight who knew what about whom wasn't a major problem, not for someone of her abilities, but it was a problem she did not need.

"A week later," Xander admitted. "Willow's my friend, but Giles needed to know."

"But he didn't think the rest of us did," Cordelia said, seeing an opening.

"He said you and Buffy wouldn't be able to act naturally."

Cordelia scowled. Buffy wouldn't have been able to, but Giles must have known she already knew. Not telling her did make some sense, since he had known she was keeping secrets from him, but there had been no need to insult her like that.

Xander smiled. "I trusted Giles. Why d—"

"Not because I enjoyed tricking him," Cordelia said, rebutting the suggestion Xander was obviously leading up to, then smiled. "You told Giles. Where did that get you?"

"It—" Xander began.

"Nowhere," Cordelia said dismissively. "You got stuck keeping Giles's secrets from us as well as Willlow's."

"And now I know yours," Xander said, then sighed. "We're spending more time hiding stuff from each other than fighting vampires, and half the people we're hiding stuff from are only pretending they don't know. It's not right. We should just tell everyone everything."

"I wish we could," Cordelia said, her life would be so much simpler if she was the only one with a secret, "but I can't tell anyone why I came back, and we've both made unbreakable promises to Margo."

Still, revealing one or two secrets might make life easier, and give her more time to plan revenge.

Xander slowly nodded, then frowned. "If you don't like it, why are you so good at it?"

Because she had listened to her dad boasting about his convoluted deals, all the different ways he'd tricked extra money out of his partners and clients. She'd listened, and never once thought about what that meant for her, never considered that he might trick her too.

"Cordelia?"

She looked at Xander, thought briefly, then shrugged. His sympathy would be useful, and he wouldn't abuse the information. "I learned from my dad."

Xander looked at her, waiting.

"He found me in the library earlier. Giles—" Cordelia swallowed nervously, then sat down opposite Xander. "—Giles doesn't like him. He thinks he might be … compromised."

"Why?" Xander said, leaning forwards.

"He noticed the books."

"Weird books?"

Cordelia nodded. "Giles had them out."

"For the play?" Xander suggested hopefully.

"He knows me too well for that, and it wasn't just the books. He isn't in denial."

"Like us?" Xander said, less hopefully.

"He knew my mom was … unwell, but he left her alone. When I told him she was dead he told me not to blame myself."

"He's right," Xander said. "You shouldn't."

"I should have asked the Maiden to help her," Cordelia said firmly, then returned to the subject. "He was too smooth. He must have already known."

And yet he'd pretended not to. There were several reasons he might have done that, all of them bad.

"Then why—" Xander blinked. "Oh."

"Giles doesn't think he's evil evil; he just helps the people who are."

"He's a minion?"

"No," Cordelia said. "He doesn't help them with the evil; he helps them with their money, knowing that they're evil."

He might not know the details, Giles had said most collaborators didn't, but that still made him complicit.

"Maybe he's being blackmailed," Xander suggested, rather optimistically.

"That wouldn't work for long," Cordelia said patiently. "He'd look for a way out, but he's acting the way he always did."

So far, anyway. If her dad's friends ever decided they wanted her dead then everything would change, one way or another. Then she'd find out what his priorities really were. Would he do what a father should, or would he abandon her, the way she had abandoned her own mom?

"Families," Xander said softly, gently resting his hand on hers.

Cordelia nodded. Xander had his own family problems; he understood.

She didn't need his sympathy, of course, but it was good to have someone who would listen patiently when she let off steam. Normally, she would have used her mom, but she couldn't

"Cordy," Xander began, then hesitated, clearly uncertain what to say next.

He needn't have worried. One look at him, perching on the edge of the sofa, knees brushing against hers, leaning closer, his concern-filled eyes only inches away, was enough to—

Cordelia jumped to her feet, pushing the memories back.

Xander looked up at her, initial puzzlement swiftly giving way to a faintly amused smile. "Remembered something?"

"Margo," Cordelia said, after a moment's thought. "Weren't we supposed to be meeting her?"

"She had to go," Xander said, pointing at the kitchen door. "Said she'd been summoned to an urgent meeting."

"You think that means five minutes," Cordelia said, smiling, "or five hours?"

"I hope five minutes," Xander said. "There's no food in the kitchen."

Cordelia nodded. No food didn't matter, but there was nothing to do other than talk to Xander. Doing that for five hours would bring back too many memories.

Xander looked uncertainly at Cordelia. "So, do you like the furniture?"

"It's high quality," Cordelia said, lightly stroking the solid oak wardrobe. "Let's get it upstairs."

That should be a safe way of passing time.

---

"Stop," Cordelia said. "You're not going straight."

And scraping the bed along the wall would damage both.

"It's heavy," Xander said. "And you aren't helping."

"I'm keeping it straight," Cordelia pointed out. Every time Xander started pushing the bed at an angle she put him right.

"You can do that from down here," Xander said. "I —"

"We tried that with the wardrobe," Cordelia said. "We kept bumping elbows."

And standing next to Xander, his bare arms brushing against her, his t-shirt stretched tight over straining musc—

But she shouldn't be thinking like that. It didn't matter how good he looked, straining to push the bed; he had betrayed her.

Still, he did look good, surprisingly good for someone so unathletic. Until he met Buffy, the nearest he'd come to exercise was skateboarding, but now he looked nearly as … fit as when he'd joined the swim team, a year from now.

Cordelia frowned, thinking. It had to be because of Ngralth's death throes, when knowing who she was had been her only protection against the storm. The magic had preserved her body just how she remembered it being, but her memories had been rose-tinted, and her body had shifted slightly to conform. The same would have happened with Xander, body as well as face. Just as with her, the improvements would only be small, he might not even have noticed, but they'd be enough to explain why he looked so good so soon.

Which was the real reason why she'd insisted on standing at the opposite end of the bed. It made it easier for her to ignore the great view, and less likely that Xander would notice if she looked at him inappropriately.

"Cordy?" he said. "You listening?"

"Just thinking," she said casually. "Wilfred said Margo was going to tell you something."

Xander looked curiously at her. "She wanted to tell me about I can curse young you. She had this 'short' book she was going to talk through with me. Why?"

Cordelia shrugged. "We could have been talking about that."

Xander smiled. "It's nearly two hundred pages, with footnotes, and appendices."

She nodded. Margo's short list of magic words for the apartment had run to twenty pages; she didn't seem—

"Have you read her list?" Cordelia said quickly. "Tell me you've read her list."

"The commands?" Xander said. "It's too early for Latin."

"So," Cordelia said slowly, "you wouldn't know if one of the commands in the list might just possibly be, oh, I don't know—"

"Fly?" he suggested, smiling wryly.

"Let's go and look." There shouldn't be a command for flight in that list, Margo had said she was only doing the minimum necessary to make the apartment secure, which didn't include flying beds, but she wanted them to learn Latin so she would probably have put a lot of extra commands in to encourage that.

"I can't go," Xander said. "I can't let go of the bed. Can you squeeze past?"

Cordelia eyed the gap, three inches on each side, much too narrow. Climbing over the bed would mean climbing over Xander, never a good idea. "No. We closer to the top or the bottom?"

"Halfway."

"We'll go up then, and check the list afterwards. On three?"

Xander nodded.

"One. Two. Three."

The bed slid upwards.

---

"My apologies for the delay," Margo said forty minutes later, stepping into the apartment. "Some people seem utterly unable to understand the concept of brevity."

"A productive meeting?" Cordelia said, frowning. Margo was leaning on a cane, her face was gaunt, and her hair had grown thin; she seemed to have aged thirty years overnight. Xander had said she looked bad, but not this bad.

"The first half hour was, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said, glancing round. "I trust you had no trouble moving the furniture."

"Volita," Xander said, carefully not pointing at anything. "Easy."

"Why haven't you healed yourself?" Cordelia asked. "You look terrible."

"I have," Margo said. "I am well enough to do what I must tonight. To heal myself further would be vanity, which would imperil my mission."

"Just well enough?" Cordelia said warily. What would happen if they met another major demon?

"I have made reasonable allowances for the unexpected," Margo said. "I understand the meaning of prudence, unlike certain people."

"Who?" Cordelia said. Margo had though the exploding water pistols were safe; if she considered something imprudent there was a good chance sensible people would call it apocalyptic. Either that, or she was making a lot of fuss about some minor breach of tradition.

Xander sighed.

"You do have some influence with Buffy," Margo said after a moment. "What do you know of the Morrigan?"

"She is a god," Cordelia said. "She attacked your headquarters last night."

"She is the Celtic goddess of battle and fertility," Margo said, then looked at Xander. "Sex and violence, in modern parlance. She has an obvious interest in the slayer."

Xander frowned. "Why. Buffy kills vampires; she doesn't, um—"

"You've not met Faith yet," Cordelia said, smiling, and she hadn't told him about Angel either.

"That the slayer is the world's greatest warrior is enough," Margo said, with a warning glance at Cordelia. "She wishes to make the slayer her proxy."

"And she's a evil goddess," Xander said.

"Not evil," Margo said. "Amoral. It would mean every future slayer serving her ends, which would not always be to humanity's benefit."

"And someone's trying to make this happen," Cordelia guessed. "Who?"

"That is not their intent," Margo said, "but it would be one result of their plan. They are unwitting pawns of the Morrigan, who have escaped our leash during the recent turmoil, and the spell they intend to have cast bait, surrounded by many traps, one of which would bind future slayers to the Morrigan's service if triggered. It is a spell the board have long laboured to make safe, labours that are now nearing completion, but we are not yet ready. To have it cast now, with all the disastrous consequences that would follow, when we are only decades, maybe less, from being to do so in complete safety, would be most annoying."

Xander smiled. "Voices might be raised."

"Our reaction would be slightly stronger than that, Mr Alexander," Margo said, smiling faintly. "The closest precedent would be the Shadowmen, and those responsible for that incident are still doing penance for their crimes, millennia after their deaths. Hopefully though, such measures will not be necessary."

"Have you told these people what will happen?" Cordelia asked. "And a name would help."

"They are fanatics, impervious to reason," Margo said, then scowled. "As for their name, you may have heard that my colleagues were not entirely pleased with some of my decisions last night. Some of them even had the temerity to accuse me of being a security risk. To mollify these malcontents I agreed to certain minor restrictions, including one on what I can say to non-board members."

"So you can't tell us anything useful," Cordelia summed up. The board had managed to sabotage their own agent.

"You need to learn greater patience, Mistress Cordelia, If I had nothing useful to tell you I would have told you nothing. We expect an emissary from this group to arrive in Sunnydale within the next few months, once they've recruited a sufficiently powerful and arrogant witch. They will need to obtain the slayer's consent, which is where the two of you should prove useful. While Buffy might well refuse to heed Mr Giles's advice if you did not concur, if all three of you should tell her not to consent we can be all but certain Buffy will follow your advice. Do you have any more questions, or would you like to collect my bequest to you?"

"We're in your will?" Cordelia said, clueing Xander in. She'd need to remember to watch out for this emissary, but right now Margo mattered more.

"I would not be so indiscreet as to put your names in writing," Margo said, then pointed at the kitchen door. "If you would step into my parlour?"

Xander pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen, then turned round, looking confused.

"Perhaps some training in mental discipline would be beneficial, Mr Alexander," Margo said. "Your visualisation of my parlour was clearly deficient."

"I thought you'd—" Xander began.

"It's our apartment," Cordelia said. "Only we can control our door," assuming Margo had taken the same safety precautions as with the rest of the spells she had cast for them.

Margo nodded, confirming Cordelia's guess. "You may find it helpful to think of these doors as much like secure phones. Anyone may call you, if they have your number, and you haven't blocked them, but only you can call out."

"Oh," Xander said, smiling, then turned back to face the door.

"You'll need to close it first," Margo said, a hint of warm laughter in her voice.

Xander nodded, staring intently at the door.

---

Two minutes and five failed attempts later Xander stepped into Margo's parlour.

"—deeper magic than mine," Margo said as she followed him. "I was content to stick within the guidelines given to me, thinking I would have ample time to study the matter later."

"So no experiments?" Cordelia said, looking pointedly at Xander as she closed the door behind her. He'd been asking what would have if they tried opening a door to Hawaii, a tempting idea, but if Margo didn't know what would happen Cordelia did not want to risk it.

"No reckless experiments," Margo said, opening the door again. "I'm fairly confident the risk of catastrophic outcomes would be acceptably small, and there were some intriguing hints in Foxton's memoirs."

"What's the worst—" Xander said, following Margo through the door. "What? Where?"

Cordelia hesitated briefly, wondering what the surprise was this time, then shrugged and followed Xander through.

"My private library," Margo said as Cordelia entered "Do you like the view?"

"Nice," Cordelia said, staring out of the window. It was night outside, but it was not dark. A gaudy spiral of light sprawled across the sky, brighter than the moon, its silvery glow illuminating a desolate plain. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," Margo said. "I'm not even sure if we're in the same dimension as our Earth, but this world is the headquarters of the board, inherited from our predecessors. Our library is a continent about five thousand miles that way, and—"

"An entire continent?" Cordelia said, raising one eyebrow. Margo was clearly trying to impress them with the power of the board, and she'd succeeded, but she'd also raised more questions. If the board could operate on this scale there must be more to them than Giles dreamt, more even than Margo had admitted. What did they want for the world? Why had they come out here? Were they really just a bunch of old men and women, or was there something greater behind them? And, most importantly, why did Margo want Cordelia and Xander to know?

Margo nodded. "Only a small continent."

"Any life out there?" Xander said, looking speculatively at the horizon.

"There used to be," Margo said, "until the planet's orbit was somehow destabilised. Slowly it drifted away from its parent star, out into the endless dark. The oceans froze solid, the atmosphere followed suit, and all life perished. How this was done, we do not know, but we do know that there are ten thousand ruined worlds such as this for every one that still bears life. We're also fairly confident that all those worlds are the handiwork of Omega, which is one reason we are based out here."

"So you won't forget," Cordelia said, frowning. Taking revenge on Omega for her mom's death might be a little harder than she'd realised.

"You mean there's no air out there?" Xander said, tapping the window. "Willow would love this."

"I had hoped she would be here too," Margo said, "but she rejected my offer. Would you like to see the armoury first?"

Xander nodded, smiling. "You giving us magic weapons?"

"I suspect Mr Giles might just possibly find it a little suspicious if the two of you turned up wielding flame-wreathed blades, Mr Alexander," Margo said, "and such weapons are rare enough to attract rather more hostile attention than you might consider desirable. No, I will provide you with superficially unremarkable weapons of the highest quality, as well as training equipment."

"Don't you have any inconspicuous magical weapons?" Xander asked as Margo opened the door.

Margo smiled. "I do have some swords that can slice through bone as easily as butter – lovely weapons, if you don't mind accidentally running a sword through your thigh every time you try to sheath the dratted thing."

---

"And this is my library," Margo said, unnecessarily. With book-filled shelves ten feet high, and stretching as far as Cordelia could see, there wasn't anything else it could have been.

"You're giving us books?" Xander said. "That all?"

"Mr Alexander," Margo said. "Knowledge is not the greatest gift, but it is the greatest I can give."

"You've got a roomful of swords," Cordelia reminded him.

He smiled. "We can practice together."

"Something to look forward to," Cordelia said, smiling. A chance to beat Xander up without repercussions wasn't the kind of revenge she'd wanted, but it did have some attractions. "But we need the books to rescue Harmony."

"Indeed, Mistress Cordelia," Margo said. "However, you will need to promise me not to let any of these books out of your flat."

Cordelia nodded. "We don't want Giles—"

"Mr Giles can see these books, provided you don't reveal your source," Margo said. "I'm more concerned about this."

She pulled a book off the nearest shelf, then opened it

"A commentary on Chatwin's guide to the Emerald Tablet," Cordelia read, then looked quizzically at Margo, waiting for an explanation.

Margo closed the book, then reopened it.

"An introduction to Etruscan grammar," Xander read. "It's changed."

Margo nodded. "This index can become any book I wish within range. It lacks the serendipity of browsing, but it is a great time saver. Unfortunately, we are fairly sure some of our enemies have similar indices."

"And Sunnydale might be in range," Cordelia concluded.

"Your flat is warded against such magic," Margo said, "but if our enemies were to breach our security because you had negligently permitted these books outside the wards then my colleagues would not be amused."

Xander smiled. "You mean they might chain our ghosts up in their dungeons."

"That would be an option, Mr Alexander," Margo agreed, "though I cannot guarantee they would be so lenient. Some of my colleagues have a slightly old-fashioned notion of justice."

"I promise I'll not let any of your books outside the apartment," Cordelia quickly said, echoed by Xander.

"These are the books you'll need," Margo said, pulling out a list, then pointed down the first aisle. "There's a ladder and cart over there. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are arrangements I need to make for my demise."

---

"Faster," Xander said, ten minutes later. "Giles is sure this will work?"

"I can't go any faster without leaving the cart behind," Cordelia said, scowling as she pushed the ladder along the shelves. "He's certain. The hyena spirits will get sucked into the soulstorm, and Buffy and Willow will go back to normal."

"Good," Xander said, climbing down the ladder. "I'll push. You can get the books."

"No," she said firmly. "The books are too heavy for me," and while she didn't think Xander would try looking up her skirt there was no need to tempt him.

He groaned. "This is going to take ages."

"In a hurry to start reading them?" she teased.

"To get out of here," Xander corrected, "before she thinks of something else for us to do. Um, you don't think she's listening, do you?"

"I don't think she'll care," Cordelia said. "She's only got a few hours left."

"We never did find a way round that," he said. "Stop here."

"Giles thought Willow's ideas were too risky, and we got distracted."

"I suppose last night would count as a distraction," he said, pulling a book off the shelf. "Think I can get an extension on my homework?"

"Only if they believed you," Cordelia said, then frowned. "I haven't done mine yet."

"Cordy, your house was eaten by a giant evil hand. They'll give you an extension."

"As long as I don't tell them about the evil giant hand part."

"Tell them that," Xander said, smiling, "and you'll never have to do homework again."

"Tempting, but I don't think I'd look good in a straitjacket."

Xander paused halfway down the ladder and looked at her. "You could look good in anything."

"Anything?" Cordelia challenged, smiling back. "Even the traditional slayer's costume?"

"Maybe not that," Xander conceded, then his smile faded. "Um, about last night?"

"Yes?"

"You do know … if you need anything …"

"I know."

---

"There he is," Buffy shouted.

Cordelia looked up from her pizza and groaned. She couldn't have fought Buffy even before the hyenas. She'd just have to hope Buffy was feeling calm.

"What's Willow wearing?" Xander asked, his eyes widening.

"Looks like a miniskirt," Cordelia said dryly. It seemed getting in touch with her animal instincts had improved Willow's fashion sense. Her legs needed shaving and her top was the wrong colour but overall she looked pretty good.

The three jocks sitting two tables over elbowed each other and grinned.

Standing in the doorway, Willow looked warily round the room then whispered something to Buffy, who smiled and clapped her on the back, pushing her forwards. "Go, get him."

"The hyenas?" Xander guessed, his eyes locked on Willow as she strutted towards him. "But why?"

Cordelia shrugged. "You're male, and she has needs."

Hopefully Xander would be too distracted to ask why Willow hadn't picked anyone else. If he realised it meant she actually did like him then they might start dating, which would bring back too many bad memories and make it harder for her to get revenge. Still, there were opportunities here as well as risks. If she could get Xander to remember the hyenas every time he noticed Willow's looks they'd never date, leaving her forever frustrated — not much of a revenge, but it would be a start.

Willow snatched up a bit of meat from Cordelia's pizza, then sat down next to Xander and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "What are you doing with her."

"Having lunch," Xander said, sidling away from Willow.

She shuffled closer, one hand slipping below the table.

"Willow!" Xander shouted, leaping to his feet, then started breathing deeply, an obvious effort to calm himself. "Not in public."

She eyed his groin, licking her lips. "When."

"Midnight," Xander said, backing further away. "At the funeral home. No one but us would dare go there."

Willow stuck a finger in her mouth, then slowly pulled it out, a move which would have been more impressive if she'd been wearing lipstick. "I think me and Buffy can find some way to amuse ourselves until then."

Buffy sat down next to Cordelia and nodded. "We had so much fun last night."

"Can we watch?" one of the jocks asked while his friends laughed.

Cordelia glared at them. "They're not feeling themselves today. If I find any of you taking advantage you'll never date in this town again."

"Ooh," the jock said mockingly, "now I'm really scared."

"You're dating Andrea, right?"

The jock nodded. "Can't keep her hands off me. I've—"

"Second base," Cordelia said, "like your friends, and you only got that far last Tuesday. Andrea doesn't do anything without my permission."

That wasn't quite true but Andrea was only dating him while she waited for Ben to notice her. If Cordelia told her to dump him, she would, and that threat should be enough to keep the others in line.

When the jock sat down, carefully not looking at his friends, Buffy laughed. "You're not man enough for me."

"Xander is," Willow said, leering at him. "He's man enough for both of us."

Xander smiled at the jocks. "What can I say?"

"You can tell me what you're doing with Cordelia," Willow snapped.

"Trouble in paradise?" one of the jocks quipped, then paled when Cordelia glared at him. "Only joking."

"I think you should go," Cordelia said, her voice cold, "before I get annoyed."

The jocks looked at her, then nonchalently ran for the doors.

"Answer me," Willow growled.

"We're having pizza," Xander said. "Want some?"

"Why Cordelia? You're not hers. You're mine."

"It's not like that," Xander quickly said. "This is lunch, not a date."

Cordelia looked at the staff, both teenagers, then pulled out a hundred dollar bill. "Feel like a break?"

The taller one looked at her, then pointed at Buffy. "She saved us from a gang of muggers last week. Take as long as you want. I'll put the closed sign up."

"—last night," Willow was saying.

"We were with Giles," Xander said.

"Why?" Willow asked. "You belong with me."

Cordelia glanced round, checking everyone else had gone, then glared at Willow. "We were fighting a giant evil hand. What were you doing?"

"Fighting demons," Buffy said. "Lots of demons."

Willow smiled. "That was fun, until we got separated."

"This was a really big hand," Cordelia said. "It destroyed my house."

"Oh," Willow said. "Why are you with Xander."

Because, when they'd eventually escaped from Margo, pizza had seemed the natural thing to do. She'd been so deep in conversation with Xander – so busy discussing the things they'd done last night, speculating on what they might do this night – that she hadn't thought twice when Xander suggested getting something to eat, hadn't considered what people might think or what advantage she might gain. She hadn't even thought about what they were eating.

She couldn't tell Willow that though. Instead, she smiled, imagining the un-possessed Willow's mortification when she remembered this conversation. "He's nervous about tonight. I'm helping him get ready."

"You do have experience," Willow said grudgingly. "OK, but you mustn't touch."

"Of course," Cordelia said, showing no reaction to the insult, then she glanced at Buffy. "You going to help her get ready."

Buffy nodded, then looked at Willow. "I can smell some meat in the kitchen. Go and get it for me."

"Will you be there tonight?" Xander asked as Willow hurdled the counter.

"You think you could handle both of us?" Buffy said, her voice low and throaty.

"We might need protection," Xander said, edging towards Cordelia. "You wouldn't want Willow's big night spoiled by a demon, would you?"

And it would make Giles's task easier if he didn't have to summon them first.

Buffy nodded, then glanced warily at the kitchen and whispered, "I'm worried about her. She's … jumpy."

"Nerves?" Cordelia silently mouthed.

"Nightmares," Buffy whispered. "I think she's having flashbacks."

"We'll talk to Giles," Xander said.

Willow sauntered out of the kitchen, gnawing at a lump of raw steak, blood dribbling down her chin. "Here" she said, tossing a second lump to Buffy.

She effortlessly caught it, tore a chunk off with her teeth, then offered it to Xander. "Hungry?"

"I already ate," Xander said, looking faintly green.

Buffy shrugged, then looked at Willow. "We're going. Enjoy your lessons."

"He will," Cordelia shouted as they vanished into the kitchens.

Xander slumped into his seat. "That—"

"Wait," she said, listening for the doors. "Now they've gone."

"There was blood, coming out of her mouth," Xander said, staring at the table.

"At least it was already dead," Cordelia said, repressing a smile. Willow would find it harder to seduce Xander now.

"What will I do tonight?" Xander said. "What if she's early. I can't … you know. It wouldn't be right. She'd—"

"Knock her out," Cordelia suggested. "Tie her up. Giles will have some rope."

"Maybe," Xander said slowly. "Are you sure Giles didn't tell you anything else about this spell?"

---

"Cordelia," Harmony shouted. "Here."

Sighing, Cordelia turned round. Harmony was halfway across the shop, next to the lingerie, and her mother was with her.

"Here," Harmony repeated, pointed at the floor.

Cordelia shook her head, then pulled a top off the rail and held it up, as if examining it.

Harmony scowled then, after a quick conversation with her mother, walked over to join Cordelia.

The lights flickered.

"Why didn't you come when I called you?" Harmony asked.

"Would you have?" Cordelia replied, smiling.

"You're not me," Harmony said.

Cordelia pulled her into the formal wear section, away from eavesdroppers. "We've talked about that."

"I'd never act like you," Harmony said. "I never want to. You're not me; you're a evil twin."

"I fight evil," Cordelia snapped. "I've done nothing you wouldn't have."

"If you knew where it would get you, you wouldn't have done it."

"That would mean letting people die."

Harmony looked briefly uncertain, then shrugged. "You went wrong somewhere. I won't. I will never become like you."

"I don't want you to," Cordelia said. "What did you want?"

"I wanted to get away from her," Harmony said, glancing over at her mother. "She's acting like my mom."

"She thinks she is your mom."

"But she isn't. My mom is dead. Having her hovering around, trying to look after me …" Harmony shuddered. "It's too weird – and don't say it's my fault."

"We'll get you out of there soon," Cordelia said, carefully avoiding the issue. It was Harmony's fault, but telling her that was pointless.

One of the shop assistants tripped, spilling a carton of socks.

"That doesn't help," Harmony said. "If I'm not staying in here I can't make any plans. I'm stuck waiting for you losers."

Cordelia smiled, spotting an opening. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm not talking to … that senior librarian, Xander is useless, and no one else has any idea what I'm going through. You do, and you owe me for what you stole. When I need someone to talk to you will listen, and—"

"That's how it starts," Cordelia said. "That's how I started. Buffy's gang were the only people I could talk to about the weirdness."

"So you got sucked in," Harmony said, then frowned. "But you must already have noticed—"

"Like you have. You've got to start ignoring the weirdness." If she didn't she'd never get the peace she needed to recover after her ordeal, and Cordelia wouldn't get the proof she needed that she might be able to go back to a normal life, one day.

"Then you should get out of my life," Harmony said. "When I see you …"

The bargain racks collapsed, a faint haze rising from the debris.

"I deserve a normal life too," Cordelia said, tracking the movement. It wasn't much, just a barely perceptible wisp of mist, but it was definitely real, and it did not belong in the shop.

"You," Harmony began, then hesitated. "Aura was asking earlier what you're doing tonight."

"She can't come," Cordelia instantly said. "We're going back to the funeral home."

"You were busy with weird stuff last night too," Harmony said, "and the night before. Aura saw you."

"And she nearly got hurt both times," Cordelia said. "I know."

"Then you know what you should do," Harmony said, watching as the haze started pulling dresses of their hangers. "Make that thing stop."

Cordelia smiled, pulling out her new cell phone. "What thing?"

"That thing," Harmony said, pointing, then paused, "that I can't see."

"I think your mom's decided to shop somewhere else," Cordelia said as she dialed Giles. "This shop seems to have become suddenly unpopular."

There was no panic, no running or screaming, but all the other customers had simultaneously decided to leave.

"We'll talk later," Harmony said, glaring at Cordelia, then hurried over to join her mother.

"Giles," Cordelia said, raising the phone to her ear. "I've found a poltergeist."

---

"You're both certain you want to do this?" Giles said. "Once the doors open it'll be too late to change your mind."

"We want to help Willow and Buffy," Xander said.

"And to close the deathgate before Loki comes," Cordelia added. The plan might be riskier than she had realised, but backing out now would look bad.

Xander nodded. "We'll do whatever it takes."

Giles adjusted his glasses. "You could just wait in the cafeteria, and join us when we leave here."

"That sounds like fun," Cordelia said sarcastically. "This ceremony can't be any worse than spending three hours watching the clock."

It would also give them some watcher kudos, which might be useful later, and it would keep her from being alone with Xander. She'd spent enough time with him already today.

"Margo's going to die," Xander said, "for us. We owe her." Then he smiled and twiddled his cane. "And we already got all dressed up and everything."

"Very well," Giles said. "Remember, this is a solemn occasion. When we go in, bow to the banner, then kneel. Don't fidget, or smile. Make the responses on cue, and stay silent otherwise."

"We do go to church," Cordelia said, "sometimes. We know how to act."

"Don't forget," Giles said, then turned to face the library doors. "Dame Margo, we are ready."

The doors swung open.

Margo was standing on the far side of the library, behind a table spread with a gray cloth, a banner above her head.

Giles began slowly walking forwards, Cordelia and Xander half a step behind him.

There was a broken sword and a dead baby's shoe on the table – both, according to Giles, symbolic of failed hopes.

As the three of them crossed the library threshold, the Bodsworths joined them, walking in step with Giles.

The banner was symbolic too, but it stood for good things. At the left and right two figures were embroidered, silver on gray; one, a woman holding a spear, the other, a man holding a open book – obviously a slayer and her watcher. Between them was a pentagram with one point upwards, an ancient symbol of white magic, and above it a rainbow, standing for hope renewed, and below everything there was the watcher's motto: Cum hastra et libro, contra adventum noctis in statione solum vigilant — 'With spear and book, we stand alone against the fall of night,' according to Giles.

Behind her, Cordelia heard the doors swing closed.

Halfway across the library Giles and the Bodsworths bowed once to the banner, then gracefully knelt down, folding their hands behind them.

A split-second later, Cordelia and Xander copied them.

"First," Margo said, "the order of service. We shall be beginning with a brief ceremony of remembrance, followed by a short hymn and a ceremony of affirmation. Once the ceremonies are complete we shall march forth to battle beneath this hallowed banner, and all that is evil shall flee before us, or be destroyed."

It wasn't likely to flee. Demons were even more arrogant than Margo; when they saw her they would attack and be killed, hopefully without slowing Margo down too much. She had a deadline to meet.

"Mr Alexander, Mistress Cordelia, did Mr Giles gives you a clear explanation of these ceremonies and your part in them?" Margo asked. "You may nod."

Xander and Cordelia nodded. The first ceremony would just be Margo reading out the names of one hundred and one dead people, each time followed by the same response and a minutes silence.

"Now let us remember the fallen," Margo said. "Ten thousand days would not be time enough to name them all, but a few may stand for the many. Of one hundred and one lives I shall briefly speak, that we may remember them, and all those others who have fallen on our watch."

"We shall remember them," Cordelia said on cue, her voice blending into the chorus.

"Helga Gruber, slayer. For five years she served mankind. Foes uncounted she did slay, chief amongst them six lords of Abaddon. Twice she prevented apocalypse, though the world knew it not. In the year 1916 she died, protecting the dead from a ghoul pack. Her body was trampled into the Flanders mud, never to be found. Her death was the world's loss. Her life must not be forgotten."

"We shall remember her," Cordelia said, repressing a smile. There was no way Margo would have left her own slayer off the list.

For a minute there was silence, giving Cordelia time to think about more important things, such as Harmony.

She hadn't been wrong. In the original history Cordelia had easily kept the weird stuff away from her normal friends, but this time round it was harder. She'd already failed once, condemning the real Harmony to months of torment in the soulstorm. Aura might be the next to suffer simply for being Cordelia's friend.

"Kibugonai, innocent of the battle," Margo said. "A simple tribesman of New Guinea, he was eaten alive by a nibek in the year 1917. In life we failed to protect him, as was our duty. In death we shall not forget him."

"We shall remember him," Cordelia said, wondering why he was on the list. It didn't sound like he'd been anyone special.

For a minute there was silence.

Cordelia didn't need Aura, of course. She didn't need anyone or anything. Still, she would miss Aura if she had to drop her normal friends. Willow didn't understand shoes; Aura did, and she was a reminder of what Cordelia was fighting for — but were those benefits worth the risk to Aura's life?

"Reginald Hollingsworth, watcher. For two years he guided the slayer. In all her victories he played a part. In the year 1918 he was tortured for eight days, but he never betrayed her. Two days after his rescue he died of his wounds. His death was the world's loss. His life must not be forgotten."

"We shall remember him," Cordelia said.