"Veronica, what just happened?" Logan asked after I didn't answer him within ten seconds.

"We don't have time for long answers, and no short answer I get is going to satisfy you," I said, getting up.

"Really."

"Would you believe it was a trick of the light?"

"No."

"Then trust me on this one," I said. "Where's your father?"

Logan gave a half-grin. "Daddy Dearest regained consciousness as I was lugging him out of the classroom. He's busy right now leading Sheila and Mrs. Gellhorn to 'safety.' I'm sure any cameras out there will be treated to an earful of his heroism."

I listened. No sounds of fighting could be heard from anywhere in the building. I was hoping that meant the battle was completely over.

The student lounge was trashed and empty when we got to it. "I guess the invasion is over," I said. "We have successfully beaten off the barbarian hordes."

"I hardly think that's likely, Mars," Logan said. "More likely that they had their fun and left."

I got the feeling I was forgetting something --

Of course.

The end of the episode showed Xander, Buffy, Snyder and Angel outside while Cordelia and Willow were still trapped in a closet. "Hold on a second," I said. Now where had they gone to?

It took me a couple of minutes, but I eventually found the right door. "About damn time," Cordelia said as she pushed past me.

"You're welcome," I said. "Happy to help."

"What happened to you?" Willow asked. I gave a brief recounting of our adventures with the marauding 'gang member,' finishing with, "And then, I guess, he got bored and ran off." I couldn't resist adding, "They were gang members, right?"

"Of course!" she blurted. "Ordinary, everyday gang members. Nothing strange about them. And they were probably on drugs!"

Logan knew better, but he wasn't about to blow the secret; not, I was guessing, when he could torture me about it later. "That would explain why he ripped out the cameraman's throat," he said.

"Yeah, it would," Cordelia said. "Anyway. Thanks for the getting us free and all that, and you can believe you me that Buffy's going to hear an earful about this later --"

"Why? Did she shove you in there in the first place?" I asked innocently.

"No," she said. "Never mind. I've just been trapped in a closet and I really don't want to hear any more gory details about what happened. Make me throw up, why don't you, Echolls? So, if you'll excuse me, I need to go shower."

"Maybe if we're lucky," Logan commented to me sotto voce, "She'll wash away her attitude as well." Logan and Cordelia had never gotten along. It was partly a matter of high school politics -- no matter that she was the acknowledged "Queen C" of Sunnydale High, Cordelia would never be able to overtake the status of "son of movie star,", and this was made only marginally better by his usual refusal to capitalize on his status -- and partly a genuine personality conflict. They genuinely loathed each other; and this wasn't the kind of love-hate thing that Xander and Cordelia had for each other, either.

For his part, Logan saw Cordelia as someone who'd climbed over Lilly's bleeding body to obtain her current status. No matter that Lilly and Cordelia had actually gotten along; they'd been after different things. Lilly wanted to be the one everyone loved, and Cordelia wanted to be the trendsetter. Two different things, and they co-existed surprisingly well. They hadn't been friends, but friendly rivals.

Surprisingly, Willow laughed. "There's not that much soap in all of Southern California. But Cordelia has her moments. Few and far between, but they do exist. I swear. Anyway. Thank you, Veronica. Really. I don't know how long we could have been stuck in there."

Now it was my turn to be surprised. Willow was being reasonably pleasant to me. Usually she curt, like Xander was. "You're welcome."

She smiled briefly, and we walked outside. In the distance, I could see Celeste Kane talking to a police officer. Good. She'd survived the night.

Willow peeled off to find Xander and Buffy and Angel, wherever they were. Sheila was nowhere in sight.

Right in front of the school, there was already a camera crew there, talking to Aaron Echolls.

Some truths apparently were multiverse.

"So, Mars," Logan said. "Are you going to tell me what that was?"

"Not like I owe you anything, but yes. Just not tonight."

"Fair enough. But it had better be one damned spectacular explanation."

Oh, it would be.

As we passed the flagpole, Snyder and Lamb were busy discussing what kind of story to feed the press.

"The usual? Gangs on PCP?" Lamb said.

Once again, I couldn't resist. "PCP? Deputy, didn't any of that anti-drug training take root? PCP doesn't make people act like that. I'm thinking it was crystal meth, myself."

"And how would you know the effects of methamphetamine, Mars?" Snyder asked.

"I read," I said.

As Logan and I left, I could hear Snyder saying, "Let's go with meth."

I laughed, said a reasonably civil goodbye to Logan, and headed home.

X X X X X

The next week or so passed relatively smoothly, as events in Sunnydale go. Spike was off licking his wounds -- or Drusilla was licking them for him -- and I solved a minor mystery for a freshman: whether his girlfriend was cheating on him. (She wasn't, but once she found out that he'd hired me, she dumped him anyway. The way the world works sometimes, unfortunately.)

Two important things happened.

First was the triumphal return of one Keith Mars. Flush with success and money, though horrified about what had happened at the school.

After fervently thanking assorted deities that I'd made it through in one piece, he finished with, "And let me guess," he said. "Don Lamb only showed up too late to do anything."

"Pretty much," I said. "Talking things over with Principal Snyder, trying to figure out what perfume is going to make it smell the sweetest."

"No matter how much perfume they spray, sweetie, it's still going to be a big steaming pile of doggie poo."

"You know, Dad, I do know the word you're trying to avoid saying."

"As far as I'm concerned, the only word you know for that is 'poo,' and it's the only one you will ever know."

"Dung." I said.

"I'm not listening."

"Feces." He stood up. "Excrement." He began to walk back to his bedroom. I shouted, "Droppings!" behind him as he shut the door.

God, it's good to have him back.

Second was my discussion with Logan -- and Sheila, who recovered from her ordeal the night before, but who definitely seemed to have been changed by it. She was still doing the "I'm a badass" routine, but now it was definitely only a routine, and she knew it. She'd shown up to school on time every day, and hadn't been more than smartassed to the teachers. No, she hadn't been scared straight, but she seemed determined not to end up the victim she'd nearly become.

And she was still hanging around with me. God help me, I'd made a friend, whether I wanted one or not.

We met at the office. Dad was taking a well-earned day off -- he could afford to, having made five thousand dollars off the Bailjumper, which converted to a bit under thirty-five hundred after expenses, but still, enough that he could take a day and recover from the bumps and bruises the guy had inflicted. Some bail jumpers gave up as soon as they were caught. This guy, however, had been determined not to go gentle into that good night, and fought back.

Anyway, that meant I didn't have to worry about him listening in. Which was good, because he definitely didn't want to hear what I was saying. I'd refilled the two Supersoakers and the water pistol with holy water.

"Okay," I said once they were both there. "The best way to go about this, Logan, is for you to tell me what you saw in the classroom a couple of nights ago."

"Why? So you can figure out what lie to tell me?"

I laughed. "I could have told you to go take a flying leap off the top of the Bronze. I didn't. Now. What did you see?"

He said, "After Daddy Dearest woke up, I got worried about you."

"Aww. How sweet."

"Don't let it go to your head, Mars; I would've come back for anyone. Well, possibly not Cordelia. Anyway, when I pushed open the door you were dumping the Supersoaker there onto the guy's chest, which was starting to burn. Then you shoved a pencil into his heart -- and he disappeared in a cloud of dust."

Sheila looked at him. "What've you been smokin', Echolls? 'cause if it's that good, I want some."

"Sheila, what did you see the night I rescued you?"

She frowned, but said, "The blond guy jumped me in the alley off the Bronze, you shot him with your mixture, he ran away. That's pretty much it."

"Didn't you say something else about him?"

After a second, she said, "Yeah. His face seemed distorted. But then, I know I was on something -- enough booze to float a motorboat."

"Well, I wasn't on anything," Logan said. "I indulge, but somehow the middle of a film shoot aimed at showing what a great Dad Aaron Echolls is seemed like poor timing. So, Mars: Assuming she saw what she saw and I saw what I saw, what's the explanation?"

"You're not going to believe me."

"Try me."

"Yeah, manhunter. 'scool. I'll believe you." She really seemed like she would. I must use this power only for good.

"First things first," I said. Then I took out the Supersoaker, pumped it a couple of times, and fired it at both of them.

"What the --" Logan said, jumping backwards, while Sheila said, "Are you trying --"

At about the same time they realized nothing was burning. Experimentally, Logan rubbed his hand through the water dripping down his face and put it in his mouth. "It's just water." Sheila did the same thing and apparently reached the same conclusion.

"It's always been water," I said. "But a particular kind."

"And that would be?" Logan said.

"Holy water." When neither of them said anything in the next ten seconds, I spelled it out. "They weren't gang members. They were vampires."

"Vampires aren't real."

"Was the way that man disappeared real? Was the way he ripped out the throat of your father's poor cameraman real? Was the blond guy's disfigured face real?"

Sheila surprised me then. She said, "Occam's fuckin' razor. Easiest explanation that fits the evidence is the right one."

"I know what it is," Logan said. "I'm surprised you do."

"Just 'cause I think the teachers around here would have trouble spelling dog if you spotted 'em the D and the O doesn't mean I'm stupid. I read." She said. "And, dammit, but thinking those guys were vampires is easier than coming up with any other explanation that fits. What? Special effects? Smoke and mirrors? A gang hopped up on meth? Uh-uh. Manhunter says vampires, I'm goin' with vampires."

Logan said, "Okay, Mars. Now that we know this, what do we do?"

"Buy yourself a cross and a holy water gun and run like hell if you see one. We're not equipped to fight things like that any more than I could go ten rounds with Evander Holyfield."

"But why aren't the police -- no. Dumb question. Don Lamb would have trouble finding a black cat on an ice floe."

"Do you believe me?"

"I'm not sure," Logan said. "I think I need proof. But at the same time, I hope like hell I never see any."

"I know what you mean," Sheila said. "Still, better to know than not, you know?"

X X X X X

Things kind of wound down after that. The only visible difference was my new buddy Sheila, and that Logan wasn't giving me as hard a time as before. "Inca Mummy Girl" almost snuck past without me noticing. Oh, I was on the trip to the museum, but otherwise I think I saw Ampata maybe once, from a distance.

Anyway, I was doing more important things at this point.

Like trying to find out who raped me.