TUESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 6:00 A.M. When Willow awoke the next morning James Taylor's pleasant voice was singing from her clock-radio, "Now the first of December was covered with snow…." She slapped the button on top of the radio for a temporary reprieve, but then she couldn't go back to sleep. She was completely exhausted from her and Angel's fruitless search. They had split up during the daylight hours so that Willow could search above ground while Angel searched beneath. Then they had joined forces after dark, but all to no avail. After a shower—her hair still wet and stringy—Willow dressed quickly, grabbed a piece of toast and a plastic container of orange juice. She slipped out, avoiding her mother, and headed straight to Giles' apartment where she found Xander, Faith and Oz waiting in the courtyard outside.

"Yo, Red," said Faith with a casual thrust of her chin. For Faith, it was a subdued and polite acknowledgement.

"Giles isn't back?" asked Willow. Oz put down the newspaper he was reading. Willow shivered as she caught a glimpse of the blaring headline: "SUNNYDALE HIGH SCHOOL CHEERLEADERS MURDERED." Oz came over and hesitated a fraction of a second before he kissed Willow on the cheek. Willow smiled at him and realized that her forehead had been a knot of worry before he had kissed her. In her mind, no part of his reason for doing that could possibly have been because she looked beautiful to him; it must have been because Oz saw that she needed reassurance that at least something was still OK. Willow felt deeply grateful; then, in the next moment, she looked at Xander and felt guilty, her forehead reverting to the knot.

"Hi, Will," said Xander as he attempted a glum version of a smile. Then he suddenly called out, "Giles!" They all looked to see the librarian trudging slowly up the walk, Joyce Summers just behind him. Giles smiled wanly but immediately turned downcast.

"I gather from your expressions you have no news," said Giles to them all. "I'm afraid we have no news, either." He fumbled jangling keys from his pocket, and then unlocked the door to his apartment. Behind him, Willow and the others searched for words to say to Joyce. Finally, Willow threw her arms around Buffy's mother and the two women hugged each other for a long, desperate moment. The boys and Faith stood by, uncomfortably silent, before quickly following Giles into his apartment.

When all of them were inside, Oz approached Giles and offered him the newspaper as if he thought he could keep his communication secret and not alarm the others. "Actually," he said quietly, "there is news, and it's not good." He pointed out a story on the bottom fold of the paper. Giles read silently, all the while his brow adding new furrows to the ones that seemed permanently established.

"What is it?" asked Joyce, her voice straining to suppress her frustration.

"I'm afraid there have been additional killings," he said, looking around at his rapt audience. Then he quoted the newspaper: "'Police say that the twelve murders occurred in various parts of the city, but each bears a striking resemblance to the murders of the Sunnydale High School cheerleaders. Police are withholding details pending their investigation, but unconfirmed reports suggest that, like the cheerleaders, the new victims were drained of blood. The killings occurred between late Saturday night and late Monday night. Only two of the new victims are believed to have known each other. They lived in different neighborhoods and worked in different parts of town at different occupations. Police advise Sunnydale residents to stay indoors after dark and not to admit strangers to their homes under any circumstances'." Giles dropped the newspaper on the dining room table. "That seems calculated to set off a panic," he bitterly observed.

"Why shouldn't we panic?" asked Joyce. Then she thought of something. "Was Buffy one of them?"

"No," replied Giles quickly. "The names of the twelve new victims are in the article, and I don't know any of them."

"Willow," said Faith, "I understand you saw Angel yesterday. Sorry Giles wasn't able to find me or I woulda gone along."

"No, it was OK. Angel seemed genuinely concerned, but he said Buffy has been keeping her distance from him for several days." Then she remembered something. "Sorry, I should've told you this before, but it's probably a false lead."

"What?" said Giles and Joyce in unison. They glanced at one another, apparently startled by the echoic effect. Then they turned back toward Willow.

"Angel said that he heard a noise outside his mansion yesterday shortly before dawn. When he went outside, he thought he saw a figure in the woods that looked something like Buffy, but when he called her name, whoever or whatever it was just disappeared. Angel was really unsure it was her, so I didn't mention it. Sorry."

"Did he say how she looked?" asked Joyce. "How was she?"

"No, he really didn't get a good enough look to even be sure it was Buffy."

"Still, maybe I should talk to him after all," said Giles. "Maybe he remembers some other detail that might be important."

"Seems like if it was Buffy, and he called to her, she might have come over to him," mused Faith.

"But Angel himself said she was avoiding him," said Joyce. "Maybe she heard him calling her but didn't really want to see him."

"If she didn't want to see him, why was she near his place?" asked Faith logically.

Joyce's eyes welled with tears. "Because she still loves him." Her voice cracked.

Giles shot Faith a look. "Please, everyone," he said. "Some of us have been up all night and should go home and get some sleep. Xander, would you please take Joy—…er…Mrs. Summers home?"

"Absolutely not," said Joyce. "I'm not going to rest until we've found Buffy."

"I don't mean to stop looking for her," said Giles, "but we will all need rest, and soon, or we won't be much good to her."

"I have an idea," said Faith. Willow looked toward her in surprise, as did everyone else. Faith was famous for reacting to the situation at hand, not making plans or having actual ideas. "Since the school is closed and the library off-limits," Faith continued, "Giles' apartment is obviously Scooby Central for the duration, so—unless Giles has any objections—I recommend we all camp out here. That means Joyce could go home long enough to grab a few things and come back." Faith paused and looked around at her stunned audience. "What does everyone think?"

"I think it's a fine idea," said Giles.

"I don't," said Joyce. There was a tense moment as everyone looked back and forth between Joyce and Faith. "I'm sorry," said Joyce to Faith. "I meant to say I think you have half a good idea, but instead of making Giles' apartment… Scooby Central?… why don't we use my house for our headquarters? There's a lot more room there."

"I stand corrected," said Giles. "I agree with Joyce."

"So do I," said Faith. "Thanks, Joyce."

"Don't mention it, Dear," Joyce said. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

At the Summers' home, everyone quickly settled on room assignments, and Joyce finally took Giles' suggestion and went upstairs for a nap. When she was gone, Giles told the others his private thoughts. He was worried that the increased vampire activity might suggest that Buffy was no longer alive. "Without the Slayer about, Sunnydale's vampire population seems to have been emboldened."

"Slayer sittin' right here," said Faith.

"Sorry," said Giles. "But you know what I meant."

"Unfortunately, yeah. As usual, everyone thinks that only B offs vamps around here. I don't blow my own horn, so I didn't mention I dusted six vamps last night."

"Six?" asked Giles. "Doesn't that number seem unusually high?"

"You calling me a liar?" asked Faith.

"Not for a moment," replied Giles. "I am asking you whether six vampires in one night suggests to you a sharp increase in vampire activity."

"Well, yeah," Faith mused. "Over the past month I've averaged only two or three a night."

"In that case, we have a lot to do," said Giles. "Faith, you can handle patrolling by yourself, but report to me if it gets out of hand. We may be forced to organize backup for you. For now, we should put every available person on the task of trying to find Buffy. I'm not convinced that merely covering ground is helping. Faith, why don't you see about wringing some information out of Willy—not too literally, mind you—and I have a few sources of my own to tap. Then I will go to Angel at dusk. We should meet back here about eight o'clock tonight. Why don't the rest of you get some sleep until then?"

Willow had chosen the extra bedroom. Whenever she was in it, the room gave her the queer feeling that it was waiting for another Summers to arrive, though that didn't make any sense to her. Oz, who always seemed to have an extra sleeping bag and foam mattress rolled up in his van, was helping Willow lay out her bedding.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," said Willow.

"Really?" said Oz as he neatly aligned the sleeping bag with the mattress beneath.

"Yeah," said Willow. Oz said nothing, continuing with his task. Willow went ahead. "I've been having certain feelings lately."

"Uh huh," said Oz, putting the finishing touches on the sleeping bag which he had lined with one of the Summers' sheets. Then he turned to face Willow. "Is this something we should both be sitting down for?" he asked. "Because I notice there's a dearth of chairs in this room. Tell ya what: Let's try out the sleeping bag—sitting on it, I mean." Willow wondered how it had come to this. Oz was so sweet and thoughtful, and yet Willow was having the hots for Xander—of all people! Xander, who had broken her heart so many times—or, rather, rent it continually since their first day in kindergarten—had finally come around just when Willow was trying to figure out the way to Oz's heart. She doubted that way could be furthered by confessing her feelings for another guy. But Oz sat her down on the bedding next to him and took her hand in his. He looked at her very seriously. "If you're having second thoughts about dating a werewolf, I'll understand," he said.

"Oh, no! I wasn't even thinking about that," said Willow. "I don't want to break up with you."

"Well, it just occurs to me that bad timing is called 'bad' for a reason," said Oz. "Buffy is missing, the Scooby gang is in crisis mode, and at dusk tomorrow I'll be turning."

"Oh, my God, Oz! I completely forgot. It'll be a full moon Thursday."

"So I'll be kind of wolfish for three nights this week. And I'd understand if you'd rather not deal with that just now. I can use the cell in the mausoleum. Xander or Giles can lock me in, and I'll probably be secure even without anybody watching."

"Forget about it, mister," said Willow. "Xander, Giles and I will take turns watching you. We can't neglect a vital part of our routine just because there's a crisis on. Why, if we did that, everything would go ker-fluey."

"Really, you don't have to…" began Oz.

Willow leaned toward him with the sternest expression she could muster. "Resolve-face," she intoned.

Before he went out to meet Angel, Giles invited Faith into the kitchen to share a pot of tea. During the long silence that ensued, Giles watched Faith rocking away from the table on the rear legs of a kitchen chair, and he induced from her sour face and untouched cup that she didn't entirely care for tea but was humoring him with uncharacteristic tact. Finally Giles forged ahead with the thought that had been on his mind for two days.

"Faith, I am not sure that either of us is ready for this, but at the moment, we can't be certain that there are two Slayers. You could well be the only Slayer in the world right now."

"Gee, no pressure or anything, huh?"

"Quite right," replied Giles. "There is a lot of pressure on you, but I want to remind you that it's my duty as a watcher to help you with that pressure—if you'll let me."

"So I have your undivided attention now?"

"If you'll have me. You are entitled, of course, to petition the Watchers Council for a watcher of your own. I could even make some recommendations if you are interested. I just want you to know that I am willing to serve you in that capacity myself."

"Well, no offense," said Faith, further slumping into the kitchen chair and carelessly crossing her long legs, "but I hate taking sloppy seconds."

"I'm going to ignore the crudeness of that image and presume that you mean that Buffy is my favorite in a way that would prevent me from being a good watcher to you. All right, I'll admit to being very fond of Buffy. So much so that it frankly pains me to consider the possibility that she is gone and—without a shred of tangible evidence—have to proceed as if it might be so. The work of the Slayer must go on, after all."

"Well, I'm not really big on 'the show must go on' bit," Faith replied.

Giles was about to say something cross when he stopped and smiled to himself. "You and Buffy have a lot more in common than you realize. Did you know that when I first met her, I did not immediately say, 'That's going to be my favorite Slayer'?"

"Really?"

"Yes. I believe I said something more like, 'Damn, that didn't go well at all'. In point of fact, I thought Buffy to be self-centered, contrary and more suited to slaying the English language than vampires."

Faith laughed. "Yeah, Buffy comes up with some wicked Valley-speak sometimes, don't she?"

"Right," said Giles evenly. "My point is, Faith, that people who work together—if they get to know each other's strengths and weaknesses—they—they eventually find out whether they can depend on each other, and that's where the bond—as I like to think of it—between Buffy and me originates. I can't guarantee that you and I will develop the same kind of relationship that I have had with Buffy. I don't expect it to be the same, but—at the same time—I have observed that you are a remarkably talented Slayer, and I don't expect that our relationship would be inferior to the one I have had with Buffy—just different. I'm only making a suggestion that you can think about if you want."

"So, you think I'm talented?" asked Faith.

Mayor Wilkins sat across his desk from Mr. Trick, staring for a long time before he spoke. Trick tolerated this for as long as he could but eventually began craning his neck as if searching the walls and ceiling of the Mayor's office for a threat that might seep into the room by way of unseen crevices.

"I appreciate your taking the time from your busy schedule to see me," Wilkins finally said with an edge of sarcasm.

Ignoring the Mayor's acerbity, Trick answered, "As they say in Paris, je vous en prise." He was even amused with himself at the way that "Pa-ree" and "en pree" had rhymed. A smile crossed his lips.

"I wonder whether you are aware that Spike is back in town," continued the Mayor.

"Is that boy up to it again?" asked Trick, seemingly almost relieved.

"Gee, at least nineteen dead bodies turning up around town—Do you think?" the Mayor asked pointedly. "Who could it be but Spike?"

"Yeah. Ain't too many suspects," said Trick nodding.

"I don't mind bloodshed," the Mayor assured Trick. "Heck, bloodshed is an important part of what made this country great, but I'd like to keep things quiet around here during the coming months. The next time there is a massacre in Sunnydale, it should be me doing the massacring."

"So, you want me and the boys to organize a welcoming committee for Spike?"

"It's almost as if you've read my mind," said the Mayor jovially. He looked with seeming interest at a paper on his desk and reached for a pen.

"Anything else I can do for you?" asked Trick.

"I think that will do for now," said the Mayor. "How many of the fellows are you going to take with you?"

"Ah, well, naturally I'll leave a few to hold down the fort," said Trick.

Wilkins sucked in his breath. "Not what I asked," he said, his tone caustic once again. "I haven't seen as many of your scamps around lately. Seems like they're at, what, half-strength? They haven't taken off, have they? I'm not looking in the wrong direction for the killers in town, am I? Maybe nineteen victims is a little many just for Spike."

"No, no," said Trick quickly. "They've been out trying to find out whatever's causing this little spree. I was just thinking, maybe I should get in touch and see if any of the fellas have located Spike."

"Gee, already sent them out looking. That's nice." The Mayor beamed. "That's the kind of initiative that brought you to my attention in the first place." Wilkins went back to signing papers and Trick started for the door.

"Oh, Mr. Trick," said the Mayor.

"Sir?" replied Trick.

"Don't let him get away." Wilkins spoke without looking up from his desk.

"I won't," replied Trick.

"That'd be swell," said the Mayor as he signed a document with particular flourish.