Faith stood in the balcony and fumed. What she saw of the show filtered through a red haze. As the lights came up, Kyle cast a questioning glance in her direction. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" Faith crossed her arms and stared at the stage.

He scratched his head. "Well, I'm kinda worried about radiation burns over here."

"Nobody accused you of being a thief."

Kyle nodded as he shut down the board. "True, true." He kept his eyes on the controls. "But, are you okay?"

Faith turned to face him. "I'm not about to dissolve into a puddle of girlie tears, if that's what you're worried about."

He straightened up. "That's really the last thing I'm thinking. You don't seem upset, you just seem… really, really mad."

"Fuckin' A, Kreskin."

"Hey, hey." Kyle took a step back and raised his hands. "Not the bad guy here, I just don't think this is healthy."

"Did I ask your advice?"

"You did not, and this isn't advice." The fingers of his right hand rested on the edge of the soundboard. "What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You act like you've got one foot out the door all the time, and that's when you're in a good mood. I'm worried-"

"Worried? About me?" Faith's chin jutted forward. "Don't bother. I don't need it."

"You've been crystal clear about that." Kyle's eyes went down to his hand, still resting on the board. "But that's not your call. I get to care about what I want to care about." The corner of his mouth turned up. "You're not the boss of me."

Faith blinked. "Wow, third grade much?"

"No more than being pissed off at people who are on your side."

The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "I don't need anybody on my side."

"That's the second time you've said 'need'." He stared into her eyes. "Don't you ever want somebody on your side? I do."

"Give it a rest, Mr. Rogers." Faith's voice was almost a snarl.

"Okay. What are you doing after we shut down?"

"What?"

Kyle scratched his jaw. "You seem pretty amped up to just turn loose on the world. I was gonna go out for a while. You want to come with?"

"And do what?" Faith rested one hand on her hip.

"Not much. There's some guys here who have a weekend band. They usually rehearse after work, sleep in in the morning. I go over and hang out sometimes, run sound for their shows. Interested?"

Faith looked out over the dark, empty theater; her jaw worked. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Kyle spread his hands wide. "Because you're upset and… I don't like that."

"Why do you care? You've known me, what, a week?"

He looked baffled. "I don't know. How long do you have to know someone before you give a shit about them?"

His words hung between them in the silence, then Faith said, "Okay, if you'll stop whining, I'll go watch your lame friends rehearse. Will there be beer?"

Kyle grabbed his jacket. "Probably."

"That Spare Tire stuff you like?" Faith's tone softened from furious to tart.

"No, but it will be the finest Heineken money can buy."

She nodded as she turned toward the door. "That's what I'm talking about."

"So, what did you think?"

Faith considered the question. Her mind was working at a more reasonable pace; there had been beer, for sure, and also some pretty good local weed. "They get along pretty well."

"Yes…" Kyle prompted.

The Slayer wagged her head. "Which is a good thing because, as a band, they suck."

"Ouch. Harsh." Kyle laughed. "Strong opinion."

"Hey, dude, I snuck into a Bosstones' show when I was twelve, so I earned my stripes."

"Wait." Kyle glanced over at her as his truck swerved. He had also partaken of the evening's delights. "You went to see the Mighty Mighty Bosstones when you were twelve?"

"Hometown boys had a hit. Gotta support 'em."

"Holy shit, I just learned more about you in two sentences than I have all week. You're from Boston?" Kyle hunched over the steering wheel.

"Yeah." Faith looked out her window at the houses rolling by.

"Okay, I'm assuming that 'The Impression That I Get' was the hit, but…" His voice trailed away.

"Then you're making an ass out of you and me. Posers jumped on the bandwagon after 'Impression'. I'm talking about 'Someday I Suppose'." Faith paused. "Although I did see 'em on the 'Impression' tour."

"That's a relief."

"Whatta you mean?" Faith's head whipped toward him.

"Well, it's just that, if you first saw the Bosstones after 'Impression' that would make you… fourteen now?"

"Dude, why is everyone obsessed with my age?"

"Everyone is a big term, but you can't even legally be in the casino if you're under eighteen." Kyle concentrated on the road in front of the truck. "And you are... ?"

"Nice try. ID says I'm nineteen."

"Okay, but, let's say you wanted to vote in a county election. Could you do so with a clear conscience?"

Faith sighed and shook her head, smiling. "My conscience is always clear, but, since you're apparently not gonna let this go… if I was in school, I would be a senior."

Kyle smacked the steering wheel with his hand. "You're not eighteen!"

"I didn't say that. Senior in high school could be eighteen, easy. Shit, I got a couple cousins who were seniors when they were twenty."

"So you're twenty," he smirked.

"No, I'm not wicked stupid like my cousins." Faith ran a hand through her hair. "Could we drop this? It's been going on for days and it's giving me the wig." She frowned.

"Okay, okay. Don't get bent, I won't narc on you." He glanced in her directiond. "I don't disrespect my crew."

"Why are you driving so slow?" Faith asked. She smothered a hiccup.

"Last thing I want to do is get stopped tonight. Pretty sure I couldn't see the legal limit if I tried." Kyle kept both hands on the wheel. He turned left. You're toward the end of the block, right?" The truck glided to a stop across from the house Faith now called home base. As she reached for the door, he said, "Hey, what about Monday?"

Faith squinted in the sudden illumination from the dome light. "What about it?" she said, closing the door enough to douse the light.

"You said you'd like to hang out. Still down?"

"Yeah. What's your plan?"

"Well, there's an old movie theater a block off Main that's kind of an all-purpose spot now. The band that you said sucked has a show on Monday night. Don't worry, there are a couple others on the bill. I don't think they suck."

Faith shouldered the door open, ready for the light this time. "Sure. What time?"

"Nine. You want me to pick you up?"

The Slayer considered this. "Let me get back to you on that, okay?" She climbed out of the truck and noticed the dim light in the front window of the house. As she drew closer, the lights resolved into motion and she could hear sound from inside. The hair on the Slayer's neck stood on end as she dug her key (given to her that morning) out of her pocket and opened the door…

The reflexes that came with being the Slayer let her catch the pillow that sailed toward her head through a shower of popcorn. "Holy shit!" Wendi shrieked.

"What the hell?" Faith looked at the now-literally-named throw pillow in her hand.

Tamra punched a button on the remote, freezing the colors that washed over their faces, then clicked on the lamp, bathing the room in a more even glow. She stuck her tongue in one cheek as she surveyed Faith. "Looks-" she sniffed "-and smells like somebody had a good time after work."

"What are you guys doing?" the Slayer asked.

"Watching a movie," Wendi said. "Or we were until you came in at the scariest part. I almost peed in my pants."

"What's the flick?" Faith stepped around so she could see the screen.

"The Prophecy II," Tamra replied. "It's pretty terrible, which makes it great."

Faith looked between the two girls. "Where's Cheyanne?"

"Oh, she went to bed." Not all of the popcorn had flown through the air; Wendi tossed a handful into her mouth. "She doesn't like horror movies."

The Slayer processed this information and nodded. "Well, I'm gonna brush my teeth and hit the rack myself. Enjoy the rest of the movie."

"You wanna seat?" Wendi scootched over. "There's only, like, ten minutes left."

Faith shook her head, mouth twisted in a sardonic grimace. "Not really impressed by scary flicks."

"What have you got against Christopher Walken impaled on a spike?"

"Nothing," the Slayer replied. "But God protecting the chick from Flashdance so she doesn't get impaled?" She shook her head. "Buying that, I'm not."

"Wow. Hello darkness, my old friend." Tamra rolled her eyes.

Faith shrugged. "Gotta be me." She took the four steps down the hallway to the bathroom. Her toothbrush was in the glass where she'd placed it that morning; she brushed her teeth, rinsed, and took two steps to the bedroom door. She slipped into the room and past Cheyanne's softly breathing form, kicked off her boots and unzipped her jeans, then sat down on the mattress…

"What's this?" the Slayer demanded.

"Whoa, pants." Wendi held up a hand as though shading her eyes from the sun.

"What is this?" Faith repeated.

Wendi glanced at Tamra, eyes wide. "What's it look like? It's a pillow."

Faith shook the offending article. "No shit, Sherlock, it's a pillow. Do I look like an idiot? Why do I have a pillow… and a sheet on my bed?"

"Because we found them cheap?" Wendi looked at the Slayer, then at Tamra, then back. "It's not like they're nine hundred count or anything. It's like a, I don't know, housewarming present or something."

"Somebody killing a cat out here?" Cheyanne leaned against the wall, bleary-eyed. "I need some water." She stumbled into the kitchen and Faith heard the tap running, followed by silence, then the clink of a glass, and Cheyanne appeared in the living-room doorway. "What's the issue?"

Wendi turned to speak over her shoulder. "Glynda's mad that we got her a sheet and blanket."

"Really?" Cheyanne scratched her forearm. "She's gonna pitch a fit when she sees the towel."

Faith gritted her teeth. "I didn't ask you to do this. I don't need anything from you. Any of you."

"Jesus." Cheyanne yawned and headed toward the bedroom. "Maybe I just don't wanna sleep in the same room with someone whose bed looks like a prop from Caged Heat."

"We just saw the set and it looked cute. It didn't cost very much." Wendi bit her lip. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to upset you. It's just a gift."

"Don't be a jerk," Tamra said, picking up the remote. "You want to finish watching the movie with us? You have to put on pants if you do."

"No way." Faith jammed the pillow under her arm. "I'm going to bed."

Faith upended the bag of chips to let the last crumbs fall into her mouth, stumbling as she did so. She bumped into Kyle; they stopped for a second and laughed, leaning against each other as they stood on the sidewalk. "That's the last of it," the Slayer said, crumpling the bag and dropping it.

"Yeah," Kyle said as he stretched and looked up at the night sky. "Hey, would you want to spend the night?"

"What?" Faith took two steps back. "Where'd that come from?"

"Liquid courage, I think." He looked at her and swayed slightly in a nonexistent breeze. "But I thought, maybe, y'know, it might be time to change things a little."

Faith blinked. "Why?"

"I, I don't know, I just… I mean, you going home after every time we… I don't know, it just seems… kinda 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am'." He blew out a breath. "I don't want you to feel like I'm using you."

"Maybe I like that… makes it feel dirty." Faith stuck her hands in her back pockets. "If sex isn't supposed to be messy, why do we need a towel afterward?"

"Wow." Kyle shook his head; it looked like it weighed forty pounds. "That's… that's… I don't know what that is."

"Because you're drunk… like me." Faith jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "C'mon, let's go. Work on that question later… after."

Kyle nodded. "That's a plan." They wobbled slightly as they headed down the street, Kyle more so than the Slayer. They turned left at the end of the block and stepped into the street. Faith's mind roiled as they walked along the asphalt; why did people always have to ruin a good time? She was deep enough in thought that the pulsing red and blue lights caught her by surprise.

"Ah, crap," Kyle said. "Guess it didn't work."

"There's no law against walking drunk, unless you're doing something like pissing in the street." Faith turned and squinted into the light show, blinded by the glare. A shadowy figure climbed out of the driver's seat, joined a second later by the occupant of the passenger seat.

"Hey, Wes," Kyle said, "weird seeing you again so soon." In response, the figure raised an arm. A small, slow alarm went off in the Slayer's brain; she started to spin toward the shadow in front of her and felt a sting in her chest and stomach. She had time for one thought before the door of consciousness slammed.

Shit, not a taser again…

As Faith stepped out of the shower her eyes fell on the obviously new white towel on top of the toilet tank. She growled and her eyes narrowed, but she grabbed it anyway. She did have to admit that it was easier to get dressed without her clothes sticking to a damp torso. She padded barefoot into the living room; Tamra was curled up on the worn sofa, eating a bowl of cereal.

"Hey, sleepyhead. What time are you supposed to be at work?"

"Don't really have a set time." Faith looked around. "I usually get there about eleven."

"Well, then, you've got less than an hour." Tamra took a bite of Alpha-Bits. "Must have been a good time last night."

"If it was your business, I'd tell you." Faith gave the other girl a significant look.

"Jeez, what's up your ass?" Tamra used the spoon as a pointer; a drop of milk fell on her bare foot.

"Nothing," Faith replied. "I just mind my own business."

"Don't make me look like a bad guy." The spoon returned to the bowl; Tamra chewed as she looked at Faith.

"What does that even mean?"

Tamra swallowed and licked her lips. "We needed a roommate and I told them you were cool. Last night's act was not cool. They were just trying to be nice."

"Why?"

"Why? Because that's what people do." Tamra sighed and stood. "This is a small house. We're trying to get along. Just… just say 'thank you', even if it pisses you off for some reason." She went into the kitchen.

When Tamra came out, Faith said, "Listen, I… I have a bad history with people."

There was a long pause, then Tamra said, "Oh, I was waiting for the second part, like 'I have a bad history with people who wear plaid'."

Faith looked to her left, through the picture window, focusing on the fallen leaves on the front lawn. "People I meet tend to fall into two groups: assholes and people who end up hurt. Sometimes assholes who get hurt."

Tamra blinked, clearly taken aback. "Could you overgeneralize a little more?"

Faith sucked on a tooth. "Not really… so, I don't ask for anything and I don't do feelings, OK?"

"Wow, you must suck at trust falls." Tamra stepped into the Slayer's line of sight. "I'm sorry if you've had a bad life, which, you must have to be this…" Words failed; the blond girl waved a hand in Faith's direction. "...but that's a shitty way to go through life. This is a little town, and most of us are just trying to figure out our lives. Wendi and Cheyanne were just trying to say 'hello', Wendi especially." She shook her head. "You were outta line, way outta line."

"Fine," the Slayer spat through clenched teeth. "I can just grab my stuff and get out of your way."

"Or you could make an effort to be a person." Tamra put her hands on her hips. "Look, everything out on the table, we need a fourth person in here and there aren't a lot of candidates, and if you leave, Wendi's gonna feel really bad, because she'll think it's her fault."

"What about Cheyanne?" Faith's chin tilted up.

"Cheyanne would be happy to be the asshole, if you make her, but she's who she is. What you see is what you get." Tamra sighed. "Think about it this way. All of this-" her raised hand moved in a circle "-is because they spent probably six bucks on a sheet and a towel-"

Faith clicked her tongue. "Don't forget the pillow."

"Oh, god, no, how could I forget the pillow. That makes everything totally different." Tamra shook her head. "If you wanna go, go… but don't put it on us. It's all you." She sighed. "Now, I've gotta go. It's my week to do the grocery shopping." She went past Faith through the hallway and into her bedroom.

"Just so you know," Faith said after her, "I've punched people out for about half of what you said."

Tamra's head appeared through the doorway. "Well, either you're scared of me or you're trying to be a better person. Your pick." She ducked back into the bedroom and reappeared with her purse over her shoulder. "Sorry that I don't know what you want from the store, but you can go on the list next week."

"Assuming I'm here."

Tamra paused, hand on the front door. "Yes, assuming you're here, but, if you're not, it won't mess up our list." The door opened and she took one look back. "I hope I see you tomorrow." The door closed and the Slayer was left alone. Faith shook her head, went into the bedroom, and grabbed her boots. Swearing under her breath, she yanked the laces tight, then stood up and shoved everything into her bag, everything except the damp towel. She looked at it bunched in her hand, then down at the bed and the inexpensive sky-blue sheet and pillow. She grimaced and threw the towel down. It landed on the mattress in a heap. The Slayer shook her head.

"Shit," she said and stormed out the door.

"How are you?" Kyle asked.

"I'm fine." Faith kept her focus on the task at hand, which was making sure the footlight bar was correctly aligned. The bar was pretty heavy; she actually had to strain (a little) to keep it in position.

"I noticed." Kyle continued working on the lighting bus. "Which is a little surprising, since my head feels like its got a couple of marbles rolling around in it."

"I've got a fast metabolism. I didn't drink as much as you." Faith bit her lip as she changed her grip. The light bar slid into place and Will, one of the other hands, began tightening the bracket.

"Glynda?" Faith looked up; she had gotten quite good at responding to her fake name. Raven stood at the office door. "Got a minute?"

"Sure." Faith hopped off the stage, wincing a little as the shock rocked her skull. She shook her head and sauntered down the aisle. "Whatta you need?"

"Here." Raven held out a box. "This got sent to us by mistake. It belongs to the cultural center."

"The what?" Faith took the box, which was surprisingly heavy for its size.

Raven rolled her eyes. "Since it's on Kupok land, the casino is required to present the tribe's history and culture." She pointed toward the main floor. "In the gift shop, at the far back right corner, there's the cultural center."

"Sounds like it's priority one," Faith snarked.

"Oh, the white man does the bare minimum required," Raven said.

Faith shifted the cardboard cube under her arm. "Are you… ?"

Raven's eyes widened. "Am I Kupok?" She shrugged. "Partly. That's one of the reasons management likes me. I check many boxes." She made a shooing motion. "Scoot."

Faith grunted in response. The traffic in the hall was moderate. A guy with a broad back and shoulders faced the far wall, studying the posters. An old guy with an honest-to-god silver-handled cane winked at her as he passed. The Slayer shook her head and turned onto the main floor. The restaurant was to her left, the gift shop to her right. She stopped inside the door and found herself looking at Cheyanne. Their eyes met; Cheyanne gave her gum an extra snap and turned back to folding T-shirts. Faith shook her head and navigated past the racks of tees and souvenir coffee mugs to the back of the shop.

The cultural center was small and neat; exhibits of Kupok baskets and woodwork, examples of clothing, and information cards on the wall surrounded a large diorama of what Faith supposed was a Kupok village. She was looking at it when a tall, thin woman with oversized tortoiseshell glasses approached. "Can I help you?"

"I think I'm supposed to give you this," Faith said, holding out the box.

"Oh." The woman looked at the label. "Great. I've been waiting for this."

"It got delivered to the theater by mistake," Faith said.

"Not the first time that's happened," the woman said as she took the box. "Well, I can finally get to work on these."

"What is it?" Faith asked. The woman's enthusiasm had piqued her curiosity.

"I'm pretty sure it's a box full of arrowheads." The curator placed the box on the counter and produced a Stanley knife. She bit her lip as she carefully slit the packing tape, then folded back the flaps. "Ooooh," she said, then looked up at Faith. "You want to take a look?"

"Sure." The Slayer raised her hands. "I carried it in here, might as well see what's in it." She leaned over. "Hey, those are pretty boss. Why are they so black and shiny?"

"They're obsidian." The curator's voice shifted into professional mode. "You can find obsidian around here, but there's much more over by the Warner Mountains, for example. They Kupok made their own arrowheads and traded for more."

"Huh." Faith cocked her head. "Why did they do that? Did they just think black arrowheads were awesome?"

"Oh, no. Obsidian's a volcanic glass. It doesn't have a crystal structure, so when you fracture a piece of it, the shards have an edge sharper than anything we can manufacture today. Obsidian shards are still used in surgical tools."

"Whoa. That's wicked."

"It certainly is. Here." The curator pulled on a pair of latex glove from beneath the counter and reached into the box. She extracted a glistening wedge and held it up, careful to grasp it at the base. "If you ran your thumb over this edge here, it would slice it wide open."

"Nice," Faith said, then realized that her choice of vocabulary had earned her an odd look. "Thanks for the history lesson, I… I gotta get back to work."

"Well, thank you very much for the delivery."

Faith pointed a finger in response and left the exhibit. Cheyanne was nowhere to be seen, which was fine with the Slayer. She beelined to the door, but came to an abrupt stop. The guy who had grabbed her ass was walking across the floor, weaving between the tables. Two younger men, both double-wides, flanked him. As he drew near the doors in the back wall, one opened and Donovan stepped out. He ushered Assgrabber inside, glanced at the action on the floor, and closed the door.

"Huh," Faith said as she turned toward the hall. "Guess we know who's the butt-boy now."