Willow kept her head down as she skirted Eastman Court. The day was gray, the sky cloudy, and when sunlight broke through a narrow cleft for a few moments it was weak and watery and felt far away in a manner that she had never experienced in Sunnydale. The actual temperature might not have been that low, but it felt cold. The redhead kept her hands deep in her pockets as she turned right, jogged up the concrete steps, and pushed open the great old wooden doors; the wind off the Charles was nippy. The lobby of Eastman was almost empty; a handful of students crisscrossed the halls as their footfalls echoed off the stone. Willow peeled off toward the stairs and stopped short; the hazard yellow flyer on the bulletin board had done its job and caught her eye. She walked over and read it carefully.

Have recent events left you feeling unsafe? If you need an escort on campus, give us a call. We are the Night Rangers, a group of volunteers dedicated to ensuring that all MIT students feel secure.

Willow's eyes widened. "The Night Rangers? Holy 'Sister Christian'."

"Yeah, everybody's talking about it." Sophia tore off a bit of her ham-and-cheese croissant and popped it into her mouth. She was curled up in a nubbly, geometrically-shaped armchair in the corner. Willow, who sat in a matching armchair separated from her by an occasional table, thought that if Sophia did not look like an elf, then the way she curled her feet under her made her a cat.

"Everybody? I seriously doubt that." Willow took a sip of her Snapple lemonade.

Sophia swallowed and gestured with the hand not occupied with her sandwich. "It's a metaphor, okay?"

"Oh, I'm familiar with metaphor," Willow replied. "And subtext and motif and… all the literary stuff."

"'Stuff'? Oh, yeah, you're a regular Strunk and White."

"Ha, ha." Willow took another drink. "But, really?"

"Yeah. There's a certain level of concern. I mean, three things happen, all involving girls, all involving something creepy or unexplained, all-" Sophia's eyes widened. "All involving you."

"What? Shut up!" Willow looked around the lounge. Most heads were either bent over laptops or toward another person. No one else appeared to have noticed her outburst. "Seriously, shut up. That's silly."

"Is it?" Sophia tapped her chin. "Let's recap. First incident, the bathroom on your floor, second incident, at Wiseman-"

"Ha! Checkmate. I don't have anything…" Willow's voice trailed away.

"What? What?" Sophia leaned forward, her eagerness a little spooky.

"I was gonna say I don't have anything to do with Wiseman," Willow said, "but I was going there. I had to-"

"Doesn't matter why." Sophia's eyes were wide. "You were going there and then, in your lobby, uh-huh." She sat back and crossed her arms. "Once is accident, twice is coincidence, three times is pattern."

"Correlation is not causation," Willow said. "Rookie mistake."

Sophia leaned over the table and put a hand on the redhead's arm. "Aren't you a little bit freaked out by it?"

Willow chose her words with great care. "It's sweet of you to care, but I'm really not bothered." Because a little disappearing fog-writing is nothing compared to, oh, almost becoming the love slave of a cyber-demon… or almost having your life sucked out by an ancient mummy… or almost dying from a messed-up voodoo curse… or, oh, having your first boyfriend turn out to be a werewolf... or looking behind the curtain at the true energy of magic while the world exploded around you. "It's really nothing."

"Poop." Sophia flopped back in her chair. "It would be so much more fun if you were a little more serious about this."

I'm as serious Clint Eastwood's colonoscopy. Willow tapped her textbook and said, "You know what's really wacky fun-time? Chemistry, that's what."

"People are losing their fucking minds, I tell you."

Willow looked up from her work as Quan shucked off her puffy coat and let it drop in the bungee chair. "What now?"

Quan jumped onto her bed in a half-sitting, half-slouching position. "Oh, some dipshits obsessed with whatever the fuck it is that's happening."

"That's who," Willow said. "I asked for what."

"I'll get there. These dumbasses think that something called the Sisters of Tituba caused this shit to happen."

"What?" Willow felt the skin on her forearms tighten. She half-turned in her chair to face her roommate, who sprawled on her mattress.

"I was taking a break from dancing my ass off and I heard these dipshits saying that they thought that whatever this is is because of some, I don't know, secret society or some shit called the Sisters of Tituba."

"Well, what is that?" Willow pivoted even further, resting her arm on the back of her chair.

Quan lifted her head and glared. "The fuck do I know? It's probably not even a real thing, just something somebody pulled out of their ass when the Ecstasy kicked in."

"But would anybody believe that?"

"Yeah, because people are dumbasses. I swear Willow, for somebody so smart, sometimes you're slow on the uptake. I guarantee this is some virgin in engineering who can't figure out how to talk to a girl he likes and came up with this scheme."

"Why do it like this?"

"I don't know, maybe he likes some goth chick and thinks this will impress her."

Willow looked out the window beside her desk. The street lamps illuminated people walking by, singly and in groups, the gauzy light creating a nostalgic atmosphere for something that was happening in the moment, another example of something the redhead had never felt in Sunnydale. "You don't think people really believe it's witches, do you? I mean, who would do that?"

"I d'know." Quan lifted her legs and pointed the soles of her boots at the ceiling. "Who can tell what people believe? Buncha assholes think Dave Matthews Band is great."

"Hey!" Willow's head snapped around. "I kinda like DMB?"

"Oh, they're DMB, huh?" Quan rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. "I bet you like Dido, too."

"I do. I like 'Here With Me' a lot."

"Eh. That's your cross to bear."

Willow nodded. "Okay, I'm being very careful with my words right now, but, what condition were you in during your 'break'? Could you have misheard?"

Quan's eyebrows lowered. "I'm fucking insulted." The tiny girl swung her legs around and rose to her knees. "I'm super careful about dosing." She folded her arms. "I smoked half a blunt. Do you need a frame of reference?"

"Oh, I do," Willow said. "I do."

"Okay, me smoking half a blunt is roughly equivalent to you drinking a glass of fucking buttermilk."

"Blech." Willow made a nasty face. "I hate buttermilk."

"And I love weed. America is a land of contrasts." Quan dropped down, sitting cross-legged now. "I wasn't on Ecstasy or Molly or MDMA, none of the good shit, so I may have been… mellow, but I wasn't a fucking basket case."

"You know, there are other modifiers in the English language," Willow said.

"So, anyway, this party was intense and I went outside, mainly because it was super hot in there and because this really fine girl went outside." Quan shrugged. "I'm a hopeless romantic."

Willow cocked an eyebrow. "Yet here you are."

"I said 'hopeless'. I go outside and there's, like, six people in the yard smoking and talking and a couple of them say that they heard that whatever this shit is, it's caused by witches, particularly this Sisterhood of Tituba."

"Wow, that's a real chain of evidence, Quan. You overheard some people talking about something they heard, all while you are a little buzzed and macking on a girl."

"Good god, who says 'mack' anymore?" Quan struggled out of her bed and kicked off her shoes. "Man, last time I play detective for you." She reached into the closet and came out with a towel. "I'm gonna shower. Gotta wash the party stank out of my hair."

Willow looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had already checked the shower room and all the stalls; she was the only person in the bathroom. Her stomach felt fluttery. She licked her lips and tried to calm her jangled nerves without success. If she was going to do this, she needed to do it quickly. The bathroom wouldn't stay empty forever; it probably wouldn't stay empty for the next five minutes.

She summoned a small amount of her will, and whispered a formula with her eyes closed. She sure wasn't going to do this with her eyes open. She let the words settle, then reached her hand out toward the mirror as she reached forward-

She gasped and her eyes opened wide. Before she could stop herself, she scanned the mirror, but there was nothing there, naught but her reflection, which was good. What was bad was what she had felt when she touched the mirror. There was definitely a residue, a vestige, of magical energy. There might have been more, but Willow was done. She had had to summon all of her resolve just to do this much. Whatever had happened in this bathroom, it hadn't been done by a sexually frustrated engineering student. She left the bathroom and headed back to her room, where she dropped into her chair. She would take a few minutes before grabbing her backpack and heading off to the afternoon's schedule. She needed the time to gather herself, not because she was exhausted, but because, as she looked at her hand and felt a phantom tingling in her fingers, part of her wanted more.

The help desk was one of those tall ones; it came up to the bottom of Willow's ribcage. The young woman staffing it was seated on a tall chair, high enough that it looked like she would have to climb down.

"Can I help you?" She was a couple of inches taller than Willow and had a strong jaw with an ever-so-slightly-pointed chin and wide mouth. Her eyes were dark and her hair looked like it could be shades of blond, red, or light brown, depending on the season. At the moment, her expression was pleasant, but her eyebrows and the set of her mouth gave her the look of someone who had gotten a joke you hadn't or who knew something you should know but didn't. Willow cleared her throat.

"Um, yeah, I'm looking-" The redhead's throat felt suddenly dry and she coughed before continuing. "I'm looking for a club to join."

"Oh,well, you should have gotten a list of student organizations in your registration materials and welcome packet." The girl reached under her desktop. "But if you lost it, I can give you another one."

"Uh, no, no, I, um, I looked at that, but none of those are really what I'm looking for." Willow licked her lips and thought fast. "I'm looking for something less… academic. More of a social thing, a way to, uh-" She felt like her fingertips were sweating. "-you know, something more social, to let off steam…" Her voice faded and she arched her eyebrows hopefully.

"You mean, more like the student clubs, wait, I mean, the student-led clubs? Like, the hand-bell ensemble, archery club, the medieval guild?"

"Yes!" Willow positively yipped. "That's it exactly."

"Okay." The girl grabbed a map from the rack beside her. "You know where Stratton is?"

"Yeah." Willow nodded. "My friends and I hang there sometimes, you know, study and stuff."

"Okay, so you don't need this." The young lady replaced the map. "Okay, there's a bulletin board at Stratton where student orgs put up their information, so you can find a lot of that there, but…" She looked at Willow and now her eyebrows seemed to be asking Willow a question.

Unfortunately, it was a question Willow didn't understand, so she said, "Yes?"

"Well, I don't wanna judge, but…" The girl tilted her head forward. "Some of the more… contrary groups don't like to put their info up at Stratton. They're not really looking for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to join."

"Oh, I'm none of those," Willow said. "Neither Tom, Dick, nor Harry."

Willow flushed as the girl arched one eyebrow. "Okay, well, if you go across Mass to the Museum and inside the Nautical Gallery? In the basement, at the north end, there's a notice board, and you can find some different stuff there. Nothing weird or illegal, I swear-" The girl raised her hand. "Just… a little left of center."

Willow nodded. "I think maybe left-of-center might be what I'm looking for right now. Thank you."

"Glad I could help…?" The eyebrows went up again and the mouth curved up.

"Uh, Willow, Willow Rosenberg."

"Pleasure to meet you, Willow Rosenberg. I'm Erin Lofgren." She held out her hand, which Willow grasped. The shake was brisk and clean. "Anytime you need help, just come by here and I'll fix you up." She smiled. "Assuming it's my shift."

"Okay," Willow said, then, for no reason she could fathom, added, "I'll check to make sure you're here before I come back."

"You flatter me." Erin waved. "You have a nice day." Willow returned a flutter of fingers and walked away.

Hart Nautical Gallery was definitely where Willow would go if she ever needed to study an architectural drawing of a masted ship's deck plan and strapping, whatever that was. The glass display cases were all tidy and geometric and well-lit, which made the models and drawings seem even more archaic, especially compared to the rest of the MIT Museum. She rode the elevator to the basement and dawdled, feigning intense interest in the records of America's maritime history. There were few patrons down here, but there was a family of four, two of whom were children apparently either uninterested in ships, at the end of a long day, or both. Willow was pretty sure that the parents weren't paying attention to her and the low-key discontent of the children provided decent cover as she made her way toward the cork bulletin board bolted to the far wall. She bent over a display case filled with models of ships of apparent historical importance, casting furtive glances at the bulletin board. She immediately discounted most of the notices: she was pretty sure the knitting club wasn't the source of whatever was happening. One notice piqued her interest. It read:

Want to learn about the world outside your five senses?

Followed by a phone number, which Willow jotted down. She had just capped her pen when one of the children decided to make their point by lying down on the floor and announcing their disinterest in 'stupid boats'. Willow agreed with the sentiment and thought this was a fine time to make her exit.

"What are you looking at?" Quan asked as she tossed her coat onto the bed and kicked off her boots.

"A moral quandary," Willow replied, staring at the piece of paper in her hand.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Willow turned as she held the paper down by her leg. Quan had shimmied out of her classroom clothes and into a pair of black running shorts with white piping. She pulled a gray sweatshirt over her head and shook her shoulders to arrange it.

"Bullshit. You're looking at whatever that is like it's a treasure map." Quan held out a hand. "Lemme see."

"No," Willow said. "It's nothing."

"Bullshit. Now, see, you made me repeat myself." Quan's delicate hands ruffled her hair. Her eyes suddenly widened. "You found something. I mentioned that Sisters of Tituba crap last night and you went looking, didn't you?" She stamped a tiny foot. "What did you find? Tell me. You know you can't resist me, Willow, I'll wear you down. You might as well tell me now."

The redhead sighed. Quan was right. "Okay, I found a phone number, but I don't know whose it is or if it's connected with anything called the Sisters of Tituba."

"So, you got a phone number that's worth fuck-all, right?" Quan made a 'gimme' gesture with her hand. "I'll find out."

"What? No." Willow's eyes opened wide as her grip tightened on the paper. "I mean, I can do it myself."

"Yeah, but you won't because of some, I don't know, morals or some shit, so it's no damn good to you, and you're just going to pick at it like a fucking scab. Let me have it. Like the Buddha said, no wall between thought and action."

Willow frowned. "Wait, you're a Buddhist?"

"Not the point. You got something that could be something, could be nothing, but you won't find out. I will."

"I might have ethical concerns."

Quan clapped her hands to her cheeks in a faux-amazed gesture. "And I don't. See how that works."

Willow looked down at the paper. "I just… I don't want to do anything that might get someone else in trouble. I mean, I don't want to draw attention to anyone if they're not doing anything wrong."

"Then that's why I'll do it. No one will catch me." Quan snapped her fingers. "Come on. I promise I won't do anything illegal."

"No?" Willow sounded suspicious.

Quan held up her right hand. "I swear on whatever you want me to swear on, makes no difference to me, that I will just get you the name to go along with that phone number. Anything else is up to you."

Willow sighed. "I'm just not sure…" She raised the paper to look at it more closely; Quan leaped forward and snatched it from her hand. "Hey!"

Quan held the paper over her head, away from Willow. "And now, grasshopper, it is time for me to leave."

Willow shook her head. "You do realize I could just take it back. I'm, like, five inches taller than you."

"But you haven't have you?" Quan slipped her sockless feet into her boots and struggled into her jacket, then scooped up her wallet.

"Where are you going?" Willow cried.

"The computer lab. You think I'm gonna do this shit on my own laptop? Fuck, no." Quan grabbed the doorknob and looked back at Willow. "Back in ten minutes, fifteen tops."