"So, you had to sit down and tell your mom everything? Oof." Willow snurled her lip to accompany the last utterance.

"It was surprisingly mundane." Buffy cocked her head to one side. "Which might be even more disturbing."

"It's so weird that your mom knows about you being the Slayer." Willow reached up and thumbed the shoulder strap of her green corduroy overalls.

"It is, but it's good-weird. Like, when Giles calls and I have to run to the library, like yesterday, it's weird that Mom knows why I'm going, but it's of the good that I don't have to think of a lie."

Willow nodded sympathetically. "Your mom's the best that way."

Buffy cocked her head toward her friend. "If I've learned one thing this year, it's that Joyce Summers contains multitudes."

"Uh…"

Cordelia almost jumped headlong into her locker, then whirled, almost braining herself on the locker door. "Maybe you should wear a bell around your neck."

Casey Porter shuffled her feet and looked down. "I'm sorry, I… I'm sorry."

Cordelia looked up at the ceiling, then back down. "Stop saying you're sorry. It gets really annoying." She looked at the younger girl's outfit: a black-and-red ringer T-shirt and red track pants with three black stripes down the side. "Why do you always wear those pants? I mean, not those pants specifically, but pants like that?"

"These?" Casey grabbed the nylon fabric as though noticing it for the first time, then looked at Cordelia. "I run."

"Oh." Cordelia made sympathy-face. "I'm sorry."

Casey looked at her quizzically, then understanding dawned. "Oh, no, I mean, I run. Cross-country in the fall, track in the spring."

Cordelia blinked. "You're on the track team? Wait, we have a track team?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I run the 3200, and the 4x800, if it's a meet where they have that."

Cordelia shoved a book into her locker. "I'm going to pretend that I understood even a word of that, and that it somehow explains the pants."

"Oh, oh, uh, I bought about six pair last year, they're easy to take care of, if it's cold, I can train in them, sometimes I do my workout before school, I just run in and shower, I can throw 'em back on-" Casey cut herself short. "I guess they're jsut easy to take care of… it's not like anybody pays any attention to how I dress."

Cordelia turned, books held against her chest. "Word to the wise, they won't if you don't." Casey nodded, a serious look on her face. "Was there something else…?" Cordelia asked.

Casey snapped out of her daze. "Uh, I kinda wanted… I mean, do you know… what's going on?"

Cordelia kept her face as still as possible. "What do you mean?"

Casey looked up and down the hall. "We didn't have school yesterday, and nobody ever said why, and now, we're back today, and Principal Snyder isn't here, and everybody is acting like they don't even notice it. The teachers won't say anything, and Jennifer in my third hour class said something about the police being at the office. What's going on?"

Cordelia looked into the younger girl's dark eyes for a moment, then leaned forward. "Okay, I'll tell you, but you have to promise that you won't tell another soul. Promise?"

Casey nodded, serious as Stalin's heart attack. "Promise."

Cordelia dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Snyder stole a bunch of money, embezzled it or something, and now he's disappeared. I heard something about a stripper, and Cabo San Lucas, but don't quote me on that."

Casey frowned. "How can I quote you if I'm not telling anyone?"

"What? Oh, yeah, right, don't tell anyone. Anyway, that's the sitch… money, stolen, Mexico."

Casey nodded. "Thanks, thanks, uh, I have to get to class."

As the other girl speed-walked away, Cordelia leaned back against the locker and allowed herself a small smile. "That went well." She tapped her chin with an immaculately polished nail. "I can improve that story."

"The rumor mill's running red-hot," Xander said as he sat down at the table, tray clattering on the Formica. He wore a faded chambray shirt with rolled-up sleeves over a black T-shirt and baggy khaki cargo pants.

"I know," Willow said, slightly breathless. "What did you hear?"

Xander picked up his fork and leaned forward. "That Snyder stole a lot of money from the school and absconded to Mexico with a lady who takes her clothes off for a living."

"Me too." Willow shook her head. "Where does that come from?"

"Shut up!" The Scooby Gang turned toward the near-scream. Harmony leaned forward, her forearms resting on the table and fists clenched as she glared at her social circle. "My mom did not run off to Mexico with that loathsome dwarf Skinner. She's at home right now! Aria, stop laughing! This is so not funny!"

The Slayerettes slowly turned back to their trays. "That's some wicked dish," Xander said. "I wonder how it got started."

Buffy looked past him to the table at the far side of the cafeteria. Cordelia's head was down over her lunch, but she seemed to be struggling to control a cough or something. The Slayer shook her head and looked at her friends. "I'm sure it just rose organically."

Oz nodded slowly. "With a little fertilizing."

Trick closed the office door. "I need five bodies for tomorrow night."

"Level of competence?" Brooks had found an eyepatch to cover the mutilated socket.

"High. These aren't decoys or cannon fodder, so get some good people on it." He made circular motion around his own eye with an index finger. "I like that. Projects well."

"Thank you. Anything else I need to know?"

"Not right now." Trick took off his suit jacket and carefully placed it on a wooden hanger, then put it inside the office armoire. "Choose like they were watching you back. When you have them selected, tell Delilah. She'll get you back in here and I'll go over the whole thing."

"Got it." Brooks hesitated.

Trick waved his hand. "You can go."

Willow fidgeted in the hallway, waiting for Tyler to arrive. He wasn't late; she was just early. Departing students flowed past her, anxious to be out in the spring sunshine. Tyler finally appeared out of the scrum, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt with a button-down collar and jeans an inch too short.

"Okay," he said, "I'm at the library."

"C'mon," Willow said as she grabbed his arm. Giles and Gerard were behind the counter; they looked up as the students entered. Willow stopped and pushed Tyler slightly in front of her. "Giles, this is Tyler."

The Watcher came out from behind the counter, his tweed jacket and moleskin vest worn like a shield. He stopped two strides in front of the boy and looked him up and down. "I'm given to understand that Willow requires your assistance to access extra-dimensional planes of reality."

"Yeah, if you're talking about whatever it is that she calls the Never Never." He glanced over his shoulder at her, then back at Giles. 'Which is a stupid name."

"Hey!" Willow pushed his shoulder. "Not the time."

The librarian looked from the jug-eared stick figure to the redheaded witch and back, then extended his hand toward the office and said, "Very well. Let's go into the office and you can show me how this is done." The students shuffled into the inner sanctum. Gerard locked the outer door and joined them.

Willow concentrated on taking deep breaths. "I'm, uh, I'm a little nervous," she said to Giles, "so it might not work at first."

The Watcher sat down in his desk chair. "I have no other plans, so, take your time."

Willow nodded, then looked at Tyler and nodded at him. As she dug through her backpack, an embarrassed look crossed the boy's face, then he reached out and rested tentative hands on Willow's shoulders. She said "One minute", then held up the small mirror and looked into her own eyes…

Giles stood bolt upright; Gerard walked around to view the students from another angle. Willow's eyes were wide, her pupils dilated until they almost obscured the iris, unfocused on anything in the room. A subtle presence, like latent static electricity, surrounded her; it was as if her potential had changed, that there was the germ of something huge and powerful inside her, something that would burst forth into the world if it could only find a way. The boy stood still, a slight frown on his face, but Giles had the unshakeable conviction that if he tried to pull them apart there would be a flash like the spark when one unplugged a lamp, a crackle of electricity, only an order of magnitude greater, and that Willow might fly away.

A minute passed, a long minute, then the boy, with surprising finesse, drew his hands away. The sense of enormous power vanished, like water sucked down a drain, and Willow shuddered and took an involuntary step forward. Giles reached out quickly, surprised by an instant of panic, and grasped her shoulders. He guided her to his chair.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Willow nodded. "I'm fine." She stood up and swayed slightly. "Maybe a little dizzy," she admitted, dropping back into the chair.

"Incredible." Gerard's voice was small and awe-struck. "Simply incredible."

Giles crouched beside the chair. "Can you explain what happened?"

"I don't really have the words." Willow bit her lip. "But it's like I look at something, and I can see it, but I see what it's made of, too… or I used to."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, a while ago, there started being this bright light, off to the edge at first, but then it kept getting brighter." Willow winced, almost as though she expected a blow. "But since the Seal got here… I mean, now that I know when the Seal got here… it hasn't moved or changed, but it's really, really bright."

"How bright?" Gerard leaned against the office wall.

"Like staring into a spotlight."

"Young man-"

"Tyler."

"Yes, Tyler." Giles shook his head. "What do you experience?"

The skinny boy shrugged. "Well, at first, it wasn't nothin', she'd just get that look and I'd put my arm on her for however long we agreed on, then I'd just take away my hand. If I didn't do that, she'd fall over."

Giles compressed his lips. "You said 'at first'."

"Yeah, well, a little while ago she had me start usin' two hands, and the last little bit, it's like there's a hum or something comin' through to me. You ever touched an electric fence?"

"No," the librarian said. "No, I haven't."

"Well, it feels like that, but you don't know what that feels like, so…"

Gerard paced along one wall. "How often have you been… conducting these experiments?"

Willow flinched. "Couple of times a week."

As the Watchers stared at the students, Willow began to rub her hands together. Tyler hopped up on the desk, his high-water pants and bony ankles making his feet seem huge. Giles opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Gerard laid a hand on his arm. "Rupert" was all he said, but Giles nodded and shook his head.

"Well, I agree that this doesn't seem terribly dangerous. Have you had any sensation of being watched, or of someone trying to contact you?"

Willow shook her head. "No, nothing like that."

"And you believe that this light you describe is the Seal? And all you can tell us is that it is very bright?"

She shook her head. "Not just bright… it's heavy? And I'm pretty sure it's the Seal, I mean, it tracks along with what we know." She looked up at the librarian. "It hasn't changed at all since it stopped growing. Isn't that important? If the Mayor had unlocked it, wouldn't there have been some difference?"

"That is a reasonable assumption," Gerard said.

Giles rubbed the back of his neck. "I agree. Willow, I want you to come to the library whenever you do this. I want to be able to observe you and make sure you're safe."

"What about me?" the boy said in his twangy voice.

"Well, yes, of course, if Willow needs you for this to work, you need to be here as well."

Tyler hopped down from the desk. "Can I go now?"

Giles waved a distracted hand. "Yes, yes." He put on his glasses as the boy scurried from the office. "Willow, I still wish you had not attempted this, particularly without aid or guidance, but it may prove helpful."

Willow screwed one eye almost closed. "So, I'm not in trouble."

Giles shook his head. "If we stop the Mayor… if we survive this… we will revisit your actions, but for now… no."

The redhead stood up quickly. "Then I'm going to go. See you tomorrow." She hurried out of the room.

Giles collapsed into his chair and threw his head back. "I can't believe this."

Gerard perched on a corner of the desk. "Rupert, that young lady has shown exceptional bravery, natural skill, and an inquisitive mind. You should try to view the glass as half-full."

The librarian favored his friend with a skeptical look. "I might be able to do that if they would stop throwing the bloody glass about the room."

Willow and Buffy stood side by side, looking like two condemned prisoners before the firing squad. The Slayer stared down at her shoes, willing her cute little ankle boots to sink into the library floor. "She might have asked me about it, and… I might have said that sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than ask permission?"

The Watcher looked between them. "And why have you two shown up this morning to tell me this?"

Buffy shrugged. "Don't be harsh with Will."

Her Watcher pointed a finger at the Slayer. "So, I should be upset with you."

"Giles, don't be mad at Buffy." Willow licked her lips and swallowed. "I did ask her, but I did what I did. It was my choice, so don't yell at her." Willow screwed up a small amount of courage. "And you did say that it might be helpful, so, if I hadn't done it, in a way, it would be almost like I was working for the other side." She tilted her chin up.

The librarian crossed his arms and gave the girls a long, long stare. Both of them met his gaze and did not look away. "That is… an impressive bit of theater. Really. You should think about music hall." He waved toward the door. "We are where we are. We won't speak of it any more now, but if we survive all of this, we will revisit the matter. Willow, I'll see you and your… assistant-"

"Tyler."

"Yes, Tyler, after school for a short while, just to see if there has been any change in the status quo. After that, Gerard and I will be doing research, if you would like to help."

"Yay." Willow grinned and executed a tiny hand-clap.

"And, Buffy, please be more circumspect about the advice you give in the future."

"Understood." Buffy threw a two-fingered salute and they left the library.

"That went well," Willow said in the hall.

"Yeah," the Slayer replied. "I don't know what that whole circum-whatever thing was, but we've offered the sorryness and all's right with the world. Meet you in the lounge after second period?"

"Whatcha doin'?" Buffy leaned over the back of the lounge sofa to look over Xander's shoulder. She wore a black La's t-shirt under baggy overalls.

"Gaah!" Xander's notebook flew out of his hand; he managed to catch it before it hit the ground, but his pencil clattered to the floor. "Little warning next time, okay?"

"Sor-reee." She lowered herself into a chair. "Why so tense? Maybe time for decaf?"

"I'm just… This is a list of zines." Xander held up the notebook.

The Slayer looked skeptical. "Zines? As in fanzines? Like, those homemade anime books?"

"No… wait, I mean, yes, like that, but not about anime. About music."

"Okay, more details acquired, no clear picture forming."

"Well, it's…" Xander looked exasperated, then plunged forward. "Devon has a bunch of dates lined up for Dingoes starting in July. I mean, all through NoCal, Oregon, into Washington, he's even got one in someplace in Idaho."

Buffy looked impressed. "Sounds like he's working it hard."

"Definitely, but… he seems to think just booking the show means people will be there, but nobody has a reason to come and see a band from Sunnydale that they've never heard of."

The Slayer nodded. "Getting warmer."

"So, I thought that it might be good to try and get in contact with people who are into the music scene wherever we're going, to try and drum up a little… groundswell."

"Look at you, showing initiative, taking the bull by the horns, taking the… " Buffy's face scrunched. "There aren't really any other animals you take by anything, are there? Well, how goes the swelling of the ground?"

"Pretty good, actually. Lot of these guys are kinda desperate for stuff to put in there… really desperate, like, almost pitifully desperate." Xander looked down. "Buff, do you ever just feel… weird?"

Buffy nodded. "Okay, abrupt left turn there, but, yeah, often." She frowned. "Wait, we're not alking about sex-weird, are we?"

"No, no." Xander's face was troubled, contemplative. "It's just… I'm sitting here, trying to get interviews with guys who live in their mom's basements, and I'm really into it, but… but part of me can't forget that we're looking at the possible end of the world, and then I wonder why I'm doing this. Does that make sense?"

The Slayer shrugged. "Perfectly. I mean, I'm aware that I'm in a life and death battle with evil, but I still wanna look cute doing it."

"Is there something wrong with us?" Xander held up his notebook like a lawyer offering a piece of evidence.

"I don't think about that much," Buffy admitted, "but… the world almost ended two years ago, but it didn't. It almost did last year, but… it didn't. I mean, aren't we kind of fighting against the apocalypse so that we can have stupid stuff like graduation and dreams of rock stardom?"

Xander considered this, then nodded. "I think I see your point. We're trying to stop the end of the world so I can keep trying to contact guys who live in their mom's basement."

The Slayer held out a triumphant hand. "There you go."

"Thanks," Xander said. "I better get back to work."

"Back to work on what?" Willow came up the steps to the lounge.

Buffy looked up at her friend. "Xander's trying to drum up Dingoes pub with a bunch of zines."

"Oh," Willow said, "that's a waste of time. The internet's gonna get rid of all that stuff. Pretty soon every club will have a web page, every band will have a web page-"

"Pffft." Xander curled his lip. "That talk is crazy, and I scoff at it. I scoff at your crazy talk."

"Okay," Willow said, shrugging as she sat down. "I'll check back with you in five years."

Buffy pointed at Xander. "Exactly what I'm talking about."

"There's nothing after the fall of the Achaemenid Empire that's verifiable, at least not in any databases I've been able to access." Willow leaned back in her chair and pouted. "But it just makes sense that they're involved."

Gerard leaned over the girl's shoulder and looked at the monitor. "Do you think Alexander may have carried off the Seal when he defeated the Achaemenids?"

Willow shook her head. "I think it would have been cataloged if Alexander took it, and if one of his soldiers took it as booty, there'd be a trail of weirdness you could follow, y'know, plagues of flies and stuff. I wonder if it got into the library at Alexandria, then got lost when it burned."

"That's a very real possibility." Giles said, looking up from the text he studied.

"Have you found anything, Rupert?" Gerard looked over at his old comrade.

"No," the librarian replied, "but I can't stop thinking about Principal Snyder's death. The taking of his blood must have some significance, but so far what I've turned up are various love spells and hexes for business dealings." He slipped off his glasses and chewed the earpiece. "And none of them require that much blood." He looked up at the clock. "Good lord, it's late. Why don't we stop for tonight, then resume tomorrow afternoon?"

"Okay." Willow powered down the computer. "But I should tell you, I'm going to try hacking into some different databases tomorrow."

"How different?" It didn't sound like Giles really wanted an answer.

Willow shrugged. "Um, have you seen Raiders of the Lost Ark?" Giles looked stupefied, but Gerard nodded. "Think the end of the movie." She hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder. "I'm going to call Oz to give me a ride." She vanished into the office, then came out and, with a small wave, left the library.

Giles shook his head in frustration. "We just can't make any headway. Every clue seems to lead to a dead end."

Gerard shrugged on his sport coat. "Take heart, my friend. According to our own diviner, it appears that Trick has not found the secret either. Do not despair. We are almost at a turning point. I can feel it." He rested a hand on Giles's shoulder. "I will see you tomorrow, old friend."

Gerard Roland got out of the rented Taurus and stretched. His stiffness relieved, he shook his head and started across the parking lot of the hotel. It was some thirty paces from his car to the front door. He crossed the tarmac, eyes sweeping his surroundings. He exhaled as he stepped into the pool of light and the front door slid open. The night clerk's desk was empty, but that was not uncommon for this hour of the night; the night clerk was a college student who often spent time studying in the small office off the reception counter..

Gerard turned toward the elevator, but something caught the very edge of his peripheral vision, more sensed than seen. He pivoted and looked over the counter. The desk was empty, but just to the right of the computer, he saw three irregular brownish dots and a smear. Senses alerted, the Watcher leaned over the counter and craned his neck to look toward the office. He could see an inert shape just barely visible on the sofa along the inner wall.

There was a half-a-heartbeat interval between his eyes registering the scene and his brain processing it. His vision cut to his right, toward the elevator; the doors were closed and the red number above it read 4. He spun and dropped into a defensive stance. Two vampires had emerged from the breakfast nook and faced him across the small lobby. Roland took a deep breath to steady his nerves and exhaled slowly. They shuffled apart.

The third vampire, who had hidden in the small supply closet between the clerk's desk and the office, leaped over the counter, landed on his back, and bore him to the ground.

Gerard Roland returned to consciousness slowly. First the blackness softened to a dark gray, then resolved into an off-white speckled with irregular black spots. He realized that he was on his back, looking at the acoustical tiles in the ceiling. He tried to roll over and stand, and that was when he realized that his hands and feet were bound, secured, from the feel around his wrists, by plastic zip ties. As he pondered this situation, a face entered his field of vision from the top, so that his observer appeared to be upside down.

"Ah," Gerard said, craning his neck slightly, "you must be the infamous Mr. Trick."

"Nice to see my reputation precedes me." Trick vanished from Gerard's sight, then the Watcher felt his heels lifted off the floor. He heard the smooth whirring of a pulley and the metallic whisper of a cable passing through it. He was snatched into the air; the back of his head bounced off the concrete floor and stars burst in his vision. As the spots cleared, he could see Trick standing upside-down in front of him as he dangled from the ceiling. The inverted vampire pulled a yellow paper smock over his black suit.

"So," Gerard said, "is this where we re-enact your earlier escapade?"

"What? Oh, you mean Miss Maeda." A rueful expression settled on Trick's face. "No, we won't be repeating that little charade. You see, that mattered. She was important to a plan. You, you're just…" He shrugged and walked out of Gerard's field of vision. A metallic scraping echoed off the walls and Trick reappeared in the periphery of the Watcher's sight, dragging a large flat metal pan. He scooted it along the floor until it was under Gerard's head, then crouched down closer to eye level. "You don't matter… well, not much. You' do conveniently meet certain requirements, and there is always 'confusion to the enemy' or, to update it, 'fuck with my foe's head'. So, I guess this isn't totally meaningless." He grabbed Gerard's chin with his left hand and twisted to the side, exposing his throat. Trick flicked his right hand and the nails grew, sharp and jagged. He winked. "Say good night, Gracie."

His hand slashed across and down. There was a slight gagging noise, then the rapid-fire pinging of blood hitting the pan. Trick turned his victim's head slightly to avoid the initial arterial spray, then, when it had passed, twisted again, holding open the wound in the throat. The color literally drained away from Gerard's face. It was all over in less than thirty seconds. Trick stood and picked up a hand towel from the table, with which he wiped his face before dropping it on the floor. "Although," he said, nudging the sloshing pan with the toe of his oxford, "this will come in handy." He dragged an index finger through the blood spatter on the floor and brought the dripping digit to his lips. His tongue darted out and tasted, then he inserted the entire finger into his mouth and pulled it out clean as a whistle.

"Mmmmm," he said. "Too bad we need this. It'd be a tasty snack.

The bus settled with a melancholy sigh as the driver released the brake, then the door opened with an aching squeal. Passengers began to file off, all of them looking a little the worse for wear. About midway through the queue was a young woman. She shook her head in the dazed fashion of someone who had taken a pretty strong blow to the noggin, then oriented herself and began to walk south, away from the bus station.

Her reflection in the window of a closed pawn shop brought her to a stop. She turned and looked at her image with a critical eye. She saw a youngish woman, a little taller than average, hair just past shoulder length, wearing an overcoat that really needed pressing. She leaned in and looked more closely at the face. Did she look tired? That wasn't possible, of course, but, then again, there was more than one type of fatigue, wasn't there? She reached up and smoothed her eyebrows, then touched an index finger to the corner of her mouth. It was the eyes, that was it… She sighed, then turned back to resume her trek.

"This fucking town," she muttered.