"So.do all the kids in Sunnydale spend their nights in the sewers?" Nick managed to sound sarcastic through the disgust evident in his voice. "Or just you guys?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Oh, just us, the zombies, a few vampires, several dozen demons, and a rat or ninety." The Slayer was more than a little irritated by the uninvited tagalongs. They were slowing her down, even more than the Scoobies normally did. At the rate they were going, the Humjkskib would be able to summon an army of demons before they found it.

Gil followed along behind the youths, watching Spike carefully. He couldn't believe that he was beginning to believe the obviously delusional Englishman. Seriously, he'd dealt with this type before-people who thought they needed human blood to survive. But the physical evidence was fascinating. That and the fact that Spike just didn't move like anyone else in the group. When he wasn't walking, he was still-too still, like a statue. Then there was the movement. Sometimes he moved so gradually, with such control, it was like watching ballet in slow-motion. Other times he was so quick it was as though he simply disappeared and reappeared somewhere else. The elder CSI supervisor shook his head to clear it. There was no way he was going to be drawn into this farce.

Grissom's thoughts were interrupted when the group in front of him stopped walking. "What?"

Buffy ignored him completely. "Xander, left. I'll take the right. Spike, Willow, you've got The Science Guys."

"Huh?" Warrick looked around. "What are they talking about?"

Xander glared. "Slayer sense. Vamps up ahead. Shut up and don't move."

"Right." Sara smirked. "All this action and damn if I didn't leave my best cross at home." Nick smiled despite the situation.

Catherine, however, stayed focused on the blond girl in front. Buffy was standing stock still, only her eyes moving as she scanned the darkness in front of her. Suddenly, the girl spun around and kicked, flipping a formerly unseen man onto the ground. Five more men disfigured much like Spike swarmed out of the darkness, surrounding her and Xander.

Xander pulled out a stake and went to work on the closest vamp. Unlike Buffy, he couldn't just throw them down, so he used his hard-earned agility to outsmart the enemy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Willow and Spike each take on a fledge that had targeted the Las Vegas investigators as defenseless.

Nick grabbed Warrick, slamming him into the scummy sewer walls behind him just as a vampire's clawed hand raked past the tall mans' face. "Uh, thanks," Warrick panted, returning the favor as several more vampires clambered out of the shadows and joined the fray.

Spike took the time to laugh at Sara when she tried to halt one vampire by threatening to arrest him. His laughter almost overtook him when he saw the expression on her face as five bullets didn't slow her attacker down. Taking pity on the girl, he pitched a stake through the fledge's heart, coating Sara in dust.

"You got another one of those?" Catherine asked Xander. Two vampires in identical leisure suits had pushed her forwards until she was pressed against the young man's back.

"You know how to use it?" Xander shot back, distracted.

"I learn real fast." Catherine took the initiative of pulling a spare stake from Xander's belt and struck back. The closest vampire laughed at her inexpert fumbles-until a lucky shot put the stake in her hand right into his heart.

A startled cough caught Xander's attention. "Oh, you might wanna step back when you do that."

"Now he tells me." Catherine grimaced, and then went after leisure-suit boy's twin.

Several minutes later, the dust had quite literally settled. A total of nine very inexperienced vamps had been slain, and somehow the Scoobies were spotless while the SCI team looked like it had rolled under a bed.

"Let's go." Buffy wasted no time, and the Scoobies took off right after her.

"Wait a minute! What was that?" Gil tried to stop the band of vigilantes by shouting in his best authority voice. It didn't have the intended effect.

"Wait for what? You five to get bitten? Or killed? Go back to the Magic Box. Better yet, go back to wherever you came from," Buffy shouted right back over her shoulder.

That response was unacceptable to Nick. He ran up to Buffy, pulling her arm to stop her. He found himself flat on his back with a stake at his throat. Warrick and Sara had guns trained on Buffy almost immediately, but a look from Willow made them pause.

"I wouldn't do that, now, would I?" She stepped in front of Warrick, smirking. Xander quickly moved in front of Sara.

"Tell blondie to get off Nick." Sara hissed. Catherine moved forward, hoping to do some damage control.

Buffy did release Nick, pulling him roughly off the floor. "Never, EVER touch me, buster."

"Slayer doesn't like boys touching her without permission. Even if they're panting over baggy-britches and not her." Spike leaned up against the sewer walls, watching Nick's display of insulted-manhood anger.

While Spike's words simply confused the CSI team, they sent a spark of shock through the Scoobies. "What?" Willow squeaked.

Xander paled, and then blushed. "Spike, shut up." The vampire opened his mouth, only to find a face full of pissed off Xander. "I said shut up. Now is definitely, no argument, NOT THE TIME!" Xander didn't want to deal with this now-not Spike's snarky vampire attitude, not Sara and Warrick's pit bull routine, and certainly not the damned inconvenient attraction Nick may feel for him.

"What's on his case?" Warrick muttered, shouldering his sidearm. A gape-jawed look from Willow made him frown.

"His case? It's your case! We're in the sewers tracking the thing that killed his father, and you all are goofing off!" The redheaded witch stamped a foot in a rare display of anger. She'd been mad more in the last four hours than she had in months.

"If you all would cease whatever games you're playing, we wouldn't be having these little arguments, now would we?" Grissom's statement only riled the youths more. Catherine stepped in, determined to settle things.

"Grissom, be quiet." That statement made everyone shut up. She turned to her boss. "You don't believe in it. Fine. They do. They also know where they're going. And what they're doing. Let them do their job, and maybe we can do ours, ok?"

"Catherine." Warrick began, only to be interrupted by Sara.

"You don't believe them, do you, Cat?" Sara scowled at the older lady. "You do!"

The CSI team stared in displeased shock at Catherine, who just shrugged. "When you've seen what I've seen, it's not so hard to believe."

"Yeah, like what?" Nick asked suspiciously.

Catherine spun around to face him. "Like girls dancing for fifty years and never aging a day. Plastic surgery can't do that. Trust me, I know. Or the dealers that always win. Always. No matter what, no matter whom they play-way beyond the laws of probability." She sighed, suddenly feeling her age.

"How can you say that?" Sara snarled, angry at her turncoat coworker.

"'Cause she's been around vamps before." This statement came from the shadows that held Spike.

"What?" Grissom said. He'd found himself saying that a lot lately.

"She's rusty, but she knows her way around a stake," Spike added, stepping out of the shadows. "Not something you pick up investigating crime scenes." The vampire approached Catherine slowly, circling her. "But definitely a skill to have when you slum with the undead, hm?" Catherine stiffened and shivered as Spike reached out and gently pushed the hair up on the nape of her neck.

"How long?" He removed his hand and Catherine relaxed visibly.

"Twenty years."

"At the risk of being repetitive, what?" Gil asked crossly. He was losing his patience.

Spike answered for him. "She's marked."

Willow gasped, and both Xander and Buffy looked dumbstruck. "Marked?" the redheaded witch squeaked.

"How?" Buffy asked.

"I could smell it on her in the cemetery. It's faint, but still there. Been years since she's been bitten, but it never fades completely." Spike looked longingly at Catherine for a moment, and then walked off.

"Catherine, do you have anything you want to tell us?" Grissom inquired.

"What do you want me to say? I had a vampire boyfriend? That I knew these guys were on the up and up all along?" Catherine began, looking a bit put out. "Would you have believed me? I seriously doubt it, Gil."

"But it's not possible." Warrick said, frowning.

Catherine laughed. "Keep telling yourself that, Warrick. In the meantime, there's something a lot worse than a vampire out there, and we're going to find it." She turned away from her coworkers and joined the Scoobies, who had regrouped from the little revelatory scene and were quickly disappearing in the sewers. After a moment, the other CSIs joined them, albeit reluctantly.

Many twists and turns later, Spike drew them to a halt. "It's up ahead, Slayer." He pointed toward a particularly decrepit tunnel, coated with slime and obviously home to many rats.

"How can you tell?" Nick asked, curious despite his anger.

"The smell."

"The smell? It smells bad, yeah, but no more bad than when we first climbed down here." Nick looked around warily. Spike just flipped him off.

Buffy pulled out her stake and ventured forward. Spike and Xander joined her, while Willow stayed a bit back with Catherine. There hadn't been any vampires around when they reached the tunnel, but you never knew.

"So we wait here while Barbie goes and kicks big bad wolf's butt?" Warrick commented, checking out the sewers with Nick.

"Basically," Willow snapped back, still pissed at them. A noise drew her attention. "Duck!"

The CSI team ducked instinctively, used to following that sage advice when it was given. They were just in time to miss being hit by a huge, scaly demon that flew over them and struck a crumbling brick wall. Buffy and Spike soon followed, never letting up on the attack. Xander limped out a bit behind them, joining Willow in keeping between the demon and the out-of-towners.

Sure enough, the battle was kick-kick, punch-punch, and stake through the heart. As the demon lay dying on the sewer floor, Buffy reached down with a knife and sliced off its forearm. Walking up to a still-crouching Grissom, she dropped it at his feet.

"You want to study something? Look at that." Grissom just stared at the hand and arm as Buffy walked off. Xander and Willow stayed behind; making sure the CSI team was ok, while Spike joined Buffy in exiting the sewers.

Willow stuck close to Xander on the way back to the Magic Box. Grissom had, true to his nature, wrapped the severed arm in his jacket and was carrying it back with him. Of course, he was determined to discover what kind of movie special effects had produced such a thing. The trip back was tense and silent, however, as the rest of the CSIs mulled over Catherine's perceived defection, and Xander thought about what Spike had said regarding Nick. The youth thanked the gods that the comment had flown right over the CSI investigators' heads.

When the two groups met back up at the Magic Box, Buffy made it clear that it was closing time and that the investigators were warmly invited to get out.

"This isn't over, you know," Sara said as the blonde shoved them out of the store.

Buffy just groaned. "Fire your writer and get someone better to do your dialog, babe." With that, the door slammed shut on the Las Vegas CSI.

Grissom turned from the door, frowning at the arm he was carrying. "So."

Nick summed up the evening. "Guys, we really, really need to talk."

��..��

The ride back to the hotel was tense and silent. Sara stared holes in the back of Catherine's head while Grissom alternated between studying (or was that *sniffing?*) the severed arm in his lap. Nick sulked, occasionally pounding his head against the window. Warrick simply sat next to Sara, trying to keep from either laughing or crying. He wasn't sure which one was more appropriate.

Once everyone had piled out of the car, Sara jumped on Catherine. "What the fucking hell was that back there, Cat?"

"Language, Sidle," Grissom warned.

Sara glared. "Excuse me, Catherine. Just what exactly were you trying to accomplish in the sewers tonight, Catherine?"

Catherine sighed. This was not a conversation she'd ever wanted to have-with anyone. Having it with Sara, and the rest of the CSI, was nearly the worst scenario she could imagine.

Grissom's cell phone started ringing before Catherine could say anything, however. He answered it, speaking in terse, angry sentences. His expression as he hung up was not promising.

"We can deal with this on the road. That was Brass. The CSI is overloaded and five employees short. We've been recalled as of ten minutes ago." Grissom pocketed his cell phone and went to check them out of the hotel. Within minutes, they were back on the road, headed for Nevada.

The change of venue didn't slow Sara down any. She didn't even wait for Catherine to answer her previous question before launching into a new attack. Eventually, Warrick caught her attention.

"Sara," Warrick started, "maybe you should let Catherine explain."

Catherine looked at Warrick through the rear view mirror. She hadn't expected anyone to stand up for her, although Warrick was more likely to than anyone else.

"Fine." Sara waved a hand at Catherine's head, missing her only an inch or so. "Explain."

Grissom finally looked up from the arm he was currently obsessed with. "This should be interesting."

Nick ignored all of them, preferring to curl up against the window as he had before.

Catherine took a deep breath, and then started. "You all already heard most of it. I dated a vampire. Not a person who thought he was a vampire, or somebody with a hemoglobin problem, but a real, honest to god vampire-like Spike." She paused for a moment, looking for the right words. Grissom took the opportunity to ask a few questions.

"How did you know he was a vampire?" This had obviously been before she had received any training in research or evidence gathering.

"Oh, the fact that he burst into flames if even the slightest bit of sunlight touched him, or that my favorite cross branded him, or the fact that he had yellow eyes, a ridged face, and drank blood." She smiled. "Eric was definitely a vampire."

"But those things could be rigged. Theatrical makeup, chemicals." Warrick said, still unconvinced.

"Then how do you explain a room-temperature body-all the time? His internal body temperature wasn't above 72. He didn't have to breathe unless he was speaking."

"Still, those things could be faked as well." Grissom pointed out.

"I know. Then there was the time I watched him get shot in the gut at point blank range. I spent nearly an hour poking his cold intestines back in and duct taping him together, then feeding him," Catherine said. "That's when I got marked."

Silence followed that response. It was one thing to fake the other symptoms. How exactly did one fake disembowelment? "Marked?" Grissom asked, avoiding the other topic.

Catherine winced. This wasn't going to be easy either. Hell, she'd rather have the sex talk with her daughter. "Vampires, at least ones with any years on them, mark people that they.care about."

"How?" Sara asked, curiosity overcoming her anger.

"A bite-not to kill, but to leave a small scar. Eric said it left a scent other vampires could smell, that never went away completely. He said that vampires usually left other vampires.marked people alone."

Grissom considered this. "So this guy Eric bit you twenty years ago, above the hairline, and Spike could sense it tonight?"

Catherine nodded. "Apparently so. Usually vampires mark somewhere more obvious, but I was a dancer then." She trailed off. They all knew how important physical appearance was for a dancer. "So, yeah, I guess Spike could sense it still-it's not like I told him it was there."

"I still don't buy the vampire story," Sara said, shaking her head. "There has to be a rational, logical explanation. We're scientists. We don't buy into urban legends and fantasy."

Grissom nodded, but decided to play the devil's advocate. "And this is definitely not science. Just like conception wasn't science but magic a few hundred years ago."

Sara scowled. "That's different."

"Why? Because now we know different? Hindsight's twenty/twenty, Sara. Who knows? Maybe there are vampires," Warrick said, hoping she wouldn't come after him with an axe later.

"I just don't think so. There is no spontaneous combustion, no miraculous resurrections, no spontaneous healings," Sara replied, unconvinced.

"No Santa Claus, no Easter bunny, no leprechauns with a pot of gold, no coincidences, no miracles, no immaculate conceptions," Warrick added, nodding his head. "Man, if we got rid of everything science couldn't prove, not only would holidays be cheaper, I could sleep in on Sundays."

Sara knocked him on the head for the comments. "I'm serious here. A dead body walking around and not decomposing? It's not going to happen. The body temperature is too low to keep proteins from denaturing, molds and bacteria from growing, and insects from feeding."

"Unless you pickle it," Grissom said absently, his attention caught once again by the arm. "Then the tissue stops degrading and microbial and larger organisms can't feed on it." Catherine chuckled slightly at the mental image she had of Eric in a huge dill pickle jar.

The others also found Grissom's off the wall comment humorous, and some of the tension was alleviated. By mutual, tacit consent they dropped the subject for a while.

"How's Nick?" Catherine asked. Warrick, stuck in the middle, turned to check on him.

"Out cold."

"At least he's not moping," Sara remarked. "You'd think someone had kicked him in the" Warrick slapped a hand over her mouth, shooting her a dirty look.

"knees," she finished once he'd removed his hand. "I guess having Spike call him on the whole 'Xander's a hottie' thing pretty much ruined his night."

"That or he was disappointed that Xander didn't say anything about it," Warrick suggested. "And how did Spike know?"

"The same way we did?" Sara replied.

"That or pheromones," Catherine said. "Vampires are very sensitive to them-much more so than humans."

"I've never seen epidermis like this before," Grissom whispered. Catherine, Warrick and Sara turned to see Grissom peering a little too closely to that damned arm. If Catherine braked suddenly, Grissom's nose would be shoved well into the bloody mass of tissue.

"Gris, man, you need a new hobby," Sara claimed. She sighed at Grissom's nonresponse, and then leaned over to rest against Warrick. After a moment, he relaxed and put an arm around her. Normally, they kept a professional distance while on the job, but with everything that had happened the last couple of days, no one would care.

"Why? I like this one," Grissom replied softly, distracted by the unusual new toy he'd been given.

"Why don't you all get some sleep, like Nick? We're probably going to be pulling long shifts when we get back," Catherine suggested over her shoulder. Maybe some quiet, without any sniping and arguing, would do them all some good.

"You're right," Grissom said, wrapping the arm up once more and placing it on the floorboard. Soon Catherine had the road and the car to herself, kept company by Grissom's soft, snuffly snoring.

��..��

The weary CSI team pulled into the parking lot with the sun. Brass was waiting for them in front of the building. "You all look like shit," he said, cataloguing the wrung out expressions and rumpled clothing.

"You wanted us back yesterday, so here we are," Sara said, not awake enough to appreciate Brass's humor, such as it was.

"Right. Well, we've got plenty of cases for you here, so California will just have to find its own investigators. Five homicides, three break-ins, and one animal cruelty. I've got teams on three of the homicides and two of the break-ins, but they're just keeping the others on ice. Take your pick."

Grissom picked the arm up from the floorboard. "What kind of murders?"

Brass sighed. "Shootings. The break-ins are residential."

"Catherine, you and Nick take one homicide. I'll take the other. Warrick, you get the break in." Grissom finished assigning cases and headed for the door.

"What, I get stuck with 'animal cruelty?'" Sara said, mildly insulted.

Grissom turned around. "You can ask Greg for help, Sara."

Sara was still cursing when she reached the labs.

By the time she got around to picking up the file, every one else had headed off to their respective crime scenes. The only people left there were Sara, Brass, and a caffeine-jazzed Greg.

"Grissom said I get to help youas practice for field work," Greg said, twitching slightly.

"What?!?" Sara yelped. Grissom could not do this to her. He just couldn't. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't he stick Greg with Nick? At least Nick could keep the tech silent with a few well-aimed barbs.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Greg waved the case in front of her.

"You think animal cruelty is fun?" Sara asked, more sharply than usual. Greg, taken aback by her attitude, simply handed over the file and retreated to his equipment.

Only slightly sorry she'd run him off, Sara opened the file and began to read.

"Graffiti on an emu?" She shouted, loud enough to be heard in holding. "Where the hell do they find this shit?"

��..��

"Grissom!" Sara yelled from the lab when she saw him walking by. Grissom turned around, his face falling when he saw her.

"Yes, Sara?" He really hoped this didn't take long. He was hungry.

Sara scowled. "This case is not going anywhere. Greg's farting around in the lab all the time and this evidence points nowhere."

Grissom sighed. Some days it just didn't pay to come to work. "Why don't you step back from it for a while? Take a break. I'll talk to Greg."

Sara had spent three days examining painted feathers, emu droppings, tire tracks and gang emblems in an attempt to crack the oh-so-important emu cruelty case. Greg, true to Grissom's suggestion, helped out; although by midway through the second day he'd pretty much given up on actually helping Sara and mostly tried to stay out of her way.

After Sara took Grissom's suggestion, he walked over to Greg's collection of machinery. If he was correct, the young man was calibrating a spectrometer. "How's field work going?"

Greg jumped. "Oh, hi Gris. Um, it's fine," he frowned. "But I don't think I'm cut out for it."

Grissom cocked his head to one side. "Why not?"

"I don't collect evidence the right way, I don't look at the right things, I never wear the right clothes," Greg stated. A whisper followed. "I never get the right kind of coffee."

Grissom's head came up from where he had been examining an insect from Catherine and Nick's homicide. "What? Coffee? What does coffee have to do with field work?"

Greg just raised an eyebrow. Grissom wasn't that na�ve. The elder man nodded sadly.

"Greg, don't give up on field work just because a couple of people choose to be bastards around you. They're probably jealous of something or another." Grissom patted him on the shoulder, then turned around and left.

Greg stared after him. For one thing, he'd rarely, if ever, heard Grissom call someone a bastard. For another, the man had just, if Greg wasn't mistaken, insulted his two favorite investigators. Between Sara's snarky bitchiness, Warrick dancing on hot coals to pacify her, Nick's inexplicable depression, and Catherine being treated oddly by all of them, Greg was beginning to wonder when the CSI had been infiltrated by pod-people.

��..��

Catherine yawned as she plucked toast out of the toaster for her daughter. The homicide she'd been working with Nick wasn't particularly nasty, but it was taking forever-mostly because Greg was never around to run any tests. She'd resorted to doing them herself more than once. Greg couldn't be blamed, not really. Sara had had the boy cowering since they got back from California.

After she dropped off her daughter, but before going in to work that evening, Catherine stopped by one of her old hangouts. The place had been redone at least five times since she'd worked there, but the atmosphere never changed. It had an aura of quiet desperation, like everyone in it was balanced on the edge of their seats waiting for something-anything at all.

The old bartender was still there and still looked forty years old. He was the oldest-looking vampire Catherine had ever seen. "Hey, Mark."

"Cat?" the man asked, frowning. "Damn, what are you doing in here?" Mark threw down his towel and walked around the bar, coming to sit next to her on a stool.

Catherine smiled faintly. "Just reminiscing."

Mark nodded sagely. "I heard you went cop on us."

"That I did. No more dancing kittycat. You don't even have dancers anymore, do you?" Catherine asked, looking around. Indeed, there were no more stages, poles or lights for dancers.

He shook his head. "Nope. Just drinks, of all sorts."

Catherine snorted. Drinks of all sorts. It had been Mark's way of saying beer, booze, bloodyou want it, we got it.

"Seriously, why are you here? There's nothing for the cops to do in this place."

"I ran into another vampire a few days ago."

Mark stared in shock. To his knowledge, there weren't any vampires in Las Vegas with balls enough to mess with Catherine. "Who?"

Catherine looked over at him. "It was in SunnydaleSpike."

She didn't think Mark's face could make that expression. "What the fucking hell were you doing on the Hellmouth? Messing around with a psychotic master vampire?" How did Cat get mixed up with Spike? What about Drusilla? Shit, shit, shit.

Catherine smiled. "We were on a case. He didn't do anything-but he could sense Eric's mark." She sighed. "It's been twenty years, Mark. Wouldn't it have faded, even a little?"

Mark shook his head. He couldn't believe Spike didn't do anything at all. "No, a mark like that doesn't fade or disappear-unless it's replaced by another vampire's mark. But you should be glad you have it. No one in this town, nor most other vampires, will touch you-unless they thought that you were being neglected."

"I know. It's just...I don't like carrying around a twenty year old memory I can't do anything about." She quickly decided to not tell Mark about Spike's chip. It probably had been the only thing holding him back. From her memories of Eric, she could well imagine now the draw of a 20-year neglected mark to someone with Spike's ego.

He silently agreed. Changing the subject, he asked about her daughter. "How's the kid?"

"You know about her?" Catherine asked, surprised.

Mark laughed. "I keep up with you, Cat. I promised Eric I would."

She shook her head. "Watched by a vampire bartender for a dusted vampire racketeer. Damn."

The pair sat there, talking and catching up, for nearly an hour-until Catherine had to leave for work. Promising to stop by again soon, she drove away. It disturbed her how easily she fit back in to that old crowd. Even not dancing anymore, she was at ease around the mostly vampiric patrons, laughing at their bad jokes. She was fairly sure Mark had told the crowd what she now did for a living, since not one person crowed about a kill while she was in the bar.

��..��

When Catherine got to work, Nick was waiting with good news. "Case closed, Catherine. Witness and Suspect number one, Mr. Henry Yarrow, just turned himself in, complete with murder weapon."

"Ah, great! Why can't every case be resolved when I walk in to work each night?" Nick smiled and handed her the file for her signature. Nah, she'd get bored if they were all like this.

Nick and Catherine split up, Nick helping Warrick on the break in while Catherine joined Greg in the lab. She would have helped Sara, but the younger investigator made it clear that Catherine's help was not welcome.

"Catherine?" She turned to acknowledge Greg.

"Hmm?"

Greg shifted nervously. "I think I've got something on that bird case."

Catherine looked up. "That's Sara's case." Greg shot her a hurt look. "Ok, ok. What did you find?"

Greg smiled happily. He liked working with Catherine. At least she treated him like a human. "I don't think it was animal cruelty."

She raised one eyebrow. "Ok, I'll bite. What was it?"

He waited a moment for effect. "An accident-one that the perps don't even know they had."

Catherine sat on a stool and motioned for him to continue. Having been given permission to explain, Greg launched into his theory.

"I was running tests on the paint from the emu feathers, matching it against different brands of spray paintbut I didn't find anything. That was because of this," Greg showed her the microscopic metal flecks he'd found in the paint. "It's automotive paint, not regular spray paint."

"So they tagged the emu with car paint?" Catherine said, still unconvinced that it was not vandalism-of a sort.

Greg grinned again. "Then I ran the soil samples from the scene-the ones Sara got so mad at me for collecting. She wanted two, I took ten." Greg pulled out a drawing of the scene, with the samples' locations marked. "I found paint in some of the soil samples. They're marked in red-the color of the paint."

Catherine studied the drawing, not seeing anything particularly...wait a minute. "The paint-contaminated soil is in a rectangle." She looked up at Greg.

"Yup. It's in a rectangle that fits the measurements of a 1985 Toyota Corolla-the make and model of the car we identified from evidence at the scene. What I think happened is that someone was painting their car out there-away from their house where the paint would mess things up. It wasn't a full body job, just a touch up." He took out several pictures of the scene. "But the thing is, the place they picked borders the emu farm. And, there's scrub growing along the fencing there." Catherine took the pictures from Greg.

"So they're painting their care and..."

Greg finished for her. "They spray some paint into the scrub, probably to clear the nozzle. Only they don't notice the scrub-colored emu standing there. So the emu ends up with a red paint job."

Catherine looked at the drawings and pictures again. "You know, Greg, that actually works. Whoever painted the car probably lives nearby-that location isn't well-known. Did the DMV give you any info on car ownership in the area?"

Greg nodded. "Sara has it, but there weren't any listed. It might be a recent purchase."

"Why don't you tell Grissom about this while I talk to the DMV again." Catherine gathered her coffee and left the lab. Greg departed for Grissom's office.

The older investigator was highly amused by Greg's version of the events. "Greg, if you're wrong, you've just concocted a very humorous tale. If you're right..."

They both laughed at the idea.

Sara returned later that afternoon. Unfortunately for her pride, everyone was there when Catherine broke the case by finding the owner of the Corolla with the new paint job. Everyone but Sara congratulated Greg on a job well done, in between laughing fits at the sheer humor of the case. Sara fumed and started to stomp off when Brass appeared in the doorway.

She was about to push him aside when she noticed the pallor of his skin. He looked practically gray. "Brass?" She murmured. "Are you alright?"

Brass looked over at Grissom. "Grissom. My office."

Gil stared, open-mouthed, as Brass quickly gave him the details of the new case. When he was finished, Grissom had taken on the same sickly pale color.

In the three or so minutes it took Brass to fill Grissom in, the rest of the investigators grew very nervous. The return of their boss didn't help any.

"Christ, is it that bad, Gris?" Sara asked, concerned for her boss.

He looked up, hollow-eyed. "Twenty five bodies, all fresh. Tortured, dismembered. We're on it, along with everybody else. Pack up your gear."

The team silently complied. There was more to the story that they weren't getting, but there would be time for that later. Twenty-five bodies was a lot to process in a short period of time.

��..��

"Oh, god." Sara slapped a hand over her mouth. The scene spread out before them was by far the most grisly thing she'd ever seen.

The drive to the crime scene, an old sewing factory, had taken only a few minutes. Police officers and what looked to be every employee of the county coroner's office swarmed the building. Once the CSI team was inside, they saw why.

Warrick idly wondered how it was anyone determined there were 25 bodies in the building. All he saw were chunks of flesh and bone scattered around the floor. The scene was enough for even Grissom to take a moment before diving in to his work.

Shifts and overtime meant nothing on the crime scene. At one point, Catherine took a break to call a friend to take care of her daughter. Other than that, everyone worked around the clock.

Finally each and every piece of evidence was bagged. Nick collapsed on the back seat of one Explorer while Warrick and Sara peeled off their gloves. No one said much as they finished up. The crime scene had been almost eerily quiet the whole time. Everyone was in shock.

"Go home. Get some sleep," Grissom ordered the investigators.

Catherine smirked. "You, of course, will be in the lab with Mort."

Grissom ignored her. "You're on hurry-back, so I suggest you get home as soon as possible."

��..��

The next day brought no answers for the CSI. Mort had spent all evening away from his family, studying the grisly evidence. Unfortunately, what he found couldn't be easily explained.

"So you're saying these people were ripped apart by force, but there aren't any ligatures, bruises-anything-on them?" Grissom summarized disbelievingly.

Mort nodded. "That's what it looks like."

Grissom frowned. "Was anything.missing?"

"What, like that case a few weeks ago? No. The lab reports aren't all in yet, but nothing has shown up so far." Mort sat down heavily. He really needed some rest.

"Thanks, Mort. I'll be back later." Grissom returned to his office, thinking frantically for an answer. Nothing came to mind.

The team was similarly stumped. Sara began researching similar cases, trying to find out if there was some sort of technique they just didn't know about to cause such injuries. Warrick and Nick got on the phones, scouring the area for leads. Catherine consulted her coffee and stared off into space.

"Deep thoughts?" Grissom asked, watching the woman space out.

"What?" Catherine said absently. "Oh, just trying to figure this out."

"Hmm." Grissom retreated into his office and closed the door. He'd been praying for a reprieve from odd cases, but it wasn't to be. Other than that one by-the-books homicide earlier, this month had just been plain weird.

Catherine was, in fact, pondering the case. Ever since the trip to Sunnydale, her sixth sense about the supernatural had been in overdrive. This case was tripping every sensor. She briefly tried to fight it. After all, she was a scientist, and as years on the job had shown, science had an answer for nearly every case. This one, though, had her worried.

After more than an hour, she had gotten nowhere. Neither had anyone else. The sheer numbers of bodies was causing alarm within the police, and there was immense pressure to solve this case-someone was going to leak it to the press and they'd start talking about serial killings and other alarmist claptrap.

Of course, there was someone she could talk to about it.Making up her mind, Catherine told Grissom she was taking a lunch break and left the building. Once in her car, she extracted the small post-it with an out of town phone number on it. Wondering when she'd lost her mind, she dialed.

The phone rung twice before someone picked up. "Harris."

"Xander?"

"Who is this?"

Catherine sighed. "Catherine Willows, from the Las Vegas CSI."

"Is this about my father?"

"Not exactly. Um.there's something odd going on in Las Vegas. I was wondering"

Xander cut her off. "If the weirdoes in Sunnydale could solve it for you?"

"If you could give me some advice. And I don't think you're a weirdo. I may be the only one who thinks you know what you're talking about, but I do. Believe me. And I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't very important," Catherine replied.

Xander hummed over the phone line. "Why don't you call the Magic Box in about half an hour? I'm not the best person to ask. I'll make sure Willow's there."

"Ok."

Catherine waited impatiently for the half-hour to pass. When it did, she dialed the store's number. Willow picked up as soon as she hit the last number.

"Catherine."

The investigator paused a moment. "Willow. Thank you for talking to me."

"We'll see. What is this emergency you called Xander about?"

Catherine gave Willow a description, trying to avoid details she'd get fired for leaking.

"You're not telling me everything, are you?" The witch accused.

"I can't."

Willow snorted. "Of course. Give me your number and I'll call you back after I've researched, ok?"

Once again, Catherine was left waiting. This time she returned to work. There was no telling when the girl would be finished.

��..��

"What do you think?" Xander asked the witch once she'd hung up the phone. They'd had it set on speaker, so he, Buffy and Spike had followed along with the conversation.

Willow frowned pensively. "I think she's telling the truth-as much as she can, and she's really worried. I really doubt she's told the others she called, though."

"Should we help them?" Xander asked.

"I don't think so," Buffy responded. "They're a bunch of stuck up idiots."

"But she asked for our help. And they seem to have dropped Xander from the 'committed patricide' list," Willow said.

"Besides, it *is* in Las Vegas, and we haven't left Sunnydale in forever," Xander reminded them, hoping to get out of town for any reason.

"And there's a tasty little investigator just waiting for you," Spike added, leering at Xander-who blushed nicely.

"It's not like there's anything happening here. It won't take but a few daysat most," Willow reasoned, also hoping to get away.

Buffy threw up her hands. "Fine. Call her, research her big bad, whatever. Just tell me when I need to be ready to go." Buffy stomped off to the training room, hoping to vent her frustrations.

"Xan, could you help me look up a couple of things? We don't want to show up unprepared." Xander helped Willow pull down books. After a few minutes, Spike assisted as well.

*****