The white car drifted to a stop at the side of the road. It sat there idling for a few moments, then the driver killed the engine and got out. He opened the hood and stood there, looking at the engine, or at least it seemed that's what he was doing. He waited; traffic on this two-lane state highway was thin, and presently no vehicles could be seen in either direction. He went around to the front fender on the passenger side where, out of sight of the highway, he searched among the gravel of the shoulder until he had a handful of certain sizes and shapes. He also found four twigs of roughly the same length.

He crouched beside the right front wheel and arranged the stones, then propped the sticks over them in a rough pyramid. He scooped a handful of dust from the shoulder of the road and held it over his rustic structure, whispered a few words, then let the dust sift through his fingers. It drifted down in the almost nonexistent breeze then, a few inches above the sticks and stones, whirled around in a flat vortex and dispersed to the four corners of the compass. The man stood up and dusted his palms against each other.

"That is puzzling," Robert Woo said, then climbed back into the car.

Faith could feel Donovan's blood and brains drying on her neck… and in her hair… and on her left arm… and down the left leg of her jeans… basically, every step reminded her that one side of her body was coated with exploding douchebag. The skin on her face and arm drew tight as the congealing mess turned into a gory crust. She had exited the casino by the hidden passage and just reached the town proper when the sirens started up. She was already using the alleys, so she was able to duck behind a fence as two police cruisers and an ambulance sped by, lights flashing. In a way, that was good luck: anyone who was out was going to be looking in the direction of the commotion. She stuck to the alleys until she reached Kyle's house. She scanned the neighborhood carefully and saw nothing, but for a moment she regretted leaving the knife behind. No one raised an outcry as she crossed the backyard; she reached for the knob of the broken door and stopped as she caught a glimpse of herself in the wavy glass of the window. The left side of her face looked as though a child had taken a handful of chocolate syrup and smeared it along her hairline, over her ear, and down her neck. Her hair was dried in stiff, spiky clumps on the left side. Faith closed her eyes and pushed open the door. Her old clothes were in the same heap on the floor where she had dropped them. She stepped over them and went into the bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirror; the improved quality of the reflection did not make her look or feel any better. Her fist clenched and for a moment she was tempted to smash the mirror into a thousand tiny fragments, but that wouldn't make things any better. The reflection was not the problem; it was what it reflected. She stripped off her blood-soaked clothing and stepped into the shower. She could cry in there.

For minutes, the water ran red as it eddied around her bare feet. Every so often a chunk of something would plop out of her hair and swirl down the drain; from time to time small splinters of bone would dance in the water like miniature sailboats. Sometimes they would stick together and form a clump and she would push them into the drain. She stood under the spray after the hot water was gone, after the water ran clear down the drain, until she shivered. Then she stepped out and dried off. The girl in the mirror was a mess: her torso covered in bruises and scabs, dark circles under her eyes, her ribs and collarbones stark.

"Jesus," Faith muttered, "heroin chic without the heroin." She grabbed her boots (the only part of her outfit worth salvaging) and went into the bedroom. The house was empty now, truly empty, with the hollow, echoey feeling that abandoned buildings acquired: it had just done so at speed. She pulled on a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved T; at the rate she was going through clothes her bag was going to be a prop before long.

She took a look around the living room and tried to understand the emptiness in the middle of her chest. It wasn't a home: it was a place where she'd eaten pizza and watched movies, listened to Kyle talk about sound design as they lay in bed after screwing, where she had rested her head on his shoulder, another in the line of places where she had briefly docked before jumping back into the current. But this hurt. It felt almost like… almost like what she'd felt-

"Screw this." She scowled and wrenched open the door, just in time to confront a car as it turned into the driveway. She was exposed and her skin suddenly felt a size too small. The driver's door opened.

"Are you all right?" Tamra asked.

Faith felt lightheaded. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Uh, looking for you." Tamra rolled her eyes. "You really haven't been at our place for basically, what, a couple weeks, you disappear for days and then you call Cheyanne about some weird cloak-and-dagger stuff, where else are we gonna look?"

"Yeah." Wendi leaned out of the back window. "We came by last night, but nobody was here."

Faith let that pass. "Shouldn't you all be at work? I mean, this is a day when you all work, right?"

"About that." The passenger door opened and Cheyanne got out. "The casino's shut down. There's cops and EMTs everywhere." She made a pensive face. "Rumor is that there was a dead body, but… you know how people talk shit." She looked at the house. "Anyway, it made us think of you… I don't know why."

"So," Tamra said, "I see you've got your luggage. You leaving?"

Faith nodded. "Oh, hell yeah, I'm leaving."

Tamra and Cheyanne exchanged a look over the roof of the car. They seemed to reach some sort of agreement, then Tamra spoke. "Is Kyle home?"

"No." Faith looked away.

There was a long, dead pause, then Tamra licked her lips. "We should get rid of Kasey's stuff, shouldn't we?"

Faith looked back and their eyes met for a moment, then the Slayer nodded. "Yeah. No need to keep it."

"How sure are you?" Cheyanne asked.

"Really fucking sure." Faith's stare was as dead-eyed as a great white shark's. The silence that stretched out seemed to include the entire world until Wendi struggled out of the back seat and held out an envelope.

"Here."

"What's that?" Faith made no move to take it.

"It's… We put together some cash. You'll probably need it."

Faith scuffed her feet like a bull preparing to charge. "I'm not taking that."

"Why not?" Wendi shook the envelope like she was trying to attract a baby's attention. "You'll need to buy a ticket." Faith shook her head.

"Okay," Tamra said as she reached into the car, "but if you don't take the money, you can't have this." She held up a paper bag. It bore the casino logo and the bottom was speckled with grease stains. Faith's stomach quickly took a side. "When they shut the place down, we had to deep-six everything on the line, but I managed to get, like, four cheeseburgers, I think." Tamra hefted the bag. "Two cans of Diet Coke, too."

"Diet Coke tastes like piss." Faith kept her eyes hard, but her salivary glands were in full revolt.

"Well, it's all I could get." Tamra looked at the bag. "Be a shame to throw away perfectly good burgers just because somebody was stubborn." She cast a questioning glance at the Slayer.

Cheyanne sighed. "Take the fucking money," she said, her voice hoarse. "I don't care how you feel about it, but it's all we can do, so take it." She stared at the Slayer, a defiant expression on her face.

Faith looked at the three of them in turn, then shook her head. "Fine," she said, "but only because I really need the food." She snatched the envelope from Wendi's hand and shoved it into her bag. Tamra handed over the sack with a flourish. The smell hit Faith's nostrils and almost buckled her knees.

"When are you leaving?" Cheyanne asked.

"As soon as I can get to the bus station."

"Oh, here." Wendi reached into the back seat again.

"What the hell?" Faith asked.

"It's your pillow and blanket. They're yours, and if you roll 'em up, I think they'll fit in your bag… it might be a little full."

Faith looked at the items, then surrendered and held out her hand to accept the pillow and blanket. She put her bag of food on the steps while she unzipped her duffel and stuffed the linens in. It was full, but not heavy; it looked like she carried a giant hot dog wrapped in black nylon. "There, happy?"

"Do you have a key?" Tamra nodded toward Kyle's house.

"What? No." Faith shook her head. "But, the… the back door's open."

Tamra nodded. "Okay. We might come over tonight, clean it."

"Clean- Why would you do that?" Faith frowned.

Tamra shrugged. "You don't want anybody's stuff left in the house, just in case… you know, in case anybody wants to look around, you know, the landlord wants to show it… once everything's, you know, back to normal. Pretty sure they wouldn't want any… stuff left lying around."

Faith nodded. "Thanks."

A tear ran down Tamra's cheek. "We liked Kasey. She was a good roommate. It sucks, but at least we know." She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand as Wendi and Cheyanne looked at the ground. "So, this is hasta la vista?"

"Yeah." Faith looked down the street. "I want to get out of here yesterday."

"Need a ride to the bus station?"

Faith shook her head. "No. Thanks, but I don't think I'm good company now, anyway."

"Like you were ever," Cheyanne muttered.

Tamra studied the Slayer's face. "Okay." She put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. They turned left at the stop sign and were gone. Faith slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up the burger sack. She hesitated, then reached in and fished out a cheeseburger, tore off the wrapper, and began eating as she walked down the street.

Diet Coke might have tasted like piss, but Faith had not complained as she washed down two burgers on her way to the bus station. She sat down on the bench outside the square red-brick building to finish off the last two. Luckily, the bench faced the street instead of the building, so she was spared the sight of her reflection in the windows. The air was autumn-crisp, but the sun was warm and bright. The bench was painted a pleasant pine-green and situated in a corner formed by the main sidewalk, which ran in front of the bench and on down the street, and the branch of the sidewalk that led to the door of the bus station. The pebbled concrete was bordered by a low hedge, and a shiny trash can sat in the corner opposite the bench. It was an idyllic scene, except for the pale girl who sat on the bench, a black nylon bag resting on the grass at her feet, dark smudges under her eyes, her face pale and drawn, the torso beneath her clothing covered in fading bruises and healing wounds. Faith was hit with overwhelming fatigue as she cracked open the second soda. Her body finally succumbed to the lack of food, lack of sleep, the draining of the adrenaline that had kept her running at the red line. Pounding four cheeseburgers in pretty rapid succession had not helped. She slumped on the bench and felt a dense emptiness in the middle of her chest. She looked at the soda in her hand, then guzzled half of it and wiped her mouth on her forearm. "C'mon, caffeine," she groaned. "Don't fail me now." She finished the drink and crammed the can into the by-now tattered sack, which she balled up and tossed at the garbage can, then watched as the crumpled orb of white paper arced through the air and dropped dead-center into the aluminum receptacle.

The throaty burble of a big-block V8 in the street caused the hackles to rise on the Slayer's neck. A fifteen-year-old T-top Corvette, bronze and low-slung, rolled to the curb. "Nice shot," Raven said, "Looks like you're getting out of Dodge."

Faith eyeballed the idling sports car. "Looks like you are, too."

"Oh, yeah. I don't think there'll be a show for a while." The magician's eyes were covered by opaque black sunglasses. "Quite a start to the day, huh?" The realization that it was only mid-morning hit Faith like a punch in the gut. The discovery of the video room, the stand-off with Wes, Donovan's death, all seemed like events that had occurred days ago. The Slayer felt slightly light-headed. "Need a ride?" Faith's anger flared at the innocence in Raven's voice.

"Not from you."

"Ouch. Why so angry at me?" Raven tipped down her Wayfarers and peered over the rims, like a hot, sexy, female Tom Cruise in Risky Business-

Faith shook her head. "This morning, that's why. You could have stopped all of this-" She held up her hands in frustration "-weeks ago, but you didn't. How many people died because of you?"

"None." Raven touched a finger to her lips. "Oh, I guess that's not technically true, but I'd argue that Donovan was more pissant than human."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh, I know it's not, but I didn't put a single woman in that cave."

"You could have stopped it."

"Could I? Hmmm." Raven touched her chin and looked in the rearview mirror. "Let's see… Donovan's dead, which is, I admit, tremendously satisfying, but the guys he did this for, where are they? Oh yeah, still at large." She looked up at the Slayer. "What do you think is happening with the guy who grabbed your ass?"

"Was he one of them?" The Slayer felt her spine stiffen.

"What do you think?" Raven patted the seat beside her. "We could hunt him down, really make a Thelma & Louise out of it."

Faith crossed her arms. "You have seen the ending of that movie, haven't you?"

"Good point. Maybe make it Boys on the Side."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Oh, yes, I did." Raven snapped her fingers. "Oh, you mean the big question, the unstated one. Why didn't I prevent this? Hmmmmm." She threw her hands wide. "Because it's not my job to fix your broken little spirits."

"You killed Donovan."

"Because I gave you the chance and you wouldn't, and I got tired of messing around." The magician shrugged. "But it did feel good."

Faith looked down her nose at the trickster. "You're not a person, are you?"

"Oh, I'm not human, but I'm definitely a person," Raven replied, settling her glasses on the bridge of her perfect nose. "I have a personality, a will, self-awareness, all that." She looked at the Slayer, who could see her reflection in the black lenses. "And I do what I want."

"Yeah." Faith looked away. "You really are kinda like someone I knew for a while… if she'd had power, she probably would have acted a lot like you." She looked back at Raven. "Which makes you even scarier."

"Oh, now I wish I could've met your friend."

"She wasn't my friend… but she'd probably take you up on your offer." The Slayer scratched her knee.

"Nice segue. You know…"

"No. It's not happening." Faith set her jaw.

Raven sighed. "Okay, but when we see each other again, the offer's still open."

The Slayer scoffed. "I don't think we'll be running into each other."

"Please. All that anger, all that hunger, all that grievance… you and I will definitely see each other again." Raven reached down into the passenger floorboard. "Here."

Faith caught the sunglasses in one hand and looked at them. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Wear them, duh." Raven stepped on the accelerator and the Corvette fishtailed slightly as it pulled away from the curb, leaving Faith sitting in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. The Slayer felt the grit settling on her skin. She slipped on the sunglasses and waited until the haze subsided, then grabbed her duffel bag, went into the station, and approached the counter.

"I need a ticket."

The plump lady with the red dye job tilted her head back to look under her glasses. "Where to?"

"Where's the very next bus headed?" Faith asked.

"Eureka, eventually," the lady said.

"Fine, gimme one of those." Faith reached into her bag and her hand brushed the envelope. She shrugged and pulled it out; her temper flared when she saw how much cash was inside. It was more than the pay that she was owed; enough more that she felt again the familiar resentment she harbored toward people who felt sorry for her. Then she thought of Kyle, and of Kasey who she never knew, and the tableau in that cave, of her stone-age battle against an eldritch beast and Donovan's head turning into mist, and she decided that maybe, just maybe, this one time, she could call the balance even. She took the ticket from the lady and went outside again, where she waited on the bench for fifteen minutes until the long silver coach rolled up. The door cranked open and disgorged three people; Faith waited for them to pass, then stepped up onto the bus.

"Howdy," the driver said, sharing a broad smile. "Where you headed today?"

Faith glanced over her shoulder at the town; it was literally already behind her. "I'll let you know when I get there," she said and headed down the aisle.

END OF WICKED GAME.

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