Charmed: Elizabeth Turner

by Brenna's Urbangirl Projects

Born with a sense of otherness, Elizabeth 'Buffy' Turner navigates her dual nature as a half-demon alongside her brother Cole, training rigorously to harness her powers while yearning for a life beyond servitude to the dark forces shaping their destiny.

9. Chapter 9: Phases

Chapter 9: Phases

January 27, 1998 – Tuesday

Sunnydale High

"Nowhere!" Willow exclaimed, her voice teetering on the edge of frustration and excitement. It was all she could do not to wave her books around in an animated display of her pent-up energy. "I mean, he said he was gonna wait until I was ready, but I'm ready! Honest—I'm good to go here!" Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of impatience and determination, the kind that only the throes of young love could ignite.

Buffy rested her chin on her fist, a thoughtful expression softening her features. "I think it's nice he's not just being an animal," she mused, her voice carrying a hint of admiration for Oz's restraint.

"It is nice," Willow agreed, a dreamy smile curving her lips. "He's great. We have a lot of fun. But I want smoochies!" She sighed, a wistful look in her eyes as she imagined the elusive kisses she craved.

"Have you dropped any hints?" Buffy asked, her eyebrow arching with curiosity.

"I've dropped anvils," Willow said, her tone turning deadpan. She threw her hands up in exasperation, as if to emphasize the weight of her unsubtle signals.

"He'll come around," Buffy assured her, her voice filled with confidence. "What guy could resist your wily, Willow charms?"

Willow frowned, her face clouding with doubt. "At last count? All of them. Maybe more," she said, her voice tinged with a self-deprecating humor that belied her true feelings of insecurity.

Buffy gave a rebellious shake of her head, her hair swishing defiantly. "Well, none of them know a thing. They all get an F in Willow."

"But I want Oz to get an A. And, oh—" Willow's face lit up as she turned to face her friend, her eyes sparkling with renewed hope. "And one of those gold stars!"

They stopped for a while and sat beneath a sprawling oak tree, its ancient branches providing a comforting canopy of shade. "He will," Buffy said confidently, her voice steady and reassuring.

"Well, he'd better hurry." Willow was sulking, and she knew it, but it felt right. She hugged her knees to her chest, feeling the rough bark of the tree against her back. "I don't want to be the only girl in school without a real boyfriend—" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and when she saw Buffy staring at her lap, Willow just wanted to smack herself. "Oh, I'm such an idiot—I'm sorry. I shouldn't even be talking about…" She hesitated; her face flushed with guilt. "Do you want me to go away?"

"I wish you wouldn't," Buffy said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She picked at the grass absentmindedly, avoiding Willow's gaze.

Another hesitation, but what kind of a friend would she be if she didn't ask? "How are you holding up, anyway?" Willow's voice was gentle, laced with concern.

"I'm holding." Buffy looked at her ruefully, her eyes reflecting a depth of sorrow. "I was going on close to two minutes there without thinking about Angel."

"Well," Willow said as cheerfully as she could, trying to lighten the mood. "There you go!" She offered a weak smile, hoping it would lift Buffy's spirits.

Buffy gave her a brave smile in return, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "But I'd be doing a lot better if you and Xander and I could do that 'sharing our misery' thing tonight."

"Great." Willow looked at her friend from beneath lowered eyelids, her expression softening with empathy. "I'll give Xander a call, ask him to join us. What's his number? Oh, yeah—1-800-I'm-Dating-A-Skanky-Ho."

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise, her eyebrows shooting up. "Me-ow!"

Willow was pleased, a satisfied grin spreading across her face. "Really? Thanks—I've never gotten a 'me-ow' before." She hugged her books closer, basking in the rare compliment.

This time, Buffy laughed, a genuine, light-hearted sound that seemed to lift the weight of her earlier melancholy. "Well deserved."

"Darn tootin'!" Willow made a dismissive sound, a mix of exasperation and amusement, as she gathered up her books. She tossed her hair back, her eyes narrowing in playful indignation. "I'm just saying, Xander and Cordelia? What does he see in her, anyway?" She shook her head, her tone a blend of genuine curiosity and friendly gossip, unable to fathom the strange pairing of her best friend and the school's notorious queen bee.

Makeout Park

Hours later, with the day's school problems behind them, Xander and Cordelia were parked in a nice, private spot in Makeout Park. It was a warm night with a gentle breeze, and amid the lushness of the leafy trees, the sky was split by stars and bright moonlight, casting a silvery glow over everything. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the distant chirping of crickets, creating a romantic ambiance. Between the two teenagers, the kisses were coming hot and heavy—

—then Xander pulled away, breaking the spell.

"But what could she possibly see in him?" he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

Cordelia threw up her hands in exasperation, her eyes flashing. "Excuse me? We did not come here to talk about Willow." She gave Xander a hard look, her patience wearing thin. "We came here to do things I can never tell my father about because he still thinks I'm a good girl."

"I just don't trust Oz with her," Xander said, totally zoning past her irritation. His eyes were distant, lost in thought. "I mean, he's a senior, he's attractive. Okay, not to me, but… Oh, and he's in a band. And we know what element that kind attracts."

Cordelia sat back, crossing her arms. "I've dated lots of guys in bands," she pointed out, her tone defensive yet amused.

"Thank you!" Xander said pointedly, his eyes snapping back to hers.

Cordelia stared at him, a mixture of frustration and curiosity in her gaze. "Do you even want to be here?" she asked, her voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable tone.

Xander blinked, momentarily taken aback. "I'm not running away," he said, his voice faltering slightly.

"Because when you're not babbling about poor, defenseless Willow," Cordelia said, her voice edged with sarcasm, "you are raving about the all-powerful half-demon Buffy."

"I do not babble," Xander said huffily, crossing his arms in mock offense. "I occasionally run on. And every now and then I yammer—"

"Xander, look around," Cordelia interrupted with exaggerated gentleness, her voice dripping with forced patience. "We're in my daddy's car. It's just the two of us. There is a beautiful, big full moon. It doesn't get any more romantic than this. So shut up!" She grabbed him and yanked him forward, her lips crashing onto his with an urgency that brooked no argument.

Xander didn't protest, surrendering to the moment. But they were in the middle of a really good smooch when instinct made him pull back anyway. "Did you hear that?" he asked, peering out the window, his brow furrowing in concern.

"What is it now?" Cordelia demanded impatiently; her irritation palpable as she followed his gaze.

Xander frowned out at the shadowy park, the dense foliage casting eerie, shifting shadows. "I thought I heard something," he murmured, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

This time, Cordelia's voice was thick with sarcasm, her patience thoroughly exhausted. "Is Willow sending some sort of distress signal that only you can hear?"

Xander ignored the jibe, his eyes narrowing as he glanced outside again. The night seemed still, the park quiet. "Huh," he said, leaning toward Cordelia once more. She came to him willingly, her annoyance momentarily forgotten, but before their lips could meet he jolted back again, his body tense with alarm. "Okay, now I know I heard something."

Cordelia twisted angrily away, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "All right, that's it. Your mind has been not here all night. How 'bout I just drop you off at—"

Her sentence was cut off abruptly as something punched a hole right through the leather top of the convertible, the fabric tearing with a loud, violent rip.

They both screamed, long and loud, as a huge, claw-tipped paw swiped into the space between the seats, right where they'd faced each other only seconds before. The night was split by their terror, the primal sound of fear echoing through the trees. The paw was there, then it was gone; when they looked again, peering at them through the slashed top was a hairy, snouted face and a snarling mouth that seemed to contain a thousand teeth—

Werewolf!

"Get us out of here!" Xander shouted as the creature groped through the hole again, its claws tearing at the air menacingly close to his head.

"Where are the keys?" Cordelia shrieked. She ducked down, her fingertips scrabbling frantically across the floorboard as the car rocked around her. The scent of fear and adrenaline was thick in the confined space. Still searching, she caught a glimpse of Xander, shoving himself against the door to stay out of reach of the beast's claws, his face pale and eyes wide with panic.

"We should be moving!" Xander yelled, his voice almost cracking. "Let's go!"

Cordelia felt cool metal and snatched at it. "Got 'em!" An instant later she jammed them into the ignition, sending up a silent thanks as the engine roared to life on the first try. She threw the transmission into reverse and hit the accelerator, the car lurching backward with a squeal of tires. Spinning the wheel, she glanced up to see the werewolf growling and clinging desperately to the remains of the convertible top, its eyes glowing with feral rage. Then she slammed on the brakes and yanked the gearshift into drive; she floored it, and the car shot forward with a jolt.

The werewolf snarled and lost its grip, its claws scraping against the metal as it fell back, howling in frustration. They left it lying in the dirt, a monstrous silhouette receding rapidly as they raced off into the night, the cool air rushing in through the torn roof.

Xander, still panting from the adrenaline rush, had to say it. He couldn't not. "Told you I heard something," he muttered, his voice a mix of relief and lingering fear.

January 28, 1998 – Wednesday

Sunnydale High

It was hard to believe the horrors of last night, the terrifying encounter feeling almost surreal in the harsh light of day. Until Buffy, Willow, and the rest of the gang looked at Cordelia's car parked in the school's lot, the damage stark and undeniable.

"And you're sure it was a werewolf?" Buffy asked, fingering the slashed material of the convertible's roof, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the ragged tears.

"Well, let's see," Xander replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Six feet tall, claws, a big ol' snout right in the middle of a face like a wolf." He sent her a severe look, his expression deadpan. "Yeah, I'm sticking with my first guess."

"Seems wise," Oz agreed, his calm demeanor contrasting with the tension in the air.

Willow saw Xander make a mock, I-almost-forgot face, his eyes widening comically. "Oh, and there was that little thing where it tried to bite us," Xander added, his voice tinged with dark humor.

That made Cordelia bury her head in Xander's shoulder, seeking comfort and reassurance. "It was so awful," she murmured, her voice trembling as she relived the terror of the night.

"I know," Xander said soothingly, his arm wrapping around her protectively.

Cordelia raised her head, her eyes flashing with a different kind of distress. "Daddy just had this car detailed!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of horror and indignation.

Giles, who had been standing a little way off, studying a newspaper with intense concentration, now joined them, the rustle of the paper drawing their attention.

"So, what's the word?" Buffy asked when she saw him unfold it, her curiosity piqued. The group turned to him, their expressions expectant and anxious, ready to hear what new information the Watcher had uncovered.

The librarian showed them the headlines, his face grave. "Seems there were a number of other attacks by a 'wild dog' around town. Several animal carcasses were found mutilated."

Willow's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, you mean bunnies and stuff?" Her voice was small, her mind conjuring images of innocent creatures. Before anyone could answer, she shook her head vigorously. "No, don't tell me."

Oz looked at Willow with a comforting smile. "Oh, don't worry. They may not look it, but bunnies can really take care of themselves."

"Yeah," Willow said, managing a weak smile. While the words were ridiculous, she still found them oddly comforting, her anxiety easing slightly.

Giles pressed his lips together, his expression serious. "Yes. Well, fortunately, no people were injured."

Buffy looked surprised, her eyebrows arching. "That falls into the 'that's a switch' column."

Giles nodded, his demeanor contemplative. "For now. But my guess is this werewolf will be back at next month's full moon."

"What about tonight's full moon?" Willow asked pointedly, her eyes filled with concern.

Giles blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Pardon?"

"Last night was the night before the full moon," Willow explained, her voice steady despite the tension. "Traditionally known as… the night before the full moon."

Giles frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening. "Meaning the accepted legend that werewolves only prowl during the full moon might be erroneous."

"Or it could be a crock," Cordelia said, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Xander nodded, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "Unless the werewolf is still using last year's almanac."

"No, it is erroneous, as Giles put it," Buffy said, pulling on her vast demonic knowledge. "As Nyxara, I ran into several werewolves over the course of the last hundred years. They do, in fact, transform the night before, the night of, and the night after the full moon."

Giles nodded a little too enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up with a mix of curiosity and excitement. "Yes, I must admit I'm intrigued. A werewolf? It's one of the classics. I'm sure my books and I are in for a fascinating afternoon."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

The voices of a full class of students laughing and talking echoed through the gymnasium, a lively symphony of youthful energy filling the vast space. They all sat in the lower rows of the stands, their attention gradually focusing on Ms. Litto, who looked strong and capable as she strode confidently across the floor in front of them.

Sitting with her pals, Buffy had listened to the Phys Ed teacher talk with growing dismay, realizing that Ms. Litto had clearly arranged the lesson plan for this class because of the recent attacks. The teacher's tone was serious, a sharp contrast to the usual lighthearted gym classes.

"Sunnydale is becoming more dangerous all the time. And a full moon like tonight tends to bring out the crazies. But, with some simple basics of self-defense, each of you can learn how to protect yourself," Ms. Litto told them, her voice firm and reassuring.

"Here's a suggestion," Buffy muttered beside Willow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Move away from the Hellmouth."

From behind her, Oz suddenly reached forward and did something tickly to the back of Willow's neck, making her squirm. "Tag," he explained when she turned toward him, a mischievous grin on his face.

Xander, sitting on the other side of Buffy and Cordelia, couldn't help but comment. "Would you look at that? He's all over her!" Suddenly, he leaned in front of the other two girls, addressing Oz in a loud, exaggerated whisper. "Hey buddy," he said, "this is a public forum here!"

Cordelia shot Xander a disgusted glance as the rest of them looked at him, bewildered by his outburst. "I think you splashed on a little too much 'Obsession for Dorks,'" she quipped, rolling her eyes.

Ms. Litto clapped her hands, drawing their attention back to her. "Okay, everyone get into your assigned groups."

The guys got up, the sound of rustling clothing filling the air as they began stripping off sweatshirts and sweaters and putting on body pads. The atmosphere shifted as they prepared for the self-defense drills, a sense of anticipation mingling with the lingering chatter.

Getting ready with Oz were Xander and Larry. The jock slipped off his jacket to reveal a bandage wrapped around one elbow, the stark white dressing standing out against his tanned skin.

Xander eyed the dressing curiously. "What happened to you?" he asked, his tone a mix of concern and intrigue.

Larry looked irritated, his expression darkening. "Ah, last week some huge dog jumped out of the bushes and bit me—thirty-nine stitches. They ought to shoot those strays," he grumbled, flexing his arm slightly as if to emphasize the severity of the wound.

"I been there, man." Oz held up a finger wrapped with a Band-Aid, the small patch of medical tape stark against his skin. "My cousin Jordy. Just got his grown-up teeth in, does not like to be tickled." His eyes held a twinkle of shared understanding, a hint of humor dancing in his gaze.

Willow leaned in to see the Band-Aid more clearly, her expression one of gentle curiosity. "Looks like it healed already," she commented, noting the absence of any lingering signs of injury.

Oz gave her a slight smile, his lips curving in a way that suggested a deeper, more personal pain. "The emotional scar is still there," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of jest and sincerity.

Larry turned away from the conversation, his attention shifting to Theresa, a small, pretty girl with dark hair that framed her face in soft curls. He sauntered up to her, his movements confident but carrying a hint of intimidation. "Theresa!" he said jovially, though his grin held just a shade of cruelty. "Be still my shorts. We're in the same group." His eyes sparkled with mischief, and he added with a teasing menace, "I may have to attack you."

Theresa's eyes widened as she glanced around anxiously, her posture betraying her unease. "No, I think, actually, in our group there're a few of us—" she began, her voice wavering slightly.

Buffy cut in with a tone of obvious anticipation and a sugary smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "And I'm one of the few." Her voice was light, but there was an edge of steel beneath the sweetness, a promise of something more formidable.

Theresa backed out of harm's way, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she retreated. Willow snagged Buffy's arm, pulling her aside with a concerned expression. "Don't forget," she reminded Buffy urgently, her voice a low murmur. "You're supposed to be a meek little girlie-girl like the rest of us."

Willow let go of Buffy's arm, watching as Buffy pouted briefly, her lips turning downward in a mock sulk. "Spoil my fun," Buffy said with a playful whine. Still, she went back to Larry, trying her best to adopt a look of vulnerability, making an effort to appear more attackable.

Xander suddenly waltzed past her and Cordelia, his movements exaggeratedly cheerful. He was grinning foolishly as he pulled a large, padded helmet over his head, the bulky padding making him look comically encased. "Be gentle with me," he called out, his voice carrying an air of mock bravado.

Cordelia looked at Willow, her gaze sharp and dismissive. "You first," she said, her voice barely above a sneer, her tone dripping with thinly veiled disdain. "I wouldn't want to be accused of taking your place in line."

Willow raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of mild amusement. "Oh, I think you pushed your way to the front long before this," she replied, her voice laced with dry humor as she watched Cordelia's attempt to assert dominance.

Cordelia shrugged prettily, her shoulders rolling in a nonchalant gesture. "Hey, I can't help it if I get the spotlight just because some people blend into the background." Her tone was light, but there was a sharp edge to her words, as if she relished the chance to needle Willow.

Willow felt her teeth clench at the insult, the sting of Cordelia's comment hitting a nerve. "Well, maybe some people could see better if you weren't standing on the auction block, shaking your wares," she retorted, her voice rising with barely contained frustration.

"Sorry. We haven't all perfected that phony 'girl next door' bit," Cordelia shot back, her eyes flashing with indignation.

"You could be the girl next door, too," Willow snapped, her voice laced with biting sarcasm. "If Xander lived next to a brothel!" As the words left her mouth, Willow winced internally. 'Did I really say that?' she thought, feeling a jolt of regret. But she had, and judging by the dark expression now darkening Cordelia's face, she knew she'd finally struck a nerve.

They took a step toward each other, their tempers flaring. However, the tension was abruptly cut short when Xander called out innocently, "Okay, who wants a piece of me?"

Willow and Cordelia glanced at each other; their anger momentarily forgotten as they turned in unison to face Xander.

Without warning, Cordelia let loose with a great cross punch to Xander's padded jaw, her fist connecting with a resounding thud that echoed through the gym. Willow followed it up with an excellently timid sidekick aimed squarely at the center of his body armor. The impact sent Xander staggering backward. Cordelia moved in again, her strikes precise and determined, and Willow followed suit, her movements coordinated and swift.

In no time at all, the combined effort of Willow and Cordelia had Xander rolled into a pathetic heap on the gym floor, his padded suit crumpling around him.

"Why…?" Xander managed to ask between breaths, his voice tinged with confusion and surprise. But Willow and Cordelia only smiled in satisfaction, their eyes gleaming with a shared sense of victory. They turned away from the defeated Xander as Ms. Litto's voice cut through the commotion, calling out to the class to line up in pairs, one in front of the other.

"Okay, everyone. Listen up." Ms. Litto walked the length of the line, her footsteps crisp and authoritative as she checked the couples. Willow quickly zipped into the spot in front of Oz, her movements brisk and purposeful.

"I want to show you what to do should you be attacked from behind," Ms. Litto continued, her tone commanding attention.

From her place a couple of students away, Willow noticed Buffy paired with Larry. Uh-oh, she thought, her stomach knotting with apprehension. She tried to send her friend a mental reminder, her gaze flickering anxiously towards Buffy. 'Girlie-girl, Buffy! Girlie-girl!'

"In this situation," Ms. Litto instructed, her voice cutting through the noise of the gymnasium, "wrap your arm around the assailant's neck and secure their waist with your other arm. Then, bend forward, using your back and shoulders to flip your assailant over to the ground." She demonstrated the move with precise, controlled motions, making it look effortless.

As she moved down the line of students, making sure everyone understood the technique, Buffy found herself paired with Larry. His beefy arm encircled Buffy's neck, his hand pressing firmly against her waist. Buffy struggled against his hold, her attempts to mimic the move coming across as weak and half-hearted. She made exaggerated, spineless little "Uh! Mm-uh!" sounds, her voice faltering as she pretended to struggle with the maneuver.

"Oh Summers, you are turning me on!" Larry said with a smirk, his hand moving inappropriately to grab Buffy's butt. His words were laced with crude humor, and his actions only added to the tension in the room.

Buffy's eyes widened, her expression shifting to one of outrage and shock. The look on her face clearly conveyed the 'big mistake' realization. Without a moment's hesitation, her resolve hardened. With a swift, fluid motion, she bent her knees and heaved Larry over her shoulder.

Larry flew through the air, his body arcing gracefully before crashing down onto the gym floor with a resounding thud. The impact was so forceful that it reverberated through the entire gymnasium, the shockwaves palpable even in the stands. Buffy stood over him, her fighting stance unwavering, fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her posture was a testament to her controlled strength, and the effort it took to restrain herself from slipping into her demonic form was evident in the taut lines of her muscles.

Oz, who had been watching from where Willow was trying to execute the same move on him, leaned around to glance down at Larry. His expression was nonchalant, almost bored. As the rest of the gym stared in stunned silence, Oz's voice cut through the tension with a casual observation. "That works, too," he said blandly, his tone devoid of any surprise or emotion.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

In the library, the air was thick with the scent of aged paper and polished wood, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights providing a steady backdrop to the scene unfolding. Giles stood at the large table, surrounded by an array of educational tools—a globe, a smaller model of the moon, and a lamp casting a warm, focused light. His hands moved methodically as he adjusted the moon-model around the globe, using the light to illustrate the various phases.

"And while there's absolutely no scientific explanation for the lunar effect on the human psyche," Giles continued, his tone steady and informative as he manipulated the moon-model, "the phases of the moon seem to exert a great deal of psychological influence. And a full moon tends to bring out our darkest qualities." His voice carried a hint of reverence for the complexities of the subject, and the lamp's glow cast intriguing shadows across his face, highlighting the earnestness in his expression.

Xander, seated nearby, nodded thoughtfully, as though he were giving his personal approval to Giles's detailed explanation. "And yet ironically, it led to the invention of the Moon Pie," he interjected, his tone laced with a mix of jest and intrigue.

Willow and Buffy exchanged a skeptical glance, their eyes narrowing in response to Xander's unexpected comment. To their surprise, Giles's lips twitched into a small, amused smile, and he chuckled softly. "Moon Pie…" Giles repeated, his amusement evident.

Noticing their bewildered expressions, Giles cleared his throat and looked slightly embarrassed. "You see," he began, regaining his composure, "the werewolf is such a potent, extreme representation of our inborn animalistic traits that it emerges for three full consecutive nights—the full moon, and the two nights surrounding it." His voice took on a more serious tone as he emphasized the cyclical nature of the transformation.

"Quite the party animal," Willow quipped, her tone light but with an undercurrent of seriousness.

"Quite," Giles agreed with a nod. "And it acts on pure instinct, no conscience. Predatory and aggressive. Our wolfman could also be a wolfwoman. Or anyone who was bitten by a werewolf." His explanation painted a vivid picture of the creature's feral nature, contrasting sharply with the more mundane aspects of their conversation.

Xander glanced at his watch, his face a mask of concern mixed with anticipation. "And whoever it is will be changing at any moment," he said, his voice tinged with urgency.

Willow reached out and gave the globe a gentle push, setting it into slow motion as it rotated halfway. The movement seemed almost symbolic, as if in sync with her next words. "'Cause it'll be night soon," she added, her gaze shifting to the dimming light outside the library windows.

"So then," Xander said, clasping his hands together as if concluding a business meeting, "I'm guessing your standard issue silver bullets are in order here?" His tone was a mixture of hope and resignation, reflecting the tension in the room.

Giles shook his head emphatically, his expression firm and resolute. "No. No bullets. No matter who this werewolf is, it's still a human being who may be completely unaware of his, or her, condition." His voice carried a note of compassion and caution, underscoring the complexity of dealing with someone who was more than just a monster.

Willow's gaze shifted to meet Buffy's, the gravity of their situation settling over them. "So," Buffy said, her voice resolute, "tonight we bring 'em back alive."

Makeout Park

At Makeout Park, the night air was cool and thick with the scent of damp leaves and shadows. Buffy moved silently among the bushes at the edge of the parking lot, her senses heightened as she navigated the uneven ground. The headlights of parked cars cast elongated shadows that flickered with each movement, their darkened windows hiding secrets within. Buffy hefted her bag of supplies for the night's hunt, the weight of it a constant reminder of the task ahead.

Through the gloom, she caught sight of Giles, his figure intermittently illuminated by the beam of his flashlight. He prowled between the vehicles with a methodical precision, peering into windows and shining the light into darkened interiors. Buffy couldn't help but think, He's lucky he doesn't get popped in the nose. The thought was accompanied by a small, amused smile as she maneuvered through the underbrush.

Their paths crossed in the narrow gap between two parked cars. Giles's face, illuminated momentarily by the flashlight's beam, looked expectant. "Anything yet?" he asked, his voice low and tinged with hope.

"Yes," Buffy whispered with a mix of excitement and frustration. "And you won't believe what I saw! Cortney Podell was making out with Owen Sadeel—but she goes with Barrett Woods. If he ever finds out—" Her enthusiastic recounting faltered as she realized she had misunderstood his question. "Oops," she said, correcting herself. "No, no sign of the werewolf. How about you?"

"The same," Giles replied, his gaze shifting back to the cars as he scanned them for any sign of activity. "I thought we might knock on a few windows, ask if anyone's seen anything yet."

Buffy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Giles? No one's seen anything." Her tone was incredulous, a mixture of exasperation and concern.

Giles's mouth opened and then closed, his expression a mix of realization and embarrassment. "Oh… yes. Of course not," he conceded, understanding the futility of the plan.

Buffy left him to continue his fruitless search through the parking lot and ventured back into the wooded area that fringed the lot's edge. The dense foliage closed in around her, the rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of twigs underfoot the only sounds breaking the night's silence. She moved with practiced stealth, her eyes straining to penetrate the darkness.

As she pressed deeper into the thicket, she thought she heard a faint rustling or perhaps a soft whisper on the breeze. She paused, listening intently before carefully making her way forward. The shadows ahead seemed to shift and coalesce into a darker form. Buffy adjusted her course, stepping out of the trees and into a small clearing.

In an instant, the ground beneath her betrayed her. Her feet were yanked out from under her, and the sensation of falling was abruptly halted as she was pulled upward. Thick, rough netting, crafted from tightly wound leather strips, ensnared her, binding her tightly and leaving her suspended helplessly. Her heart raced as she hung there, momentarily stunned by the unexpected trap.

When she angled her head downward, she saw the source of her predicament: a rough-looking man dressed in dark, rugged hunter's garb. His attire was practical, with heavy boots and a weather-beaten coat, but it was his accessories that were more unsettling. Around his neck dangled a row of sharp, glinting teeth, each one a grisly trophy. His grip was steady on the barrel of a long, oily rifle that was aimed squarely at her head.

Buffy's mind raced as she struggled futilely against the netting. The man's grin was dark and triumphant, his gaze fixed intently through the rifle's sight. "Gotcha!" he declared, his voice carrying a menacing edge that pierced the night's stillness.

"What the—" The hunter's voice trailed off as his eyes widened in confusion. He lowered the rifle slightly, squinting up at Buffy. His curiosity got the better of him, and he cautiously thrust the tip of the barrel through the netting, testing its resilience.

Buffy's glare intensified, her eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. Her form rippled, a wave of power surging through her body as she transformed into her demonic form of Nyxara. Her skin shimmered and darkened, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. The netting that had held her so securely now seemed inconsequential. She shimmered out of the net.

The branches and underbrush crunched loudly as Giles stumbled into the clearing, his flashlight beam sweeping the area. Nyxara materialized beside her Watcher, her presence radiating power and menace. She fixed her gaze on the hunter, her voice calm but edged with a deadly seriousness. "I would put the gun down," she warned, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

The hunter, Gib Cain, stared at the half-demon Slayer with wide, incredulous eyes. He was clearly taken aback by the transformation he had just witnessed, but his grip on the rifle remained firm.

"Who are you?" Giles demanded, stepping forward with authority. "What are you doing?"

Gib Cain's expression hardened, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The name's Gib Cain," he replied, his voice steady despite the shock. He didn't lower his weapon. "I'm the one with the gun. Which means I'm the one who gets to do the interview."

Nyxara tilted her head slightly, a predatory smile playing on her lips. "You really think a gun will do much to me?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement. Her eyes, now glowing with a fierce inner light, locked onto Cain's. "Because if you do, you're in for a very unpleasant surprise."

Giles stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Cain. "I suggest you listen to her," he said, his voice a mixture of warning and command. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

Cain hesitated, the bravado in his stance faltering for just a moment

"We're hunting werewolves," Nyxara said, her voice low and steady. "What are you hunting?"

Cain laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "While you might be able to catch one," he said, shooting Giles a humorous look, "this guy looks like he's auditioning to be a librarian."

"I assure you," Nyxara said evenly, her eyes narrowing, "he's quite capable."

"Uh-huh." Clearly, Cain didn't believe her. "Let me ask you something. Exactly how many of these animals have you taken out?"

"In the last one hundred years?" Nyxara asked, glancing at Giles briefly, a flicker of shame crossing her face. "A dozen at the Source's orders."

"Buffy?" Giles said, looking at the half-demon Slayer in shock.

Nyxara's expression softened as she turned to her Watcher. "You have to remember, Giles, that before my human half had been called as the Slayer, I leaned more toward evil than I do now," she said, her voice tinged with regret.

Cain fingered the necklace of sharp, pearly teeth around his neck, each one a trophy from a kill. "I tore a tooth from the mouth of every werewolf I killed," he boasted, his tone dripping with pride. "This next one will bring the total to an even dozen. Their pelts fetch a pretty penny in Sri Lanka, and it's a little hard to skin 'em when they're alive."

Giles's mouth fell open in horror. "You hunt werewolves for sport!"

Cain wasn't at all vexed. He met Giles's horrified gaze with a cold, indifferent stare. "Oh, no. I'm in it purely for the money."

"And it doesn't bother you that a werewolf is a person twenty-eight days out of the month?" Nyxara demanded, her voice dripping with contempt.

For a second, Cain looked thoughtful, his brow furrowing as if he were genuinely considering her words. "You know, it does bother me. Quite a bit." Then his swarthy grin returned, more sinister than before. "That's why I only hunt them the other three." He kept smiling as he methodically took down his net, the leather straps making a dull thud as they hit the ground. "I'd really love to stay and chat, but I'm on a tight schedule. Any idea where else the boys and girls like to get together around here? Werewolves are suckers for that whole 'sexual heat' thing. Sense it miles away. But since little doggie ain't here, I guess he found another place."

The wheels clicked in Nyxara's brain, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Sorry. Wish I could help you."

"But you don't know squat?" Cain shouldered the rest of his gear, his expression turning derisive. "Not really a surprise there, you are an upper-level demon after all."

Nyxara's eyes flashed with anger, but she held her tongue. She and Giles watched him stomp off, his heavy boots crunching on the underbrush. Nyxara's form shimmered and then morphed back into Buffy.

Without a word, Buffy turned and headed in the opposite direction, her pace brisk and purposeful.

"Where are we going?" Giles asked, struggling to keep up with her determined stride.

Buffy's eyes were set with determination. "I think I know where to look," she said, her voice firm. "We just have to make it there before Mein Furrier."

The Bronze

The Bronze was smoking tonight. The pulse of the music vibrated through the air, lights flashing in sync with the heavy bassline. A good band was on stage, their energetic performance fueling the more than ample crowd. The atmosphere was charged with excitement and tension, lots of touchy-feely going on with the couples around her.

From her spot on the couch next to Willow, Cordelia frowned, her eyes narrowing in frustration. "I mean, with Xander it's always 'Buffy did this' or 'Willow said that.' Buffy, Buffy, Willow, Willow. It's like I don't even exist." Her voice carried a mixture of bitterness and hurt that she rarely let show.

Willow nodded, inwardly marveling that she could so totally sync with what Cordelia was thinking. "I sometimes feel like that." She offered a sympathetic smile, feeling a kinship with Cordelia she hadn't expected.

"And then," Cordelia continued, her frustration mounting, "when I call him on it, he acts all confused, like I'm the one with the problem."

"His 'Do I smell something?' look," Willow said knowingly, rolling her eyes at the familiar scenario.

Cordelia nodded vehemently. "All part of his little guy-games. It's like he's there, but then he's not there. He wants it, but then he doesn't want it." She sighed deeply, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her.

"He's so busy looking around at everything he doesn't have that he doesn't even realize what he does have," Willow said, her voice tinged with exasperation. She glanced sideways at Cordelia, catching the arched look of understanding.

"But he should at least realize that you have Oz," Cordelia said, her tone softening slightly as she acknowledged Willow's own struggles.

"I'm not sure I do," Willow said, her shoulders slumping. "Oz and I are in some sort of holding pattern. Only without the holding." She paused, her voice barely a whisper. "Or anything else."

Cordelia frowned deeply, her brow furrowing in concern. "What's he waiting for? What's his problem?" She looked disgusted, her lips curling in disdain. "Oh—that's right. He's a guy."

"Yeah," Willow agreed, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Him and Xander. Guys."

Cordelia sat back in a huff, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Who do they think they are?"

"A couple of guys," Willow answered sagely. They nodded in agreement—

And something huge and hairy fell from the ceiling, crashing onto their table.

Werewolf!

Screams erupted as teenagers fled in all directions. The chaotic din filled the club, a mix of terror and confusion. Willow and Cordelia screamed along with everyone else, throwing themselves backward just as the creature swiped at them and missed. Adrenaline surged through Willow as she scrambled from her seat, instinctively grabbing Cordelia's arm and pulling her along. "Come on!" she shrieked, her voice high and urgent. "This way!"

The crush for the door was intense, bodies jostling and tables and chairs flying around them in the frenzy. Somehow, they made it outside, pushing through the panicked crowd. Cordelia was right on Willow's heels as they burst out of the Bronze, their breaths coming in frantic gasps just as Giles's car pulled up.

"Looks as though your hunch was right," Giles said to Buffy, his tone grim.

Buffy threw open the passenger door, her face set with determination. "How could a werewolf resist Sunnydale's own House o' Hormones?"

"The werewolf!" Willow cried; her voice tinged with desperation as she ran up to the car. "It's in there!"

Cordelia's voice reached a new level of strident as she ranted at the doorman, her words sharp and indignant. "You could be a little more discriminating with that velvet rope!"

Willow pulled on Buffy's sleeve, her eyes wide with urgency. "It went upstairs!"

Buffy nodded, her expression resolute, and dashed for the entrance. Willow watched her disappear inside the Bronze just as a final, panicked couple lurched out, their faces pale with fear. Then they were in the clear, the tumultuous noise of the club fading behind them.

She had to bite her lip when someone reached out and slammed the door shut behind her best friend. Anxiety coiled tight in her chest, knowing it was now just Buffy and the werewolf.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Buffy transformed into Nyxara as she crept forward, studying the shadows cast amid the broken chairs and overturned tables. Her demonic senses heightened; she felt the adrenaline course through her veins as she ascended the stairs into more darkness. Nyxara caught a movement from the corner of her eye and angled toward it, only to discover her own reflection in a cracked mirror. She paused for a second, frowning at herself, then realized what was wrong about it—

The werewolf was right behind her.

Nyxara spun out of its way as it leaped, barely avoiding the wicked slash of its claws. The werewolf's growl filled the air, a deep, menacing rumble that sent shivers down her spine. She dodged and kicked, each movement precise and controlled, fighting to stay out of its range. It couldn't hurt her or likely make her into a werewolf, but the thought of those claws raking across her skin made her cautious. She wasn't going to take the risk.

The werewolf crashed backward, snarling viciously, its eyes glowing with feral intensity. An energy ball formed in Nyxara's hand, crackling with barely contained power. She regulated the energy so that it could only give the same level of shock as a taser, ensuring it would incapacitate without causing permanent harm. When the beast came at her again, muscles coiled and teeth bared, she flung the energy ball with a swift flick of her wrist. The werewolf dodged out of the way just in time, the energy ball sizzling past and impacting the wall with a bright flash.

Nyxara turned in time to see the werewolf running away from her, its heavy footfalls echoing in the enclosed space. With a powerful leap, it dove straight through the second-floor window, the glass shattering into a cascade of glittering fragments—

—and disappeared into the night.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

"You let it get away," Gib Cain said, his tone dripping with disdain. He seemed not at all surprised, a smug smile curling his lips.

"I didn't let it do anything," Buffy retorted hotly. "I threw an energy ball, regulated to the level of a taser, at it."

"Taser?" Cain rolled his eyes dramatically. "What were you going to do, make it a pet?"

"I was trying to lock it up," Buffy said, her voice tinged with frustration.

"That's beautiful," Cain said, shaking his head slowly, as if savoring the chaos around them. The interior of the Bronze was a wreck, with overturned tables, shattered glass, and scattered debris. He glanced at the destruction, his expression a mixture of amusement and condescension. "This is what happens when an upper-level demon turns good."

"Now you look here, Mr. Cain," Giles interjected stiffly, his British accent cutting through the tension. "Buffy risked her life trying to capture a beast that you haven't yet been able to find."

"Uh-huh. And Daddy's doing a great job carrying her bag of Milk Bones." Cain smirked at Giles's outraged expression, then leaned in until he was right in Buffy's face. "You know, sis, if that thing out there harms anyone, it's going to be on your pretty little head."

Buffy glared at him, her eyes smoldering with defiance. After a moment, Cain turned on his heel and headed for the door. Right before he left, he gave one parting shot over his shoulder. "I hope you can live with that."

Buffy didn't drop her gaze. "I live with that every day for the last one hundred and seventeen years," she said, her voice steady and unwavering.

Disgusted, Cain shook his head again as he walked away. "First they tell me I can't hunt an elephant for its ivory. Now I've got to deal with People for the Ethical Treatment of Werewolves," he muttered under his breath.

Buffy stood and stared after him, her fists clenched at her sides. She felt a gentle touch on her elbow and turned to see Giles looking at her with a mixture of concern and encouragement.

"Let's move out," Giles said quietly, his voice a calming presence amidst the chaos.

January 29, 1998 – Thursday

Makeout Park

Makeout Park again, and wasn't it a sting that she seemed to always be on the outside of things here? Buffy sighed as she made her way back to Giles's car, the predawn light casting a muted glow over the now-empty parking lot. The quiet was broken only by the tinny sound of a newscast drifting from the car radio, its metallic tones carrying across the stillness—

"…the negotiations were tabled when West-leader Petrie could not come to terms with the leader from the East. Petrie said a strike is inevitable."

As she got within range, she saw that the car was empty, and a surge of panic gripped her. "Giles?" she called out; her voice tinged with fear. What if the werewolf had found him and dragged him away? What if he was dead? Her heart pounded as she darted to the window, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. She yanked open the door, half yelling—

"Blaerg!" Giles cried, sitting up abruptly from the front seat, his eyes wide with alarm.

Buffy exhaled in relief, her tense muscles relaxing slightly as she climbed inside the car. "Oh—I didn't see you there. I thought something had happened."

"No, no," Giles managed, his voice groggy with sleep, and his hair tousled from his impromptu nap. "I was just… I'm okay." He blinked several times, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Fine. Uh—any sign of the werewolf?"

"No." Buffy gave him a sidelong glance, a hint of reproach in her eyes. "I'm guessing you didn't see anything, either. From that vantage point of having your eyes closed."

Giles looked guiltily at his watch, then gazed out the window, the early morning light reflecting off his glasses. "Sorry. It's going to be light soon. I suppose we should be heading—"

"Wait!" Buffy interrupted, leaning forward to twist the volume knob on the radio, her instincts on high alert.

"—police say that the incident was apparently connected to the animal mutilation which occurred the night before last. The coroner's office has identified the body as that of Sunnydale High School student Theresa Klusmeyer, age seventeen. The authorities ask that anyone with further information—"

Giles reached over and turned off the radio, his expression somber as Buffy slumped on the seat, the weight of the news hitting her like a physical blow. Theresa, dead? The realization struck her with a cold finality, as if the carefree moments of gym class had taken place in another lifetime.

"Buffy," Giles said gently, his voice filled with empathy, "we're going to get this thing. We have another whole night." When Buffy didn't answer, he continued, trying to offer some solace. "There's nothing more we can do now—it is sunrise. That werewolf isn't going to be a werewolf much longer."

No, Buffy thought, it isn't. And Theresa isn't alive anymore either. Her mind churned with a mix of sorrow and determination as she stared out at the encroaching dawn, knowing that the hunt was far from over.

Sunnydale High

"I can't believe I let that thing get away," Buffy said, frustration etched into every word. "Cain was right. I should have killed it when I had the chance!"

Willow looked up just in time to see Oz walking through the library door. Despite the grim circumstances, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. "Killed what?" he asked, looking slightly dazed, his usual calm demeanor cracked with concern.

"The werewolf," Giles replied wearily. "It was out last night."

Oz's worry deepened as he took two quick steps to close the distance between him and Willow. "Is everyone okay?" he asked anxiously, his eyes scanning her for any sign of injury. "Did anybody get bitten? Or scratched?"

His concern was touching, a reminder of the gentle soul beneath his often stoic exterior. "No," Willow assured him softly, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "We're fine."

"Gladness," Oz said, his shoulders relaxing in visible relief.

"Yeah, but it got someone," Buffy interjected, her voice tinged with guilt and anger. "Theresa."

Oz's eyes widened in horror. "'Got' as in…" His voice trailed off as he saw the solemn expressions on their faces, and he leaned heavily against the wall, absorbing the weight of the news. "Oh… I'm sorry."

"And," Buffy continued, her frustration turning to self-recrimination, "I could have stopped it."

Giles rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to provide a steadying influence in the face of their collective anguish. "Well, we have one more night," he said, his tone measured but resolute.

Oz frowned, concern knitting his brow. "Another night?"

"Oh, yeah," Buffy said, her jaw set with determination. "Believe me, I'm going to give that wolfie something to howl about."

"Huh," Oz replied, processing the gravity of her words.

Xander unfolded himself from the chair on the other side of the table, his movements deliberate. "But while we hang here doing nothing, there's a human werewolf walking around out there, probably making fun of us."

"The way werewolves always do," Willow added dryly, trying to lighten the mood. She shot Oz a humorous look, but he seemed lost in thought, a question forming in his mind.

"But there's really no way to tell who it is?" Oz asked, his voice tinged with worry.

"Sure there is," Xander said confidently. "Giles and Buffy know stuff. And I'm practically an expert on this subject."

A corner of Willow's mouth lifted in a faint smile. "On account of how you were once a hyena."

Oz blinked, taken aback. "Xander was…?"

"Before we knew you," Willow explained gently.

Xander paced around the table, his expression a mix of seriousness and a touch of bravado. Finally, he stopped in front of Oz, his eyes intense. "I know what it's like to crave the taste of freshly killed meat. To be taken over by those uncontrollable urges—"

"You said you didn't remember anything about that," Buffy interrupted, her tone incredulous.

Derailed, Xander looked sheepish. His eyes darted nervously, and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. "I said I didn't remember anything about that…" He cleared his throat, the sound resonating awkwardly in the tense silence. "Look, the point is, I have an affinity with this thing. I can get inside of its head." He closed his eyes and swayed for a few moments, then began to mumble to himself. "I'm a big, bad wolf."

As he stood there, eyes closed, Xander had no idea of the look that Willow exchanged with Buffy—one of concern mixed with a sliver of disbelief. The atmosphere thickened with anticipation.

"I'm on the prowl. I'm sniffing, I'm snarling, I'm a slobbering predator. I'm—" Xander's eyes snapped open, locking onto Oz with sudden clarity. "Wait a second. It's right in front of us. It's obvious who I am!"

Buffy, Willow, Oz, and Giles tensed; their collective breath seemingly held in unison.

"I'm Larry!" Xander declared with a triumphant grin.

When they all stared at him blankly, Xander began to tick off points on his fingers, his voice gaining a touch of exasperation. "The guy has practically got 'wolf-boy' stamped on his forehead. You got the dog bite; you got the aggression. Not to mention the excessive back hair."

Buffy looked thoughtful, her brow furrowing as she recalled past interactions. "He was awfully gleeful about tormenting Theresa."

Oz, ever the voice of reason, glanced around the room. "Still, that doesn't necessarily mean that—"

"I'm going to go talk to him," Xander announced with sudden determination, striding purposefully to the door. "Force a confession out of him!"

"Good," Giles said, though his tone was far from convinced. "Good. In the meantime, we need to cover our bases. Willow, check the student files. See if anyone else fits the profile." He headed for his office, motioning for Buffy to follow. "Buffy?"

"Where are we going?" Buffy asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of reluctance.

"If none of that works," he told her, "I think I may have an alternative."

"Yeah. Me and the werewolf, alone in a cage for three minutes," Buffy said sharply, her eyes narrowing with steely resolve. "That's all I ask."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

"So, what's the scuttlebutt?" Buffy asked from behind Willow, her voice a mix of curiosity and impatience. "Anybody besides Larry fit our werewolf profile?"

Willow looked up, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she saw her friend perched on the edge of the desk, legs swinging slightly. "There is one name that keeps getting spit out. Aggressive behavior, run-ins with authorities, about a screenful of violent incidents—"

Buffy broke in when she focused on the information displayed on the screen, her expression growing defensive. "Okay, most of those were not my fault. Somebody else started them—I was just standing up for myself."

"They say it's a good idea to count to ten when you're angry," Willow said calmly, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

Buffy glared at her, her eyes narrowing into a mock-serious glare. "One, two, three—"

Willow grinned, enjoying the playful banter. "I'll keep looking."

Buffy's voice softened, the teasing edge disappearing. "I noticed you're looking solo."

"Yeah. Oz wanted to be somewhere that was away." Willow's gaze dropped to the keyboard, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the keys. "From me."

"I'm sorry," Buffy said, her tone filled with genuine sympathy.

Willow shrugged, trying to mask the hurt with nonchalance. "I can't figure him out. He's so hot and cold. Or… lukewarm and cold."

Buffy nodded sympathetically. "Welcome to the mystery that is men. I think it goes something like they grow body hair, they lose all ability to tell you what they really want."

Willow frowned, her forehead creasing. "That doesn't sound like a good trade." Outside the library, the muffled sound of the bell ringing for class echoed through the quiet space, signaling the end of their brief respite. She turned off the computer, the screen going dark, and followed Buffy to the door.

Buffy gave her a sidelong glance, her eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and sincerity. "Well," she said, "you want to up the speed quotient with Oz, maybe you need to do something daring. Maybe you need to make the first move."

Willow chewed her lip nervously, her eyes flickering with doubt. "That won't make me a slut?"

Buffy's smile radiated confidence and reassurance as they entered the noisy hallway, the cacophony of students filling the air. "I think your reputation will remain intact."

"It used to be so easy to tell if a boy liked you," Willow mused as they walked, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "He'd punch you on the arm, and then run back to his friends."

"Those were the days," Buffy said, her tone wistful.

"Hey," Xander exclaimed from behind them, playfully punching Buffy's arm.

Willow turned away, a smile playing on her lips. "I'll see you guys later. Cordelia asked me to look over her history homework before class. I think that means I might have to do it."

Buffy and Xander watched Willow go, her figure blending into the bustling crowd. Xander's expression was vaguely troubled, his brow furrowing. "Wow. Those two gals have been hanging out a lot together." He and Buffy began heading down the hallway, the flow of students parting around them. "This would be a good time to panic," he muttered beneath his breath, but Buffy still caught the words and had to choke back a laugh.

Instead, Buffy asked, "How'd it go with Larry?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Xander demanded defensively, his shoulders tensing as if preparing for an argument.

Buffy peered at him as she reached her locker and opened it with a metallic clank. "I think it's supposed to mean 'How'd it go with Larry?'"

"He's not the werewolf," Xander said quickly. His words tumbled over themselves in a rush, as though eager to end the conversation. "Can't we just leave it at that? Must you continue to push and push?"

"Sorry," Buffy said, taken aback by his intensity. "I was just wondering—"

"Well, he's not!" Xander repeated with a hint of exasperation, his eyes darting around the bustling hallway as if seeking an escape.

"Okay," Buffy said, raising her hands in a placating gesture.

"Okay," Xander echoed, his voice softer but still edged with tension.

Weird, Buffy thought, but then Xander was always a bit high on the oddity scale. She shrugged it off, leaning back against the cool metal of the locker. "But there goes our lead suspect," she said, her tone tinged with frustration. "Which puts us right back at square boned."

Xander tried to look perky for her benefit, a forced smile stretching across his face. "You're not boned. You're Buffy, Eradicator of Evil. Defender of… things that need defending."

"Tell that to Theresa," Buffy replied, her voice dropping as awful, imaginary images filled her head. "She could have used some defending before she was ripped apart by that…"

"Werewolf," Xander offered when she didn't finish, his voice a cautious prompt.

Buffy's eyes narrowed, a frown creasing her forehead. "Nowhere in any of the reports did it say anything about her being mauled. They were linked to the animal attacks from the other night, so we just assumed werewolf."

Xander was clearly puzzled, his brow furrowing. "What else would we have assumed?"

Sunnydale Funeral Home

Buffy hated Sunnydale Funeral Home. The place exuded a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. There were too many funeral homes and cemeteries in Sunnydale to begin with—for obvious reasons—and she felt she'd had to visit this one way too often. The soft, mournful music and the heavy scent of flowers did little to mask the pervasive sense of death. What she was looking at now didn't help matters.

Theresa's face was powdered to pale perfection, a mask of serene beauty in the coffin. Buffy's stomach churned as she used a forefinger to pull down the floral scarf around the dead girl's neck. The two puncture marks stood out starkly against the white skin.

"Vampire," Buffy said, her voice hollow.

"So that's good, right?" Xander asked, the uncertainty clear in his tone. "I mean, in the sense that the werewolf didn't get her and—" He fumbled for words, then rubbed his eyes. "No. There is no good here."

"No good." Buffy stared sadly at Theresa, the weight of failure pressing heavily on her shoulders. "Instead of not protecting Theresa from the werewolf, I was able to not protect her from something just as bad." She turned away from the coffin and moved to the satin sign-in book. The stand that held it wobbled on three rather skinny legs as she scrawled her name. "She had a lot of friends," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Buffy, you can't blame yourself for every death that happens in Sunnydale." Xander came around and faced her from the other side of the easel as she scanned the list of people who'd visited. His eyes were earnest, filled with a mixture of frustration and concern. "If it weren't for you, people would be lined up five deep waiting to get themselves buried. Willow would be Robbie the Robot's love slave, I wouldn't even have a head, and—" He choked momentarily, his face paling as his gaze locked onto something behind Buffy. "Theresa's a vampire!"

Buffy whirled in time for Theresa's full-body tackle. They rolled, hammering at one another. The funeral home's quiet was shattered by the sounds of their struggle. But Theresa, as inexperienced in unlife as she had been in life, was no match for the half-demon Slayer. In a matter of seconds, Buffy had thrown the vampire-girl across the room as an energy ball formed in her hand.

Buffy's arm came up, ready to unleash the energy, but before she could throw it, Theresa locked eyes with her. "Angel sends his love," Theresa sneered, her voice dripping with malice.

Buffy froze, her mind reeling from the unexpected message. Theresa saw her opportunity and slammed her hand against Buffy's, knocking the energy ball away. They wrestled, the funeral home's solemn atmosphere now a chaotic battleground. Theresa's little surprise slowed Buffy's skills; now Theresa had Buffy pinned to the floor.

Buffy struggled to keep the dead girl's fangs away from her throat, her muscles straining with effort and—

—Theresa exploded into vamp dust.

Xander stood behind the falling cloud of sooty brown with one leg of the book-signing easel pointed downward, his expression a mix of relief and concern. "Are you okay?"

Angel had done this...

Buffy hauled herself to her feet, her body aching from the fight. Everything around her—her body, her world, everything—seemed suddenly shaky and unreliable. "This isn't happening," she murmured, the enormity of her guilt pressing down on her. She couldn't meet Xander's eyes, the shame too great.

"Buffy…" Xander reached out to touch Buffy on the shoulder, but before he could make contact, she shimmered out of the funeral home, leaving behind only the echoes of their battle and the lingering scent of death.

Halliwell Manor

Buffy shimmered into the Manor, her eyes darting around as she took in the familiar yet somehow distant surroundings.

"Buffy," Prue said as she descended the stairs, her brows furrowing at the sight of the half-demon Slayer. "What are…"

"He's going to keep coming after me," Buffy interrupted, her voice edged with a mix of fear and determination as she turned to face Prue. "Until…"

"Who?" Prue asked, her concern deepening as she looked at Buffy. She didn't like demons—never had. But seeing Buffy in pain, her heart broke once again, just as it had done a few days before.

"Angel," Buffy said, the name laced with bitterness as Prue led her into the living room and gently sat her down on the couch.

"Don't let him get to you," Prue said firmly, sitting down next to Buffy, her hand resting reassuringly on Buffy's leg. "He's not the same guy you knew."

Buffy looked at Prue, her eyes searching for comfort. "Prue?" The response she saw in the eldest Halliwell's eyes—compassion mixed with steely resolve—was the last thing she needed. She broke away, feeling the weight of her emotions threatening to crush her. "Thanks," she managed, forcing a small smile as Prue smiled back, her warmth unwavering.

Buffy swiped at her hair, suddenly aware of the disheveled state it was in after the struggle with Theresa. "Well, I've got a lot to do tonight," she said, trying to muster her usual determination.

"Like what?" Prue asked, her curiosity piqued.

"There is a werewolf in Sunnydale," Buffy said, her voice steadying as she shifted back into Slayer mode.

Prue nodded in understanding, memories surfacing of when Piper had briefly become a Wendigo, a distant cousin of the werewolf. "Would you like some help?"

Buffy paused, considering the offer. The thought of facing the night's challenges alone felt overwhelming, and Prue's offer of assistance was a lifeline she hadn't expected. "Yeah," she said finally, her voice softening with gratitude. "I think I could use some help."

Prue's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with determination. "Then let's get to it," she said, standing up and offering her hand to Buffy. "We've got a werewolf to find."

Osbourne Home

'Sunnydale,' Oz thought. 'Always an adventure.'

He sat at the dining-room table, the silence of the house pressing in on him, and took a deep breath. Grasping the cardboard box in front of him, he tilted it, and a set of heavy steel manacles and chains clattered out onto the polished wood surface, complete with padlocks. The metal glinted ominously in the dim light, a stark reminder of what he was preparing for. Yes, there was a key, but he'd hidden it, figuring that once he was in werewolf-mode, he wouldn't be smart or dexterous enough to find it and use it. After all, hadn't Giles said the beast was nothing but pure animalistic instinct?

With his hands and ankles shackled together, Oz felt a grim sense of confidence that all he'd be able to do was writhe around on the floor, safely contained. Luckily, the other occupants of the house were out of town, and the rest of Sunnydale would be safe enough, at least from him. He squeezed his eyes shut, a mixture of anxiety and resignation washing over him, then snapped the first manacle around his left wrist. He reached for the padlock—

Bang bang bang!

Oz jumped as someone pounded on the front door, the sound reverberating through the quiet house. No, he wouldn't answer it—there wasn't time. He picked up the padlock—

Bang bang bang!

—and dropped it, his heart racing. The sound had something to it, an undertone of urgency that told him the person at the door might just try the knob. Had he locked it? He couldn't remember. His nerves jangled as he glanced at the clock, the minutes ticking away relentlessly, but Oz undid the manacle and went to the door. When he opened it, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Willow! What are you doing here—" Oz said, his voice tinged with a mix of shock and concern.

Willow pushed past Oz without an invitation, her eyes wide with urgency, then whirled and started talking, her words tumbling out in a rush. She needed to get this out before she turned Kentucky Fried. "I had this whole thing worked out and I had written it down, but then it didn't make any sense when I was reading it back."

Oz swallowed, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "Willow, this is not a very good time—"

"I mean," she rushed on, her voice growing more frantic, "what am I supposed to think? First, you buy me popcorn, and then you're all glad I didn't get bit. And you put the tag in my shirt, but I guess none of that means anything because instead of looking up names with me, here you are all alone in your house doing nothing by yourself!"

Her words hit him like a tidal wave, and Oz felt the weight of the situation bearing down on him. The chains and manacles on the table seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of what he had to do. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. "Willow," he held out his hand, his voice strained with urgency. "We'll talk about this tomorrow, I promise—"

"No, darn it, we will talk about this now!" She stood her ground as he tried to take her arm, ignoring the fact that she was feeling a little airless. "Buffy told me that sometimes the girl has to make the first move and now that I'm saying this, I'm starting to think that the written version sounded pretty good but you know what I mean!"

Oz took her by the arm and tried to steer her back to the front door. "I know," he said. His voice was calm but there was something odd about it, a tightness that betrayed his growing fear. "I know, it's me. I'm going through some... changes."

Her breathlessness changed to a tinge of irritation and she pulled out of his grasp and stomped back toward the dining room, where he couldn't try to push her out again. "Well, welcome to the world!" Willow exclaimed. "Things happen. You don't think I'm going through a lot?"

"Not like me," Oz said, his voice a strained whisper, the words barely escaping his lips.

Willow's eyebrows lifted in exasperation. "Oh, so now you're special," she said smartly as she stopped by the table. "You're a special boy—" Her words sputtered out as she stared at the tabletop. "With chains and... stuff." She turned back to him, confusion and worry mixing in her eyes. "Why do you have chains and stuff?"

"Willow, please," Oz said desperately, his voice breaking. And then he shocked her by doubling over and clutching his stomach, pain contorting his features. "Get out of here!"

Willow's jaw dropped as he staggered behind the couch, then suddenly fell to the floor. "Oz? What is it?" she asked, her voice rising with panic. The only answer was a strangled moan, and she hurried to peer over the piece of furniture. "What's wrong?"

Oz—her Oz—snarled at her from behind the face of the werewolf, his eyes glowing with a wild, untamed fury.

Sunnydale High

Buffy heard a clang from the library as she hurried through the door, Prue right behind her. The sound echoed ominously, signaling urgency. Giles had dropped a steel case on the table, and as she came over, he began pulling out pieces of a high-tech rifle, his movements precise and methodical. The cool metal parts gleamed under the harsh library lights, reflecting the gravity of their task.

"Sorry, I'm late," Buffy said, brushing off a bit of dirt from her sleeve. "Had to do some unscheduled slayage in the form of Theresa."

Giles looked up from where he was assembling the weapon, his brow furrowed in concern. "Ms. Halliwell," he said, nodding a brief greeting to Prue. Then he turned back to Buffy, his eyes searching hers. "Theresa's a vampire?"

"Was." Buffy was unable to disguise her hurt, the raw pain of betrayal evident in her voice. "Angel sent her to me. A little token of his affection."

Giles took a step toward her, his face softening with sympathy. "Buffy, I'm sorry—"

Prue held up her hand, her expression firm. "Let's focus on the werewolf. Buffy will have time to…"

"Have a good cry," Buffy finished for Prue, a bitter edge to her words. "After we bag us a werewolf."

Giles nodded, respecting the shift in focus, and turned his attention back to his project. The final piece of the rifle clicked into place, a sleek scope that promised precision. "All set," he said, handing the weapon to Buffy. "Let's go find this thing."

"One question," Buffy said as they started for the door, the rifle heavy in her hands. "How exactly do we find this thing?"

"I could try scrying for it," Prue offered, her voice thoughtful. Just as she spoke, Willow dashed into the library, her face flushed with urgency.

"It's Oz!" Willow cried, her voice breaking with panic. "It's Oz!"

"What's Oz?" Buffy asked, her heart sinking at the sight of her friend's distress.

Willow was gasping for air, her words coming out in desperate bursts. "The werewolf!"

"Are you certain?" Giles demanded, shocked, his eyes widening behind his glasses.

"Can't you just trust me on this?" Willow looked about to burst into tears, her voice trembling. "He... he said he was going through all these changes, and then he went through all these... changes!"

Buffy squared her shoulders, the weight of leadership settling on her like a mantle. "Where is he now?"

Willow looked back at the door automatically, her anxiety palpable. "In the woods."

"Willow, it'll be okay." Buffy squeezed her friend's arm, her touch meant to reassure. "We're going to take care of everything."

Giles lifted the rifle, then primed it with a click that echoed through the tense room. "Let's go."

Willow's eyes were huge as she saw the gun, fear and worry etched across her face. "Go where? You're not going to kill Oz!" She looked ready to panic, her breathing quickening. "I mean, sure, he's a werewolf, but I bet he doesn't mean to be!"

"No, we're not going to kill him," Prue said firmly, stepping closer to Willow and placing a calming hand on her shoulder. "What we're going to do…"

Giles turned the rifle until they could see it was filled with tranquilizer darts, the metal glinting ominously. "I put enough phenobarbital in here to sink a small elephant. It should be enough for a large werewolf."

Sunnydale Woods

Gib Cain crouched in the woods, his rifle, loaded with silver bullets, at the ready. His breath hung in the cool night air, and his eyes gleamed with predatory focus. When he heard the werewolf's soulful howl, a slow, sinister smile spread across his face in the darkness. "There you are," he whispered, the words barely audible as he began silently working his way toward the cry, his movements as fluid and stealthy as a shadow.

It didn't take long to find the creature—Cain had set the perfect trap, and the beast had taken the bait immediately. When the hunter crept to the edge of the clearing where he'd arranged the pile of meat, he could see the werewolf on the other side, its massive, fur-covered form illuminated by the pale moonlight. The creature was sniffing the beef-scented air, its senses sharp and alert as it carefully checked out the moonlit area. When all seemed okay, the werewolf edged toward the free meal, its eyes glinting hungrily.

"That's it," Cain murmured to himself, too low for even the werewolf's sensitive hearing to catch. "Let me see you…"

Another foot, then two, and the werewolf looked around a final time, lowered its head, and began to devour the meat, tearing into it with feral enthusiasm.

"Come on, suppertime," Cain whispered, his voice tinged with cruel satisfaction. He stood without making a sound and aimed his rifle, the silver bullet glinting ominously in the chamber. "Good doggie. Now play dead."

He squeezed the trigger just as it was jerked out of his hand by an invisible force. Startled, Cain turned to see Prue standing there, a confident grin playing on her lips as she telekinetically sent the weapon flying into the trees.

From the clearing, the werewolf snarled, its meal forgotten as it sensed the disturbance.

Nyxara, with her Slayer-enhanced demonic strength, strode up to Cain with purpose. With a swift, brutal punch to his stomach, she sent him crumpling to the ground, gasping for breath.

But there was no time to revel in her victory. She found herself facing the snarling werewolf, its eyes burning with primal fury. The werewolf reared back to bite her, its jaws snapping dangerously close.

"Nyxara, look out!" Prue shouted, using her powers to send Cain's gun flying through the air toward Nyxara. With quick reflexes, Nyxara caught the weapon, her grip steady and sure.

Without hesitation, Nyxara brought the rifle up and then down, clubbing the werewolf solidly on its skull. The creature staggered, a pained yelp escaping its throat, but it wasn't down yet. She knew Giles was trying to get a shot in with the tranquilizer gun, and the pressure to keep the werewolf at bay was immense.

"Careful!" Willow exclaimed, her voice high with worry as she watched the tense confrontation.

Nyxara played a sort of whirl game with the creature, deftly maneuvering around it, trying to keep its back to Giles. The werewolf's unpredictable movements made it a challenging task. She managed to position it perfectly, but only for a fleeting moment before it spun again, putting her in the line of fire. "Darn it," Giles exclaimed in frustration, struggling to get a clear shot.

"Buffy," Prue called out urgently to the half-demon Slayer.

Nyxara nodded in understanding, her determination clear. She shimmered out just as Prue, with a concentrated look, used her telekinesis to hold the werewolf in place. The beast snarled and thrashed, but Prue's power kept it immobilized.

Giles seized the opportunity, his eyes narrowing as he took aim. He fired.

The tranquilizer dart struck the Oz-wolf squarely in the chest. It howled in pain, a guttural, heart-wrenching sound that echoed through the night. Clutching its chest, it staggered once, then collapsed in a heap on the forest floor.

Willow knelt there, staring in horror. "You shot Oz," she said, her voice trembling with disbelief and anguish.

"I had to," Giles replied gently, his face etched with sorrow. He knew the pain his actions had caused, but it was necessary.

"No wonder this town is overrun with monsters," Cain spat as he stormed over to them. He looked disheveled and furious, his eyes blazing with anger. "No one here's man enough to kill 'em."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Nyxara said coolly, her form now solid as she shimmered back in. In her hands was Cain's rifle, the weapon that had been meant to kill. "You know," she continued, her voice dripping with contempt, "I've been sick of you since the moment before I met you. And I've been waiting for just the right opportunity to take you on. But then I realized, a big, strong man versus a demon like me?" She looked down at his weapon, a dark smile playing on her lips. Suddenly, her knuckles went white with effort as the steel barrel slowly began to bend. "Wouldn't be a fair fight," she said softly, tossing the now worthless piece of junk to the hunter. "How about you let the door hit you in the butt on the way out of town."

Cain glowered at her, his face a mask of fury and humiliation. He looked as though he wanted to say something, a retort burning on his tongue, but then he thought better of it. With a final, seething glance, he shook his head and stalked away, his footsteps heavy with defeat.

Nyxara dismissed him, her expression unyielding, and as she transformed back into Buffy, her face softened. She turned back to her friend. "Willow?"

Willow had gone to the unconscious werewolf, her face pale and eyes wide with worry. She knelt next to him, her arms tightly folded around herself, seeking comfort. "Is he going to be okay?" she asked Giles, her voice small and filled with hope and fear.

Giles nodded reassuringly. "He'll be a little sore in the morning, but he'll be Oz."

"He's right," Prue added, stepping closer. "Unlike a Wendigo, there is no cure. You can't vanquish the one who bit him. He will have to live with his condition. But in the end, he will still be the person he always was."

Willow looked at them, her eyes brimming with uncertainty and tears. But at last, she managed a tiny, fragile smile, a glimmer of hope shining through the clouds of her worry.

January 30, 1998 – Friday

Sunnydale High

As it so often did, it seemed odd to walk down the hall at school the next day as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before. The fluorescent lights flickered above, casting a stark, indifferent glow on the students milling about, laughing, and chatting as though their world had never been touched by the supernatural.

"This is all so weird," Xander said, as if he'd known her thoughts. His brow was furrowed, and his usually light-hearted expression was tinged with confusion and discomfort. "I mean, how are we supposed to act when we see him?"

"It's got to be weird for him, too," Buffy replied, her voice soft with concern. "Now that we know so much." She scanned the crowd, half-expecting to see Oz, wondering how he was coping with the aftermath of his transformation.

Xander stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on some unseen point in the distance. "All I know is I'll never be able to look at him the same way again."

"Do you look at me any different since you learned I'm half demon and I can turn into Nyxara?" Buffy asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and vulnerability. The question hung in the air, loaded with implications and unspoken fears.

Xander stopped in his tracks, clearly confused. "Who are we talking about?"

"Oz," Buffy said, pausing with him. The hallway around them seemed to blur as they focused on each other. "Who are you talking about?"

Xander blinked, his confusion deepening. "No one," he said, a little too quickly. There was a nervous edge to his voice that Buffy didn't miss.

A few feet away, they saw a couple of the guys who'd always hung around with Larry. Their laughter was coarse and loud, and as a nice-looking girl passed them, one of them reached out and knocked her books from her hands. They leered at her as she stooped to retrieve them, their smug grins full of malice.

Suddenly, Larry stepped between them and the girl, his broad shoulders a protective barrier. "Here, let me get those," he offered, scooping up the books and handing them back to her with a gentle smile.

She took them, her eyes wide with surprise and gratitude, and Larry came over to Buffy and Xander, ignoring the puzzled glances and whispered comments of his former Larryettes. "Hey, Xander," he said, his voice earnest and filled with a newfound sincerity. "Look—about what you did? Man, I owe you."

Buffy glanced from one guy to the other, her curiosity piqued. "What'd you do?"

"It's really nothing that we should be talking about." Xander's voice was oddly strained, his eyes locking with Larry's in a silent plea for secrecy. "Ever."

Larry nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and lingering confusion. "I know, I know. It's just, well…" He reached over and squeezed Xander's shoulder, making her friend wince. "Thanks." He walked away, leaving a trail of awkward silence in his wake.

"That was weird," Buffy said, breaking the silence as they continued down the hallway.

"What?" Xander demanded, his voice rising defensively. "It's not okay for one guy to like another guy just because he happened to be in the locker room when absolutely nothing happened and I thought I told you not to push!"

'Whoa,' Buffy thought. 'Bundle of nerves, aren't we?' "All I meant was that he didn't try to look up my dress," she said out loud, her tone light and teasing, hoping to diffuse the tension.

"Oh, yeah." Xander coughed nervously, his face flushing slightly. "That's the weirdness."

"Weirdness abounds lately," Buffy said as they headed outside, the bright sunlight momentarily blinding them. "Maybe it's the moon. It does stuff to people."

"I've heard that," Xander agreed, his voice more subdued now. He followed Buffy's gaze across the yard to where Willow was walking in the opposite direction, her steps hurried and purposeful.

Buffy turned back to Xander; her expression serious. "You didn't answer my question. Oz isn't much different than I am. He now has a dark side of himself. So why do you see me as Buffy instead of Nyxara?"

Xander paused, his eyes searching hers as he tried to find the right words. "Buffy, you've always been Buffy to me. Even when I found out about Nyxara, it didn't change who you are at your core. You're still the same person who jokes with me, who fights alongside me, who cares about her friends."

He looked down, kicking at a loose pebble on the ground. "With Oz, it's different. I guess… I guess it's just new, you know? Seeing him transform, realizing that he's got this whole other side to him… it's going to take some getting used to."

Buffy nodded, understanding the struggle behind his words. "I get it, Xander. Change is hard, especially when it's someone you care about."

Xander looked up, meeting her gaze with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Buff. I'll get there. It's just going to take a little time."

Buffy smiled back, feeling the weight of their shared experiences and the strength of their friendship. "We'll get through this together. All of us."