"Faith is dead, you son of a bitch," Buffy said as she stared across the granite-topped island at Todd Wells-Clarke. "Wilkins burned her alive … Dana and Jess are gone, too, not that you give a shit."

Todd Wells-Clarke wore a starched white button-up beneath a light gray suit, rimless, glittering spectacles were perched on his nose, and he did not seem nearly as surprised to see them in his white, post-modern, antiseptically clean kitchen as Buffy had expected.

"Ms. Summers," the man who would likely be the next leader of the Watcher's Council said in a thin, reedy, English-accented voice. "Might I ask how you were able to bypass my wards? While you're at it, perhaps you could explain the hostility? I can assure you that I grieve for each and every slayer that we lose." He glanced her over more carefully. "I must say, you're looking somewhat … different than when last I saw you."

Magical makeover, you asshole.

She clenched her hands at her side and ignored every word the lying weasel in front of her had just uttered. "When did you decide to sell everyone out to Wolfram & Hart? What did they promise you for betraying the women you're supposed to be protecting?"

Angel's black coat trailed behind him as he darted around the granite island, reached across the gleaming, cold surface, and grabbed Todd's wrist. "I'm betting you were reaching for a gun." He yanked Todd's hand up hard enough that two fingers snapped against the stone of the countertop. Todd screamed, a small, black handgun clattered to the floor and spun away, and when Angel lifted Todd's arm, the index and middle finger of his right hand were bent at odd angles.

"That's what I thought," Angel said with a knowing grin as he grabbed the man by the collar, yanked him around the counter, and held him in front of Buffy. "Try something like that again and I'll break something a lot harder for doctors to fix."

Todd cradled his mangled hand against his stomach, glanced at the gun lying on the floor at least half a dozen feet away from his polished black loafers, and began to offer a series of excuses. "Can you blame me for wanting to arm myself? After all, both of you are in here spouting delusions and making wild accusations," he said in a surprisingly unflappable manner.

"Todd?" a high-pitched, American voice cried out from a neighboring room. "Did I just hear a scream?" Andrew turned the corner, his jaw dropped open when he saw Angel gripping Todd by the neck, then he had to blink his eyes a few times at the sight of Buffy staring at him from across the kitchen. "Buffy, what the hell! Also, girl, you look great."

Andrew wore pink and blue striped pajamas, his hair was a frazzled mess, and he looked half-asleep despite the hour of the day.

"Andrew, go upstairs," Todd said. "Please."

"Stay," Buffy said. "You should hear this … you deserve the truth."

Andrew put his hands on his hips and stared agape at Buffy. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Please!" Todd called out to Andrew, and this time a plaintive, pleading note had crept into his voice. "Go upstairs."

Andrew shook his head and crossed his arms. "Angel, what are you doing? Let my husband go!"

"Your husband is working with Wolfram & Hart," Buffy informed Andrew, and she was fully aware that her words represented the verbal equivalent of ripping-off of a band-aid. "Sorry that you had to find out this way, but Angel and I don't have time to tiptoe about."

"How did you even get in here?" Andrew asked as he stared at Todd's mangled hand. "This place is supposed to be, like, ultra magically guarded."

"We used a portal," Buffy explained. "Courtesy of the Powers-That-Be."

Todd cocked a curious eyebrow at her.

"Yeah," Buffy replied in response to his unspoken query. "Them. It's that bad, thanks in no small part to you being the most tremendous douche on the planet."

Andrew gasped "Buffy!"

Buffy stepped around the island and approached Todd. To the man's credit, he didn't shy away or flinch, and though Buffy checked for sweat beading on his forehead, she saw none.

"We should have realized it earlier," Angel began, and his voice had taken on that lecturing, pedantic tone that she noticed he used sometimes when he was on the job. He again shook Todd by the neck. "The Watchers at the Sunnydale High School reunion last January, they were genuine … the real deal. You sent them, but it wasn't about helping Andrew or lending us a hand. No, it was about you covering your tracks. From the beginning you refused to do anything about Ethan Rayne, with your excuse being that Buffy wasn't in the Watchers good graces, but this was a Hellmouth reopening! The Watchers should have been all over this, but you made sure they did nothing."

"You cannot be serious," Todd interjected as he continued to cradle his shattered hand. "I refuse to help with any of your mad, self-induced apocalypse scenarios and that means I am in league with Wolfram & Hart?"

"Richard Wilkins … Richard Wilkins … resurfaces, three of your slayers come to Moonridge to fight him, and the Watchers do nothing?" Buffy asked, and she hoped he could detect her patent sarcasm. "In fact, you do worse than nothing, you order other slayers not to help."

"Again," Todd Wells-Clarke interrupted, "I simply wanted nothing to do with your rogue clan, and neither do the Watchers."

"We might never have figured out what you'd done," Buffy admitted, "except that you made a mistake with Gwen Raiden. A big one. When you hired her to steal the Scythe and leave behind a not-very-fun booby trap, what you didn't realize is that she would do some checking on you."

Angel leaned in close to Todd's ear and finished her thought. "She found out who you really were, and she told us." As the words left his mouth, Buffy watched an ice-cold, reptilian expression settle over Todd Wells-Clarke's features. He stood straighter, seemingly rising taller than his actual height, and he did not bother to hide his disdain as he replied.

"My mistake was leaving Ms. Raiden alive," he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he removed his glasses with his uninjured hand and set them on the counter.

"Todd?!" Andrew gasped.

Todd ignored Andrew and fixed Buffy with a cold, angry glare. "I presume you found that hole the Initiative stuck Ms. Raiden in and had a chat?"

"We did," Buffy confirmed.

Todd sighed and stared with affection at Andrew. "Drew, mi amor, compromises occasionally become necessary." He shrugged and continued. "Hundreds of slayers running around, a decimated, half-blown-up Watchers Council, and a Wolfram & Hart that stood ready to recruit each and every teenage girl who didn't have a Watcher to guide them on the proper path? If anything was to be salvaged from the situation, I had to broker a peace."

"What was the deal, Todd?" Buffy asked. "You let Wolfram & Hart do what they want, and they stay out of Watcher business? Out of your business?"

Todd tucked his injured hand against his stomach then held the other aloft and waggled it in a gesture of equivocation. "It went a bit beyond that … there was regular sharing of information, a certain degree of mutual cooperation, but yes, that's the gist of it."

"You're a monster," Buffy said, and her stomach turned at the sight of Todd's pale, watery blue eyes staring at her.

Todd waggled the index finger on his good hand. "I wasn't the only one who benefited. Our slayers, the ones who followed the rules and came into the fold, Wolfram & Hart left them alone. Left us alone, so that we could do some good."

"Listen to you," Angel said as he shoved Todd against the counter. "Justifying what you've done, pretending you didn't use Wolfram & Hart's influence to climb the ranks."

"Angel, don't," Andrew said as he watched Todd push himself upright. He began to sob, then he snuffled and began to frantically yank paper towels from a dispenser set in the wall.

"There was one more part of the bargain," Todd added, and his voice could have been chipped from ice it was so cold. "We stay out of Moonridge, and in particular, offer you no assistance, Ms. Summers."

"Let me guess," Buffy asked, "that last little bit came courtesy of a tall, dark-haired attorney named Eric who had way-too-bright of a smile, and … oh yeah … he was a fucking dragon."

Todd blinked a few times as he nodded. "I didn't know about that dragon part until just a few days ago, but yes."

"Would you even care if I reminded you that Faith is dead?" Buffy asked. "She died horribly, Todd, and so did two of her friends, in no small part thanks to receiving no help from the Watchers. We had to break the goddamned 'call an "Old One in case of emergency' box because you hung us out to dry."

Andrew's sobbing intensified, and Buffy realized that he likely had just learned of Faith's death.

"Drew, I am begging you," Todd said. "Go upstairs."

"Yeah, that's maybe a good idea," Angel said as he cracked his knuckles. "You don't want to see this."

Angel … I think you made your point.

"But we'll give you a chance to cooperate," Buffy interjected before Angel could begin breaking any other fingers.

"And what is it that you want?" Todd asked.

"Your phone," Buffy said. "More specifically, we want you to give us your phone after you've unlocked it."

Todd blinked a few times. "What?"

"Your cellular telephone," Angel barked in Todd's ear.

When Todd reached for the pocket of his coat, Angel grabbed his wrist and murmured in his ear, "Allow me." He retrieved the phone from Todd's pocket, set it on the island countertop, and thumbed the screen until a nine-digit keypad appeared.

"It takes too long for Willow to break cellphone encryption," Buffy explained, "and we don't have time to do this any other way. Unlock the phone."

"Or?" Todd asked.

Angel twisted his neck from side to side and loosened his shoulders. "I was so hoping you'd ask that."

"I cannot believe this happening," Andrew said as he collapsed onto a white-upholstered, gleaming steel chair set near a matching table.

Todd frowned at Andrew, then asked, "Why do you want me to unlock my phone, Ms. Summers?"

Buffy reached into the pocket of her windbreaker and held aloft a small device from which several USB adapters dangled. "I want your phone so I can plug this into it."

Todd sighed. "And what will plugging that into my phone do?"

"It'll send a message," Buffy replied. "A message that'll go to every slayer and Watcher contact in your every contact list and dirty little Watchers Council messaging app on your phone, and that message will tell every slayer and Watcher on the planet what you've done, and that the First has become corporeal and that I need their help."

The veneer of arrogant indifference vanished from Todd Wells-Clarke's face.

"It's true," Buffy assured him. "Something Richard Wilkins did cracked the timeline, or reality, or something like that, and the First came through that crack."

"Except this time," Angel added, "it came all the way through. No mind games from the shadows, no corrupting a mortal into being its avatar, no … it's in the flesh."

Todd staggered, his skin turned a ghostly white, and he exhaled through clenched teeth.

"The First, again?" Andrew asked through piteous, bleating sobs. "Didn't closing the Sunnydale Hellmouth get rid of that loathsome thing?"

"You can't get rid of the First," Todd replied. "Ever." He stared at Buffy with dead eyes devoid of hope. "It's over … you realize that, right? Everything is over, everywhere, in every dimension."

"No," Buffy replied as she shook her head. "I have a plan, and it's going to work. Give me your phone."

Todd shook his head. "You cannot defeat the First … if it's flesh, you might slow it down, for a time, but it can't really even be fought."

"I don't have to defeat it," Buffy said with a confidence that she almost felt. "I just have to give it something that it can't see coming."

"Todd!" Andrew screamed. "Do what Buffy wants!"

Todd, who had been staring into space, started at Andrew's words, then he nodded, swiveled the phone towards him, and thumbed in a number.

Buffy grabbed the phone, plugged the device Willow had given her into it, and when she saw a bright red light begin blinking, set the phone back on the counter.

"What else is in the message?" Todd asked.

"Not your problem," Buffy informed him. "But, since you're curious, the addresses across the world where portals will appear, the date and time those portals will be available to take everyone who is willing to help to Moonridge University's football stadium … and a reminder that creation itself is at stake."

"This is a waste of time," Todd said as he shook his head. "We cannot fight the First."

"Trust her," Angel replied as he nodded towards Buffy.

Buffy nodded. "Like I said, I've got a plan. And it's a good one." She stepped forward and patted Todd on the shoulder. "Not that it's going to matter to you. Angel and I are going to figure out what actual, human laws you've broken, and then we're going to figure out which specific law enforcement agency should arrest you."

"We'll probably have to lock you somewhere till this whole end of reality situation is dealt with," Angel added. "We'll try not to forget to feed you."

"Guys, can't you hear him out? There must be a good reason," Andrew protested. "Tell them … please, tell them."

Todd stared at Andrew, said nothing, and eventually the younger man turned away and wiped at his eyes again.

The device attached to Todd's phone emitted a loud beeping sound, then the red light turned green. Not more than a few seconds later, Angel's phone began buzzing, and he smiled at Buffy as he pulled his cell free to check his incoming texts.

"Colleen got your message," Angel confirmed as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

"And if Colleen got it," Buffy replied, "then all the slayers Todd had in his digital rolodex received it, also."

Angel nodded and his smile widened. "It worked."

"Time to go," Buffy announced as she grabbed Todd's arm. "Cordelia, portal us!"

She and Angel stared expectantly towards the living room into which they'd emerged on the journey to England, but no portal appeared.

"Cordy?" Angel asked. "We've done what we came for, could we have a portal?" When nothing happened, he peered upwards with a questioning expression and added, "please?"

"I'm sorry, was something supposed to happen?" Todd asked in a dry, amused manner.

"Is this a ward?" Buffy asked. "Some sort of magical trap?"

Angel glanced about, then shook his head. "If it was a trap, we'd be … you know … trapped. I think the Powers just aren't giving us a portal."

A horrible thought occurred to Buffy.

Oh, they better not be doing this …

"Angel …" Buffy said. "Let me try something." She released Todd's arm, stepped away, and blinked in surprise when a blue-white, shimmering, electricity-charged portal snapped into existence in front of the enormous white marble fireplace set on the far side of the living room.

"Huh, that was weird," Angel said as he reached for Todd's other arm.

Buffy raised a hand in warning, "Angel, wait!"

As soon as Angel's hand touched Todd's arm, the portal vanished.

"Buffy?" Angel asked. "What the hell is going on."

"Cordy, come on," Buffy called out. "This is a bad guy, he's one of the bad guys, you can't ask us to do this."

Angel's brow wrinkled and his jaw clenched in irritation when he realized what Buffy was saying. "Are you telling me," he whispered, "that we can't bring Todd with us because we're supposed to be using these portals to fight the First, not hauling criminals from one country to another?"

"I don't think whispering matters," Buffy replied. "I'm pretty sure the Powers can hear you, Angel ... and I'm also pretty sure that if we kill him, toss him in a hole in the ground, or do anything else morally questionable, we'll be flying coach back to California." She sighed with resignation and took another few steps away from Todd. "Fine, Cordy. You win." She turned to Todd Wells-Clarke. "Just because I can't use some god-magic to haul your ass to jail, don't think I'm going to forget about you. When this is done, I'll be back."

Ugh, I sound like Arnold.

Todd gave her the slightest nod of the head then stared with an expectant expression at Angel's hand on his arm.

"There's another way, Buffy," Angel offered. "Faith's blood is on his hands, along with who knows how many others. It's your call whether or not you want him to still be breathing when we go."

Would you really do it, Angel? Execute a human being, even if it is absolute scum like Todd? Somehow, I suspect that you know I'll refuse, and then you can maintain your ferocious reputation without having to actually do the deed.

She was sorely tempted to tell him to go ahead and snap Todd's neck, but in the time that it would take for her to test Angel's resolve and then inform him that she'd changed her mind, there was a chance he might actually do it, and she couldn't risk that.

"No," she said as she raised a hand. She watched for Angel's reaction, but either he actually was disappointed, or he was doing a damn good job of faking it.

He's faking it.

At least, she was reasonably sure that Angel was faking it.

"We're not going to murder him," Buffy said with a shake of her head. "Not even him, not in cold blood."

"Was that option actually on the table?" Andrew asked as he glanced at Buffy, then at Angel.

Angel released Todd's arm and the portal snapped back into existence.

"I think that's our cue," Buffy announced. She stepped close enough to see the fine red lines in the whites of Todd's eyes. "Like I said, I'll be looking for you."

Buffy kept an eye on Todd as she approached the portal, and when she reached it, she waited for Angel so that they could step through together. The moment her body broke the threshold of the gateway, shards of jagged darkness pierced her chest with ice-cold tendrils. The moment lasted for an eternity and was over in an instant, and with a gasping inhalation of air, she staggered into Xander and Dawn's living room. A second later, Angel stumbled through the portal, and a step behind him came Andrew. The portal winked out of existence, and she and Angel stood staring in surprise at Andrew.

"What are you doing here?" Angel asked.

Andrew stared at him with an incredulous expression and wounded eyes. "What, you were just going to leave me with him?"

"He is your husband," Angel said. "And let me say, Andrew, you sure can pick 'em."

Ouch … Angel, that wasn't nice. Well deserved, though.

Andrew wiped his eyes and his voice turned mournful and solemn. "What is wrong with me that I keep falling for men who are steeped in, like, titanic levels of evil? Can't I ever just go for guys with tats and an unhealthy obsession with motorcycles, or maybe dudes who are into schoolgirl roleplay a little too much?"

Buffy fought down a sudden spike of nausea. "I don't need, or want, to hear any of this, Andrew. We're on the razor's edge, so work through your love-life-driven existential crisis on your own time." Andrew's red-rimmed eyes and the snot hanging from his nose made for a rather sad spectacle in her opinion.

Angel tossed over a handkerchief and Andrew proceeded to blow quite loudly into it for quite a few seconds.

Angel has to be the only man left in the United States who still carries a handkerchief.

Buffy turned away from Andrew and stared at Angel. "Do you think the Watchers and slayers will be there when we need them?"

Angel nodded, and she hoped that the confident expression on his face wasn't an act for her benefit. "They'll be there."

. . . . . . . . .

Amy Madison looked much the same as she had twenty years ago. The blonde hair was cut a little shorter, and there were a few more wrinkles around the brown eyes, but it was still her. Amy had been far along on her journey to evil when Willow had last seen her, and judging by the dark magic that wrapped and warped around her body as if it was a spider's cobweb cocooning its meal and the overly heavy use of black in her wardrobe, Amy had arrived at her destination.

When they'd arrived in Amy's lair, the dark witch had screamed threats, Willow had done everything she could to convey that they were there to have a peaceful conversation, and eventually Amy had been convinced that Willow and Giles hadn't portaled in to start a fight.

Although Willow had expected Catherine Madison's death to be a point of contention, Amy had seemed pleased.

"Hey, I hated my mom more than you guys did," Amy confided. "So, if you're not here to fight, what do you want? Willow, I hope you can appreciate that I kind of thought we had this unspoken understanding that if we ever saw each other again, it meant one of us was trying to kill the other."

"I think you know why we're here," Willow replied as she stared with distaste at the pitted, niter covered, dark stone of the temple in which Amy had made her home. "Every witch on the planet with a hint of darkness in her should have felt what happened when the First stepped into our world."

Giles's head snapped towards her, and she knew what he was thinking.

I know you didn't feel it, Giles, and that's because you left that bit of darkness you had in you behind in your Ripper days. I, on the other hand, have to constantly fight against the temptation.

"I felt it," Amy confirmed. "It was like all the bones in my body turned red hot for a few seconds. I asked around, and every witch in my coven felt the same thing, at the same time. It wasn't magic, not like I know it."

"It was the First," Giles said. "That's why we're here."

"We were sent by the Powers," Willow further explained, "because we need your help stopping creation from being destroyed."

"I don't work with, or for the Powers, Willow, you know that," Amy replied. As soon as she finished her sentence, her eyes narrowed, and her gaze roved over Willow from top to bottom.

"What?" Willow asked as she glanced down. "Do I have mustard on my blouse?"

Amy shook her head, then stared at Willow with sad eyes. "Willow, I know we've got the whole servant of the light versus dark coven, playing-for-different-teams issue looming over us, but woman to woman, who was powerful enough to do this to you?" she gestured towards Willow's waist. "I say him because it had to be a man, no woman would have butc … hurt you like that."

Giles's expression grew pained, and his throat emitted a sound that sounded very much like a strangled sob.

"You have the wrong idea," Willow replied with a shake of her head. "But hey, I do appreciate the sisterly solidarity, Wicca good, love the Earth, women power attitude."

Amy nodded, and Willow could tell that she was trying her best to sound sympathetic, an emotion she was apparently out of practice expressing. "Hey, if you want to talk vengeance, when it comes to this being done to one of us, I'll help."

"Perhaps we could instead discuss why we actually are here," Giles said in a hoarse, rasping voice.

Willow laid a comforting hand on his arm and gazed at Amy. "That wave of evil you felt, that was the First stepping into our reality." She paused a moment for dramatic effect. "As in, in the flesh."

Amy gasped and her feet scraped against the stone as she stood upright and walked towards them. "You can't be serious."

"She is serious," Giles said. "It has to be stopped, and soon."

Amy shook her head. "Stopped? You two don't understand the First at all if you're talking about stopping it."

"Buffy has a plan," Willow said. "But we need help, and lots of it. Including your help."

"A plan for defeating the First?" Amy asked. "Doesn't exist." She tapped at her chest and her voice took on an apologetic note. "Hey, I know we dark witches are supposed to be all about evil with a capital "E," but the First … it'll destroy everything."

"We can stop it," Giles said. "Willow is telling the truth."

"What help do you want from me?" Amy asked.

Willow took a deep breath and began. "All the servants of Hecate, they're setting aside the usual bickering-crabs-in-a-bucket-infighting and gathering for Buffy in Moonridge. We need you to help us do the same with the dark witches, and we're going to need you to do it soon."

"How soon?" Amy asked.

Willow told her, and Amy began to laugh.

"You can't be serious," she said. "Hey, I can barely get my own coven to cooperate, and there are only thirteen of us. We're dark witches, Willow, we're not exactly about the team-ups and the rah-rah-rah."

"Tell them they'll die," Giles said. "And worse than die, because whatever hell dimension of their choice their soul might have ended up in, that'll be destroyed too … in time."

"All the dark witches have to do is show up," Willow added. "There'll be portals, quite a few of them." Willow's face grew stern, and Giles detected the faintest whisper of what he'd heard in her voice when she'd been at her worst. "And Amy, we're here with an olive branch because we have to work together or die, so let's not have any dirty tricks or nasty surprises, okay?" Willow's voice darkened further still. "Show up, fight the First, and everything and everybody else is under a big umbrella of truce until that's done." She smiled and the shadow vanished from her features. "Sound good?"

Amy shied back a bit from Willow's implicit threat and did not sound at all enthusiastic when she spoke next. "Fighting the First is suicide."

Willow and Giles stared at each other for a moment, then Willow decided that she'd have to reveal at least a bit of the truth if she wanted Amy to believe they had a chance.

"Fighting the First is not exactly what we had in mind," Willow admitted.

They talked for a while longer, and eventually Willow and Giles independently, but near-simultaneously, realized that they'd exhausted the utility of the conversation. They gave Amy the information that she needed, then retreated through a gateway created by Cordelia.

"Well," Willow said after they'd stepped through time and space into Xander's kitchen, "how do you think it went?"

Giles considered the question with pursed lips, then shrugged. "I think some of them will be there, but most will flee."

"Some is more than none."

"Can't argue with that," Giles replied.

There was pattering sound of socks upon hardwood floors, and then a thin, pale man with blond-gray hair, red-rimmed eyes, and a sad face peeked into the kitchen.

"Willow, is that you?" Andrew asked.

"Andrew …" Giles said in a notably unenthusiastic voice. "Whatever are you doing here?"

. . . . . . . . .

"I thought every contractor in town was up at what's left of the vineyard," the city inspector asked he flipped through the genuine appearing, but entirely falsified, sheaf of permits, plans, and authorizations Xander had just handed him. "I've never seen such a mess … they're going to be investigating the collapse of that ridgeline for decades."

"Well, you can't be too careful with gas lines," Xander said with a cheerful smile. "Otherwise, well … they'll blow up … hence why I'm here rebuilding these pipes."

The inspector ignored the question and continued to flip through the paperwork. Every time he paused to more closely examine a particular page, Xander's heart lurched in his chest.

"Say," the inspector asked, "the signature's not very legible on a few of these … did Chuck sign off on an emergency build?"

"Chuck?" Xander asked. "It would be kind of tough for Chuck to sign off on anything considering he's on leave till March. It was Chris."

"Oh, that's right," the inspector said as he handed the papers back over to Xander. He glanced about at the dump truck, digging equipment, forklift, and enormous pipes arrayed on a neatly manicured, wide lawn that fronted an adjacent office building. For a hundred yards in either direction, a black line of charred, upheaved dirt traced a scorched path through the green of the grass.

"That storm canal down there," the inspector said as he nodded towards the concrete basin that formed a divider on the side of the lawn opposite the office building. "I've got an odd request."

"Odd requests are my specialty," Xander replied.

"While you're out here, could you have your guys keep an eye out for anyone creeping around down in that canal?" the inspector asked.

"The canal?" Xander asked as he turned to stare at the near-dry concrete riverbed.

The inspector nodded. "The police received a call this morning that said someone was going in and out of the tunnels down there, and when we went to check on it, turns out some asshole must have used a truck and some cables to rip off the metal gate blocking one of the tunnel entrances."

"They get a good look at him?" Xander asked.

The inspector shook his head. "Tall guy, black coat, apparently."

"I'll keep an eye out," Xander promised.

The inspector reminded Xander that he had to sign off on the work every few days, then he marched across the lawn towards his white, government issued pick-up. Xander wasn't sure that he held his breath the entire time that it took for the man to reach the truck and drive away, but he might have.

Connor and Collen emerged from behind the dump truck and walked over to Xander. "He bought it?" Connor asked.

Xander nodded. "He bought it."

Colleen pointed towards the storm canal. "Did I hear something about a tall guy in a black coat lurking around down there?"

Xander frowned as he turned towards where she was pointing. "You did."

"My father?" Connor asked.

Xander shook his head, and unbidden, a memory rose to the forefront of his consciousness … a black-cloaked figure sprawled atop Faith with his hand across her mouth.

"Not Angel," Xander said. "Joshua."

"Why would he be here?" Colleen asked.

Xander considered the question, but no ready answer came to mind. "Maybe he has a thing for tunnels? Or maybe he had an interest in the fact that the pentacle was blown up in precisely this spot?"

"We'll go down there, make sure he isn't around," Connor said.

Colleen and Xander's eyes snapped towards him.

"Yeah, what would your dad say about that if he were here?" Xander asked. "From everything I've heard, we might be better off letting sleeping Joshuas lie."

"We'll just look," Connor promised. "Make sure he's not skulking right under our noses."

Xander was just about to argue when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He retrieved it and stared at the screen.

"It's Dawn," he informed Connor and Colleen.

"Is everything okay?" Colleen asked.

Xander slid the phone back in his pocket. "She wants to know what we'd like for lunch."

Colleen's own phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket and began flicking through the screens. "That message Buffy and Angel were hoping to send with Willow's gizmo just came through." She thumbed a reply, then tucked her cell away. "Guess they managed to get this Todd guy to cooperate."

"After what happened to Faith and the others, I hope Angel really made Todd hurt. Xander muttered. A dull, red glow appeared deep in his left eye.

. . . . . . . . .

"Illyria, is that you?" Willow asked as she peered down into the former Old One's eyes. "Can you hear me?"

Illyria blinked a few times and glanced in confusion at the sight of Willow, clad in red flannel pajamas, kneeling next to her. "Who else would it be?" Illyria asked.

"Do you remember what we were talking about just a few moments ago? Do you know what is happening?"

"I do not," Illyria admitted. One of Willow's hands pressed to her forehead and the other to her shoulder to keep her steady. "Why are you in the bed that I thought was designated for me to sleep in?"

Willow scrambled off the bed, and once she was standing on her own two feet, she smoothed the front of her pajamas and cleared her throat. "You were talking, Illyria, and it was loud enough that it woke me up. Then I came in because of how loud you were being, and I tried to talk to you, and you're telling me you don't remember any of this?"

Illyria shook her head and scooched backwards so that she could sit upright against the headboard. It was dark outside, but she couldn't recall the sun having set. "I … I don't know what is happening," she admitted.

"Illyria," Willow said in a soothing, calm voice. "We need to figure out what is going on with you."

"Something is wrong with me, is there not?" Illyria asked as she wiped her nose. "This is not the first time I have …" Her words cut off abruptly as she stared at the dark liquid coating her hand.

Blood.

Willow turned the dimmer switch to full brightness and, after blinking a few times to adjust her eyes, found that Illyria had already begun to convulse. The spasming was far worse this time, and the blood pouring from her nostrils soaked her pajamas along with the blankets and sheets beneath her. Eventually, when the shaking grew bad enough, Willow had to lay across Illyria's lap to keep her from vibrating off the bed. The quaking tremors went on for several long minutes, and when Illyria finally lay still, it was quite some time before her eyes focused and she became aware of her surroundings.

"Willow …" Illyria whispered in a ragged voice. "I hurt."

"Where?" Willow asked.

"Everywhere." The former demon's deep brown eyes fixed on her own, and Willow thought she saw a glint of very human fear in their depths. "I fear," Illyria continued, and her voice had grown weaker still, "that something inside me is not right."

Willow nodded.

And I think it's getting worse.

"I need to call Giles" she said. "He and I are going to have to work a little harder to find an answer, that's all."

This isn't magic … what is happening to her?