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Willow was scared, and angry, and … and disappointed in her mother. Her mother was a genius, with thirteen honorary degrees and three published books on psychology. How dare she get swept up in some kind of supernatural mass hysteria?

She tried to keep outraged, to stay mad, hoping that would help, but the room was filling up with people, and they were arranging the books around the base of the stakes that Amy and Willow and Buffy were tied to, and there were torches. They were shaping up for a good old-fashioned witch-burning, and Willow had never even been to second base! Although why that should be the thing she thought about in this moment, she wasn't sure. She'd never been to London, either. Or mastered the fire spell. Or … There were too many "or"s. She needed Buffy to wake up and make this stop.

"Hold still, now, be a good girl," her mother said behind her, sounding just like she had when Willow was six and had to have a cavity filled.

"No! Why are you doing this to me? Mom!"

But her mother couldn't hear her; to her mother, it seemed, Willow had ceased to exist, and only the bad witch remained. "There's no cure but the fire!"

"Buffy! Wake up!" Amy shouted.

"This is crazy, Mom!"

"Buffy! Buffy!"

At last Buffy jerked awake, looking around her in confusion.

Her mother was there, standing next to her. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she said gently.

"Mom, you don't want this."

Mrs. Summers shook her head. "Since when does it matter what I want? I wanted a normal, happy daughter. Instead, I got a Slayer."

The three of them struggled against the ropes that bound them to the stake, but not even Buffy could get them to budge.

Willow's mother picked up a torch and handed it to Buffy's mom. "Torch," she said, as though it was part of a ritual.

"Thanks." Buffy's mom looked at Willow's. "This has been so trying; you've been such a champ."

It had been trying for them? Willow couldn't believe them, acting like they were at some kind of tea party.

"You, too, Joyce," her mom said.

"We should … stay close, have lunch."

"Oh, I'd like that, how nice." And then they both bent and lit their torches, ready to burn their daughters at the stake. Willow was pretty darned sure none of that was in any of the parenting books her mother had consulted on.

"You can't be serious," Amy said.

Buffy shouted, "Mom, don't!" as her mother bent to touch the torch to the books.

Old books. Flammable books. Books that would burn so easily it would be like they weren't there. This was it, Willow realized with a sinking heart. No one was coming to save them, and they were going to die. Oz, she thought. Xander.

"All right," Amy said suddenly. "You want to fry a witch? I'll give you a witch! Goddess Hecate, work thy will!"

Buffy, who had seen this before, whispered, "Uh-oh."

Amy's eyes burned black, a wreath of sparks around her head that Willow didn't think had come from the books. "Before thee let the unclean thing crawl," Amy intoned, and then there was no more Amy, and a tiny little rat appeared at the bottom of Amy's stake and ran off through the crowd, which parted hastily in front of it.

"She couldn't do us first?" Buffy asked in disbelief.

When it was clear that Amy wasn't coming back, Willow decided she was not about to get burnt alive without at least trying … something. She said, "You've seen what we can do! Another step and …" And what? "You will all feel my power!" A little nonspecific, but hopefully effective. Where was Oz? Would he come for her?

"What are you gonna do," Buffy whispered, "float a pencil at 'em?"

"It's a really big power!" Willow said desperately. Her feet were warm. Too warm. Hot, even.

"Yes," Buffy echoed. "You will all be turned into … vermin. And some of you will be turned into fish! Yeah. You in the back? You'll be fish."

A man in the front said, "Maybe we should go."

Willow felt a surge of confidence. It was working!

And then, from nowhere, two small figures stood in front of them, staring at the assembled adults. "But you promised," they said in small earnest little-kid voices. "You have to kill the bad girls."

The flames were closer now. Her feet were a little beyond hot, if she was being honest. "Oh, God, help!" she cried out. She was a little ashamed of it—she wished she was as strong as Buffy—but if someone could hear, someone who wasn't enthralled by two mythological children, maybe … maybe they could do something.

And then pain. And heat. Hard to think, hard to talk, hard to breathe. Dimly through the flames the horrified, fascinated eyes of the adults of Sunnydale, staring, watching this happen, and over the fire the sounds of the children's voices. "They hurt us." "Burn them."

"Mom! Dead people are talking to you. Do the math!" Buffy shouted.

"I'm sorry, Buffy."

"Mom, look at me," Buffy tried again. "You love me. You're not gonna be able to live with yourself if you do this."

"You earned this. You toyed with unnatural forces. What kind of a mother would I be if I didn't punish you?"

Part of Willow, the part that wasn't consumed with pain and heat, wondered how much of what Mrs. Summers was saying was the truth of her life as the mother of a Slayer. If they got out of this, she and Buffy would have a lot to talk about.

"Buffy, I can't take it, it's too hot." She was close to blubbering like a baby. If you were going to die, did it matter if you looked ridiculous doing it?

"Sorry, Will. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for me. You wouldn't be—"

Buffy stopped speaking and Willow wondered briefly if she had lost consciousness. That would be merciful at this point. But then she followed the line of Buffy's gaze and she saw Giles and … Cordelia bursting into the room. To think, she had lived to be glad to see Cordelia.

Cordelia smashed the glass on the emergency fire hose, drawing the attention of the grown-ups.

"Stop them!"

Giles began chanting something in a language Willow couldn't comprehend, while Cordelia aimed the hose at their attackers.

But none of it was going to matter, because Willow's shoelace had caught fire, and with it, the edge of her pants leg. "Buffy, I'm on fire!"

"Cordelia, put out the fire!" Buffy called.

"Oh. Right." Cordelia turned and aimed the hose at them, the fire steaming as it went out. Blissful cool water, blissful quiet when the flames receded, blissful lack of being flambeed.

Only now that the danger was past did Willow think about the books—burnt and water-damaged and probably ruined. Poor Giles. He loved those books.

When the fire was out, the children came to stand next to Buffy's mother. Giles was still chanting, and he hurled something at the children's feet, something that shattered and smoked. They embraced each other and the pair of them slowly grew into one single giant demon.

"Okay, I think I liked the two little ones more than the one big one," Cordelia said, and for once, Willow thoroughly agree with her.

"Oh, my God!" cried Mrs. Summers.

The demon growled, "Protect us! Kill the bad girls."

"Know what? Not as convincing in that outfit," Buffy told it. The demon rushed her, and she struggled in her bonds. The stake broke as she bent forward, and the demon impaled itself on it.

"Did I get it?" Buffy asked. "Did I get it?"

And then the ceiling burst and two figures burst through, yelling as they landed on the books. Oz, and Xander. Willow wanted to be glad to see both of them, but she was too exhausted to work up the energy.

"We're here to save you," Oz said, in his matter-of-fact way.

"Untie me?" she suggested, and he did so, his dexterous musician's fingers making quick work of the knots. She fell forward into his arms, and felt Xander's arms close around her on the other side, and she felt safe for the first time in … days.

When the guys let her go, she looked around for her mother, but she was gone.